#hope that makes you happy anon

[broke-on-books]

May I ask about your beef with T.S. Elliott? I don't know much about him, but I'm curious as to your opinions on him.

Um well I don't like Eliot for many reasons (I wrote a whole blog post on this for school haha) so I'll try to make it quick but it really breaks down to three subjects for me

1. His personal life

2. His actual body of work

3. His reception and legacy

In terms of personal life, he of course really sucked, like (this is from memory so there may be mistakes) he institutionalized his wife and didn't visit her for a decade (and she died in the institution), he also was publically antisemitic, and very, very good friends (like besties) with Ezra Pound, the poet whose most famous poem is his 800 page lament on the fall of Mussolini and spent all of wwii betraying his country and making + promoting axis propaganda, so that's just like a whole can of worms there to unpack.

With his like actual work stuff, this is probably where I give him the most leeway bc he has a few lines that genuinely go really fucking hard. Like there are some lines where I 100% understand why he is a behemoth in the world of poetry. Like "this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper" and "do I dare disturb the universe? In a minute there is time for decision and revisions which a minute can reverse" and "I will show you fear in a handful of dust" all go so hard. They do. This is true. But the rest of his work is just really nonsensical to me (and I've read his most famous pieces many times) and requires heavy academic investment to try and understand. I'm talking like intense knowledge of classical and medieval works, at least 3 languages besides English, etc.

Like there's more deciphering involved than actual poetry (I think in the book for the Waste Land there literally is more end notes than poem. And that poem is Long). And like this feeds into the third point I have which is the reception of his stuff and how I hate that T S Eliot is put up as like "total genius, greatest of all time, PINNACLE of poetry" by some people. Because I very think it starts falling into an elitist attitude of "getting" Eliot and seeing like deciphering these pieces as some sort of accomplishment on its own in a way that doesn't feel genuine to me.

Like there's just something off there about the vibes to me. That for some people they care more abt "understanding" Eliot then engaging w the themes of the poems themselves and then just brag about reading Eliot a lot (and likely Pound too and much of the imagist movement) in a way that again I just don't like.

And I think doing this and lifting Eliot up so high when his poetry is in the style it is actually hurt poetry a bit as an art form because like. It is what poetry haters accuse poetry of being like it's inaccessible, complicated, hard to read, and people get snobby about it. And I think people see that and get the wrong idea or confirm wrong ideas they had about poetry as a whole from his work which breaks me heart.

TLDR Eliot has a couple lines I think are absolute fire, but I dislike most of work. I don't like the imprint him and his reputation have had in regard to poetry, and I think he was a horrible human being.

& Every once and a while I'll read some of his more popular poems to check that they're still bad and pay a visit to the one line I like hidden within 60 bad ones

[technically-human]

Payneland² 

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eleven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, mentions of death, scars

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 11.4k

Early Tuesday morning, you opened the door to Alexia who–to your surprise, but not really–had on a pair of training shorts, a plain jersey under an unzipped hoodie, a New Era cap on, her hair left down while a pair of sunglasses completed her look. And just like the other time she came to visit, she had you in her arms the moment she was close enough, pulling you into her for a kiss on your temple and then your lips.

“Hello, you.” You said as you pecked her cheek, smelling the familiar sharpness of sunscreen on her skin. Then you held her at arm’s length so you could look at her better before you asked, “Did you just come from training? I thought you won’t be back until Saturday?” 

Alexia chuckled, clearly amused, raising her brows at you for your shameless display at checking her out. But who could blame you, really, with her looking so damn good in a training jersey. She replied, “No, I’m actually–”

She halted, tilting her head to the side to look over you, and then she switched to English when she spoke again, taking her sunglasses off to place them on top of her cap as she grinned, “Hola, chiquita, you ready?”

When you looked over your shoulder you saw Elisa framed by the archway and the open door that led to the backfield, standing in her favourite Alexia jersey and Barça shorts, cheeks tinted red while her forehead shone with sweat, a football between her hands. 

“Hi, Alexia!” Elisa’s hand fluttered in an eager wave, her grin a brilliant beam, before she began to take off her sneakers and zoomed right up the stairs, shouting over her shoulders. “I’m ready! Lemme just grab my stuff!” 

Ah, now it made sense. 

You wondered why Elisa couldn’t sit still last night and even during the day, she practically buzzed with excitement. Initially, you associated the surge in energy from the promise of another day spent with Alexia, but now you understood that whatever the two of them had planned involved football and that was the reason why Elisa’s enthusiasm for today had increased twofold. 

As if Alexia was your mirror, you found her reflecting your expression when you turned back to her; she had an appraising gaze fixed on Elisa accompanied by an amused smile, and your heart filled with the urge to kiss her so you did. You kept your arms loose around her neck when you parted so you could look into those eyes you found yourself missing every minute that you were apart.

“When did you guys plan this?” You asked as you toyed with the ends of her hair.

“When we were at the Barça store. Elisa asked me for some tips and I offered to train her for the day.” Alexia hummed, fiddling with the hoops of your jeans. Then the inner corners of her brows quirked up, bashful when she asked, “I hope that’s okay?” 

Touched by her thoughtfulness, you traced the line of her brow as you spoke, “More than okay as long as it’s alright with you. And I should be thanking you.”

“It is, don’t worry. I get to spend time with the both of you and play football at the same time. Win-win.” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone and flashed you a radiant half-smile, and it made your chest and cheeks warm, obviously charmed by her, and the lightness in her eyes made those words all the more earnest to you. So you cupped her cheek and pressed a soft kiss against her jaw in gratitude. 

Then you whispered, “Thank you.”

Alexia pulled up at a deserted football pitch, the morning still early enough that the dew had not entirely dissipated from the grass when you got out of the car. The sound of the doors closing echoed from the emptiness of the space, Alexia’s call over the roof of the car sounding louder than it actually was. 

“Chiquita, I’m gonna need your help unloading the equipment at the back.”

Elisa stuck a thumbs up into the air as an answer. 

As you made up your mind that you’d just watch them do their thing, you tinkered with your camera around your neck, following them to the trunk but after Alexia popped it open, the sight both surprised and amused you. When Alexia said equipment, you’d envisioned a bag of balls, several cones, and the like but what you hadn’t considered–when in fact you really should’ve–was Alexia’s disposition for coming prepared, the scene in front of you a testament against your blatant underestimation of her ability. You watched them haul bags upon bags from the trunk–ranging from pop-up goals, agility poles and ladders, rebound boards, and other football paraphernalia–and as you spied the growing pile of things by the side of the car, you snapped a photo before laughter escaped your lips.

Two pairs of eyes darted your way with equal confusion, stopping their busy hands for a moment. You pointed at the pile, “Do you always keep these back here?”

“Why, of course, darling. All the time.” Despite the dryness of her tone, the term of endearment set your cheeks aflame. Then Alexia raised her brows at Elisa, “Elisa, could you please tell your mom to stop being mean and help us?”

“Yeah, Mom, stop laughing at us and come help, please.” Elisa giggled, gladly playing along before she eventually returned back to her task.

You scoffed with no real sting to it, grabbing the water bottle rack and slinging a bag over your shoulder as you whined, “I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me.”

At that, Alexia only scrunched her nose at you, smiling, before she closed the trunk–all the equipment were out finally!–then the three of you began lugging everything to the empty field, happy to follow their lead. After setting down the things you took where Alexia and Elisa were, you went to the sidelines, unfolding the chairs Alexia brought along. When you turned back to the scene, Elisa was already doing some stretches–as per Alexia’s instructions probably–while Alexia set up and, once done, she joined Elisa to warm up as well. But before she started, she waved you over as she called out, “Come join us!”

The desire to join them wasn’t lost to you but so was the weight of your omission to Alexia about what happened while you were gone–what would you say when you pass out from exertion if you joined them?–so you gave her a dismissive wave, lifting your camera as an excuse. Relief filled you when, with a shrug of her shoulders as if to say it was your loss, Alexia patted Elisa’s back before she pointed to the opposite goal line, taking off in a jog right after, their strides in time with each other. You put your camera over your eye and took a photo of them, but even though you busied your hands with the lever and buttons of your camera, your mind remained occupied with another matter.

The past few days were spent in a state of bliss; the ease by which you and Alexia had slipped back into each other’s lives was more than a surprise to you, pleasant in its own right but it was beginning to dim the longer you kept your story to yourself. It wasn’t a deliberate omission. You just hadn’t found the right time to breach the topic because, after all, how could one easily part with such a fact to a lover when even you dare not step to that precipice and stare into that void? But you knew you at least owe Alexia that much; to enlighten her about what she was truly signing up for. 

Today. 

You promised yourself you were going to talk to her about it today.

Returning back to yourself, you regarded the scene before you, took photos, and shouted encouragement every now and then. It continued on for a couple more hours: Alexia, who had occupied the role of the trainer, stood a vigilant watch over her novitiate, guiding Elisa with instructions you couldn’t quite hear but the complementing gestures she made gave you a semblance of what they were, as she exclaimed and clapped her hands to compliment and motivate; and Elisa followed with apt diligence, serious and attentive to every line, every move. By the time their feet had stopped disturbing the grass, the sun neared its highest peak, its warmth and the promise of a good day had already invited more than a handful of people to occupy other parts of the field. 

After they’d finished cooling down, you watched Elisa run off to the restrooms while Alexia trudged her way over to you, bags of equipment on her which she deposited on another growing pile on the sideline, taking a water bottle in hand. She brushed her hand over the nape of your neck for a second before she dropped to the chair next to you with an audible huff, and you patted her knee in response to her apparent exhaustion while she drank from her bottle, just a little out of breath. 

“Damn. Sorry, I forgot to bring the umbrella.” Alexia said as she shielded her eyes to look at you, one eye squinted from the harsh light. She softly grazed a knuckle over your cheek, “Did you put sunblock on?”

You replied in the affirmative as you leaned into her touch, and Alexia nodded in approval before she took her hand away, taking another sip of water. In the silence that followed, you thought, ‘Should I tell her now?’

“Alexia, I–”

Alexia’s lips crinkled around a mouthful of water, raising her brows at you before she jutted her chin forward. Confused, you looked to where she indicated and found Elisa surrounded by a group of kids, some of them taller and looked to be slightly older, who now occupied the once empty space that Elisa and Alexia had just been training on and in a blink of an eye, a small game of football had commenced. Shouts and laughter filled the air as they continued, passing, tackling, shooting; Elisa flew untethered along with her peers, face free from any worries and filled with glee. 

The two of you were a fair distance away from the youngsters that they hadn’t noticed nor recognised that Alexia watched over them with a proud–if not a bit sombre–countenance for the sight, probably, to her, was a validation–proof–of how far women had cemented their place in football compared to when she was of their age. These kids, boys and girls alike, now had their own paragons of light to follow, the names and numbers of their guiding stars shining bold on their backs–the names of women… Alexia’s including. You regarded the woman next to you, chest welling up at the soft gaze you saw there aimed towards the children, a thought clear in your mind that you longed to speak, ‘This is the fruit of your labour, what you and the others had fought–and still fighting–for.’

Alexia’s eyes flitted to meet yours as if magnetised by your volition, the colour of them almost green against the backdrop of the field.

“If Elisa was given the chance to play for Barçelona’s youth team, what would you do?”

You blinked as the question caught you off guard. There was no doubt what you would do but the abruptness by which it was brought up made you squint your eyes at her. Why would she bring that up unless she knew something? Unless she was about to do or already had done something? But as you regarded her with a careful eye, you found nothing in her features that betrayed answers to your questions, her face a blank canvas–perhaps a bit too neutral.

“Alexia, did you do something?”

Alexia shrugged, pulling the corners of her mouth down for good measure before it settled to a smile, then she answered in the negative, “Nothing. It was a question. Purely hypothetical.” 

Her answer did little to convince you but you answered in truth anyway. “Move here, of course.” 

At that, Alexia only hummed but a light twinkled in her eye–one not dissimilar to the one you found in them the night you met–a light that told you she knew something you didn’t. She brushed her thumb over her chin before she tore her gaze away, focusing her attention back to the match in front of her. And before you could question her further, excited screams filled the air and, when Alexia stood right after, you knew she’d been found.

You stood aside as the kids flocked towards Alexia and you captured the scene with a smile while Alexia conversed with the kids, bumping their fists and posing with them when they asked for a photo. You felt a presence beside you and, upon turning your head, saw Elisa with a look of admiration on her face, a mirrored expression among the children there. It went on for a bit and another game of football commenced but now with Alexia in the mix, but half an hour later, you were all packed up with everything back in Alexia’s trunk, and the three of you were off. 

On the way back after lunch, Elisa and Alexia chatted, discussing things about football with equal enthusiasm. The sound of their amusement filled the car, and with the day ending on such a high note, you felt compelled not to say anything about what you planned to tell Alexia as you didn’t have the heart to bring it down. 

And as you laughed at one of Alexia’s dry jokes, you resigned your promise.

Tomorrow. 

You would talk to her about it tomorrow. 

Unlike the day before, Alexia came by early–early enough that Elisa was still asleep while you, yourself, only woke up just about half an hour ago–but that was no surprise. It was rare for Alexia to sleep in; the rigorous conditioning her body had borne throughout the years made her circadian rhythm almost permanent, something that you’d teased her about from your time before–something that you teased her about just then.

“I don’t hear you complaining about it.” She muttered against your ear and, though you couldn’t see it for she had her front pressed against your back with her hands gentle on your hips as you made two sets of coffee, you could practically hear the pout in her voice. 

“I’m not! It’s actually kinda cute.” You laughed before you added, “You’re cute.”

“I’m really not,” Alexia practically whined, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and the feel of her there tickled you, so you tried to angle yourself away but she clung to you as you felt her laugh against your skin.

“Alexia! You’re going to make me spill the coffee!” 

When the both of you finally made it to the couch with no drop of coffee spilt, you tucked in by Alexia’s side, her arm over your shoulder as the both of you revelled in each other’s company, sipping at your beverage, you broached the news to her. 

“Your brother’s coming here?” She asked with surprise and with both brows raised.

At how she posed the question, you couldn’t help but giggle. “I love the way you made it sound like he’s not the one who owns this house. But yes, later today, probably around evening or earlier, depending on when he’ll finish his meeting in Madrid this morning.” 

Alexia blew a puff of air, a bit petulant, as she muttered low–although still deliberately loud enough for you to hear, “It’s kinda easy to forget when he’s never here.”

The both of you broke out laughing. Then a pensive look took over her demeanour, her fingers fiddled with the ends of her hair, something that you noticed she did whenever she felt at peace or whenever she was worrying about something. You had a feeling it was the latter with the way her brows were slightly creased in the middle, but the question that left her lips, which was spoken in a soft tongue, confirmed your inkling to be true.

“What’s he like?”

Ah. 

Seeing Alexia unsure about herself was a rare occurrence, even more than seeing her vulnerable which was saying a lot. So you laid a hand on the nape of her neck, chest warming when she leaned back to seek more of your touch, and you ran your thumb over the skin just below her ear to keep her at ease. 

“He’s… my best friend and the best brother I could ever ask for. He’s funny;  likes to tease me a lot, but he’s protective.” At the mention of the word, Alexia’s frown deepened before you could even finish what you wanted to say, “And trust me when I tell you, he’ll definitely like you.”

But your reassurance seemed to have gone out the other ear for the movement of her finger didn’t cease and her eyes remained clouded with something akin to worry. You allowed her another moment more with her thoughts before you booped her nose and watched as her eyes fluttered, the light of her presence returning in them as she regarded you. And so, with light amusement, you said in the hopes that Alexia would finally listen, “Just give him the same attitude you gave me a minute ago, you’ll get along really well.” 

At that, Alexia let out a small chuckle and, as it trailed off, the smile that graced her lips lingered; what you said hadn’t fully expelled the doubt from her eyes but the fact it was lessened made you feel better. 

Alexia sighed after another lapse in silence. “I just want to make a good impression, you know? And thank him.”

“Thank him for what?”

She shifted so her face was angled more to you and held a gentle finger on your chin to keep you looking into her eyes, soft and earnest.

“For intertwining your fate with mine,” she said, each syllable spoken with the gentlest of air.

Your heart stuttered at her confession, the gravity of it heavier with Alexia’s belief in fate, and words eluded you so you could do nothing but take her hand to reveal her palm, and kissed her there.

Then after another brief pause, Alexia asked, “Does he know about us?”

“I think so. I haven’t told him anything directly but I think he’s put two and two together.” You pushed the memory of how your heart monitor betrayed you back from the forefront of your mind, but your cheeks heated up anyway. As you massaged the spot between Alexia’s brows with your thumb in the hopes of soothing her frown away, you added, “Please, don’t worry about it too much. He’s Derek; as long as I’m happy, he’s happy.”

“And are you? Happy?” The vulnerability that you found in her eyes made you ache, not unpleasant, just a sense of fullness that longed to break free. You pressed a kiss on her temple, then to the corner of her lips.

“More than I could ever put into words. You make me so happy, Alexia. You really do.”

Later that day, just around late afternoon after spending most of the day training–you, of course, only a spectator–the three of you found yourselves walking along the beach after a late lunch. It was a bit further on when, as you conversed with each other, an exclamation made you stop and look over your shoulders.

“Oh, my god.”

Standing a few paces behind you was a young man, tall in frame, cheeks still round with traces of his youth, the stubble along his jaw and chin a direct contrast, making it known to you that he’d probably just recently entered his early twenties. The first thing you noted was the camera that dangled from his neck–you recognised the model, vintage–and you barely schooled your features from showing your surprise; he was a photographer not only for leisure but if he was, well, that was one expensive camera for a hobbyist. 

Habit made you step aside–you’d been out in public with Alexia a handful of times now to know how this would go–but as you did, the young man’s eyes followed you, intent, and that confounded you. 

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you?” His brown eyes flitted between you, Alexia, then Elisa, his small smile apologetic as the paleness of his cheeks turned rosy.

Alexia waved a careless hand in the air as she spoke in English, “No, you’re okay.”

“How can we help you?” You asked, smiling at him politely. 

The man stepped forward as he patted the pouch of his shirt, then he dug his hands into his jean pockets, then you watched him procure a marker, his hands shaking as he handed it to you. 

“I can’t believe it’s you. I wish I had your book with me but I don’t–I, I’m sorry, can I get a photo and your signature?”

You couldn’t prevent the surprise from showing on your face even if you had the time to try. Your eyes drifted to Alexia, and the question that was clear in your mind that you knew Alexia could probably read on your face. What was happening?

The action of yourself nodding preceded the intention and you watched, still in a state of confusion, as the man handed his phone over to Alexia so she could take a photo of you both. As you posed and looked at Alexia behind the camera, you found a familiar light in her eyes and from the slight upturn of her brows, you knew Alexia was more than slightly amused at the role reversal. When Alexia began to count down, you smiled at the person taking the photo more than for the image itself, and once done, she handed the lad his phone back.

You signed the back of a used plane ticket–the only paper of decent quality, as per his words, that he could find on his person that could house your signature–and after handing it back to him, you said, smiling, “I’m sorry if I looked more than a little confused. This doesn’t happen often, I only ever get asked for photos at events, and it’s usually the other way around!” 

“No, please, don’t be sorry. I–I just truly admire your photojournalistic work,” he stuttered as he tucked the plane ticket in his shirt pocket. “I read your book about your most recent conflict coverage and that photoset… It chilled me to the bone the first time I saw it. I’m sorry you had to see that in person.”

Images tore their way out from the shadows of your mind, their teeth bare and gnashing: vacant eyes from where souls were ripped away, crooked fingers accusatory, and the stench–

You shut your eyes as a malignant chill crept over you, crawling under your skin that left your muscles weak, and even beneath the Barcelona summer sun, you trembled. And the memories flooded back: Elisa with her mother, the shots, and now the scars on your body burnt anew. You took a deep breath and took careful note of where you were: there was a baby crying a few paces away, a large wave just arrived home to the shore, there was a call of a seagull overhead, someone with coffee walked past you, and… there was the familiar warmth and weight of Alexia’s hand on your back.

The moment you opened your eyes, the man was looking at you with concern and regret while, when you turned your head to the side, Alexia and Elisa were obviously distressed.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

You held a hand up before the man could hurt himself. “It’s alright. They come back to me sometimes without being reminded so you don’t need to apologise. And thank you for your concern.”

More than willing to change the topic, you jutted your chin at his camera, “Are you a photojournalist, too?”

“That’s the plan. I’m only working freelance at the moment and I’m not really sure which branch to pursue. I can hear conflict photojournalism calling to me, though.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. In his answer, you sensed a ‘but’ so you asked as much.

He casted his eyes down for a moment before he regarded you again, gaze wary. “But… I’m scared I won’t be able to handle seeing those things in person. And I’m scared of being hurt, of being killed. Just like what you saw and what… what happened to you. I don’t know if I could survive it.”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see and feel the weight of Alexia’s stare–a burning question that branded you–and you clenched your fist as guilt flooded your veins. Foolish! You should’ve told her yesterday. She deserved more than hearing about it like this. But no matter what was done was done–the moment had passed–and the only thing you could do now was to tell her after this. 

Despite your inner turmoil, you focused on the man, and smiled at him softly for you understood what he was going through, the same place you once stood before you answered the call of that very wind.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a difficult choice to make. The camera cannot shield you from the danger and the violence and, well, death, but it can bear witness, and can show the world what’s happening. You have your whole life ahead of you, you don’t need to jump in just yet. And if you hear that call again a bit later and find yourself ready, then, why not?”

At that, the young man’s demeanour brightened. Then his brows scrunched up, now seemingly worried, his question spoken with a light, enquiring air, “You mentioned in your book that this was the closest you’d ever come to dying, do you think you’ll ever get back into conflict photography?”

With the uncouth way it was posed, the question made you flinch with its directness. You had half a mind to reprimand but you recognised this–the journalistic instinct to question, to uncover, even if certain situations shouldn’t warrant such intrusions–so you let it pass because as was the case for every learned skill, interviewing demanded the same amount of practice to develop. He was young, he still had so much to learn and time, as was the case for everything, would be his teacher. 

A shuffling sound drew your attention to Elisa who was standing close to Alexia, clutching your lover’s hand with both of hers in a firm grip, her wide eyes fixed on you upon hearing what the man said, a sombre question reflected in her eyes, ‘Are you going to leave me, too?’ 

Although the call was very much there–the need to be the echo chamber for those who’d lost their voice still strong in your soul–you found yourself now tethered: to love and responsibility, so you shook your head, more so for Elisa’s sake than the man’s.

“It’s selfish, I know, but I have so much more to lose now. But, as I said, the call will always be there and I can’t control what the future brings, so who knows, really?” You shrugged, smiling at the man.

Satisfied, the man retreated but not before you gave him a business card for you and Derek’s firm; with a little bit of guidance and experience, he had potential to do good–although you did warn him that a spot for him wasn’t guaranteed, but he still accepted it gratefully. Once the man finally left, Elisa approached you, her shirt bunched up at the hem from the firm grip of her fists, eyes wide as she gazed up at you.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

You cupped her cheek and brushed a thumb under a glassy eye–Elisa was upset.“I’m alright, honey. How are you feeling?”

Elisa’s chin quivered and a tear ran down her cheek, and when she spoke, her words were whispered in haste. “Are you going to leave? Please, don’t, I don’t want you to get hurt again, I don’t want you to die. I–” 

Oh, Elisa.

Immediately you took her into your arms in the hopes that you could ease her distress and when she clutched at your shirt as her tears soaked through the fabric, your heart began to ache and your eyes burnt as well. 

“I’m not leaving, ladybug. I’m not. I won’t leave you behind, I promise.”

The ride to the house was a silent affair; even the short walk that led up to Alexia’s car was suffused with silence. After getting in the car and putting her seatbelt on Elisa immediately dozed off–from the emotional toll on top of the physical strain she’d endured during the day–and it was relieving. Alexia on the other hand…

Ever since she’d heard the words from Ben–the photojournalist–she completely receded and everything she did, seemed to you, were performed on autopilot; her every movement mechanical, stiff. Her face remained stoic: her brows formed a flat line, the light in her eyes so ineffably dim made it known to you she was somewhere far away; the way that her hands shook as she gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles told you which plane Alexia had found herself in–a hellscape. 

It hurt seeing Alexia like this and you felt like you had to say something but you bit your tongue and instead, you placed a gentle hand on her right knee and applied just enough pressure to hopefully pull her back from her thoughts. It seemed to work for when she glanced at you, her mask of passivity cracked with the way her gaze softened, her lips now pressed into a thin line, almost quivering. The moment only lasted seconds but it left a profound mark in your heart, made all the more indelible when Alexia took your hand in hers–even with the heat from Barcelona’s summer evening, you felt her palm cold as ice–and intertwined your fingers in a firm grip while the other remained to steer the car until you reached the house.

By the time you arrived, the last vestiges of the sun tinged the skies in its sombre purple and pink, the tangerine glow from within the house a stark contrast to the growing darkness. When Alexia parked the car, the front door opened and more of that warm light spilled out and a shadow stretched long in its wake, and at the end of it, the familiar, large frame of Derek.

While Elisa immediately jumped out of the car to greet her uncle, Alexia’s hands remained on the wheel despite the lack of engine, now gripping for a different reason, her eyes trained on the imposing figure of your brother. To be fair, who wouldn’t? With the top of his head nearly grazing the doorframe and the width of his shoulders, just by looking at his stature alone, most wouldn’t even consider the words ‘soft’ and ‘sentimental’ to describe him. So the reflection of anxiety in her eyes was not new to you, but this was different because this was Alexia.

You placed a hand over one of hers on the wheel, coaxing her attention by squeezing her hand. “Alexia?”

She looked at you, blinked. Then a strained, “Yeah?”

“You’re going to be fine.”

Alexia looked at Derek again before she whispered through her teeth, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Hey,” you brushed your thumb over her cheek before you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Alexia’s eyes flicked back to you. Then you took her hand, pressed your lips on the back of it. “Alexia, breathe. You can do this, and I’ll be right here with you.”

True to your words, the moment Alexia gathered the courage to walk up the porch, Derek’s face broke into a grin that thawed the ever-present ice in his demeanour, enveloping Alexia in a hug. Despite Alexia’s tall frame, she looked almost like a child next to Derek, needing to crane her neck to look up when it was usually the other way around with you, as they chatted.

Then Derek finally took note of Alexia’s demeanour now that she was past Derek’s defences, and he voiced with concern, “Are you okay, Alexia? You look a bit pale. Do you need to stay over?” 

The reminder almost made Alexia a ghostly apparition by how much more her colour drained out from her. She pressed her lips in a thin line, dug her hands into her short pockets, while the muscles in her back coiled so much that you could see the planes of her muscles through her jersey. She replied tersely, “I’m alright and no, I’d rather not disturb you.” 

At what she said, you knew what you needed to do. You went to Derek and said in a voice enough for only him to hear.

“Derek, could you help Elisa start packing her things? I need to do something.”

“Okay.” A question was clear in his eyes but like the many times he did before, he didn’t press you for any information, only nodded, squeezed your shoulder, before he went back inside but not before he enveloped Alexia in a farewell hug and told her to get some rest. Then you walked back to where Alexia stood, still as tense as you left her, and you pulled at her arm gently, coaxing her towards her car–to the passenger seat.

“Alexia, give me your keys.”

Alexia looked at you, still pale but her eyes now held confusion, and maybe a hint of defiance, in them. “Why?”

“I’m not about to let you drive home by yourself like this.”

“No. I’m well capable of–”

You fixed her with a stern eye. “Give me your keys. Now.” 

Alexia regarded you with a wary eye but she sighed, finally relenting, and dropped her keys in your open palm. She sat in the passenger seat, an elbow up against the window and chin propped up on her knuckles, quiet apart from the occasional direction to the way to her apartment. The silence was heavy, but you found yourself not entirely too bothered by it for it gave you a chance to gather your own thoughts–to try and find the words to explain–but you couldn’t help but take furtive glances at Alexia, who was looking more and more dejected by the minute as the streetlights casted shadows on her face and made her demeanour excessively morose, the sheen in her eyes prominent in darkness. 

You arrived and Alexia let you in, dropping her keys in a little dish on a cabinet by the door, the air still and silent apart from the clink of metal against porcelain and the soft breath of clothes rustling as the two of you padded into Alexia’s apartment. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to explore the space but as you entered the living room, your palms began to sweat as the nerves began to set in. 

Alexia was hiding behind her stoicism again, sitting on the couch seeming as calm as ever, fixing you with a look that betrayed the placidness of her demeanour. You sat too, opting for the space by Alexia’s side as opposed to the lone loveseat as you knew that the nature of what you were about to reveal required the lost distance between your bodies; for her sake and yours.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak; you opened your mouth a number of times but you stopped short for fear that the words would fail you. Alexia waited patiently and only when she took your hand in the space between hers did you find the courage to begin, placing your other hand over hers; she was with you, you were with her.

And so, you told her.

From the night you left, when you were about to tell her what you were going to get yourself into, to your arrival and the conflict you needed to cover. About being caught in the middle of fire, about the nature by which you met Elisa. And then, finally, you told her about what happened to you: the shots, the hospital, and your recovery. You watched, as this enfolded, the way Alexia became increasingly tense, she’d taken your hand in a grip at one point, and you felt the warmth in her hand dissipate into cold sweat, could feel the way she trembled. By the end of it, Alexia looked paler than you’d ever seen her before, wide eyes red and glassy; fragile in all sense of the word.

The silence that followed was like a fog, heavy and suffocating, and the words that bounced against the walls made the fog even thicker that your chest began to ache.

“When were you planning to tell me?” Came the even question.

“Yesterday, but I changed my mind. I should’ve just told you.” 

Another pause, her demeanour remained the same. And then, “How bad was it?”

You considered lying; considered telling her that it wasn’t that bad to appease her, to protect her from that knowledge but there was a plea that shone in her eyes that stopped you. So, with a shaky breath, you whispered, “I… they said that my heart stopped. Twice.”

Alexia inhaled sharply and you winced when her next words were spoken in a broken tongue, a lone tear running down her cheek.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Alexia whispered. 

“I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“You nearly died!” Alexia shouted as she stood up suddenly, eyes wide and frantic, while she threw her hands in the air before she dug her fingers into her hair. She must’ve realised how loud her voice was because she spoke her next words in a lower tone but it was restrained all the same, tight and thin as a string on the brink of breaking. 

“There was no other way I’d take it! What if I’d lost you and I didn’t even know?” Then her eyes widened even further, realisation clear in them, and then her breath caught, words coming out in a sob. “No, I did lose you, didn’t I? Your heart stopped! Your heart–”

Alexia’s knees buckled beneath her and you barely caught her in time. The weight of her against you brought the both of you down to the ground, the softness of the rug doing little to lessen the fall, and it left you cradling Alexia’s head in your arms, her ear against your chest, as you tried, to no avail, to ease her pain.

Alexia had always seemed like an immovable mountain to most people, strong and collected in the face of adversities, especially so to her supporters who’d only ever truly seen her display an air of vulnerability a handful of times, so to witness her so broken like this–prone and weak on her knees, spine contorting in an anguished arch under the heaviness that you put in her chest, the weight too much for her to bear–and knowing that it was you who caused her to feel this much misery… Oh, how the pain seared through you like a burning lance! 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whispered this litany of lamentations against her ear, your voice thick with tears. But, in your mind, you were apologising for more than that; for all the mistakes you’d made, for leaving, for almost leaving into that endless night.

Alexia twisted your shirt in a grip, the fabric now soaked with her tears, gnashing her teeth in a fierce display of guilt. “And I wasn’t even there for you. Fuck, I wasn’t even there. I–”

“You cannot blame yourself for this, darling. I won’t let you.” You said, voice firm despite the gentleness of it. And you proceeded, “And you think you weren’t there but you were, Alexia. You saved me.”

It was the truth that Alexia needed–that you needed her–to hear. She was your light in that darkness: in that sleep and the haze that came after it, and even more so now than ever. You tightened your grip around her, kissed the top of her head, and brushed her tears away.

“You were there, Alexia, always. You just didn’t know it.”

You were drying your hair with a towel on the bed when Alexia entered the bedroom, hair still dripping from her shower that left dark spots around the collar of her grey shirt, the skin around her eyes remained rosy but now faint, her short shorts barely appearing beneath the hem of her shirt, and–

“Is that…?”

Alexia followed your gaze and looked down at the string around her left ankle, the silver of the charm glinting in the low light. “Yes.”

“You kept it…” You whispered as emotions caught in your throat. 

“Of course, I did. It…” Alexia bit her lip, casted her gaze to the side for a moment, before she met your eyes again, eyes so openly sincere you longed to kiss her right then. “It makes me feel more at ease while playing. It makes me feel safe.”

At that, you grazed your thumb over the string around your wrist. “I know the feeling.”

A silence fell over you as Alexia stood just a few paces away from the foot of her bed, feet shifting beneath her as she gnawed on her lower lip. She looked so small like that, so young and unsure. So you shifted your weight, and made space for her as you said softly, “Ale, come here. Let me dry your hair.”

That seemed to be what Alexia was waiting for because she finally shuffled forward, and sat down between your legs with her back turned to you. Gently, you began to dry her hair, loving the way she craned her neck back as you did so. Once it was only damp enough now, you ran your fingers through her hair, carefully untangling the knots between the strands, before you moved your hand lower, to the nape of her neck first then to her shoulders, putting just enough pressure there with the intent to release the tension in her muscles.

Alexia sighed deeply, tilting her head sideways so you could move your hands more freely. And a moment after, she turned and looked up at you, eyes lidded and shining with vulnerability and… something else that you couldn’t quite decipher but your heart ached all the same from the depth of it, and then slowly, she rose, and then the warmth of her breath caressed your cheek, her lips on yours. The kiss was tender and sweet in its lightness and before you knew it, you were eased down to the bed, her warmth washing over you as if her body was the sun and you were the earth being graced by her light.

You cupped her cheek, feeling the line of her jaw, savouring her lips when a wetness burnt against the skin below your eye, tasted salt on your tongue, and felt the stutter in Alexia’s breath. Soon, Alexia broke the kiss entirely, sinking into the crook of your neck where she wept silently, and you could do nothing but wrap your arms around her frame to shelter her, to assure her that you were still here and that, truly, the worst had passed. You held her there until sweet repose, at last, eased her into a place without pain and you waited for sleep to come, while regarding her countenance and relishing the soft caress of her breath on your skin, when not a moment later, you joined Alexia in slumber; your heart finally beating in time with hers.

It was still dark when you woke several hours later with a comforting warmth pressed against your back and the weight of Alexia’s arms around your waist, her breath warm against the nape of your neck. You shifted closer to the source of your comfort and placed your hand over hers. From the way her hold on you tightened, you knew she was awake.

“Can I confess something?” Alexia whispered, voice raw.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. 

“I waited for you.” A pause. “Until I saw you at the Olympics, I was still waiting for you. I knew the odds of you coming back to me were against me, but I hoped you’d come back.”

“Thank you for waiting.” You murmured.

“Thank you for coming back.” Alexia choked out, arms tightening around your waist. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

You needed to see her, so you peeled her hands from your waist, turned, and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“I’m here, Alexia. I’m right here with you.” You caressed her cheek, wiping the tear in the corner of her eyes before you whispered against her lips, “If I have to spend my whole life thanking you, so be it.”

Saying goodbye was a difficult affair for everyone–well, except for Derek, of course. Despite Alexia’s offer to drop you, Derek, and Elisa to the airport, you declined, reminding Alexia she needed rest for tomorrow, chuckling lightly at the pout she gave you when you said it, which made you inclined to kiss it away. 

(You ignored Derek’s smirk; you spied him over Alexia’s shoulder looking all too smug for his own good.)

And Elisa, after spending the past few days in Alexia’s company, clung to her waist, lips quivering and eyes glassy with unshed tears, while Alexia tried to appease her. It seemed that Alexia’s celebrity factor had diminished for Elisa and now it dimmed to a newfound word: a friend. You smiled as you watched them chat for a bit longer, before Elisa went inside the car.

When it was your turn to hug Alexia, you sank into her arms, and she in yours, as your heart already longed for her at the thought that in a few minutes, you two would be parted again. It was difficult but you managed to pull away, kissing Alexia on her cheek, then her lips. 

It was your last kiss but as your Uber took you away and as Alexia’s figure shrank in the rearview mirror from the growing distance, this kiss, you felt, held the promise of a future; of something more.

And that, to you, was everything.

You took the call immediately after you saw Alexia’s name on your screen. 

“Alexia, what did you do?”

It was currently late October, over two months since the last time you’d seen her in person, but the both of you–and occasionally Elisa would join the both of you if she was able to catch you after her practice–remained in contact be it through messages, calls, or video calls. So to say that you missed her was more than an understatement and you found that the calls that used to relieve you of your longing for her–although they still very much did–now only served to deepen the growing cavern in your heart that resembled the woman who it belonged to; it was no longer enough, you wanted Alexia. 

But that was not to be the topic of your conversation right now. 

Alexia’s chuckle met your ears, brows crunching up in amusement. She was in a loose shirt, half of her face glazed over in a low, warm glow. “Is this about Elisa’s trial?” 

“Please, Alexia, if you had something to do with Elisa getting scouted, tell me now.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Alexia said, even and light with laughter, but she enunciated the words with an air of seriousness. “I didn’t do anything. Although I admit I did a little digging that day I went to La Masia when you guys were here, remember? I heard Jona say her name in passing and when I checked the list, Elisa’s name was one of the best candidates. Your daughter has talent and a promising dedication to the club, the scout saw that.”

And as her word sank in–as you believed in your bones that Alexia was speaking truthfully–you let out a sigh, sagging into your open palm. 

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry, babe… I just had to make sure.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Alexia waved a dismissive hand, and then, “So, what happened?”

“Well, I picked Elisa up today and her coach handed me a brochure and started talking about Elisa’s eligibility for a trial to get into Barça’s youth team.”

“And how did Elisa take it?”

“She’s unusually calm about all of it and that’s exactly the reason why I wanted to call you.” You sighed, “I’m worried she believes she didn’t get in because she did well and that she got in because of her connection to you.”

A pause and you watched as a pensive look passed over Alexia’s face. “Do you mind if I talk to her?” 

“No, not at all. I think that’s a good idea. Hold on.” 

You muted the call and then padded your way to Elisa’s bedroom, then knocked on her door. 

“Ladybug, Alexia is on the phone.”

A moment later the door opened slightly, and Elisa looked through the tiny gap, her brow scrunched up in confusion before she widened the gap enough that she could step out. 

“Alexia?”

You tucked a strand behind her ear. “Yes, honey. She wants to talk to you, only if you want to.”

Elisa gnawed her bottom lip, casted her gaze down for a moment, before she finally nodded. You gave her your phone, watched her close the door, before you made your way down to the kitchen to check on the food you were cooking. It was nearly half an hour later that Elisa joined you, phone in hand, eyes only just a bit raw, which she handed to you after giving you a hug. And when she pulled back, the smile she gave you was small but radiant, and you felt relief as you let her slip back into her room but not before you reminded her that the food was nearly ready. 

“I don’t know what you said to her, but she looks better. Thank you” 

“She just needed a little pep talk.” Alexia smiled at you, soft, “And anytime, my love.”

Two months later, Elisa’s club topped their respective league, won a major regional and national tournament, and Elisa… Elisa passed the trial.

Elisa was going to Barcelona.

‘Come over when you’re done for the day?’

The message was sent about an hour ago. You ran your fingers through your still damp hair, wiping your clammy palms on the fabric of your jeans, as you sent, ‘I’m coming up.’

Two days after Elisa received the news from Barça, you flew by yourself to Barcelona to sort out some paperworks. Derek already offered for the both of you to remain at his place–insisted even, so you wouldn’t get stressed out, which was sweet of him–and you accepted, but you promised you’d find someplace else after you and Elisa settled into your new routine. Alexia knew about all of this, of course, her schedule was filled today so she wasn’t able to be with you. Well… until now.

Now faced with Alexia’s apartment door, to say that you were nervous would be an understatement; you hadn’t seen your lover in the flesh for months, how could your heart not be in danger of leaping out of your chest at the promise of seeing her again soon?

You knocked on the door and only seconds passed between the moment you saw a shadow through the peephole and the door being flung open, and before you could fully comprehend what was happening, you were being pulled inside by the collar of your cardigan and slammed against the door as warm lips pressed on yours, hungry and full of ardour. 

You moaned at the heat of Alexia’s tongue searing the skin of your lower lip, her teeth napping and pulling, before her tongue swept over the same spot, to soothe and salve and sear all over again. Standing on your toes, you wrapped your arms around her neck while you pushed your chest up, seeking her warmth, and you loved the way Alexia’s arms tightened their hold around your waist, pressing you further into the firmness of her body. Then her hands ventured downwards, setting your skin afire in their wake, and you gasped into her mouth the moment she took your ass in her grip and squeezed, the pleasure turning your blood into an entity of potent desire. 

To your surprise, Alexia suddenly pulled away from the kiss and she ripped her hands away from your body, planting them instead on the door to hold her weight. And you had never hated distance more than the mere centimetres that separated your bodies just then.

Alexia looked down at you with lidded eyes, pupils blown so wide that the hazel in them were covered in black, while her breath came out stuttered.

“Wait–I’m sorry, I know we’re taking it slow but I just missed you so much and I–” 

You let out a sound that was between a moan and a groan as you pulled the collar of her hoodie down, swallowing her next words in a deep kiss. Your hand crept under the fabric of her hoodie, her stomach deliciously taught beneath your fingers and you didn’t fight the urge to drag your nails over her smooth skin to make your intentions clear–an action that made her swear against your lips. You took her lower lip between your teeth and pulled slightly, the sound she made–obscene in every sense of the word–and the curse she let out sent scorching heat straight to your core; nothing turned you on more than the proof of Alexia’s ever-present composure slipping. 

It mattered not how the both of you arrived at the bed; one second you were pressed up against the door, the next you were surrounded by soft sheets with Alexia on top of you, nipping and licking along the column of your neck, while the room filled with pants and gasps that came from either of you. She pressed her knee against the juncture of your thighs and the pressure made you keen Alexia’s name in a wanton cry, which Alexia responded to with an approving hum that you felt on your lips. 

Her teasing continued on until the fabric of your underwear clung to you like a second skin from the slickness of your core but when you felt her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, you surged up and gently pushed Alexia to the side, laying her down on the bed with a deep kiss while you moved to straddle her stomach. 

Then you leant back after a moment to look at her, and the sight you beheld took the breath from you. 

There, she lied: with her light brown hair fanned out wildly on the sheets, a stark contrast against the lightness of the linen; her skin glowed from the incandescent light from her lamp; her hazel eyes beautifully dark and lidded with need; her cheeks graced with a rosy tint of the same shade as her supple lips which were slightly parted; the strong column of her neck, her broad shoulders, her large but gentle hands… there, while she lied and gazed at you, you basked in the radiance of her earthly beauty–her character even more resplendent in nature. And there, your chest crowded with emotions–lust, desire, wonder, amity–but a resonant call from your heart encompassed the immensity of this singular truth. 

You loved Alexia. 

Oh, how you loved her so. 

With reverent hands and eyes that bore the zeal of your affection, you kept your gaze on hers while you dragged your fingers over her clothed ribs down to the firmness of her stomach, admiring the way the strength in them yielded into a softness so inherently familiar, adoring the way her lips parted further, the way her brows rose ever so slightly as the depth in her eyes seemed to stretch into a vastness that called to you. 

She was beautiful. 

So, so beautiful.

All of her exalted you to no end: the sound that she made when you kissed the valley between her breasts after you’d helped her undress; the feel of her skin on your tongue, from her collarbone, to her rib, to her hip, and her thigh; the taste–finally, again–of her need, her pleasure, and her ecstasy. Everything that she was revived you; she stoked the embers of your mortal flame into a star that shone for her, and only her. Every breath, every word, every look… these were the things that–in their divine simplicity–endeared her even more to you; the divine simplicity of her state of being was more than enough to move you, to make you fall deeper into your love for her.

As she came undone beneath your touch, the echoes of your heart longed to be heard, filling your throat with the words of a confession. But instead you whispered, in a cadence similar to that of a litany, that she was beautiful. 

Soon after she came back to herself, she sat up and in a second, Alexia had you in her tender and appraising arms as you remained on her bare lap, kissing along your jaw as her large hands roamed over your still clothed body, her touch both gentle and fervid. But when she grazed the hem of your shirt again, you stilled.

Alexia pulled away, eyes lidded but concern reflected brighter in the darkness of her eyes.

“What is it, darling?” She asked as she brushed a strand behind your ear, gaze intent, searching your countenance for an answer.

Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest. You opened your mouth a few times as you tried to find the right words to say, and then finally, you admitted quietly, “My body… it–I’m not like how you remembered.”

“Darling, your body will always be beautiful. You don’t need to hide yourself from me.” Alexia took one of your hands and pressed a kiss on your knuckles, earnest in the way she spoke and looked at you. Your heart ached.

“I know, it’s just… I don’t think I’m ready,” you trailed off, “And I’m worried you’re not, too.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Alexia squeezed your hand, encouraging.“I’m ready when you are.”

Unbidden, the image of Alexia in anguish after you told her about what you went through flashed through your mind and the same vulnerability–that thinly veiled fear–you’d seen then, you could see now reflected in her eyes. It was one thing to hear the words of injury, and it was another to see the physical proof of it; if the words had profoundly affected her so, how much more would bearing witness to the tangible mark of your narrow escape from death would cause her?

“Alexia…” 

You began to sigh, ready to offer a rejection, but Alexia cupped your cheeks into her palms, making you look into her eyes. Then she whispered, “Please, let me see you. I want to… I want you.”

There was much desire and tenderness in her voice, and you found yourself calming down knowing that you could trust Alexia with this. So you nodded. 

Alexia smiled at you softly before she whispered, “Thank you. Just let me know when you want to stop.”

You nodded again and then, Alexia’s lips were back on yours, sweet and light as her hands returned to your waist. She was gentle, murmuring words of reassurance on your temple, your jaw, your collarbone, as she eased your cardigan off your shoulders. She placed one light kiss on the column of your neck before she laid you down on the sheets, her hair cascading over you like a silk curtain. 

Alexia journeyed down your body, placing butterfly kisses over your clothed sternum, her breath breaching the thin barrier between your skin and heated your blood into a gentle simmer. Then she stopped, her lips on your stomach, and when you looked down at your body she was gazing up at you with imploring eyes, fingers playing at the button of your jeans, a question clear in her eyes. 

Your lips parted at the sight of Alexia’s lips made red from kissing, her blown pupils dark with ardour, her brows tilted up in silent affection. Your heart, for all of its beating, was tranquil under the weight of Alexia’s hands and eyes, and so, you nodded.

Alexia gave you a smile and then she kissed your navel as her fingers unbuttoned your jeans, taking it off slowly. Then her hands skimmed over the newly exposed skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps and heat in their wake, and you gasped when you felt her lips ghosting above your core over the fabric of your underwear. You anticipated more, canting your hips upwards, but Alexia had already moved away by then, a gentle squeeze on your thigh, you perceived, was her form of apology. 

And then her fingers were drawing circles on the exposed skin of your navel, just below the hem of your shirt, as she bent down, capturing your lips in hers, before she rested her forehead against yours.

“Are you ready? Just say the word and I’ll stop.” Alexia whispered on your lips.

You inched away so you could cup Alexia’s face in your palm, grazing your thumb over her cheek, as you replied with absolute certainty. “I’m ready. I trust you, Alexia.” 

She caught your hand in hers as you began to take it back, pressing her cheek into your palm as she said, “Thank you.”

Slowly, Alexia began to take your shirt off and, once it was tossed aside, you waited with bated breath for her reaction upon seeing your scars. Would she turn away just as you tended to do sometimes whenever you saw yourself in the mirror? Would she touch you still–would you sicken her? You probably would, wouldn’t you? You–

A choking sound tore you away from your spiralling thoughts, your vision focusing on Alexia’s face contorting. A part of you screamed, ‘Look how you’ve appalled her!’, but clarity came over you and you recognised then that it was pain that marred her face. Alexia’s lips quivered as she took you in, eyes drifting around the more prominent scars on the right side of your torso–one on the top of your shoulder, on the skin just below your ribcage, and finally, the one just beside your breast–and her brows creased, and when she met your gaze, her eyes had reddened and now held in them, along with the desire–albeit now dimmer from the intensity of the other emotions on her face–a mixture of relief, regret, and agony. 

Then she gathered you in her arms as she leant down, her arms wounding their way around your ribs, her nose brushing against your collarbone, her fingers delicate in the way they splayed on the skin of your shoulder blades, while the strength of her body draped over you and the softness of her breasts–her warmth–offered, even without words, shelter and healing. And you basked in it, arching your back to further feel the press of Alexia’s body, wrapping your arms around her neck and in response, Alexia’s hold on you tightened as she whispered your name in a tone fit for a rhapsody.

Alexia lifted her head and looked into your eyes. You wiped the trail of a tear that ran down her cheek, tucked a loose hair behind her ear, traced the line of her brow, and then the bow of her lips which trembled at your touch.

“You’re here and you’re mine.” She stated softly although the intonation in the end made her sound unsure, as if she didn’t–or couldn’t–believe that the both of you were there together, skin on skin, flesh against flesh, breathing the same air in the same moment in time; alive. 

“I’m with you and I’m yours, Alexia.” You whispered with conviction. “Take me.” 

As you said this, you reached behind you to grab one of her hands so you could kiss her knuckles, watching her as she watched you, before you took her first two fingers into your mouth. You relished the way her lips parted with a gasp while you guided her fingers down to your core, pushing the fabric of your soaked underwear aside so you could press Alexia’s wet fingers against you, sighing when you finally felt her there while Alexia moaned out her desire.

And so, she took you. With one last fervid kiss on your lips that took your breath away, Alexia ventured downwards, brushing her thumb over your clit as she did, while she nipped on the expanse of skin you offered her. And then her lips were on you and you were lost–and found again.

She moved with an air of divinity; with each touch from her supple lips, you felt as though you were closer to grace; and with each swipe of her tongue and thrust of her fingers, you could feel a warm radiance washing over you, simultaneously stripping the strength away from your bones and restoring you to a wholeness you never knew you could feel.

You gathered enough strength to open your eyes to peer down your body and when you did, the sight that greeted you nearly pushed you over the edge. There between your legs, Alexia was looking at you with lidded eyes as she worked on you, catching a glimpse of her tongue every now and then, and the sheen of wetness on her lips and chin. And her eyes… Oh, her eyes had the power to unravel you with one look.

The need to feel her close rose in you as you felt your peak creeping closer. You had meant to say, ‘Come here’, but the words were lost on the way to your mouth and what came out was Alexia’s name. But Alexia understood enough it seemed for she–without so much as losing the pace of her fingers–moved up your body and kissed you, your wetness fresh on her lips and chin, your taste heavy on her tongue.

She kissed your cheek, then your temple, and then you felt her warm breath on your ear. Then she whispered low and dark as sin, “You look so beautiful like this… feel so good. Love the way you’re so wet for me.”

“Ale… Alexia…” You moaned at her words, dragging your nails over her back as you found yourself losing purchase; the edge of euphoria, you could feel, only just a breath away. 

“That’s it. Come for me, darling. Let me feel you come.”

The heat of it all–Alexia’s words and the warmth of her breath, that hot friction from her fingers, and her safe, sheltering weight on you–finally lit the fuse and ecstasy set every nerve in your body afire, and a sense of fullness filled your chest–a state of grace–that called to the woman before you. 

And so, you didn’t stop the words. 

You sighed against her ear, “I love you.” 

Alexia tensed but she didn’t stop until you’d finished, until your cheek was pressed against the sheets, eyes closed from the sheer pleasure that she blessed you with. When she dragged out her fingers from you, you whimpered.

And then you felt her palm on your temple, wiped the sweat away there, before she eased your head away from the pillow as she whispered your name. You opened your eyes to her doting countenance, her brows graced by a hopeful tilt.

“Do you mean it? Truly?” Alexia asked softly.

You felt no fear when you replied in the same soft cadence. “I do.” 

Her breath stuttered, her next words were so light you barely caught them. “Say it again. Please.”

You smoothed her hair, traced the tail of her brow, before you looked deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Alexia.” 

Her face broke into a small, reverent smile that bore all the warmth in the world before she caught your lips in a kiss so tender you nearly cried.

Then you parted, but Alexia’s forehead remained against yours.

And with tears in her eyes, she whispered. 

“I love you, too.”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Expand more on sugurus selfishness pls 💕💕

So it’s a need for him to take care and love you? <3 also how would he pick his lover and how to love them 👀

Would he never ever leave you even if it’s healthy for you and you’d be happier that way? (Tbh I don’t ever wanna leave him either 🥺❤️)

AHHH WELL…. it’s tough anon….. i feel like calling him selfish almost paints him in a bad light but i truly don’t see his selfishness as a bad thing 😭 suguru’s love is very very tender, but it’s kind of… rooted in his own need for devotion. if that makes sense. suguru craves to care for you, y’know? it’s all about you, yes, but it’s all about you because that’s what he wants… what he needs… he feels complete when you let him love you. he feels happy when you’re happy. so really it’s all about him, but all that’s running through his mind is you you you…. if that? makes sense???

like. at the end of the day. all suguru wants is to be the one who stands at your side. and he will fight for that position, as opposed to someone like gojo who i think would slink into the shadows if he thought it was best for you….. if your relationship was making you miserable then obviously suguru wouldn’t want you to stay, but. the thing is that he does make you happy. he sees it as his duty and it’s not a duty he’d ever give away to someone else, even if they could love you in ways he couldn’t... suguru is determined to be worthy of you!!!! he needs you and he needs to love you, to make you happier than anyone else. it’s a strong, selfish desire but that doesn’t make it bad!!!

this is a gross oversimplification really but in my brain it’s kinda like….. gojo wants you to be happy. and suguru wants to make you happy. you know??

[raticalshoez]

AHHHHHHHHHHHH YOUR LITTLE SKRUNKLY DESIGNS FOR THE LIFE SERIES PLAYERS ARE SO DAMN CUTEEEE🤬🤬🤬🤬👹👹👹👹 IF YOURE TAKING ANY REQUESTS COULD WE GET A QUICK CLOCK DUO DOODLE??

LOVE WINS!!!

[feroluce]

how do u imagine natasha + sampo’s relationship?

I. Feel a little bad for leaving this in my inbox as long as I did, especially since I said in this post I could write a whole essay on them. But then when I tried to actually answer this, I realized ah shit, I can't really articulate what I think of them at all OTL

(so have a bajillion words of meta analysis of them instead fklajklasjf)

Just! Sampo is very mysterious figure, and we know so little of his background and his motivations! So it's really difficult to get a solid read on some of his relationships with other characters. Regardless, I do think that Natasha is perhaps the one he's closest with, and that she is the one person who knows him the most intimately in all of Belobog.

And a lot of it IS hard to pin down because of Sampo's slippery nature, but also because it's like. If you look at just Natasha's dialogues about Sampo, it doesn't really look like much. It only becomes more meaningful when compared to how everyone else talks about him.

Most other characters just comment on what Sampo does, as in his observable actions that are easy to see on the surface or from a distance.

Natasha is one of the very, very few that actually speaks to Sampo's personality or philosophy. Like she not only is able to describe a certain behavior of his, but she's able to explain the why behind it.

At least part of this is probably that they spend so much time together- Hook even comments on it during her companion quest.

And tbh I don't really think it needs more proof or anything with such a flat out statement like that, but this is actually further supported by the fact that Seele is the only other character in Belobog to sorta-kinda comment on Sampo's personality; if Sampo were hanging around the clinic with Natasha all day, Seele would probably be the person he would see second-most there. Of the dialogues posted further up in this post, Hook obviously sees him all the time, but it's not always in the clinic, and besides she's still very young...she wouldn't have the same read on him an adult would. Luka avoids the clinic whenever he can because he's worried about taking up Natasha's valuable time. And the Landau siblings aren't even present in Boulder Town until after the Stellaron is quieted.

Seele, on the other hand, is extremely loyal and devoted to Natasha, and seems to worry about her a lot. She doesn't have the same reservations as Luka, and it would feel right to see her in the clinic frequently, taking orders and missions and trying to make sure Natasha doesn't run herself in the ground. So it would make sense for her to see a lot of Sampo if he's always in there, too, enough that she would have things to say about his personality, whether she likes that or not haha.

Of course we know from Sampo's lines that it's not that he's sick, he's just reporting back to Natasha. Sampo not only smuggles in supplies across the border like what most people know him for, he's also Natasha's source of intel.

Bringing back intel doesn't necessarily have to involve a lot of conversation though, especially because it would make more sense for Sampo to be turning in written reports. It decreases the chance of Natasha mishearing/misunderstanding something or having to rely on memory alone, neither of which are really things you probably want to be doing when bad intel can mean the difference between life and death in her circumstances. So I do really wonder what it is Sampo does in the clinic all day haha. Given that he's a big believer in the power of small talk bringing in big clients, it's entirely possible Sampo is just in there being chatty, happily making conversation and keeping Natasha company most of the time...which is kinda cute. He also really could just be talking shop, too, of course- Sampo does a lot of work for Natasha, and I don't think it'd be a stretch to assume she's his main client. There's probably a lot to discuss about supply quotas, incoming intel, scheduled drops, etc.

My favorite option, though, is actually based on one of Sampo's options from the main quest, where he says:

Because like! The way he says this, the way he specifies that this is his opinion, but no one seems to care what he thinks? And how he calls them stubborn in particular? It really sounds like Sampo has been trying to get Wildfire to operate in a different direction. And if you look up the exact definition of "artless," you get this

which very much fits Sampo, and how he does things. He has guile and deception down to an art form. Sampo goes on to call Wildfire "do-gooders," but then cautions the trailblazer not to underestimate them because of that- indicating that Sampo sees that type of philosophy as something naive, or at least just ineffective. Something that you would underestimate a person for.

And the person Sampo associates with the most in Wildfire, the one he's always seen with, the one who would hold the most sway to change the modus operandi of the organization is...Natasha.

So I wonder if Sampo has been trying, possibly for years now, to get Natasha to see what he thinks of as reason, and start playing dirty to survive. I wonder if that's what he spends so much time in the clinic for, is because he does care, and he wants her and the rest of them to live, and he has been trying to convince her to go with his way of doing things, but Natasha has been refusing him, refusing to compromise her morals.

Because we know from some readables and from the general Vibe, both up on the surface and down below, that things were getting pretty dire. Rivet Town has fallen. The Silvermane Guards are being whittled down and broken. The Fragmentum was right on everyone's doorstep, and I'm sure that if the Astral Express hadn't arrived- and that if Sampo hadn't set the stage so perfectly, if he hadn't played his part just so- then all of Belobog would have eventually been snuffed out. Sampo had to have known it was happening. He must have known the end was upon them.

He doesn't even have a stake in Belobog- he's not from here. He could, assumingly, call it quits and leave when shit got tough by whatever means got him there in the first place.

And I'm sure Sampo wants to save all of Belobog, but I think he's particularly endeared by Natasha. He famously phrases his view of Elation as "true happiness always entails the manifestation of the dignity of mankind." And like. Who else embodies that so much as her?

Maybe it is a little vague and up to interpretation, but I feel like Natasha is FULL of that kind of dignity. She has been doing this since before the blockade. She willingly chose to stay in the Underground where she could do the most good. She has seen so, so much death and you can see how it weighs on her; she's become bitter, and wary, and weary. She has it out for the Guards (understandable), and she openly taunts Gepard and goes right for his throat when he shows up in Boulder Town, ten years too late, trying to help with the Fragmentum.

Natasha even seems to have given up any belief she may have once had. She's completely lost faith in Qlipoth.

All of this, and yet she still chooses to be kind. She still chooses to help people. There is something immensely admirable in all of that.

And I feel like you can see how much Sampo admires her in just how often he thinks of her, especially when someone needs help. Sampo smokebombs everyone and needs to get them somewhere safe in the Underground? He takes them to Natasha. Svarog is about to fucking kill everyone? Go get Natasha. He finds the trailblazer passed out in an alleyway? He carries them to Natasha. The trailblazer is seeing weird shit out in the Fragmentum? Recommend they go get a check up. Specifically from Natasha.

It's a little silly, but I think you can also see some of this when Sampo is being melodramatic about being caught red-handed in the museum event. He echoes a very important sentiment to Natasha and Wildfire;

And the mission where this ideology was displayed strongest was titled, "To Rot or To Burn."

(Hell, in the dream sequence of Penacony- regardless of whether that dream bubble came from Sampo or Sparkle, it had to be informed by Sampo's tales of Belobog. Sparkle has never been there herself. And the kind trashcan that immediately helps you and sets you on the right path, that tries to rally everyone together, the only one with a name so clearly and obviously taken from someone Sampo knew in Belobog? Is Shatana- an anagram of Natasha. Even from a meta perspective, they have the same VA. No other trashcan there gets that treatment. None.)

I think they have the same goals, and even hold some of the same views. Natasha's are much more obvious, but still. Sampo says this about Belobog's circumstances:

And he says this as though it should be obvious common sense. That when things are rough, you share and make sure everyone has enough. I think they both share this belief, it's just that they disagree on how to go about making things even. Natasha believes in rallying people for the cause and giving as much of herself as she can to make up for whatever people lack. Sampo believes that if some dipshit with more money than what they need falls for his bullshit and he gets to spread it around? Well hey, that sounds like a whole lot of their own fault.

Natasha is definitely aware of this, and she has no problem threatening Sampo whenever she thinks he's stepping out of line.

She keeps him on a very short leash, which like. Yeah no that's valid fjkdlsajfdklj

Even so, the way she talks about him, like... Maybe it's just me, and my rose-colored glasses, but she doesn't seem to dislike him nearly as much as she could? She kind of just. Says these things as statements about him, without any real vitriol behind them. This is just kind of how he is. She even seems to have a sense of humor about it.

And again! She has so much more to say about him than almost any other character.

I'd like to think part of her...affection? of sorts? for him is simple camaraderie. Circumstances are dire. Past, present, and future are all bleak. Things like that deepen bonds with your foxhole buddies. Sampo is dependent on Natasha for work and pay and a place to get away from the Guards. Natasha is dependent on Sampo for food and medicine and life-saving supplies. They both heavily rely on each other in this harsh environment, and they have a really nice back-and-forth that I appreciate with how they help each other out by owing favors as payment.

And the other part, I'd like to think actually IS because she knows him very well- maybe not things like his past, but she knows some of his personality and beliefs, and finds them agreeable enough. She even has the audacity to call him a poor liar at one point- Sampo! Of all people! Known by someone well enough to be caught out as a poor liar! He's either intentionally leading her on and letting her think she's caught him, or Natasha just really is that good. Neither would surprise me tbh

I think Natasha is also just uniquely prepared to understand Sampo, and is able to see his better sides without letting her judgement be clouded by his slimy manner. She's able to appreciate that his actions ARE extremely helpful, regardless of how he does them.

Even as she acknowledges that he isn't always trustworthy, she does still choose to rely on him and give him chances. She was pleasantly surprised by him here, but she still chose to trust him with this in the first place. She never treats him harshly, and she never seems to bear any kind of grudge with him.

But my favorite example of Natasha being able to understand Sampo? My favorite is this. This one little throwaway line, that didn't even involve him, wasn't even about him. I feel like Natasha is capable of knowing and understanding Sampo on a deeper level than most people can, solely because of this.

She gets it.

(As a fun bonus: In the current trashcan event, there's a simple mechanic where you get one trial character for the initial battle. Then, for the harder stage, you get that same trial character, plus a couple of extras. This is true for every Proof- except for Sampo's. In his harder stage, you use Asta, Black Swan, and Luocha. But in his initial stage, in an event all about friendship and relationships...)

[forthetwins]

Hello! I saw your requests opening and before I state my requests, I just want to say that I throughly enjoy your writings. They make me happy most of the time, you write so well. Thank you for taking the time to write such cute little stories or headcanons. 🫶

Otherwise, I was wondering if you would be able to write Fred and George as little blurbs or headcanons if we wanted to try the pocky game with them! I think it would a cute idea to see how each of them reacts. :)

playing pocky with fred and george weasley.

fred weasley.

the evening sun cast a warm glow over the hogwarts grounds as you and fred weasley found a secluded spot by the lake.

the water reflected the orange and pink hues of the sky, creating a serene backdrop for your date. you had brought a book to read, but fred had other plans.

"hey," he said, pulling out a box of pocky sticks from his pocket with a mischievous grin. "fancy a game?"

you raised an eyebrow, curious. "pocky?"

"come on," he coaxed, "it'll be fun. besides, i promise not to cheat...much."

you couldn't help but laugh, nodding in agreement, but warning him not to cheat.

fred's grin widened as he pulled out a pocky stick and placed one end in his mouth, leaning forward. you mirrored his action, placing the other end between your lips. the game began, both of you nibbling slowly towards the center.

your heart raced as the gap between you narrowed. fred's eyes never left yours, filled with playful intensity. just as you were about to meet in the middle, he used his height to his advantage, tilting his head back slightly, making you stretch to reach him.

"fred," you mumbled around the pocky stick, trying to keep a straight face.

he chuckled, the sound vibrating through the thin biscuit between you. "say you love me," he teased, his voice a playful whisper.

"fred," you repeated, your voice slightly more stern, but a smile tugged at your lips.

"say it," he insisted, the pocky stick breaking slightly from his laughter.

"i love you, you big idiot," you finally relented, leaning forward to close the gap.

fred's eyes softened as he leaned down, finally closing the distance. the pocky stick snapped between you, and he captured your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. when you pulled back, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"that wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his head on top of yours.

you sighed, leaning into his embrace. "you always have to win, don't you?"

"only because i love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "and because you're the best prize i could ever ask for."

george weasley.

the owlery at hogwarts was quiet and dimly lit, the soft hoots of owls echoing in the rafters above. you and george weasley found a secluded spot among the perches and nests, the air filled with the comforting scent of hay and feathers.

george, ever the prankster, pulled out a box of pocky sticks with a mischievous grin. "how about a game?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"sure thing," you agree, already anticipating his playful challenge.

he handed you a pocky stick and took one for himself, placing one end in his mouth. you mirrored his action, taking the other end between your lips.

the game commenced, both of you nibbling delicately towards the center, eyes locked in a playful duel.

as the distance closed, george paused, his gaze filled with eagerness. "kiss me," he mumbled around the pocky stick.

you grinned, continuing to nibble closer. "maybe if you're lucky," you teased, your voice carrying a hint of challenge.

with a final nibble, you reached the center first, the pocky stick snapping as you leaned forward to capture george's lips in a victorious kiss. he laughed against your lips, his hands coming up to cradle your face gently.

"well played," he murmured, his nose brushing with yours affectionately.

you chuckled, feeling the warmth of his affection enveloping you. "better luck next time," you teased playfully, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

george let's out a laugh, leaning back against a stack of crates and pulling you close beside him. "oh, i'm just getting started."

[books-books-smolderinglooks]

Wille Smiles or his Simon's amazing, I really like him smiles ❤️❤️

[7iffer]

Are your requests still open? Since you said you also watched TFA, could I request a drawing of Jazz/Megatron? They are my faves !! Thanks ^^

As you wish

[moonspirit]

I love aruani sm but lately I feel like it’s getting less fun bc of all the hate they get… usually it doesn’t get to me but it has lately and idk… I still love my blondes but it’s so hard to hehe without having someone come in and talk about how their ship is better etc whatever.. idk if you ever feel like that /:

Hello anon!

I can understand where you're coming from. I've been in this fandom since 2013, and believe me, I've seen a ton of hate xD Where there are fans there are also antis, this is mostly an unavoidable phenomenon and the best we can do is accept it.

But anon, they key is to not give antis any leeway to come and camp out in your space. If you have something you love, be it a ship, a fandom, a hobby or anything, it's yours to love and enjoy. You don't have to let the antis come in and talk shit about it. You see them from the window, they're outside, but don't open the door.

Instead, invite in the people who feel the same way as you.

Tumblr is the only place I'm on, for fandom and community and pretty much everything else, but believe me, I see so many rancid posts here that I actually go: "what the actual fuck". Some of these posts spill into the 'Aruani' tag for no reason at all other than to incite a ship-war. It's really unnecessary and also annoying, but unfortunately some people feed off the drama.

Obviously, I can't block the tag, but if it's really getting to me, I block the user.

Done. I refresh my dash, see the Aruani community posting memes and art and headcanons and mini-fics and everything is still wonderful and fun and good.

These are the people in my house, the antis stay outside.

[disorganised-bagel]

Bagel, please, I must see more sillies. Would you ever possibly draw more perfectdolls? (Totally hope I do not sound insane or rude, I just love the cute little drawings you've shared so far!)

hbskjbn?? this is so incredibly nice what???? vjhkskh?????

i am definitely not an artist, but i am so beyond flattered??? huh?????

throws perfectdolls at you

the sillies :D

also here's some ocean/jane too :)

this one is technically fanart for the fic no one deserves to be alone by beepsinquestion (please go read that entire series, it's so good)

i don't really know how to draw jane, but an attempt was made :'D

thank you so much for the ask??? i'm gonna go cry now maybe???? /pos /hj

have a wonderful day :D

[unknown-entity-tm]

Decided to make one of those emojis game for roleplayer so:

👋: I want to be your friend.

🚪: I want to respectfully open the door for you if you're behind me when I'm entering a room and you're also entering that room.

🎁: I want to give you a gift.

🛏️: You need to go to sleep.

🫥: I'll come into your life then disappear.

⭐: Have a star stickers for trying something.

📷: I want to take a picture with you.

🔥: I want to be in a burning building with you and smile as the fire takes us away from life.

💀: I want you dead.

🤢: You disgust me so much I became green.

🎀: I want to put bows on you.

🏹: I want to stab you with an arrow.

🫐: I want to eat blueberries with you.

🪩: I want to go to a party with you.

🎇: I want to celebrate new year with you.

🎃: I want to celebrate Halloween with you.

🏆: I want to celebrate my/your victory with you.

🎄: I want to celebrate Christmas with you.

🥂: I want to celebrate anything with you.

👾: I want to play video games with you.

🍞: throw bread at you.

Indicator of relationships (to put after another emoji):

👥: platonically

♥️: romantically

💣: hatefully

👨‍👨‍👦: as family

[defiledtomb]

I’m PRAYING for PLEASE work out!!!! You deserve that apparment!!! God! I’m so excited!

ME TOOOOO!!!

[hidedino]

I wonder if that's why Ramón keeps calling Pac his pai now as well, if he isn't able to see Fit for a while, then maybe Pac will be there to take care of him and they can be a comfort to each other until Fit returns.

that would be such a huge brain play from ramón's admin if he'd started calling pac his pai because he knew what cc!fit was plotting and wanted to plan it out ahead. and it does make sense because if ramón were to not get as involved with pac, the caretaking duty would've been relayed to tubbo who has recently also been spending time with him.

and imagine if pac were to officially adopt ramón as they wouldn't be certain of fit's return and then fit came back to pac being ramón's established co-parent. ramón deserves that second parent after he's had to live with only one dad the longest out of all the eggs. he needs to receive something good out of this bad situation he might find himself in.

[ray935sworld]

Today (Part 1) - Jorge Lorenzo x Alex Marquez

When Alex woke up, the first thing he realized was that he was laying on his stomach. He yawned deeply and considered trying to get some more sleep. He was still tired and since he had today of, this shouldn't be a problem.

Then he realized that he was laying on top of someone. Based on the anatomy of the chest area, another man. A very, very naked man, while he himself was very much missing all of his own clothes as well. If the feeling on his skin was anything to go by.

He could basically feel how his dick was pressed against the other ones thigh. The morning hard one surely wasn't helping him right now. He blushed hard as the memories returned.

Even though he did had a few drinks, he wasn't too drunk not to know what he had did last night. And with who. Especially with who.

His hearted started beating faster as he recaed the last night. The way Jorge had kissed and touched him, before and after fucking him like was just made for it - he wanted to hold on the memories for ever, even or especially if those were all that lasted between them.

He couldn't help but lift himself slightly up. He loved the feeling of his face pressed against his chest, the rhythm of the heart slowly and regularly beating. It was calm and after just one night, surely already his favorite spot. Still, he wanted to see Jorge. He had to remember his face to complete the memory.

He watched his closed eyes and slightly open mouth. He looked so calm when he was sleeping. There was no trace of worry or fear. No anger or locked up emotions haunting his features. He seemed open and relaxed.

Alex like the way he looked now, like there was nothing to worry about. He looked like any regular guy would look. There was no trace of Lorenzo, the tough guy that had a habit of asshole tendency. He just looked like the kind guy he had shown Alex yesterday.

He felt his arms still around him. They had adjusted from his back to his lower back. In retrospecture, he should have known that this meant that, Jorge was, unlike his thought, awake.

Alex however was too caught up in the moment. Carefully, afraid of waking him, he kissed him. It was just a short kiss, way too short from Jorge, who hadn't been asleep for a while now, to respond. It was more a breath.

The moto2 rider had wanted to steal one last kiss. But it didn't felt right. He didn't want to kiss someone who didn't want to kiss him sober, in the morning after. But he couldn't leave without. So this felt like an acceptable solution.

"I still I want you. In every aspect." he whispered. He said it more to himself. „Sex. Cuddles. Normal life. I know you don't want me so-" he froze when Jorge's eyes immediately flew open.

He stared at the older Spaniard in shock. This confession was supposed to be between him and a sleeping Jorge at most. So basically just a more or less empty room with no conscious.

It was supposed to stay in the hotel room, they had shared for this one night, that they would have to leave soon so it could get cleaned. Maybe another stranger would have their one night stand over. Or a married couple would take it. Or a business man missing his wife would sleep in the bed they shared.

But his words weren't meant to be heard. They were too rough, too sharp, too honest. He had made himself vulnerable. He had make a joke out of himself.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew the stories about motogp riders. Fucking hell, he wanted to be one of them. He knew that older riders often had meaningless flings with younger ones. Sometimes, even if it was rarely, even in the lower categories.

He knew that often it was just a way to keep them in check, to prove them who was really the dominant one. Or a way to have fun. Or just a convinience horny fuck.

He knew that. And he had decided to act like that. He was just a moto2 rider. Jorge Lorenzo was a motogp champion. He was his brother's rival. There was no way that Jorge would ever want more than that. Even if he himself did.

Fuck. He would probably use their night as a way to distract Marc. And now he also had embarrassed himself in front of him.

"Fuck. I- You weren't supposed to hear that" he said in a panic. The initiate shock was gone. Instead he was now ready to run. He sat up full. He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave and hide and never ever go near the yamaha garage or a press conference with him or any place where he might be. He would make Marc park the motorhome in the spot furtherest away from his. He would do anything to avoid him and make sure not to join motogp before he wasn't retired. He would tell Marc to never speak to Jorge before a race or he would just straight up tell him so he wouldn't be blind sided.

His nervous mind was silence as Jorge clinged rougher to him. The arms that had until then only softly hold him, were now holding him in a spot. He had sat up as well, fixating Alex at his pace, so he couldn't run.

He was about to say something, ask him to let him leave so they could just forget this ever happens.

But instead, he was kissed. It was a soft, careful kiss. If he was a little bit more naive, he'd call it love. And it was love. Jorge put all his love and admiration for the younger one in it.

"I don't want you to go" he whispered as they parted again. Instead, he put his hands now around his cheeks, to make sure Alex was still looking at him.

They were now impossible close. Only inches separating them. The honesty in his eyes, knocked the breath out of Alex for a second. He looked so honest and kind.

"Alex, stay" "But-" "Please. Please don't leave. Not if you meant what you just said. If it was a lie and it's just easier this way for you, than go. That's okay, but if it wasn't... Then stay. Please." "Why? So you... You can..." "No."

He quickly shook his head. "Whatever you think, no. I am not using you or playing with you. I want you"

Alex smiled at him shy. Maybe he was stupid for believing him that fast. But at the prospect of his love, there was not much to protest. He was happy. And for a second he realized he'd even be happy if at the end, he got manipulated and used. Because at least he could spend some time with the man he loves.

"Really?" "Yeah... What did you say? Sex. Cuddles. Normal life. I want you. All of you." "Okay" "Yeah?" "Yeah."

And this is how they ended up together.

A few months later, they were still going strong. Their relationship had started surprisingly subtle. Alex almost thought they'd be rushed and hectic. Like a burning fire fighting for oxygen.

They weren't. Instead they got stronger with every day.

In the beginning, Alex was still rather anxious and nervous. He had expected to be quickly pushed back and replaced over it. But instead, Jorge had just smiled at him and kissed him softly. It was his way to say "Don't worry. We got this"

He had laughed about his terrible jokes, made some of his own and even asked question every time he was rambling about his hyper fixation. He never felt like he was annoying him or being too childish. It relaxed the younger Spaniard. He felt free and welcome. He knew he could ask, say and do, what he felt was right without the fear of being judge for it.

And the sex was amazing.

They had started to set in their own routine.

Alex was currently sitting in his seat in the back of their truck while Marc and his father were in the front.

He was starting to get bored. He knew the next circuit, Sachsenring, pretty well by now. After all he had the last 2 weeks to prepare it and his brother had told him all the secrets. He didn't expect much, but he wasn't scared of the race either.

And by now he knew all the songs by heart. He had answered all the texts and mails, sponsors and the team had sent him. His calender was up to date. The games on his phone had started to get useless as a distraction about an hour ago. The list of things he needed for his secret get away with his boyfriend was ready.

Talking about his boyfriend. He smirked as he found a new way to entertain himself. He quickly opened his gallery and went through a discreet labeled folder.

He looked at the pictures of himself, trying to figure out which one would be the best for his purpose. Then he smirked as he remembered the little photo session he did in his room a few nights ago.

He chose one, he knew would press all the buttons in his lovers head that he wanted to press. He loved when Jorge got a lottle possessive. It turned him on to know how much he was wanted. The picture for perfect for that. It didn't left any room for imagination. Actually he was completely naked beside a shirt.

He wore a black t-shirt with Jorge's logo in the front, his number written on the sleeve. He was hard and already leaking. The cum was very visible in the picture. It was sticking on his tip and on his fingers cause his other hand was wrapped around his cock.

He had been shaken cause he took it in the middle of maturating so the quality wasn't really good but it added to the moment. It felt more real like that. So he just hit sent without a 2nd thought.

He smiled, waiting for a reaction. He was about half way through a song when his music got interrupted by a sudden call which he declined.

Alex: I'm in the car with my brother and father

Did you like the picture?

Jorge: I'M IN A ZOOM MEETING

WHY WOULD YOU SEND ME THIS???

Alex: Why are you on your phone in a meeting? 🤨

That's surely important

Jorge: oh fuck off

Why are you sending me FUCKING NUDES WHEN YOU'RE DAD IS THERE

In a car.

When I can't FaceTime you

Alex: He is in the front. No way of seeing my screen.

So... You didn't like them :(

Jorge: Mi corazon, you are by far the hottest person in the whole universe.

And you know that.

And fucking hell, when did you get that shirt? And why did you waited until I can't fuck you in it to show me?

Alex couldn't help but smile like an idiot at this. This small piece of honest validation was excatly what he was graving. His little teasing surely helped.

"Ey, why do you look like the cat who got the cream?" Of course his brother had to destroy the moment. He looked up, probably looking like a dear caught in the headlight if Marc's cracking laughter was anything to go by.

"Yoooo- who is she?" he asked, halfway leaning back to him, trying to grab his phone. Quickly he Pulle dit out of his reach. This would end up being a desaster. "Come on! You asshole didn't tell me about her!" "Marc in your seat. Now." his father scolded him.

"Yeah, yeah. But Alex is texting with someone and he didn't even told me! I didn't even know he had game. And I thought we were friends! And friends tell each other everything!" "And? Alex does have a life outside you. Surprisingly. Let him have his free time."

The younger brother sticked out his tongues as Marc rolled his eyes. He had won that one.

He let a few more minutes pass, just to make sure that he wasn't the center of the older ones attention anymore.

Once he was sure he could get back to texting, his fingers and mind was icky to find out what his boyfriend may had still texted him in the meantime. He was shocked to see an apology and quickly read through the texts.

Jorge: I swear, I'm gonna get you one at the circuit if you don't have it with you this weekend.

And you'll wear it the whole weekend under neath your cloth, safely hidding your beautiful body from a those annoying freaks.

And then on Sunday, I am going to fuck you rawr and make you come all over it.

God you look so hot with my number on you. Like you belong with me.

Maybe I should get you one of those glittering necklaces with numbers.

You'd look so hot with a 99 on your sweaty skin after we had some fun

But not the cheap one. Those are made to break in a week. I'm talking about high quality from a real jeweller. I know someone. She's good, bet you'd like her and her style.

If you want to.

Only if you're comfortable with it

It's not a must.

I'd pay. Of course.

Alex?

Everything okay?

Did I say something stupid again?

Darling, I'm sorry if I upset you with my reaction. I love you and this picture. It's incredible hot because it's you.

He melted at those texts. He bit his lip and did everything to surpressing his smile. They were everything he could wish for. So he turned his camera to make a selfie, smiled his idiot on love smile and hit send again.

Alex: I'm so sorry, Marc was annoying me about the 'girl' I was writing with, that makes me blush like an idiot.

You're the girl. Btw.

That's why I couldn't answer

Jorge: oh.

Okay now I feel like an idiot. Sorry for overreacting 😅

Alex: Aaaaweeeee, you're my idiot ❤️

And it was cute

Honestly

Oh and I'd love to have a necklace with your number on it.

Jorge: Deal

You look beautiful by the way

Alex: I love you

Jorge: I love you too

He felt closer to him and the remaining drive was definitely shorter now. They chatted a little bit and Alex sent him some pictures of the things he saw on the trip. It did include a selfie with his dad and Marc when they took a break.

In response he got a picture of a surprised and annoyed looking Ricky back who seemed to just wanted to eat in peace.

Ricky knew about them. Alex had met him as 'Jorge's official (as official as it was safe) boyfriend' already. He had met quite a few of Jorge's friend at a party they went to.

Unlike Jorge. Alex hadn't told his friends about him. Or his parents. Or Marc. Especially not Marc. The thought of telling him still felt wrong. He wasn't ashame of their relationship. He also didn't thought they wouldn't last.

He knew he had to tell Marc sooner or later. And so many times he almost did it. The words had already formed in his brain but he didn't say them.

He had just ended up staring at him, his mouth hanging open like a fish. His brother laughed about him.

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it now. He had a new plan. Again. He would tell him after the vacation with Jorge. Yes. That was a good idea... He could show him pictures.

He changed his playlist again, this time his favorite love songs started to play. He listened to them, looking forward to see his lover again after not having seen each other during the break.

His excitement was on edge for the rest of the day. And the following tomorrow. Still he went through the whole day without any major incidents. He gave the interviews that were required and caught up with his teams. They went over the setting for the practice the next day and when he was finally let go, he texted his brother.

Alex: Going to eat with the team, gonna stay in the hotel

Marc: 👍

And he had a Marc free evening. He smirked as he went towards the motorhomes. Everyone seeing him, would assume he was heading to the Marquez truck, like he did every weekend. No one would suspect a thing. No one bat an eye or even think twice.

It was normal. Alex was heading to the motogp trucks and disappeared in the little corridor left between them, only to quickly start running, now on the less hidden side.

He ran until he saw the yamaha trucks. Now he needed to be careful. Last thing they wanted was that this noisy rossi saw them. But he was in luck. There was no sign of the Italian or one of his kids lingering around.

So he quickly went to the JL99 motorhome, the needed key card in hand and opened it in a few seconds just to close the door immediately after him.

He looked around. Some things were laying around, his shoes and jacket, evident that the owner was present somewhere. Listening to the sound around him, he assessed that his lover was in the bathroom. If the music was anything to go by.

He thought about joining him. But decided against it as he didn't want to scare his lover to death by suddenly appearing behind him. Last time he tried this, he got an elbow in the stomach and around 1 million apologies and a blank 'I do whatever you want' for their weekend.

At the end, Jorge had regretted saying it. He had expected to fulfill the dirty sex fantasy of a 19 year old. Instead he had ended up having to try and fail spectacular at riding a skateboard. They cooked dinner and watched how to train your dragon 1 and 2... Maybe it wasn't that bad after all. Alex was happy and that was his goal.

So Alex decided to went to kitchen instead. He was promised some dinner after all. Beside the usual expected food, he also found 2 containers in his rumming through the fridge. He bit his lips as he reached for one of them.

He turned it in his hands, trying to guess their dinner and as he was about to open it, someone behind him said "And I thought I had a raccoon problem" he turned around with a shy smile, to be met with his boyfriend.

His almost naked, only boxer wearing, hair still wet boyfriend.

Alex felt his cheeks turning red and it wasnt because of being caught like that. It definitely had something to do with his own boxers suddenly feeling a lot tighter.

Jorge leaned in the door, looking him over. "But it is just my wonderful and apparently pretty hungry boyfriend" "You're also very pretty" he said, closing the fridge and basically jumping on the older rider.

One yelp and a readjusting grip from Jorge later, Alex's legs were drapped around the older ones waist, while his hands stabilized his ass. The moto2 rider on the other hand was busy kissing his lover.

He didn't care about not falling over. He was fine with laying on the ground tangled in his lover. Wouldn't be the first time either.

Instead he just started smashing his lips against his. He kissed him like it was the last thing he'd do and moaned loudly as he felt his tongue against his lips. They kissed and kissed and somewhere on the way, he ended up on the kitchen counter

"Jooooorgeeeee" he begged as the older one sat him down and took a step back. He was ready to beg, knowing what buttons to push to get what he wanted.

Jorge smiled at him. "No. We are going to eat first, okay?" he turned back to the fridge, grabbing their prepared food. He was determined to take care of his lover first. It had been a long day for both of them and they'd need the engery tomorrow

As he turned around, he saw his boyfriend shoving his hoodie over his head. He threw it in a direction nome of them cared about.

More important was the reveal a certain black Jorge lorenzo shirt underneath it. "Okay" he sighed heavily. "I guess we'll eat first." He smirked at him dirty. He leaned back, the material tightening around his chest as he let his head fall back in his neck. His throat exposed.

"You're gonna be the death of me" All he got was a laughter in return.

Part 2

[deoidesign]

Thanks for making a comic about a couple middle aged queers getting to fall in love and be happy. As a someone who is a little on the younger side, it’s nice to see that. That there is a possibility of me and my friends to get to grow up. Plus, Steve has all the gender, and I want it for myself.

There's not much more important in this world than hope, I think, and the idea that maybe my art can make you a little more hopeful for a better tomorrow is all I could ask for <3 So thank you for reading, and thank you for being here!

And mood.