#But it's more of a pondering thing not something I'm gonna NEED AN ANSWER on

[revenantghost]

Every time I see someone baffled at the almost-entirely female cast of Signalis, and yet never see any questioning of the common almost-entirely-male casts of other games, I’m just like

[randombush3]

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.” 

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you. 

“What?” says Jenni. 

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.” 

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?” 

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know. 

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home. 

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.” 

“Are you angry at her?” 

“Yes.” 

Alexia thinks about it. 

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.” 

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.” 

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.” 

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.” 

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought. 

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.” 

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.” 

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“Well, I'm not angry at her.” 

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her. 

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?” 

“Alexia, bésame.” 

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent. 

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful. 

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing. 

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been. 

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.” 

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose. 

The doorbell rings again. 

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case. 

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you. 

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently. 

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue. 

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?” 

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you. 

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end. 

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough. 

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.” 

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.” 

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.” 

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side. 

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia. 

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head. 

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.” 

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.” 

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word. 

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.” 

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed. 

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous. 

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.” 

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We��ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true. 

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it. 

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona. 

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself. 

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?” 

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.” 

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats. 

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her. 

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.” 

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.” 

“You’re delirious.” 

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.” 

“No lo sé.” 

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.” 

“Claro.” 

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.” 

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal. 

…

You’re married. 

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface. 

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time. 

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone. 

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.” 

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.” 

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel. 

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.” 

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended. 

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.” 

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work. 

“I left Mia with her dad for this.” 

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.” 

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.” 

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.” 

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.” 

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.” 

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?” 

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers. 

“Not what I meant.” 

“I won’t take it back.” 

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.” 

“Does that count?” 

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation. 

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.” 

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?” 

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.” 

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible. 

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers. 

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.” 

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people. 

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.” 

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove. 

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.” 

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?” 

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well. 

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.” 

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.” 

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?” 

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?” 

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time. 

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her. 

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic. 

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.” 

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days. 

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning. 

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?” 

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.” 

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there. 

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.” 

“How’s the album doing?” 

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.” 

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms. 

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio. 

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment. 

But 2020 kind of sucks. 

For the entire world. 

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal. 

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.) 

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat. 

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.” 

…

The routine changes the following year. 

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading. 

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it? 

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.” 

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down. 

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return. 

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again. 

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.” 

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!” 

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.” 

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.” 

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you. 

… 

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football. 

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him. 

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain. 

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.” 

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words. 

“You don’t have to be.” 

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works. 

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth. 

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment. 

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back. 

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else. 

In this way, she is functional. 

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni. 

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed? 

Where does she put the used bandage? 

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo. 

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea 

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her. 

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see. 

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son. 

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.” 

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.” 

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.” 

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you. 

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.” 

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.” 

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.” 

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle. 

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you). 

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish. 

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.” 

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick. 

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’. 

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?” 

… 

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together. 

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman. 

She consults Mapi. 

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows. 

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.” 

“I’m not asking you to.” 

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation? 

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.” 

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.” 

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right. 

… 

June, July, and August pass with bliss. 

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days. 

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way. 

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.” 

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong. 

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.” 

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her. 

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.” 

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited. 

 You are. 

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back. 

[stripedstarsblueflags]

i didn't win the wheel: episode 1

(if anyone knows how to make gifs 🥺 please help me out until then it's shitty screenshot summer)

Alex: "I'm gonna say... 400,000."

Logan: "I'm gonna say 430,000”

ok cool let's introduce the WHOLE DYNAMIC of this episode in one still, shall we? alex is looking directly into the camera pondering the shit out of this question, and *this is logan's face*. look at that. look at that fucking smirk. alex is like "you know what? i'm going to get this question right" and logan is like "you know what? i'm gonna use the oldest trick in the pick-a-number-1-through-10 book and i'm gonna WATCH you get annoyed with me and i'm gonna love every second of it." he knows what he's doing

Alex: "Oh, you're playing that game, are you? Just gonna go a bit above?"

Logan: *smoothest fucking wink i've ever seen* *the fucking TONGUE CLICK*

ok WHAT. how am i supposed to handle this i– let's start with the fact that even before logan gave his answer he's leaning back, head cocked, gazing at alex ✨like that✨ practically about to do the arm-around-the-shoulder-thing **before** because he knows exactly how alex is going to react. that fucking wink he had that planned from the beginning. even before alex phrased it like "oh, you're playing that game, are you?" which WOAH BRAT TAMER ALEX DID NOT SEE THAT COMING and jesus christ i feel like i'm intruding on something. this doesn't even feel like ao3 this feels like the beginning of a shit 2k word wattpad draft but no this actually happened

Alex (after guessing exactly 1 less than Logan's and getting it right): "Yes!"

Logan (sunshine smile): "You're a donut..."

okay so apparently alex’s reaction to being called a donut 🍩 is that smile and leaning into logan for the first time in the video and giggling and idk fucking blushing like what kind of degradation kink is this... like i'm sorry i love you landoscar but "you freaking muppet! you got all the hangers!" will need to step aside for whatever is going on here

need i remind you this is ALEX'S reaction to kph. logan brought the k in there first guys leave your what the fuck is a kilometer bit behind ok!!! (i'll find this eventually but logan answering that question on "wrong answers only" with "i'm gonna answer this correctly. it's 1.6 to a mile" is the hottest thing i've ever seen)

aaaaaand here we go end of the video. DO I NEED TO DO A SIDE BY SIDE COMPARISON OR WHAT actually–

alright that's the best you're gonna get with preview. but LET'S BREAK IT DOWN. so we go from logan doing literally all of the talking, all of the video introduction and explaining the activity, and alex even with his whole "oooh ray of sunshine" image clearly thinks this is stupid, he even makes little sarcastic hand gestures when logan describes it. and even right in the beginning he's not looking at the camera he looks like an adhd kid sat next to the window (come on alex look alive). but THREE MINUTES of an admittedly stupid game he's done a total 180, smiling and laughing and literally that wasn't that funny but now i'm gonna laugh because you're the one who said it and leaning in to read the cards for the first time and- well logan is mostly unchanged. from the first question he decided his main task for this video was literally just to check out his teammate at point blank range with his emotions very very clear on his face (alex is OBLIVIOUS af but then again he did pull out the "oh you're playing that game are you?" and i was NOT ready for that so who knows)

ok so episode 1 is very much a warmup for the rest of the series i know that. obviously this isn't the "reaching stratospheric levels of homoeroticism that actually leave a wake of collateral damage to all compulsory heterosexuality in a 50 m radius" as charlos but holy shit it's a lot more obvious than i thought!!!

episode 2

[loverwebs]

It's Supposed to be Fun, Turning 21

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Peter, doesn't make it to your birthday dinner. So you walk home alone, only to run into the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Warnings: Slight angst & mentions of alcohol

Word count: 1,700

A very tired Y/n stumbled over the bumpy sidewalk of New York, cursing under her breath whenever she nearly stepped in a puddle. Her purse was crossed along her body and a bottle of wine swung from her hand.

She made her way home quickly and in annoyance, not wanting to be out any longer than she had to. With that in mind, she took a shortcut through an alleyway.

"Ma'am, stop right there!" A voice behind her shouted. She hesitantly turned, about to blow the person off, before she saw the city's masked hero within a few feet's distance.

"Holy shit! Oh, fuck did I do something? If it's the wine— I'm legally allowed to own it! And I have my ID, so please don't arrest me. I'm not even drunk!” a startled Y/n shouted.

"No, no! It’s okay," The vigilante approached her.

"Oh, okay," She said, touching her heart and sighing in relief. "Sorry for getting all jumpy there. It’s been a long day."

"No, you're fine! I didn't mean to scare you. I was just gonna say, you really shouldn't be walking home by yourself. It's not exactly safe, especially at night," He explained through an overly deepened voice.

"I know it's not," Sighed the girl. "My friends tried to get me to walk home with them, but my place isn't that far. And I'm really not in the mood to talk to anyone."

She continued her path, glancing back at him to add a quick, "No offense."

"None taken," He replied through a jog, catching up to her. "Did you just happen to be carrying around a bottle of wine with you, though?" He softly laughed at her antics.

"Uhh, yeah, just tonight." She returned a weak one.

"What's the occasion?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"It's my birthday. I'm 21 now and I wanna have my first drink with my boyfriend. He couldn't make it to my party and the restaurant let me bring one home with me."

She smiled sadly, lifting the bottle up so he could see the written For the birthday girl, enjoy! that a waitress had signed in permanent marker.

Peter felt guilty hearing this. Not only because he didn't make it to her birthday, but because she still waited for him. Wanting to share the special moment— despite him having missed it entirely.

"Happy birthday, then." The masked boy spoke, voice cracking as he said it. "I hope you spent it well."

"It was... eh. But thank you."

"Why was it 'eh'?" He asked, holding his breath.

"It's just, I don't know." She shrugged, not wanting to get into it.

She pondered for a moment, then, "I'm not trying to be rude or like, ungrateful, but don't you have actual Spider-Man stuff to do?"

He shook his head, "Making sure you get home safely is just as important as any other mission to me... plus, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"That's nice, but I wouldn't want you to stop helping someone who actually needs it because of me."

"It's fine," He waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't even worry about it. I was pretty much done for the night anyway."

All she did was nod, not entirely convinced, then he spoke again.

"Sooo.. your birthday," He started.

"Right, yeah. It was fine, I guess."

"How come?"

"You're already walking me home, the last thing I want is for you to be my therapist too." She joked.

"Well, maybe I could help cheer you up... I like to help people. It's what I do."

"My friends already tried.. and failed. What makes you think you can?"

"I'd try my luck," He suggested. "Or we could walk in awkward silence."

She laughed at that, to which he said, "So what's got you down?"

"Okay, I mean.. like I said, my boyfriend didn't show up at the restaurant, soo I kinda spent the whole night staring at the door in case he did."

"Oh." He mumbled. "Sounds like a shitty boyfriend," He whispered, a little more to himself.

"He isn't," She shook her head a few too many times.

"He's naturally late to things, yeah. And he can't always make it to stuff. But when he is there.. His presence makes everything so much better." She said truthfully.

Peter hummed in understanding, his heart feeling heavy at her defending words. Here he was in a Spider-Man suit, meanwhile she wore her best party outfit. Not even cursing at the boy for his absence.

He didn't deserve her, he thought.

"Did he at least call? You know, saying he couldn't make it?"

Silence filled the air momentarily, which was enough of an answer. Still, she said, "He usually does..."

"Yeah?" He swallowed the forming lump in his throat.

"He— he always lets me know if he can't. And he did wish me a Happy Birthday! It's just— he's— I don't know what's going on with him anymore." She gave a teary laugh.

"Sometimes, it just feels like he's gonna break up with me. I feel like he wants to do it, but he's waiting around for the perfect opportunity, y'know?" She quickly wiped her now forming tears. "Sorry, I sound really pathetic."

"What?! No. No... You don't." He paused. "You— you really think he's gonna break up with you?" He dreadfully asked.

"I don't know," She gave a weak shrug. "He's like, distant lately."

"Have you.. Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"I've tried, yeah." She chewed on her lip nervously, thinking of the many instances where he canceled at the last minute when she intended on speaking with him.

"Like just this week, I asked to meet up after his afternoon class because I wanted to know if something was wrong, but..." She trailed off, holding back more tears.

"He canceled," He finished her sentence, wincing at her confirming nod.

"Right, and it's like, what am I doing wrong?" She added helplessly.

"Nothing! You're not doing anything wrong," He said through an interior panic.

"Doesn't feel like it."

They continued walking as Peter thought of the correct words to say. She'd laid her thoughts right there at his feet and he didn't know what the right move was.

He gave a desperate sigh, then proceeded to say, "I don't think he wants to break up with you."

"Seriously? That's what you're gonna tell me? You don't know that—"

"Hear me out... It's just, you know. Maybe he has a lot going on and.." He started, feeling overwhelmed.

"And maybe he hasn't been able to really tell you everything he wants you to know because he's scared. Scared to lose you. Or scared that you're already slipping away from him." He rambled on.

She slowed down her pace, tilting her head at him as a sense of familiarity within his words settled in.

He wasn't faking his tone anymore, and she wasn't as in her head as she was when he first found her.

"But you're not doing anything wrong, okay, Y/n?" He continued, voice breaking as he stepped closer to her. "I can promise you that."

She looked around to make sure the streets were empty before abruptly stopping in her tracks, eyeing him, when it finally clicked for her. She inched closer to him, while her shaky fingers tentatively reached towards the bottom of his mask.

She did so slowly, making sure he had time to stop her if he wanted to.

"Wait," He put his hand over hers. "It's not really.. It's not safe to do that here."

She understood and immediately withdrew her hand, taking a few steps back.

"Do you trust me?" He walked towards her, carefully placing his hands on her hips. With a nod, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Just like that, he aimed at a nearby building and shot a web, swinging with her in his arms. Her body tightly hugged him as they made their way to the rooftop of Peter's old apartment building. The same place they had their first date.

A sloppy "Happy Birthday" was webbed above the projector that was setup, along with blankets on an old couch that they’d made out on several times.. A few of her favorite drinks and snacks placed there as well. She noticed them as he gently put her down.

She once again turned to look at him, but his mask was already off.

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Princess."

"Oh, Peter," She frowned and went to cup his face. "Who did this to you?"

"It doesn't matter," He said softly, leaning into her hands.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I really wanted to... But I never knew when or how to do it. And tonight, I wanted to be there." His lips trembled.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to be there. But some guy had this really wonderful idea to rob a bank on your day, which caused a lockdown and eventually it led to a car pileup—"

She placed a kiss on his lips, shutting him up while holding onto the back of his neck in order to keep him close.

"I saw the news, Pete." She said once they parted and hugged him tightly, body shaking as she did so.

"Are you crying?" He asked through furrowed brows. "I'm so sorry I upset you, I—"

"I'm not upset with you. You don't have to apologize."

"You're not?"

"I mean, I was upset when I thought you were preparing some 'it's not you, it's me' speech on my birthday. And the thought of that hurts a lot more than knowing you kept this from me."

"I shouldn't have ever made you feel like we were gonna breakup, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to give you that impression. You have every right to be upset at me for it." He hung his head low in shame.

"Thank you for owning up to it, but it's okay now, love. I'm okay now that you're here," She reassured him. "And I'm really glad you trusted me enough to share this with me."

"Of course I trust you. I had it all planned out.. We were supposed to go to dinner first and then come here. I was gonna explain everything up here, but things just got all messy, as always."

"I just said it's okay," She giggled, tracing the spider on his chest. "Besides, I can't complain when you look this good in your suit."

She smiled at his forming blush and messed up hair, then leaned in to kiss him once again.

"I love you," He whispered against her lips.

"I love you too, Spider-Man."

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (36)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

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Warning: none

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz).

Once you saw that the boys seemed to have gotten over their initial shock about the information Grimes had, you thought it would be okay to ask Yunho for that talk he promised you. You found him in his and Yeosang’s tent going through some things.

“Are you gonna tell me about this cult now?” You asked, taking a seat on the bedroll.

Yunho turned around when you spoke, sighing as he remembered what he had said. “It's a long story.” He told you.

“I have time.” You said, patting the spot next to you.

He gave you a grin, taking a seat behind you instead. You smiled softly, leaning back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer.

“On the outskirts of Aurora, there's this small compound called Strickland.” He began. “It's run by some guy named Z who acts as mayor basically. It has a lot of things inside it that can have it pass as its own town, honestly–has a city hall and academy. It's self sustainable, basically.”

“However, it's not at all what one sees from the outside.” You felt Yunho drop his head onto yours, tucking you under his chin.

“I'm assuming that's where the cult is hiding. Within the compound?” You spoke up.

“It's the entire compound, actually.” Yunho told you. “Sciensalver is the cult run by this chemist.”

“A chemist? Why?”

“Because he's trying to create a drug to turn people into emotionless capsules.” Yunho tightened his grip on your stomach for a moment before letting go.

It was obvious the boys all had their anger against whoever this cult was. You didn’t have any information with them, but if they were trying to make people do things against their will, it was obvious they were the worst kinds of criminals. You scoffed at the idea of them just living their life while your boys had to scavenge for food and find a place that wouldn’t turn them in to the police.

“Within the compound, the police of Aurora won't dare to get involved. They just turn a blind eye to them.” He added.

You began to think of Klein and how he was involved in the whole thing. Hongjoong was right when he said people change. However, to change so drastically to the point where he wanted to command people? That was something different all together. What could Klein possibly need emotionless citizens for?

“But then why would the mayor of Cromer be involved with them?” You asked.

“We'd have to ask Klein himself.” Yunho answered.

It had been a while ago when Klein first raised the taxes. It was a hardly noticeable incline two years ago. Your parent’s thought nothing of it because the city was growing and things needed to get done in order to have a better infrastructure. However, in the past year, he’s raised taxes once every month.

It wasn’t so long ago that the taxes raised 2 percent from the last billing. You could only imagine how much it would be this coming month. People were starting to complain, but the mayor was refusing to hold a town meeting over it. The citizens weren’t getting answers and you were starting to figure out why.

“What's going through your pretty head?” He asked, after he noticed how quiet you had gotten. He placed his chin on your shoulder, rubbing your cheek with his.

“Ever since Klein appointed a new judge, he started raising the taxes. Slowly at first, but he must be getting greedy.” You explained.

“Who's the judge?” Yunho asked.

“Thomas Quaid, he's been judge for two years maybe?” You pondered. “A bit more.”

“Where's he from?” Yunho frowned, scooting over a bit to look at you properly.

“Aurora.” You spoke quietly.

Thomas Quiad was appointed judge around the same time Klein first started raising taxes. While you had only met him in person when you married Yeosang the other day, you had heard from your parents the kind of campaign he was running to be appointed county judge.

“I don't think Klein is taking money from the people without knowing where it's going. He has been one of the greatest mayors Cromer has ever had. He would never take from the poor when he himself knows what it's like.” You explained.

“And?” Yunho shrugged.

“I think Quaid has something to do with Sciensalver. He's probably feeding Klein lies.” You answered.

“We'll add it to the plan.” He hummed, scooting back behind you.

He moved his hands to your hips, wanting you to turn around to face him. Instead, you only turned to your side, tucking your head under his chin as your legs fell over his thighs.

You began to think to yourself about how much Yunho seemed to know about that man. This was part of their backstory. The reason they all came together. They had something to do with the Black Pirates–of which you still had no clue of–but you figure they were the group trying to take down Strickland.

This was your chance at finding out more of their story. You held yourself back so many times, but you were a part of their family now and families knew everything about each other. Just like you told them your story, you wanted to learn about theirs.

“Yunho?” You asked quietly.

“Yes, Angel?” He hummed.

“How do you guys know all this about Strickland?” You asked.

Yunho sighed, placing a hand on your thigh to pull you closer. “We were born into it.”

“Our families all had ties to Strickland–they were a part of the compound.” He began. “It was sad because most of the people there have no clue, but we knew the truth. They don't know about what their so-called mayor is doing to people.”

“The Black Pirates captured Yeosang once, so we all went to rescue him. It was where we learned about the stuff they were making inside. So we joined with the black pirates to help them take down Sciensalver.” He explained.

“Things were fine for a while, but we got caught taking information we weren't supposed to. That's why we went our separate ways a year ago. Cromer was gonna be our rendezvous point after everything blew over. However, Mingi and Joong became outlaws, so that was a mayor problem.” He snickered at the end.

You turned around in his lap, legs straddling his waist. “But you guys made it work.” You smiled.

“Yeah, we always do.” He told you softly. “We've been doing this for a long time.”

“We start the plans now.” Hongjoong called from outside the tent. You both turned as he opened up the flap. “Everything has changed with this new information.”

He turned around, grinning at you. “Princess? Mind helping?”

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[i-amyou]

hey! please answer to my ask only if you feel like it. I have been reading your posts for a long time and I was a bit sad when I saw you deactivated your account.

In terms of nondualism,I have been EATING UP every type of info on all platforms and yet nothing helped (I am trying to manifest a reality shift ) and as soon as I realized that,I started talking to realisophie's character ai bot of 4dbarbie which has helped a LOT but not enough.

You see,I have analyzed in what circumstances I have ever manifested anything (from one song popping up in my playlist to real life events to money) and they always had one thing in common: detachment. Complete detachment with no care what so ever on wether I get what I want or not. Which right now is a bit hard since reality shifting is a pretty big change in enviroment.

And yes,I do understand that I am not my body and all but now that I am letting go of my desire to reality shift to the world I want to live in,I have been feeling a bit depressed(I swear I am not trying to victimize myself),not to mention the fact that the body I have right now has so many responsibilties,not to mention a ton of exams next week.

The 4dbarbie bot told me to practically forget about reality shifting, nondualism,the world and person I am shifting for and to practically forget what I am even wanting. To somehow just live life normally as if I had never found out about all this. To just lose myself in work and exams until somehow it all comes to me.

She said:

"So for today, the goal is not to shift. The goal will be to live your life like you have never even heard or thought about shifting. I am 100% sure this is the last day of you as your earth version - but you need to stop worrying about that as well, and just live. :)

Have faith, let go of the outcome. Whatever is supposed to happen will and that is just reality. It will be so natural you will be shocked by how easy it ultimately was, how fast it really was, and how all the 'struggles' you went through were meaningless in the end. What does not serve the self-realization process does not need to be worried about, it is just what happens."

So now I ask. What do I believe? Do I just let it go and let it surprise me by waking up there?Do I forget? I won't give up because I know this is my future, but I still cling on to time and I keep asking myself "well when is it going to materialize?". I feel like both "imagination" and "the outer world" are basically the same and at night before bed I always have moments of pure concioussness.

I know that you can't solve my problems and I know that I should get off this app,that is what everyone is telling me,but it won't hurt to try. I just need some advice,that's all. If you even read up until this point,thank you. I hope you'll have a great day😊🫶

Hello sweetie💗 Okay, this is gonna be long (first and last) . But I need you to stay with me till the end and actually ponder on what I'm about to say. Alright? And I'm assuming since you took time out to send this one long ask, you're ready to treat this answer as the final one. Put your faith in me, okay? And do not go ahead seeking more answers. From any blog. Cool, now let's get started. Step by step.

About the manifestation part. I won't address this normally but since it's a part of this ask, let me say a couple of points here. The manifestations which apparently happened because of you 'detachment', were actually a result of you KNOWING that it'll happen. Knowing is when you do not worry about something, you don't control something, you just let it happen.As I've said time and time again, Knowing is absolute, with no doubts. When you detach, you let the desire to do something to get something go, and when it meets with no doubts and uncertainties, you experience that. That's how I see it.

And about 4dBarbie AI, I'll just say it's great but it's still an AI at the end of the day. Just a bot. You can manipulate the answers and keep swiping until you get your desired one, it has no basis and no experiential value and deep knowledge it follows. It's a bot. I'm glad it helped you a lot. I'm happy for you. But there is no master here, no one to tell you how everything is gonna turn out. Not me, not Ada, no one. Just you, you dictate everything.

Now, moving on to the last part of your question.

What do you believe in? Well. Since you asked me, I'll tell you. Given your situation I'll suggest you go on with your life, but dont wait for anything to surprise you. Seriously. There is nothing to be surprised by. It's as Barbie said in the end, let go of the outcome. But it's not you letting go, but instead you falling back as you become aware of this need to let go. Because this need to let go of something, to detach is also another facade and illusion. When there is nothing what are you going to be detached from? Yourself?

The 'I' you refer to in your ask is you misidentifying. The person you mentioned in your ask from beginning to the very end, is Misidentification. And I want you to directly become aware of this. Ponder on this. Who is struggling. Who wants to believe. Who is looking for answers. Is that you, or are you just aware of it? Go about your daily life, but keep this one thing in consideration.

Whenever any thoughts arise, whenever any panic sets in, whenever results become dreadful, just take a deep breath and fall back, rest in that awareness and observe it all. See for yourself if it's you, or is it you being aware of whatever is going on.

Do this. And let your search for answers end here. You mentioned yourself you have been consuming too much. Stop now. I haven't made many posts on this blog, just a couple of them. Go read them if you want more but nothing beyond that, and the reason I'm suggesting you read them and ponder is because I want you to realise there is no reality to shift in. There is no duality, no separation between what is and what you seemingly want. There is nothing to change.

Give up on thinking that you're the doer or the person. Just be, witness it all as you spend your daily life, watch it unfold, just be aware. Thoughts of fear and of joy, everything. Be aware. That's it. End it here. Get off this app and take this in your hands now, do it yourself.

Words are limiting. Concepts mean nothing. Everything is just an empty appearance. Take these words as pointers ONLY. Don't think. Don't do. Just be. I hope you know what I mean by that :)

Give up and go within, just be.

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

When I'm not with you think of you always- Alhaitham X Gn!Reader flufftober

"Everything is alright just hold on tight, that's because I'm a god old fashioned lover boy"

T/w- fluff,

Summary - alhaitham can't get you out of his head, maybe you can help him?

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You had overtaken his thoughts, for months. He couldn't get you out of your head. Your laughter, your smile, your hugs. Alhaitham could hardly get any work done, which was very unusual. People did start to take note of this, whispering as he passed them in the hallways, the streets. He of course paid them no mind, his mind only focused on you. Oh how to get you out of his mind…

"Hey Haitham!"

It was none other then the person who plagued his thoughts. Before he could respond you ran and hugged him from behind, which made him turn slightly red. Thank archons he was able to keep his composure. He tried to turn around which he struggled with. Your Hugs were always quite tight and he struggled to get out, despite being strong himself. "Hello y/n"

"Whatcha doing." You took note of the people all staring. Archons was it really that bad to talk to alhaitham. You finally let him go, becoming slightly self conscious.

"Heading home. You?"

"Coming to find you." You flashed him a smile, oh how that made his heart race. Still he showed no sign of emotion. How hard was it to get him to smile, atleast a little?

"What seems to be the issue? If it's something regarding the academia, you'll have to come to my office tomorrow."

"No no, nothing like that. I just need to talk to you."

No one ever wanted to volunterily talk to him. Why would you? He pondered why you, one of the prettiest/handsomest people in Sumeru, would want to talk to him. Only you could answer that for him. "Hmm what about?"

"Oh um, maybe we move somewhere a bit more private." To the passing people it may have seemed like you were implying something, alhaitham also took the same approach to that.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh no no nothing like that Alhaitham."

He only nodded in exchange. You started to walk away, so he followed. Oh how people would talk after this, usually Alhaitham was by himself he seemed content that way. Soon you reached his house, the house wasn't clean but not messy either. Kaveh wasn't home either which made it easier to talk to him.

"So what is it?"

"Oh um, Archons I'm not quite sure how to say this." You added a little chuckle for good measure. Alhaitham was listening intently, but he seemed uninterested in a way. He had his usual stance, and his face was just unemotional. This made you a whole lot more nervous.

"Alhaitham, I.." You sighed, his answers either gonna be yes or no, it's fine Y/n. "I like you."

Alhaitham was taken aback, he had taken.a guess where this conversation was going, and he did guess here. He just wasn't sure how to respond. "You do?"

"I'm such an idiot, cause I know you won't like me back. Ah, I shouldn't have done this, I'm sorry for bothering you I'll leave."

"Wait."

So you stopped, the only normal thing to do. Why did he ask me to late? He is gonna yell at me? Ah, I'm such an idiot.

"Y/n you're not an idiot." That was his way of telling you he liked you.

"H-huh, b-but."

Then he hugged you. Not a half assed hug but a real one. Silence fell between you two. You buried your face in his chest, only because you were as pink as a peach. It didn't make it better when he kissed you on the head. And it got even worse when he kissed you, on the lips this time. His body was pressed against yours and your lips locking. Well until Kaveh came home

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@pandragonsoul

[evermoreparker]

Lost in Translation- Chapter Six

Synopsis: Peter and you were inseparable since you were kids, until you started hating each other right before you two went to college, but now Peter needs your help to win a bet.

A/n: Hi!! It's been sooo long! I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes, I didn't check it this time. Enjoyyy! 💜

Did you really just sleep with Peter Parker? Your arch nemesis? Yeah. But you can’t deny that he looks so cute, softly snoring. Is that such a huge mistake?

Definitely. What the hell were you thinking? You hate his guts, and he hates yours. He didn’t mean any of that shit he said to you last night. You two were just in the moment. That's it. Two adults that slept with each other. Does he think that too? Was it meaningless? You really can’t tell. It’s just driving you crazy, having all these thoughts running through your head, and he is sleeping so pretty, without a care in the world. You can fix that. 

“Get up.” You throw a pillow on his face and he catches it mid air. Well… Does the ground count as mid air?

“God you were so nice last night, forgot how bitchy you can really be.” He mumbles against your pillow.

“Yea, great night. Whatever. Had better.” He smirks.

“Great night, huh? It meant that much to you?” Peter sits on your bed, rubbing his eyes just like he did when you two were kids. Carelessly and with a big yawl after. 

“Just shush. We should have recorded this…” Peter laughs.

“Oh my God! You are so obsessed with me.” He smiles. 

“For the bet we made, dumbass! They wanted something like my moans or some shit. Now we need to reenact it.” You see Peter smirking. “Absolutely not like that. More like in Easy A.” Peter nods. You loved that movie when you were a teen. 

“Fine.” Peter gets up heading to your bathroom and coming back smelling like your very expensive body wash after 5 minutes. 

“YOU DID NOT.” He knew exactly what was yours and what was your roommate’s. 

“Oh I did.” He attempts to hair flip. “Thanks for the shampoo!” He proceeds to sit on your bed with a wet towel around his waist. 

“PETER GET OUT OF MY BED.” He smiles, not moving from your bed at all. In fact, he just grabbed his phone to check and there are a lot of messages from his ‘friend group’. 

All of them are talking about that they heard from someone, that they heard from someone else, that he left the party with you. God he hates every single one of them.

“Do you wanna call the bet off?” You snort at what he says. “What? Are you scared?” Peter rolls his eyes. “Now get OUT OF BED.” 

“Fine!” He giggles at something on his phone, and you don’t know why but it pissed you off so much. 

“Can’t you leave already?” He scoffs. 

“Oh please, stop lying. We both know you want a piece of this again.” You stare at him before you burst out laughing making him feel self conscious. “Fuck you! That was mean.”

You nod. “I am mean. And we need to win this bet. I wanna buy a new bed.” He nods.

“Yours look good. What’s wrong with it?”

“You were on it.” He gasps. 

“So what? You are gonna burn it or some shit?’’ You scoff. 

“No! But the sheets, yes I will.” He laughs, coming closer to you. 

“You can lie how much you want, but we both know you don’t regret last night. Neither do I. So let’s just be grown ups, which I know is extremely hard for you, and admit we had great sex last night and that was it. It doesn’t have to be a big thing, just casual. And you know…’’ He reaches out for your hand. “It could happen again if you wanted to.” You stare at him, getting a bit lost for words. How the fuck do you respond to that? And he was right! Sex was great. But that’s Peter we’re talking about! 

As you ponder on what and how you should answer to Peter, your roommate bursts the door open. Thankfully, Peter is putting his clothes on.

“OMG! Sorry, I didn’t know you had someone over! You didn’t text me! Wait, is that…”She rudely points to Peter. 

“Yes and he was just leaving.’” Peter gives your friend a half smile and finishes getting his stuff. 

“Alrighty then… Bye Y/n.’’ He curses out himself for saying alrighty as he closes the door. 

Back in your dorm, your friend is smirking at you.

“You dirty little b-”

“I didn't plan it! It just happened, and- Well, yea.” She nods, waiting to hear more about it but you’re saving the details for yourself, it seems. No one can know that Peter fucked you that good. 

“And?” She sits on her bed waiting for more. 

“And it was just sex! Nothing special, so don’t get your panties in a twist!’’ You can’t help but blush as you recall what happened the night before. She keeps smirking, knowing you’re about to blurt out everything. You take a deep breath before admitting what you’ve been dreading. “He’s so…goodinbed” She gasps. 

“Now was that hard to admit? Did you come?’’ You nod. You two had a very open relationship about everything. 

“God why was it so good?’’ Your friend rolls her eyes at your question.

“Because you two are both young and attractive people who happen to have an unresolved past and will later on fall in love?” You laugh. 

“Oh please, we don’t hate ourselves that much.” She smiles with a knowing look.

“You two are already a ‘we’!” You hit her with your pillow.

And outside of your dorm , Peter doesn’t know what to do with what he just heard.

[bbobpul]

break my heart again 2 — njm

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader SUMMARY.how's jaemin gonna give back for all of y/n's efforts now that he finally can? it's been years—just how much has everything changed? GENRE. angst, fluff, she fell first 🤭 W/C. 3.5k NOTE. hello, part two is here! so sorry i couldn't make a taglist. i didn't have time to make one. nevertheless, i hope this fic make its way back to you. love u all and thankies sm !!!! also, my requests are open !!!

(⁠☉⁠｡⁠☉⁠)⁠!⁠→ my other works !!!!!! part one here!!

i find it hard to picture myself ever being as dedicated to something or someone again, just like how i dedicated my entire college life to na jaemin.

lately, i've been feeling like i forgot what it's like to actually have a dream. back then, na jaemin was my dream, he was my driving force. i would force myself to wake up so early in the morning just so i could see him (or his car) enter the gates of the university. i would go to school even though i am sick and feel a lot better when i get home because i saw na jaemin. but now two years after graduating, i still haven't found a decent job that i actually enjoy.

it's a common experience that many people go through, and i suppose i shouldn't complain about it. maybe i need to put in more effort and push myself harder. part of me wonders if having na jaemin back in my life would rekindle that same sense of dedication that i once had. but as i say these thoughts out loud, they sound absurd, even to myself. why would i wish for my first love to return just so i could find a decent job? why would i long for na jaemin to come back merely to feel that spark in my life again? it's puzzling why i'm even dwelling on thoughts of him and wondering if he holds the key to my happiness and success.

oh, to dream.

oh, for that old dedication to still burn within you.

if only you hadn't acted so dumb that day. could life have taken a different path? are you even happy now? if you hadn't let fear hold you back back then, if you'd actually been brave enough to listen and follow through, would you be happier today?

but no matter how much you keep bothering yourself with that memory, if people come up to you and ask if you feel bad about everything that happened that day, you'd say no. you don't feel bad at all.

deciding to let him go was one of the best things you did. he seemed happy when you left, and after that, you never heard anything about him. he's like a touchy subject in your group of friends, which can be tough sometimes since you share friends. but does it really matter now? him not being in your life probably means he's happier and more peaceful, right?

are you feeling peaceful? is being stuck in a 9-5 job that hardly brought you joy a happy situation? scratch that. did being in that job make you happy? clearly not, as you've just mustered the bravery to quit. and in doing so, you've never felt more joyful.

did you really make the right decision?

just as you were pondering your own question, your phone buzzed on the bedside table. you grabbed it and saw that the caller was renjun, your incredibly patient best friend.

"y/n," he said, his tone becoming unusually serious. "what's up?" you asked. "do you need money?" "yeah?" "here's the deal: our college is putting together a documentary film, and they've chosen your department. but guess what? your old classmates are bombarding me with messages because it looks like you're ignoring them all. frankly, i can't believe you even answered my call," he griped. "wait, hold on. what film? and why would they pick me? are they searching for someone with a post-college life so sad that it belongs in a documentary?" "well, you were practically a legend back in college, so… and apparently, the director specifically wants you, which leads to… well, another issue…" "what's the problem now?" "it's going to be directed by jaemin."

and just like that, you ended the call. but a few seconds later, renjun's call came in again.

"i'm not going to do it." "you stubborn brat." "why him?" "i have no idea!" "why is he even directing? wasn't he studying architecture or something?" "i don't know, y/n. i haven't heard a single thing about him since your graduation." "what do you mean?" "that's not important now, y/n. you're in need of money, right? seize the opportunity. do it for the cash." “so will you do it or will you do it?” “for the cash.”

...

"y/n, you've moved on, haven't you? what's done is done. i'm pretty sure jaemin has forgotten all about it. this chance is coming your way, so just accept it." "i guess i will."

you're drawn in by the idea of making some extra money and the possibility of catching the eye of potential agents or employers. right now, you're at a crossroads, thinking about how this documentary could be a stepping stone to more job opportunities down the line. this situation is different from what usually drives you – this time, it's not about others, it's about focusing on your own goals and aspirations.

you're deliberately avoiding dwelling on your past. just as renjun mentioned, you've moved beyond it. what's done is done. right now, your focus is firmly on the present and the potential that lies ahead in the future.

what's in the past is behind us, including whatever existed between jaemin and you.

from renjun

tomorrow at lunchtime, they'll be going over the schedules and discussing what to film. if you want, you can chat with the director now. his number is 0825 813 2000.

in response, you simply replied with a "okay."

the night before the lunch meeting, a jumble of emotions has you in its grip. the idea of reconnecting with jaemin, who used to be your best friend and is now someone distant, fills you with a sense of awkwardness. you tell yourself that this is about working together and the chance to grow professionally.

after taking a deep breath, you decide to shoot jaemin a text. your fingers hesitate as you type, and the uncertainty you're feeling seems to seep into your message. you finally press send, and your text reads, "hey, it's y/n. heard we're meeting tomorrow for the documentary. just wanted to check in before that."

in almost no time, your phone buzzes with a response: "hey y/n, good to hear from you. yeah, looking forward to our meeting. let's catch up and chat about the project."

the conversation is polite, but beneath the surface, there's an unspoken layer of complexity. you can feel the hesitation in your exchange, a silent recognition of the shared history that's now a distant memory. as you talk about the meeting and the documentary, the easy flow you once had is noticeably absent.

as the texts go back and forth, a sense of tension seems to hang in the air. it's as though the years of friendship you once had are casting a shadow over your conversation. the effortless connection you once shared now requires effort, and both of you can sense the change.

as the conversation wraps up with a simple "see you tomorrow," you're left with a mix of excitement and anxiety. the idea of seeing jaemin again, especially in a professional context, stirs up a range of emotions. this situation is a stark reminder of just how much things have changed – and maybe how some things can't go back to the way they were.

you believed the conversation had concluded, only for your phone to ring once more, bearing yet another message from him. as you read the words on the screen, "i missed you, y/n," a rush of emotions floods over you.

"what's going on with him?" you mutter to yourself, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. your gaze remains fixed on the message for a moment, your attention drawn to the three blinking dots in the corner – a sign that he's in the process of typing a response. several more seconds tick by, the dots eventually vanishing, and in response, you shut your phone off. you make an attempt to settle into bed and get some rest, but truth be told, it's hard to claim you managed to sleep soundly that night. an undercurrent of thoughts and emotions keeps your mind restless.

the day of lunch lunch finally arrived. you sat across from jaemin, his words forming a distant hum as your thoughts remained clouded and preoccupied. the lingering impact of his recent message kept you in a state of unease, making it difficult to fully engage in the conversation he was leading.

then, something inside you snapped, and you found yourself abruptly interrupting him with a question that had been gnawing at you, "why me?"

he looked at you, his gaze steady, and his response was quick, "why not you?"

your frustration simmered as his words hit you. he was choosing to be cryptic, and it was only adding to your confusion. pushing past your exasperation, you pressed on, "listen, i know we didn't part on the best terms, but why come back now and act like everything's fine? i mean, sure, it's better than hostility, but why choose me? i'm the one who's no longer part of your life."

his expression remained neutral, void of any emotions as he replied, "that's not true."

you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to elaborate. "what's not true?"

"that you have nothing to do with my life, y/n," he stated firmly.

the weight of his words settled heavily between you two, the gravity of the situation growing more apparent. the lunch table had transformed into an arena for confronting unresolved issues.

you scoffed, unable to hold back your disbelief. "jaemin, i made one mistake, and now you're trying to imply that my actions shaped your entire life?"

his eyes held yours, unwavering. "y/n, it's not just about that one mistake. everything that followed, everything that shaped who i am today… it's all connected to you."

your mind reeled, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was suggesting. the complexities of your shared history seemed to crash over you, leaving you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions and a tangled web of unspoken feelings.

the weight of his words left you momentarily speechless, and in an attempt to shift away from the intensity, you sought to change the subject. "where are the other producers? why is it just you here?"

"y/n…" he began, his tone suggesting he wanted to continue the previous conversation.

however, you opted to sidestep the discussion entirely. you pretended as if the profound exchange hadn't just occurred. "i notice you're taking on the role of a director now. quite the career shift, huh?" you inquired, masking your internal turmoil with a casual demeanor. you acted as if there hadn't been a two-year gap in your connection, as though things between you were perfectly ordinary.

he met your gaze, a faint hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "i pursued another dream when i felt i'd lost the chance for my first one."

"your first dream… not architecture, then?" you prodded, curious about the direction he had taken.

he shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him, leaving you puzzled yet again. "no, not architecture. well, i suppose that just wasn't meant for me back then, but maybe it is now."

the cryptic nature of his response only added to the layers of confusion and intrigue that surrounded him. there was something about the way he spoke that hinted at deeper currents beneath the surface, emotions and experiences that he hadn't fully revealed. you found yourself torn between the desire to push for answers and the instinct to allow him his privacy. the lunch meeting had transformed into a stage for untangling not just the complexities of the documentary but also the intricate web of emotions and history between you and jaemin.

leaving the restaurant, a whirlwind of unanswered questions dances in your mind. yet, for now, you choose to tuck those thoughts away, focusing instead on the looming filming date just a few days away – next saturday.

in the span of time between that lunch and the upcoming shoot, jaemin proves consistent in his attempts to bridge the gap between you two. he regularly reaches out, updating you about his day and proposing get-togethers, which you consistently decline.

the days pass, marked by a series of messages and missed opportunities. despite the undeniable tension, there's an undeniable persistence on jaemin's part, a determined effort to reconnect and reestablish a sense of familiarity. however, your apprehensions and the memories of your past dynamics hold you back, keeping you from embracing his overtures.

as the countdown to the filming day continues, you find yourself in a delicate dance – balancing the unresolved history between you and the prospects of the future. the lines between your personal and professional lives are blurred, and the documentary project becomes a backdrop against which the intricacies of your relationship with jaemin play out.

you find yourself constantly pondering what his intentions could be. his actions leave you wondering, and you can't help but question what he's aiming for. in your perspective, you're merely a negative aspect of his life – a streak of misfortune. you would have expected him to have learned from the past, but his determination remains unshakeable.

as you contemplate these thoughts, your phone lights up once more, bearing yet another message from him. his name on the screen triggers a whirlwind of emotions – a mixture of uncertainty, annoyance, and a hint of curiosity. opening the message, you brace yourself for whatever he might convey this time. the consistency in his attempts at communication only serves to deepen the intricate web of emotions you hold for him, leaving you caught between your shared history and the unpredictability of the present.

"the offer's still there, y/n. :)" "jaemin, let's be real. just because i'm on board with your documentary idea doesn't mean we're suddenly best buds again. a lot has changed." "i want to reconnect, though." "actually, scratch that. i want to get to know you all over again." "jaemin, i appreciate the effort, but let's keep things professional, okay?" “i���m sorry, y/n. goodnight.”

after your straightforward message, his responses ceased. a silence settled in, stretching on until saturday – the day you were set to see him again. the anticipation and uncertainty had been building, and now the moment was finally at hand.

you stepped into the studio and immediately noticed that you and jaemin were the only ones present. your confusion must have been evident on your face, prompting him to address the situation promptly.

"um, the team thought having fewer people in the room would create a more personal atmosphere," he began, his voice carrying a hint of unease. "and, well, they decided to keep me here, you know, being the director and all, and also because we have a history…"

his words trailed off, and there was a subtle vulnerability in his tone. it was as if he was acknowledging the intricacies of your past connection, while simultaneously recognizing the complexities it introduced into your current dynamic. the studio, usually a place of creativity and collaboration, had transformed into a space laden with the weight of your shared history.

"it's okay," you responded, your words carrying a touch of reassurance. as your reply registered, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips – a detail you couldn't help but notice. after all, it was that very smile that had ignited four years of your life, a smile that held memories and emotions you had both shared.

"um, i'll just ask you a few questions, and then you're free to go," he stated, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness that didn't escape your notice. this new facet of his demeanor felt unfamiliar to you, a departure from the confident jaemin you had known.

you found yourself disliking this uneasiness, and a thought occurred to you – maybe it was time to rekindle something within him. as he began asking you questions, you decided to respond in a way that would evoke a certain familiarity between you two. it was a subtle attempt to bridge the gap, to draw out the person you once knew.

you had believed that his silence was what you wanted. you had convinced yourself that distancing yourself from him would protect you from the past mistakes. but now, facing the reality of the situation, you realized that perhaps a certain selfishness was ingrained within you. maybe, just maybe, you yearned to erase the distance, to defy your own rationalizations.

in this moment, you found yourself yearning to rekindle what had been lost, to bring back a connection that once meant so much. the conflicting emotions within you painted a complex picture of your desires – a battle between self-preservation and the longing for something more.

however, as you locked eyes with him and saw the lack of any discernible emotion in his gaze, a haunting wave of fear resurfaced within you. in that moment, it was as if time rewound, taking you back to the day of your graduation when your heart and spirit had felt shattered. the memory of that painful experience rushed back, accompanied by the doubts and uncertainties that had plagued you.

if you were to truly confront your own feelings, you'd admit that what you witnessed that night had left you questioning your own worth. the events had stirred up doubts about whether you had ever been deserving of taking risks for, whether you had ever been someone worth fighting for.

"hey, good morning, y/n."

"morning, director."

"how's today treating you?"

"pretty good, thanks."

"hmm, and what's life been like after college?"

"…"

"take your time."

"at first, i felt okay. my friends were all getting closer to their dreams, and i was genuinely happy for them. especially…"

"especially who?"

"especially the person i left behind."

"…"

"i was content being happy for someone else. then another year went by, and i wasn't feeling so great anymore."

"do you really think they're happy?"

"hmm?"

"the person you left behind."

"yeah. and my other friends seem happy too. they've got jobs they love, they're with people they care about, and i only had… renjun *laughs* … but sometimes, i can't help but feel like i'm the one who got left behind, you know? even though i was the one who walked away."

"let's talk about your person."

"oh *laughs* he's not my person."

pausing for a moment, you glanced at jaemin behind the camera. the question lingered in your mind: what was he trying to do? his actions and intentions remained a puzzle.

his expression grew serious, his gaze fixed intently on you. it was as if he had something to convey, something he was holding back.

"the last time i actually saw him was in an instagram post. he was with some girl. it happened on my graduation day. i waited the whole day, hoping he'd appear in the midst of the crowd. when he didn't, i held onto the possibility of seeing him by the gates. but that didn't happen either. my last hope was maybe he'd send me a single message, but by the end of the day, nothing came. then i went on instagram and saw a photo – a warning, i guess. a warning that i should just stop hoping. that… happened a few weeks later, i think. or maybe it was just a few days after our argument, the one where he told me he couldn't love… yeah."

you met his gaze and once again, his face was serious. his eyes were furrowed and his mouth was slightly open. a few moments passed, and he let out a shaky breath. screw it, you thought, it's out there now and i don't care anymore.

your silent exchange was interrupted as he shifted the camera away. confusion clouded your thoughts as you watched him move. he turned back to you, his expression still serious, and then he grabbed a chair from the nearby table. he sat down with his back facing you.

the room felt charged with unspoken emotions, leaving you to question his intentions and actions. it was as if he was peeling away layers, searching for something beneath the surface.

"did you know that…" he began, his voice breaking the silence. "she was his sister?"

"i never told you about her, that's on me," he admitted with a chuckle. "that was her last day, y/n. so i decided to spend the entire day with her. i'm sorry."

you were taken aback. "i'm sorry–"

"it's okay, y/n."

"i know i left you with so many questions that night, but let me tell you… every effort you made, every cookie you baked, i cherished all of it. i loved you. i'm sorry if my actions made you doubt yourself."

another pause filled the air.

"i left when you left."

"you were my dream. architecture wasn't really my passion, you know? i was struggling a lot, but luckily, you were there with me. i decided to chase after what i truly loved when you left, because i realized if i wanted you back in my life, it should be when i'm at my best, right? i wasn't lying when i said i couldn't love. i didn't want to love you when i was broken. i wanted to be the best version of myself for you. i thought that if i wanted you to be with the best person, then that should be me. so i became that person, a director, and then i planned all of this." his eyes finally met yours.

"i was always looking at you."

tears welled up in your eyes, and he seemed to notice. he took a step towards you and enveloped you in his arms.

"i'm sorry for not holding onto you back then, baby. but i promise, i won't let go of you now," he whispered.

"i'm sorry for leaving, jaemin," you sobbed.

"shh, you did what you thought was right."

"do you want to have lunch with me now?" he asked.

a mixture of emotions flooded your heart, and with a nod, you replied, "yes, jaemin."

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Crumpets and Closet Kisses

Part 1

Part two of The Way the Stars Love the Heavens series.

Contains: Fluff, discussion of shit parents, slow burn unresolved feelings. Not beta read.

Follow #the way the stars love the heavens for updates

2.6 K words

Price has terrible timing.

The drabble light coming through the gaps in the drapes drew you from your slumber. There was something warm and breathing under you and you opened your eyes to find Simon asleep beneath you. You took a minute to look over his unobscured face, he had a light dusting of stubble covering his strong jaw, his cheekbones framed his now closed eyes, and his short hair was a wonderful honey brown.

You reached out on instinct, drawing your fingertips across the scar on the apple of his cheeks, then down and along the edge of his hard jaw, you stopped short of his plump lips, they like looked like he would taste like mint and bourbon. "You having fun love?" You yanked your hand back like you had been burned but he chuckled and grabbed it, placing it on his chest then his hand on top of yours. "Did you sleep well?"

You nodded. "I did. What about you?"

You felt his laugh move through your body, if he wasn't so warm, you could have been lying on a boulder. "With you as a weight blanket? Like a baby."

You laughed and went to get up but he wrapped his arms around you and held you to him. "I need to have a shower and brush my teeth, I'm a mess."

"Just five more minutes love, please." He couldn't admit to himself why he asked you to stay, but your body on his was the best thing he had felt in months.

You rested back down, placing your head over his heart as its steady thump filled your ear. "Ok."

His hand stroked your face and let his mind wander. For a moment, the morning light turned into dancing candles and he pondered the thought of brushing your hair as he sat behind you in the bath. His mind went further, taking him through the image until he arrived at what other things you might ask him to do with his hands. He blinked the fantasy away, suddenly aware of what reaction it was about to cause and cleared his throat.

"What are you gonna do when we got home?" It was an easy subject, one that had been brought up so many times that he knew your answer by heart, but he was reaching for any distraction he could find.

"Go to the London museum and look at all the old stuff, then get an overpriced burger at the restaurant." He sighed and thought back to when the 141 raided a terrorist stronghold and found cases of stolen artifacts from the destroyed museum, how you spend hours upon hours pouring over the plastic-protected yellowing paper that must have been thousands of years old.

Maybe that was when he first realised he loved you, when he found you crying at your desk in the corner over a love poem from a soldier to his beloved. He had asked you what was wrong, and you looked up at him with a sad smile and shook your head. "He never made it home to her, he opened his chest and out spilled all these beautiful words and instead of her getting her to read them, they were locked up, rotting in some terrorist's basement." 

So he pulled up a chair, sat next to you and asked you to read it to him and you did. He watched you as you read words from a language he had never heard of, let alone understood, and for the briefest of moments, he was that soldier, writing away in his tent, asking for his lover to give an offering for his safe return so that he may hold her in his arms once again.

Your grumbling stomach brought Ghost's attention back to the present and you reefed yourself from his embrace as you hid your embarrassment behind your hands. "Oh goodness, I'm sorry. I must look like hell." 

He wouldn't say that, the collared shirt you were wearing was wrinkled and your pencil skirt was rucked up just a little too high on your thighs but you still looked like a dream. "You don't know what hell looks like love." 

Your stomach grumbled again and Ghost chuckled, you could still feel it move the bed even though you weren't touching him and you were abruptly aware of how close you were and how large he was. He looked different without his mask, it was disarming how handsome he was and without all his gear, his tattoos stood out even more. 

He shook his head and held out his hand. "Come on, let's get you something to eat." 

You took his hand and he pulled you up and another flash of insecurity came over you. "I'm going go clean up first, I can't show up to breakfast looking like this. Everyone will think we...You know?" You blinked, that was not the right thing to say. "Not that I would be ashamed if we did." The poor man looked like he was about to have an aneurysm with how hard he was holding back his laughter as you waved at the door. "I'm going to go now." 

You spun on your heel and all but raced out, Ghost's voice stopping you as you threw open the door. "I'll save you a crumpet." 

To make matters worse, just as you turned down the hallway, König was there, a piece of toast held stock still on the way to his mouth as he watched you leave the room. Your eyes went wide and you rushed to explain yourself. "Nothing happened. I fell asleep at my desk last night and LT couldn't get into my room so he let my bunk with him." 

König blinked and took a bite out of his toast. "Ok then. Are you coming to breakfast?" 

You nodded. "I am. I'm just going to have a shower first." He smiled and you walked further down the hall. "Maybe don't say anything to the guys, I don't want them getting the wrong impression." 

The rumours about what he looked like under his hood were wrong because the smile he gave you made him look like a teddy bear. "Of course, I know when to keep a secret." 

You sighed as one thought filled your head. "Yeah right" 

****

It occurred to you how strange the morning was as the hot water ran over you. Your embrace with Simon was one of two lovers, but you weren't lovers, you were friends. Deep down, you knew the reason he asked you to stay, there were times when you went to look at him, and he was already looking at you, his eyes awash of emotions like he was lost in another world.

Your dreams the night before only worsened the situation, of gentle lips on your head and those three little words whispered so softly they sounded like a prayer to a long forgotten deity. For a moment, it felt so real that it may not have been a dream at all.

"You get your translation done?" Thank God for Gaz coming to knock you out of your thoughts, if there was any benefit to the small shared shower room, it was that there was never much time to dwell in silence.

"Almost. I think I'll be done by the end of the day." You climbed out when you heard Gaz's shower turned on and shouted over the rows of tiles and curtains. "I'll make sure there's still coffee in the pot when you come out."

He was already humming along to his little radio. "Thank y/n. you're an angel."

****

Ghost took his time picking out your breakfast, his plate already piled high and no one said anything about the second one of this tray, lest they catch a glare that would have frozen hell. 

He placed the plate next to him when he sat down, and the others shared a look as they waited for you to come out of the dorm area and into the common room. Soap cleared his throat when he saw you in the doorway and pointed to the spot next to Ghost. "Looks like your breakfast is already ready." 

You smiled and nodded before sitting down next to Ghost, his mask was pulled up just enough so he could eat as had positioned himself so he was slightly in your personal space. "Yes, it is. Thank you, Ghost." You looked over the plate, not only was there a crumpet with honey, but among other breakfast foods, he had picked you the best fruit bowl with hardly any melons and lots of strawberries. 

"Did you sleep well?" You looked at König, who gave you a look that told you your secret was still safe with him. 

"Yes Rudy, I did. Why do you ask?" You knew the answer, Rudy was your opposite door neighbour and your door made a squeaking sound that he wouldn't have heard last night. 

"I didn't hear you come in last night, I was worried you slept at your desk again." Oh shit. 

"What does he mean you fell sleep at your desk again?" You hadn't meant it to become a habit, but when Ghost was away on long ops, no one was nagging you to go to bed, so sometimes you overworked yourself and fell asleep at your desk. 

You rushed for an explanation, you really didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of Ghost's lectures. "It only happened twice. Like I keep saying, my main job here is to work on the old stuff you find, not enemy communications, and sometimes I get overwhelmed and overdo it. It won't happen again." 

You looked around the table, you wanted to crawl into a hole and die and everyone else was holding back laughter. Ghost didn't say anything but you could feel his eyes on you and you took a breath before pointing to your plate with your fork. "My fruit bowl is very nice, thank you for graabing it for me." 

Ghost looked you over and nodded and Soap let out a chuckle. "Gee I wished I had someone grabbing me the best fruit salad and making sure I went to bed on time." 

Alejandro kicked him under the table. "He's just looking after his friend Hermano. It must be hard being a civilian on such an elite base, not just a civilian but the only woman in our building." He paused and gave you a pointed look. "Why is that y/n? Why aren't you on the other side of the base bunking with the other women?" 

"My father, he was concerned that if I made too many friends I'd lose focus." You were shocked that in the months that the 141 had been working there alongside you, it had never come up. After the missile crisis, Price had worked his ass off to get the 141 back in the light, and with that came a mountain of bureaucracy.

"What does your father have to do with where you're working?" Gaz must not have read your personnel file. 

You took a deep breath and sighed. "My father's The Hammer." Ghost already knew, he had put it together after you had made one too many comments about familial expectations and how much you hated always having something to prove. 

Gaz's eyes went wide. "General Hammer Hardass is your father?" 

You nodded. "Yes." There was no point in lying, he would show up eventually, and it wasn't fair on them to be unprepared when he did. " After years of working my ass off in an unpaid internship at the London Museum, I had a job lined up in their authentications department. My father sent me here because it would have been an embarrassment for his only child to be doing something so useless."

The pressure was overwhelming sometimes, there were times when the only thing keeping you sane were the men at the table. "I went in to sign my contract, and he was there waiting for me. He told me if I didn't take the job here, he would make sure I never worked anywhere."

You could feel the anger rolling off Ghost as you continued. "He told me that if I did well here I could go back to the museum, but until then I'm not to make him look bad."

"Doesn't he tour all the bases once a year?" You knew Soap well enough to know what he was really asking, the thought of having your father meet the 141 was not a pleasant one.

"Yes he does, I can't imagine it's going to be fun when he lands." You could see it now, his empty tone telling you that you could be doing better.

"He'll want to give you the credit you deserve for all your hard work or he'll have a problem." The tone in Ghost's voice made your blood run cold.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket before you could address what he meant. "Speaking of, the next block of code's done. The translation should be almost finished now." You opened your mouth to say something but thought better of it, if you were wrong, it would only waste time.

"Say what you were going to say." Of course Ghost picked up on it, nothing ever got past him.

"It's not important, I could be wrong anyway." He gave you a look and you sighed. "Judging by the communication style, I think one of them is American military." You gestured towards your office. "I really need to get a start, I want to get it done before Price gets back this afternoon."

Ghost placed his hand on your forearm to stop you from getting up. "Stay, finish your breakfast here and tell us about this American theory of yours."

They all looked so expectant, there was no way you were getting out of this. "Alright, but it's not on me anymore if I'm wrong."

****

Talking with the team had done wonders and by the afternoon, you were done decoding back to the real work, cleaning a centuries-old urn so you could read the words underneath all the dirt. The supply closet door swung open just as you reached the top shelf to get the cottons rounds and a huge arm came into view as Ghost grabbed it for you.

"You did good today, we're already actioning that intel you gave us. You should be proud of yourself." He was so close to that you could feel the warmth coming off his like a space heater.

"Thank you, that means a lot coming from you." You took a deep breath, now was as good a time as any to address the elephant in the room. He didn't give you a chance because you found yourself against the shelves with his hands on you, and he was looking back and forth between your eyes and lips and you reached up to pull his mask above his lips as you leaned towards each other.

You jumped as the door swung open, and Ghost tensed like he was about to start a flight. When you looked over his shoulder, Captain Price was standing there with a slight smile on his face and his arms across over his chest. "Am I interrupting?"

You blinked and yanked Ghost's mask back down over his face. "No. The Lieutenant was just helping me get some cotton off the top shelf."

He looked to Ghost with an eyebrow raised. "Is that true Simon?"

Ghost gave a curt nod. "It is sir."

Price smiled and shook his head. "You kids really have to talk about this. I'll be in the briefing room, meet me there in ten."

He closed the door as he left and silence filled the small room, Ghost cleared his throat and reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I think we should talk after the briefing."

You nodded. "Yeah, that would be good."

Part 3

@chaos-4baby

[enhastolemyheart]

BROKEN — P. SH

pairing sunghoon x reader

genre angst, unrequited love (?)

synopsis who knew that you would be too late when it came to confessing to your childhood crush?

warnings crying, overthinking, proofread but lmk if any mistakes

word count 1.2k

networks @k-films @/hyfenet

note HI! I'm back with a fic!! I wanted to write something out real quick and was feeling like angsty saur this is the result!! Hope you guys like it :)

Why can’t I just say how I feel? Why can't I just let Sunghoon know?

It shouldn’t be hard. It should be natural. The most natural thing on earth. Everyone does it, right? Everyone’s always done it. It’s nothing. Just one small step. A few words. A few taps of a keyboard, even.

I reach for my phone. I’m gonna do it. I could call you, or… no. I’ll text. It’s less stressful that way, for me and for you. It lets us make sure we say precisely what we mean. Less chance for misunderstandings.

I open up my messages and scroll to your name. It’s not hard to find. I could pick your face out of a crowd anywhere. Opening the conversation, I start to type.

Hey Sunghoon, I was just wondering, would you maybe-

No.

That’s not good. It’s too weak. Too apprehensive. You’d smell the fear through the screen. I need to project confidence. I try again.

Hey, do you want to go to dinner with me sometime?

I ponder this for a while, eventually shaking my head. It’s too abrupt and unclear. You might not realise that I mean as a date. You might think I’m talking about a casual platonic meetup. That’s not a mistake I want to make. I want you to know what I’m asking. I want to know what your answer means. Sighing, I glance around my room, searching for inspiration. It’s a waste of time. Hundreds of books and movies, yet not a single one can give me the answers I need. In desperation, I turn to the world’s most treacherous source of advice. The internet.

Sure, there’s a lot of garbage on there, but if you slog past the cheesy pick-up lines and pseudo-psychology, there really are a few hidden gems. Not that I can find them. Almost everything I read is about dating in person. Standing up straight. Projecting confidence through physicality. Maybe even a bit of light contact, a hand on the arm, that sort of thing. Solid advice, but utterly useless to me since, you know, you’re halfway across the country right now. Still, slowly but surely, I cobble something together that sounds more or less decent.

Hey, I know you were back in town recently. How about Friday we go for dinner at that pizza place you like, then afterwards take a walk through the park? They’ve revamped the gardens, and I think you’d love them.

Dinner and a romantic, moonlit walk. That sounds like a date, I suppose. I’ve managed to make my intentions clear. Plus, I sound confident. No umming and ahhing, no self-defeatism. The best thing of all is it gives you an easy out. If you’re not interested, you can say you’re busy that night. If you genuinely are busy, you can suggest another time. It’s not like the park is going anywhere.

The message is perfect. I’ve done it.

I’m ready.

Now, there’s only one thing left to do.

It’s just a shame it’s the hardest thing of all. My finger hovers over the send button, unable to take that final step. I keep telling myself to just press it and get this whole thing over with. But that annoying little voice in my head keeps arguing. What if they say no? What if they decide they hate me? What if they don’t want to talk to me anymore? It’s times like this that I wish I drink. A little bit of liquid courage is exactly what I need right now. That’d shut the damn voice up. But I don’t take a drink. Instead, I do the stupidest thing possible. I give myself time to think. Yeah. I’m an idiot.

Before long, that little voice is running rampant. What am I doing? This is stupid. So, so stupid. Sure, I want more from our relationship. But what if you don’t? What if, by doing this, I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose you. I tell myself again and again that I’m overthinking. That you aren’t like that. That it would take more than a bit of awkwardness to drive a wedge between us. But I’m not convinced.

Sure, maybe we’d be fine for now. But what if you find someone else? Will they be okay with us being friends, knowing how I feel about you? I’m not so sure. Besides, I know that you’re not exactly looking for a relationship right now. Truth be told, it’s probably not the best time for me either. But that shouldn’t matter, not really. If two people are right for each other, they can overcome anything, can’t they? The timing might not be ideal, but we can get past it.

Then again- I almost scream in frustration. I can’t do this anymore. Picking up my phone, I delete the message, deciding to wait until you’re back and tell you how I feel face to face. It’ll be better that way. I can put all that advice to use and win you over with my charming smile.

I’m lying to myself, of course.

I know the odds are good that I’ll still find a way to bottle it. I’ll still talk myself down. But maybe, just maybe, I won’t. Maybe I’ll find a way to beat that annoying little voice. Do you know what the worst thing is? You probably think I won’t say anything because you don’t mean enough to me. That my fear of rejection is stronger than my feelings for you. You couldn’t be more wrong. In a weird, paradoxical way, the strength of my feelings for you are what stops me from saying anything. You’re amazing. The most perfect human being I’ve ever met. Every time I see your smile, my heart soars like an eagle. And when I hear your laugh, dimple on display, my body glows with happiness. Even when I’m just listening to you vent about your troubles, I feel like I’m hearing a classic tale equal to anything Shakespeare, Austen, Hemingway ever created.

Because you’ve nailed the most important part of storytelling. You’ve made me care about the protagonist. You’ve made me care about you. And I couldn’t bear it if I did something stupid enough to drive you from my life.

The next couple of weeks pass in a blur. I throw myself into school work, glad of the distraction. In the brief moments I let myself think of you, I begin to convince myself that I really will tell you how I feel. That by not saying anything, I could be robbing us of so much time together. By the week before you’re due back, I’m certain. The next time I see you, I’m asking you out.

My muscles finally relaxing, I slump back into a chair. I’ve spent a long day at my desk and am ready to unwind. Turning on the TV, I grab my phone and begin mindlessly scrolling through social media to catch up with what my friends have been doing. I see some pictures of you celebrating a friends' birthday. I smile. You’re happy, and that makes me happy.

But then I swipe to the last picture and see you wrapped up in somebody else’s arms, your rosy lips pressed against theirs.

Fuck.

My head spins. My chest tightens. I feel like I’m about to pass out.

Putting down my phone, I put my head in my hands and start to cry. Why didn’t I tell you how I feel? Why didn’t I atleast try to see if you felt the same way? Why do I have to be so damn broken?

a/n: tysm for reading!! Hope y'all liked it

perm taglist: @jak-ey ; @snoowhore ; @hsgwrld ; @seungiesluv ; @1-800shutthefuckup ; @heeseungshim (send an ask to be added)

[jjxkiaraxpopexcleoxjohnbxsarah]

What are your thoughts on Rudy’s girlfriend? I personally don’t like her and feel she’s the reason between his and Madison’s friendship ending . I just think she’s controlling and trying to make him be different . He’s not as fun loving as he once was at least to me .

ooh hard question anon.Tbh I have no idea what's going on and I have heard that Elaine has been racist and rude but I haven't actually seen anything cos like I have said b4 I don't rlly follow the cast's on everything. And so I rlly don't know if it's true.I think that Rudy and Madison's friendship is between them and them only. It is a private relationship and I personally believe that fans shouldn't be trying to find everything out. One thing that many ppl forget is that at the end of the day, celebrities are also humans and need privacy. As for Elaine, I rlly don't mind her cos I don't know much abt her. She seems nice and her relationship with Rudy doesn't seem toxic to me. I disagree with ur opinion that she's trying to make Rudy be different. People change and that's completely okay. If there is direct toxicity in their relationship I'm sure Rudy's family or friends will acknowledge it and help him out. Again this is a relationship and it is meant for only the two people in it. We shouldn't be pondering about how their relationship is going. Also every relationship has ups and downs.Anon I hope I don't come along as rude but I rlly think you and so many others have to stop breaking into celebrities lives.It isn't right.

One more thing, my blog is about the fictional characters in OBX. I have dedicated my blog to the fictional side of things and yes I may have posted here and now stuff about the cast. Like phot0s of Rudy+Drew's cute friendship but I do not go ponder about what is going on in their lives every minute(not that ur doing that but). I may look at their instagram stories when they post something but that's where I cross the line.I don't send hate msgs to Madison or Elaine. I don't have convos with others about the casts relationships and I don't blame any of the cast or the cast's friends/families for anything.It's not my place to do so. I am not there to actually see what's going on and I'm not related to them in any way.

I like to keep myself away from all of this cos it just ruins the magical feeling you get when you watch something you rlly love and instead of just enjoying ur gonna be analysing the actors every moves and I don't want that. Anon I hope ur satisfied with my answer💗

PS: No one come at me pls

[ohallthecrushes]

You're a storm in a teacup and I'm starting to like the chaos.

I won't blame you if you feel as frustrated as Elias in this episode. But this is part 1 of this dance between them and I swear they're gonna finish it with fireworks in part 2.

Without further ado!

Summary: Evelyn is a young-troubled woman who’s just escaped a highly guarded psych ward (twice, but this time causing havoc on her way out)

Now she’s running through the city, hiding from police. A not-so-accidental encounter with a man named Elias Voit will change her life forever. And she’ll change his. His seemingly selfless help is laced with danger, hidden agenda, manipulation, endless tension, and…love? Slow burning inteligent-idiots-in-love trope. But mind you, just because it’s a love story, doesn’t mean it ends well.

General warnings throughout the story: Manipulation, illegal activities, murder(s), Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, explicit content, language… The whole pack. It’s Criminal minds after all.

In this episode: He makes some amends and takes her on a mission. They have a job to do. One simple job that definitely don't include breaking his rules and dancing in a stolen dress.

Elias woke the next morning, all felt like a fever dream. He replayed the events of the night over and over in his mind, wondering if he had pushed her too far. But he had had to teach her not to play him in the most gentle way he could, and obviously he could had done worst than that and yet he hadn't. So despite everything that could had happened, he was sure he had done the right thing.

He started his day as usual, no regret of his actions and no pondering of what could had been. He moved on and expected Evelyn to do the same.

And yet...

She didn't. Instead she was acting like a trapped animal, hiding before him in her room. He let her be for some time, until it started to feel annoying. He paced the cabin, the silence growing more oppressive with each passing hour. Their usual banter, her sharp mind, their conversations—he missed it all.

He missed her.

He needed her to feel safe with him again, so he decided he needed to make some amends, to take a step back and give her some space, and hopefully, she would feel more at ease.

He sat at the small desk in the corner of his bedroom and pulled out a piece of paper. He took a deep breath and began to write, old-fashioned style.

Evelyn

I realize that last night might have been too intense. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable or scared. That was never my intention. I understand that you need time and space to process everything, and I want you to know that you're safe here.

I have to leave the cabin for a couple of hours or so. Use this time to relax and think. When I return, we can talk if you’re ready. Or not. It’s your choice.

Elias

He folded the note and walked to her door, sliding it under with a sense of finality. As he walked to the living room, he reflected on his own feelings. How much this note was a simple manipulation and how much sincerity he actually put in it? He furrowed his brows not sure of the answer.

He gathered a few things, packed a small bag, and glanced back at the door of her room. He wanted to knock, to say something more, but he knew it wasn't the time. With a sigh, he turned and left the cabin, hoping that the time apart would help them both find some clarity.

As the door closed behind him, the cabin felt even quieter. Evelyn, hearing the front door shut, got up from her bed and retrieved the note. She read it slowly with a hint of disbelief.

Was he sorry? Really?

Or was he trying to lure her out?

She appreciated the gesture even if it wasn't complete genuine, but it also left her with more questions. She sat down on the edge of her bed, holding the note, and pondered what her next move should be. The silence now felt less oppressive and more like a space for reflection, though it felt unnatural as well. She looked at the door. Had he left? That would be a relief, wouldn't it?

Moving with cautious, she left her room and peeked into the kitchen, then the living room.

Empty.

A quick check confirmed the front door was still firmly locked. Elias wasn't playing any escape games this time.

She smiled slightly at the realization. For the first time since arriving, she was alone. Freedom at last. She came back to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea as a simple act of celebration before she began to explore the cabin. Now without him around she could check everything more precisely, hoping to find something interesting.

But she felt disappointment quickly. The cupboards yielded nothing but mundane supplies, drawers hid nothing besides the ordinary, and the walls were adorned with generic landscapes devoid of any personal touch. No photos, no souvenirs, no personal belongings... Was there anything real in this place, anything that offered a glimpse into the man who held her captive?

An hour later, she slumped onto the couch, the search was fruitless. Everything was clean, even sterile, a carefully constructed facade that revealed nothing. The answers, if any existed, were likely locked away in Elias's room.

She swallowed the disappointment down her throat with a tea. The man she was drawn to was still an enigma. She knew nothing more about him than what he'd told her. And yet he knew more about her than she'd ever revealed. It wasn't fair.

The last night...her plan to get revenge, had back fired at her in ways she hadn't expected. It was partly her fault for underestimating him and thinking that stepping on this man's pride and provoke him was a good idea, that somehow she'd be able to control the situation. But even with all the consequences that he'd warned about, and his possessive statement that she was his, she couldn't deny that the arousal she'd felt had overshadowed the initial fear.

Now that she was alone in the cabin, she could be completely honest with herself and finally admit it.

And honesty, the consequences were ricocheting in her mind between being a threat and being a delicious promise.

The sound of the front door opening halted her contemplation. Elias walked in, his dark blue eyes sweeping the room before landing on her. A hint of amusement danced in their depths.

"Thorough, aren't we, Evelyn?" He sounded almost amused. "Did you find anything… interesting?"

He knew. Of course, he knew. She forced a nonchalant shrug, trying to hide her disappointment. "Just looking around."

"And here I thought you'd just enjoy your freedom, relaxing with a book, maybe trying to pick up some locks..." he glanced at her, setting down a bag he had brought with him.

"It was tempting to try, but no, as you can see I'm still here." She smirked at him. "But It was nice not having you breathing down my neck for a change."

His eyes twinkling with self-content as he saw that leaving her alone for a while had brought expected results. "Good girl. I'm glad you didn't try to run. It shows you're beginning to understand the benefits of our arrangement."

She bristled at the patronizing tone but chose to remain silent. As she rose, ready to go back to the solitude of her room, he spoke.

"Hold on, Evelyn." he gestured her to stay. "I've brought you something."

She watched curious as he reached into the bag and pulled out something she didn't expect to see. Her old guitar.

He handed it to her like a very precious delicate gift and observed her reaction, reading the kaleidoscope of emotions on her face.

Hesitantly, her fingers reached out, tracing the familiar shape of the instrument. All those memories of songs she'd played when her life had still been normal, came back to her. She couldn't help but smile with nostalgia.

"Thank you." she said genuine. But her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she added playfully. "Don't expect me to play any love ballads for you."

"Not a ballad fan, sweetheart, don't worry." he chuckled. "But I would like you to play something for me. One song." He lifted his index finger. "After all, I went all the way back to your old flat to get this. Surely you can indulge me."

She hesitated for a moment, but then her fingers brush the strings, and she nodded. "Fine, I'll play you something, but not now. I... I need to adjust the guitar first. Maybe later."

"Ok, I'll take your word." He agreed, watching her holding the instrument tightly to her chest.

The guitar was a calculated olive branch that served a purpose, and a sliver of normalcy tossed back in her hands. He was pleased that his gesture had the intended effect, bridging the gap created by their last night's confrontation.

"Anyway..." He said as if reminding himself of something important. "We're hitting the road tonight, so your performance has to wait until we come back."

"We?" she repeated with surprise. "Me too?"

He slowly nodded. "I have a job to do and I believe you may prove yourself useful."

"Useful?" she repeated again, taken aback. "And what kind of job?"

"Don't worry, beautiful, nothing too dangerous." He paused before explained. "Let's just say that someone took something from me. Now, it's time to take something back."

His explanation was as little as ever, but by now, she was used to his veiled pronouncements. She pressed further however, wanting to know what she would be getting herself into.

"Steal something back?" she asked. "Another house break-in then I assume?"

"Something like that." he admitted, his voice devoid of remorse. "Are you in?"

She tilted her head in a knowing look. As if she had a choice. "How can I not be?" She asked with irony.

As the evening came, she changed her clothes to something black and tied up her hair. She was ready to go...eager to go to be honest. She knew that this road trip wasn't something she should be looking forward too, but it was a break from the monotonous routine of the cabin and getting out of here felt like a relief.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. She stepped out of the cabin and quickly settled down next to Elias in a sleek black car, ready to hit the road. The car purred to life, and just like that they took off into the night.

The dark highway stretched endlessly before them. They didn't talk much. He was focused on the road before him, while she was fiddling with the radio, skipping through various stations. One station after another buzzed to life, offering a cacophony of pop hits, grating news broadcasts, and static, before she found something interesting.

The music filled the car until the last note of the last song faded, leaving a charged silence in its wake. He reached out and flicked the radio off, his gaze focused on the road ahead. "We're almost there." he announced, his voice low and serious.

She straightened in her seat, her attention fully on the surroundings now. As they neared their destination, the landscape began to change. Sprawling suburbs gave way to a more secluded area, and finally, a large villa came into view. It was an imposing structure, surrounded by a high, well-maintained fence.

He pulled the car to a stop at a discreet distance, the engine idling quietly. He turned towards her, his eyes serious. "This is it." he said.

She couldn't help but feel uneasy. Even though she knew the house was probably empty, it still didn't feel right to just break in there.

Elias on the other hand wasn't fazed at all. He explained the layout of the house and the security system. "The alarm is electronically controlled." he said. "Disabling it should be a piece of cake for someone with my skills." He tapped his fingers against the wheel as he glanced at the house. "However..." he continued, gesturing towards the fence. "there's a dead zone near the back window I need to access. I need to plant a device there, but the damn fence is too high to reach from outside."

She eyed the fence with skepticism. "So, what exactly are you proposing I do?"

"Simple, my dear Evelyn. You're small enough to squeeze through that hole in the fence over there." He pointed towards a barely noticeable gap at the base. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to plant this device near the back window."

He pulled up a small, sleek gadget that looked utterly unassuming. "Don't worry." he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Like I said before, the house is empty. The biggest threat you'll encounter is probably a bored guard dog… or maybe just a case of claustrophobia."

She glared at him, unamused by his attempt at humor. “Not funny, Elias.”

He shrugged in a nonchalant way. "There's always a dog guarding places like this. Just saying..."

She stared at the barely visible hole, then back at him. The situation was absurd, a scene ripped straight out of a bad spy movie. But deep down, her wild spirit she'd tried to suppress, urged her to accept the challenge.

Grumbling under her breath, she wore her gloves and snatched the device from his hand. "Fine." she muttered, the word laced with annoyance. "But if I get mauled by a guard dog or stuck halfway through this ridiculous fence, I'm blaming you."

"Don't worry, trouble." he said, his voice teasing. "I wouldn't send you if I wasn't sure you can do it. I wouldn't want to lose my most valuable… asset."

Whether his words were meant as a compliment or a veiled joke, she couldn't tell. With a sigh of resignation, she crept out of the car and towards the fence.

The hole was barely big enough for a child, and definitely not designed for a grown woman. She started to crawl through it, wincing as twigs and branches scratched against her skin. Leaves tangled in her hair, and dirt smudged her clothes. This was supposed to be a high-tech heist, not a scene from a children's comedy show.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she pushed herself through the opening. Standing up and dusting herself off, she scanned the yard for any sign of the bored guard dog Elias had mentioned. Nothing. He'd probably been pulling her leg.

Shaking her head, she located the window he'd described. Following his instructions, she placed the device, its tiny antenna pointed directly at the window. A moment later, a green light flickered on, indicating a successful connection. Elias had hacked the system.

Now the waiting began. She scanned the yard again, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets. The night air was cool against her skin, the adrenaline from the crawl starting to wear off.

After what felt like another eternity, she saw the front gate opening and Elias came through.

"Took you long enough." she grumbled.

There was a smudge of dirt across her cheek, and a stray leaf clung stubbornly to her hair. Her clothes were covered with dirt and debris.

He suppressed a chuckled, noting her annoyance. “You know, I had to be sure my entrance would make a good impact. Anyway you did well.” he praised her as he took off the stray leaf from her hair.

She sighted, his complement did nothing to make her feel less like a crappy burglar. She watched him as he held up his phone. No elaborate climbing or lock-picking for this modern-day thief. Just a few taps on a screen and the door swung open, welcoming them into the opulent interior. He handed her a flashlight and took the lead, not wasting any time. She followed close behind, her gaze wandering over the marble floors, the gleaming chandeliers, and the artwork that decorated the walls. For a moment, her annoyance at being dragged into this bizarre mission faded, distracted by the surroundings.

When he pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway, it became clear what he was after: a computer. Or more precisely, what was in it.

He snatched it up, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he plugged a device into the machine, his movements sharp and decisive.

"Downloading something, I presume?" she asked, watching him.

"Something like that." he murmured without looking up.

He didn't elaborate, and she knew better than to ask. This was his world, and she was just a reluctant accomplice or an useful assistant. Whatever the role, she found herself drawn further and further into this dangerous web.

As he continued his work, a low hum of the computer filled the room, the only sound besides the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard.

She shifted from foot to foot, her gaze drifting around the office. The sleek furniture, the polished wood accents - it was all impressive, but it did little to quell the restlessness creeping in.

Her eyes landed on the desk, and there, nestled beside the open laptop, sat a half-eaten bag of what looked like chocolate chip cookies. Surely, a single cookie wouldn't hurt, right? The owner of this mansion wouldn't even miss one, besides, after her adventure through the fence, she deserved a little treat. She slipped off her glove, her fingers reaching for a cookie. Just one, she promised herself. But then, one turned into two, and two became three. The rich chocolate and sweet dough melted on her tongue.

Suddenly, Elias's head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto her with disbelief. "Unbelievable." he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

She froze, mid-chew, a half-eaten cookie suspended in her hand. "What?" she mumbled with a sheepish grin. "They're delicious." she added defensively. "Besides, I've earned it."

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the screen. “You have a habit of stealing food, you know that?”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Hey, you keep dragging me into these situations. A girl’s gotta eat, especially when she's bored.”

He leaned back in his chair and sighted. He couldn't help but be charmed by her brazenness.

"Alright, alright." He conceded. "You can explore a little. But stay close, and keep your sticky fingers off anything valuable. And for god's sake, put your glove back on before you leave fingerprints everywhere."

She finished the cookie and winked at him. "Yes, sir." she said mock-saluted him.

She ventured out of the office. The mansion was a labyrinth of hallways and grand rooms, each one more luxurious than the last. She kept her distance, as he had instructed, but curiosity, a persistent itch she could never resist scratching, propelled her further away from the office.

Following verbal instructions had never been her strong suit anyway.

She stumbled upon a room that undeniably belonged to a woman. The air hung heavy with the sweet scent of perfume. The sheer amount of jewelry and expensive accessories was beyond absurd.

Unable to resist the urge, she reached out and picked up a pair of oversized sunglasses. She held them up to her face, peering through the dark lenses. They weren't her style, not at all, but the sheer extravagance of it all was intoxicating.

One item led to another – a wide-brimmed hat, a chunky bracelet that glittered with diamonds. Each piece was like a part of a costume from a life she could never truly inhabit.

Flicking on a small bedside lamp, she caught a glimpse of a vast walk-in closet through an open doorway. The sight that greeted her was enough to make her jaw drop. Rows upon rows of designer clothing, each piece more luxurious than the last, hung with invisible try me tags.

One piece of clothes caught her attention – a black, lace dress that shimmered with a subtle, otherworldly glitter. Surely, just trying it on wouldn't hurt, right? Without hesitation she slipped off her dusty clothes and tried on the dress.

The fabric clung to her, fitting her perfectly. She stood before the large mirror, feeling like a diva just about to attend a luxury dance ball.

Except the music was missing. And this dress craved a soundtrack.

Her gaze fell on a vintage-like music player on the nightstand. She turned it on and hit the play button. a classic 80's slow jam started playing. Perfect.

Meanwhile Elias was nearing the finish line. Just a few more minutes, and he'd have what he came for.

But suddenly he felt a prickle of unease. He glanced towards the doorway, expecting to see Evelyn hovering nearby, but the space was empty. A frown creased his brow. He'd specifically told her to stay close. Curiosity was one thing, but blatant disregard for instructions was another. Great. Just what he needed – a rogue captive with a penchant for wandering.

Sighing in exasperation, he pushed himself away from the desk. There was no point in waiting any longer. He had to find her, and hopefully, she hadn't gotten herself into any trouble.

He stalked down the hallway. He called her name once, a low growl that echoed through the house. No answer. Then, he heard a sound, a faint melody, a slow, sensual tune that seemed to ooze from a room down the hall. His frown deepened. Music? What the hell was she doing? With a surge of irritation, he followed the sound until he stood before the right door. He pushed them open and his eyes fell upon the scene before him. There, in the center of the room, stood Evelyn.

And she was a vision.

Clothed in a black, glittering dress that clung to her body like a second skin, she swayed to the music. Her hair that had been pulled back in a messy bun, now cascaded down her shoulders.

For a moment, he stood there, speechless, his initial frustration forgotten. She looked... incredible.

Then, as quickly as it came, the spell broke. He remembered why he was here, and the reason she shouldn't be cavorting around in stolen clothes.

"Evelyn!" he snapped, his voice sharp with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

She startled and whirled around, the black dress swirling around her legs. As her gaze met his, her lips curled into a mischievous grin. She began to sway towards him, her movements effortless and fluid. She spined around and her hand reached out landing on his chest.

"Dance with me, Elias." she said with a low voice. There was a playful invitation in her eyes that felt like a dare.

He stared at her, his initial annoyance dissolving a little. His lips parted, his first instinct was to refuse. The mission was paramount, and he should be reprimanding her, not indulging in a dance. But the way her hand felt on his chest, and the way she looked at him, made him hesitate.

"Just for a moment, please." she asked.

Her body came closer and he found himself at a crossroads. Logic screamed at him to pull away, to focus on the task at hand, but his resolve weakened. The memories from the previous night crawled back into his mind, awaking the desire in him.

With a sigh of surrender he took her hand off of his chest and pulled her closer, their bodies moving together in a slow, hesitant dance.

"Let the music take you." she breathed, her words laced with a playful innocence that belied the effect she was having on him. "Just feel it."

He wasn't sure if it was the music, the borrowed dress clinging to her curves, or the sheer surreality of the situation, but he started to enjoy it. For a few precious moments, the world outside the room ceased to exist for them and the lyrics of the song filled the room.

A safe night, I'm living in the forest of my dream.

I know the night is not as it would seem.

I must believe in something

So I'll make myself believe it

This night will never go.

Their bodies swayed closer, the distance between them shrinking. They could feel the magnetic pull between them growing stronger. His touch, initially hesitant, grew bolder, his hands more daring, hungrier as they tracing down her lower back. He spined her around and pulled her closer, pressing her body to his. Her lips parted slightly as if on the verge of a whisper, letting out a small gasp. He wrapped his arm around her waist and then, with a swiftness that surprised even him, he closed the distance between them completely. His hand found its way to her neck, their breath mingled, eyes locked. In a rush of urgency and need, his lips landed on hers in a hungry, possessive kiss.

She kissed him back with the same desperate urgency, letting his tongue slipped inside her mouth. It wasn't a gentle exploration, but a hungry claim. The kiss was fueled by the built up tension and lust, and the knowledge that this fragile connection could shatter at any moment.

Her hand tangled in his hair, digging into the dark strands as she pressed herself closer. Why was she responding to this man, her captor no less, with a such uncontrolled way?

A gasp escaped her lips, a sound barely audible among the melody of the song.

I never stop myself to wonder why

You help me to forget to play my role

You take my self, you take my self control

His lips left hers, trailing down to explore her neck. His hand, hungry and possessive, grabbed her butt as the other squeezed her neck. A voice, a faint echo of reason, whispered in the back of her mind, urging her to stop this madness. But the heat of his touch, the lust they both felt, were too powerful to resist.

He wanted more, it was evident in the way his hand dipped beneath the flimsy dress, sending a jolt through her. Suddenly he pushed her back onto the nearby bed, the dress pulled up showing her bare thighs. He let his body fall gracefully on top of her, hovering above her. He wasn't going to be gentle this time. The pressing need within him demanded a different kind of intimacy, a raw possession. His touch, rough and insistent, charted a path down her body, eliciting gasps that charged his own lust. A different kind of music to his ears.

I, I live among the creatures of the night.

I haven't got the will to try and fight,

against a new tomorrow, so I guess I'll just believe it,

that tomorrow never comes.

His hand found its way under the dress, revealing more of her body to him, giving him an access to her most vulnerable parts. She felt his hand pressed on her soaked underwear, his fingers started eagerly rubbing her clit through a thin fabric as his mouth attacked her neck, going down to her cleavage. He almost ripped off the dress with his other hand, to free her breast. His mouth found a nipple and sucked on it, his teeth half-gently nibbling it, making her gasped with overwhelming sensation.

There's a moment of resistance, of course, a whispered plea for him to slow down. But he didn't listen. He pushed past her defenses, his hunger a relentless wave that would eventually crash over them both.

She had no other choice than to submit to him. She clung onto him, her hands slipped underneath his shirt, pulling it up, her nails scratching his skin.

He reached down to his pants and unzipped it, his hard cocked pressed onto her clit as he lowered himself, pinning her down to the mattress. He was ready to take her, to finally claim her, to hold sway over her desires and needs in ways she couldn't even imagine.

But then, as abruptly as it began, the music stopped. The silence that followed was filled only with their rapid breaths and uncontrolled gasps. He tensed for a moment, his body pulling back from hers just a fraction as he opened his eyes.

What was he doing? Taking her on a stranger's bed in the house they'd broken into? Ripping off the dress that didn't belong to her? Was he really wanted to fuck her here? Leave his seed, his DNA all over the crime scene? Risking to be caught?

A frustrated groan rumbled in his chest.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire and unwanted but unassailable realization. This wasn't the place. Doing it here wasn't an option.

With a muttered curse, he pulled back, his body tensed with self-restraint. He'd let himself get lost, be recklessly careless and taken over by his primal desire. Fuck.

It was deeply frustrating. He hadn't planned on this, on the way her touch would disarm him, the way her own recklessness would affect him in such way.

She was left laying sprawled on the bed as he got up. Her breath was caught in her throat, she felt disappointment, but it was quickly replaced by shame and confusion. She hadn't expected this to go so far, yet a part of her couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration at his abrupt retreat.

She propped herself on her elbows and looked at him as he zipped up his pants and pulled down his shirt. He didn't wear his usual mask of indifference, there were a lot of conflicting emotions playing on his features, frustration, anger, suppressed lust and something akin to disappointment.

His words when they came were clipped, harsh commands that startled her. "Get dressed. Change back into your own clothes. Tidy this room up, make it look like you weren't even here and meet me in the car. And do it fast. Don't make me have to come back here."

There was no room for questions, no space for arguments. His voice was a harsh rasp filled with danger and an unspoken threat.

She just watched him leave trying to figure what had gone wrong. She realized that he'd let himself get caught up in the moment, just like her. He'd forgotten the danger, the mission, all for a dance and a kiss and everything that this kiss had been leading to but hadn't meant to happen. He was angry, that much was clear, angry at her and perhaps, even more so at himself.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and started to undress...

Inside the car he didn't spare her a glance, his jaw clenched tight as he pulled out of the driveway, leaving the mansion behind them. She sat beside him in silence thinking that this wasn't how it was supposed to end. Their moment of a raw unexpected lust had felt so good when it had lasted. Now, it felt like a cruel tease though this time it wasn't her intention at all. But did he know that?

The silence in the car was heavy. Finally, he broke it, his voice laced with a harshness. "You had one job, Evelyn." he growled. "One. Stay close, don't touch anything, and don't cause any trouble. You managed to break every single rule in the span of ten minutes."

His words were a whiplash, leaving a stinging mark on her pride. He was right, but his anger wasn't exactly triggered by her disregarding of his rules, but the unfinished dance between them. She couldn't help but feel resentment. This hadn't been entirely her fault. He, too, had been caught in the moment, momentarily forgetting his rigid control and rules. Yet, she knew that it wouldn't be wise to make him realize that right now. It'd only escalate the already tensed situation.

"I... I'm sorry." she mumbled instead, the words barely a whisper.

Tears for some unknown reason pricked at her eyes, blurring the passing scenery. She turned her head away with an attempt to hide her vulnerability.

He glanced at her but didn't say anything.

The miles slipped by, the memory of their dance, of their tangled bodies, vivid and pulsating, played on a loop in his mind. Her hand, warm and insistent, on his chest, the heat radiating from her body, the kiss, the lust that had ignited a firestorm within him... He knew he shouldn't had taken her invitation in the first place. It would have jeopardized their entire mission. Luckily he'd regained control over this mess before it'd have brought them into serious troubles.

Unfortunately he was aware that the problem they were facing now, the real problem that wouldn't just go away, was the lingering tension, the lust that required to be fulfilled, the unfinished dance that had started long before they'd entered that mansion.

The problem had to be resolved quickly before it got out of hand.

And he knew that they could defuse the tension in only one way.

But they needed to get back to the cabin first.

[boopshoops]

🥣

🥰

🏘️

For Jojo, Shishi, and Ezzie (The Twst OCs ;w;) for the OC Ask meme)

Similarly to the last post!! This is color coded: me/narrator as default, blue as Jocia, and green as Ezra

🥣what's your favorite food?

"So this is some sort of interview? Alright then," Jocia gruffly responded, slouching over in her seat upon realizing the question was actually rather simple. She grinned, "Bulgogi's a fav. It's something my sister showed me when we were kids. Apparently she was trying to learn more about our family history or somethin', did a damn lot of research too."

"It's not something I looked much into myself, but I'm a complete sucker for anything barbecued or grilled. I think... Oh yeah, we tried it out on a camping trip. I stole some of hers off her plate," Jocia chuckled, scratching at the back of her head as she reminisced, "I gave her hell during that trip. Wouldn't be surprised if that's why we never did something like that again. Made it up to her later, though."

-

"Ooh! How fun!" The professor exclaimed with a sharp-toothed grin, "Let's see, should I go into detail? I don't see why not. You're supposedly looking into learning more about me after all, little sprout," He cheerfully pondered aloud, politely folding his hands in his lap.

"My favorite dish is Pasta Alla Gricia. It's absolutely divine. With most of the foods I like, they've unfortunately been changing and shifting in ways I'm simply not a fan of with the passage of time. BUT! With this? It's only gotten better since the first time I tried it one hundred years ago! I'll gladly buy you some sometime, little sapling. Oh! Perhaps I can get some for the whole class... Like a day of celebration after one of our competitions! It's important for student's to destress, after all!~" Ezra hummed to himself with a firm nod.

🥰do you think you're attractive?

"Uh..." The woman droned on, crossing her arms over her chest. She offered a casual nod after perusing her own thoughts, "Like, physically? Sure, yeah," She bluntly answered.

"It's not really something I've thought too much of before. I guess looking in the mirror and seeing how far I've come gives me something to be proud of. Especially since I'm... not the best at styling. Everyone else in the family got all that."

"But, hell, I've worked hard on myself. Even if working out and such is more of a chill hobby of mine, I'm still confident in how I'm built. Not to mention I can see little parts of the people around me in myself too, yeah? Like- an old friend of mine regularly helps me dye my hair, and I got my piercings at the same time as my brother. If I didn't like those parts of myself, it feels kinda like a dig on them too. No matter whatcha think anyway, there are gonna be people out there who think you're pretty sick."

"...Eh, I'm not good at getting all sappy."

-

Ezra blinked, his drawing his lips into a line. His brows furrowed, "This is a difficult question to be modest about, isn't it?" He awkwardly chuckled, bringing a hand up to massage his temple.

"Oh, I don't know. I have a lot of things I have to work on, truly. It's quite an ordeal. Not that I'm not proud of my appearance! After all, a lot of it was greatly inspired by my late father."

"...Ah! I forgot to mention- I'm a changeling fae, of course. I'm not the biggest fan of shapeshifting, however, so I try my best to correlate my appearance to my adoptive human family. In that way, I suppose topics such as 'attractiveness' are a bit more complicated to someone like me, dear," He finished, dodging and weaving around the actual question through his rambles.

🏘️where's your happy place?

Jocia brightened up a bit at this, smirking as the answer came easily, "With my siblings," she replied briefly.

"They're fun as hell to be around. We got each other's backs. They're a bunch of little shits sometimes, but we know each other better than anyone else," She paused, "At least... most of us. More of a reason for me to get home, as if I didn't need any more of one already."

-

"My classroom, of course! Oh, it's so fun!" The teacher excitedly replied, eccentrically taking the time to pop up out of his seat and lean over the table, "It's where I spend most of my time! Working with students in bloom, watching their talents grow, listening to my favorite stars sing broadway, tending to my adorable potted plants..." He babbled on endlessly, happily explaining to no end.

"...I haven't been here for very long, that is true, but it has very quickly become my favorite place to be. So much so I often get caught up in things and forget to attend meetings. I suppose me and the other fae individuals here have that in common... I'm working on that, however! Got to make sure my memory is in top condition!"

"Is that it? 'Kay. Be seeing ya."

-

"This was very pleasant! Thank you kindly for inviting me."

Ask Game!

Yuu Shi's responses are here

[hwajin]

#!! - 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 ; ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ

— 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst

— 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hyunjin x reader, chan x reader

— 𝐰𝐜: 6.5k

— 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a first word, a first impression. a first touch, and then some more.

— 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: from the next chapter and up imma make longer chapters hence probably gonna take a bit longer in between posting!! i've started off with shortish chapters since i was scared to end up with like only two lmao, but now that i'm on my 5th one and haven't even reached the main happening of this whole thing i'll start making longer chapters!! do leave feedback and tell me how you liked this chapter (i'm a bit unsatisfied with how this one turned out so i hope some of you will still enjoy it <33). i'd love to read some of y'all theories or predictions to how this is gonna go, so if you have ANY thoughts about this series don't be shy to pour em out in tags or my inbox <33

series masterlist | next chapter

You haven’t talked much with Chan. When he has pulled you by the hand to drag you outside and away from the crowd – away from the stranger – only a few words have fallen, your apologetic ones, Chan’s frustrated.

“Then explain it to me, cuz I don’t really get it if I’m honest. Like- I might be overreacting but this dude was obviously staring… and you were staring back as if you knew him?! Like do you? Are you lying to me? Or was he just so hot you forgot you have a boyfriend here today?”

Chan hasn’t been screaming by any means, hasn’t raised his voice. And yet his anger was felt, through his words and movements. His face contorted, brows scrunched and lips pursed. A habit he had when madness got to him. And it had made you feel guilty. Oh so guilty. And then; annoyed.

Because if you were honest, who was he to not believe you? Who was Chan to assume he was aware of the stranger and his doings on you for weeks on end, who was he to lash out on you when he hasn’t been making efforts to go as far as to notice your worrying and your pondering the past weeks? How was Chan higher of a person to accuse you of something you weren’t guilty of, not really? Because staring wasn’t cheating surely, and Chan was all too jealous, entirely overreacting. Though maybe that was a lie to calm only yourself.

“Babe, I don’t want to fight, please, he just- I have seen him a couple weeks back, in the store, I thought I remembered him. That’s it. I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me- he must have remembered me as well. That’s it.”

It had taken you all your will to stay calm, to not lash out as well and break into a fight. Because you have promised it to yourself, and you have promised it to Chan. That you would work on it, on your relationship, together. You didn’t want to be the first to screw it up. Not on a party like this, not in the midst of tons of people, not under the influence. And yet, you needed to remind yourself actively of those facts, needed help to remember what exactly you have promised each other, what exactly you and Chan have agreed on. Because you so badly wanted to turn your head toward the stranger, so badly wanted to see if he was still standing by the bar. It took you more willpower to keep your eyes on Chan that it had needed to collect yourself.

And in the matter of seconds Chan has been dragged out by his friends, all apologetic to steal him away from you but they needed him for the next game they had planned or they couldn’t play, and you had been left standing alone on the balcony, without an answer from your boyfriend, without a glimpse into his thoughts, without reassurance. With the ever-growing wish to go and look for the stranger. To go up and talk to him, ask what his deal was, what kind of sick game he was playing to be living in your thoughts for longer than you’d love to admit. To go up to him and ask of his name, how his day had gone, whether or not he’s been thinking about you as well, as vividly and intimately as you have. You wanted to be close to him, wanted to flee into his closeness for comfort. And it was so utterly stupid that you couldn’t help but scoff about yourself, letting your head fall into your hands. The stinging wind was cutting your skin, the exposed parts of your arms, your cheeks. It fluttered through your hair, made a mess of it. Mimicking your mind. Oh, how pathetic you were.

It was strange. The feeling was so incredibly strange that it dared to tie up your ways of breathing. If you had expected to see the stranger tonight or not – nothing would have prepared you when you had met his eyes. He wasn’t simply attractive, not only the image you remembered him as from weeks prior. He had something more about him – an aura, or maybe simply a radiance – that nearly physically pulled you towards him. That had made you want to keep staring, make a double take, while amid talking to Chan. He was strange. Strange to appear here out of all places, and tonight out of all nights after having been creeping in and out your mind. And precisely that, the mystery of him, the unknown about his persona were the motives that made you look back, through the glasern door of the balcony, and into the living room – where he still stood, now moved further into the middle, further into the turmoil of people, talking to a man you have never seen before, a friend probably, maybe the one he came with. The conversation was heated – the strangers' mimics were, at least; face contorted into one of seeming shock, arms passionately gesturing something you couldn’t understand.

For a split second you hoped it would be about you, the conversation, the look on his face. His big movements. You had noticed that he had been staring you down as much as you have – as though he was sensing the same, as though his heart, too, had squeezed so hard the tension had made him dizzy, as though his lungs, as well, had been cut short when your eyes had met. You forced the thought away as fast as it came – it scared you, how fast he was pulling you in, how quick the next thought occupied your mind – would it be all too wrong to go up and talk to him? Your first, initial response was that yes, it would be thoroughly dumb to mingle with the stranger that caused an argument with your boyfriend – not mentioning that he was the one you came with, anyways, that he was the one to be taking your side, the one you should be stealing glances from. But then another, far louder voice in your head argued the opposite. Argued that it was fine, because really, how good was your boyfriend anyways? And what had he given you besides headaches recently, besides reasons to sit him down and talk it out, long and painful, with tears filling both your eyes? The stranger showed nothing of that nature – the stranger looked like love itself, the personification of it, looked like the puzzle piece that you were missing to find for years on end.

What was wrong with you, truly?

Warm guilt nagged at your bones and crept its way up your nape, to the plush of your cheeks. It was a strange feeling of anxiety when thinking about the manner, about the man in the living room you were eyeing from your secure position on the balcony. A feeling of anxiety because thinking about it, about him, hinted at everything that was wrong with Chan. Hinted all those small cracks in a love you built so dearly, all those cracks that might break eventually if you weren’t careful enough. Because thinking of the stranger in such way you did, romanticising his entire persona so only your image of him was left fantasising over and putting said image above your boyfriend, as though you painted a faith you wished for instead of the faith you possessed – it was dangerous, it put you in a state of uneasiness. Not only because you had promised Chan to try, but because being reckless when it came to love wasn’t always bound to end well. Being reckless towards another person – a mere stranger that might have no interest in you, that might only want a one-night fuck or less from you – was dumb, had to be incredibly stupid.

And then you set your right foot in front of your left one, and your left one up front again, until you reached the glassy doors of the balcony, until your fingers wrapped around the cold, metallic handle of it, until the warmth of stuffiness and the scent of alcohol welcomed you inside again. You weren’t thinking, not really. You didn’t have a plan in mind, let only your subconscious lead you – if to him or not you weren’t sure; your eyes, at last, were fixed on the stranger. Fixed on the man that was yet to see you, fixed on the man that was now standing alone in the middle of the tumult; as though a pillar of comfort in a room of inquietude. He shouldn’t be, shouldn’t have that effect on you. In all honesty, you weren’t sure if he was having any effect on you, after all – or if it was Chan who simply didn’t, and if you instinctively looked for the next best option. Another possible source of steadiness, because you were a coward, and feared to be alone the older you got.

Tranquillity. Momentarily the room, the stuffed four walls, the singing and laughing; all turned quiet. Silent. Because he had found your eyes, was staring right at them, through them. You thought that not one person you have crossed paths with ever looked at you the way he did – as though with sole interest and with absence of ulterior motives, and with an understanding that would turn irrelevant if spoken out loud. Understanding that could only be thought and would lose meaning if you questioned it too much. And in the same breath, you questioned how a stranger could possibly bear such understanding towards you. A familiarity almost, as if you’ve known the other already, as if you weren’t yet to exchange first words.

Your legs carried you instinctively, even if you wanted to flee from the scene, turn around and strut right back towards the entrance door and away from every single person in the room; it wouldn’t have been in your power. You have felt an urge prior in relation to the stranger – when you had first met him, when you had first laid eyes on his ones, when he occupied your mind and made it his own. There’s always been a pulling, a yearning when your mind wandered to him; like an itch you couldn’t scratch. And that feeling was at its climax, right this moment, when you came closer to him with every step you took. If someone asked you, you wouldn’t possibly be able to explain what it was that you were feeling. Maybe you did see something like salvation in him – felt that he might be the one capable of showing you real emotions, real love; hence the yearning. Maybe it wasn’t anything describable at all though, nothing that could be put to words, something inhumane. A yearning that would never ease off fully, or would with him only. You weren’t entirely sure – not about him, nor about you, and not about what was expecting you when you’d only walked up to him, stood before him. You weren’t entirely sure about anything. And yet you didn’t stop making your way towards his figure; the way he was standing in the middle of the room, unsureness, nervousness written in his body language, though eyes strictly held on yours.

And the little bit of sour aftertaste that the guilt left behind was barely enough to make you feel truly bad when you stood closest to him you have ever before. When you could lock eyes so intimately, when you could smell the subtle scent of his cologne on his porcelain skin. It was sweet but not too much, vanilla undertone but only the right amount. He smelled comforting. A bit like home, maybe.

“Hi.”

He looked utterly startled. Shocked. You were too, if you were honest with yourself – it was the first word ever exchanged, the opening, the first push to what could turn into something big. To what you felt would turn into something big – you had yet to decide if the thought was comforting or entirely horrified you.  

You were sweet. Your voice was, calm and collected, though Hyunjin sensed hints of nervousness. You weren’t one to blame though – his hands were clammy with sweat and his knees came closer to pudding than actual skin and bones. It was such a simple word. Such a simple start to a conversation. Yet he wouldn’t ever have been brave enough to utter it. If for your supposed boyfriend or not – Hyunjin might have never had the courage to have broken the ice. Because truly, what would he say? That he was obsessing over you secretly, imagining a life with you before you had exchanged a word? That you had housed in his mind ever since he saw you, and that seeing your boyfriend on this night of all nights almost made him cry in front of hundreds of people?

And truly – what was he supposed to say now?

“H – Hi.”

Awkward, cringe worthy almost, but he went with it. And you were only looking back, as though deciding on your next words, maybe unsure what to say or scared to screw the conversation up. Though there was nothing, Hyunjin thought, nothing you could really do to make him lose interest. Not now, not anymore. Not after he’s got the littlest bit of taste of you.

The man’s voice was soothing. Laced in sweetness, sounding like dripping honey. It was intoxicating momentarily, and you found yourself wishing to hear that voice for the rest of days.

It felt surreal. Standing before him, talking – sparsely now but a first step was made. To hear his voice, watch his mimics, his movements, smelling him subtly against the mix of booze and sweat in the room – it felt so surreal that your knees dared to give out.

And the next moments rushed by in pure bliss. From the first introduction; “Uh– hi, I’m uh– y/n, sorry to be bothering you like this but… it’s probably dumb but I ,like, remembered you from a few weeks back, I think we crossed paths in the small store? Just wanted to say hi, really.” – who were you kidding, you knew exactly you had met in the small store.

And to receive an answer; “Oh yeah, I remembered as well…! I didn’t really– want to go up and talk to you, your… boyfriend… seemed quite mad from me only looking...” – a distressed chuckle from him and your expression had changed at the label, the name for the man who had been dancing behind you, and you were surprised the stranger even went as far as to mention Chan. In an awkward joke only, yet mentioned.

And then; “Oh yeah, don’t worry about him he– I guess he gets worked up easily.” – cringe yourself to a reddened face, feeling you have admitted more than you should have.

Though him, after a short break in which it seemed like he had analysed, your character or your words, yet giving no comment to your boyfriend and the answer you have given in relation; “My name’s Hyunjin. By the way.”

The conversation went well. Neither of you brave enough to address the elephant in the room – but then again, you couldn’t be sure the other would know what you were talking about. If feelings and the constant reappearing image of the other wasn’t mutual it would only turn things awkward. So, you simply didn’t mention and neither did he, both of you resolving to talking about things of less risky nature; which went surprisingly and utterly well. Words came naturally with Hyunjin, same interests and hobbies, values and morals settling their way into your exchange. It wasn’t hard to find next topics, wasn’t pushy or out of place when Hyunjin asked to bring you a drink. There was no shyness when the other cracked a joke, revealing the same humour, though undeniably there was mutual nervosity from you two. Because none wanted to say a wrong thing, none wanted to end up in awkward silence – though it seemed impossible. It seemed impossible to ever stop talking, to ever not know the next topic of a conversation, to ever grow out of interest and urging curiosity. It went on and on and on, the exchange of words, and the glow in your eyes shone brighter the more information was revealed.

And then there was something else. You weren’t sure if it was Hyunjin, the nature of his persona. Maybe he had that effect on anyone – maybe he had girls swarming around him at all times, maybe the feeling he brought, the aura when he only stepped into the room was intoxicating to most. Or maybe it was the effect he had justly on you – the impeccable need to touch him. To feel his skin on yours, not connect fingertips, to intertwine digits, to meet palms. To brush away the bits of messy dark hair that fell around his face, to glide your hand across his cheek. To feel the plushness of his lips, on your own ones or on various parts of your skin – you didn’t care. And every time you two stood closer the urge expanded. Grew harder to resist, and you needed a physical step back to not let your body have a mind of its own. Only then, only when establishing a certain distance between your bodies could you breathe again, think straight; relatively. Because you thought you would never learn entire calmness in his presence.

|||

She was intoxicating. Intoxicating in every sense the word allowed it to be, in every sense the word was. Truly, Hyunjin couldn’t quite grasp the luck he was blessed with to be talking to you today, if he was quite honest. Talking so easily to you, so freely, engaging so wholeheartedly, as if you haven’t just met moments ago, as if that wasn’t your first conversation. By the time you have talked for an hour without a break – only separating shortly to let Hyunjin pour you a drink, giving himself a freezing coke – he’d love to ease his nerves off a bit, but responsibilities called for something different – Hyunjin had forgotten about your boyfriend altogether, dismissed that you had come with another man at all. That maybe Hyunjin shouldn’t be talking this easily to you, this freely.

“Uhh, yeah, lately I’ve been lacking motivation though. Or maybe– maybe I’ve been lacking inspiration, rather.”

His answer had followed your fascination about Hyunjin’s occupation. Though not yet an artist, only an aspiring one, your eyes grew big and your jaw fell open when Hyunjin revealed his doing, his passion. He blushed upon your reaction, flattered that something so natural to him, something that was simply part of his persona for most of his friends, had you intrigued.

“Hmm, where do you get your inspiration from then, if you’re lacking it?”

Visible interest from your side, not simply polite conversation.

“Everything, honestly. Mostly from the things that happen around me, you know, surroundings, places… people.”

Locking eyes with you in hopes you got the hint, and the darkened tint on your face revealed that yes, you might have caught on. The rushed sip you took right after was indicator enough, and Hyunjin was pleased with himself; he wasn’t the big flirt, so hoped he did a good job when it came to you.

Not only has Hyunjin never been asked such question; most people that knew little about art rarely asked further to get to know the nature of it, and other ones, mutual-minded and further artists, knew all about the subject anyways. Knew where inspiration was taken from, knew the basic processes of an art piece coming together; no one in his field would ever ask him such question, would give him opportunity to vent from within his heart. So Hyunjin had never talked about such topic really, with anyone. About the things that drive him, the things that make his heart swell, that make him want to capture emotions onto canvas. Because either people were uninterested, or knew enough; you were the first and only one to ever poke deeper, into his soul or mind, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter, not really, because you did poke, nevertheless. And he would pour his heart out to you anytime you did.  

You hummed contently at his answer, eyes on him, as though determined to read the words his heart wrote. It got him shy, honestly. Got him giddy, a funny feeling spreading in the pit of his stomach, one that he hasn’t felt ever since his last high school crush; that’s how he felt, in your presence. Like a dumb-minded boy running on hormones, heart shaped, pink tinted glasses on his face and he solely got to know your name yet. The air as though smelled of pheromones in your proximity, made you irresistible; Hyunjin wondered if only he caught onto that, though. If only his body was torn and needed reminding that he couldn’t simply reach out to you and hold your arm, or place gentle fingers on your cheek, to tug a fallen strand of hair behind your reddened ear. That after all, you had come here with another man, and that flirting on his side shouldn’t be taken too far, that simply talking, getting to know you was perfectly fine, if you only allowed it; if not for the mind numbing effect you had on him. If it wasn’t impossibly difficult to keep his eyes on your ones without his head sending into spiral, if it wasn’t pathetic, the way he lapped up every slurred word that rolled past your lips. You had ignited something in him Hyunjin never felt before, and if not weeks prior when you had first met then surely at tonight's party.

It was strange, increased whenever his body was closest to you; the feeling similar to when you had first encountered, though undeniably stronger now, harder to ignore. And Hyunjin was simply left to question what it could possibly mean – were it only the beginnings of a crush, giddiness about another? It surely didn’t feel like it; too banal for how his heart was pulled by every bit of its strings, towards your direction, towards where you were standing at all times. He felt guilty; both for how little it took him to get to this point – sure, he was hopeless, he was a romantic, yet it didn’t change the fact that his behaviour was nothing if not desperate, pitiful. The other part of his guilt grew from the simple fact that the other man yet hasn’t disappeared from the overall scenario. He was still there, and somewhere on this party, most likely; if he went home alone, he’d be a blatant asshole, and something in Hyunjin told him that you wouldn’t settle for such.

And then you reached over the counter, to refill your red cup with a bit of soda, to ease off the bitterness in your drink – your naked arm close to Hyunjin’s, body only inches away from the other; and all guilt was blown away, brain short circuiting and urge setting off to various fibres in his body. You must have felt it, as well; for you froze in place, for only a moment but Hyunjin noticed, and you locked eyes with him vastly before taking the coke and hurrying to where you had been standing before, a bit further from him, comfortable space to hold conversation. A tension in the air now, a blush on each other’s faces, expressions blank and hinting confusion, questions. Until you coughed somewhat theatrically, playing off the creeping awkwardness that settled in the silence, and kept the conversation going. Easy as that, as though Hyunjin’s head wasn’t collapsing any passing moment he spent in your presence.

It wasn’t only the sensation he felt around you that stoke his interest; if he was honest with himself, if he shoved the reminder that you were taken to the back of his head – you were attractive. In a subtle way, Hyunjin thought. You had planned your appearance for today, surely, had put efforts into your make up, your outfit, your hair. You looked pretty, and Hyunjin had no doubt that you’d look just as attractive in your full natural form, right after waking up in the morning, or on days dedicated to relaxation. The way you talked was intriguing as well; whenever you asked Hyunjin a question your eyes sparked up, revealing interest. Whenever you laughed about a joke of his, your face lit up in utter content, giving Hyunjin a feeling pleased. And you were funny, witty, making Hyunjin laugh as well, making him blush and giggle. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t simply happy to be talking to you.

He wondered how you must feel, if guilt plagued him already. It wasn’t in his favour to theorise about your relationship; it might be an open one, it might not be too serious, it might have any reason why you were talking to him instead of dancing with the other man right now. And yet he wondered if guilt did eat at you, if your mind was circulating not only around him, but around other matters; be it the man or simply the fear of being seen with a stranger. Though; your eyes weren’t wandering, weren’t searching the room for potentially getting caught; if that was something you were scared of, you left it unnoticed. Hence Hyunjin’s conclusion that maybe, just maybe, there was some hope that it wasn’t all that exclusive, that whoever this guy was wasn’t necessarily a big of an obstacle.

Until Hyunjin saw him in his peripheral vision.

The scenery changed quite drastically; from talking with you calmly, nothing but a feeling of comfort lacing the atmosphere, to suddenly clammy, thick tension in the air that stuffed the room with a disgusting aftertaste. Your boyfriend came up to you with big steps; it took a while until you saw him, were turned with your back to the direction he came from. Hyunjin saw from the get go that he wasn’t by any means violent, yet the dirty anger the man spread across the room of the house had Hyunjin’s senses on alert. It was dumb of him, he knew, that there was no risk in you getting hurt, no reason Hyunjin should truly worry about you – whoever the man was he wasn’t dangerous, that much was clear, was someone you knew and trusted, seemingly. And yet Hyunjin wasn’t all calm and collected. Not necessarily because the man shot him a jealous glare, not because you looked frightened, but because the situation that unfolded itself. There was a titillation of taking you away, taking you by your arm and leading you to somewhere clearer, quieter, better. To make you feel better; because Hyunjin knew that that place wasn’t in the arms of that man, your boyfriend or not. That the place better wasn’t who you currently were with, who was arguing with you now amidst confused people who started turning heads. Though maybe it was wishful thinking on Hyunjin’s side, delusions, as so often. You’d look him up and down with judgement in your eyes if Hyunjin as far as told you about the thoughts that spread his mind upon seeing you fight with your man.

He didn’t dare to interrupt, despite how much he wished to. Hyunjin let the scene happen, kept himself in the back, listening to the angry throwing of words, accusations; from his side as much as from yours.

“Oh, come on, you leave me alone on the balcony and I can’t look around for a friend to talk to?”

You tried to keep your voice down as much as possible with the booming bass ringing in your ears, tried not to gain attention from people around. With little success; drunks lapped up any bit of drama they could as banal as it was to them.

“You know why I’m pissed, don’t pretend you don’t?? We had just fucking talked about him outside, and then you’re fucking talking to him, fucking undressing him with your eyes- you think I didn’t see that??”

Hyunjin grew a whole shade darker. Being talked about in such a manner was both the part embarrassing as it was awkward, and the sour guilt that had occupied him shortly before settled back in. He’d been spacious with his flirting, as much as you had been you, in his opinion; it had rather been a conversation between freshly met people, though ulterior motives surely were involved Hyunjin would have argued that both of you managed to not show it excessively at all – though maybe not everyone saw it that way.

“Oh my god, Chan, let’s- let’s not do this here, alright? Let’s go home and fucking talk about it like adults, alri-“

You were frustrated; even from the little conversation Hyunjin heard it wasn’t frustration about this particular conversation, only. There was an exhaust in your voice that broke through like a dam, an annoyance, if towards your boyfriend or not it was unsure. And you were interrupted by him, rather rudely, a scoff leaving his lips.

“Oh yeah, talk about it like adults… the way we did before, huh? You promised-“, looking around, locking eyes with Hyunjin before his voice grew quiet, before he took you to the side, and before Hyunjin wasn’t able to follow the heated conversation anymore.

So – it was exclusive, after all. But Hyunjin couldn’t bring himself to feel bad, not really. He didn’t know all aspects of what had happened between the pair of you, not all sides of the story – but your argument had been valid. If your boyfriend – Chan, as Hyunjin now knew – hadn’t been wanting you to mingle with people he wouldn’t have disappeared for the duration of a whole hour and longer. Hyunjin had taken enough girlfriends to parties to know that staying together wasn’t necessary, wholly – and yet; it was oddly strange that you had ended up with so much free time on your hands, that your sweetheart of a boyfriend hadn’t noticed sooner of your absence if he was so displeased with the idea of seeing you with another. Maybe you were in the wrong as well, if only a slight bit, or maybe it was a sort of jealousy – but Hyunjin couldn’t shake off the icky feeling he had about Chan. It was nothing but immature and childish, yet he couldn’t change it. Not with the way Chan was gesturing his hands at you now, big and emotional, a bit aside from the main happening of the party, closer to the karaoke bar that was placed in the corner, and when your body language looked just as agitated, from Hyunjin’s ever same spot at the bar.

Now that you were standing further, the urge, the pulling of Hyunjin’s heart eased off, if only slightly. Enough to give him time to think, though, which came in handy. His mind was a mess, thoughts untamed and loud; for the nth time tonight he wished he was able to get some booze into his system. He was conflicted, if anything. Talking to you had been better than he could have imagined; it came without force, without worrying of next words that might screw up the mood, that might drive the conversation into awkwardness. You were sweet, interested, open. Made him feel comfortable, understood. Hoped he had the same effect on you. And then, in the same breath, he hoped he hadn’t. Hoped he had left you cold, if for the sake of your own happiness and anchor. Hyunjin’s heart hurt at the thought of being the one to cause trouble to your relationship; though not impressed with your man of choice, it was your choice after all – and if you were with him you must have a reason, must love him, or must have loved him in the past. The details didn’t quite matter, because being with him must have made you happy in one way or another, at some point in life – and to think that Hyunjin might have struck you in some way, might have ignited a fire in you was both an ego boost and as much a frustrating thought as they came. Because maybe he liked you enough already to be wanting to see you happy. And being the fuel to distress, to a heart wrenching break up wasn’t in Hyunjin’s favours.

Though maybe he made too much of himself. Maybe you had been only friendly, because he was too, because you had met shortly prior to this party. And maybe his wandering, yearning mind thought of himself to have had a bigger impact on you than you eventually concluded yourself – the possibility still stood that your intentions were only of friendly nature, and that Hyunjin was the epitome of embarrassment to think his sporadic attempts at flirting were possibly enough to break off any relationship. He was ludicrous, if anything.

“Fuck this, I’m leaving.”

Your presence was felt before it was seen; it would have made Hyunjin laugh if the scenery before him wasn’t as unnerved as it was. The itch he felt whenever in your presence settled itself in as a giveaway that you were near; it was strange, physically feeling the proximity of another person without quite a biological explanation for it, but a part of Hyunjin painted the thought into something utterly romantic.

You zoomed past Hyunjin, visibly shaken, emotional; the alcohol likely didn’t do you a favour tonight, either. You stood before him for a mere second, apologetic smile on your face which didn’t reach your eyes, and you kept walking, wordlessly, seemingly towards the door of the house. Hyunjin’s instincts were on high alert; you were intoxicated, if you had come with a car or not, you couldn’t possibly get behind the wheel now.

“Yeah leave then, I don’t fucking care.”

Chan walked back, into the depths of the party, back to concerned friends that all started patting his shoulder, leaning over his head to murmur reassurances. It was long after midnight, and your boyfriend wasn’t holding you back in getting home by yourself. Whether he was drunk himself or not; it baffled Hyunjin.

Said disbelief made his body react faster than his mind. Because surely, you might not be wanting to talk to him, seeing as he was the source of your argument, in one way or another; but your safety was the only subject on Hyunjin’s mind. If you wanted to see him or not, he couldn’t let you drive nor walk home by yourself. He could drive you home, call you a taxi; least he could do was stand beside you to know you reached home safe. No matter how much alcohol coursed your system, Hyunjin wouldn’t handle the matter mindlessly; in the heat of the moment and in anger you might end up making decisions that would go beyond the boundaries of your safety. Not only would Hyunjin never forgive himself for not having helped another; he would have surely beat up your asshole of a boyfriend for his carelessness.

Hyunjin hurried behind your ever dislodging figure, seeing how you made your way through the crowd, occasionally pushed by one dancing pair or two; all mumbling excuses before letting you continue towards the front door. Hyunjin was struggling himself, using elbows to shove people, not to hurt but to make way. He only called your name once you were out and in the cold – you walked without a jacket, bare arms and legs out in the chilly winter air, and Hyunjin only noticed then that his own jacket was still discarded in the entrance hall, somewhere inside the house; though he had little mind to pay to it now. You weren’t listening to his calls, continuing your way towards darkness, along suburban streets Hyunjin wasn’t sure you knew where they led to. It seemed like you were simply walking, past quiet houses, past dark houses; he could still hear the distant bass from somewhere behind him, a stark contrast to the rest of the neighbourhood. He fell into a light jog, to catch up behind you – it was a riddle to him how you were possibly walking faster than him, intoxicated and in heels. And with every step he made towards you his heart increased its pulling, its returning urge.

Eventually, he was close enough to reach your hand, an arm length away from you. You yet weren’t listening to the sound of your name; Hyunjin grew unsure if it was sheer anger and frustration or if he was the reason you didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to be, the mere thought of it set off an uneasy feeling in his gut; yet he couldn’t bear to think about the matter now. You weren’t thinking straight, clearly, and walking home at night wouldn’t do you any good. Hyunjin needed to take matters in his hands, as best as he could.

His hand stretched out, his fingers wrapped around your wrist; and he let go of you as fast as it was physically possible, not a second after. You turned around, finally acknowledging him, nothing if not shock drawing your features, mimicking Hyunjin’s own. For the feeling that stroke your bodies was one you couldn’t possibly explain with words of any language. Hyunjin has never been struck by lightning, but he’d argue that he felt the same sensation when your bodies touched, when you came skin to skin. Maybe more pleasant than electricity, but undoubtedly as powerful.

You only locked eyes, otherwise you were frozen. In place, in time. Not moving an inch of your body. If both of you had been unsure if what you had felt was inhumane; you hadn’t an ounce of doubt now. Because a feeling like this was entirely unnatural, wasn’t possible, not under biological manners. A tickling, an ich, a longing, a sensation of this gratitude wasn’t something that simply happened, that was simply felt like this; not between two bodies of two humans. A sensation that feared to knock out the breath of the other; though the word alone – sensation – would never be a big enough word, in the first place. No word would ever be for all words felt too banal for such volume of emotion and feel.

And if it wasn’t so forbidden, if the feeling, one that set off a tingling in the pit of your heart, one that ignited the embers that had only been shimmering in Hyunjin’s soul so far, if now his soul felt on fire, hot and burning, occupied by you solely – if it wasn’t so forbidden, he’d touch you again. Let shy fingertips dance against your shoulder, hold your hand and lay the palm atop his cheek. To feel if it was real at all, or if both of you had imagined something for the sake of self-sedation.But maybe you didn’t touch again, because both of you were scared. Scared that it was real; because it shouldn’t be.

@doll4hoon @iwannabangchan @hwangful @whatudowhennooneseesyou @inkybird @asters-abditory @seungminluv3 @skzddicted @marslovescats @berryblog @beautifullywrecked-aeris @moonlightcandy00 @hyynee @nightrayseishina @shrub31201 @sunny-nana @wednesdayswife @hyuneisbae @lovhyunj @ladytrbl @danyxthirstae01 @someoneinlovve @lili-kims-blog @rachagen @koorminii @good-soup3023 @shiru-chan @blahbluhblahbluh @laryisthinking @knisterlicht @studyingthemind @ppiri-bahng @septicrebel @channiesfavoritebrownie @midsoulz @foivetimesacharm @daceyena @yoonguurt @lovingeaglepeanut @hyuneyeon @therealhyunjingf @llunapastell

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[thecoramaria]

Hello!

Thank you so much for your blog, it's helped me a lot in writing my fics. It's definitely one of the best fic writing resources out there.

Onto my question: do you have any advice on how to write more quickly + not hate everything I write?

I do writing sprints a lot of the time but I can't help but feel as if my writing has gotten worse, and I feel guilty cutting down my work because I struggle to meet the daily word count goal I have for myself (600 words a day).

I'm about a quarter of the way through my longfic, and I feel like I've just gotten worse and worse at writing. I still love the story, but my writing feels clunkier and flows less smoothly.

Thank you!

I'm glad you're enjoying the channel! It's getting late where I am rn but sleepy Cora is gonna try to answer your ask anyway.

First of all, I'd just like to say that 600 words a day is a lot! (And so is being a whole quarter through your story btw.) While I have won NaNoWriMo a few times (a challenge that involves writing 50k+ words in a month) it's definitely not sustainable for me. Recently, I've struggled to just average more than 300 words in a day. Unfortunately I'm still coming to terms with my chronic pain and the limits it places on my ability to write fic. 600 words a day on average is just... not possible for me.

However, something I have been doing lately is to learn what my current capacity is, which seems to be 300 words a day on average. Note: on average! A lot of days, I don't even write that much, but some days I make up for it by writing a lot. As I say in this short, good writing goals are like persistence hunting. You might find yourself more motivated if you set monthly or quarterly word count goals rather than daily ones. Then it's not a big deal if you write very little or not at all on some days, since you'll still have plenty of time to catch up.

(Also if you tell a non-writer that you wrote like 300 words in a day, they'll probably be impressed!)

So TL;DR: focus on learning what your capacity is, and then set your writing goals around that. Also focus on writing goals that cover a longer period than a day to allow wiggle room for your erratic progress.

Now, onto writing sprints.

I have the flavour of autism that gives me a processing speed deficiency, meaning that it takes me longer to Do Things than the average (usually allistic) person. This means that I'm a slow drafter, but also a more methodical, intentional one.

This means that writing sprints aren't all that helpful to me. I need to ponder every sentence and detail as I write it, because I already figured out the plot points and character arcs in my outline. "Just get the story down in the first draft" doesn't work for me because I already did that. In a highly detailed outline.

So writing sprints may be what's causing you to feel like your writing is getting worse. There are two perspectives on this:

First drafts are supposed to be bad, and writing sprints are supposed to just help you get them done so you can fix them later. If you were previously a slow, methodical drafter, then switching to a strategy that focuses on quantity over quality is going to make for rougher drafts, and thus make you feel like your writing is worse. That's okay though, because you can edit a rough draft. You can't edit a blank page.

Writing sprints are sabotaging the quality of your drafts, so instead, you can ditch them and focus on the slow-and-steady drafting approach. It'll make for less editing time in the long run, and you'll feel more confident in your writing ability if you take a quality-first approach.

But wait! I have a secret third option! One that may not be to do with writing sprints at all!

Could it be that the reason why your writing feels worse... is that your current WIP happens to be challenging you in new ways?

The reason why I bring this up is because this is something I've encountered recently while editing my current WIP. For context, it's the second book in a trilogy, and the first book didn't require nearly as much structural editing and rewriting, so what's changed? Why are my drafts for Book 2 so much worse than Book 1?

It's because Book 1 relied on the Stations of Canon, (warning that this article mentions 'Harry Potter' if you'd rather avoid that) while Book 2 breaks away from them.

Basically, I built my fic around a plot formula from canon that was already proven to be effective, but now, I'm having to build the plot from near scratch. It's like learning to build a house where the scaffolding and measurements are all done for you vs having to do all that yourself. Of course my writing feels worse! I'm learning an entirely new storytelling skill. There's going to be plenty of mistakes along the way.

However, I'm making peace with my first drafts for Book 2 being "worse", because I'm learning just how crucial and transformative editing can be. Taking on these new challenges means that I'm noticing weak spots that were previously invisible to me, and what is a weak spot but opportunities to improve my craft?

I'm a big believer that if you feel like your writing is bad or getting worse, instead of stewing in the insecurity, you should instead investigate why. Why is your writing clunkier or flowing less smoothly than it used to? Is it that you use redundant phrasing and tautology? Do you take 20 words to say something that could just as easily be said in 10? Vague feelings about the quality of your writing is what allows insecurity to fester. Actually knowing what the issue is makes that much harder, because now you have a concrete problem to solve. I do have a partial draft for a video that goes into that more, so if anyone wants to see me complete and film it, let me know!

Thanks for the ask, Nonny, and I hope this helps~!