#anyways im so glad im home now being out is exhausting

[celticwoman]

here are the promised hair pics :3

#yes im awkward yes im pale wbk #updo bc its unbelievable it is this hot mid may #i was dying omw home. the bus was so hot #oh im just realising this is a bangs reveal as well bc i never took the pics i said i would #sorry my hair was kinda ugly before dyeing it. the roots were showing a LOT #i also did my nails yesterday idk if u can see but they look so cute too. very simple but i lov them #anyways im so glad im home now being out is exhausting #cami.txt

[rafeandonlyrafe]

separate lines

words: 600 (+ three images)

warnings: entire fic is through phone calls/text messages, parental death (ward), established relationship, kinda protective rafe but its cute he just misses his girl, includes pictures of "readers" face/body, kind of illusions to sex (like barely!), overall pretty fluffy

“rafey!” you squeal as you answer your phone seconds after it rings. “how's it going?”

“well, everything is still standing.” rafe huffs out. you can practically hear the stress in his voice.

“that's good, baby. i miss you a lot.” sure, he just left this morning to drive back to the outer banks, but that doesn't change the fact that you miss him anytime he's away from you.

“god, i miss you too. if rose didn't need me here id still be-

“i know.” you cut rafe off. “you're back for three days with your family. it'll be fine and then we will be back together.”

you know being back in the outer banks is stressful for rafe after everything that happened. the mess with barry, the pogues, and then all culminating in his dad dying. when you decided to go a couple hours away to college, you still thought you'd have to persuade your boyfriend to come with you, to leave the only life he's ever known, but he jumped at the chance.

you live in a luxury townhouse right near downtown. you're even able to walk to most of your classes, of course with rafe by your side.

“you're right.” rafe hums. “we are figuring out the will stuff tomorrow morning.”

“i wish i could be there for you. text or call if you need anything.” you have classes tomorrow, but you'd drop anything if rafe really needed you.

“yeah just… text me updates, please? even if you just do the laundry or something. it helps to know.”

“of course i will.” you smile, hearing some commotion in the background. “and rafey? give wheezie a hug for me.”

“is that y/n?” you hear her voice in the background, then the fumbling of the phone being handed off.

“y/n!” wheezie squeals.

“wheezie, my girl!”

--

--

“how are you getting to class?” rafe asks, looking into the room where proceedings are about to start, going over his fathers will and who gets what. he knows most of it will go to rose, most likely the house and the real estate company. he doesn't really care. he has a new life now, one with you.

“amber is gonna drive me and pick me up. and no, her boyfriend will not be there.” you giggle, knowing even though amber and her boyfriend steven have been together since third grade, rafe would still worry with him around.

“and you're going to poli sci and then your geology lab, right?” rafe has your schedule memorized, but he likes to hear your confirmation anyways.

“yup!” you nod, even though rafe can't see you. “im excited for todays lab, actually. it's not rock identification, which you know i suck at.”

rafe let's out a soft laugh, having sat and listened to your complaining about rocks for hours already this semester.

“rafe, it's starting soon.” rose says, her words being picked up by you, otherwise rafe probably would have just ignored her in favor of keeping talking.

“alright, baby. hope it all goes well and doesn't take too long. i love you.” you coo into the phone.

“love you more.”

--

--

“home tomorrow.” rafe whispers softly, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. he's exhausted, so they must be too. it was a long day with lots of legal jargon, but everything got divided up about how he expected it to. 

most to rose, then the additional savings divided up evenly between him, sarah, and wheezie.

“im glad.” you whisper back, matching his tone even though you're home alone. “i ordered a cute pair of pajamas to wear to help me sleep. you know how much i struggle without you.”

“your insomnia cure.” rafe smiles, remembering what you called him after you first started sharing a bed, able to easily relax into him and fall into a true deep sleep.

“mhm.” you hum out, letting out a yawn. “do you mind staying on the call until i fall asleep?”

“baby, ill stay on all night.”

--

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie

#i forgot to change the times for the texts so just pretend reader scrolled back and screenshoted them all at the same time thanks! #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #obx fic #outer banks fic #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe x oc #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe imagine #rafe blurb #rafe drabble #rafe one shot #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron imagine

[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

[redocity]

Hiii i love your writing!! Currently keeping me alive 😩 im begging for some angst hurt to comfort. Maybe something involving abby but ultimately a happy ending?

MOVING ON - E.BUCKLEY

buck was finally taking the step to move out of abby’s apartment, except it’s not exactly that easy.

WARNINGS: buck has a minor breakdown oops, minor abby slander, happy ending

buck x fem!reader II hurt/comfort Il 2.3k Il requests open!

a/n: thank you for the request! і love writing angsty stuff

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Buck had finally decided that he’d had enough.

He wasn’t going to wait for Abby to come home anymore. He needed to move on. It’d been almost five months since she’d left, and five months of the team trying to convince him she wasn’t coming back.

He’d given up trying to convince them all that their relationship was just ‘unconventional’ by now, and after a particularly lonely Friday night he decided it was time to make a move.

"Can you believe it? After five months? I’m finally moving out of her apartment." Buck lugs a half filled cardboard box over to the dining table, dropping it down with a thud.

“I’m proud’a you,” You tap his shoulder with your hand as an indication for him to move, laughing with a roll of your eyes. “Glad you actually got to this point,”

He makes no resistance to your silent instruction, shifting to lean his back against a clear area of the table and watching as you rifle through the box to properly organise his horrible packing job. "I know you were all sick of me moaning about her. I still can’t believe she just up and left me like that."

“It was definitely a dick move, but if we’re being honest here she didn’t deserve you anyway,” You wave off his unspoken apology for talking your ear off for the last few months with your hand.

“I just thought we were really something you know? Then she up and leaves out of nowhere,” Buck sighs. He was sick of her, he was sick of the fact she’d left him with nothing but a half-arsed explanation and an empty promise of them staying in touch.

But sometimes he can’t help but reminisce on how she used to make him feel and believe that maybe she really was going to come home. “She was supposed to be the one, I can’t believe I was so stupid."

“Unfortunately Buck,” You reach over the table to grab the packing tape, it making a harsh noise as you rip off a piece to tape the - now neatly organised - box. “That how real dating works,”

"No, this wasn’t ‘real’ dating. Real dating doesn’t involve her leaving after she said I could move in, she didn’t even say a real goodbye, I had to find out that she wasn’t coming back from an Instagram post of her kissing some random guy in Thailand." Buck’s voice plainly displayed his emotional exhaustion.

He didn’t want to think about Abby anymore, but it was just so hard to get her out of his head when he really thought that their relationship was going somewhere.

“Head up mister,” You tap your middle and index fingers against the underside of his chin with a sigh. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea,”

Buck laughed exasperatedly. He hated that quote, it always felt so insincere. Then again that was probably because he’s used it so many times in the past when turning down his previous hookups who wanted a more serious relationship.

Now he was on the other end of it, and it just felt ironic.

“You just don’t get it, we were a perfect match for each other,” Buck exhales dramatically, turning his head up to the ceiling. "She was beautiful. She was kind. She was smart. Our sex life was perfect, she was exactly who I was looking for but she left. She just up and left."

“It happens unfortunately,” You shrug your shoulders slightly. “Especially with someone who was dealing with so many personal issues like she was,” You give up on your organising for now as you entertain Buck’s want to get everything off his chest.

“Looks like you finally got a taste of your own medicine hey?” Your attempt at lightening the mood a little is met by a roll of Buck’s eyes and a sigh.

You had a point to an extent, he’d never really dealt with a real breakup before even though he’d been with plenty of other women. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone’s gotta experience heartbreak at some point, it’s part of your character development,” You mirror the way he’s leaning against the dining table yourself, pressing your lower back against the wood with your arms crossed.

"I don’t think I needed that character development," Buck sighed once again, "I wish I wasn’t experiencing it right now. I just wish she’d call me or even send me something, anything. Tell me she’s not coming back properly you know?"

He’d probably try to convince her into a long distance relationship if she did call him. But he wasn’t going to tell you that part. He was supposed to be moving on.

“I deleted her number from your phone so… she’s not going to,”

“You did what?” You could hear the immediate hurt in Buck’s tone at your confession, demonstrated further by the way his eyes turned to you in astonishment. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you are trying to physically move on,” You gesture towards the cardboard boxes that are littered around the apartment containing Buck’s belongings. “But you haven’t mentally moved on, you need both otherwise you’re gonna crash,”

Buck hated that you were right.

You were always right.

You always knew what was best for him when he didn’t even realise what was best for himself.

"I hate that all you do is say the right things at the right time."

“It’s a talent of mine,” You nudge him gently with a smile, again trying to lift up the mood a little.

Sometimes he hated that you were so kind too.

Some twisted part of him wished that you would do something wrong, that you would say the wrong thing and give him an excuse to let out all of his pent up frustration without feeling bad about it afterwards.

But you never did. And he didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse.

Then he started thinking about Abby again, of course he did. She was like a parasite that had burrowed a little cavity in his brain and wouldn’t leave no matter how many times he hit himself over the head.

He’d never had a truly vulnerable conversation with her when they were together. Not without the sole focus being on her or her mother’s health. He couldn’t remember a conversation that they’d had that was actually about his problems.

He couldn’t hate her for that. Of course not. She was going through a lot. But it really put into perspective who was the primary giver of their relationship. And it’s starting to make him question whether it was authentic in the first place.

Did she see it as a proper relationship like he did? Or was she using it as a distraction from all of the stress she had looking after her mother all the time?

He didn’t even realise he was tearing up until a drop of water hit the back of his hand.

“Are you alright?” You turned your head towards him after noticing how he’d gone quiet, his head lowered to a point where you couldn’t fully see the expression on his face.

“I don’t know-” His words said one thing, but the way he shook his head said something else. He was very clearly not okay.

“Buck…” You sigh softly at his tone, sounding a little forced as if he was scared of his voice breaking halfway through his sentence.

“Can I have a hug? Please?” He asked his question hesitantly, no longer trying to hide the wavering in his tone. He felt stupid for feeling like this over something that was seemingly so trivial to him in the past, but right now he didn’t feel like doing anything but crying until he physically couldn’t anymore.

He felt even stupider acting like this in front of you of all people. You’d dealt with enough of his baggage already, and he didn’t want to do to you what Abby had done to him in essentially using you as a human diary.

You don’t hesitate in your answer at all. “C’mere,”

You barely even open your arms before the space is filled by Buck, his head hidden against the shoulder of your t-shirt to hide his expression from you.

You lean your weight fully against the edge of the table as you envelop him into a hug, rubbing your hand up and down his back in your best attempt at physically soothing him as he lets out a soft cry into your shoulder.

A fully grown man crying into the arms of someone half his size because he couldn’t handle a breakup. Who would’ve thought?

The longer you held him the less he felt like he had to be embarrassed about it. Somebody had his back, and he didn’t ever want that to end.

“You’re gonna be alright,” The hand that wasn’t gently rubbing soothing lines over his back cupped the back of his neck, holding his head securely against your shoulder.

You knew he was going to break down eventually. You were just glad he had someone present during it.

"Thank you," Buck whispered to you as he began to calm down, "Thank you so much."

Embracing you felt like home, the first time in a long time that he’d felt like he had support. Like he could be himself.

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let go, and for the first time in a while he felt as if everything would be okay.

“Don’t mention it,” You make no move to pull away from the hug once he’s calm enough to speak to you again, content to wait until Buck was comfortable enough to pull away in his own time.

He didn’t seem like he was going to let go any time soon.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” Buck’s voice is muffled against your shoulder as he speaks, and he links his arms together behind your waist. “That would be nice,”

You laugh shortly at the question, your shoulders shaking slightly as you do and in turn jostling Buck slightly in your arms. “I think my legs would give out after a while, you’re heavy you know,”

"They’d get stronger eventually," Buck muttered, "We could work out together. I could train you."

Buck was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit but, as usual, his mouth spoke before his brain had a chance to control it. He was just glad that you hadn’t actually pulled away yet.

“You can’t train me to do anything if you won’t let go,”You continue to laugh softly at his proposition as your hand scratches gently at the hairs at nape of his neck.

“You can just hold me then,” He drops the idea almost immediately under the favour of staying securely in your arms.

He’d never hugged any of his friends like this before, although he supposes he’s never actually wanted to. But here he is nonetheless, and it was probably the most comfortable he’d ever been in his life.

He just wanted to stay in the little cocoon your arms provided him away from reality for the rest of his life, maybe longer than that. The only question was whether you’d entertain his idea of abandoning everything productive you were supposed to be doing so that he could satiate his desire to stay exactly where he was.

“Not standing up,” You shake your head against the side of his with a small chuckle. “My legs are already starting to hurt,”

“On the couch then? We can watch that movie you were talking about,”

“We still have packing to finish Buckley,”

“Tomorrow,” Buck shakes his head as he makes a move to separate himself from you, although not fully as his hands still lay carefully positioned on your sides. “I genuinely cannot do any more packing today,”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he tilts his head at you with a sigh. “Come on, humour me here I’m emotionally vulnerable,”

He slips one of his hands towards your wrist and gives it a small tug, his grip loose enough that if you wanted to pull your arm away from him you could do so with minimal effort. You don’t of course, allowing him to tug you forward until you’re not leaning against the table any more, your weight fully supported on your feet. “We can watch that movie, order a pizza and I can wallow in my emotions for a few hours until I’m mentally fit to continue packing,”

“Sounds like you’re just trying to procrastinate,” You furrow your eyebrows accusingly, but the smile on your face betrays your feigned scolding, just grateful that he was sound enough to joke about his own misery now that he’d actually had the chance to vent his emotions.

“Oh I definitely am,” Buck’s smile mirrors yours emphatically, and he starts towards the living room with your wrist in his hand so you’re ‘forced’ to follow him. “I hate packing, it’s boring and everyone always tells me I’m doing it wrong,”

#9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction #buck x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #asks 🚒 #evan buckley angst #9-1-1 angst

[gentaro-kinniecom]

It all started with a cup of coffee

Characters: Fareeha Amari (Pharah)/fem!reader

C/w: modern au!, you work as a barista with lena (tracer), fluff-ish, suggestive, romantic scenes, Fareeha flirts w you <3, first person pov! [Not proofread]

A/n: I love lesbians. Muah; Im still working on those love and deepspace fics..im just so busy with college stuff pls :,( anyways enjoy 😋

The coffee shop was unusually busier today, I groaned as the sight of the huge line outside grew with each minute that passed. Why did my shift had to be during lunch hour? I passed by the line of impatient customers, some angry at me (since they thought I was a cutting customer), and opened the door, my co-worker sighed in relief as she glanced my way. It seemed we’re understaffed today..

“What took you so long?” She asked, handing me my apron adorned with cute buttons, one of them being a lesbian flag, which people stared at it rather than me most times. Lena was regularly energetic, but today’s demand was so exhausting to the point where her usual smile faded in the back while preparing orders.

“Traffic. Go and take a break, you’ve more than enough have earned it.” She tried to complain about it, saying how I needed help taking and doing orders, but I insisted, giving her a slight push towards the break room while flashing me a smile.

Hours passed after taking customer’s orders alongside Lena that I didn’t notice it was already 5:30pm, we usually close at 7 but since tomorrow was a free day due to a small holiday event in town, the shop owner was nice enough to change the hour until 6pm for today. I began sweeping the floor and cleaning some tables when the small bell of the shop rang suddenly

“Would you mind taking their order? I have to take out the trash and finish up in the back” Lena asked as I looked up nodding and smiling her way before standing behind the register, not noticing who was in front of me.

“I’ll take a small cappuccino and the last vanilla cupcake” The voice sounded so familiar..I finally looked up to see my crush and classmate, Fareeha Amari. Her hair was messy in an attractive way and adorned with golden accessories. She smiled while meeting my gaze, knowing I had recognized her

“Fareeha? From Calculus class? It’s been a while” I said, writing her name on the cup and starting the coffee steamer.

“I’m glad you remembered, although almost no one in college now days don’t even take the time to know their professor’s names.”-there was a pause, she fetched her phone after it rang twice, apologizing before continuing-“I’ve been meaning to talk with you for a while now” Fareeha thanked me before taking small sips in between our current conversation. While I finished up on cleaning, Fareeha sat down, scrolling through some videos or social media in general.

When it came the time to close, she wished me a goodnight and left, then I noticed. She had left behind a note, her phone number was neatly written in her lovely handwriting. I quickly dialed the number, keeping the small paper in my pocket. Lena’s girlfriend, Emily, came to pick her up, they offered me a ride home but I decided to walk, thanking them while heading towards the subway.

In the morning, I decided to finally reach out to her after a long night of debating it. It’s all fun and games until Fareeha finds out the name her contact on my phone is. Nothing fancy, just ‘Pharah’, with a heart emoji on the side. Sitting down on the countertop, I reached for my phone, sighing while typing..

“Good morning! It’s Y/n, how are you?” As I awaited a reply from her, I began to prepare breakfast while trying not to think much about the text. To my surprise, my phone pinged, ‘1 message from Pharah♡’. I unlocked my phone, my heart accelerating within the second.

“Hey~! I’m doing good, better now that you texted me..by any chance are you going to tonight’s festival?” Oh? The question caught me off guard for a moment as I finished eating. Yes, I was planning to go alone however, if she’s inviting me, I wouldn’t mind.

“I have nothing better to do honestly, I’d love to go, why? You’re inviting~?” I asked, placing my phone on the counter of the vanity while going to take a shower. As I finished, my phone began to ring; Fareeha was calling me. I sighed upon seeing it was just a normal call and not facetime

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to pick up. And to answer your question, yes, I’m inviting you out.” I grabbed my clothes, leaving the bathroom as I replied.

“Oh~? So like a date then?” There was a small paused before Fareeha chuckled,

“You’re cute, if you want it to be a date, I wouldn’t be opposed to it” Setting down my phone on my bed now, I started to dress myself before replying to her

“Sure~! Does 5pm sound good for you?”

“It’s perfect, I’ll pick you up too, just send me your address, see you” With that, she hung up. I then texted her my location; going on about my day until the time came for her to pick me up. A sudden knock on my door made me realize it was already 4:50pm, she even arrived 10 minutes early..I got up, reaching for the door and opening it

“Hi beautiful, you ready to go?” Fareeha asked, leaning against the doorframe with one arm as I smiled, taking in how good she looked

“I’ll go grab my purse, be right back!” While gathering my stuff, the realization dawned upon me, she was flirting with me, like we’ve been doing even before yesterday. I guess I was too distracted or oblivious to notice

“Thanks for waiting~” Our hands intertwined, walking out of the apartment complex, and toward her blue McLaren, the sides had a streak of gold, it looked beautiful. Fareeha opened the door for me, though the ride wasn’t that long, in 10 to 15 minutes we had already arrived to the event. It was late enough to go back for my jacket, I would’ve never thought it would be cold tonight. Fareeha seemed to notice as she quickly handed over her own

“If you were cold, you should’ve asked for my jacket, sweetheart” I nearly melted at her words, holding her hand while grabbing her jacket as we walked. I couldn’t help but stare at her now glossy lips as she applied some lipstick while letting go of my hand, only to quickly grab it as she smiled, eyes wandering from my eyes to my lips.

“I didn’t want to bother you” My voice was but a mere whisper, still, it made Fareeha laugh softly. We soon entered one of the restaurants around the block.

“Never, in fact, I’d love for you to ask for my things. My jacket suits you well” I nod, ordering a beverage along with something to eat together as Fareeha continued to stare at me, almost lovingly. After eating with her, we walked around town. She wouldn’t let me pay for anything, even with us getting matching key chains for our phones.

“You didn’t have to..don’t tell me you have a thing for spoiling people?” I inquired half jokingly, returning home with her. Fareeha’s hand gripped the steering wheel while the other rested on my thigh

“Only to people I really like..have you gotten the hint yet, or do I have to be more..direct with my feelings?” She teasingly spoke, parking nearby my apartment as I took off my seatbelt, looking over as she tried leaving the car. I grabbed her hand, leaning towards her

“What is it that you truly desire then? Go on, I’m all ears” A cocky smile appeared on her face, making me falter my grip when suddenly, Fareeha took hold of my hands, pushing me slowly against my seat.

“You hate it when I tease you yet..you’re out here playing games with me, honey”

“Okay and~? What’re you gonna do about it? Her lips crashed onto mine like a dream. It was as if tonight everything came to light. My hands caressed her face softly, leaning more into the kiss while Fareeha grabbed my hair, gently tugging it after parting away

“What~? Don’t tell me you’re speechless now?” I chuckled, my hand in hers; soon we left her car, upon arriving to my apartment, I kissed her goodnight. I couldn’t help but think of Fareeha throughout the entire night.

Months passed by, and I can proudly sat that my relationship with her has grown. To the point of moving in together a few months after she asked me to be her girlfriend. I was currently making breakfast, looking out the window to see the sky during the early afternoon. Hands suddenly wrapped around my waist as I smiled

“Good afternoon my love, sleep well?” Fareeha nodded gently, kissing my cheek while grabbing some orange juice from the fridge.

“Mhm, I never thought my dreams of having a life with you would become real, not that I’m complaining” She smiled, taking two glasses of orange-printed cups and pouring juice. At good timing too since I was done with breakfast. We sat together in the dinning table; Fareeha read the newspaper as I scrolled through some social media

“Hey, didn’t you say you wanted to visit the botanical garden last week?” She said, breaking the comfortable silence while taking our dishes back to the kitchen

“Yes, but, don’t you have to call and reserve beforehand? It’s not like we can show up without anything” Fareeha chuckled, after washing our plates, she went towards our shared bedroom and took out an envelope. Inside were two tickets for the garden

“You didn’t think I already planned ahead, right~?” I smiled, wrapping my arms around her as a small ‘thank you’. I couldn’t help but admire her eyes, the way her hair fell down onto her face…

“You’re staring..do I have something?” She looked concerned but I just laughed, kissing her softly, almost catching her off guard. Her hands quickly traveled towards my waist

“I just like staring at you, my beautiful girlfriend”

#overwatch x reader #overwatch #pharah x reader #pharah #pharah overwatch #fareeha amari x reader #fareeha amari #overwatch fluff #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch 2 x reader #lena oxton #tracer

[brandwhorestarscream]

Courtesan au

Hehehe so the trineshipping slowly begins. But Sywarp’s seriously gonna have his work cut out for him if he’s trynna make Thundercracker and Starscream happier people

I’ve said it before and I’ll say again but I’m actually in love with this idea

Im in love with this idea too 🥰 I'm so glad you like it!!

So! As for how Skywarp brings back their light! He watches them closely and tries to understand their mannerisms.

He probably sees a lot of himself in them, ironically: they're not happy in their positions despite having everything. Starscream likes being royalty and all the power and pampering that comes with it, but. He can't pursue the one thing he's actually passionate about. Thundercracker has never made a single decision for himself and is utterly depressed and apathetic to most things because of it. They're perfect in public: polite, sophisticated, graceful, well spoken. But their optics are dead and hopeless and have no real light in them. The second they get back to a random suite or parlor in the palace after a party, they both heave an identical sigh and collapse into plush arm chairs or the chaise or whatever. They don't seem to want to be perfect in front of him, which is. Weird

The two of them not keeping up the act with each other, he understands. They've been engaged since they were practically in diapers, and have known each other even longer. They're partners in misery together, they don't care if the other sees their flaws, because it doesn't matter. No one else is around anyway. Except Skywarp. They're comfortable enough with him to drop the act, and it's... unsettling. They seem so sad. So lifeless. He's had depressed clients come to him before, desperate for a meaningful conversation and affection, but they never ask that of him. He doesn't understand them at all

In public they're perfectly respectable nobles, poised, cordial, and polite. Starscream is an introvert that's great at pretending he's an extrovert, so he makes perfect conversation and people hang onto his every word. Thundercracker on the other hand is an introvert that's terrible at being anything else, and anyone attempting to speak to him gets short, curt, noticeably safe answers. It's no wonder people whisper behind his back that he's cold and arrogant.

He has no idea what to do to make them happy, and in fact only has a breakthrough after a particularly exhausting garden party held by one of the other noble houses. The party had lasted through brunch and into the early afternoon, but there's still several megacycles before Thundercracker is meant to return home. As the prince's fiance he's expected to spend the majority of his time at Starscream's side, so every morning he's fetched by a royal transport and every night is returned to his aerie. They're in Starscream's library, and while the heir to the throne is laser focused on a physics textbook, Thundercracker has made himself comfortable in a chair by the window and is reading his latest book. It's the final one in a series he's loved for years, and finally he gets to know how it ends. Skywarp wanders back and forth between them, pacing really, mind wandering but optics keeping a vigil for anything out of the ordinary.

Then, it happens. Thundercracker sighs, but not his normal melancholy sigh. No, this one is more forceful, pushed through all of his vents with a sharp hiss. He turns off his datapad with a decisive jab, and sets it onto the side table. His fingers curl in his lap, and he's frowning so deeply you'd think he'd just been insulted. Skywarp teleports to his side and immediately asks what's wrong.

Thundercracker sighs once more, rolling his optics. "What," he spits in the most venomous tone Skywarp has ever heard him use. "Was that?!"

"Uh-"

"Airstrike and Cannonfire conjunxed?! Why?! They've been trying to kill each other for the last 8 books! She killed his carrier! The prophecy said Termaria would be razed after their final battle and now they're a couple?! WHY?! It doesn't make any sense! They hate each other! He burned her country, and she assassinated his entire family! Including poor little Clifface, he was only 8 vorns! They- are you hearing this, Skywarp?! They had to work together to put the Titans back to sleep, which fine, they are the best ones for the task, but that was more than halfway through the final book and that suddenly makes everything alright?! Not just alright, suddenly they're in love?! Listen to this nonsense!" He snatches up his datapad again and flicks back a few pages, beginning to read aloud, "'She truly can't believe it, even still, that this mech is to be her mate in just a few short cycles. Hatred still burns in her spark but now, somehow, it's easy to turn it onto passion and love. She'd been mistaken of his true colors, and was willing to pardon his sins if he would only pardon hers.' What is THAT?! This is atrocious! This is disgusting! I waited 10 vorns for this book and this is the ending they give me?!"

Thundercracker's huffing and gasping for air by the time he's done ranting, having worked himself up into quite a fit and actually throwing the datapad down onto the table.

"...I apologize," he takes a deep, slow intake and Skywarp can see all the passion and warmth draining out of him once more. A practiced thing, he suddenly realizes. "I'm... f-frustrated. This ending is awful," he's starting to look sick, and suddenly Sky sees tears beginning to bead in his optics. His EM field reeks of barely-concealed, incredibly heavy disappointment. "I- I didn't mean to raise my voice, but... I've waited such a long time for this, and..."

"And it's not what you dreamed it would be?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

Skywarp let's him continue venting. Its clear this series has meant a lot to him over the vorns. He has first edition copies of every file, and has read the first three so many times he can practically recite them from memory. From what he's gathered, the story isn't even a romance. It's a vast saga about a fantasy world at war, and the two bitter rival leaders of each side had suddenly and inexplicably found themselves in love at the very end of the final book.

After he's said everything he can and is sadly searching for another story to read, Skywarp suggests, "You know... you could always rewrite it."

Thundercracker is entirely taken aback. Rewrite the ending? Skywarp says that yeah, why not? If he hates it that much, maybe he should rewrite it the way he thought it should go. Make up his own ending. Ignore the author's weird intentions and fabricate his own. TC has honestly never considered that before, never thought that he could. He tries to decline, saying he doesn't have the skills to be a writer, but Skywarp is persistent. Just try. It'll be therapeutic, if nothing else, and its not like he'll ever have to let anyone read it.

Suffice to say 🤭 Thundercracker tries it out and it unlocks a love he never knew he had. He's never tried creative writing before, but after sampling it at Skywarp's behest, he discovers that he loves storytelling. Within a week he returns to the palace with a personal datapad in hand, giving it to Skywarp to read. His revised version of that terrible ending, and he wants Sky to read it! It wouldn't exist without him, after all, and he had such a great time making it! There's light in his optics, sudden and bright: he looks like a person at last, not a perfectly structured drone. He goes on and on about the piece he wrote and how he's so excited to do more! There's not really any other endings he wants to fix, but there's plenty of characters he enjoys that could have more adventures!

Thundercracker looks great with a smile om his face, a real smile, and Skywarp is sure to tell him. For the first time, ever, Skywarp sees him genuinely accept a compliment, before placing the datapad in his servos and going to greet his fiance. He's given Thundercracker something to look forward to, something to make his days bright and worthwhile, something that truly makes his spark happy, and he couldn't be prouder.

One down, one to go. Next, he's gotta figure out how he can bring meaning and joy to Starscream's life

#courtesan skywarp #anyone that can guess what he does for Starscream gets a free terrible sketch lmfao

[spitdrunken]

not gonna make any more promises about activity because Life LMAO (full time student + part time job + attempted social life = hell) but man a couple of months ago my girlfriend made me watch spiderman 1 & 2 (original ones) and i have been a changed person ever since. sent so many rambles to her about these two men. anyway. have a bit of a fic im working on.

notes: mermaid(? dunno what else to call it) au

Oh, how many times have you wished to be hatched from a different egg…!

But, no, fate had decided that you must be born as a shrimp, among so many others. Why couldn’t you have been one of the predators, large, and able to navigate the coral reefs you call home without fear? You wish for it, and yet it’s a mode of existence so far away from yours that you can hardly imagine it.

You had many siblings, once. Now, few of them remain, scattered amongst the vast expanse of the reefs. A part of you is glad that you haven’t been able to track them. If you can’t find them, that means others can’t, either. As for the ones you do know the location off, it’s better not to go and see them, either. You have no desire to risk your life to the predator they’ve bonded with. The most you catch is whispers from well-connected prey, to whom new bonds are one of the greatest sources of gossip. Down here, information is key to survival, and misinformation can get you killed.

If there is anyone who has much misinformation drifting around about him, it would be a particularly vicious octopus nicknamed Octavius. Or supposed to be vicious, at least. There is no way to know for certain. The incidents that continue to be spoken of happened many a shrimp’s lifetime ago though, compared with other creatures, that is no time at all. That is not to mention that octopi are notoriously solitary, and no one has seen this Octavius himself in forever. Still, the crime he has supposedly committed—the act of killing prey for one’s own enjoyment, rather than survival—is heinous enough that you can’t write it all off either. It must contain some pearl of truth, covered in muck as it may be. All the same, Octavius is exactly the one you want to seek out. You certainly wouldn’t blame anyone for accusing you of having a death wish. You may have one, considering being alive is so utterly exhausting. All it consists of is being in a constant state of fear, and scrambling to find your next meal. Your antennae twitch thinking about those lucky cleaner shrimp, who no longer have a care in the world. Whereas trying to bond with any predator is normally a risk, you’ve developed a plan.

So many horrific stories about Octavius regularly make the rounds, that you, for once, can be certain no one has bonded with him. No one else has been stupid enough to try. If you die, at least you tried.

#otto octavius x reader #spiderman x reader

[malka-lisitsa]

What's it like dating Katherine?

I'm so glad that you asked!

I see a LOT of 'Dating Katherine would consist of-" Posts and they're all so romanticized its so unrealistic!!! So let me tell you what dating Katherine is ACTUALLY LIKE, because she is NOT an easy person to be with!

Now quick disclaimer here- this doesn't mean she isn't a good person to date and that it's all bad. It's NOT and I will definitely list the entire spectrum here good and bad- but Katherine is not for the faint of heart and if yall want to fantasize about what dating her would be like you need the real guide book.

SO here's what dating Katherine Pierce would be like.

Katherine is BPD this is a terrible condition that affects her ability to maintain relationships especially.

Paranoid delusions are v common, Katherine has incredible trust issues already (can you blame her) so paired up with paranoia she would be very suspicious at completely random times. One day she could be completely ok with x person being around you and then the next day she could be so insecure and jealous bc her head has convinced her that you are in fact cheating on her.

Katherine's rapid mood swings? Not cute! :D She can go from fine, to white hot rage in a split second and then if you blink shes sobbing! WHY? SHE DOESN'T FUCKING KNOW!! And to top it all off!! She doesn't know what to do with herself when she has these mood swings! Could be anything from isolation, to being needy, or even lashing out randomly! Its a surprise for EVERYONE INVOLVED!!

Picking fights! Legitimate fights out of nowhere! Why? Bc abandonment issues! You're gonna leave her anyway why shouldn't she be in control of that right? She will push you away viciously!! The guess what?? After that episode is over she will try to smooth it over and pull you back because she doesnt actually want to lose you- shes just SCARED and has zero emotional regulation!

She will TEST YOU CONSTANTLY and you will never know, you will never be trained, or given a guide you are expected to know what the right thing to do with/for her is and if you DONT- FIGHT. This is super common in BPD, these tests and theyre almost ALWAYS unreasonable, again bc if you fail the test she gets to pick a fight and rationalize you dont actually care about her and she should push you away before you hurt her.

Intense emotions! My GOD lets not forget that she not only feels things vampire intense but she feels them BPD intense ON TOP OF THAT. SHE WILL BE UNREASONABLE. OFTEN. IT IS NOT HER FAULT. She literally has no control over it. She is not logical when triggered it is ALL emotional lizard brain. If you push her she will bite you- no middle ground.

She will get scared, and she will most likely try to run, or push you away. Anyone who can reach you, can hurt you- and Katherine has a built in warning system when someone starts to get close enough they can actually hurt her- the the instinct to sabotage that relationship kicks in.

Katherine is an impulsive liar. You will be lied to. Probably over the stupidest shit like 'we're out of nuggets' so you pick her up something else on the way home. Also probably about important shit. Katherine's most common lie is 'im fine'

Katherine is POSSESSIVE and she is NOT shy about it either. Reactions can vary from some heavy PDA to actual violence...

Dating Katherine is dealing with her insomnia. It's dealing with her waking up screaming, or in tears. It's having her climb in your lap to sleep because she needs to feel safe. Remember this girl has been HUNTED and FUCKED WITH for 500 YEARS. SAFE is never a default feeling for her. She is ALWAYS in fight or flight mode and it's EXHAUSTING when your brain keeps telling you 'cant sleep now there are enemies near by'

Dating Katherine is never knowing whats going on in her head because she wont tell you. You need to learn her very subtle language she communicates in to understand her mental state.

its katherine having very little emotional maturity, and lashing out at the first sign of rejection or criticism. Its Katherine having black and white thinking NO grey area.

Its learning a whole new dialect just to be able to understand what she actually means when she says or does certain things.

But it's also katherine routinely playing games with you. Random games of tag. Making up new rules youve never heard of in checkers that she swears are legit she learned them in mexico. Its secretly throwing games sometimes so she can win and you get to keep playing that game...

Its her snooping through your stuff to get to know you, because while she could just ask, she needs enrichment and snooping is very fun for her.

Its her plopping herself down next to you because she just wants to be around you (even if its picking a fight for attention)

It's her head on your chest as she listens to your heart beat and falls asleep on you.

Its seeing the way she looks at you, with a love so powerful you cant even imagine what it feels like.

its her doing little things to express that she loves you. Thes things vary from doing a chore, to leaving you a present, kissing you randomly, asking to cuddle and watch a movie- its a wide variety she uses to express herself with.

its her asking you to watch videos with her or read to her.

it's finding out all of the little details she knows about you, all the tiny stuff most people don't notice, that she has learned and even likes about you.

its her cooking you one of her 4 known and perfected dishes randomly.

its quiet evenings of just existing in each others company as you do whatever

its play fighting, that turns into a make out session.

its mind blowing sex tbh

Its being loved with a love that was more than love-

its waking up next to this beautifully complex creature and knowing she picked you.

Nah, dating Katherine is not a walk in the park. It takes a very special and dedicated person with a lot of courage to handle this girl. It takes someone with patience. Someone with determination, and the ability to love her at her absolute worst. It takes someone willing to UNDERSTAND that she is not always in control of her behaviors. That she is just as fed up and scared and done with the way shes acting, but shes TRAPPED on the inside of her own head just WATCHING herself tear shit apart and she cant do ANYTHING to stop it.

It takes someone willing to meet her aggression with a gentle hand. It takes someone who will reassure her constantly that they love her and want her. It takes someone who understands that she needs special treatment most people would deem unreasonable or entitled. It's a toxic relationship until you learn the cheat codes to bypass her defense mechanisms. It takes time and dedication. So if you're thinking all of that sounds toxic and terrible, then you honestly don't deserve all the good, all the light she can be when handled properly.

Katherine is a girl who loves harder than most people could even imagine. She's dedicated. Shes smart. Shes a wonderful charismatic person- but she is DAMAGED and requires special care- so if you cant handle the care needs for an exotic animal, it's best you just visit every now and then and let someone whos willing to put in the effort, reap the immense benefits. Dating Katherine, LOVING KATHERINE- it isnt EASY.... but it's WORTH IT.

I'm sure I missed a few things for good AND bad but honestly you get the jist.

#Answered #havvkinsqueen #the one and only... sort of: ooc #headcanon

[forevfangirlwrites]

i had this idea for hthf: what if percy met luke? even though percabeths relationship is private, maybe percy goes with her to an awards show or premiere (skipping the red carpet or not), and at the after party like is there and says hello to annabeth (since it’s mentioned they had an amicable break and im assumed that means they’re on decent terms) and while percy’s more secure in the relationship now than he was when he first found out he dated, he’s still very 🧐

-It’s Percy’s first time going to an event with her so needless to say he’s nervous but as Annabeth explained, afterparties are pretty informal and all you really need to do is stand there with a glass in hand and he thinks he can handle that

-He sticks to her side like glue for most of it, and she introduces him to a few people who he vaguely recognizes and some who he’s only seen on the screen before. (He’s used to it now though, mostly) That is until she tells him she has to go to the bathroom and he’s left standing awkwardly by a table.

-No one is paying attention to him anyway but he tries to get a glimpse of Will or Jason in hopes he can also seem like he knows people other than Annabeth here. Neither of them are in view though

-He’s scrolling through his phone when a guy bumps into him and almost makes him spill his drink. Thankfully it doesn’t cause it’s his first real properly fitted suit he’s ever owned (a gift from Annabeth) and he doesn’t want to ruin the first time he wears it

-“Shit sorry, did I get you?” the other guys says and Percy assures him he’s fine. Something about the guy looks vaguely familiar and he’s trying to place what show or movie he must have seen this guy in when he continues. “You’re Percy Jackson right?”

-A few people, upon introduction, had said something along the lines of “oh this is Percy, yes we saw the magazine covers” but no one has flat out recognized him and it’s actually kind of shocking

-“Uh yeah…” He tries to figure out how to ask the guy who he is but it’s going to come across as rude especially since he recognized someone like Percy

-The guy nods, clearly about to say something else when a hand on his arm makes him turn to see that Annabeth has returned and slipped her hand back into his arm.

-“Luke,” she says and suddenly everything clicks into place. “How are you?”

-He’s not going to be any type of way about this, is what he tells himself. Yet he’s pretty sure he stiffened a little at Annabeth saying her ex’s name and it’s probably way more obvious than he wanted it to be

-“Good, and I see you’re doing good too, I’m glad.” Luke replies with a smile and it’s nice and all but Percy just wants the conversation to end (or to melt into the darkness, that would work too)

-Annabeth leans even closer to him and squeezes his arm where she’s holding it. “Yep.” (Okay so maybe that felt good).

-“Well, see you around Annabeth, nice meeting you Percy,” Luke nods towards them and with a wave he walks away and Percy can finally breathe again.

-“You okay?” Annabeth asks and though he is okay, he is kinda tired of being here. But it’s Annabeth’s thing and he doesn’t want to be rude. It must show on his face though because the next thing she says sounds like music to his ears.

-“You want to dip?” She doesn’t even wait for an answer and pulls him along. And it’s not till they’re in her car with Frank at the wheel does he finally slump in the seat. He gets why Annabeth always comes back tired, these things are a little exhausting.

-“Sorry about Luke, I didn’t think he’d come up to you.” Annabeth had only briefly talked about Luke before this and all he knew was that they both realized it wasn’t going to work and decided to break up. There wasn’t any ill-will and he thinks that Luke was probably just curious to meet him (He is the one dating Annabeth Chase after all)

-He assures her it’s okay but the nervous look on her face doesn’t disappear, well not until they’re back home and he’s kissing her senseless because he’d been holding back the moment he saw her in that dress

MORE CHAPTERS: how to handle fame and headcanons

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! I decided to write it in this format just to switch things up a  bit and it ended up being almost 700 words lol I hope you liked how it turned out! Thanks again!

#how to handle fame #actress annabeth #percy and annabeth #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth au

[fairy-switchblade]

sorry if youve addressed this and i havent found it yet, but i was reading your post about stone butches transitioning out of stone. i am a femme coming to terms with the possibility i may be a stone femme and i was just wanting to hear others thoughts about what transitioning in and out of a stone femme identity might be like. maybe this doesnt make sense and im overthinking my identity somehow since im already thinking in terms of leaving it before ive even accepted it. as i am now i dont have any reservations about accepting the identity of stone besides somehow hurting or misrepresenting the community by viewing it this way. i wouldnt want to rush leaving stone behind either your post just sparked me to think long term what i may feel and be like. sorry this was probably unreadable, thank you for reading anyway if you did! it was nice to even write it somewhere at all. thank you 🙏 🩷

Hey there! Sorry about the late reply, it’s been an intense few days at work placement.

First of all, no I have not addressed this yet, there’s no need to apologise. The idea of ‘transitioning’ in and out of stone identity, either butch or femme, is an interesting one. It’s a way of acknowledging that accepting and taking on of this label is a process that takes time, as is the release of that same label.

I believe this is a fairly unique process to each of us, as individuals. Heads up I am not stone, but I am partnered to someone who is currently negotiating with their own use of the term. Much of what I can share on this is based on discussion with them, and is drawn therefore from a stone butch experience, not a stone femme experience. I would strongly recommend you reach out to other stone femmes for further support, if you feel confident doing so.

That being said, I feel that considering the ‘lifespan’ of your own stone identity is not an unreasonable thing to consider. This is something which you may feel differently on at different points in your life. It is important to extend compassion to yourself, not judgement, as you navigate this. Some people might arrive at stone identity feeling soothed by it, and more secure within it, more able to function, or be themselves. Other’s will arrive at it with mixed feelings- there is self-knowledge and empowerment in the term, and yet also for some, exhaustion and hurt, and a need to rely on it temporarily. You will know in yourself whether stone feels like a temporary shelter, or home. It is okay if it’s home. I feel like I can’t really stress that enough.

You can know in yourself that you might want to leave stone behind one day, even as you are just embracing the term. It would hurt if you were discussing stone as something that can be ‘cured’ or something that’s wrong with you that you need to get rid of. But it seems clear to me that is not what you’re doing.

I’m really glad you were able to share these thoughts with me. I hope they provided some release, and I sincerely hope my prior post was helpful to you. Good luck with everything, and remember to take your time figuring all of this out.

#Stone #stone femme #asks #anon

[shai-manahan]

OK OK OK CALM DOWN CALM DOWN THIS IS NOT AM EMERGENCY BUT I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW JUST HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND IF LIKE- ????? THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE THINGS IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND OMG THAT NIGHTMARE SCENE IS GIVING ME NIGHTMARES THE MORE I THINK ABOUT IT SO I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU THAT I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR WORK AND HOW GLAD IM THAT YOU DECIDED TO BRING IT TO LIFE- SO KEEP IT UP AND PLEASE TAKE CARE YOUR HEALTH AS WELL 👍👍👍👍👍👍

also i have a few theories about our MC if you don't mind-

1. so... as i played through the nightmare scene for the 9th time in a row to fully relish the horror and trauma, i realized that our dear (but unfortunate) MC must have gone through something MUCH MUCH worse than merely watching their father get oofed off by their mother 🤔🤔🤔 because i once read somewhere that if someone experiences like a really bad traumatic experience their brain will instinctively suppress their memories and lock them away to protect the person from getting anymore affected and also to give them a sense of normality? dunno about that our brains can be really mysterious sometimes, which brings me to my second theory

2. OK OK OK i know this may sound crazy and also scientifically inaccurate, but i think MC has some sort of Dissociative disorder? i mean- how do you explain their sudden black out from their home to their journey all the way to Bale's territory and the bar? or maybe im just overthinking it and perhaps its somehow related to the hallucinations and the syringes that have been emphasized over multiples times in the demo

3. why do i feel our MC is being drugged with something 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 or maybe something happened before or after the incident with their father otherwise why would Alex act so sus, Vincent too, YALL TOO SUS

and so ends my theory spree as i have exhausted my remaining two brain cells to make SOME kind of sense and connection through this whole theory thing

ALSO ALSO ALONZO WHY DO I HAVE A FEELING I WRONGED YOU SOMEHOW AND SOMEWHERE AND IF I DID IM SO SORRY -

which puts me to my next question, i wonder why our MC just offed 11 of their coworkers 🤔 corruption maybe? whatever the case Is, it still doesn't excuse bernard (or whatever his name is, he's a jerk) for acting like the lil piece of poop he is, to both us and finn cause oh boy imma bout to throw hands (you better sleep with one eye open you lil shit)

ALSO ALSO ALSO MORE WESLEY LORE YAY omg now i feel kinda conflicted rn like i still wanna sock that lil bastard for exposing us but i feel kinda pity for him too, also that wholesome moment between them was so cute if not for the current angsty situation, but i guess i'll them off with one good bish slap on the face for the whole expose before listening to their side of the story

and now finally, after going through your whole blog i realized that we have a hidden mental health stat- lol my mc is gonna be one helluva self sabotaging half depressed boi bu the end of this IF 😂

SORRY FOR THE EXTREMELY LONG RANT / ASK I WAS JUST TOO EXCITED AFTER PLAYING THE WHOLE DEMO AGAIN OVER 9 TIMES BEFORE FINALLY FEELING SATISFIED- IM SORRY 😭😅

Oh that is long, but don't be sorry! I love seeing long messages like this 😌And I’m so glad you love the story to this extent 😭

First of all, so there'll be no misunderstandings, I want to make it clear that what the MC is going through isn't exactly a dissociative disorder, although there is some degree of disassociation happening. I can't explain further because it's a very huge spoiler, but not everything they've been experiencing can be solely attributed to the level of trauma and other related occurrences that DID patients often went through before being diagnosed. It's a little... different.

This does not mean, however, that the MC has no repressed memories 😔 If you look carefully, there are actually some more hints spread throughout the demo, although some of them are hidden behind certain routes. A lot are in Chapter 2, though. Anyway, the revelations relating to it won’t be the focus of Book 1, but there will be a lot more clues in the future.

And yeah, I'm afraid Alex and Vincent will continue to be sus all the way.

YALL TOO SUS

ah but I wouldn’t have done my job right if they’re not sus :)))

why do i feel our MC is being drugged with something 🤔

🤔🤔🤔

ALSO ALSO ALONZO WHY DO I HAVE A FEELING I WRONGED YOU SOMEHOW AND SOMEWHERE AND IF I DID IM SO SORRY

Well, I suppose that depends on the perspective but Alonzo does believe the MC has wronged them haha which is tbh actually valid.

which puts me to my next question, i wonder why our MC just offed 11 of their coworkers 🤔 corruption maybe?

To be fair, I don't think arresting them counts as offing lmao but yeah there's a heavy corruption occurring within the police force and everybody knows it; it's just that most of the people in Gaile cannot do anything to stop it. And don't worry about Bertrand, he already sleeps with one eye open lmaoooo although he does have kind of a huge role (spoiler: he will always be an asshole).

Wesley's reuinion scene, though... if you all think the flashback scene is already conflicting you, well, the reunion might uh.... actually nevermind, I'm not gonna spoil it.

and now finally, after going through your whole blog i realized that we have a hidden mental health stat- lol my mc is gonna be one helluva self sabotaging half depressed boi bu the end of this IF 😂

There are four types of mental health stats in the demo right now, but I'm arranging all the variables in a spreadsheet to see if I've missed anything. I kinda have a lot of them lmfao.

#I LOVE SEEING THEORIES NEVER HOLD BACK PLS #interactive fiction #hollowed minds series #hollowed minds book one #hollowed minds #theories #hollowed minds theories #writing #wip #interactive novel #interactive game #if game #choicescript #dashingdon #hosted games #cscript #cscript game #ask #taconextdoor

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3167

today was the first good day this week.

tuesday morning marked "this is the longest week of my goddamn life" and every day since then has been worse. every day. it's been overwhelming and exhausting and tiring on every level, leaving me drained beyond reason and with only a desire for sleep.

today started much the same, but physical therapy helped. the work day was the same as the other days. but it was shorter. i talked to the head of the math department and we talked about maybe me working at the school as a professor for some of the classes that need teachers. so that was good. she's going to consult with other teachers and department heads for what they do when they have someone who's fully qualified and capable of teaching a class but doesn't necessarily meet the certification that comes from being an accredited university. so more on that later. i'm still trying to find a job in DC, but it's a little less pressing at the moment. which is nice. it'll probably take me a year to find a job.

after work, i picked up joel, we went back to the house, i set a few alarms, and i passed out for a couple hours. i had a wild set of dreams. i don't remember them, but i vaguely remember getting struck by lightning in one of them? i don't know.

but i got up to my alarms and headed off to a painting workshop where we learned how to paint in the traditional ukrainian style. it was so much fun! we painted little ornaments and they had snacks and a couple tables of things that they were selling as a fundraiser for the organization. it was a great time and everyone was really nice and i was happy to be a part of it.

i also didn't realize until i was just standing there doing nothing that i didn't have to stay. i wasn't part of the organizations putting on the event, so i didn't have to stay to clean up. i could just leave. so i did.

i went back to the house to gather my belongings before heading out again. joel and lisa and a few others had left for the weekend already by then, so i was glad i gave joel a hug before i left for the workshop. i gathered my laundry and pillows and stuff and i put it in my car and i went and got myself dinner at olive garden. as someone who doesn't eat much during the day except for dinner at night, eating a shitton of calories in one go is my normal, but not necessarily good. i would much prefer to eat throughout the day. but i don't remember. and i'm usually broke. so i don't.

anyway.

i blasted basshunter on the way home and showed my sister the stuff i got and stretched out my neck on the floor for ten minutes. it was nice to hang out at my sister's without having to put on my shoes again and drag my ass across town.

i'm in bed now, im exhausted, im ready for sleep. don't know what i'm doing tomorrow, but my back already hurts.

i'm kinda gonna miss the joel cuddles in the middle of the night. it's okay though. it's only a few days.

#molly rambles #operation srr #osrr #3000s #3100s #sunshine boy

[tojisdolliee]

HELLO

I saw your post about your requests being open and I thought hmmm I've seen this account before

And then I realised you're the one who wrote a toji masterpiece and jaydjvwksheivdh fuckin LOVE YOU

Anygays I was wondering if you could try a dilf! Draken and daddy kink with a reader that has some attitude? Not as in bratty or anything just that maybe y/n was upset about something and Draken says it's not a big deal but they snap back and he finds it just so fucking hot he literally fucks the attitude out of them? *begging on my knees*

Keep up with your god tier work bestieeeee <3

hello my love! im so glad you enjoyed the Toji fic i was lowkey so insecure about it  ( Ĭ ^ Ĭ ) but yess that sounds SO SO SO HOT i gotchu bby <3

daddy kink, degradation, hard dom Draken, choking, mentions of SA

Characters: Draken Ryuguji

NSFW under the cut

What the fuck Kenny!?" you exclaim, beyond frustrated by the interaction you and your husband just had. You just arrived back at your apartment from your companies annual party. Usually you'd have no intention of attending events like these, theyre usually corporate bullshit anyways, you thought, but something your co-worker said piqued your interest. "Hey, Y/N, you know the president will be scouting for a new vice president at the party, its your chance!" Vice president? Theres no way you were missing out on that opportunity. The only reason you even got the position you're currently in is because of your incredible intelligence, they hired you straight out of college with no expierence, getting the position of vice president would be life changing for you. Its settled, you were getting that job. 'Were' is the correct word, you definitely aren't getting it now, after the shit Ken pulled it would be a miracle if you even still had a job.

"I don't know what you expected me to do, Y/N. There's no way Id sit back and watch another man touch you. I don't know why you're so worried about it anyways, it was me who caused a scene. Not you." Ken stated, clearly frustrated at the situation and the cold shoulder you were giving him the whole ride home. Part of you agreed with him, but you knew that the president had people who would lie for him, no one would believe that he was attempting to assault you. That's why it was a problem that he was currently laying face down in the concrete with several broken bones. "No, you don't understand! Its like im always suffering because of your shitty choices! Do you even care about what you just did to me? To my career? No actually, dont answer that. I already know. You're not even capable of caring about anything but Mikey." with that you stormed off, slamming the bedroom door behind you and falling onto the bed. Too frustrated and exhausted to take off your makeup or change clothes. Just as you were about to doze off you hear the door swing open and within seconds your husbands large figure is towering over you, He places one strong hand om your throat, squeezing enough to blur the lines of your consciousness. "Alright, if that's how its gonna be, Daddys just gonna have to find a way to get that attitude out of ya huh?" he adorned his speech with the sounds of his buckle coming undone before reaching into his pants and fishing his cock from his pants. He discards your red lacey panties and rubs small circles onto your button at an achingly slow pace before lining himself up with your entrance and forcefully pushing in, giving you no time to adjust, he thrusts hard and fast. "Fuck baby, so tight for me. If only you behaved as well as this little pussy does." he retrives a vibrator from his pocket, turns it on and places it on your clit. "Too much! Too much Daddy!" you say, already struggling to keep your composure. "Aw, its too much? Don't care. Sluts like you take what Daddy gives them with gratitude yeah? Go on, Thank me." He'd never admit it to you, but the little attitude you have makes him feel like all the blood he has is rushing towards his cock, you light something up in him like no one else can. "Thank you Daddy! Thank you so much!" you whine in between phrases, about to slip over the edge "M' cummin' Daddy!" and once you do it has Ken quickening his pace, if that was even possible. Your attempts to squirm away from his cock fail, he pulls you back by your thigh, burying his cock into you even deeper than before. Your mind is blank now, too cockdrunk to be angry. After what seems like an infinity of overstimulation and orgasm after orgasm, Ken finally reaches his climax and his pace slows, dumping his seed deep into your tight hole and pulls out. He joins you on the bed, wrapping you in his muscular arms and placing tiny kisses on your face and shoulders. "You did so good for me angel, and i'm so sorry. I'll give Mikey a call tomorrow morning and have you placed in the presidents position. Sound good?" He *did* plan on telling you that your company worked under Toman, he just hated involving you in gang buisness and at the position you we're in now, theres no way you'd really know about it. Not that he ever doubted your strength, but tonight you confirmed his assumptions. You were the perfect president to run that company. "Wait?! What?! My company is involved with your gang shit?!" he shushed you and laughed. "We will talk about it in the morning, Mrs. President" 

#draken x reader #draken x y/n #ken ryuuguji smut #tokyo revengers smut

[moon-cycling]

this week i have needed sleep and time to myself more than anything. i have gotten to bed early and gotten like the recommended 7-8 hours of sleep each night. and rested a lot, like not done anything too strenuous besides cooking - which is arguably relaxing and good for your body because homemade meals... duh. but i am exhausted. and many things are going on. I had to have a breast exam this week that was energetically depleting. i had to take anxiety meds and hold back tears as i tried to get all of the answers i wanted from the doctor. that was hard but happy in the end. i am missing my boyfriend more than ever. its never been easy to be apart, and we have always missed each other, but now it feels like i am missing such a huge happy part of my life that its killing me. and maybe that's just the comparison of how life is together to how i feel alone. which clearly isn't amazing because i am so so tired. i am working more than i have in the last year. i had so many jobs in 20202021ish and even when i finally cut back on work, my life outside of work did not stop and i was always interacting with other people. because that gives my life so much meaning. but i had a realization that i was not looking at myself as equally wonderful to connect with. and now i do really, but i do struggle with just setting aside the time, especially when i feel like i am not being fully present for struggling loved ones at the moment. and no one is necessarily making me feel like that, but it is an insecurity of mine. i have sooo many people in my life and if i was constantly thinking about everyone (which is how i lived my life until maybe my birthday this year) i would have negative time for sleep and my own body.

so this morning i had a feeling i should cut back on my hours. i am really trying to work a lot and get a lot of money, but it is severely taking time away from myself. when i am not working a "full" schedule, i get anxiety that i am not working enough and that my life has no purpose without the services i can provide to others. when i am working too much, i feel myself wanting to check out more and just get through the week, focus on sleeping eating and resting. which i romanticized at first to get through it like wow you can just focus on your needs like a little baby in order to make money and be comfortable. but now....baby needs a nap big time. baby will get sick and not be able to work anyways if i don't listen to my body. so today i felt like i needed to listen to my body and not participate in a few hours of work. while i do want money, it is a small amount comparatively and i felt like getting rest was more important today so that my body felt better, always feels like it is flirting with illness this time of year. i felt so guilty cancelling these three hours of work, going back and forth about it in my mind for so long. i couldn't quite put my finger on why but i just really felt like today i should stay home. and alas one of the children in my household i work in is actually sick and they were not going to tell me that. which i do not blame them for, i blame this country and its demands of mothers and parents and lack of support and lack of care of illness and all of that.

but im just so glad i listened to my body because nobody else can. and the families i work with because of the government we have, cannot provide me with the typical job benefits that most people i know with full schedule jobs enjoy. again, i do not blame them, but i do not think that i should be expected to have the same regulations as a salaried and benefitted job. i do not get sick or vacation time, so i just take it without pay when i need to. i try and let people know in advance if i just need personal time, but i am not going to let myself feel like a bad person because its not personal. i am not personally doing anything to these families and same to me. they would maybe expose me to a virus (like another did last week) because they feel they have no choice. they need the childcare that badly so that they can work and make money for their families. i am a person and i am in a family and i also need to take care of myself and my wellbeing and the health of those around me. there are maybe 5 people in america who wake up in a demanding full schedule job and are happy about it. i choose to have a more flexible job because then no job can take my autonomy away from me.

i also just naturally feel so drawn to domestic life, but not in a housewife kind of way. in a i-want-to-make-food-for-people-i-love-and-i-love-everyone-kind of way. i see the genuine importance in keeping spaces clean and healthy and spending time with people, and will not neglect those parts of my life for paid work. because it is work to cook and clean and emotionally tend to people.

i just cannot feel bad about taking time off because then i will be taking on the stress and demands of a system that over time i will not necessarily see the same benefits of. and that so many people wish they had the ability to be more flexible with. and living this kind of life brings on its own stresses and uncertainties that i have to figure out myself, because no one is figuring it out for me.

[catlady-ily]

dear diary;

sorry for the lack of updates! it's been a mix between busy and uneventful lately and overall i've just been tired.

not too much happened on wednesday - i had some pretty boring classes, but i hear my sport teacher gave us permission to flip off any of the boys from the other class if they catcall us while we're running. i love this sport teacher, he gives me a C just because i actually try in that class (every other semester, i got Ds bc i kinda suck at sport), so that's pretty cool!! and, other than that, i ended up cutting myself again. not sure why, just did.

thursday was a little bit more eventful i think?? idk - we had an icas test first period for english. icas is this testing for extension students and im not entirely sure why we do it, but it did mean not having a normal english lesson, so i can't exactly complain. during math class, something rlly funny happened - so at some point, the teacher explained something, which like always, was followed by a collective "ohhhh" from the class. but for some reason this time everyone started moaning!! and the teacher's response was "well i'm glad you all enjoyed that 😭. after school my family went to ikea!! not completely sure why, but i did get some candles!! i love ikea candles. and the food there - i ate a lot, rlly proud of myself!!! i love ikea.

friday was, well, a bit scary. i started the day by waking up early to finish a science poster that didnt even end up being due that day- halfway through drama class (which is going rlly well btw!! i'm rlly enjoying our performance so far), a lady came to take me out of class for the rest of the lesson and i didnt know why until she took me to her office and sat me down. turns out she was the youth support officer at the school and someone had made her aware that there were cuts on my arm. basically i ended up telling her the full truth, why i started initially, that i wasnt sure why i started again now, it was just scratches with some scissors, etc. then she said she would have to call my mom and let her know for the sake of my safety. although i begged her not to, she ended up calling my mom anyways, and i basically just started hyperventilating and crying a bit bc i was rlly rlly scared she'd be mad. luckily, she didnt seem to be angry at me, just a bit shocked bc she thought i'd been going so well lately and sad bc she didn't want me to be hurting myself. that afternoon she spoke to me about it and said the same thing. she then said she had to tell dad, i begged her not to, but she said that it wasn't something she could hide from him. so, she told dad, and i sat there absolutely terrified the whole time. anyways, it went ok, dad said the same thing that mom did, and they both said that we can maybe talk about it together another day.

saturday and sunday were exhausting - i worked in the mornings (on saturday i had to stay an extra hour because one of the new coworkers wanted to go home a bit earlier) and then in the afternoons i was so tired that i really couldn't do much. i hear from my coworker that she loves working with me bc i work hard and i always get stuff done (contrary to our other coworker, who's older than me and just kinda mopes around the whole time) and that one of our superiors is also rlly happy with my work!! im rlly glad to hear this, means my efforts are paying off :3

my eating's getting a lot better which is amazing!! im no longer hungry all the time, and i think im getting some good food in >w< only goes upwards from here!!!

oki i have to leave for school now, so i'll end it here!

love, kitty 💕

#dear diary #personal diary #diary entry #imtryingmybest #im trying to romanticise my life idk whether or not it’s going well #girlboss

[sparklingchim]

long way home 08 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2k

rating: pg

genre: dilf!jungkook, friend to lovers, angst

warnings: jk helping oc to get changed, jk having some dirty thoughts🙄, he's kinda obsessed w her boobs

summary: the one where you're drunk and ask jungkook a question and he unknowingly crushes all your hopes with his answer.

a/n: the last update in 2021!!! 💫💫🌸💗

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08| 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |

masterlist | long way home masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

3 months ago

When Jungkook got texts from you at 4 am saying "hello" - "i hope ur still awake bcause" - "i called a cab and" - "here's the thing" - "i forgot my address" - "so i told him urs" - "sorry" - "u better be awake" "im tired and i wan cuddles" he knew that he was in for a long night.

It had been a long night already. His two month old baby refused to have a decent sleep this night. By now, Jungkook has figured out Nabi's weaknesses though - she loves hearing him softly sing a lullaby for her. And despite her falling asleep within seconds after he begins to softly hum a tune, she wakes up minutes later, crying and screaming. That cycle went on for hours and hours tonight.

Right now she's fast asleep again, Jungkook already counting the minutes till she will wake up again.

Although it's the middle of the night and Jungkook barely got any rest - he doesn't feel tired. His baby girl wailing in his arms for countless of times this night hasn't allowed drowsiness to swamp his body. His sleeping schedule is messed up anyways.

That's why Jungkook is slouching on his couch in the middle of the night, watching some movie on Netflix that he randomly selected from the action category.

He texts you that he is, indeed, awake and that you're welcome to spent the night at his.

Jungkook is actually glad that you're coming over. He's seen you a lot these past weeks because you try to help him with Nabi as often as possible, but he could never get enough of you being with him. Your presence is making him happier, a fact that would always stay the same.

Jungkook takes a sip from his beer that he just fished out from the fridge. He closes his eyes for a second. Maybe he's not tired but he feels the exhaustion lingering in his limbs.

He loves Nabi - he really does - but on nights like these he gets reminded of how hard it is to have a new born and to come accustomed to drastically changing your whole life and routine to have your baby's needs in the center. Especially if you didn't know that a new born would be thrown into your life without having any preparation for...anything.

It still gives Jungkook big fat headache whenever he thinks about his ex.

,,Sora," he mutters, spitefully - perhaps even in a disgusted manner.

But no, he wouldn't let his mind drift off to that cruel woman. Not tonight, at least.

"Jungkooook," you sing-song with a giggle following right after, softly knocking on his door.

Your voice instantly causes a smile to fall on Jungkook's mouth. Leaving his beer on the table he gets up and opens the door for you.

"Hiii, Kookie," you beam, almost collapsing into him with how much power you let yourself fall against his body. Your arms are around his back and your cheek is pressed against his chest. He wasn't even properly able to see your face before you snuggled against him.

Jungkook closes the door behind you before he rests his palms on the curve of your hip.

"Hey," he greets back, looking down at your face squished against his body. "You're not falling asleep right?"

"Noo, just, " - you rub your cheek against his muscular front, taking a deep breath through your nose - "missed you," you finish.

"We had a movie night yesterday, baby," Jungkook reminds you. His hands wander up your cold and bare arms. "Didn't you wear a jacket? Y/n, it's freezing outside." He scowls, rubbing your arms to warm you up.

"I..." you raise your head, staring at his chest with furrowed brows and deep in thoughts. "I had one on," you say. "Must have forgotten it somewhere."

Jungkook is already enough concerned about you catching a cold every time you wear these flimsy low-cut dresses to a nights out. Like, he can look right into your cleavage and god, your tits look amazing and he'd like to squeeze his head in between them for the rest of his life, but the temperature outside are fucking low and now you tell him that you forgot your jacket somewhere? Maybe you should catch a cold to learn your lesson. When he thinks about it, it actually sounds nice because then you could stay at his place and he could take care of you.

Jungkook blinks a few times. You're barely a minute here and already got him confused in the head - from being concerned to thinking about his face between your gorgeous tits to taking care of you when you're sick.

He sighs, shaking off all his thoughts. "Let's get you warmed up again."

Jungkook guides you to his bedroom by your hips. He sits you down on the edge of his bed, opening his closet to get a pullover from his and some sweatpants that you've left here a while ago.

Returning to you, he sets the clothes next to you on the bed. Jungkook kneels down, fiddling with the strap of your black heels before getting them off for you. He remembers you saying that these are the most comfortable high heels you've ever worn. He doesn't quite remember why he remembers such trivial things. With the knowledge he has about your heels he doesn't need to ask if you're feet are fine or if they hurt but he decides to ask anyway, just because he wants to make sure.

"Do your feet-" He gets cut off, well, not really cut off more like distracted by the fleeting view of the underside of your boobs before they vanish beneath the pullover that you pulled over your head. You had pulled your dress down to your tummy, fixing the pullover that now covered your upper half.

"Hm?" you ask, looking at him with those big gullible eyes because he didn't finish his sentence.

Jungkook gulps, mumbling a "nothing" under his breath.

You lift your hips, getting the dress off completely.

Jungkook doesn't mean to stare, he really doesn't, but - oh, are those new? He doesn't remember ever seeing you in some baby blue lace panties. They're cute though, look fancy and just absolutely radiate push them to the side and fuck you in nothing but these pretty panties on energy.

And then shove his face between your boobs and his night would be saved.

His thoughts are moving around dangerous territory right now and, what a surprise, he feels something moving and aching between his legs as well. He blames his 2 month long dry spell for this.

Nevertheless, Jungkook pushes those thoughts away and helps you get into the sweatpants.

"Where's my little baby?" you inquire, hands around Jungkook's biceps to help yourself up from the bed.

"Sleeping. And if you wake her up I'll never forgive you."

"Hmm, though night?" Your arms naturally loop around his neck.

Jungkook nods, your presence giving him much needed comfort. He draws you closer by pulling you by your waist.

"Let's sleep?" you suggest. "Want cuddles," you pout.

"I can tuck you into bed. I'm not tired yet."

"Watchu doing?"

"Just gonna finish watching that movie."

"Okay, I'll come with you."

~

Jungkook doesn't even care about the movie.

He cares more about paying attention to how perfectly you're body fits into his. You're cuddling him from the side, leg thrown over his lap, arm across his front.

He has a lazy arm thrown over your shoulder, thumb grazing over your clothed body.

"Jungkook?" you say, handing him the glass of water that he gave you to sober up a little. He leans forward to place it on the table.

"Mhm?"

"I just had a thought."

"Congratulations."

You ignore him his teasing. "What if parallel universes were a thing?"

"Would be pretty dope, I guess."

"With like the same people and stuff," you continue.

Jungkook hums, acknowledging that you've said something but not commenting on it.

You gasp a little. "What if there's a parallel universe where we're not friends but enemies?" Your eyes widen in shock.

Jungkook smiles at your cuteness. "That'd suck." His hand slips underneath your pullover, thumb rubbing over your warm skin on your hip bone.

"Or one in which we don't even know each other." There's a scowl on your face like that thought alone makes you sick.

"Then I'll take the enemies one. Can't live my life without you." It's sounds corny but it's the truth.

"You know what I also thought about?" you ask almost hesitantly, fingers brushing over his chest.

"Hm?" His hand on your hip pulls you closer to him.

"A parallel universe in which we both would be dating."

"You think that'd be a good idea?" he asks.

"Well, better than not knowing each other." You frown. "What do you think?"

"Not a good idea."

Your frown deepens, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "Why?"

"There are too many reasons not to be with you."

You raise your head to look into his eyes. He can't decipher what's going though your mind right now. But you look a little startled, maybe he'd go that far to call it hurt. But that's...why would you feel hurt? Was he too harsh? It's not like - no, it's definitely not like you're hurt because you have feelings for him...right? That couldn't be.

But that look in your eyes stays for a little longer and Jungkook doesn't know what's the truth anymore.

When he thinks about it - why would you think about him and you being together? You're drunk, he tells himself. You don't know what you're saying. He shouldn't put a deep meaning into you drunkenly fantasising about things.

Aren't drunk words sober thoughts, tho?

But then, thankfully, his suspicion gets proved wrong when you look away with a roll of your eyes. "You're rude."

Jungkook heaves a little sigh of relief. "I'm just stating facts. We're better off as friends."

"That's true," you agree. "But you're still rude. And your facts are stupid."

"You're stupid."

"I hate you."

"I love you."

"Shut up."

"You started."

The banter continues till Jungkook feels your palm colliding with the back of his head.

~

"Hey...why are you still awake?" Jungkook wonders as he looks down at you.

After the movie Jungkook brought you to his bed. You're head rests atop his chest and for the past minutes you've been staring into the darkness, your head full of thoughts.

You shortly avert your eyes at him before continuing to stare up at the ceiling.

"You know, if you want to fall asleep you'd have to close your eyes," he tells you, fingers brushing trough your hair.

You don't have the energy to answer him. You just grumble something incoherently.

"Baby, what's the matter?" he inquires, his question only a whisper and you hate how much he cares.

Because you thought maybe, maybe after all this time he'd feel the same. Just a little bit.

He gave you an answer tonight. You didn't even notice where you were steering the conversation at. But then you had that thought in mind and you just went for it because...well, there was still hope in you left.

Now you know. And you realise you were foolish to have hope left.

When you're about to answer with a stupid excuse as to why you're not able to sleep, Nabi's cries resound through the apartment.

Without another word Jungkook pushes your thigh off his body and climbs out of the bed to get to Nabi.

As soon as you're left alone there are tears stinging your eyes.

You shut your eyes close, burying your face into the pillow and desperately try to fall asleep. To not feel the pain anymore.

When you wake up tomorrow every thing will be fine. You'll forget what he said to you.

But it's hard going to sleep when there's this annoying thought looping in your mind. It's unstoppable and insufferable.

When Jungkook comes back you pretend to be asleep. He doesn't notice. He simply gives you a peck on the forehead and pulls you into his arms. You hate how you're heart feels like when he does all of that.

So you lie there awake for the whole night, with you're heart aching and your hope only existing as broken pieces, and Jungkook's remark embedded in your head.

There are too many reasons not to be with you.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fic #bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #dilf jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook f2l