#I finished it on a plane and cried the journey home.

[randombush3]

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

[yourmidnightlover]

never stop loving me

Summary - Spencer lashes out at y/n after being upset for a while, only to be far too harsh and push her away.

TW: mean spencer, swearing, bomb, injured reader, kissing

WC - 5,647

masterlist

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

spencer had been acting weird lately.

and it wasn't his normal, quirky, adorable weird self. it was quiet. too quiet. he didn't ramble like he usually did when you brought anything up.

he was distant. he didn't sit beside you on the plane ride home, or hold your hand as you drove the both of you to your shared apartment.

you didn't want to push him to say anything he didn't want to, but you were getting worried. you rarely had to corner him into talking, but there was the occasional time where you knew he wouldn't get through whatever it was eating himself up until he spoke up and voiced the words in his mind.

so when you both entered the apartment, you hung your coat up on the hook and placed your bag beside the couch as you plopped down.

"spencer?" you asked quietly as he hung his coat up. he turned to face you as you began to pat the seat beside you, wanting him to sit down. he complied with a huff as you took note that he sat at nearly the other end of the couch.

"what?" he asked without looking at you, you could sense the attitude in his voice.

"i'm worried about you," you whispered. "can you open up? what's bothering you right now?" you moved closer to him and placed a hand on his lower thigh comfortingly.

"you're worried about me?" he spat out, looking at you incredulously. "i'm sure that's true," he scoffed sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he flicked your hand off his leg.

"spencer why would yo-" you started as you scooted closer to him on the couch.

"why would i what? why would i not believe you when you ask me that? you're a smart girl, y/n. figure it out," he nearly yelled at you as he began to get up from the couch. you grabbed his hand with both of yours, not wanting him to leave you like that.

"please, spence. i just need to kno-"

"you should be able to figure it out yourself!" he shouted. "and stop touching me! oh my god all you ever do is touch me! did you ever think that maybe something's wrong with you if you have to always be touching someone? god! just don't ever touch me! you're so annoying! what the hell is wrong with you?"

"i-i'm sorry. i didn't think it wa-" you started apologizing.

"exactly! you didn't think! you never think about anyone but yourself! you never stopped to think about how fucking uncomfortable you touching me is! i hate being near you. i can't do it," he started shaking his head as he ran his hands over his face.

"wh-what?" you asked as the teas you didn't know were gathering in your eyes began spilling down your cheeks.

"you heard me," he said as he started to turn around. "i'm just gonna sleep alone tonight," he started walking towards your bedroom.

"i'll sleep on the couch," you spoke up before he made it to the room, he stopped in his tracks. "your back's been hurting lately, and you're too tall to fit on the couch comfortably. i'll sleep on the couch," you whispered, partially afraid that he wouldn't be able to hear you, wiping at the tears.

"whatever," he said as he finished his journey into the bedroom, not bothering to look at you.

you wanted to wait until he was asleep to get any blankets or anything, so the only things going through your mind were his words to you.

what the hell is wrong with you?

i hate being near you...

just don't ever touch me!

you weren't sure what was bothering him this much, but if you knew anything about spencer it was that that man could hold a grudge.

when emily had 'come back from the dead' it was like it was a different kind of person. it wasn't the spencer you fell in love with and you knew it, but that doesn't excuse his words.

so, you did what anyone in your position would do. you gave him space. you dialed the number of a trusted friend and colleague, praying she would pick up.

"hello?" the groggy voice rang out from the phone speaker.

"hi," you meekly replied. "sorry, i know it's pretty late. i umm," you sniffled, "i just didn't know who else to call."

"what happened, y/n? are you hurt? is everything okay?" she asked worried.

"yea, yea. everything's okay," you sighed. "i think spencer might just need some space is all."

"ummm, okay. is there anything i can do?"

"actually, yea? i hate to ask you this or put you in a weird position, but i was wondering if i could stay with you for a while?" you rambled out.

"of course you can. do you even have to ask?" she replied quietly.

"oh my gosh, you're a lifesaver. i-it might not be for long, i'm not really sure," you began. "it might be until spencer is ready, o-or maybe until i umm," you sniffled again, "until i find my own place?"

"that's okay, honey. i promise," she answered sweetly.

"thank you so much. i owe you, em," you sighed as you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"don't even worry about it, y/n. i'm glad you came to me. are you coming here tonight?"

"if you don't mind... i'm not sure if spencer would want to see me when he umm, when he wakes up," you nodded even though she couldn't see you.

"okay. i'll be waiting."

"alright. i'll probably leave in like half an hour. bye."

"bye," she replied before you hung up.

you snuck into your bedroom, and noticed how spencer was sleeping peacefully.

you had began as friends at the bureau. you didn't even think of him in a romantic way until he admitted his feelings after one drunk night out with the team. it was sweet, a bit sloppy, but sweet.

he kept rambling about how beautiful you were, and how good you smelt when you would lay your head on his shoulder to fall asleep or when you were cuddled up on your couch watching movies. he told you about how you made him feel like less of a weirdo when he would ramble about things he knew, just wanting to be liked by others.

he mentioned how he loved that he could come to you for anything at any time. he also told you about how he appreciated that when you met him, you didn't try to shake his hand. you knew how uncomfortable he was with touching a stranger and allowed him to make the first move. you let him be the one to cross the bridge that was physical touch because you were just that caring for others, and that's truly what he loved about you from the beginning.

then he said that he would never tell you how much he liked you because he never wanted those things to stop.

by that time, you had already driven him back to his place, and helped him into bed. he begged you to stay, so you obliged kindly and opted to take the couch. he told you to stay in the bed with him. he was the one to pull you closer onto his chest. he was the one to stroke you hair as you fell asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

he didn't even remember that night. he woke up with you in his arms, content with the warmth you provided him. he loved the way you instinctively curled into his chest even more.

you never brought it up.

then you realized that you felt the same for him on one of the later cases. you wanted to hold him while he cried, and rejoice with him when he had his wins. you wanted to hear his stupid rants about something as miniscule as sprinkles on a birthday cake. you wanted that closeness he graced you with. you just wanted him.

and now, as you picked a few more pieces of clothes to pack, you heard rustling coming from the sheets. you turned to see spencer now sitting up in bed, looking at you.

"...hi," you whispered with tight lips.

"what're you doing?" he asked. you couldn't tell what he was thinking since it was still dark.

"i'm umm, i was gonna stay with emily for a while," you said as you wiped the tears from your cheeks for the thousandth time. "i um, didn't think you'd want me to be here when you woke up," you nodded as you folded the clothes in your hands. "i was going to leave in about 20 minutes, so i'll be out soon," you felt your lip quivering.

you didn't want to cry in front of him. maybe it was that you wanted to have a sense of dignity, but if it came down to it you would bet that you just didn't want him to feel bad. even after he basically said he hated you.

because that's who you were.

you were a touchy person. that's how you show love to others. that's how others know you care for them.

but now he said he hated that about you.

he hated the way you would gently graze his hand with yours when you could tell he was upset. he hated the way you ran your hand through his hair when he was stressed. he hated the way you placed your hand on his shoulders when he was sad or frustrated.

he hated you.

and he just looked at you standing there. he didn't say anything. he looked at you as tears welled in your eyes from his words.

the words that felt like a burning blade being dragged along your spine. the words that felt like bile rising from your stomach.

"i'll just go now," you said as you ran out of the room and into the living room, not noticing the way that spencer followed you.

"hey," spencer spoke up as you piled the clothes into your go bag that was still beside the couch.

"yea?" you sniffled, not bothering to look at him while pulling on the sweater that was keeping you warm.

when you finally turned to see him he was looking at you with a blank expression. he was looking at the sweater you were wearing. you looked down at it, not remembering it was one of his he had let you worn during the case in north dakota. it was the one you wore when you realized your feelings for him, almost a month after he admitted them for you.

the one you wore when you shared your first kiss in the snow.

"oh," you said as you felt the tears build up again. "you... want it back?" you asked as the tear fell down your face, leaving a burning sensation that felt far better than what you felt inside.

he didn't say anything. you couldn't even see him since the tears were blinding you. so, you slowly unbuttoned the sweater and folded it nicely as you handed it to him.

"i-i'm sorry," you sniffled. "i didn't um - i didn't want to make you un-uncomfortable," you said as you zipped the bag up and grabbed your keys, heading to the door. "just know that i um, i love you."

and you were gone. you rushed out of the door. you didn't want to wait to see if he would tell you he loved you back, scared that you'd be waiting for a lifetime. so you ran to your car and drove off to emily's place, leaving spencer standing in the living room, frozen from what just happened.

but you couldn't see his heart breaking in return. he pulled his sweater up to his face and recognized the sweet scent of you on it that made him break down.

when he noticed how cold you were from the snow from forgetting your jacket at the hotel, he automatically gave you his. he didn't even care how cold he would get - just that you'd be a bit more comfortable.

he draped the sweater over your shoulders to help you put it on, and rubbed your arms for more friction to get you more warm. then, when you turned to look him in the face, you leaned in slowly and grabbed his face.

"can-is this okay?" you asked kindly.

he didn't even respond. he just connected his lips with yours after giving you the brightest smile. he relished in the moment of feeling content, whole, peace. you.

and now you gave him back that very sweater.

in reality, he was looking at the sweater you were wearing as a sign of hope. he thought that maybe since you were still wearing it, he hadn't completely squandered his chance of forgiveness with you.

but you gave him his sweater back with tears in your eyes.

he made you cry.

he drove you away.

when emily answered the door, you broke down in her arms, which was quite the role-reversal.

you were always the one to comfort the other team members. you never really went to anyone for help, you never wanted to burden them with your problems when they all had lives. you just wanted to help them. that's just how selfless you were.

"i'm here, y/n," emily consoled you. "let it out, sweetie. that's it," she stroked you hair as she led the two of you to the couch so you could cry in her arms.

when you finally calmed down a little bit, you started apologizing.

"i'm so sorry. i know it's really late, i just didn't know who else to go to and i'm just so..." you sniffled.

"don't worry about it. i'm glad you came to me. now, care to tell me what happened?"

so you told her. everything.

okay, so you made him seem like less of a douche bag, but you told her. you just tried to explain to her his side of the story, trying to be more understanding.

"and you feel bad? you aren't mad at him?" she questioned in disbelief.

"yea, of course i feel bad. being myself has made him uncomfortable, em. how could i be mad at him when i'm so hopelessly in love with him?" you asked in question.

"oh, sweetheart," she said as she pulled you back into a hug.

she had a plan.

okay, it wasn't much of a plan.

it was more of just chewing him out.

but she knew that would work.

because she also knew how much he loved you. and she knew there had to be a reason he was treating you like that.

the next day you had gotten called in at 4 a. m. with a new case. you drove to the office with emily and walked in behind her. once you saw spencer sitting at the round table in his normal seat beside yours, you felt a kind of rage boil inside of you.

he was just sitting there with a gloom look on his face, not trying to apologize for what he had said to you or anything. you'd thought that maybe he'd even look at you by now but he hasn't even noticed your presence. nothing.

you huffed, walking over to sit in a chair you normally wouldn't be in. spencer finally turned to see it was you who sat down, so you looked him up and down before turning your eyes towards hotch who was giving you all the briefing.

there was a bomber in charleston, california. he would send bomb to local corporations that had a history of animal testing. He was essentially trying to rid the world of those who harm animals, which is quite ironic since that involved killing humans.

each of the buildings were two stories, yet the bomb didn't level it. that's how you knew the bomb was meant to send a message rather than kill more people.

so until his message was spread and out in the open for all people, he'd continue to kill people without hesitation. human life wasn't valuable to him, so it was your job to stop him.

once you had gotten to california, you had all been divided into teams. you went with morgan and spencer to the most recent bomb site to analyze anything they might've missed.

the entire scene smelled like burnt papers, no surprise there. aside from the fact that people had previously died where you were standing, the tension in the air was so thick it felt as though the smoke had remained from the explosion.

you had avoided spencer, tried to talk to him as little as possible when you had to. unless it was for the case, you didn't speak. until hotch decided to room the two of you together.

you had asked the girls if you could room with them, only for them to refuse and make you 'work things out with your beau.' so essentially, you were screwed.

you trudged into the room before spencer had made it, being sure to lock the door behind you just to annoy spencer. was it petty? sure. did he deserve it? yes. would you apologize? absolutely not.

once you turned around, you realized there was only one bed. of course hotch would do that. what a dick. you sighed before placing your things on the couch, deciding that spencer's back pain is completely different than being temporarily locked out of your room. you were truly doing it for yourself so you wouldn't have to hear him complain the next day about his back hurting.

after you had gotten out of the shower, your body in only a small towel, you heard the door knock. you knew it was spencer, his signature knock giving it away, and decided you could open it for him. when he realized you were practically naked and everyone had a view of you from the hallway, he quickly pushed you further inside along with himself and slammed the door shut.

"what the hell, y/n?" he whisper-yelled at you, gesturing to what you were wearing. "anybody could've seen you and you're practically naked!"

"and?" you crossed your arms over your chest. "i don't see why you should have any say so in what i'm wearing."

"you're wearing a towel," he stated as if you hadn't already known.

"and?" you shrugged. "is my body making you uncomfortable? is that why you don't want to touch me, spencer?" you rolled your eyes before turning to get your clothes from your suitcase.

you decided to just strip right in front of him, just to tease him a bit more. you slowly slid the towel down your body, your back still towards spencer as you shimmied into your shorts that barely covered anything. you turned around to get your shirt, revealing your bare chest to spencer who stood in awe of what was happening in front of him. you put your thin shirt on tantalizingly slow, aware that he could probably see your nipples through the fabric, but that was the entire point.

spencer walked over to you slowly, you smiled at him happily as he approached you. when he brought his hands up to cup your face gently, you swatted his hands away from you.

"ah-ahh," you shook your head no. "there's no touching allowed," you rolled your eyes one last time before getting comfortable on the couch, pulling the one extra blanket in the room over your body in an attempt to keep warm.

as the minutes turned into an hour, you felt yourself becoming more upset. his words, even if he didn't mean them, had an impact on you. he couldn't just unsay the words or take them back, that's not how it works. instead, he made you live with the thought and constant worry that you made him uncomfortable by touching him.

and that pained you. that pain turned into tears, which ensued sniffling because of your runny nose. and your tears and sniffles pained spencer even more. he listened in wait as you cried yourself to sleep once more, the sniffled slowing down which told him of your slumber.

when you woke up, you had realized you were awake before spencer. you quickly got ready and made your way downstairs to retrieve some mediocre coffee. deciding to not be a complete asshole, you got spencer his own cup as well just how he liked it and placed it on the bedside table for when he would wake up.

when he did wake up, it was to the smell of coffee beside him. he had obviously realized you had gotten it for him, he wasn't a complete idiot other than the fact that he had hurt you in the first place. when he took a sip of it, it was just as he liked it.

of course it was, he thought, it's you.

since there were so many animal activists that were recorded online, you couldn't really narrow down the suspect range. once you had all made it back to the precinct that morning, they had widdled down all the companies that have ever used testing on animals. there were four companies in total, so you would all split up and investigate each one.

you, of course, had been paired with spencer once again. it was obviously the rest of the team conspiring to get you two to make up, but he hadn't even apologized. and you refused to make the first move.

so as you drove to the company you had been assigned, there was yet again that irritable tension in the air that made it seem like someone could choke on it. you pulled into the parking lot and got out as quickly as you could.

making your way inside, you asked where the owner of the company was while flashing your badge, spencer making his way inside just in time to catch where you were going and follow.

"hi, ma'am," you introduced yourself, extending your hand for her to shake. "i'm here in regards for the-"

"recent bombings? yes, i figured you would be," barbara cooke sighed as she released your hand.

"yes, i'm agent y/n yl/n/ and this is dr. spencer reid," you motioned to him as he gave her an awkward wave. "we were wondering if you've received any recent threats concerning your history in-"

"animal testing? we get those all the time, agent... what was it again?" she asked disrespectfully.

"y/l/n," you informed her once again.

"right, well we get those too often for it to be significant. in fact, we get those almost weekly," she rolled her eyes before turning back to the computer on her desk.

"ma'am, if you wouldn't mind just trying to think of a threat that stuck out to you. one in particular that made it seem as though they might follow through?" spencer asked kindly.

"i actually do mind. i have a company to run and don't need to waste my time on something that won't ever affect me. so please, see yourselves out," she motioned to the door with a sigh.

you and spencer looked at each other before turning around and leaving her office. instead, you decided to ask the employees if they saw anyone that seemed as though they were landscaping the office.

"no, not really. i'm too busy trying to finish the work cooke gives me."

"i'm sorry, no. i try to just ind my own business around here."

"i'm sorry, there have been bombings?"

there wasn't much luck.

you were making your rounds right back to the front of the office, asking nearly everyone that you passed if they noticed anyone suspicious until you noticed a mailman near the front of the room.

he was dressed in an all-brown outfit, but with no logo of what company he worked for. not even a hat to display the name. all the companies that delivered had company logos displayed on the outfits, just to display for publicity.

when you looked around at who was near you, your eyes locked on spencer who was walking towards you, his head down. once you saw the mailman walk out of the office and saw the lady at the front desk begin to open the tape, you grabbed spencer by the arm.

it all happened so quickly.

you pushed spencer out of the door and locked it, blocking him from the blast that would surely ensue, and ran as quick as you could to drag the woman away from the box. you shielded her with your body, turning your back to where the bomb would go off to lessen the impact on her body. before you could even register what happened, you were pushed into the wall cati-corner the desk, knocking you unconscious.

-

spencer didn't know what was happening until he heard the bomb.

he assumed the blast wasn't as intense as it was previously by the fact that the second story was still standing. the blast from the other bombs at least made a bit of a dent in the second story.

in an instant, he realized that he might've lost you forever. the love of his life. gone.

and you were still mad at him. you hated him. you thought he hated you.

once he was able to form a coherent thought, he pulled his phone out and called 911, being sure to tell them there was a possible agent down in an explosion. once he hung up, he mustered up his inner derek morgan and kicked the doors in, it helped that they were already frail due to the explosion.

with the doors now open, smoke flowed out of the now open space, looking for an escape as spencer was looking for his love. all he could hear were coughs and whines of the employees around him. then he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked to see the face of the lady from the front desk.

"she-she saved me," the woman told spencer in reference to you. "she's over here," spencer helped her navigate himself to where your body lay limp on the ground, drywall covering your face and body.

"oh my god, y/n," he called as he moved the rubbish from your body before looking for a pulse.

he found himself whispering a series of pleas that you were okay, that he would find the pulse in your neck or wrist. that he would feel the warmth off your body against his, be able to touch your skin and have you grab his hand when you were nervous. he wanted you to never stop touching him.

because ever since you had joined the bureau, you had been a touchy person. you were the person people went to when they needed comfort because they wanted a hug. you were the person the team counted on when comforting the mothers or children because you had a comforting touch.

and he wanted that comfort. he needed that comfort right then. but the one person he needed the comfort from didn't think he wanted it from them. you didn't think he wanted you anymore.

so you had to be okay. because he couldn't imagine a world where you weren't his, which sounds so cliche but couldn't be any more true.

ever since you waltzed into his life, he could never remember what it was like without you. what it was like without your hand running through his soft hair. without your hand on his knee underneath the bau table during a meeting. without your face buried in his neck while you were cuddling at night. without your kiss...

without you.

he needed you.

and he found the small, faint, minuscule pulse that beat throughout your body. a gentle but safe way to know you were alive and still with him. maybe you'd still want to be with him.

when the ambulance arrived, he didn't hesitate to hop in the back of the van, opting to call the team to inform them of what happened.

they had put an oxygen mask on you to ensure your safety and had told him that you had a concussion from the blast. they would do further tests once they got to the hospital, which felt like it took forever, according to spencer.

once they had wheeled you away, spencer sat in wait once again. the team slowly trickled in, trying to comfort spencer but ultimately failing. when the doctor finally came in, spencer was the first to jump up and ask how you were.

"she'll make a full recovery, she's rather lucky," he nodded at spencer before checking his chart. "she has three bruised ribs and a minor concussion. she'll be able to fly in a couple of days, but will have to stay out of the field until her ribs are fully healed. she shouldn't be doing any strenuous activities until then as well," he informed the doctor. "other than that she's healthy as a horse."

"thank you. can i see her now?" spencer asked eagerly.

"yes, of course," he nodded before turning around. "right this way."

when spencer came into your room, your eyes were barely open. it looked like you were struggling to stay awake. your face and arms were littered with an occasional bruise, which he's sure were worse on your stomach and legs. your skin was a bit paler than usual, it didn't have that glow you normally had, that liveliness.

but you still looked like you. you still looked beautiful.

spencer took the seat beside your bed and moved it closer to you, taking your hand in his before you snatched it away, turning on your side to face the wall opposite of where spencer sat.

"y/n, please..." spencer pleaded, feeling his eyes well with tears. he thought you were just angry at him until he heard your soft sniffles. "darling, please look at me," he placed his hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you back to face him. you turned yourself back around to face him, eyes red and swollen as your lip was quivering.

"what?" you spat out, trying to maintain your own composure until you saw he was crying himself. you raised your brows in shock before asking him, "what's wrong?"

he laughed, "you're asking me what's wrong?" you nodded. "i'm just so, so sorry i'm sorry i said all those things about you. i'm sorry it took you almost dying for me to apologize. and i'm sorry for ever making you feel like i didn't love you, y/n. i love you so much. every part of you, your touch included. it's anything but annoying. it's comforting, and sweet, and calming, and does so much more to help me than it does hurt or annoy me," he took your hand in his once more, placing a kiss to your knuckles. "i love you so much and i'm so sorry."

"and i'm sorry i had to touch you to push you out of the way of an explosion," you rolled your eyes with a chuckle so he knew you were joking.

"thanks for that, by the way - saving me," he shrugged. "which brings me to my next point... do you know how reckless that was? how dangerous and stupid and how you could have died? because you could have died and if you died i don't know what i'd do with myself. especially knowing you were mad at me when you died," he held your hand to his chest so you could feel how his heart broke in those moments he didn't know if you were alive. the moments he thought he might've lost you forever.

"but i'm alive. i'm right here," you assured him, bringing his hand to your lips this time to press a kiss before holding the one with both of yours. "why'd you say those things anyway? why were you so upset?"

"well remember the officer that was on the case?" you nodded. "remember how he kept touching you?" you rolled your eyes with a nod.

"god, it was so annoying," you interjected.

"well it didn't seem like you thought it was annoying," he avoided eye contact with you, you pulled his arm to get his attention once again.

"are you saying you thought i wanted him to be so handsy?" you questioned, he nodded guiltily. "spencer, are you kidding?" you chuckled. "i had to do that because if he knew i hated him he wouldn't have been so cooperative. i promise, you are the only one for me. you're the only one i want to touch me like that. but that doesn't excuse you talking to me like that. you saying those things hurt me, a lot."

"i know, i know they did... and i plan on making it up to you. i will make it up to you, i swear," he nodded along eagerly.

"yea, you better dr. reid. i'm holding you to that," you huffed out a laugh, spencer following suit as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

then to your nose. then right and left cheeks. then your lips. it wasn't a kiss that demanded anything. it wasn't hostile or passionate. it was content. it was a way of showing you love and saying that your love was enough. that you were enough.

"i love you, spencer," you whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"and i love you, y/n," he whispered back. "please never stop loving me the way you do."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer x you #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader fluff

[whimsicallyreading]

For Day 29 of Rowaelin Month

“A song fic-“

The song- “Always Been You” by Quinn XCII

CW- Mentions of miscarriage and divorce

"I can't believe you right now."

Rowan looks at his wife in frustration. She's sitting at the end of their bed, staring listlessly at the wall. The skirt of the red dress she's wearing is wrinkled, and his heart aches when he notices the mascara marks on her cheeks.

"Aelin," Rowan tries again to reach for her, but she leans away from his grasp.

"No, Rowan. I'm done."

Rowan takes a long swing from the beer in front of him. The time on his phone alerts him that he's spent most of the evening sulking at his bar.

The guys had invited him to dinner, but Rowan hadn't felt like going in light of his current situation. Instead, choosing to meander to the shady little pub they'd passed by coming from the airport.

His lawyer had sent him numerous emails. Documents to sign, agreements to approve, and papers he needed to read through before sending them to the judge.

Divorce was a pain, and Aelin wasn't making it easy.

"Hey, bud. I thought I might find you here." Fenrys slides onto the barstool next to his.

Rowan sighs and rubs the lines forming on his forehead. "Well, I thought it was obvious I didn't want company."

"Too bad. Drinking alone isn't a good look on you." Fenrys raises a hand and motions for another round of beers. "How are things going with ya know?"

"Shitty. She's never paid a dime of rent on that apartment, but she wants the lease signed into her name and for me to front the first four months of rent." Rowan cracks a peanut between his finger. He has no intent to eat the growing pile in front of him. He just craved the satisfaction of breaking something.

"Well, have you talked to her about that?" Fenrys frowns in sympathy, knowing how equally attached both parties were to the little rental.

Rowan laughs mirthlessly. "No, she said that it was better if our conversations were mediated. I always knew Aelin was catty, but she's acting like such a-"

"Don't." Fenrys gives Rowan a severe look. "I know you are upset, but don't start saying shit you'll regret."

Rowan pauses and reluctantly nods his agreement. It's the alcohol talking. He knew the problems that had festered his marriage were predominantly his responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, but a heaviness seems to keep the air from reaching his lungs fully. The weight was slowly becoming too familiar, starting the day Aelin had presented him with the papers.

Rowan wishes he'd done more. Wishes he'd paid more attention and seen the signs of Aelin's unhappiness.

The day Aelin had broken down in their bedroom had been a cold wake-up call but by then? It was already too late.

"You missed our anniversary Rowan." Aelin shouts and pulls her heels off angrily.

Rowan picks up a shoe and tries to hand it back to her. "I know. I'm sorry. It's not too late, though. We can still go out? There's still time to salvage-"

Aelin turns away from him and seems to fold in on herself. Rowan wants to reach out. He wants to hold her, but something dark is building in the air.

"I don't want your leftovers, Rowan," Aelin whispers. "That's all I get anymore—your leftover time. Your leftover attention. Whatever leftover resentment you bring home from work."

"Aelin-" he tries to cut off her depressive spiral, but she's not finished.

"You used to call me during the day." Aelin's voice cracks, and he realizes she's crying. "Every day, you would call me on your break. Now you don't even call when you leave town."

"Baby, just listen to me." He puts his hands on her shoulders, but Aelin breaks his grasp to turn around and look at him.

"Is there someone else?" Her eyes are wide and vulnerable. So unlike his regular Aelin."

"What?" His brain is struggling even to formulate a reply. Rowan's lack of response only causes Aelin to worry more.

Something in her cracks. There's a quiver to her lips, and her face drains of color. "Oh. Oh no."

"Aelin. I swear there is no one else." Rowan finally says, but it's too late.

"Is," Aelin presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Is it because I lost the baby?" She sucks in a hiccupping breath. "You've always wanted kids. So did I, but my fucking body doesn't work."

Aelin closes her eyes, and Rowan knows she's speaking more to herself than him, but her words gut him just the same. "My body doesn't work right. I keep giving us false hopes and wasting money on pregnancy tests. Of course, you would look for a woman who can give you what you want."

He's surprised by the sudden flare of anger in him. "Don't put words in my mouth. That will never be your fault."

They'd known right from the start their journey to parenthood would be a long one. Aelin had a family history of complicated fertility. It had seemed so trivial when they got married. Yet even knowing there could be issues, nothing quite prepared them for the pain of a miscarriage.

Aelin sniffles, unable to force back her grief, "But you resent me. Don't you?"

Rowan doesn't reply.

"It's rough," Rowan admits out loud. "I let a lot get left unsaid. I was hurt and pushed her away. Now she won't even speak to me without a lawyer present."

Fenrys nods, "It's all probably for the best. Once this is over, you guys can put this drama behind you."

"I wish it were that easy," Rowan knocks back the rest of his beer. He grimaces at the drink. It's not taking hold quickly enough.

Fenrys raises an eyebrow. "You both will be able to shut the book on this chapter of your lives and move on? Considering how bloody you two have been fighting, it sounds ideal."

They sit in silence. Fenrys takes the peanut basket away from Rowan and picks at the shells. The bartender comes by, and disgruntledly eyes Rowan's pile of crumbs as he orders a whiskey neat.

Fen was like his little brother, but Rowan found it hard to admit his real problem to him aloud. "I still love her."

The basket goes flying over the side of the counter, and Fenrys chokes on his beer. "What?"

Rowan can't look him in the eye, "We lost a baby. It was early. Aelin didn't want to tell everyone. Three years we tried to get pregnant, and finally, a test comes back positive. She was so happy."

"Shit," Fenrys says quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"It was there, and then it was gone. I thought Aelin was fine. She cried for a week, but then it was like a switch flipped, and she was back to normal." Rowan clenches a napkin in his fist. "I was devastated. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to send her back into a depression." Rowan shakes his head at how stupid he'd been. "So I put some distance between us. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her."

"I didn't feel better," Rowan sips the whiskey, relishing the warmth. "It made me mad that she got over it so quickly, and I couldn't. I didn't realize that I was growing that space between us. I didn't understand how much guilt she harbored and that she tried to be strong for me. Not until she broke."

"We fought. I said all the wrong things. Aelin couldn't take it anymore, she left, and I didn't stop her." Rowan leans his head on his hands and elbows against the counter. "She's the love of my life, and I watched her walk out the door."

Fenrys sucks in a breath and sighs. "You are my best friend, and I mean this in the most loving way possible. Why the hell are you here?"

"What?" Rowan looks at Fenrys annoyed face.

"Get out of here. Go. I'll tell the boss you have ebola or some shit." Fenrys fishes his wallet out and throws cash on the bar. "I'll even cover the tab. Just leave. Now."

"What? I don't understand?"

Fenrys looks at Rowan like he's stupid. "No offense, but you are about as interesting as a brick wall. The fact you caught a girl like Aelin is astonishing. If you love her, are you honestly going to let her go on being miserable?"

"She's not miserable," Rowan scoffs.

Fenrys laughs bitterly. "You forget I'm pals with Aedion too? Aelin winds up at his house almost every evening crying her eyes out. You two are still hopelessly in love. You're just dumb and badly in need of a good conversation."

"Aelin is upset?" A sense of disbelief washes over him.

"Yes! She misses you, but she's under the impression you are off sleeping around." His face saddens. "I told Aedion you weren't. He knows I go on all of these trips with you. Aelin's just upset you're gone and needs to believe in something that can help her let go."

Rowan stands up, swaying. "I have to go."

"Hell yeah, you do. Give Aelin my love," Fenrys waves as Rowan vates the bar like a hawk out of hell.

Aelin sets the stack of papers in front of him.

Rowan had been camping out in his office ever since there disaster of an anniversary. He'd texted a few times, but every time they talked, it was like relighting a fuze. Things weren't getting better.

"What are these?" Rowan asks without looking up from his screen.

"Your ticket to freedom," Aelin sits in the chair across from him.

She looks thin, thinner than she did when Arobynn was her foster father. It physically hurts Rowan that he's causing her that kind of stress. Glancing at the papers, she slapped in front of him. His blood becomes like an ice river through his body. "Aelin-"

"I'm not the one for you. That's apparent now. I won't hold you hostage in a marriage that you aren't happy in." Aelin blinks, and a tear slides down her face. He wants to wipe it away, but he's beyond angry. She was giving up on them.

"If this is what you want," Rowan slides the papers towards him and pulls out a pen.

Rowan is racing the familiar paths to their apartment. He doesn't care that it's almost four in the morning. The plane ride between Perranth and Ornyth is mercifully short, but he can't force himself to wait another minute.

"Aelin," he yells through their door. "Baby, answer me. Open the door."

Rowan's fists tap a consistent rhythm on the door, and his heart skips a beat when a bedraggled Aelin finally appears. "Rowan, do you know what time it is?"

She's in a pair of grey flannel pajamas, not one of her usual silky numbers. Aelin's eyes are red around the edges, and her face is still dewy from the excessive amount of lotion he knows she loves to put on. Rowan knows all of her routines. All of her favorite outfits, comfort movies, and best memories. He knows the scar she has on her left hand from an abusive foster father. Rowan remembers how the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she's upset in the same spot her cousin's does.

He knows everything about her, because not only were they husband and wife, they were best friends.

How could he have let that go?

Before Aelin can ask any more questions, Rowan has swept her into his arms. "I missed you so damn much."

"Rowan, have you been drinking?" Aelin asks in a voice cracked with emotion.

His hands are running up her back, and his knows burrows into her hair. He's always loved the smell of her jasmine shampoo. "Fireheart, I never resented you for losing the baby."

"Rowan, I don't want to talk about this," Aelin tries to push him away, but he squeezes her into his chest, and she melts.

That had been his mistake. He should have held Aelik like this and never let her go on pretending to be happy. How could he know everything about this woman and not have seen past her facade? She'd suffered. His own pain had blinded him.

"Aelin, I've made so many mistakes lately." Rowan rubs the back of Aelin's neck the way she likes, and he can feel the sobs starting to build up inside of her. "But the greatest shame of my life is not being there for you when you needed me. I was stupid, Fireheart. I'm not going to be stupid any longer. This separation can't go on, we aren't any happier for it, and I can't live knowing I'm away from the other half of my soul."

Aelin cracks, and he can feel the tears wetting the front of his shoulder. "You were never home. I thought there was someone else, someone who could give you the things you wanted because I can't."

Her whole form is shuddering his arms, and Rowan squeezes tighter as if he can hold her broken pieces together. "It's always been you. I don't care if we adopt or never have any kids at all. All I need is you, baby. You are all I've ever needed."

Suddenly, hands are in Rowan's hair as Aelin crushes their lips together. The kiss is frantic, a relief of the stress they'd carried upon their shoulders.

"I missed you too," Aelin whispers in between kisses. “Gods I mussed you so much.”

The rest of their night is filled with soothing words, frantic kissing, and murmured apologies. Rowan kisses the tears from her cheeks and Aelin looks into his eyes like she’s home. Nail dig into skin as they promise never to be apart again.

For the first time in months they sleep in the same bed. Rowan sinks into a deep restful sleep with his wife in his arms once more. He loves the way her cold toes search out his heat. How Aelin fits so perfectly against his chest. When he wakes up and she’s still there, his heart nearly features from relief.

After months of pain, it's the beginning of their walk towards healing.

The days after aren't perfect. They had legal issues to sort back out, more problems to lay bare to the sunlight. There was arguing, but it lacked actual heat, and they didn't walk away feeling unloved at the end. No longer did they fight to land barbs. Their bickering now served to work towards solutions and to express needs.

Between struggles, the love began to grow back. Rowan kept his job at work, and when he was home, it was about them. He started calling her on his breaks again, and it always astonished him how much he missed the sound of her voice. They both strived to communicate their feelings better and actually listen instead of reacting.

Aelin surprised him with romantic dates, and Rowan read pages of her favorite books to her at night. They danced in the kitchen and laughed at their favorite shows.

Fixing their marriage was hard work, but Rowan and Aelin didn't mind. The separation proved that neither of them wanted a life without the other. It was to whatever end, and they wouldn't accept anything less for them.

On one Sunday morning, Rowan opens his eyes and realizes that Aelin isn't on her side of the bed. Panic surges in him, and he looks around to make sure her things are still there.

They are, and the tension eases from his shoulders until he hears soft crying from the bathroom. Darting out of bed, he grabs Aelin's bathrobe and knocks on their bathroom door. "Aelin, what's wrong?"

Had he screwed something up? Was she sick?

The lock clicks, granting him silent permission for him to come inside. Rowan pushes the door open and finds Aelin crying on the side of the tup. With gentle hands, he wraps her robe around her and throws an arm over her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Aelin looks up at him, a radiant smile on her face. "Look."

Rowan glances down to her clenched fists and-

He blinks, once, twice. Aelin laughs at his dumbfounded face, and it breaks his paralysis. Rowan grabs her around the waist and spins her around the cramped bathroom, the positive pregnancy test clattering to the floor.

Aelin's arms wrap around his neck. The emotion in the room is raw and bittersweet, but there's a hopefulness that can't be denied. Rowan holds her tight as they process the news. When they break apart, the love between them is palpable. They had another shot at this, a fresh start.

Hards times would come and go, but good days were never far behind for them. Because for Aelin and Rowan, it's always been them.

And that's all they needed.

#throne of glass #rowaelin #fanfic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelinmonth #angst #tog #sjmaas #throne of glass fanfiction #song fic #rowan x aelin #fenrys #day 29

[icequeenbae]

Stay with Me (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Long-distance relationship, established relationship, grumpy Baek, smut

Warnings: explicit content, unprotected sex, upset sex (is there such a thing), oral (f receiving), consent is not explicitly stated but implied

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Baekhyun was upset because you had to leave again. His frustration made things escalate to an unexpected extent. He might’ve just wanted to make you late for the plane though.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Let’s celebrate my first ‘writing comeback’ anniversary together ❤❤❤  [February 17, 2020 – forever]

Author’s Note: Soooo… This was actually the first fic I wrote after many years of my writer’s coma. Wasn’t going to post it, but it’s important to save the date. A year ago during a business trip I was listening to Baekhyun’s ‘Stay Up’ in the backseat of a cab, and it suddenly got to me in a very new and profound way. As soon as I got to the hotel, the doc was created. Countless sleepless nights later, I can admit that I haven’t really stopped writing ever since.

Baekhyun isn’t just my bias or my favourite character to write, he’s so much more special to me than that. I’m not sure how long this journey is going to last or where it leads me, but so far he’s gifted me with one full year of this magic. He’ll always have a precious spot in my heart 🤍

Okay, done with the sappy times now (no). As usual – big thanks to @baekshoney​​​ for having a look, and I hope you guys enjoy this little oneshot!

This was one of those days. One of the days you hated, and Baekhyun didn’t do much to make it better for you. On the contrary, he was sulking since early morning. First, because you’d left him alone in bed and he woke up being cold. Then he just kept getting annoyed with everything. Why were you having coffee for breakfast again, when you should sleep on the plane? Why weren’t you packing snacks, when the airport food always made your stomach upset? You should’ve definitely worn one of his hoodies, since none of yours were warm and comfy enough, did he have to remind you?

Yes, this was the day you had to fly back home, leaving him behind once again. Which was exactly what brought his tsundere ways to the surface. He was just… upset.

‘Baby, it’s not the first time I’m going home, I’ll be fine,’ you grinned at his grumpy expression and poured him a cup of coffee as soon as he sat his butt down on the kitchen stool.

Baekhyun wasn’t exactly subtle in how he felt about you going away. The two of you had been doing this ‘long-distance thing’ since the very beginning of your relationship. You’d met during your first ever trip to Korea around two years ago and instantly clicked – just like that – not spending a single day without at least a quick message exchange with one another.

It was tough at times. There was no way for you to see each other more frequently, and you were often apart for months. Granted, you were keeping in touch religiously – texting every single day, having video calls every other night (whenever you could manage the schedules and time zones), posting ambiguous pictures on social media only for each other to understand. Still, you missed each other so terribly…

‘I don’t understand why you have to go anyway, you can just stay here with me,’ Baekhyun grumbled, eyeing the kitchen floor with a frown. You pursed your lips to contain the coo about to fly out of your mouth at how cute he was, pouting and complaining. Like an angry little bird. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out your hand and ruffled his already messy bedroom hair.

The way his nose scrunched up meant he wasn't in the mood to be playful. You sighed and leaned on the corner of the kitchen table.

‘You know I have work to get back to, Bae, I can’t be on vacation all year long.’

He was being rather childish about your departure, especially when you were already fully dressed and ready to go. The only thing stalling you was that Chanyeol, who insisted on being your ride to the airport today, hadn’t come to pick you up just yet, giving you some time to smooth over your boyfriend’s feathers.

Truth be told, you were only holding up the appearances for him. It was very possible that you were even more upset about having to go than he was. In fact, every time your week or two together were nearing an end, you felt nauseous at the thought that you wouldn’t be able to see his face, or hold his hand, or feel his warm breath on your skin, or kiss the tiny mole on his cheek.

In all honesty, you were... a mess. You only displayed yourself as calm and collected during your goodbyes because you knew his moodiness was merely a tactic to conceal his pain. So, you tucked your own feelings away to make it a bit more manageable for him. In reality, you broke down as soon as you arrived home and walked into your lifeless apartment. Each time, you had to find excuses and avoid talking to him via video messengers during those initial weeks, pretending to suddenly be swamped at work. You realized that seeing your eyes all red and puffy from crying every night would most definitely break his heart and worsen his longing. That you knew, because seeing him unhappy was excruciating. You wanted more than anything to deliver him from any further suffering.

It took all of your self-restraint not to reach out for his warm embrace or let the tears flow freely. He’d probably not let you go then, always telling you to just stay with him anyways. But you were both adults and had commitments, although hundreds and thousands of miles apart.

As your eyes were beginning to prick from observing his state and getting overwhelmed with your own feelings, you decided it was safer to move out ten minutes early, despite the call from Yeol not coming through yet. Anything to not let Baekhyun see you cry or cling to him desperately the way you wished to in that moment.

‘Well, you can pout all you want, I’m going to get my stuff,’ you said in an airy tone trying to elevate his mood slightly.

‘No.’

He stopped you in your tracks, grabbing your wrist. You gazed at him, confused as to what he meant. He was still looking down, eyebrows knitted together and chest heaving with almost anxious breaths.

‘Bae?’

‘No,’ he repeated, softer this time, but still not making eye contact with you. Instead, he tugged at your wrist and pulled you closer to him. You felt his grasp weaken until your wrist was free, however, your waist was not. His arms snaked around it, and he pulled you into himself, basically nuzzling his face into your chest.

‘Baekhyun?’ You squeaked, doing your best to fight off the goosebumps that littered your skin immediately after the contact. Your body never once asked for permission to react to him, and this time was no exception. His right hand traveled down your spine to the curve of your ass as his nose nudged one of your breasts. You shivered, grabbing at his shoulders, and he suddenly growled, knowing, sensing that your nipples had already perked up underneath the fabric of your bra.

Although he was trying to put you into one of his many oversized hoodies all the time, it was summer, so you were wearing a sundress (like any sane person would). Lucky for Baekhyun, this type of clothing made it even easier for him.

He rose from his seat and hoisted you up so abruptly that you only managed to yelp and grab at his neck for balance. You were then placed on the empty side of the dining table away from the leftover breakfast. Looking down at where your boyfriend’s hands were, you watched him frantically pull your dress up, before coming to your senses and trying to stop him.

‘Bae… What are you doing? Yeol is gonna be here any minute, we can’t just f…ugh!’ You cried out in surprise as he yanked your hips forcefully up to his face, completely ignoring your words. There’s no way he was going to...

‘Baekhyunie, please stop, you know I’m going to be late, what is…’ He didn’t even let you finish your rant, leaving a trail of insistent wet kisses upon the sensitive skin along the panty line while leading up to your protruding hip bone. Breath caught up in your throat, you couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out even if you wanted to. Did you really want to? With his head right there between your thighs, his dark burning eyes looking at you – completely immobilized by him – in the most intense and intimate way possible. His lips were glistening after he ran his tongue over them habitually, and when he leaned in and licked at your still clothed center, you belatedly realized that you weren’t even breathing. The realization only came with the wheezing gasp you’d let out, when your legs wrapped around his head as if on cue. Like fuel to the fire, your responsiveness only spurred him on. You didn’t even have time to realize that your boyfriend had already moved your panties out of the way when his impatient lips were on you again.

‘B- Baekhyun…’ You muttered, reaching your hand down to give pushing his head away a feeble try. ‘We can’t do this now, please stop... the airport…’

His ears seemed deaf to your reluctant pleas as he only employed more of his tongue to make you lose the last bits of your sober mind completely, melting and thrashing underneath his touch. He eased one of your thighs off of his shoulder, pushing it up and spreading you out before diving back in, paying no attention to your increasingly disheveled state.

At this point you could only sob, speech incoherent, all attempts to push him away or close your legs futile. And that alone made him grow feverish with the need to be inside you, to feel you once again before he had to let you go.

He was really good with his mouth, as usual, so by the time one of his hands left your thigh to tease you a little further with his long deft fingers you were so ready to take more that you barely registered the burn of two digits sliding inside. You were still a little sore from the night before, which you’d spent making love for hours on end, knowing that you won’t be touching each other anytime soon. But that was meaningless now.

His tongue expertly swirled around your clit, while his wrist found a familiar angle that always made you get vocal. Your back arched instantly as you cried out his name, barely grasping that you were still tugging at his soft locks and possibly causing discomfort. It was clear that your release was mere seconds away with your legs shaking and inner muscles clenching, and that was exactly where Baekhyun wanted you. Aching for his touch, needing him as much as he needed you. Just the two of you, caught up in the act of lustful desperation.

He’d worked his tongue diligently, almost pushing you over the edge by sucking on your most sensitive spot for just a second, and... then you suddenly felt him pull away.

‘No, no- what?’ You could barely form sentences, let alone complain, but your frenzied tone made his already rock-hard flesh twitch. His pants were down in seconds, and there wasn’t even a thought of pausing to get a condom on or cool off a little bit. You were both on the verge of getting overwhelmed by this passionate longing when... your phone suddenly lit up, indicating an incoming call. Before you could snap out of the moment you were having, Baekhyun had you flat on your back, all slick and ready for him to push inside. And that he did — in one quick and rough movement, filling you up and giving you no time to even make a sound before his hips tested you out with a couple of low amplitude thrusts. The table moved slightly, soft clanking of tableware falling on deaf ears. Meanwhile, Baekhyun grabbed onto your hips, lifting your ass in the air for more control over the penetration.

‘Baek, I swear… You have like 2 minutes before Chan-’ A vicious thrust reached further than before, definitely getting your friend’s name out of your mind for good. And anything else for that matter.

Baekhyun snapped his hips as if he wanted to get as deep as humanly possible, as if he wanted to literally ruin you, and you could only scratch at his forearm while losing yourself in the feeling of his hips colliding with yours and the delectable sounds the action produced.

‘Baby,’ Baekhyun suddenly breathed out hoarsely, eyebrows knitted together as if in pain, ‘I can’t hold it off-’

Hearing his voice so strenuous and somehow vulnerable, you threw your head back and closed your eyes, spreading your legs further apart to allow him to better angle his powerful thrusts.

Your limbs were starting to grow numb and the veins on your neck popped when you moaned, and that’s when Baekhyun let out a strained ‘ah’, holding you in place by the hips to give you his erratic final thrusts.

In that moment you felt like something snapped inside you. Your core was tight around your lover’s cock, your body shaking in pre-orgasmic bliss, and you’d never experienced it this way. You felt so full and content in this moment when he was still moving his hips and groaning stiffly above you, riding out his high. There was nothing else he needed to do to take you along. The sensation of his warmth inside you made you pulsate, wailing so loudly that Baekhyun had to cover your mouth with his palm. He kept going for a bit to prolong your orgasm and let you slowly come back to your senses.

Your eyes stared vacantly at the kitchen ceiling and your throat was dry, although Baekhyun’s hand was still clasped over your mouth. When both of you managed to catch your breath, you just gazed at each other for a few long moments. You were so spent that you couldn’t even read the semi-blank expression on his face. He slowly slipped his palm off of your face, still hovering over your body.

‘Baekhyunie…’ You murmured, touching his cheek gently. He was usually lowkey annoyed whenever you went on to kiss the little mole on his face instead of his lips. This time, however, he only lowered his head further to let you do your thing. You pressed your lips to the tiny dot on his skin, leaning back onto the table to find his eyes with your own.

‘I love you,’ he suddenly whispered in a broken voice, then cleared his throat and started over. ‘I really want you to stay with me.’

It was… bittersweet.

You winced, feeling him pull out, and accepted his help sitting up. Holding your boyfriend close by the shirt, you nudged his nose with yours and looked up to his sad dejected eyes.

‘I know, Bae,’ your voice sounded as uplifting as you could manage. ‘I will find a way to come see you on tour in the next couple of months, I promise.’

Baekhyun was about to say something else if not for the sudden ring of his phone that made both of you snap out of your tiny little world.

‘Dang, I bet it’s Yeol. Pick up!’ You pushed your boyfriend towards the phone and eased down from the table, grabbing the tissues to clean up quickly.

‘Yes,’ Baekhyun responded.

‘Are you two fucking?!’ Your nose scrunched up at Chanyeol’s vulgar shout.

‘Yes?’ At this you paused and smacked Baekhyun’s pec for the shameless (yet truthful) response. ‘Whoa- feisty. Chanyeol-ah, better hang up before you hear her- Ow!’ He raised an arm to defend himself from your playful hits.

‘You realize that if you do not come down in ten you’re most likely missing the flight?’ You heard Chanyeol reply after a frustrated sigh.

‘Not a problem for m-’ Baekhyun was interrupted by your yell.

‘We’re gonna be down in ten, please check the fastest routes to the airport, Yeolie!’

You ran out of the kitchen barely catching Baekhyun’s grumbling as he repeated after you.

‘Yeolie. Why the hell does she even call you that. It’s not like you- What? Shut up, you bastard!’

You smiled to yourself. At least his friends knew how and when to mess with him. If you weren’t there… They got him. He'd be okay. And with that you were happy for now.

A/N:This piece was my reintroduction to writing, and I’d love to hear any type of comments you have^^  Thank you guys for all the interaction and amazing responses so far, I cherish each and every one of them. You're the best <3

#baekhyun smut #exowritersnet #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun x reader #icequeenbae fics #baekhyun scenario #exo baekhyun #exo smut #baekhyun #baekhyun x you #exo fanfiction #icequeenbae #stay with me #writing anniversary

[darkmulti]

Love Lies

BTS

Pairing: Yandere! Jungkook, Sugar Daddy! Jungkook, Split! Jungkook x female reader

Genre: Angst & Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

CONTAINS DARK THEMES! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: I’m so fucking done with tumblr. This is really shitty like the rest of my works. Read the warnings carefully.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐃𝐈𝐃) 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲/𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬.

Contains ‘hardcore’ kinks

Smut Warning: multiple smuts, anal, choking, dacryphilia kink, heavy degradation, bdsm -> ddlg, face slapping, spanking, fucking in front of a mirror, spanking, fingering, hair pulling, blowjob, cum eating, overstimulation, dirty talk, finger sucking, bondage (I’m probably missing something)

Other Warnings: possessive Jungkook/ JK, mentions of past abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, blood, murder, Jungkook kills people, cheating

Featuring Baekhyun (EXO) and Taehyung (BTS)

THIS CONTAINS NON CONSENSUAL SEX!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“No! Stop! Let me go! I want to go home! I hate you!” You cried, provoking Jungkook even more. He spanked your bare butt cheek again. “Is that how you talk to your owner? Mmh? Answer me, you slut!” Another spank was placed on your bottom. You whimper under him, not knowing what to do.

“Please… I want the old you back.”

—————

2 weeks ago

You peered out of the tiny, plane window as the sun was shining right in your eyes. Finally, you’ve arrived in the city of love, Paris, France. You’ve always dreamt about coming here, but you couldn’t afford it. It was unfortunate at the time however, life is full of surprises. You sat down next to your sugar daddy - Jungkook - and leaned in for a kiss. You’ve been with him for a year now and it has been the best year of your life.

He bought you high-end accessories, clothes and cars. He owned huge mansions, a private jet and a helicopter. Being a billionaire was amazing for the most part. Though there was one thing Jungkook found himself struggling with and that was his love life. Coming back home to an empty bed after a long day of work made him feel like shit. That’s why he hired you.

You started working for Jungkook as a personal assistant. Everything about you lit up Jungkook’s eyes. But in secret, of course. You were smart, pretty, professional, your eyes and smile made Jungkook’s heart skip a beat. Yet, he still kept a cold attitude towards you.

You didn’t mind his cold attitude. It kept you on track and productive throughout the day. To you, Jungkook was a boss. Nothing more or less. That’s why you politely denied going out with him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon. I’d like to keep things professional between us.” You said calmly but inside you were freaking out.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. So you’re playing hard to get with him? Too bad, Jungkook always gets what he wants. “If you don’t go out with me tonight, I’ll fire you.” You look at him in confusion. “W-what?! Why? You can’t do-”

“I can and I will. Be ready by 7. I’ll pick you up.” He walks back to his office like nothing happened while you stood there with your mouth wide open from shock. The following night, you got ready for your date. You can’t lose your job. How will you survive? Your money situation was already pretty tight, so you really couldn’t lose this job. Jungkook texted you right at 7 pm and told you he was outside of your apartment.

That’s where the wonderful journey with him began. You both were close to finishing your meal when he brought the contract up.

“I know you're struggling with money right now, but I promise I can make it all go away.” He whipped out his papers and handed it to you. “It’s a contract. I want you to spend time with me. Ask me about my day, cuddle with me, satisfy my sexual needs and I'll give you whatever you want besides money.” Your eyes widen. Is he serious? You flipped through the pages that were full of detailed paragraphs. “You want to have sex with me?” Jungkook nodded his head and avoided eye contact. “If you agree you can move in with me and stop stressing about money. I’ll take care of you.”

“No. You’ll take my independence and freedom away.”

“You say no to this contract, you’re fired.”

“You can’t-” you argue back.

“As I said before, I can and I will.” His voice got deeper, completely shutting you up.

“Can I at least have some time to read over this?” You look back down at the paper and flip to the last page. “Wait wait wait. What’s ‘DID’?”

“Read it.”

‘Dissociative identity disorder’ You read quietly to yourself. “Wait, you have another personality?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Why do you think I'm so cold towards everyone? It’s not me, it’s him.” He said, casually sipping his wine. “JK is the one dealing with… issues.” His voice went quiet. “Issues?” You were quietly utter. “I can’t tell you yet.” You nodded and flipped through the papers again.

“How long is this contract for?”

“Two years.”

“Can we test this out for one week?”

Jungkook hesitated. He didn’t want to get used to you just for you to leave him in the end. “No. Simple yes or no, princess.” Jungkook had you wrapped around his finger. You rub your temple and reach for the pen. “Fine. But don’t make me break the contract.” You hand him back the signed paper. “Let's go to my house. You’re moving in with me.” He paid for the expensive meal then brought you back to his enormous mansion.

That night he made love to you. It was one spectacular night. You smiled to yourself as you thought about all the memories you’ve made with him.

“Princess, what’re you smiling at?” He looked over at your lap, making sure you weren’t texting someone. Jungkook was extremely possessive and had trust issues. You were assuming it was because of his other side so you never questioned him. Speaking of his other side - JK - you met him not too long ago. After entering Jungkook’s life, JK hasn’t shown himself too much. He only comes out to punish you. You shivered as you thought of your last punishment. How could a human being be so cruel?

You snap out of your thoughts as the jet touches the ground. “We’re here. Let's go.” Jungkook got up and held his hand out to you. You grab it and he leads you out of the jet and to the black SUV parked a couple of feet away. While the driver drove to Jungkook’s penthouse, you started bugging Jungkook.

“How much did your penthouse cost?”

“I don’t know. Around 8-10 million. It has an indoor swimming pool and a movie room.” Your innocent eyes widened when you heard the price. “Daddy, that’s a lot of money.” You whisper in his ear. He grabbed your bare thigh with his tattooed hand and looked at you. “it’s like twenty dollars for me, baby girl.”

As soon as you guys entered the penthouse, his tongue was already down your throat. He impatiently took your clothes off and started fingering you, while you unbuttoned his shirt to feel his rock hard abs. Jungkook picked your naked figure up and carried you to the master bedroom. He placed you down on the bed and took his pants off. He stroked himself a couple of times before entering your already wet hole.

You hold onto his muscular arms for dear life and watch him go into you. “Please daddy, you’re so fucking big. Feels so good.” You moan, immediately clenching around his member. “Open your mouth.” As soon as you do, he spits into it then slaps you. “Little girls don’t swear.” You swallow his saliva and apologize for swearing. “S-sorry daddy. It won't happen again.” You wrap your legs around his waist as he pulls you closer to him. His whole cock was throbbing inside you, turning you on even more.

He wraps his fingers around your neck and starts thrusting in, each time going harder and faster. The room filled with moans, grunts and skin slapping. “You like this don’t you, you little slut? So desperate and needy for daddy’s cock. Swallowing my saliva like a dirty little girl.” He raised your leg and spanked your butt. All you could do was moan for him. Your brain couldn’t even form a sentence. “C-close” you whimper, hoping he would let you cum.

Jungkook placed his thumb on your nub and rubbed it in a circular motion while pounding your pussy. “If you cum without my permission, daddy’s gonna have to punish you. You remember your last punishment right?” Your heart stopped. You never want to interact with JK ever again. You could cry just by thinking about the last punishment. “Y-yes daddy! I remember it but please don’t punish me. I won’t cum without your permission.”

He started thrusting faster while rubbing your clit harder. Your body started shaking because of the sudden pressure. “No! Slow, please! I won’t be able to hold it in!” You cried, putting your feet on his chest and trying your best to push him away. Jungkook slapped you again and flipped you onto your stomach. He roughly entered in again, making you scream. He spanked your ass and pulled your hair while thrusting harder and harder. “No, please! I-I can’t!” You sob, kicking your feet back.

You squeeze around him one more time before cumming on his cock. You release your clenched muscles and relax your body. “Did I say that you can fucking cum?” You shook your head ‘no’ and cried under him. “I’m sorry, daddy. I really couldn’t hold it. I tried my best.” He smacked your butt again and kept thrusting. This wasn’t Jungkook anymore.

It was a long and painful night. It became extremely painful to cum. Your wrists were tied above your head. Your legs were wide open while he viciously hammered himself into you. Your body was covered in hickeys and bruises. You squirt around him once again and knock out before he could finish.

Jungkook continued roughly fucking you despite you not being conscious. He gripped onto your waist and pulled your body back while he thrust forward. After a couple of hard thrusts,’ he came in you. Cum overflowed in your hole. Your thighs were completely soaked. He picked you and laid you down on the bed before reaching over for a towel to wipe the cum off.

The next morning you woke up naked on his chest. “Good morning.” He said in a raspy tone. “Good morning” You whisper back. “What do you want for breakfast?” He asked while running his fingers through your hair. “Pancakes please.”

Jungkook helped you shower since you couldn’t feel the lower half of your body. When you got into the shower, he placed you down on your knees and slapped your face with his cock. “Open your mouth, princess.” The second it opened, his cock was shoved down your throat. You choke around him while holding onto his muscular thighs. “Suck, babygirl. Suck it like a good slut.” He pushed your hair out of your face and harshly fucked your mouth since your pace wasn’t satisfying him. He slapped your face as you struggled to breathe around him. “Look at me, you little whore!” You look up at him with eyes full of tears. Soon you felt ropes of thick cum going down your throat. You swallow it all down and moan around his cock.

The next week was full of rough sex. During the day Jungkook had to “deal with business” so you stayed home, scared and helpless. Every night he would come home and drag you out of bed just to have sex with you. Your body and mind couldn’t keep up. Every time he touched you, you mentally screamed and cried. Some nights he would come home covered in blood. Of course, it was terrifying. You’ve never seen this side of him. And you’re not sure what triggered it either.

You were in your shared bedroom when you heard the door unlock. He was home earlier than usual. He walked into the bedroom with a dress in hand. “Get up and get ready. We have to attend a party. Here’s your dress.” He left the room and you left to take another shower. After putting on some light makeup, you slip into the gown.

Jungkook walked in wearing all black. He comes over to you and places his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist. “Babygirl, when we arrive at this party you stay close to me.” He whispers in your ear. His icy fingers trace your nude back before zipping your dress up. “You look stunning, princess.” He turned you around and kissed you softly.

The party was held at a huge mansion outside the city. Jungkook held onto your hand and dragged you with him. It seemed like he was looking for someone. As you two walk hand in hand, you notice some of the men eyeing you down. One guy specifically caught your attention. You both were staring at each other. Jungkook was talking to someone and didn’t notice you looking at another man. You immediately stop and look down.

“Who’s your date, Mr. Jeon.” The stranger said, looking at me.

“She’s my wife. Mrs. Jeon.”

You’re his what? You gave him a strange look but as soon as you did he squeezed your hand, signalling you to play along.

“Well, I don't see a ring on her finger.” The man whom you were staring at moments ago was now standing in front of you. “O-oh I forgot it at home on the dresser.”

A sly smirk places on the man's face. He puts his hand out and introduces himself. “Byun Baekhyun, CEO of Byun Enterprise” you grab his hand but before you could shake it he kneeled and placed a soft kiss on your fingers.

Jungkook was squeezing your hand even harder. You quietly whimper and tug on his fingers with your other hand. He loosened his grip but his face showed clear frustration. Baekhyun walked away before Jungkook could punch him in the face. He excused you and himself from the stranger and dragged you into a room.

The man slammed the door shut and grabbed you by the neck. He pushed you against the mirror and started yelling at you. “Why the fuck were you looking at him like that?! Huh? Do you wanna go and be his slut?!”

“I’m not a slut! You cried out, trying to push him off of you. “Turn around.”

“No! I’m tired of being your sla-”

“FUCKING TURN AROUND.” You immediately turn around and keep your head down so you don’t have to look at him. The male pulled down your spandex along with your panties. “You know how I feel about other males being close to you..” he covered your mouth and thrust in. “Yet you still disobey me. And now you’re talking back to your daddy.”

He started to increase his pace as you sobbed into his hand. Your insides were bruised. Your walls were tired of clenching around him every night. Every time he touched you, your body weakened. He was able to do whatever he liked because you were too scared to leave him. “Why the fuck was he looking at you like that? Do you know him?” He pulled on your hair, forcing you to watch him fuck your guts outs.

“N-no, daddy. I-I’ve never met him before. I swear- ahh!” He pushed his whole cock in and the tip hit your g-spot. Jungkook’s hand intertwined with yours as he kissed your jawline. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

“No daddy, never.” You said, finally being able to breathe.

He pulled out and tucked himself away then pulled your spandex up. “If I catch you making eye contact with another male, I will hurt you. Understand?”

“Yes, daddy. I understand.”

“Good girl.” He kissed you once again and pulled you back to the party. You guys both sat down at a table and waited for the event to start. People kept coming to your table to talk to Jungkook. A man asked if he could speak to him outside so Jungkook told you to keep your head down, don’t talk to anyone or don’t leave the table.

About five minutes later, Baekhyun sits next to you. “Are you having fun?” He asked, playful dancing. “Not really. This party’s pretty boring.” He nodded his head in agreement and stopped dancing. “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s outside talking to someone.” You look back to see if Jungkook's around. If he saw Baekhyun sitting next to you, he would lose his shit. Luckily he wasn’t. “Wait… are you guys really married?” Baekhyun asked, in confusion. “No, we’re not. I’m not sure why he said that.”

“So he lied?”

“Yeah.”

Baekhyun moved closer to you, making you a little uncomfortable. He was quick to notice and apologize.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But I know what Jungkook’s been doing to you. If you want, I can help you escape him.”

“H-how do you know?”

“It’s kinda obvious, I guess. Especially since… you know… JK. He’s not the most gentle guy around and I’m sorry that you had to face him. Just trust me. I know I’m a stranger and all but you won’t be able to leave him without my help.”

“How do I leave him?”

“Now. While he’s talking to someone, ask if you can go to the washroom. I’ll meet you there and we can leave together. I’ll protect you. If you think Jungkook has a lot of guards, wait till you see my pack.” Of course, you hesitated. If Jungkook found out about this not only will you suffer for the rest of your life, but anyone around him would die.

“He’ll find me. I can’t do it.” You quietly say.

“Fine. I won’t force you. I’m just trying to help.” Baekhyun said while getting up. He left you alone at the table while you deeply thought about your decision. “Princess, what’s wrong.” It was Jungkook. He took a seat next to you and put his arm around you. “Nothing, just bored.”

“Thank you for being a good girl while I was gone. Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks. Actually, can I go to the washroom?”

“Is it an emergency?”

You nodded your head.

“Go. Be quick. If you’re not back in five minutes, I won’t hesitate to fuck you in the stall.”

You quickly get up and head to the washroom. Baekhyun wasn’t there making you lose all hope. After all, you said no. You were about to walk into the bathroom until Baekhyun’s voice surprised you. “Changed your mind?”

“Yeah…”

“K, let's go.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the back door. Two guards were waiting in front of a black car and they quickly opened the door when they saw you two. You all get in and they start to drive away. You did it! He’s out of your life now.

You look over at Baekhyun and thank him. “Thank you so much for helping me escape him… but I gotta ask, why did you help me?”

“I felt bad. A guy like him doesn’t deserve a woman like you.” You chuckle. “Are you done flirting?”

“Not yet.” He smiled at you then started talking again. “So what’s the real deal between you and him?”

“Contract. Made me sign it a year ago. He was nice until we landed in Paris. Then he became someone else.”

“I guess Jungkook hasn’t opened up to you. He used to live in Paris when he was younger. He suffered a lot because of his parents. They abused him. They forced him to participate in killing people at such a young age. That’s why JK has been out. His parents are still around but he lost contact with them after becoming an adult. He’s out for revenge.”

“He’s been killing people?” Baekhyun nodded. “I mean, he came home with blood on him the other day. But I didn’t question him.”

“It’s good that you didn’t. The slightest things set him off.” You hum in response and look out the window. “So, where are we going?”

“Back to my house. You’ll be safe there. We have plenty of guest rooms and I can lend you some of my clothes. But we’ll have to leave Paris as soon as possible because Jungkook is probably looking for us.”

Jungkook’s POV

———————-

Y/N left for the washroom while my eyes searched for Baekhyun. I had to make sure that she wasn’t with him. I released my breath as I saw him talking to another guy.

“Jungkook? Is that you?” I turn around to see my old friend, Kim Taehyung.

He hugged me and showed me his bright smile. “Taehyung! Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too! How’s JK doing?”

“He’s calmed down, I suppose. What about V?”

“He’s hanging in there.”

This is why Taehyung and I get along so well. We both have another personality that fears absolutely nothing. He teaches me how to control my other side. I teach him my torture methods. It’s a win-win. He and Y/N are the two positives in my life.

We continued our conversation until a guard ran over to us, informing me that Y/N was gone.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s not in the bathroom. We checked the cameras and she left with another man. They used the back door so we didn’t see her.”

I took my gun out and aimed it at the guards head. “You have one fucking job and it’s to protect my girl.” Taehyung snatched the gun out of my hand and questioned the guards. “Who did she leave with?”

“Byun Baekhyun.”

“I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”

“We can, but we have to get out of here first. Do you have Y/N’s location?” Taehyung asked me.

“No, I don't. She doesn’t have a phone because she’s always with me.”

“Calm down, Kook. We can track down Baekhyun.”

Your POV

—————

You stepped out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around your body. You were finally able to clean yourself properly since Jungkook’s been the one bathing you. And by bathing, you mean having more sex in the shower.

“Baekhyun, I need clothes.” A couple of seconds later someone knocked on the door. “Here’s my shirt and sweatpants.” You quickly open the door and take it from him. “Thank you.” You could deal with no underwear for one night. It wasn’t a big deal. At least you were away from Jungkook.

You put the clothes on then leave his bathroom. “Thank you again for everything.”

“Stop thanking me. It’s lame.” He laid down on his bed and patted the space next to him. “Let’s watch a movie. Maybe it’ll distract you.” You climb onto his bed and lay down next to him.

“You hungry, peanut?” You giggle at the nickname. “No, I’m not hungry.” You felt safe with him. It was an unexplainable feeling. Baekhyun slightly turned to you and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. You wrap your arms around his neck and continue watching the movie. When you looked at Baekhyun he was staring at you. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?”

“There is.” He gave you a quick peck then went back to watching the movie. “Heyyyy, what was that for?”

“No reason. You’re just so pretty.”

The cute moment ended when one of the guards slammed the door open and yelled that they were under attack. He was immediately shot in the head after he said so. You both get off the bed and Baekhyun takes his gun out. “Go hide in the closet. I’ll come and get you after I’m done, okay.” He kissed you one more time before leaving the bedroom.

You run into his closet and hide under his clothes. You were hiding for about ten minutes when you heard the closet door open. “Princess? Where are you? Daddy came to save you.” His voice sent chills down your spine. You held your breath and didn’t move a muscle. “Come out or I’ll kill your precious Baekhyun.”  

“Did you find her Jungkook?” Another man with a much deeper voice spoke. “No, I haven’t.” You released your breath as quietly as you can. “I’ll go question Baekhyun then.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.”

Jungkook started to dig around the pile of clothes you were hiding in and pulled you out. “Noooo! Stop, please! Let me go!” You scream and try to crawl away but Jungkook pinned you down and the other man put a cloth over your mouth and nose.

Jungkook’s POV

———————-

I carried her to the car and laid her down on the backseat. I go back into the mansion only to hear that Baekhyun had escaped. “Sir, we had him here but his guards must have set him free.” I close my eyes in annoyance. “You’ve failed two times in one day. Find him or I’ll cut your body up and feed it to my dogs.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

I walk towards Taehyung and he pats my back. “We’ll catch him next time.”

“If we don’t, I’ll kill every person in sight.”

“Relax, JK. At least you got your girlfriend back.”

“You mean my slut? I have to teach her a lesson.”

“Mind if I join?”

“Next time, V. I need her to myself tonight.”

Your POV

—————

“Get the fuck up. We’re here.”

You open your eyes and see that you’ve arrived at the penthouse. “J-Jungkook, p-please let me explain.” He yanked you out of the car making you fall onto your knees. “Owww.’’ You sob, bringing your hands on your knees to massage it.

He didn’t care about anything at this point. You did this to yourself. If you behaved, maybe you would’ve been at the Eiffel Tower, enjoying the view with him. But no. You left him for another man and now you have to pay for it.

Jungkook carried you up to the penthouse and pushed you in before slamming the door shut. He grabbed your throat and slammed you against the wall. You were forced to look into his dark orbs. “Did you enjoy his dick, you little slut?”

“P-please no! Daddy n-no! Y-you got it all wr-wrong, I-” You were crying so hard, you weren’t able to finish your sentence.“Let me show you what I can do to you for the rest of your life” he removed his belt and pushed you on the floor. He pulled your pants down just to see no underwear. “You little whore! Where’s your underwear?” He spanked your ass with his belt over and over and didn’t stop until he saw small cuts on your cheeks.

“Jungkook! please I didn’t” before you could finish your sentence a hard slap landed on your cheek. “Wrong fucking name, princess.” Tears rushed down your hot cheeks. You didn’t want this. You wouldn’t be able to handle the pain. You get back to your senses and run for the door. “Not so fast, baby girl. We haven’t even gotten started.”

JK dragged you to the bedroom, shoved you down onto the bed and started tying your wrist to the bed frame. “You know, I was planning on being gentle with you tonight… but fuck that.”

He placed his fingers into your mouth and made you suck on them while he ripped your shirt off. JK placed you on your stomach then pushed his tip into the wrong hole, making you scream at the top of your lungs. “Noooo! Please! No!” You squirm underneath him, begging him to stop. He pushed his whole cock in so you screamed  and cried into a pillow. He groaned in satisfaction. Your ass was much tighter than your pussy. Not caring about your pleasure, he brutally pounded you. Your whole body started to shut down as you felt hopeless. All you could do was cry.

The man pulled on your hair and licked your tears away. “If you wanted a punishment, you could’ve just asked, princess.”

“No! Stop! Let me go! I want to go home! I hate you!” You cried, provoking Jungkook even more. He spanked your bare butt cheek again. “Is that how you talk to your owner? Mmh? Answer me, you slut!” Another spank was placed on your bottom. You whimper under him, not knowing what to do.

His nails dug into your skin, putting you in even more pain. His thrust was unbearable. He would pull out until only his tip was buried in you, then slam his whole cock in, knocking the breath out of you. Your hole was aching around him. “P-please, j-just slow- oww!” You cried, giving up on your sentence.

He used your ass for hours. His cum was filled to the brim of your hole. He pulled out, laid down behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. The male took out a gun and shot at the wall. You sob and move back into his embrace, shaking even harder. “See what you did there? You came back to me. You came back into my embrace, wanting me to protect you. Let me tell you something. It will always be like this. You will always come back to me. Into my arms. You belong to me.” He laid his head on yours and slowed down. “Am I right?” He whispers in your ear. “Y-yes daddy. I want chu to protect me. Pwease don’t hurt me. Pwease.”

He rubbed his cheek against yours then went back to thrusting. “We’re gonna get married, right babygirl?” You hide your face and cry your heart out. How could you marry him? “Answer me!” He yelled into your ear. “Y-yes daddy, w-we’ll get married. We’ll get m-married and I’ll be all y-yours forever.” Jungkook held you down and kept thrusting. You quiet down after some hours and let him use you. You kept cumming on him over and over. There was a pool of cum on the bedsheets.

You couldn’t possibly do anything to save yourself so the best thing to do was to obey. He kept you under him the whole time and didn’t give you a break. You insides were being wrecked by his cock. He had a tight hold on you, so you couldn’t escape him.

“Are you sleeping on me, princess?”

“N-no, daddy. I don’t have the energy to talk.”

He flipped you onto your back and started aggressively slamming his cock into you again and again. He held onto your neck and spat into your mouth. “Tell me exactly what happened at Baekhyun’s house.”

“H-he let me shower and gave me his clothes to wear. Then we started to watch a movie and that's it.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“No daddy. M-my body belongs to you.”

“Damn right it does. Get on all fours.” You slowly flip yourself onto your stomach and try your best to keep yourself up. He plunged himself into your ass once again and started thrusting at an inhuman speed. You held onto the bedsheets but the pain was still there. You collapse on the bed, not being able to hold yourself up anymore. But this didn’t stop Jungkook. He only went faster, showing you who’s in control. His hips smacked against your ass repeatedly.

You started losing all your senses. You shake around him as you push through your orgasm. You sharply inhale and clench your sore muscles as hard as you can. Waves of pleasure and pain push through your body and as soon as it reaches the bottom, you release. Your muscles relax as your cum drips down your slit. You try to catch your breath but the man behind you pulls out of your ass and slams into your wet pussy.

“Come on princess. Do that one more time for me.”

“Noooo!” You screamed out. You couldn’t do that again. “Daddy.. can’t! Daddyyyy!” He went harder and faster, indicating that he’s close. You clench around him one more time, sending him over the edge. His hot cum rushed deep inside you. “Fuck, princess. Just like that!” He hissed. He pulled you onto his lap and pushed you to have another orgasm. All you could see is white. All you could hear is his skin slapping against yours.

Tingles travel throughout your body as you clench all your muscles again. Jungkook held you tightly and gave you a final thrust that sent you over the moon. “Daddy!” You sob, holding onto him like your life depended on it. Your cum coated his cock one more time. “I-is it over? Are y-you done?” You sniffle and keep your eyes closed. Jungkook lays down with you in his arms. “It’s over.” He kissed your forehead and rubbed your back to soothe you.

You cry into his neck even harder. “Please… I want the old you back.”

“You want Jungkook?” He asked, suddenly looking a little hurt. “Y-yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I took him away from you. I just wanted to feel what he was feeling.”

“What was he feeling?”

“Loved… if you want, I can give you him.”

“Wait no.” You said, suddenly feeling bad. “I-I can love you too.” You rub your nose against his and feel all warm inside. You kissed him softly on the lips while your fingers moved his damped hair out of his face. You lay back down on his chest with your fingers still tangled in his hair. “Please love me back.” You mumble.

“I already do.”

#jk smut #non con #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #yandere bts #bts yandere #bts reaction

[hope-to-hell]

It is finished. Thank you all for coming on this long, strange journey. To think it all began with this. Dream State: At Last (Rain on the Plane Trees). August Walker x Reader. Angst and blood, mentions of past smut. You followed the dreams to this place, this house, but what if they were only dreams?

Here you lie alone and dreaming, sweetness. Here in the house by the lake, it is always fucking raining and when the dreams end it is only you again, sheened with sweat despite the cold. August flits through the tatters of those dreams, his fingertips dripping red and his eyes so cold, so hollow. His voice is an oak root worming its way through the wall of a crypt. Pet. I’m so close. So close.

You would think that a hand soft on your head would be totally silent. But there’s the sound of blood pulsing through veins, the sweet exchange of oxygen, the microscopic bump of cell against cell. A sound is still a sound even if you can’t hear it. And August is alive even if you can’t see him, even if you reach a hand up to tangle with his and find nothing.

Alive is relative. Seeds have sprouted after tens of thousands of years.

(They never found the body)

Hey. The paneling on the walls bears the weight of so many trees turned to new purpose; light is everywhere and comes from nowhere, and staircases spiral into nothingness and back again.

Hey.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I wake up and I watch the rain and wait until I sleep again.

Pet. Do you remember when we hid in the forest that autumn, tasting the sea air as it drifted down in mist? The little fishing shack where we licked our wounds?

You were never any good at fishing.

You fish, I cook. Balance in all things, pet.

Mmm. And I remember the way you felt, still shaking and crusted with old blood, and when I climbed astride you I felt like I would split in half.

You follow him because you are compelled to, because in the way of dreams your feet move and you must follow. The stairs are endless and the light does not change as you climb, but in time your feet step soft and quiet on a vast and well-kept lawn.

(He played croquet in a dandy’s suit; its owner moldered in a cupboard as August raked a hand through his curls and made himself a gentleman for a time.)

When I left—

Dinner on the terrace, August. Champagne by moonlight. Waiting for the moment we’d be alone so I could welcome you home. But you didn’t come. I waited for so long, August. I waited until the dreams came and I had to follow, until one day I awoke in a strange bed with rainlight seeping through the windows.

I am—

Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry. It doesn’t matter if you are or not. It doesn’t change the way I never could grieve you properly because there was nothing left to bury. No body, not even your boots. Nothing. I waited and I dreamed and every time it seemed like I was getting closer you would slip away again.

August is nowhere and everywhere as the grass grows, so quickly it makes a humming stretching sound. Underneath it all is a pulse like a beating heart, the steady sound of—

life.

They never found the body because there was no body left to find. I was scattered like stars and every atom of me was bright with pain. I slipped between the seams of the world and fell into darkness. And then I heard the sound of your breath when you turned your face into the pillow at night.

I want you back.

Come and take me.

(Will you disrupt the order of things? Will you open hearts and doors and the circle of your ribs and let him in?)

He blows across the lawn like a winter wind, bringing leaves and fog and drops of ice that burn bright against your skin; when the tempest subsides it leaves behind the sound of distant gulls.

So far inland?

Even seabirds lose their way.

He is cold, so cold, and tattered; his bones shine through flesh like crystal but through him runs a stream of pulsing red.

(Dead is relative)

You follow his blood as the cells leave his bones, as they flow through him to heart and spleen and lung and every little crevice of his being; he is spiraling red and where you touch him capillaries grow like roots. He is blooming bright and beautiful and all his crystal shell is cracking.

It cost me everything to get here. I tried to leave something of me in each dream for you to find, but soon I used up all the good and there was only cruelty left.

I saw. Sometimes you were terrible and when I woke it took me hours to catch my breath. But I know the kind of man you are and if there was only softness it wouldn’t be you. So I gathered up the bits of you like breadcrumbs and kept them with me. Tell me, is it enough? Are you—

Touch me again.

The shards of him are falling away beneath your hands; they cut and tear your flesh and blood begins to flow across him like ink in water; all the little shining crumbs of him are given back in a wash of red like endless pain. I can’t. I can’t. It hurts.

Hold on to me.

(Hold on to me he says and carries you out; all around are dust and ash and fading cries. All around is destruction and horror but you and he are here.)

He is heavy and growing warm against you; his bulk bears you down and you are falling, falling,

falling.

You wake alone.

You sleep and wake and sleep and wake and every day is pouring rain and the soft grey light of storms. None of this is right or fair; you should have awakened to see him in the bed beside you, warm and heavy with sleep; you should have reached a hand to stroke the hair on his arm and watch as he twitched upward into waking.

(Wasn’t it worth waiting for?)

Of course, of course, but the waiting fades a little with every day until it becomes a constant murmur at the back of your thoughts: a cup of coffee made the way he liked it best, a hand between your legs in the bath, marks on the lawn that could be footprints or only shadows. Memory pulses through your blood and bones, gathering in a knot inside your throat. This is where he stroked his thumb across your skin and whispered mine.

Yours. Always. Even when we’re gone to dust.

The storm eases. Water drips from the eaves and the rain withdraws until it’s no more than a drizzle. There’s a sound like boots on gravel and you hold your breath. There’s a sound like footsteps on the porch and your tears begin to fall. The door opens and—

He is there, wet and shivering and naked save for his boots. Thought you’d never get here. You’re shooting for levity but it doesn’t quite land; the words are wavering and small and he sees, he knows, just like he always has.

Oh, pet. I just had to wait for you to let me in.

#henry cavill #august walker #dream state #august walker fic #august walker x reader #august walker x you #my fic

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Just In Time

Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Imagine: Certain that Bucky doesn't return your feelings, you’re about to take a one way flight to London when you’re stopped by a familiar face. 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none I don’t think 

Masterlist

You bit your lip to suppress your glee as you read over the email for the tenth time that minute. You did it. You had been accepted for your dream job as a head journalist for a very important magazine. The only problem was that there was no vacancies in their New York department so you would have to move to London. While you could pretend that your friends and family would be your reason to stay, you knew that the only reason you hadn’t started to pack your bags was because of Bucky. 

Everyone around you knew about your feelings for him, except him it seems. All the little hints here and there prompted nothing out of him and at times, you had been ready to give up on your seemingly hopeless crush but there was just a small feeling that maybe he felt the same way. Nevertheless, you wanted to finally see once and for all if Bucky felt the same way as you and the only way you were going to get through to him was if you asked him straight out and didn’t beat around the bush. 

With that in mind, you got up and got dressed, putting a little more effort into your appearance today than you normally would, you wanted to try to impress him after all. You were a little nervous but on the plus side, if he rejected you, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of seeing him again, or seeing him with other women after confessing your love to him. The thought of Bucky drooling over another woman made your heart hurt.You tried not to think about it too much but you knew that you didn’t even think that you would have much of a chance with Bucky. You couldn’t compete with the many model-type women he saw on a daily basis. 

Shaking your head, you focused on getting dressed, you weren’t going to defeat yourself before you had even gotten your answer. You decided to keep your outfit simple with a pair of black leggings and a black bandeau top with a white cropped hoodie. You put your hair how you liked it and decided to put some makeup on, going for a sort of natural look. Happy with how you looked, cause girl, you look fine as hell, you headed out of your apartment and headed over to the Avengers tower where you knew you’d find Bucky. 

You used to be Tony’s secretary but you quit a few months ago to try to pursue your journalism career, which Tony surprisingly supported. Because of this, you still had your ID card which let you into the building so you could see all of the gang that you had gotten close to. You had made friends with the Avengers but you had only really spent a lot of time with Bucky and Steve. 

While you were in the elevator up to the communal floor, which was where JARVIS said they were, you took a deep breath to try and calm your nerves. This was either going to be the best day of your life or leave you heartbroken for a good few months. The elevator stopped and the doors pinged open for you to warily step out. Your legs felt like jelly as you walked closer to the living room where you could hear voices. You stopped right outside the door to try to calm down your nerves before you went inside when you heard Bucky talking, “She’s just so different, I never thought I’d meet someone like her, she really makes me feel like a better man when I’m around her.” You froze and everything felt like it was going in slow motion, Bucky liked someone else. 

As quietly as you could, you turned around and walked out of the building, keeping your head held high as you tried your hardest to keep your tears in, you weren’t going to let all these people see you vulnerable. You managed to keep yourself together on the whole ride home but as soon as you closed your apartment door, you fell to the floor and cried. You weren’t sure why it affected you this much, maybe because you had spent the last three years of your life hanging onto every word he said for nothing. 

You had stayed on the floor for a hour before you realised that you were better than that, you had other things to focus on rather than a guy who you knew was never going to like you back. Sighing, you got up from the ground and walked into your bathroom to wash your face to get rid of your smudged makeup. You looked at yourself in the mirror, “You can do this, just keep yourself together. You’re gonna start a new life and be happy.” You rolled your eyes at yourself, why were you talking to yourself? 

You walked into your bedroom and pulled out your suitcases as you packed most of your stuff. All you really needed was your clothes and some keepsakes that you had collected over the years, everything else you could buy again when you were in London. Your recruiters had paid for your flight for you and you were lucky that it was in the morning, you didn’t want to sleep on a plane, it was always so uncomfortable. 

...

The next morning was a perfectly laid out routine, you woke up, showered, got dressed and put your bags in the taxi that you had booked the night before. Everything was fine and going as planned until you got a notification which was a text from Tony, 

Hey kiddo, where were you yesterday? JARVIS said you were here but you never visited me? I miss my favourite coffee maker. 

You scoffed at his message but it made you smile nonetheless. You paused for a moment, figuring out what you were going to say before you started typing to reply to him. 

Hey Tony, yeah I was going to tell you guys that I’m moving to London but I guess my nerves got the best of me. Oh and tell Bucky I’m happy he finally found a girl ;)

You had debated back and forth on sending that last part but thought, fuck it, so you sent it anyway. It wasn’t long before your phone started to blow up with messages from all of the group but you didn’t want to feel guilty about your decision so you decided to turn off your phone. 

Back at the Avengers tower, Steve rubbed his face with his hand, “I can’t believe she’s leaving, without even saying goodbye.” Natasha nodded slightly, “I can, Bucky over here took too long to man up and now she thinks there’s nothing here for her anymore.” Tony looked between Natasha and Bucky, secretly hoping he would get to see a battle of the assassins. Bucky was too busy pacing back and forth in the room to listen to what the others were saying, he was only thinking about you. 

Why were you leaving everything? Leaving him? Bucky admittedly was not the best person for acting on his feelings but in his mind, you were the perfect woman for him. Right now, he was unsure of what to do, what could he do? Run after you and force you to be with him? Yes! No? Could he? “Just go after her already! You need me to come with you?” Natasha and Tony were a little surprised at Steve’s outburst. Steve rolled his eyes at his oldest friend, “Stop pacing and tell her how you feel, I’m not dealing with a moping mess for months because you had your chance and didn’t take it.” 

Tony snickered behind his coffee mug and cleared his throat when Bucky glared at him, “I agree with Captain Spandex, Happy can take you if you want, less publicity that way.” Before Tony could finish his sentence, Bucky was already running out of the room and sprinting down the stairs, the elevator always took too long. Happy had gotten the call from Tony asking him to take Bucky to the airport and while he was wary of having such a deadly man in the car with him, he compiled with Tony’s orders. 

Bucky’s leg bounced with nerves throughout the whole journey, he was reciting what he wanted to say over and over but as soon as he started to form some kind of speech, he started over again, nothing sounded right. Bucky didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop before he was opening the door and running into the airport. He was not used to being around so many people in such a busy and crowded area but he was too focused on searching for you to let himself worry about any unwanted attention on himself. 

He cursed under his breath as he stood searching for you but was yet to find you until he saw you walking away from the check in desk, ticket in hand. Bucky pushed through a lot of people to hurry towards you, he at least had to be grateful for long lines. “(Y/N)!” You swore you heard your name and when you lifted your head up to look around the noisy area, you saw a very familiar face heading towards you, awkwardly pushing people out of the way. What was he doing here?

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to think of something to say but you were just confused as to why he was even here right now. Bucky cleared his throat as he looked at you and for a moment he was lost in your eyes, his mind going completely blank. You glanced at your watch, “Bucky, I have no idea what you’re doing here, but my flight-” “Don’t leave.” “What?” You froze and watched Bucky as he took your hands into his own. “I said, don’t leave. Please.” You stumbled over your words, “B-But why, you, you said you found someone else, you don’t need me anymore.” Bucky shook his head, “No i didn’t, when did I say that?” 

You swallowed and looked down at your joined hands, “Yesterday, I came to the tower and I wanted to tell you how I felt before I deciding on taking this job and I overheard you talking about her, you said that she makes you feel like a better man.” 

Bucky couldn’t help the little smirk forming on his face as he realised what you were talking about. His silence worried you and you saw him grinning at you, “You think that’s funny? Letting me hear you talk about another woman when you know I have feelings for you.” You pulled on your hands to try and take them away from Bucky so you could storm off but his grip tightened enough to make you stay. He smiled, “Yes, I think it’s funny, because there is no other woman.” You frowned, “What do you mean?” “I mean, I was talking about you, doll.” You blushed and looked down at your feet, “Oh.” Bucky lifted your head and pressed his forehead against yours, “So please don’t leave me, I need you more than you know. I love you.” You let out a shaky sigh, “I love you too.” You were content in just standing there for a moment before you realised that you were in the way of a lot of people and so you grabbed your suitcases and headed out of the airport and into Happy’s car. Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulder on the drive back. He spent the whole time looking at you and wondering what he did to deserve you in his life. 

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x chubby reader #marvel x plus size reader #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x plus size reader #avengers x chubby reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x chubby reader #bucky x plus size reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader

[itsleah728]

Scenario: When You Get Hurt

(These scenarios are kind of in 2nd and kind of in 3rd person, I don't really know how that happened but I like how they came out anyways so enjoy!)

Asra: You were practicing magic in the shop as Asra sat near you and peacefully slept on the couch. His soft snores were the only sounds that could be heard as you were careful not to make any loud noises until you casted a certain spell that went haywire and bounced off a near by mirror. The spell was heading towards you and you didn't have enough time to react as it smacked you in the chest and you felt searing pain spread through your body, you immediately knew you definitely casted that spell incorrectly. You tried to figure out what went wrong but the amount of pain spreading through your body was too much. You cried out in pain which ultimately woke Asra, he flung his head around and looked at your face scrunched up in pain.

He knew you were practicing magic so he put two and two together and knew you hit yourself with something. He rushed over to your side and led you to the couch as you tried gaining back your breath. He sat you down and quickly casted a healing spell to soothe your throbbing chest. After the spell was casted you had to continue telling him that you're okay now. He then pulled you into the tightest hug the universe has ever seen. You definitely cuddled together for the rest of the day.

Julian: Julian insisted on taking you to the Rowdy Raven even though he knows that place isn't your favorite. He also knows how you hate seeing him drunk, so when you dragged you along AND got drunk you weren't a happy camper. You sat at the bar with your face in your hands staring at Julian who was dramatically throwing his arms in the air as he told a group of drunk men a story that probably never even happened. You knew he enjoyed drinking and couldn't stop him but you wish he didn't bring you along. You continued sitting at the bar until another man approached and sat next to you. He continued to glance at you until he finally decided to speak.

You ignored him as he continued to try speaking with you, probably trying to flirt. You can tell he was getting frustrated with you ignoring him but you didn't think it was a big deal until the man roughly gripped your wrist making you whip your head around to stare at him with wide eyes. You can tell the man had poor intentions and you didn't want to cast magic at the bar so instead you decided on screaming your heart out. The Rowdy Raven got very quiet after your ear piercing scream you could hear a pin drop until Julian flies out of his chair and wraps a protective arm around you but the man refused to let go. Your wrist is throbbing from the mans harsh grip, Julian who seemingly sobered up, decided to punch the man in the face and make a run for it.

Once you both got away from the bar he pulled you to his side and apologized a million times for bringing you there as he checked out your hurt wrist. He brought you home and the rest of the day was spent with you reassuring Julian.

Muriel: You and the mountain man were walking through the woods towards a river so you can wash yourselves. It was a nice day where the sun was shining through the leafs of the trees, the birds were chirping, and your mood was as happy as can be. Muriel was silently walking besides you, occasionally stealing glances at your almost skipping frame. He couldn't help but have his lips twitch up at the sight, he loved how cheerful you always are.

You eventually reached the clearing where the river is located. You both stripped down to your underwear to bathe, this used to make Muriel very flustered but he's gotten used to it by now. You both stepped into the slightly cold water and started cleaning. You were in the middle of washing your hair when you lost your balance and crashed into the water the slight roughness of the current making it difficult to swim up to get the air you so desperately need. The sudden noise startled Muriel as he turned around only to see you struggling to reach the surface of the water. You started to really need air so being a natural reflex you took a large breath only to have water fill your throat and take your remaining air away. The current was still trying to take you and you knew you would become a prisoner to the water if you didn't get out soon. Black dots were poking the sides of your vision until two large arms wrapped under your arms and quickly tugged you up.

Muriel saw you struggling and as fast as he could with the rough currents, approached you. He tugged you out of the water expecting you to take a breath only to try breathing, inhaling more water, and falling limp in his arms. His eyes almost popped out of his head as he quickly got you to land and started pounding on your chest. He almost started crying seeing you like this until your eyes flew open and you started coughing up the water. After it all left your system you noticed Muriel with teary eyes staring at you, you gave Muriel a large hug as a thank you and an apology. After a moment of hugging he picked you up to bring you back to the hut. Let's just say you never went there to bathe ever again.

Nadia: Nadia was busy doing her job as the Countess most of the time, which you were fine with but she got uncomfortable leaving you alone for long periods at a time. There was also rumors that someone is after the Countess which made you uneasy but it made Nadia feel worse, not for her but for you. She was scared someone would harm you in the attempt to harm her so she decided to give you your own guard.

         You were currently in yours and Nadias room reading a book as your new guard who, you found out goes by the name of Larson kept watch. You didn't like having your own guard and Larson gave you the creeps, he didn't seem like a good man but you decided to keep that for yourself. You continued to read but you noticed Larson continuously stare at you from the other side of the room, at first you thought nothing of it thinking he was just doing his job but then he continued to do it. It started to really freak you out so you casually stood up and started heading for the door which of course didn't go down well with Larson.

           He continued to demand where you planned on going which definitely surprised you because he was just meant to guard you not judge your every move. You got fed up with him and started to shove past him planing on leaving until he got a grip of your throat and slammed you into the door. Your eyes went wide and you tried pushing his hand away that was squeezing the air from your lungs but it was in vain. As he choked you he explained to you that it was his plan to become your guard and eventually kill both you and the Countess. You were losing air fast and you gave up on trying to pry his hands off until the door you were pressed against slammed open, making you and Larson stumble back. You fell to the ground and sucked in air considering you could finally breathe. You looked up to your savior ready to thank them only to see a very pissed off Nadia. She stood at the entrance of the door fuming, she screamed for the guards and as she put it the "real guards". They finally arrived and took Larson away. Nadia took the day off and spent the rest of the day comforting your shaken mind.

Lucio: Lucio is a very busy man which you've grown to accept but sometimes it gets lonely. You decided to take a walk through the woods as you wait for Lucio to finish working, at the time it seemed like a good idea but thinking about it, it definitely was not.

          You start your walk through the calming woods, you watch a few birds fly above your head, and the trees that sway in the wind. Nature has always been a calming thing for you but you never thought to do this before when feeling alone which you now wish you did sooner. The woods takes away the feeling of loneliness that lives in the pit of your stomach. You know Lucio is the Count which is clearly a very busy job but you wish he made some time for you once and awhile. Even the occasional heart to heart conversation would be enough for you.

        You're so lost in your own head that you don't even notice the cliff you're heading straight towards.  Your foot hits a rock and you stumble slightly, your eyes go wide once you see the cliff. You quickly jerk your body back snapping your ankle in the process. Your cry out in pain but still have a great sense of relief seep through your system due to the fact that you could have tumbled down that cliff.

         You take a moment to calm your harsh breathing down as you try willing yourself to your feet. You take a small step on your snapped ankle and immediately feel the need to remove the pressure. The pain makes you hold in a choked sob that burns your throat as it tries escaping. You know you need to get back to the castle to receive medical attention so you start hopping on one foot all the way back.

          By the time you reach the entrance of the castle your uninjured leg is throbbing from being used too much as your injured ankle throbs for a different reason. You're panting out breaths due to the long journey back and upon looking closely at the gates of the castle you can see Lucio pacing back and forth seemingly very stressed. You accidentally step on a branch which causes Lucio's head to snap up and look at your panting, dirty, and quite broken body. He rushed up to you and wraps an arm around your waist helping you stand, he asks what happened and you contemplate not telling him what truly happened but you eventually crack. You explain how you were feeling lonely and decided to take a walk, you then explain how you broke your ankle. He seems speechless at the end but as you have doctors attending to you he vows to spend more time with you and he apologized over and over again. He spends the rest day helping you around the castle and reading a book to you.

Portia: You and Portia decided to spend the day horse back riding together. You planned on being alone for the day but Portia burst into your room and demanded you go together, you didn't have it in your heart to say no. It was a sunny day, not a cloud in sight with a small breeze flowing through the air. The grass was slightly damp from the previous day but all in all it was a fantastic day for horse back riding.

You and Portia chose your horses, she chose a rather large horse with mostly brown fur while you chose a slightly smaller horse with white fur and black spots. At the time the horse you chose seemed very proud to be chosen as it strode into the clearing and waited for you to mount it. This made you think you made a good choice in choosing a horse. You and Portia saddled up and you lightly tapped your foot to the horses side to get it running.

The wind whipped your clothing as the horse took off with a start, too fast for your liking. You tried to slow the horse down to no avail as it continued to run at what seemed to be full speed. Portia yelled at you asking what the heck you're doing and you were about to answer her but the horse you were riding on decided that the ride was over as it threw you off it's back and ran away. You fell down to the ground and you swear you heard a crack on impact. You groaned and rolled over that way your back wasn't on the hard ground, you heard Portia call out to you and the soft patter of hoofs. Portia got off her horse and ran to your side helping you slowly sit up. You asked her about the horse that ran away and she explained how she has no clue where it went because she was too focused on you, she also explained that you can figure it out later because you're what's important right now. You face flushes at the statement as she helps you to your feet she wraps an arm around you and hobble back to the castle. You back is throbbing but considering you can stand you know it's not broken which you're extremely thankful for.

You get the castle and Portia called Julian for him to check you out, making sure nothing is seriously wrong. After Julian gave you the okay Portia apologized for making you go with her but you shook it off saying it was fun anyways. You both spend the day together reading by the fireplace wrapped in each other's arms. (because why the hell not ya know?)

BONUS!

Valerius: You and Valerius were walking around the market place together one afternoon. Valerius decided to spend the day with you considering his duties as a Courtier took up a lot of his time, and even if he didn't show it often he does care for you. Therefore he told Nadia that he wanted time off to spend the whole day with you.

         You were both walking through the bustling market place when a man running a stall of random trinkets peaked your interest. You told Valerius that you wanted to check out the stall and he told you he would be at the wine stall. You gave him a smile and told him to meet up near the center in a few moments, he agreed and walked away. You checked out the trinkets and found something you thought Valerius would like, it was a small wine keychain. You knew he wouldn't show it off but you still decided on buying it for him.

You were heading towards the middle of the market place when an arm roughly tugged you into an nearby alleyway. You could already guess what was going to happen so you prayed someone had seen you. You could tell the person who tugged you was a rather large man due to his rough grip on your forearm. He tugged until you reached the end of the alleyway when he threw you to the wall. Your head bounced off the concrete and you knew right away magic was out of the equation because your head was now fogged up due to the force of the hit. The man kept asking for money but you sadly didn't have any to give otherwise you totally would have because your vision was darkening per second. You feel something warm run down the back of your head and you silently curse under your breath knowing that your head was split open.

You're very much out of it when you hear some shuffling and then a few muffled yells. You feel like you're going to pass out when two hands grip your face and turn your head up. You can see a very worried Valerius who seems to be speaking to you but you can't tell anymore because you've finally passed out.

When you come to there is a faint throbbing in the back of your head but no lasting damage. You see Valerius laying next to you in the hospital bed, you lightly tap him to wake him up. He wake up seemingly very confused until he saw you and pulled you into a hug which shocked you considering he's not one for showing affection. You spent the day with Valerius because he refused to leave your side.

Valdemar: Valdemar was working on a new subject for who knows what reasons as you sat near by and casually watched. You hated seeing these poor souls be quite literally tortured but there was nothing you could do about it and you kind of have gotten used to hearing the pained screams. Valdemar's next subjects were all lined up behind you as they all moaned and groaned because they knew they would meet the same fate.

          All was going well so far and Valdemar seemed pleased with what they have found so far. You still sat there and watched with half lidded eyes from boredom, you sat and wondered why the hell you fell for the demon creature. You were snapped out of your thoughts with the rattling of chains. You were going to turn around until an arm was placed around your chest as you were tugged towards someone. You froze when you felt the cool metal of a scalpel placed near your throat. Your breath caught in your lungs and tears started falling from your eyes. You didn't know how one of the subjects managed to escape the chains but now your life was on the line and you were terrified. Valdemar had yet to notice your situation as they were still pre occupied with their current subject until you fearfully called out their name. They slowly turned around and their eyes went wide but they quickly masked their surprise and anger with a face of uncaring. The subject and Valdemar bickered for a few moments until the scalpel started approaching your throat at a quick pace. The tears were now freely running down your face and you let out a sob when the scalpel lightly cut your neck. You new they planned on doing way more damage than that because the cut you acquired would only leave a small scar.

         The subject was going to cut again until Valdemar looked you dead in the eyes and calmly stated "darling close your eyes." You knew he planned on turning to his demon form so you quickly snapped your eyes shut and prayed to make it out alive. There were a few snaps and a few screams and then you felt yourself being tugged into an inviting hug. You hesitantly open your eyes only to be met with Valdemar who was placing a towel on your cut neck. Valdemar apologized which surprised you by staying he would stop working to spend the rest of the day helping you remove the trauma you were just exposed to.

A/n: look at my being all dramatic and making them be all near death experiences 😂

Check out my Instagram @its.leahs.art ,I'm about to hit 200 followers which is extremely exciting. I'll be doing a Q&A for the occasion so if you want to ask me anything you can head over there!

#the arcana headcanons #asra headcanons #countess nadia #nadia x mc #the arcana #julian x apprentice #the arcana julian #asra the magician #asra x mc #fanfic #oneshot #fanfiction #julain devorak #julian x mc #asra alnazar #portia x mc #portia devorak #the arcana game portia #portia headcanons #muriel #lucio x mc #the arcana lucio #lucio x reader #count lucio #lucio #the arcana courtiers #valdemar #the arcana valerius #consul valerius

[owlespresso]

Nhaza’a/Clandestine Comfort

With the Scions gone and the Garlean empire at your heels, you retreat to the temporary safety of the Thanalan wilds, only to find the comfort you’ve been seeking by chance. If you like what I do, consider supporting me via ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso

The pale moonlight touched the river's surface gently, its reflection full and hearty. You gazed down at it blankly, silently, legs gathered to your chest as your thoughts ran over recent events. Again, and again, and again. The sudden comas that sprouted up around you and afflicted your closest allies seemed to be a curse. What Garlean witch had cast such a terrible blight upon you? Had they finally figured out how to make use of the world's aether for the sole purpose of hurting you? It seemed as likely an explanation as any.

Thanalan's dry air was tinted with a gentle chill at night. The dried grass shuddered against the gentle breeze. The desert stretched out for miles around you. The only aetheryte in the region was a few minutes away, gleaming brilliantly in the distance though half obscured thanks to its subterranean position. 

You listened to the sounds of the wildlife around you, to whatever Hydaelyn had to offer to distract you from the awful matter at hand. 

However, it seemed she had a much different plan in mind for you tonight. The sound of boots against the hard soil made your eyes go wide and your body grow stiff. You whirled around, nerves alight with all the paranoia that's plagued them as of late.

"I don't remember you being this jumpy," Nhaza'a said, his artificial eye glowing faint in the soft darkness. The moon cast his hair in a silvery glow, lit his skin up a few shades. He looked perfectly at home in front of you, despite the way he dipped in and out of your life with no predictable pattern. Perhaps it was only right that he showed up now, when you were at your weakest. The universe had a tendency to stab you in the back like that.

"Well, you get like that when all your friends start dropping like flies for no damn reason." You deigned to not mention how you had actually been looking for him mere hours prior, desperate for the company of someone you could trust. How ironic. Nhaaz'a was far from what most people would consider "trustworthy", but he had yet to put a knife in your back and he actually seemed to enjoy your company. 

"So I've heard," he admitted, resting a hand on his cocked out hip. His posture was at ease, the typical, languid stance you had come to expect and associate him with. "My condolences for your loss... losses." He corrected himself, words blatant and tactless, but you found you didn’t care. What mattered was that he was here now. What mattered was that you needed him.

Bracing your hands atop the grassy patch you were sat upon, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your legs cried out in palpable relief, having been bunched up and bent for the better part of an hour. The joints popped, bones cracked in that strangely satisfying way as you lifted your arms above your head, stretching with a wide open yawn. You attempted to force some ease into your posture, chasing away the tension that had plagued you for the past few days. 

"How brazen," Nhaza'a murmured, voice suddenly much closer. One of your hands was promptly snatched as you lowered it, tugged roughly, suddenly. 

“Wha—!” you gasped. Your voice died in your throat as his plush lips brushed over the back of your hand.

“To this day I am still unsure what impresses me more. Your incredible, god-slaying power or your obliviousness to your own charm,” he commented dryly, thumb rolling a circle over your palm before he released it. Your hand dropped back to your side, sheepishness warming your cheeks as you struggled to regain your cogent thought. Just his closeness was enough to rattle you after everything that had happened. “But I believe you sought me out for more than mere flattery or condolences.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Is that too much to ask?” you frowned and tilted your head, attempting to shake off your nerves. Nhaza’a had never been the most… compassionate of people, but you had desperately hoped he would be willing to keep you company. Anything to get your mind off your current troubles.

“Are you afraid I’ll disappear on you next?” he inquired, taking a small step closer. His paralyzed you with the sudden, surprising gentility of his gaze. It left you wide open for the strong arm that wrapped around your back and tugged you to his chest, his warmth reaching you even through the barrier of your garments. “You should know that won’t happen. You’re in too deep to get rid of me now.”

A soft kiss was pressed to your temple, before he nuzzled his cheek affectionately over the spot.

Despite his reassurances, the very suggestion was enough to send a jolt of pure terror down your spine. There was no way either of you could know for sure if he was safe. Only the Scions had been affected thus far, but who knew? Maybe this mysterious illness would latch onto anyone who you spent too much time with. Maybe all of your allies lapsing into sudden comas was your fault. The thought made your stomach turn, your world growing fuzzy and dark at its edges as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Because you can’t lose him, too. Not after Thancred, after Urianger, and Y’shtola, and they’re all leaving you one by one, dragged into the dark by an unseen, faceless force that you can’t find or fight or do anything about—

The soft sound of your name on his lips breached the chaotic wall of thought and grounded you. His hands slid to the sides of your midsection and gently squeezed, jolting you back into the here and the now, away from those horrendous thoughts.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” he said, and you provided no objections. “Do you feel up to returning to Ul’dah?” There was undoubtedly a building with a spare room close to the aetheryte, but you would much rather live in comfort wherever you find the chance to, so you nodded. The trip back to the grand city was made easier by your ability to finely tap into the lifestream and teleport. 

Before you knew it, you were standing before the grand, blue crystal as it hovers three fulms above the ground. It was a struggle to not get lost in its grand expanse, in the sea of blue that so deeply aligns with whatever strange gift Hyaedyln had bestowed upon you what feels like ages ago.

“Come back to me,” Nhaza’a beseeched, and you tore your gaze away from the looming crystal to look at him. You hadn’t even realized it, but he held one of your hands, grip firm and reassuring. His thumb rolled soothing little circles onto the back of it. “Your current state is much worse than I thought it would be,” he admitted with a small sigh. He wasn’t agitated, you realized after a moment of frantically inspecting him. Rather, his eyebrows seemed pinched together out of sheer concern. His expression was too soft to be frustrated. 

One of his hands reached up, fingers tenderly brushing against the apple of your cheek.

“ I will be damned if I let you rot away in your grief. Follow me.”

The trip from the aetheryte to an inn room was a blur for you. Ul’dah’s massive pillars and archways were an afterthought. You heeded the crowds no mind, simply followed your partner wherever he led you with newfound pliance.

When you entered the inn, you paid no mind to its inhabitants. You were well-known around these parts and as a result, folks were likely to stare, if they did they received no reply, no glare in return. Your gaze remained flat on the floor, despondent. You faintly remembered the journey up the lift, the twist of the key inside the door’s lock. Before you even realized it, you were standing in the middle of a luxurious room. The massive bed rested in the corner, nestled against two of the walls. 

“Well, let’s make ourselves at home,” Nhaza’a said, and a part of you was grateful that he’s giving you instructions. Like this, exhausted and away from your allies, you feel aimless, floating in an abyss without any given purpose. For what does winning the war matter when all of your closest friends have been whisked away from you by some malignant force? 

He said your name. Softly, prodding into the dry air of the room to reach you. It jolted you into motion, your limbs feeling heavy as you walked over to the door and removed your shoes, neatly placing them next to his. 

...He was already beginning to disrobe. Nimble fingers neatly undid his outerwear until he was left in a simple pair of trousers. You paused to roll your gaze up the stretch of his body, admiring the planes and slopes of his lean muscle. 

“You like what you see?” he inquired smugly, like he already knew your answer. Warmth touched your cheeks as you looked away, following his lead and discarding your light jacket, the sash around your waist. Your wallet and any other trinkets inside your pockets were tossed atop the nearby dresser, a slow and methodological process that kept your hands moving and your head focused. 

Only when you were finished did he speak again.

“Come here.” He lounged atop the mattress, back nestled against a pile of many pillows. He looked like he belonged there, looked like an emperor basking in the lap of luxury whilst waiting to be hand fed grapes by one of his many servants. The blankets had been pulled back to rest against the wall, allowing him to rest upon the sheets. His exposed eye gleamed expectantly. His sly smile drew you in. 

Wordlessly, you padded barefoot across the room and climbed atop the bed. As soon as you entered his radius, he grasped one of your wrists and gently tugged you forward. You followed his directing, climbed to rest your entire body atop of him. His warmth near cocooned you, one of his arms settling across your back whilst the other curled the blankets around your bodies. 

“There,” he said, sounding quite satisfied with himself. “Nice and cozy. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really,” you replied. You turned your head to the side to press a single, fluffy ear over his chest. The constant thrum of his heartbeat serves to soothe you, tense muscles relaxing until you’re at last lim laptop of him. “...A little bit.” He’s alive. He’s alive and his beating heart lets you know that you’re not deluding yourself, not trying to cling onto your last bit of sanity by dreaming up this scenario. 

He started to rub your back in smooth circles, and the slight pressure there is welcome.

“You’re terrified,” he remarked, and you could not help but think back to when you were enemies. When he delighted in working you up and crossing blades. Was he longing for that version of you, again? Did he want the you who could get up no matter the severity of your injuries and keep fighting? Did he want the adrenaline rush of combat? Did he want your defenses to be impenetrable no matter the hardships that wracked you?

“Are you disappointed?” you asked, despite your fear of his answer.

“No. I’m concerned,” he clarified. You sighed against his chest. “The pattern of those afflicted thus far is clear. It only affects your fellow Scions. And I… could not be further from a Scion.” When you glanced up at him, his lips curled into a wry smirk. He was all too aware of how your comrades viewed him.

“But they’re also my friends,” you pointed out. “They’re not just coworkers, Nhaza’a.”

“And you fear that it could spread to me, since we are also… closer than coworkers,” Nhaza’a’s amused tone of voice dipped into something softer, something more serious. He gave a low, thoughtful hum, as though sifting through potential reasons why you shouldn’t worry. “Even if there is no telling who will vanish next, I am likely safe from harm due to not being a Scion. Believe me.” Long fingers combed through your hair, silencing you as you opened your mouth to argue. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he inquired, and you almost wanted to scold him for changing the subject. You stayed quiet instead, because he had a point. The pattern given to you thus far left no room for non-Scions to be affected by the mysterious ailment. For now, at the very least, he was most likely safe.

You decided to believe it, if only for your own sanity.

“Uhh,” you swallowed as you struggled to find an adequate answer.

“If it takes you that long to find the answer, then the answer is ‘too long ago’,” he stated. “Get some rest, my dear.”

“I don’t want to,” you groused back, feeling like a scolded child. Your pride lightly stung, the stubborn side of you insisting that Warrior of Light did not have a bedtime. 

“And why ever not? You will need your rest if you are to win the war for these paltry city states. You don’t want to let them down, right?” His voice carried with it a light taunt, his dislike for the states that employed your services all too prominent.

“...I’ll sleep if you promise to be here when I wake up.” you stared defiantly up at him, perhaps the most firm you have been all night. If you awaken to an empty bed, you’ll likely lose your mind, afraid that he too has been taken. 

“You think I would leave you? Perish the thought.” Nhaza’a scoffed, as though he hadn’t been gone the next morning after several of your midnight trysts. It had taken you three months to get him to stay with you, certainly a rocky phase in your relationship as you struggled to adjust to each other. “I will be here when you awaken, my lovely. You have my word.”

It didn’t soothe you completely, nothing could at this point. But his presence alongside the steady thrum of his heart helped soothe your cacophony of fearful and negative thoughts. You didn’t know what you would do if you lost him as well, but there truly was no sense in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet… or something that likely might not happen at all. 

You shut your eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days leech at your limbs. Your mind swam briefly in the void between slumber and wakefulness, desperate to stay conscious of his body, desperate to know he was at your side until you lapsed completely into sleep. The slow, warm caress of his hand atop your back was all you needed to lull you into soft unconsciousness. Dreams of his velvety voice replaced the horrible nightmares.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #nhaza'a #nhaza'a jaab #imagine ffxiv #imagine final fantasy xiv

[randombush3]

finally got around to starting the last part so here's a celebratory peek x

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, to before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot, not the paparazzi 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 for the entire flight, and you had refused to speak to anyone since you landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I landed this 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. 

#randombush3 #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #leah williamson x reader

[crystalwillow]

Fixing A Broken Heart, Part Two

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Mentioned: Bryce Lahela, Sienna Trinh

Included: Alan Ramsey, Casey’s mom

Word Count: 7.2K

Disclaimer: This will be the last part of this series. The ending may leave some of you wanting a Part Three, but there is just no way I could physically write one. I will try and give as much closure as possible, but please bear in mind this is the final part. I’ve loved taking this journey with you in going through a small window of teenage Casey and Ethan’s lives.

Sending you much love and many thanks for joining me on this journey 🥰✨

Lahamseiroshoe (Georgia) ❤️✨

--- Ethan & Casey, Current Location: Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur (French Region) ---

The first 2 weeks of their backpacking trip around Europe was difficult for them both. Casey had moments where her heartbreak kicked in so bad she didn’t want to move from the hotel room they had booked. And it was difficult for Ethan because he hated seeing her so broken over a guy who couldn’t give two shits about her and was probably with some other bleach blonde tramp who’s sipping a fruity drink because unlike Casey she can’t shoot a whiskey or a combo on the pool table. Today was one of those days, it was currently almost 2 pm and Casey hadn’t moved to go anywhere but the bathroom since she woke up at 7 am.  Ethan was in the kitchen making her a sandwich with a few ingredients they had brought at the market the previous day, and as a treat, he had gone out earlier that day and brought them a cinnamon roll each. Letting out a deep sigh he cut the sandwich and placed everything on a chopping board, using it as a tray, and carried it to the bedroom.

When he entered he saw Casey crying at her phone screen, eyes even redder and puffier than when he had seen her roughly an hour ago. He placed the chopping board on the side and sat in front of her.

“Give me that.” He said in a kind yet demanding tone as he held his hand out for her phone.

Casey shook her head and continued crying. “WHY? Maybe he’d like me if I dye my hair and acted stu-”

“No!” Ethan exclaimed. “You are not dying your hair bleach blonde. And you are not acting like an airhead to get back some douchebag who broke your heart!” he continued with a softness to his voice as he slipped Casey’s phone from her hands, locking it and putting it in his pocket.

Casey looked at him through her tears before breaking down again. Sighing as his face fell, Ethan pulled her into a tight hug and felt his heartbreak even more as she clung to him tighter than she had before. He gave her back gentle rubs and whispered reassurances to her. But what he wanted to do was kiss the tears off of her face and her lips with the loving she deserves. Eventually, her cries subsided, and she pulled away from the hug.

“Sorry.” She sniffed, wiping his shoulder.

“No.”

“What?”

“Don’t you dare apologize for feeling and healthily processing your emotions.”

Casey blinked at him blankly. “You’re such an amazing guy. Why do people hate you?”

Ethan shrugged.

“And why have you chosen to let me in and see this side of you? why the new girl?”

“Wow.” He chuckled. “I don’t know. Probably something to do with the fact you didn’t grow up as a young child with me and don’t know the story of my mother leaving. And the fact you aren’t judgmental of the things I do others perceive as ‘weird’ because it’s not normal.”

“But I do unique things too. It’s what makes me so different and special. Like each batch of toys from a factory that has a unique batch code. But there aren’t batches of humans that do the same weird things. It’s only you. And I-” she rambled but cut herself off before she went too far.

Ethan gave her a kind smile. “I brought us some food through.” He explained, pointing over at it.

“Is that the kitchen chopping board?” Casey chuckled, squinting to get a closer look.

“Yes.”

She threw her head back and laughed loudly, Ethan breaking out in a large smile before laughing along with her. He was glad that had cheered her up a little bit. Together, they sat and ate the lunch that Ethan had prepared for them.

“Oh, when we reach our next place, Sienna needs me to call her,” Casey said as she finished her cinnamon roll, and Ethan nodded.

They spent the rest of the day snuggled on the couch watching movies on the TV until they woke up the next morning to the alarm going off on Ethan’s phone signaling they needed to get up and head to the airport.

“Where are we headed next?” Casey asked with a yawn as she folded the few pieces of clothing still on the bed she was sleeping in and placed them in her suitcase.

“We’re heading into Italy.”

“Our first week and a half long stop!” Casey perked up.

Ethan gave a soft smile and nod.  “Excited?”

“Excited is an understatement.” She smiled, pulling her coat on.

Ethan continued smiling at her as he shrugged on his backpack. “Have you got everything?”

Casey double-checked her belongings and the room before nodding. “Yup.”

“Awesome. Let’s go and check out and get to the airport.”

Casey led the way with a pep in her step and Ethan was happy to see she was in a better frame of mind after some sleep. A taxi ride to the airport and plane journey later, they stepped out of the main doors of the airport in Florence, and Casey took in a deep breath of fresh air with a smile.

“Let’s get to the hotel as quickly as possible!” she enthused as she looked over at Ethan.

Once they were settled in their hotel room, Casey sat on the couch with her notebook, sketching the view she could see from the hotel room. Ethan was in the bedroom looking over their plans whilst they were in Florence and picked something out.

“Casey??” he called out.

“Yeah?” she answered, concentrating on her sketch.

“Do you want to go out for coffee tomorrow?”

“Sure!”

Ethan smiled to himself before replying “Cool!” then going to grab a shower.

Casey had already stated that she would shower before bed as she just wanted to give herself time to fully settle in as this was their first longer stop on their trip. She was finishing up the last of the shading on her sketch when he entered the room about 45 minutes later, rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

“You okay in here?” he asked as he sat down in the chair next to the couch.

“Yep. Just sketching the view.” She explained and turned her notebook to face him.

“Woah!” he gasped. “Could I take a closer look?”

“Of course!” she replied, placing the notebook in his outstretched hand as she stood to stretch. “I’m going to go and look at the room service menu, do you want anything?”

“No, I’m okay thanks.” He smiled, leaning back in the chair taking a closer look at her sketch. The more he looked at it, the more he noticed it was on a page quite far into the book. He knew it was wrong because he didn’t have her permission, but he flicked back a page and was amazed at what he saw. So he kept flicking back. A sketch of each place they had been so far filled the other pages, plus a sketch of her dog. Ethan was mesmerized, the attention to detail was amazing. He closed the book and placed it on the table as he heard Casey reapproach the living area of the room.

“All ordered. I got something for you anyway. You are in no way pulling a “No I’m okay thank but I plan to steal yours” on me Mr. Ramsey.” She chuckled as she reclaimed her seat. Ethan chuckled along with her.

“Have you called Sienna since we got here?” he asked curiously. 

“No. I planned on doing it after I’ve showered and am getting ready for bed.” 

“About that. I’m sorry about the mix-up and the fact we only have one bed.”

“It’s okay. Are you sure you’re okay taking the couch though? Because I’ll happily swap, you’re paying for this place so I feel like you should take the bed.”

“Casey. I would join you if it was a double, but it’s a single. I’ll be fine on the couch. It’s only a few days.”

“Well… if you’re sure.”

Ethan nodded with a kind smile as Casey packed her supplies away then patted the spot next to her.

“Come sit with me. We can watch TV whilst we wait for our food.”

“You just want a cuddle because you miss your plushies at home.”

“So what if I do? Is it such a bad thing you’re the current replacement?”

With a slight chuckle, Ethan took a seat next to Casey and she snuggled into him as he turned the TV on adding subtitles for them to follow along. Shortly after they had just settled properly, room service arrived with their meal, Ethan let them in and they placed the food on the dining table in the room before leaving after Ethan and Casey had both thanked them for bringing the food. Shortly after room service had left, Ethan and Casey sat around the table and were digging into their food, complimenting it by making little moans of satisfaction. 

“Oh my gosh! … THIS, is the best cheesecake I’ve ever had. It might even beat my moms.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “It’s that good?”

“Try some.” Casey smiled, holding her fork at him with some cheesecake on it. Ethan leaned forwards and took the bite in his mouth, Casey slowly retracting the fork and watching as Ethan ate and processed the flavors. 

“...wow,” Ethan said after a moment of silence. “That is….” 

“Right?! It’s the perfect creaminess mixed with the perfect amount of tartness from the raspberries. It’s almost like food heaven.”

“Almost, not quite though. If you added a sprig of mint…”

“Oh my…” Casey gasped as she practically drooled, earning a chuckle from Ethan.

Before they knew it, it was time for bed and Casey still felt bad that Ethan was giving up the bed for her and slowly trailed into the living room and plopped herself in the chair. 

“Are you okay?” Ethan muttered from behind his book

“Mhm.” Casey hummed as she wrapped the blanket around her and zoned out. 

Ethan finished the chapter in his book and placed it on the table before looking at Casey who was now falling asleep in the chair. “Hey. Go to bed,” he whispered to her but got no response. “Casey….” he whispered, sitting up to look at her. 

“Shhh,” she said lazily and a ghost of a smile crossed Ethan’s face as he got up to carry her back to bed. As he was pulling the covers over her to make sure she was tucked in properly, Casey opened her eyes and looked at him. “What are you doing?” she groaned sleepily.

“Putting you to bed,” Ethan explained with a quiet softness.

“But it’s not fa-”

“Nope. I won’t hear that. It’s perfectly fine. I’ll be okay.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now, get your sleep.”

“Okay. Goodnight Ethan. I love you.”

Ethan froze for a moment before smiling and pecking her forehead. “I love you too, Casey. Goodnight.” 

Casey closed her eyes with a smile as she fell back into a deep slumber for the night. 

The next morning, Casey was up early and replying to Sienna’s latest message with an apology, explaining that jet lag suddenly caught up with her and she fell asleep out of nowhere when she came online and started typing just as Casey sent her message. After a short while of messaging, it was decided that Casey would take a quick shower and then call Sienna. On the call, Sienna ranted about how she was now officially done with Bryce. He was officially nothing but a dumbass frat fuckboy who didn’t give a shit about anybody’s emotions anymore and had stood her up 5 times in the past week. Casey winced and replied with how she’s sorry he’s now acting like a complete idiot towards her, and how she wished she was in America right now because she would come and visit her for a while. One thing was now clear for sure though, Bryce Lahela was officially a FAH. A fake ass hoe. And Casey and Sienna both agreed they did not need a FAH in their lives. Both knew deep down when everything about Bryce’s new lifestyle crashed and burned in front of his very eyes, he would come crawling back to them groveling about how he was wrong and an idiot. But, Casey knew that by then she would hopefully be well on her way to being over him and she would have Ethan by her side to protect her. He’d promised that he would be, and Ethan Ramsey was not one to break his promises. 

“Oi! Casey.” Ethan called from the bedroom doorway as he held out his hand.

“Yeah?.. Oh!” Casey smiled as she noted his outstretched hand, getting up from the bed and taking it in her own. “When did you wake up?” 

“Whilst you were dissing Lahela on the phone.” 

“You heard all that?”

“Not all of it. Just some. I’m proud of you though.”

“You are?”

“Mhm. You’ve come a long way, in a short amount of time. Most girls, or boys, would still be hung up on him and trying to get him back. But I’ve known you long enough to know that you, Casey Valentine, are not like most girls.” 

Casey smiled at Ethan as they sat down on the couch together and he naturally wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her to his chest gently. They looked out at the view together for a while before Casey sighed deeply.

“What’s up?” Ethan asked, still transfixed on the view. 

“I’m going to the bedroom. I need to journal something real quick. I’ll be back soon.” Casey explained, quickly pressing a soft kiss to his jaw then speed walking to the bedroom and closing the door. 

The kiss pulled Ethan back into the moment and he stared after her as she went to the bedroom, a ghost of a smile gracing his features as he softly strokes the spot she just kissed with his index finger. 

Over the next week and a half they done everything from visit Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, to trying out local coffee shops in the area. After leaving Florence they flew all around Europe before making a decision that with the spare funds they had left over, to take a last minute trip to England and road trip from the south to the north, before catching their flight home. As they sat on the plane for the last two hours of the flight, Casey started to stir from her slumber. Ethan turned his head to make sure she was okay. 

“Hey.” He whispered, kind smile on his features. 

Casey smiled back in greeting and gave him a hug. Which he returned as best he could, given their confined space. A couple hours later as their plane taxied along the runway, Casey looked out of the window with a smile. 

“Happy?” Ethan questioned

“Yeah. It’s going to sound weird…” she trailed off as she turned back to look at him, contemplating her next words, “... but I feel like I’m finally home.” 

She braced herself for impact of him laughing at her, but it never came. Instead he gave an understanding smile and small nod as they were given permission to unbuckle their seatbelts. As they stood at the baggage claim, and old lady turned to them. 

“You two make a beautiful couple.” She smiled

“Oh. No ma’am, we’re not-” Ethan stuttered, trying to correct her as kindly as possible.

“Oh and you’re American. What parts is that accent from? New York?”

Ethan stood there stumped and looking the Casey for help.

She smiled at the lady. “We’re from Boston.” 

“Ahhh New England.” 

Casey nodded, still smiling. “But we aren’t a couple. At least not yet…” she trailed off smiling at the befuddled looking Ethan. 

“Oh! I beg your pardon. I thought you were together.”

“It’s okay.” Casey giggled, “I do want him to be my boyfriend. But he’s my best friend, currently helping me heal my broken heart.” She whispered leaning towards the lady conspiratorially as Ethan grabbed their bags as they came round on the conveyor belt.

The lady gave a her a knowing nod “Well, when you’re ready dear. Make sure he’s made aware, most men these days are oblivious to the most obvious of things.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Though… I don’t think I’ll need to do much with this one. He already has feelings for me and we’ve been on this kind of weird “date” thing a couple months ago when we graduated.” 

“Oh, what are you doing when you go back to education?”

“Medical studies. We want to become doctors, diagnosticians to be more specific. Ethan will excel faster than me though, he’s more perceptive and observant than I am. I’m good, but… he’s better” Casey smiled up at him, and he smiled back. 

“You ready to go?” He asked.

“Yeah. Just one second,” she nodded, turning back to the lady. “It was lovely talking to you.”

“You too dear. And uh,” she gestured for Casey to come closer, “when you have babies, they’re going to be beautiful.” She whispered and gave a kind smile as Casey stood back to her full height.

“Thank you.” She smiled, then with a wave over her shoulder, followed Ethan out of the airport.

Once they were outside, Ethan gave Casey an inquisitive brow and Casey smiled back. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just… wondering.” 

“About?” 

“Nothing.” 

Casey laughed. “I know you better than that Ethan Ramsey. There’s something on your mind. Spill!” 

Ethan regarded her closely for a moment before finally choosing to speak, “It’s just. When we get home. Would you… Can I…”

Casey waited patiently as he stumbled over his words. 

“I’d really like to take you out. On a proper date. An adult one. With meals. And wine. In a restaurant with dim romantic lighting. Because I really like you. And uh, you look gorgeous in dresses. I mean you’re gorgeous anyway. Smoking hot actually. Ugh no that’s cringe, forget that. You’re like the honey on my toast in the-”

Casey pressed a gentle finger to his mouth with a small giggle. “You’re too cute Ethan. But yes. I’ll let you take me out when we get home.”

“Really?!” He clamped his hands over his mouth as his exclamation drew in some stares, Casey giggled again with a nod.

On the flight over they changed their plans to just stay in London this time round and visit all of the historical sites they could, so they jumped in a cab and headed to the nearest hotel, in hopes they had a spare room for a couple of nights. It took them a couple of tries but eventually, before nightfall, they found a hotel room. It was a double, but it was okay for them. They were friends who could restrain themselves, unlike some people in this situation who would take it and then go at each other like rabbits in heat.

They entered the room and placed their suitcases in the corner of the bedroom, before sitting on the bed. 

“Ethan?”

“Mm?”

“I’m tired and super hungry. Can we grab something quick to eat and then snuggle in this super comfy bed and sleep?” 

“I couldn’t be hearing sweeter words formed into a suggestion right now.”

Casey chuckled.

“What?” Ethan asked, eyebrows raised

“You. You’re so dorky and cute.”

“And you’re not?”

“Oh. We’re playing that game huh?” 

“Yes,” he smirked, “we’re playing that game.”

Casey shook her head lightly with a laugh, preparing her going out bag with her lipgloss, phone, pepper spray and wallet. She swapped her shoes for some comfier walking shoes as Ethan stuffed his wallet in his pocket, phone in the other. Casey stored their keycard safely in her bag and together they headed out into the streets of London to find some food. They don’t know when, but at some point along their route, they’re fingers had lightly intertwined. Ethan walked along watching Casey take in the sights with wonderment. She looked like a kid shaking a snow globe. The tip of her nose was turning red from the evening chill, he could see every exhale she made, and her eyes danced in the reflection of the street lights as light turned slowly to dark and the stars above them became visible. After a while, Casey spired a burger van and tugged Ethan over. 

“Two of your largest burgers please. One with cheese, onions and barbecue sauce, the other with fried onions and ketchup.” She enthused without even turning to ask Ethan what he wanted.

“Would that be everything?” The vendor asked

“Ummm. Could I also get a medium portion of chips please. Salted, no vinegar.”

The vendor smiled as she rang up the total “That would be £11.78 please”

Casey rifled through her wallet and pulled out a £20 note from amongst other notes from other countries she’d kept. Ethan would be protesting right now if he weren’t so amazed by how at home Casey was looking right now. Giving over the right amount and accepting change without hesitation, smiling and being friendly as if she was of British descent, not American. The kindness and happiness that shone from her eyes like the sun blinded him, yet he was transfixed by it. Enamoured almost. Once the food was ready, they took it with thanks and walked until they found a park bench to sit on and enjoy it. The warmth was welcomed in the chilled air that surrounded them. 

“Casey?” Ethan spoke, now half way through his burger.

“Mm?”

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“How I like my fries?” 

“You mean chips?” 

Ethan chuckled with a slight shake of his head. “Yes. I mean chips.” 

“Simple. I observe.” She smiled back, popping one in her mouth. 

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” 

“Mmmmm,” Casey hummed as she took another bite of her burger. “I think we should start with the London Eye. Then from there, we can go anywhere that has free entry to the public.” 

“Like a museum maybe?”

“I’d love to visit a museum with you.” 

“Really? It’s not too… old man-ish?”

“Being interested in the history of the world? Heck no. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world today. Well… second most beautiful.”

“What’s the first?”

“Us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t give myself the title, it felt wrong. Then giving you sole ownership felt biased. So I went with wrongly biased and gave us joint first.” 

Ethan smiled as he swallowed his food and Casey beamed back. “What?”

“That’s so you.”

“So me?! What do you mean??!”

“I mean you’re predictable. Sometimes”

“Uh! A batda- uffn- ppfftt-!” She spluttered as Ethan started to chuckle and then full belly laugh at her. 

“Hmph.” She sulked, eating more of her burger. “Fuck ya snuggles. Im sleeping on the floor.” She pouted as she chewed which only made Ethan laugh harder. 

“You- oh gosh. Hahahaaaaa. Aw you’re too cute Casey Jane.” He said as he calmed down, wiping the tears from his eyes. Yet Casey remained pouting and mad. 

“Predictable. I’ll give you predictable. Asshole.” She muttered to herself. 

Ethan chuckled and they finished their meal in silence before throwing out their rubbish and heading back to the hotel. As they entered the room, Casey was still in a mood at Ethan for say she’s predictable so grumpily, she stomped to the bathroom and turned on the shower, locking the door behind her. Ethan chuckled and shook his head as he shrugged his jacket off and slipped off his shoes, placing them in the corner of the room. About an hour later, Casey suddenly screamed from the bathroom and came out wrapped in a towel, hair dripping a couple of minutes later.

“Casey!” Ethan shouted as he startled awake.

“I’m fine. The water just turned cold.”

“Casey.” He sighed, “I thought you were in danger.” 

“No.” 

“It’s been a while. Can you snap out of your funk now? You know I was teasing you.” 

“Hmph.” 

“Snuggle muffin.” 

“No. You will not- Ethan I’m soaking wet!!” She yelped as he got up and in a couple strides was giving her a hug. 

“I don’t care. You could be molten lava for all I care. I’d still hug you.”

She tried to resist his cuteness and charm but she was putty in his hands. She let herself melt and mold to his body. “But now you’ll need to change your clothes.” She spoke quietly.

“I’d need to have done it when I woke up anyway. So…” 

Casey sighed contently as she wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed slightly, breathing in his scent. 

“What are we for now?” Ethan asked.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, we’re obviously friends. But…”

“We flirt?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, we’re exactly that Ethan. Friends who flirt. We have feelings for each other and we know they’re mutual. We respect each other’s boundaries and have the best times together. I have amazing memories with Sienna, but some of my best are with you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Take this trip for example. Are you telling me you haven’t had fun?” 

“No. Of course I have. I’ve had tons of fun with you. From Spain to Italy and all the way to where we are now. I’ve enjoyed every step. Well… apart from the handful of times we’ve argued.” 

Casey stifled a chuckle, “yeah. They were…. not the best. Though. I still say you looked good in that blue and pink Hawaiian print shirt.” 

“I looked awful.”

“You did not! You looked comfortable and happy and… well…” she trailed off as she got lost in his cerulean blues, gently placing her lips on his as she softly closed her eyes. Ethan was hesitant at first, but the longer Casey kept her lips on his, his hesitation melted away and he kissed back softly, drinking in every ounce of her delicate and loving affection. Noting how she smelt distinctly of delicate roses. When the pulled back, Ethan opened his eyes to be met by Casey’s forest greens looking up at him, the softest of smiles on her face. Neither of them said it, but it was conveyed in the matching gaze they gave each other.

‘I love you so much.’ 

/// Back In Boston /// 

Four days later Casey and Ethan got out of a cab outside Casey’s house. They knew her mom would be at work, so they had planned to settle Casey in and store Ethan’s bags in the guest room as he was staying for a few days until the jet lag had worn off completely. As they took their bags from the trunk of the car, they laughed and joked before thanking the driver and watching him leave. Though neither of them were expecting to run into someone one the doorstep. 

Ethan’s jaw clenched and he moved protectively in front of Casey who was now stricken with a mix of emotion, but the main one was panic. What was he doing here? Why was he here? How did he know when to come? 

Casey could feel the fear starting to rise in her chest and so she reached forward to grab Ethan’s arm but he had already reached backwards for her hand with his. She quickly grabbed it as she swallowed harshly. 

“Ethan..” she trembled.

“Shhhh. It’s okay petal. I won’t let him near you” he whispered over his shoulder. Casey gave a small nod, drawing herself closer to him. 

Ethan kept his gaze on Bryce who was walking closer towards them. “Casey.” Bryce started but was immediately cut off by Ethan.

“Why are you here?” 

“Who are you?”

“I think you know who I am.”

The two men stared each other down. Ethan squeezing Casey’s hand in reassurance as her trembling increased. 

“Ethan.” Bryce spat. 

“Got it in one. I should give you an award. Your could add it to your cabinet.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Fuckboy.” Ethan started to snarl.

“E.” Casey spoke in a small voice. 

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m not gonna do anything rash.” Ethan reassured. 

“No E. I… I feel sick.” 

At those words his attention snapped from Bryce and he turned to her aid. “What is it? Jet lag? Hunger? Period related? Food poisoning?” 

“I-It’s him. I. The memories. The pain. The.. the…” she stuttered, breaking down and shuddering violently.

Ethan nodded understandingly and took her into his firm embrace. “You need to leave. Now.” He hissed over his shoulder at Bryce.

“No way! I came to talk to Ca-”

“LEAVE. NOW!” Ethan boomed with authority in his voice as he held Casey close, covering her ears to lessen the volume of his voice. 

“Fine. I don’t know why I’d wanna try and fix things with such a fragile bitch anyway.” Bryce spat.

Ethan’s muscles and jaw tensed as Bryce spat out his words and it took everything in him not to follow and punch him square in the nose as he deserved. But the shaking body in his arms was his anchor in that moment. Casey needed him more than Bryce needed a good face rearrangement. Soon Ethan had calmed Casey down enough to get her inside. They left their bags by the door and made their way up to her room. It was exactly how she left it, with the edition of some fresh flowers and small tupperware on her desk with a note. But for now she wanted to ignore it, Ethan dumped his bag, shoes and jacket in a heap on the floor, Casey halfheartedly doing the same as Ethan pulled the covers back. 

“Come on. Let’s get some rest. We’ll read the note later.” He said softly.

Casey slid underneath the covers and snuggled into his arms. She sniffled as she settled down feeling safe in his arms. Slowly her nauseous feeling started to settle as she focused in on his breathing and the gentle rising and falling of his chest, which lulled her into a peaceful sleep. Later when they awoke it was the middle of the night. 

“Wow. Jet leg must have hit.” Casey croaked, snuggling back into Ethan’s arms.

“Must have. But look. Food.” 

Casey’s head popped up in a fashion similar to that of a meerkat making Ethan chuckle quietly as he pointed to a tray by the door. The room dimly lit by Casey bedside lamp. 

“Mom’s homemade curry!” She gasped and jumped out of bed with a stumble.

“Careful.” Ethan warned.

“Sorry. I’m hungry.”

“Well I think both myself and your mom would prefer it if you stayed just hungry. Not hungry with a broken leg or arm.”

Casey giggled as she retrieved the tray and brought it back to her bed. 

“Are you not going to reheat it?”

“And wake mom with the microwave. You know I can’t do that.”

“Then I’ll do it for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.” 

Casey sighed with feigned annoyance at how insistent he was being, then waited as he took the tray to reheat their food. He returned 10 minutes later, the plates on the tray piping hot and glasses of water added to the tray. Casey’s eyes almost popped out of her head as she smelt the food. 

“Gimme gimme gimme.” She enthused and Ethan laughed quietly.

“You that hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Well then I guess I should eat both of these.” 

“Wait. What?!” 

“I’m kidding. Let’s get comfy on the floor.”

“What’s wrong with my desk?”

Ethan looked at it and then back at Casey with a smile. “Right.” 

“Midnight brain.” 

“Huh?” 

“You weren’t thinking properly. I call it midnight brain.” 

“You might wanna um… think about changing that.”

“What? Wh- Oh Ethan!”

“What!?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter you dirty bastard!” Casey exclaimed, boshing him over the head with a cushion. Ethan laughed as he defended himself with his hand trying to grab the cushion from her as he balanced the tray on his forearm, but she tossed it back beside her and rose to her feet, making space at her desk for the tray. 

They sat together and watched a movie on Casey’s computer in a comfortable silence, lowly muttering at each other occasionally. After the movie, Casey took the glasses and plates down to the kitchen on the tray whilst Ethan used the bathroom. They stayed up to let their food settle watching medical and true crime documentaries until the sun started to rise, peeking through Casey’s curtains. As he turned to look out of the window, Ethan let out a deep yawn and stretched his hands over his head. 

“You can go back to bed if you want.” Casey smiled.

“Only if you join me.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a valid enough reason.”

“Of course it is. Women use it all the time.” 

Casey laughed. “You cease to amaze me Ethan Ramsey.”

“Why’s that?”

She could see what he was doing and gave him a smirk. “You’re always full of it. That’s why. And don’t think you can ever outsmart me but flipping the question back onto me again.”

“Why’s that?” He smirked, trying his luck a second time.

“Because you will never outsmart me. I know you too well for you to do so. I also know the reason you’ll only go back to bed if I agree to join you.”

“Oh?”

“You hate sleeping alone. You’ve slept beside me for so long, and you like me so much that you’re currently in the honeymoon phase of crushing. You don’t like spending a single waking moment away from me if you can help it.”

Ethan stared at her stunned. How could she tell this? Was he really being so obvious? He quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat, shooting Casey a smile.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’m wrong. But we both know I just hit the nail on the head there. Don’t we?” she smirked.

Ethan sighed deeply, admitting defeat this time with a chuckle as he blushed red. A shy smile lighting up his features. With a shrug he tilted his head towards Casey’s bed, and after a brief smile, they clambered back into bed, snuggling together and fell back into their slumber. 

As the days and weeks passed and eventually turned into months, Casey and Ethan were closer than ever. Bryce hung around Boston for a while longer, refusing to leave until he had spoken to Casey, but… Casey didn’t want to talk so until she was, she decided to file a restraining order against him so she could heal safely and not worry about having him turn up on her doorstep again. After he left, Casey got a job at the local ice-cream parlor, whilst Ethan got a job as a cleaner at the mall. Working around their work schedules they arranged their first proper date. 

One evening after she finished work, Casey arrived home to find Ethan and his dad chilling in the living room with her mom. 

“Oh! Hey. If I’d have known we had guests I would have tried to get home sooner.” She smiled apologetically.

“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re home now.” Her mom smiled back. 

“Yeah. Uh. I’m gonna go and grab a shower quickly. Um..” she smiled, awkwardly backing out of the room.

“Okay. Come and join us once you’re ready.” 

“I will, mom.” 

Casey backed out of the room and then turned sharply on her heel, making her way upstairs. 

“I’m gonna refill my water.” Ethan excused as he left the room too, following Casey. 

“Babe?” 

“Ah!” Casey screamed, covering her chest with her towel. 

“Oh! Gosh! Sorry!” Ethan stammered, closing his eyes and Casey took the moment to tie her robe around her securely.

“What did you want?” 

“To see if you’re okay. You were acting strange.”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” 

“Is that all it is?”

“Yes.” 

“I don’t believe that somehow.” 

“Well that’s your decision.”

“I guess so. Can I… open my eyes now?”

“Also your decision.”

Cautiously, Ethan opened his eyes and looked at Casey. His heart immediately ached at the tiredness on her face. “Why don’t we have a chill night tonight? Maybe hang with our parents and finally share our pictures we took in Europe.”

“Uh yeah. Yeah, that would be… nice.” she smiled, “I just need to uh… shower first.”

“Of course!” Ethan exclaimed, “I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.” 

“Okay.”

Ethan turned and started walking out of her room when she called out to him,

“Ethan, wait!”

“Yes?” He asked, turning back around to face her. 

“Could.. could I get a hug? Please?” She blushed 

“Of course you can! You don’t have to ask for those, you can steal them. I’ve told you.” 

Casey walked forward and stepping into his outstretched arms, the warmth and comfiness of his chest a welcome reprieve from the chaos happening in her mind. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent. “I missed you today.” She whispered into his shirt. 

“I missed you too, pumpkin.” He said, kissing her temple gently. 

After her shower, Casey collected the photos from their trip and headed downstairs now more relaxed.

“Hey.” She said, entering the room and taking the empty seat next to Ethan. 

“Hey sweetie, feel better?” 

“Yeah.”

“Hello, Casey.” Alan smiled

“Hi, Alan.” She smiled back, “Um… me and Ethan wanted to share our pictures with you. If that’s okay.” She hesitated 

“Oh honey of course!” Her mom exclaimed, shutting off the television and they gathered around the dinner table. 

“Okay. So as you know, our first stop was Spain.” Casey started. “And this,” she placed a photo down. “Is the first picture we took after we arrived.

Ethan chuckled, “you look so grumpy.” 

“Well, you woke me up!”

“I couldn’t just leave you in the plane!”

Alan and Casey’s mom chuckled at their little debate. 

“Anyway…” Casey continued, “this.” She laughed, “Is Ethan in an outfit I brought him and made him wear to the beach” 

Alan gawffed picking up the picture. “That’s a nice colour on you son. Pink and blue is definitely your scene.” 

“Ugghhhh daaaaddd.” Ethan groaned, covering his face

Casey laughed and they continued sharing pictures. They were having a fun time explaining their travels when Casey froze as something fell out from between the photos. 

“Oh!” She exclaimed, scrambling to collect it but Ethan beat her to it.

“Casey…” he gasped, staring down at the piece of paper in awe, “this is…. it’s… me.” 

Casey was blushing a deep shade of crimson, eyes fixed on the table in front of her as she nodded shyly. 

“It’s-”

“Awful.” She said, cutting him off and snatching it from him. 

“I-”

“Excuse me.” 

Casey abruptly left the dining room and ran up the stairs.

“I should-”

“No, son. Give her a minute.” Alan said with a sad smile, gently grabbing Ethan’s wrist to stop him. 

“But she-”

“Needs reassurance and calming down. I know. But I think this would be best done by her mother first. Don’t you?” 

Ethan’s gaze flicked from his father to Casey’s mom before he sat back down and gave a nod. “Of course. I um- excuse my forwardness. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just… I care about her. Deeply.” 

“I know you do dear,” Casey’s mom smiled, “I’m thankful that you do. I’ll just go up and speak with her, then hopefully she’ll see you.” 

Ethan nodded and waited with his father in the dining room. The minutes ticked by in an agonising wait as Ethan continuously paced back and forth. 

“Son, come and sit down. The time won’t pass any faster with you pacing than in would if you sat still.” 

“I can’t dad. I’m.. she’s everything to me. Even though it’s just embarrassment, it’s still a big thing. Right?”

“Of course it is. The sketch was beautiful, we saw it but. She definitely wanted to keep it to herself. At least for now.”

Ethan nodded in enthused agreement. “And how do I ease her mind about me seeing it. I mean, yourself and her mom seeing it is one thing. But myself?” 

“Be gentle. Don’t bring it up unless she does. Or gives you an opening to do so.” 

“Is that all? Just… be as nice as I already am to her?” 

“Even more so. Just, like I said. Be gentle.”

Casey’s mom re-entered the room as Alan finished speaking and gave them a somber smile, “She… said you can see her. If you want. But I must warn you, she’s still a little mortified.” 

“Of course. Understandably so. But thank you.”

Ethan smiled gratefully at Casey’s mom before heading upstairs and knocking on Casey’s door. 

“It’s open.”

Gently pushing it open, Ethan ventured inside carefully and found Casey on her window seat looking out over Boston. 

“Pretty beautiful out there, huh?” He said barely above a whisper coming to a stop in front of her and pointing to the empty spot beside her.

She nodded. “Go ahead.” 

He sat down and took her hand in his, tracing slow circles on her soft skin. “Are you okay?” 

She turned to look at him, his bright blue orbs slightly dulled and filled with worry. Shrugging, Casey looked away. She felt a brief guilt in not being able to calm his worry. Ethan gently pulled her into his chest with a sigh. “You’re mom said you felt a little mortified.” He mentioned quietly, his voice vibrating gently through his chest, soothing Casey. He felt her relax slightly in his arms. 

“Case?” 

She relaxed some more. 

“Do you want me to just talk?” He chuckled and Casey nodded. 

“Can I talk about your picture?” 

There was a pause, Ethan convinced he’d gone too far.

“I guess… yeah.” Casey muttered, fiddling with his shirt 

“Well,” he breathed out, “first off, it’s gorgeous. You’re so talented.” 

She smiled shyly into his chest, “thanks..”

“I only got a glimpse but your attention to detail looked amazing. Have you ever thought about applying for art school instead of medical?”

Casey shook her head. “Art’s my hobby. I want to keep it that way.” 

Ethan nodded. “I see. That’s fair.” 

Casey sat up and looked at him. 

“What?” He smiled, curiosity in his eyes

“You’re not gonna make fun of me?”

“Honey, why would I do that?”

“Because everyone at school did.” 

“You and I, both those idiots at school, were just that. Idiots. They like to tear the ‘weaker’ kids down. Make them ‘understand their place’ in the world. Society. But I’m not them Cass. You aren’t them. We. Aren’t them. We’ve had each other’s back since day one pretty much. Plus, I love you Casey. Anything time I ‘made fun’ of you, would be done in a loving way. Not to be mean.” 

Casey looked into his eyes, a gentle smile breaking out on her face. 

“What?” Ethan quizzed.

“Nothing, it's just… I love you too Ethan.”

He smiled back and they shared a soft kiss before resting their forehead together and giggling quietly between themselves. On the other side of the door Alan and Casey’s mom gave each other a knowing look and nod before they retreated back downstairs quietly. 

There was still a way to go with trust, but she knew one thing in particular deep down, and Ethan felt it too. 

He had fixed her broken heart. 

#choices stories you play #playchoices #pixelberry studios #lahamseiroshoe writes #open heart #open heart: second year #ethan ramsey #casey valentine #sienna trinh #bryce lahela #alan ramsey #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey fanficton #ethan x f!mc #ethan x casey #open heart high school au

[gladiatortale]

My DEPRESSION BEATING, fandom obsessing, shit-tastic FANTASTIC year in review!

TL;DR: I’m fixing my mental health and figuring out WHO THE FUCK I AM one fandom filled day at a time! Thank you to everyone who’s been there for me along the way. xoxo

what’s up HEATHENS.

stating the goddamn obvious here, it’s been a HELLUVA YEAR. One emotional rollercoaster after another but we’re ALMOST DONE. I know things aren’t gonna magically get better the second it flips to 00:01 on January first, but I’m excited to put this year behind me, and (SHOCKINGLY) a bit sad to see it go.

It was a year where the whole world completely stopped, we realized what is really important, what is really worth fighting for, and took a GODDAMN SECOND to just breathe.

For me personally, the year (which I’m counting off from November 1st) started out UNBELIEVABLY SHIT. I had just been kicked out of the country I called home for the last four years (thank you Brexit), I had ZERO job prospects, my depression was the WORST it had ever been, and I just didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. And in the beginning, the pandemic felt like salt in the wound, an extra kick in the teeth to my early twenties that had already “failed to launch.”

But I tried to embrace the madness, really take advantage of the world (that I always thought moved to fast) properly slowing down, and take time to try and become myself again. I wanted to figure out what I loved and try and become a bit more like the person I was before my depression got so bad.

I often say I became that Manic Trash Planet Lady™ you see in sci-fi adventure films; a bit zany to say the least, with a million ideas and a very eclectic fashion sense, but embracing the insanity as it comes...

*cough cough* audrey, get to the goddamn point!

Right. lol. THE POINT IS! 

I’m not 100% “healed”, I’m not sure if I think depression is a “oh look you’re officially cured! hooray!” type of disease, but this year I let myself ENJOY SHIT for the first time in god knows how long. I still don’t know “wHaT i WaNt To dO WiTh mY LiFe”, but I’ve got a better idea and I’m heading in (what feels like) the right direction. And most of all, I can look back and say I am better than where I was a year ago.

So I wanted to say T H A N K Y O U to the mad lads on this website that introduced me to the fandoms, shows, movies, fics... THE SHIT that made me happy this year and were there to be one (BIG) piece in my healing journey.

AND SO, with out further rambling ADO! Here are the highlights of the year marked by my ridiculous hyper-fixations and OBSESSIONS. Thanks for putting up with me ya fiends, xoxox

November 2019  The Arcana (Visual Novel)

I had just gotten home and I was in a LOOOOOOW place. Randomly decided to download this app when it came up and it proceeded to ruin my life (and my bank account...) for pretty much the rest of the year. It was exactly what I needed to get me through a tough time and I was thoroughly, horse-blinders-up-to-the-rest-of-the-world, OBSESSED. These gorgeous magical fiends ruined me and all I could say was thank you.

Joined the fandom: November 2019 Obsession peaked: Late November Obsession faded: December 2019; I started a new job AND my bank statement came in and I realized I had accidentally spent over SIXTY BUCKS on this stupid app. No ragrets, but I definitely started to phase out at that point. Fandom friends: Velma, (@lanavxds on insta) miss you girlie xx Fanfics you NEED to read: ‘Second Mistake’ by DeathBelle on AO3, because DAAAAAYUM SON. Favourite moments: Basically the whole of the Julian arc. That gangly himbo OWNED my ass for a month.

December 2019 Hazbin Hotel (TV Series)

Y’ALL okay here me out. Am I proud of this one? No. Is the show crass as hell? OOOOOOOOHHHH YEAH. Did my angsty ass love it at the end of last year? DAMN STRAIGHT IT DID. Goes without saying, but this is NOT FOR EVERYBODY, but it definitely helped me along the way to becoming more comfortable with myself and being open about being the massive geek that I always was, and watching things I enjoy regardless of what people say about it.

Joined the fandom: December 2019 Obsession peaked: Shortly there after. Fandom friends: None. Dipped one toe in fandom discourse and then promptly YEETED the fuck outta there. Obsession faded: January 2019. Still curious to see the full series if A24 actually ever does produce the whole thing, but I have def moved away from it. Fanfics you NEED to read: Haven’t read any. Maybe I’m a pussy baby piece-o-shit, but I DID NOT want to go down that rabbit hole, NO MA’AM. Favourite moments:

Discovering the Hunicast podcast. These guys are a riot and Ashley is a flustered GEM. Even if you don’t watch the show, go watch an episode of these fucking LADS just dicking about and your day will get better.

Watching the first episode with my partner and watching him realize his girlfriend is a total freak.

January 2020 Lore Olympus (Webtoon Comic)

*Officially* discovered this one thanksgiving weekend in 2019, but my Arcana phase was still raging pretty strong at that point so I didn’t really get in to it until later. EVERYBODY AND THEIR MOTHER NEEDS TO READ IT. It has everything and handles the reality sexual assault and it’s aftermath EXTREMELY well.

Joined the fandom: Late November 2019 Obsession peaked: January 2020 Fandom friends: KELLEY. MA GIRL XOXOXO Obsession faded: June-ish 2020. I’m like 10 chapters behind now, but I still love this story so much. Fanfics you NEED to read: SO MANY ON MY ‘MARKED FOR LATER’ LIST AAAAAH. I have to get to that... NEW YEARS RESOLUTION lol Favourite moments: Having a drunk conversation on New Years Eve in 2019 with one of my oldest friends from high school about how much she loved it too. Helped me see how popular fandom and fandoms, are especially after feeling like I needed to hide my enthusiasm through high school and uni. (THAT WAS A MISTAKE BUT I’LL GET THERE IN A MINUTE).

February 2020 Versailles (TV Series)

SO FUCKING GAY Y’ALL. Oh my god everyone in this show is so gay. Even when they’re not they still are a little bit. AND BEST OF ALL!! it’s very historically accurate (except for the demon satanic nonsense in season 3, what was that???)

Joined the fandom: February 2020 Obsession peaked: Like??? The SECOND I finished episode one. Fandom friends: none... WHERE ARE ALL OF YOU??? Obsession faded: March 2020. It was a fast and passionate love affair, what can I say? Fanfics you NEED to read: IF YOU HAVE RECS, GIVE ‘EM TO MEEEEE. Favourite moments: 

Showing the first episode to a friend of mine and the *ungodly GASP* that came out of her throat was... PRICELESS.

The ENTIRE throuple(???) relationship between the Chevalier, Philipe, and Palatine. PLATONIC/ ROMANTIC LOVE G O A L S.

March 2020 Yuri!!! On Ice (TV Series)

*deep breath* ...y’all knew this one was coming.

Was I ready for this show to ruin my fucking life? No.  Am I so glad it happened??? FUCK YEAH.

NEVER IN MY LIFE have I fallen off the deep end so quickly with a fandom. HOLY SHIT. This blog didn’t have much of an “identity” before, but I you said that this is a Yuri On Ice blog now I wouldn’t even be mad (nor could I really defend myself to the contrary... bc??? like??? just go LOOK at my archive). Craziest thing is I watched the first two episodes like?? a solid TWO YEARS ago, but I didn’t continue watching because I was just not in the right head space for all the love and silliness and positivity.

I could do a whole separate post about how much this show and how this fandom has changed my life (DON’T TEMPT ME I JUST MIGHT). But I’ll stick with the highlights for now ;)

Joined the fandom: March 2020  Obsession peaked: Has it peaked?? Went straight up and it still going lol Fandom friends: Sandra, my mentor, my queen @aeriamamaduck, my fandom ride-or-die. Thank you for taking this internet bby under your wing. RACHEL @idancewiththefairies I TRAPPED YOU HERE. MUAHAHAHA xxx Obsession faded: ON GOING. CAN’T STOP, WON’T STOP. Fanfics you NEED to read: jfc, SO MANY.

‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’ and ‘Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts’ by Reiya @kazliin​ -- Rivals AU companion pieces. Longest fics I’ve ever read and JESUS CHRIST these two fucking SENT ME. Most popular YOI fics on AO3 for a REASON.

‘Tell Me Where Your Love Lies’ by @aeriamamaduck -- Royalty AU, trope-breaking ABO. Ah sweet, TMWYLL, how you’ve killed me over and over again. This BEAUTIFUL wip has SUCH amazing world-building idk where to start (Congrats on passing 50,000 hits!) EVERYONE GO READ IT.

‘Blackbird’ by sixpences -- WWII/Coldwar Spy Fic. I don’t have enough words to describe how amazing this is. It’s elevated to a higher plane beyond fanfic. Just go read it. Thank me later.

‘Zanka’ by rinsled05 @dreaming-fireflies -- The geisha fic that ruined me. *deep breath* AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH *gasp* I’m fine. lol I sooooo not ready for this fic. Holy hell, Aoyagi had my heart in his hands from the first chapter. “’Please’ [...] ‘Don’t give me hope.’“ FUUUUCK.

‘Echoes’ by Reiya @kazliin -- Future fic. First fic I cried at... BOI. I was NOT ready for this. Shouldn’t be surprised given the author, but MAN. “‘A love like that, a love like what they had together, it never leaves completely.’ Yuri spoke again, eyes still staring out onto the ice, lost in memory. ‘There are always echoes.’” JUST FUCK ME UP.

Favourite moments: Oh good lord, where do I begin??

Having two (count ‘em TWO) main characters with mental health issues (Yuuri and his anxiety and Victor with burn out and depression) and NOT MAKING IT THE ONLY ASPECT OF THEIR PERSONALITY. CLAPS FOR KUBO AND YAMAMOTO!!

Everything about Yurio (ESPECIALLY HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH YUUKO AND HIS GRANDPA), that tsundere motherfucker is too pure for this world.

THE KISS. THE PROPOSAL. MY HEART WASN’T READY. AAAAAH!!

This fandom *properly* introducing me to smut on AO3...

Thinking I was going to get Rachel to like the show... NOT being prepared for her to fall off the deep end and START LIKING REAL SKATING TOO!!

Staying up waaaaaay too late waaaaaay too often to plan out plot points for TMWYLL with Sandra. Love ya dearie.

The warm fuzzy feeling I get every time I think about Victor and Yuuri.

April 2020 Bungou Stray Dogs (TV Series)

I had a hunch I was gonna like this show considering ALL of the characters are based off of famous classic authors from around the world... what I was NOT prepared for was just HOW MUCH I was going to love it. HOLY SHIT. The art style? Love it. The plot?? Bonkers, but so fun. THE VOICE CAST??? AMAZING. Highly recommend to anyone who wants to get in to anime, great place to start.

Joined the fandom: April 2020 Obsession peaked: Probably this summer? But we have DEF plateaued in a VERY high place. Fandom friends: FIJI. MA BOIIIII @lil-1nsane  Obsession faded: Hasn’t. Hope it doesn’t Fanfics you NEED to read: So so so many. The smut in this fandom is *chef’s kiss*, but here are a few...

‘He Works Hard For the Money’ by CataclysmicEvent @cataclysmicevent2019​ -- Sugar Daddy AU. FUCK MAN. I was not expecting to like this one, but bloody hell. This fic grabbed me by the throat and WOULD NOT let me go. Praying for chapter 16! But the author is working on another STELLAR fic so I’m okay for now.

‘Everything or Nothing’ by CataclysmicEvent @cataclysmicevent2019​ -- University AU. FUCK THIS FIC. Started reading it as I was waiting for HWHFTM to update and BOI, this fic ROCKS. The alternating POV fits so well with the enemies/idiots-to-lovers vibe. Solid 10 outta 10.

‘The City Where Wind Blows’ by @raven-rein​ -- Cancer Death fic. *pained shriek* AAAAAAGUUUUUUUHHHH *gasp* aaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, FUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKK MEEEEE. THIS FIC. Only the second fic I’ve ever cried to but I BAWLED MY GODDAMN EYES OUT. FUUUUUUUCK. I was not ready, never would have been ready. This is so tremendously well done, it killed me so beautifully, 

‘Haunted by Hatred’ by DeathBelle -- Canon compliant Soukoku. It is a CRIME that DeathBelle doesn’t have more BSD fics on her page, but this one is still brilliant.

Favourite moments:

THE CHUUYA-DAZAI MAFIA REUNION TEAM UP WHEN THEY FIGHT LOVECRAFT. Ooof. BOI. We love it.

The first three episodes. Soooo many break neck plot twists.

Every insane hypothetical conversation with Fiji.

Every time Atsushi or Tanizaki is on screen bc I LOVE THESE LIL BEANS.

June 2020 Trash Taste (Podcast)

Goddamn I love these chaotic lads so much.

As I became more and more comfortable with myself and my love for anime I stumbled upon these three goons, -- Joey, Connor, and Garnt, -- best known for there SUPER successful (mostly) anime YouTube channels. Even if you don’t watch anime, WATCH/LISTEN TO THIS PODCAST. The focus is mostly on their lives and the overall expat/immigrant experience, with a bit of anecdotal anime references sprinkled in. 

This show is both wholesome and heathenous in equal measure, and after having lived abroad for a significant portion of my (admittedly still quite short) life, it was such a breath of fresh air to hear people talk so openly about how living outside your home country is both wonderful and terrifying. They’re wonderfully candid about the fact that even if you love a place dearly, no where is perfect, and you WILL hate somethings about your new home even if the majority of the experience is fantastic. I cannot rate this show highly enough.

Joined the fandom: June 5th 2020, loved it from the first episode. Obsession peaked: July maybe? I was RELIGIOUS about watching the episodes as soon as they came out. Still watch every week, but less “on time.” Fandom friends: None :( but I have tricked my partner in to listening several times :) Obsession faded: It’s dimmed from where it was, but still going strong. Fanfics you NEED to read: NONE. NEVER PLAN TO. Hard and fast rule, I don’t read fics about real people. Characters played by real people, even that’s a maybe for me. But real-real people? FUCK NO. (some of my) Favourite moments:

Any time Garnt and Connor get into a big-brain-monkey-brain argument and Joey is just LOSING his GODDAMN MIND in the corner.

Bringing a retired Japanese porn star in the show for an honest conversation about consensual sex work and showing people can have more than one career in life.

Everything about the, ‘Are Online Friends Real Friends?’ episode. GO WATCH IT, it’s brilliant.

Garnt making “chotto-THE-FUCKING-matte” an expression

August 2020 Great Pretender (TV Series)

Spent most of the summer marinating in my BSD and YOI bubbles, until THIS BAD BOI came up on my Netflix recommendations. HOOOO BOI. This is some Anime Of The Year shit right here. Has a pretty original concept (Catch Me If You Can by way of Oceans 11-ish) but generally starts out like most other shounen (sans the super powers). AND THEN EPISODE FIVE HAPPENS. Not gonna spoil it but they TOOK THAT SHIT UP A NOTCH. Brilliant, even with a bit of an insane ending. GO WATCH THIS ONE.

Joined the fandom: August 2020 Obsession peaked: Pretty much as soon as I started watching it. Fandom friends: What’s up Fiji ;) @lil-1nsane Obsession faded: Naturally faded, but so glad I watched Fanfics you NEED to read: None so far! Little scared about this one, heard mixed reviews, but maybe someday. Favourite moments:

Edamame’s “madness arc” at the end of season 2. HOOOO BOY.

Laurent getting fucking WRECKED when Edamame punches him mid way through season 2, kills me every time.

Introducing my partner to anime with this show.

October 2020 Attack on Titan (TV Series)

RETURN OF THE KING. lol

In my quest to find an anime that I can watch with my partner, I turned on season 1 of this bad boi. Holy hell I forgot how much I loved this show, NO WONDER everyone lost their goddamn minds when this show first aired. I NEED to catch up before all the season four spoilers come to get me...

Joined the fandom: Winter 2016 Obsession peaked: Basically as soon as I started watching it. Fandom friends: None yet, but I know you’re out there... Obsession faded: 2017, JUST BEFORE SEASON TWO... I should have stuck around longer I know, but it’s slowly coming back. Reeeeeally need to catch up on seasons two, three, and four. Fanfics you NEED to read: GIVE ME YOUR RECS HEATHENS. Favourite moments:

Watching my partner FREAK OUT about Eren’s “death.”

EVERYTHING ABOUT POTATO GORL! lol

Getting in a conversation with a die hard fan after I hadn’t watched it in three years and saying... “Who’s that blond bitch that cries all the time?”/ “Armin?”/ “THAT’S THE ONE!”

November 2020... kind of. Figure Skating (Sport)

Okay this one is a bit hard to explain. 

I have been a DIE HARD figure skating for A LOOOOOONG time. My grandmother got me a hat from the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City and I remember watching even then. But I first became consciously aware of different skaters, my faves, etc. from about 2010. I vividly remember watching Plushenko skating in 2014 while on a school trip to Hawaii, and my friends laughing at me as I yelled at the TV.

But I didn’t TRULY get involved in the fandom side of it until this year. I had all this knowledge bottled up, but didn’t have any skating friends to talk to... UNTIL NOW. Super ironic that this happened in a year with almost NO skating, but I’ll take what I can get ;) Also did I stay up until FOUR-GODDAMN-THIRTY IN THE MORNING a few nights ago to stream Japanese Nationals on my phone??? YOU BET I DID.

Joined the fandom: Three times; 2002, 2010, and 2020. Obsession peaked: 2014? 2018? Idk it peaks any time someone does something amazing. Fandom friends: Rachel, my girl @idancewiththefairies​, WHY DIDN’T I INTRODUCE YOU TO THIS SOONER??? Obsession faded: Hasn’t. Won’t. lol Fanfics you NEED to read: NOPE. NONE. NOT GONNA HAPPEN. No fanfics about real people. Never gonna change that. (some of my) Favourite moments:

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir doing THAT routine at the 2018 Olympics.

Rachel​ sheepishly admitting to me that Shoma may have replaced Yuzu as her favourite, and me being SO DAMN PROUD of her for growing and developing her own skating opinions apart from me.

Yuzu’s 2012 ‘Romeo and Juliet’ routine and Worlds. THE RAW FUCKING POWER OF THAT SKATE.

Plushenko, cheeky bastard, changing his 2014 Team Event routine AS IT WAS HAPPENING.

The worlds friendliest rivalry between Yuzu and Nathan.

Any thing the Shibutani’s do, and all they do to break up the stereotype that all of Ice Dancing has to be rOmAnTiC and SeNsUaL to be good.

Watching my early faves become coaches and the D R A M A.

Honorable Mentions:

Coco (Film): I watched this the weekend I came home and I owe this movie a lot. It is so sweet an heartwarming, and it a roundabout way it brought me back to Tumblr (needed somewhere to vent my feelings considering I watched the movie a solid THREE YEARS after it came out, Tumblr seemed like the place to go lol). Watched in again in 2020 and it’s just as amazing.

Jekyll and Hyde (All media): Loved this book from the first time I read it in my first year of uni. But in December 2019, my fandom understanding reached its PEAK. The musical?? The comic?? YOOOOOO.

Dear Evan Hansen (Musical): I have BARELY engaged in fandom discourse, but the MUSIC. She fucking SLAPS.

Sirius the Jaeger (TV Series): This show is such an underrated gem. It literally has so much; "dead” family drama? Eclectic international group of monster hunters? Cowboys and vampires?? Yes, yes, and YES. And the main character has the same Japanese voice actor as Atsushi from BSD!

Studio Ghilbi (Films): My love affair with Ghibli goes back to when I was about 5 and BEGGED my mom to take me to the library so we could rent Kiki’s Delivery Service on DVD. But that love has been FULLY rejuvenated this year when I went to the Ghibli Film Festival in New York City (ironically in the last week in February). If you haven’t seen them, go watch From Up On Poppy Hill, Whisper of the Heart, and The Wind Rises. Spoilers, you’re probably gonna cry.

If you’ve made it this far, THANK YOU FOR READING! 

And thank you to all the amazing people that made my 2020 not so horrible. Good riddance 2020, don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

#2020 #mental health #appreciation post #figure skating #studio ghibli #coco #attack on titan #great pretender #bungou stray dogs #trash taste #versailles tv #yuri!!! on ice #the arcana game #hazbin hotel #anime #fandom

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 9

9/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey | T (for now?) | 4.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

Back in DC, Missy helps Scully get to the bottom of what's plaguing her. As Scully's journey gets a bit clearer, Missy drops a bombshell about her own life.

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

Scully’s stomach clenches as the plane touches down on the runway, jostling she and the rest of the passengers around like pawns in its game. Only forty-eight hours ago, she and Mulder had lifted off toward another mystery, another puzzle daring them to solve it. Now she is back, knowing scarcely more than she did then, with a mystery of her own to solve. She is forever chasing ghosts, and trying not to become one. 

As the winged giant rolls into its gate, Scully glances out the window. Thick clouds blanket the sky, an unending greyness rolling out over the city as far as the eye can see. So much for there’s no place like home. She’s been realizing lately that home is a feeling, not a location. Sometimes she feels like she needs a map to navigate her own apartment, or like everyone in DC knows some language she never learned. Well, almost everyone. There are a couple people who speak the same language as her.

And she’s about to see one of them now. The crowd of passengers--mostly suits who had sleepless nights-- stand up in their rows, ready to file out into the bureaucratic machine. The man on the outside of Scully’s row opens the overhead compartment and pulls down his bag and the carry-ons of Scully and the woman next to her. Scully thanks him demurely. She can’t remember the last time someone other than Mulder did that for her.

As they fall into line and shuffle off the plane, Scully wonders what her life will look like next time she boards a plane. With any luck, this will all be a fluke and she’ll be heading back to Aubrey tomorrow. Then again, even if it isn’t a fluke, she’ll still probably join Mulder back in Aubrey. She knows herself.

What would she say to him, then? Having to admit she lied about her reason for leaving, coming back with the type of news that turns worlds upside down...it doesn’t seem fair to him. It hasn’t been fair to her either, but that’s out of her hands.

She had knocked on Mulder’s door before the sun was even up. She hadn’t expected him to be awake, and so was particularly surprised when he came to the door with a towel around his waist. Evidently, he hadn’t expected her either (though who else is coming to his motel door at 6am?) because the longer she stood there in front of his barely dressed body, the more his color drained away. 

Needing a lie lame enough to be true, Scully told him that Melissa had sprained her ankle and would need some help getting around for a couple days.That she asked Scully to come home rather than go stay with their mother, because who better to be nursed by than a doctor? Mulder had nodded, told Scully to go, assured her he could handle BJ and the case. Scully is sure that Mulder knows what she told him is a lie. But he didn’t object, and that’s the permission she needed to feel settled with him and herself. 

She follows everyone off the plane, through the tunnel, and into the terminal. Moments like this remind her of her obsolescence in the universe, and she is somehow comforted by that. She is no chosen one, no messiah nor martyr, no mother of a holy child. She would like to stay that way.

She surveys the crowd waiting to pick up their beloved passengers. All of her fellow fliers, mere faces in her vicinity for an hour or two, are someone to somebody else. She is, too. They are all emerging from obscurity into a realm where they are known, for better or for worse. 

At the edge of the crowd, Scully catches her sister’s unmistakable smile and glowing red locks. She saw her sister only two mornings before, but Missy reacts as if they’ve been separated a lifetime. She engulfs Scully in a hug that just about sends the butterflies in her stomach into hibernation. 

“How are you feeling?” Missy asks, pulling away to scan her sister’s face for the honest answer she won’t give. 

Aware of this, Scully turns the corners of her mouth up. “I’m okay, really. My migraine went away at about four in the morning.”

“So you barely slept,” Missy interjects. 

Scully frowns. “Well, I laid in bed from roughly eight to six. There was sleeping involved at some point, I think.”

“How about on the plane? Did you sleep there?”

“No, you know I can never sleep with strangers around.”

“Oh, right. Did they teach you that at the Academy or something?”

“The things I saw at the Academy taught me that.”

“Oh.” Missy regrets bringing it up. As they head toward the luggage area, she holds out her hand, lets her sister place the handle of her carry-on in it. A silent apology, an acknowledged acceptance.

“So what did you end up telling Mulder?”

Scully is endeared that she has successfully chipped away at her sister’s tendency to call him by his first name.

“Oh god, you’re gonna think it’s so stupid.”

Missy laughs. “What did you say?”

Scully’s voice is rife with amusement. “I told him that you sprained your ankle and needed a doctor around to take care of you.”

Melissa bursts into laughter. “Good girl.” Scully would kick a man in the groin if he ever said that to her, but coming from her sister, it’s high praise.

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

They ignore the elephant in the room until they make it to Missy’s car. The plastic of a CVS bag rustles at Scully’s feet as she settles into the passenger seat. 

“Three pregnancy tests,” Melissa explains. “I stopped on the way.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“But I did.” That had been their father’s comeback whenever someone tried to, as he called it, ‘pity the helper.’ They both smile just a bit, their memory of him alive and well. 

“Can I pay you back?”

“No!” Missy insists. “I’m living with you rent free.”

Scully decides this is a good enough reason to let it go. She crosses her legs, watches her sister pull out of the space. She lets a question float around her head until they make it out of the labyrinth of airport side roads.

“Do you think I would be a good mother?”

Missy flicks her gaze toward her sister. Dana is peculiar in her way. Instead of fishing for sympathy like most people when they ask questions of this nature, she expects punishment. She’s practically asking to have a nail hammered into her cross. 

“You’d be a wonderful mother, Dana,” Missy soothes. “You’ve never had a bad intention in your life.”

“Haven’t I?...I killed a snake with Bill and Charlie once.”

“And you cried afterward. I remember seeing the tear stains on your face when you got home. Not to mention that you were what, five or six?”

“Well, what about Daniel? Surely my judgement was wrong there.”

Melissa sighs. “Okay, I’ll rephrase it. Any bad intention you’ve ever had was paid for with regret, and that’s not true about most people.” She frowns. “It’s always the purest souls who are the hardest on themselves.”

Scully stares through the windshield. She will expend no brainpower on her sister’s implication. She doesn’t believe it to be true. 

After a moment--“Do you remember those Raggedy Ann dolls we had, Betsy and Betty?”

Melissa smiles, nods. “Of course. Betsy was yours, and Betty was mine. We had those little wooden bassinets for them.”

“Right.”

Missy lets the memories flow back to her. “We used to sing lullabies and rock them to sleep. Actually, I’d sing, you’d pray with them. Mom and dad thought it was the sweetest thing ever, and I would get so mad at you. I thought you were sucking up to them.”

Scully laughs. This is the first time she’s heard of her sister’s woes. “Missy, I was three. There was no conspiring going on.”

“Say what you will, but your stocking was always a little bit fuller than mine.” She smirks at her sister, who blushes and looks at her lap. 

Dana has the unfortunate distinction, at least in Melissa’s mind, of being the favorite daughter. Bill Jr. always was and will be the favorite child. He molded to all their parent’s expectations of him, never deviating from the upstanding family man they imagined when holding him for the first time. Dana had done well up until she decided on the Academy. As Missy reminded her countless times, it wasn’t that they hated her going into the FBI. It just wasn’t in their vision for her, that’s all. 

Missy doesn’t fret about her place, even finds it somewhat funny. She isn’t the least favorite child per say (thanks Charlie!) but she is the least favorite child her mother is still in contact with, and that’s a title that takes some maneuvering. 

Scully laces her fingers together, rests them in her lap. “Do you remember telling me that I wasn’t a good mommy one night when we were putting Betsy and Betty to sleep?”

Melissa looks to her sister so quickly she practically forgets she needs to be watching the road. “No, of course not.”

Scully can’t meet her gaze. “Well, I know it’s a silly thing, and we were just children, but it’s stayed stuck in my brain for all these years.”

“Dana, you had probably just finished a ‘now I lay me down to sleep’ prayer, and I felt like I needed to knock you down a notch.” She pats her sister’s shoulder. “There was no truth in it, and I’m sorry it’s bugged you for so long.”

Scully shifts in her seat. The CVS bag crackles as her heels bear down on it. “I’m afraid it’s turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point.”

Melissa won’t give weight to her sister’s worries, but won’t discount them either. “The good news about a self-fulfilling prophecy is that you can always change your thinking...You don’t believe in psychics, so don’t try to be one.”

Scully looks at the dashboard, then her sister. “I would hug you right now if we weren’t doing 75,” she coos.  

Something has clicked in her head, some comfort she has long been depriving herself of. Sometimes words fill in the cracks left by those that preceded them. The right words go even further, it turns out. The right words give you permission to heal. 

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

A dreadful anticipation plagues her as she and Missy walk up to the apartment. She wants to get it over with, even if it goes badly (and she knows it very well might). She craves the relief of surviving such an ordeal. Scully imagines that this is what the French must have felt on their walk to the guillotine. Except instead of the relief of surviving, they got the release of death. Scully is not ready for this yet.

Missy unlocks the door, ushers her sister in. Dana is not used to coming home and finding things in different places than before, Missy can tell from the inquisitive look on her face. She is surveying her territory, updating her memory bank. Looking for the exit signs, maybe.

Melissa closes and locks the door. Letting her sister set the pace, she leaves the CVS bag on the side table. Dana has already taken the carry-on and suitcase to her room.

Her room, Scully finds, is a shrine to sameness, everything looking exactly as she left it two days before. Untouched and completely under her control...these are the reassurances she requires now. She lifts the suitcase onto her bed but leaves it zipped. Its fate is no clearer than hers at the moment. Then she places the carry-on on her dresser, makes a mental note to let Mulder know she made it home safely, and returns to her sister in the living room.

“Have you eaten?’ Missy asks, edging toward the kitchen.

“I won’t be able to until we get this over with,” Scully replies, making her priorities clear.

“Okay.” Missy won’t fight her on this one. She retrieves the bag off the side table, perches at her sister’s side. “Are you ready now?”

Scully screws up her face. “No, but yes. I just need to know at this point.”

Missy takes her sister’s hand with a specific kind of gentleness, like a fairy godmother about to cast a spell upon her princess. Scully is willing to be led. She follows her sister into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet while Missy pulls the pregnancy tests from the bag. Scully tries not to think about any moment beyond the current one as her sister opens each test, lines them up along the counter. 

“Do you want me in here or outside?” Missy’s tone matches the sympathy that Scully needs.

“Outside, please,” Scully says sheepishly, wishing she could have some guts for once. If no one else witnesses this moment, then maybe it’s not happening. Flawed reasoning that even Mulder wouldn’t agree with, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Okay. I’ll be right on the other side of the door.”

Scully nods her thanks as Missy slips out of the bathroom and shuts the door quietly. Left alone, she feels the crushing gravity that has been trailing her all along. She’s almost certain that her heartbeat would be visible through her skin if she looked. 

She stands, picks up the first test, opens the toilet. Her hands shake so violently that she thinks she might drop the stick in the toilet, which would be a pretty terrible way to return her sister’s kindness. She pulls it away and takes a deep breath to steady herself, holding her arms out in front of her like a sleepwalker. All the things she’s seen, and she’s never been as scared as this moment. Never felt the life she knows and has grown to love so acutely threatened. Never balked at the future in such a fervent way.

It occurs to her that she might seriously need her sister to come in and help her. The thought of that is just pathetic enough to kick her into action. Her hands are barely any more steady than before, but her resolve is ironclad. 

On the other side of the door, Melissa listens as a long period of silence is broken. She’s sitting down, her head resting against the wood, a hand laid against the door like it’s the chest of a lover. 

Silence again, ruptured by Scully’s quiet murmur. “Will you hold on to the test, please? And read the result when it’s ready?” She didn’t know she would need this, but she does. 

“Of course.” 

Scully cracks open the door, passes the stick to her sister. “I wiped it off.” 

Missy suppresses a laugh. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t, but thank you.”

Scully closes the door quickly, not wanting to hold eye contact with her sister, not wanting to accidentally see the result herself. “Two minutes, right?” Her voice is on the verge of breaking.

“Yes, Dana. Two minutes.”

“Should I wait to do the next one?”

Missy eyes the test, waiting for it to make up its mind. “You can go ahead. It’ll take two minutes too.”

“Okay.” Scully’s voice is barely audible.

“Or you can wait,” Missy offers. “I just suspect that you’d want to check the accuracy as soon as possible.”

“Uh-huh.” She grabs the second test, wearily sits back down. 

Missy’s voice reverberates through the door. “I’ve done this before you know. For myself and for a friend.”

“Really?” Scully’s brain had tricked herself into thinking she was all alone.

“Mm-hm,” Missy confirms. “Mine were never positive, but hers were. I went to Planned Parenthood with her.”

“Oh.” There are things, Scully realizes, that she has neglected to think about. Or maybe she’s putting that off until she knows for sure. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more of an act of self-preservation. Her gut feeling is that she wouldn’t, but she never envisioned herself in a situation like this. If there’s any situation where it’s justified, it’s this, right? Not that she has a problem with it; women should be able to choose for themselves. She just always thought she knew what her choice would be. 

Melissa lifts her eyes from her watch, looks at the door as if she can see her sister through it. “It’s ready.”

“It’s been two minutes?” Scully’s voice rises.

“Uh-huh. Do you want me to come in or…?”

Scully scrambles up, lays the second test on a fresh piece of toilet paper. “I’ll come to you.”

She opens the door, kneels to be eye level with her sister. Prayer position is in close proximity. She bites her lip, her dilated pupils begging her sister to either curse her or free her.

A thin smile appears on Missy’s face as she flips the test so that Scully can read it. “Negative.”

One line. One very defined red line set against the white space. Has anyone, Scully wonders, ever gotten a tattoo of that?

“I--” Tears burst out of her instead of words. She lands in her sister’s arms, utterly unsure of what she’s feeling. Relief, yes. Happiness? Not quite. Sadness? Something like that. 

Missy smooths her sister’s hair down, holds her in the tightest hug she’s probably had in decades. “How do you feel?”

Scully is tempted to ask how her sister does that, always there with the tough questions. Instead, she gulps air until she’s calmed down enough to talk. 

“I don’t know,” she laments, tears streaked down her reddened face. “I thought I would be glad but...I just feel numb. Like I went down the wrong fork in the road and missed something important, but I don’t even know what it is since it didn’t happen.” She sniffles. It sounds like a heart breaking. “I just know it’s supposed to be there.”

“I thought you didn’t want--”

“Not under these circumstances, no. But then...when else is it gonna happen?” Her voice is a sheet of glass. “Because it doesn’t look like any time soon.”

Missy hugs her once again, rocking her back and forth. She overflows with warmth, sympathy, and love. “Honey, you have plenty of time to make your life what you want it to be.”

Scully sobs into her sister’s neck. She feels like an emotional hemophiliac, constantly hemorrhaging pain. Every time she thinks she’s bottomed out, there’s farther to fall. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she says, wiping her face. “I didn’t know I would be.”

Missy pulls her in a third time. “Don’t ever apologize to me for anything, even the things you’re actually wrong about.”

Scully laughs half-heartedly. “Oh!” She realizes then. “We still have two more tests, don’t we?”

Missy nods, smiles empathetically. “The second one should be ready by now.”

Scully is about to get up, but Missy lays a hand on her back, beats her to it. “I’ll grab it.” She strides into the bathroom, picks the stick up off the counter, and takes a look. Again, she flips it so her sister can see. “Negative.”

Scully presses her lips together, a stopgap to any further emotional reaction. “We should do the third one then, just to be sure?”

Missy detects a lift in her sister’s voice, a space she’s made for hope. “Whatever you’d like, Dana.” It seems that her sister will always end up disappointed through no fault of her own, no matter what she wishes for. This chills Missy to the bone.

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

The sisters share dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for lunch because this is the kind of food Melissa buys when left to her own devices. Missy dunks hers in honey mustard, Scully takes hers plain. Remnants of anxiety hang in the air; Scully’s plight remains unresolved, and they are well aware of that. Whatever path they are walking, this is just the beginning. 

The phone interrupts their silent reverie, and Scully hops up to disguise the fact that its ringing made her jump. “It’s probably Mulder,” she tells her sister. “I meant to call him when we got home.” Missy nods, continues with her nuggets. 

Scully grabs the phone off the wall. “Hello?”

“Hey, is Mel there?” It’s a sweet, flowery voice, very different from the one Scully expected. She furrows her brow. Could Mel refer to her sister? She’s never heard anyone call Melissa that. “Who is this?” Missy looks up, watches her sister curiously. It’s not Mulder, evidently. 

The woman on the other line clears her throat. “It’s Trinity. Am I speaking to Dana?”

“Yes, this is Dana,” Scully says slowly, unnerved by the caller knowing her name. “Are you calling for Melissa?” Scully offers, hoping she might get out of this scot-free. 

Hearing this, Missy wipes her hands on a napkin, gets up, and rushes toward Scully, holding her hand out for the phone.

Scully ignores her, keeps the phone to her own ear as the caller speaks to her. “I am, but I was actually wondering about you. Mel told me your worries. How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully is now particularly spooked. Who is this woman, and why does she know all of her business? Missy pokes Scully in the bicep, then gestures for the phone. Scully hasn’t seen her sister this greedily desperate since she snuck out the window when she was seventeen and needed Scully to unlock the front door so she could get back in before their parents woke up.

“Um, Trinity is it, Missy--Mel wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay! It was nice to finally meet you!” the cheery voice practically sings. Scully just nods and makes her usual ‘Mulder you’re crazy face’ as she hands the phone off to her sister.

“Hi, Trin.” Missy speaks in a rush. “I can’t really talk right now, but Dana is home and all the tests were negative so she’s doing okay. I’ll call you tonight, alright?”

Scully can hear the voice on the other line, but she can’t make it out. Her sister says “I love you, bye” into the phone, then hangs up.

Scully raises an eyebrow, feeling it her duty as the little sister to pry. “Who was that…?” 

Missy puts the phone back on the wall, circles around to her plate, sits down. She answers calmly, casually. “That’s Trinity. She lives in Portland, we used to waitress together.”

Scully slides back into the seat across from her sister. “How come you’ve never mentioned her? She seems to know a lot about me.”

“Well, you’re the reason I moved to DC and all.”

“I didn’t know you were still in contact with anyone from the West Coast.” Scully picks a stray crumb off one of her nuggets, thankful that her sister is in the line of questioning for a change. 

“I bounced around the area for three years, of course I have friends from there.” She grabs her own empty paper plate, points to her sister’s. “Are you done?”

Scully pushes the plate--with two uneaten chicken nuggets--toward Missy. “With the food, yes. Not with the questions.”

Melissa takes both of the plates to the trash, then rinses her hands in the sink. “Yes. Does that answer your question?”

“Depends. What do you think my question is?”

Missy dries her hands on the dish towel, swivels to face her sister. “Is Trinity my girlfriend? Because yes, she is.”

Scully’s mouth drops open the slightest bit. She had known Missy was bi, but she had never met any of her girlfriends, not even in passing. Missy tended to keep them to herself, fearing that the Scully family might encroach on the holy ground she created. “Really?” she asks excitedly. 

“Uh-huh.” Missy sits back down at the table. “For nine months now.”

“Are you serious? That’s incredible, Missy! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Missy just raises her eyebrow. Scully feels like she’s looking in a mirror. “What? You know it doesn’t bother me.”

“Sure, but mom, and Bill…”

“I don’t think that mom would be upset by it,” Scully answers level-headedly. “Surprised maybe, but not mad.”

Missy balls up a napkin, tosses it back and forth between her own hands. “I don’t know that she would be, I just...don’t trust that she wouldn’t. And besides, nothing mom says or does will change how I feel about Trinity. So it’s not really a pressing issue. No need to cause a scene.”

“I can’t believe you moved here without mentioning her. I wouldn’t have let you leave her, you know.”

Missy laughs. “Oh, I do. That’s why I didn’t say a word.” Scully’s laugh is her first genuine one all day.

“She seems very nice,” Scully says, flicking a crumb off the table.

“Oh no, she’s a total bitch,” Missy replies. There’s a moment of silence while Scully figures out that was a joke, then they both laugh.

“Just kidding. I love her very much.” Missy’s smile could melt ice. “I’m glad you got to talk to her. Now my two favorite ladies have technically met!”

“I’m afraid to ask whether I’m in first or second place.”

Missy reaches out across the table. “I moved across the country for you, honey.” Then, with a smirk--”But I could move back any day now, so watch out!”

Scully smiles, nods. She can’t imagine what these past few weeks would have been like without her sister near. She hopes Missy never goes away again, as unrealistic a thought as it is. If there are angels on Earth, her sister is one. But Mulder too has emerged as a force in her life; no one destabilized her life quite like him, but he would be her rock if she let him, she knows this. She owes him a call. She knows that too.

#i think this is the best part so far #it's angsty as helllllllll #and two big reveals!! #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf fanfic #txf #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

[jalapeno-princess]

Back to You

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Exes to lovers

Warnings: insecurities, self doubt

Summary: You had broken up with Mark over four months ago for reasons still unknown to him and as much as he tries to move on, he knows there’s just no getting over you.

Word Count: 4.2k

“You have halo? Cool! I love halo.” Mark hummed softly in response as he motioned for the younger girl to sit down.

“Would you like to play for a little bit? I actually haven’t touched that game in months. I’ll go find us something to snack on while you get it set up.” She beamed up at him while he made his way towards the kitchen.

He began to search through his cupboard for some ramen when he heard his name being called. “Everything okay?” When Mark saw the look of curiosity on her face, he grew confused until he looked at the tv.

“Whose princess? Is it okay if I use her profile? Or should I use yours?” Mark felt his stomach drop. There was a reason why he hadn’t played that game in a while and there it was, like a slap in the face by reality that you were no longer in his life. The two of you broke up over four months ago and as much as he wanted to say the break up was mutual, it was you who decided that you both should go your separate ways. Although it’s been a while and he knew he should’ve been moved on by now, he was still so madly in love with you and holding on to a tiny bit of hope that you would find your way back to him one day.

“Oh, um—you can play on mine.” Alyssa was a very sweet girl. Mark’s friends were tired of him moping around and staying home all the time because he didn’t have the energy nor motivation to go out since you left; so Jinyoung forced him to go on a date and set him up with one of his coworkers. As much as Mark didn’t feel like getting in to a relationship just yet, he felt as if this was the only way he could get over you completely; even if God knows he never wanted to. Ever.

This was the third date they have been on since they were introduced to each other almost a month ago and honestly Mark wasn’t feeling it. She was smart; graduated from college with her bachelor’s degree in political science. She was also very soft spoken and kind, always asked Mark how his day was and gave him her full attention whenever he spoke—if he ever spoke. No matter how nice she was and how obvious she made it that she was developing feelings for him, she wasn’t you.

Nobody could ever take your place in Mark’s life. He was sure of it. Nobody could fill the hole in his chest or patch up his broken heart that you caused when you left him. His mind was now clouded with thoughts of you as he started to cook the ramen and he could feel himself tearing up.

When Mark felt that the bed was now more vacant, and your side of the bed was cold, he stifled back a yawn and took a few moments to wake his body up before making the journey to find you. It was currently 3:15 in the morning and he couldn’t help but feel as if something was wrong. You would never wake up in the wee hours of the morning unless it was to pee or if you got hungry, but you would always bring the food back to bed, so where could you have gone?

Right as he walked out of your shared bedroom, it was then as he heard the sound of guns being shot and cries of aliens that he knew you were playing halo. The newest installment of your favorite video game had just been released and you have been hinting to Mark for weeks that you wanted it for your birthday to which he would laugh at your subtleness.

When he surprised you with the game on top of your own controller and a headset that he knew you’d only use because you wanted to “look like a gamer” and not actually talk to others through it like he did, you were over the moon and you showed him how grateful you were on your knees the rest of that night.

Since you were busy with both work and school, you never had much time to play the game until you got home and even then, you were exhausted to say the least and never had enough energy to even eat; so the game went untouched for a few days. You woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to go back to sleep, even if the tight grip on your waist was quite comforting; so you made your way in to the living room and wrapped yourself in to a blanket burrito while quietly turning on the game. Mark giggled softly to himself when he saw how focused you were on the game and how adorable you looked squished between all the pillows.

“Babe.”

You didn’t notice your boyfriend at the edge of the couch until he tapped on your knee to get your attention. “Hey love, sorry did I wake you?” He shook his head and motioned for you to sit up so that he could sit down and immediately pulled you on to his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist protectively.

“Your absence is what got me up. I can’t sleep without you. You seem to be having fun though, how long have you been up for?” He propped his chin on your shoulder and you found yourself leaning back in to his embrace. You turned to steal a chaste kiss from the corner of his lips before returning to your game.

“Almost three hours. Once I finish a level I end up starting the next one and I can’t stop. This current level is so frustrating though, if you run out of ammo, you have to run out on the field and find more on your own. How am I supposed to protect myself and look for another weapon without getting killed—“ you were quick to smile in the kiss when Mark turned you around to face him and crashed his lips against yours.

“Couldn’t help myself. You’re so adorable you know that? Tell me more.” You continued to explain everything you’ve done so far, from killing hundreds of aliens to completing missions whilst aboard stolen planes. You were so into describing the game that you failed to notice how Mark was looking at you with so much love and adoration in his eyes. He looked at you as if you were the creator of the universe. As if you were the one who set all the stars, the sun and the moon in to the sky. Your boyfriend didn’t think it was possible for someone to make slaughtering aliens sound so cute.

You asked Mark if he wanted to head back to sleep but he was quick to disagree and held you tighter against his body. As you continued to play the game, you started to absentmindedly grind against Mark’s lap causing him to quickly grow aroused at the sensation. When you felt his hard on graze against your ass, your cheeks warmed up. “Y/n, maybe it’s time for us to go back to bed.” The raspiness in his voice sent chills down your spine and you knew exactly what he had in mind. You decided to mess with him even if you knew what his plans were once you were to head back to the room.

“Tired?”

“No. The complete opposite actually. I’m wide awake, and so is little Mark. Since you’re the one to cause the problem in my pants, I believe you should be the one to fix it. Now let’s go.”

The memory was all too much for him to take in. He made love to you for the rest of that morning until he had to get ready for work. If he knew that was going to be one of the last times he got to love on your body, he would’ve called in sick and taken his time with you. He would’ve kissed you longer, map your body with all of his love bites and held you just a little tighter so that you wouldn’t have been able to leave him.

The timer sounding off stopped him from drowning himself in self pity and he finished putting the ramen in to bowls before making his way back in to the living room. Alyssa had all her attention on the tv screen in front of her but paused the game when she saw Mark placing the bowls down on the coffee table. She quietly thanked him and began to eat her food.

Both her and Mark sat in silence, but the atmosphere was extremely awkward with neither of them knowing what to say. Mark felt bad, he knew he was the cause of the tension between the two of them, but he just didn’t feel like this was right. How could he put effort in to something he wanted no part in? Once they were both done eating, he took their bowls and set them down in the sink while releasing an exhausted sigh. He decided that he wanted to go to sleep and used that as excuse to get Alyssa out of his apartment.

When he returned back to the living room, he saw her reaching out to his dog Milo, but the cute little pup had already taken a disliking to the poor girl. Milo wasn’t one to like people all that easily, so if he showed attention to anyone other than Mark, that just proved the puppy liked you. Other than Mark, Milo loved you. You were good with giving him baths once a week, you’d pick up after him, you’d feed him treats when Mark wasn’t home and you’d always play fetch with him. Sometimes Mark would find himself getting jealous that Milo seemed to like you just a bit more, but it was also very cute.

With that being said, Milo seemed to have had a hard time accepting your absence once you moved out. He was no longer as active, wasn’t as quick to come whenever Mark called and he no longer ate all of his food that Mark put out for him. He still had a hard time understanding why you left, but he was never one to pry things out of you. If you had something on your mind, he would wait for you to tell him willingly.

“He’s so cute! What’s his name?” Mark shrugged.

“Milo.” She tried to play fetch with him but Milo payed her no mind before returning back to the room.

“Hey Alyssa, I um—I actually have to get up early tomorrow so is it okay to end things here tonight? I’m sorry about that—I’ll take you home—“ she shook her head politely while standing up and gathering her things.

“It’s alright, I can catch a taxi. Don’t worry about me. Thank you for having me over.” He gave her a sad smile before walking her over to the door.

“Oh—before I go, I um—I think you should talk to her.” Mark looked up at her in curiosity but right as he was going to ask her who she was talking about, she continued. “Jinyoung told me about your ex-girlfriend. I didn’t think much about it at first, but you seemed so distant, so out of it on our last two dates and I knew there was a reason someone as attractive and kind-hearted as you was single. It’s because your heart is still taken. Either you’re still in love with her, or you’re just not interested in me. But you should try, you never know what the outcome could be. For all you know, she’s still in love with you too. Have a nice night Mark. Take care.”

She pulled him in to a quick hug and went on her way. Her perfume was sweet and a bit too strong for his liking. You were never one to wear perfume. If anything, you preferred the scent of your laundry detergent; fresh linen always smelt good to you and Mark ended up liking the scent because it always reminded him of you. Right after your breakup, he had to change his laundry soap because it would always bring him to tears.

Mark made his way to the room and plopped down on the bed; shoving his face in to the pillow and released a frustrated grunt. The first week after you completely took out all of your things, Mark found himself sleeping on the couch. There was no way he’d be able to sleep on the bed without you in his arms. Matter a fact, he only started to sleep in his room again just two weeks ago. Milo even joined him on the bed and Mark was very grateful he had the cute little dog to be there for him or he was sure he’d go insane. He got up and went to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Then he took off his shirt and changed in to a pair of sweats before making his way back in to the living room to turn off the tv.

As he reached for the game console and was about to turn off the tv, he saw a green dot in the corner of his eye, signaling that you were currently online. His heart rate started to increase and he felt a single tear fall on his cheek. He hasn’t seen you since your last night together and seeing that you were currently playing a game made him smile to himself. He decided to play for a few minutes and it took every bone in his body not to send you a game request.

Ten minutes after he started the game, he got a notification that you sent a message. He felt as if his heart was going to combust out of his chest and his finger began to circle over the button. A huge part of him wanted to see what you had to say. His heart was practically pleading with him to open it but his mind was afraid that you said something he didn’t want to hear. Going with the commands of his heart, he opened the message and released the breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

Tiger-lily: Hey. It’s been a while. Are you busy? 10:26 p.m.

Mark smiled like an idiot to himself before waiting a few minutes to respond, not wanting to seem too forward or too eager even if he was extremely excited. He could only hope this meant good things.

Morkus: Never too busy for you. What’s up? Are you okay? 10:30 p.m.

Tiger-lily: I think I made a mistake. I know that it’s late, but can I come over? 10:32 p.m.

He bit down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming. Were you referring to breaking up with him? Did you regret leaving? Were you regretting these last four months of being away from him? What was the mistake that you made? He could only pray something good was about to happen.

Morkus: Yeah sure. Need me to come get you? 10:33 p.m.

Tiger-lily: No. I should be fine. I’ll see you in a few. 10:35 p.m.

Mark quickly got up from off the couch and turned off the tv while looking around to make sure the place looked spotless. He couldn’t believe you were on your way to his apartment nor could he process the idea of you regretting the breakup. He knew he shouldn’t have been getting his hopes up, but his heart felt so full. When he saw Milo slowly treading in to the living room, he picked him up and began kissing him all around his face.

“Mommy’s coming home Milo. Let’s get you cleaned up. She’s going to know I’ve been a mess without her just by the fact that you wreak.” As he began to give Milo a bath, he heard a soft knock on the door and he had to calm himself down before opening it. His mind was full of so many thoughts and questions he wanted to ask you, but he didn’t want to ruin things before they could even start. Once he laid his eyes on you, it’s like he fell in love with you all over again. Has it really been four months since he last saw you? Since he last held you and kissed you? Since he last got to hold your dainty little hand in his and professed his love for you both to the world and amongst yourselves?

“Hi.”

“Hey.” He gave you a soft smile and offered for you to come inside.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink? You look very good by the way. Well, I mean—you always look good. Even when you wear a old, raggedy shirt of mine with your hair in a bun honestly I think that’s when you look the prettiest—I should stop talking I’m sorry. Let me go get Milo from out of the sink.” He grinned when he saw the small smile rise upon your face before heading back in to the bathroom. After drying Milo off with a towel and placing him on the ground, he gave himself a few seconds to come to his senses. Even after all this time, you still had quite the effect on him and only you were able to turn him in to a stuttering and clumsy mess.

His heart warmed when he saw Milo in your hands, licking at your face in excitement. He missed this. Missed you. It was all so natural for you to be in his environment again. It’s as if you never left in the first place. He took in your appearance and frowned when he saw the bags under your eyes and how much weight you lost. Although there were so many questions on the tip of his tongue, he was going to let you take the lead in how things were going to go. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, attempting to get used to the other’s presence. Finally, after what felt like forever, you spoke up.

“I’m sorry.” He looked at you in confusion, not understanding where you were coming from and waited for you to continue. “Like I said earlier, I made a mistake. These last few months without you have been hell. I was going through some shit at the time and I didn’t want to bring you down with me. I needed to learn to love myself before I could allow you to continue loving me. I know it was selfish of me and I genuinely felt like you deserved better, so that’s why I left. And I lied, I didn’t leave because I was no longer happy in this relationship. I’m happiest when I’m with you.”

You took in a deep breath before continuing your rant. Seeing Mark look so small, so fragile and knowing that you were the reason made you feel terrible. He was the most amazing boyfriend and took such great care of you. He never failed to make you smile and you were sure his laugh was the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. How could you break his heart when he was the only person who has ever meant anything to you?

“I’ve been so lost without you. Learning to live without you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Every time something went wrong in my life, I wanted so badly to run to you and cry in to your arms. But I felt so stupid, I’m the one who put us in this situation; I had no right to feel sorry for myself. Not a day went by where I didn’t think about you. I wanted to call you, text you and I even found myself outside of the apartment wanting to come in and apologize for all the pain I’ve caused you. I’m sorry it took so long. I was cleaning out my closet earlier when I stumbled upon the letter you wrote me for our third anniversary and I kept replaying the last few words in my mind over and over again the entire day. “I love you y/n and I plan to love you for the rest of my life. No matter what happens, it’s always going to be you.” I cried like a baby for hours and I finally came to the conclusion that I don’t want to be without you anymore. I overheard Youngjae and Yugyeom talking about a girl and how you’re dating again, so I understand if I’m too late, I just needed you to know that I’m still so madly in love with you and I’d do anything to be yours again.”

You took his silence as a bad sign and began to pick at your nails in nervousness, a habit Mark noticed that you would do whenever you were worried. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t upset to hear that you broke up with him because you felt you weren’t enough for him and because you were dealing with some battles on your own but he couldn’t blame you. You were always so independent, you were never one to tell anybody your problems even if Mark would tell you countless times that he was always there for you whenever you needed him. His heart hurt for you and he hated that he didn’t see the signs before.

“Baby.” Hearing him call you the term of endearment sent a warm feeling to your chest and before you knew it, his lips were smashing against yours. You deepened the kiss and wrapped your arms up around his neck. His lips were soft and tasted like kimchee and you had to stifle back a laugh. Mark was notorious for eating ramen. You were surprised he’s never gotten tired of it seeing as how that is all he ever eats. He licked your bottom lip before bringing it in to his mouth playfully. The two of you made out for quite some time, neither of you being able to pull away because it’s been so long. Back when the two of you first started dating, you and Mark were constantly kissing each other. Whether it was a quick peck goodbye as one of you left for work, or a rough, passionate make out session after a heated argument, you could never go a day without connecting your lips with his. To Mark’s dismay, you broke the kiss in order to catch your breath and placed your forehead against his.

“I’ve missed you.” You giggled softly before placing a sloppy kiss on his jaw.

“I’ve missed you too. God, you don’t understand just how much Mark.” He reached for your fingers and began to play with them while bringing them up to his lips in order to gently kiss your fingertips.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were suffering y/n? I would’ve been there for you. I should’ve been there for you. That’s what I’m here for. I’m your boyfriend. You’re supposed to lean on me whenever life gets too hard. You should’ve let me help you carry the burden, not go through that all by yourself. If I knew that was the reason why you left, I wouldn’t have let you go in the first place. Don’t you dare for one second think you’re not good enough for me. I meant it every single time I said it. You’re perfect baby. You’re all I want in this lifetime and the next. God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you here right now but I’ll do it time and time again if it means you’ll stay. I love you so much y/n. Promise me baby, if there ever comes a time where you are going through a rough patch, you will tell me. Please. I can’t lose you again. The pain is too much to handle.”

He reached for your hand and brought it up to his chest so that you could feel how quickly it was beating. “This pathetic thing I call my heart, or whatever is left of it, whatever you didn’t take with you when you broke up with me, it’s yours. You have all of me y/n. Forever. I’m yours forever.” The tears were hot as they fell down your face causing you to reconnect your lips together once more. Mark stood up and brought you with him, wrapping your legs around his hips and placed his hands on your ass, guiding you both towards the bedroom.

“Mark what are you going to do—“

“You. All night.” You gave him a knowing look and let out a soft moan when he slapped one of your ass cheeks. “I haven’t busted a nut in over four months y/n, I think we need to make up for lost time.”

He threw you all but gently on the bed before attacking your face with sloppy kisses. “Mmm—Mark!”

“Just like that baby. I love hearing my name fall from your pretty lips. I love you so much y/n. Thank you for coming back to me.”

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan got7 #mark tuan fluff #mark tuan angst #got7 drabbles

[ironmansuuucks]

Home

dewey finn x fem reader

heyyooo, so imma do a little 3 part (?) dewey finn x reader series here about bringing Dewey home to meet family! it’s gonna be fluffy, a little angsty and majority of it will be based on my actual life and family, because they are something else lmao.. let me know if you enjoy! (also! I’m still working on your guys requests!

I got inspired for this from @texasblues because I honestly loved your fic so so so much and wanted to do my own little twist💜

warnings: fluff? the tiniest bit of angst?

words: 1600

Dewey chuckled when you pulled the covers over your head to block the sunlight and groaned. “Baby come on, it’ll be fun!” He chimed, his thick, sleepy morning voice was enough to send shivers down your spine. You peeled the cover off to reveal only your eyes, raising your brows at him. “You don’t know my parents” you matter of factly stated.

His arm snaked around your waist and pulled you on top of his chest. He was so warm. “Yeah but it would be good for you to go home for some time...” his hand moved up and brushed the hair away from your face. You rested your chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes and his sticky morning face, then up to that birds nest he called hair. “Home is wherever I’m with you” you smirked, reaching up to ruffle his brown curls, eliciting a little laugh from your sweet rockstar. His hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly and you could feel the way he chuckled below you. It was nice.

“No... going home home is different, and I know you miss it” he lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’ll think about it... it’s a long journey Dew..” you bit the inside of your lip. You did want to go home.. but home was exceptionally different from life here.

“Yeah but we can have so much fun on the plane! We can play the switch, we can watch movies.. it’d be awesome!” Dewey was all excited, you could here it in his voice. “And we can go in August, when the schools are off and I have summer vacation, and you have tons of holidays left to take!” He exclaimed, trying to get his point across to you. You smiled at his enthusiasm as you rested your head in your hand. Dewey’s hand came up and ran his fingers through your hair as he smiled at you.

“Dew... life over there is totally different from life here.. and the people are different, different humour, different accent..” you huffed out an amused breathe thinking about him trying to understand everyone.

“If they’re anything like you then I’m gonna love them” he chuckled as he rolled his eyes at you still trying to make up excuses.

“And you can show me all around, your school, places you used to go... it would be awesome! And I’d get to meet that family you always talk about” he moved to rest his hands under his head, relaxing.

“If I go home then 80% of the time will be spent with my family you know” you chuckled. You were super close with your family. And some size family it was. They meant everything to you, and you missed them so much.. but they were certainly an acquired taste.

You grinned at the thought of Dewey getting to meet them all. If he loved your humour, then he would certainly love theirs. You could show him the beach, and all the places you grew up and take him to all of your favourite places. Maybe it would be fun?

Dewey watched as your face morphed into a grin, and he knew what that meant. “Yeah?” He beamed.

“Okay yeah” you smiled, biting your lip. “Hell yeah! Now, stop biting your lip and start biting mine!” He flirted, rolling you over so he way laying on top of you, making you laugh. You pulled his head down to yours, laying a soft yet needy kiss in his lips. “Ok rockstar.. but your in for a shock let me tell you... my accent has severely dulled the past two years and it’ll kick back in as soon as the plane lands on the ground.. and it doesn’t sound like it does on the tv” you warned.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be fine... plus, it’ll be kinda cool to see where the Young brothers were born.. OOO and to see the Loch Ness monster! and I gotta see a highland cow when I’m there or I’ll probably die...”

You rolled your eyes, this was gonna be fun...

 * * * * * *

 “Dewey… just pack the jacket” you sighed. Packing with him was hard. Dewey couldn’t get it into his head that he wasn’t going upstate to sunshine and shorts. Scotland was cold, even in august.

“Honey, I do not need a jacket I’ll be fine!” he (attempted) to fold his Def Leppard t-shirt, placing it in the suitcase sat in front of him.

You breathed in deeply, your eyes shutting, teeth gritted, trying to remain calm. This was all last minute. You and Dewey left for Scotland tomorrow, and had only booked it last month. It was all a surprise from your amazing rockstar, and you cried so many happy tears, but right now… you felt like the most stressed person on the planet.

Your eyes remained closed. “Dewey… pack the fucking jacket.. it’s going to be 22c max…” our hands were gripping the edge of the suitcase, remaining in control. Dewey’s eyes wandered over to you, and his eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed. “okay.. okay” he looked from side to side, confused to why you were to stressed.

You sighed again, aggressively packing the rest of your clothes. His eyes kept wandering over to yours, until he had finished packing his t shirts.

“hey…” he walked around to you, taking your hand in his and pulling you to face him. “hey.. what’s wrong baby? this is supposed to be fun? Not stressful…” his eyes searched your face worriedly. Your eyes met his and you bit your lip as you looked into those caring, bright eyes. His thumbs rubbed the back of your hands soothingly.

You spoke hesitantly. “well.. this is the first time you’ll be meeting my family… and I want you to love them… what if you hate them? or hate home?...” you started rambling… “and we leave tomorrow… at 8AM… and you don’t get that its going to be freezing, and I just miss my family so much…”

“hey, hey, hey slow down baby” he cut you off as you caught your breath a little. “its going to be fine… you’re gonna be back with them in no time.. and I’m going to love it… and them.. I promise…” he looked down at you, smiling. You smiled back a little.. everything would be fine…

“and don’t worry… the damn jacket is in the case” he chuckled, pulling you into him and kissing your forehead.

Your family meant everything to you.. and you loved every bone in Dewey’s body.. and you truly hoped they would too… but you were worried that if you visited home… you might never want to go back to your life in New York with Dewey…

 * * * * * *

 Your anxiety didn’t stop there. The entire way to the airport, security, flying – it was all making you feel a little off. But your sweet Dewey was there to keep you from drowning in your own wicked head.

Dewey Finn was easily excitable, bouncy and he couldn’t sit still. Keeping such a ball of energy in a small confined space for almost 8 hours was a challenge.

He would bring his hand up to his face as if he was talking into a walkie talkie; “crshhh.. this is your captain speaking… this plane is indeed going to crash unless my super hot girlfriend shows me her-“ you cut him off giggling.

“Dewey! People can hear you” you hit his chest lightly a little. He giggled, putting his lips close to your ear, “what, you don’t wanna join the mile high club with me?”. He said it so dark, and it made you excited. “you wish… get lost you dork” you scoffed, looking out at the rolling clouds, your stomach doing a little flip.

You had gotten lost in the book you had brought with you, Dewey was humming to himself, his fingers dancing on your thigh, tapping to the beat of the song in his head, you always found it soothing.. but apparently not everyone did…

“hey pal, knock off the damn humming will ya?” the grumpy old man grumbled from the seat behind Dewey. The smile that grew on Dewey’s face was comedic, the edges of his lips curling up like a cartoon. His eyes widened before moving to look at you, and yours at his, when he suddenly burst out laughing.

Your eyes grew at him laughing, audibly so they guy behind could hear him. You gave Dewey a stern look, trying not to laugh too much at his antics, and brought your hand up to lightly pinch his cheek. He quietened down a little, grinning at you. He was like a little kid.

He brought his head closer to yours, “who took a dump in his coco pops?” he chuckled, making you smile and roll your eyes. Only five hours left. Reaching into your travel bag you reached for the Nintendo switch.

“fancy getting beat at mario kart?” you teased, hopefully occupying him for an hour or so. “pfft you wish… you know I’m the world best at mario kart babe…but maybe I’ll let you win a round” he winked at you as he took the blue controller.

Your eyes glanced over at Dewey mid game.. you admired his little concentrated face; his nose slightly scrunched, eyebrows furrowed, his tongue peeking out and resting at the side of his top lip, and his floppy hair covering his eye the slightest bit before his fore arm came up and moved it from his face.

You loved him so much… and you didn’t know what you would do without him… dewould be okay.. it was gonna be fine…

“sooo, is someone going to play bagpipes for us when we step off the plane?” he chirped, you rolled your eyes. Its gonna be a long three weeks…

tags:  @thewolfisapartofmysoul​ @texasblues​ @paxenera​​ @heknowshisherbs​​ @missihart23​​ @geminiacally​​ @go-commander-kim​​ @gegehaddock​​ @baby-beej​   @hoodoo12​​ @large-unit​​ ​ @bugdrinkss​​ @ssheinaa​​ @demonwifey​​

#dewey finn #dewey #dewey finn imagine #dewey finn x reader #school of rock the musical #Alex Brightman #scotland #cute #fluffy

[marvelous-writer]

Responsible for Making Sure You’re Responsible

Summary: Peter knows he’s hurt badly enough that he can’t just slap a bunch of band-aids on his injuries, and especially the giant, still-oozing puncture wounds on his back and along his shoulders from the tips of Toomes’ wings. But it’s not like he can just stumble into an emergency room and ask to get stitched up. So where to go instead?

May would have a heart attack if she saw him right now, not to mention immediately figure out his secret. Ned would also definitely freak out, probably waking his parents in the process. Mr. Stark was an option, but Peter wasn’t about to bother him, not after how the man had made it crystal clear that he didn’t want anything to do with Peter ever again.

So no hospital, no May, no Ned, and no Mr. Stark just left… Happy. 

Or: following his final fight with the Vulture, Peter is left grievously injured and in need of some serious help. Cue Happy to the rescue.

Word count: 6,880

A/N: Me and @blondsak‘s first collab!!!

Link to read on AO3

Peter doesn’t know how he made it from the Coney Island Cyclone all the way to Avengers Tower. To be honest, the entire journey was a bit of a blur as his steadily bleeding injuries throbbed painfully in protest from all the web-slinging. 

When his feet hit the landing pad of the Tower, Peter distantly wonders why he had decided to come here, of all places. Even through his foggy brain, he knows he’s hurt badly enough that he couldn’t just slap a band-aid on the many deep cuts, burns and bruises littering his whole body, especially the giant puncture wounds on his back and along his shoulders from the tips of Toomes’ wings. But then again, it’s not like he could just stumble into an emergency room and ask to get stitched up. At least, not wearing his original Spider-Man costume, which - though basically rags now - was still far too easily identifiable beneath all the stains and grime. 

As for going home, that was definitely ruled out—May would have a heart attack if she saw him right now. Peter could maybe have chanced going to Ned’s, but Ned would have almost definitely freaked out at the sight of him, which would have led to his parents waking up and Peter losing any hope of his secret - not that it was still much of one anymore, but still, he had to try, didn’t he? - staying under wraps. So Ned’s place was out, too. Mr. Stark was another option, but Peter wasn’t about to bother him, not after how the man had made it crystal clear in the form of a forced walk of shame from Brooklyn to Queens - in Hello Kitty pajama pants, no less - that he didn’t want anything to do with Peter ever again. 

So no hospital, no May, no Ned, and no Mr. Stark just left… Happy. 

It’s definitely not ideal, but the fact remains that Happy’s his best bet right now, and Peter, well—Peter is pretty desperate. And the only place he knows Happy could be was back at the Tower, from where he assumes the man had been overseeing the move before the plane took off and Peter’s night went from  really, really bad to totally screwed.

With a deep, weary sigh Peter limps towards the glass doors, one hand pressed firmly against a shoulder in a futile effort to staunch the worst of the bleeding, surprised to find that the door is unlocked as he steps inside. He’s too out of it to notice that the once well-furnished living room is now completely empty. He passes by the kitchen, looking around at the vacant space. He doesn’t exactly know where he’s going to be honest. There’s a small tingling at the back of his head, the only warning he gets before an unfamiliar face comes around the corner from the hallway, a small squeak of surprise coming from the man - a security guard, by the looks of his uniform - at the sight of him. 

“Don’t come any closer! I’ll—I’ll shoot!” the guard cries out, though it comes out shaky, like he’s scared or maybe just inexperienced. All the same Peter doesn’t hesitate to put up his throbbing arms in temporary submission, biting back a groan from the pain. The shaking flashlight suddenly stills on Peter’s chest, the guard taking in the tattered remains of Peter’s homemade suit. His going wide as he exclaims, “Wait—you’re Spider-Man! What are you doing here?” Then, all shakiness gone and replaced with excitement, “Are you here on Avengers business?” 

“No, it’s n-nothing like that,” Peter weakly replies. “I actually need to talk to–”

“I heard that you were, like, an honorary Avenger now,” the guard interrupts, seemingly not noticing Peter’s injured state. “Is that true? I mean, I saw that on The Bugle’s Twitter page but I wasn’t sure if it was true. But I guess you did  fight with Iron Man against the Rogue Avengers, which was totally awesome by the way! That basically means you are then, right?”

Peter’s head is spinning from all of the questions, worsening his pounding headache. He closes his eyes beneath what’s left of his mask, gritting his teeth. 

The guard must take his silence as affirmation, continuing, “I knew it! My buddy Marv keeps saying there’s no way they’d add a low-level vigilante from Queens to their roster, but then he’s always been more of a Cap guy and anyway, he’s from Brooklyn so what does he–”

“S-sorry, but—where’s Happy Hogan?” Peter interrupts with as much force as he can. He’s starting to feel really lightheaded, and he can’t afford to let himself pass out in front of an overexcited Spider-Man fan, and especially one who was obsessed enough to believe any Spider-Man news that came from The Bugle—a news site that Peter knows for a  fact  offers a substantial reward for any proof of Spider-Man’s identity. “L-look, I need to speak to Happy right now. It’s a-an emergency.”

“Uh, okay, sure,” the guard replies after a moment, looking slightly put out even as he pulls out his cell phone and starts swiping through it, putting it up to his ear as he continues to eye Peter curiously. Normally Peter would have no issue hearing the ringing and Happy picking up, but he’s just so tired. Instead finds himself zoning out even as the guard starts rambling to the other person about Spider-Man showing up, until–

Peter startles when someone pokes him in the arm, looking up to see the guard is now standing right in front of him, holding out his phone. “He says he wants to talk to you.”

Trying to blink the exhaustion out of his eyes, Peter nods and takes the device. “Hey, Happy.”

“Kid,” Happy replies with a sigh, the relief in his tone something Peter’s never heard from him before. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Peter agrees without thinking, then blinking slowly again, “but uh, about that–”

“Look, this line isn’t exactly secure,” Happy interrupts, and now Peter hears voices shouting in the background, along with what sounds like large trucks rumbling, “and neither is the tower anymore, for that matter. How about you head to my place? We’re just about finished getting the tech loaded and off the beach.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Peter replies numbly, the fog in his brain clearing just enough for him to memorize Happy’s address—relieved when he realizes it’s still in Manhattan, and in the Upper East Side at that. Happy doesn’t really come across as a glitzy kind of guy, but Peter supposes it makes sense that Mr. Stark would pay him very well, considering his job title and all.

“...still there, kid? You get that?”

“Wha’?” Peter asks dumbly, pulled out of a second daze in as many minutes. Man, he really needs to focus if he wants to make it to Happy’s in one piece. “Oh y-yeah, yeah. I’ll meet you there, Happy.”

There’s a pause then, as if Happy is mulling something over. But whatever it is he must let it go, saying instead, “I’ll see you there. And no dawdling at the churro stand, you hear me?” 

The line clicks before Peter can reply. Wearily he drops the phone from his ear, passing it back to the guard. “Thanks.”

Not wanting to invite further conversation, he immediately starts limping back toward the landing pad—only to come to a halt when the guard calls after him.

With a sigh Peter turns around, “Yeah?”

But where he expected the guard to bombard him with more questions, or maybe ask him for an autograph, the man looks only worried now. “Just wanted to check, uh—you sure you’re gonna be okay? ‘Cause to be honest, you don’t look too good.”

Peter smiles behind the torn mask, feeling a tiny bit of warmth spark in his chest at the man’s concern. It’s almost enough to overtake the cold that’s already seeped into him—Peter suppressing a shudder as the two war for dominance.

“Thanks, b-but, I’ll be okay.” 

“If you say so,” the guard says after a few moments, clearly not buying it. But he doesn’t say anything else and after a pause Peter turns away again, stumbling over to the doors and back outside. The chill of the night air seems to sink right into his bones, and this time Peter can’t stop the whole-body shiver that wracks him.

“Okay, you j-just gotta make it to Happy’s and then he’ll s-stitch you up and you’ll be f-fine,” he says to himself—taking a deep breath as he tries to shore up enough strength for the trip. “C’mon Spider-Man. Just this one l-last thing and then you can rest.”

With those words of self-encouragement Peter sends a web out and jumps over the edge, falling and falling only to shoot out another web and clumsily catch himself—ignoring the deep stabbing pain as his bodyweight pulls on the injured shoulder, feeling another burst of warmth flow down his back. 

Gritting his teeth, Peter takes aim for the Upper East Side, willing away the tendrils of darkness that keep pulling at his mind as he flies through the air, focusing on nothing else but getting to Happy’s place and continuing to talk to himself just to stay awake. 

“You got th-this, Spider-Man. Just get to Happy’s and th-then you can s-sleep,” he whispers just as Happy’s building comes into view. 

With no small amount of giddy relief he lands on the small balcony and wrenches open the sliding glass door. 

“S-s-see Happy? No d-dawdling,” he announces with a lazy smile, only to belatedly realize the place is still dark. Distantly his mind registers that he must have beat Happy here.

For a few moments Peter sways, before he hears a dripping sound. 

“Wha’s l-leakin’?” he asks the empty room. He glances down when he hears yet another drip, blinking dumbly when he sees it’s coming from him. 

His blood, landing onto what has to be super-expensive carpet. Shit! 

“Ohhh no,” Peter whispers, looking around in a panicked daze. Everything is starting to go blurry now and no—he can’t pass out here! Happy already barely tolerates him… what will he say if he comes back to find Peter ruined his floor?

“Think, Peter, think,”  he says to himself, before stumbling through the apartment toward the hallway—cursing when he trips over the edge of the coffee table, knocking over a plant on his way down. For a second he just breathes as he lies on the floor, eyes closing as he nearly gives in to the exhaustion… only to grit his teeth and stumble back onto his feet.

He leans heavily against the hallway wall for support as he staggers toward the bathroom. 

“M-made it,” he whispers as he crosses the threshold. He clutches at whatever is within reach as he hauls himself across the tiled floor, spots gathering in his vision. But by some miracle he eventually manages to collapse over the edge of the tub, curling up against the far corner of the porcelain. 

With a sigh of relief Peter finally allows his eyes to close and stay closed, telling himself that he’s safe now. After all, Happy is on his way, and he’ll handle everything for Peter, just like he does for Mr. Stark, right?

Right,  Peter thinks. 

It’s the last thought he has for a while.

_______________________________________________________________

“Come on! It’s a frickin’ yield sign!” Happy yells as he blares his horn at the car in front of him. He’s been stuck at this intersection for over seven minutes now, chipping away at what little patience he has left now that he’s back in Manhattan, yet still too far from Peter.

Because frankly, it’s a miracle the kid is even alive after a crash like that. The minutes after he’d first seen the scrawled note - during which he’d frantically searched the wreckage for a matching teenaged vigilante to go with the copious bloodstains strewn about the sand - will forever haunt Happy, especially knowing that Peter had been on the downed plane.

And while at first he’d been relieved to hear that Spider-Man was at the tower and looking for him, when he’d heard how out of it the kid sounded on the phone… well, let’s just say it had reminded him far too much of a different reckless superhero he knew, albeit back in the man’s less sober days. 

But where back then he’d been saving Tony from choking on his own vomit, tonight had raised red flags in Happy’s mind for other reasons. Because Peter wasn’t drunk or high, no—he was injured, badly enough that he was spacing out and slurring his words.

Happy can only hope it’s just a minor concussion, and not something worse. Because if anything happened to that kid, he would never forgive himself for it, and not only because Tony would have his head. Peter’s aunt was at home waiting for him, probably wondering where the hell he is at twelve-thirty in the morning on a Saturday night. 

He recalls then what he’d told the kid not a week earlier, when Peter had called while he’d been busy and distracted preparing for Moving Day: "Stay away from anything dangerous. I'm responsible for making sure you're responsible, okay?" 

Happy chews on the inside of his cheek, feeling another cry of worry-induced—and if he’s honest, guilt-induced—road rage rise up in his throat, only to force himself to swallow it back down. 

He’s not going to let himself lose it, not yet. Because Peter has to be okay. He has to be, because Happy doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself if he isn’t. 

It takes him twenty minutes before he arrives at his apartment building, not stopping to talk to his doorman as he quickly gets into the elevator. 

“Come on, come on…” Happy mumbles to himself as he impatiently punches at his floor’s button as the polished elevator doors slide shut in front of him. 

He all but runs out when the doors slide open on his floor—only to nearly crash into his next door neighbor Ms. Devine and her yappy shih-tzu, Mr. Fluffers.

“Sorry, Ellie,” Happy hastily apologizes, then when Mr. Fluffers growls at him, adds in a faux-casual voice, “Taking the dog for a late night walk?”

“Fluffy here runs on his own schedule,” the older woman responds kindly enough, only to narrow her eyes as if sniffing out a chance for gossip fodder. “And what has you hurrying home in such a rush after midnight?”

Making sure Spider-Man isn’t bleeding to death in my apartment. “Just checking that I didn’t leave my oven on.”

Ms. Devine continues to stare suspiciously for a few moments, before smiling tiredly and saying, “I’ve done that before.” 

“Haven’t we all,” Happy says with a polite smile as he walks around her, reaching in his pocket for his keys. “Have a good evening,” he adds rather dismissively, not looking back at what he is sure is a disapproving glare.

He waits until she turns the corner before racing down the rest of the hallway. Happy stops at his door, hands shaking as he fumbles to slide the key into the lock on the knob, scared of what he’ll find inside. He braces himself as he steps into the dark entryway, shutting the door behind him—careful to lock the deadbolt just in case Ms. Devine gets any ideas and decides to make an impromptu housecall. 

“Peter?” he calls out as he walks further in, feeling around the wall for the light switch, his hand meeting something wet. He finds the switch and the lights come on—only to gasp at the sight just mere feet away from his face. All along the light grey wall of his living room and turning down the hallway are long, broken, halting finger trails of red. With growing horror, Happy realizes it can only be one thing— blood.

Fear shoots through Happy as he turns away from the blood-smeared wall, finding a trail of red droplets along with a plant lying on its side on the floor—its dirt burrowing into the carpet and mixing with more blood stains, as though whoever knocked it over had landed in the mess and only barely managed to get back on their feet.

“Oh shit,” Happy breathes out as he follows the bloodied dirt trail, leading to the bathroom down the hall, finding the door open with the lights on. “Peter?” he frantically calls out.

Stepping a foot inside, it looks like something straight out of a horror movie. There’s smears of blood across the floor, as well as a handprint on the edge of the sink. Happy’s eyes scan over the scene before they settle on the blue and red— too much red —covered figure lying in the tub. 

“Oh my God,” Happy exclaims as he rushes forward and bends over the edge, hands hovering over Peter’s all-too-still form. Shit shit shit!!! 

“Kid? Peter?” Happy calls as he shakes the kid’s shoulder, gently at first and then more forcefully—closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in relief when the kid lets out a weak, pained groan.

“H’py? S’ you?” Peter mumbles, lifting his head, the goggles of his ridiculous homemade mask squinting in the lighting. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Happy says with no small amount of relief. Placing his hands under the kid’s armpits, he helps Peter’s slumping form straighten a little bit, alarm growing when he spots a pool of blood beneath the kid’s form, standing out against the pristine white tub floor. Happy reaches up and carefully peels off the torn remnants of the mask, revealing Peter’s pale and dazed face. His curls are slightly damp and sticking to his sweaty forehead. Unsure what to ask first, Happy blurts out, “What are you doing in the bathtub?”

Peter blinks slowly. “May says tomato sauce is… is hard t’ get out…” 

Happy brows pull together in confusion. “Tomato sauce? Kid—what are you talking about? You’re bleeding.”

Peter nods slowly, his chin dropping to his chest as he blinks with half-lidded eyes. “S’ what I said…” he mumbles, his eyes closing further. 

“Hey, hey, hey—no falling asleep on me. I have to make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything,” Happy tells him sternly. 

“But m’ tired,” Peter mumbles, words slurring together slightly. 

“I know, and you can sleep soon. Let’s just get you out of the tub and cleaned up first, okay?” 

“M’kay,” Peter mumbles, blinking sluggishly. 

Happy helps him out of the tub, practically carrying him with how wobbly the kid’s legs are, and sits him down on the closed toilet seat. “Do you promise to stay upright if I let you go?”

Peter gives the tiniest of nods, before slowly slumping sideways until his head and the ball of his shoulder hit the tiled wall. Happy waits until he feels confident Peter is safely propped before nodding back, patting him gently on the arm and leaving the bathroom. He practically runs into the kitchen, grabbing two pills of prescription strength ibuprofen and filling a glass of water heading back the way he came. 

“Here kid, take these,” he says, depositing the pills in Peter’s open palm and then holding the glass for him after he puts them in his mouth, helping the kid take a sip to get them down, then a few long gulps to quench his thirst. Satisfied, Happy sets down the glass and moves to the cabinet under the sink, pulling out his heavy-duty first aid kit. 

For as much as he had ignored the kid the past few months—and he’d be beating himself up about that for a good long while after this, no doubt—Happy had taken one aspect of his reluctant side gig of Spider-Man’s Keeper very seriously from the get-go, and that was preparing for a night just like this. One where Peter would call because he was injured and needed help getting patched up, and Happy would grumble but give him his address and tell him to swing over. 

As such, he had promptly taken his SI company credit card details and ordered an expensive, industrial-sized first aid kit to keep at home. He had hoped he wouldn’t ever have to use it, of course. But for now, he just finds he’s glad he had the foresight to plan for such a scenario—knowing that if he hadn’t, they’d be in a lot more trouble right now than they already are. 

“M’ really sorry, H’ppy,” Peter whispers as he watches Happy unclasp the kit and start pulling out supplies, carefully laying them out on the bathroom counter. Happy glances over at him, relieved to see the kid seems more coherent now that he’s both hydrated and medicated. “I didn’t... didn’t know where to go, and m-May would freak out—” 

“Kid, it's okay. I’m glad you’re here and not bleeding out in some alley,” Happy interjects as he grabs some face cloths from the small bathroom linen closet. Finally, with everything set up on the counter within easy reach, Happy turns back to Peter.. “Let’s get you out of that hoodie so I can see how bad it is.” 

Getting the top part of the kid’s homemade costume off of him is a bit of a struggle, but Happy takes it slow as Peter struggles to lift his arms above his head, parts of the fabric sticking to his skin with dried blood. Once it’s off, Happy’s stomach drops at the sight of the dark bruises blooming across the kid’s torso, as well as the cuts and deep puncture marks on his left shoulder. Just from being at the crash sight he knew it had been one hell of a fight, but seeing the consequences in the form of the actual wounds littering Peter’s young body brings it home in an entirely different way. 

“Happy?” Peter’s voice takes him out of his thoughts, looking up to see a puzzled look on the kid’s overly pale face. 

“Yeah,” Happy nods, blinking a few times and forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He turns the faucet on, rolling up his shirt sleeves and washing his hands and forearms thoroughly before running the face cloths under warm water, wringing them out. “This might sting a little,” he warns as he kneels down in front of Peter, bringing a cloth down to one of the sluggishly bleeding cuts, earning a pained groan.

After a few minutes, Happy’s managed to clean and bandage the cuts. The two puncture wounds on the kid’s back were shallow enough that they only needed to be cleaned and bandaged, but the two on his chest just below his clavicles would both need a couple of stitches. The only problem being that said kid is half-asleep and fading fast right in front of him. 

“I’m gonna have to stitch these chest wounds up, alright? Think you can hold on for a few more minutes?” Happy asks. 

Peter blinks heavily a few times, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Happy says as he reaches up for the first aid kit from the sink countertop, grabbing the suture packet inside. He wipes away the blood and disinfects the left-side wound first—being the more serious of the two—before taking out the pre-threaded needle from the package. “Ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Peter replies with a shaky nod, cautiously eyeing the needle before closing his eyes as if bracing himself.

“Try not to squirm too much, kid,” Happy says before getting to work. To his surprise, besides a slight flinch with every pull of the thread Peter remains obediently still, and Happy wonders if he’s had to do this himself a time or two—feeling a pang of distress at the idea of the kid alone in his bathroom with nothing but his aunt’s sewing kit for supplies, biting down on a washcloth to muffle any noises of pain as he shakingly attends to all manner of jagged cuts and wounds.

He wants to think he’s just being dramatic imagining such a thing, but still he refuses to ask Peter—deciding not knowing is better than having his suspicions confirmed. As it is, the kid stays completely stoic even as Happy finishes stitching up the left wound and moves on to the right, being sure to be careful and thorough but still going as fast he can—knowing the kid is operating on his last reserves. 

“Alright, your torso is good to go,” he says as he finishes pressing a bandage over the second line of stitches, looking back up at Peter. “I need you to tell me the truth now. Do you have any other wounds that need seeing to? Because this isn’t the time for modesty if you do.”

Peter blinks slowly, before looking down at his legs. Happy watches in patient silence as the kid seems to take stock of himself—taking the chance to give a cursory once-over of the kid’s sweats. He personally doesn’t see any stains that seem to indicate more than shallow cuts, and is relieved when the kid looks back up only to shake his head.

“I think ‘m okay now,” the kid says, voice weak but tone honest enough that Happy believes him. 

“Alright,” Happy says simply, getting back to his feet—ignoring the way his knees crack and protest at the movement. “I’ll be right back. Try to drink more water if you can. No passing out while I’m gone.”

Peter doesn’t reply but also doesn’t slump any further, which Happy takes as acknowledgement enough before he swiftly moves back into the hallway, heading for his bedroom. He grabs one of his old Stillman’s Gym t-shirts and a pair of drawstring sweatpants that no longer fit him before going back to the bathroom—heartened to see the kid is still awake, albeit barely.

“Lift your arms,” he orders, watching as Peter does so as much as his injuries will allow before pulling the t-shirt over the kid’s head and getting his arms through the holes. “Think you can stand up and get those ruined pants off?” he asks next, Peter taking a deep breath before nodding determinedly. Happy can’t help but hover as he watches the kid stumble to his feet, using one arm to lean against the wall for support as with the other he fumbles with his waistband. Happy pointedly doesn’t watch, just leans over and stares at where the torn sweats are pooled at the kid’s feet as holds open the clean pair of sweatpants so Peter can step into them, lifting them up to the kid’s knees and letting go as soon as Peter has a good enough grip to pull them up the rest of the way himself.

Leaning back up, Happy does one last visual assessment to make sure he’s not missing any hidden injuries. Satisfied, he carefully wraps an arm around the kid’s uninjured lower back, leading him out the bathroom door and down the hallway.

It’s a testament to how absolutely exhausted Peter must be that he doesn’t ask any questions as Happy guides him into the guest bedroom, pulling back the covers and helping him settle in beneath the sheets.

“Th’ks, Hap,” Peter mumbles, eyes closing. He’s out almost immediately. Happy shakes his head as he watches the kid for a few more moments, making sure that his breaths are deep and even and pressing two fingers to the kid’s neck, double-checking his pulse. But everything seems to be fine, and Happy lets out a long sigh, giving himself just a few seconds to collect his thoughts as he tiredly rubs a hand over his face.

Tonight was close—way, way too close. And besides that sociopath Toomes, the blame for it rests squarely on exactly two people’s shoulders—neither of which are Peter. 

With that thought in mind, Happy gives the kid one last look before walking to the door. He closes it most of the way but leaves it just open enough so that he can peek in later, making a mental note to leave Peter a glass of water and some more pills for when he wakes up. 

He silently makes his way back into the living room—pointedly not looking at the dried blood streaked across the walls and staining the carpet—and pulls out his cellphone. 

He’s not too surprised to see he has a dozen missed calls from just the last hour, most of them from his team with the exception of one from Pepper and two from Tony. He debates calling Pepper back first—having no doubt she needs some answers about exactly how everything went to shit tonight so they can start getting ahead of the morning news cycle—but in the end selects Tony’s name. He finds himself mildly stunned when the man picks up on the first ring.

“Hap?”

“It’s me, boss.”

“Good. Listen, Fri’s been keeping me updated on the crash and apparently there’s evidence the kid was there but ran off, is that–”

“Don’t worry, I found him,” Happy says with a sigh. “He’s injured but he’ll survive.”

“Thank god,” Tony replies, and the sheer relief in his voice is enough that Happy is left surprised by him for the second time in under a minute. Tony wasn’t usually so transparently sincere when it came to those outside his inner circle, but his genuine concern for Peter couldn’t be more clear. Happy can’t help but wonder when that development happened, though—on second thought—he supposes he’s not all that shocked it did. The kid can be annoyingly endearing.

“That said, you’re gonna have to call May Parker and come up with a whopper of a good story,” Happy continues, “‘cause I sure as hell ain’t taking him back to Queens yet, what with the shape he’s in.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll figure out something.” A pause. “How bad is it? And where are you two? Does he need–”

“He went to the tower looking for me, after. One of the guards rang, and I told him to meet me at my place,” Happy explains. “Kid took some serious licks during the fight with Toomes but I managed to get him patched up. He’s sleeping now.”

“Good, that’s good.”

And now they’re at the part of the conversation that Happy would rather not deal with. But it’s no longer something he can afford to avoid, not after stitching up the passed out child down the hall. Because Peter is just a child—only  fifteen, for Christ’s sake. Happy swipes a hand over his face again, shaking his head—hating that he ever let himself forget that.

“Listen, bo—Tony,” he begins, “you know I’m not one to actually speak my mind too often, but this was… Look. I don’t know much but I do know that kid needs his suit back, and probably a whole hell of a lot more from you—from  both of us—from now on. Because this? This was an absolute shitshow as it was, and if he hadn’t been okay, I don’t know if—”

“You don’t have to tell me how bad I fucked up, Hap, I'm well aware,” Tony interjects, but there’s no anger in his tone, just weariness. “And just so we’re clear, this isn’t gonna happen again—I’ve already got a plan. As soon as the kid’s healed up he’s coming out to the compound. I’ve decided to make him a full team member—got a new nanosuit ready for him and everything.”

Happy frowns. He’s not sure making Peter an Avenger is any better for his safety than taking his suit away was. But then, if there’s one thing Happy tries to keep out of, it’s all the team drama and politics that Tony seems to constantly be dealing with. As long as the kid’s identity is safe, he supposes it might not be a bad idea—if Peter even wants it, that is.

“Just make sure you let him know it’s a choice and not a demand, boss.”

“Of course I’ll make sure he knows that,” Tony says irritably, but Happy knows him well enough to recognize that he’s only annoyed because he understands  exactly why Happy felt the need to say as much. After all, taking the kid to Germany, making Happy his main contact, keeping him out of the loop with the Toomes investigation, taking away the suit… Tony hadn’t given Peter much choice in anything up to now. 

Happy thinks about pressing the point, but decides it’s not worth it. Him and Tony might not be on the exact same page but they’re at least reading the same book, and that’ll have to do for now. In any case, Happy doesn’t intend to go anywhere, so if the time comes to set Tony straight again where the kid is concerned—he’ll be there then, too.

“Alright, well, if that’s everything for now I think I’m gonna try to catch a few winks while the kid is out,” Happy says. “He should be recovered enough to go home tomorrow, so you can tell his aunt to expect him then.”

“Got it, and yeah, I should hit the hay soon too,” Tony replies with a long sigh.  “Get myself ready for the PR storm that’s no doubt already brewing.”

Silence again, and Happy thinks about apologizing for what happened—knowing all too well that if he’d just listened to Peter’s friend when the kid popped up on his screen, this whole mess might have been mostly prevented. But he clenches his jaw instead. He has things to apologize for, certainly—but it’s not Tony who needs to hear them.

“Tell Peter I'll be in touch soon,” Tony continues when Happy doesn't respond.  “And Hap? Thank you.”

Happy pauses, uncertain exactly which thing in particular he's being thanked for. It could be for looking after the kid, or for saying his piece just now, or simply general gratitude for all the years he's faithfully had Tony’s back. He supposes it doesn't matter which one it is though, not really. The reply is the same. 

“No problem, boss.”

With a small smile, he hangs up. 

In a span of an hour, Happy’s managed to scrub every last drop of blood from the floors, walls and the bathroom. The last thing he wanted was for the kid to wake up and see the mess in the morning. He also threw the tattered remains of his suit in the washing machine and then into the dryer—one less thing for Peter to worry about. 

Tossing the bloody used paper towels in a plastic bag, Happy disposes of it in the kitchen trash can, leaving it hopefully out of sight and out of mind. 

If only the sight of an unconscious and injured Peter in his bathtub could be as easily forgotten.

Casting his guilt aside for now, he grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it up halfway, along with a few ibuprofen in a plastic Dixie cup. Turning off all the lights, Happy heads back down the hallway to the guest bedroom. 

He quietly pushes the door open with his foot and walks over to the bed, placing the water and pills on the nightstand within easy reach. Happy’s eyes fall on the kid, who is passed out, his mouth hanging open slightly. Another small smile finds its way to his face as an odd feeling spreads through his chest at the sight. Before he can talk himself out of it, Happy reaches a hand out, placing his palm on the kid’s forehead. He tells himself it's to check for signs of fever, but if it's also to physically reassure himself the kid is going to be okay, well, nobody’s gonna know anyway. 

“You’re gonna make my hair turn grey before its time, kid,” he whispers, receiving a soft sleep-sigh in return when he drops his hand. “And that’s only if Tony doesn’t manage it first.”

With a fond shake of his head, Happy makes his way out of the room, sparing one last glance at the sleeping teen before closing the door behind himself, leaving it open a crack once again. He heads to his room, choosing to leave his door open as well so he can hear should Peter wake up and need him. Going through his nightly bedtime ritual, his mind races with everything on his agenda for tomorrow—dealing with Damage Control’s rather displeased (to put it mildly) reaction to the plane crash and the almost-stolen tech, the inevitable PR nightmare, and finally, scheduling security detail for Pepper as she makes the rounds of meetings she'll undoubtedly have handling her end of all the former.

But right now, those things don’t seem as important. The important thing is the injured fifteen year old sleeping in his guest bedroom. The very one who he was supposed to be watching out for, and who he completely and utterly let down. 

As he lays down in bed and turns off his lamp, Happy vows to himself to be better from now on. Better at being there for Peter, even if that involves the kid talking his ears off with stories about school, his adventures patrolling Queens or all the annoying pop culture references he can't seem to stop making. From seeing everything Tony’s been through he knows the superhero business can be a lonely one, and Happy doesn’t want that for Peter. The kid should know he has more than just his teenage buddy in his corner. Which is why as soon as he can tomorrow, he is going to tell Peter exactly that. 

With that last thought in mind, Happy closes his eyes, soon drifting off. 

________________________________________________________________

It’s close to seven-thirty in the morning and Happy is sitting at the center island in the kitchen, all dressed and ready for the day, sipping from a mug of coffee. Despite it being Saturday, he still has a lot of work to do, starting with driving Peter home. 

He’d better get the kid up now so he has a chance to wake up a little and eat something before he goes home and faces the music with his aunt—Happy shooting off a quick text to Tony asking what cover story he gave Mrs. Parker so he can make sure their stories line up. And once he’s got that taken care of with the kid, Happy can apologize to him for the dismissiveness he’s shown over the past few months and explain how things are going to be different from now on. 

First though, he needs to get Peter’s suit out of the dryer. But when Happy goes to grab it, he finds the machine empty. Confused, he heads back down the hall, stopping outside the guest room and knocking softly. “Peter?” 

He’s met with silence on the other end. Happy’s brows pull together as worry pools in his gut. “Kid? I’m coming in.” 

But when he opens the door, he finds it to also be empty—the bed neatly made. Happy walks further into the room, seeing that the window is slightly ajar, the curtains gently blowing in the wind. 

“So much for that talk,” Happy mutters to himself with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He can only hope the kid doesn't blow his cover with his aunt. Should Peter reveal everything, he has no doubt his phone—being the only connection the kid has at the moment to reach Tony—will be blowing up with calls and texts from an understandably irate May Parker. While Happy is personally of the mind that she deserves to know the truth, he’d rather not deal with putting out that particular fire on top of everything else on his plate today.

He’s about to walk out of the room, but something on the nightstand catches his eye. Happy goes over and picks up a small folded piece of paper, finding neat handwriting inside. 

  Dear Happy, 

Thanks for helping me last night and letting me stay over. I would have let you know I was leaving but you were sleeping and after how late I made you stay up, I didn't want to bother you.

Also, don't be mad but I thought you should know that you snore REALLY loud. I'm no doctor but you might want to get that checked out.

Sincerely,

Peter Parker

 “That little shit,” Happy murmurs, reading over the part about his snoring again with no small amount of disgruntlement. Yet all the same he makes a mental note to call his doctor later in the day and make an appointment.

After all, he might have missed out for the time being on the big talk he had planned. But actually paying attention and taking Peter more seriously? Letting him know in every way he can that he’s listening, that the kid can trust that he’ll be there if he needs him?

Taking responsibility for all that begins right now.

#hurt/comfort #Peter WHUMP #hurt Peter #whump #Protective Happy Hogan #Happy Hogan Deserves A Nap #Not Hoco complaint #spider-man homecoming #spider-man #happy hogan #tony stark #iron man #peter parker whump #blood and injury #light angst