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sabrinasopposite · 6 months ago

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you'll always find a way back home ❀

clark kent x reader (miley stewart summer au)

❀ summary: being a cali-girl has its advantages—surrounded by beaches, parties, and sunshine. Y/N loves her life there, but she forgets that deep down, her roots lie in the opposite: Smallville. Her summer takes an unexpected turn when she returns to Smallville for her summer break and crosses paths once again with her childhood enemy, Clark Kent.

word count: 6,755

There’s always the best of both worlds—one filled with glamour and the other, well, the opposite of it. The same could be said for Malibu and Smallville. Malibu embodied glamorous salt air, the sound of waves, and the endless rush of life. Smallville, on the other hand, was different: cows, meadows, and pure silence—the opposite sides of existence.

For Y/N, the feeling of living in two different worlds wasn’t a big deal. She had left one world behind at the age of seven, spending the next ten years in Malibu. Salt air, endless beaches, and the golden glow of the sun—it was a life she had carved out for herself, a world she had seamlessly become part of. The rush of city life, the hum of vibrant streets, and the pulse of constant motion nourished her soul in ways she could never have imagined as a seven-year-old. The sprawling metropolis of Malibu felt like a living, thriving entity at the edge of the world.

Before Malibu, there was only Smallville. The life she had known as a child was painted in shades of green—vast, open fields stretching endlessly in every direction. The land was quiet, so silent it could almost swallow her whole. Days were spent wandering dusty roads on horseback, the sun scorching the back of her neck, while the sound of crickets and rustling corn served as her only soundtrack. It was a life where the horizon never seemed to change, and the sense of being trapped within the narrow confines of the small town’s heartbeat was ever-present. A world of barns, hand-me-down denim, and the thick scent of earth—the very soil seemed to anchor her in place, a constant reminder of who she once was.

Then came the transformation. She shed the weight of Smallville like an old, weathered coat and replaced it with the sleek, gleaming allure of Malibu. Gone were the cowboy boots—now she walked in strappy sandals. The scent of hay gave way to the salty tang of the ocean breeze. Her hands, once calloused from farmwork, now held delicate silk fabrics and the soft sheen of designer handbags. Dusty roads became wide, pristine boulevards, and the simple country air was replaced by the intoxicating aroma of city life.

And she liked it.

Hell, she loved it.

She loved being a city girl, a Cali girl.

She had long forgotten the quiet winds that swept through Smallville’s open fields, the scent of grass and earth underfoot, and the cool embrace of the night sky.

Yet, as summer break loomed, she envisioned herself spending it with friends at the beach or going to parties. But plans took an unexpected twist, like a tornado without warning. Her father, Robbie, appeared with his ever-stubborn insistence. He informed Y/N and her brother, Jackson, that they were heading back to Smallville for a celebration—Martha Kent’s birthday.

Martha, Robbie’s childhood friend and the ever-kind, patient woman, had invited them to join the Kents for the occasion. Y/N wasn’t thrilled. Her original summer plans had promised excitement, filled with the laughter of friends and the sparkle of club lights—the kind of plans Malibu always encouraged. Smallville, though? It felt like a relic of the past, a place where time stood still.

“I don’t want to go,” Y/N protested, her voice sharp with frustration as she flopped back onto the couch. “I had plans. I was going to hang out with my friends, hit the clubs, you know, actually have fun.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow. “This is important, Y/N. You haven’t seen Martha in years. She’s been asking about you. You’re going, and that’s final.”

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re really going to make me spend my break in a field with cows and tractors?”

Her brother, Jackson—the ever-peacemaker and, somehow, the most annoying brother—glanced over with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fun. Like old times. You can hang out with me, catch up with everyone, and maybe the fresh air will do you some good.”

Y/N groaned, slumping into the cushions. “I don’t need fresh air. I need a beach, not cornfields.”

But her father wasn’t listening to her complaints. “Pack your bags. We’re leaving in an hour.”

The truck rumbled along the familiar winding roads of Smallville, the scent of dust and fresh air filling the cab. Y/N leaned against the window, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the condensation. Outside, fields stretched endlessly in all directions, dotted with grazing cows and the occasional weathered barn. The sight should have been nostalgic, but to Y/N, it only deepened her annoyance.

It had been years since she’d been here, yet the quiet of the countryside felt almost suffocating. The stillness pressed against her like a heavy blanket, the kind that made it hard to breathe. Smallville seemed frozen in time—its unchanging landscapes a stark contrast to the vibrant motion of Malibu.

She glanced over at Jackson, who was scrolling through his phone in the passenger seat, annoyingly unbothered by their sudden detour into the past. Robbie sat behind the wheel, humming along to a country station on the radio, clearly in his element. The whole scene made Y/N’s skin itch.

She sighed, the sound loud enough to get Jackson’s attention. He smirked without looking up from his phone. “You okay there, city girl?”

“Fine,” Y/N muttered, shifting in her seat. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how irritated she was. But in truth, she wasn’t fine. The weight of Smallville’s simplicity—the fields, the dirt roads, the lack of anything remotely exciting—was already settling over her like a cloud.

The truck slowed as they passed the familiar white sign welcoming them to Smallville. Y/N’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. The memories she’d worked so hard to bury began clawing their way back to the surface: the laughter of kids on the school playground, the smell of hay bales during harvest, the quiet nights spent staring at the stars because there was nothing else to do.

She shifted her gaze back to the window, trying to drown out the flood of emotions with the rhythmic crunch of the tires on the gravel road. “Why couldn’t we just send a card?” she grumbled under her breath, earning a chuckle from Robbie.

“It won’t kill you to be here for a few days,” her father said, his tone equal parts teasing and firm. “Besides, Martha’s been looking forward to seeing you. She’s practically family, Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. That was the problem. Smallville wasn’t just a place she’d left behind—it was a version of herself she’d buried, a girl she didn’t want to be anymore. Being back here felt like opening a door she’d slammed shut years ago, and she wasn’t ready to step through it.

As the truck turned down a familiar dirt road, the Kent farmhouse came into view. It looked exactly as she remembered—whitewashed walls, a wide wraparound porch, and the iconic red barn standing proud against the horizon. Y/N could already picture Martha’s warm smile and open arms, the way she’d welcome them with fresh pie and a hug that felt like it could squeeze the air out of your lungs.

Her father parked the truck and hopped out, stretching with a contented sigh. “We’re here,” he announced cheerfully.

Y/N stayed put, gripping the door handle but not opening it. The idea of stepping out and being enveloped in the reality of Smallville made her stomach churn. She wasn’t ready to see the barn, the fields, or the people who would ask her questions she didn’t want to answer. She wasn’t ready to feel like the little girl who used to belong here.

“Y/N?” Jackson’s voice broke through her thoughts. He was standing outside now, leaning against the truck with a knowing look on his face. “You coming, or are you planning to live in the cab?”

With a heavy sigh, Y/N pushed the door open and slid out. The warm summer air wrapped around her like a blanket, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was as if Smallville itself was welcoming her home.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and trudged toward the house, muttering under her breath, “This is going to be the longest summer of my life.”

The Kent farmhouse was just as Y/N remembered it, a picture-perfect postcard of rural life. The white picket fence framed the yard, the flowerbeds bursting with color, and the iconic red barn standing tall against the clear blue sky. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of warmth at the sight of it all.

Martha Kent stood on the porch, her apron dusted with flour, waving enthusiastically as the truck pulled to a stop. Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little. Martha’s energy was infectious, and her kind heart had always been a constant source of comfort during Y/N’s early years in Smallville.

“Y/N! Jackson! Oh, it’s so good to see you both!” Martha exclaimed, rushing forward with open arms. Robbie got out of the truck first, grinning as Martha pulled him into a quick hug before moving on to Y/N and Jackson.

Y/N braced herself for the inevitable bone-crushing hug, but when Martha wrapped her arms around her, it wasn’t suffocating—it was warm and reassuring, like stepping into the sunlight after a cloudy day. “Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” Martha said, pulling back to get a good look at her.

“Thanks, Martha,” Y/N said, her voice softening in spite of her earlier annoyance. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And Jackson, my goodness, you’ve shot up like a weed!” Martha added, giving him a playful nudge.

Jackson grinned, always happy to be the center of attention. “It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Kent.”

“Now, none of this ‘Mrs. Kent’ business. You know you can call me Martha,” she said, ushering them toward the porch.

The house smelled like freshly baked apple pie, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg lingering in the air. Y/N couldn’t deny that it felt nice—familiar, even. Martha’s home had always been a safe haven, a place filled with warmth and kindness.

As they settled into the living room, Martha brought out a tray of lemonade and cookies, chatting animatedly with Robbie about old times. Jackson joined in, sharing stories of their life in Malibu. Y/N stayed mostly quiet, sipping her lemonade and letting the conversation flow around her. She liked Martha, but being back in Smallville was like stepping into a pair of old shoes that didn’t quite fit anymore.

“Clark’s not here, by the way,” Martha said suddenly, glancing at Y/N with a knowing smile. “He’s somewhere.”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around her glass. Of course, Clark Kent would come up eventually. He was practically Smallville royalty, and Martha couldn’t help but dote on her son.

“That’s… fine,” Y/N said quickly, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Clark Kent was the most annoying boy next door, y/n has ever known. He was always teasing her about her farming skills, or pulled pranks with Jackson on her. Y/N always teased Clark that he couldn’t speak properly to girls, or that he looks like a grandpa. It was always forth and back.

Martha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I seem to remember the two of you didn’t get along very well as kids.”

Jackson snorted. “Didn’t get along? That’s putting it mildly. Clark was always teasing her—pushing her to the hay, hiding her toys, calling her ‘city slicker’ even though she wasn’t from the city back then.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, annoyance was clear on her face. “Yeah, well, he was a terror. I’m surprised he didn’t get himself kicked out of kindergarten.”

Martha laughed, clearly amused. “Oh, he’s grown out of that phase, I promise. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Y/N highly doubted that. The last time she’d seen Clark Kent, they’d been seven years old, and he’d shoved a frog into her lunchbox, resulting in her shrieking so loudly the teacher had to call the principal and Y/N pushed him later as revenge to a lake. The memory still made her cringe.

“Well, let’s hope he’s matured,” Y/N said in a sarcastically tone, setting her glass down on the coffee table.

Martha patted her hand gently. “I’m sure you’ll both get along better now. People change, Y/N.”

“Sure they do,” Y/N replied, though she wasn’t convinced. If Clark Kent was still the same smug, teasing boy she remembered, this summer was about to become a whole lot more complicated.

After the small talk in the living room had run its course, Y/N found herself wandering toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling fields behind the Kent house. Her eyes drifted to the paddock near the barn, and her breath caught when she spotted a familiar figure—Blue Jeans, her old horse.

The years hadn’t dulled his striking appearance. His glossy black coat gleamed in the sunlight, his white star-shaped marking standing out proudly on his forehead. Her heart squeezed as memories of riding him across the fields rushed back—those carefree days when the world felt vast and full of possibilities.

“He’s still here,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Martha, who had been tidying up, looked over and smiled warmly. “Of course, he is. Robbie couldn’t bear to part with him after you guys left. He’s been here ever since.”

Y/N couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips. Blue Jeans had been her constant companion during her Smallville years, a source of comfort when the quiet got too loud. She suddenly felt a tug of nostalgia and longing that she hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m going to go see him,” she said abruptly, grabbing her phone and heading toward the door.

The heat of the sun kissed her skin as she walked across the yard, the scents of hay and earth growing stronger with every step. When she reached the paddock, Blue Jeans was grazing lazily near the fence, his tail swishing against the flies.

“Hey there, boy,” Y/N called softly, leaning against the wooden fence. Her voice wavered slightly, a mix of excitement and nervousness. “It’s me, Blue Jeans. Remember me?”

The horse’s ears twitched, and he lifted his head to look at her. His dark eyes, once so full of trust and familiarity, now stared at her with a distant curiosity. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment.

“It’s been a while, huh?” she said, stepping closer. She reached out a hand, hoping he’d recognize her scent or the sound of her voice. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

Blue Jeans regarded her for a moment longer before snorting and turning his head away, clearly uninterested.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Y/N murmured, slipping through the fence and into the paddock. She approached slowly, her hand outstretched, but as soon as she got close, Blue Jeans startled. His ears pinned back, and before she could react, he bolted across the paddock, his hooves kicking up clouds of dust.

“Blue Jeans, wait!” Y/N called, her heart sinking as she watched him gallop toward the far side of the field.

She stood there for a moment, the weight of his reaction pressing down on her. He didn’t remember her. The bond they’d shared—the one she’d thought would last forever—was gone.

Frustration welled up as she stopped near the edge of the pasture, catching her breath. She hadn’t expected this—her own horse, the one she’d ridden through countless childhood summers, didn’t even know her anymore.

Movement on the far side of the field caught her eye. A rider was approaching swiftly on a sleek black horse, cutting across the open space with practiced ease. They seemed to have noticed Blue Jeans’ runaway gallop and were moving to intercept him.

Y/N squinted, trying to make out the rider. The sunlight glinted off the black horse’s glossy coat as the figure leaned low in the saddle, guiding the animal with effortless precision.

The rider expertly maneuvered their horse, heading off Blue Jeans before he could get any farther. With a firm but gentle pull of the reins, they brought him to a halt. The black horse stood steady, calm in its dominance, while Blue Jeans pawed at the ground, uncertain but no longer running.

Y/N stood frozen, watching the rider stroke Blue Jeans’ neck and murmur something she couldn’t hear. She felt a pang of gratitude mixed with curiosity.

As the rider turned and began leading the two horses back toward the barn, Y/N finally got a better look. The tall figure was dressed in a simple flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. The confidence in his movements stirred something vaguely familiar in her memory, but she couldn’t place it right away.

When the rider dismounted, handing Blue Jeans’ reins to her, Y/N finally got a clear look at his face—and her breath caught.

Clark Kent.

Of course, that was him.

He looked different—taller, broader, more confident—but the smug little smirk on his face as he approached was unmistakable.

“Lost something?” he called out, his voice carrying across the field.

Y/N crossed her arms, her jaw tightening as Clark brought both horses to a stop in front of her. Blue Jeans looked calm now, his ears twitching as Clark dismounted and handed her the reins.

“Your horse didn’t seem too thrilled to see you,” Clark said, his tone light but with that teasing edge she remembered all too well.

Y/N snatched the reins from his hand, glaring at him. “He just didn’t recognize me. It’s been a while.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, if that’s what you want to tell yourself.”

She huffed, focusing on stroking Blue Jeans’ neck instead of responding. Clark’s black horse snorted behind him, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how well-trained and strong the animal looked.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide her irritation.

Clark shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I could ask you the same, city girl. Perhaps I was riding but I didn’t think I’d end up saving your horse in the process and I am still waiting for a ,thank you,” His tone sarcastically as ever.

“Thanks,” she muttered begrudgingly, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone annoyingly cheerful.

As Clark mounted his horse again, he glanced back at her with a grin that made her blood boil. “Good to see you again, city girl. Try not to lose him next time.”

With that, he urged his horse into a trot and rode off, leaving Y/N standing there with Blue Jeans and a swirl of emotions she didn’t want to unpack.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath, tugging lightly on Blue Jeans’ reins. “Welcome back to Smallville.”

Y/N walked slowly back toward the barn, Blue Jeans obediently following behind her, though he was still skittish from the brief escape. Her thoughts were racing, the familiar, maddening presence of Clark Kent bringing all kinds of feelings she’d hoped were buried. She couldn’t believe it—after all these years, he was still the same teasing, infuriating kid she remembered. Only now, he was taller, more confident, and somehow, even more irritating.

As she reached the barn, she heard the sound of hooves approaching again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was Clark, riding his horse back toward her.

He pulled the reins as he stopped a few feet away, his eyes narrowing with that mischievous glint she remembered so well.

“So, Malibu, huh?” he said, his tone light and teasing, as if he was trying to provoke her. “I actually didn’t even recognize you earlier. Thought you were some California tourist passing through.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. “You’re not the first person to make that mistake,” she muttered, stroking Blue Jeans’ neck a little more forcefully than necessary.

Clark chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “No kidding. You look nothing like the girl I used to torment.” His gaze shifted up and down, inspecting her with an expression that felt far too knowing. “You’ve definitely changed. I barely recognized you without the pigtails and the dirt on your face.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress a huff of frustration. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve been really paying attention,” she shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Why would I want to look like that annoying little girl you used to pick on?”

Clark grinned, clearly enjoying every second of this. “You know, I never understood why you were so touchy about me teasing you. It was all in good fun. You were, what, seven? Not like you’d remember any of it now.” His eyes twinkled as if he was savoring the memory of their childhood rivalry.

“Trust me,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp, “I remember plenty. And just because I don’t look like that girl anymore doesn’t mean I’m not still the same person.”

Clark leaned back slightly in the saddle, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right. Of course. But it’s hard to see past the whole… Malibu vibe. You’ve got the whole ‘I’m way too cool for Smallville’ thing going on.” His grin widened, and Y/N couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or genuinely poking at something he knew would get under her skin.

Y/N glanced at him, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not too cool for Smallville,” she said slowly, “but maybe it’s you who can’t see past the small-town life. Maybe it’s you who hasn’t changed.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by her comment. “I changed. I’m just not *bragging* about it like you are.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the way she stood in front of him, her posture more confident, her clothes undoubtedly a far cry from the ones she’d worn all those years ago. “I mean, Malibu does wonders for a person.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but refused to back down. “I’m not bragging. And for the record, there’s more to me than whatever you think you see from your small-town perspective.” She met his gaze, refusing to let him get the best of her. “You know, I didn’t ask for this visit. I had better plans than standing here in the dust, talking to the same person who made my life miserable when we were kids.”

Clark leaned forward in the saddle, his expression softening slightly. “Hey, I’m just messing with you. I didn’t mean anything by it. But seriously, Malibu… It must be a whole different world from here, huh?” His tone was more genuine now, though still laced with that teasing undercurrent. “I bet it’s *pretty* hard to leave it all behind.”

Y/N hesitated. For a moment, the teasing and the rivalry faded, and she could hear the underlying curiosity in his voice. “Yeah,” she admitted, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “It’s... different. It’s all the things people think it is—beaches, sun, parties. But it’s also lonely. Harder than people realize.”

Clark’s smile faded, and he gave a small nod, as if he understood more than he was letting on. “I get it. Doesn’t matter how shiny things are. Not every place feels like home.”

Y/N looked at him, surprised by the change in tone. For a moment, it felt like they weren’t just two childhood enemies standing in the middle of a field—they were two people who, in their own ways, were just trying to make sense of their worlds.

But before she could say anything more, Clark seemed to snap back to his usual self. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your horse,” he said with a wink. “Just don’t lose him again, okay? I don’t want to have to rescue you next time.”

Y/N scowled. “You’re lucky I’m not punching you right now,” she shot back, but even as she said it, there was an undeniable hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Clark laughed, a light, carefree sound that made Y/N realize how little she actually knew about the boy who had teased her for so long. “I’ll be around, city girl. Don’t go getting too comfortable.”

Y/N watched him go, the sting of their old rivalry still there but somehow not as sharp. Maybe Smallville wasn’t as small as she remembered after all.

Over the next few days, Y/N found herself spending more time with Clark than she’d expected. Every time she tried to avoid him, he seemed to find a way to show up, like some kind of cosmic joke. And despite her best efforts to maintain her distance, she couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward him. It was the kind of pull that only small towns seemed to foster—familiar, unspoken, and inescapable.

It started innocently enough. Martha had insisted that they all help with the chores around the farm, and, of course, Clark had been the first to show up, grinning like a cat that had gotten the cream.

“Ready to get your hands dirty, city girl?” he’d teased, standing at the entrance of the barn with his sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged there more than anyone else.

Y/N shot him a glare, arms crossed. “I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of doing chores, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, clearly not convinced. “I doubt you’ve done a real day’s work in your life,” he shot back, leaning against a barrel of hay. “I mean, Malibu’s great and all, but I don’t think they teach you how to muck out a stall out there.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’d be surprised what I can handle.”

And handle it, she did. After a little grumbling, they worked side by side, shoveling hay, cleaning out the barn, and feeding the animals. At first, it was awkward—Y/N wasn’t used to the rhythm of farm life anymore, and Clark didn’t hesitate to point out every little mistake she made.

“Oh, you missed a spot,” he’d tease, always with that smirk of his, as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, city girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the truth was, she liked the banter. It reminded her of her childhood, when everything was simpler, when everything had felt like a game.

“Look, if you think I can’t do this, just wait until I show you how it’s done,” she said, determined to prove him wrong.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? I’m waiting.”

And then, to his surprise, Y/N had grabbed the pitchfork and shoveled with more precision than he had expected. She might not have grown up with the same skills as him, but she knew how to get things done.

When they finally took a break, Clark leaned against the barn wall, wiping his forehead. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You’re not as bad as I thought. Maybe Malibu’s *not* all you are.”

Y/N smirked, a spark of competition in her eyes. “Told you so.”

Their time together continued like that—moments of teasing and lighthearted jabs followed by quiet, almost comfortable silences. They’d ride together out in the fields, their horses’ hooves beating a steady rhythm on the dirt. Clark would always make sure to *just barely* stay ahead of her, giving her a playful wink when she caught up.

“You know, I’ve always been better at this than you,” he would say, his voice a mix of challenge and amusement. “You used to be so slow. Guess Malibu's not doing much for your speed.”

Y/N would roll her eyes. “You really need to stop talking about the past, Kent. I’m faster now. Catch me if you can.”

And then she’d race ahead, her heart pounding in the excitement of the chase. Clark would grin and follow, effortlessly keeping pace with her, never really pushing to overtake her. They were both competitive, in their own ways, but Clark’s subtle teasing always managed to keep her on her toes.

One afternoon, after a long ride, they returned to the barn, both a little winded and flushed from the exertion. Clark tied the horses up, and when he turned to Y/N, he caught her looking at him for a moment longer than she intended.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he noticed the lingering look.

“Nothing,” Y/N replied quickly, her heart unexpectedly fluttering. “I was just thinking how *different* it is being here. It feels… good, I guess. Like it fits.”

Clark didn’t miss the tone in her voice. “Glad to hear it,” he said quietly, his smile softer now, like he wasn’t just teasing her for once. “You know, Smallville has a way of doing that to people. It’s like it gets under your skin.”

Y/N swallowed, feeling her heartbeat quicken. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

And then, almost as if to remind her that some things never really changed, Clark stepped closer, leaning in just a bit too close for comfort. “I’m still way better at riding than you, though,” he said, his voice low with that playful challenge. “I mean, you did need me to catch your horse earlier.”

Y/N huffed, trying to stay unaffected by the closeness. “I don’t remember asking for your help.”

He flashed a grin, his eyes lingering on her face for just a beat too long. “I’ll remind you of that next time I rescue you from your own horse again.”

The air between them shifted, a silent tension hanging in the barn as they stood in the afterglow of their ride, the sound of the horses settling in the background. Y/N felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but before she could respond, Clark seemed to snap back into his usual playful demeanor.

“Well, I’d better go help my mom with dinner,” he said, a little too casually. “You know, so you don’t think I’m just here to torment you all day.”

“Too late for that,” she retorted, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

And as Clark walked away, Y/N found herself watching him longer than she probably should have. It wasn’t just the way he’d changed physically—stronger, taller, more confident. It was the way he seemed to settle back into Smallville with a comfort that felt almost... easy. The way they both fell back into their old rhythm of teasing and rivalry, like time had stood still, despite everything.

But somewhere beneath the playful jabs and the teasing grins, Y/N couldn’t ignore the fact that maybe—just maybe—Clark Kent had grown up in ways she hadn’t expected. And that left her wondering if there was more to the new Clark than the boy who used to torment her so many years ago.

The next day, after a hearty breakfast at the Kent farm, Clark suggested they go on a ride to a place he thought she might like—a small waterfall hidden away just on the outskirts of town. He’d mentioned it casually, like it was no big deal, but Y/N could tell there was something about this spot that meant more to him than he was letting on.

They saddled their horses and set off, the cool morning air whipping past them as they rode side by side through the fields. The peaceful rhythm of the horses' galloping hooves against the dirt seemed to melt away all the tension that had lingered between them the past few days. It was easy, comfortable, in a way Y/N hadn’t expected. There was something about being on horseback, moving through the wide-open space, that made her feel connected to this place again—like she was finding pieces of herself she had forgotten.

Clark led her down a narrow path that wound through trees, and soon the sound of rushing water filled the air. They emerged from the trees and reached the small clearing. There, nestled between moss-covered rocks, was a hidden waterfall, cascading down into a crystal-clear pool below. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dancing shadows on the water's surface. It was quieter here, the only sound the rush of water and the occasional birdcall.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, momentarily stunned by the beauty of it. “This is... amazing. I never thought a place like this would be hiding right here.”

Clark smiled, clearly proud of the spot. “Told you. It’s one of my favorite places. Not many people know about it.”

He dismounted, tying the horses to a nearby tree, and then looked over at Y/N. “You should come down to the water. It’s the best part.”

Y/N hesitated for just a second, eyeing the small, clear pool at the base of the waterfall. “I don’t know, Clark. It looks kind of... cold.”

Clark grinned. “It’s refreshing. Trust me, you’ll love it. Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you could use a little adventure. Also don’t you have beaches in Malibu?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her own grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, don’t even start with that again.”

But before she could protest any further, Clark was already walking toward the water’s edge, kicking off his boots and rolling up his sleeves. Without warning, he jumped into the sea with a splash, sending water flying in every direction. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him, drenched but clearly enjoying himself.

Clark poked his head out from the water, eyes sparkling. “Come on, it’s not so bad!”

Y/N shook her head, still laughing at the sight of him. “You’re crazy,” she called, but even as she said it, she found herself grinning. There was something about seeing him so carefree, so unguarded, that made her feel... lighter, like the tension between them from their childhood had completely evaporated.

After a beat, she hesitated. She hadn’t planned on going into the water, but part of her felt like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it was time to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N slowly walked toward the water, kicking off her own boots and rolling up her sleeves. She dipped a toe in, testing the water, and winced at the coolness.

“See? Not that bad,” Clark teased, grinning like a boy who had just won a victory.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she muttered, but before she could fully make up her mind, Clark swam closer to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Race you to the waterfall,” he said, his voice light with playful challenge.

Without waiting for a response, he splashed through the water, making his way toward the base of the waterfall.

Y/N’s competitive spirit flared up instantly. “You’re on!” she shouted, charging after him.

The water was cold, but the rush of the challenge and the sight of Clark splashing ahead of her made her forget the chill. She pushed forward, splashing water everywhere, and as she caught up to him, she could hear him laughing. The sound was carefree, filled with the kind of joy that she hadn’t heard from him in years. It made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t quite prepared for.

Clark reached the waterfall first, turning back to look at her. “I knew you were slow.”

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Not funny.”

But before she could protest further, Clark lunged toward her and, with a quick move, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the deeper part of the sea. Y/N yelped in surprise, but her protest was cut short as she found herself falling into the cool water, completely submerged for a moment.

She came up sputtering, her hair plastered to her face. “You jerk!”

Clark was already laughing, his eyes full of playful amusement. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased. “You’ve got to admit, it’s fun.”

Y/N wiped the water from her face, but as she looked up at him, something shifted between them. The teasing glint in Clark’s eyes softened for a moment, and for a beat, there was something in his gaze that made her heart skip.

He reached out, pushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin for just a second longer than necessary. “You know, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice quieter now, the teasing gone, replaced by something more genuine.

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. “Missed what?”

He smiled softly, his eyes locking with hers. “To tease you the whole time?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a chuckle, shaking her head. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Clark chuckled, tilting his head as he moved a bit closer. “What exactly do you want me to say, then?”

Y/N found herself looking into his eyes for a moment longer than usual, her breath catching. There was something about his tone, something flirtatious but also not, and it made her feel... strangely open to the moment.

She let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Like that you missed me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clark’s gaze softened, a hint of something more real flashing across his expression. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. The teasing was gone, replaced by an unspoken understanding, something deeper than the playful back-and-forth that had defined their relationship for so long.

Clark hesitated for just a heartbeat, before his smile widened. “I think I can say that,” he said, his voice gentle, but there was still that glimmer of playfulness there. “I missed you, Y/N. Even if you were always a little... annoying.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a mix of warmth and something else she couldn't quite place. She tilted her head, her voice playful but soft. “You’re still teasing me.”

Clark’s expression shifted, and for the first time since they hang out the whole time, he seemed to be a little more serious. “Maybe I am, but it’s because I... I don’t know, I like seeing you smile. You don’t even know how much I missed you.”

Y/N’s breath caught again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for something genuine from him, something that didn’t involve teasing or childish rivalries.

She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm, before letting them fall back to her side. “Well,” she said, her voice softening, “I missed you too, Clark. In my own way.”

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, as if letting the weight of her words sink in. Then, without warning, he gave her a crooked grin, his tone returning to that teasing edge she was so familiar with. “So, does that mean you’ll forgive me for all the cowboy or malibu jokes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but this time, the smile on her lips was different—gentler, warmer. “Maybe. But only if you promise not to throw me into the water again.”

Clark laughed, the sound light and easy. “Deal. But just so you know, it was totally worth it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. The moment had shifted from playful banter to something much more. Something real.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if she wanted to let go of this new side of Clark—this side that made her feel seen, not just as the girl from Malibu, but as someone who could still be a part of Smallville, in her own way.

Maybe it was true, that you’ll always find a way back home.

❀taglist: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @angelsgalore @tinainaction

#clark kent x reader #clark kent smallville x reader #smallville x reader #clark kent fics #tom welling #clark kent smallville #smallvilleclark #tom welling x reader #tom welling clark kent #miley stewart summer #miley stewart summer au #smallville #clark kent

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writingslob · 1 month ago

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SPIN-OFF: Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [BIRTHDAY EDITION!]

[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING]

[The actual series can be found here!]

Author's note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIN LING! This is written as a crack spin-off of my main series, so this is not canonical! I hope you enjoy!

Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea (And for reminding me today is Lin Ling's birthday)

Nice was stressed.

E-Soul was running around at top speed, setting decorations, but they were all crooked, so Nice had to follow behind him and fix them. Even though that wasn’t his job. No, his job was to make sure everything was on schedule, but nothing was! It has been 50 minutes since X and Ahu were sent to go pick up the cake (From some bakery he doesn’t know, mind you). The only reason he allowed it was because X promised him they sold the best cake, and Lin Ling deserved the best. But! It has been 50 minutes! Where the hell are they!? (X can fucking teleport!)

Behind him, as he straightened another streamer, he could hear Lucky Cyan arguing over the phone, telling the backup singers and dancers if they didn’t get over to the right location in time, she would personally make sure they were blacklisted from the industries forever. Loli, on the other hand, hasn’t even arrived yet, even though she was supposed to help Lucky Cyan and her team set up the stage for Lin Ling’s birthday concert. (There’s a text in the ‘Number 1. Lin Ling fan group’ which states that she would be late as she’s still putting the finishing touches on his gift. No one has seen it.)

Dragon Boy and Ghostblade were busting in the kitchen, and he could hear the arguments and swearing from where he was standing.

“You shouldn’t have put in that much butter. It’s not healthy for Lin Ling.” Dragon boy snaps back, “IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY, OLD MAN!” “So? I don’t want him to be as unhealthy as you.” Ghostblade calmly replies, continuing his chopping. “HUH!? WANT TO SAY THAT TO MY FACE, GRANDPA!?”

Originally, they planned to hire the best catering company. But, when Lin Ling shyly told them that he preferred food made by his friends. Well, how could they deny him that? (The catering company was not happy with the late cancellation, but Queen and Ghostblade took care of it.) Speaking of Queen, he looked over to what she was doing, only to drop the banner he was fixing because—

“WHY IS THERE A ZOO IN HERE!?” The Johnnies looked over to him and glared at him witherly. The animals behind him give him the same look. “Because Lin Ling said he always wanted to visit a petting zoo, so this is our gift.” A faux look of surprise overcame his face as he looked at Nice. “Oh! Wait, no, you weren’t there when Lin Ling said that on our date. What. A. Shame.” Nice felt a blood vessel burst at Johnnie’s smug look. Before he could kill him, Queen intervened.

“That’s Enough from the both of you. Lin Ling is set to come back any minute now. Get in your places.” She orders through gritted teeth. It was loud enough that everyone heard, and immediately complaints were raised.

“I HAVEN’T FINISHED FIXING EVERYTHING!”

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HIDE ALL THESE ANIMALS!?”

“...”

“THE STAFF WON’T COME IN TIME!”

“WE STILL HAVE 5 DISHES THAT NEED MORE TIME TO COOK.”

“SHUT UP!” Queen’s power takes effect, and Nice can feel his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and his throat close up. He settles on glaring at her instead. She meets his and everyone’s glare head-on. “I don’t care about whether you finished your part or not. Lin Ling is coming. GET. IN. YOUR. PLACES.” His finger itches as his brain reminds him how many imperfections there still are (Lin Ling only deserves the best, after all.) But he backs down and flies over to his hiding spot beside the elevator. Nice can see everyone scatter, and the lights are turned off; the apartment is now pitch black. (Loli had designed automated curtains after Lin Ling muttered how he couldn’t sleep well because of the city lights.)

Waiting in the dark, Nice can only hear the sound of faint shuffling and soft breaths as they wait. Soon, the sound of the elevator rising and the glowing number up top illuminating what floor the elevator’s on—what floor Lin Ling is on.

Nice’s hand spasms. Just one more floor. Then Lin Ling can be in his arms once more. (He already misses him.)

The elevator door opens.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIN LING!!!”

X blinks back at them, a cake box sitting innocently in his hands. Ahu at his feet. They stood in silence before Dragon Boy groaned. “OH COME ON! WHERE THE FUCK IS LIN LING!?” That shout broke everyone out of the silence, and soon, everyone else was groaning and bemoaning the fact that Lin Ling wasn’t here. X blinked again. “Don’t worry, he’s coming soon. Very soon.” Taking a look around the place, the smile on his face turned into a slight grimace. “This looks…nice.” X turns to Nice. “No pun intended.” Nice, waves him off. “Whatever, just hand me the cake.”

X looks confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to greet Lin Ling with it.” Obviously.

Before X can respond, Lucky Cyan jogs over. “Now hold on, why do you get to be the one to greet Lin Ling first with the cake?” Nice scoffs, “Because I’m his favorite, obviously. Now give it.” Before Nice can take it out of X's hands, X raises it above his head. His smile was now one of amusement. “His favorite? And here I thought I was number 1.”

Nice opens his mouth to retort (X? The favorite? Please, Nice has been here the longest.) When the cake box is ripped out of X’s hand, Dragon Boy crackles manically. “Ha! And why would he want to hang out with you old fucks?” His grins widens “You know what? I’ll take this cake and Lin Ling, and we’ll celebrate his birthday. Privately.” Everyone saw red, and what transpired was a battle to the death. Punches were thrown along with all manner of weapons as they ducked out who could hold the cake.

They were so engrossed in their battle, in fact, that they didn’t hear the opening of elevator doors or the sound of footsteps approaching the battlefield before—

“What are you guys doing?”

Instantly, a feeling of calm washes over him as Lin Ling draws closer. However, the calm is instantly replaced with panic as he sees E-Soul kick the cake. It soars above them all as it flies directly over to Lin Ling. Nice tries to push him out of the way, and X has his hands ready to snap, but it’s too late as—

SPLAT

They all watch in horror as chunks of cake and frosting drip down Lin Ling’s head, splattering onto the ground below. The room is deafeningly quiet, and even with Lin Ling in arm’s reach, Nice can feel his heartbeat reach a crescendo. (Because Lin Ling is going to hate him because of this. This was supposed to be the perfect day—everything was supposed to be perfect. How did he fuck up this badly? Oh god, Lin Ling hasn’t moved. He’s going to hate it. What can he do? What can he do? WHAT CAN HE DO? Clean up. He can clean Lin Ling up and then beg for his forgiveness. Right, he can do that. Oh god, why won’t Lin Ling say anything—?)

Lin Ling laughs.

Everyone freezes.

Ling Ling clutched his stomach and stumbled as he laughed. The laugh was loud, bright, and ugly, and Nice fell in love once more. It lasted for a few minutes, and everyone stared transfixed as Lin Ling's laugh turned into a giggle. His eyes were bright with joy. “Is…is this supposed to be my birthday party?” Someone nodded behind Nice. Lin Ling’s smile grew even bigger. “Then this is the best birthday party I have ever had!” His eyes soften. “Thank you.”

The party went smoothly after that.

(“Hi guys! Sorry, Lin Ling, for being late—huh!? You already started without me!?”)

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verus-veritas · 1 month ago

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Claiming Privileges - Lachlan

(AI Generated - A different perspective on last week's story. I recommend reading the first one HERE to truly understand what's going on!)

I’ve always been a nobody, a shadow in the world of wealth, a gay middle-aged man who’s toiled for decades as a servant to Jaxon and his insufferable family. Their sprawling beachfront mansion, all glass and marble, has been my prison, its opulence a daily reminder of my place. Yet my eyes always lingered on Jaxon, his chiseled beauty a torment I both craved and despised. His lean, muscular frame, those sculpted abs glistening under the sun, stirred a hunger I buried deep, while his narcissistic cruelty fueled my hate. I kept my mask of obedience flawless, never letting him see the storm inside me.

Until one humid afternoon, when he demanded I rearrange a plate of tropical fruit to mirror his smug face, I muttered “narcissistic prick” under my breath. His hazel eyes caught it, narrowing with cold fury, and he vowed to have me fired within a month.

That moment snapped something in me. Decades of his abuse, his sneers, his careless power over my life—it was too much. Fury ignited, and I began plotting a revenge as meticulous as it was perverse, a plan that would unfold at his exclusive beach party, where I’d turn his world to ash.

The secret was mine before it was his. Years ago, I’d shared a family relic with Jaxon, a Native American concoction passed down through generations, a powder that could swap consciousness between bodies. I’d presented it as a curiosity, never expecting he’d use it, but now it was my weapon, a key to stealing his life.

As the party night arrived, I moved through the crowd with quiet precision, serving platters of exotic dishes to guests who barely saw me. My eyes locked on Jaxon, his shirtless torso a beacon in the dimly lit mansion, abs flexing with every arrogant stride. His dirty blond hair caught the light, and his low-slung swim trunks teased the V-line I’d memorized in secret. I savored each glance, knowing his body was my original target, a prize I’d claim before dawn. But fate had other plans.

I collided with Lachlan, a college twink dragged here by his sister, and everything shifted. He was stunning, his pale skin glowing under the soft lights, dark wavy hair framing a boyish face with pouty lips and sharp cheekbones. His lean frame was smooth, tight abs barely visible beneath a loose silk shirt, exuding a delicate, youthful allure. But his voice shattered the fantasy.

“Where’s the keto-friendly stuff?” he whined, his tone dripping with impatience. “Or, like, something actually worth eating? This is disgusting.”

I explained we didn’t have specialty diets on hand, my voice steady despite the sting of his dismissal. His brown eyes flashed with outrage, and he swept the tray from my hands, sending shrimp skewers and mango salsa crashing into my face. The sticky mess dripped down my chin, the crowd’s laughter a knife in my gut.

“Get this crap out of my face, old man,” he snapped, stomping a piece of shrimp under his designer shoes.

Jaxon, nearby, chuckled, his perfect teeth flashing as he clapped Lachlan on the shoulder. “Chill, man, he’ll clean it up. That’s the only thing he’s good at,” he told me, waving me off like a pest.

The humiliation seared me, my cheeks burning as I wiped the mess away with a napkin, the crowd’s eyes lingering with amusement. Lachlan’s tantrum wasn’t just rudeness—it was the entitlement of a spoiled brat who’d never known a consequence, his wealth a shield from accountability. He demanded a fresh drink, specifying some obscure artisanal brand, and when I returned with it, he barely glanced at me, already whining to his sister about the party’s “mediocre vibe.” His smooth, flawless skin and lean physique taunted me, a body as perfect as Jaxon’s but softer, more delicate, built for indulgence.

As I retreated to the kitchen, my cock stirred, a dark thrill overtaking my shame. Controlling Lachlan’s body, making his lithe frame mine, became my new obsession. My plan shifted at that moment. Jaxon would suffer, but Lachlan’s entitled arrogance would be my trophy, his life a sweeter prize.

When Jaxon announced his drug-fueled game, waving that ornate box, I slipped away to a closet at the mansion’s edge. My heart pounded as I mixed my own batch of the concoction, the earthy scent filling the cramped space. I lit an incense stick, its smoke curling upward, and shoved one of Jaxon’s sweaty socks into my mouth, the musky taste grounding me as I taped it shut. I bound myself to the wall, ropes biting into my wrists, and let the smoke envelop me.

My vision blurred, my body dissolving, until I snapped awake outside, seated in the circle of guests. I looked down, and there it was: Lachlan’s smooth, pale chest, his tight abs rising with each breath. I tugged at his dark hair, the strands silky under my fingers, a playful thrill sparking through me. His scalp tingled, his body alive with a youthful sensitivity that made my skin hum.

Across the circle, you sat in Jaxon’s body, staring at his abs with awe. I stood, Lachlan’s lean frame moving with a confidence he’d never possessed, and declared myself the real Jaxon, now in Lachlan’s flesh. No one questioned it; the lie slid into place effortlessly.

I explained the swap, the seven-hour limit, the freedom to explore, then excused myself, my pulse racing with purpose. Retrieving a hidden key, I unlocked the closet. My old body writhed there, Jaxon’s consciousness trapped inside, his eyes wide with terror. He couldn’t fathom how he’d gone from being in the living room to being bound in a servant’s skin. I leaned close, Lachlan’s cute face grinning wickedly.

“It’s me,” I whispered, relishing his horror. “I’ve taken your life, your identity. And now I’m going to fuck your perfect ass, pretending to be you. Who knows, maybe I’ll make you my boyfriend afterward, so I’ll get access to all those trust funds...”

His muffled screams vibrated against the sock as I turned on a gas valve, locked the airtight door, and walked away. A few minutes, and he’d be gone, one less rich asshole tainting the world. I’d dispose of the body later, a problem for another hour.

Back among the guests, I embodied Jaxon’s swagger, his narcissistic charm my perfect disguise. I led you on, my voice low and enticing, drawing you into the bedroom with a woman whose swapped soul didn’t matter. The room reeked of Jaxon, his musk and sex saturating the air, a heady blend that made Lachlan’s sensitive skin tingle. A massive bed with silk sheets beckoned, a full-length mirror reflecting the decadence. I peeled off Lachlan’s clothes, his smooth frame glowing in the dim light, and joined you on the bed. The woman moaned beside us, but it was you I wanted, Jaxon’s body I needed to break.

I leaned close, my breath hot against your ear, Lachlan’s voice laced with Jaxon’s arrogance. “Let’s have some fun with my body,” I murmured, my hand darting to Jaxon’s cock, thick and curved, already glistening with precum.

Your gasp spurred me on, and I stroked you slow, feeling the power in my grip. But it was when I positioned myself above you, guiding Lachlan’s lean frame with deliberate care, that my satisfaction peaked. I slicked myself with precum, pressing into Jaxon’s ass, the stretch slow and consuming. The pleasure was electric, Lachlan’s cock throbbing with a sensitivity that made every thrust a revelation. I fucked you with a rhythm that was all Jaxon—relentless, commanding, each deep stroke a claim on his perfection. His body yielded beneath me, abs flexing, thighs trembling, and I watched it all in the ceiling mirror, my reflection a college twink reveling in fucking a sex stud.

Your groans filled the room, raw and desperate, and I leaned down, my lips brushing your neck, tasting the salt of Jaxon’s sweat. My hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into his flawless flesh, and I thrust harder, the bed creaking under us. The narcissistic thrill consumed me, fucking Jaxon’s body while wearing his arrogance, knowing he’d never reclaim it.

Pleasure coiled tight, Lachlan’s cock pulsing with each drive, and when you came, hot ropes splattering your chest, I followed, my release a shuddering claim on his legacy. I collapsed beside you, my satisfaction a dark, pulsing fire.

After you passed out in Jaxon’s flesh, I uploaded the video I’d recorded, our debauchery now immortalized online. Then I slipped into the bathroom, standing before the mirror. Lachlan’s smooth frame glowed, pale skin flawless under the dim light. I ran my hands over his chest, fingers tracing his tight abs, warm and firm. I tugged at his disheveled hair, watching it fall back into place, and stroked his cock until I came, splattering the mirror and licking it clean with a cruel laugh, mocking his “keto” tantrum.

I found the drunk in your old body next, luring him with a bag of “special” weed, lying about its effects on water. He stumbled to the beach, smoked it all, and drowned, sealing our fates. Neither of us could return to our old selves, trapped in these perfect privileged bodies. I was Lachlan now, forever.

—

As I head back, I’m yanked into the beach house by the guest claiming to be the real Lachlan, his grip tight with fury as he shoves me against a wall. The dim light spills over his borrowed face, some stranger’s features twisted with indignation, but I know who he is beneath. He’s raging about me strutting around in his smooth, lean body, my swagger outshining his own. I smirk, Lachlan’s cute lips curling as I peel away from the wall, stepping into his space.

My hands glide over my stolen skin, fingers tracing the pale expanse of his chest with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Oh, I’m just cute little Lachlan,” I purr in his voice, soft and teasing. “What do you mean?”

His eyes widen, shock flickering as I sway my hips, letting his frame move with a grace he never mastered. He stammers, trying to protest, but I cut him off, my tone dripping with mock innocence.

“Bet you wish you had a sexy twink body like mine.” I run my hands lower, caressing the tight abs I now command, squeezing gently as a soft moan escapes my throat. The sound’s all his, high and needy, and I watch his borrowed face flush, confusion warring with something darker. I step closer, my breath warm against his ear.

“I’m keeping this, you know. This cute, smooth body. It’s mine now.” My fingers trail up to his dark, wavy hair, tugging it playfully, then smoothing it back as I grin. “I’ll worship it every chance I get. Every day, every night, these hands will savor every inch.”

He freezes, mouth parting, but no words come. I press on, voice low and sultry. “I’m stealing your identity, Lachlan. I’ll live your life, the spoiled, entitled rich twink, throwing tantrums when I don’t get my way. No one will ever know you’ve been replaced.”

My hands slide to his shoulders, then down my own chest again, cupping the slight curve of my pecs before drifting to my hips. I spin slowly, letting him see every angle of his former self, the lean lines and soft skin glowing in the faint light.

“Look at me,” I whisper. “So perfect. So much better than you ever were.” He doesn’t know I’m speaking the truth, that his fate’s already sealed. Instead, his eyes darken with heat, a shaky laugh escaping him.

“That’s… hot,” he mutters, thinking it’s a game, a narcissistic roleplay I’ve spun for his pleasure.

I step closer, pressing Lachlan’s body against his borrowed one, feeling the unfamiliar heat of his temporary skin.

“You like that, huh?” I murmur, my lips brushing his jaw, tasting the salt of his sweat. “Me, dominating you with your own flesh?”

His breath hitches, and he nods, a hungry edge to his gaze. My hands find his waistband, tugging his pants down with agonizing slowness, letting them pool at his ankles. I sink to my knees, gazing up with his wide, puppy-like eyes, lips parting as I lean in.

My tongue flicks over the tip of his cock, warm and tentative, circling the head with soft, teasing licks. He groans, hands twitching as I take him deeper, inch by inch, Lachlan’s gag reflex making me cough until I adjust. The full length slides down my throat, and I hum, the vibration pulling louder moans from him. His borrowed face stares down, lust overtaking confusion, his own cute features gazing back with wicked intent. I pull back, licking my lips as I rise, my hands roaming his chest now.

“You’re loving this,” I say, voice thick with triumph. “Watching yourself take control.” I push him toward a weathered wooden table in the corner, guiding him with firm hands.

“Bend over,” I whisper, and he complies, eagerness in every line of his borrowed frame. I step behind him, running my fingers down his spine, savoring the tremble under my touch. “I’m going to fuck you with your own cock,” I tell him, letting Lachlan’s smooth hands grip his hips. He moans, pushing back against me, lost in the fantasy.

“Do it,” he gasps. “Fuck me. Fill me with my own cock.” He thinks it’s hot, getting off on the idea of himself overpowering him, oblivious to the reality.

My stolen cock’s already hard, sensitive from earlier, and I tease him first, brushing the tip against his entrance, slow and deliberate. His breath catches, a low whine escaping as I press in, inch by inch, stretching him with his own flesh. The heat’s overwhelming, tight and pulsing, and I groan, Lachlan’s voice high and needy in my throat. I move with purpose, thrusts deep and measured, letting him feel every stroke.

“This is mine now,” I growl, leaning over him, my chest pressed to his back. “Your youthful body, your privileged life, all of it.” My hands slide around, gripping his waist, then up to his borrowed chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. He’s panting, moaning, caught in the perverse thrill, still thinking it’s just a game.

“I deserve this,” I murmur, my lips grazing his ear. “Parties, wealth, every desire handed to me. And this twinkish body… fuck, so perfectly sensitive.” I reach around, stroking his cock in time with my thrusts, drawing out his gasps and shudders.

Sweat beads on his skin, mixing with mine, and the air grows thick with the scent of sex and salt. He’s lost in it, begging for more, his voice ragged. “Fuck me harder,” he pleads, and I oblige, slamming into him with a force that makes the table creak, his moans echoing off the walls.

As sunrise nears, I feel him tense, his borrowed body on the edge. “Cum for me,” I whisper, Lachlan’s voice a sultry command. “Cum for yourself.”

He does, a guttural cry tearing from him as he spills, hot and messy, his frame shaking under my grip. I follow, pleasure surging through Lachlan’s lean form, filling him with my release.

We collapse together, his borrowed arms pulling me close, and he murmurs, “That was insane,” still grinning, thinking it’s all play.

I nestle into him, letting the warmth linger, knowing his consciousness will fade when the magic reaches its limit. He’ll never know I meant every word, that his cute, smooth body and spoiled life are mine to keep forever…

—

Sunrise found me nestled in his arms, his consciousness gone when the swap expired. I rose, stretching Lachlan’s lean muscles, his body humming with a restless, cock-sensitive energy that felt like a drug.

I slipped into his identity, the spoiled college twink with a tantrum for every slight. When police questioned me about the deaths, I played dumb, whining until my new parents swooped in, coddling me into freedom within hours. Their indulgence explained Lachlan’s arrogance, every whim served on a platter.

A week later, I visited you, confessing Lachlan’s crush, my kiss leaving you hard in Jaxon’s body. A month later, I’m deep in Lachlan’s world, his friends embracing my newfound charm. I’ve become him, adopting his spoiled, entitled persona with perverse glee. I throw tantrums when my coffee’s not artisanal, demand the best tables at exclusive clubs, and revel in the deference of staff who once ignored me. Lachlan’s life is a banquet of privilege—private jets, designer clothes, parties where I’m the center of attention. His parents hand me everything, their indulgence feeding my new arrogance.

But it’s Lachlan’s body I savor most, a smooth, sensitive twink frame that’s always ready, always craving. Every night, I sprawl in his king-sized bed, silk sheets cool against my skin, and let my hands roam. I trace his abs, fingers circling each ridge, the skin soft yet firm under my touch. His nipples harden at the slightest graze, sparking a jolt that travels to his cock, thick and pulsing with need.

I stroke slow, precum slicking my palm, the sensitivity overwhelming, each touch a burst of pleasure that makes his lean frame tremble. I stare into a bedside mirror, Lachlan’s boyish face flushed, his dark eyes glinting with my triumph. When I cum, it’s a shuddering release, warm across his chest, the afterglow a drug I can’t quit.

I lie there, spent, his youthful musk filling my lungs, and embrace the wealth, the power, the endless desire. Jaxon and Lachlan are gone, their consciousness erased, and I’ve claimed their lives, their privileges, a perverse triumph I savor with every touch, every pulse of desire in this perfect, stolen flesh.

~ The End ~

#bodyswap #twink #revenge #identity theft #magic #dark #permanent #AI Generated

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multifandomgirl08 · 5 months ago

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White Wedding [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Wife!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: The Full version of the wedding.

Warning(s): N/A

Words: 4.9k

Previous Part → Next Part Mini Verstappen Masterlist

February 2, 2025

It had been a surprisingly warm day in Belgium for February. You had spent the morning at Victoria’s apartment getting ready for the wedding. You had coffee with Sophie before the hair and makeup lady came to get all three of you ready.

You and Max had chosen to have the wedding at a neoclassical castle in Kapellen. It was big enough given that the guest list had a little more than 100 people showing up. You have been a little concerned as it normally was still snowing in Belgium during this part of the year.

The woman who was doing your hair into loose waves pinned some of the ringlets back away from your face, spraying on the last bit of the hairspray when Victoria had walked into the room holding Luka.

“Ready?” She asked.

You gave her a nod back.

The drive over made some of your nerves come out. You were tapping your foot in the backseat. Sophie had eventually put her hand over your knee. You had stopped instantly leaning back, this was probably the longest you had gone without talking to Max since you had moved in with him.

Pulling up to the castle felt surreal. It had all been set up with white tent covers. You could see people outside, some straighten-ing chairs, and others moving around to fix flower arrangements.

Victoria had parked the car and got out.

“Come on, we should go up before anyone sees you.” Sophie said, opening the door.

You had walked through the back entrance of the house, taking in the fine crown molding just like you did the first time you and Max had walked through here together.

“It’s a little much, no?” He asked.

“Well you only get married once.” You said placing your hand on the banister that lead upstairs.

“Just once? What if I want to marry you again?”

“Then next time you can choose,” You said before feeling his hand grip yours.

You knew that this venue wasn’t exactly Max’s style. A beach Caribbean wedding was the original plan, but it fell through with the wedding date being a month before the start of the season and still wanting to go on a two week honeymoon.

“Fine, castle it is.” Max placed a kiss on your forehead. “I get first choice on food when we talk to the caterer though.”

You knew exactly what Max would want to serve everyone, kebabs with a few Italian inspired dishes added in.

“Okay, but we’re doing family style since it’ll be easier. We just need to make sure to have a vegan option for Lewis.”

“You always think of everything.” You leaned in a little more into Max’s side giving your shoulders a small shrug.

“Thank the wedding planner for being able to do this in less than 5 months.” Both you and Max shared a chuckle before walking outside to take a look at where the actual wedding would take place.

You had gone up to the master bedroom to see the dress that you had picked out was already hanging on the white silk hanger, in the Ivory color that you had chosen all those months ago forgoing the Dutch tradition of wearing white. Pnina Tornai really knew how to design a wedding dress. It was mermaid style with defined lace detailing that had a bone in strapless corset top.

“My brother isn’t going to know what hit him.” Victoria said, as she stood there in a blush pink dress of her own choosing.

You smiled at her before she helped you put on the dress, lacing up the corset strings, and tightened them just enough so you could still breathe. She had fastened the strings at the end of the corset and then left saying that she was going to check on Max.

“Can you tell him that I’ll see him down there?” You asked her. She nodded back to you.

“I will.” Before leaving the room.

Sophie had come in when you were putting in a pair of Van Cleef mother of pearl butterfly stud earrings in white gold.

You saw her from the mirror in the vanity. She was wearing a navy off the shoulder dress that cut off just after her knees and in her hands she was holding a black box.

“Halo, Y/N.”

“Hi, Sophie.” She walked further into the room, closing the door behind her. She moved to sit to the left of you pulling up a chair, before moving the black velvet box into your lap.

“I know, normally in the Dutch tradition the mother of the grooms don’t give the bride a gift, but I wanted to give you something that I wore on my wedding day to Jos... My marriage to Max’s father wasn’t the happiest, but it was a testament to how strong I became as a person as a result of being married to him. Marriage isn’t an easy thing, it’s constant work, you must take the bad with the good while you are together.” She took in a shaky breath. “My son is going to be your teammate in life, love, and in parenting.” She paused.

“So, I’m giving you this as a reminder to love Max with everything that you have, and with my hope that you'll make sure to listen to one another, and to be there when times are the hardest.” She finished, and then encouraged you to open the box.

You had pulled the lid open to reveal a diamond tennis bracelet, made of single carat stones in a white gold setting.

“My mother had it made for me, and I want to give it to you, and if you and Max ever have a daughter, I thought you could pass it down to her.”

You were a little blown away.

“Sophie, are you sure you don’t want to give this to Victoria? I’m sure when Tom is ready they’ll-“She didn’t let you finish your sentence and started to shake her head no.

“I have many pieces that will one day be hers. This is just for you.” Sophie took the bracelet out of the box and clasped it around your left wrist.

You didn’t know how to say thank you for this. So, instead you reached over and hugged her. She had slowly pulled away from you, taking your hand.

“Come, my son won’t wait all day.” You lightly laughed, quickly slipping on the 3-inch nude suede crystal encrusted Louboutin shoes onto your feet.

Sophie had walked down the stairs with you and ushered you into the living room but not fast enough that you didn’t see Max, who was standing there with Daniel, Martijn, and Max’s childhood friend Jack.

You could hear Nico’s voice, “Just walk and hold the pillow?”

“Yes, and when we need them, Daniel will ask for them. Just like in practice.”

“Okay Papa.” Nico said up to Max. “But why is Mama’s ring so sparkly?”

“Because Mama deserves a ring that’s pretty but not prettier than she is.” Hearing Max say that made a flash of tears fill up your eyes.

You only had a few moments before Sophie needed to walk out there before Max. You couldn't help but be a little nervous about walking down the aisle.

“Sophie,” Y/N said to her as they walked out of the room, hand in hand before the music started playing for her to walk down the aisle. “I just want to thank you. Thank you for raising Max the way that you did, and being there for him when Nico came into his life.”

You could see that Sophie was starting to tear up a bit. “My son loves you, and my grandson too. I couldn’t have asked for a better wife to my son even if I had a hand in choosing her myself.”

You gave her a nod and then she hugged you, pulling you in a little tight. She gave one of your hands a squeeze before walking out of the room, making sure to give you the bouquet of tulips, peonies, and hydrangeas all in shades of white or blue.

You could hear some of the music start from outside, with the hallway slowly clearing out after that.

Nico going first, hoping that he remembered to sit next to Tom just like at the rehearsal, and then with your friends moving to clasp arms with Martijn, and Jack. Victoria and Daniel went last as Maid of Honor and Best Man.

Sophie was supposed to walk out next with Max but you could hear her through the wall.

“I’m surprised that you’re not nervous.” She spoke.

“Nervous? No, everything feels right, like it should. I just want to see her.” You heard Max say.

“You will, and she looks beautiful.”

“Thank you for everything Mum, really.”

“She makes you happy, that is all a mother could want for her son.”

It fell quiet after that. The only sound was coming from outside, there was a key change and then the sound of an orchestral rendition of Lana Del Rey’s Young and Beautiful started to play.

That was your cue.

You had made your way out of the living room towards the doors that lead out into the lawn, through the open doors and saw everyone sitting there. You could see people from your side of the family, friends, co-workers, and Lewis (who insisted on sitting on your side of the aisle) sitting on the left side. Then on the right you could see a mix of Max’s family, the guys on the grid & Sebastian Vettel, some of the engineers from Red Bull, a few of the Team Redline guys, and then Christian and Geri who were sitting in the front row with Sophie, Tom, Nico, Luka, and Leo.

You looked down the aisle to see Max standing there, in a fitted black suit, giving you a watery smile, with a few tears falling from his eyes.

You gripped your bouquet tighter trying to move at the same pace of the song. You wanted to already be up there, standing next to Max.

A few more short steps before you were looking at Max, his eyes a watery blue, with a wide smile across his face.

You took a step up on the small platform, now standing next to Max. You gave him a reassuring smile.

Both you and Max looked at one another before the officiant started.

“Hello everyone,” The graying man said into the mic. “We are all gathered here today before friends, family, and loved ones to bring together Max and Y/N. By being here today in front of close friends and family, they are making a lasting commitment to one another, to love, to be present, to always listen to the other, to fight every battle as if they are one team, one family, to love the other with pure adoration, understanding, and a spark that doesn’t diminish over time.”

There was a silent moment before he continued, “I would like Max and Y/N to join hands for this next part so they may exchange vows and rings.”

You leaned down a little to hand over your bouquet to Victoria, who happily took it from your hands.

You stepped towards Max, mouthing a small, “Hi.”

He gave you a silent chuckle and a, “Hello.” back clasping your hands together.

“And the rings please,” The officiant asked, looking at Daniel.

Daniel gave a small shake of his head, silently saying that he didn’t have them and then pretended to check his pockets until Nico came up behind Daniel and pulled them out of one of the front pockets of Daniel’s suit.

Max laughed slightly, shaking his head at Daniel before the rings were in the officiant’s hands. You let out a small chuckle, same old Daniel. You had hoped that he would put his antics to rest on this one day.

“A circle is a symbol of Unity, Infinity, wholeness as well as eternal love. By wearing these rings, you are promising to uphold all of these meanings to one another from this day, until you’re last. Y/N if you will please?” He asked holding his hand open for her to take Max’s ring in her hand to slip it onto his finger.

“Max,” She started feeling the weaved carbon fiber that made up the design of his ring, slipping it onto his left hand. “I don’t know what my life would be like without you and Nico in it. I feel the most loved when I’m with you, and I feel lucky every day that you trust me, can joke around with me, and let me be your shoulder to lean on when you need it.”

She took in a small breath, “I’m in awe of the loyalty that you have for people, and then I remember that I’m one of those few lucky people who has it too. I love you; I just love everything about you, how you are never anything but yourself to people, that you're honest with everyone that you meet, and loving, to your sister, mom, nephews, our cats, and your son.”

You looked from Max to Nico, outstretching your hand towards Nico, asking him to walk closer to you so he could stand up on the altar with you and Max. You waited until Nico stood at your side and reached his little hand up to hold yours.

“Your son, our son means so much to me,” You could see that Max’s eyes were welling up with more tears. You kept a strong hold on Max’s hand while leaning down towards Nico, talking directly to him.

“Nico, I may not have been there when you were born, or when you experienced a few of your firsts. Regardless of those things, you’ll always be my son, and I won’t let anything, or anyone change that.”

Nico was quick to reach for you, wrapping his arms around the lace fabric at the bottom of the dress. “Mama.” You could hear him sob. He tightened his hold around your knees, and you looked up at Max seeing him give you the biggest watery smile that he could manage and pressed his lips together to stop his tears from falling.

You placed a kiss on Nico's forehead and then did your best to stand, but he didn’t let you go with his hands still on the skirt of your dress.

“You and our son are my family, and that will always come first to me. I promise to make this last, through every argument, every night spent away from one another, and every child that we may have in the future.” You finished off taking in a shaky breath.

The officiant just stood there and held out his hand for Max to start.

Max blinked trying to clear the tears from his eyes and then cleared his throat. “I remember when we first met,” He started and took a pause. “You told me that if something matters… I’d make time for it. I was surprised that you had given me a chance, and had been so patient with me, letting me set the pace through those eight months.” It had been hard, letting Max set the pace of the relationship early on. But you have been patient with him because you felt like he was worth waiting for. You felt him grip your hand tighter, his thumb tracing over your fingers like a track that he could drive in his sleep. “This was all before you had found out about Nico, when we were still trying to make us work, flying from London to Monaco just to spend a few hours together, it was also before you had become Nico’s mum.”

As Max spoke you could feel that he wasn’t as nervous to tell you these things. He wasn’t as nervous to let you know what going through those things was like for him.

“Once you found out about Nico, I felt like I had finally found someone who I could let myself be goofy and joke with. You understand me without me having to tell you things. You don’t push me to talk about things unless I let you. You are my lioness, my mijn leeuwin, protecting our cub, and building us a home while I’m off racing. You are the barrier from the outside world where I don’t have to worry about anything else. I know that you’re there, waiting for me to come home, always.”

Max had reached for the diamond encrusted ring, slowly slipping it onto your finger and then lifted your hand up to his lips placing a kiss on top of the band. He pulled away and you ran a finger over his chin feeling the light stubble under your finger. He gave you a big smile to the point where his eyes crinkled at the sides and watched as his lips slightly trembled.

“I promise to protect that with everything that I have, never take you for granted, to always listen to you, and make you feel like you are the most important thing to me, more than any trophy, or the miles that may separate us when I’m gone.”

“I love you.” You whispered to him when you felt a single tear fall down your cheek.

There were a few silent beats, almost as if the words needed to sink in before the officiant started again.

“Do you Y/N take Max to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day on, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” The officiant asked.

“I do.” You said without any hesitation in your voice.

“And do you Max, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day on, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickedness and in health, until death do you part?”

“Yes, I do.” Max smiled wide with his words.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The officiant said and then took a small step back. “You can kiss the bride.”

Max took a small step forward and then you did as well. Your lips met Max’s with his hand holding your waist and then dropping to the back of your dress running over the lace detailing and ribbon that made up the back of the corset. Your arms went around his neck pulling him in deeper. The hoots and hollers from the crowd muffled in your ears.

A few seconds later you could feel Nico’s hand drop from the skirt of your dress before you and Max pulled away from each other. You looked out to see that Nico was standing next to Sophie now before you felt Max take your hand so you could walk inside. Max took a few steps and then helped you down from the altar so you didn’t trip in your shoes.

Half an hour after the ceremony, the guests were already inside. Martin was behind the DJ booth with Lando standing by his side.

“I still don’t know why Y/N and Max didn’t take my offer to DJ the wedding?” Lando asked Martin.

“Maybe because I already offered, and it wasn’t as an exchange for a wedding gift.” He said turning down the EQ levels to the track that was playing.

Lando just shook his head before taking a sip of his drink.

“Has anyone seen the bride and groom yet?” Daniel asked Victoria and Tom who were standing a few meters away from Martin

“Not yet. Grand entrance and all.” Tom replied.

Daniel kept walking through the room, making his rounds as best man until he stopped at Sebastian and talked to him for a bit.

“Hey Seb,” Daniel greeted him.

“Daniel,” He greeted the Aussie with a hug.

“Max told me he wasn’t sure if you were gonna come.”

“Last minute RSVP. I wasn’t sure if I was at first. But happy that I could be here to see him settle down and get married.”

“He’s happy that you're here. Just waiting to see him and the Mrs. come down soon.”

“Well, before that, how do you feel about a little bet between former teammates?” Seb asked, placing his arm around Daniel’s shoulders.

“What have you got in mind?” Daniel said, leading Seb towards the bar. He saw Sophie come into the room from outside while holding Nico’s hand. The wedding photographer must have been done with them outside.

A few minutes later the music changed again and two sets of footsteps could be heard against the wood flooring. There was a loud cheer from all of the guests seeing Max and Y/N walk out from under the doorway.

From there the room broke out in upbeat music with people eating and drinking, with people breaking into little groups of conversation while occasionally walking over to the bride and groom to give them their congratulations.

The second course had been placed down on the tables and everyone was sitting in their seats with Daniel moving to stand to the right of Max.

Daniel gave a loud whistle trying to get everyone’s attention as they were all finally sitting down. “Thanks, thank you.” He started to say before moving to pick up his champagne glass.

“Hey guys, to those of you who don’t know me, I’m Daniel. The best man,” He said, holding the mic up to his lips with his free hand.

“I just wanted to get on here and say a few words about the bride and groom. Maybe a little more the groom then the bride, sorry Y/N.” Daniel saw her give him a little shrug. She didn’t take it personally.

“So yeah, Max. We’ve known each other a long time, since before you first started driving in F1, I think you were like 12?” Daniel joked knowing that Max was 13 the first time they met. “I couldn’t imagine then when we first met that I would be able to be the best man at your wedding to the fox that you just married,” The crowd gave off a few hollers and Daniel could see that Y/N only slightly shook her head at his comment with a light pink flush painting her cheeks. “You were a scrawny awkward looking kid when I met you, and now look at you. Married with a kid. I would be lying if I said there weren’t bets placed today on when there is going to be another one.”

There was a small round of chuckles heard from a few of the drivers in attendance.

“But I digress, mate, you’ve got yourself a good one there.” Daniel further raised his glass. “Y/N, you make Max happy, I just want to let you know that you’ve married into a family that not only loves you but has truly welcomed you with open arms. I hope Max, that you know how lucky you are to have her in your life. Women like her don’t come around every day.”

“To many more years for the two of you, to Mr. and Mrs. Verstappen.” Daniel finished off before everyone took a drink from their glasses.

A few moments later Victoria stood up next to Y/N and started her speech.

“To those of you who don’t know me, I’m not only Y/N’s Maid of Honor but I’m also Max’s little sister. I just wanted to officially welcome Y/N to the family, and let you know how excited I am to have a sister-in-law. I heard a lot about you when you and Max had first started dating. He would always want to talk about you, and when you met Nico it only seemed like he started to talk about you even more. Having said that, Max I love you. But if you screw this up, I get to keep her in the divorce.”

Max let out a big laugh and then reached for Y/N’s hand. She looked at him and he gave her a fake questioning look that said, Something I don’t know about. She just shook her head at him and then Max smiled at Victoria knowing that she was only joking.

“I don’t plan on letting that happen,” He interjected and heard a few chuckles from the rest of the wedding party. Max reached for Y/N’s hand and lightly kissed the back of it.

Victoria let out a laugh, “Regardless, as we’ve gotten to know each other really well over the years. You have truly become like a sister to me, being a sympathetic ear when I need it when it comes to the kids, and always being someone that I can rely on.” Victoria lifted up her glass, “To my brother and sister-in-law.”

Everyone drank from their glasses and Nico and Victoria’s boys drank from the little glasses filled with sparkling apple cider that mimicked the champaign.

Martin had stepped away from the DJ setup with an announcement of the first dance for the bride and groom with Geri taking the mic. Y/N’s eyes widened seeing Geri holding the mic as Max took her hand and led her to the center of the dance floor. Max pulled her into his chest as Geri’s voice filled the room to Ed Sheeran’s Perfect playing as they swayed to the music with him occasionally spinning her.

The song was coming to a slow close when Nico had walked up trying to slip between his parents. Max lifted Nico, dancing with them for a moment. Then set Nico down so he could dance with Y/N for a few moments while he went to dance with Sophie for the next song.

Nico ran off when the song had ended and Christian had walked onto the dance floor. “Do you mind Y/N?”

“Of course not Christian.” She said before he pulled her into his arms.

“I’m sure you’ve heard it plenty of times in the last few days but you’re good for him. Not when it comes to him racing but just for who he is as a person.”

She gave Christian a nod, “He’ll never tell you this, but you’re a second set of parents to him,” She said gesturing to Max who had pulled Sophie onto the dance floor, “and a great grandfather to Nico.”

Christian gave her a nod back and then turned his head to see Daniel standing there.

“Father daughter dance is over. Mind if I cut in?”

“There has been a lot of cutting in.” Y/N said to Daniel.

“You’re in a room full of F1 drivers, it’s going to happen quite a lot.” Y/N rolled her eyes at him and then let Daniel pull her in. Christian walked back to his table and offered his hand up to Geri.

Max had pulled Y/N away from the dancefloor after the fifth driver on the grid had pulled her in to dance with them so that the wedding cake could finally be cut. It was a three tier white cake with the groom in a race suit that was fashioned to look like a tuxedo and the bride standing at his side.

They both managed to interlock their arms taking a bite from the cake, Max’s lips covered in the white ganache frosting and then she lifted the plate to his face and let it smear all over his skin trying to avoid his eyes.

The plate fell away and he had a devious expression on his face and she knew that she was in trouble. He reached for her and pressed a cake covered kiss to her lips before wiping any of the excess cake from their faces.

They left to clean up further and came back to the party with Daniel having the photographer's camera in his hand. He started taking candid photos. Daniel had gotten a picture of most of the wedding party and went looking for Max and Y/N after they had disappeared for a little too long to see them making out by the service entrance to the house and snapped a quick picture before leaving them to their fun.

It was a while later that Max and Y/N rejoined the party long enough to throw the bouquet out into the crowd of young “single” women; Daniel’s longtime girlfriend of two years had caught it and then they made a final round of all the guests before leaving the party. Daniel was the only one whose eyes went to the couple noticing Y/N’s hair fall out of her pin backed look.

“Have a nice time.” Sophie said as Nico stood with his parents holding her hand.

“We will,” Y/N said before Nico reached for her as he pressed his face into the skirt of her dress.

“We’ll be home in two weeks, be good for Oma, okay?” Y/N asked Nico. As they left to get into the car to leave for the hotel for their early morning fight, Nico gave her a nod and hugged Max with a silent goodbye hanging in the air, giving his parents a final wave.

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @lpab, @thedecalcomania-blog, @xoscar03, @em-gvf01, @haikyuen, @shelbyteller , @geniusalpaca, @princessria127, @mysticalnightenthusiast, @green-thots, @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp, @ellelabelle, @lilypat, @dreamercrowd

#Mini Verstappen Series #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #mv33 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine

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wordsofwhimsy · 4 months ago

Text

𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘌𝘋 𝘈𝘍𝘍𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚 - 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘛𝘞𝘖

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark x Reader | Sinister!Mark x Reader

Warnings: none

a/n: i definitely planned to do more with this chapter but when i tell you this dialogue fried my brain 🫠 poor reader doesn’t even show up. i really do love all the variants tho they’re so fun. more reader x mark interactions in the next one - promise 🤞

→ 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙊𝙣𝙚 ←

It had been a very long and slow process of rebuilding public image for all the Variant Marks. Understandably so, when considering the storm cloud of chaos and destruction they’d originally drifted in on all those months ago. But even with that in mind, things had seemingly gone from bad to worse for the poor citizens of Earth. Every day there was numerous reports of villains across the globe; albeit mostly weak, but enough to keep the lower level heroes more than occupied.

And it was in this light that the population was collectively getting over – possibly even forgetting – the heinous acts committed by the gaggle of Invincibles. Which lead that very group to where they stood today, circled in the Guardians of the Globe HQ with Cecil and this worlds’ Invincible heading the pack. Cecil had just given a rundown on the plan, designating each variant to a certain part of the planet.

As was to be expected the conversation wasn’t without its hiccups – namely the lensless Invincible who seemed to have a snarky quip or challenging statement for everything Cecil said. And typically, the edgiest of all the Marks – the one with the most daring hairstyle – would be right along side him. Those two had come to be the closest out of the group, not to anyone’s surprise.

But today, the usually rebellious Mark felt more rigid, his charcoal eyes more or less remaining focused on the variant who dawned the black and yellow suit. This tension wasn’t lost on Cecil, but in all honesty the man was tired – exhausted, to be exact – and as long as nothing was coming to blows he couldn’t be bothered to speak on it.

This universes Mark, however, wasn’t quite as lenient with what he would let stand when it came to his variants. Just the sight of them still put a bad taste in his mouth. “This isn't going to work if we all try to take on everything. We need to split things up. I’ll start by taking North America—it's the biggest responsibility and I’m the original, after all.” S.Mark grinned at this, rolling his head back and to the side as he eyed his mirror image.

“You think you're the "original," huh? That's cute. I’ve seen how this plays out. Trust me, the real work happens in places where the action's happening. I'll take the major cities in Europe. Less of the “nice guy” heroing, more actual power. Maybe the United States can be your playground while I actually get results.” The Mark who proudly still wore his Viltrumite uniform responded back coldly,

“Don’t kid yourself. You act like this is about being nice or having fun. This is about survival. I’ll take the more dangerous territories. Africa and the Middle East. The kind of places where the people really need someone with... teeth.” The variant who kept his face hidden behind his black mask now spoke up, his tone laced with seriousness and sincerity.

“We’re all focused on the wrong thing. People need more than just saving from disasters and villains. They need better systems, cleaner energy, more food. I’m taking responsibility for Asia and the Pacific Islands. I’ll focus on sustainable practices and infrastructure. Trust me, I’m the only one here who knows how to actually help the world.” The lensless Invincible interjected sharply at this.

“Hold up. You're seriously telling me you're going to sit around handing out kale smoothies while the Earth burns? You’re wild for that.” He tried to exchange a look with M.Mark, but his stare was still fixed on S.Mark. Uncaring of this lack of reaction, however, he continued, “I’ll take South America, handle some of the hot spots there. I’m more than capable of cleaning up after the messes you’re all too soft to handle.”

The Invincible who wore no mask, and seemed to be the most oddly polite of the group, spoke up. “Everyone’s talking about big territories, but no one’s thinking about the real problem: people. We need to work on the long-term emotional damage. I’ll take all the places suffering the most from war and famine. We can’t just punch our way through everything.” The main universe’s Mark sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Look,” he started, giving each of his variants a steady gaze to make sure they were all truly engaged in what he was saying. “I get that we all have our strengths, but we need a unified plan here! Are we focusing on taking out threats or building a better world? We can’t do both if we’re all going in different directions!”

“You think that by holding hands and singing kumbaya, the world will be saved? You all sound ridiculous. I’m not here to be everyone's friend. The world needs a heavy hand, not a weakling’s hope.” Of course this response would come from S.Mark, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

“You’re missing the point,” retorted the full masked Invincible. “It’s not just about taking down the bad guys or fixing the infrastructure. It’s about healing. You can’t just come in with brute force, you’ve got to help people rebuild from the inside. Have you considered what your violence does to the people you’re "saving"?”

Lensless Mark rolled his eyes, his body hunched forward slightly in a dramatic show of annoyance. “We are rebuilding, but first we need to deal with the fun—I-I mean bigger issues! South America is crawling with dangerous factions. If we don’t stop them, all the rebuilding in the world won’t matter.”

For the first time that morning the Invincible who replicated Omni-Man spoke, his voice somehow simultaneously stern and soft. “You’re all missing the bigger picture. Even if we defeat the bad guys, there’s always someone stronger and more dangerous waiting around the corner. We need to be training to make sure we’re all at out our peak and ready, for whatever that might be.”

The original Invincible sighed, holding his hands up as if in admission. “Okay, okay! Fine! We’re not getting anywhere like this. Let’s just agree that we all have important parts to play.” He paused a beat, and surprisingly no one had anything to say. For a second Mark thought he could smile just from the sheer relief of feeling like they were finally more or less on the same page. He continued,

“So you’ll take the long-term stuff,” He gestured towards the full-masked Invincible. “But remember you still need to keep the bad guys off the streets.” He moved his attention to S.Mark. “You can handle Europe—keep it under control, but don’t go too far.” A part of him anticipated a challenge but by some grace of god none came. Moving on, he looked to the lensless Mark. “You’ll go to Africa, but don’t burn the place to the ground.” An excited smile lit up the variants face, clearly pleased with this decision.

Main Mark looked now to his maskless counterpart. “You can take care of Asia, maybe put some focus on the emotional fallout. And you—” he turned next to his wanna-be-dad variant. “You can take South America while you—” his gaze moved to the Viltrumite loyalist. “Can handle Central America.” His stare finally landed on M.Mark. “That leaves you with North America.”

“And what about you?” Lensless Mark asked, head cocked slightly to the side in childish curiosity.

“I’m going to work on the smaller nations and islands, but really I’ll be making sure you idiots stay on task.” He took the time to once again meet the stare of all his variants, just daring one of them to challenge his directive. Miraculously, no one did.

“I’ve gotta say kid, I’m impressed,” Cecil stated, speaking for the first time in awhile. “Spoken like a true leader.” Mark shot him an irritated look, knowing full well he was still lingering on the idea of him becoming the new leader for the Guardians of the Globe. Not missing a beat, Cecil continued by addressing the group. “I don’t think I need to remind any of you, but in case I do: I recommend you all keep in mind the wastelands we saved you from. And then remember it’s nothing for us to send you back.” The energy of the room fell serious, all of the variants suddenly stiffening in discomfort or anger.

After letting his words sit with them for a moment, Cecil turned to Donald who was stood near the entryway. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes sir,” Donald answered promptly. Cecil nodded, turning his back on the group before lifting his hand almost dismissively in the air.

“Let’s do some good today,” he finished dryly before all the variants teleported in a blink to their designated areas. When the room was at last cleared of everyone outside of himself, the original Mark, and Donald, Cecil let out an exhausted sigh.

It had been a painfully long day, and it wasn’t even noon.

→ Part Three ←

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark graryson fanfic #whatever you want to call that one

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vesperaominosum · 3 months ago

Text

Second reason (pt. II)

Summary : You take a week off your new job, amidst admiring the life you've built after leaving the secret service. Part 2 of Second reason that no one asked for. Few years later.

Pairing : RE4 Leon! × Fem Reader

Tags : (sighs) angst, unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slight smut, moderate strong language, OCD descriptions, PTSD, disordered eating, animal death (mention), depression, alcoholism, fertility issues, paranoia, stalking, dub-con (if you squint real hard), family planning, emotional cheating.

Word count: 20.3k

A/N: This is just something that crawled out of me for no reason at all, I kept getting those random questions about the story in my head and wrote some answers down.

Special thanks to @writingwisterias for encouraging this, @purplerosebouquet for the original request. @coeurbrule, @badwer @marymustdie, @cheesywedgy for motivation and everyone who liked the first part, it means A LOT actually.

Zero point two meters, zero point one meter, zero point one meter, zero point one meter, stop- stop- stop- stop- stop-

Road rage was not something you exhibited often, but when it happened, it was mostly caused by your own inability to park. Or as you liked to convince yourself, the inability to park of others. Maybe if people were a little more considerate, you would have zero problems getting into the spot, but since every other driver assumed their Nissan deserved two parking spaces instead of one, you had to go an extra mile (sometimes literally) just to get out of the vehicle and go on with your day.

With your evening, in this case. But it was an important evening, nothing extravagant, but your boyfriend was about to leave for a long work trip in the morning and wanted you to spend a night at his place. He’d be waking up earlier than you, so you couldn’t block his driveway with your car and had to park nearby, which was a problem. You were used to dropping your car off by your apartment complex where you had a designated spot just for you, that didn’t block anything for anyone because it was designed this way. This is how things were supposed to be, designed to be easier.

You killed the engine and let out a frustrated huff through your nose. You had a perfectly good day, nothing got in the way of your routine, but you kept noticing a collection of small irritating details getting bigger and bigger on the top shelf of your mind. It started with your morning coffee leaving an aftertaste akin to sewer water, continued throughout the day with your pens not cooperating and a damn flash card taking too long to load your presentation, which caused you to stand in front of students (who were not much younger than you, so the pressure to be at least presentable was high), then your heel bent weirdly at one point, the sensation of unsteadiness that lasted a second, caused you to feel…, well, unsteady, for the rest of the day. On top of it all you met an annoying colleague in the hallway at work, right when another colleague, who did not like the one you were talking to, was walking by and saw it; now she will assume you were the one who fed that guy information that cost her a position at the department, when all that pest wanted to chat about was the cafeteria changing the type of chocolate they put in their cookies. You were not friendly enough with the girl you now had to win back at your side, so it was vexing. And the damn parking. You almost forgot about how you had to prove to the café manager that Riley was a service animal at noon, and while it wasn’t a big deal, it surely added to the pile.

Riley was patiently waiting for you to finish actively hating on everything under the sun so you could go out and meet your boyfriend with a smile on your face and an easy-going attitude that he deserved to witness before departing. Your boyfriend, your fiancé, it was complicated.

You rubbed small circles above your eyebrows and got out of the car, Riley happily following you down the suburban street. So much space everywhere, yet you couldn’t park anywhere because it just wasn’t allowed and it wasn’t how it was done. The gates made no sound as you opened them, you sent Riley to play in the yard with a quick command and entered the house with a spare key you rarely used, but since you were late as it was, you didn’t think to wait longer.

You greeted your boyfriend with a small kiss, falling into his toned arms, smiling at his dissatisfied noises as he kissed you more. The dinner that he had prepared went cold, but it was destined to regardless of your tardiness, since your greeting kiss would’ve led you to the bedroom in every possible scenario.

You only remembered the dinner, as you were drying your hair with a towel sitting on top of a large soft bed, hunger crawling its way into your stomach after a very passionate welcome. It seemed to be the case with him as well, but, perhaps, a hunger of a different kind.

“Don’t!” – you smiled and shifted away, he matched the smile and began to pull you in with one hand, tugging the robe with another, kissing the bared shoulder, “I’m so serious, Jim, I have an expensive lotion on.”

“I’ll buy you more” – he kept placing kisses all over your shoulder, moving to the collarbones, - “You smell so good”.

“It’s the lotion,” – you tried your best to keep your smile from growing bigger, - “it’s expensive.”

He laughed into your neck, - “You sure? Let me check,” – his lips sucking in sensitive skin, awaking the arousal, hands disrobing you to get a hold of your chest, pinching a nipple with just enough pressure to make sure you won’t be falling asleep without another round, - “Yeah, seems expensive.” – he affirmed, voice hoarse behind the humor.

After the second shower, you both sat in the kitchen, eating cold dinner with your hands.

“This is good,” – you put a slice of something that looked like a sweet potato covered in sauce in your mouth, closing your eyes as you tasted different spices. You still didn’t get accustomed to his vegan cooking, but hunger made everything enjoyable; there was a possibility it was actually good for a change.

“As long as you keep in mind that it was better hot,” – Jim said, - “I will take this compliment.”

You let yourself melt into the relaxing atmosphere. It was rare you got to do something like this, both busy at work, and when you weren’t you had a million arrands to run. Today though, even the thought of your little date stealing precious time from your sleep didn’t disturb the tranquility.

The upcoming week promised to be turbulent at best. Jim would be gone, attending some conference he was sent to, you had to drive Riley to the vet and leave her there for a few days, since she needed a checkup and you had to finish renovating your apartment before selling it, all the chemicals not safe for a dog. Jim kindly proposed that you could stay at his place and renovate later, get a week off work and deal with the apartment during the day, coming back to his place in the evening. But you knew he didn’t like the idea of Riley being inside the house, you had to make him comfortable with the reality of living with a dog when he was present, so there won’t be any resentment down the line; generally speaking, it was a nice offer, but it wouldn’t change much, it would just complicate everything.

You’ll get a week off, may be more, leave Riley at the vet clinic, work on the apartment in peace and when he comes back, you won’t have to burden him with your problems.

The sun was softly pressuring your eyes to give in and open, gradually shinning brighter and brighter, light muffled by see-through curtains. You woke up alone, your boyfriend already departed, his red car nowhere to be seen along with the suit he prepared for the conference. It felt strange being in his house without him. Something you’ll have to get used to since you’ll be moving in together soon.

Weekends were the worst, because they disrupted a routine. It’s harder in a new environment, ‘It’s going to be harder without Riley’ – you thought to yourself, rubbing your eyebrows. Overnight moisturizer grinding into little pellets; the sensation gave you something to focus on without letting too much thoughts in too early in the day.

You were ready for this. It’s been three years since you started therapy (EMDR worked wonders). Ready to spend time alone without Riley, ready to move out and move in, ready for a new day. Your anxiety about it was the biggest saboteur, since you never had issues when you weren’t deeply aware of the impending doom. But acknowledging it alone didn’t help. You had to be cautious, but not too cautious, not so you start listening to every sound your ears could pick up.

Jim had a very clean looking kitchen that was always messy for some vegan reason. It was always something scattered around, some peas in the corners of every surface, little rice grains, grey looking powder. He always mentioned how it’s dry thus not a big deal and that when you actually cook your food with multiple ingredients it’s bound to happen. It truly wasn’t a big deal, cleaning it up was peaceful in a way. He also preferred ‘real tea’ so he boiled water in one of those steel kettles on a gas stove. It made an alarming whistling sound when water came to a boil, so you put up the whistling part. That wasn’t a sound you’d like to hear.

The truth was, it wasn’t just Riley and Jim’s conference trip that set you off to be this aware of your surroundings. You dealt just fine with small changes in the routine and different environments, despite what your therapist suggested, it even helped to feel more in control.

Big changes are what irked you the most. First time it happened two years ago, when you decided to quit working at the rehabilitation center and applied to the university, not the best position but you needed the minimum of three years of experience on top of your degree to submit your thesis. And you haven’t even started working on figuring out what your project was going to be about. Imposter syndrome did not help one bit. It would take years to work on, write, apply and submit. If you wanted a PhD by late thirties, you had to get yourself together now. So, there was no time to waste working at the center, even though the job was rewarding, you liked helping people you could relate to, your own triggers kept you from getting too involved, which was necessary.

Besides everything, sheltering yourself was not the best strategy, so you quit. Getting used to a new job was somewhat challenging, but you got through it. This time the big change creeped in slowly: your boyfriend decided to propose.

Well, it wasn’t a big gesture, and according to him wouldn’t change much. You met at the rehabilitation center where you worked before quitting. He was a physiotherapist, seven years older than you, a good family, patient when it came to people, strong hands, thick dark hair. Asked you out on the spot, you hesitated, but figured you needed a distraction from a harsh breakup anyway. Well, the breakup wasn’t harsh, but you had a hard time dealing with consequences.

Jim was patient with you and soon you found yourself in a symbiotic relationship, he was always there when you needed to discuss something, he wasn’t possessive and gave you space. So, he understood when you hesitated accepting his proposal. You were still in your twenties; you were comfortable with the relationship that you had. But his family was pressuring him, and he told you that it didn’t mean that you had to get married. A shut-up-ring but for his family, as you joked. It made sense; he was in his thirties with a demanding job. His final argument broke through your defense – “Do you consider leaving?”. You did not. Then why does it matter, since marriage was a goal eventually anyway. Not now, but eventually. This is what the proposal was, just an ‘eventually’. The ‘we’ll get married down the line, someday’ message to his family, to everyone.

It started to dawn on you that you were the last to get that message. At first you didn’t pay it any mind, everything stayed the same; you didn’t even wear the ring. But soon you noticed your thoughts circle back to the idea every time you noticed something that stood out.

You kept thinking ‘I’ll have to live with this forever’ every time you saw the mess in his kitchen. ‘This is going to be about our kitchen.’ Someday. That ‘someday’ was the real reason for your anxiety. You thought about raising kids with him, would he insist on them being vegan? He never cared about your eating habits, offered to try his food, different alternatives every once in a while, but nothing extreme. But it would be different with kids. You weren’t proud of your thoughts, but a habit of scaring yourself in preparation for the worst remained your most trusted ally.

You thought about kids before, just after you got away from the secret service slavery. Sitting at the doctor’s office; you recall the regret of having a memory from high school of the day you first learned that you lost your period from intense exercise. Back then it made you feel better about yourself. You found some twisted pride in knowing that your student athlete career (that landed you a spot at the university) closed the door for a quiet life. Like the universe accepted your choice to never have a proper family. The consequences only revealed themselves later in life. You felt cheated.

It wasn’t like you wanted kids at the time as well, but sometimes you caught yourself wondering. So, you followed every recommendation like the most obedient soldier; took all the pills, strict dietary plans, check-ups. There was so much comfort in gaining the possibility back, like the universe leading you back to that hallway, full of doors to open. It wasn’t about kids, it was about having a choice, having a future you can still bend.

That fixation faded once your ex walked out on you. Or once you threw him out. Depends on how you wanted to view the story in the moment of reminiscing. But it didn’t matter, because you were not reminiscing. What mattered is that you got out of the frenzy and the subject of having kids never entered your mind again.

The subject of having kids never entered your mind when you got together with Jim, you did not think of it throughout your relationship. Mainly because it was too early. But now when you were technically engaged under the premise of agreeing that you did not want to break up in the future anyway, that meant that any kids you will have will be with him. Makes sense? And that was not something you were prepared to even think about.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good candidate, but God, even thinking about him as a candidate was weird. Thinking of anyone as a ‘candidate’ was weird. It was weird thinking about kids. You felt like a teenager who was harassed by older relatives at the family function. But those older relatives were your own thoughts, and you were not a teenager anymore, despite feeling like one sometimes.

Jim was nice, attractive and healthy. Good hairline, straight teeth, amazing personality, stable job, big family. Built a perfect relationship to set an example. You just needed time to grow comfortable with that thought. Reality was a bit more complicated than him being decent as an individual, unfortunately. Would he insist on his family being involved in the lives of your children? The mere idea of that was suffocating; it’s not that you disliked them, but you were not comfortable with handling relationships with someone outside of the people you picked. And you did not pick them. His family liked you. You suspected they were having their issues with you, but no one is perfect and no one is going to like everything about you anyway.

When he told his parents that you were engaged, they looked happy. Later you overheard him talking about you to his mother, Jim said that he’s glad she’s happy because you’re truly the best girl, and she agreed, said “She knows how to play the role”. That comment rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew she didn’t mean it like that. His mother disliked your past in the ‘military’, disliked how career oriented you were, and despite all of it, she accepted you. Refused to be mean from the start and gave you a chance. You were grateful for it. After all, she’s just a mother who wants the best for her child. You would want the best for your kids as well. Would you want them to have a life like this? Would you want them at all?

A strong smell pulled you out of these thoughts. Stinging metallic smell of burned plastic and copper, bitter. The damn kettle, you forgot that you put the whistling part up, and now all the water boiled out without a sound, leaving an empty metal kettle with a plastic handle heating up under direct fire. Burning up.

Wrapping the handle in the towel, you swiftly put soot covered metal in the sink. The sound and the smell making your heart race faster. You had to open the window to let the smoke out, the smell out, you needed to get out. You needed Riley. Had to go to the vet, stick to your plans. Immediately. Now.

Got dressed, got Riley, got in the car, got to the clinic, signed the papers, said goodbyes, back in the car, the smell isn’t gone. There’s no smell in the car, it’s in your head. The smell of the heated iron, the smell of bullet shells. Did iron smell like blood because of..., well, iron? Or was it just your brain dragging the nasty sweet-sour smell of blood out of your memory and tying it to the one of heated copper? Was it even copper? Fuck, you had to open your car windows. You immediately felt panic set in, car windows had to be closed. Why weren’t they closing fast enough? Open windows weren’t safe. Your windows weren’t even bulletproof anyway so it didn’t matter. You had a regular car. Because you were a regular person. You took deep breaths. You, a regular person, sat in your regular car, and took deep breaths. To calm down, because there was no point in panicking. Nothing would happen. Nothing bad was going to happen to you.

Riley was stressed leaving you in that state. Well, Riley didn’t leave you, you left Riley. Your poor girl didn’t have to stress about being a bad friend. It was all on you, you wished you had a way to let her know. But you had to stick to the plans, otherwise you’d lose it.

You were not coming back to Jim’s place. Did you take the kettle off the stove? Fuck, hopefully, you did, because you were not coming back. You did. You had to, you had a good reaction and you always did the right thing in the moment, the haziness usually kicked in after the fact. It wasn’t foolish to trust yourself with this. You did everything right, and you were going to your apartment to deal with the renovations.

The apartment used to feel like home before you decided to renovate and sell it. Even before any attempts to change how it looked, it just lost its magic the second you set your mind. Now it wasn’t hard to tear off wallpapers and throw out some old furniture. It was all easy now - and that wasn’t easy. It was scary how simple discarding something meaningful was to you. Like it didn’t hold any significance anymore. You noticed this trend some time ago.

It was the most annoying state of mind, when the silence unnerved you, made you listen to every little sound, but music made you anxious because of the idea that you might not hear something. What was it you waited to hear? It was ridiculous, there was nothing to look out for, no danger, yet you found yourself on the verge of another episode. First one in a long while. That wouldn’t work, you had to pick up Riley earlier. Rent a place. Renting a place won’t work - new environment - new corners to get used to, new furniture that casts new unfamiliar shadows that you mistake for movement. Jim had to be back. You would never tell him that.

You promised to yourself to never involve Jim in your problems, he was a part of the life where no problems of that caliber took place. Normal life. Peaceful life. Civil life. He didn’t deserve this, he worked with many veterans at the center, he had no business dealing with another one at home. You would never do this to him.

You liked Jim for not knowing what it’s like to chase shadows and gasp for air amid nightmares, you had a fair share of experience dating someone who knows. Someone who knows and understands that problem too damn well. Didn’t work out.

You were not ruining something good for a quick relief, some temporary comfort, a couple of nice words that won’t change a thing; you’d work on it yourself and give the best version to the person who gives you the best version. This is how things are supposed to be.

You learnt the hard way how important trying to be the best person for each other was. Watching your ex drive himself straight into fucking alcoholism, refusing help. It’s not always simple, but you could do your part. For now, your part was not bugging your boyfriend with your problems. Your boyfriend, your fiancé, fuck.

There was no way to give the ring back without it changing something fundamentally in the relationship, and changing something was not at all what you wanted. That was the main thing, you did not want to change anything. And he promised nothing would change, but things did change. For you, they did. It’s frustrating being mad when there’s no one to blame. You couldn’t even blame yourself. It made sense. What could you do? Tell him that you wanted to leave the door opened? Considered breaking up in the future? It wasn’t true. You did not want to break up. You just didn’t want this. Wasn’t ready for the thoughts of forever just yet. And he understood that, he promised it’s just a formality.

Besides Jim being great and your relationship being fulfilling, there was no way you’d ever put yourself through getting to know another person again. The idea of learning something new about someone new made you nauseous. Letting someone in? That wasn’t an option. You figured it never worked anyway. We all play our roles in the lives of others.

We play a role of a friend, a daughter, a co-worker, a girlfriend… A wife, a mother. “She knows how to play the role”. That was a complement. It took you a lot to get it right. Before that, you let people in. It was all a blur, a co-worker, a lover, a friend, a client even… You thought people could handle each other. That someone could accept all of you. Maybe it’s the case with kids, when you’re just experiencing the world and trying to see other people for what they are. Every corner of their mind sparks interest. But grown-ups had boundaries and roles. Roles and rules to adhere to.

It sounds bad, but it isn’t really. Couldn’t be. How could it be bad if it worked? You wouldn’t tell things you tell your friends to your kids. Same thing.

At least tomorrow you wouldn’t be alone, a couple of plumbers will be occupying the bathroom and you’ll feel the obligation to be social. Maybe you should call up your friends, fill up the rest of the week. You took the sleeping pills you haven’t touched in a while and closed your eyes, wishing for a better morning.

It was a shameful secret, but sometimes, despite your education, you believed you had some magic powers. If you wished for something hard enough, it happened just the way you wanted to. And your magic powers proved themselves right the next day, when Jim called you up and said that he’s coming back earlier. Didn’t even have to ask him.

Your mood through the roof; the ‘roof’ like the sound that Riley let out as soon as she smelled you coming in, her soft black fur in your face, wagging tail hitting your shins. That joyful little Labrador made everything better. Your friend, the guardian of your peace. Her vet annoyed at your inconsistence: you made a deal you’d leave Riley for longer and they didn’t finish whatever they had planned. They’d manage to do it all in a day, but since they assumed they had the time… It was okay, you’d bring her back later. Riley was a trained service dog, so she needed intense check-ups. Since she was given to from the special service K9 unit, they were extra strict with it. She was more than that to you, so you’d do it anyway. You’d do anything to keep her happy and healthy – a thought ran through your head as you ruffled her cute ears, black eyes staring at you in adoration.

You assumed the same look of adoration was on your face as you listened Jim talking for what seemed to be hours about the conference. Apparently, he got in an argument with someone and won. The argument was very public and he got noticed by some guy who wanted Jim to talk about the importance of physiotherapy and an active lifestyle for office workers at some event at his company.

“So, I will be needing lessons from you.” – he joked.

“Oh, I teach kids”

“They are teenagers. Young adults even”

“Well, that’s way worse!” – you were laughing, energized by his enthusiasm.

“Oh, you don’t like to teach them? Imagine how I feel,” – he hugged you and looked at your face, timing the kiss.

“And what’s that’s supposed to mean?” – you raised your eyebrows, understanding perfectly fine that he was, once again, teasing you about being younger.

“Well, I deal with you.” – the smile was warm in every muscle in his face, it was hard trying to keep up with the fake argument, so you just laughed and let him land that kiss he was hovering.

“I missed you, don’t leave me again.”

He pecked your pouted lips – “I won’t. Only for this event.”

“The event is out of town?” – you let the worry in your tone seep out, and bit your tongue.

“Yeah, this Tuesday. Just for three days. You could come?”

“What? Why three days? What are you going to do there for three days?” – you immediately hated the way you sounded, like a clingy paranoid housewife. It wasn’t that. You weren’t that.

“A day to fly in, the day of the event and a day to fly back.” – he’s sympathetic, - “You could come.” – swaying you around a little.

“I can’t, I have work.” Shit, why did it have to happen like that?

“Didn’t you take your days off?”

“Yeah, no…” – you took his arms off of you, trying to shake the stress off, - “I still have to deal with the load I took home… And my apartment… And Riley.”

“We could take Riley.”

“She has a vet in two days.” – you sighed as Jim hugged you again, kissing your temple.

“And when do you have a vet?”

He made an exaggerated pained sound as you elbowed him, smiling, - “Next month? I don’t know. I saw Clara recently; she didn’t see a point in meeting sooner.”

You assumed he was talking about her. He could’ve meant the doctor he put you on to, the one who removed scars with that laser, but you didn’t want to talk about that. You had a nasty scar on the side of your body, a deep stab wound. You didn’t mind it, but Jim assumed it triggered you somehow. Clara was your therapist, a skinny thin lady with condescending lips. You figured she pursed them in an understanding expression way too much so they turned into that shape with age. Made a mental note to never do that yourself.

“Well, as long as you’re going. Next month or whenever… How’s everything with the apartment?”

Now was his turn to listen to you rumble about how you dropped the curtain poll and other boring details.

You were truly happy that Jim got this event thing, sometimes he felt trapped at the center, working at the same building every day. It was good for him to get away, you just didn’t want to deal with him being away. It was your problem to deal with, not his. You wouldn’t make it his problem. You were better than that.

But the days grew shorter and shorter and soon you found yourself waking up alone. Jim bought a new kettle, didn’t even get mad that you ruined the old one. Told you that you could drop the curtain poll here as well and he wouldn’t care. It was comforting, but you still didn’t feel like he meant it. He meant it of course, but he didn’t know yet what he meant to mean. You couldn’t even dare bring Riley inside. She was running free in the backyard and stayed at the building you referred to as a ‘summer kitchen project’. It wasn’t a summer kitchen yet, but it wasn’t anything else as well. Maybe one day Jim will turn it into a little guest house. Or a proper kitchen. Maybe you will do it together.

The thought plagued your mind once more. And it was heavy. Why was it heavy? Everything was fine. It was too early to think about those things anyway. Why think of them? But was it too early? You said yes to a goddamn ring, it wasn’t just a pinky promise. His parents knew.

He wasn’t close to his parents. They turned him into an overachiever, expecting nothing but the best, and soon he figured out that the best was never enough. They always wanted him to do better. So, he distanced himself. You liked that about him, he set boundaries. He never disrespected them, but he didn’t let them in into his life, so they couldn’t affect it. He used to laugh at their assumption that they had a grip on him. He told them what they wanted to hear, and did as he pleased anyway. You noticed how it was changing as well. ‘She’s just my mother’ (with an eyeroll) started turning into ‘Well, she is my mother’. Were you about to walk into a trap?

It’s just you. And your trust issues. He never did anything to hurt you, never deceived you. All he did was being supportive, and even assured you he wasn’t leaving with a promise, a ring. And you were paying him back with doubts. Maybe his mother was right after all, he needed someone less turbulent.

But you were less turbulent. You grew to be so much less turbulent, you had to stick to a routine not to choke on another panic attack. It used to be much worse, you had to acknowledge your progress. That’s what Clara always raved about. All the work that you put in building this life, it paid off. Panic attacks weren’t the issue, it was this state of heightened anxiety that felt like a tunnel vision on everything at the same time. Your mind turned into this quiet buzzing, like something was about bout to happen and you had limited time to fix it. How much time? What would happen? What were you supposed to do? When will it end? Would it?

It was hard to see it sometimes, but the bigger picture was clear. You’d figure out the project you wanted to work on, you’d finish it. All while getting the required experience with your university job, write your thesis, defend it. Get your PhD title and your life would be over. Done, you meant. Your life would be complete. Complete, that’s the word.

And the rest will follow. Steadily, just like the life you were building: steady, peaceful, fulfilling.

You planned on taking Riley for the leftover tests only, but got told that they will need her to stay at the clinic, might need a transfer to the providing organization; found something worth ‘looking into’. They had that look in their eyes when they said “It’s nothing serious, we don’t think”, that look like they were just saying it, you knew that they were lying.

She was not your property when it came to documents, K9 trained for the secret services. They only let you have her when you promised to return to ‘work’. You didn’t. And now that something happened, they’d take her away. Was it your fault? Did she absorb too much poison from your emotional state?

You sat in your car, trying not to let any thoughts in. Everything you ever wish really hard for always happened, so you had to think really hard about the good things. “It truly is nothing serious.” It’s good that you do these check-ups. It’s probably something other pet owners wouldn’t even notice for years until it’s too late, but you had a privilege to detect it early, so everything was going to be okay. Had to be thankful.

Should you call Jim? You couldn’t. You wouldn’t disturb him before an event that’s very important to him. He probably will tell you that everything will be fine anyway. And you knew it. You could tell it to yourself all the same. There was no need.

Your throat dry, like your body sucked up all the moisture in order not to cry. You couldn’t cry. Crying would mean you’re dealing with something and you were not. Because Riley would be okay. For fucks sake, you were smart. Crying was just crying. A complex emotional and physiological response that serves a function, various functions even. You were overwhelmed, not fucking grieving. It’s things like this that made you feel inadequate about your expertise sometimes. You were smart when it came to other people and textbook cases, yet toyed with all this magical thinking when time came to process your own shit.

You let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed your eyebrows, not caring about the makeup. You wouldn’t ever care about anything anymore if something were to happen to Riley. Shut up.

Nothing would happen. You got Riley even before you officially quit your job at the secret service, during the hospital leave. She was with you through everything, the only one that saw the path you had to take to be okay again. As okay as you were.

No one else stuck around, it wasn’t like there were people to stuck around to begin with, but still… A job like this can be isolating, so isolating you resorted to dating your partner. You did not think about those times, nor him; Clara agreed it did no good. Triggered a lot of destructive thought patterns and got you out of the loop.

You never intended to date him, it just happened. You knew it wasn’t a good idea and didn’t care, so you got exactly the ending that was due. It was good at first, too good. You could sleep when he was around. Falling asleep next to him was easy, because that’s what you did during the missions. You knew that if he lets you sleep, it means it’s his turn to be awake, and he’d be watching out for anything and everything. It worked in many ways. Sometimes you’d wake up in cold sweat, alarmed by the memories punishing you in your nightmares and you would see him next to you, sleeping. And that meant you were home. Because he’d never sleep in any other situation, you could trust him with that. You felt safe enough with him, an important transitional period. It wouldn’t be right to go cold turkey on that part of your life, having a familiar face around made it easier.

But then you started seeing each other less. He got entangled in missions above your understanding, he never talked about those, never talked about any of them; it wasn’t right for you to hear it and well, it was classified. And every time he went away your anxiety would feel fresh, and every time he came back your anxiety would feel fresh again. You couldn’t see him in the state in which he returned sometimes; bruised, bloody, swollen, that shell shocked dissociated look. You were used to it before, now it reminded you of something you’d rather forget.

He noticed the way it was affecting you, but didn’t find any better solution than not seeing you straight away; waiting a few days till the horror gets out of his system; and drinking during these days, evidently.

He never listened when you confronted him about his problem. At first, he hid it pretty good. Only drinking on the day of his arrival, sobering up the next day and then you’d meet up. But soon enough he started drinking to the point of sleeping through the entire day you were supposed to meet, claiming that it was just exhaustion. It wasn’t just exhaustion. And finally, he’d drink when you were together, to keep his mind sober, as he claimed. To deal with a hungover. When you confronted him about being hungover in the first place, he’d act like it was his God given right to drink when you weren’t seeing each other, so you made it clear it wouldn’t work. He had to find a way to deal with the problem. And alcohol wasn’t the problem. The ‘job’ was.

There was no way for you to get better with him around, there was no way for him to get better reintroducing himself to danger every other week. You were caring and kind and you begged for so long, before you snapped and gave him an ultimatum. He could go on another mission, but you wouldn’t wait for his return. It was his choice to make. His alone. You were not a bad person for doing that.

He didn’t choose you. Somehow you always knew he never would. You lied when you said you wouldn’t wait for his return, you waited. You waited for his return, wished for it. At some point the realization hit: that wishing for his return so hard against his will might work. And he might return, but not in the way you intended, it struck you like a lighting. What have you done? He’s going to return in a body bag. That’s generous, he’s going to return as a pile of ashes. So, you had to stop thinking about it.

Only saw him once after he left. Riley snuffed him out in the crowded street after your open lecture. It was more than a year ago. Neither of you wanted to talk, but Riley was too excited, so you talked for a while. He refused admitting he was seeing your lecture, despite his motorcycle, that he now used to move around, being parked outside the lecture hall. Looked somehow older, maybe the lines on his forehead deepened, maybe it was the look in his eyes, detached, maybe it was the fact that he went few days without shaving. Or sleeping, by the looks of it, eyebags almost red. It was all so unlike him. He used to have it all under control, was the one you relied on. It felt wrong seeing him like this, like he was taking away something from you.

Took so much strength not to act like a nagging ex. You wanted to ask all these questions: whether he was drinking, whether he was getting help, whether he knew it was wrong, whether he had someone to take care of him. But you weren’t his mother. Had to keep it in check. He was your ex-boyfriend. Essentially, just a stranger who knew too much. Boundaries.

Never saw him after that, never thought about him, went on with your life, built something great for yourself. Your life was real, without constant death looming in the corners. Your mind went to Riley and you hated your brain for it.

What if you never see her again? What if your little girl turns to ashes and this is all you’re going to hold in your hands when you touch her again? Your ex-partner appeared in your head once more. It’s the same disgusting thoughts, it’s never about anything other than your brain and it’s patterns. You had to stop, before you lost vision, hyperventilating in the car, like you saw ghosts.

What if it’s a sign? What if it’s the price for the new life you’re about to start? All your thoughts were about to come true. Your new life, and the sacrifice in the shape of two plastic bags half-full of ashes to finally let you go and live out your dreams. And the smell. Earthy smell of ashes. You started seeing black. You never wanted it. The idea of those warm black paws… Those hands that held you… All turned into dust.

You opened the car-door, breathing in the air through the mouth, in and out, desperately; and just walked out.

You had to call Clara, talk to her about it. She’d reassure you it was all in your head; but you already knew it. It was the problem. You were scared that whatever’s in your head always found it’s way to become a reality somehow, and this is why you didn’t want to acknowledge these thoughts. You’d never share it with anyone, you’d never make them any more real than they were. And they weren’t. None of it was real. You needed to fall into routine. Something to occupy your hands and your head.

Working on your apartment wasn’t helping much, everything made you think about how you’re getting rid of not just things, but also every other aspect. You loved clinging to things and thoughts. It kept you grounded for a while. There was no way to check up on Riley, they’d lie anyway. They’d lie and tell you everything is good; they already did that. If this sacrifice is tied together, this means your ex… This means if he’s okay, then Riley is also going to be okay. That made sense.

There was a way to see if he was fine, without coming in contact, had to be. Maybe you should call up some past colleagues and ask around, find a way to make it seem normal. There was no way to make it seem anything but deranged. So, your mind switched from thinking about to Riley to this.

It felt like something to grip onto. An indicator you could check. If he’s alive and well, then Riley is going to be alive and well. This is how the universe worked today.

The thought simmered in your head for the entire day as you painted the wall in your room white, so you cave in, got your old phone out, charged it, tried to find any contacts that could be useful. Try to ignore the way the phone makes all the memories smell.

You came up with a legend, rang up a girl who used to work in the archives, she wasn’t useful. Didn’t talk. Well, she knew how to keep information, that’s like, her job description or something.

You needed someone less loyal, who wouldn’t see any malice in an ex-employee asking questions. Because there was no malice, it was just small talk. Called up a guy who worked at the storage facility. He was in the mood to talk. You weren’t sure he remembered you, but he was honored an ex-agent called him up to chat randomly. You told him about how you were at the airport another day and had to carry your luggage, which made you think of all the work he’s done for you. Thanked him in a long speech, and as you were wrapping up the call, asked around. Just a polite ‘how’s everyone doing’ type of thing. ‘Please just straight to the point,’ you thought to yourself, all this talk made you nauseous. You just wanted to hear any random fact about that one person. That’s it. But the guy never mentioned him, made you work for it. You ask a couple of questions about other people he didn’t mention. Come on, sound nonchalant and make it look natural. Will it be less suspicious if you ask about him after getting your answers about three random people prior? Three is too text-book, make it four. Make sure to ask about someone else as well afterwards, so it doesn’t sound like it was the goal. Make sure your voice doesn’t give it away when you mention his name. It’s easy.

The interrogation was supposed to leave you feeling at peace, but what you learned left you confused instead. Confused in your own feelings. Irritated, enraged…, upset? What do you mean that motherfucker quit?

Peeling the carrots was relaxing, skinning that orange vegetable. Small white lines becoming more and more transparent before disappearing, strong refreshing smell. What else is orange in the room? One of the buttons on the TV remote was orange before you threw the TV out, that black mirror of the screen made you anxious, so it had to go. Jim’s place had an orange towel, not much of color at your place. You had an orange eyeshadow in one of the makeup pallets, one of those colors no one ever used. You only used natural ones, to make you look presentable, but still respectable and serious. Why would he quit? Found something worth leaving it all behind for? Someone? Good for him. Would be good for him, if it was the case. Probably wasn’t. Probably quit to drink more.

You couldn’t imagine him doing anything other than what he was doing. He was out of place anywhere else. He was the kind of person who was so reliable in stressful situations, but an absolute mess in a day-to-day life. You wondered if he knew how to pay taxes. Always had the government do everything for him, they basically groomed him and he was too comfortable. And the motorcycle? With the drinking? A recipe for a fucking disaster. A recipe, right. You needed another carrot. You were stressed beyond reason as it was, here he was giving you another headache. You threw the carrot into the sink. You already peeled enough actually.

So, he quit four months ago. And you’re just getting to know about it. Like that, from some random guy. No one even bothered to tell you, like it didn’t matter. Did they consider even for a moment that maybe you knew something that had to be accounted for before letting him go? How did they even just let him go? You went though a lot of bullshit to finally quit, your trauma playing a factor. Did they catch him drinking on duty? He always said it wasn’t this simple when it came to quitting, so what changed?

This fucking salad wasn’t turning out great. And you weren’t even hungry anymore. Jim was about to be home in few hours, you had to eat or else you’d be forced to eat the cow vomit he called food.

This was wrong, mean thoughts. Jim didn’t do anything to upset you. If you didn’t like his food, you should take the matters in your own hands and cook for him. Find vegan recipes online. You could find anything online.

You could find anything online. A couple of thoughts ran through your head, conflicting with each other. You were not about to stalk your ex.

Anyway, vegan food didn’t have to be nasty, Jim was just in too deep and got used to it, you didn’t have to suffer. You’d cook up something decent. He’d be glad you’re committing to the bit.

The recipe. To the store. To Jim’s place. To the kitchen. Fuck the carrot salad. Fuck all of this.

“This. Is just. Amazing” – Jim annunciated, taking another forkful of the mushroom gravy pie with garlicky kale mashed potatoes, - “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

‘Oh, you have no idea’ – a spiteful thought ran through your head.

“Well, you tell me,” – you smiled instead.

“As far as I’m concerned,” – he stood up, grabbing your waist, - “You’re perfect.” – placed a kiss to your temple. Why is always the temple?

You almost pushed him away, before recognizing that your annoyance wasn’t directed at him, you actually liked how he hugged you, you tried to relax into his arms.

“It’s going to be okay, Riley’s gonna be fine,” – he placed another kiss to your temple. Who the fuck asked him to mention Riley? He never even let her in the house properly, what does he know about anything? You let out a suppressed scoff and inhaled sharply. It wasn’t his fault; you were just on edge.

“Thank you.” – for nothing. That mean person in your head just couldn’t shut up. Shut up. “I’m sorry, last couple of days were crazy. I’m glad you’re back.”

Be the best version of yourself for others. Unlike some.

The conference or the meeting- the event-whatever, went well, he even managed to land another similar gig, that was good. Jim told you all about it, he went out to celebrate with the people that organized all that and got you a stuffed toy from the slot machine. Sweet. You laughed at his stories and he almost made it all better. But once a thought got into your head, you were persistent to abuse it, obsess over it, you knew that trait, and you had to manage it somehow.

“Remember Kennedy?” – you said nonchalantly, brushing your teeth before bed.

“The president?”

“No, the guy I used to work with.” – you had to talk with someone about it, otherwise you’d keep thinking about it in private. Those thoughts needed a way out, and you could tell Jim anything.

“Ah, the one you used to date.” – he was getting ready for bed as well, assembling the pillows in that secret smart way that gave him superpowers of never straining his muscles or something.

“Yes. So, I was catching up with some colleagues and guess what? He quit few months ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. No one even told me. This is how I get to know about it.”

“Yeah, what about it though?” – the pillows must not be pillowing because he was not paying enough attention. – “Why would they tell you?”

“Jim. Do you understand the situation? How it looks like?” – you glared at him, toothbrush in hand. – “This is not about him, Jim. This is about me. About my reputation.”

He put down the pillow, looking at you, dumb expression on his face, - “How is this about your reputation now?”

“Are you kidding me?” – you spat toothpaste out, washed the brush and fastened the silk robe around your waist, - “Do you know what kind of training he went through? We went through. Him, especially.” – it wasn’t about him though, - “The… What we’ve been through? Generally. Last time we spoke, he was coping horribly, drinking and-…”

“You’re super tense.” – Jim came over and put his hands on your shoulders, rubbing slightly. – “Ease up. Want me to rub your shoulders, huh?”

“I want you to know why I’m upset.” – you sat down on the bed, Jim still rubbing your back, - “You just don’t quit that kind of job without support. What if something happens and then… Me.” – you pointed both hands at yourself, like you had to explain it to him, - “What are they going to say? What kind of a psychologist am I? Who’s going to grant me with a prestigious position and a PhD with an ex who did… all… that?” – you couldn’t bring yourself to say that, but you trusted Jim to figure it out. It wasn’t a healthy situation.

“Listen, I know.” – Jim started working on your neck, it wasn’t even tense, - “You can always twist it though.” – Twist what? Your neck? – “See: you both went through something so horrible…, and look what it did to him. But you, you managed to crawl your way back from hell. And you can help others.” – he said it with a theatrical grandiosity, knew how to lighten the mood.

“This isn’t funny.” – you swerved your shoulders away; it wasn’t working in the moment.

“Or look.” – he sat up straight – “Nobody cares about the timelines, it’s the story that matters. Can always say his demise inspired you to help others.”

“This isn’t funny, Jim. I’m so serious right now.” – what was he even talking about?

“Okay, fine.” – Jim sighed, like you upset him by not complying, - “Let’s be real. I honestly don’t think anyone’s gonna care about your personal life like that.”

“You don’t know how it is, they will dig up every possible reason not to lend me the spot. It’s men who can date high schoolers and still work with kids. Me, a woman-…”

He rolled his eyes, - “There we go… Yes, I understand it’s the whole world against you.”

“You don’t know what’s it like, it’s important, I cannot let my reputation be tainted with something like-“

“Oh, how would I know?” – why was he mad? – “My job’s not that serious. I don’t have to care about my reputation.”

“Jim, don’t fucking do this. This is not about you.”

“Yes! What is this even about? I don’t think your ex is going to fucking kill himself because he quit. Guy’s probably having the time of his life right now.” – he looked at you – “Damn, not everyone’s fucking crazy!”

You stared at him.

What? You had to go get some water. Anything to just calm down. He was supposed to comfort you, not this. Not everyone’s fucking crazy? Like whom? Did he just call you crazy?

No, he didn’t. And he was right. You spent way too much time with suicidal people, not everyone’s like that. You needed to relax and let it go. You finished you water and came back to bed.

Just laid there in silence for a moment, before Jim shifted to cuddle up, you put your head in his neck.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just stressed. It’s the apartment, it’s Riley being away, you leaving…”

“It’s okay” – he kissed your head, - “I get it.”

He kissed your shoulder and it felt like you were pressured into peace you did not deserve. Restless. Moving in with him would be a challenge, you suddenly found yourself clinging to all the chaos you still carried inside, knowing that he’s on a mission to install order over it. You cannot imagine sleeping next to someone every day, not being able to twist and turn till sunrise.

You closed your eyes, feeling the bees and worms move under your skin. One day, they will go away. It will all go away.

“I don’t like what you said last night…” – you brought up in the morning, getting ready for another day.

Jim was not in the mood for the conversation, but you both valued communication - “Is this about your…”

“Yeah, I don’t like how you talked about him.” – you both understood each other without having to say much.

“Okay. What was it I said that you didn’t like?” – he was putting up with you at this point. You didn’t like feeling like you were someone he had to put up with.

“You talked about him…” – you motioned with your head – “ending things?”

“Yeah? I thought you did that.”

“You put it harshly, I don’t like this, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it.” – he was just saying things.

You sighed, - “It’s not that… It’s a sensitive topic for me, you know that. And it’s very real.”

“I know” – he buttoned up his jacket and walked up to give you a small peck.

When you got together, Jim promised he would lean a thousand languages to get through you. That you will always find a middle ground. Sometimes it felt like he was just saying what you wanted to hear to shut you up.

The day was slow, full of grading assignments, checking if the paint was drying flat at the apartment (you already managed to mismatch the primer with the paint once, causing it to bubble up before), talking to the vets at the clinic, who assured you that all Riley needed was a small surgery and that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but she was transported. You could even see the pictures from before they took her, except you couldn’t. You couldn’t see her in the state that you were. And if you miss out on the chance to see her one last time, you wouldn’t forgive yourself. And you’d be forced to end things. It was a nice set up, Check-mate, universe. There will be no life without Riley, so everything had to be okay.

You were happy you no longer worked with people; you wouldn’t wish a therapist like yourself on your worst enemy. But then maybe you would. That would be a neat punishment.

You did not manage to find anything about your ex on the internet, gave up on that task and picked it up again a couple of times. Even lying on the bed after a hot bath, which usually helped, the thoughts just did not leave you. He was a threat to your reputation. It’s not like it was easy to find anything on someone with a job like his. So that actually meant that if anything were to happen, no one would know. This thought should’ve been sufficient enough to put your worries to rest, but it made you even more restless. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, and you had to know. It wasn’t even about anything, you just had to know.

What if imagining him in misery was easier than imagining anything else? Maybe the thought of him being happy made you uncomfortable. What then? Could you trust yourself to be a bigger person? Deep down you knew, the mean voice in your head wanted every single person who didn’t choose you to suffer in regret. It was because of your parents. And that voice had no control over you, unless it did. And sometimes it did, but not now. You were the bigger person, maybe not when Jim sat on the bed, disrupting your thoughts. You were the smaller person next to him, literally. He was bigger. And the bed moved under his weight.

The thoughts had to go; Jim had no business being present in the aura of your maliciousness. To him, you were good. And you would be good with him. He’d make you better.

“I can see the stress radiating off of you” – he laughed lightly, - “putting a hand to your forehead”. Goofy.

You smiled and rubbed your eyes, - “I’m fine…”

“You’re not fine” – Jim got all up in your face, a playful smile, studying, - “I know how to deal with tension.”

“No doubts, I heard you were famous for that.” – you matched the tone, - “Traveling around the country sharing your knowledge with serious people.”

“Oh no,” – grabbing you by the waist, he laid flat on his back and pulled you up on top of him, - “A masterclass for you only.”

Oh no. Indeed. “Wait” – you support yourself placing a hand on his chest as he pulls you up, kissing your thigh. You hold onto the bedframe, his kisses are warm, hot. The timing is off, you’re in your head.

Maybe it will work, maybe you need to shut your brain off, give in to him. And you try, as his lips make your muscles tighten up. You breathe deep, no thoughts. Please no thoughts.

The more you try not to think of something, the more your brain focuses on the matter – it was the bane of your life. Usually the problem was more general, less urgent. But at the moment, you tried really hard not to let any of it get inside your head, forget for a moment, let go. It doesn’t matter at the moment. Nothing matters, just you and… Just you and the disarray of fragments that steal your life from perfection. And Jim. Fuck, not like this. By focusing hard on not letting the visions in, you shut off from feeling, your body overstimulated, your brain fighting for the upper hand to block it out. It almost hurt, the pressure. Like a drawn bow, you tried not to give way. Not to think about the vet clinic, the walls, white walls in your apartment, your bedroom, your bed, a man on the bed, a vision of blue eyes staring at you flickered in your head so visceral, like a lightning. You grabbed the bedframe like a lifeboat to a drowning man, gasping for air, a shudder running across your body. Finally, no thoughts.

You collapsed backwards, your head on Jim’s boxers. You felt him hard, immediately deciding that you’re going to fall sleep, play dead. You could actually pass out, he could do whatever, you couldn’t deal with your mind at the moment. Your boyfriend, your fiancé, sat up straight, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you in. Only it wasn't you. He kissed that someone, moaning into her lips. She fell like a ragdoll onto his chest and he cradled her, brushing the hair with his fingers.

You slept in. Woke up and fell back asleep a couple of times, actually. You weren’t ready to give your brain another chance to work just yet. It fucked up. It fucked up so bad. Jim left you breakfast. His idea of breakfast never involved eggs. You could not look at yourself in the mirror. You thought you left shame behind. You held yourself accountable and never acted before you were sure you’d be okay living with your decisions. Should you hold yourself accountable for thoughts? Thoughts you couldn’t control. And you tried. For longer than you could admit.

‘This rotten feeling, this disgust with yourself will go away’ - you told yourself. Let it simmer, process it, and it will pass. Will be recycled and forgotten.

It was a mistake to even think about him in any capacity. It wasn’t your intention. But here you were, facing the truth that you will miss his touch no matter how much time passes.

You tried to test it in the morning, lying there next to your fiancé, his hand on your stomach, felt like any other morning. Eyes closed, you tried to trick your brain, concentrate on the weight of Jim’s hand, imagine the hand belongs to another. To him. And as soon as your imagination kicked in, the tug in your stomach twisted, heating up your cheeks, like some kind of engine. Nothing in your reality changed, it was all in your head. It was the end the world. That experiment.

Truly sadistic, you hated yourself in a way so profound, you found every way to ruin your own peace. Never left a negative emotion alone, always picking, digging, looking for something, always making it worse. Then cry when you found it.

You truly felt like the worst human on the planet. At least actual “bad” people never attempted to be good, they’d probably do a better job at it. It was their choice to do bad things. You made all the right choices and still failed.

Not being able to eat, you took a sip of green tea, you had to be rational. It’s not like it doesn’t happen to other people. The only reason you fantasized about your ex is because you were stressed thinking about him, and you were stressed thinking about him because of Riley. If Riley was here, none of it would happen. You had to make sure Kennedy was alive, for Riley’s sake. It still made sense to you. And actually, it was all in your head. Your memories. You missed your memories, not a real person. You bet if you saw him now, you wouldn’t feel a thing. Other than regret, disappointment.

He must be miserable, drinking his health away. Health is what makes us attractive at the end of the day. It’s all chemicals. So, if you were to see him, you’d be disappointed and feel adequate again.

And you will appreciate Jim for what Jim was. Stable, put together. There was no reason to lose your mind just yet.

Maybe you lost it, actually. Because you were pulling up every illegal way to look up your ex’s motorcycle license plates. You had a vague polaroid of Riley next to it, from that one time you saw each other. She looked too excited and happy. Like she won a treasure hunt. You had o take a picture. To busy your hands, because meeting him was awkward. Riley made it less awkward. Saved you every time. Your poor little girl. It would all be okay.

Did he get any tickets? Where did he park? You did not recall all the numbers, only a fragment of the plate visible in the picture, and it turned out there were too many similar motorcycles around. And he could’ve moved. Probably did, so it was a dead end. You scoffed, closing the laptop. ‘Repair shops’ sparked in your brain. For being your worst enemy, sometimes that brain was useful. You called up every repair shop you could find, asking if they had any experience with the particular model, acting like you needed their services. Had a list, had a car, had a whole day to drive around and interrogate them about a particular customer.

You read them well, you knew people; could tell when they didn’t know anything useful and weren’t lying. Until you saw a flicker of recognition in the eyes of one repair shop owner as you were showing him a picture, you didn’t look at the picture. The owner had thick moustache and tattoos. Tough case. The likes of him never ratted out people. Not for a low price at least.

You swore you could’ve bought a bike with the money that it cost you, but now you knew that your ex introduced himself as “Scott” (how original, went by the middle name), few times had a drink or two with the owner. And needed help with his motorcycle every once in a while, it was always ‘a gruesome sight’. Yeah, sounds right.

So, the bar was the only clue you managed to find. Maybe with the magic you possessed, or liked to think that you possessed, it would be enough.

So, you went home, put on makeup, got dressed. You had to look good to feel confident. And headed to the bar.

So, naturally… You spent few hours looking around the bar, trying not to look suspicious, attempting to see him in vain. For a second you found yourself feeling like a predator, a siren, some succubus; looking for her prey. Willing it to appear. But that didn’t happen.

Naturally.

Why would it? Magic wasn’t real, you knew it. But it was nice to pretend sometimes. If magic wasn’t real then wishing for Riley to be okay was useless. Then none of it made sense.

You asked for another drink. It was time to come to your senses. Time to own up to everything, to the mess you found yourself orchestrating. Maybe you just had to come to terms with the fact that you didn’t deserve the life you wanted. Maybe you didn’t want it to begin with. Maybe Jim’s mother was right. You were playing a role, she saw right through you.

Jim’s mother was a hateful cunt. You downed the drink in one go and asked for another.

But she was right. You were playing roles for as long as you knew how to. You wanted to prove to others so badly that you’re worth something. Your parents always found a way to devalue your achievements; if they weren’t tangible, that meant they were up for grabs. And your parents grabbed them and twisted, making sure you understand that it wasn’t yours. And if it was, it was wrong somehow. They always found a flaw and made it their mission to put that flaw of yours on a pedestal of your being. So, you wanted to prove them you’re capable, reaching for every medal to drown that pedestal in gold. To show them that they weren’t wrong for pointing it out, because fuck, you weren’t perfect. But they were wrong for doubting you. For not loving you the way that you needed. For making you feel like the worst creature ever, for simply having emotions.

They made you feel evil for caring. Made you feel manipulative for having enough empathy to measure your reactions to circumstances. And you caved in, you trusted that they saw the real you, so you became what they wanted and tried to fix this person, so they recognize that it’s you, but you’re better now. And it never fucking worked. Tears of pure frustration and grief crawled down your face. Shameful tears, defeated. You tried t break this person you created with their help. Tried to become someone you respected for a change. Became an elite agent. And you did ruin her. You ruined her till there was nothing left but a smoldering ribcage that struggled to keep all the memories. You just had no idea that you’d have to live inside that girl you destroyed, after the fact. That this girl is all that you’ll ever have. Honest to God, you did not think of that.

“Got stood up?” – some guy sat down across you, a drink in his hand.

You tried to wipe the tears away with your fist and ended up pressing both hands to your eyes, a couple of sobs falling through, - “Just… Go!” – you almost growled, hating him for making you realize you’re in public. Hating him for making you be mean to another human. You weren’t mean. You were a good person.

The guy made a comedic face, loudly announcing ‘what a bitch’ to his friends to make his exist. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, you face squeezing, tears dripping from the elbows, head shaking. Everything was the worst ever.

Is this how he deals with everything? Does whiskey treat him better? Does life treat him better? It doesn’t matter. You hoped it did. It did treat him better. If you could find something that would make the pain and the bitterness a little less intense, you’d take it. It wasn’t your fault alcohol just never worked. Nothing ever worked and maybe it was your fault after all. You breathed for a while, hands in your eyes, like it’s going to hide you. Waited till the noise got quieter. And left.

Another morning at noon. You felt like shit, staring at the white walls, perfectly pained. You did a good job. You were good at painting things over. Different paint, same walls underneath. Called off the plumbers, they insisted on coming over, claimed there was some thing with the new plastic tubes not being connected to the steel ones properly because they messed up; they could do it another day. You didn’t want to see a soul today. Or ever. Your ‘vacation’ was coming to it’s end soon, maybe routine will bring you back to life. It always helped. You were no good out of loop. Couldn’t be trusted with your own life. They were all right, all of them.

Maybe the dissociated state that you found yourself in was better than being unnerved at every little movement. Maybe it was better to feel nothing for a change, to think about nothing. There was no point in thinking about anything when everything was doomed anyway.

It wasn’t really, but it felt like it. You’d call up Clara, you’d go back to work, you’d see Jim’s smile, you’d hug Riley. It will all fall back. Another round at trying, a little more cracks here and there, but it will fall back. You noticed a tiny line on the wall, just next to the door, where the paint didn’t reach.

You still had some left, it was for the kitchen, but it didn’t matter if you had to waste a bucket to cover up that little mistake. You always paid an unreasonable price for the smallest mistakes, it made sense.

Just as you were finishing up, the phone rang. So loud it startled you and a big splash of paint crushed into your t-shirt, some streaks dripping down onto jeans. “Fuck” – you murmured and walked up to answer – “Yes?” – annoyed at no one but yourself.

Turned out you forgot your bag at the bar. Placed it carefully under the table, so no one spots an easy target to rob, as you cried your eyes out like a pathetic fool. Well, no one spotted; not even you.

You walked up to the bar, didn’t even care to change, not in the mood to drive (mostly, not in the condition to park, driving was the easy part). Thanked the bartender, making sure you’re extra nice to make up for your angry tone over the phone. Took your bag, tipping well for not keeping it to himself, checked the insides (all there) and was about to leave when you turned around and froze for a moment.

A huge surprised smile found it’s place on your face before you knew how to react. You saw him staring at you, a surprised face; perhaps his one was a little more sincere, you just played a role. Time to be social.

“What? Hey!” – you pointed awkwardly at him, at yourself and waved, laughing.

He smiled, rising his eyebrows shaking his head in disbelief – “Hey?”

You sat down at his table, a surge of uncontainable bravado coming over, - “What a… I did not expect…” – you laughed like it was the most bizarre coincidence in the world. Your head ringing.

He just shook his head agreeing, apparently, couldn’t find the words, it seemed, - “Me neither?”

You both laughed politely, nervously. What the actual fuck?

“Really?” – you were not ready for this. Autopilot speaking.

“What? Yeah, I… I promise I did not stalk you.” – he took a sip of something, smiling. Your eyes following the glass. Still drinking? You asked the bartender for a soda.

You were not prepared to see Leon. Especially not when you were wearing old jeans, an oversized t-shirt, all covered in paint, last night’s makeup barely rinsed with water, mascara still sitting around your eyes in black circles. You got yourself into it. Well, maybe your magic did work after all. Maybe it was him who had to be disappointed for you to let go.

You rubbed your eyebrows, stressed, but with a big polite grin.

“I did not even think of that, now you’re giving me ideas!” – you smiled. If only he knew. If only. – “So… Umm… What are you doing here?” – took a sip of the soda, it stuck in your throat.

He looked better than the last time you saw him. A clean shave, sitting up tall, same features, his hair cut recently - “Waiting for you apparently.”

You laughed, pointing at your clothes – “Well I wasn’t…”

“What…” – he looked you up and down, - “is that?”

You bit your lip and smiled proudly – “I’m renovating!”

“Renovating? Your apartment?” – was it even a real conversation?

How do you even talk to someone who used to live under your skin when you’re pretending to be strangers?

“Exactly. We’re moving in, with my fiancé and all… I decided to renovate it a little, before selling” – you kept smiling, looking away.

Boundaries. That’s how you do it.

“Your fiancé?” – you noticed his eyes scanning your fingers for a moment. You weren’t lying, you just didn’t wear the ring. – “That’s a… Congratulations.”

Congratulations? Really?

“Um… Thanks?” – suddenly you felt uncomfortable, your smile started to feel too fake to upkeep. You didn’t feel like it was something you had a right to accept congratulations for.

The initial shock backing out, taking the heightened boost of confidence with it. You sighed. What now?

A moment of silence.

“How’s the job?” – you looked at him, waiting for the answer so you could ask your questions. You had many.

“It’s fine. The usual.” – he looked more solemn by the second as well.

Why would he lie? The path to questions blocked. Was it his way to keep boundaries?

“Yeah well… I don’t want to hear about the usual.” – you tightened your face in a smile.

He was the one lying. You had it all figured out, your life, you didn’t lie; and he couldn’t be honest. So, it was you who’d be disappointed, not him.

“I know.” – he looked back at you. That was him, the eyes, not the polite bullshit. And suddenly it hurt more than you imagined.

“Yeah… Well.” – there was truly nothing else to say, - “You seem to love that usual so…” – except you had everything to say.

But you won’t. There was no point. Chose the job over you, obviously was fine with it. It was the past. He didn’t say anything. Had nothing to say, did he?

“You look thinner” – he commented, studying your frame.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, - “It’s just the t-shirt. And a lack of training. Muscles go down, you know. I gained weight actually.” – you tried hard to be nonchalant, talkative. That meant you were comfortable, people talked when they were comfortable. But you were anything but. So uncomfortable under his stare. He noticed you looked smaller; did he remember how you looked that well? How you felt? Does he still think about it?

He better not think about it. That would make you uncomfortable. You felt a slight burn under your eyes, heat spreading to your face.

“Okay.” – there was a glimmer of something mocking in his eyes.

“What?” – you tilted you head, exaggerated annoyance on your face. If you talked and if you were engaged, he might not see through you. Might be distracted.

“Nothing” – he pressed the glass to his lips.

“Oh, come on, what is it?”

He smiled into the glass, laughing to himself about something, - “Nothing, it’s just… Your idea of weight is hilarious. Always been.” – he swallowed whatever it was that he was drinking. Yeah, he’s so big and muscular and your weight is a joke in comparison, you get it. Very funny. You watched his neck move, remembering how it felt under your lips. ‘Always been’ so he remembers. Of course, he does, why wouldn’t he? People don’t just forget others, as much as you convinced yourself you could. Something stoic in you ordered to do everything in your power to make it stop. There had to be a way to make him unappealing.

“You still drink?” – come on, lie some more.

“Only before seeing you.” – he put the glass down, - “Kind of like a habit.”

He was basking in his humor before seeing your hurt expression, - “Come on, it was a joke.”

You just stared at him, wounded, - “It wasn’t funny.” – the muscles around your eyes contracted, but you kept it under control – “Was I a joke to you?”

Some sadness flickered in his eyes, a hint of shame? You needed more than a hint and a lot more than a flicker. How could he do this to you?

“I’m sorry.”

‘For the joke or…?” – you shrugged, mockingly. What was it? Spell it out, asshole.

He had this way of looking at you, like you were on the other side of the ocean and he was just trying to understand the message by clues. You were clear and loud.

What did he see on the other side? - “For everything.”

You scoffed, how typical. How easy. For everything. Everything, nothing. It was so simple. For everyone. No one. Always. Never.

“Okay.” – another fake smile, angry tears threatening to come out. You nodded, laughing, - “Okay.”

He blinked a couple times, faster than usual, sighed deeply, called your name. You were looking at the table. Nice wooden table, you’d like a table like that. Jim should get a table like that.

“I mean it. It wasn’t a joke for me either. It was hell.”

“Oh!” – you laughed, not bothering to wipe the tear that fell, it wasn’t a sad tear. It was rage, - “It was hell! That’s umm… Nice to know.”

He called your name again. Were you making a scene? Embarrassing him maybe?

“I apologize profusely for the hell that I was to you, the thing is - I did not know.” – you put a hand to your heart, it was pounding – “Honesty, I had no idea.”

He shook his head, annoyed at something. At himself, you hoped, - “Please?”

“What?” – you demanded.

“Don’t.”

“What?” – you shrugged.

“I’m happy to see you. Don’t… - “

“Oh, you’re happy? I’m sorry, I thought I was hell, I didn’t figure out you were happy. You’re just very hard to figure out, I guess.”

“It was hell seeing you go through… Everything. And it was hell making it worse.”

“It was your choice.”

“Was it?”

You shrugged, it was obvious, - “You could’ve quit.” – like you did now, you almost added.

“I really couldn’t” – he seemed so sincere. Liar. – “You can’t think it’s that easy.”

“I managed.”

“Yeah, and I had to pull some strings for that, strings that bind me.”

“What strings? Those missions? – he didn’t say a word, - “I didn’t ask you.” – more silence, - “You still could’ve left. Just stay, hide. It’s your goddamn life.” – it was ours.

“Yeah, you do that and they go after your family.”

“Well, you didn’t have one.” – you spat out before realizing you hurt him. That was just a fact, why is he acting hurt?

Oh. The realization hit. He meant you. They’d go after you. Family. You inhaled sharply through your nose, and blew the air out of your mouth.

“Anyway, I’m sorry. I did what I thought was right. And it seems to have worked out.”

“What are the indications?”

“You seem to be happy.” – it was a little ridiculous to say that in the situation, so you both laughed, tension relieved. You understood what he meant though and nodded.

He did what he thought was right. Leaving you was right. You heard enough and asked if he’d mind walking for a while, you needed some air.

And the night’s air was exactly what you needed. Wasn’t too cold, but inhaling it tickled your nose up to the forehead, a sensation to focus on. Something to keep you grounded.

You talked about your job at the university, briefly, small talk. About your life with Jim. A talk between strangers who once had a chance. Or whatever. Strangers who did the right thing. Strangers who weren’t convenient for each other anymore.

You found yourself looking for his approval. Telling him about how great your life was in all shapes and colors. He mostly listened. You talked about how friends disappear once you work for something you’re not allowed to talk about, he agreed. It was nice talking to someone who could relate, despite the hurt.

Your home security alarm went off, you set advanced motion detectors in each room, helped your anxiety to be under control. Or maybe helped your anxiety to take deeper roots, caving in to fears. It was your bathroom. Strangely, the alarm didn’t go off for the hallway, did someone enter through the ventilation? Leon asked if it could be Riley, your heart sank. You told him Riley was taken away, that she’s having a surgery tomorrow. He asked many questions about the apartment, practical ones, tactical even; about the windows and who had the keys, but insisted he’d check it out with you. ‘You won’t go there alone’. Oh, but you could. And he knew you could. You’d stare at the walls for days afterwards, listening to the sounds outside of your window, like a broken robot, but you could. You had a feeling you’d be doing that regardless. It was sweet that he was acting like a gentleman. And you couldn’t lie, you wanted him around. Just somewhere around. You felt like he took away some vigilance. Like you could finally not overthink what was happening over your shoulders.

Reminiscing the missions you took on together, you got inside, expecting anything but what has really happened.

The plumbers were right, the tubes were not connected right; you entered a steamed-up apartment, hot water pouring out of the bathroom. Ditching the jackets in the hallway, Leon turned the screw between the tubes as you blocked water supply, making jokes about it rather being robbers.

“I just hope I don’t flood the neighbors.” – you said, mopping up the remaining water.

“You’re selling it anyway, think of them as somebody else’s neighbors.”

You laughed, just noticing how he got wet all over.

“Hold up, I’ll get you dry clothes.” – you walked away followed by his loud protests.

He genuinely looked upset, angry and embarrassed as you handed him a pile of clothes. You couldn’t just send him home soaking wet, could you?

You also realized you had to make tea. Him being home put your mind at ease. Except it wasn’t home, it was a half-destroyed by your ‘renovations’ apartment for sale, and he wasn’t there really, just happened to step in. It didn’t matter. It was enough for your brain to feel better and you’d take it.

Leon walked out of the bathroom in dry clothes, a look of absolute confusion on his face, - “Is this my clothes?”

Whose clothes did he think you’d give him?

“Yeah, obviously.”

He didn’t say a word. You pointed him to sit, a cup of mint tea ready. He took a sip, contemplating something, frowning even.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked at you, an expression you couldn’t read. That was new. – “Why do you have my clothes?”

“You left it here. You… kept it here.” – you explained. Was he suggesting you stole it?

“No, I know that. Why do you keep it?”

That was a weird question. – “What was I supposed to do with it? Throw it away?”

“I guess.”

You both stared at each other in utter confusion. Was he being weird or were you weird for not throwing it away? Why did it seem weird now? Even to you. But how could you?

You never touched it nor looked at it. Kept it hidden at the back of your wardrobe. How could he suggest that you’d throw it away? You spent a couple years by now, dreading that all that will be left of him was a bag of dust. You’d like to have something to hold on to.

These thoughts made your heart race. He was alive and well. Next to you. Talking. Looking confused, but that will do. That means Riley is going to be alright. No one is turning into ashes, not today. Not ever.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a heart to… You should take it. You can take it back. There’s another t-shirt I think…”

You didn’t want to weird him out. You were a little unsettled, but he had to understand.

He sighed, looked around, something heavy on his mind. You knew, yeah, same. Fucking same.

He stood up, - “About Riley…” – he started. You stood up as well, alarmed. Did he know something? You realized he probably knew they put down dogs that weren’t useful. Who spent time off duty. Just to spite the good. They were evil like that. You knew that, refused to think about it, but you knew. Took one person you cared about, now they were about to kill your dog. Your happy little girl. She wasn’t a soldier; she never saw blood. Just your pain. Spent her whole life with your sadness, maybe it was better for her to be taken away, you were ready to hear anything, - “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see how things are and report back, okay?” – you tried to breathe evenly, there’s no need to be weird. – “She’s going to back in no time.”

You nodded, a bit too much. Okay. Yes. You’d like that. There was no logical reason to believe him, you knew he was out of the system and lied. But he never let you down when it came to these things. Until he did, once. You’d forgive that.

You’d forgive anything. Your façade broken, standing there, looking at him. A collection of pieces put together all wrong. Barely holding on, out of place. You smashed those pieces even when they didn’t fit, applying too much force in anger. It was all spite and resilience. But he made you feel like your rage was excessive. And it all fell apart. Every time you saw him after he came back from these missions, you’d fall apart. Like the strings holding it all together gave up on you. Like the whole world gave up on you, but not him. He was back and he was okay with the scattered pieces. It hurt putting it all back together when he left. But it hurt holding on to this monstrous cadaver as well.

You took a step and he hugged you, one arm over the shoulders, space in between. Like a goodbye hug between friends. You reciprocated, hugged him tighter, both hands, your temple touching his ear, cheek touching a side of his neck. Right there, this is where you belonged. For a moment the world made sense.

You could easily let him lie to you, hurt you, it didn’t matter. You tried to live without him and you failed. You knew better now. He smelled good; right. Did he know it was yours? The way he smelled, that you carried it in your heart, that meant it was yours. Did he know that he was yours?

Did he realize that you were his? For what it was worth. For no reason at all.

He put a second hand on your shoulder and you didn’t wait for him to kiss you, you waited too long, it was too slow, you went for it. He stalled you with a hand, warm hand gripping your collarbone.

“Leon…” – you slurred, nudging your head. It was all there. Everything in the world.

He almost whispered, - “What are you doing?”

What were you doing? You didn’t know. You didn’t think. You did what made sense, there was no use to think about it, that was the point. That’s why it was right. You looked at his face, glass eyes, blown. You loved him. That’s what you were doing. You lunged forward, him stopping you once more, he called your name, carefully. Calling to you to understand something. There was nothing to understand.

“You’re engaged. What is this?” – tone upset but still sympathetic, like a teacher who found it’s most promising student cheating on a test. ‘I will let it slide, but don’t do this again’ tone. ‘Don’t you see where this is going’ tone. ‘You’re better than that’ tone. You weren’t better. And you didn’t care.

“I don’t care,” – you were honest. You’ll break up tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter then, why should it matter now? There was a delay, but ultimately the outcome would be this. Why did it matter?

“You should.” – Leon not even looking at you, looking at his hand holding your frame.

“I don’t,” – you repeated. No emotion, just honesty.

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t,” – you got closer, just for him to hold you tighter in place, keeping space.

“I should. And you should. You can’t do this.” – some anger coming to the surface, - “You’re not using me to ruin your life.”

You couldn’t process anything he was saying. This concerned look on his face, like you were in some altered state, like you weren’t all there. But you were. You were all there. All there and nowhere else.

“Kiss me?” – you pleaded, you didn’t have it in you to talk, there was nothing to talk about.

“No.”

“Please?” – you begged.

“I’m seeing someone.”

He let go when he was sure you wouldn’t attempt to get closer. But you didn’t get it. So what? It was great that he was seeing someone. He was seeing you at the moment though. And you were seeing him. So close and real and it felt like home. “Okay.” – you said.

“You’re going to be okay?” – he took his jacket. You didn’t understand whether it was a question or a statement. Everything a blur. You nodded. Whatever he said. And he was gone.

It was okay. He was okay, looked great, healthy, better. Riley would be okay. That’s what you decided earlier, if he’s okay, then she’s okay. And if they are okay, you’ll be fine. And he promised she’ll be back. Between her and him, at least Riley will be back.

You slept in peace.

Called the plumbers in the morning, watched them fix the problem. You were happy they had this ability to fix something. Just few hours ago there was a problem, and now the problem was gone. You weren’t jealous, but you admired it. You made peace with the idea that your problems weren’t up for any fixing.

You weren’t made to fix anything, just to break. That’s the way you were brought up. You build just to break. Then you stand there looking at the ruins, lamenting the parts you got used to. And you dream about them, then you wake up.

It won’t be any different this time. It just won’t be any different.

And it was comforting.

You sipped a day-old tea, thinking about anything but the future. Tea leaves grow for some time, they must think being connected to earth, sucking in sunlight and being green is what their life is all about. They must find comfort in that. Then they get ripped, and dried. And it must feel like death, like there’s nothing ahead. The green turning brown, curling up on themselves to find some comfort. And then, it only makes sense if they find some peace being under the sun, they realize their existence is all about something different now. Still in the sun, still whatever they used to be, but different. And just as they come to terms with it, they get boiled. And it must feel like a death too, but you bet water soothes them, makes them soft again, takes away all the pain and the sunlight they’ve been hold onto, the flavor. And it’s all good once more. Then you drink it. You drink it and you think that you’ll be fine.

It was exhausted being sorry for simply being you. Food felt like an enemy. Sometimes you wished there was something wrong with you. Something that would make people feel sorry for you. To inspire pity instead of resentment. You got blamed and hit for the things that hurt you too. Beating you when you’re down. To teach you a lesson, like they had a right and like it was noble and you knew. You knew and you agreed, but it wasn’t your fault. You wish you were different. You tried to be different. You wanted people to recognize it. You wanted them to see that no, you didn’t do this to yourself. You did, but you wish you didn’t.

You wish you could be as coherent as others. You wish they recognized that you were on their side. On their side against yourself. You agreed with every punishment. Weren’t you good enough at least for that? Haven’t you secured a place on the Noah's Ark for yourself with that? Haven’t you earned it? You didn’t want to be left alone with all the monsters to be forgotten.

It was cruel to create a monster just to have someone to hate. But if that’s the role, you’d play it. Clinging to at least some belonging.

The dinner that you hosted at your apartment the next day came to its conclusion. Just like everything. Free trial of a life that never was yours. Jim praised you one more time, one last time perhaps. He reached in his pocket to check the keys before going out, took out a small circular metal piece, his mood transforming. It felt like watching a scene from a movie you already saw. A hundred times; you used to watch it as a kid, rewatched it with friends growing up, sharing the experience. So, by now, it was too familiar to engage.

“You know, I’m not even angry with you. i just know… I know that it’s gonna catch up to you.” – fast forward to where Jim was done trying to make you change your mind. He never had a chance, - “It’s women like you. you think the world is your playground. You take what you want and you get away with it.” – He was holding the ring, shaking it; you imagined the ring wasn’t there, he’d look as if he’s making an impression of an Italian, - “You want a new job, you take it. You want to change it, you do it. You want a new hobby, you go after it, leaving the old one half way, after you already purchased God knows how many-… You want someone’s attention, you trade people.” – He was struggling to make a point. Was there a point to make? – “And you think it’s all you. You think it’s your choice, but you do not choose. You’re being chosen because you’re a nice choice, you’re expendable. And your problem is, you think you’ll keep getting away with it, but you won’t. Once you get older, and trust me you don’t have much left, you will find out that the real world is different. The doors that people open up for you will be closed and you will be miserable, lonely and old. Knowing it’s all your fault. Knowing that you discarded every good thing you put minimal effort into because you thought you could get something better because the world lied to you, and you actually believed you deserved better. Because you’re ungrateful, selfish, self-absorbed-…” – there it is, - “Next time you play the victim, I want you to remember that. I know you’ll make all this,” – he gestured around, - “, into you being a victim somehow as well. I want you to know it’s your fault.”

You stared at him, stirred your tea in a cup, tea leaves looked relaxed in pale yellow liquid, - “What the fuck do you know about the real world? Your parents paid your way into college.” – all you said calmly.

And that’s how he was gone.

Jim was right about so many things, he was smart. But he was also full of anger. In his world, everything fell into place. All he had to do was to agree to it. And he assumed it was the same with you. That you just didn’t agree with the pieces that didn’t assemble easily. It wasn’t true. This was the only part he was wrong about. You had to work for every piece. You had to work for everything you ever had, because no one handed you a thing, punishing you for not being the way they wanted you to be. And when you work hard for it, you have every right to let it go. It’s yours to destroy. And you’ll work to make something else, you have it in you.

And it won’t work again, but it was okay. You sat alone; your apartment half-renovated, half-destroyed, half-old. Fitting. You will never sell it for anything better. You couldn’t know what to do with anything better. Didn’t deserve anything better, and the better didn’t deserve you.

A surge of relief came over; you thanked the universe for dragging you out of the state of constantly worrying about your kids. It felt like saving someone who never existed. Just imagine the lives of children raised by someone who ruined everything she created and a man grudging this much resentment and hate towards whatever she created. They would be so hated and ruined. They wouldn’t be. You had too much love in you to let them go through something like this.

If the only love that was yours to give was meant to be distant, you’d take it. You’d love people enough to keep them away. All you wanted in return was their understanding. You hoped they were thankful.

You could never fix yourself, so you tried to fix others, disregarding boundaries because how could you not? You were giving them the best of you, the only good you had, and watched them walk away. It didn’t work out well. So, you tried giving yourself to those who didn’t need fixing. And figured you had nothing to give. All you had was broken parts that could fit to cover up the cracks. You didn’t have a full thing. Came pre-damaged in a box that wasn’t carefully delivered.

Your thesis project never revealed itself because you couldn’t work on something you didn’t fully care about. And working on something you cared about was too personal, too intimate. You feared others reading it and seeing all your vices. Realizing you’re a bad person. It would ruin all the chances of clinging to the image you attempted to grow into. But right now, it didn’t matter. You set your mind on the project. You’d write about the therapeutic relationship, the relationship between a healthcare professional and a client, from the perspective of a professional. It was decided long ago and just now fell into place. And you’d do it for the sake of stating your piece, not for a PhD. You had nothing to prove. You proved yourself enough. And it was enough.

Riley was happy to be back, greeting you at the clinic. It was just a harmless cyst they removed. You still had your suspicions, but they were subsided when you signed the papers. Apparently, there was an issue with you being a handler, they were evaluating whether they should make you go through the procedures proving you really needed a service animal, not just an emotional support pet. In truth, you needed Riley, and Riley needed you, her wagging tail and hugs being the confirmation.

Riley didn’t know you were a fuck-up. Riley loved you through the worst. It was selfish of you, but you were selfish like that. There was no changing something this fundamental.

You sat in the car looking at her. Where would you take her? Your apartment still a mess, paint and wallpaper, dismantled furniture.

Was it worse to not be able to ever get what you want, or to be able to get whatever, but to never know what it is that you wanted? Every desire, every effort, every door leading to the wrong room. And then you have to fight your way out.

You blamed others for not seeing you your whole life, but now you didn’t even see yourself. It wasn’t all bad, all good, but just enough chaos to make the effort trying to decipher it all useless.

So, the effort was useless. It was the right thing to leave you all along, he was right. Leon was smart as well. He’d rather drown himself in poison than see you, and leaving you was right. He was seeing someone. You hoped that was someone better. Someone worth the effort. There was no jealousy. If he had something good, it would be something you weren’t fitted for regardless. It’s not like someone could ever take your place, you had no place to occupy. But you were his, in a way. You hoped he didn’t think about it too much, but it would be good if he knew that. And he was yours. In some way. No one could take it away, not even him.

A when he came over in few days, you sensed that he knew. Leon claimed that he wanted to make sure Riley’s home. You thanked him, for asking, for aiding, you didn’t know if it was his doing. You knew, but you didn’t know if it made seeing him easier. Still sedated by the events, you figured it’s best not to do too much. For when emotions were to kick it, it would be too much rubble to pick the good out of. You were ready for the mess; all you could do was make it less of a problem for your future self.

And Riley was about to sleep, you spent the day locking all the mess in your room, so she can be safe. So, you went outside, for a walk. Didn’t want the image of him in your apartment to linger. You’d never finish renovating, wouldn’t dare to let go. Stubborn. It didn’t matter now, but it would later. Cushioning the fall is the only strategy you subscribed to.

You walked for some time; he was still walking with the version of you that still had it all together. You didn’t know with which version of him you were walking. It didn’t matter, you were okay with any version. He was asking questions about your work again, a safe topic. Keeping the distance. You already told him everything there was to tell. What was even the point?

“Do you like me?”

He looked at you, from the other side of the ocean. It wasn’t storming this time. Still water, perhaps more dangerous than the waves, - “What kind of question is that?” – he hesitated, careful, - “Of course I like you.”

“No, I know…” you wanted to have a conversation, not with your ex-boyfriend, ex-partner, not with a friend or a guy you were trying to steal from someone, not with any social role you were forced to play. You wanted to ask him, soul to soul. Outside of time and space. Honest opinion, no obligations. – “I know… But do you like me?”

The raw honesty in your voice made him realize it was larger than that, - “I do…” – he slowed down slightly, - “I always liked you… I admire you, you know.”

You didn’t like that answer. What’s worse is that it didn’t feel like a lie, - “So you don’t know me at all then.”

“I do know you.” – he’s almost offended at that. That’s good, let him be offended and tell what he actually thinks, - “I always did… I didn’t understand you at first.” – good, you wanted details, - “It didn’t make sense to me why you even volunteered for training to begin with. Thought you were naïve. You had a choice and you didn’t have to do it. I didn’t have a choice,” – he was recalling, - “But then I realized that it made me angry because I envied you.” – that was new, you tried to place those feelings of his onto your memories, it didn’t land. He saw your efforts and clarified, - “That was before we started talking.” Did he think about you before you actually worked together? You didn’t even know of him before that. – “And it was comforting, that someone with something to lose would choose to do what I had to. Made me feel better about the whole thing. For a while…”

You wanted to make him see, it was fraud, - “Yeah well, I don’t stick to my choices.”

“I know. That’s what I like about you. You know what you want and you’re not afraid to do whatever it takes to get it.” – so confident and so wrong, - “And when you don’t want it anymore, you’re not afraid to let go.” – wrong again.

“Yeah, I’m not sure about that…” – you sighed.

“I’m sure. What is it about anyway?” – he finally glued his eyes off the pavement and looked at you, - “Cold feet?”

“What?” – you looked back.

He was looking at you with the care and sympathy of a pet owner before putting said pet to sleep, - “The wedding and all.”

“Oh,” – you caught the drift, - “No.” – he had primitive thoughts, you were figuring yourself out, not chickening out before the altar. You never even got there in your own head, why did he drag you there in his thoughts, weirdo - “What are you… No!” – you looked scandalized, - “We broke up actually.”

“What?” – you liked surprising people, - “When? I didn’t know that.” – he’s suddenly not so dramatic anymore, - “What happened?”

“Nothing.” – you muttered, still mad at him for marrying you off in his head.

“People don’t call off weddings without a reason”

For fucks sake, - “There was no wedding. There was an engagement for no reason, we ended it for no reason.”

“So, it was mutual?”

The image of Jim shaking the ring in anger appeared before you, - “More or less.”

Leon tried to suppress some weird emotion. You gave him a mean side-eye. Gloating that you failed at something decent? You thought of him better.

“I’m sorry.” – the change in his pace begged to differ.

“I should be” – you say, mirroring his words earlier, - “But I’m not.”

“So, there will be no doves at the wedding after all.”

“Who even does that anymore?” – why was he so fixated on that fucking… - “Oh.” – you got the joke. Doves. Dove. Him and his fucking jokes. You wanted to hit him.

It was cathartic for you. You wanted him to hang onto your words, looking into your eyes and have a deep conversation, not this childish… - “As I said, this is why I like you, you’re brave.”

Where was this coming from?

“You don’t like something and you’re not afraid to let it go.”

“I am afraid.” – you corrected, he had you all wrong, - “I’m so afraid, actually, all the time. You know it.”

“That’s the part of it. You’re afraid and you still do it. Can’t be brave if you’re not afraid at all.” – he’d make a great motivational speaker.

“There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid.”

“I’ve never seen you do anything stupid.”

“You’re blind then.” – the conversation you wanted to be profound turned into some elementary bickering at this point.

“Name one thing.”

“I’ll name a hundred.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

Something broken tugged on your heart at that, calling in pain from the rubble. Something buried alive under all the mess. The screams you tried to ignore.

“Let you go.”

And with that you killed the comfort you organized between each other. Destroying boundaries once again, your forte.

He ignored it, pretended you didn’t say it. Shut off. He wanted to hear it, he asked. Are you to blame again?

“It was the smartest you’ve ever been.” – he finally said, taking your hand in his for comfort, a sign that he wasn’t mad you brought it up. Words so heavy with sadness, but there was no anger directed at you.

You were walking in circles by then, just patrolling the streets, no goals and no directions.

“Not how I see it.” – you doubled down, your hand fit so right in his. You loved ruining things.

He just squeezed your hand slightly, like he understood where you were coming from, but didn’t agree.

You felt worlds away. He was somewhere in his head you couldn’t reach, somewhere in the past with his codename references, somewhere in the future with his fantasies of your wedding. You were nowhere but in the present. And it made sense, you had no place in his present. But you were there, and he refused to let you in. It was lonely. It felt lonely holding his hand when he was like this.

“Don’t be mad at me.” – you found your voice in silence.

He looked at you, tired confusion, - “What happened?”

“Just in general.” – you trembled.

He stopped to take a look at you. There was no point. He wouldn’t get it.

“I just…” – you felt the tears coming, - “Everyone is mad at me.” – you confessed.

He pulled you in closer like a bag of bones and hugged, - “Hey… Come on...” – he caressed your head. Pity hug. You were okay with it. You wanted pity. Didn’t care if it was pathetic.

“Let them be mad,” – he said in secrecy.

“I’m going to die alone and everyone’s going to be mad at me.” – not even Clara could get that truth out of you.

Leon took you by the shoulders and looked you straight in the eyes, testing if you were serious about something this ridiculous. It wasn’t ridiculous, it was true.

“Who told you that?”

“I did.”

He just blinked, thoughts running through, - “Well don’t say that,” – like it was this simple, - “Fuck, don’t say that.” – he cradled you in his arms again, hold closer, let go and pressed his lips to yours, soft, - “Don’t fucking say that, okay?”

You blinked, trying to assess the situation, grabbed his jacket, so he doesn’t go anywhere while you’re on it. You just needed a moment; ‘don’t you dare disappear.’ ‘Don’t you dare disappear on me again.’

“You-…” – you looked, eyes hazy, confused. And he kissed you again. This time a proper kiss, you made a sound to get his attention. Hold on. Just hold on, now. Break.

“I thought you were seeing someone.” – you whispered, accusing. It was okay for you to disregard others like that, you held him to a higher standard.

“I’m not seeing anyone.” – he looked like he’d say anything to get back to kissing you, a sudden change from the cold shoulder hugs and hand squeezing just moments ago.

“Did you break-up-…” - Did he feel it too? Did he realize no one else comes close? Had to breakup just after seeing you once?

“No, there wasn’t anyone. I just said that.” – that will do. Or will it?

“Why would you just say something like that?”

“I don’t know. I got scared.”

What? – “You got scared?”

“Yeah, I got scared. You were about to ruin everything, because you got carried away for a moment.” – you could feel his heart beating from where you were holding onto his jacket, - “Couldn’t let you do that. And then you’d hate me for it.”

“I would never hate you.” – you kissed him this time, and he pulled you closer, - “I wouldn’t” – you promised.

“Sorry,” – he said in between kisses, the wind cold on wet lips now, - “You scare me sometimes.”

“Why did you lie about the service?” – you cupped his face, kisses growing more aggressive, - “You quit.”

“I didn’t” – he got his lip bitten for that, he hissed, - “It’s not that simple, got suspended, ‘be dragged back next time they need me anyway.”

You needed a wall or any surface, pin him down. Make him confess more.

“Where do you live?” – you looked at his lips, hungry for the truth. Him. Drag him in the present. Make it all fit.

“Hotel. I moved. Only came here to see you.”

“Liar.” – you tugged on his hair, - “You visit the shop for your bike here every couple months.”

“It’s a good shop.” – he smiled at your assertiveness, and you pulled his hair stronger this time, he groaned, pained expression, - “I came here to see you before.”

So, he was visiting your lecture that one time. Turns out you were on the same page after all.

You patted down his hair, soothing. Kissed him more. Satisfied with the answers, for now.

“Are you stalking me?” – he smiled.

“Yes.” – you were honest, - “I’m crazy.”

“I know that,” – he looked proud, - “I like that.” – he joked. Maybe he wasn’t joking.

His hotel room was empty, organized, nothing to study. You wanted to know everything he was up for when you weren’t together. What else was he hiding? The frustration apparent in your aggression, clawing at his clothes, slapping his hands away when they got in the way, like you wanted to punish him for taking too long. He fought you to get his way with kissing and holding you how he wanted giving you a lot of grace. Yielding only until he wasn’t. And you took advantage of the soft spot he had for your temper. Shameless. He liked you for taking whatever you wanted. You wanted him. His body and soul and his life. All to yourself. If that was a lie, he’d have to deal with consequences.

But it didn’t seem like he was lying. Not one bit. It was the most honest you witnessed him to be. Grabbing the clothes off you to claim any unkissed territory. Kept saying something incomprehensible into your lips, your skin, it was all a blur of ‘missed you’, and ‘need you’ and you knew. “I know” you breathed him in, “I know” - you understood, yearning painfully radiating. He was the only one to make you feel like this. To make you feel this. All of this.

You felt the urgency and trembling need to wrap the reality to make it faster, get there as soon as possible. Tugging and pulling, and moving, begging Leon not to wait any longer. Like you might not make it on time, like he won’t meet you there, until you found yourself at the edge. And it felt like you were about to jump into the abyss. Like with every thrust he brought you closer to a fatal explosion, like it will ruin you forever. But he was right there with you, he wouldn’t do that to you.

You tried to stall him and suddenly you felt every atom in your body tremor, shake and break away from your form, leaving you floating in the space, black, white, just blank… A spark of color appeared in the nothingness; magenta, purple, orange, red, cyan. It felt like all the brightest colors at once, somehow together, but not mixing. You saw them all at the same time, able to differentiate but they were all united. All existing everywhere and you were a part of it too.

Another one, a trail of sparks outlining your neck, his lips brought you back into your form, you managed to feel where the space ended and your body began, your body. You left the state of absolution and came into your body for him. Only for him.

He kissed your neck back into its shape, his hand lifting your back to pull you closer, reminding you of how your shoulder blades move. Your body was real again and it could move. He’d always pull you up for contact despite being on top of you. Like he didn’t want to give you up to the ground, like he wanted you to be his alone. You shift your legs along his hips, the sensation of his skin making them real again, and when he pulls out, the tug at your core concludes the ritual and you’re fully back on earth, transformed; remains of galaxies that couldn’t fit spilling out.

You breathe, looking in his eyes with your brand-new ones. Does he know you’re seeing for the first time?

It looks like he doesn’t. It looks like he doesn’t know, nor understands a thing. Like he just witnessed a miracle: a woman appeared under him out of star dust, and he doesn’t yet know how to process it, but he’s not surprised. He can’t be. Not when he willed her into existence. No, it’s not a surprise, he’s in awe. Like he put his all into this conjuring but wasn’t sure it was even possible to succeed.

He pressed his forehead to yours, like a silent prayer to keep you from disappearing into the light, like a solemn promise to be a silent witness of this miracle; a promise between him and you or him and God, the universe. It seemed like all three collided.

You couldn’t tell if you agreed with this, but if any Godly being was what created humans, you felt like it worked through Him to return the particles that made you who you are, inside of this physical form, lying on the bed next to Him. Perfectly assembled, whole again. You were just drawn to this power he was bestowed with, to be closer. To make it happen. Just two entities, doing what fate woven into its plan since the start.

It felt right. And in the morning, it felt right when his hand was lying on your stomach, you didn’t have to think about it twice, or at all. It was the hand that was meant to be there. He traced the scar on your side, you traced the knuckles on his hand.

“Riley must be awake by now” – he said that morning.

And you answered, - “Let’s go home.”

And that morning he said – “Yeah, let’s go.”

And that evening you asked him if he’s going to help you with your apartment. Make a home out of this mess. And he also said ‘yes’.

And you finally realized that yes. You did get what you wanted. Took some time to figure it out and some effort to get there, but you will always get what you wanted. Let them be mad.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #second reason #part 2

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dolliethv · 10 months ago

Text

One Of The Girls.

summary: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes I'm sorry!! Hiii, this is a pretty TO long story, I wanted to write something with a lot of sexual tension and a lot of smut, read it calmly and I hope you enjoy it xoxo!!

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem reader!!

Word count: about 6k

You weren't sure if attending Jude's party was a good idea, but something inside you—maybe the excitement of Halloween and the thought of celebrating with your group of friends, or perhaps the hope of seeing him—convinced you. Jude's huge, new house in Madrid, decorated with lit pumpkins and fake cobwebs, gleamed in the distance, full of people already enjoying the night.

You stepped inside, and strobe lights danced on the walls, while laughter and music filled the air. You grabbed a drink as you passed by the improvised bar, trying to relax. You hadn’t taken more than two steps when you felt that familiar gaze tracing your body. You slowly turned, and there he was, Jude, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed solely on you.

You wished the ground would swallow you because your damn group of friends was headed straight toward Jude Bellingham’s group. Of course, they all knew each other.

After your friends had chatted enough with the other group, you decided to take the lead.

"Couldn’t you put a little more effort into your costume?" That was the first thing you asked when you finally looked him in the eyes for the first time that night.

Curious about what he was actually dressed as?

Seriously? A simple cop uniform? You could bet your life on the fact that men have zero originality—they always go for the easy option. Lord, give me patience.

You absolutely hated basic Halloween costumes. Anything that took less than ten minutes and minimal effort didn’t deserve attention. It might seem a bit over the top, but given the number of creative ideas this particular holiday offered, you just couldn’t stand it.

Not when you even designed and made your own costume for the occasion.

But it was funny how quickly Jude changed your mind.

Basic is good. Basic is great. Damn it.

"What’s your costume supposed to be, anyway?" Jude continued, his voice calm but his body still a bit tense.

"It’s Suki from Fast and Furious!" Drew, one of Jude’s friends, shouted loud enough that the music barely muffled it.

He wasn’t even trying to hide his blatant staring, but truthfully, neither of you cared. You turned and headed off with your friends to who knows where.

You knew you looked good. You’d worked particularly hard on your outfit for tonight, so you had no reason to hide. Everything was perfectly planned, from head to toe.

Minutes passed, and you tried to convince yourself there was no reason to panic, but there were a lot of people, and your outfit was a bit too revealing. So, when you felt hands around your waist, you were ready to scream for whoever it was to back off.

"It's me."

Oh my God, you almost had a heart attack.

Jude pulled you against him, your back pressed to his chest, his left hand settling on your hip while his right extended around your shoulder to not-so-gently push people aside. The tall, dark-haired boy didn’t take long to start moving you both, making space with his prominent frame when people were too slow to get out of the way, shoving them until he cleared a path for both of you.

Stupid party, stupid Jude Bellingham. It was his fault you ended up there anyway. Jude may not have seen your face, but he definitely felt how tense you were in his arms.

"Why the bad attitude?"

Bad attitude? You didn’t know much about attitudes, but all your limited knowledge vanished when he pulled you even closer.

You cleared your throat briefly, your words followed by a slight shake of your head.

"Am I the one with the bad attitude?" you replied.

Because truthfully, you’d been on your best behavior since you got to that house. Or at least trying.

Jude loved driving you crazy; he thought you looked damn adorable acting tough at barely 5'1".

"By the way, you look amazing."

It was a great move, saying something so flattering to ease the tension.

"Thanks," you murmured, not caring whether he heard, your eyes glued to the back of the guy Jude was elbowing out of the way.

Two stomped-on feet and a "Are you gonna move or what the hell are you waiting for?" later, you were finally out of the chaos.

Well, as far out of danger as you could be at a party and in a house full of mostly strangers.

However, Jude didn’t stop there. He guided you to what you vaguely recognized as the first hallway on the right, his hands never leaving your body. It wasn’t unpleasant for you, not at all, but you both drew more than a few curious stares. It didn’t bother you much now that your closest friends knew. Other people’s opinions of you were never the most positive anyway, but you were surprised at how little Jude seemed to care, considering it was his house.

When you finally stopped, you found yourselves where you’d suspected a few moments earlier, slightly sheltered from the loud music. There were a few other people around, but they were far enough away not to intrude on your conversation.

Jude released you a few seconds before turning you around and wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you close as he leaned against the wall.

"I like your hairstyle; it’s cute," he said, grabbing a lock of your hair between his fingers. "Scratch that. Actually, I love how sexy you look with your hair down."

You were starting to seriously regret the day you told Jude you wouldn’t mind being complimented daily because it was getting out of hand.

How were you supposed to function properly when Jude kept looking at you with dark eyes?

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze to the side of his face to avoid dealing with the intensity of his stare. You needed to say something and had to do it now.

"People were staring at us."

Of course, your voice trembled, and of course, out of all the things you could’ve said, you picked the one with the most potential to ruin the moment.

Jude was being very open tonight, and while you didn’t dislike it, it was new and somehow made him even more intimidating. All you could focus on was trying to stay afloat, despite involuntarily melting into the warmth of his touch and the comfort of his voice.

"When you look like that, baby, of course, people are going to stare."

You were getting nervous so quickly that it was unreasonable. Your breathing was already picking up, and butterflies were fluttering, one by one, to the point that you could no longer distinguish between those in your heart and those in your stomach.

This was exactly why you shouldn’t stay away from Jude for too long.

"News travels fast, Bellingham. Especially when you’re the footballer of the moment."

But with Jude, you didn’t have to worry. Jude could take care of both of you, and maybe you shouldn’t trust him, but God, it felt so good to be protected.

You desperately wanted to kiss him. Every brush of his thumb against your skin was electrifying. You needed to be closer, needed more, and this time, it had nothing to do with lust.

It was the kind of need you hadn’t felt before, the kind that demanded an exchange of feelings, even if not through words. Even if you tore off your clothes and pressed skin to skin, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, it wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to be inside Jude’s mind, to share all his thoughts, to experience the unknown, to finally understand each other, but you were too scared.

You couldn’t get there just yet.

"Your costume is stupid," you finally said, your voice coming out a bit more determined.

Jude’s lips curled into a smile, which quickly turned into a laugh that disappeared just as fast, but it was definitely something worth remembering.

"You’re so good at flirting," he purred sarcastically. "Tell me more."

You thought you might be able to keep a straight face, but as soon as you saw him smile, you followed. There was something so addictive about it, maybe the fact that you didn’t see it often, but it definitely made Jude ten times more attractive.

And he was already too attractive to begin with. God.

"It really is stupid," you confirmed your own thoughts, your fingers trailing up to fix the collar of Jude’s cop uniform. "But you look so sexy. I don’t know why I’m so into this kind of stuff."

You knew you weren’t the only one. It’s not for nothing that women love men in uniform.

"You don’t like the uniforms; you like the authority behind them. Or should I say, you’re afraid of it?"

Even though you had the same smile, Jude looked completely different, but he was right. You always felt uneasy around any kind of authority figure.

Watching Jude—with the quite noticeable height and body size difference compared to you, with the sleeves of his uniform stretching around his biceps every time he moved—you couldn’t blame yourself for feeling a bit nervous.

And to top it all off, a pair of very real-looking handcuffs hung from his belt.

So yeah, you gave up your principles about liking the basic for one night, but Jude had chosen a really good costume to spark your imagination.

"Honestly..." Jude grabbed your chin and pulled you even closer, his eyes fixed on your lips. "I wouldn’t mind being a cop if it meant I could make pretty things like you tremble."

As if he needed to be a cop to do that. Idiot.

As if you didn’t already find him intimidating enough without the costume. As if your knees didn’t buckle and your body didn’t heat up every time Jude looked you in the eyes for more than three seconds.

"I think that’d be an abuse of power."

Very socially aware of you, but it might be more believable if you stopped looking at him like you wanted him to take advantage of you. You know it's wrong to think that.

Jude hummed, sliding his thumb over your lower lip before pressing it and pulling it down. The movement was so sudden it made you hiss. It was almost embarrassing how willing you were for Jude to do whatever he wanted, to play with your body however he pleased, without questioning the reason.

"It isn’t if you enjoy it."

Their heads tilted to opposite sides, moving closer with lips tingling from the desire to kiss. You could feel Jude exhale before gently pressing his body against yours and brushing his mouth against yours when—

"Bellingham!"

Both grimaced, and you quickly jumped back, your hands starting to smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes. You didn’t turn around or look at Jude; you didn’t want to know if someone had really seen you and didn’t want to deal with it.

Jude’s friends weren’t the type of people he enjoyed talking to, so it would be weird to find yourself in a situation where you had to pretend to be a bit interested in what they had to say.

"Oh, hey," Jude responded with much less enthusiasm as the sound of footsteps grew louder.

"Good party, man."

You recognized the characteristically deep voice and immediately tried to move a little further from the sound. You opted to take the empty space next to Jude, and to avoid seeming rude, you looked up, meeting Trent Alexander’s eyes before giving a small nod in his direction. The man nodded back with a shy smile resting on your lips.

"Hey y/n, you look great!!" He said.

"Thanks."

You knew him, or at least you knew who Alexander was. In your defense, you knew all the people in your circle of unfortunately extroverted friends. You knew he was a guy with too much money, another footballer, not surprisingly—very attractive—and also much kinder than many other rich and attractive people.

However, you started to feel anxious.

Alexander didn’t seem to notice your discomfort, even after greeting you. But then the guy lowered his gaze, not going below the level of your skirt, but enough to make you wonder— is this guy checking me out?—God, men are all so bold.

Suddenly, Bellingham cleared his throat, subtly but enough to move you a little out of Trent’s view.

Oh, okay.

"Sorry to bother you, but my friend here won’t stop saying she wants to meet the great Jude Bellingham."

Unaware of the presence of someone else before, you moved your gaze to Trent, where a model-like tall girl was giving all her attention to Jude.

You were annoyed by how attractive she was. You couldn’t imagine how she looked in Jude’s eyes. You weren’t a fan of the cliché thought of hating other women over men, but damn, this feeling was hard to handle.

"Can you blame me? He looks even better than I imagined," she said loudly.

Then you looked at how that girl was dressed.

She was obviously someone very bold, and you were all for female empowerment, but if she came any closer to Jude, you’d have to break her neck.

If Jude hadn’t noticed her before, he definitely was now, shamelessly scanning her figure until stopping on her chest a bit longer than necessary. When he looked back at her face, he gave her a playful smile.

"She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. My kind of girl."

Sorry, what? His type of what? Is he really giving me a hint?

A fake and shy smile spread across the unknown girl’s face as she tilted her head slightly and flipped her hair back, exposing more of her neck and collarbones.

"Oh, yeah?" She asked, her voice interrupted by laughter. "What else is your type?"

Me?

The girl started tracing circles with her index finger over the lower part of her collarbone before dragging it down, outlining the beginning of her breasts. They were quite exposed; it was hard not to notice them, but there was no worse way Jude could handle it than staring at them, his expression not hiding what he was thinking.

Bellingham took a step towards her, immediately placing his right hand on her hip without gripping it, just touching a bit, while moving to whisper something in her ear.

There was absolutely no damn way Jude was doing this in front of you, there must be some kind of reality error. No fucking way, you were really holding yourself back from pulling him away from her and giving him a beating.

Once the brunette straightened up, they were both smiling, and you couldn’t hear it, but you read it from the girl’s lips.

"I got lucky tonight."

Well, you had never considered yourself a crazy person, or at least not one who acted out of her mind with no regard for social norms.

Nevertheless, at that moment, you could barely stand.

You had no doubt about it anymore; it was too strong not to recognize, too powerful to ignore. You were jealous, so jealous that all you could think about was violence and all you could see was red.

"I’m leaving," Alexander suddenly said, visibly uncomfortable with the looks being exchanged.

You didn’t even have time to thank him mentally before the girl grabbed his arm as if her life depended on it, sweetly smiling at Jungkook and saying:

"I’ll be waiting."

And with that, they left.

The crowd made them disappear in less than a minute, leaving no trace. All you could focus on now was the unshakable smile on Jude’s face.

You despised him.

None of this was part of the plan.

Jude’s plan was to keep you without sex for a while, make you show how much you missed him, make you feel so needy that you’d give in to anything in seconds. Bellingham thought nothing could compare to the feeling he’d have once he saw your desperation, the ease with which he’d let you go, giving him the upper hand in the situation.

He was wrong.

Something better than a proud version of you was a version willing to admit, to admit that you were jealous, and he made you realize it after this little outburst.

"Where were we?" He asked as if nothing had happened, his attention slowly returning to you, clearly displeased at his side.

-I might have overstepped a bit- you thought. Relax.

Since Jude did everything he could to avoid giving you more than a glance while talking to that girl, wanting to make it as real as possible, he was enjoying watching your reaction.

You stared defiantly at the wall opposite them, obviously trying to transfer all your anger to her instead of Jude.

Seeing you cute probably wasn’t what you was looking for, but Jude found it absolutely adorable.

"Is something bothering you, sweetheart?" He gently brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his voice laced with false concern.

"No."

It wasn’t a very convincing lie with your teeth clenched and a blank expression on your face.

"Mm, I think it is."

"Good for you."

Jude had to stifle a satisfied smile. The way you responded with the first thing that came to your mind showed you weren’t thinking much before speaking.

"Not in the mood for a conversation anymore?"

You closed your eyes.

But you couldn’t do that, not when it was exactly what you wanted to do. He couldn’t be the first to break, admit his lust, show that he wanted to be with you so much that he’d trample his pride.

Not again.

“You know, I never took you for a jerk who got jealous so easily.”

If it were physically possible, your jaw would be hitting the floor. The air caught in your throat and your lips hung oddly open as you looked at Jude and found the lack of concern on his features.

Being honest was the easiest way to get through to him.

“How dare you?” You asked offended, pushing Jude away as hard as you could.

His balance seemed to falter as you failed to move him an inch, but he did successfully sway on his two feet, before Jude grabbed your wrists.

“How dare I what?” He asked you with an amused smirk. “Does she make you jealous? I was just having a conversation, babe.”

“No, not that.” You finished your statement with an irritated groan, violently breaking free from his hold. “You’re an idiot. Go have a conversation then.”

“Should I?”

The look you gave him only said one thing. “I fucking dare you.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm. “You didn’t look at her face even once.”

Well, if it wasn’t obvious, you screwed up. The chances of her living without Bellingham mentioning what you wanted him to not notice were now basically non-existent.

“She didn’t put that on so I would look at her face.”

You had never looked so angry, your head shaking in disbelief and fists clenched on either side of your body. You looked like you were really struggling not to slap him and Jude couldn’t blame you. That was the point, after all.

“Oh, wow.”

He was already on his way to calming her down, his hands reaching for your waist, when you raised his in defense.

“Don’t touch me.”

You even pointed with your index finger in warning, wagging it when Jude didn’t stop.

“I’m not joking, I’ll slap you, don’t touch me- mhppm-”

With one hand around your waist and the other pressing against your jaw, Jude had you backed up against the wall in no time. Despite your earlier threats and your bad mood, you surrendered into his arms quickly, melting into the touch, your soft moans being muffled by Jude’s mouth. The longer it went on, the more eager you became, tugging at his uniform, trying to pull him closer despite your bodies already being together.

When he pulled away, you were a mess. It was being a fight for him to refuse your touch.

“We can go to my room…”

He whispered against you, before moving lower.

“Talk…”

He pressed a kiss against your chin

“I’ll make you laugh…”

And then one on the side of your jaw

“I can make you cum…”

You shuddered at the proposal.

You both knew he wanted it, that was not in doubt. The question was how far he would go to get it.

“You will have my full attention.” With sarcasm.

Another kiss, just below your ear.

“All you need to do is ask.” He made sure you were looking at each other when he spoke, eager to see your reaction. “Tell me you don’t want to see me with someone else.”

You noticed how your body completely gave out, all hope in your eyes. Your excitement was replaced with panic as your pupils dilated and your mouth opened and closed without saying a word.

The offer was so tempting, the promise so real, so possible. I hate it.

You wanted it so badly, but it was a matter of pride and even though you were the prouder of the two of you, it was clear that you still had a hard time taking a step back from him.

“If I need to ask for attention, then I don’t want it.” You replied with a dry tone.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Your jaw clenched at the implication. You knew it.

With the girl dressed in a bad porn nurse costume.

(...)

“Can you stop looking at him? I’m talking to you.”

The words of Odessa, your best friend, barely reached your ears, your thoughts overwhelming you in an almost pleasurable way.

You watched as Jude’s hand wrapped around an unfamiliar waist for the umpteenth time that night, causing your own fingers to grip your knee tightly.

This time it was a redhead, dressed in something that was more meant to cover the most private parts of her body than disguise, but who were you to judge? Right?

There was clearly a set pattern that you noticed during the time you spent sitting, gaping and staring in Bellingham’s direction. People would come up to say hello, most often women, their hands touching as much as they could without being inappropriate and a few minutes after sharing a few words they would come over with eyes fluttering in a way that could only mean one thing.

The first few times it happened, your heart nearly stopped beating. You were sure you knew what was about to happen next- Jude would take her by the hand and lead her to his bedroom.

But it didn’t happen. Not with the curly-haired brunette, not with the six-foot-eight leggy blonde, not with the one he was feasting on now.

Is he not interested? You asked yourself.

A raspy growl rumbled somewhere deep in your throat before you grabbed your glass and clumsily emptied it down your throat, not caring how the liquid spilled from the corners of your lips and down your chin.

You called out to your friends, as you abruptly stood up, almost tripping over someone sitting between them.

“Let’s dance.”

Your lips formed a smile at the thought of Jude seeing you with someone else. It was childish, yes, but you didn't really care.

You were about to execute your plan, but when you turned around, you found nothing worth your attention. The spot Jude was occupying all this time now had other people in it, no sign of the brunette in sight.

You wished you could say that it didn’t affect you.

So you turned your back on your friends and walked in the opposite direction, your newly gained good mood now ruined. You thought maybe if Jude admitted to being jealous, you could too. It would make it less embarrassing.

If Jude was here, surely he could get something better.

Yes, if Jude was here. If he wasn't fucking someone else.

"Having fun?"

A familiar voice reached your ears, close enough to feel the vibration of the sound, making you shiver, thanking God the place was too dark for anyone to notice as Bellingham's proximity made your entire body shake.

You kept your eyes on the empty glass in front of you not quite sure how you were going to respond with his mood.

Any words or actions from you from now on could be detrimental.

"Don't you want to talk to me?"

Silence.

"Okay, I'll go then."

Jude didn't even move. He didn't pull away, nor did he lean back. He stood right where he was five seconds ago, the same annoyed, mocking smile on his features.

"You're still not jealous?"

You weren't just jealous, you were seething with it.

"I am, actually. Tell anyone and I'll make sure it's the last thing that comes out of your mouth."

Admitting jealousy was a big deal for you, especially since you didn't know if Jude felt the same way. Also knowing what was coming after this.

"There's not much that can brighten my mood right now."you entered the room, "I just needed courage for what I'm about to do." locking it once the door was closed.

When you turned around, your eyes met and Jude felt something he hadn't felt in a while, it felt like he didn't really know anything about you.

He wasn't blind to the progress you'd made in the different areas of your relationship, but there was still a lot left to say, explain, discover, and - in a situation like this, when you seemed to be a completely different person - he was surprised at how much he still had to get to know you.

"Yeah? And can I know what it is?"

He longed to feel you again on other parts of his body and even more so when your hot mouth landed on his mouth as you said-

"Punish you."

It wasn't that it hadn't crossed Jude's mind that you might do something like this all night, but still, hearing you out loud was enough to bring a smug smile to his lips.

"Oh, really?"

It would be a lie to say you didn't find it fun.

Things were definitely taking a different turn than he had planned, but then again, ever since the party started, all of his plans were ruined, so he was surprisingly not opposed to the idea.

He was actually very intrigued.

You hummed in agreement and within seconds your hands were back on Jude's body, this time being bolder and freer with your movements.

It was the first proper touch that night and Bellingham thought he was ready, but he really had no idea how much he had missed this until he experienced it again. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the feel of your palms and the heaviness of your fingers prevented him from doing so.

Your hands moved in opposite directions, one sliding down his abdomen and the other circling the side of his neck. With the pad of your thumb, you traced circles on his skin, massaging and releasing some of the tension.

He had a hard time trying to keep from getting an erection from the moment he laid eyes on you when you arrived. Now... now it was impossible.

"You know..." you started saying.

Jude heard your whisper, but could barely register it due to the heat that was beginning to creep steadily down his body, fading only for a moment when his belt got in the way, but then coming back stronger, with a grip more powerful than before. Bellingham would be ashamed to admit that his breath hitched as soon as he felt you where he wanted it most.

“I’d rather have these for myself, but you left me no choice.”

It all clicked, both metaphorically and literally, in his brain and out loud, but Jude couldn’t move fast enough to stop it.

The handcuffs were already dangling from the tip of your index finger as you swung them teasingly back and forth in front of his face.

Oh. Interesting.

The way you could overpower Jude in a mere second was wonderful.

“What makes you think I’m going to let you do that?”

You pursed your lips briefly as if contemplating his answer.

“And what makes you think I’m going to ask for your permission?” You replied.

“Maybe that drink was too much after all,” he looked at you with a smirk. “Looks like you’re confusing roles.”

Judging by his expression, you didn’t share the same opinion.

You pushed him until the back of his knees hit the bed.

Jude didn’t stop you or object, instead sitting on the edge as he was pushed down, curious to see how things would play out.

“Are you threatening me, baby?” He asked, leaning back on his forearms.

You looked perfect from every angle, she was so sure of it now.

Your free hand gripping Jude’s jaw and squeezing it a little in annoyance.

“My name isn't ‘baby’.”

You slid your fingers down the side of Bellingham's throat where the smear of a lipstick still rested on his skin.

As you stared into each other's eyes, you looked so angry that Jude couldn't help the heat spreading throughout his insides.

"Wouldn't that make you even more angry, baby?" He emphasized on the nickname on purpose, arching an eyebrow mockingly.

The sound that came out of your throat was quiet, but he didn't miss it.

-Even her grunts are cute.-

"Shut the fuck up."

It was clear that you weren't usually the type to get angry to that extent, and even if you had been, you were the type to never act on it.

"Keep your hands behind your back if you don't want to lose your most prized possession."

You felt it before you understood it - a pressure of something hard and unfamiliar against your crotch. Something unwanted.

And it came, a sign. Not too big, not too flashy, not too obvious, but painful and threatening.

Your foot moved so abruptly that the tip of your shoe met the tip of Jude's cock and hit dangerously close to his balls.

You did it. I got you.

"Good choice."

With one swift movement, his crotch was free again, but his hands were bound at the wrists by the steel rings.

You pushed him down onto the bed and pulled his shirt open, leaving his chest completely bare.

“Shit,” you muttered at the sight. “You’re lucky to be attractive.”

“And you’re lucky to be able to see me like this.”

You sent him a questioning look. “Oh, I am? Who hasn’t gotten to see you like this? Because from what I’ve witnessed, you don’t exactly have a criterion when it comes to who you let undress you.”

“You seem really upset by that thought, sweetheart. Are you scared of having a little competition?”

“And what makes them my competition? They’re not as pretty as me.”

“But they’re a lot more obedient.” He replied.

Pure shit.

There’s nothing Jude likes more than how disobedient you are.

“You know my legs are always open for you.”

"Baby..."

"You know you can take anything you want from me, anywhere you want... any way you want..."

Every syllable that came out of your mouth was filled with confidence. Your fingers caressed his jaw as if he was teasing, barely grazing the skin before pulling away and touching another part.

"You have such a dirty mouth." The boy said.

"You want it around your cock?"

Holy shit, did you really say that?

"Yeah."

You hummed, acting like you were considering it.

"But I think you acted like shit, I don't think you deserve it."

"You're lucky that I'm tied up right now, otherwise I'd fuck you until you were ruined."

You seemed to take it as a compliment, your thighs clenching tightly around Bellingham's hips to feel him better.

"Oh yeah? You wanna fuck me?"

As if his massive erection wasn't proof enough already.

“Yes, baby. So bad.”

His confession brought a satisfied smile to your face.

“You wanna see what I got under there?”

“Show me how pretty you are.”

But you didn’t take off any clothes.

You just started riding one of his thighs, your movements teasing and slow.

“Shit. Take this off me.” The dark-skinned one said.

“And why would I do that?”

God, this was getting so frustrating. Jude wanted nothing more to do than watch you choke on his cock until you remembered how to talk to him properly. You shifted a little on his lap, creating a small but effective friction.

“Baby…”

“Suck.” You claimed.

Shit. Usually, Jude was the one giving the orders. Usually, you were the one with Jude’s fingers inside your mouth, too. He opened his mouth obligingly and you immediately pushed two of your fingers in, letting them rest on the tip of his tongue before pushing them fully into his mouth.

“You like having my fingers in your mouth?”

Jude couldn’t help but like the mess he was turning you into.

You withdrew your fingers without warning and brought them to your own mouth, sucking and moaning lewdly as you looked directly into Bellingham’s eyes.

“You’re so fucking dirty.”

Your hand trailed until it was just above your breasts, eyes still on Jude’s as you squeezed your tits.

Jude didn’t even have time to react before he saw you move up your own body and rub through the material covering your pussy, touching up and down a bit teasing the boy in front of you, leaving a wet spot when you pulled your hand away.

“Move your hips for me. Can you do that for me?” That innocent tone you set made Jude explode. And he didn't need to be told twice.

He put all of his weight on his arms, his palms and heels sinking deep into the mattress, and he lifted his hips so hard that you jumped a little on his lap.

Without further ado, he thrust up, fast at first, to give you a taste of his desire, but then slower, nicer, dragging his length over your underwear-covered clit.

You decided to go a little further and freed Jude's cock, so damn big and veiny. You pulled off your underwear and started rubbing yourself. It was so damn delicious the difference in size and how the head of Jude's cock rubbed against your clit.

But what kind of punishment would it be, giving him something he so craved? You knew. You had prepared better.

So when you forgot about everything except the repetitive motion you were supposed to follow, when your moans were finally released loud and clear in the way only he had heard them before, when he could already feel the pleasure, you lifted your hips.

Bellingham groaned in frustration, closing his eyes as he fucked into the air, unable to stop his body from seeking the orgasm he had just been denied.

“Untie me this very instant.”

He may not have sounded angry at his ragged breathing, his body still recovering from the denial, but he was and he would gladly show you how terrifying he could be if he gave him the chance.

You smiled sweetly, dropping your weight onto his lap, a movement so sudden it left him breathless.

“No.��

"I wasn't-" He trailed off, a small sound escaping his mouth from another roll of your hips on his axis. "I wasn't asking."

"Fuck, did I tell you how big you are?" You replied, your small body shaking as you pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. "You should learn not to play with me Bellingham, I'm not one of those girls, don't get wrong with me."

You pulled up your underwear and pulled back up the shorts that barely covered your ass and the small miniskirt accompanied by a pink belt that was hooked with straps to the leggings that reached just above your knee.

"Shit, shit, shit..." He replied frustrated.

"I'm sorry but now you'll have to fix this on your own." You turned around and walked away.

Jude Bellingham is totally lost.

#jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham stories #spotify #jb5 #jude bellingham #jude x fem reader #bellingham latest #jb5 x reader #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham smut #smut #jude #bellingham x reader #bellingham

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minteagalaxea · 4 days ago

Text

matte stiletto | jm. uso

jimmy uso . sucrose/dextrose series

genre: smut (minors dni) . minimal plot content warnings: public sex (vibrator use in public) . edging . overstimulation . orgasm denial . daddy kink (self-explanatory) . car sex . oral sex (male receiving) . facial . afab reader (she/her pronouns) . implied age gap (reader is in early twenties) . facials . wet and messy word count: 1.92k inspiration: jimmy's shenanigans on total divas . my mom as a nail tech . jimmy's outfit for the hof 2025 . limos . press on nails songs: "partition" by beyoncé (x) . "your idol" by saja boys (x) read also: "jelly coffin" (x) . "magnetic almond" (x) note: thank you always to @spiicii for helping me always with sound boarding my ideas and always keeping me motivated and productive, am always so grateful for you <3. also thank you to @lov3rla03 and the shenans that have also kept me motivated. also sorry for this coming out really late...i just graduated university and was moving...

stiletto nails are generally long, sharp nails that end into a point. generally, these are performed with nail extensions due to the strength required to have the natural nail be the desired length to shape into. these are considered the longer sister to the shorter mountain peak nails. this shape is excellent for flashy, bold designs.

matte finishes contain no shine whatsoever, creating no reflective cast. this is ideal for designs that highlight the vivacity and intensity of the polish color, or to highlight intricate details and designs. they are also often used for chrome powders to isolate the design and greater precision during application.

she knew that she definitely fucked up. she knew that her daddy was going to be less than pleased.

jimmy was indulgent, and he rarely said no to her purchases, no matter how frivolous. but, she promised that she would always spend within reasonable limits, nothing that would alert his bank or anything along those lines. except this time, she did.

it wasn’t anything major, maybe a hundred dollars or two on an hermés handbag. not one of those wild birkin or kelly bags, but something simpler. colorful, vibrant, bold, just like her. but, then, she saw their pretty lipsticks, which were already part of the original purchase plans. it was really the bag that was what tipped that spending over.

now, she was on her knees in front of jimmy, eyes wide with tears as she tried to explain and apologize to him for overspending…relatively egregiously. his eyes, typically kind and impish and glowing with lighthearted energy, were stern. and in her worldview, that was the same as him being angry, even though in her heart of hearts, he wasn’t.

mostly, it had to do with her being punished.

“babygirl,” he said, looming over her and stroking her face, “you know you disobeyed me, right?” she could only nod as he forcefully tugged her hair to affix her gaze onto him.

tears pricked her eyes as she tried to fervently nod, “yes, daddy. but—”

“but what?” jimmy raised his brow, amused that she was trying to weasel her way out of it.

her voice dropped to a whisper, eyes doe-eyed and crackling with unshed tears, “i was good. i only spent just a little bit above budget. i didn’t get anything crazy big. i didn’t even get a birkin! i just got a pretty baby bag.”

the response made jimmy falter in his actions, just enough to release a hearty chuckle; he seemed to actually take her comment into consideration, given her circle of friends (who she loved) and what they posted from their own hauls. the biggest offender? seth’s sugar baby, who managed a special order kelly ii sellier 32 in purple crocodile leather. she didn’t want to know how much it actually cost.

jimmy’s voice returned into a more pondering tone, “well, that’s true, isn’t it? you only went a few hundred above your allowance, and you got something that would make us both very happy.” she preened as he stroked her cheeks, brushing some of the stray tears away. “i suppose since you didn’t break the rules by that much, i’ll let you off easy, pretty girl.”

her eyes glowed in hopeful joy—however, it was sharply cut off and her light dimmed when he intoned, “though, that doesn’t mean you won’t be punished, babygirl.”

despite her wide, crestfallen eyes, she still nodded. “i understand,” she cried, trying to hold back her tears; he wiped some of them away before he pulled her up onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist with her back to his chest. wet giggles emerged from her lips as he tickled her, his voice jovial to cheer her up.

“there we go, no more tears,” he cooed, kissing the shell of her ear before surreptitiously spreading her legs even wider to expose her soaked panties to him underneath her dress. what he brought out next was to her whimpering surprise. “this is your punishment, babygirl. you’re gonna wear this all day, alright? gotta keep calm all day, and then i’ll take it out tonight.”

she nodded, letting him slip the bullet vibrator inside her clenching, tight walls, writhing in his lap at the intrusion. he tapped her thigh to steady her before readjusting her panties and dress. it was only then that her eyes flickered to the remote resting on the couch cushion.

she sighed. this was going to be a long day.

the first two hours started relatively innocently enough. jimmy kept the vibrator at relatively low volumes as he drove her around to a few boutiques, and even got her brunch from one of her favorite places, where the hollandaise sauce had just the right amount of paprika and the mimosas weren’t half bad. there were only a few surprise changes in pace, namely when she was about to go try on the clothes, and right when she was about to enter the restroom. at least those two instances, she climaxed in relative privacy, her noises quiet and expression composed when she returned to society.

and then came the third hour.

it was about time for her nail appointment, something maintained every three weeks or so given how bold her nails tended to be. she liked them pointed, sharp, and bold. the only thing that tended to involve hours of work to accomplish the intricacies of what she wanted within two hours or so.

honestly, she was grateful for her technician, hannah, for having the patience to listen to her exuberant ideas to tame into something within accomplishable parameters. not that jimmy would mind paying extra for it, though she knew she was fucked when jimmy told hannah to indulge in her creative whimsy.

he wouldn’t be doing this unless he wanted her squirming.

and she really was trying to stay as still as possible, given the immensity and the elaborate nature of this design—3d elements, chrome, charms, chains. no expense was spared in this one, which made it even worse when she felt the violent pulsations of the toy that would have caused her to spasm on the floor in a violent climax if it was just them. except it wasn’t.

hannah gave her a sympathetic smile as she wriggled in the chair; she whimpered a bit under her breath. she lied—she had to, given jimmy’s deceptively sweet smile that carried all the venom and bite that demanded her to be a good girl and not cum. her excuse was that she was on her period, and that was enough.

and then the vibrations escalated.

her teeth gritted; her hands quivered; her pussy gushed. jimmy smiled ferally when she craned her head in his direction. at least her hands were in the uv lamp, so hannah had little struggle with trying to keep her steady to work on the next layer. however, the moment she had to stay still so hannah could add the chrome lines for the marble design on her index nails, she couldn’t. she really fucking couldn’t.

“honey, you have to stay still, i know you’re hurting,” hannah’s voice rang, sympathetic and steadying her trembling hands, “i’m almost done, i promise.”

maybe she was a masochist, a glutton for punishment. or, perhaps, she was just determined to show daddy how good she was, how well she wore her punishment. so, she endured. she endured it for what felt like eons (it was really another forty-five minutes, though she inherited some of her daddy’s dramatics).

she whimpered as the buzzing continued, her core red-hot and her mind praying that she didn’t leave a stain on her clothes from the amount of times she had been holding back her orgasm. daddy hadn’t let her, after all.

or hannah’s chair.

“c’mon, babygirl,” jimmy urged as he drove them back to his house in the city. one hand was on the wheel, and the other was on the remote, and he had already maxed that out. her poor pussy was screeching simultaneously with too much stimulation, yet not enough. her entire body convulsed as she lied across the backseats, skirt flared up and panties in his pocket. his voice emerged in a devilish drawl, “you can beg better than that.”

she panted and moaned feverishly, an arm over her eyes as she writhed, “daddy, please! please, needa cum so so bad!” tears streamed down her cheeks, her free hand moving to grip the console compartment in a feeble attempt to have some physical comfort. and also for him to admire the handwork done on her fingernails, but that was secondary to the fact that she wanted his hand while bawling her eyes out from the onslaught of sensation.

fortunately, he granted her the mercy, placing his hand over hers, careening the car delicately into a parking lot, turning the engine off, but keeping the air conditioning on. tilting his seat all the way back, he patted his lap. “c’mere.”

she eagerly clambered onto him, smashing their lips together in a feverish amalgam of teeth and tongue. her moans vibrated against his lips; her hips canted and thumped in the air. “daddy,” she bawled, salty tears streaking her cheeks as she burrowed her face into his chest, staining his shirt, “please, it hurts! please let me cum!”

she supposed he took some modicum of pity on her, stroking her hair with one hand and the other hand fidgeting with the remote settings. “alright, babygirl,” he said, shifting her hips to rest right on top of his crotch, “cum for me.”

the release and euphoria was inexplicable, a splattering mess of her hips wildly rutting and bucking to spray her mess all over jimmy’s lap, sobbing in relief as she thanked him through blubbery tears and heaving pants. “that’s it,” his voice trailed in fascinated delight, “give it to me—make a big fucking mess for me. such a good girl you are.”

his voice continued to ring in her ear as he dragged her down onto her knees, pressing her nose to his crotch while her cunt drooled and dripped onto the car’s floor. his movements carried a haze as he rushed to unbutton his pants rapidly enough to stroke himself.

“daddy,” she whined, expression pouty, eyes wide with unshed tears. her nose rested against his sac, and her tongue lapped at the base of his shaft, lacking the wherewithal to say much else.

jimmy’s eyes bored into hers with lust and fondness as one hand cupped her face, forcing her to keep her mouth agape just so, his length tapping against her cheeks to urge her to suck. her tongue lolled around the tip, swirling around it and licking wantonly as he used her, spewing complete and utter filth into her ears that she couldn’t really hear from how blissed out her expression was. her prettily done nails dug into his wrist, the rivulets pointed and sharp and jagged.

the only thing she could really register was the feeling of heat on her face, salt defining her features with the dripping of his seed onto her face. she registered moaning as his essence smeared on her face, painting her skin pearly white and eking down her cheeks and onto her nails.

the car ebbed in silence—daddy’s voice broached it. his gaze settled on hers in a predatory, satiated way.

“what do you say to me?”

her nails dug into his thighs; her eyes blearily settled on his with a wet smile.

“thank you, daddy.”

taglist ⇢ @yana3sworld . @roseydoesypoesy . @fearlesschimera . @theusotwinzcom . @acute-crashout-jeyuso . @geekinstilettos . @pr0wlerpunk . @miss-kuki-nz

#jimmy uso #big jim #the bloodline #wwe #the usos #jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso smut #jimmy uso fic #jimmy uso imagine #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction #og bloodline

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obvithe-bestsoph · 11 days ago

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Hiiii I was the one asking for the Pedri big brother fic. I somehow couldn't reply to your message, but to answer your question I don't mind if it's a second episode of a hug from home or a totally new fic. I'll leave it up to you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Ps: Love your writing ❤️😍

a ghost in a house full of people.

masterlist requests word count: 6.6k

a/n: very similar vibes to my fic a hug from home. if you enjoyed that! genre: mostly angsty then comfort. this ended up way longer than i originally expected lol. warnings: reader has not the best mental health. mentions of periods. forgetful/slightly neglectful family. they're all kind of accidental dicks until the end. one swear word i think.

summary: caught between games and family chaos, you write your loneliness in a journal that your brother discovers, forcing everyone to face what they've been accidentally ignoring all along.

You start writing things down in May.

Not poems. Not secrets. Just facts. Dates. Moments. Things that happened. Things no one else noticed.

It starts with the skirt. That awful pale blue one you have to wear for school, the one that definitely wasn’t designed with dignity in mind. You bleed through it on the ride home. Hoodie tied around your waist. Bag held in front. You pretend it doesn’t matter. You text your best friend a meme and don’t tell her what just happened.

At home, the house is quiet. Mamá and Papá are in Valencia for Pedri’s match. Fer’s out. You put the skirt in the laundry basket under your hoodie and run the machine before anyone gets home. No one asks why. No one even realizes you did laundry.

That night, you take a cheap notebook from your schoolbag, one of those spiral-bound ones you bought for chemistry and forgot about, and write:

May 3rd – my period started. hid the skirt in my closet. mamá gone.

That’s it. You don’t even know why you do it. You’re not trying to keep a diary. You don’t write in full sentences. You just… log it.

Like it happened. Like it mattered. Like someone saw.

It becomes a habit. The house stays quiet most of the time. There’s a match in Bilbao. A press event in Madrid. A midweek flight to Sevilla. Mamá goes to all of them now. Papá too. They always send photos. Sometimes videos.

“Look, he waved!” “Look at this goal!” “So proud of our boy 💙❤️”

You double-tap. You comment sometimes. You don’t tell them about the things happening back here.

May 7th – made dinner. didn’t tell anyone it was the first time i didn’t burn it.May 22nd – failed my maths test. told them i got a C. actually got a D.June 1st – got called pretty by someone i liked. didn’t say it back.

It’s not all sad. Some of it’s funny. Some of it’s nothing. But they’re yours. The small, sharp, quiet moments.

And no one else seems to notice any of them.

You eat a lot of meals standing up in the kitchen now.

When Mamá is home, she’s in rush-mode, reheating leftovers or asking if you’ve eaten already, even when the answer’s clearly no. Papá is always planning their next trip. Next flight. Next stadium. “Maybe we’ll do San Sebastián next time, eh? Could be a weekend thing.”

You nod, even when they’re not talking to you. You stir soup. Put two slices of bread on a plate. Pretend you don’t care that it’s just you at the table.

You don’t resent Pedri for it. You can’t. He worked hard. He deserves it. But sometimes, late at night, when the house is dark and you’re brushing your teeth with the fan on to cover the silence, you wonder what it would be like to have a family that didn’t orbit around him. Just for one week. One day. One dinner.

You brush until your gums hurt. You don’t write that one down.

School ends, and the days blur.

You stay up late watching random TV shows on mute. You go through your old clothes and make a bag for donation. You walk to the store and buy a face mask and a bag of crisps with your own money.

You text Mamá to say you’re okay.

She replies five hours later with:

“Hope you’re okay!!”

You are. Technically. You write:

June 22nd – mamá texted. didn’t ask why i was quiet. i was not okay.

You don’t reread the pages. You just add to them.

Sometimes Fer comes home.

When he does, it’s chaos - loud music, video calls on speaker, people coming in and out. He ruffles your hair and calls you “pequeña” even though you’ve asked him not to. He asks how school’s going but never listens past the first answer. He calls you “bossy” when you ask him to clean up after himself.

He’s still your brother. You still love him. But it feels like you’re auditioning for his attention now, waving from across the room and hoping he looks up.

You write:

June 26th – fer called me sensitive. again.

You try to talk to someone once.

It’s your friend Marina. You’re on FaceTime, and she’s talking about some boy who got her name wrong on purpose. You’re only half-listening when you say, “I think I’m sad a lot and I don’t know why.”

She blinks. “What?”

You shake your head. “Never mind.”

She doesn’t ask again.

You hang up early. Put on music. Stare at the ceiling. Write:

June 27th – tried to say it out loud. didn’t work.

You start bringing the journal everywhere. Not because you need it, but because it feels like a tether. Something real. Something that belongs to you and only you.

You don’t have locks on your door. But you figure no one cares enough to snoop.

Your bed’s always made. Your grades are mostly fine. You don’t slam doors or break rules. You’re not dramatic.

You just… drift.

And no one seems to notice you’re floating.

You wake up late the next day. No one notices. No one texts.

There’s a note on the kitchen counter in Mamá’s handwriting. The kind she always writes in a rush, all caps with too many exclamation marks.

GONE TO BARCELONA FOR A FEW DAYS!! PEDRI’S GOT MEDIA STUFF, MAYBE STAYING FOR THE WEEKEND!!! LEFT MONEY IN THE JAR 💋

You read it twice. You don’t react.

There’s a twenty folded under the salt. You grab it, put it in your hoodie pocket, and drink juice straight from the bottle. No one’s here to tell you not to.

You keep thinking maybe you’ll cry. But you don’t. You just… move.

That afternoon, you walk to the park with a notebook in your backpack and your earbuds in, even though you’re not playing anything. You sit on the grass in the shade and people-watch.

There’s a girl your age showing her mum something on her phone, giggling. Her mum throws her head back laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all day. You look away.

You open the journal. Flip to a blank page.

Then stop.

You stare at the last entry for a while.

June 27th – tried to say it out loud. didn’t work.

You underline it. Not hard. Just once. Just to make it feel real again.

That night, you make pasta. Too much, but you plate it anyway, like maybe someone will walk in and say, “Smells good, is there any for me?”

They don’t.

You eat on the couch. You watch two episodes of a show you don’t really like. You scroll TikTok and like things without watching. You turn your phone off without replying to anyone.

You fall asleep in your clothes. Dreamless.

The next morning, the house is still empty. You sit on the edge of your bed and look at the notebook on your desk.

It’s not hidden anymore. You stopped bothering.

You almost reach for it. Almost write:

June 30th – started to forget what being full feels like. not food. just… full.

But you don’t.

You think if you write that one down, it might become too real.

So you don’t write anything.

You pull the covers back over your head. And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel lonely on purpose.

You wake up to Nilo’s cold nose nudging your hand. The black lab’s tail thumps against the bedframe like a drumroll. It’s Christmas break. For once, everyone is home. Mamá is in the kitchen humming, Papá’s unpacking bags by the door, Fer is scrolling on his phone, and Pedri’s half-dressed in Barça gear, trying to untangle headphones.

The house smells like cinnamon and pine needles. You like that smell. It’s sharp but soft at the same time, like everything is both fresh and familiar.

You stay under the covers longer than usual, listening to the noise. Nilo snorts and settles by your feet. You reach down and scratch behind his ears. He leans into you.

Breakfast is a chaotic blur. Mamá insists on making too many pancakes and burning some of them anyway. Papá laughs as he juggles opening presents and telling stories about his work trip to Barcelona. Fer complains that the Wi-Fi is slow and drags everyone into a heated FIFA debate. Pedri laughs too loud, teasing Fer about a missed goal, and Nilo jumps up, barking like he wants in on the game.

You sit mostly quiet at the kitchen table, nibbling on a burnt corner of a pancake, the sticky syrup sliding down your fingers. You watch everyone but don’t really join in. You text Marina a selfie with a forced smile, and she replies with a string of emojis and a “looking good!” but you don’t feel like answering back.

Later, Pedri comes over and sits beside you on the couch. He’s scrolling through his phone, showing you videos of his latest match. You watch the screen, nodding, but your mind drifts to the empty spot on your desk where the journal usually sits. You didn’t bring it out today.

Fer leans in from the other side and tosses a cushion at you, making you jump. “C’mon, you gotta get in the game,” he says with that half-smile that means he’s trying to be nice but also annoying.

You laugh softly but shake your head. “Not today.”

Mamá calls from the kitchen, “Who wants hot chocolate?” Her voice is warm and thick with tiredness. You get up, Nilo following close behind.

You pour the hot chocolate slowly, watching the steam curl upward. It’s sweet and comforting, but there’s a tightness in your chest that the sugar can’t fix.

You sit back down, cup in hands, and glance at the family again. They’re loud, messy, and alive. And you wonder if they can see you here. Not just in the room, but really see you.

You take out your phone and open the journal app, the one where you sometimes type when you don’t want anyone to see the notebook. Your fingers hover over the keys but don’t type. You close it.

Nilo nudges your hand again.

You pet him, a little smile slipping through. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The living room is chaos by afternoon.

There’s wrapping paper everywhere, bits of tinsel stuck to Nilo’s fur, and an opened box of Ferrero Rocher slowly being emptied from every side. Fer’s lounging on the floor in a hoodie that’s technically Pedri’s. Mamá’s trying to get everyone to pose for a photo. Papá’s telling Pedri to take it seriously for once.

You smile when the camera’s on you. Tilt your head, give the nice daughter grin. And then it clicks, and you’re off the hook again.

Pedri grabs Nilo around the middle and lifts him for the next picture. The dog wiggles like a toddler, tongue lolling out, and Fer yells, “Caption that: Pedri and his only real teammate.” Everyone laughs. The camera flashes.

You step away. Quietly. No one notices.

You walk to the kitchen and rinse your mug. Your fingers are sticky from the chocolate, and you scrub harder than necessary. You don’t know why it bothers you that no one asked where you went. But it does.

You lean against the counter and scroll through your camera roll. Selfies. Food. A blurry pic of the tree you took last week when the house was empty and dark, just the lights on. You scroll further back. More photos no one else saw. A birthday cupcake you bought for yourself last month. Your report card screenshot. A mirror selfie in the bathroom before school when you actually felt pretty. Just for a second.

“Hey, there you are.”

You don’t jump, but you do slip your phone back into your hoodie pocket fast.

Pedri’s barefoot, leaning on the doorway with a cup in hand. Nilo pads in beside him, tail going steady like a metronome.

“Thought we lost you.”

“I was just rinsing my cup.”

“You’ve been gone, like, twenty minutes.”

You shrug.

He walks to the fridge. Opens it. Closes it again. You watch him, unsure if he’s about to say something else or just go back to the others.

But he just refills his glass, nods at you, and disappears down the hall with Nilo trailing after him.

You stay a moment longer, blinking at the fridge like it might say something instead.

Eventually, you go upstairs. You tell Mamá you’re tired, and she kisses your forehead like that makes up for everything. Maybe it does. You don’t know anymore.

Your room feels too quiet with all the noise downstairs. Like you’re holding your breath up here while the rest of the house breathes normally.

You sit at your desk and look at the notebook. You flip it open.

You write:

December 23rd – i was in the kitchen. pedri said he thought they lost me. no one was looking. i don’t know what’s worse – that he said it like a joke or that he meant it.

You underline meant it twice.

Nilo scratches at the hallway door a few minutes later, probably out of habit. You hear Fer yell at him to chill out. You don't answer either of them.

You flip the page. Keep writing.

December 10th – got my first 90% in physics. printed it. left it on the table. papá moved it to wipe crumbs. didn’t ask what it was.December 14th – mar told me i look thinner. not in a nice way.December 17th – christmas assembly. didn’t tell anyone i was singing. they wouldn’t have come anyway.

You close the notebook.

Your throat feels tight. Not crying-tight. Just pressure, like holding something in your mouth too long and it starts to ache.

You pull your sleeves down over your hands and sit on the edge of the bed. The lights from outside your window blink red and white. You can hear laughter from downstairs - Mamá, probably. Fer and Papá arguing about who cheated at charades.

You used to love nights like this. Before it started feeling like you were fading out of them.

You curl under your blanket. Pull it over your head.

You think: maybe tomorrow someone will ask how school’s going.

You think: maybe tomorrow they’ll notice I’m not laughing.

You think: maybe tomorrow I’ll stop needing them to.

But you don’t write any of that down.

Not yet.

The house is dim when he wanders upstairs.

Fer’s crashed on the couch mid-video game, controller still in hand. Mamá and Papá fell asleep halfway through a holiday movie. Nilo’s curled up under the dining table, paws twitching every so often like he’s dreaming of chasing birds.

Pedri’s phone is dead. His charger, the long white one with the frayed edge that always works better than yours, is missing again. He sighs and heads toward your room, fully expecting to find it plugged into your desk like always.

He knocks once. No answer. The light under your door is off.

You must already be asleep.

He pushes the door open slowly, careful not to wake you.

Your desk is a mess of pens and paper and one of those candles you’re technically not supposed to have in the house. Your blanket is pulled all the way over your head like it usually is when you’re trying to disappear.

He smiles a little. He doesn’t mean to be nosy. He’s just looking for the charger. He spots it, half tucked under a notebook near the edge of the desk.

He grabs the cord.

Then pauses.

The notebook shifts slightly. Opens just enough for him to glimpse his own name written in the corner of a page.

He shouldn’t read it.

He knows that.

But the way it’s written, not in a heading, not even in a sentence, just his name in lowercase at the edge of the margin, makes something uneasy curl in his stomach.

He flips it open.

Just one page.

Then another.

And another.

His mouth goes dry.

There’s no decoration. No doodles. Just simple lines. Fragments. Dates.

may 3rd – my period started. hid the skirt in my closet. mamá gone.june 1st – got called pretty by someone i liked. didn’t say it back.june 14th – got an A+ on my english paper. left it on the counter. no one noticed.november 6th – pedri was home. didn’t ask how i was. didn’t notice i cried in the bathroom.

He keeps reading.

Not fast. Not slowly either. Like someone walking barefoot over glass, every step careful, and somehow still hurting.

Your name is never written once.

Just “i.” Lowercase. Quiet.

Like you wanted to vanish even from your own story.

He swallows hard and shuts the notebook. Gently. Like it might shatter if he uses too much force.

He unplugs the charger. Stares at the wall for a second too long.

You shift under the blanket, mumbling something in your sleep.

He turns around and leaves the room without a sound.

The notebook stays exactly where it was.

But something in him doesn’t.

It takes him ten minutes to come back.

He paces the hallway for a bit first, barefoot and quiet, like he’s afraid the floor might tell on him. Nilo watches from the stairs with his head tilted, sensing something’s off but not sure what.

Pedri’s heart’s still racing. Not fast like a match. Not adrenaline. Just heavy. Like everything he just read is pressing against his chest, page after page after page.

He waits until he hears Fer snore downstairs. Mamá coughs once in her sleep, then silence.

Your room is still dark.

He pushes the door open again, slower this time, even though it’s already wide enough. The moonlight spills through the window just enough for him to see you haven’t moved. Still curled under your blanket, back to the wall. Still small.

He doesn’t look at you long. He doesn’t want to risk waking you.

He crosses the room in two quiet steps and picks up the notebook. He holds it like it’s fragile. It feels heavier than it did ten minutes ago.

He leaves just as fast.

Door shut. Hall crossed. Bedroom door closed.

He sits on the edge of his bed and opens it again.

Not to the first page this time.

He flips through randomly, stopping every few entries.

october 1st – got ghosted. never told anyone i liked him anyway.october 3rd – dinner alone again. they were at the match in madrid. left a plate in the fridge.october 9th – fer forgot my birthday card. mamá said it’s okay, he’s busy. i said it was okay too. it wasn’t.

He closes his eyes and exhales.

He remembers that week. He’d been exhausted from training. Mamá and Papá had flown out for the game and asked if you needed anything. You’d said no. Of course you said no.

He flips another few pages.

november 23rd – told marina i think something’s wrong with me. i think she thought i was joking.december 2nd – watched my old dance video. don’t know when i stopped wanting to do that.december 5th – feel like a ghost in a full house.

He rubs a hand over his mouth.

He didn’t know. No - he didn’t ask.

And it’s not like he never cared. He does care. He just… assumed you’d come to him if something was wrong. Like you used to. When you were little. When he brought you stickers from training and you used to draw on his arms in marker. When he mattered to you in a way that felt obvious.

But he hasn’t made it easy for you to come to him lately. He’s been gone. Distracted. Caught up in everything else.

He flips to the most recent page.

december 23rd – i was in the kitchen. pedri said he thought they lost me. no one was looking. i don’t know what’s worse – that he said it like a joke or that he meant it.

His throat burns.

He sets the notebook down on his bed. Runs a hand over his face. He doesn’t cry, not yet. He just feels it. In the way his stomach tightens. In the way his fingers curl against the sheets.

He looks at the door like maybe it’ll give him a solution.

But it doesn’t.

The room stays quiet.

He stays awake long after midnight, sitting on the edge of the bed with your notebook in his lap.

He reads every single page.

Not fast. Not slowly. Just enough to finally listen.

He sneaks the notebook back into your room and goes to bed.

The morning comes slow.

Pedri doesn’t sleep much, just lays there with your notebook still on his nightstand, spine dented from being held too tightly. He gets up early, throws on a hoodie, pulls the hood low. Says something about grabbing milk.

No one really hears him.

It’s cold outside, but not freezing. That perfect winter air that’s all bite and no breath. He walks the long way to the shop, hands in his pockets, head down, trying not to think. Failing completely.

The shop’s mostly empty, just the usual corner clutter, a radio playing reggaetón too loud, and a woman with a screaming toddler by the bread.

Pedri grabs the milk. Starts to head for the counter.

And then-

“Pedri?”

He turns.

It’s Marina.

Hair braided, phone in one hand, coat dusted with glitter. She’s surprised to see him. Not starstruck, she’s been around the house since you were in primary school, but surprised. Like he doesn’t belong in this context, hoodie and all.

“Hey,” he says, awkwardly. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Me neither.” She laughs lightly. “Milk run?”

“Something like that.”

There’s a beat. He should just say goodbye.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey… uh-” he scratches the back of his neck. “You and my sister. You’re close, right?”

Marina blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just…” He hesitates. Looks down at the milk like it might help him find the words. “Have you noticed anything off with her lately?”

She tenses. Not visibly. But Pedri’s watching now. He sees it.

“I mean,” he adds quickly, “I know she’s quiet, but… I read something. I think something’s wrong. I just don’t know what.”

Marina shifts her weight.

“She doesn’t tell me much anymore,” she admits, softer. “Not about real stuff.”

Pedri nods. “Same.”

Another pause. Then:

“She told me once she thinks she’s too much. That people don’t want to hear her problems. She always shrugs it off. But I think she really believes it.”

Pedri’s throat tightens.

“She said that?” he asks.

Marina looks at him, expression serious now. “Pedri, she thinks no one’s listening. That she’s invisible in her own house.”

He swallows hard. The milk feels heavy in his hand.

“She’s not invisible,” he says quietly.

Marina raises an eyebrow. “Then prove it.”

Pedri can’t answer.

Not yet.

He just thanks her, pays, and walks home, a conversation waiting for him, and a hundred things finally starting to make sense.

You notice it the second you wake up.

The notebook’s been moved.

You keep it tucked sideways under your bed, pushed back between a loose floorboard and the wall. But this morning it’s closer. The corner sticks out. You feel it before you even see it.

You sit up slowly. Stare.

Your stomach turns.

You pull it out, flip through it fast, fingers trembling. Every page is there. Uncreased. Unmarked. But you know. You know.

Someone read it.

No, he read it.

Because the charger you borrowed? It’s sitting on your desk. Perfectly wrapped. Like it was placed there carefully.

Your heart hammers.

You shove the notebook back. Don’t say anything. Not at breakfast. Not at lunch. Not when Fer asks if you’re feeling sick because you’re quiet. Not when Mamá calls you mi cielo and tells you you’re glowing.

You just keep moving. You don’t know what else to do.

But Pedri watches you all day. Not obvious. Not heavy. Just… different. Like he’s seeing you properly for the first time.

You know the knock is coming before it happens.

It’s been building all day, in the way Pedri watched you over breakfast, in how his laugh never really hit full volume, in how he walked past your room three separate times and didn’t say a word.

And then finally: rap-rap-rap.

You almost don’t answer.

You almost pretend to be asleep or gone or something in between.

But then you hear him shift his weight, like he’s about to walk away, and it stings in a way that shouldn’t.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open. Pedri steps inside, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He looks tired. Not just physically. There’s something in the way he moves, careful, uncertain, like he’s expecting you to throw him out before he even speaks.

“Can I…?” he motions toward the bed.

You don’t say yes, but you don’t say no either.

He sits. Perches, more like. Like if he breathes too hard, he’ll knock something over.

You don’t look at him.

He doesn’t speak right away.

“I read it,” he says.

You blink, eyes fixed on the smudge of nail polish on your thumb. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You finished it, though.”

That lands hard.

He shifts. “Yeah.”

Silence.

You count your breaths. Try to keep them even. Try not to shake with the rage and embarrassment building under your skin.

“It was private.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you keep reading?”

His voice is so quiet. “Because I couldn’t stop.”

You clench your jaw.

He goes on anyway. “Because I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know how invisible you felt. I thought-”

“You thought I was fine.”

“Yeah.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course you did.”

Pedri flinches.

“You know what’s crazy?” you ask, still not looking at him. “You read every single thing I’ve been too scared to say out loud. And even now, sitting here, you still don’t really see me.”

“I do-”

“No, you don’t. You feel bad. That’s not the same.”

He falls silent again.

You wipe your sleeve across your cheek when the burn behind your eyes gets too sharp. You’re not crying for him. You’re not.

“Do you know what it feels like to watch our whole family fly around you like planets?” you ask. “To be the one thing that doesn’t orbit anyone? To go to bed in an empty house and wake up in an empty house and still be expected to smile because at least you’re part of the picture?”

His breathing changes. Sharper. Shaky.

“Do you know what it’s like to sit in a room full of people you love and still feel like a ghost?”

Pedri doesn’t answer.

You finally look at him.

He looks gutted.

Good.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know,” you say. “But that doesn’t fix it.”

He nods. Looks down at his hands.

You let the silence stretch.

“I needed you,” you say finally. “For a long time. And you didn’t even know.”

Pedri’s voice breaks when he says, “I wish I’d seen it sooner.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course it matters.”

“No,” you say, more tired than angry now. “You can’t un-lose years.”

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Because he knows you’re right.

You pull your knees to your chest.

He gets up, slowly.

Stands in your doorway, like he wants to say something else, something better.

But he doesn’t.

He just nods once.

And leaves.

It’s quiet in the house again.

Papá and Fer left just after lunch, heading to visit some friend of Papá’s out in the next town over. Something about a new vineyard and free wine. You stayed in your room. Said you were tired. No one pushed you.

Pedri watched you walk down the hall and shut your door without looking back.

He didn’t eat much after that.

Mamá’s in the kitchen now, humming to herself while peeling oranges, soft flamenco guitar playing from the speaker she keeps on top of the fridge. It should feel peaceful.

But Pedri’s shaking.

He leans against the doorframe, watching her hands move. He opens his mouth once, twice, nothing comes out. Then-

“Mamá.”

She turns. “¿Sí, mi amor?”

He swallows.

And breaks.

“I messed up.”

Her hands still. The orange peel dangles in a spiral from her fingers. She gives him that look, the one that’s half concern, half calculation, like she’s trying to work out if he’s hurt, or in trouble, or both.

“What’s happened?”

Pedri doesn’t sit. He paces once, rubs his palms against his jeans, exhales hard.

“She’s not okay,” he says. “My sister. She’s not okay.”

Mamá frowns. “What do you mean? She seemed fine yesterday.”

“She’s not.”

“Pedri-”

“I read her notebook.”

Rosie’s eyebrows lift. “You what?”

“I didn’t mean to. I was looking for my charger and I saw it and- Mamá, I didn’t know. I didn’t know she felt like this.”

“Felt like what?”

He stops pacing. Looks straight at her.

“Alone.”

The word hits the tile like a dropped glass.

“She writes everything down,” Pedri goes on, voice low, like if he says it too loud it’ll echo. “All the things we’ve missed. The stuff she didn’t tell us. It’s- Mamá, she thinks we don’t care.”

Rosie’s face tightens. “That’s not true.”

“I know it’s not. We know it’s not. But she doesn’t. Not really.”

He sits down hard at the kitchen table. Runs both hands through his hair.

“She wrote about bleeding through her school uniform and doing the laundry herself so no one would find out. About getting awards and hiding them. About singing in the Christmas assembly and not inviting us because she knew we wouldn’t be there.”

Mamá’s face goes pale. She sinks into the chair across from him.

“She thinks she’s invisible. In this house. In this family. And she’s right, Mamá. We didn’t see her.”

Rosie presses her hand to her mouth.

“She thinks I only notice her when something’s wrong,” Pedri says. “And she’s right about that too.”

“I… I didn’t know she felt that way.”

“She told Marina she didn’t think anyone wanted to hear her problems. That she didn’t want to bother anyone.”

Rosie’s hand trembles.

“I read her words, Mamá. She was screaming in lowercase.”

That’s what finally cracks it.

Rosie pushes her chair back and covers her face with both hands. She doesn’t sob, not like in the movies, but her shoulders shake.

“I thought we were doing enough,” she says, voice thick. “I thought being proud of you and Fer… I thought if we were happy, she would be too.”

“I think we left her behind without meaning to.”

Rosie wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Why didn’t she say anything?”

Pedri doesn’t answer.

They both know the reason.

Because she did. Just not with her mouth.

Pedri leans forward.

“I want to fix it,” he says. “But I don’t know how.”

Rosie nods, still blinking fast. “We will. We have to.”

“She doesn’t want us to fix it for her. She just wants us to see her.”

Mamá nods again. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Pedri exhales. Sits back. Feels like his ribs might finally loosen.

But there’s still that ache behind everything.

Because seeing her now doesn’t change the fact that no one saw her then.

You only came down because you were hungry.

Not for food, really, just something. Some kind of feeling. Some kind of noise. The silence in your room was starting to feel like drowning.

But then you walk into the kitchen and stop cold.

Mamá’s got her hands pressed over her eyes. Pedri hunched forward at the table, face pale, mouth tight, like he’s holding something back and losing the battle. There’s a half-peeled orange between them. The smell is sharp. Sickly sweet.

They both look up at the same time.

You don’t say anything. You just stand there in your hoodie and socks, frozen like the child they forgot they had.

Pedri opens his mouth. Closes it.

Mamá speaks first. Her voice cracks on your name.

You swallow. “Is this about me?”

No one answers.

So you ask again, louder this time. “Is this about me?”

“Yes,” Pedri says, without hesitation. “All of it.”

You laugh, but it’s ugly. A sound made of disbelief and exhaustion. “You wait until I’m practically a stranger to figure out I’m in the room.”

Mamá steps toward you, but you take a step back.

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t come near me and pretend this is new. I’ve been like this. For months. Years.”

Her voice shakes. “We didn’t know-”

“Because you didn’t look.”

That lands.

Hard.

Pedri covers his face with both hands. Mamá sits down again, shakily, like her legs won’t hold her weight.

“I got my first period and washed it out alone,” you say, voice trembling. “I sang in a school assembly and watched other people’s parents clap for me. I won an award and left it on the counter and no one said a thing. I grew up while you were watching Pedri play football.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, fast and hot. You don’t wipe them.

“I needed someone,” you whisper. “And you were always gone. Or tired. Or proud of someone else.”

Mamá’s crying now. Fully. Her shoulders are shaking. She reaches for you again, but you flinch, and it breaks her in half.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know you were hurting. I didn’t know-”

“You didn’t want to.”

The words are cruel, but they’re true.

Pedri stands, eyes glossy. “Please don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you snap. “You got everything. The cheers, the trips, the dinners out, the plane tickets, the framed shirts, the texts that said ‘we’re so proud of you.’ What did I get? A cold kitchen and a plate in the fridge.”

He walks closer. Not too close. Just close enough that you feel it.

“I read what you wrote,” he says. “And I can’t unread it. I’ve never felt like a worse brother.”

You stare at him.

Good.

“Everything in there,” he continues, “was a punch to the gut. But I needed it. I needed it. Because you were screaming so quietly and I still managed not to hear you.”

He looks at you like he’s drowning.

“You don’t have to forgive me. But I need you to know: I’m listening now. I see you now.”

You blink, and the tears fall harder.

Mamá stands too, voice shaking. “You deserved better than what we gave you. You deserved parents who noticed. I don’t know how to fix that yet, but I swear to God, I’m not letting this go.”

You stand there for a moment, chest heaving, heart so loud in your ears you can barely think.

Then you whisper, “It’s too late to go back.”

Pedri nods. “I know.”

“But maybe,” you add, barely breathing the words, “it’s not too late to start again.”

He looks at you like that one sentence just gave him air for the first time in days.

Mamá sobs behind her hand.

You walk forward.

You don’t hug them.

But you sit at the table. Pick up the half-peeled orange. Break off a piece. Eat it.

And that’s enough.

For now.

The kitchen is warm from the late afternoon sun slipping through the window, casting long gold stripes across the table. The oranges Mamá peeled are gone now, their scent lingering faintly in the air.

You sit at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with your fingertips. Pedri is beside you, quiet, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances at you every few seconds. Mamá is nearby, clearing the dishes slowly, her movements deliberate but gentle. None of you speak. Not yet.

The silence feels different now - not heavy or sharp, but expectant, like the calm before the first step.

You break it, voice soft but steady.

“Can we… try to do better?”

Pedri looks up, meeting your eyes.

Mamá sets a plate down and sits beside you, wiping her hands on a towel.

“We will,” she says, voice small but certain.

The words float between you all, fragile promises without a map.

You shift in your seat. “I don’t want us to pretend it never happened. I don’t want us to act like everything’s fixed because it’s not.”

Pedri nods slowly. “I don’t want that either. I want to actually see you. Not just the quiet version or the angry one. All of you.”

You blink, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. “I want that too.”

Mamá’s eyes soften. “Maybe we start with small things. Little check-ins. Dinner together without distractions. No phones, no screens.”

You think about the last dinner you actually had like that, months ago, maybe longer.

“I’d like that,” you say.

Pedri smiles faintly, and for the first time in a long time, it feels real. Not forced or shaky, but honest.

“You know,” he says, “I was so scared that if I asked how you were, you’d just say you were fine and close off.”

You laugh, low and tired. “Yeah, I’m good at that.”

“Maybe we just have to keep asking,” he says, “even when you say you’re fine.”

You look at Mamá.

She reaches out, squeezing your hand gently.

“We’re not going to be perfect,” she admits. “But we’re going to try. For you.”

You feel something warm rise in your chest. A crack in the armor you’ve worn for so long.

“It’s not about being perfect,” you say. “It’s about being here.”

The sun slips lower, bathing the room in soft orange light. Nilo pads in, tail wagging, nudges your hand with his nose.

You reach down to pet him, feeling a little lighter than before.

Pedri leans back, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to see,” he says quietly.

You look at him.

“It’s okay,” you reply, voice breaking just a little. “But don’t wait so long next time.”

He nods.

Mamá smiles through tears.

The three of you sit there for a while, no grand gestures, no big speeches, just breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

And in that quiet, imperfect moment, you start to believe that maybe, just maybe, things can be different.

Days pass, and the house feels a little less empty.

Dinners happen more often, sometimes with laughter breaking through the silence.

Pedri starts asking about your day, small questions, no pressure, just checking in.

Mamá leaves notes in your lunchbox, little reminders that someone’s thinking of you.

Fer notices too. He’s still distant sometimes, but when he does walk by, he gives you a nod or a smile.

It’s not perfect. Some days, the old feelings crawl back in, heavy and unwelcome.

But now you know you’re not alone.

One evening, you catch Pedri practicing his shots in the backyard.

You stand at the door, watching.

He sees you.

Smiles.

“You watching or waiting for me to miss?” he teases.

You laugh, the sound light, almost free.

“Maybe a little of both.”

He kicks the ball toward you gently.

You catch it, feeling the connection, not just to the ball, but to him, to your family, to something you thought you’d lost.

And as you stand there, the sky darkening with stars, you realize healing isn’t a destination.

It’s the small steps forward.

Together.

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