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queenbees21 · 11 months ago
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|[ Rainy day •••]|
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The sound of rain can be heard dropping down the ground. The busy stress of Japan slowed down on rainy days. Car unintentionally, splashes the pedestrians that walk down the sides of the road.
Curses of people and honks of horns. You stood by a random complex building trying to leave to go to your apartment and just take a nice long relaxing bath. Although; you were stuck by the entrance of the building.
It was pouring out today, you cursed yourself for not checking the weather app. Including not thinking to bring an umbrella with you. You usually did every day; except today…
You let out an long-exhausted sigh. You stood by and watched as people walk by the pouring rain, umbrellas in hand.
Some run towards their cars. Many ran by a nearby stores for sanctuary form the pouring rain, and some others, they didn't care. They just walked along the sidewalk tapping making small splashes on the concrete, walking home with their hoodies up...
You sigh, as you watched some random couple pass by you. Their umbrellas covering them, their bodies close to one other... with loving smiles on their faces.
You always wonder how being loved…, wanted... , held, by someone close felt like. You never got to have someone like that in your life.
All you had was your grandparents and honestly, you were content with that. Since your parents were no longer in the picture of your life...
You knew running to your apartment complex would be a bad idea. It’s a little further away from where you’re standing at the moment...
You'd just have to wait for the rain to stop.
Usually, it takes....60 minutes...
You huff and stepped back, softly bumping into the building walls. You exhale, and watch the fog of your breath fade into the cool air.
You looked down at your heeled feet, tapping and scrapping the concrete in circler motion.
You did this for about 13 minutes. As you were too focused on your feet, you hadn't noticed a figure had stood by you; waiting for you to take notice of them.
And so, they stood close to your ear; their warm breath tickled your hair.
"Whatćha doing Chickáde?"
Startled, you jumped back and gasped at the sudden warm breath near your ear. You covered it from the source of the voice, and went into defense mode.
but soon relaxed as you realize who it was. You let your guard down and put your hand on your raising heart, and let out a sigh of relief.
"Hawks, you startled me." He lightly laughs and apologizes. "Sorry, I just noticed you standing here as I flow by. So I just decided to stand next to you. To see if you'd noticed," He cheekily smiles down at you.
"It's alright, and as for your question, I'm waiting around for the rain to stop." you looked up at the pouring rain and cringed,
"But...it won't be stopping anytime soon, since it just started..." You looked down once again, watching the splashes of rain hitting the concrete, it bounced a few times; only to hit the floor again.
As you watched, you felt a small cold tap on your head. You looked towards Hawks, wondering if he had done the tapping.
He was too focused on looking up, watching the rain fall. He had felt your staring and looked down at you.
You both stared at each other for a while, you scan over his features; admiring how handsome Hawks is.
His beautiful golden-brown orbs stared down at you, as some of his blond locks of gold; fall down his angelic features. He tilts his head in wonder, as to why you’ve been staring.
You said nothing. You both stayed this way and unbeknownst to both the citizen and pro-hero. They were leaning towards one another.
If only you could capture this picture-perfect moment in a photo, you'd treasure it. It's been a while since you and Hawks had some time alone together.
Ever since a few months ago when the Nomus attacked the city, that’s when he stop visiting. The Hero Public Safety Commission has been working Keigo to exhaustion... so you never got to see him in those hard times. To comfort him, be there for him and mend his wounds.
You didn't want to think about that right now, you were just so glad he was here with you. Standing there, giving you genuine smiles and just feeling safe and secure with you.
As you were both very close to one another, you abruptly jumped back. Straddled at the sudden feeling of something cool dropped or... more like tapping on the crown of your head once again.
Hawks had quickly jumped back worriedly, thinking he had done something wrong; maybe even lost his chances with you...
His wings lowered themselves down in disappointment, but went up in defense when he noticed you confusedly tapped your head.
"What's wrong?" He asks checking for any sort of injuries or something out of place. you looked up at what it was and it was the canopy of the cafe.
It had small old holes, letting the water drip down, there were a few of them near you. You walked backward wanting to avoid the little waters dripping down your head.
You had hit something hard on your back and looked up to see Hawks, "Oh! I'm sorry Hawks, I should have watched where I was going..." you apologized and embarrassedly looked down. "It's fine!" He reassures quickly replacing his serious face with a cheery smile.
You took a step back, giving him space and, ignoring the fact that small drops of waters; dripping down your head. And were rolling uncomfortably down your face and hair.
Hawks noticed this,
You stood by him feeling as if you had the worst luck today, and sigh in disappointment. As you felt the water drop on your hair, you also noticed a shadow above your head as well as a reflection of the color red illuminating and glowed. Warmth, radiating near you as well, and the dropping droplets of water; stopped.
You looked up and saw Hawks looking the other way, you smiled as you saw a glimpse of his ear heating up; the shade of red was noticeable. Too shy to look towards you.
No matter how much of a charmer Hawks was, you somehow always brought out the shyness in him. It made his cheeks flush.
He shields your head with his wing, protecting you from the rain. It warmed your heart at his genuine kindness and gentle attitude toward you. As well as; giving you your space, making sure not to get uncomfortably close to you. For the sake of your comfort.
Although; you didn't mind if he did, even though he was a flirt, he was still a gentleman. You slowly went close to him gently bumping his shoulders, you felt how his body stiffened and his wings fluttered.
If only you knew how much his heart was racing; his stomach felt like there were a million butterflies, just fluttering around. Just for you. For your touch... and only you. He craved for you more than anything. He wished he can voice out, how much these little moments meant to him.
You slowly sneaked your hand towards his gloved one and intertwined your fingers. Hawks softy embraced your warm hand, and gently intertwine your hands. He softy brushes his thumb on your hand, trying his best to calm his racing heart. You both smiled at the action and stayed that way for a while.
"(Yn),"
Hawks spoke. You turned to him giving your full attention. "Let's walk to your apartment,"
"Hawks, it's pouring..." You lightly chuckled, "We also don't have an umbrella," you pointed out.
"Who said anything about needing an umbrella?" You surprisedly looked up at him, Hawks gave you a cheeky smile and and tugged you forward. He then, shields you with his beautiful vermilion wing above your head.
You looked at him gratefully and took his hand. He lightly guides you out the safety of the canopy, with his wing covering your head.
"(Yn)," Hawks soft voice call for your attention.
"Yes?"
"Can I... hold you?" He asks you, hesitantly; looking the other way hiding his flushed face. You smiled sweetly at him, "Sure,"
With your consent, he puts his hand on your hips and pulled you close to him. You shyly look away, but you held onto his arm.
You felt your heart thumping in your chest, your cheeks heated up. You bit your bottom lip softy, trying to clam down. He smirks as he noticed you bit your bottom lip, but decided not to tease you about it… yet.
You felt safe, happy and felt a sworm of butterflies in you tummy. He was warm and gentle as he held you close. His hand on your hips, as his wing was above you; as you both walked down the pouring rain together, Hand in hand; with warmth and safety.
In a way, you were happy that it was a rainy day. Or else you wouldn’t get the chance to be close to him, as you were now. He thought the same thing. He would gladly be your shield against the pouring rain.
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Thanks for reading! Hoped you enjoyed, stay safe and have a good day and night! - 👑🐝2️⃣1️⃣ 🩵
Artist: Kadeart
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kiweevan · 2 years ago
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You woke up from the sound of typing keyboard and an irritated grunt. You were fall alseep while cuddle on his laps with your head resting on his shoulder.
When you turn to look at him, his eyes still focus on the screen but you knew he already notice you.
"What's wrong?" You asked him, still feeling groggy.
"That noob almost pushed me off the cliff!" He replied, his hands not even stop typing.
You humned in respond and leaning your head back to his shoulder. Seem like this might take another hour.
You woke up again when you could feel a warm large hand brushing through your hair gently. You could hear his soft humming with some pecks here and there on the top of your head.
You didn't move and pretend to sleep, still want to enjoying his affection.
The affection that he still need more time until he is ready to show you wholeheartedly without nervous.
And you wouldn't mind to wait for him as long as he keeping promise to be with you.
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smallidarityfan · 6 months ago
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bro let the thoughts win
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niteshade925 · 6 months ago
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Saw these tags in a reblog of my Chinese museum posts, and thought I have to make a response just so everyone is clear on how archaeological studies are carried out in China:
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^Well, the Shaanxi Archaeology Museum is a Chinese museum displaying artifacts found in China, it's not the British Museum lol.
But anyway just so everyone knows, modern Chinese archaeology has a rule, which is that unless it's absolutely necessary, an ancient tomb/mausoleum should not be disturbed. This means that many of these artifacts in the museums are found in a few main ways:
Tombs that absolutely had to be excavated because there were clear signs of grave robbing present, for example when tunnels left by grave robbers were found near a known tomb. This is called "excavating to rescue" (抢救性发掘), it's done by teams of archaeologists, the artifacts found will then be studied and eventually find a home in museums in China. In comparison, actual grave robbers would steal artifacts and sell them for money; many stolen artifacts would end up in auctions, mostly outside of mainland China. This is why there is no "general positive sense" in the phrase "grave robbing with grant money" when it comes to archaeology in China. Modern Chinese archaeology and grave robbing are simply not comparable in any way whatsoever.
Tombs that absolutely had to be excavated because new infrastructure will be built in that location. Such exacavations are also included in excavating to rescue. Examples include tombs in Xi'an city that had to be excavated because a metro was being built. Since Chinese people and Chinese culture are native to China, there are no ethical problems whatsoever, this simply a question of what matters more, the welfare of living Chinese people or the abstract afterlives of ancient Chinese people. Obviously, the welfare of living Chinese people is a more important matter. As for the argument of "but this goes against traditional culture", first, a culture is only alive if the people of that culture is alive and doing well, otherwise that culture is as good as dead; second, a major part of traditional Chinese culture IS focused on the welfare of descendants (ex: the belief that the spirits of ancestors will protect their descendants), so I'm sure our ancestors would be proud to see us doing well.
Tombs that were excavated because archaeologists were absolutely sure that artifacts discovered within would make major contributions to the study of Chinese history. This is pretty much the only exception to the rule of "excavating to rescue", and it is very rarely allowed. An example is the Xia-Shang-Zhou Chronology Project (夏商周断代工程), where the main focus is to gain a clearer picture of the timeline of ancient Chinese history, when dynasties began/ended, when major events may have happened, etc.
Artifacts that were found when arresting grave robbers. These are called "recovered artifacts" (追回文物).
Artifacts that returned to China from foreign countries, these are called "returned artifacts" (回归文物). A big portion of these artifacts ended up in foreign countries precisely because of grave robbers, and another big portion were and are still lost for the same reason as why the British Museum has so many artifacts from around the world.
Artifacts that were discovered scattered throughout China. There are three facts to consider here: 1) China has a long history and as a result, there are vast amounts of existing artifacts; 2) tombs are material things and thus are subject to the elements; 3) not everyone is an archaeologist. Combine these, and you have situations were valuable artifacts were found in places like the chicken coop of a farmer (this is how the eagle-shaped pottery ding was found).
Donations. Some artifacts were family heirlooms that were donated to museums.
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newtexcwl · 4 months ago
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Undertale were the two doomed siblings swap roles
Asriel is the narrator ghost and chara becomes a weed
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lichanicksstuff · 5 months ago
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Professor Gadling always knows which student wrote their paper and which one used chat GPT. Nobody knows how he does it. No paraphrasing program can dupe him. He can always tell. Every one of his colleagues is amazed by this skill, they always ask for his help judging if the essay was written by an AI or a person. And he does that with a wide smile on his face.
It's really easy. All it takes is to give his old friend a good cup of tea and a red pen to mark the ones that were not written by a human hand. "The imitations don't have souls," his friend says. And this is what he tells his students. They never understand and Hob finds it very funny.
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ruinix · 19 days ago
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Quinn, eating your pussy at his own pace, for hours.
Hello, lovely. I didn't expect to receive another ask for another drabble. I am not ready (actually panicked when i received this). Anyways, I may have gotten overboard with the details before what you requested. Once more asking you to put the bar down🧎🏻‍♀️because.... i'm crying 😭😭😭
TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Lots of kisses, Oral (fem receiving...as requested), Q just wanna eat you up--🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️
Count: 1,491 words | Masterlist
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You’re a treat. A fucking delicious one. Every time Quinn looks at you, his mouth instantly waters.
He always makes sure that you’re not doing anything that could be dangerous like chopping vegetables, cooking, or hopping over the counters to reach the highest cabinets. He will never endanger you. Though, work calls, phone calls with your friends or family, watching TV, watering plants, on your way out for errands, walking around the house because of boredom…those things aren’t dangerous. Important, sure but those can wait, right? You just look so delectable. Like a treat that’s just for him.
Quinn is sane enough to be wary, yet he could barely control himself when he pulls you for a kiss, pushing you against the nearest surface—the wall adjacent to your home office. He must kiss you and taste you mixed with your flavored lip balms. It's vanilla. Fuck. His. Life.
It would always be, “Oh, Quinn. I need to answer this call.” “Quinn. Sweetheart, I’m busy.” “Quinn, I need to go out.” “Quinn, we need to finish doing the laundry.” “Quinn, I need to do the dishes.”
Right now, it's, "I'm waiting for a call, Quinn."
Bla-fucking-bla. Everything can wait.
Quinn needs you. He’s always so fucking busy with hockey—practice, media, the games. He wants to be with you and taste you whenever chance he gets. And it’s now, now, and always now. It doesn't matter if he has an optional skate that he must prepare for. It doesn't fucking matter.
So, he kisses you deeper, holding your cheeks after he turns off your phone, relishing on your taste, making sure to deepen the kiss so both of you forget when one starts and one ends.
Do you know he could still taste the gum you chewed on an hour ago? Do you know he could still taste the caramel lollipop you were sucking on just now? God, he wants to taste everything mixed with you. You’re his favorite flavor. He wants something more. By the way you’re panting and grinding against his thigh, you want it too.
He’s getting drunk on your tongue, your taste, your touch that he could barely lead you to your bed. When you two part, a string of saliva connects you. Your eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown. Your lips are red and swollen. Your hair is fanned out beneath you like a halo. He nearly shudders when your hands find his cheeks.
“Can I?” he asks, while your thumb traces along his lower lip.
“Yes,” you would reply without hesitation, already knowing what he’s craving.
That’s all he needs. He’s kissing you again. Your lips. Your chin. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your earlobe. Your neck, taking his time to suck the fading kiss marks. Your collarbones. He almost tears your shirt open—too many buttons, fuck he just wants to touch you—but he knows better. For every inch of skin he exposes, he kisses and licks.
So divine. You smell like him. Fuck, you used his body wash again.
This is unfair. He feels like he’s losing and falling into your trap. Quinn wants that though. He wants to be trapped with you and nothing else. He wants it so fucking badly.
He could feel your silent chuckle, could feel the scrape of your nails on his scalp. You’re laughing at him, so he pulled down your bra. His lips find your nipple. He sucks, turning your laughter into tiny gasps. That’s it. He can’t have you laugh at him. Not right now.
He takes his time teasing your pretty nipples, licking and sucking your breasts’ undersides from time to time. Relishing his smell on you. His sweet treat. You make him so fucking hard. He knows he’s leaking—pre-cum staining his gray sweatpants—for you. All for you.
Your whines and pleas only make him want to tease you more. Your hips keep pushing up, thighs squeezing around his torso. Your hands that were busy tugging at his hair are now pushing down on his shoulder. You need more. Quinn knows that, but the taste of sweat on your skin is making him hold onto you tighter, making him lick every bead of your skin. Just a few more taste of your skin.
You’re trembling now. The first time you tremble when he touched you, he panicked. But now, he understands your body like the back of his hand. It’s your anticipation, isn’t it? You want all his marks. You want him. You need him. He understands that. Oh, so well, because he feels the same.
“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin, his eyes flicking to yours.
Your cheeks are flushed as you bite your lips. Your eyes shine with tears. Your eyebrows drawn together. Sweat drips down from your temple. “I love you,” you whisper.
Quinn swore his heart skips a beat. His stomach flips. Hearing those three words always makes him fall for you harder.
He almost drops this, like he could just appease his craving by kissing you. He could be satisfied with that. However, the moment his fingers slip over your panties, feeling how soaked you are, he can’t just stop. He yearns for your pussy. So, he continues. He goes down and down and down, hands expertly removing your skirt—which looked heavenly on you, by the way.
Now you’re just left with nothing. Totally bare. You look so majestic. All spread out for him. He sees your quivering hole, your arousal oozes, almost dripping.  What a sight. A delicious sight.
Quinn just dives for it, tongue licking from entrance to clit, making you mewl. He can’t stop the moan that escapes him. You taste so divine. His favorite aphrodisiac. His elixir.
Lick after lick, he revels in your taste. Your arousal coats every swipe of his tongue. It’s making his head spin, his cock aching. Yet he’s only tasting. Just tasting. Nothing more. Nothing yet. He has time. He has to savor this.
Fuck, he’s so hard. So fucking hard that when he dipped his tongue in your quivering hole, he almost comes as your wall tightens. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel it through his cock. It’s always like this. It’s like you’re fucking him when he only has his tongue in you.
Your taste. Your smell. Your wetness. Quinn needs all of it.
He grips the back of your thighs, making you rest them over his shoulders, as he feasts on your pussy, hips rutting into the bed. Everything feels so good for him. The feel of your thighs squeezing his head, threatening to asphyxiate him on nothing but your pussy. That's one way to die, isn't it? Quinn doesn't have any complaints. As long as he's tasting you. As long as your pussy clenches around his tongue. He could just die like that.
When his nose grazes your clit, he feels your pussy throb, squeezing so tightly. Yes. Fuck yes. You’re cumming around his tongue, your thighs quivering, your hands ruthlessly tugging on his hair, your hips grinding on his face. Quinn firmly held you, slurping and sucking your cum. Tastes so fucking good. He holds your hips down. He doubles his efforts, devouring everything you have given him.
“Quinn,” you pant, trying to push him off. “'m sensitive.”
He knows. He fucking knows. He shamelessly doesn’t care. More. He needs more. You can give him more.
Your curses for him to slow down stutters when he sucks around your clit, his fingers replacing his tongue. He could feel your surrender as you grind against him, back arching when he hooks his fingers to your sweet spot. Your whines get louder. So much louder because you’re coming again and Quinn is already there, tongue deep inside your pussy, taking everything. So exquisite.
He takes and takes until you come down from your high, panting and quivering, but Quinn still wants more. He fucking needs it. He wants your taste to last until the next day. He wants to feel you come again and again around his tongue. It’s not fucking enough.
“Quinn,” you say in a broken plea.
“One more, baby,” is all he says. “One more.”
You answer with a whimper, head nodding.
You both know he’s a liar.
It’s never ‘one more’. Never even when he gets you to come twice more. Even when he comes in his pants—cum making the gray dark which only makes him more feral. Even when you get overstimulated as well as his dribbling cock. Even when his phone rings for that fucking optional skate. Even when you two are dripping with sweat. Even when exhaustion takes hold of you.
He would just slow down, but never part from you like your pussy is the only thing keeping him alive. It fucking is.
Quinn would eat you out for hours. He could do it for days, but you would always slap him off you after two hours. But today, he’ll go for three.
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actual-changeling · 2 years ago
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welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.
the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.
they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.
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they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.
now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.
a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.
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the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.
i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.
additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.
the movement in order:
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bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:
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a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.
the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.
to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.
as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.
don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing
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azen13 · 1 month ago
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CW: Yandere Themes, Arranged Marriage, Stalking, Forced Kiss
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
You had thought for years that the prophecy wouldn't be true. It hung over your head like a crimson moon, equal parts beautiful and haunting, words lingering on your lips like a young lover.
As decreed by the Mnestia long ago, Kephale would one day take up a lover who would wield witticisms and words as weapons forged in an ever-burning mind. At the time, it had seemed preposterous that a Titan, much less Kephale, would take up a lover. If not for a servant scribbling those utterances down and telling his children, who told their own children, who told their children, so on and so forth, the prophecy would have been lost to time.
If it had, would you still be in this predicament?
The first time you had heard of the prophecy when studying poets of old, you had brushed it aside as a simple legend. Kephale had already laid down a prophecy of his own by this time of how new heroes would soon conquer Coreflames to inherit the Titans' divinities, but you knew none of the Chrysos Heirs.
After a period of study, you soon began to craft your own verses. You much preferred the solitude of your home to the bustling crowds of the city, so you didn't hear how quickly your works began to gain popularity. Bards had a new repertoire to learn, and schemes and conceits never once imagined flowed through the air.
When one of the Chrysos Heirs himself began knocking on your door every day, demanding your attention, you realized your popularity had shattered any preconceived zeniths. Phainon was his name, he said, and from what he had heard of you, he was enchanted. The look in his eyes was such a hazy, skylit blue, it seemed like he truly had been the victim of some bizarre spell.
Every day he came and encroached more and more upon you and your home. At first, he stayed outside of your door, but eventually, he began to barge in, sitting at your table or searching amongst your shelves for any subjects he could strike a conversation with you on.
Despite his idiosyncrasies and his forthright behavior, despite the occasional memory igniting in your mind, reminding you of the prophecy, you didn't worry about it. Phainon had told you many times how he longed to take the Coreflame of Nikador, not Kephale. When word spread through Okhema over Nikador's defeat, whatever lingering doubts seemed to be extinguished. You were fine. The prophecy wasn't true, or perhaps it was meant for another Chrysos Heir, another poet.
Weeks later, you found yourself regretting your assuredness. It started, as many no-good things did, with a knock on your door. As you begrudgingly walked to open it, expecting to see perhaps a bard or a fool, you instead were greeted by Phainon. Despite the weariness in his eyes, his hands shot out and clenched your shoulders with such speed and strength, you nearly leapt out of your skin. His nose nuzzled into your neck, taking a deep breath. For what seemed like hours, he mumbled and babbled and blathered and prattled about Coreflames, Nikador, Kephale, and the prophecy. After his tirade, his grip tightened.
"But, at least you're mine now." The words seemed to shackle themselves around your wrists, binding you and your attention.
For a moment, you were so dumbfounded you couldn't find the words to express what you wanted to say. Had your situation been any less confounding, you would've found your speechlessness a wonderful little paradox. "Phainon, wha-what do you m-?"
Before you could finish your sentence, Phainon sealed away any remaining restraint he had with a brutally tender kiss. He seemed to push against your lips with the goal of wearing them down until they molded perfectly against his. The kiss itself seemed to metamorphosize with how long it lived; at first it was tender, like new shoots of life growing in spring, but as it grew in age, so did its greed. Phainon seemed intent on savoring every second as an eternity in its own right.
When he did break the kiss, he gazed at you with an otherworldly devotion. It was a look of such sweet softness that it could kill. "I might not have Kephale's Coreflame yet, but I will. I'll do it. Just for you." Though he said he didn't have a Coreflame, his eyes burned with passion brighter than the sun. It scorched your tender skin, branding you with illusory markings of possession. A declaration, almost, that you were, in fact, the subject of Mnestia's dreadful prophecy.
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fabuloustrash05 · 4 months ago
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Some of my Dragon Ball headcanons <3
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rie-092 · 2 months ago
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Hi, i love ypur dinamic.
When I read lycris number 8 I inmediatly tough of Claude de Alber Obelia.
Maybe where the reader is someone whi he grow up and it could be Athanasio or Felix Fiance/wife <3
EVENT'S ENTRY OO1 : POSSESSION
[ yandere! claude de alger obelia ]
note: here's the link about the event! i love this prompt. this would be fun!
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okay, let's start with the time before everything became messy.
there is one reason why you became anastacius's wife despite the two of you being way too young to get married. they wanted to tie your family down to the imperial family and anastacius was the one who acted as a shackle to make sure that your family will stay still and be the imperial family's loyal dog.
but honestly, being in the imperial family wasn't that bad. because you have anastacius and his younger brother, claude who was still young that time.
the first time you met claude, there's only one thing that came into your mind. why in the hell did they abuse this cute little creature?
that's the reason how you and anastacius became claude's salvation inside the imperial palace.
you always plays with him, spend time with him, hell, you even go far on firing those maids who put sand on claude's soup (you're the crown princess and you have the every rights to do so, duh.)
but there is still this small doubt inside his mind. that this peace won't stay forever and there is a high chance that you will change once you grew up and realize that he was lacking in many aspects.
and that doubt was only fueled when anastacius slowly changed.
and anastacius started isolating you. and he started prohibiting you as well as claude from visiting each other. and that's how everything became messy.
you see, this is the main reason why claude lost it. the gentle facade that he created for you and anastacius. his confidence, his emotions, his everything as well as his mother.
but don't worry, this wasn't his boiling point. he still had lady margarita (forgot her name, my baddd). while you escape time to time to spend time with him.
he remembered back then, before his big brother's betrayal. when the two of you escaped the palace to play. he remembered it clearly, the time you said that you were on his side. and you will remain as his friend forever.
unknown to you, this only fuels the unhealthy feelings that he suppress for years. because hell, you were his big brother's wife!
and congrats! now you had a possessive and obsessive yandere who sees love as ownership! and damn, he will not let you escape, after all, you were his right?
and fast forward to the time where claude discovered lady margarita and anastacius' betrayal. instead of feeling betrayed, this man was delighted as hell.
he can still clearly remember how he sent you a letter using his brother's name and inviting you to the room where lady margarita and anastacius was doing the deed.
he remembered how excited he was seeing the horror in your eyes.
ahh, don't blame him. you left him no choice after all. because he knew that deep inside, you started on having a feeling towards his older brother.
and it's a big no because you were his.
and now, after all the shits happened. and he became the emperor. you suddenly said that you will now go back to your family?
no, no. how can you say that towards him, (name)? after all he did to keep you by his side? after all the blood that he spilled for you?
don't be surprise if you woke up in your palace, chained in your bed. and even had a collar with his name on it.
you made him do this so basically, this wasn't his fault. you made him insecure, you made him panic. so, technically, you deserve this.
oh, by the way. starving yourself to death won't work against claude because he won't hesitate to force you on eating. or even killing your family in front of you.
just give up, ( name ). because you were his as much as he was yours.
now, be a good girl and help him raise athanasia well, okay? <3
 ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄ ̄
“ ahh, dear. stop being annoying or i would be the one to hold you down and put this damn food in your mouth. hmm? you don't like that right? now be a good girl and listen to me, okay? ”
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paigestrap · 11 months ago
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i need you.
paige bueckers x fem!reader
warnings? smut (minors dni), light angst and fluff, swearing
summary - you and paige are friends until you aren’t 🤭🤭
enjoy!!! (please?) even if u don’t pls don’t tell me i’m sensitive.
you couldnt identify the point at which your friendship with paige grew into something more. meeting her in one of your soc classes when she showed up late and sat next to you, you two became friends almost instantly.
you knew who she was of course, had gone to many of the uconn women’s basketball game. and you would never tell her, but you were definitely a fan from the start, her game and personality being a major draw, and maybe also the fact that she was beautiful, like really really beautiful (a fact you would also never tell her).
you two started hanging out pretty much everyday, whether you were doing work, going out to eat, or hanging out with her and the rest of the team at a bar after games, the two of you had become quite comfortable in each others company.
but one day, things started to change. when your shoulders would touch watching your favorite show with her next to you, it sent electricity throughout your entire body, you felt yourself looking forward to the times when your hand would brush hers while walking side by side with her to class, your mood would lighten when she would text you to hangout or simply tell you about her day, and the time you spent together felt more and more intimate as your fondness for the blonde grew.
sometimes, it felt like paige was feeling the same thing you were. her eyes would linger for longer than you felt a friend’s eyes should, her touches felt more intentional, her compliments more frequent, and her words gentler. there were times when you both were alone where it seemed like the two of you were so close to crossing that line. like the first time she asked you to spend the night, and you woke up the next morning in her arms. or when she asked you to wear her jersey to her game the next day, and of course you obliged. she asked you afterwards if you would wear her jersey for every one, justifying her request by saying you’re her “good luck charm” and of course her good luck charm needs to rep her jersey, and of course, you obliged. when you were out with her at the bar and the two of you had been drinking she would constantly be touching you, hugging you, and telling you how much you meant to her. you couldn’t tell if this was paige being paige, or if she was truthful in her words and actions.
these moments were always left unspoken, as neither you nor her felt confident enough to ever cross that line. but your heart yearned for her. her touch, her voice, her laugh, her beautiful mind. and it was getting harder and harder everyday to hide your feelings.
now, with her returning to campus after the uconn women’s basketball team lost to iowa in the final four, you feel those inhibitions being lifted. your phone screen lit up as her contact appeared on your lock screen.
p: need u rn. can u come over?
you: of course, i’m on my way
as you walk out of your apartment to make your way to your friend you realize now the extent to which you feel for her and you want nothing more than to hold her in your arms and comfort her.
“hey,” she says, opening the door for you, her face betraying her overwhelming grief. you don’t say anything, you just pull her into a hug as she lets out her first of many tears.
“i know. i’m so sorry paige. you deserved the win, you all did” you say, comforting her while also holding back tears of your own.
“can we go to my room, just wanna be with you right now,” her tear stained eyes meet yours, and your heart swells at the urge to kiss her tears away.
“of course, i’m here for whatever you need, always” you say, grabbing her hand as the two of you make your way towards her room.
“i wish you’d been there, missed you so much it’s crazy,” she admits as you both lay down side by side in her bed. her eyes never breaking away from yours.
“i missed you too paige, im so sorry i couldn’t be there for you. i hope you know how much i wish i could’ve” you pull her into your arms and embrace her as her tears begin to fall again.
“i think,” she starts, but stops herself and pauses for a long time. you are about to ask her about it before she continues, “i think i realized something about myself this weekend”
another pause. your heart beats faster, you curse yourself knowing paige could feel it too. “what’s that,” your voice is barely audible as you struggle to get the words out.
“i need you, like i really really need you. ever since i met you i just wanna be by you all the time. when we lost i just wanted you to be there and,” she propped herself up to look at you before pulling you in to a tight embrace “i’m scared that you don’t need me too” her voice breaks at the end, shattering any hope of disguising her emotions.
“oh paige, you have no idea,” you say, feeling yourself breaking at her words. you pull away from her embrace and stare into her eyes, searching for a reason not to let your walls fall. you don’t see one, “i need you like i need oxygen to breathe. the world feels muffled when you’re not next to me, i admire everything about you and i’ve never felt this way about another person before. i’ve been so scared these past few weeks that i’ll lose you if you find out how much i want you, but i can’t go on pretending i think of you as my friend when you are so much more than that.” there it is. there’s no going back now. your eyes move away from hers as you await her response.
“baby,” she whispers, hand moving to caress your cheek as she gently pulls your face in her direction, “you’ll never lose me,”
suddenly, the space between you feels so small, and in a swift motion she closes the gap between you and kisses you. the world around you begins to spin as all of your senses become heightened. you feel yourself kiss back, not too hard, not too soft, and suddenly the emotions brimming for the past months come flooding to you all at once.
her hands meet your waist as she shifts her weight to be positioned on top of you, your legs opening as she places herself in between them, never breaking your kiss.
she eventually breaks it to look down on you, a million emotions displayed on her face. she reconnects your lips with hers and you feel yourself giving in completely, desire for the blonde blooming as her kisses grow hungrier. “i want you so bad” she says breathlessly in between kisses. her tongue grazes your bottom lip, requesting entrance, and as with all of her requests, you oblige.
“please, paige,” you let out, suppressing the moans threatening to slip out as her tongue explores your mouth. you tug on her shirt, needing to feel her body closer. she takes it off and removes your shirt as well. leaving you in only your bra on top. she smiles as she looks at your now exposed body.
“god, your tits are fucking amazing,” she remarks, staring at them lustfully. you blush, suddenly feeling so exposed. her hands reach your back as she unclasps the final layer, removing your bra and revealing your bare chest. she fondles your tits and the sudden touch elicits a moan you didn’t have the restraint to hold back. her hands feel so good, and you desperately need them somewhere else, “i wanna fuck you so bad babe”
“god paige please i need you so badly” you whine, so far gone at this point to even try to hide your burning desire.
“yeah?” she grins, biting her lip and licking her lips, “where do you need me, my sweet girl, show me”
you pull yourself up and remove your bottoms, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. you grow increasingly aware of how wet you are, and embarrassed at how obvious it is. her hands roam your body and she grips both of your thighs, her gaze lowering to your heat. “you’re so wet, all because of me?” she asks like she doesn’t know the answer and lets her finger graze over your clothed pussy. you moan as she touches your clit, grinding your hips desperate for more. “so needy baby, i’m gonna take these off now alright?” you nod as she removes your panties, leaving you completely exposed and at her expense.
her hand meets your bare pussy, rubbing in between your folds and onto your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you as your body reacts to her touch. you move your head to the side and close your eyes, letting the pleasure take over. but you are quickly brought back to reality when she stops touching you and takes your face into her hand, bringing it back to face her, “i want you to look at me when i fuck you, do you understand baby?” she plants a kiss on your lips and you nod in response, unable to say a thing.
her fingers move back towards your heat and she slides one into you, “how’s that sweet girl, does that feel good?”
“yes. please. more.” you whine, your body burning at her touch, desperately needing more.
“oh yeah?” she teased as she slipped another finger in you, slowly pumping them in and out of you, curling them so she could feel them stretching against your walls.
you were done for. your body twisting and rutting against her, only causing her to quicken her pace inside you, never breaking your gaze for a second. “god you’re so fucking gorgeous like this, all mine”
your senses overloaded by her hungry words and quickening pace, you felt yourself nearing your climax “paige, please don’t stop. i’m so close” you beg, causing her to fuck you harder and faster.
“yeah? come for me baby, you’ve done so well, my pretty girl,” that was all it took to force you over the edge. you come hard, screaming out her name as the pleasure enveloped your entire body. she fucks you through your orgasm, whispering in your ear the entire time telling you how pretty you look and how good you are.
the wave of pleasure subsiding and your senses gradual coming back to you, she slides her fingers out of you, licking your wetness off of them and falling back onto your smaller figure.
“holy shit” you breathe out, panting. suddenly feeling very sleepy.
“yeah, holy shit.” she laughs, “you’re so fucking hot, you know that?” you blush at her compliment, burying your face in her chest.
“do you still think i don’t need you?” you ask, looking up at her with a shy smile. she grins, giving you a sweet kiss and looking at you with so much endearment it makes your heart swell.
“no, i’m pretty sure you made yourself clear” she laughs, pulling you closer.
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gojosprettyprincess · 13 days ago
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Do NOT stop w step dad nanami PLS xxxxx
OKAY FINE I WONT
I feel like sex with stepdad nanami for the first time would be him brat-taming you bc he’s finally way too fucking tired of your teasing and the way you’d act like some embarrassing desperate slut whenever your mom isnt looking.
bending over in front of him to tie your shoelaces while the poor man is just trying to read his morning newspaper but instead he sees a wet, glistening mess decorating your pretty folds peeking out from under your plaid skirt with absolutely no panties in sight or whenever you’d “accidentally” send photos of your dainty fingers being knuckles deep in your drooling hole to his phone while he’s at work. Telling him “oops! Sorry nanamin, that wasn’t meant for you” and he tries to give you the benefit of the doubt and convince himself that you actually didnt mean to send it!!! But that definitely didn’t stop him from saving it to his phone and excusing himself to his workplace’s bathroom to furiously fist his throbbing hard cock to the lewd photo of his stepdaughter :0
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dolliecreature · 4 months ago
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Rin and her boyfriends 💙💚🧡💕
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lichanicksstuff · 4 months ago
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"I don't remember my mother's face." Hob says, one day, while him and Dream were having their morning coffee. Dream looks at his friend. The tone of Hob's voice doesn't match the words he just said. They were talking about family and suddenly... He says this. And it seems like he doesn't even care, like it's just another thing he said.
It's not like Dream knows what it's like. He may not relate but he understands. In his kingdom there are many nightmares whose task, whose goal, is this very thing. Forgetting the most beloved face. Forgetting the voice that sang lullabies to you when you could still fit in her arms... Dream can't relate but he understands and he rots.
He rots because he remembers the face of every person that has ever lived. And Hob looks just like his mother.
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thesunisatangerine · 1 month ago
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playing for keeps – chapter four
alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader
warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread
(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]
word count: 13.1k
[1]
‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.
The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 
You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.
Tap tap tap.
The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 
The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.
For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.
He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 
“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”
You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.
Still, you waited. 
Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.
This was it.
“I–I want to apologize!”
You blinked. That… was unexpected.
“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 
“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”
He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.
“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 
His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 
He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 
And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 
This was so stupid. 
“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 
You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 
“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 
He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 
There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.
Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 
His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.
“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 
He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.
“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 
The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Guille––”
Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.
Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”
At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.
“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”
You gaped at him.
“It’s that easy?”
He shrugged, still smiling.
“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”
There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 
“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”
You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.
“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 
In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 
It was Guille who spoke first. 
“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”
Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 
You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”
“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”
Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 
“No! I–That’s ridic–”
Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 
“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 
His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 
“You–you’re not angry?”
His brows rose.
“Why would I be?”
Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 
“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 
“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”
Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 
“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 
“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 
Oh.
“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 
“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 
You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”
Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.
“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”
When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 
“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”
You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 
[2]
“He’s studying what now?” 
“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 
Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”
“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 
“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 
Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.
“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 
She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”
“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”
“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 
Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 
You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 
A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 
“Guille is a friend and only that.”
“But you were so close,” she commented.
“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”
“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”
There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?
You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.
“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.
She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 
Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”
The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
A pause.
“Do you miss him?” 
“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 
After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.
“Would… would you join a club in England?” 
Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.
“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 
At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 
Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 
She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”
“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 
Finally, her lips broke into a grin.
“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.
“Do you really think we’ll make it?”
“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”
And you did.
There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve—shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.
Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”
[3]
You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 
There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 
And it did.
Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 
Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.
The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.
There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.
Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.
“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.
“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.
You picked at your thumb. 
“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”
Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.
“I just saw them yesterday.” 
Okay, maybe that was a lie.
You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”
“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.
“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”
 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.
“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.
“Dragging you to my place, of course.”
“What about my things?”
“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”
“But we have training!”
“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 
“But—”
“Alexia.” 
You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.
The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.
“How’s Papá?”
Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 
“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”
You nodded.
“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”
Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”
“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”
“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”
In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 
When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 
And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 
The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 
By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.
“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 
Alexia only nodded.
When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 
She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”
You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 
“Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.
A sound of recognition came from Alexia.
When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.
Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”
Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 
It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.
“Ale, talk to me.”
Silence.
A breath.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.
Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 
“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”
Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.
“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”
She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 
“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”
“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”
A scoff.
“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”
“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”
Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 
Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.
“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”
She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 
Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 
She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.
“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 
Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.
“She has no need to worry.”
You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.
“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 
Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 
And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”
“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”
“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”
Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.
“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”
She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”
“Oh, Alexia.” 
Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.
“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”
You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.
“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”
A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.
“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”
“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”
Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.
Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.
Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.
“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.
“What for?”
“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”
“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 
“And I’m sorry for—”
“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”
A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.
“Thank you, then.”
You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”
“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.
[4]
“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 
It was too late. 
The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 
“Oops, sorry.”
You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 
You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”
Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.
You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 
“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”
You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 
The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 
Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 
“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 
But of course, she did the exact opposite.
“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 
She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.
Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”
“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 
“You’re so annoying.” 
“I carried those boxes for you.” 
“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”
“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”
You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 
“You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly right, yes.”
See? You didn’t have to tell her. 
You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”
“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”
Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 
Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 
You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.
You were in love.
And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 
[5]
With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 
It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 
But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.
The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 
Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 
No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.
And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 
You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 
Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.
The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.
What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—
The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.
“Alexia?” 
You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.
“What—”
The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 
“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 
Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”
“She’s yours.”
Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.
As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 
“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.
Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.
At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”
She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.
“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 
“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.
“Nona.”
“Nona?”
You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 
“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”
“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.
“Your family of nine?”
“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 
Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 
“Does Guille need to be there?”
“Alexia!” 
[6]
It was raining when Alexia told you.
On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 
Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 
And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 
“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.
Alexia eyed you. 
“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 
“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”
A pregnant pause.
“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”
You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”
Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.
“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.
Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.
“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 
You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 
Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”
The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 
“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”
At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 
She said softly, “Just think about it.”
Silence settled—heavily. 
You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.
“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”
“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 
The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 
You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.
“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”
Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.
You ached at the sight but you remained silent.
“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”
Another pause.
“I like women.”
For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 
The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.
“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”
When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 
There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 
“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.
[7]
When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 
And then, you jumped in.
It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.
Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.
Your father barely caught you in time.
Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 
If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 
In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.
Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 
And the aftermath? 
A drowning of a different kind.
Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 
And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.
In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?
And the worst part?
There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.
And Alexia sank. 
[8]
Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 
There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.
But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 
Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 
“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.
“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”
Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 
“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.
You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”
At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.
“You haven’t heard anything from them?”
“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”
“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”
Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”
“I don’t want to leave you alone.”
Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 
You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.
“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”
Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 
And then, “What about you?”
“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”
Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.
“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”
You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 
[9]
It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 
With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 
And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 
Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 
You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 
Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 
When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 
After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.
“Are you playing with your food?”
Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 
“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”
“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”
She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.
“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”
You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”
With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 
You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 
A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.
Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.
You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 
Maybe you were just being paranoid.
But really, you should’ve known better.
[10]
Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 
A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 
For now though, rest was due. 
Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 
That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 
Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 
Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 
As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”
“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 
“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”
“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.
She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.
“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”
“Is it a guy with curly hair?”
“Yeah.”
At that you let out another small laugh.
“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”
“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 
You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”
As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.
That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 
You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 
“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.
You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”
“Dance with me.”
She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 
Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 
It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.
She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.
And in the heat, you lost yourself. 
You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.
And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 
[11]
Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.
“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”
“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”
You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”
She nodded.
“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”
“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 
“Fuck you.” 
At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 
“Rough morning, huh?” 
“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”
“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”
You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 
“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 
“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.
You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.
“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.
“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.
“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 
You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 
Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 
You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 
“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”
You froze. 
The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 
“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.
“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 
“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”
“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”
As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 
 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.
“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”
“What?”
Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 
“I said leave.”
Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”
“Get out, Alexia!” 
She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.
“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”
With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 
She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?
Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 
Stupid.
You were so fucking stupid. 
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