#I’m going on five here and I can just feel people getting tired of me and it’s just

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

I kinda wanna go on a rant but I honestly just think I need to sleep

[yuwuta]

JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO

pairings. satoru gojo/reader

content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart

word count. 3k

notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳

“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?” 

Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he’s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you. 

Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him. 

He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.

“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.” 

This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever. 

There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.” 

It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension. 

You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure. 

But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work. 

“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.” 

You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.” 

“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.” 

“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?” 

You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses. 

“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft. 

“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.” 

“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”

“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”

You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.” 

And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,” you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.” 

“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”

He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint. 

He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch. 

He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you. 

You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek. 

He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.” 

“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”

Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.” 

“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.” 

“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.” 

“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.

“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.” 

“And park it where?” 

“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here. 

He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.” 

“Yours will be towed by then.” 

“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.” 

“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.” 

Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?” 

You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea. 

“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat. 

“What—really? Awesome! But, why—” 

Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?” 

“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.” 

“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!” 

You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”

“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”

Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people. 

Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights. 

Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.” 

(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).

Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.

He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice. 

He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room. 

Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the sparkle of the aquamarine against the halo of diamonds fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.

Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.

He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be. 

[anadiasmount]

to me - jb blurb

quick sum: family reunions aren’t easy especially when you and your clingy bf have been far apart the entire evening. but hey what’s wrong with a few forbidden kisses…

“jude? you in here?” you whispered loudly careful to be sure if anyone behind the door wasn’t asleep or busy. “i’m here,” jude opened the door a small and tired smile in his lips when he saw you. you let out a sigh of relief, throwing yourself almost immediately to him, jude chuckling but not holding back from hugging you tight.

his eyes closed and now happier, the familiar fancy scent invading his senses and knowing he was at peace. the bad mood he was in disappearing almost immediately when you tugged on his shirt, a sign to him that all you wanted was this. to be held. to be loved. to makeup for the past few hours.

“i tried to get away as soon as possible but my aunt just kept pushing and asking for more and more help,” you say muffled. if there’s was one thing about you, it was how much of a people pleaser you were, wanting to make sure people were content and satisfied even if you didn’t feel at your very best.

“we just finished the cupcakes and cut up all the fruit. i saved you some so you we can make a smoothie tomorrow. we still have so much to pack and decorate but i had to see you jude,” you continued.

this reunion was planned last minute as you were celebrating your parents anniversary all together by the shore. you brought jude along knowing you had little time before he returned back to international duty. though what you didn’t expect was to be far from the each other and ordered to sleep in separate rooms. not being able to share a single glance unless you crossed paths in a hall or room.

it was all unfair. especially to jude because of how attached he was to you. no one had to tell him, he knew himself and he didn’t mind one bit. so you being here now, even if it meant for five minutes, it was a maddening drive.

“y/n,”

“hmm?” you replied tiredly, your hand sneaking up all the way up his spine to resting it on his neck, thumb brushing along his skin softly. “please don’t leave me again… just stay here and we can enjoy the rest of the night here,” jude begged, lifting you up effortlessly and bringing you to the bed.

“i wish i could handsome but there’s so much that needs to be done before we can all finally rest,” you cuddle into his embrace, your nose tracing his now soft jaw where he recently shaved, pressing a kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “and you know how my family feels about us staying together,” you pout.

“yet your family doesn’t know what we do back home,” jude said smugly where you gasped and hit his chest. “stop it!” you warned getting shy and nervous. “they’re not here, and they don’t know what their sweet innocent y/n is like when she’s with me, hmm,” jude cocked his head to the side, tracing a small stand of your hair as you kept shaking your head. almost in denial yourself.

“and they won’t ever know,” you say, feeling jude’s hand rest just below your bum, then grabbing your free hand and giving your knuckles sweet and gentle kisses that made you swoon. you’d never complain or get tired of this. how affectionate, how adorned, how loving he was behind closed doors. with you and only you.

jude often got told how quiet and reserved he was. how angry and impatient he was on the field. or how his quick tempered was easily seen. but with you? it’s like a flip of a switch. a happy jude who was cling to his girlfriend and never wanted to let go or leave.

“yet you’re here, do they know that?”

“no…”

“good, because all i want,” jude got up bringing you to his lap where you giggled and shushed him as the bed creaked. “all i want is to take care of my girl,” he brushed his hand over your cheek, “and be hidden away in here with her,” he pressed a small kiss on your lips. hearing you intake a small breath of hesitation yet yearning for more.

“i can’t get over the fact i get to call you mine,” jude relished biting his bottom lip as his hand dragged your sides and traced down to your hips. “that i’m lucky enough to have you in my life,” he stared into your eyes then looked down at your necklace with his initial. “that i get to be with your forever and ever,” jude said cheekily before giving you another kiss to test the waters.

you frown leaning in for another but jude pulls back. having to resist or else then yoor whole family will know where you’re at, and what you’re doing behind the closed door that’s meant to be opened. “if i continue kissing you i won’t be able to stop baby,” jude said heavily, “i don’t trust myself especially when you look so breathtaking i’m this summer dress.”

“one more jude,” you asked, shifting closer to him, jude closing your eyes but giving in because he knew he couldn’t deny you anything. if you wanted something, you got exactly that. and if in this moment you wanted a kiss that meant and lasted a lifetime, he’d grant you that despite the restrictions he made.

he kissed you softly, relishing the playful and softness from you before he managed to lift and set your back onto the mattress. now on top of you where he controlled, soft licks that turned into a teeth clashing makeup session, with heavy breathing, groans and tiny whimpers that escaped your lips.

“if your family comes looking and they find you like this?” he taunted, feeling as you squeezed and pressed his pelvis down onto you. “in this small room with your boyfriend?” his lips pressed onto your pulse point giving you wet kisses before blowing air, making you shiver in pleasure and anticipation. your nerves on fire as you knew what would happened.

“then they’ll have to deal with because i want you. forever.”

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 10

Word Count- 7.2k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, violence, death, Damon’s ass/Damon BEING an ass, shitty Google translate, spelling mistakes(I'm wayyy too tired to edit this rn)

A/N- some of this is not canon just because I love a character too much and she deserved better in the show. 

“Are you just going to keep sulking in here,” I ask from my position in Damon’s doorway.

Damon answers me back with a loud groan mixed with what I believe to be a growl, “Tell me again why you’re here. And why I haven’t killed you yet?”

If I had just met Damon I would be scared of what he just asked me, but after these past weeks of knowing him, I’ve realized most of his threats are half-assed. So I just shrug and walk into his room.

“My mother and brother are away for the week visiting family, leaving me home alone. And, well, I don’t feel like having “he who shall not be named,” come and kill me in my sleep. And you haven’t killed me because you don’t want to. I’ve called you many bad names to your face, and yet I stand here, unharmed."

“Here you stand annoying the hell out of me. Again.”

I roll my eyes and sit on the edge of Damon’s bed. Damon still hasn’t moved from his position under the covers. 

“Damon,” I turn over my shoulder to look at him and he lets out yet another groan to acknowledge he’s listening, “I’m going to be honest with you.”

“Nothing new there,” I hear him say under his breath sarcastically.

“You’re kind of embarrassing to watch right now,” I turn to see him fully glaring at me now, “You’re how old? Like five thousand years or something like that? It’s time you grew up.”

“Says the high schooler.”

“Says the man in love with a high schooler,” I bite back which has him shutting up momentarily.

“You don't know anything,” He says as he finally sits up in his bed. His white sheet falling down, revealing his naked chest. I quickly avert my eyes, not because I’m attracted to him but because seeing Damon half-naked would be like seeing my annoying ass distant cousin naked. No, thank you. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Demon-spawn,” I point an accusing finger at him resulting in him glaring at me some more. 

“I know you have feelings for Elena, everyone and their bloody mothers knows. And as much as I like Stefan, I also don’t think it should be something you need to feel bad for,” I think momentarily and tap my chin in thought, “Well, okay. Maybe a little bad because she’s 17 and you’re like 1,000 and she’s also your little brother’s girlfriend,” I catch Damon’s deadly look and stop rambling, “Moving along…What I’m trying to say is that we can’t control who we catch feelings for. And honestly, Elena’s pretty and nice as hell so I don’t blame you there. But what we can control is how we choose to express those feelings.”

Damon just stares blankly at me and I feel like I’d be better off giving a toddler this speech. 

“What you’re doing right now, sulking and getting mad at everyone around you for something that is out of our control isn’t helping anyone. It’s only making things worse. Elena’s my best friend and I know she’s scared out of her mind right now but doesn’t want to say it because it'll cause more stress for the people she loves. What she needs right now is all of us. After tonight is over and Elijah’s elixir brings her back then you can go back to your hissy fits but right now,” I stand up and face him, planting my hands on my hips in a power pose, “You need to get your ass out of bed and get a fucking grip.”

Damon and I hold each other’s glares for a straight minute before he huffs, throws his blanket off of him, and gets out of bed. I have to fight a smirk as I get overly proud of my pep talk. 

“I’m really starting to miss when it was just puke coming out of that mouth of yours,” Damon growls as he walks to the bathroom and pulls down his boxers without a second thought. My eyes fly out of my head as I get a full look at Damon’s white ass. I quickly turn around and gag.

“Dude! Seriously, warn a girl!”

---

“I don’t remember you being so…talky,” Damon’s voice yells from over the water of his shower.

I frown as I think about his comment and sit back down on the edge of his bed facing the front door and not the bathroom. Not wanting to get a face full of his behind again, or worse…ugh.

“I…don’t think I’ve ever been talky. There has never been a reason for me to be,” I say back to him not really caring if he hears or not.

A moment later I hear the shower water stop and his footsteps padding around behind me. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” Damon says from next to me and I slowly turn hoping he’s at least half decent. 

Thankfully, he has covered his behind with jeans and is currently slipping a shirt over his chest.

I think about his question and then shrug my shoulders, “I’ve never really had friends to talk to, and whenever I had tried talking to people they just hadn’t cared. So I never really saw the point in talking.”

Damon stops fixing the buttons on his shirt momentarily to look at me. His eyebrows are drawn together and the look in his eyes isn’t one I think I’ve seen from him before. Something about it almost seems kind of…human. But within another second it’s gone and his lip upturns into a smirk.

“People are a waste of time anyway. The only good thing about them…,” He takes a step closer to me and leans down so he’s in my face, “Is there blood.”

I huff as I stand up and push past him heading towards the door, “And here I thought I could actually have a half-decent conversation with you. My mistake.”

I start walking through the halls toward the living room where Elena, Stefan, and Elijah are. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Damon catch up to me so we’re walking side by side.

“You’re kind of annoying,” He says and I have to fight the urge to not punch him.

“Gee, thanks,” I go to walk faster but he catches up to me again.

“What I mean is…,” He pauses for a moment trying to find his words, “You may be annoying but that doesn’t mean what you have to say is pointless or something that shouldn’t be heard. Screw anyone who tells you otherwise…or just kill them.”

I look at him with a confused look matching the confused feelings I now have, “Thank you? I think.”

“Don’t mention it,” He leans down and glares at me, “Seriously, I will kill you if you tell anyone what I just said.”

I suck on my teeth and then nod my head, “And there’s the Demon we all know and loathe.”

“Right, back at you, Pukey.”

I watch as Damon’s eyebrows furrow as we get closer to the living room and as we enter he speaks up, “Then why are we letting him break the curse?”

I follow Damon into the living room and see Elena and Stefan sitting together on a sofa and Elijah standing before them. Elijah’s eyes lock onto mine and I acknowledge him by sending him a small smile which he just returns with a nod. Okay, Rude.

“We can kill him today. With Bonnie,” Damon says and I realize we’re talking about him. At the mention of him, I begin to clench my fists as a surge of anger rises through me but stop myself since I don’t feel like accidentally cutting myself in a room of vampires. I take my seat on a loveseat next to Elena, who sends me a warm smile before turning towards Damon.

“No. Bonnie can’t use that much power without dying.”

“I’ll write her a great eulogy,” Damon’s words have me turning in my seat and glaring at him. So much for my speech getting to him.

“It’s not an option Damon,” You tell him, Elena. 

Stefan sighs, “Alright, how do we break this curse?”

“Well, the ritual itself is relatively straightforward. The ingredients, so to speak you already know,” Elijah answers.

“The moonstone,” Stefan says.

“A witch will channel the power of the full moon to release the spell that’s bound within the stone. After that Klaus, being both a werewolf and a vampire, will sacrifice one of each.”

“And where do I fit into it,” Elena asks him.

“The final part of the ritual. Klaus must drink the blood of the doppelganger…to the point of your death.”

Elijah’s words have both Stefan and I taking deep breaths.

“And that’s where you come in.”

Elijah goes to the shelf behind him and opens a little wooden box, “This is an elixir that I acquired some 500 years ago for Katerina. It possesses the mystical properties of resuscitation.”

“So I’ll be dead..”

“And then you won’t.”

Damon the grouch speaks up, “That’s your plan? A magical witch potion with no expiration date,” He turns to Elena, “You want to come back to life, what…What about John’s ring?”

“Those rings only work on humans. The doppelganger is a supernatural occurrence. Odds are…the ring won’t work.”

“I’ll take those odds over your elixir. What if it doesn’t work Elena?”

“Then I guess I’ll just be dead.”

Damon shoots his brother a look, but knowing Stefan, he’ll go with whatever Elena wants. Even if he doesn’t agree. Damon realizes this too before shooting another glare at the group before leaving the living room back to where we originally came from.

“Do we know if Klaus has everything he needs to do this? Does he have a werewolf?”

“Klaus has been waiting over a thousand years to break this curse. If he doesn’t already have a werewolf my guess is by tonight, he will.”

—

I watch from my position on the couch as Stefan follows his brother outside. That’s going to be a fun conversation. 

Elena approaches Elijah, “You’d think he’d understand why I’m willing to do this.”

“Why are you?”

“I’m the key to breaking the curse. Klaus is here because of me. If I don’t stop him, then he’s gonna hurt people. It’s that simple.”

I frown sadly to myself and fight back the watering that has started in my eyes. This isn’t fair. None of this is. 

“You know, there’s a possibility this elixir won’t work. I don't want to mislead you.”

“I know the chance I’m taking.”

The tense atmosphere is broken by a door slamming shut and a woman yelling from the foyer. 

“Jenna, Jenna!”

“Get out!”

I quickly rise from my seat and go to follow behind Elena to check on Jenna, but a hand grabs my own, pulling me back. 

“Wait here,” Elijah’s stern voice says to me as he drops my hand and follows behind Elena.  I watch his retreating figure and shake my head. Who tf does this guy think he’s talking to?

I run towards the foyer and freeze when I see Ric standing there. Or Klaus, I guess. My breathing gets faster and I’m debating on whether to swing on him or pass out.

“Jenna, put the cross-bow down, okay? It’s me.”

Stefan joins us and Elijah comes to stand in front of me, not before shooting me a disapproving look.

“What’s going on,” Elena asks the two adults.

“It’s me, Elena, I swear, okay? He let me go. Klaus let me go,” I frown at Ric’s words and look to Elijah to see if he can tell if Ric is telling the truth or not but his face is completely still. 

“Prove it,” Damon who has now joined says.

“Okay, uh, the first night you and I spent together Jeremy walked in right when-”

“Ok! It’s him,” Jenna exclaims as she drops her weapon. Ew. Everyone in the room throws glances at each other before turning back towards Ric. 

“Why did he let you go,” Stefan asks.

“He wanted me to deliver a message. The sacrifice happens tonight.”

—-

“Katherine was there,” Ric says from his position on the couch. We all moved back into the living room to keep discussing our plans for tonight. 

“She’s under compulsion. Damon snuck her vervain but she can't leave until Klaus tells her she can.”

“Where is Damon,” Elena questions, and I get a bit unnerved. Not knowing where Damon is is not an ideal situation. 

“I saw him go upstairs,” Jenna says. 

Elena stands up and goes towards his room and I go to follow her but Elijah grabs my upper arm, “I need to speak with you,” I begin to argue back as he pulls me into the next room.

“Dude let go of me,” I hiss at him and he drops my arm and stares blankly at me.

“Do not dude me, Elskan,” Elijah says with that stupid monotone voice of his that makes me want to wrap my hands around his throat.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do Elijah,” I whisper yell to him so the others don’t overhear us, “And stop with that stupid nickname.”

Elijah narrows his eyes at me, “You are making it incredibly hard for me to protect you.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” I roll my eyes sarcastically, “I didn’t realize you actually cared, since you’ve been acting like you don't.”

Elijah’s narrowed eyes morph into ones of confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously! One second you’re making all these promises to protect me and being all nice and stuff and then the next moment you won’t even acknowledge my existence.”

“It would be impossible for me to not acknowledge your existence, Y/n. There is not a single moment where I am not searching for you. This situation,” He gestures between us, “Is not something I take lightly. And keeping you safe is now my most important mission in this life. So I apologize if I have hurt your feelings whilst doing that.”

I’m frozen as I listen to Elijah and he takes a single step towards me. He reaches his hand up and brushes a stray hair behind my ear. 

“You have no idea how long I have waited for you,” His words have me frowning in confusion as he brushes his finger across my cheek, “But, I fear that if I let myself get too close then it will only put you in more danger and I would rather dagger myself before ever letting that happen.”

My chest and my brain don't seem to be working properly as I just stare wide-eyed at the man in front of me. I try to think of something, anything really to say but I can’t seem to get my mouth to form a sentence. 

A loud bang comes from upstairs and Elijah gives me one more look before exiting. I feel like I’m on autopilot as I walk towards the noise, catching sight of Ric and Jenna running towards it as well. I make my way up to Damon’s room and gasp as I see Stefan with a very big piece of wood through his stomach. Ric tries to grab Damon but the ladder pushes him off him before walking out of the room.

“Okay, Jenna, downstairs in the basement are some blood bags,” Ric tells Jenna who is standing in front of me, “Go get them, now. Go!”

Jenna leaves as Elena rips the wood out of Stefan. I walk over and kneel next to them as Elena holds and tries to comfort her hurt boyfriend.

“I’m so sorry,” Stefan groans out.

I frown, confused, “Why is he sorry? He’s the one who got stabbed?”

I’m ignored for a moment as Elena shushes Stefan until he passes out and with tearful eyes, she looks over to me, “Damon he…he fed me his blood. Y/n, I don’t want to be a vampire”

'My chest practically caves in on itself as I hear my friend's small sobs and shake my head in denial, “No…no. There has to be another way. There has to be Elena,” I stand up and look at her once more, “You’re not going to be a vampire.”

—

I storm through the halls and down the stairs until I see Damon in the living room pouring himself a glass of whatever alcohol he has on hand. That anger from before rises at the idea of what he just did.

“You selfish bastard,” I storm over to him and I see Elijah try to stop me from the corner of my eye, only to receive my hand in his face. And as Damon turns around to look at me he receives my fist in his face. 

Damon hisses as my fist flies across his cheekbone and I fight back tears at the pain in my knuckles. I’ve never thrown a punch before but I didn’t realize it would hurt this much. Jesus.

Damon looks back at me as if my punch did nothing to him, which it probably didn’t and I expect him to charge at me, and I’m assuming Elijah does as well because he moves next to me. But all Damon does is stare at me, raise his glass to his lips, downs it, and then exits the living room. 

“You’ve never thrown a punch before have you,” Elijah’s voice has me turning my gaze over to him.

I look at him sheepishly, “Is it that obvious?”

Elijah stares at me and from his face I think he's trying to debate whether to be amused by me or scold me, “A bit, but I applaud you for the effort,” Elijah’s eyes dart towards my hurting hand and he picks it up with his own and inspects it. 

“You’ll have some bruising but thankfully there appears to be no breakage.”

I let out a pained hiss as one of his fingers brushed against my middle knuckle. He instantly stops and looks at me.

“I can heal you if you’d like,” He asks me and I remember back to when he healed me the first time. It feels like another lifetime ago. 

“I’ll be fine,” I dismiss him and he nods but doesn’t drop my hand. He does reach his other hand up and uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear off my cheek. 

“I’m sorry about Elena,” I quickly remember why I punched Damon in the first place and go to question about the elixir but he shakes his head as if he already knows what I’m thinking, “It won’t work any longer. Damon made sure of that when he fed her his blood. When Elena dies she’ll wake up as a vampire."

I shake my head in denial and feel the tears reach my eyes again, “No... Elijah. There has to be another way! Please tell me there’s another way.”

Elijah’s features form to one of sorrow as if he can feel the pain I’m in, “I’m sorry, Elskan. I truly am.”

I shake my head and bite down hard on my lip to try to stop my tears. Elijah reaches up his hand though and frees my bottom lip from my teeth with his thumb. 

“Come here,” Elijah says as he pulls me into him and wraps his arms around my body. The smell of something masculine, almost smoky, surrounds me as he rests his chin on my head. After everything that has happened, if I were to die like this in his embrace, I don’t think I would regret it. 

—

I wipe the remnants of my smeared mascara as I look at myself in my car mirror. After Elijah left the Salvatore’s saying he had some loose ends to clean up before tonight and to not get myself into any more trouble, I went to check on Elena. 

She hugged me for about ten minutes straight and I just rubbed her back as she cried into my shoulder. And I may or may not have cried along with her, feeling heartbroken for my friend. 

Elena and Stefan then left together to go spend her last day as a human together, which is as bittersweet as it is heartbreaking. And after bidding Jenna and Ric a goodbye I found myself driving to the Mystic Grill. That’s why I am now sitting in it’s parking lot trying to collect myself and trying to keep myself busy for what is to happen tonight. 

I open my car door and hold my bruised hand tentatively as I push through the front door to the Grill. I had seen a “Help Wanted,” sign here the other day and if I hopefully survive the night I’ll need a job for the summer. Not being a trust fund baby really sucks ass sometimes. 

Matt Donovan sends me a warm smile as I walk past him. I'd never really talked to the guy other than the few times in class where he’d ask to borrow a pencil or if I could help him with some math equation, but he always seemed sweet. Unlike the stupid jock stereotype, I’ve gotten used to seeing in this town. After being told by Elena what happened to his sister and that now he lives by himself as a 17-year-old because his mom’s a deadbeat, I feel bad for the guy. 

I let out a low groan as I stop my walk towards the bar which is currently occupied by the demon overlord himself. I debate to myself if I should just turn around, but a hand on my shoulder shocks me.

Ric stands there with his hands raised up in apology, “My bad Y/N. Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”

I look at Ric and sigh, “I’m just glad you’re you again.”

Ric nods his head in agreement, “Ya, me too. I didn’t hurt you while I was Klaus right?”

I shake my head, “No Ric, and even if you did it wouldn’t have been your fault. You had no control over yourself.”

Ric sends me a warm smile and nods, “I feel kind of violated, to be honest.”

I snort at his joke, “I don’t blame you.”

“I need a drink,” Ric says as he walks with me up towards the bar and my knuckles start to burn as I stare at the hair on the back of Demon’s head.

“I’ll have the same as him,” Ric says to the waiter as he sits on Damon’s right and I sit down on his left. The waiter then looks at me for my drink order, “A Shirley Temple, please. And a job application?”

The waiter, a half-decent-looking man, smirks as he pulls out a pad of papers from behind the bar and hands them to me before going back to making drinks.

“Job searching, Pukey,” Damon asks from beside me and I stare forward not looking at him.

“Ric,” I call to him and he turns to look at me, “If Damon’s here who do you think is guarding the gates of hell?”

Rics snorts out a deep laugh and I can see Damon scowling from beside me. The waiter comes back and gives Ric his bourbon and me my Shirley Temple. I accidentally grab it with my injured hand and try to cover the hiss I let out, with a cough.

“How’s your hand,” Damon asks from next to me. I’m surprised that his voice doesn’t sound completely sarcastic.

I turn and glare at him, “How’s your face?”

Damon sends me a smirk and gestures to his unmarked face, “Perfect.”

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my Shirley Temple ignoring whatever the two men next to me are talking about. That is until a voice that has my heart doing a fucking backflip in my chest calls from behind us. 

“Gentlemen? Why so glum,” A deep British voice asks and I could’ve sworn goosebumps went up my arms at the sound. What the fuck? 

All three of us turn to match the voice to the face and…Holy shit.

A tall dark-blond man stands about a foot length from me. At this distance, I can see the different shades of blue in his eyes and the small freckles that decorate his perfect nose. 

I hear Damon groan from behind me and I’m not sure why as I’m too busy ogling the pretty man before me. 

“Klaus, I presume.”

I blink. And then I blink again. And then once more as I’m frozen staring at Klaus. The Shirley Temple in my hands starts to shake as I can’t take my eyes off the man. 

“In the flesh. Thanks for the loner, mate,” Klaus smirks at Ric and if I wasn’t in total shock right now I’d defend him. But the man I’ve thought of killing for the past week is standing right in front of me and I was counting how many fucking freckles I could see on his goddamned nose. There’s thirteen.

 Shut tf up Y/n?!

Klaus hasn’t looked my way once and although I should be glad about that a part of my lower stomach drops at the fact.

Damon stands from his seat and goes to face the man, “Any reason you stopped by to say hi?”

“I’m told you and your brother fancy my doppelganger. Just thought I’d remind you not to do anything you’ll regret,” Klaus’ warning doesn’t seem to sway Damon as the ladder lets out a laugh.

“Thanks for the advice. I don’t supposed I could talk you into a postponement by any chance, huh?”

Klaus lets out a chuckle and I swear my heart just skipped a beat. What the fuck Y/n?!?!??

“You are kidding,” Klaus asks and then turns to Ric, “He is kidding, right?”

“No, not really.”

“I mean, come on, what’s one month in the whole grand scheme of things,” Damon asks and I realize that he’s doing this because he doesn’t want Elena to die with vampire blood in her system. 

“Ya, I mean one month is like,” I pretend to count on my fingers, “Like thirty days. I don’t see why you can’t wait that long. You’ve already waited over a thousand years, what’s thirty days?”

I ask the man and this finally has Klaus acknowledging my presence. But honestly, from the way he’s looking at me, I wish I would’ve kept quiet. His eyebrows are drawn together and his lips curve upwards into what I hope isn’t a snarl. Damon must’ve noticed the look too because he moves in front of me blocking me from Klaus’ vision and him from mine. 

“Let me be clear,” I hear Klaus’ deep voice say, “I have my vampire, I have my werewolf. I have everything I need. The ritual will happen tonight. So if you want to live to see tomorrow don’t screw it up.”

I catch sight of Klaus’ back as he strolls away.

“Would I be a bad person to say I kind of hope his werewolf was the Jules’ chick,” I see Ric shoot me an “Are you serious” look and I shrug, “Hey, she was the one who tortured me. I still got the little knife scare on my leg to prove it.”

Damon doesn’t say anything as he sits back down and sighs. 

“You’re gonna screw it up, aren’t you?”

“You think if I took his werewolf out of the equation she might…get over the fact that I tried to turn her into a vampire?”

“Nope,” I say popping the p.

“I think it won’t matter, because you’ll be dead.”

“But without the werewolf he can’t preform the ritual tonight which means I would have bought her one month before the next full moon.”

Ric shakes his head, “But you’ll still be dead.”

Damon leans into him, “Are you gonna help me or what?”

Ric looks at him for a moment, “What do you want me to do?”

I slurp up the rest of my drink, throw a five onto the counter,  and jump up as the two men next to me watch me wearily.

“Alright gentlemen, dream team time!”

Ric raises an eyebrow while Damon shoots me a look of disgust, “I don’t know what the hell that was, but you’re not coming along.”

I frown as I grab my application and follow behind the two men, “Why the hell not? I want to help.”

Damon whips around to me, “Look kid, not happening. There’s already too much shit going down and I can’t be babysitting you, making sure you don’t get killed on my watch. So go back home and we’ll see you tonight. Capiche?”

Damon turns back around and walks to his car. Ric sends me one last smile and a shrug of his shoulders before following behind. I watch the two men drive off and I sigh as I stand in the middle of the parking lot. Anger and sadness building in me, when I realize just how useless I truly am.

—

I try to give Elijah a smile as he opens the SUV door for me. But with the mood I’m in I think the smile comes out more like a frown than anything else. Elijah must notice this too as he reaches his hand out for me to take. I debate it for a moment, 1. Not being a big fan of PDA, and 2. Stefan and Ric are with us and I don’t want them to be angry with me. But then I remember that my best friend is going to die tonight so a little PDA isn’t that huge in the grand scheme of things. 

Elijah seems elated as I place my hand in his and he guides Stefan and I through the woods toward the creepy ass witch house where Bonnie, Jeremy, and Ric are. 

“The sacrifice is completed in stages as the full moon sets,” Elijah explains to us. I feel his hand squeeze mine in comfort and I squeeze his back, “First the werewolf is killed, then the vampire’ and finally the doppelganger. Once Elena dies, the curse will be broken. Klaus will become a hybrid.”

Stefan comes to walk next to us. His eyes go down to Elijah and I’s intertwined hands briefly before looking back up to me. When I send him a weary smile, he sends me a small one in return calming down my nerves.

“So when do we attack,” Ric asks from behind us.

“Elena’s death will activate his dormant werewolf side. He’ll be vulnerable during the transformation. That’s when Bonnie comes in.”

“And you’re sure Bonnie will survive this,” Stefan asks and I’m thankful at least one of the Salvatore brothers has a heart.

“If she can deliver him to the brink of death I’ll finish the job myself.”

Stefan and Ric nod.

“Could I talk to Elijah for a moment,” I ask the two men who share a look before nodding and moving towards the house. 

Elijah turns towards me, “What is wrong, Elskan?”

“Are you going to be able to do it?”

Elijah frowns and shakes his head, “What do you mean?”

“Elijah you’re going to be killing your brother. I know siblings are a pain in the ass,” I think back to Theo and thank whatever higher being is out there that he left town this week, “but even when you hate them…you still love them. I’m not judging you for what you have to do. I’m just asking, are you ready for what you’re about to do?”

Elijah’s face is solemn as he processes what I asked, “Klaus wasn’t my only sibling,” I frown as he continues, “There once was a time when we were all together. But Klaus ruined that when he dumped their bodies in the middle of the Pacific.”

I let out a strangled gasp at Elijah’s confession. His pain evident on his face. 

“Elijah…I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elijah steps forward and holds the side of my face with his free hand, “You’re so good. So…pure. I didn’t want to strangle out the light you have inside you with my demons.” 

“Elijah, you’re not the only one with skeletons in their closet. Trust me. But I want you to be honest with me. I need you to be. If this,” I gesture between us, “whatever this is. Is going to work. I’d never judge you. I know sometimes I can be a lot but that doesn’t mean I don’t anything but happiness for you. I don’t know what this means but you make me feel something I’d never felt with another human being.”

Elijah stares at me and something in his eyes tugs at my chest, “What is that?”

“Safe. You make me feel safe, Elijah. And I know I’m not some supernatural immortal and I can’t throw a punch to save my life. But, I want to make you feel that way too. However, I can.”

I start to get embarrassed as Elijah stares at me silently and I really wish I would’ve just kept my mouth closed.

“ᛁ ᚹᚨᛚᛚ ᛚᛟᚡᛖ ᛇᚢ ᚢᚾᛏᛁᛚ ᚦᛖ ᛋᚢᚾ ᛖᛗᛈᛚᛟᛞᛖᛋ, ᚦᛖ ᛟᚲᛖᚨᚾᛋ ᛞᚱᛁ ᚢᛈ, ᚺᚢᛗᚨᚾ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ ᚺᚨᛋ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛋᛖᚾᚲᛖ ᚷᛟᚾᛖ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᚾᛟᛏᚺᛁᚾᚷ ᛒᚢᛏ ᛗᚣ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ. ᛒᚢᛏ ᛖᚡᛖᚾ ᛏᚺᛖᚾ ᛁ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛋᛏᛁᛚᛚ ᛒᛖᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛏᛟ ᚢ. ᛖᚡᛖᚱᚢᛏᚦᛁᚾᚷ ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᛁᛊ ᚢ,” Elijah says in some old language I can’t place. 

“What exactly did you just say to me,” I ask, expecting the worst.

Elijah smiles and places a kiss on my temple, “I feel safe with you as well, Elskan.”

“I’m going now,” Stefan interrupts us and I move away from Elijah shocked.

The sense of warmth and peace I just had completely washed away as soon as those words left Stefan’s mouth. 

“You should get inside Y/N. Bonnie needs you,” Stefan says to me making me frown. But I nod as I walk through the threshold of the house. Elijah follows me as I stand next to Ric. After a moment Bonnie and Damon walk up the basement stairs and out the front door. I frown as Ric and I follow them and Elijah squeezes my hand once more before dropping it as he passes through the threshold. Ric and I are pushed back though.

“What the hell?”

Ric yells from next to me, “Bonnie! What is this?”

Bonnie turns back towards us, “I can’t put anyone else at risk. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do this! What if he goes after Jenna,” Ric asks angry.

“Jenna safe locked in at the Salvatore’s.”

“Damon?”

Damon sends us a look, “Sorry buddy. She’s right.”

I look to Elijah for help but from the look on his face he doesn’t seem surprised.

“You knew.”

Elijah turns to me one last time, “I meant what I said about protecting you. If I have to kill my brother to do that, I will. I’m sorry, Elskan. I will see you soon.”

I watch silently, as he turns his back on me and disappears into the woods. So much for trust. 

—-

I watch as my history teacher paces in front of me. Jeremy’s unconscious body lay on the couch next to me and Elena's estranged bald father who looks like Charlie Brown watches us wearily. If you had told me I’d be in this situation a month ago I would’ve called you crazy and set up an appointment for you with my therapist mother. But here I am. Yippee. 

I stand up, and both of the grown men watch me, “Just using the bathroom. Wait…Does this place even have a bathroom,” I ask but groan when I get no answer. I’m about to make my way out of the room when a piercing pain slices through my chest.

It only takes one scream from my lips before Ric is at my side. His mouth is moving but the sheer pain I’m experiencing makes it so I can’t process his words. I watch with teary eyes and sobs coming out of my mouth as Ric lifts his hand from my chest and his eyes widen. The crimson liquid coating his hand is the last thing I see before the world goes black.

—

3rd Person POV- 

Bonnie screams out her spell as she crushes Klaus’s body. Fire burns around them as the once powerful Original lay in agonising pain. From the shadows, Elijah stalks towards his younger brother. 

Elijah stands above him. A mask of anger covers his face as he leans down to stare at the man he once called a brother and a friend. 

“Elijah?”

Klaus stares up at the man he once saw as his protector, and for the first time in centuries, Klaus feels true fear. 

“Hello, brother.”

Stefan and Bonnie watch from afar as Elijah plunges his arm into his brother’s chest. Wrapping his hand around his still-beating heart. 

“In the name of our family…Niklaus…”

“I didn’t bury them at sea,” Klaus’ desperate voice halts Elijah momentarily before shaking off what he believes to be a trick.

“I know about Y/n,” Those four words have Elijah pausing, “I know what she is to you. And I know she's the same to me.”

The hand that was once clenched around Klaus’ heart slacks as Elijah stares at his brother in horror.

“You’re lying,” Elijah snarls.

Klaus shakes his head, “I wish I was, brother. But I’m not. And if you kill me what do you think will happen to her. Are you really going to take that risk?”

Elijah’s once cool face breaks and turns into one of horror as he looks at his hand that is in his brother’s chest. 

Stefan noticing this lapse of judgement speaks up, “Elijah, don’t listen to him.”

“Elijah,” Klaus says, “Think of her.” 

“Do it and I’ll take you both out,” The Bennet witch threatens.

Elijah looks up to her, “You’ll die.”

“I don’t care.”

Stefan and Bonnie watch in horror as Elijah speeds himself and his brother out of the flames and into the night, leaving only silence and heartbreak. 

— 

“Why are we going to this again,” My brother asks from the hallway outside my room as I fix my black dress in my mirror. My hands freeze for a moment as they land on the spot on my chest that was bleeding just the night before. 

-Flashback-

I woke with a gasp and before I could get a second to breathe I felt someone grasp my shoulders into a hug.

“You’ve really got to stop freaking me out like this,” A soft voice says into my ear.

I pull back and my eyes widen to see Elena with glossy eyes staring back at me.

I shake my head confused, “What happened? Did the ritual happen? Who died? Are you a…,” I pause before finishing my last question.

Elena sends me a smile and shakes her head, “They found another way.”

I feel a smile break out onto my face and I go to sit up to hug her but a sharp pain in my chest stops me.

“Don’t move ok. Just lay still,” Elena coaxes me back onto the coach I’m lying on.

“What happened?”

-End of Flashback-

In Elena and Ric’s spark notes version of the night, about 20 minutes after Stefan, Bonnie, and, Elijah left for the ritual I fell down to the ground in pain, screaming and yelling, and when Ric went to check on me I had blood spilling from my chest. Right above where my heart is. Ric said there was so much blood he couldn’t find where it was coming from but after holding pressure on it for another ten minutes the bleeding had stopped and when he moved his hands from my chest I had no wounds that showed I had been wounded. 

Alaric told me he was surprised that I was still breathing after losing the blood that I did. He also told me that while I was unconscious he found Damon slipping me some of my blood. And if I wasn’t as sore as I was I’d have bitched him out. I’ll just put that on the back burner for now. As well as figuring out what the hell is wrong with me. Bonnie said she couldn’t feel any spells or curses on me so at least that’s a plus. I guess. Also, I haven’t seen Elijah in over a day. Honestly, I don’t know if I could face him right now anyway. I’m pissed that he betrayed us, but there’s a part of me that is happy he didn’t kill his brother. A part I’m not telling the public because right now I’m off to a funeral for Elena’s dad who did die.

Elena told me he had Bonnie do some spell that switched his life for hers. And as much as I disliked the guy, I got to give it to him he showed up in the end. RIP Charlie Brown. 

“We’re going because Elena’s my friend and her dad died, Theo. Try to not be an asshole for the afternoon please,” I say as I meet my brother at the front door of our house. My mother and he came back early last night because she had to get home for some work thing. Typical. But that also means I get to be with Theo for the day and after almost dying yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to say goodbye to him, and today could’ve been my funeral he’d be going to. A chill runs down my spine at the thought and I fight back a set of tears.

“Okay, I promise. I’m sorry,” Theo says as he notices a tear fall down my face.

I smile at my little brother and pull him into a hug.

“I knew you missed me,” I can hear the smirk in his voice as I laugh into his suit jacket. 

“Ya, whatever loser let’s go.”

—

I watch with tear-filled eyes as Elena places a rose on her biological father’s grave and then walks over to her parent's matching graves and places roses on them. Theo stands next to me with a solemn expression on his face, Jeremy is next to him, Bonnie, Caroline, and Tyler stand behind us, and Jenna is on my left as she holds Ric’s hand. I turn to look over my shoulder and I catch Damon’s eye as he stands against a tree. And for the first time ever I almost swore he smiled at me. Damn, maybe he’s dying too. 

—

“I’ll be in the car,” Theo says to me and begins to walk away but not before bringing Jeremy in for a bro hug. I watch as my brother safely gets to the car and then I begin to walk over to Elena but see her already crowded with our friends. My gaze goes towards Damon who stands facing the graveyard and I frown. 

“I have a bone to pick with you. You can’t just go and put blood into people’s mouths while they’re-” I say as I approach him. 

“I’m happy you’re ok, Y/N.”

Damon’s interruption and the sincerity in his voice make me halt as I approach him. 

“Wait…I think I’m hallucinating because I could’ve sworn you just called me by my actual name,” I walk up to him and jokingly smirk, “You dying or something?”

“Tyler Lockwood bit me.”

Oh. Fuck.

Translation-

“​​I will love you until the sun explodes, the oceans dry up, human life has long since gone and I am nothing but my soul. But even then I will still belong to you. Everything I am is you.”

[f1goat]

more than friends ; lando norris + part eleven

In which your best friend is going to help you to gain more sexual experience and say goodbye to your insecurities, but he's quick to discover that he never wants to share you and your new experiences with others - the only problem being, him having to confess his feelings.

masterlist - playlist

fem!y/n x lando norris

warnings: smut with a plot. minors dni! probably grammar or spelling errors due to english not being my first language.

requested: yes, based on this request: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine / part ten

When you wake up after another sleepless night, you let out a big sigh. Since you’re back in Monaco things feel different. You can’t sleep properly anymore, the cold bed without Lando and his warmth in it aren’t enough for you. Things have changed since you’re back here. Lando is busy with his trainings, Quadrant, friends he didn’t see for a while and everything else he’s normally busy with. Meaning that there’s not a lot of time left for you. Lando told you in advance, but you told him it would be fine. Now you realize that it’s not fine. 

You know that if you call Lando, he’ll let you join him with everything you want. There is even a chance that he’ll send you a plane ticket for only today and tomorrow. It wouldn’t be something new. He’s in England for now, spending time at the McLaren Technology Centre. Lando told you about what he was going to do, something in the line of multiple sponsor obligations and a bit of sim work. Him not being in Monaco causes you to only miss him more. 

There’s nothing more you want to do then to call Lando up and talk to him, but you don’t wait to claim him too much. What if he thinks you’re too clingy? With another soft sigh you start to scroll on your phone. Not that it helps, when you open your phone you’re confronted with a thousand notifications. Since the last race weekend the notifications haven’t stopped. Everyone thinks Lando and you are actually dating this time. It has caused your socials to overflow with reactions, some people hate you while others claim that you’re their favorite WAG already. On the flight back you talked about it with Lando. There was an option of denying it and hoping they would leave you alone again, but the two of you decided to just let it be for now. 

You want to text Lando. Or would that be to clingy? Fuck, you really miss him. When a notification shows up on your phone screen, you’re quick to look at it. 

Lando: call me?

Without giving it a second thought you call Lando on FaceTime.

“Hey babygirl,” Lando greets you with a soft smile. 

“Hey Lan,” you greet him back. 

Lando asks you about the last couple days, you feel boring when you confess to him that you didn’t do a lot. You don’t have contact with your friends anymore since that brunch and now that Lando is also gone, your days have been boring. You are quick to ask Lando about his last days as well. He tells you everything in full enthusiasm. 

“But I can’t wait to get back to,” Lando doubts, he wants to say to you but that’s probably weird, right? “To Monaco,” he eventually ends his sentence. 

“When are you coming back?” You are quick to ask. You want nothing more then Lando back in Monaco and hopefully back with you. “Tomorrow baby,” Lando answers you, “Maybe we can grab dinner together when I’m back?”

“That sounds nice,” you tell him, that’s exactly what you hoped for. 

“What are you going to do today?” Lando continues to asks you. 

“I don’t know yet,” you confess, “maybe sleep a bit more, I’m still pretty tired.”

“Did I awake you?” Lando questions. You’re quick to tell him no, mentioning that you don’t sleep well at the moment. When Lando asks you for the reason, you don’t know what to say at first. You stay silent for a bit. “I kinda have the same problem you know,” Lando eventually confesses, “Since I’m back in my own apartment without you I haven’t gotten a good night sleep.” 

“Me too,” you share, “It feels weird to sleep alone.”

“Tomorrow we can sleep together?” Lando suggests. You’re quick to say yes. “And maybe some other activities,” Lando says suggestively. 

“Oh?” You reply.

“I miss you babygirl,” Lando softly murmurs, “All of you.”

“All of me?” You ask surprised.

“Yes,” he confesses, “I miss your body next to mine in the bed, since we slept in the same bed together I’ve been addicted to it. And don’t forget how bad it became now that I know how your body feels. I miss the soft sounds you make for me when I feel you up, or the way you always look at me with those innocent eyes when I know for a fact you’re not that innocent. I miss the way you pussy clenches around my cock.”

“Fuck Lan,” you mutter softly, “I miss you too. Haven’t cum since the last time you made me.”

“What did you just say babygirl?” Lando asks you. He looks at you through the screen, it’s not hard to miss how red your cheeks are getting. “Didn’t you orgasm since our last time?” He continues to ask. You show him a small nod. “Why not?” Lando asks further.

At first you shrug, not wanting to tell Lando that you have never pleasured yourself, but Lando sees right through you. “Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks you. 

“No,” you confess softly. 

“Don’t know how to do it?” He asks.

“No.”

“Want my help babygirl?” 

“Please Lan,” you almost beg. Since he told you what he misses about you, your pussy started clenching. You feel all tensed up and want nothing more then Lando to help you with it. Lando shows you a grin. He doesn’t say anything yet, causing you to let out another few pleas. “I need your help,” you softly confess, “I can’t do it myself.”

“Place your phone on your night stand baby,” Lando instructs you. You do what he says. “Lay down on the bed, I want to see your body.” You lay down on the bed, still dressed in your pajamas. Now you look at yourself in the camera, you notice that you’re pajamas are a skimpy string and a shirt from Lando. 

“Spread your legs for me,” Lando instructs you. You do what he says again. “Keep following my instructions,” Lando says, you show him a nod. “I want you to call me sir,” Lando tells you. “Okay sir,” you try it out, the words leave your tongue without thinking about it. It feels good. You notice the way Lando lets out a soft groan while hearing you call him this. 

“Touch your boobs for me babygirl,” Lando continues to instruct you. You lay your hands on your boobs, slowly grabbing them through your shirt. “Knead one of them,” Lando says, “and softly pull on the nipple from the other one.” You act out his instructions, a soft moan leaves your lips when you softly pull on your nipple. “Continue and switch sometimes,” Lando states. You keep doing what he says. Kneading your boobs firmly and softly pulling on your nipples. You feel your stomach tighten from the feeling. It feels weird to do this to yourself, you’re glad Lando is here to instruct you. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it babygirl?” Lando asks you. 

“Yes,” you whimper.

Lando tuts at you. “Wrong babygirl,” he says, “Stop touching your boobs.” You wonder what he means, then you get it.

“Sorry sir,” you whimper, “Sorry. Can I please continue?”

“No.”

You remove your hands from your tits. A soft whine leaves your lips. Lando chuckles. “Slowly move your hands lower on your body,” he continues to instruct you, “but skip your cunt.” You do as he says. “Tease the inside of your thighs for me,” Lando instructs you, “Stroke up and down on them. Get closer to your cunt, slowly, but don’t touch it yet. Just tease yourself and imagine that your hands are mine.” You keep doing what Lando instructs you to do. “You must be so painfully wet right now,” Lando mutters.

“Move one of your hands back to your tits,” Lando goes on, “Tease them as well. Knead those tits, pinch or pull on your nipples. Keep teasing yourself.”

“Yes sir,” you softly moan while touching your breast again. 

“Gonna get you so wet before you even touch your cunt,” Lando tells you. “It’s a shame I’m not there with you, I would put my mouth on one of them. Slowly sucking your nipple inside my mouth, licking and sucking those beautiful tits.” 

“Fuck sir,” you moan.

“You like this, don’t you? You love every second of attention I give you. Don’t you wish I was there with you babygirl?”

“Fuck sir, yes, I miss you. Want you here with me.”

“Take off your clothes,” Lando instructs you further. You’re quick to do so. 

“Use one hand to keep teasing your breast,” Lando continues, “and with the other one you’re going to get real slow towards your cunt. But don’t you dare to touch it yet.” You let out a soft moan now you feel your breast and nipple without any clothing between it. Lando lets out a soft groan as well. He softly starts to grab his boner as well. Lando never did something like this before, but it feels so natural with you. He’s surprised how well it’s going, the words are flowing out of his mouth without thinking about it.

“Lay down your finger on your clit for me,” Lando tells you, “but only for two seconds. Then you move your hand back to your thighs.”

You let out a whine when your two seconds are up. “Sir please,” you whine. “Not yet baby,” Lando says, “tease your thighs a bit more.” You still do what he says. When you look at your phone screen you notice that Lando has turned over the camera. you’re not seeing him anymore, the camera is focused on his boner now. 

“Fuck sir,” you mutter, “you look so hard.”

“That’s what you do to me babygirl,” Lando replies.

“Can I see how you touch yourself, sir?”

Lando doesn’t reply verbally. He moves his hand to his boner and starts to caress it, letting out a groan while doing so. “How badly do you want to touch your beautiful cunt baby?” Lando asks you, “Tell me about it.”

“Fuck sir, want to touch it so bad,” you murmur.

“Ask me.”

“Can I please touch my pussy sir?” You ask him.

“Okay babygirl,” Lando tells you. “Slowly put your finger back on your clit again. Use your other hand to tease your entrance.” You move your hands again. Almost letting out a loud moan when you finally feel something on your clit again. “Make slow movements, really slow,” Lando instructs. “Give it a bit more pressure,” Lando continues. 

“Fuck,” you whine, “Thank you sir.” 

Lando almost feels his cock bursting out of his pants when you thank him. He removes his pants and boxers. You see his boner springing to his freedom. Lando is quick to put his hand around it and starts to stroke it. 

“Oh babygirl,” Lando mutters, “the things you do with me. Continue to add pressure to your clit baby and slowly move one of your fingers inside you.” 

You spread your legs a bit more then before, causing Lando to let out a soft moan while seeing your cunt better then before. He strokes his own dick. Slowly you let one of your fingers enter your pussy. “Imagine that was my cock,” Lando teases you, “How much better would that fill you up baby?” 

“A lot better sir,” you answer, “There’s nothing better then your cock.”

Lando keeps getting amazed by you. “Such a good girl for me,” he tells you, “my good little..” He doubts a bit if he’s going to say it, but eventually takes the risk. “My good little slut,” he calls you. 

“Only for you sir,” you reply softly, “only for you.”

“Fuck babygirl,” Lando groans, “What did I do to deserve you?” 

In the mean time Lando increases his own pace. He tells you to do the same. You let out a couple moans while fingering yourself. “I’m getting close,” you softly confess, “can I cum sir?” 

“Not yet baby,” Lando tells you stern, “wait a bit longer.”

You’re turning into a moaning mess. You can’t even reply to Lando anymore. It’s getting too much for you. After not having felt anything like this for a week or so, the pleasure is getting to your head. Your stomach is as tight as it can be, your pussy is already clenching around your finger and the only sound coming out of your mouth are moans. 

“Add another finger babygirl,” Lando instructs you. You’re quick to act out his instruction. “Increase the pace but don’t let yourself cum yet. Imagine it’s my cock that’s inside you right now.”

“Fuck sir,” you mutter, “I’m so painfully close.”

“Beg for it.”

“Sir please,” you start to beg. You can’t even form normal sentences, words are coming out of your mouth but you don’t even realize which ones. “So close.” “Please sir.” “Fuck sir, it feels so good.” “Need you with me sir.” “Please.”

“You deserve it babygirl. Let it go,” Lando softly tells you, “Cum for me.”

You feel your body spasm. “Fuck,” you moan while you come undone. It amazes you that you just did this for yourself. While coming down from your orgasm, you look at the phone screen on your night stand. Lando is pumping his boner with a fast pace. While looking at it you feel yourself getting horny all over again. Then he comes undone as well with a loud moan. 

“Fuck babygirl,” Lando grunts, “That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” you softly reply, “It’s insane what you’re doing to me while not even being here.”

“You better wait for when I’m back,” Lando states, “because I can’t wait to feel you around my dick again.”

“Tomorrow right?” You ask teasingly. 

“Tomorrow you’re mine.”

+++

The day is passing by slowly. Lando texted you this morning that he will pick you up for dinner tonight. Since then you haven’t heard anything from him. You miss him. You can’t wait for him to show up here and take you with him. Only the idea of sleeping next to Lando again tonight, makes you feel all happy and bubbly. 

You’re looking at yourself in the mirror. The dress you’re wearing is a new one. After your FaceTime call with Lando from yesterday, you went out shopping. It felt weird at first to shop alone, but you aren’t in touch with your friends anymore after the last time where they didn’t stop insulting you. It’s for the better, but shopping alone is something else to get used to. Eventually you did find a beautiful dress for tonight. Now you’re wearing it you feel a bit of doubt kicking in. You usually don’t wear stuff like this. The dress is on the shorter side, almost revealing your ass. Maybe it’s too much for only dinner? You doubt about changing, but before you can decide you already hear the door bell. Can that be Lando? 

When you open the door, you’re greeted by Lando. He is quick to pull you into a hug before getting inside your apartment. “Hey babygirl,” he greets you with a soft voice. He puts a small kiss on your cheek. When he pulls back from the hug and walks inside with you, Lando is quick to take a good look at you. 

Lando can’t take his eyes off you. Fuck, since when do you own dresses like this? Do you really expect him to have dinner with you while you’re dressed like this? He can’t focus on dinner or anything else when you look this beautiful. Fuck. The dress barely covers your ass and Lando can’t stop looking at it, certainly when you walk towards the kitchen to get him something to drink. 

“Fucking hell babygirl,” Lando sighs eventually, “since when do you own dresses like this?” 

“It’s too much isn’t it?” You ask a bit unsure. Lando hasn’t stopped looking at you since he’s inside. 

“No,” Lando quickly states, “it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Lando doubts for a couple seconds before speaking up again. “But I do think I can’t focus on anything else then you in this dress and fucking you.”

“What’s stopping you?” 

In no time Lando has himself pressed up against your body. You don’t know how Lando got you here like this, but you’re pressed up against the wall. His mouth is attacking yours. You feel his hands all over your body. As fast as he can manage Lando pulls up your dress. When he feels your string and the way it’s already dampened by your cunt, he grins. 

“So wet already baby,” Lando mutters. You grab his boner through his pant. “And so eager,” Lando continues. You play with Lando his belt, trying to get if off but you can’t reach it properly. A soft annoyed grunt leaves your lips. Lando grins and removes his belt himself, then he pulls down his pants and underwear. You see the way his boner slaps soft against his stomach. Fuck you almost forgot how big it was. 

“When we’re back from dinner I’m going to take my time with you,” Lando states, “but now I really  need to feel you on my cock.”

“Please do,” you softly reply. Lando takes his earlier words into action. He lets his dick slide into your cunt. It causes you to let out a hard moan. Lando fucks you harder then ever before, it never felt as amazing as this. When he squeezes your boob you almost yell out his name. “Fuck Lando.”

Lando grunts. He increases his pace again. When he starts to feel close to his orgasm, he almost feels ashamed for feeling his orgasm reaching this soon. Then he notices the way you look. It looks like you’re close as well. 

“Never came this fast in my life,” Lando groans when he feels his cum leave his body. You feel your orgasm hitting you as well. “I can say the same,” you joke, “but it’s not like I have a lot of experience.”

“Dinner?” Lando asks you five minutes later. “If you can behave,” you laugh. Lando grabs your hand, intertwines his fingers with yours and takes you with him towards his car. You barely can remember to grab your stuff before getting into his car. 

“It’s insane how much I missed you,” Lando confesses.

“Same,” you softly reply. 

“And I have to leave again in only two days for the next race,” Lando sighs. 

“I know,” you sigh back. 

“Join me?”

“You want me to join you again?” You ask Lando confused.

“Babygirl, I want you to join me every time I’m leaving home.”

a/n; i feel like this story is coming to an end but i have no idea how to finish it, help is welcome :)))

part twelve

taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl@kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes@barelytolerabled @starmanv @changetyre @kami10471633 @2bormaybenot @httpmrklee @buendiabebeta @aliceespector@ryiamarie @mickslover @sop-hie092 @miniemonie2001 @greymarvelskaikru @kapsylia@swiftiedrafts @thatchickwiththecamera @formulas-bitch @venisvendetta @t3a-3njoy3r @landowecanbewc

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[lovecla]

TAKE IT EASY (OTHERWISE I’M LEAVING) | connor bedard.

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, single chapter:

ᡣ𐭩 — pair: connor bedard x fmc (olivia)

ᡣ𐭩 — synopsis: in which connor bedard’s girlfiend, olivia, is tired of seeing her boyfriend destroy himself every single day.

ᡣ𐭩 — word count: 3.1k

ᡣ𐭩 — chapter warnings: inspired by the song “you” by chase atlantic, angst, hurt with a dash of comfort.

ᡣ𐭩 — from me to you: the second chase atlantic released this album i knew i had to write something inspired by it. i missed writing for bedsy and since he’s our golden, hardworking boy, i thought this was very fitting. hope u like it 🤍

ᯓᡣ𐭩

but you've been diggin' up the truth

haven't slept in like four nights now

blame it on substance abuse

out in the deep end, i'm swimmin', i'm swimmin' again

YOU WOKE up startled with the loud bang coming from somewhere inside your apartment, your whole body jumping and your heart starting to race inside your chest.

Now, almost fully awake, you stare at the clock sitting on your bedside table, reading the time. 4:13 a.m., and when you pat the other side of the bed, where your boyfriend of two years should be laying, you frown as you find it empty and lukewarm to the touch.

“Connor?” You whisper, scared to wake him up unnecessarily, even if you knew he wasn’t lying with you in bed. Again.

You get up, the fabric of his old Blackhawks sweater heating up your skin, as you put on your slippers and leave the bedroom, noticing traces of Connor’s absence here and there— his slippers aren’t by his side of the bed, his duffel bag isn’t on the hallway like it usually is, his water bottle isn’t on the couch like he had left it last night, when you both went no sleep at one in the morning.

So that’s why you don’t understand what he’s doing by the front door, ready to leave, even if he had only slept for three hours.

“Connor?” You call again, watching as his blue eyes look at you, surprise and guilt decorating his expression like a famous painting hanging on the Louvre’s wall. “What are you doing?”

Your voice is still soft, and despite the scare, your eyes can barely stay open. You’re tired, tonight was the first night you had allowed yourself to sleep freely since now you were done with your exams. And you were happy because you managed to convince Connor to come home earlier, at eleven instead of midnight, just so you could spend some time together, like you used to do when you started dating.

“Liv, hey,” he whispers, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

That’s when you realize what he’s doing. The bag, the stick on his hand, the outfit. He’s—

“Are you serious right now?” You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re going to the rink? At four in the morning?”

“Baby, you know I need to,” he tries to sound convincing and if it wasn’t for the fact that this is probably the hundredth time he’s done this, you would’ve actually believed him. “We have a game coming up and—”

“Yes, I am well aware of that, Connor. But you went to sleep at one. Two nights ago, you also went to sleep at one and woke up at five. And the night before, and the night before that too.”

You don’t try to hide your feelings anymore. You want him to know you’re upset, and you want him to know that this, whatever the hell he’s doing, isn’t okay.

“I know, baby, but you know I have to keep practicing so I can help the guys.” He’s now facing you, his body visibly tense.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Connor, what the hell. There are other twenty fucking people in your team, you’re not the only player there. It’s not your responsibility only!” You cover your face with your hands, truly upset.

“Liv,” he calls your name, and it hurts to even hear it, because his voice is so full of guilt and shame. It makes you feel sick. “You’re not being reasonable right now. This is the NHL. You know how hard I’ve worked for this. There are people counting on me.”

“And I’m not one of them?” You whisper, making eye contact again, only to realize you’re not strong enough to have this conversation at four in the morning.

“Liv—”

“It’s fine, Connor. Go to practice.” You sigh, making your way back to the bedroom, praying that he doesn’t notice the tears running down your cheeks.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

you said, "take it easy, otherwise i'm leaving

yeah, i don't wanna stay and watch you die",

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CONNOR HAD an injury.

His jaw had been fractured, and he had to go to surgery to fix it. You were in the arena watching the game with Connor’s sister when it happened, and you had never been so scared.

You know Hockey is about hitting people as much as it is about playing and winning, but you won’t lie and say your heart doesn’t hurt inside your chest whenever you see Connor getting hurt on the ice.

And you aren’t dumb. You know that some players will purposefully hurt him just because he’s good. And even if people aren’t one hundred percent sure that that is what happened that night, you still remember the terrible feeling of losing when you were in the ambulance with Connor to the hospital, trying your hardest not to cry in front of anyone because you know what they would say.

She’s not tough enough to date a NHL player.

But you believed yourself to be tough. The only problem with all of this is that you knew Bedard would never take great care of himself, meaning that you’d have to be with him twenty-four-seven, which wouldn’t be a problem, if only he accepted your help.

Now, four weeks after the surgery, you’re inside the United Center, the Blackhawks arena in Chicago, stomping your feet as you walk towards the rink, the sound of your steps being muffled by Connor’s constant skating.

“Connor.”

You have to call him a few times so that he can finally get out of his head and look at you; once again, those blameworthy eyes looking down at you, as he skates closer to the benches where you were standing.

“Liv.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Connor?” You snap. “You’re supposed to be resting. You’re definitely not supposed to be on the ice.”

“I know, but my jaw is just fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He removes his helmet, running his gloved hand through his hair.

“It didn’t seem like it was fine last night when you had to swallow a bunch of pain pills because it was hurting. Connor, don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” You can feel your face heating up, and you’re trying so hard to keep your shit together but— “You have to allow your body to rest. If you keep up with this, you won’t get better—”

“That’s not an option, Liv, and you know it,” he hissed back, now looking more distressed than guilty. “This is my life. And I did allow myself to rest, I spent four weeks doing absolutely nothing, just like the doctor asked me to.”

“He said six to eight weeks, Connor,” you sigh, tired, not actually believing you’re having this conversation with him. “Please. Just think about how I feel when I know you’re not well enough to be here yet you still are.”

He pressed his lips together, placing his stick on the floor next to him and moving his helmet around his hands.

“Liv, you know I love you but this— Hockey is what I am. It’s what I do. You have to understand—”

“And I have done nothing but understand you!” You shout, finally losing your cool and snapping at him, your loud voice echoing through the empty arena’s walls. Connor takes a step back, but now you’ve already started and you won’t can’t stop. “Ever since we met, I have been nothing but understanding. I stood by your side at all times, even when what you were doing wasn’t healthy for you!”

“Olivia—”

“I went to sleep alone and cried more nights than you could ever imagine,” your voice cracks, and your stubborn tears are already rolling down your face. “I still supported you no matter what. I cooked your meals, I packed your bags, I went to those ridiculous gala dinners and I did it all with pleasure because I love you and you’re supposed to do these types of things for the people you love!”

“Baby—”

“So you don’t get to stand in front of me and ask me to understand how badly you treat yourself and how you don’t care about anything else besides Hockey when I gave up everything to be with you!” You try to wipe your face, stepping back when Connor tries to reach you. He frowns when you flinch. “I gave up my freedom because I wanted to be with you and God knows I’d do it all over again because I fucking love you.”

“Baby, I know all of this and I’m grateful, I really am but—”

You let out a wet chuckle, shaking your head. “There’s always a but with you.”

“Hockey is important to me, baby.”

“And I am not.”

The silence after your words is cruel, and it tears you apart, scratching your skin and making your insides hurt. His blue eyes, your favorite color to ever exist, are also filled with tears and you hate to see it. You hate to feel bad about saying these things.

The thing about loving someone is that the thread between giving up yourself for them and giving yourself to them is really thin.

You love Connor Bedard. Have loved him for years now. He makes you happy, he listens to you, he’s your best friend.

“You know that’s not true, Liv,” he gets closer, the sound of his skates hitting the ice making you want to puke. “You know you’re more important to me than any of this. You know I love you.”

“No, Connor, I don’t,” you whisper, smiling even when all you feel is pain. “I can’t do this. I won’t watch you d-destroy yourself and not do anything.”

He removes his gloves quickly and grabs your wrist, cold fingers holding your arm down. “Olivia, wait.”

“No,” You shake your head. “I need time. Sorry.”

You don’t look at his face as you leave the arena, and you certainly don’t listen to his voice shouting your name, over and over again.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

i don't know what to do

i’m stuck in a loop, stuck in a loop

ᯓᡣ𐭩

HE WATCHES you talking to the children from afar.

You’re sitting on the floor, and it’s so obvious you’re better different from everyone else at the party. The children surround you like you’re their favorite princess or superhero, all of them wanting a little bit of your attention.

Connor feels like he should be offended, since those kids were there to see his team in the first place. It was some kind of reunion Foligno arranged with the media team, inviting some of his son’s friends and some other children with less opportunities.

But he isn’t. First of all, he’s thankful because if it weren’t for your charm, he would be the one having to deal with the children, something he wasn’t very fond of. Sure, he likes kids and he’s happy they like him, but if he could avoid social interactions, he would.

Besides that, watching you happy is something that he had missed, and he feels like shit for it. He knows he hasn’t been a good boyfriend, and he knows he should do better. Ever since that one night at the rink, you haven’t been the same.

But if he thinks about it too much, he realizes that you haven’t been yourself for a long time now.

And it hurts.

It hurts because he doesn’t know what to do. He loves you, the very first girl he fell in love with, but he also loves Hockey. As a young player in the NHL, he feels like he constantly needs to prove himself to others, and since people give him so much attention, he needs to keep on being a good player.

He doesn’t know how to balance things, how not to spend hours and hours without end on the ice, muting all of his doubts and worries while he keeps throwing the puck in the net.

You smile at a little boy who’s now handing you a flower, and Connor smiles as he watches you ask the little boy to put it on your hair, laughing when the other kids stop their babbling to clap at your newest look.

You make eye contact with him, and he feels himself getting devastated when he notices that the shine in your eyes lessened a little when you looked at him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

(why do you hate me?)

i could never hate you, despite the words that you've been sayin'

i’ve been having breakthroughs

and hoping you were proud, just maybe

anxiety drives me insane, and my newest addiction is pain

i know i said it was a ‘phase’

five years later, still stuck in my brain

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CLOSING THE front door with a sigh, you let your first sob out. The tears won’t stop, and you don’t bother to wipe them, it would be pointless.

All you want to do is slide down to the floor and stay there, letting the hardwood hurt your back and get you dirty, but you can’t. Your car decided to break in the middle of the road on your way back from college, and you had to walk until you found the nearest telephone to call your insurance company, which would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the terrible storm going on, the water drops penetrating your thin shirt like you weren’t even wearing anything in the first place.

It’s just one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, but you’re already so fed up with life lately that this all seems too much.

“Liv? What happened, baby?”

You lift your head up faster than you should've, because now you can see tiny, black dots floating around in your vision. You weren’t expecting to see Connor at your house, much less wearing the apron you gave him when he prepared his first dish by himself two years ago— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Connor,” you whisper, not looking him in the eye. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I texted you,” he says, removing the apron that read “cook it yourself, cunt”. “What happened, baby? Are you hurt?”

You don’t say anything, mostly because you’re certain that if you let one little word slip past your lips you’ll start crying uncontrollably once again, so you just shake your head and leave your things on the floor beside you, walking past him so you could get to your room.

He’s quick to follow, though, watching as you remove your wet clothes and get in the shower, both of you silent and lost in your own thoughts.

Not talking to Connor about your feelings feels weird, but you can’t help but feel like you’re holding him back. It’s sickening, because all you want is to stay with him and be happy, but sometimes loving is also letting go.

You get out of the shower, feeling the tears coming back when you spot the change of clothes Connor left for you on top of the toilet lid— his shirt, his pants, your favorite panties.

He knows you too well. He knows who you are as a person and he knows who you want to become. He knows your fears and your ambitions, he knows your dreams and hopes. He knows what you stand for and what you absolutely despise.

He knows you.

You change, and leave the bathroom quickly, wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep for days.

“Some lady from your insurance company just called, saying your car will be ready next week,” Connor says, and only then you noticed he’d been standing next to your wardrobe the entire time, crossed arms in front of his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me your car was broken?”

You shrug. “I knew you were at practice. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“So you walked home? In the rain?” You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, but there’s nothing much you can do.

“I mean, what did you want me to do?” You scoff. “My phone died and I had no cash on me. And honestly, we both know that you would never leave the ice for something like this.”

“Liv, you know that’s not true,” he whispers, getting closer to you. “You know that I’d leave at any moment if I even knew you needed me.”

“Whatever,” you mumble before reaching for your phone in your bag, the device thankfully still dry, and put it to charge, removing the hundreds of pillows you have on top of your bed and throwing them on the carpet floor, already visualizing the amazing sleep you’d have.

“What are you doing?” You feel his hands on your back, his body closer to yours than it’s been in a while. “You haven’t had dinner yet. I cooked…”

His sad tone makes you break again, and you hate yourself for it. But you still love him so much, and it hurts to see what you’ve become.

“Liv, please, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads, turning you around and wiping your tears with his thumbs. “I’ll fix it, I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“Can you fix us?” You whisper, resting your head against his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. He smells like home and the winter. “Can you fix what we’ve become?”

He’s quiet for a while, long fingers caressing your hair, like he used to do back when you had started dating.

“I’m trying, I swear I am,” he whispers back, and you can finally hear genuineness in his voice. “You’re everything to me, baby, and I won’t lose you.”

“I’m not asking you to give up on Hockey,” you explain, watching as your tears stain his shirt. “I’m just asking you to take care of yourself. Connor, I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry,” he kisses your cheek, the first time his lips touch you in more than two weeks. “I’m so sorry.”

You listen to his heartbeat and sigh, choosing not to say anything. You know the only way you can find out if he’s being genuine or not is with time, because only it will tell if you’re fixable or not.

But as you let yourself sleep close to his body that night, losing yourself between the sheets and his arms, you can finally breathe again.

Because he said he’ll try, and Connor Bedard always tries his hardest with everything.

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

Cancun Trip (Popstar!Fem!Reader x Bodyguard!Punk!Miguel O’Hara)

Hi hi:3 I’m alive (kinda lol) this is a fun little thing I was thinking of lol enjoy! Not proofread.

SMUT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Drinking, cursing,, biting, unprotected PinV (wrap it up people!) Fingering with ringers, Miguel had some interesting piercings :)tispy fucking, dirty talk (???), enjoy :3

Word count: 3k

Playlist AU Masterlist

—

Post-tour vacations were always your favorite thing, no dance practices, no boring meetings and most importantly, no manager to stop you from partying all night. And although Miguel was still technically on the clock, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t treat this as a vacation of his own.

That’s how you ended up with your heels in hand, trying to not stumble as you and Miguel drunkenly giggled on the walk back from the club at three in the morning.

“Come on princess, let me carry you, you’re gonna get cut on something.” Miguel mumbled, hands going to rest gently on the small of your back.

“I’m fine, I’m walking on sand.” You giggled, stumbling slightly as you looked back at him. Not phased when he moves his hand down slightly to wrap around your hip.

“Sand won’t stop you from getting cut from a beer bottle.” He pointed out.

“I can see the hotel from right here, it’s fine-Oh my god! Miguel put me down!” You clenched your heels against your chest as you were suddenly lifted off the ground bridal style.

“Not happening.” He smirked with a laugh, but you knew better than to fight against him, mostly because you’d end up failing. So you ended up just giggling the whole way to your shared suite. Where he finally put you down once you were both inside.

“Why did we come back here again ? I'm not tired.” You asked as you tossed your heels in some random corner, before making your way over to the kitchenette.

“You were complaining about your feet.” He reminded you, taking off his own shoes and his leather jacket. Draping it on a chair as he followed you.

“Oh yeah,” you hummed, opening the fridge door, looking around as you rummaged through the contents inside. “You want a buzzball ooor… a fourloko?”

“Fourloko.” He answered, making your nose scrunched while pulling out a can and a small buzzball for yourself. Handing him your drink first so he can open it since you already knew that due to your nails and the fact you were already slightly impaired that you wouldn’t be able to open without struggling for five minutes first.

“I don’t know how you drink that shit.” You mutter after switching drinks, trying not to cringe as you sipped on the strawberry liquor. “I thought I was going to die of alcohol poisoning when I drank one of those.”

“Princess, I’m over six feet and three hundred pounds, I can handle a fourloko. Small little thing like you though…” His voice dropped an octave as he went to sip his own drink, oblivious to the way his tone change seemed to stir something in your stomach. Mind slightly too hazy to see the way you took a bigger sip the second time around. “You should stick to that buzzball.”

His jab made your brows furrowed slightly. Annoyance quickly replacing the mysterious feeling before, as you decided to make yourself comfortable on the wooden kitchen floor. Not caring about the way your dress rode up your thighs when you crossed your legs. Instantly going to grab Miguel’s can and taking a sip when he placed it on the ground to join you on the ground. Regretting the decision after the first gulp, making you recoil at the taste as you put the can back down next to Miguel.

“Give me that.” He smirked playfully as he grabbed the can before it was even fully on the floor. Raising it towards his lips before leaning forward to speak again. “If you want to swap spit just say so, sweetheart.”

“You’re so weird.” You muttered in annoyance as you rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m surprised that your eyes haven’t gotten stuck in the back of your skull yet.”

“If you have the hots for me just say so.” You mimicked his words in a deadpan tone, tilting your head back to take another gulp.

“Oh please,” Miguel couldn’t resist the scoff that escaped his lips from your words. “Hate to break it to you princess, but you’re not exactly my type.”

“Not your type!? I'm everybody’s type.” Despite your attempt to deliver your words with offense and attitude, you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upwards as you tried not to babble into another fit of drunken giggles.

“Believe it or not, spoiled little brats isn’t everybody’s type.” He smirked as he watched you move the little empty plastic ball to the side. Not missing the way your eyes immediately fall on his half full can. His hand immediately going to push it behind his back. “Oh no you don’t-“

“Just another sip, I don’t wanna get up!” Your pleas cut him off, immediately moving to your knees to scoot closer to him. Laughter began to fill the room as you attempted to reach for the can as he held it away from you, never noticing the way you had practically crawled on top of him. Barely registering the way his hand does to your hip in an attempt to help steady you. Your giggles only dying down when your eyes move away from the can, finally noticing how you two practically were touching noses.

Heat sinked into your lower stomach as you both gazed into each other’s hazy eyes, Miguel’s hand subconsciously tightened lightly on your hip, making your lips part ever so slightly as a silent gasp left between them. You wanted to say something to ease the weird sudden tension that filled the room, but your throat felt so dry that you couldn’t get anything out of them. The way his eyes looked at you alcohol made your head feel more fuzzier than it did at the club. You were feeling so dizzy, like you were falling-no,like you were leaning- leaning forward?

“Mmm-oh-oh my god-“ You pulled back as soon as you progressed what you had done, eyes shooting widen open and your hand covering your mouth. You just kissed Miguel. You kissed your bodyguard. “Im so sorry. I-I didn’t-I don’t know why I did that-“

But your apology was cut off before you could finish it. Large hands quickly moved to your shoulders as the oxygen from your lungs got stolen with each passing second. You couldn’t help the moan you let out as you melted into the kiss, melted into him. Manicured fingers entangling themselves into the little chocolate curls on the back of his neck.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Miguel spoke between shallow breaths, his forehead resting on yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths.

“We should stop.” You agreed, voice light as you moved to straddle his waist.

“Definitely.” He muttered before pulling you back, biting down on your bottom lip just hard enough to make you let out a hiss, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue in. The warm metal of his tounge piercing making you shiver as it glides over the roof of your mouth.

“Your piercing feels so weird.” Despite not complaining, you couldn’t help but whine.

“Wait till you feel the other one…” He mumbled under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” Before you could get a chance to question what he said, his mouth was on the base of your neck. The pressure of the metal ball on his neck made your breath hitch as his hands dug under the tight fabric around your thighs. Impatiently tugging at the no-show thong that you were certain was drenched by the way it was clinging to your core.

“What happened-to not being your type?” You couldn’t resist the urge to taunt his earlier words, keeping your tone as steady as you could with the way his two middle fingers began to slowly move up and down on your dripping slit.

“I’m blaming this on the alcohol.” He grumbled as he sat back, eyes dark as he focused on watching the way you attempted to wiggle yourself onto his fingers each time he passed your needy hole, applying a bit more pressure on it with each passing. His free hand went to hold your hips down to stop your squirming. “Don’t be impatient, princess.”

“You’re taking too long.” You whined.

“Ten minutes ago we weren’t making out.” He brought his gaze back up to your face, before finally entering his middle finger, making sure to go extra slow to help with any uncomfortableness you might feel from the stretching. The corner of his lips twisting upwards at the sight of your lips parting with a silent moan. “You’ll be thanking me in a few minutes for taking my time with this.”

You let out a whimper, head falling to rest on his shoulder as you attempted to get used to the sensation of his fingers inside of you. The coldness of one of his rings sending a shiver up your spine each time he bottomed out. Involuntary clenching around his finger with each graze of the metal, making Miguel’s brow furrow in annoyance.

“You need to relax sweetheart.” He muttered, leaning down slightly to place a light kiss on your hairline in a half-hearted attempt to help you calm down.

“I’m trying…” Any attitude you attempt to spit out from your tone was lost the second it left your mouth. “Rings feel weird…” You added as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the building heat in your lower stomach and the slow pumping from his fingers.

“Did you want me to take them off?” Miguel asked, having to tear his gaze from your cunt, your sudden silence not pleasing him one bit. ”Did you want me to take off the rings?” He repeated, eyes boring into you as you squirmed against him.

“Mm…” You hummed as you shook your head, Miguel couldn’t help but smirk slightly at your actions.

“Use your words.” He said, slowing down slightly just to mess with you.

“No, no, I don’t want the rings off.” You finally spat out, shaking your head a bit more frantically than before.

“Nasty little thing.” He cooed, the smirk on his lips growing a bit wider as he focused back down on his hand. Pumping his finger in and out a few more times, pausing to insert his ring finger before continuing his previous pace.

“Oh shit….” You hiss under your breath, your shaky hands finding purchase on Miguel’s bicep, burying your face deeper into the crook of his neck. The building in your lower stomach getting ready to snap. “Shit, I’m close… Miggy I’m so close-“

“Come on princess, cum for me.” His growl, dropped an octave with the command, his fingers curling slightly to better hit that perfect soft. “Wanna feel that pretty pussy finish around my fingers.”

His words pushed you over the edge, eyes rolling shut as you bite down on him in order to muffle your moans. Making him let out a hiss as he slows his pace, helping you ride out your orgasm.

“Did so good.” He praised lowly , pulling his fingers out slowly. Eyes darkened slightly as he saw a thin string of your slick connect you both still, pulling till it broke.

“Felt so good.” You replied, still coming down, as you moved from his lap to his lower thighs, surely leaving a wet spot on his jeans. “Need more.”

“Impatient, are we princess?” He teased, his hand moving to undo his belt, but were quickly pushed away by yours, wanting him to speed up.

“Shut up.” You huffed, hands fidgeting to undo the metal. “I haven’t had any action since the show in San Francisco, I’m a bit desperate here.”

“Wow, the (Y/N). Desperate. I thought I'd never see the day.” He teased, leaning back slightly. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d never think he’d see it, the way your eyes were glossed over, looking at his covered bulge like it could solve all your problems, the way your hands were trembling slightly as you unbuttoned his jeans. You’re hair messy and disheveled, your lipgloss halfway gone, the only proof of it even existing in the first place was the strawberry taste it left on his own lips.

His usual well-kept, semi well behaved pop star was now acting like a college student who was finally losing her virginity in some random room at a frat party. He had never seen you desperate before, he wanted to make sure he committed the view to memory.

So needy, so desperate, and only for him.

He couldn’t help the way he twitched under your hand as you rubbed his clothed length.

“It feels big.” You admit, eyes not lifting to see the smirk that formed on Miguel’s lips.

“Ima big guy princess,” He murmured with a head tilt, “why’d you think I took the time to help you warm up?”

“You’re so cocky.”

“Funny coming from you.”

“Shush.” You huffed, finally dipping your fingers under his waistband, the heat radiating from him almost enough to make you break out in a sweat as you began to wrap your smaller fingers around the base of his cock-

“OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK!?” You exclaimed, quickly pulling your hand away, accidentally pulling his underwear down in the process. Causing your wide eyes to land on where your hand had just been. You blinked in disbelief as you tried to process the sight in front of you.

The eight inches of length by itself would already be enough of a challenge for you on its own, what was really making your stomach turn slightly was the metal bars that lined the underside of his shaft, about an inch or so of separation between each bar, each bar having a small ball at the end on either side.

“I’m not putting that in me.” You stated with complete seriousness, Miguel couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “When did you even get that done?” You asked, moving closer to get a better look.

“College.” He shrugged.

“You’re insane.” Your eyes moved up to meet his, unbothered by the cheeky little smirk he wasn’t attempting to hide. Not fighting when his hand moves to the small of your back to pull you closer again.

“It’s not that bad.” He reassures, “Most of the girls I’ve been with either don’t feel it, or they actually enjoy it.” Yet the way your brows furrowed together and the nervous hum that left your throat was a clear indication that you were inconvenienced.

“I mean…it’s kinda cool… I’ve never done it with anyone with a…” You trailed off, looking at him through your lashes as you waited for him to finish the rest for you.

“Jacob's ladder.”

“Jacob’s ladderrrr…” You drew out the words as you nodded, then biting your lips as you thought about it. “Okay…” you sighed, “but if it hurts we’re stopping.”

“Deal.” Miguel agrees, before pulling you until you were hovering over his member. Your hands go to rest on his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself as you begin to slowly lower yourself down.

Oh.

Oh.

“Ohh…that feels…” Amazing? Ethereal? Heavenly? You can’t even finish your sentence, “fuck.”

“You like it?” Miguel asked, already knowing the answer from the way your eyes rolled back and your jaw went slack the second you landed on his thighs.

“Mhm…” You bit your lip as you nodded, wanting nothing more than to just start bouncing, but you knew you’d had to allow yourself to adjust to his girth or the soreness he’d leave between your legs would be much worse tomorrow morning.

After a few moments, you finally began to move up, stopping just below the tip before lowering back down. Your whimpers becoming more desperate and vocal with each moment.

“Shit… so tight…” He murmured, head falling back as his hands left your hips, placing them on the floor instead to help stabilize himself before thrusting his hips upwards, making you moan out his name. Groaning at the way you squeezed around him.

“Miguel…” You whined, nails digging into his shoulders. If he wasn’t still wearing his shirt, he’d be certain you’d be drawing blood, or at least leave imprints to match that note mark you left him.

“I know baby, I know…” He dipped his head to whisper against your ear. “Fuck, feel so good… how am I supposed to watch you dance around in those fluffy little dresses on stage now and not think of this, huh?” You didn’t answer, more you couldn’t. Too cockdrunk to properly think.

It was all too much, your body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way. Heart pounding in your ears like it did when you finish a show, only this was so much better. Fingers tighten their grip on him as you felt the heat building the second time around, faster than the first time.

“Miggy…Ima-ima cum again..” You babble as you begin to bounce a bit quicker, making Miguel moan lowly.

“Where do you want me to finish?” He asked, knowing once you finished he won’t be far behind himself.

“Inside!” You exclaimed, almost too quickly. “Please Please ple-“

“Princess, I don't think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to -“ He began to protest, but his hands made purchase on your hips regardless.

“I’m on birth control.” You told him, making him let out a loud huff. He didn’t want to protest any further, mostly because he knew neither of you last.

“Shit…shit…” He grunted, rutting up into a few more things, his thrust growing more and more sloppy, your moans growing more and more high pitched before he finally felt you release around him. The way you squeezed him made eyes roll back as he began to empty his seed instead of you, riding out both of your highs as his hips stutter and slow. Breaths shallow as you. Finally rolling off of him once you both came back down.

“Jesus…” Miguel huffed , moving to finally get up off the floor, his butt sore from the hard kitchen wood. Taking a moment to tuck his softening member back into his jeans before reaching his hand down towards you. “You okay?”

“Yeah just… my legs… jelly…” You take his hand, letting him pull you up from the floor as you use your free hand to fix your dress that was bunched up around your thighs, deciding to deal with your soaked panties in the morning. A beat passing before you spoke again. “We never speak of this.”

“Agree.”

—

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[inkspiredwriting]

The Perfect Birthday

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: This little one shot is for @craftyangelpainter. I hope you had a great birthday, and I hope this puts a little smile on your face

Warnings: none

It was a warm afternoon at Five and Y/n’s house, the living room festooned with balloons and streamers. Y/n’s birthday cake stood proudly on the table, a beautiful creation with intricate frosting, baked by Y/n herself because, as usual, she didn't want to burden anyone. Five had worked tirelessly to pull this day together, ensuring everything was perfect for his wife. But as the hours ticked by, the cracks in the celebration started to show.

The whole family had gathered at Five’s insistence, which had been no small feat. As much as they had been through together, getting all the Hargreeves siblings in the same room often felt like trying to contain a tornado in a jar. But for Y/n, Five was determined to make it happen. She deserved it.

Lila and Diego arrived with their three kids in tow, looking tired but managing some smiles for Y/n. However, it wasn’t long before Lila started mentioning their need to head home early. “We’ll have to leave soon,” she said, half-heartedly stirring her drink. “The kids have school tomorrow, and Diego and I are running on fumes.”

Five clenched his jaw. He understood, of course, but this was Y/n’s birthday—one day for his wife to feel celebrated by the people she had grown to care about.

Across the room, Klaus sat huddled on the couch, looking anxious. Without his powers, he had been jittery, afraid of everything from the weather to his own shadow. “I’ll be honest,” he said, his voice shaky as he glanced around nervously, “I’m just trying to keep my anxiety at bay. All this... mortality stuff is really getting to me.”

Ben sat at the far end of the table, scowling at nothing in particular. He poked at his food, clearly uninterested in engaging with anyone. “Can we get this over with?” he muttered. “I don’t even know why I bothered coming. I don’t like any of you.”

Allison, who had been on her phone for most of the gathering, finally piped up. “I really need to get back to Claire,” she said, glancing at the clock. “I promised her I wouldn’t be gone too long.”

Luther, ever the optimist, was the only one genuinely thrilled to be there. “Come on, guys, it’s Y/n’s birthday!” he exclaimed, trying to rally some enthusiasm. “Let’s at least try to make it a good time.”

Y/n, for her part, was putting on a brave face. She moved around the room, smiling, offering food, making sure everyone was comfortable. But Five could see the disappointment in her eyes. She had spent so much time thinking of others, doing everything she could to make his dysfunctional family feel welcome. And what did she get in return? Barely any effort.

As the evening wore on, Viktor stood up, slipping his jacket on quietly. “I need to head back to Canada,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “The bar isn’t going to run itself.”

That was the final straw for Five.

He slammed his drink down on the table, the sudden noise silencing the room. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised by the outburst. Five rarely lost his temper now, but when he did, it was impossible to ignore.

“Are you kidding me?” Five snapped, his voice sharp and filled with barely-contained fury. “You ungrateful assholes.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, and she instinctively reached out to touch his arm, but Five wasn’t done.

“Except Luther,” he added quickly, pointing at his taller brother, who looked caught between relief and awkwardness. “At least he’s trying. But the rest of you? Seriously? Do you even hear yourselves?”

Diego frowned, stepping forward. “What’s your problem, Five? We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Oh, you’re here, alright,” Five retorted. “Physically, maybe. But mentally? Emotionally? You couldn’t care less. Lila and Diego can’t stop talking about leaving, Allison’s glued to her phone like she has something better to do, and Klaus is too busy wallowing in his fear of death to even be present.”

“I have reasons for that!” Klaus interjected weakly, but Five ignored him.

“And Ben?” Five’s voice rose. “Ben can’t even pretend to care. He’s sitting there like we dragged him here against his will.”

Ben crossed his arms, glaring at Five. “I don’t need this,” he muttered, but even he didn’t try to walk away.

Five took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger but failing miserably. “You know who’s done everything for you? Y/n. She’s always gone out of her way to help you, to make you feel like part of this family. She’s been more of a sibling to you than most of you have been to each other. And now, on her birthday, you can’t even pretend to celebrate her?”

The room was dead silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“She bakes for you, she listens to your problems, she does everything she can to make this dysfunctional mess of a family feel like home. And what do you give her in return? Excuses. Half-assed effort. This?” Five gestured around the room, his frustration boiling over.

Y/n looked mortified, trying to tug at Five’s sleeve, her voice a soft plea. “Five, it’s fine—"

“It’s not fine, Y/n!” Five cut her off, his voice softer but no less intense. “It’s not fine. You deserve so much better than this.”

He turned back to his siblings, his green eyes blazing. “You know what? If you can’t even give her a few hours of your time to show her how much she means, then you can leave. Go back to whatever it is you think is more important than being here for her.”

There was a long pause. Lila and Diego exchanged guilty looks, while Klaus shuffled uncomfortably. Even Ben seemed to shrink a little under Five’s fierce gaze. Allison put her phone down, looking at Y/n with something close to shame in her eyes.

“I…” Viktor began, but then he sighed, taking off his jacket. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Luther, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward, a warm smile on his face. “Let’s start over. We’ll stay as long as you want. It’s your day, Y/n.”

The others slowly nodded in agreement, clearly shaken by Five’s outburst. Lila gave Diego a small nudge, and he sighed, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll stay. Sorry, Y/n.”

Klaus, looking awkward but sincere, added, “I’ll, uh… try to be less scared of everything.”

Ben grumbled something under his breath but didn’t move to leave. Even Allison offered a small smile. “I’ll stay. For you, Y/n.”

Y/n, who had been standing quietly beside Five, finally spoke. “You really didn’t have to do that,” she said, looking at her husband with a mix of affection and exasperation. “But thank you.”

Five pulled her into a gentle embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve it. You always do.”

And for the rest of the evening, the Hargreeves siblings did their best to make up for their earlier behavior. Laughter filled the room, stories were shared, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like a real family gathering. Five kept a protective arm around Y/n, making sure she knew just how much she meant to him.

As the night wound down, Y/n looked around at the scene and smiled. “You know,” she said quietly to Five, “it wasn’t the perfect birthday… but it’s pretty close.”

Five smirked, kissing her cheek. “I told you I’d make it happen.”

And in that moment, Y/n knew just how lucky she was to have Five, even in the chaos that surrounded their lives.

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 4

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, small amount of angst, some hurt/comfort. also kinda problematic paige but i get her

a/n - guess who’s endo cramps are killing her!! that’s right, me! fml. as usual this is unedited but i’ll come back to edit later! also, i changed paige’s step-dad’s name from tim to dean because i remembered that azzi’s dad is named tim and i felt like that would be confusing lol. also, thank you so much for all the fic recs i got! i’m so excited to start working on them :3

They’re ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride and nobody has said a word. Country music is playing quietly over the radio, and Dean and Amy keep glancing at each other. But the awkward silence is deadly.

Nobody spoke earlier, either. After Paige dropped the bomb. It was silent for a good minute before Dean had coughed loudly and turned back to the car, getting wordlessly into the driver’s seat. Amy stared at them for another minute or so, giving them no clue as to what was going on in her head other than her ears, which rapidly turned bright red. Finally, she’d shook her head and said, “We will talk about this when we get home,” before following her husband into the car.

As soon as they were both out of hearing range, Paige had sagged, and Azzi’d looked over at her, concerned. Usually, she’d lay a hand on her arm but she wasn’t sure if Paige wanted to be touched, especially by her, so instead she’d said, “Remember, we can leave anytime.”

Paige had nodded stiffly. And then, without looking at Azzi, she’d gotten into the car as well, leaving the door open for Azzi to follow suit.

And now they’re on the road, Paige and Azzi sitting in the back seat like two little kids in trouble. Azzi wants to go on her phone to avoid the awkwardness but her parents raised her to be polite, no matter the circumstances, so here she sits, stiff and awkward while she rides in this car that smells new and fancy and she hates it.

Chancing a glance over, Azzi sees that Paige is still staring out the window, the same thing she’s been doing the whole car ride, and Azzi hates that, too, because Paige only ever gets quiet when she’s bone-tired or truly upset. And Paige got a pretty good nap on the plane.

Based off the way she acted to Azzi’s words before they got on the road, Azzi’s pretty sure she’s doing that thing where she shuts people out because she’s mad or on the verge of tears or thinking too hard. And when she does this she can get mean, because she’s trying to protect herself, and it comes out all wrong.

She’s always done this, been reluctant to open up about the hard stuff, shut out the people who care about her. She and Azzi have talked about it a lot. She once admitted that Azzi was the first person to get her to actually talk about her feelings. But despite Azzi’s way with Paige, and despite the fact that they just get each other in a way no one else ever has, they still have their flaws. Azzi still doesn’t always know the right thing to say. And Paige still gets mean.

This fact keeps Azzi glued to her seat, thinking sidling closer and trying to comfort her best friend would only end badly. Azzi acts like she has a tough skin but often, the things Paige says when she gets like this cut deep, and it ends with both of them hurt. She’s scared to add a fight between the two of them onto whatever will surely go on with Paige and her parents later. So she stays put, even though every bone in her body is telling her to make Paige better.

Azzi has only managed this for maybe five minutes when she glances over again and notices that this time, Paige’s hand is splayed over the middle seat, fingers tapping anxiously, almost like she’s subconsciously reaching over. And that sight alone is enough to get Azzi sliding over, moving Paige’s hand so she doesn’t sit on it. Dean looks at her through the rearview, but Azzi pretends not to notice.

Paige doesn’t look over when Azzi settles in beside her. But she does reach blindly for her hand before taking it and placing it in her own lap, playing with the fingers nervously. Azzi breathes in relief. Paige hasn’t rejected her outright—she can’t be too upset. At least not yet.

They sit like that for the remainder of the ride.

When they pull into the driveway, Paige gives Azzi’s hand a squeeze before subtly shaking herself out and exiting the car. Azzi follows, afraid to be alone with Paige’s parents for even a second.

Before Paige can close the door, Amy calls, “Bring your bags into your room, Paige. And when you’re done come down and talk to us in the kitchen.” There’s a weighted pause. “Alone.”

Paige doesn’t answer, just slams the door shut. Azzi winces.

Azzi doesn’t say anything while Paige opens the trunk, or when she starts aggressively pulling their things out, or even when she slams the trunk shut. No, Azzi keeps her mouth shut, wanting to allow her best friend to seethe in peace, but when Paige slams into her shoulder when she passes her, Azzi doesn’t want to let it slide. “Ow! Paige, what the fuck?”

“Get your bags,” Paige responds gruffly.

Okay, so it’s gonna be one of those times. Perfect.

Despite not wanting to, Azzi does as she’s told, gathering her bags and following Paige to the front porch. She tries not to think about how usually Paige would’ve carried her things for her.

Paige opens the door without a word and they walk inside. The house is nice, open, smells of cedarwood. Paige doesn’t give Azzi a chance to look around, though, instead walking briskly to the staircase, lugging her shit upstairs with impressive strength, and Azzi thanks God she’s in such good shape because she’s practically jogging by the time they arrive at a room at the end of the hall.

“Paige—“ Azzi starts to stay, but Paige cuts her off by throwing her own backpack off her shoulder and dropping her suitcases, as if she’s trying her hardest to make as much a ruckus as possible.

Azzi places her things much more nicely on her usual side of the bed, eyeing Paige cautiously the entire time. It’s the only reason she’s able to catch her before she leaves, anticipating her movements just like she does on the court and darting between her best friend and the door, blocking her.

For the first time in nearly an hour, Paige looks her in the eye, and there’s fire there. “Move, Azzi.”

“No.”

“God,” Paige sighs, “seriously, don’t piss me off. Get outta my way.”

“No, Paige,” Azzi repeats, keeping her feet planted.

Paige stares at her and then shakes her head. “Why are you being so fuckin’ annoying?”

“Don’t,” Azzi says, trying to stop her before she gets too fired up, but it’s already started.

“No, Azzi, you don’t,” Paige snaps. “I knew you were gonna get like this, do your fuckin’ peace and love shit that you think will solve everyone’s fucking problems.”

Azzi swallows hard. It’s been years since Paige went on a rampage like this, and she opens her mouth to stop her, but is quickly interrupted.

“It doesn’t solve anything, dawg. It actually makes shit worse, because it’s so motherfucking annoying having you acting like everything’s fine when you don’t even know.” Paige shakes her head, taking a step towards her. “And that’s the thing, is you really don’t know but you wanna pretend like you do. You don’t know what it’s like to have your mom fuckin’ leave you for some fuckass guy, for her to have new kids outta state and raise them to be hateful just like her. Just like him.”

At this point, Azzi has tears in her eyes, and she attempts desperately to swallow them down. “Did you forget that my dad fucking left me when I was a baby? I’ve never even fucking talked to him, Paige. He doesn’t want shit to do with me.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.” Paige sends her a withering glare, so different from the way she usually looks at Azzi. “You have Tim. You have your mom and your brothers and they all love you so fucking much.”

“You have your dad!” Azzi responds, throwing her hands in the air. “You have Drew, you have Alora!” A tear escapes, against her will, and she wipes it furiously away. “You have me, Paige,” she says, more quietly now. “I love you so fucking much. So you don’t get to take this shit out on me and say mean things to hurt my feelings. That’s not—it’s not fair.”

As soon as she sees the tears welling in Azzi’s eyes, Paige softens, her shoulders slumping, eyes turning on her with guilt rather than venom. “Az, don’t cry.”

For some reason, this makes Azzi more mad, and she turns away to face the door, always having hated crying in front of others. “Well if you say mean shit to me, I’m gonna cry, Paige,” she mumbles, though there’s not much fire to her weak, shaky tone.

“Hey, no, you’re right,” Paige reaches for Azzi’s shoulder, trying to turn her around, but the tears have started now and they’re not going to stop anytime soon so Azzi stays turned firmly away. “Azzi, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Paige cuts herself off on a sigh. Her hand falls off Azzi’s shoulder, and for a second Azzi thinks she’s going to walk away, but then a pair of arms wrap tenderly around her waist and Paige’s chin is wresting on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I was wrong for that, I shouldnt’ve said any of that shit.” When Azzi doesn’t respond, instead burying her face in her hands to try and hide what she’s sure is an ugly cry, Paige squeezes her tighter. “Azzi, please don’t cry, I’m really sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, for real. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just so scared about my parents and I took it out on you, I fucked up.”

Azzi nods into her hands, taking a deep breath to try and stop the embarrassing flow of emotion. “I know, Paige,” she tries, but it comes out sort of as a whimper and this only makes Paige circle around to stand in front of her, full-on hugging her now, burying her face in her neck and rubbing her back soothingly.

They’re silent for another moment before Paige says, “I’m serious, Az. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Azzi knows this, fundamentally, but there’s still a part of her that sort of cracked at hearing her best friend tell her that she was annoying, that her efforts to help always fall flat. “You shouldn’t have said it, then,” she stutters, letting Paige hold her close even as her face doesn’t come out of its hiding spot.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. You’re the only person who can ever make me feel better and I—fuck. Azzi, I’m sorry, I can’t believe—I never wanna hurt you.” Paige lifts her head out of her neck to nuzzle into Azzi’s hair, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind her ear. “Never wanna make you cry.” She plants another kiss there, and Azzi’s breath hitches. From the crying or from something else, she doesn’t know.

Sighing shakily, Azzi finally pulls her head out of her hands to look up at Paige, placing her hands at her chest almost as if she’s about to push her away. She’s sure her mascara is ruined by now but she can’t bring herself to care too much. “It really hurt when you shoved me outside, too.”

A pained expression flits over Paige’s face, and she nods, looking almost sick. “Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry, Azzi. I’m so sorry. Is your arm okay? Does it still hurt?”

Azzi can’t take the guilty look on Paige’s face and shakes her head no. It doesn’t seem to relieve much of anything.

Breathing deeply, Paige closes her eyes and then leans her forehead against Azzi’s, bringing her hands up from her waist to stroke over her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers, and Azzi’s knows that the nickname wasn’t a slip-up this time, wasn’t just a habit from their pretending. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry.”

And with that, Azzi isn’t mad anymore. Her feelings are still hurt and the things Paige said are still going to replay in her head for quite some time, but at least for now, Azzi just can’t be mad. Because Paige is going through something she could never imagine going through.

“I’m sorry, too,” Azzi breathes, and Paige rears back, but before she can protest, Azzi says, “about your parents. About this whole…situation.” She looks down at her hands on Paige’s chest, and, deciding she won’t be needing to push her away anymore, she slides them up to her shoulders. “It’s shitty and you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position.” She shrugs, swallowing back the last couple tears that threaten to fall, trying to regain at least some of her composure. “I’m going to be here for you, okay? I always am.”

Paige nods. “I know you will.”

“And that means,” Azzi goes on, “you can’t do this again. You can’t take it out on me. You can’t push me away. Because that makes it really fucking hard for me to help you, and I want to help you.”

Paige nods again, more solemnly this time, moving her hands back to circle her waist. “Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m so sorry for—“

Azzi holds a hand up to Paige’s lips, effectively shutting her up. “Okay, stop. I accept your apology, I promise. Just, show me you’re sorry and don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige says. “‘Course.”

“Good.” Breathing mostly even now, Azzi pulls Paige in for another hug.

With a heavy sigh, Paige hugs her back. “We’re in it together, hm? From now on, together.”

Azzi rests her cheek on Paige’s shoulder, the weight of her arms around her, the feeling of her skin and bones, so familiar. “Yeah. Together.”

Paige pulls back just enough to look at her, and when Azzi reciprocates, she’s uneasy to find that Paige is giving her that same new look. The perplexed, maybe enthralled?, almost worried look that has taken over her face more often than can be explained ever since the first time after their kiss. Azzi really wants to work out what it means.

But, as always, Paige corrects herself and it’s gone as fast as it arrived. “We’re good?”

Azzi nods, smiling softly despite herself. “Yeah, P. We’re good.”

—————————————

Paige has been downstairs with her parents for nearly an hour.

From what Azzi can hear from her spot at the top of the stairs, it doesn’t sound to be going too well. The three of them keep going from yelling to whisper-yelling to yelling again, and Azzi swears Amy has cried like five times at this point.

When Azzi hears Dean say, “We just don’t allow sinners in this house, Paige,” and Paige snap back, “Do not use God against me right now!” Azzi figures it might be time to intervene.

Trying to come up with something quickly, she pulls out her phone and dials Paige’s number. She hears Paige’s phone ring downstairs, and the three of them go quiet before Paige says, “Just—one second,” and then there’s a click on the other line and she’s answering. “Um, hi?”

“Pretend I’m your dad,” Azzi says, hoping she’s not on speaker.

“What?”

“Just pretend I’m your dad, Paige. Seriously.”

“Uh, okay.” The line gets a little muffled and Paige says, “It’s dad.” Azzi can hear both Amy and Dean let out audible groans downstairs.

“Okay, now tell them that I—your dad—am offering to fly you home.”

“I…wha—“ Azzi can tell Paige wants to argue but can’t with her parents right in front of her, so instead she sighs and the line goes muffled again. “He’s, um, he’s offering to fly me home.”

Azzi only has a second to hope and pray that Amy shares Paige’s competitive nature before Amy is saying, “What? You told him about this?”

“No,” Paige answers, “he just knows how you’re like now. And he wants Azzi and I to have a good summer, not a shitty one with shitty people.”

“If you want to go back to your dad’s, go,” Dean says, and Azzi’s heart sinks. Maybe this won’t work.

But then, bless her evil, horrible soul, Amy is stepping in. “No. Absolutely not. I will never hear the end of it if we send you to your father after inviting you over. We just…” Amy sighs, and Azzi thinks she can hear her start crying again. “We want what’s best for you, Paige.”

It’s silent for a moment. And then, “Let me be happy, Mom. Let me see my siblings. Let me and my girlfriend have a good trip with y’all.”

Dean interjects. “We really don’t believe in this kind of stuff.”

“I don’t care,” Paige replies viciously. “I love Azzi. It doesn’t matter that she’s a fuckin’ girl. I…” Paige pauses, quite abruptly, and Azzi wonders if something happened. But then she hears a heavy inhalation and a quiet, “I love her, Mom.”

Azzi knows it’s for the act, but she can’t help the way her stomach somersaults, hearing the words she’s always wished Paige would say.

“And it doesn’t matter what you think of it,” Paige continues. “I’m happy. My faith is strong. And what goes on between me and God isn’t your fucking business.”

“Language,” Amy says immediately. But then it’s silent for another weighted moment and Azzi can imagine Amy and Dean sharing that knowing, judgmental look of theirs. Her heart races while she waits for a consensus, and she’s sure it’s 100 times worse for Paige. But after a few moments, Amy says, “Tell your father that you’re staying here with us. Your siblings will be home tomorrow morning. The four of us adults have a reservation at a restaurant tonight, and we’re all going to go.”

“Mom—“

“We will try,” Amy sighs. “Azzi’s a nice girl. We will—we’ll try.” There’s something tired in her voice when she says, “Right, Dean?”

No answer. But Azzi can imagine him nodding gruffly, and a moment later, with no more words from any of them, Paige appears at the bottom of the stairs. She startles a little when she sees Azzi sitting there at the top.

“Hi,” Azzi says sheepishly, finally disconnecting their call. “I was eavesdropping.”

Paige stares at her, and then starts climbing the stairs, a small smile overtaking their face. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I told you I would,” Azzi replies, waiting for Paige at the top. “So. Dinner with your parents tonight.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Paige gets to the second-top step and stays there, so she’s just a little shorter than Azzi.

“Dinner as a fake lesbian couple with your homophobic parents,” Azzi clarifies, and Paige laughs nervously.

“Uh-huh,” she responds. “I think we needa nap before that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Azzi agrees, pulling Paige up to stand with her. “That is an amazing idea.”

——————————————

Azzi is rudely awoken to none other than an old Tyler, The Creator song blasting through the tinny speakers of Paige’s phone. Azzi groans, and she blindly reaches out for Paige to turn the damn thing off, but her hands only find cold bedsheets. Annoyed, Azzi cracks her eyes open and tries desperately to find Paige’s phone, realizing in the process that Paige’s side of the bed is cold. Strange, considering they still have two hours until dinner.

Finally, after probably thirty seconds of this stupid song playing over and over again, Azzi finds the phone tangled up in the bedsheets and slams the off button. It’s sort of pointless, though, because now she’s very much awake and will not be going back to bed.

She sits up in Paige’s bed, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. The sun is shining through the curtains, reflecting off the mirror above the vanity and showcasing the off-white walls, the pink door to the adjoining bathroom—which Azzi now realizes is in use, the sound of the shower muffled through the door. She hadn’t noticed before because Paige isn’t awfully singing to some Mariah Carey song. Other than the water, it’s dead quiet in there. She must be nervous.

Fiddling with the pink sheets, Azzi feels nervous, too. Usually, merely being in Paige’s space comforts her, but this room—it doesn’t feel like Paige. It doesn’t smell like her, and it’s too pink. There’s no purple at all, actually. And the vanity—Paige has never known how to do much else other than mascara. In high school, she needed Azzi to tell her what concealer was for, and to teach her how to curl her lashes. She certainly wouldn’t have use for an entire vanity dedicated to makeup. The walls are also decorated with cringy, sort of Bible-thumping quotes and paintings of flowers. There’s not a single basketball poster.

No, this room isn’t Paige at all and Azzi feels an ache in her heart, thinking about how out-of-place she must have felt whenever she came to visit as a kid. How out-of-place she must feel now.

Without Paige to talk to, and without her room to comfort her, Azzi settles for laying on Paige’s side of the bed, burying her face in the blankets, and there she is—vanilla, like her hair products, and lavender, like the lotion she wears and the linen spray she uses, because it calms her down.

Azzi thinks she just might fall back asleep, enveloped in Paige’s scent, but then the door to the bathroom opens and steam billows out just before Paige does, wrapped in a towel, hair wet down her shoulders. Azzi only has a second to ogle the water drops adorning Paige’s collarbones before she’s spotted, and Paige gives her a curious look. “You still sleep? I left my phone here so the alarm would wake you up.”

“Yeah, no, it did,” Azzi says, sitting up quickly, before she looks like a weirdo snuggling up in Paige’s spot. “Just tryin’ to hype myself up for dinner.”

Paige gives her a commiserating look. “Me too. I’m shitting my pants, for real.”

“That why you couldn’t sleep?” Azzi asks, stretching out her back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Paige hums, bending down to rifle around in her suitcase. “I’on even know what to wear. Apparently it’s some fancy restaurant but I’m not wearing a fucking dress.”

Azzi laughs at that, lifting her hands when Paige shoots a glare over her shoulder. “I’m serious, dawg! And it’s not like I brought a suit or nothing.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Azzi says, standing up. “Just wear jeans and tuck a t-shirt or something. You’ll look cute no matter what.”

Paige straights up and gives her a cocky grin. “You think all that?”

“Chill, P,” Azzi rolls her eyes, shoving Paige’s shoulder a little.

“What were you doing on my side of the bed, anyway?” Paige asks, and Azzi can’t help the way she freezes. She’d thought Paige hadn’t noticed.

Trying to cover her reaction, she shrugs casually. “I didn’t know you owned the right side of the bed.”

“Nah, we’ve always had our sides,” Paige shakes her head, taking a step closer. “Why was you all cuddled up in mine?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Azzi says, trying for sarcastic but she can’t even really make eye contact, “maybe I rolled over or something.”

“Please. You don’t move in your sleep.”

“Maybe I do. You don’t know.”

“I think I’ve slept with you more often than I’ve slept alone,” Paige scoffs, taking a step even closer so that they’re practically chest-to-chest. “I know damn well.”

“Okay, seriously,” Azzi says, taking a small step back and stumbling when her thighs hit the bed, “go get dressed, you weirdo.”

“Mm,” Paige says, pretending to think about it. But before Azzi can move away, she grabs her waist and they both fall onto the bed while Paige starts to tickle her like crazy.

“Paige!” Azzi screams, laughing so hard she almost can’t breathe. “Get—off, oh my God!”

Paige is laughing right along with her, and it’s a miracle her towel hasn’t dropped yet. “Tell me the truth!”

“What the…” Azzi giggles and squeals when Paige goes for her armpit, “fuck!”

“I won’t stop ‘till you admit it!”

“Okay, fuck, okay!” Azzi pushes Paige off her, and Paige lets up just enough for her to gasp and say, “It smelled like you, okay? The sheets, they…” Paige has stopped completely now, staring at her with a shit-eating grin on her stupid face, “they smell like you.”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, “and you missed me so much while I was in the shower that you needed to smell my sheets?” She jabs her one more time in the ribs, making Azzi shriek, before rolling off her. “You lil creep.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Azzi insists, even though that’s exactly what it was like. “Now, seriously, go get dressed. You got me all wet.”

What Azzi means by that, of course, is that Paige’s damp towel and sopping hair had transferred to Azzi’s own clothes and hair. But Paige can’t be normal about anything, so she looks over and grins slyly.

“Don’t,” Azzi sighs.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Paige says, sitting up in bed and pulling Azzi up with her. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed. I know I make a lotta girls wet.”

“Stop being weird,” Azzi says, as Paige bends down once again to pull an outfit from her suitcase.

She begins walking back to the bathroom. “I’m not the one who gets turned on by tickling,” Paige calls over her shoulder. Just before she closes the bathroom door behind her, she says, “Don’t worry, we can take care of you after dinner, mama,” and winks at her.

Azzi’s shoe hits the door just as it clicks shut.

—————————————

They drive to the restaurant in silence.

It’s similar to their car ride from the airport, though it is a little less tense than before. Paige isn’t fidgeting too much beside her and her parents aren’t giving each other looks the entire time. That’s gotta be a good sign.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Amy and Dean start chatting idly, Paige and Azzi trailing behind when they walk inside the fancy building and give the hostess their reservation.

It’s only when they’re finally seated that they are addressed.

“So, girls,” Amy says, her voice all forced cheerfulness, “what looks good?”

“I dunno,” Paige mumbles, and Azzi kicks her under the table before saying, “Have you guys ever been here before?”

Amy looks a little startled at Azzi’s voice, but she recovers quickly, looking over at Dean with a forced smile. “Oh, yeah, we come here sometimes.”

Azzi smiles politely. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Um,” Amy says, and then she sort of jerks and Dean winces, and Azzi’s sure Amy has also just kicked him under the table.

Apparently well-trained, he speaks immediately. “We love the spinach ricotta.”

Azzi hums, then nudges Paige. “That sounds good, right?”

“Uh…” Paige looks like she wants to be difficult, but then she sees the warning stare Azzi is giving her and straightens up a little, “yeah, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wanna share?”

Paige sighs, but luckily it’s barely audible. “Yeah, sure. Let’s share.”

Azzi leaves herself out of the conversation after that, letting Paige answer her parents’ conversation starters. When the waitress comes to take their orders, Paige gets a glass of wine for the both of them. Neither of them really like wine, but it seems classy enough and it might take the edge off just enough that they can actually get through the night unscathed.

It’s not until their dinner arrives that Azzi is addressed again.

“So, Azzi,” Dean says, out of nowhere, “How’s the knee?”

Azzi’s hand goes subconsciously to her surgery scars. “Doing better. PT’s been going good.”

“Good, good.” He leans back in his seat, and Azzi senses trouble. Something about the way Paige protectively rests her arm across the back of Azzi’s seat makes her think she senses it, too.

“You get injured a lot, huh?” He asks.

Azzi sort of hates the way her face gets hot, hoping it doesn’t show up on her brown skin. “I’ve torn my ACL twice, yeah.”

“And your meniscus, right?” he prods.

Without really noticing it, Azzi looks over to Paige, and that’s apparently all Paige needs to jump in. “Hey, let’s not talk about it.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, scoffing. Amy is looking between the three of them nervously. “It’s hard not to talk about. Azzi, you don’t even play basketball at this point.”

“Um,” Azzi replies, her instincts telling her to get hot-headed but with the way Paige is buzzing beside her, she’s gonna need to keep her cool.

“What the hell?” Paige says, her hand going from the chair to Azzi’s shoulder. She looks at Amy. “Mom, you said this wouldn’t happen.”

“Your father is just asking a few questions—“

“He’s not my fucking dad!” Paige exclaims, and Azzi jerks as she’s pulled into Paige’s side. “I already have a dad! He raised me, he loves me, Mom, and he’d never say this shit about Azzi.” Angrily, Paige stands up, tossing a few bills onto the counter and helping Azzi to stand beside her.

“Sweetheart,” Amy says, reaching limply for her daughter while Dean sits beside her looking far too smug. “Paige, where are you going? We’re your ride.”

“We’ll Uber,” Paige responds, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist. “I’m not gonna make her sit through your bullshit because you don’t know how to act like a decent fucking human being.”

“He was just asking—,” Any starts, sounding exasperated, but Paige cuts her off.

“You know what he was doing.” She glares at Dean, who shakes his head, smirking. “We’ll go back to the house,” she sneers. “But if this doesn’t change by tomorrow we’re leaving.”

And with that, she takes Azzi hands and leads them both out into the night.

—————————————

Paige keeps it together until they get to the house.

As soon as they’re stepping through the door, she turns away from Azzi and leans down to untie her shoes. Azzi does the same, but she doesn’t miss the sniffling sounds coming from her best friend.

Paige refuses to look at her when they start heading upstairs, and she tries to make a beeline for the bathroom once they close her bedroom door shut behind them. But Azzi stops her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “P?”

Another sniffle. And then a quick wipe at her face before she’s turning around, trying to look nonchalant but her eyes are red and her lip is trembling. “Yeah?”

“Paige,” Azzi says softly, and Paige crumbles, hands coming up to her face as she starts crying.

Azzi steps forward to hug her, pulling her down to hide in her chest. “I’m sorry, P. I’m so sorry, this—this sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige replies, voice all small and muffled in a way that makes Azzi’s heart hurt. “I thought they were gonna try…I wouldn’t have taken you out with them if I knew…”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Azzi responds, running a hand through Paige’s hair. “I didn’t mind, really. I’ve heard worse.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Paige just cries harder. “Fuck, Az, you shouldn’t have to do this.” She lifts her head up to look at her, and Azzi absently wipes her face. “This sucks. It’s the first week of summer and I—I was shitty to you and now my parents, and I—“

“Paige,” Azzi says sternly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I couldn’t handle it. I can handle it. It’s you that I’m worried about.”

Paige nods, sniffling again. “You don’t gotta worry. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine, P,” Azzi says, and Paige winces, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I’m okay,” Paige insists. “Really. As long as we do this together, I’m okay.”

She straightens up like she’s steeling herself, and Azzi thinks maybe she should do the same.

This is only the first day of their two-week stay.

It’s going to be a long trip.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[earthtooz]

x : CHANGE YOUR MIND ! :*+ﾟ

in which: it's 2 am and itoshi sae is outside your door, hoping for a second chance.

warnings: 1.2k words, angst to fluff with hurt/comfort, happy ending, exes to lovers, not at all realistic but it's itoshi sae ok and we're delusional, ooc!sae

a/n: second second chance romance fic for sae LOL he's just too easy to write for when it comes to exes to lovers. idk why the banner is so low quality but enjoy!

you wonder where itoshi sae finds the nerve. after breaking up with you six months ago ‘for the sake of his career’, you never thought sae would have the gall to show up at your apartment, let alone at 2am, rudely disrupting your sleep.

yet, here he is. a soccer prodigy and superstar in the flesh, standing under the harsh lighting of your apartment hallway that always casts an ugly glow on everyone except sae.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, gripping the door handle a little tighter.

“i just got off the plane,” he answers, evading your question. 

“i know. i can see your suitcases.”

he doesn’t say anything more after that. before the breakup, you were able to read the untouchable itoshi sae, translating his stiff silences into words he could never say but wholeheartedly mean, breaking through his ego to then understand the messages of his heart. he only hopes that you can interpret the one he’s brought to you right now.

“can i come in?” asks the athlete, his question shy and lacking the usual demand that sits in his tone.

still, you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground. “why on earth would i let you in?”

softness is a weapon that itoshi sae owns. he knows that with his typical hardened exterior the best way he can get through people sometimes is with pliability. even you have fallen for it.

he frowns, “because i’m tired and i want to sleep.”

“don’t you have your own five star hotel that your manager booked for you?” 

“can i just come in?”

the nerve. “itoshi, please leave.”

“i will, i will, but will you hear me out first?”

“what could you possibly have to say that you didn’t befo-”

“-i love you.”

the world stills.

the air around you becomes delicate and you’re too scared to breathe in fear of disrupting the silence, but it feels like the floor beneath you just crumbled and you’re falling through the debris. you’re falling and the only thing you can do is search for sae in the chaos. 

but you don’t hold on to him. no, not this time.

“that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all, sae, you can’t-” a sob tears your words apart, “-you can’t break my heart then come back six months later to tell me that you apparently love me, do you know how hard it was for me to just- ugh!”

in a fit of exasperation, you leave your post at the door and retreat back into your apartment. sae quietly slips through the crack you left open, closing the door with a soft click and you don’t even have the energy to chase him out. he even left his suitcases outside- not that anyone would take them at 4 in the morning. 

“you left me so abruptly and carelessly. we were together for almost a year, sae, yet you threw me aside, called me a burden and moved on with a snap of your fingers! was it easy? moving on like that?” 

instead of flinching at your yelling, sae simply stands at the entrance and accepts it, letting your words prick his skin and sink into him as if would make up for the pain you’ve been bathing in. 

“do you know what that did to me?” your voice is quiet now, turned down a few notches. 

he knows. he knows that you’ve been trying to get over it and not let the breakup impact your life too much, despite what he did. you’ve been going out with friends, treating yourself to everything you deserve, and finding a peace that he’s proud of you for. but sae also knows about the many nights you’ve spent crying and being sensitive to loving again, he hears about all of it from rin who lectured him when he first broke up with you and most likely, will lecture him again when he hears about sae’s unplanned visit.

sae was stupid and naive, but you were the first person he ever loved, and the world is colourless without your splash of influence. 

sae knows he shouldn’t be here existing in your space after everything, however, the instant he stepped off the plane, the first thing his heart wanted was to see one of the few things he loves about japan, you. 

“-so, please, just leave me alone and don’t come back,” you request.

the last thing sae is good at is following instructions, especially ones he doesn’t like.

“but, i love you,” he tries again. you fall to the couch with a defeated sigh, his persistence impaling your heart. 

“stop it.”

somehow, he’s now standing beside you. “do you still love me too?”

“sae-”

“-if you don’t love me anymore i’ll leave.”

with your head in your hands, you lie to him, “i don’t want you to stay either way.”

“another chance, i’ll make it right, i’ll fix it with my life, y/n, just please say you love me too.” 

“you’ll hurt me again.”

“i won’t,” he falls down onto the couch beside you, enveloping you with his frame. “i’ll be good and you can kill me if i’m not.”

you laugh. it’s dry and reserved, but you’re laughing and he begins rocking you side to side. “i don’t want to kill you.”

“rin will, then.”

you take your face out of your hands, looking at him properly for the first time since he arrived. “i-i don’t know, sae. you’ll leave again when you decide that you don’t want me.”

he doesn’t know how to tell you that whilst abroad, all he could think about was you. that during the mundane chores, the tedious trips to and from training, and all the times that he had won a match, he was thinking about you. 

he thought about you in the music he played whilst cleaning, he thought about taking you to a restaurant he saw whilst on the way, and his thoughts about you are loudest when he has a medal around his neck yet all he wants to know is whether or not you’re watching.

but you’re not beside him singing along whilst he was mopping his floors, you weren’t there in his car pointing out every fun detail you saw, and he didn’t even know if you wanted anything to do with soccer after what him. 

everytime, the yearning for you would grow, to the point that it lead him here when he should have gone to the hotel to wash up and sleep off the tiring trip instead.

but sitting here now and looking at your tear-stained face, he knows he’ll always prefer you- he’ll always find and choose you, so long as you let him. 

“give me another chance,” and i’ll show you that i’ll never leave again.

“fine,” you surrender after a moment of silence and sae feels like he could jump to the moon. “but we take things slow-”

“-i love you,” he repeats, grabbing your face and pushing you down on the couch, peppering an endless stream of kisses on your skin. sae’s outburst of affection and happiness is uncharacteristic but contagious. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

between each declaration is sae kissing a new part of your face, showering your cheeks, forehead, nose- everywhere with unbridled adoration that he has been keeping locked up for too long. you’re real between his hands, you’re real in his hold, you’re real beneath him, and he doesn’t want this dream to end. his kisses feel like healing promises and you melt right into them. 

“i get it!” you giggle out, hands on his shoulders as to wrestle him off. “you don’t need to keep telling me, and promise me that we’re going to take it slow-”

a cold tear slides down your cheek, silencing your giggles. it’s not you who’s crying though, so you hug sae a little tighter.

something tells you that this second chance won’t backfire.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[fqirysim]

untitled--

genre(s): angst, some fluff at the end, exes to best friends to lovers, highschool au, lowercase intended, lots of pov changes

requested: nope !

pairing(s): yang jungwon x reader, ft. yuna (itzy), and intak (p1h)

word count: 7.2k (my longest fic yet ! ) 

warning(s): cursing, underage drinking, a tiny bit of infidelity 

synopsis: you had been in love with yang jungwon since the day you met him. 

note: lowercase is intended, lots of pov changes! (read carefully so you don’t get confused lol). this took me a year to make PLEASE don't judge too harshly i put my heart and soul into this 😭. took me a year to make but could not come up with a title for the life of me, hence why it is called untitled, silly silly me. this was really fun to make though and although it took me a while to make, i'm very proud of it. lmk if you want to be added to my taglist and i will gladly do so !! special thanks to my bestie abby and my bf dean for proofreading love you both <3333

—------

you were certain this was the end of your friendship with jungwon. again. but this time you knew it would be permanent.

he was the boy who lived next door. growing up, you had always admired him from afar. the class president who everyone, including the upperclassmen, seemed to get along with.  

you had liked him until freshman year, when you got tired of pining over someone who didn’t seem to hold any interest in you. as comical as it seems, that was around the time that he had started to take an interest in you. 

and so he courted you, bringing you your favorite drink, walking you home, even coming over for dinner and hanging out at your house. this helped blossom a friendship that no one saw coming, and it wasn’t long until people started to wonder if you two were an item. 

it took two months for jungwon to muster up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. 

you were sure you were over your crush on him, that it was just a silly childhood crush. but as you hung out with him more and more, you couldn’t help but fall for him all over again. of course you said yes, because who wouldn’t say yes to the pretty starry-eyed boy standing before you?

jungwon was a nice boyfriend; going on dates quite often, never fought, and he would buy you flowers without being asked.. maybe the latter was why the whirlwind relationship only lasted five months. 

you remember the day so vividly, sitting on the bench at your favorite park; the same park where jungwon had asked you to be his, and here he was, asking you to break up.

 it seemed poetic in a kind of way, starting as his, and leaving as no one’s.

“i’m sorry. i’ve just lost romantic feelings,” jungwon stated, staring down at the grass as a breeze of wind came, the blades of grass swaying slightly. “it’s just that we’ve both been so busy with other things, and i guess we kinda just like, drifted apart because of it.”

“yeah, i think so too,” you replied nonchalantly, ignoring the slight sting in your heart. 

his head snapped up, your eyes finally meeting his, “wait, actually? you’re not lying?” the sound of relief in his voice made your heart feel like it was being squeezed.

“do you want to get rid of me that bad?” you instead teased with a grin. 

“no!” he exclaimed with wide eyes. “i still wanna be friends with you. i might not like you romantically anymore, but i don’t wanna like, lose the friendship we have, you know?”

“yeah,” you replied, “we can still be friends.”

and you two meant it. there were no tears, and no broken hearts (that you would like to admit). it was just a simple case of the right person and the wrong time, and as the years continued, you tried to convince yourself that it was just nothing. that jungwon was not your “right” anything- he was just your best friend, nothing more, nothing less. 

you were almost successful. until your last year of high school approached. 

you and jungwon kept your word, you stayed friends. always being seen together; walking to class, walking home, studying in the library, eating lunch in the cafeteria. 

people still believed you were together, and you always had to correct them, because no you and jungwon were no longer together and no you were not a thing.

they never believed you, though. 

there was always a small part of you that wanted to say yes when someone would ask. that you and jungwon were a thing and that he was yours and you were his. but you never did, callingyourself crazy for even thinking of doing so. 

you found yourself doing it again as yuna had asked you earlier in the week. 

yuna was the new girl this year, having transferred from jyp high. from what you heard, she was nice, smart, and she was gorgeous. you were never one to put yourself down, but you couldn’t say that you didn’t feel insecure standing next to her. 

“no, jungwon and i are not dating,” you smiled politely. it was almost like a script at this point. “we’re just good friends.”

“that’s good to hear,” yuna smiled, her eyes sparkling. “i just wanted to ask him out, but i wasn’t going to if you had a thing!”

“oh, you’re thinking of confessing to him?” you questioned. there was that little part of you again. the part that always said no! tell them you’re a thing! tell them to not do it!

“yeah, he’s in a bunch of my classes. he’s super smart and polite and he always knows how to make me laugh. and he has such pretty eyes,” she sighed dreamily as her mouth formed into a lovesick smile. 

“well, he has that effect on people,” you grinned. 

i would know, you thought.

 “i say go for it! he’s not particularly interested in anyone, you have a good chance.”

“you really think so?” she asked, eyes wide. 

god, i hope not, you thought. as shitty as it was, you didn’t want jungwon to move on. you felt sick at the thought of him being with someone else. 

“why not?” you said instead. “he’ll be at the library after school today studying, i’m supposed to meet him, but i can just tell him something came up.” 

“oh my god, you’re the best!” she squealed, engulfing you in a hug. “thank you thank you thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her, ignoring the green monster growing within you.

—----

it had been four days since your conversation with yuna. every time you saw him, you waited for him to bring up the date with baited breath- but he hadn’t said anything. not yet at least.

or maybe yuna simply didn’t ask him on a date. that’s what you were secretly hoping, at least.

it seemed hoping wasn’t enough. on the fifth day jungwon approached you from down the hall with those twinkling eyes and a bright smile you love so much, he seemed more energetic than usual with a little hop in his step. 

“you’re not gonna believe what happened today!” he exclaimed as he reached you at your locker. 

you could believe it. you were the one who hooked yuna up after all. yet you feigned curiosity as you looked at him quizzically, “what is it?”

“yuna asked me on a date! me! of all people! she’s so cool and smart and nice and pretty,” he said with a dreamy look on his face. 

you knew that look. the far away gaze as he thought of her. it was one you would never forget. it’s how he used to look at you. that lovesick grin and those twinkling eyes.

 it had never bothered you before when jungwon had crushes on other girls, because well, that’s all they were. they never escalated into anything more. looking at his lovestruck expression, realization hit that jungwon wasn’t yours anymore. 

you shouldn’t have thought of it that way. you should be happy for him! you should’ve been celebrating with him and cheering him on!  

you couldn’t help the bittersweet smile on your face as you replied, “oh, well that’s nice.”

his smile faltered slightly at your expression, concern slowly forming on his face.  

“are you okay?” he asked. 

“i’m fine, don’t worry,” you said, regaining your composure. “i’m happy for you! and don’t worry about spending less time with me, you’re gonna be a busy guy now! with a girlfriend…”

“okay, she is not my girlfriend. and even if she was, I would never ditch you!” 

“yeah whatever you say, loverboy,” you joked, giving him a playful nudge with your shoulder. 

“no seriously, y/n,” he replied, softly. “are you okay with yuna and i being a thing? i just don’t want it to be weird because you and i used to be a thing, and i know we’re both over that but i just wanted to make sure-,”

“what, me?” you scoffed, cutting the boy off. “what you and i had wasn’t serious, it was just some dumb high school fling.”

even as you spoke those words, you knew they weren’t true. it was more than just a fling. you loved him and maybe you still did. 

silence hung between you, the hallway getting quieter as the remaining students scrambled to their classes, the late bell ringing, leaving you and jungwon in the hallway alone. 

he looked hurt at what you said. you immediately wanted to take it back, to say you didn’t mean it and that he was your first love and you didn’t want him going on that date with yuna. 

“sorry, i shouldn’t have said that,” you muttered, not being able to meet his eyes and instead turning to close your locker. 

“no, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” he replied, as he started to back away, making his way to his class down the hall. “you’re right, it was just a fling, and honestly, it’s so weird to think of us as a couple.” 

it was like your world was falling apart around you as he spoke. did you interpret his hurt expression wrong? maybe this all was one-sided. did he not feel his heart breaking like you did? did he not wonder occasionally (or everyday) how his life would be if you were still together? did he not miss what you had?

maybe there really was nothing between you and jungwon but friendship. 

“yeah, so weird,” you awkwardly smiled, walking to catch up with him. “but you and i, we’re good, right?”

“yep, no worries,” he grinned back. 

“good,” you smiled. “so when’s your date?” 

his eyes brightened ever so slightly as you asked. he started to describe his date– how he was going to take her to the beach and have a picnic and play in the sand. 

you nodded along, your mind wandering off to when jungwon would take you on beach dates, burying him in the sand, splashing him with water and swimming away before he could splash you back. 

you looked over at the boy in question, his starry eyes wide as he talked about his date plans, his smile wide and giddy, his tone as sweet as honey as he talked about her. 

you knew you shouldn’t villainize yuna– she was a nice girl, a very nice one. it wasn’t her fault you were still in love with jungwon, and it surely wasn’t her fault that she liked him. it’s not like you could choose who you could fall in love with. 

you of all people would know. 

so you smiled and nodded along as you walked him to class, listening to him go on and on about his plans. you finally settled with the fact then and there, that jungwon would never be yours again. you had to let go. 

—--------

it has been six months since that day. the day that you had decided to give up. yuna and jungwon have been inseparable since then. 

he kept to his word though; still studying with you after school, showing up when you needed him, hanging out together. sometimes yuna would tag along, which you didn’t mind. she was fun to be around. 

you also didn’t mind being the third wheel when she was around, instead teasing the couple and even offering to take pictures for them. they were a lovely couple and they were seemingly happy– jungwon especially, and that was all that mattered. 

the school year was coming to an end, and seeing as it was your senior year, people were throwing parties almost every weekend. 

you went every once in a while, had some fun, did some underage drinking, even flirted with a couple of people. 

tonight was the party though. 

intak was throwing his first party of the year, and everyone knew his parties were legendary. 

you sat in the uber with jungwon and yuna, anticipating the night before you. you were excited, to say the least. the last time you went to a party was a  month ago, and you were ready to have fun. you even put on your best party outfit for tonight!

you arrived at intak’s house (or more like a mansion), and started to make your way inside until jungwon stopped you. 

“wait! before we go in, i think we should go over some basic safety rules!” jungwon exclaimed. 

you rolled your eyes with a small laugh as you replied, “only you would go over safety rules at a party.” 

“i’m serious, y/n, really bad things could happen,” he shot back with a pointed expression. 

“okay wonie, go ahead, we’re all ears,” yuna smiled supportively.

you ignored the slight heart ache at yuna using your old nickname for jungwon- the one you used when you were together. 

get it together, y/n you thought. letting go, remember?  

you instead smiled and nodded reassuringly at jungwon, who looked over at you to make sure you were paying attention. 

he sighed before continuing, “okay, i won’t be doing any drinking so i can babysit you guys all night. if you need to use the bathroom give your drinks to me so i can watch them. and y/n, if you leave the party at any point, for any reason, please let me know first.”

“sir, yes sir,” you muttered. 

“now let’s go have some fun!” yuna exclaimed, dragging the both of you by the wrists. 

you finally entered the house, where there seemed to be everyone from your school. even kids who graduated last year were in attendance, and as you searched the party for a familiar face that wasn’t jungwon or yuna, intak strolled over, a wide smile on his face. 

“you guys made it!” he shouted over the loud thumping of the music. he was wearing a letterman jacket with a white shirt underneath, and a pair of baggy straight legged jeans. the outfit looked so good on him that you had almost forgotten that you were talking to intak of all people. 

“you look nice, y/n,” he grinned.

you would’ve had a crush on him if he didn’t flirt with every girl he laid eyes on, and it seemed like his victim of the night was you. but damn did he look good right now. 

intak wasn’t a bad guy, he seemed harmless, not like the guys who wouldn’t take no for an answer. he just always flirted, with no intentions of making anything serious. most of the girls he talked to never knew the latter though. 

but you thought it couldn’t hurt, you were here to have fun, and if flirting with intak was the way to do it, then so be it. 

you saw jungwon step forward, about to tell intak to back off and go flirt with someone else, causing you to put your hand on his arm to stop him. 

you also noticed how yuna examined the scene in front of her; jungwon trying to be your knight in shining armor, and you with your hand on his arm to stop him. her eyes narrowed slightly in thought as you dropped your hand and turned to intak. 

“why don’t you get me a drink and then we can talk?” you smiled dazzlingly. you usually reserved smiles like that for when you wanted to flirt and get wasted, and just as usual, it worked like a charm.

“i’ll be right back then,” intak smiled, before making his way through the crowd of bodies in search of a drink for you. 

“really, y/n, intak out of all people?” jungwon questioned, arms crossed. 

“yeah, and what about it?” you replied, feeling slightly annoyed at his tone of voice. he had never acted this way towards you before, but you didn’t like it. it wasn’t his business who you flirted with. he talked to you like you were an idiot and you hated the thought of him looking down on you.  

yuna awkwardly stood between the two of you, not wanting to be in the middle of your fight, but not wanting to go off by herself at a party filled with people she barely knew. 

“‘what about it?’” jungwon mocked your voice in a high pitched tone. “you know how he is, don’t be dumb.”

“dumb? i’m here to have fun, jungwon, not to play third wheel again,” you snapped back. “and why does it matter, you’re not my boyfriend, and you’re not my brother, so it’s really none of your fucking business.”

yuna had been looking back and forth between you and jungwon, watching as you glared at each other, waiting for someone to say something. it was like watching a tennis match. 

at that moment, intak arrived, back with a red solo cup in hand. 

“a drink for the prettiest girl here,” he announced, handing the cup over to you. 

“why thank you love,” you replied with an innocent smile as you looked over at jungwon, still glaring at you, his arms crossed against his chest.

ignoring him, you took a sip of the drink you were given, your face scrunching up at the bitter taste. 

“hey intak, why don’t we go dance?” you asked, reaching for his hand. 

“that sounds like fun,” he replied with a smile of his own before you led him to the dance floor, leaving an enraged jungwon, and a slightly annoyed yuna behind you.

—-----

yuna had seen the way jungwon looked at you. she might have been a bit oblivious at first, but as time went on and she spent more time with the two of you, it became more and more apparent– jungwon had never gotten over you. 

at first yuna thought she could sway him, to get him to fall for her the way he fell for you. but it never worked. he looked at you like you were his own personal angel. no matter where you were, who you were with, how you looked, he was absolutely enraptured by you, and oh, how yuna wished he looked at her like that. 

it had been fifty minutes since your small tussle, and yuna and jungwon sat outside, occupying two pool chairs as he angrily took sips of his water. 

“it’s like she doesn’t even care, she just ran off with him knowing he’ll never want anything serious, knowing he’s gonna lead her on, and i swear when she comes crying to me, i’m gonna tell her ‘i told you’ right to her stupid dumb face,” he rambled, placing his bottle of water harder on the table than he intended to, spilling droplets in the process. 

“well, she’s young and single, and she just wants to have fun baby, there’s nothing wrong with that,” yuna replied. “and she has a point, you’re not her brother or anything, so why do you care so much?”

jungwon  looked up at yuna, not being able to ignore the bitter tone in her voice, “wait, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“i’m not on anyone’s side, i’m just asking as your girlfriend why you care so much. because honestly, if i didn’t know any better, i would think that you were still in love with her,” yuna sighed, exasperated. 

“i am not in love with her, i like you!” he exclaimed, way faster than he should have. 

yuna wanted to believe him. she wanted to ignore every bit of doubt in her body and believe every lie he fed to her, but she couldn’t. not when she knew you loved him too. it was heartbreaking, really. to watch the person you love pine over someone else. but it was even worse knowing the feelings were reciprocated. 

“don’t lie to me, jungwon,” she deadpanned, feeling her eyes start to water with tears of frustration. “i see the way you look at her, and i know for sure you haven’t gotten over her. you have never once looked at me the way you look at her, and if you like her, just say that. just say that and we can end things here, without having to make this any more heartbreaking than it already is.”

yuna didn’t want to cry. the last thing she wanted to do was cry, but the feelings of anger and embarrassment had overwhelmed her, causing a few traitorous tears to spill. she was angry at herself for letting it get this far, for falling in love with a boy that she knew would never love her back. 

but she was also embarrassed. embarrassed that she had even tried to make an effort, that she had thought she could win him over. 

she wiped her face with the back of her hand, only for more to spill out, a sob fighting for an escape from her quivering lips. 

jungwon raised his hand to wipe the tears away for her, to cup her face and tell her everything would be okay and that he was sorry. but what was he sorry for? sorry for trying to keep you away from intak? or sorry that maybe yuna was right and he did still love you?

just as he opened his mouth to speak, you stumbled out, words slurring and barely able to walk as you stumbled your way over to them. 

“hey guys!” you exclaimed, as a worried intak came rushing out the house behind you. 

“oh god, y/n, are you okay?” jungwon asked, immediately walking over to your side to support your stumbling figure. yuna would have felt bitter over jungwon rushing to your side faster than he had ever run to hers. yet, despite the devil on her shoulder that told her to be petty, she instead felt worried for you. you could barely even stand up straight.

“what the fuck did you do to her?” jungwon asked, throwing an accusatory look at intak.

“nothing dude, i promise! she was the one who wanted to drink, she had like 5 drinks within the span of like, 10 minutes,” intak replied, panicked. “is she going to be okay? does she have a way to get home safely?”

jungwon looked from yuna to you, who was falling asleep just standing there.

“just take her home,” yuna sighed. “i’m not gonna make you choose because we all know who you’d choose every single time.”

“yuna it’s not like that,” jungwon groaned. “listen, i’ll bring her home, and then i’ll come over tomorrow and we can talk this out, okay? i promise.”

“okay, just get her home safe first,” yuna replied. 

you might have been the biggest obstacle in her relationship, but you were still a nice girl, and you had technically done nothing wrong, so yuna had no reason to want to keep you and jungwon apart. you were also wasted as fuck and there was no way you would be able to get home by yourself without something horrible potentially happen to you. 

jungwon grabbed his almost full water bottle from the table he was sitting at, muttering that he would “need it to sober you up”.

he gave yuna one last reassuring smile before he walked away, you on his back as he tried his best to carry you home. 

yuna sighed as she watched you go. she felt like something bad would happen today, something worse than her argument with jungwon, and she wanted nothing else but to go home and cry. 

all she could do was trust jungwon, even if she knew she already lost him, even if she knew she was never a contestant in the first place.

—------

jungwon almost did it. 

he almost carried you all the way home, but his legs felt like they were gonna give out once he reached the park near your house, and he decided then and there that he needed a break. 

he sat you on the playground set, sitting beside you with a huff. 

you were awake by this point, taking long sips of the water bottle jungwon had given you. you wanted to sober up by the time you got home, but it wasn’t really working, with your words still slurring slightly and your mind all dizzy.

the two of you sat in silence as you gazed at the stars and jungwon thought of his argument with yuna. 

maybe she was right. 

even now, as he glanced over at you, studying the stars, his heart skipped a beat and he felt his face warm up. 

“do you remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend in this park?” you chuckled. “we were so young then, it feels like forever ago.”

jungwon was thrown off by the sudden conversation starter, but still smiled, “yeah, i remember it very well. i felt like i was gonna throw up because i was so nervous.”

you turned your head to look at him and giggled as his smile grew wider. 

“what, what are you laughing at?” 

“nothing, i was just so in love with you then. i used to think that we would be together forever and ride off into the sunset in a carriage.” 

jungwon inspected you as you talked, trying to decipher if there was any meaning behind your words or if it was just the liquor talking. 

“i just thought we were some high school fling?” he half-joked as he nudged you with his shoulder. he didn’t want it to seem like he was serious if you were sobering up. 

he felt his heart start to race as he stared at your slightly flushed face from the drinks you had, your hair fluttering as a soft breeze blew by. you were everything that jungwon had ever wanted, and here you were, telling him how much you used to love him. 

wait, no, what the hell am i doing? jungwon thought to himself. it wasn’t fair to yuna. it was already unfair to her that he only started to date her to get over you. he thought that if he dated her long enough, he would stop loving you and love her instead. 

and he genuinely thought it worked. fuck, he thought. i’m such a shitty person. 

until he saw you with intak, flirting, dancing with him, laughing at his jokes, he had never felt so jealous in his life, and yuna had noticed. and she was upset, which was fair. what wasn’t fair was jungwon using her to get over you. 

use. he hated the icky feeling that word gave him. 

“i lied,” you muttered, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“what did you say?” jungwon asked, making sure that he had heard you right. 

“i lied,” you repeated, eyes on everything but him. “i loved you, and i think i still do.” 

your eyes finally met his as you continued, “you are everything to me, jungwon. i’ve been in love with you since forever, and i only agreed to break up because you said you wanted to.”

jungwon could feel his heart starting to beat faster as he searched your eyes for any hesitation, any sign that this was a lie, or some sort of joke. his heart beat so fast he felt like he was gonna explode as he looked into your eyes, so earnest and so genuine and so filled with love that he knew you had sobered up. 

you reached for his hands in his lap, interlacing your fingers with his. 

“i can’t keep this from you,” you breathed. “i love you, yang jungwon, and i know you’re dating yuna, but i just have to tell you that i love you, that i always have and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. i don’t expect you to leave her for me or anything, but i can’t help it anymore. i love you, i love you, i love you.”

silence hung over the two of you as he tried to form a coherent sentence after your confession. it felt like suddenly his brain didn’t know how to make him talk, to make him say i love you too, or to make him do anything, really. 

a minute passed, and then two as jungwon searched your eyes with the same desperation yours had– desperate to love and to be loved by the person sitting in front of you. 

jungwon didn’t know who leaned closer first. he thought it was you but maybe it was him. he didn’t even feel like he was in control of his body as he leaned closer and closer, his hand moving to hold your face, searching your face for any hesitation, for any kind of doubt.

 you were so close that he could smell the perfume you sprayed before you left your house and the drinks that you had earlier that night. 

impatient, jungwon finally closed the gap between the two of you, your soft lips colliding with his. he could have kissed you forever, wanting to stay forever in time there. until realization hit him.

yuna.

he pulled away abruptly, your eyes still closed as you chased his lips with yours. he would have found it cute if he weren’t trying his best not to panic right now. he just kissed you. while he was still dating yuna. 

he thought of the look on yuna’s face if she found out– the angry, hurt expression that she had at the party, and even worse, the tears. he would break the poor girl’s heart. 

“i should go,” jungwon breathed, quickly standing up from his seat beside you. “it’s almost past my curfew.”

“wait, jungwon,” you said, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt before he could walk away. “i think we should talk about this before you go.”

“yeah, we can talk later,” he replied dismissively. “i just need some time to think.”

you opened your mouth to say something else– anything else to make him stay, but closed it as you saw he was already speed-walking in the direction of his house. 

you thought that you would lose him forever after your breakup.  you had almost lost jungwon once, and you were nearly positive that you won’t be so lucky to keep him this time. 

you felt sick to your stomach, and you didn’t know if it was from the drinks or from the events that had just occurred, but nonetheless you felt nauseous. 

you hunched over as you started to gag, your vomit flowing out of your mouth, tears streaming down your face. 

you wiped your mouth with your sleeve, rinsing your mouth out with water as you started to tear up. 

before you knew it, you felt sobs rising, your nose stuffed from crying,  your throat getting dry from the sobbing. the embarrassment and sorrow was finally catching up to you– all of the years of repressed love you felt for jungwon, all of the embarrassment from him leaving after you confessed, embarrassment from being a homewrecker– it all came crashing down on you. 

you couldn’t go home like this. you were sober enough to know that, with your tear streaked face, ruined makeup, and vomit smelling breath your parents would put two and two together. 

your hands shakily reached for your phone in your back pocket, dialing your brother’s number and waiting for him to pick up with baited breath. your brother was your only hope. 

“hello?” 

“chan?” you breathed into the phone. “i need to sleepover at your place.”

—----

yuna hated this. 

the waiting, the feeling of dread as she sat on her bed, awaiting jungwon’s arrival. 

the fight that had ensued was horrible, but she believed she made a valid point. if he likes y/n so much he should just go be with her, she thought bitterly. 

jungwon had texted her last night at around 1 in the morning, just to make sure she got home safe. yuna didn’t respond. she instead left him on read, still pissed off from the fight.

she used to get butterflies when he would send her texts to make sure she got home safe. but now she didn’t know if he did it because he liked her or if it was just out of common courtesy. 

yuna was about to just walk to his house herself before she heard a knock on her door. 

“hey it’s uh, me,” she heard jungwon’s muffled voice through the door. “is it okay if i come in?” 

“yeah, let’s get this over with.”

she couldn’t meet his eyes as he walked in, striding over to the corner of her bed. yuna hated waiting, but she now felt dread as the pair sat in silence for a bit, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. she had sat nowhere near him.

 usually she’d be cuddled into his side, but she instead opted to sit at the head of her bed, seemingly as far away from him as possible. she was worried that if she was too close to him, she’d crack; she’d look at his doe eyes and forgive him and that would ruin the entire point of her argument. 

“so,” she cleared her throat, interrupting the silence. “did y/n get home safe?” 

“yeah, she’s at her brother’s apartment. he texted me when she got there.”

 “‘when she got there?’ did you not walk her there?” 

“no, he picked her up from the park near our houses. but anyways, i have something important to tell you.” 

yuna felt even more dread seeping into her as he finished his sentence. she should’ve seen this coming from the start. here it comes: the breakup. 

“i kissed y/n last night.” 

yuna’s eyes widened in surprise. she had expected the breakup, yes. she knew jungwon was emotionally cheating, but now he was physically cheating? 

“wait, are you being serious right now?” she laughed in astonishment. she couldn’t believe the audacity of the man sitting in front of her. 

“i know it’s bad. i feel horrible, because an amazing woman like you should never be treated as horrible as i’ve treated you, and i am so so sorry,” jungwon started, tearing up from how bad he felt. “all of the apologies in the world could never make up for how i’ve treated you. i’ve made you feel terrible and i’m just making it worse by breaking up with you to be with her.” 

“i love y/n, yuna. and i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you, or that you had to find out for yourself before i even knew. you are so so perfect yuna-,”

“but i’m just not perfect for you?” she replied, tears starting to form as she breathed those words. 

the silence that followed was more than enough to answer her question. 

she hated this. she hated this so so much. but she didn’t hate you, or jungwon. she just hated how love worked, how she had to fall in love with the one boy who couldn’t love her back. she hated that she gave her heart away to a boy that was never going to belong to her– not fully. 

she wanted to scream, to throw something, hell, maybe even hit him. she instead took a deep breath, composing herself before she said, “okay. go be with her then.” 

jungwon looked over at her, wanting nothing but to comfort yuna. he may not be in love with her, but he did love her, and he still cared for her. 

“i’m sorry, yuna,” jungwon said instead. “you’re an amazing girl, but you should never be anyone’s second choice, and i’m sorry for making you feel like mine.” 

yuna couldn’t even look at him, fidgeting with the strings of the hoodie she wore. 

“just leave, please,” she muttered. 

she didn’t want him to see her cry, he had already broken her once, she didn’t want him to see her fall apart again. 

with a guilty expression, jungwon hurried away, also not wanting to see her cry again. he felt gross. he felt disgusted with himself for treating her that way. he didn’t like the person he was with yuna, and he felt sick thinking about how heartbroken she was; how she was so hurt that she couldn’t even look at him. 

—------

it has been two weeks since your kiss with jungwon, and you hadn’t heard a word from him since. not a single call or text, hell, he didn’t even acknowledge your existence when you walked by him in the halls. 

you had seen yuna around, but seeing as jungwon wasn’t joined at her hip like he used to be, you assumed that things didn’t end quite so well between the two. knowing that you were the cause made you want to never show your face ever again, especially because of the dirty looks yuna’s friends have been giving you. 

you were relieved it was the last day of the school year; you’d never have to see yuna again and feel the guilt at seeing the sadness in her eyes. 

you walked into the bathroom, wanting to wash your hands after eating your lunch, when you saw yuna, touching up on her makeup in the mirror. she looked at you through the mirror above the sink, before going back to her makeup. 

the tension was so thick you didn’t know if you should just leave or hide in a bathroom stall until she left. 

“i’m not gonna bite, you know,” yuna chuckled. 

you smiled back nervously as you started to make your way to the sink. 

“yuna i’m really sorry,” you sighed, mustering whatever courage and dignity you had left. 

“it’s okay,” yuna replied, finally meeting your gaze. “although it was wrong for you guys to have kissed, i saw the breakup coming from miles away. he was never mine to begin with.” 

you were taken aback just by how calm she was, with the way she spoke those words with such elegance and grace. she had every right to be angry with you, to yell at you and call you a homewrecker. 

“even if you did think you were going to break up, that still doesn’t excuse what i did, and i really am sorry,” you said, trying to project every feeling of sympathy and sincerity you could in that one sentence. “i’m not asking you to forgive me, or jungwon, but i just wanted to tell you that you really are a cool person, and you’ve always been so kind to me, even now. all of this for a boy, and he hasn’t even talked to me in the past two weeks.”

“wait, he hasn’t reached out to you at all?” yuna asked, confused. “i thought he would say something to you at least.” 

“did he say he would?” you replied, confusion reaching you as well. 

“no,” yuna replied, fixing her hair in the mirror. “i just assumed so because he’s in love with you.”

once again, you were stunned by her nonchalance. “he’s not in love with me.” 

“don’t be silly,” yuna smiled softly. “i can’t tell if dating jungwon was the best or worst six months of my life, to be honest.” 

“don’t get me wrong, he was a good boyfriend,” yuna backtracked quickly after seeing the guilt on your face. “he did the usual boyfriend stuff, and he really did try, but i could just always tell that his heart was always yours.” 

you couldn’t meet yuna’s gaze as she said this, your face hot with shame. you felt so bad for her, and you didn’t quite know what to say in response. 

“i’m sorry that things ended this way,” you finally said. 

“it’s okay, it was gonna happen sooner or later,” yuna replied. “but if i’m right, then you should probably go talk to him, he’s probably going insane with guilt right now over me, and over you. bro’s got a lot on his plate.” 

you gave a small chuckle at the last sentence, making yuna smile a bit. 

“well thank you for the talk yuna, but i’ve gotta go. i think i need to go find jungwon.” 

yuna felt her heart break a bit at the words, but she smiled anyways and said bye as she watched you leave the bathroom. yuna didn’t know if she was supposed to cry or feel happy for you and jungwon, but she did know that she was right. again. she knew his heart had always belonged to you. anyone could see that. 

—--------

trying to find jungwon was easier than you expected. he was sitting on a swing, at the park that you became his, then wasn’t his anymore, and then confessed your love to him. there was so much that had happened at this park that it made your head hurt a bit just thinking about it. 

“is it okay if i sit here?” you asked, motioning to the swing beside him. 

“of course you can,” jungwon replied. 

the two of you sat in silence.

“i don’t think we should be friends anymore,” you finally spoke up. 

he jerked his head to look at you, shock coursing through him. “wait, why not?”

you took a deep breath before saying, “i can’t be friends with you anymore because i’m in love with you. there hasn’t been a moment since i’ve met you that i haven’t been.” 

his heart skipped a beat at your words. 

this was it, this is what you’d been waiting for since the day you laid eyes on jungwon. but you didn’t think it would go quite like this. you sat there for a moment as jungwon studied you, and you wished he would say something, anything. 

“but did you ever consider how i felt?” he finally asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “have you ever considered that maybe i’ve felt the same way?” 

you felt your breath catch in your throat as he continued, “i’ve seen you everyday since we were five when your family moved in next door. but i didn’t really see you until freshman year, sitting in class by the window, your hair flowing from the breeze that came through, doodling in your notebook instead of paying attention to the lesson. and when you caught me staring, you smiled and waved, and i swear i fell in love with you that day. that day, i knew my heart would always be yours.” 

“so please,” jungwon pleaded. “please, do whatever you want with it. you could break it a million times over and it would still be yours.”

now this, this was exactly you had always dreamed of. 

you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him, trying to convey all the repressed love you’ve had for him for years through the kiss. you loved him. you loved every single part of jungwon, every flaw, every imperfection, everything that made him him. 

“so does this mean we’re official?” jungwon grinned as he pulled away, a playful look in his eyes. you smiled back, feeling the heart eyes in your gaze and the way your heart melted just by looking at him. 

“took you long enough.” 

[kooktrash]

make a wish | jeon jungkook [ birthday drabble ]

DRABBLE FOR: ROMANTIC DREAMS but you don’t have to read it, this drabble can stand alone

summary: hours before his birthday, his friends force him to come out for a night of drinks only for him to be mad the entire time that you’re ignoring him. he comes home early worried you might’ve left but what he saw instead made his birthday all the better when the clock strikes midnight.

warnings: smut. birthday sex. jk is at the club but misses oc lol. 3.8k words

The feeling he got anytime he came out for drinks with his friends never changed. It always felt suffocating to him from the crowds of drunk people all against each other to the overly loud music he couldn’t even pay attention to. It was overwhelming, to say the least.He hated the looks he got and the way people tried to talk to him. He hated how loud his friends were and how they felt the need to bring him up to complete strangers like any of it matter. It’s his birthday weekend, you wanted him to celebrate with all of his friends and yet he couldn’t care less about any of that. He was more interested in finding out why you weren’t here tonight and why you weren’t answering your phone.

“Come on man, just one drink and then you’re free to crawl back to Y/n,” Jin joked as he patted the guy on the back, “But we want to hang out with you for your birthday at least once.”

“Y/n’s not answering the phone,” Jungkook warned as he was led to the bar, “So I’m probably just gonna head out.”

“Dude, Y/n’s not a kid, you don’t have to watch her every five seconds,” Namjoon asked, “Don’t get me wrong, wanting to spend time with your girlfriend is the bare minimum but don’t you think you go overboard sometimes? It would not kill you to be away from her for one night.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, his gaze hardened as he eyed his friend closely. Namjoon just shrugged despite how blunt he sounded and that only seemed to annoy Jungkook more. Who was he to say that?

Jungkook does not go overboard, alright?

He trusts you… of course he does… but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still think about you leaving him. Something in his gut tells him that if you ever try to break up with him you won’t tell him, you’ll just leave and he’ll have no clue where you went.

He thinks you’ve finally grown to love him almost as much as he loves you but he just can’t get over the amount of times you told him you were done. The amount of times he’s had to remind you you’re not going anywhere and neither is he.

He’s gotten better too, he no longer has cameras set up and maybe that’s why he always feels so anxious when you don’t answer. All he’s got is your location so he knows you’re at home, so why won’t you answer his texts?

“Kook?” Namjoon called out to him as he stood at the bar as if he hadn’t just yelled at him, “What do you want to drink?”

“Jungkook?”

He yelled at his friend to get him anything, hearing the call of his name but not bothering to turn and acknowledge it. A small poke on his arm made him take a deep breath and turn to whoever was trying to catch his attention.

“It is you,” She said softly, “Oh my god, it’s been so long. W-y-you just stopped talking to me.”

“Do I know you?” Jungkook looked down unimportant. He actually did have a small recollection of her. They met over a year ago and hooked up a couple times but that was it. He was horny and she was easy.

She looked taken back, “Yeah. You do, asshole.”

He didn’t respond to her, simply glanced down at her angry expression and scoffed as he looked to his friends. They were all busy buying drinks and Jungkook did not care about any of that. He’s been with them since he got off work. They didn’t even let him go home to see you and tell you to go out for drinks. They showed up at the shop, hurried him to close and dragged him to the closest bar. He’s tired of it all. His birthday is tonight and the person he wants to spend it with isn’t answering their damn phone and he’s just starting to get pissed off.

“Okay, here’s yo—“

“I’m leaving,” Jungkook told Namjoon, handing him back the drink, “I’m tired and we’ve been out for hours already. I want to go home.”

Namjoon checked the time biting his lip, he was supposed to stall Jungkook from getting home per your orders and it’s been difficult all night to keep him from running to you. He’s never seen his friend so… in love [?], is that the right word for it? His need to know where you are, why you aren’t talking to him, who you’re with, was intense. Namjoon just knows Jungkook is at his limit with you ignoring him. All he could do was nod his head and give up, “Alright, can you drive?”

Jungkook only had one drink and even then he didn’t finish it before they tried getting him another so he felt fine. He was just bothered that you’ve yet to reach out to him.

He made an attempt to call you, one last time, as he got in his car but like before you didn’t answer and he can feel his patience running extremely thin. Why weren’t you answering him?

The first thing Jungkook noticed when he got back to your shared apartment was how dark it was. Usually [especially now that he’s made the place his own now], the apartment had a dark aura to it. It probably had to do with the mixed decor the two of you had up like his black sketches of skulls and serpents next to your framed photographs of Baby’s Breath and lavender. He’s used to it by now but right now… it’s too quiet…

“Y/n?” Jungkook called out and you could hear the growing annoyed panic in his voice. He dropped his things from work down to the ground without any care. He hasn’t seen you since before he went to the tattoo shop in the morning and now it’s almost midnight and you’re nowhere to be seen.

As Jungkook turned down the hallway, he seemed to freeze. Just below his feet where he hadn’t noticed them before, laid a trail of black rose petals. He followed them with his gaze seeing them disappear under the closed bedroom door where he could see a hue of red lighting inside. With a curious tilt of his head, he walked along the petals, twisting the knob on the door and immediately feeling his heart race.

Your bedroom which had become a concoction of gothic knickknacks and floral patterns, was a deep shade of red. His vinyl played one of his favorite Deftones songs, Mascara, and there you were.

He stopped at the door, eyes taking in the sight around him but all he could do was look down at you surrounded by candles littered across the room and music playing softly to set the mood and suddenly he wasn’t angry anymore. You had been ignoring him all night and that drew him insane but seeing you laying in bed wearing nothing but a black lace lingerie set made him forget all about that anger.

“So this is why you weren’t answering my calls?” Jungkook asked despite feeling giddy inside from all of this. Your lingerie was thin and fitted, it hugged you in all the right places and you looked so inviting with your legs slightly spread open for him, laying in a petal of black roses. You didn’t say anything, only lifted a single finger toward him and motioned for him to move closer.

Your boyfriend was never much for the theatrics, he liked doing it too much to wait, so you weren’t surprised at all when he reached for the back of his black shirt and yanked off over his head exposing his muscles, torso and nipple piercings. His tattooed hands unzipped the front of his black jeans and kicked them off immediately before walking toward the bed with a dark look in his eyes.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you said sitting up a little when he brought a hand to the back of your neck after crawling over your body to kiss you, “But you’re always so impatient.”

“You were ignoring me,” Jungkook whispered against your lips as he sighed softly into the kiss, “I don’t like when you ignore me.”

“So you’re not happy with the surprise?” You asked despite knowing the answer. Jungkook has only just now gotten undressed and you can already see the growing bulge in his Calvin Klein’s. Jungkook looked down at your pliant body laying pretty underneath him, unable to help himself from dragging his index finger over the tip of your nipples that peaked through the sheer fabric, “I love it, just dlike nt ignore my texts again, okay?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes even as he kissed along your neck lovingly, his teeth softly nipped at the skin until his tongue was running over the marks soothingly. He was already on top of you trying to control the situation and you put a hand on his chest to move him off. His brows furrowed as you began to say up forcing him to do the same, “Why don’t you lay down and let me take the lead for once, yeah?”

“Bab—“ his words died down when your finger tugged at one the bar piercing on his nipple. He looked down watching your finger circle around it teasingly scratching against him and he was folding. Now that Jungkook had relaxed a little, you took the chance to move him to lie on his back, straddling hips as his hands found your waist to hold you there. He set you down directly over his hardening length, letting you slide against it for a moment’s worth of friction. Jungkook always got so easily turned on when it came to you. He could be at work doing a tattoo on someone and suddenly he’ll remember what the two of you did the night before, how he fucked you on the kitchen counter or ate your pushy in the bathtub. Sometimes it didn’t even have to be about sex. He would think about seeing you fresh out the shower or wearing a shirt of his and nothing underneath.

“Y/n,” Jungkook sighed once he felt you lean down for a kiss. It was an open mouth kiss with your tongue pushing into his sloppily the way he liked it, your hands scratching down his ribbed sides feeling every muscle in their path. When you pulled your lips away from his, a line of drool connected your mouths and dribbled down to his chin when you kissed along his jaw. Jungkook’s hands couldn’t sit still, they needed to feel all of you. Your lingerie bottoms were nothing but a lacy thin thong that left little to the imagination but looked good nevertheless. He slid his hands over your butt, big hands pinching and helping any part of you that he could, occasionally making your covered cored grind against his dick. A low moan left his lips when you sucked on his neck leaving a trail of love bites in your wake, moving down to his collarbone and chest.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” you said teasingly as you lucked over his abused nipple that you had been tugging on. Jungkook’s breath hitched when you circled it with your tongue, sucking softly and nipping at the metal with your teeth.

“Always,” Jungkook sighed, squirming a bit as you kissed between his abs down toward his navel, fingers already sinking into the hem of his briefs, “You always make me feel good.”

“Mhm,” you hummed in content, sliding yourself off his lap until you sat perfectly between his spread, muscular thighs, “You always make me feel good too, baby.”

It’s true too. He’s your boyfriend for fucks sake, even if you used to resent him for being the way he was then; there’s no point in still feeling that way when you really do love him—whether it be healthy or not is still up for debate.

Jungkook tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, playing with his lip ring as you yanked his briefs down with a bit of force that had him groaning at the toughness. He’s not used to you taking the initiative, maybe you’ve done it once or twice but never dressed like this in a red and black room made for sex.

You looked down at his length, not surprised at all by the sight of it. Jungkook was hard, his dick was thick and flat against his navel, throbbing under your stare. It twitched like it wanted to point upward but he wasn’t there yet. He needed a little more attention still.

You placed your hands on his thighs for support as you leaned forward to be face to face with his cock, pursing your lips like you were gonna kiss it before blowing air. Jungkook had to rest on his elbows to be able to sit up enough to see what you were doing, just barely catching the sight of you reaching further down and flattening your tongue against his balls teasingly until you licked the underside of his cock too. Immediately his arms gave way and he was laying back down on the bed, eyes squeezed shut.

You wrapped a hand around his base, angling his cock to point upward before running your tongue along the side once more like he was a melting ice pop. You could see his lip pulled between his teeth and his eyes screwed shut in anticipation making you smirk. Jungkook always knew how to make you feel good and it was a boost to your ego to know that you too knew what made your boyfriend feel good. As his cock stood straight now, you licked along his tip, circling around the head and feeling him throb in your first when you sucked softly against his slit that produced precum.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groaned as he let his head fall back against rhe pillows with his hands tucked under his neck, hips raising with need to meet your mouth and make you take his cock down your throat. You grinned at the disheveled sight of your boyfriend that was caused by a little teasing and lowered your head starting back down over his balls where you knew he liked to feel your tongue first. Jungkook liked things sloppy, a bit rough and nasty. He loved having his balls played with, feeling your tongue swipe along them, sucking one into your mouth and tugging while fisting his cock. It’s exactly what you did tonight, you paid extra attention to his balls feeling his thighs tighten around you when you began to stroke his dick.

Jungkook was in ecstasy, his cock no longer needed your hand to make him stand straight, he was hard enough to do it on its own and you dug your nails into his thighs when you finally began to take him all into your mouth. A loud moan left his lips at the warm sensation of your spit coating his member, making it easier to slide him into your mouth. He could feel you try and relax your throat all around him and although the wanted to let you take your time, he was so fucking horny. He couldn’t help but buck his hips up, forcing you to take more and more of him at a quicker pace.

You shook your head no, cock in your mouth and a hand flat against his pelvis to hold him down, “Just relax, baby, I got this.”

He huffed impatiently, nodding his head as he tried to calm down, lips parting in surprise when you took him all in one go. If your mouth wasn’t full with his dick, you would’ve been smiling at the way he so easily turned to mush underneath you. You wasted no time in teasing him anymore, bobbing your head up and down while your fist strokes whatever didn’t fit in your mouth. Your other hand was fondling his balls avain, squeezing them, massaging them, rubbing them against each other as you made obscene noises with your throat as you fucked him into your mouth. Jungkook’s hands closed in tight fists over the bed sheets, body caving in with how good your mouth felt on him and he was so damn close, “Fucking hell, baby, fuck.”

You could tell he was close by the way he became restless, thighs clenching and unclenching, chest rising and lowering with jagged and fast paced breath, lips drawn apart with moan after moan and it only made you double your efforts. You got rougher, faster, sloppier.

It got to the point where Jungkook had a closed fist over his eyes trying not to overwhelm himself with how good you were making him feel but it had become too much. He couldn’t take it anymore, “Okay, Y/n, there, I’m gonna cum. Come on, need to feel you—oh fuck, baby.”

His head fall back with a loud moan, spurts of thick cum coating the inside of your mouth so suddenly even you were surprised by the amount. Jungkook’s body writhed on the bed, large muscular body twitching with pleasure as he came down your throat. You gagged at the intensity, pulling your mouth away and watching it coat his own dick in it, still softly jerking him off through his orgasm.

“You okay?” You asked lovingly, stroking him as you looked down at the mess you’ve made of him. Jungkook’s eyes were a deep red that made his gaze look darker under the LED lights. His lips looked swollen and cum was all over his pelvis but he was still rock hard.

“Y/n,” his voice grew hoarse, “Need you to sit on dick, right now.”

You smiled, laughing softly as you looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 11:59pm.

“Birthday boy wants to cum in my pussy?” You asked surprisingly. The two of you rarely had sex without a condom but you were on birth control and it was his birthday… your boyfriend deserved this. As crazy as he was, he loved you and you… well, you loved him too or else why would you have stuck around? And right now, you were too turned on to care about the consequences.

Jungkook didn’t have to say anything to have you lining his cock work your wet pussy as you slid the lingerie to the side so it wasn’t in the way. As much as Jungkook loved the way it looked on you, he needed it completely off of you.

His rough fingers tugged at the seams, easily tearing it apart as you pressed his thick head between your folds. You gasped in surprise at how easily he tore threw the fabric, yanking roughly until it was in his hands and on the floor, “Baby… I’m trying to be sexy here.”

“You’re always sexy,” Jungkook said not caring about the lingerie as his hands found your hips, lowering you down his length himself, “But I like you better with nothing on.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgement, a small moan leaving your lips as this thick head finally made it past your broken hymen making the slide of the rest of his cock that much easier. Your hands fell flat against his chest for support as your feet pushed against the bed to help you raise your hips, his hands guiding you to bring them back down. It started off slowly, you began riding him teasingly only lifting yourself up a little, grinding your hips against his and doing it all over again.

Jungkook was fine with the pace as he took in the sight of your pretty tits in his face and he couldn’t help but move his hands to grope them, thumbs brushing over your nipples as his hips began to thrust up into yours making the slow ducking a little rougher.

“Jungkook,” you moaned softly as his thick length hit that special spot at the top, rubbing against your open folds and pleasuring you so well you almost forgot this was for him and not for you. He was at the point where he didn’t care about who was supposed to be making who feel good. Anything you did to him felt good and without a care in the world he pulled you down to lay on his chest, your face against his neck as he dug his feet into the mattress and began to fuck you from below. Your body bounced against his and with an arm tight around your lower waist and the other groping your ass, he was fully taking control to bring you to your first orgasm of the night.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked in a low whisper into your ear, cock working in and out of your tight pussy. You nodded your head, kissing his neck between moans as your cunt tightened around him, “So good.”

Jungkook took the lead with ease, grinding you against his aching member, so close to release once more. The clock had strikes midnight time ago and his phone was being flooded with birthday messages but he was too busy to care. All he had wanted for his birthday was to spend it with you and his patience had paid off.

He came home to you dressed so fucking sexy for him and with a promise that he could cum inside and that alone was bringing him closer and closer to his second orgasm, not worried about finishing too soon when he knew this wouldn’t be the last round.

Your teeth nipped are his neck, nails scratching along his nipples as you tightened around him once more, “Jun—babe, I can’t… fuck, please.”

“Cum for me, do it baby,” Jungkook urged you on, lifting a hand only to bring it back down hard on your ass hearing you squeal at the slight sting but your walls tightened all the same. His cock was reaching deep into your count every time you took him all in and all it took was one final spank, for your orgasm to hit. You released a loud moan into his ear, hearing him grunt as you clenched around and finally you felt the warmth of his release flood your insides for the first time ever.

He was left breathless, cock coated in both your arousals as you pulled yourself off of him and you both watch his release mixed with yours dribble down your legs, immediately turning him on once more. You looked up at him, smile on your face from how good your boyfriend looked after sex. You checked the time once more, hearing his phone buzz and you ran a soothing hand over his thigh and pulling some stray black petals off of him, “I’m gonna get a bath going, how does that sound, birthday boy?”

Jungkook smirked, “Sounds good.”

“Okay, I’ll be back, why don’t you start responding to everyone,” you told him with a wink. When you left and he looked down at his phone, a small laugh left his lips.

joon:i hope whatever surprise y/n did for u was good bc u were a bitch to keep distracted

joon: happy birthday

joon: don’t have too much fun with your girl

::.

ugh everytime I tell myself I’m tired of romantic dreams Jungkook I just come back 😭anyways little bday drabble on KooK’s bday 🥺HAPPY 26TH BIRTHDAY

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt t @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura a @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun @sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

[jewelsli]

DC X DP X Captain Marvel/Shazam

So I had this idea for a dc/dp crossover (mostly about billy and danny). Anyway, Danny and Billy are both children around fourteen years old, both are posing as immortal heroes to the Justice League, and both have huge responsibilities that the fate of the universe depends on (Ghost King Danny). In conclusion, I think they would be SCARILY good friends, honestly brothers really.

Here’s how I think it would go (I’m not the greatest writer so bear with me)

Billy had just returned from his latest mission, and not the fun beat-up-some-badguys-then-go-home kind, he had been off-world (and off-dimension at times) near constantly for the past few weeks in some greater beings version of a joke, and had missed the latest JL meeting. He was currently stepping out of the beta tubes after getting what? Four? Hours of sleep. He shook his head, glad that I’m his powered form he couldn’t feel tired like Billy did(and less glad about the faint chattering of the Gods in his head).

‘Okay, time for the meeting!’ He thought with sarcastic joy in his head, pulling his features into a soft smile. He walked down the halls to the meeting room, it may seem like he was going at a fast pace, but compared to how fast he could go, he was currently a snail. He hovered(no not literally) outside the door for a moment before brightening his smile and walking in.

“Hey guys!” He said joyfully, glad to see he wasn’t the last to arrive, “sorry about not calling in at the last meeting, my communicator broke and I wasn’t exactly able to get in touch without dropping everything and I couldn’t … do that.” He paused as he noticed a new person at the table, which he vaguely recognized as one of the possible recruits for a new member. Something about them seemed… different, not in a bad way! But still-

Batman grunts… uh… he could never tell if that was good or bad, he looks up at the masked vigilante and waits for him to say something(I mean it was 50/50 whether that was the sentence or if it preceded it) “Marvel,” ah so this was one of the times it was followed by a sentence, “I expect your reports by the next meeting,” darn it “This is Phantom, he was introduced to the League while you were away.” He says with a nod at the new member, who smiled and waved at him. Billy waves back, it would be rude not to right? And sits at his normal spot, which is near(but not directly next to) the white haired hero. He sat still for a solid five seconds before becoming bored, if he knew how these meeting went(and he did) flash would probably show up a minute or two late, leaving about… ten or so minutes. He mentally sighs, turning to face Phantom.

“So…” he says before he can even think of what to ask, the other looking towards him, “Phantom huh? Are you a ghost of some sort?” He asked, he wanted to assume so, but then again Phantom girl wasn’t a ghost, so he might not be. And he would have to be a pretty powerful ghost to be seen by normal people, or maybe he was invisible? No he could tell that the others could see him- and he was getting off track, thank goodness for the speed of mercury or else that train of thought may have stopped him from seeing the other’s answer.

Phantom nodded, tilting his head and then saying “yeah, everyone keeps assuming I’m an alien for some reason? Do you guys not interact with ghosts that often?” Marvel thought for a moment, “The main members don’t really, but The JL dark does, deadman is a member and he’s a ghost. Have you met him yet?” He asked in return after answering his question.

Phantom’s eyes widened, “Deadman? I’ve heard of him but we haven’t met.” He responded, his face stretching into a smile that was bordering on inhuman. “I have yet to meet another ghost that’s a hero, all the ones I’ve met either fought with me or don’t leave the realms,” he sighed. Now it was Billy’s turn to smile. “The realms? As in the infinite realms??? Aw man I’ve been meaning to visit but I haven’t count the time! What’s it like? Does it really have the most diverse population of magical creatures? What about the new ghost prince? I’ve heard he’s much better than the old king!” He spouted with maybe a little bit of speed of mercury, and he really did want to know more about the ghost prince, he had to meet him later.

Before a (surprised looking) Phantom could answer, the meeting was started, he hadn’t noticed the people filtering in until an apologetic speedster sat down between him and the ghost.

Finishing up the meeting, oh gods finally, Marvel could feel how tired Billy was. He stood up to leave but was faced with Phantom looking at him, oh woah he was really tall for being so skinny as tall as he was!(and he was eight feet tall!!!).

“How do you know about the new ghost prince.” Phantom asked in a voice slightly below a normal volume, Billy looked him over, he didn’t seem hostile, just curious, so he thought back to try and remember. “Oh uh, I guess I was informed by some of my… coworkers” he said carefully, hey he couldn’t go ‘oh yeah the gods in my head told me and I’m the champion of magic’ he was trying to avoid the league learning that for goodness sakes!!!(sue him if he didn’t want the magic users of the league to never talk to him normally again or gain more attention from Batman). He saw phantom’s eyes narrow, “These coworkers must be pretty high up on the power chain if they know, the new prince kept the change from the old king to him restricted to those who needed to know,” oh, oops? Wait how did he know then? “So are you in one of these upper circles then?” Marvel asked, getting a small smile from the other, who responded with “Something like that, and who are you getting this info through?” He said, not letting him redirect the conversation as he had hoped he could. “I have a contact from the rock of eternity” he said quickly, hey it was kind of true, he did have contacts there and marvel was the reason why he knew. Phantom made a small ‘:o’ face and simply said “Oh” before glancing at a nearby clock and sighing. “I WILL be asking about that, but until then I have Infinite Realm duties, higher circles and all that.” He muttered the last part before leaving through the window of all places.

Marvel glances at the clock himself and cursed(internally, he would never curse in this form), speaking of the ghost prince, he had a meeting with him.

Yay I did it :D!!!

[randombush3]

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary

warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh

notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x

weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!

i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part

The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses. 

However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver. 

“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!” 

The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp. 

“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers. 

“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise. 

“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?” 

“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?” 

“In the sand?” 

“Sí, in the sand.” 

He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest. 

“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.” 

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia. 

“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally. 

“Mm. You are magically both.” 

You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.

A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level. 

“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission. 

She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due. 

She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.” 

“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect. 

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.” 

“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.

“She has her own team, you know.” 

“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze. 

“Why?”

“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”

Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down. 

“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.” 

“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.” 

“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps. 

Cheated. 

“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.

“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards. 

“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Are you… alright?” 

She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up. 

You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos. 

Intimate, huh. 

They are practically snogging. 

There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last. 

The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021. 

The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.

What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you. 

The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true. 

Love goes up in flames before your eyes. 

And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more. 

“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you. 

“Where is Lena?” 

“Dormida, aún.” 

Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.” 

“Vale. Te quiero.” 

You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. 

Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps. 

Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?” 

…

The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost. 

You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat. 

It has been six hours since you found out.

Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died. 

When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable. 

You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect. 

“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.” 

“Why? What have I done?” 

She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”

It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is. 

She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her. 

Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would. 

She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened. 

In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself. 

“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic. 

She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it. 

And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer. 

“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.” 

Everything is ruined because of her. 

It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife. 

Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak. 

Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod. 

She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie. 

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?” 

“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”

He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land. 

You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died. 

But this is how it goes. 

You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.

It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t. 

The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine. 

Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay. 

“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.  

He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?” 

“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.” 

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.” 

“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it. 

“She sounds funny.” 

“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading). 

“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?” 

You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners. 

You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.” 

…

Alexia does not know what to do. 

She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible. 

She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come. 

The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that. 

Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill. 

She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net. 

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns. 

Something goes wrong. 

Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it? 

Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible. 

Maybe. 

The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.

“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee. 

She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears. 

A second later, she is unconscious. 

When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her. 

A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name. 

She whispers it over and over again. 

“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.” 

…

The call is unexpected. 

Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros. 

“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment. 

Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given. 

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too. 

Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery. 

It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport. 

When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them. 

This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish! 

She has two children with you, for God’s sake!

“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”

Alexia, The Ruiner. 

She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner. 

Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.” 

“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.” 

Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however. 

“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner. 

It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic. 

Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle). 

She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point. 

She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup. 

“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing. 

Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?” 

“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.” 

“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!” 

All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently. 

If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable. 

Instead. 

Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!” 

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked. 

“What have you done?” 

Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.” 

…

Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access. 

For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would. 

Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will. 

“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…” 

“I don’t think she wanted to–” 

“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!” 

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.” 

“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.” 

“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.” 

“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her). 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.” 

Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”

You swear. 

“What time’s our train leaving?!” 

The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many. 

England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury. 

The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well). 

“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug. 

“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.” 

She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?” 

Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership. 

You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour). 

You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary? 

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married. 

“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.” 

You smile. “Really?” 

“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information. 

You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete. 

When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with. 

…

Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family. 

Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least. 

You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves. 

You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you. 

“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.

“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”

“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing. 

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes. 

She quickly blinks them back. 

“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–” 

“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”

“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?” 

Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said. 

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–” 

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies. 

“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.” 

She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor. 

Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.” 

The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi. 

Alexia begins to get nervous. 

Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression. 

Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish. 

Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.

The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines. 

You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime. 

A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family. 

“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence. 

Ona stands to one side and you pass. 

Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries. 

You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse. 

You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way. 

Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough. 

Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players. 

“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.” 

Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her. 

…

September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album. 

Judgement Day. 

For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.

Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.

You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children. 

They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go. 

Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power. 

Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years. 

In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that. 

You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music. 

“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.” 

At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself. 

You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house. 

Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last. 

…

Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.

Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler. 

Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)

“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?” 

“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.” 

“Who?” he pouts. 

“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia.  “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–” 

He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.” 

“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.” 

Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers. 

As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.

“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it. 

He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles. 

“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.” 

Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.” 

“I miss Mama.” 

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable. 

“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.” 

“Really?” 

“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that. 

“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!” 

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.

After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite. 

High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all. 

The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe. 

There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything. 

Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around. 

One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia. 

Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility. 

“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it. 

“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.” 

Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.” 

“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.” 

The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’. 

With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up. 

The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?

“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more. 

“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well. 

“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.” 

You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?” 

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like. 

“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.” 

You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod. 

“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.” 

… 

Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.” 

“What, Alexia?” 

You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her. 

“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!” 

Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”

“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”

Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.” 

“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–” 

“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”

Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.” 

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it. 

“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!” 

Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.

“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”

“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!” 

You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off. 

Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place. 

It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit. 

("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.

"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.

It never ends.

So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”

She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting. 

"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"

"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."

"And why not?"

Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more. 

Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles. 

"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."

The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner. 

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."

Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."

To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.

"You need to fix this.")

Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.

[speaknow-sw]

𝓘𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓐𝒇𝒇𝓪𝓲𝓻

HEADCANONS FORM! Summary : in which you move in your new house in front of a very hot, very dad and very married man. But Anakin Skywalker is a gentle and caring neighbor. Gardenias appear in your garden and you befriended his wife. Soon enough you fit in this neighborhood though a little crush linger…

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ: mdni, dad! Anakin Skywalker, older married man, reader is 25 and Anakin’s 33, mentions of vaginal fingering, pining, cheating ?

AN : GUYS FIRST WORK !!! Okay actually very stressed to post this but I’m sure you’ll be indulgent. Please ? It’s just a part 1 tho idk when I’ll post part 2. Again I’m not fluent in English but please feel free to correct any error. The real stuff happens in part 2 cuz it’s just a plot installation. Hope y’all like my silly little idea.

You and Anakin met when you moved across the street. As a gentleman, he welcomed you and helped with all your boxes. One look and you both knew you were spiraling down an unforgivable path. 

« Excuse me Miss. Do you need help ? » Anakin asked gently. 

« Oh yes, thank you so much » you replied, blushing.

« Just moved in ? It’s a nice neighborhood. The name’s Anakin Skywalker. I live just across the street. » he pointed the white house with blue shutters in front of yours. 

« Well, yes I’m moving in. I hope we’ll become good neighbors. » you smiled  brightly. 

« Don’t doubt it. You seem a lot nicer than old Palps who lived here before you, » he laughed placing a boxes on your counter. « He died of cardiac arrest in his daughter’s house. But around here we say he died strangled in his bitterness. » he joked.

« Seems like a lovely man. » you chuckled.

When he finished helping you he invited you over at his house where you met his lovely…wife, Padmé. As you talked with them a pair of toddlers ran down the stairs. Anakin presented them as Luke and Leia his kids. Adorable, you thought. 

After that first day you crossed Anakin path a numerous time. Every morning you would leave for work around the same time giving each other a light « Hello » and a meaningful gaz, like electricity sparkling between you.

After some months like this, you strangely begun to see gardenias appearing in the back of your garden. 

Sundays barbecue were a common gathering for your neighborhood. Mr. Kenobi, the barbecue king for the five previous years hosting every one of them. Him and his wife Satine were the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Like a good neighbor you attented every barbecues and gained a little group of friends consisting of Padmé, Satine and Breha Organa, the mayor wife’s. 

You couldn’t help but stare at Anakin back as he was talking with the other dads. His broad shoulders draped in an olive t-shirt and his nice butt constricted in a cream pant. Ovulation cravings were getting out of hands. God…this man sense of fashion could kill you on the spot with how effortlessly handsome he was. A married man, older than you, with kids…but so sweet and manly… Only when you turned to help Breha you missed Anakin gazing at you from afar. 

Soon enough, Satine ran out of sodas for the kids. The Skywalker twins, Elledi and Fiari Organa, Cal Kenobi and many more kids were running in the gardens like crazy little gremlins. Tired of hearing their little voices complaining about having a glass of Fanta you took the matter in your hands and said you could go to the store. Suddenly a voice echoed.

« I got packs of Fanta in the closet at home. » proposed softly Anakin. 

« Wonderful, my dear why won’t you accompany Anakin in his house to retrieve the sodas instead of taking the car ? » said a cheerful Satine. 

« Oh…hm…yes, yes I can do that… » you stuttered a bit shy. 

« You’re coming ? » Anakin called, his keys tingling gently in his right hand.

Your gaze fixated on his veiny hands and his long fingers. Your mind went wild with how good his fingers would be buried inside your clenching pussy. Maybe they could even reach that little area deep into you where you see stars. Your arousal grew and soon you felt your cunt being wetter than ten minutes ago. Fantasizing about him as you walked behind him silently, you didn’t saw he stopped in front of you and crashed against his back. 

« Hey, hey, hey, I gotcha. » you heard before feeling strong arms wrapping against your stumbling form. You blinked at him shocked by the whole situation directly from a bad Christmas rom-com. 

« You okay, kid ? » asked Anakin his beautiful face ruined by a frown. 

« Uh…yeah, m’great thanks to you… » you muttered as you felt heat crawling on your cheeks. 

« Alright, here, the sodas are in this closet. » he pointed an open door under his stairs. You nodded looking right in his eyes as your breath hitched. Your gaze lowered at your joined chest as your breasts were pressed against his muscular pecs with how tight he was holding you. You felt his breath on your forehead and raised your head to look at him not without checking his lips. His hold on you tightened slightly and you flushed. 

You darted your eyes around the house unable to held the eye contact and as you wandered through the furniture of the closet your eyes widened.

On the shelf beside a toolbox was placed a white gardenia similar at the ones which appeared on your gardens…

To be continued….

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Would you be making a Part 4 of the dancer and the angel🥺🥺

so many people have asked about this so I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to piece it together BUT it’s here so I hope you love it 🤍🤍

title: the dancer and the angel part 4

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: crying sucks and you needs somewhere to just let your hair down but when gigi goes missing, all hell breaks loose and things don’t stay exactly to plan

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: I’m dedicating this to @midiosaamor <33 ilysm belle thank you for your endless love for this fic, I’m so grateful 🤍🤍

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @notshortbutsweet @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

YOUR POV

I’m tired of crying. Tears are overrated anyway.

I’m sat with Avery, my cheek resting against her shoulder, her head resting on top of mine. It’s peaceful. I can hear her soft steady breathing in my ear and it’s oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because I’m used to sleeping on Grayson’s chest and hearing him breathe so rhythmically.

I need to get him out of my head. His stupidly perfect face is the only image running through my mind. That angular jawline, those velvety lips and those silver eyes that made me melt every damn time. Every inch of him is too engraved in my soul to get rid of him so quickly.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Avery says suddenly, like she’s been reading my mind this whole time.

“We’re on a secluded island,” I scoff.

“And I happen to be a billionaire who owns many modes of transport,” she winks at me, helping me to my feet.

“You wouldn’t,” I say.

“I already have,” she winks, “there’s a helicopter that should be showing up in about…” she trails off checking her watch, “five minutes.”

“You’re joking!” I gape.

“Do I look like the kind of girl to joke about ordering a helicopter?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

No. No she does not.

***

We arrive at our destination thirty short minutes later via helicopter of course. And as if by magical transformation we’d gotten changed into some variant of sparkly party dresses inside, a sentence I never thought I’d ever say aloud. We walk down a cobbled alleyway towards a tall establishment.

“A club?” I say tilting my head to the side.

“A club,” she nods.

“I’ve never been to a club before,” I admit, feeling a little nervous.

“Neither,” she shrugs, “but there’s a first time for everything right.”

“Right…” I trail off.

She takes my hand eagerly and together we walk in. Lights flash, music pulsates and my ear drums nearly burst. It’s so lively, so upbeat, so full. People are grabbing drinks, making out, dancing and all the in between.

Avery glances at me, “drink or dance?”

“Drink,” I don’t hesitate, having already spotted the bar, “please.”

“You got it,” she grins, linking her arm into mine as we go over, weaving between throngs of half drunk sweaty bodies.

The bartender offers us a welcoming smile, “what can I get you two ladies tonight?”

“Vodka martini dry with a twist,” I reply, the order bitter on my tongue when I remember how Gray and I would usually order these together.

I feel so pathetic. Linking everything to him, but I couldn’t help it. He’s just there, but not properly. It’s like some sort of ghost of his has decided to haunt me for fun.

“And a mojito please,” Avery says, forcing me out of my thoughts.

He nods sharply and turns to make our drinks. I fiddle with my necklace trying to figure out how I feel in this very moment. A weird mix of emotions are settled heavily on my chest. Notes of sadness and bitterness, building up anger and fury as well as a pathetic self pity and loneliness. I don’t like that none of the feelings are definitive, it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know how to be, my brain is too preoccupied trying to work out what emotion to act on.

The bartender hands me my drink. I take a long sip closing my eyes as the flavours hit my tongue. The sharp burst of lemon mixed with the kick of hard vodka feels like someone is slapping me across the face. I’ve never felt more awake.

“How’s the martini,” Avery asks.

“Much needed,” I smile, “your mojito?”

“Divine,” she replies taking another sip.

“Never pictured you as a mojito girl Ave,” I mention leaning against the bar and surveying the room.

“Jamie got me into them when we went to Greece,” she replies naturally.

A sinking sensation hits my stomach, I know it shouldn’t. She’s been with Jameson forever it shouldn’t hurt. They were beautiful people with beautiful souls that belonged to each other. So why is it suddenly so hard to digest? I knew about their trip to Greece, heck I’d helped them plan it. But Avery mentioning Jameson sends this rippling pain through my upper chest. She loves him and he loves her. It’s the same both ways, they’re devoted, they’re each other’s everythings. And it reminds me of what I don’t have. I think I hide it well but she sees it on my face.

“Oh god I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring up-“

“Hey it’s fine,” I shrug.

“That was so stupid of me,” she winces putting her drink down.

“Avery you don’t have tread on eggshells around me, it’s okay,“ I try and laugh it off, “no big deal.”

“Okay,” she replies, but I can see she still feels bad.

Neither of us say anything for a few beats until the music changes and I recognise the song.

“Oooo you love this song, come on,” she laughs, tugging my hands forwards.

I sigh, “I don’t know Avery, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Not like Lyra.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs, swigging her mojito, “let’s let our hair down, have a bit of fun.”

“Fine,” I crack a smile.

She squeals excitedly, practically dragging me forwards as we fall on the dance floor. We move to the beat, hips swinging from side to side, arms in the air. I wish this could take it all away. I appreciate what she’s doing. But despite her best efforts I don’t think it’s working. This distraction, this attempt of respite isn’t hitting like it should. I feel buried under too many layers of him, each time I did myself out of the first in into another. And digging is exhausting.

“Why don’t you just kiss a random guy?” Avery says bringing me back to the present.

It takes me a few minutes to process what she’d just said and when I do I can’t form a response.

“How much of that mojito did you have?” I laugh.

“No seriously,” she says, a deadly true look in her eyes, “it might help you get… him out of your mind.”

“You can say Grayson,”I roll my eyes, playing it off coolly. I didn’t want her to know that this was affecting me this much, because it shouldn’t be.

“No,” she shakes her head, “the name holds too much power, he’ll get all in your head again.”

“He already is all in my head,” I tell her with a sigh.

“That’s why I’m saying,” she continues, “so just go and kiss someone for the hell of it.”

“How do I even go about doing that?” I say. I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth.

“I don’t know, never done it,” she shrugs with a wicked grin.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I reply.

“Who cares?” she laughs, “yolo.”

“Yolo? Since when do you say yolo?” I scoff, wondering if she is drunk or just spending too much time with Xander.

“Since now,” she sticks her tongue out.

“I could be kissing a serial killer,” I point out, “or an axe murderer.”

“I don’t think they’d murder you in front of everyone, it’d be a bit off brand for them,” Avery replies, “besides everyone would know who they were then. Do you really think they’d risk jail time to specifically murder you in a club? “

I think about it. Contemplate the idea of kissing someone else. Maybe she had a point, someone else’s lips on mine, hands in my hair… they won’t be his. I won’t have to associate those actions with him anymore. Would it hurt? It’s one stupid night and one stupid kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You know what, you’re right, why the hell not,” I say suddenly.

Surprise flickers across her face for mere moments before she breaks out into a large smile.

“You get them girl!” she shouts.

I scan the room, or all the faces I could see at least. I spot someone. He’s fairly attractive. Dirty blonde, tanned, muscular. He didn’t look too old either. I couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes but from here they looked light. I hope he isn’t taken as I approach him.

“Hey,” I shout over the music.

“Hi,” he shoots me a smile.

It’s in that moment I realise how unprepared I am for this. Why did I think this was a good idea? How do you just kiss someone?

So I blurt out the only thing in my mind, “do you want to kiss me?”

“What?” he replies.

I feel like an idiot but I say it again, “do you want to kiss me?”

“I can’t hear you love, speak up,” he yells.

I don’t know what comes over me but I just grab his face and kiss him. It’s probably the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done. But he doesn’t pull away, in fact he kisses back. His lips are rougher than what I’m used to and he’s a more aggressive kisser. When his hands hold the small of my back it’s more like he’s grappling onto my body than holding me gently. This didn’t feel as natural, as tentative, as loving as when Grayson kisses me.

“Well that was quite something huh?” the man smiles as I pull away.

Maybe for you I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

“Fancy doing it again?” he asks.

“Maybe another time,” I force a smile, walking away.

He doesn’t follow much to my relief. I’d chosen someone who wasn’t a serial killer at least. I make my way back to Avery who pretends she didn’t see the whole altercation to save my dignity. Though she’s very bad at hiding it.

“I know you saw,” I sing song, giggling a little.

“You went for it girl,” she says eyebrows raised.

“I did,” I nod, chewing my bottom lip tentatively.

“And?” she prompts me. I don’t know what she wants to hear. So I tell her the truth.

“It’s not the same,” I shrug.

“It won’t be but sometimes that helps you get over it,” she replies.

“It’s not working,” I sigh, “also he tasted like beer and that was gross.”

She scrunches up her face, “oh ew,”

“Yeah 100% ew,” I agree wrinkling my nose as I still taste the residue of it on my lips.

She senses how I feel even though I don’t quite know what it is I’m feeling, “you want to get some air?” she asks.

I nod, feeling that my cheeks were flushed and my everything was sweating. Hand in hand we swim upstream through dozens of people before we reach the door. The cold night’s air hits us as we slump down onto the pavement. I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes tasting the fresh air in my lungs.

“Well that was a bust,” Avery sighs.

“Not completely,” I tell her, “the dancing was fun.”

“But you’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” she replies. It’s a question that she already knows the answer to.

“How can I not?” I say, leaning my head against the back wall and looking up at the sky.

“I don’t know,” she replies sadly.

Silence envelopes us, swallowing us whole like a whale shark to plankton. A thought recurs in my brain like an annoying decimal that wasn’t supposed to be the answer. I keep thinking, if someone had told my yesterday self that I would be here today I never would’ve believed it. Hours ago he was my person, the one. And now? Now what? I was in a club kissing some random trying to get over him. Trying and pathetically failing. How can I still love him? After all of it, how is it possible?

“That guy I kissed, it just reminded me of how I don’t have him to do that with anymore and I never will,” I say, glancing at Avery.

“Do you still love him?” she asks me, some sort of morphed pain and pity bleeding through her eyes.

“Of course,” I reply with no hesitation, “I’ve always loved him, it’s always been him and I can’t stop now, I’m in too deep. But I have to make myself.”

She gently pulls my body into her arms, “this will get easier, it’s still the first night. The feelings are fresh, the wounds are new and they need time to heal.”

“I just don’t understand,” I whisper, “I love him so much my heart bleeds but he never felt it back that same kind of love… and I was stupid enough to think he did.”

“I think he did,” she murmurs, “I really do.”

“You don’t have to do that, you can be honest,” I say softly, “it’s not like it can hurt anymore.”

“I’m serious I promise,” she replies, “you don’t see it as clearly we do. When you came into Gray’s life he changed in the best possible way. I mean I’ve not known him as long as his brother but I saw it. And they definitely did. He wasn’t the same, he was in love. I know it.”

“He kissed another girl,” I laugh bitterly.

“It doesn’t mean to say he never loved you like that,” she says.

“Suppose so,” I mumble into her.

“And for the record he was an absolute idiot for doing what he did,” she replies, a flicker of anger I wasn’t used to in Avery sparking for a fraction of a second, “actually there’s a list of words I would use that are way worse than idiot but we’ll keep it PG tonight.”

I crack a weak smile.

She softens her tone, “But seriously sweetie he’s losing the best thing he’s ever had in his life.”

“But Avery,” I say, my voice shaking, “I’m not sure I want to be lost.”

She hugs me tighter. There are no words that can fix my state we’ve both silently agreed, so she hold me as I stare up at the stars. Some glow, some twinkle, others gleam. Then they all blur as water fills my eyes. I blink away the lousy tears. I’m not going to cry.

“Avery…” I murmur hesitantly “can I ask you something?”

“Yeah sure,” she nods.

The questions are so weighted on my chest, it’s physically hurting me, “why do you think he chose her? What did I do wrong? What does she have that I don’t?”

“Oh sweetheart,” she murmurs sympathetically, “it’s not like that.”

“Then why,” I choke, trying to keep my tears at bay, “why would he…”

I trail off, the tears I was trying to express rolling down my face. The sobs get stuck in my throat and I’m unable to make a sound. I silently shake in Avery’s grasp, my lungs aching.

“You cannot sit here and think you are the reason for this. I won’t let you,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know why he did what he did, that I can’t tell you, but I do know for sure that it wasn’t you. You have no faults, you did nothing wrong, you’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, you’re smart and brave and kind and perfect. He’s the biggest fool of them all.”

“You think?” I snivel.

“I know,” she says, wiping away my tears with a gentle hand, “now come on, let’s go back in, have one final shot and a dance and then we’ll hit the streets at midnight, do something crazy fun and stupid, no murder please, and just breathe a little you know, forgetting all of this.”

“Okay,” I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent more tears from spilling over.

I am strong. I am strong. I am strong

She stands up and dusts her little dress off before hoisting me up behind. She flashes a smile my way that reminds me of Jameson for a split second. I eagerly take her hand and we re enter. The lights feel as if they’re flashing brighter than before. The fluorescence stings slightly. The familiar aroma of sweat mixed with all manner of alcoholic drinks hits us as well.

Just as we’ve reached the dance floor Avery says, “Jamie’s calling, give me a second.”

She rushes off out of the back door, probably to hear him better, leaving me alone on the dance floor. I don’t really feel much like dancing so lazily drag my feet to the bar and take another shot. The liquid burns my throat and I feel somewhat alive as I slowly swing my hips and move my arms to whatever beat is playing.

I feel dead. I don’t understand how in the space of mere minutes I can go from feeling so emotive, so distraught, so melancholy to nothingness. A wave of coldness from empty voids and bottomless pits.

I hand touches my shoulder and I jolt as the unfamiliar touch makes me jump. I look up to see a man stood there, but he’s a little fuzzy. The alcohol is getting to my head.

“You alone sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word cuts like a poisoned blade. Grayson calls me that.

“No,” I respond calmly, positioning my back more towards him, hoping he’ll gage my body language and kindly leave me be.

“Well you’re very pretty,” he grins, flashing white teeth I’m sure he paid a lot for.

“I’m sure my boyfriend would agree with you,” I say coolly.

“Which one’s yours then?” he asks, clearly still not catching onto the several messages I’m sending him.

I shrug, “why do you care?”

“Maybe you’re wasting your time on him,” he smiles. Something about the smile makes goosebumps rise on the surface of my skin and an icy shiver run down my spine. Something about him isn’t right and I didn’t like it.

“I highly doubt it,” I reply nonchalantly, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Come on sweetheart,” he says, making my skin crawl, “you can ditch your boyfriend for a night, I promise I’ll be better. Ask anyone in here.”

My stomach twists and something goes off in me. Like a ticking time bomb that’s finally hit zero.

“Look here mister,” I snarl, “there’s hundreds of other women in this place that would love to get into your bed, find one and do it, but leave me alone. I’m not interested and I’m taken.”

“You heard her Dex, back off,” shouts a new voice.

I look up to see another man, with a striking resemblance to the one I was talking to, behind him. Brothers, I infer silently. Dex glares at his brother and then turns back to me.

“Okay, until next time then,” he says with a wink.

He skulks away as I roll my eyes. I go to turn back to my drink when Avery comes crashing into me. I gasp audibly before I catch a glance at her. She looks pale.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask quickly, checking over her to make sure she was physically in tact.

“We have to cut our trip short,” she tells me, regret and apology lacing her tone.

My heart thumps in my chest and a million thoughts race through my mind.

“Gigi’s missing.”

And suddenly I’m very very sober.

***

LYRA’S POV

Finding out he was with someone else made me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t explain it exactly. It’s just this horrible awful tug in the gut. I am the other woman. I shiver at the thought.

I thought everything was going to be okay, that for a change, life might be on my side. I deserve it don’t I? To be happy, to be free, to be in love. I thought wrong. I always think wrong. I am the fool of a flower that let her pretty petals be plucked by anyone who pleased until she became a stem. Until no one wanted her. The tender truth of it all burns violently all over my skin.

So I dance.

Dance is my way to escape all of this, my freedom. The music begins and my heart aches louder, screaming in my ears. The pain coursing through my limbs that delicately dust the empty air. I reach out to touch something that doesn’t exist. I relax into a deep plié letting the music seep through my throbbing soul and form the moves. I do a gentle three step turn on pointe and the pace of the music picks up.

I hurt an innocent girl, who fell under the same loving spell that Hawthorne’s are so good at casting as I did. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know? I thought he looked at me differently, I thought his gentle touch he only used for me, I thought his words were mine to cherish. But I’m just another trophy in his grand cabinet. Another meaningless prize to collect on the journey to greatness.

I developpé sauté to perfection. I am nothing to him. And now, he’s even less to me. I pirouette and pirouette and pirouette, spiralling into furious thoughts. I’m angry. How dare he turn me into someone I am not. Making me betray my own morals. As if he has that right, that power. Men always feel so entitled, so deserving of power. He couldn’t just have one girl and be happy, no he had to find another. He had to act of his greed, the fatal flaw that poisons so many men. How many more will fall into greed’s bloodied hands?

I grand jeté until my thighs burn but I keep perfect positioning. I hate the fact that I’m feeling so deeply, that my emotions are so raw and intense. It’s too much for my mind to take, I’m so overwhelmed and head is splitting, pounding, screaming. My breath picks up the more grande jetès I do. My chest is so tight, so constricted, so suppressed. It feels as if an invisible force is choking me. I come to a halt suddenly and find myself paralysed in an arabesque, unable to breathe.

The music has silenced. Nothing dare move and the world comes to a standstill. I let myself get wrapped up in feelings I shouldn’t have had. I’m an idiot. Lyra Kane doesn’t fall in love, she doesn’t trust people with herself, she doesn’t let people in. Especially not Hawthornes. Never Hawthornes. I intricately move my feet. On pointe, pivot, flat, up, on pointe, down, in, out, over, up. At some point my mind hits a blank, a white room and I just move to what feels most natural. My mind doesn’t properly register the moves. I become aware I’m performing rapid battements and sissones when I’m deep in analysis. I should’ve seen the signs sooner.

The way he stared at her while we were dancing, the look of distraction and captivation in his eyes. The guilt that flashed across his face every time he got that little bit closer to me. The minute he had to take after our lift in the room we’d been locked in with Odette. It all made sense now.

My legs extend naturally as I leap with great height across the room. It was so pathetically unfair. Everything in his life is perfect, he’s got the money, the face, the family, the support. People would kill to be in his position, quite literally. And he takes it all for granted. God, how did I think I could love someone like that?

I travel with light and airy sauté passes. Everything to a Hawthorne is a game. Including people. I was his game. And he played me. Just like he played y/n. I only wish I could talk to her, tell her I understand how she feels but I’m probably the last face in this earth she’d ever want to see.

My movements are now sharp and staccato, jagged and uneven. The opposite of what a ballerina should be. Catherine Howal wouldn’t let me forget that if she were watching me today. My old dance teacher was always strict on me, but right now I missed the sharpness of her voice and her minor corrections. She made me the dancer I am today. I push the bittersweet memory of her away and my rage over Grayson bubbles over. Even his name now disgusts me. It used to be one that I craved to say, to feel my mouth curve in the shape of each and every letter. Now it’s just a reminder of my sheer revulsion for him.

I pirouette I don’t know how many time on pointe. I’m dizzy, but not from the turns but from the idea that I let myself be so easily tempted by a pretty face. I begin a fast paced sequence of fouettés and chainés across the space, desperately trying to hold myself together. I’m poised, I’m professional is what I try to tell myself. If only I had known, I wouldn’t have. Ever. I wouldn’t have even looking into those stupid gray eyes. But he knew, he knew how to manipulate my feelings, he knew what he had the power to do. I was a marionette that obeyed every string he pulled without even knowing it. He lead me on. He had a girlfriend and he lead me on. Why did he lead me on?

God, he’s even more of a jerk than I’d given him credit for. Hawthornes never change. With this painful honest realisation my movements gradually return to more fluid and flowing motions, interspersed with slow gentle turns. It’s ruined, the moment we shared. It’s now tainted. How can I even imagine such a beautiful kiss without feeling regret? Without tasting the bitter aftertaste that coats my mouth even now? I pirouette for the final time, getting so lost with each spin I’ve lost count of how many I’ve done. It’s an everlasting void of blurry scenery and my messed up mind.

I collapse into a helpless heap on the floor, finishing the routine. There is no fight left, no anger, no pain, no momentum. Just space. The little girl in her ballet flats is long gone. The teenager locking her pointe shoes away has also disappeared. The woman who lent her heart to a Hawthorne for far too long will never return again. Every part of me is lost. I’m not sure I even know who I am anymore. All I know is that, the dancer in me is broken.

***

YOUR POV

“Any word?” I rush in, Avery close beside me.

“We need to know everything,” she says, dominance in her tone.

We had arrived back on the island practically in a flash. My head is all over the place, jumbled with attempts to remember things that could help us find Gigi. My heart dropped when I found out. We couldn’t lose out Gigi.

“Y/n!” Xander exclaims.

He looks in shock to see me, both burnt and unburnt eyebrows raised, jaw dropped. Jameson wears a similar expression and so does Nash. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Yeah?” I reply bluntly.

“You’re here,” he says, eyes bulging.

“Unless I’ve magically become a hologram in the past 2 minutes,” I say looking at my watch, “yeah I’m here.”

“Right,” he nods slowly, before turning back to his computer.

“So Gigi,” Avery says, steering us back to the present.

“We’re just about to scout for her,” Jameson explains.

“And I’m attempting to search the security footage,” Xander calls, eyed glued to the screen.

“If someone kidnapped her wouldn’t they cut it?” I ask.

“The main footage has been cut but we’re Hawthornes,” Nash flashes a very Hawthorne grin, “there’s always a back up camera where they least expect it.”

“Unfortunately for us, it’s a very blurry back up camera,” Jameson grimaces.

“Oh,” Avery sighs.

“With horrible sound,” Nash adds.

“Fantastic,” I smile sarcastically, walking behind Xander to look at the screen.

They are right. The screen is black and white and pretty much the blurriest thing I’d ever seen. Our situation is looking quite dismal.

“I’m putting better back up security on my to do list,” Avery murmurs.

“I’ll second that,” Jameson says, kissing her cheek.

“We have to find her,” she says, leaning into him, “Jamie we have to.”

“I know heiress, we’re going to, don’t worry,” he soothes, giving her that look. The look that only men in love can master.

My heart feels sore and I turn. Then I realise why. The room suddenly feels so empty, so hollow. And I feel alone despite being surrounded by people. He’s not here. My head had been so caught up on my millions of thoughts that I hadn’t registered it.

“Where’s Grayson?” I ask out of the blue.

The whole room stands still. Everyone is frozen by a force I didn’t know existed until this moment. No one dare move, let alone breathe. A sickening chill rolls down my spine and I fear the worst.

“He’s outside,” Jameson finally says.

“He won’t move,” Nash adds quietly, looking down at the floor.

Xander sighs, “and we had to take the whiskey away from him.”

“You left him alone!” I yell, not meaning to sound so attacking.

“We didn’t know what else to do, he isn’t exactly a joy to be around right now and we need to find Gigi,” Jameson reasons.

“We thought it’d be best to focus on that, the sooner we get Gigi found, the sooner he’ll marginally snap out of dark era,” Nash explains further.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I reply, my tone sharp and definite. No one was going to tell me no.

Eyes snap up at me. All four pairs. I can read all of their emotions so clearly it’s painful. Elements of confusion, shock and pity wash over me, but I push it all to the side. What they thought didn’t matter.

“Y/n, you don’t have to do that…” Jameson trails off.

“No,” I tell him softly, “I do.”

He opens his mouth to argue.

“I can help him, you know that and so do I,” I say before he can get a word out, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”

***

He’s sat on the rocks, looking over the choppy water. The wind whips the hair across my face and back again. My cheeks grow rosy with the cold. He hurt me, but he’s hurting. I can’t let him hurt alone. As pathetic as it may be I physically can’t. Slowly I approach from behind. I know he can hear me but he doesn’t turn, he doesn’t even move a muscle. He just sits and stares.

I cautiously sit beside him, my legs hanging over the edge. The reflection of death’s face snickers at me in the water. Still, Grayson does not move. He remains a stationary block, robotic almost. I look towards at him and analyse his features. He’s sober. But oh lord is he broken. I turn away, any longer and I might’ve done something stupid.

“Are you okay?” I murmur, looking out to the moon kissed water miniature waves bobbing up and down.

“You’re asking me?” he almost scoffs. I can tell he’s been sobbing, his tone is thick and swollen with grief. It stings my soul, like antiseptic to a fresh wound.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I reply quietly.

“Because I hurt you,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Just because someone hurts you doesn’t mean you have to hurt them too,” I respond, finally turning to look at him.

To my surprise his eyes are ready for me, already locked onto my every move. They meet and something washes over me, something that probably shouldn’t.

“How are you so kind?” he asks, something tender in his voice. It makes my soul squeeze.

“People need to be nicer to each other in this world,” I shrug in response.

“They do,” he says quietly, playing with his fingers.

“So,” I exhale, “are you okay?”

I already know the answer. He’s not. He’s filled with guilt and sorrow and hatred and anger and upset and conflict. He’s the furthest from okay you can get.

“Not really,” he breathes, “are you okay?”

“Not really,” I grin.

A ghost of a smile haunts his features. Who gave him the right to look so beautiful?

“Gigi will be okay,” I tell him confidently.

He shakes his head as pain constricts his features, “ we don’t know that.”

“She’s stronger than you think she is,” I reply quickly.

“She’s just a kid,” he growls.

“No, she’s not Gray,” I snapped fiercely, “she’s bold and she’s brave and she can handle herself, but we will find her, we won’t stop until we do.”

He stares at me. Eyes fixated, like I’m worthy of being looked at. My heart rate picks up and that’s when I realise that this is all wrong. I can’t be the idiot that lets him back in, I won’t be.

“What?” I ask.

He says nothing but his silver eyes still remained glued to mine.

“What is it Grayson?” I whispered, the wind barely carrying my words.

“I still love you.”

The words hit me like a tonne of bricks. I can’t respond. All the air is knocked out of me. His hand is in my chest and wrapped around my heart. He’s squeezed it between his fingertips and licked my blood greedily from his fingers. He stills loves me. And I know I still love him too, but I can’t say that. I won’t.

“How can I trust you?” I scoff, letting my rage take hold. It’s better than my love.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs softly. Did his voice have to be so soft?

“Fool me once, shame on you,” I state, “fool me twice, shame on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. I can hear he means it, I can see he means it but I can’t believe it. He was too good of a liar before, too talented of an actor. I can’t afford to fall for it again.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” I press on.

“I know…” he trails off, voice hoarse, “but I don’t know what other words to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I snap, shooting him a fiery look.

“But I love you,” Grayson says, too much emotion decorating his tone.

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have kissed her,” I say, throwing it all back in his face. He needed to face the truth and so did I.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to love me too, but I need you to know and hear it from my lips that I love you,” he confesses, his eyes not wavering for a second, pinning me down with their addictive nature. It feels like my hands are tied. I’m a prisoner to those eyes. I always have been.

“I’ve heard it from your lips a thousand times before today and you still did what you did,” I spit back, the words rolling from my tongue before I gave them permission to.

He falters, there’s no words left to say.

“I want you to be happy, that’s all I care about,” I tell him, my tone still slightly jagged, “so drop the guilt, I forgive you. But things can’t go back to how they were, not after this.”

They are all lies. Every single sentence. I’m avoiding the truth beating so loudly in my chest. I’m ignoring its petulant screaming. I’m such a hypocrite. I loathe him for his lies and then I return them with my own tongue.

“How can I drop the guilt when it’s all I know now?” he murmurs.

“You’ll find a way, you’re stronger than you think Grayson. You doubt yourself too often,” I sigh.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but runs a hand through his hair, then over his face. After one too many best of silence he turns to me one final time.

“Why are you so good?” he asks me.

“It’s not a question of good or bad it’s a question of what’s right,” I say impatiently, “I’m not going to just sit here and let you wallow because that’s not you Grayson and you know it.”

“You’re an angel,” he murmurs, almost in a daze.

But you chose the dancer. The words are on the tip of my tongue but I don’t say them.

“No time for flattery, we’re wasting time,” I sigh, “let’s go and find Gigi.”

***

GRAYSON’S POV

We search for four hours straight until all of us are too exhausted to speak. We need to sleep, though we’re all too stubborn to admit it. As a collective we decide half of us are to get some rest whilst the other half stay up two more hours, then we’ll switch. I take the first shift, searching with Jameson. Xander is still inside still attempting decipher the body on the mini security camera or placement of Gigi’s phone and everyone else has gone to sleep.

Jameson and I are on the edge of the island, calling for Gigi with raw throats and pounding heads. I can’t believe I’d lost her. I was meant to protect her, look after her. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen when I was around. I’ve failed as a brother.

“What did she say to you?” Jameson asks snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look up. I knew exactly who ‘she’ was.

“Who?” I reply plainly.

“Don’t play dumb,” he rolls his eyes at me.

Sometimes it was annoying how well my brothers knew me.

“She asked me if I was okay, comforted me about Gigi and helped me pull myself together.” I pause, “she told me that wallowing isn’t what I do.”

“Are you sure she knows you properly?” Jameson raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

I try to crack a smile but can’t.

“I told her I still loved her,” I blurt out.

I don’t know why I say it, the words just come out. Jameson has that effect on me. Lying to him has always been difficult, I feel so transparent in his presence. And I know he’ll be honest, he won’t sugarcoat what he really thinks. Maybe that’s why it’s easier.

His eyes grow to the size of saucepans, “what?”

“I told her I st-“

“I know what you said Gray but are you crazy?” he asks me, looking semi-genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “maybe.”

“That was selfish,” he seethes, eyes blazing with fury. Similar to how they looked earlier.

“Selfish?” I furrow my brows, “she deserves to know!”

“No, you needed to get it off of your chest in a last ditch attempt to get her back,” he snaps.

I’m not fighting the truth this time. He’s hit the nail on the head. My silence unfortunately speaks volumes and my brother understands.

“So…” he exhales, “what did she say?”

“If I loved her I wouldn’t have kissed Lyra,” I say, her words rubbing through my head again.

“She’s right,” he sighs.

“She always is,” I say, my voice catching slightly.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” Jameson murmurs, “I don’t think Avery does either.”

“It’s all my fault,” I groan, closing my eyes.

I wish I could be taken out of her life, erased forever just so she could be happy. I deserve to hurt, not her. Never her.

“She shouldn’t love me,” I say, the words becoming more real when I say them out loud.

“No one decides who they love, it just happens,” he shrugs at me.

I open my mouth to reply but a familiar ringing cuts me off. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I presume it’s Xander for some sort of update so I answer the way I always do.

“It’s Grayson,” I say sharply.

I hear Jameson mutter something about how weird it was that I answered like that but I choose to kindly ignore him.

“I know,” the voice sings from the other side.

All the oxygen is robbed from my lungs and I struggle to breathe. Every muscle ceases to move and I become a picture frozen in time. It couldn’t be, she wouldn’t call me, it shouldn’t happen.

“Y/n?”

Her name feels foreign to my tongue in that moment, despite the thousands of times I’d uttered it. Jameson gapes.

“Grayson Davenport Hawthorne actually,” she corrects me, her speech a little slurred, “one s, one v and one h.”

“Are you drunk?” I ask bluntly.

“Noooo silly,” she laughs, “I don’t get drunk I’m always fine, perfect actually. That’s what you used to call me, perfect!”

My heart shatters, “you are perfect.”

She giggles, the sound so light and airy and beautiful I want to lock it away and play it on repeat to myself all the time.

“Where are you?” I question.

There’s a few beats of silence before, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I say, suddenly alarmed. Protection surges through me and all I want to do is run to wherever she is and scoop her up into my arms.

“I’m in a room,” she explains, soundly dazed, out of it.

“Your room?” I prompt her.

“Maybe,” she muses, “there’s all my stuff here but this burning liquid I’m drinking is not mine. It’s kind of hurting my throat.”

“Stay right where you are,” I snap, “I’m going to get someone to come and help you.”

I want the someone to be me. Why can’t the someone be me?

“Help? I don’t need help! I’m fine, always fine. I’m never not fine,” she laughs. I can imagine her tipping her head back with a hand on her stomach.

“I know lo-“ I catch myself again, almost saying love, “I know, but don’t you want a friend to talk to you right now?”

“Yeahhh I do,” she agrees, her words all mushing together into one.

“Good, someone will be right over-“

“Gray can you come?” she murmurs.

I stop. She sounds too vulnerable, too helpless for me to ignore. Her voice is small and cautious. It makes me want to weep.

“Where?” I ask.

“Here…” she trails off, “…with me.”

“Okay,” I blurt out before actually thinking about what I was saying.

“Then bye bye pumpkin pie,” she giggles, “oh my gosh I just rhymed!!”

“Yes you did,” I chuckle, the smile stretched out in my face physically agonising me. She could always make me smile.

I made her cry.

“Are you coming then?” she makes sure, with that soft defenceless voice again.

“On my way now,” I reply, almost as if it’s a reflex.

“Oh good,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice. With that she hangs up. I shove my phone back in my pocket and meet my brother’s eye.

“She’s drunk,” I explain slowly.

“I heard,” he nods.

“I’m worried she’s going to do something stupid,” I admit with a sigh.

“Go and help her, I’ll carry on looking for Gigi,” Jameson says, as if it’s that simple.

“No I can’t do that,” I shake my head.

“Why not?” he furrows his brows.

“She hates me,” I say quickly, “you go.”

“She asked for you,” he points out, “and I think she’ll notice if I turn up.”

“Maybe she won’t,” I suggest.

“She can’t be that drunk,” he rolls his eyes, then sighs, “look Gray, this might be the last time she ever asks you for help, so go and help her, look after her, then leave.”

“This won’t end well,” I tell him. I can feel it in my chest and in my stomach. If I go there, I’ll lose myself and she won’t be in the right mind to stop me.

“Then don’t go,” he says with a shrug.

I groan, “but she needs someone.”

“You’re arguing with yourself Gray,” Jameson says. And he’s right. The only person who’s stopping me is me. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing.

“It my fault she’s in this situation,” I reply, “it’s my fault she’s on her own, drunk and at risk of doing something stupid.”

“All the more reason for you to go and fix it,” he says.

I stand in silence. That consolidates my answer. To myself and to him.

“Let me know if you get any word of Gigi, I’ll be back soon,” I say, sharply adjusting my suit jacket.

“Bye,” he salutes.

***

I’m quick to make my way to her, the worry sort of takes over and my instinctual protection kicks in. When I get there the door is unlocked, my first indication to how drunk she really is.

“Grayson is that you?” I hear her murmur.

Her voice is vulnerable but the sweet notes are all the same. If I were to hear any voice for the rest of my life I’d want it to be hers. I’d never tire of listening to it. I walk further in the room I see her, the moonlight streaming through the window is the only thing illuminating her figure. Her face is red and there are prominent dark circles underneath her eyes. She looks pale and hollow and there’s something not quite right about her eyes, their usual sparkle dimmed. A catch a glimpse of a glass half empty in her hand.

“How much have you had?” I ask her, cocking my head towards the glass.

“Not that much,” she grins lazily, stumbling over herself in an attempt to make her way towards me.

“You need to get to bed,” I say softly.

All I want to do is scoop her up into my arms and hold her close to my chest, taking in her sweet shampoo. I want to keep her safe, protect her forever but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t let myself. I make a silent promise that I won’t get too close, I won’t touch her because I know once I do I’ll fall in too deep.

“But I’m not even sleepy,” she pouts.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Those lips are killing me softly.

“Come on,” I murmur gently, gesturing to the bed.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head, “you’re going to have to carry me.”

I sigh and weigh up my options before lifting her up into my arms, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t just leave her. She squeals and giggles. An essence of sunshine shining back through the empty void I’d entered.

“Do you feel okay?” I ask her, lowering her down onto the mattress.

“Me? I’m fine!” she smiles, that beautiful smile, “are you okay?”

She tilts her head to the side and a chunk of hair falls over her face.

“I’m fine,” I say, moving it out of the way. It surrounds her like a halo.

“Oh well I know that’s a lie,” she laughs, “I’ve always known that about you though, you’re hurting. On the inside.”

“I am hurting,” I say, caressing her cheek, “but you’re hurting more.”

“I’m not hurting, I’m in the numbing process,” she explains with great enthusiasm.

“Hence the alcohol?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I call it happy juice,” she grins.

“Well no more happy juice tonight,” I explain to her.

“Why not?” she pouts, “it makes me happy.”

“It also destroys your liver,” I say, taking the glass away from her and putting it on the other side of the room.

“Come sit,” she murmurs, patting the bed beside her, “please.”

“I don’t think I should,” I reply. I have to stay strong, I can’t listen to my heart, my brain must have superiority.

“But I want you to,” she whispers.

My brain switches off. I sit beside her and as soon as I’m on the bed, her head falls into my lap, quite literally. It flops down as if she can’t hold it up any longer.

“Can you do that thing, where you massage my head and be all gentle with my hair, I love it when you do that,” she asks me.

When we were together I used to do it all the time subconsciously. If we were watching the television or cuddling. I never realised she loved it so much.

“I’m not sure you want me to,” I say hesitantly. This isn’t fair on her. She’s not in her right mind, she can’t make a decision properly.

“Of course I do!” she exclaims, “that’s why I asked you silly!”

“It’s not a good idea,” I murmur, only saying this because it is right not because it is true, “us being this close.”

“I disagree,” she says cheerily.

“You won’t like it when you sober up,” I warn her. Deep down I know she can’t even comprehend this, I know her mind if fogged over by alcohol and she doesn’t know what she’s really doing. But it doesn’t make me leave.

“I am sober-ish,” she says, “that’s good enough.”

“You are anything but sober,” I chuckle shaking my head.

“Head massage please,” she says, readjusting her head in my lap.

Slowly I comb the hair out of her face and eyes. My fingertips slide gently through her silky hair. The silence is torturing. Seconds morph into minutes until if feels like it’s been hours. I’m being strangled by no sound, suffocated by a blanket of blankness. To distract myself I weave my hands in and out in a rhythmic pattern.

“Why did you choose her?” a small voice asks making me jump. We’d been sat in silence for so long I’d forgotten that we could speak. My hands stop moving suddenly as I register the question.

“What?”

“Is it because she was prettier? Better personality? Funnier? Nicer? Happier?” she lists.

“I didn’t choose her,” I shake my head in defiance.

“But you kissed her,” she says, yet again. The words sting every time they come out of her mouth.

“That was a mistake,” I explain resting my heavy head back until it hit the headboard.

“So were all of our kisses a mistake too?” she asks, rolling onto her back so her eyes are gazing up into mine.

“None of them were,” I murmur in reply, the colour of them so mesmerising it was distracting.

“Then I don’t understand,” her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“You don’t need to,” I whisper running my fingertip over her knuckles.

She sighs and sadness ripples over her face. I hate seeing her with that expression on her face. It rips me apart.

“My chest hurts,” she moans softly.

“Where?” I ask urgently, running through every illness and condition that could possibly cause chest pains.

“Here,” she says pointing to her heart, “you broke it.”

My eyes grow glossy even though I didn’t ask them to. She lets me take my hand and place it on top of hers to feel the steady beat in her chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” I barely choke out.

“But you did and it can’t be mended, pain like this there aren’t any pills for,” she tells me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that before,” she smiles sadly.

“It’s true,” I whisper.

“Can you fix me?” she says quietly, “because I can’t fix me.”

My heart shatters into a million pieces, fragmenting into shards of pulsating muscle.

“Of course you can fix you,” I tell her.

“No I can’t,” she says, beginning to tear up, “look at me, this is the real me and she’s ugly.”

“This isn’t the real you and she is most certainly not ugly,” I assure her.

She giggles with tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Beautiful even in tears.

“What?” I ask her.

“You use big words like ‘certainly’, it makes you sound very posh,” she chuckles to herself.

“I’m not that posh,” I reply.

She scoffs, “have you seen your house?!”

“Maybe I’m a bit posh then.”

“You know how ealierrr,” she slurs, “how you and me were talkingggg.”

“You might not want to continue that sentence lo-“ I stop myself from saying love. She’s not my love. She’s not mine to love.

“No,” she shakes her head, “no I do want to carry on actually…” she giggles bringing ther fingertip to my nose, “boop!”

“Okay,” I say softly, taking her hand into mine, away from my nose or any other poke-able part of my face.

“You said you still love me,” she says.

The beating in my chest begins to slow, as does my breathing, “I did.”

“And I still love you too.”

I can’t speak.

“But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me. And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working. And then I realised why. It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name. I mean it’s so on brand for me because my whole life people have told me that I always love the wrong too hard, that I get in too deep to come back out of and I’m just proving them all right,” she laughs and sobs at the same time, “I’m so stupid, so horribly ironically stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I snap.

“You’re only saying that because you still love me,” she groans, rolling her eyes.

“I would say it regardless, any competent person can see that,” I say.

“But you still love me?” she murmurs, her for eyes forcing the truth from my lips.

“I still love you,” I say.

I knew something stupid like this would happen but I’m not stopping it now.

“How? How can you still love me when you love her?” she asks, agony in her tone.

“I don’t,” I tell her sharply,

She furrows her brows, “you don’t love Lyra?”

“No,” I shakes my head.

“But you kissed her,” she says, tracing a fingertip across my bottom lips.

I shy away from her tentative touch, “I did but that was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why?” she laughs.

“Because I’m losing you because of it,” I admit. She won’t remember tomorrow morning, she won’t remember what she said or why she said it. This moment will be lost in time and I’ll be the only one left to remember it.

“You’re just losing the outside me, I have a feeling I’ll always love you,” she replies.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I shake my head, “you’re drunk, you need to sleep.”

I need to stop this. I’m being selfish again. She’s pouring her heart out to me because she can’t control her mouth. It’s not fair and I won’t let her do it anymore.

“No I do know what I’m saying,” she insist, sitting up, “you don’t understand what you do to me and I wish I wasn’t so in love with you because maybe I’d be able to walk away more easily but I can’t, because this love isn’t just love. It’s something more for me.”

I’m in shock. A physical state of shock. It was more to me too…. I know I must go quickly before this escalates. It’s already gone far too far. Enough is enough.

“Look sweeth-“ I stop myself, “y/n, I need to leave.”

I stand up quickly and attempt to make a b-line for the door.

“No!” she yelled, yanking be back down. Her fingers clawing at my arm, like a scared animal, “please Gray, stay with me.”

“I can’t,” I shake my head, my face pinching in pain.

“You have to,” she begs, tugging at my arm.

I sigh, “you’ll be mad at me tomorrow if I stay tonight.”

“No I won’t silly,” she says, “please I need someone to cuddle.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her. As much as I want her in my arms again, to feel her skin against mind and listen to her sweet breathing as she sleeps I can’t. I can’t do it to her, I won’t.

“Well I do,” she says, pushing me down firmly.

Slowly she crawls onto me and curls up against my chest. If the last twelve hours had never happened this would be totally normal and completely natural. Instead I carrying the heaviest stone of guilt I’ve ever lifted. I can’t leave her, but I can’t stay either.

“You won’t like this in the morning,” I tell her, hoping she might find to her senses.

“Well I like it now,” she yawns, cozying further into me.

“That’s because you’re drunk,” I explain, resting my cheek on top of her head. I smell her sweet shampoo and deja vu washes over me like a tidal wave. I’m swept under

“Grayson?” she whispers gently.

“Yes?”

“Promise you’ll just stay for tonight, then you can leave me for the dancer again tomorrow,” she says.

The bones in my chest ache and the pump that supplies me with blood crushed between fate’s cruel fingers.

“I’m not leaving you angel,” I tell her firmly, “not ever again.”

“I love you,” she mumbles, the words muffling against my chest.

“I love you too,” I whisper, planting a kiss onto the top of her head.

***

heyyyy guysss. so you’ve probably noticed this is the first fic I’ve posted in a bit of a while. It’s bc of exams and stuff and also this fic was so long. I got a little bit carried away mid way through but oh well… I hope you guys enjoyeddd 💖💖

am I dancer? Yes. The last time I did ballet? when I was about nine years old…. so apologies to any actual ballet dancers who are reading lyra’s routine and are thinking what in the world…

ANYWAYS I love love loved writing this and I know different POVs sometimes are a bit controversial but I felt like it was necessary here and thanks for readinggg 🤍🤍

also no one asked but I’m going tell you guys anyway, Lyra’s dance is based off of a song called girl with one eye by florence and the machine (omg it’s such a good song)

I wonder if any of you worked out my little clue 🤭🤭

hint: weiv fo tniop s’aryl

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