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magicfootballstuff · 1 year ago

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Best Mate (georgia stanway x reader)

Summary: Georgia is your entire world, the love of your life. But you’re probably never going to be more than just her best mate.

(aka 12k words of angst and pining)

———

You’ve known Georgia since you were eleven.

Thirteen years in which you’ve been the closest of friends, through ups and downs. Thirteen years of playing for the same football teams, of carpooling to training and movie nights after matches and sharing rooms on away trips. Thirteen years, basically, in which you could have fallen in love with each other.

There’s a strange kind of irony, a punishment from the fates, that the first time you start to think of Georgia as anything more than your best mate is about three weeks before she moves to Germany.

You blame the Euros, naturally. That’s where you start to catch feelings. A long pre-Euro preparation camp, followed by weeks of heightened emotions as the Lionesses progress further and further into the tournament. It’s been a bonding experience for you all and you’re far closer to all the girls than you were a couple of months ago, but there’s been a shift in your relationship with Georgia specifically that you can’t quite explain.

It’s after the game against Spain that you first notice it. After coming back from behind, Georgia is the one who scores the winner to send you through to the semi finals and it might be the best goal you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing live. It’s not just the goal - you’ve seen Georgia score screamers from outside the box on countless other occasions in your thirteen years of friendship - but the significance too.

It’s after this game that you actually start to believe you can win the whole tournament, that nothing is going to stop you until you get your hands on the silverware. And that belief starts with Georgia’s goal.

“I fucking love you, G!” you tell her in the dressing room after the game, still riding the euphoric high of beating Spain in such dramatic fashion.

Georgia grins at you.

“I love you too.”

Her words make you feel warm inside but you put it down to being happy about the result.

It’s not until later, lying alone in your bed back at the team hotel, unable to sleep because you’re still so pumped up from one hundred and twenty minutes of difficult football, that you hear Georgia’s words over and over again in your head and realise what it means.

I love you too.

Shit. You’re falling in love with Georgia Stanway. Your best mate.

What a cliche.

But you’ve spent thirteen years of friendship not being in love with Georgia. It should be pretty easy to brush any hypothetical feelings aside. Right?

———

It’s not.

Actually, it turns out that acknowledging you have feelings for Georgia only makes them grow more.

You sit next to her on the coach on the way back from Bramall Lane after beating Sweden in the semi final. Around you, the whole team is jubilant, but all you can think about is how you can smell Georgia’s shampoo and feel the warmth of her thigh pressing into yours.

Shit, you’ve got it bad.

“We’re going to Wembley,” Georgia says. “Can you believe it?”

“Stuff of dreams, right?” you grin at her.

“And I get to do it with my best mate.”

The words ‘best mate’, while true, are like a knife to your heart and you’re reminded that you’ll only ever be Georgia’s best mate.

You try to shake yourself out of it. You’ve been Georgia’s friend for over a decade, you can keep being her friend, no problems at all. Because surely it’s better to be her friend than to risk messing things up and being nothing at all?

Except that she moves to Munich in two weeks. What if she loves it there, what if she prefers her new teammates to the old ones, what if she has such a good time there that she completely forgets about her old life in Manchester?

And you hate yourself for even thinking that. Georgia deserves to be happy. You know how excited she is to move abroad, how much she’s looking forward to the challenge of playing for a new team in a new league after spending so long at Manchester City. As her friend, you want the best for her, you want her to thrive in the new environment and be happy with her Bayern teammates as she settles into life in Munich.

You just hope that she doesn’t forget about you in the process.

“You’re quiet,” Georgia says, drawing you out of your own thoughts. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shrug, then give a half truth.

“Just trying to soak this moment in,” you tell her. “This feels special. No matter what happens in the final, I don’t want to forget the feeling of being part of this team.”

“I’m never gonna forget this,” Georgia says, sinking into your side and when she lets her head fall against your shoulder, you allow yourself just the briefest moment to imagine that she’s talking about this exact moment on the bus with you, not the summer of incredible football. “Would be pretty cool to win the damn thing though, right? One more trophy together before I leave.”

You never want this summer to end. Because as soon as it ends, Georgia leaves and you lose your best mate. You lose the person you’re in love with.

You have a feeling that this moment is going to be one that you come back to over and over again when you’re missing her, and you try even harder to commit every detail to memory.

———

Inevitably, the tournament does come to an end, but in the blur of playing an intense final at Wembley, winning said final, and the celebrations that continue long into the night, you almost forget that this is one of your last nights together with Georgia before she leaves for Germany.

Eventually, you and Georgia find your way back to each other, as you always seem to do. You have no idea what time it is, no idea how many drinks you’ve had, but it’s the early hours of the morning and most friends and family have either left or gone to bed, leaving just the players to continue their celebrations. You can still hear distant music and the occasional shout from downstairs, but you end up on the carpeted floor of a deserted hallway, side by side with Georgia. You’re sitting so close that the thighs of your outstretched legs are touching, and Georgia leans her head on your shoulder. You're holding hands too, though you don’t know who initiates that. Maybe it just happened because it felt right.

“I’m so proud of you, G,” you tell her, tracing your thumb across the back of her hand. “For everything - for today, for everything you did at City, for choosing to take a leap in your career.”

Georgia has hardly spoken about her impending transfer since it was announced, not while she’s been so focused on the tournament, and other than a couple of jokes this evening hoping that her new teammates will still welcome her after beating so many of them today, it’s been easy to pretend that she’s not about to move to another country. But now that the tournament is over, you have to face up to the reality sooner or later that your best friend is about to spread her wings and embark on a new journey that doesn’t involve you.

“Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry. And we’re supposed to be happy right now. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“I’m gonna miss you though. Bayern are lucky to have you.”

Your hand is still in Georgia’s, fingers linked together, though you don’t remember how it happened, whether it was you who took her hand or her who took yours. But her skin is so soft, especially on the back of her hand where you trace mindless patterns with your thumb.

“You’re still gonna be my favourite though, you know that right?” Georgia promises you.

“I am?” you ask, turning your head to look at her.

“Yeah, you’re my day one. Even when we live in different countries. I’m still gonna be talking to you every day.”

“I’m gonna be thinking about you every day,” you confess. “Every second, even.”

It’s only after the words slip from your lips that you realise you might have said too much, that you’re getting dangerously close to telling Georgia about the feelings that you promised yourself that you were going to keep secret.

“Yeah?” Georgia asks, her voice barely more audible than a whisper.

And just like the hand-holding, you have no idea who initiates what comes next, you’re just aware that your lips are on Georgia’s, or maybe hers are on yours, but who the fuck cares who leant in first when it feels this damn good.

Her lips are as soft as her hands, softer maybe, and she tastes like a combination of the free beer you’ve been drinking all night and something else, maybe optimism, if such a thing has a taste. But you’re very quickly unable to process much at all, senses overwhelmed, because Georgia is kissing you. Georgia, who you’ve been friends with since you were awkward teenagers with spotty faces and bruised knees, whose kisses are like a drug that you’re surely going to get addicted to because how could you not want to do this forever?

Just when you’re considering the logistics of pulling Georgia into your lap to continue this further, she pulls away from you, giggling as she wipes at her lips with captivating fingers.

“Shit, I’ve had way too much to drink,” Georgia says. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She leans her head back against the wall behind you both, her eyes closed, and you try to keep yourself together, though your heart feels like a fragile sheet of glass that could shatter under even the tiniest amount of pressure.

“It’s fine,” you tell her, even though your lips still burn from her kiss. Even though you’re probably never going to be the same again. “We’re both drunk.”

———

The next morning, Georgia is wearing the most ridiculous pair of sunglasses you’ve ever seen, so huge that they mask half her entire face, but maybe that’s the intention because when she sits down next to you on the coach that’s supposed to take you to Trafalgar Square, she lets out a groan and says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover in my life.”

“I think I’m still drunk,” you admit. Your head isn’t pounding, it’s just swimming, the alcohol not yet worn off out of your system. It’ll hit you at some point today, you’re sure of that, and it’ll be torture.

“Did I kiss you last night?” Georgia asks, pushing the sunglasses up onto the top of her head and frowning quizzically at you.

The way she asks, it’s almost like she doesn’t quite remember, and that stings a little. It’s pretty much the only thing you’ve thought about in the five drunken hours since it happened.

“Oh,” you say, trying to sound just as casual about it as Georgia does. “Yeah. I’d forgotten about that until you mentioned it.”

The lie is easy because there’s no way that you’re going to admit how affected you are by something as simple as the memory of her lips on yours.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Georgia grimaces. “Emotional day, and all that. We’re still cool, aren’t we?”

“Course we are,” you answer, and it’s mostly the truth - Georgia could commit a serious crime and you’d still think she was the best person on earth.

She’s got no reason to know the depth of your feelings for her, no reason to understand that kissing you might have done more damage than if you’d never got the chance to feel Georgia’s lips against yours at all.

———

You decide to confide in Keira.

“I think I’m in love with Georgia,” you confess, during pre-season, still ignoring the rumours that Keira might be moving abroad soon too.

“Our Georgia?” she asks for clarification, as if the idea is so ridiculous that she can’t quite believe what you’re telling her. “Georgia Stanway?”

You nod, and Keira presses on with her next question.

“Have you told her?” she asks.

“Why would I do that?” you scoff.

“Why wouldn’t you? What have you got to lose?”

“Only thirteen years of friendship,” you point out.

“Obviously it’s your decision, but worst case scenario she doesn’t feel the same and things carry on as normal.”

“Worst case scenario I lose one of the longest friendships I’ve got,” you interject to correct Keira.

“G’s not like that though,” Keira dismisses your worries with a wave of her hand. “She wouldn’t just cast you aside because of something like this. Anyway, she’s in a different country now. By the time you next see each other she’ll have forgotten all about it and things will be back to normal.”

“I’ll think about it.”

———

You do think about it. In fact, it’s pretty much all you think about.

One international break passes, then another, without you saying anything to Georgia about how you feel. You’re practically glued to her side for the whole of both camps, or maybe she’s glued to yours, because you somehow seem to end up alongside her even when you’re making an effort to not seem like you’re obsessed with her.

That plan clearly isn’t working, because on the penultimate night of the second international break, Keira brings it up when the two of you are alone.

“You’re not being subtle,” she tells you.

“Huh?”

“About G,” she explains. “If you think it’s not obvious you have feelings for her, you’re wrong.”

“Yeah but I’ve told you,” you point out, in a half-hearted attempt to justify the way you’ve probably been staring at Georgia with huge puppy dog eyes for the last week. “You know what you’re looking for.”

“Have you told Leah?” Keira asks, arching an eyebrow. “Because she asked me yesterday if you and Georgia were closer than usual so she’s noticed something too.”

“What did you say?” you demand, your eyes widening in panic.

“Don’t worry, I told her you used to be inseparable at City and that you probably just missed seeing each other every day. I think she bought it.”

You relax, or at least you try to, because if Keira says it’s obvious and even Leah has noticed your heart-eyes, then it can’t be long before Georgia herself realises, and then she’ll surely want to distance herself from you.

“Just talk to her,” Keira pleads with you. “You’re one of my best mates too and I hate seeing you like this. Even if nothing happens between you and Georgia, at least you’ll get closure by talking to her.”

You know that Keira is right. You’ve known Georgia for so long that you’d like to hope she won’t make things weird if you tell her how you feel and she doesn’t feel the same. You need an answer, so you can get over your feelings if nothing is ever going to happen.

And you fully intend to talk to her on the last night of camp. But you have a game tomorrow so you decide not to say anything for the risk of somehow upsetting the equilibrium of the team, and then before you know it Georgia is on a plane back to Munich while you return to Manchester and still nothing has been said.

Another time.

In the meantime, your heart continues to ache for something you’ll probably never get to have.

———

You’ll tell her when she comes home for Christmas, that’s what you decide. No England camp, no training or matches to use as an excuse for not telling her how you feel. Just two old friends catching up on what’s been going on in their lives - and so what if one of the most important thing that’s going on in yours is the depth of the feelings you currently have for your best friend?

You’re nervous for two full days before you see Georgia, your heart pounding each time you think of the enormity of the conversation you need to have with her. Telling her how you feel could change everything for better or for worse and even right up to the moment when you’re on your way to meet her, you’re still not sure if you have the courage to actually tell her.

You meet Georgia for lunch at Jill’s coffee shop, because Georgia’s only in Manchester for a few days before she jets off to Barcelona to see Keira and she wants to see as many people as she can while she’s back, but once you’ve both shared a bit of playful banter with Jill when she brings you your food and drinks, the two of you are left alone in a quiet corner of the shop.

“I’ve been dying to tell you something,” Georgia says, almost as soon as Jill leaves you alone. “I was gonna text you but I really wanted to tell you in person.”

She loves you too. That’s the first conclusion that your brain jumps to, because you can’t think of anything else she might have to tell you that’s important enough to be said face-to-face rather than over the phone.

She loves you too. She loves you t-

“I’m seeing someone,” Georgia announces.

And just like that, your heart shatters into a million tiny pieces.

She doesn’t love you.

“You are?” you ask, trying not to let the pain show on your face - this is supposed to be your best friend telling you that she’s found somebody, after all, and if you weren’t hopelessly in love with Georgia yourself, you’d surely be happy about this development in her life.

“Yeah, a guy back in Germany. His name’s Nico - he’s one of Syd’s mates so I met him through her. It’s still really new, like he’s not my boyfriend or anything, but we’ve been on a couple of dates and I think it’s going pretty well.”

“Cool,” you say, and then immediately kick yourself, because what kind of heartless idiot says cool when their best friend announces they’re dating someone, which is why you add, “I’m so happy for you.”

There’s a degree of truth to your words. Though on a selfish level you want Georgia to reciprocate your feelings and be happy with you, that’s not very likely to happen when you’re too much of a coward to tell her how you feel and obviously the most important thing is that Georgia is happy with whoever she chooses. You just hope that if it can’t be with you, that this Nico guy at least treats her well and gives her the happiness she deserves.

“Anyway, what’s going on with you?” Georgia asks, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “Any big life updates?”

If there was ever a moment to tell Georgia that you’re in love with her, it would be now, when she’s inviting you to open up about what’s been going on in your life. But Georgia is clearly excited about this guy that she’s dating, or else she wouldn’t have waited until she saw you in person before making it the first thing she brought up, and what kind of friend would you be if you tried to ruin that for your own selfish reasons?

“Nothing much,” you answer with a shrug. “Nothing as exciting as your news. Anyway, tell me about Munich. Are the German lessons still kicking your arse?”

———

Keira calls you a few days later, when you know that Georgia is in Barcelona too, probably sharing the same news about her dating life with Keira that she told you the other day.

“You’ve seen G, then?” she asks, once you’ve caught up on your own lives.

“Yeah, we had lunch together a few days ago.”

“Did she tell you…?”

“About her new boyfriend?” you interject, completing Keira’s question. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keira asks.

You can practically hear the pity in her voice and it cuts you almost as much as Georgia’s news about her dating life.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you try to dismiss it quickly, before you end up getting upset, or angry, or both. “She’s happy, that’s all that matters. I missed my chance.”

“Did you ever tell her?”

Keira doesn’t need to elaborate on exactly what she’s asking about and for that you’re grateful.

“No,” you answer. “But it’s too late now anyway.”

“I don’t think it is,” Keira counters. “It doesn’t sound very serious yet with this German guy.”

“Keira, if there was any chance she felt the same she’d have told me.”

“You mean like you’ve told her how you feel?” Keira asks.

Though you can’t actually see Keira’s face, you can picture it, one eyebrow arched at you and mouth twitching at the corners as she calls you out.

“It’s different,” you try to argue. “She wouldn’t be dating someone else if she had feelings for me.”

“Well if you aren’t ever going to tell her, maybe you should think about dating someone else. You know, a couple of the Barca girls are single. If you don’t mind the distance, I could put in a good word for you.”

There’s only one person you’d be willing to put in the effort required for a successful long distance relationship, and it’s Georgia. Besides, while Keira’s right that you’ll have to think about dating someone else eventually, it doesn’t feel fair to mess with somebody else’s feelings before you’ve at least tried to put your feelings for Georgia behind you.

“I’m good, thanks Ke,” you promise Keira.

“Well if you change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

———

You don’t change your mind. Not about being willing for Keira to set you up with one of her club teammates, at least. You do, however, reconsider your decision not to tell Georgia about how you feel.

What can the harm be? If anything, the German boyfriend is a safety net because you have less optimism that Georgia feels the same, fully prepared for her to let you down.

You phone Georgia when she’s back in Germany in January, entering the conversation with your heart already wrapped in bubble-wrap, in theory protected from being broken.

“Hey G, are you busy?”

“I’m never too busy to talk to you,” Georgia replies.

Your heart soars, giving you the courage to say, “Cool, well there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“I was gonna say something when you were back in England but then you … well, you had your news and I didn’t want to ruin that.”

You pause and take a deep breath, glad that you’re doing this over the phone so that Georgia can’t see the sheer physical anguish you’re going through to psych yourself up to tell her this.

“I love you.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, then Georgia speaks.

“Aw, you big softie,” she teases you. “Love you too.”

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Part of you wants to leave it there, the idea of having to correct Georgia’s misunderstanding somehow even worse than having to admit you love her in the first place, but you can hear Keira’s voice in your head telling you to grow a pair and tell Georgia how you really feel.

“No, I … I mean that I love you,” you clarify. “Not just as a friend. Like, I’m properly in love with you.”

“Oh,” Georgia says. There’s silence on the other end of the line as she processes what you’ve told her, before she eventually repeats, “Oh. Shit, okay.”

It’s not exactly the reaction you were hoping for and though you’d prepared yourself for probable rejection, you couldn’t actually have prepared for the punch in the gut that is the pure surprise from Georgia, as if the idea of there being anything more than friendship between the two of you is so far-removed that she’s never once even considered the possibility.

“Forget I said anything,” you say quickly, eager to put this torturous ordeal behind you. “I’m just being stupid. It’s nothing I can’t get over.”

“No, wait!” Georgia blurts out. “It’s not stupid. It’s just … unexpected, I guess. You’ve surprised me, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“No, don’t apologise! I’m glad you told me. The thing is, I do love you too. Just as a friend.”

And despite all the preparation you did beforehand to try to protect yourself from the pain of inevitable rejection, hearing Georgia confirm aloud what you already knew still causes your heart to splinter into tiny pieces.

“Okay,” you say, trying to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. “That’s what I needed to hear. Now I can move on. And I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me-”

“Are you kidding?” Georgia interrupts you. “This doesn’t change anything. It takes courage to tell someone how you feel. I’m not gonna punish you for that. Anyway, you’ll always be super important to me. So unless you need a bit of space…?”

“No,” you’re quick to say. “I don’t need space.”

“Then you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” Georgia reassures you.

A single tear spills from your eye and you wipe it away quickly, even though Georgia can’t see you, because you’re worried that if you let it trickle the whole way down your cheek, it’ll be followed by a flood. The only thing that could make this more embarrassing that it already is would be if you burst into tears and Georgia heard you crying.

“Thanks, G.”

———

“I hate to admit it, but you were right,” you tell Keira, as you make your way out to the training pitch at St George’s Park on the first morning of the February international break, a few weeks on from telling Georgia how you feel - how you felt. “I just needed closure.”

“From Georgia?” Keira asks for clarification.

“Yeah. It turns out that finding out she doesn’t feel the same was a really quick way to shut down whatever stupid feelings I thought I had for her.”

“I think you’re being hard on yourself. It’s not stupid to catch feelings, especially for someone like G.”

“It was just emotion from the Euros,” you try to explain. “Then the distance. I was missing her. I got a bit carried away, that’s all. Anyway, she’s got her German guy now.”

“Not anymore,” Keira tells you. “That fizzled out a while ago.”

“It did?” you ask, your head jerking up in surprise when you hear the news. “She never told me that.”

“Yeah, well…” Keira trails off with a grimace, and you don’t need her to finish her sentence to understand what she’s saying.

“Right.”

You probably sacrificed your right to hear about Georgia’s personal life when you attempted to insert yourself into it by confessing your feelings for her. And if you’re completely honest, though you still talk to Georgia pretty often, there has been a slight shift in what you talk about, more superficial football chat and fewer deep conversations about all the other stuff going on in your lives.

Not for the first time since telling Georgia how you felt, you wonder if admitting your feelings was the wrong decision after all.

You hear footsteps behind you, the telltale sound of studs against concrete, and you turn to see Georgia, who inserts herself between you and Keira and drapes an arm around each of your shoulders.

“Hey guys, whatcha talking about?”

“The weather,” Keira is quick to save you the turmoil of having to come up with a lie yourself. “Thought it was cold in Barcelona at this time of year but I’d forgotten how much worse it is in England.”

“This?” Georgia scoffs, gesturing at the bleak grey sky above. “It’s tanning weather. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“You’re mad,” Keira says, shaking her head as she eyes up Georgia’s bare arms.

“Not mad,” Georgia counters with a grin. “Just happy to be back in England with my best mates.”

You don’t know how it makes you feel, hearing Georgia refer to you as a “best mate” again. She’s clearly making an effort to make sure you know that nothing has changed, that your sudden confession of feelings a few weeks ago hasn’t made Georgia think any differently of you than she thinks of Keira. But it still stings a little, all those hours spent wondering what if and picturing a hypothetical parallel universe in which Georgia returns your affection coming to nothing.

In the back of your mind, it registers that a public friendzoning shouldn’t hurt if you were as over your feelings for Georgia as you claimed to Keira that you were, but you push that thought down for now.

———

You don’t actually speak to Georgia alone until later, hanging out in one of the communal recreation areas during the free time you get between a gym session and dinner.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Georgia says. “It’s good to be back together again. And we haven’t seen each other in person since…”

Georgia trails off, leaving you to fill in the rest yourself.

Deciding that the best way to get past the slight awkwardness is just to acknowledge exactly what happened and laugh it off, you say, “Since I told you I liked you?”

Georgia’s eyes widen, slightly surprised that you’re so blasé about the situation, but she passes it off quickly and says, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry if I put you in a weird position,” you apologise. “I just needed to say something, even if you didn’t feel the same way, for peace of mind, you know? Just feelings that had been brewing under the surface since the emotion of the Euros…”

“Since the Euros?” Georgia interjects, surprised once again.

“Yeah, but I don’t feel that way anymore,” you continue, fully aware of the fact that your cheeks are starting to heat up with embarrassment. “I got closure and I moved on. I hope things can go back to normal between us.”

Georgia hesitates for a second, like she’s still trying to process everything, before her face splits open into a huge grin.

“Yeah, of course. Nothing’s changed at all.”

You try to remember what normal friends who haven’t admitted feelings for each other talk about, and your mind immediately wanders to the guy she told you about when she was last home. The guy that, if Keira is to be believed, is no longer in the picture.

“How’s it going with that guy you’re dating?” you ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from Georgia too.

“Nico? I’m not seeing him anymore. Like he was nice, but he was … I don’t know, he was just nice. There was no real spark, or nothing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

It’s partially true. If you can’t have Georgia yourself, you want her to be happy with somebody, though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t done some social media stalking after she told you about him and he didn’t seem like anybody particularly remarkable. In a way, it’s a relief to hear that confirmed by Georgia herself.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Georgia says, dismissing your words with a casual wave of her hand. “It wasn’t serious anyway. And I wanted to tell you it was over but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want you to think I was messing with your feelings, or anything.”

“I get it,” you assure Georgia. “But you don’t have to worry about that. There aren’t any feelings to mess with anymore. That’s all behind me.”

Georgia narrows her eyes just slightly, like she’s not quite sure she believes you, but it passes so quickly that you might have imagined it.

“Cool,” Georgia says. “Anyway, did you see that worldie I scored in training earlier?”

And so the conversation moves on, back to normal with your best friend.

———

It does go back to how it was before, for which you’re relieved. Your biggest worry about admitting your feelings for Georgia was that it would ruin your friendship if she didn’t reciprocate, so you’re glad that you’re still just as close as you were before Christmas.

The problem is that now you’re back to talking to Georgia all the time, whether that’s messaging each other, ganging up together on Leah in the group chat, or FaceTiming to have a general catch up about life, you’re starting to realise that maybe you’re not over your feelings for her after all.

Can you really be blamed? Georgia is like a human ray of sunshine, lighting up your world with her silly jokes and beautiful smile, even from another country.

Surely everybody who meets Georgia falls a little bit in love with her?

Still, Georgia has made it pretty clear that your relationship is never going to move beyond friends, and you’re content to have her in your life in whatever way she’ll allow you, even if you’re still harbouring feelings for her.

You don’t tell Keira either. She asks you about Georgia a couple of times, just casual questions in passing which you respond to with reassurances that you’re getting along like old friends again, that her rejection was enough to extinguish your feelings. If there’s one thing that’s more humiliating than admitting to your best friend that you’re in love with her only to be turned down, it’s having to deal with the constant pity of another friend concerned about a possible broken heart. So you tell Keira that everything is fine and she seems to believe you.

It is fine. You are fine.

(And if you tell yourself that enough times, one day it’ll eventually become true.)

———

You have a plan.

And it’s not a plan that you’re making because you’re in love with Georgia. It’s a plan for your best mate who lives abroad and you miss dearly.

So when Georgia’s Bayern Munich team draws Arsenal in the quarter final of the Champions League, you go straight to the airport from training on the day of the match and catch the next flight to Munich to watch her play.

As you sit next to Georgia’s mum in the stadium, who makes a comment about how nice it is that her daughter’s best friend has flown all the way from Manchester just to support her in one game, you try telling yourself that you’re not just here for Georgia, that you know Leah and Lotte and several of the other Arsenal girls and you’ve come to watch them too, but as the game progresses you’re only really watching one person.

You’ve always known that Georgia is good - you’ve played alongside her for more than a decade at England age groups and then at City, watched her put in tackles that others wouldn’t dare to try and score goals from outside the box that would make anybody drool. But there’s a big difference between seeing Georgia play in training or when you’re on the same team as her, and actually watching her play. It’s an exciting match, a close match, with good performances from players on both sides, but you watch Georgia far more than any other players, your eyes tracking her even when she’s off the ball.

Bayern come away with the win, though only just, and you’re already trying to figure out whether you can make it down to London and back in a single night next week for the second leg that promises to be as exciting as the first. For the quality of football, you tell yourself, not just for another chance to see the best friend that you miss terribly.

You watch as Georgia greets the fans, smiling for pictures and signing shirts in the process, slowly making her way along the edge of the pitch until she reaches the area where you are. Her eyes search the crowd, no doubt looking for her mum, but she does a double take when she spots you and you carefully manoeuvre your way forward until you’re close enough to talk to her.

“What are you doing here?” Georgia asks, disbelief in her eyes.

“I’m here to see Leah,” you joke.

“Oh, I’ll just go and fetch her for you then, shall I?” Georgia grins at you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Have you never heard of a surprise?”

Georgia just rolls her eyes.

“How long are you here for?” she asks.

“Just tonight,” you answer. “I managed to convince Gareth to let me have tomorrow off training so I fly back first thing. I wish I could stay longer, but we’ve got a league game at the weekend.”

“Are you coming next week?” Georgia asks. “To the second leg? At the Emirates?”

“Do you want me to come?”

Georgia nods enthusiastically and says, “Yeah, course I do.” She pauses, then adds, “Only if you want to, though. I know it’s a long way to travel.”

“I’ll be there,” you promise. A wicked smile spreads across your face as you add, “To see Leah again, of course.”

Georgia rolls her eyes and says, “Dickhead.”

“Be nice, Georgia,” Georgia’s mum interjects. “She’s come all this way to see you.”

“Relax, mum, it’s just banter,” Georgia protests. “She knows I love her really.”

Love. That word again. Because Georgia does love you, of that you’re certain, but not in the way you want her to.

But as you look down at your best friend over the barrier that separates the players from the fans, her brown eyes alight and a smile on her face as she stares back at you, you realise that you’ll take Georgia’s love, however much of it there is and in whatever form it comes in, just to see her smile like this.

———

The weather is terrible. Unrelenting rain turns the four hour drive from Manchester to London into a five and a half hour drive with limited visibility on the motorways. The prospect of spending an evening in this torrential downpour for at least the two hours of the match, possibly longer if the game goes to extra time and penalties, is brightened only with the knowledge that you get to see your best friend again just a week after you last saw her.

Unfortunately the game doesn’t go Bayern’s way. Despite bringing in a one goal lead from the first leg, that hard work is quickly undone by two Arsenal goals in quick succession in the first half. You’re largely neutral to the outcome of this game, except that you aren’t because you want to see Georgia succeed, and she seems to double her efforts when Bayern go behind, putting even more into every challenge, every pass, determined not to lose.

You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re a neutral fan in this game because when the final whistle goes and the Arsenal fans start celebrating a hard-fought victory, your heart aches for Georgia and what could’ve been. But Georgia is a ray of sunshine, even in defeat, and still makes time for all the fans.

When you finally get to see her, inside the stadium after she’s showered and changed out of her wet kit, you’re actually more disappointed than she is about the outcome of the game.

“That’s football, isn’t it?” Georgia says with a shrug, after you’ve exchanged a long hug and offered her your commiserations. “Thanks for coming down though. It’s good to see you again. I missed you.”

Her words make your heart flutter and you play it off the only way you know how - with humour.

“It’s only been a week, G,” you remind her, rolling your eyes.

“A week is a long time when we used to see each other every day,” she points out.

“And whose fault is that?” you tease her.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Georgia rolls her eyes at you. “What are you doing now?”

It’s already late and the drive back to Manchester will be a long one so as much as you want to hang around and cherish every moment with Georgia, you know you need to get on the road soon.

“Gotta drive back home soon,” you tell her.

“To Manchester?” Georgia asks her eyes wide. “Nah, no way I’m letting you drive back through the night, especially not in this weather.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Georgia interrupts you. “I’ll text you the address of our hotel and you can stay with me. Drive back in the morning.”

You’re supposed to have training in the morning and you don’t want to imagine the trouble you’ll get yourself into if you don’t show up. But this is Georgia, and is a bit of a telling off from the coaches not worth spending a bit of extra time with her? Besides, can you not just set an early alarm and drive back home straight to the training ground in the morning? You’re not needed until ten anyway…

“Fine,” you nod, trying to pretend that the decision was harder than it actually was, pretending that you wouldn’t jump off a cliff for Georgia with very little hesitation if she asked you nicely enough.

———

Georgia meets you in the lobby of her hotel just over thirty minutes later, already dressed in pyjamas with a battered pair of sliders on her feet. She grins when she sees you and reaches straight for your hand, not even bothering with a proper greeting.

“Come on,” Georgia says, dragging you into the lift and pressing the button for the fifth floor. “Before anyone sees you.”

The lift doors rattle shut and it starts to rise. You turn to Georgia and ask, “Is this gonna get you in trouble?”

Georgia grins at you, then replies, “Only if we get caught.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, so loud that Georgia must be able to hear it echoing around the confined elevator too, and you’re not sure if it’s racing from the thrill of trying not to get caught or because Georgia’s hand is still in yours, her warm palm pressed against yours and your fingers tangled together.

Does Georgia even realise that she’s still holding your hand, or the effect that it’s having on you? Because it’s pretty much all you can think about as the lift ascends, your heart hammering away until the rush of blood in your ears is so strong that you might faint.

The lift can’t reach Georgia’s floor soon enough, but eventually it does arrive and the doors slide open with a soft ping, and then Georgia is dragging you along the carpeted hallway until she reaches the door to her room.

“Shhh,” Georgia hisses as she unlocks the door, ushering you inside as she finally lets go of your hand. “In you go.”

You enter Georgia’s hotel room and she closes the door behind the two of you. It’s a pretty standard room, a large double bed in the middle, a tv screen hanging from the wall beside a door that leads to the adjoining bathroom. Georgia’s suitcase is open on the floor, a few clothes strewn across the floor and the chair in the corner.

“Do you want a shower to warm up?” Georgia asks you. “I can lend you some spare clothes to sleep in.”

“Yeah, sounds nice,” you nod, shivering as you’re reminded that you’re still wearing your rain-soaked clothes from earlier.

Georgia kneels beside her suitcase and rummages around in it until she pulls out a spare pair of shorts with the Bayern logo on them and an oversized t-shirt, which she passes to you as she stands up again.

“Spare towel is on the rail in the bathroom,” she explains. “Pass us your wet clothes when you’ve taken them off and I’ll hang them up to dry.”

You smile your thanks and wander into the bathroom, turning on the hot water of the shower before stripping out of your wet clothes. Wrapping a towel around yourself for warmth and modesty, you open the door just wide enough to pass your clothes through to Georgia, who promises to hang them up by the radiator to dry overnight, before shutting yourself in the bathroom and stepping into the shower to warm up.

You spend longer than you probably need to in the shower but the warm water cascading over your head is more than welcome and it gives you time to think. To think about the fact that you’re here in Georgia’s hotel room, about to spend the night in her bed, wearing her spare clothes, when you should really be halfway up the motorway back to Manchester right now.

For some reason, your conscience warning you against this appears in the form of Keira’s voice.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Keira’s voice asks you in your head. “You’re still trying to get over her. Is this really going to help?”

“It’s fine,” you whisper aloud into the empty bathroom, your words masked by the sound of water hitting the tiles. “We’re just friends and that’s fine.”

It’s far from the first sleepover you’ve had with Georgia. You’ve known each other for well over a decade and spent your teenage years sleeping over at each other’s houses gossiping and giggling well into the night until a parent came in to hush you and urge you to get some sleep. You’ve shared rooms on countless camps before, during tournaments with England or on away trips with Manchester City. And since growing up and getting your own places, there have been movie nights that ended late where it was easier for one of you to stay over instead of driving back late.

In short, you’ve shared a bed with Georgia many times before.

You haven’t shared a bed since you realised you had feelings for her last summer, and definitely not since you admitted those feelings a couple of months ago.

But if Georgia’s comfortable with it, then you shouldn’t have a problem either.

You finally get out of the shower, when you’re completely warmed through and your fingertips are starting to shrivel from being under the water for so long. You dry off and change into the clothes borrowed from Georgia, then spend a bit of time drying your hair with a towel and brushing your teeth using the spare hotel-issued brush still in its plastic wrapper, before you eventually unlock the bathroom door and return to the bedroom.

Georgia is sitting upright in bed looking down at the screen of her phone, bathed in the yellow glow of the bedside lamp. She glances up when she hears the bathroom door open and smiles, whether at the sight of you in her clothes or some other reason, you’re not quite sure.

“You still like to sleep furthest from the door, right?” she asks, shuffling across to leave plenty of room for you in the bed beside her.

“You gonna protect me from intruders?” you tease her, as you clamber into the empty side of the bed.

Georgia is a few inches shorter than you, but you’ve seen the way she tackles on a football pitch and you have no doubt that she’d do better in a fight than you.

“Course I will,” Georgia grins back at you. “Ready for bed? Can I turn the light off?”

You nod and settle yourself down, adjusting the pillow and pulling the covers up over your shoulders as you roll onto your side. Georgia flicks off the light, then there’s some shuffling on her side of the bed, before you both fall still.

With your eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness, you can’t actually see Georgia more than just a shadow on her side of the bed, but you’re pretty sure she’s lying on her side facing you.

And that’s when it truly hits you. You’re sharing a bed with Georgia, close enough to touch her, close enough to be able to hear her breathing, but knowing that you can’t do anything about the ache in your chest.

You have no idea how you’re going to calm your mind or your heart enough to be able to fall asleep tonight.

You shiver - whether that’s because you’re still cold or for some other reason like Georgia’s proximity - but it’s enough that she notices.

“Shit, are you still cold?” Georgia whispers into the darkness.

“No, it’s fine,” you say, but your body betrays you again with another shiver.

“Come here,” Georgia says, though it’s her, not you, that closes the gap between you, shuffling her body closer until she can wrap her arms around you and pull your body against hers. Your feet intertwine at the bottom of the bed, hers warmer than yours, though she makes no complaint. “Nothing warms you up like a little cuddle.”

It’s not just a little cuddle though. This is a cuddle with your best friend who you’re more than a little bit in love with, who is kind enough to let you stay here despite the fact she could get in trouble, who has lent you her clothes and let you use her shower and now offers her arms to keep you warm. Your best friend who can surely now feel as well as hear the pounding of your heart as you nestle your body against hers beneath the covers.

Your eyes have started adjusting to the darkness and now you can see how close her face is to yours, your foreheads separated by barely an inch, and she’s staring right back at you, her warm breath hitting your face with each exhale.

“G…”

You breathe her name into the space between your lips, ready to tell her that you can’t do this, ready to admit that you still have feelings for her and that you need to leave, drive back to Manchester even though it’s the middle of the night and you’ve got no dry clothes, because otherwise you might do something that you regret.

But you don’t get the chance to say anything, because suddenly Georgia’s warm lips are on yours, soft and unmoving and so incredibly tentative, but also so right.

She lingers for a few seconds, then pulls back, her chest rising and falling more deeply than before with each breath, as she asks, “Sorry, I … was that okay?”

“You shouldn’t kiss me if you don’t mean it,” you say, just about ready to combust into tears, such is the intensity of the feelings overwhelming your entire body for the other girl.

You don’t know what to expect from Georgia, but it’s definitely not what she says next.

“And what if I do mean it?”

Her voice is quiet, her words cautious. You’re so used to Georgia being her usual loud and effervescent self that you barely recognise the tone of her voice, but she sounds almost vulnerable.

“I’m so far gone on you, G,” you admit. “I thought I could get over you but I can’t. I need you to know that you could shatter my heart and stamp on all the tiny pieces and I’d still want to be yours. And if there’s even the smallest part of you that doesn’t mean it, then we should forget that ever happened and…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because Georgia’s mouth is on yours again, hotter and more insistent this time. You gasp as she kisses you and her mouth opens too, her hand coming up to cup your jaw as her tongue swipes past your lips. The sound you let out is involuntary and you would be embarrassed, if not for the fact that you can’t think of anything except Georgia - her lips on yours, her body wrapped around you, her hands burning your skin.

Eventually, breathing becomes a necessity and Georgia must agree because she pulls back, though only far enough to lean her forehead against yours as she says, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“You think?” you ask, needing Georgia to be absolutely certain before you let yourself hope.

“I’m pretty sure,” Georgia corrects herself. “I’m still figuring it out but I’ve been thinking about it ever since you told me you liked me, and then when you showed up in Munich last week to surprise me … nobody’s ever done something like that for me before. And I can’t imagine anyone else making me feel the way that you do. You’re so much more to me than just a best mate. You’re … you’re everything to me.”

“Do you really mean it?”

Georgia nods.

“Whatever I have to do to convince you I mean it…”

“Just hold me,” you tell her, pushing your body further into hers and nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck.

“Just hold you?” Georgia asks, her hand squeezing your hip, and though you can’t see her face, you can picture the smirk on her face anyway.

You lift your head and use the element of surprise to roll Georgia onto her back, trapping her against the mattress with one of your legs framed on each side of her hips.

“You’ve got other suggestions, have you?” you ask her, raising your eyebrows at her as you sweep your damp hair out of your face.

Her hands settle on your hip tentatively, like she knows what she wants but isn’t quite sure yet whether it’s okay.

“I’ve got some ideas,” Georgia admits, fighting off a mischievous smile.

“Yeah?”

You lean down, still hardly able to believe that this is Georgia telling you that she loves you, that she wants you in the same way that you want her, as you press your lips to hers again. You hope that you’ll never get tired of kissing her because each time feels more magical than the last, as you slowly get used to the way that her lips move, to the things that make her breath catch in her throat as she kisses you back, and you know that there’s a whole other side of your oldest friend that’s now open for you to get to know and explore.

It would be so easy to get carried away, especially when Georgia’s hands, already dangerously low on your hips, start to slide lower, but there will be plenty of time for that, you hope. You’ve waited long enough, thirteen long years, for this to happen. You can wait a little longer.

You reluctantly detach your lips from Georgia’s and settle back against her side, one of your legs slung over her hips and her hands coming up to wrap around your back as you lie half on top of her.

“Another time,” you tell her, as you let your eyes flicker shut, knowing that sleep will be easy to come by with Georgia’s arms around you.

“That’d better be a promise,” Georgia murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You don’t say anything, just laugh softly, and snuggle into her until sleep takes you both.

———

You wake in a different position, spooning Georgia from behind, but no less content than you were when you fell asleep. Georgia is still fast asleep, body rising and falling with each deep breath, and you manage to carefully extract your arms from around her so that you can reach for your phone on the bedside table to check the time.

You let out a soft groan when you see the time because you’re supposed to be at training in Manchester in less than two hours, and as perfect as last night was, finally getting an admission from Georgia that she feels the same, you now have to deal with the consequences of staying overnight in London instead of driving back home last night after the match.

You slip out of bed as quietly as you can, intending to go into the bathroom to call Gareth and give him some kind of made up excuse about why you’re not going to be at training. Something that doesn’t involve having to admit that you prioritised a girl over your career, even though Georgia is so much more than just a girl and last night will hopefully be the first of many that you get to experience falling asleep in her embrace, but you’re not so sure that your manager will understand or approve.

But before you can make it as far as the bathroom, you hear a sleepy voice from behind you.

“You’re not sneaking out on me, are you?”

You turn to the most adorable sight, a sleepy Georgia rubbing at her bleary eyes as she pushes herself up onto one elbow, her hair sticking up at an awkward angle on the side she slept on.

“No, of course not,” you promise her. You hold up your phone and explain, “I just need to make a call. I’ve got training today and obviously I’m not going to make it.”

“Come back to bed,” Georgia pleads with you.

“One sec,” you say, calling Gareth and lifting your phone to your ear as you sit down on the edge of the bed.

When it rings through to voicemail, you’re a little relieved that you don’t actually have to talk to him in person, and you wait for the tone before leaving your message.

“Hi Gareth,” you say, deliberately rasping your voice as you try to sound as sick as you possibly can. “I’m really sorry but I don’t think I’m going to make it into training today. I’m not feeling well and I’ve already been sick once this morning. Sorry again. I’ll catch up with you soon when I’m feeling better. Bye.”

You hang up and toss your phone aside, ignoring the amused look on Georgia’s face as you get back under the covers.

“Pulling a sickie, eh?” she teases you.

“Shut up,” you grumble, though you still cuddle back into Georgia’s side, tangling your legs together beneath the covers once more.

From this close, you’re taken aback by just how pretty she is. Not that it’s the first time you’ve thought that, but seeing her like this, still slightly heavy-eyed from just waking up, looking back at you with adoration mirrored in her dark eyes, and being able to take it all in without having to worry about whether you get caught staring at her, is brand new. And with whatever limited time you have left before you inevitably have to get up and leave the blissful sanctuary of Georgia’s bed, you just want to kiss her, to feel her body against yours so that you have something tangible to remember this by when she has to go back to Munich.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask.

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I do,” you insist. “Because I can’t believe that last night actually happened. I’m still kinda waiting for you to tell me it’s just a prank.”

Georgia presses forward and her lips meet yours. It’s slower than the kisses you exchanged last night before bed, but you sigh happily into the kiss and bring your hand up to cup Georgia’s cheek. She lets out a little noise that you capture with your own mouth as your fingertips brush against a sensitive spot just below her ear and you make a mental note to revisit the spot later, perhaps with your lips and teeth instead, and vow to find every other spot that makes her whimper and melt into putty.

You make out for a while, a lazy exploration of each other’s mouths without any real destination. Having spent at least the last eight months dreaming of getting to spend quiet mornings in bed with Georgia, kissing until it’s hard to tell where you end and she begins, you’d be quite happy to keep doing this for the rest of eternity, but she eventually pulls back.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back to Germany,” Georgia says, echoing your own thoughts.

“But you love it there,” you remind her, trying to be the voice of reason, even though you wish you could both just exist in the cocoon of this hotel room for the rest of time.

“I love it here too.”

“Here being…?”

“With you,” Georgia clarifies, and your face cracks open into a big grin.

“Didn’t know you were so soppy, G,” you tease her.

“Neither did I. I guess you bring it out in me.”

“Charmer,” you say, snuggling into her shoulder and sliding your hand under the hem of her t-shirt so that your fingertips can brush across the skin of her hip bone.

“We should really get up,” Georgia says, though she makes no move to do so.

“Five more minutes?” you ask, nuzzling your face into Georgia’s neck and pressing your lips to her pulse point.

“Go on then. Five more minutes.”

———

It’s another twenty minutes before you eventually drag yourselves out of bed, which means you have to rush to get ready and any chance you might have had to slip out of the hotel before any of Georgia’s teammates see you is ruined when you hear a knock on the door.

You’ve redressed in last night’s clothes, now mostly dry, and grab the last of your things as Georgia opens the door, revealing three of her teammates standing out in the hallway.

“Breakfast?” they ask her, before three pairs of eyes look past Georgia and fall on you, slipping your feet into your trainers.

“I should go,” you say, checking your coat pocket for your car keys and wandering over to where Georgia stands at the door once you’re satisfied you’ve got everything. “Text me when your flight lands.”

“I’ll text you before then,” Georgia says, her hand coming up to rest on your waist as she tilts her head up to press a sweet kiss to your lips. It’s far more chaste than the ones you shared last night and this morning but it’s still enough to draw some sniggers out of her teammates.

“Bye,” you whisper against her lips as you pull away.

“Love you,” she says.

“Love you too.”

As you leave the room and walk down the hall, you can hear Georgia’s teammates starting to tease her loudly behind you, and you enter the lift fighting off a smile that has everything to do with the development of your relationship in the last ten hours.

———

Luckily you don’t have to wait long to see Georgia again because just a few days after the Champions League match, she returns to England for another Lionesses camp as you prepare for the Finalissima against Brazil.

Naturally, you smuggle Georgia into your room almost as soon as she arrives on camp and spend the night trying really hard to keep your hands to yourself, because you’ve waited so long for Georgia to be yours that you’re determined to wait a little longer so that your first time together isn’t at St George’s Park while your teammates are trying to sleep in the rooms on either side of yours. But you settle for kissing her heatedly well into the night and waking up with her head resting on your chest and one of her arms draped around your waist.

You’re in such a good mood when you go down to breakfast on the first morning of camp, that you completely forget that nobody else knows about the new development in your relationship with Georgia. Specifically, you forget that Keira, who knows pretty much every other up and down of the last few months, doesn’t yet know that Georgia reciprocates your feelings.

You sit at your usual table for breakfast, Keira opposite you and Georgia setting her tray down next to yours.

“I’m just gonna get some juice,” Georgia says. “Do you want some?”

“No thanks,” you reply, taking a sip from your mug of coffee.

You watch as Georgia wanders over to the jugs of juice, your gaze following the swish of her ponytail before dropping to appreciate her legs and the shape of her butt in her training shorts. It’s only when Keira kicks you under the table, hard enough to surely leave a bruise on your shin, that you snap out of your trance.

“What?”

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?” Keira hisses across the table.

You pause for a second, glancing between Keira and Georgia, who is on her way back to the table with a glass of orange juice, and then you laugh. You can’t help the way that it spills from your throat because Keira is looking at you like being in love with Georgia is the worst thing in the world, and while it might have been painful a week ago, you don’t know how to begin to explain that in the space of just a few days it’s become the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“What did I miss?” Georgia asks, as she returns to the table and sits down beside you. “What’s so funny?”

“Keira thinks I’m in love with you,” you explain.

Keira’s eyes widen, and now that you’ve got over the initial surprise of her question, you start to wonder if you can have a bit of fun before actually telling her the truth.

Georgia is clearly thinking the same, because she nudges your thigh with hers and says, “Aw, you love me? That’s lame.”

Keira looks even more panicked - understandable given that she’d probably expect Georgia to be a little more considerate towards your feelings if she didn’t reciprocate.

“Can we talk after breakfast?” Keira asks. “Because I’m worried about you. I thought you’d…” Keira’s eyes flit across to Georgia, then back to you, giving you a deliberate look as she says, “… you know.”

“You thought she’d moved on?” Georgia fills in the gap. She puts down her fork, then reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together and resting them on the table where Keira, and anybody else, can see. “Fat chance of that. She’s obsessed with me.”

Keira looks more confused than ever, and you realise that you probably owe her an explanation.

“G’s my …” You pause, realising that while you’ve both admitted you love each other and there seems to be an understanding that you’re together now, you haven’t actually had a conversation to put an official label on what you are. You turn to Georgia and ask, “Are you my girlfriend?”

“If that’s your way of asking me, it’s not very romantic, is it?” Georgia teases you.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to Keira and say, “She’s my girlfriend. We’re dating.”

To emphasise your point, you bring your joined hands to your lips and press a kiss to the back of Georgia’s fingers.

Keira’s eyes look like they might pop out of her head at any second.

Leah sits down in the empty seat beside Keira, taking one look at your joined hands, before she says, without a hint of surprise in her voice, “You two have finally got your shit together, then? About bloody time.”

“How are you not more surprised by this?” Keira asks Leah, apparently exasperated by the new development. “I’ve spent months listening to this one,” she jabs an accusatory finger in your direction, “whine on and on about how much she loves Georgia and how Georgia is never going to love her back to the point where I’ve genuinely had sleepless nights worrying about it, only for them to hard launch their apparent relationship by rocking up to breakfast and just holding hands like it’s completely normal!”

Keira is usually so cool and composed, even when under stress, that it’s weird to see her have an outburst like this, but she’s the only one who knows the extent of how much your feelings for Georgia not being reciprocated until now has really affected you over the last few months, and for that she deserves an explanation.

Georgia leans closer to you and whispers, “Babe, I think we broke Keira.”

You’ll have time to process the way that Georgia’s use of the pet name babe makes your heart do an actual somersault in your chest, eager to revisit the subject later, but you probably owe Keira an explanation before she actually combusts.

“I love her,” you tell Keira and Leah. “And it turns out G loves me too, it just took her a while to figure it out. But we’re serious about giving this a go. It’s brand new, which is scary and exciting, but…” You turn to Georgia now, almost forgetting that the others are here too as you get caught in the adoration in Georgia’s eyes. “But she’s my girlfriend, my best mate, the only person I’ve ever felt like this about. So yeah, I’ve been a bit of a mess over the last few months trying to get my head around what I felt for her. But she’s worth it. You’re worth it, Georgia. And I’m lucky I get to call you mine.”

Your words come from the heart and it feels for just a second like the two of you are caught in your own little bubble of blossoming romance.

That is, until Leah bursts it by sarcastically saying, “Well thanks guys, I really didn’t want to keep my breakfast down this morning.”

It doesn’t matter if Leah ruins the moment. You’ve waited for Georgia for far too long to care. And as the news of your relationship filters through camp until the rest of the team knows, met with some surprise, some cries of “I knew it!”, and plenty of teasing, the only thing that matters is Georgia and the fact that you finally get to call yourself hers.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway imagine #angst

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foreverisntenough · 27 days ago

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 21 - 'Space ' | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.6k

What had once been whispers of curiosity around your identity and your relationship had exploded into a full-blown storm of scrutiny. Lots of blurry photos, finding Jude in your likes, if his hand in your photo was actually his, was the girl in his Instagram story you, you were in his box at games, Trent followed you all of it crumbs people were devouring. People could put two and two together but there was no confirmation nothing concrete until now. People speculated long since you’d been with Jude but things had hit the fan since Jude’s series premiered. It was a great success and you were happy for him. That said, the media circus surrounding you that followed felt relentless, suffocating, and inescapable. Every day, there was a new headline, a new rumor, a new comment about your relationship with Jude, and it was all tearing at you, slowly and painfully. The real news outlets—legitimate and respected—reported on you as though you were a story in and of yourself. ‘Jude Bellingham’s Girlfriend: Who Is She?’ It felt like you were under a microscope, your entire life, your every move, analyzed and criticized. It wasn’t just the tabloids; even major news outlets began weighing in on your character, speculating on your intentions. You were labeled ‘the mysterious girlfriend,’ but that label morphed, depending on who was writing the story. On Twitter, it was chaos. The football fanatics, a community you had once wanted to read, became a battleground. You were a distraction, a curse on Jude’s career to some. Others dissected every photo, every glance Jude gave you, reading into it like their lives depended on it. And the girls—Jude’s fangirls—took it harder than anyone. You empathized, you’d loved certain celebrities before too but it got to a point where they weren’t just jealous, they were angry. Furious that you existed, that you were the one who got to be with him. Comments flooded in daily, accusing you of being a gold digger, someone chasing fame and fortune. Some said you were beautiful, and then the next post would call you ugly, tearing apart your appearance in ways that made your stomach churn. You read the most vile things, words that you couldn’t unsee, and the bile would rise in your throat every time you opened your phone.

You were now with England’s golden boy and Madrid’s biggest star. The paparazzi had become a constant presence, following you and Jude whenever you stepped outside in Madrid. You hadn’t realized what it meant to be with someone in the public eye like this until now. They camped outside restaurants, clubs, even Jude’s training ground, just waiting for a shot of the two of you together. They’d call out to you, hoping you’d slip up and give them a headline. Some days, you didn’t even want to leave the house. Going out with Jude had become exhausting. You’d stopped going to dinner with him, and the few times you did, you felt the weight of a hundred cameras flashing, capturing your every move. It wasn’t just the photos that hurt; it was the narrative. It felt surreal like you didn’t understand why this had ramped up to this caliber. The only factor that changed was your being. It was hard not to take it personally. Every publication seemed bent on tearing you and Jude apart. Whether it was speculating about other women or hinting that you were inadequate for this life, the goal seemed clear—break you down, and by extension, break him too. The constant barrage of opinions, of strangers tearing at your life, made you feel like you were unraveling. One minute, you were painted as Jude’s perfect match—beautiful, supportive, kind. The next, you were the villain, some opportunist trying to tear him away from his game, or worse, someone manipulating him for his fame and fortune. You had never been so conscious of how people perceived you. You had never cared so much, but now, with every headline, every tweet, every cruel comment, you felt like you were drowning. You couldn’t win no matter what you did. You started to avoid your phone altogether, but the silence wasn’t any better. You still knew what was out there. You were living in a constant state of anxiety, unsure when the next blow would land, but knowing that it inevitably would. The pressure was tearing at you, making you question everything. And worst of all, it was beginning to seep into your relationship with Jude. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but you couldn’t help the fear that eventually, the weight of it all would be too much for either of you to bear.

So call it karma, call it irony, but the series coming out with you in it had massively affected you—not Jude. Your worries expressed to Denise flipped. He seemed to not mind the attention, smiling whenever he saw online comments gassing you up for being beautiful, sweet, and such a supportive girlfriend. You could see how proud he was, showing you off to the world like you were his greatest treasure. Jude thrived on the validation, but for you, it was different. You thought back to when Denise had told you not to worry about him. At the time, you believed her, trusting that things would work out, but now that was all you could do—worry. She was right you didn’t need to worry about Jude. You should’ve worried about yourself. Every day felt like a constant battle to keep yourself afloat under the weight of the scrutiny that came with being Jude Bellingham’s girlfriend. The online comments were relentless, harsher than you had ever imagined. People picked apart every aspect of your life, your appearance, your relationship with Jude—everything was fair game. It felt like you couldn’t even breathe without it being analyzed or criticized. The deeper into your relationship with Jude you got, the more fragile you felt, like your confidence was slipping through your fingers. It was unsettling. Before all of this, you were strong, self-assured. Comments online never would’ve bothered you in the slightest. But now, they felt like daggers aimed at your heart, and you couldn’t shake the anxiety that came with them. Even leaving the house felt impossible. The idea of running into paparazzi or fans made your skin crawl. You were supposed to be living this exciting life in Madrid, but instead, you found yourself trapped—trapped by the fear of what people would say or do, of how they’d judge you. You had been planning to talk to Jude about officially moving to Madrid, making it your home together. You’d even started daydreaming about it, how you’d make space in the wardrobe, build a life with him in the city that adored him. But now, the thought of staying in Madrid filled you with dread. All you wanted was to run—to get as far away from this city as you could. To escape the noise, the cameras, the judgment.

You kept replaying moments in your head—what if you had said no to being in the series? Would things be different? Would you feel more in control? The fame, the exposure—it was swallowing you whole, and you didn’t know how to break free. You hated that it had come to this, that you couldn’t even enjoy being with Jude the way you used to. You had loved him fiercely, but now you felt like loving him was breaking you down, piece by piece. And the worst part was, you weren’t sure how to tell him. How do you explain to the person you love that the life he was thriving in—the life he was proud to have you by his side for—was suffocating you? You knew Jude would understand, but there was a part of you that worried he might feel hurt, like you were rejecting his life, not just the chaos that came with it. But you couldn’t keep going like this. You had to talk to him, even if it meant admitting that all you wanted right now was to get the hell out of Madrid. Jude could sense it eventually. The shift in your mood, the weight on your shoulders—he saw it all. He’d been seeing the online discourse for days now. It was everywhere: news articles, social media threads, debates about your relationship. It was unavoidable, and he hated the way he watched it begin to ransack you. One morning, as you stood in the kitchen quietly making coffee, Jude came up behind you. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you into him as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I know you’re having a hard time,” he cooed, his voice barely audible. He could feel the tension between you two, and it hurt. You’d been distant, not in a way that screamed anger, but in a way that told him you were struggling, and he didn’t know how to help. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the edge of the counter. Finally you had hit a wall and Jude’s apology just sent you over the edge.

“This… it’s just too much, Jude.” Your voice was small, broken. His stomach dropped. What was too much? he wondered. Was he too much? Was his life and everything that came with it weighing on you? Jude’s heart raced as he tried to figure out what you meant.

“What do you mean? What’s too much?” His voice cracked slightly as he feared the worst. He felt like a kid again, afraid of losing something precious. You wiped a tear from your cheek, your voice barely holding steady.

“Everything. The show, the articles, the comments. I don’t know how to handle all of it… It feels like the world’s looking at me through a magnifying glass, judging every move, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that. I don’t know why I agreed to this. Like why…” You questioned. Not really to Jude particularly but into the room. Jude tightened his hold on you, his forehead pressing into the side of your neck. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“I was excited,” he admitted softly. “I wanted to show you off to the world. I thought… I don’t know, I thought maybe it would make things easier, being more open. People would know you, love you the way I do. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d feel this way, what this would actually do to you. I should’ve protected you more. I should’ve thought about what all of this would do.” His voice faltered as guilt settled in. You sighed knowing his initial intentions were good. But he saw the comments too and he wasn't naive. “Baby, but before this came out, before people were talking, you know that was why I wasn’t posting you on my Instagram. We’ve talked about this. I told you I would but we decided it was best the other way. We knew what we were doing before and we know what we’re doing now. It’ll be okay but I’m sorry, angel.” You shook your head, feeling the tears stream down your face.

“Jude… I’m not mad at you. I know it was a joint decision. It’s just overwhelming. I’m not used to this, and it’s making me question everything. I don’t know how to handle it.” You cried.

“I didn’t want this to hurt you. I’m sorry… I hate that it’s hurting you.” He held you tighter, his breath shaky as he whispered into your hair. You started to cry harder, and Jude stood there, holding you, breathing you in. He wished he had the right words, something to take the pain away. But instead, he just stood there, silently holding you, as if his embrace alone could make everything better. This chasm between you two, these conversations happened often after the series release and it was pushing you to your limits. Every camera flash felt like a tick on a time bomb.

“You’re in the show!!!” Whitney called, her voice practically screaming through the phone after she watched the documentary.

“I’m in the show,” you confirmed, but your tone lacked the excitement she expected. There was a pause on the other end of the line, confusion creeping into Whitney’s voice.

“Wait, what’s wrong? You don’t sound happy,” she asked, still giddy but now more concerned. You sighed heavily, rubbing your temple.

“Have you been online?” you asked, knowing the answer would explain everything.

“In general, I mean recipes and shopping but evidently not where you’ve been, why?” Whitney asked, still cheerful but growing cautious as she sensed your unease. You swallowed hard.

“The internet’s… the football internet it’s a lot right now. Since the docuseries came out, people have been going insane. Fan girls are in meltdown mode, and then there are supporters just judging every little thing about our relationship and how it’s been affecting Jude, timelines, backgrounds of photos, people just shitting on me. It’s too much.” You explained to her.

“Yeah, but it’s good that Jude was just like, ‘Here’s my girlfriend, I adore her,’ and then hit publish. It’s so him and you! It’s cute.” Whitney tried to keep the mood light but you cut her off gently.

“Whitney…” You could hear her stop in her tracks on the other end. “It’s not just the good stuff. People are losing their minds because he’s never posted me on his Instagram before. Despite that being on purpose… we decided that… I know that but that doesn’t matter because they’re saying he’s hiding me so he can cheat, or that he doesn’t really care about me.” You sheepishly confided in her.

“I know how that goes. How fun.” Whitney sarcastically quipped with a sigh . Unfortunately she knew all too well the pleasantries of launching of a relationship with a footballer. You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you.

“I know… but it’s getting to be too much. Going online feels like a war zone. Every time I log in, there’s some new thread, some new rumor. I’m struggling, Whit. We didn’t actively hide our relationship before, but because Jude wasn’t posting about me either, and people are running with that. Apparently an instagram post is the only valid form of commitment.” You sighed at the dumb reality you were in.

“Babe, I know how bad it can get. I mean England is a shit show for me. I can't imagine what Spain’s like matched with Jude.” Whitney’s voice softened empathizing with you.

“It’s just… overwhelming. I don’t know how to deal with it.” You sighed again. Whitney paused for a moment, then her voice came through steady.

“You don’t have to deal with it alone. Jude loves you, and anyone who really knows you two knows that. But maybe it’s time you guys talk about how public things have gotten and what that means go forward. You don’t deserve to feel like this and definitely not like this and alone.” She cooed gently. You nodded again in agreement, her words providing some comfort. “Can I be honest for a second?” Whitney spoke and you hummed but nervously. Whitney would always give honest opinions but if she was prefacing things like this you knew it ought to be serious. “There’s no use in you two just having conversations about how much you hate it because… of course you do but he can’t do anything about it. This is Jude Bellingham to all these other people. Unfortunately, he’s not your Jude, he’s theirs. I know it’s hard to hear that, it’s actually the worst feeling in the world but… Your Jude exists. And you two need to have honest conversations about what you do go forward to maintain your relationship because whilst as much as he can’t change who he is… neither can you. You matter just as much in this.” Whitney cooed and you frowned at her accurate call out.

“Yeah, you’re right. I just… I don’t know how to handle the pressure right now.” You admitted sadly. It’s not like you’d never been in the papers before, had your photograph taken, it’d happened but nothing, never to this level. Nothing that caused hate like this. Whitney was right but a part of you questioned if you really could maintain a relationship with Jude Bellingham… Not just Jude.

“I’m here for you,” Whitney reassured. “And so is Jude. Don’t let the noise get to you. You’ve got so many people who love you. Screw the rest. It’ll be fine, you’re not always in Madrid right now anyways,” she said, trying to ease the pressure, but instead, it crumbled you. Whitney’s excitement over seeing you in Jude’s documentary had been so full of joy but it had disappeared now. Her lighthearted comment about not always being in Madrid had hit you like a wave crashing too hard. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding inside until she said it. Tears began to spill, hot and heavy, and you couldn’t stop them. Whitney’s voice shifted immediately, her playful tone giving way to soft, loving concern. “Oh no, hun. I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, it’s going to be okay,” she cooed, trying to console you through the phone. “I know how bad it can feel. I mean, you were there for me when I went through it. The hate… it still happens to me too But you’re gonna be okay.” She tried to relate. You knew she did, she’d lived this, if there was anyone you’d want advice from right now it was her but in real time it wasn’t enough and suddenly there was a snap. Rash and fast.

“I can’t do this anymore, Whit. It’s too much. I need to get out of here.” Through shaky breaths, you managed to tell her you needed to leave Madrid. Whitney, ever the voice of reason and love, tried to soothe you.

“I know it feels impossible right now, but storms always pass. You just have to hang on, lean on Jude. You can call me all the time. Don’t leave somewhere that might not feel like home right now but has someone that is home to you there.” She tried to rationalize. But she could hear it in your voice—she heard the breaking point. You weren’t hanging on, it was too much. You were already letting go. You were in fight or flight mode, and flight was taking over, fast.

“I need to leave, Whitney,” you whispered assertively, the decision settling deep in your chest. You felt sick admitting it. “I just… I can’t stay here.” Whitney’s heart broke for you on the other end of the line.

“Alright,” she said, her voice gentle, even though you knew she didn’t want you to go. “Why don’t you go home just for a bit. I’ll meet you at home in Paris. You need to be somewhere you feel safe.” She told you. You needed to get away from the Madrid media onslaught. This conversation had flipped on it’s head Whitney felt sick at what you wanted but shed back you.

“Whitney,” you cautioned softly, knowing she had a baby to think of.

“I’ll meet you in Paris, it’s fine,” she reassured you quickly. “Trent can take care of Ted. Don’t worry about that.” You sniffled, a small, sad smile breaking through as you thought of her sweet little girl.

“Well, she could come too,” you pouted, wishing you could hold Teddy for some comfort. “I wouldn’t mind.” Whitney let out a soft laugh, knowing you needed the distraction but maybe not the distraction of Teddy.

“No, no,” she said, with a teasing tone. “You need your bestie, not mum Whitney. Besides, Trent can handle her for a bit.” She cooed. “...I think.” She smiled.

“Trent and probably Dianne, but yeah, okay,” you giggled weakly, picturing Trent trying to juggle Teddy on his own. He could but it was funny to tease. Whitney’s light laugh on the other end of the line was soothing, even as the weight of your decision pressed on you.

“Don’t worry about them,” Whitney said, her voice full of love. “Just focus on you right now, okay? Tell Jude you just need to pop to France to take a breath... nothing he did. And then we’ll be there soon and we can shop and we can vent, some frites, champagne, whatever you want.” She cooed. And with that, you felt better knowing you’d see Whitney soon but telling Jude wasn’t exactly something you were looking forward to. It hadn’t been long—mere minutes, really—since your conversation with Whitney, and the weight of everything still clung to you like an invisible force as Jude walked in. His eyes softened when he saw you, a tired but warm smile on his face as he crossed the room, arms already outstretched for a hug. He didn’t know the storm that had just crashed into you but he could see fear in your eyes.

“How you holding up, angel?” he asked gently, wrapping you in his embrace. The feeling of his arms around you was normally your anchor, your safe place. But today, it felt suffocating. You froze, the internal chaos rising too quickly to be silenced. You felt the need to escape, to run, to flee from this life that was spiraling beyond your control. It wasn’t rational, and deep down you knew that, but rationality wasn’t steering the wheel anymore. Without thinking, you pulled back abruptly, your movements sharp, and his hands slipped from your waist. It was like a bandaid you needed to rip off. It felt mean to do but you needed to get the fuck out of there.

“I can’t do this, Jude,” you blurted the phrase once again, the words escaping before you had a chance to rethink them. His brow furrowed in confusion, concern instantly flooding his eyes.

“What?” he asked, taking a small step back, giving you space as his eyes searched yours, trying to understand. “What do you mean? What happened?” He questioned. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and the panic inside you only grew.

“This… all of this,” you stammered, gesturing vaguely around, though it was less about the room and more about the life you found yourself in. “It’s too much. I need… I need to go.” Jude’s face fell, and you could see the hurt flash across his expression. It was like all at once you needed out.

“Go? What are you talking about?” Jude asked confused because the tone in your voice had a lot of conviction. He knew you were having a hard time but… leave?

“I just can’t be here anymore,” you said, your voice shaking, tears threatening to fall. “I’m… I’m not cut out for this. I’m really sorry, I am but the pressure, the attention. It’s everywhere. I feel like I’m drowning, Jude and there’s nothing for me to hold onto here.” He took a step forward, his hands reaching for yours, but you pulled away. You could see the pain in his eyes, the confusion.

“But I thought…” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. “I thought we were okay. I thought you wanted to be here with me. We were gonna weather this together.” You shook your head, your words spilling out in a rush. Jude felt blindsided.

“I do… I did… I do want to be with you, Jude, more than anything. But this… this chaos. I don’t know if I can handle it. The cameras, the comments, the scrutiny. I’m not strong enough for all of this.” You whimpered. Jude was quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling heavily as he took in your words.

“Angel… please. You can. You’re stronger than you think,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care about all that. I care about you. We can figure it out together.” But you were already spiraling, caught in a cycle of self-sabotage you couldn’t break. You wanted to go and meet Whitney asap.

“I need space,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to go.” Jude’s face fell, his arms dropping to his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. You were serious and he could tell. He looked at you like he was watching his whole world start to slip through his fingers, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Space?” he repeated, as if the word didn’t make sense. You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I have no control here, Jude. Over anything… again” Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of it all crushing you. All you could recall was everything you did before to try to gain complete control of everything in your life and now Madrid was spinning into a place where you were completely out of control. You had no work, your entire social standing was through Jude, the media was now watching everything you did, your schedule revolved around Jude’s schedule it was harrowing. “It’s your world here Jude and that’s okay but I just don’t know if I’m meant to be in it.” You murmured.

“What are you saying.” He frantically asked you, panicking about what was unfolding right before his eyes. Everything slipping and fast. You weren’t even sure why things were moving so fast but as wrong as it felt… It felt right to want to leave.

“I just want to go home.” You sheepishly told him. He blinked, confused, his face shifting from concern to hurt. This maybe wouldn’t be the way Whitney wanted you to explain things to him but it’s how the words were coming out.

“This is home,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “Me. I’m home.” He looked at you devastated. “You’re home with me.” But the word ‘home’ felt foreign in your mouth now. Spain had never felt like yours, not completely. Not with the constant press even from the start till now, the cameras flashing in your face every time you stepped outside, the endless speculation about your relationship.

“It doesn’t feel like home. I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears already streaming down your cheeks. Jude’s face fell. His hand reached for yours instinctively, but you pulled away, and he winced as if you’d struck him.

“Angel, please don’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely holding steady. He hated seeing you like this. But worse than that, he hated that you were pulling away from him, something he didn’t know how to stop. “Please,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Don’t leave here…. Dont leave… me.” He begged but you were already halfway out the door in your mind, the fear of losing yourself greater than the fear of losing him in that moment. You knew you were making a mistake, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to fly. Jude felt sick.

It was cynical but you left when he went to training. You didn’t want him to see you go. He couldn’t stop you. Not if he tried to and you knew it would hurt him more. You grabbed your bag, your sunglasses on before you even stepped out the door. The Spanish media was relentless, and even at the airport, they were there, as if they knew somehow, waiting. You prayed the oversized glasses hid the tear stains on your cheeks as you walked through the terminal, heart heavy.

You met Whitney in Paris just as planned, at the house that once felt like your sanctuary but now seemed like a place to hide from the world. The odd thing was you weren’t totally sure if you and Jude were broken up or if you just needed a breather. It was vague but the vagueness hurt. The second you walked through the door, the weight of it all came crashing down, and Whitney, sensing it immediately, wrapped you in a tight embrace. You cried into her shoulder before making your way to the living room, where you both sat, talking for hours. The soft glow of the Parisian street lights filtered through the windows, casting a golden hue over the room as you curled up on the couch, your legs tucked to your chest, tears still slipping down your cheeks.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you hiccuped, your voice small and fragile. Whitney sat next to you, legs crossed, her hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. You didn’t think you’d broken up but you didn’t know what Jude thought. You didn’t want to be but everything hurt, what were you staying in Madrid for? You questioned yourself.

“I’m here, babe,” she said softly. “No matter what you decide, I’ve got you. But… I do think Spain is where you belong. I know it’s scary right now, but Jude would protect you. He loves you so much.” Whitney told you. She answered your internal question… Jude. Jude was who you were staying there for. You sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

“Maybe I just need to get rid of my phone entirely. If I didn’t see any of it, I wouldn’t feel at least half of all this.” Your voice broke as you said it, the suggestion half-serious, half-desperate. Whitney gave you a small, knowing smile, shaking her head gently.

“Well, no, because then I couldn’t text you all my rants and you know I’d miss you too much or even sending baby pictures, you wouldn’t get to see Teddy girl.” She smiled softly. It was teasingly light but also a bit serious. You let out a watery laugh, though the sadness still lingered heavily in your chest.

“Yeah, well… that’s true. Is that where I’m at though? Sacrificing my other relationships for this one with Jude.” You sighed. Whitney shook her head in disagreement. “Just throw my phone away, and live in Madrid, splitting time solely between the bedroom and the bernabeu.” You quipped.

“That’s harsh…” She frowned. “That’s not all you are to him and it’s not the solution, hun,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to cut yourself off from everything to be okay. You wouldn't like it and Jude wouldn’t want that for you. You just need to remember how strong you actually are.” You looked at her through tear-blurred eyes, and she smiled at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been strong. You’ve gotten through so much already. This… this won’t break you.” You weren’t sure if you believed her. You felt so fragile, like one more push and you’d shatter completely. But Whitney had always seen you in a way you struggled to see yourself—as capable, resilient, and brave but she also was acutely aware of your vulnerabilities most people didn’t even know existed. It made you trust her so maybe, just maybe, she was right. That night you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her words echoing in your mind. ‘You’re stronger than you think.’ You wanted to believe that. You wanted to feel like that strong person Whitney knew. But right now, all you could do was try to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hope that tomorrow, the decision would come with a little more clarity.

Somehow, your absence felt worse than the first time you’d left. Jude couldn’t function. His routines fell apart, and even on the pitch, he wasn’t the same. He found himself staring at his phone, waiting for a message that wouldn’t come. He went to training, tried to keep busy, but there was always this hollow feeling that followed him around. In interviews, people asked how he was. He’d plaster on a smile, give some vague answer about ‘focus’ and ‘commitment’ but inside, he was crumbling. He couldn’t have been less focused or less committed. The Spanish media swirled with rumors— more about you, more about the relationship, it felt like a manhunt for both information and your location. Every second without you felt longer, the space between you two growing wider with each passing hour. He had no control, no way of fixing things, and the weight of it was suffocating him.

Toby arrived at Jude’s place after Jude’s sparse texts and seeing the fallout in the news. He had been worried ever since the rumors started circulating it could get to this point and now here you were. As he stepped inside, he found the house eerily quiet, dark even. Jude was lying on the couch, barely moving, the glow from the TV casting long shadows across the room. Toby stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it in. He knew his friend well enough to understand the weight Jude was carrying.

“Bro, you’re really going through it, huh?” Toby teased softly, trying to lighten the mood as he walked in. But the joke didn’t land. Jude barely moved. Toby let out a breath and crossed the room, sitting down beside him. He reached out and slapped Jude on the leg in a loving best friend way, strong and reassuring. “She went home?” Toby asked gently after a moment. Jude let out a low hum of acknowledgment, his face still buried in his hands. It hurt to hear Toby unintentionally rub in that Paris was more of a home to you then there was.

“Yeah,” Jude whispered, his voice barely audible. Toby leaned back, trying to find the right words to say next but Jude spoke first. “Man, fuck, I really thought this was gonna take off in a good way….Like the documentary, showing everyone how much I love her, making it public. I thought she’d see that, you know?” Jude sighed, rubbing his face.

“Mate, it’s a lot. Like, even my Instagram comments get insane… and hers, right now? They’re nuts. People are just relentless.” Toby explained to Jude. It’s not that he didn’t know or was naive enough to believe it was all happy and fine but Toby could stomach reading the nasty ones where Jude turned a blind eye. “Fuck.” Jude suddenly yelled, sitting up and throwing his hands over his face in frustration. He groaned, wishing he could be anyone but Jude Bellingham right now. “I never wanted this to hurt her. I thought I was doing the right thing, I just—I just wanted to show her off. I thought it would be special, something good for us. Now she’s gone, and I feel like I fucked it.” Toby watched him, understanding the pressure Jude was under. He let him vent before speaking again, calmer this time.

“I think you can sort it. You’ve got to make Madrid feel like home for the both of you, man. Not just your home, yours together,” Toby threw out his idea, emphasizing the last word…’together.’ “She needs to feel like this isn’t just your life and she’s tagging along. Like as much as it’s a luxury…It must be so hard for her, coming here, dealing with the media, trying to keep up with your world.” Toby looked at Jude with sympathy. Jude sat back, taking a deep breath. He knew Toby was right. It had always been about Jude’s world—the football, the media, the pressures of being in the spotlight. He thought involving you in that would make you feel special, but maybe it was suffocating you instead.

“I just don’t know how to fix it.” Jude mumbled.

“You can’t just sit here like a mopping melt. You’ve gotta make a plan, bro. You need to show her that you’re building something together. Madrid can’t just be where you live, where you play. It has to be a place where you both can see yourselves, where she feels like she belongs. You need to decide together how to make it work, not just for you, but for her too.” Toby told Jude seriously shuffling on the couch, adjusting in his seat. “Mate, it’s sick what you’ve accomplished and it’s not your fault but she needs to feel like she’s worth 120 million too because otherwise the balance is off even when you’re home here.” Toby awkwardly and carefully told Jude. He didn’t want to knock Jude but of anyone… he knew what being on the other end of a relationship with Jude could feel like. Jude nodded, letting Toby’s words sink in. He knew he needed to step up. He needed to find a way to make this work, to build a life with you, not just around his football career but around the both of you. “She’s good for you, I know it took me a minute to understand that but she’s worth it, man ” Toby added. “And you know it.” Jude leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Yeah, she is. I’ve just gotta figure out how to make her feel like this is her home too. That’s the plan.” Jude echoed him.

It was well past midnight. Your house in Paris was still and quiet, save for the soft sound of Whitney’s steady breathing beside you. You had chosen to stay in the same bed, even though there were plenty of rooms in the house to retreat to. But tonight, you couldn’t bear the thought of being alone, not when everything felt like it was caving in on you. The weight of it all pressed down, and as you lay there, still staring at the ceiling, you could feel the lump in your throat growing. The tears came first in silent streaks, warm and fast down your cheeks. You turned your head slightly, careful not to disturb Whitney, trying to keep it together. But the more you tried to stifle it, the harder it became. The sobs started to break through, your body shaking as you tried to muffle the sounds in your pillow. You didn’t want to wake her. You didn’t want her to know how much you were unraveling, even though she already had a pretty good idea. Unable to stay in bed any longer, you quietly slipped out, padding your way to the bathroom. You shut the door softly behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you tried to catch your breath. The walls felt like they were closing in, your reflection in the mirror barely recognizable, eyes red and swollen from crying. Without even thinking, you reached for your phone, dialing the only person you wanted to talk to. Jude answered almost immediately.

“Angel?” Jude choked out, his voice rough, caught somewhere between sleep and emotion. “You okay?” He asked almost mindlessly.

“I’m sorry. I miss you so much,” you managed to get out, your voice broken and strained from the sobs that were coming from your chest. On the other end, Jude’s breath caught. You could hear him trying to hold it together, but there was a soft whimper in his voice.

“I know, Angel, I know,” he whispered, his voice tender and filled with emotion. “I miss you too.” You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, couldn’t stop the overwhelming need to be with him, to have him there holding you, telling you everything would be okay.

“I don’t want to be apart. I don’t want to lose my Jude,” you gasped, barely able to get the words out between your sobs.

“Angel, you’re not going to lose me, I promise,” Jude said softly, his voice steady, though you could hear the strain. “Just come back to me, please. We’ll sort this out together. I need you here with me.” He tried to tell you as calmly as possible but he had been in a panic since you left. “I can’t…I can’t get to you right now.” He told you and your heart dropped. This was it. This was the problem. Jude’s world. You knew he had a football tomorrow, knew he needed to focus, and yet here you were, falling apart when he needed to keep his head in the game. This was Jude’s world. He heard you hiccup, your breathing ragged. “I know,angel and I’m sorry.. Fuck… I’m sorry,” Jude said, his voice cracking slightly, he never felt more guilty but he tried to toughen up for the sake of the relationship. “But I need you here. I need you with me, angel. I can’t stand knowing you’re crying like this, mon ange.” His attempt at French, though sweet and familiar, broke something inside you. It was his way of reminding you that you were his, that no matter the chaos or the distance, you were his.

“I just—” you started, but the tears were making it hard to speak. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down, but it was no use. You were crumbling.

“Come on, yeah?” Jude’s voice was so soft, so gentle. You could hear the deep breath he took on the other side of the line, as if trying to breathe for both of you. “Please, baby. Come home to me. I’ve got you. I know it’s been shit but I’ll take care of you. Come back to our home. I’m gonna work so hard to make it better for you back here. Promise. I love you so much.” The sobs came again, but this time there was something different about them. There was a comfort, a peace in his words, in knowing that Jude wasn’t going anywhere, that he loved you and wanted to be with you through all of it.

“... Okay.” You whimpered between another onslaught of tears. You couldn’t stop but you wanted to go back.

“Okay? Why are you crying again, huh?” Jude teased lightly, his voice breaking the tension in your chest. “I love you, and you’re going to come home. That’s a good thing, right?” You couldn’t help but let out a sad little giggle through the tears, the weight of everything easing just slightly at his words.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice small but sincere. “Yeah, it is.” You could almost see the smile on his face as he let out a relieved sigh.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now get back to bed, yeah? And when you wake up, I’ll get you on a plane back to your Jude, come back home to me. I need you here.” You could hear the sad smile in his voice. You could feel the tension evaporating.

“I will,” you promised, your voice still thick with emotion but steadier now. “I love you, Jude.”

“I love you, angel. So much.” The conversation lingered in the air even after you hung up, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You stood in the bathroom for a moment longer, wiping at your eyes, feeling the tiniest bit lighter, the tiniest bit more whole. You weren’t alone in this. You had Jude, and you had his love. Whitney had heard you get up, even though you had tried to be quiet. She always had a knack for knowing when you were in distress, not just because she was your best friend but because she was maternal, too. When you returned to bed, wiping your eyes, you found her sitting up against the headboard, her phone in hand, but her attention completely on you. Her face softened with a knowing, sympathetic smile.

“You ready to go home now?” she asked gently, her tone light but understanding. She knew you’d go back from the moment you stepped into Paris. You needed the space, yes, but more than that, you needed the reminder. Tabloid chaos aside, you wanted Jude. You loved him, and this moment was just another test of that love. You nodded silently, the lump still in your throat, and crawled back into bed beside her. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth. “Mum’s know best,” she murmured with a smile, kissing the top of your head. It made you laugh through the remnants of your tears. You wiped your face on the sleeve of your shirt, grateful for her being there.

“Can I see the latest of our Teddy girl?” you asked, shifting the focus. “You’ve been holding out on me since we’ve only been talking about my drama.” Whitney laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Of course, I’ve got plenty but I’ll warn you. It’ll make you smile soo…” she said with a smirk, unlocking her phone and pulling up the videos. You smiled warmed already. Whitney’s phone illuminated the darkened room with a soft glow, and as she found the video of Teddy, you instinctively leaned your head onto her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her presence. A tender smile crossed your face, already knowing that whatever was about to play would melt your heart, as always. The still frame of Teddy’s chubby cheeks, round and flushed with Trent’s unmistakable dimples, filled the screen. She looked like a little cherub, her innocence and sweetness enough to make you want to squeeze her through the phone. The video began to play, Whitney’s voice, soft and encouraging, coming through.

“Say hi, please,” she said gently, as if coaxing Teddy into sharing her little message with you. Teddy’s tiny voice, a bit jumbled but unmistakably adorable, echoed from the phone.

“Hi.” She then fell into giggles at nothing but the hello. “I miss. You come back home with mama… and treat for me pleabs, tay?” Her request was so sincere, so pure, that it tugged at your heartstrings. You giggled, tilting your head further into Whitney’s shoulder, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. Whitney gasped playfully in the video, her voice laughing as she questioned her little girl.

“What! Y/N and a treat?” She asked before the sound of her tickling of Teddy’s chubby tummy filled the audio, followed by her baby’s uncontrollable giggles.

“Oh my god, I miss her so much,” you pouted, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. You missed Teddy’s soft little arms around your neck, the way her laughter filled the house when you visited.

“Want tiny cakes, mama! Pink pleabs!” She yelped, muddied her own giggles.

“She means macaroons by the way,” Whitney clarified to you now, shaking her head with a fond smile. Teddy loved her little ‘treats,’ always asking for those delicate, colorful pastries. You let out a whiny sigh, your lips forming into an exaggerated pout.

“I want to eat herrrrr,” you joked, the words escaping your mouth in a playful whimper as you watched the screen. Whitney laughed, her giggle soft but infectious, the same way Teddy’s was.

“Yeah, well, she wants to eat a macaroon, so… are we going tomorrow? I don’t think she’ll let me in without a treat from Y/N.” She looked at you with a teasing smile, knowing full well that you’d never deny Teddy anything.

“Of course, we’re getting her some!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over. There was a pasty shop near your home in Paris you loved and you often either mailed, hand delivered or even once before taken Teddy to the shop. It was sweet literally and figuratively but now your presence was synonymous with yummy macaroons for the little girl. The thought of seeing Teddy, her joy over a simple treat, was enough to lift your spirits, even if just for a little while. All of this was the perfect distraction, the perfect antidote to your spiraling thoughts. As the video ended, Whitney continued scrolling through her camera roll, showing you more snippets of her, Trent and Teddy’s world. Videos of her Teddy learning new words, her high-pitched giggles as she ran around the house, her tiny feet padding along wooden floors. You could feel yourself relaxing, sinking into the comfort of these moments. In another one, Teddy was babbling in that adorable toddler way, trying to string together sentences as she played with one of her toys. She looked up at the camera, her little eyes wide with wonder, and you felt a pang of longing. You missed being around her, Whitney, and Trent—this little family that made your heart feel so full. Whitney paused on a particular video, her face softening with an affectionate smile.

“You know,” Whitney said, her voice casual but pointed. She turned to you, her eyes twinkling with a soft smile. “I heard a rumbling from that little girl that Jude’s thinking of a big future with you.” You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but the meaning of her words quickly sank in. You giggled, the vagueness of her comment amusing, but also strangely reassuring.

“Oh really? Teddy’s got all the inside scoop, huh?” You cooed. Whitney raised an eyebrow playfully.

“She does. And it’s a big deal, babe.” You smirked, trying to play it cool, though your heart fluttered at the idea.

“Well, it only makes sense she knows my future before me,” you teased. “Besides, obviously I’d need Teddy’s go-ahead for anything big, right? Judey is hers after all.” You teased. Whitney hummed in agreement.

“Leaving Madrid included. You're not ditching Judey without her say." She added with a mischievous grin, knowing full well how close Jude was with her daughter and how much you shouldn’t leave Jude. “But seriously… He’s all in, babe.” The warmth of her words lingered. Jude thinking of a future with you, something solid, something more, was a thought you hadn’t fully let yourself embrace yet. But hearing it from Whitney, someone who knew both you and Jude so well, it felt real. It felt possible. As you settled back into bed, your heart was a little lighter, your mind a little more at ease. You knew that soon, you’d be heading back to Madrid—not just to Jude, but to the life you were building together, even if it came with complications and challenges. For now, you allowed yourself to take comfort in Whitney’s arms and the sweet, innocent sound of Teddy’s giggles in the background. You stayed in the same bed, finding comfort in the familiarity, the closeness of your best friend at a time when you needed it most.

With macaroons secured and Whitney on her way back home in the opposite direction, you were headed to Madrid again. When your flight landed, you thought you were seeing things after you left your terminal. A figure in your sightline but just far enough away for their features to be blurred stood. It was an eerily familiar frame that made your heart ache but you walked towards anyways needing to get outside. As you got closer your stomach turned. And there, patiently awaiting for a car service in the arrivals was Jobe Bellingham. You never expected to run into him yet there he was, dimples sunk into his cheeks as he looked at something on his phone. It was both comforting to see him and anxiety producing all at once. What did he know? Why was he here? A part of you dreaded needing to be in the same area, an unavoidable conversation looming. He stood, hand in his pockets, looking a bit out of place but familiar all the same. You watched a cheekier smile grow on his face when he picked up his gaze and watched you unwillfully approach. You felt a bit awkward though, things were resolved to a degree with Jude but you knew Jobe would know about how tense things had gotten. It was both endearing and annoying how close Jude was with his family.

“Look who it is” he said, his voice hesitant but eyebrows raised to tease. You could tell he also was a little unsure of how to approach this but he was sweet as ever.

“Hi,” you stammered back, still caught off guard by his presence. Before you could even process it, Jobe had pulled you into a hug. It was awkward at first, but then, it felt like home—a reminder of the bond you’d built with Jude’s family. He held onto you a little tighter, sensing you were on the verge of something deeper than just surprise.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, concern lacing his words. You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you buried your face against him and, without warning, you started crying. Your tears came unexpectedly, like a dam breaking, as you clung to him for a moment longer than you should have. “Hey, you’re good,” Jobe whispered, his hand rubbing your back soothingly, trying to calm you down. He pulled away after a moment, looking down at you with a soft expression.

“Why are you in Madrid?” you blurted out, your voice shaky, though the answer was obvious. Jobe chuckled, understanding the confusion in your mind. “I mean, I know why… but,” you quickly added, shaking your head at yourself embarrassed by your words. He let out a short laugh, easing the tension.

“Obviously to see Jude,” he smirked. “But, yeah. He’s a mess without you. So here I am… next best thing,” Jobe shrugged. He was always going to be there for Jude. It was the most natural thing in the world to be there, ready to back his brother.

“I don’t want him to be a mess,” you pouted, feeling guilty all over again. The weight of your recent decisions hit you harder now that you were standing in front of Jobe, who had dropped everything to be there for Jude. Now, you were dreading seeing Denise and having to explain your exodus.

“Then stop leaving,” Jobe teased, though there was kindness behind his words. “Jude pulled in the big guns this time. Can’t leave my bro hanging like that. You guys are supposed to be end game. Can’t switch on the man now.” He smirked. You looked up at him, your eyes still red from crying but a small smile forming on your lips.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer this time. You felt almost ashamed.

“Don’t be,” Jobe shrugged again, his smirk reassuring. “So you wanna share a ride?” He joked lightly, trying to shift the mood. You nodded as his smirk grew into a full smile. And just like that, with the air a little lighter, you two made your way to the car, your heart set on making things right when you finally saw Jude again. In the car with Jobe, the city of Madrid flew by outside the window, but your mind was elsewhere, still tangled in emotions about everything that had unfolded over the past few days. You glanced over at him, trying to find some peace in the fact that you were heading back to Jude. Jobe must’ve sensed your anxiety, because he broke the silence first, his voice low and sincere. “Jude’s all in, you know that, right? Jokes aside,” he started, eyes still out the window but the weight of his words heavy between you two. “Like, different situations for us, of course, but Jude looks after the people in his life. He’s not gonna let anything happen to you. To the relationship.” He cooed. You looked at him, trying to gauge how much he really knew, how much he understood the whirlwind you’d been caught in. “Don’t get me wrong it’s a fucking circus but he knows that. People can just be assholes out there but inside. We create our own calm, yeah?” he continued, “And sure, these people care a lot about Jude. He cares what they think and but he doesn’t care about them the way he cares about you.” His words hit deep, and you felt the knot in your chest loosen a little. It was comforting to know that even Jobe saw how much you meant to Jude. Jobe turned to you briefly, a small smile forming on his lips. “Plus,” he said, his voice lightening, “I like having you around. He can be a pain in the ass and it’s nice to share the load of that with someone” He draped his arm over your shoulder in a brotherly gesture, pulling you closer in the backseat. “I’ll back you. You’ve got me in your corner,” he teased, but there was an unmistakable warmth behind it. “I’ll let people know you’re the one who’s got my brother acting like a melt. Anyone who’s got Jude like this is staying around, people can say what they want.” You laughed softly, wiping the corner of your eye, grateful for the support. You didn’t want to cry in front of Jobe anymore but you felt like you might. It wasn’t just about Jude anymore—it was about his family, too. Jobe’s reassurance meant everything. It felt like a protective force was around you, and knowing Jobe had your back, had seen how much you cared for Jude, made you feel a little braver about facing what was to come.

“Thanks, Jobe,” you said quietly, your voice softer now. In a backwards way, though younger than you, it felt like you were with Louis. He felt like your brother and it made you feel such a familiar sense of comfort. A soft reminder that Jude’s life was your life, you did fit in it when it came to the places that mattered.

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged, but you could see the fondness in his eyes as he looked back ahead. You leaned back into your seat, your heart a little lighter. Jobe wasn’t just Jude’s brother—he was family to you now too, and it was so reassuring to know that you had his support.

As you walked up to the house, nerves buzzing beneath your skin, you hesitated at the door. Jobe, ever acting like the playful little brother, gave you a light shove on the back.

“Go on, then,” he teased with a grin. His energy was light, but you could feel the weight of the moment ahead. You gave him a side-eye but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Jobe opened the door and immediately announced your arrival in the most dramatic way possible, his voice echoing through the house. “Look who I brought! Best brother in the world… Jobe Bellingham!” He yelled. You could hear the humor in his voice, but your heart was pounding in your chest. Jude looked up from where he was at the kitchen island, and the second he saw you, his whole face lit up with relief. He didn’t even hesitate—he was up and running toward you in seconds, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You tried to hold it together, but the moment his familiar scent, his warmth, and the strength of his embrace surrounded you, it was like a dam broke. The tears you’d been attempting to hold back in front of Jobe fell freely, your face buried against his chest as you sobbed. Jude held you even tighter, swaying you gently from side to side as if that motion alone could soothe your aching heart.

“I know, baby. C’mere,” he whispered into your hair, his voice soft, filled with love. He kissed the top of your head repeatedly, one arm around your shoulders, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay, angel. We’re gonna be okay. I promise.” His words were calming, but it was the way he held you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, that started to ease the storm inside you. He didn’t rush you, didn’t try to say too much. He just let you cry, let you feel everything, while he whispered quiet reassurances and kissed your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out between sobs, feeling a wave of guilt for everything that had happened, for running away, for doubting how strong you were. It wasn’t long apart but it felt like a massive amount of time out of his arms.

“Shhh, angel. You don’t have to apologize,” he murmured, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I’m sorry. We’re gonna figure this out. Together. You’re supposed to be here with me.” Jude whispered. Jobe lingered for a second, taking in the scene with a soft smile before heading to go find Toby, leaving the two of you alone to have your moment. Jude gently pulled back just enough to cup your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters, yeah?. We’ll get through this, I promise.” You nodded, leaning into his touch, finally feeling some of the weight lift off your shoulders. Being here, in his arms, it was where you needed to be. When Jude took your bags upstairs, you clung to him, refusing to let go. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your cheek squished against his back as he walked to the bedroom. As you stepped into the familiar surroundings of the bedroom, tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had told him when you left this didn’t feel like home but it couldn’t have felt more opposite now. It'd been a challenging few days, but now you and Jude were finally back in each other's arms. You'd missed his embrace, his scent, and the way he made your heart race. He smiled softly, his sweet demeanor ever present. "I gotcha," he whispered, his voice filled with concern. Jude smiled, warmth radiating from him as he gently pried your arms off just enough to turn around and face you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent, unable to let go. You felt his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you couldn't help but kiss his neck, letting your lips linger on his warm skin. A shiver ran through you as you felt his muscles tense in response to your touch. The tension and anxiety of the past melting away but then you felt a shift, all your fear replaced by desire.

"I missed you," you whined softly, your lip against his skin your grip on him tightening.

"Yeah? I missed you more, angel," he murmured, his eyes softening, his breath tickling your ear. His hands glided down your back, cupping your ass, and lifting you slightly onto your toes, pressing your body against his, and then up your back again. You silently gasped as you felt his hardening cock against you, already straining against his trousers. The realization of how much you've craved this boy hit you like a wave. You kissed the soft skin of his neck again letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction.

"Mmm, I really missed you," you whined again, the intensity of your longing for him rising as the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you. Jude chuckled at the sound, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

"Oh, I see... You missed me like that now, huh?" His tone was playful, but there was an edge of desire beneath it. You nodded, dragging your hands under his shirt, your fingertips grazing over the defined lines of his abs, the warmth of his skin igniting your need for him. The quiet tension between you two thickened as your hands pushed his shirt higher, revealing more of him. Jude's playful smirk deepened as he gripped you tighter, his hands gliding down the curve of your back once more to rest under your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground entirely now, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he held you securely. "Let me show you why this is home, baby," he whispered, his voice husky with promise. His hands gripped you tighter, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he carried you to the bed, the intensity of his gaze locking you in

"Please" you pleaded, your voice hoarse with emotion. He needed no further encouragement. The way he carried you was exhilarating. You ran your hands over his hair gripping it slightly just enough to let him know he was yours. The world narrowed down to this moment as he laid you gently on the soft sheets, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned over you, his hands tracing the curves of your body, from your shoulders to the swell of your tits. He teased your nipples through the fabric of your top, making you arch your back and moan softly.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, can’t ever leave me" he said firmly, his voice thick with desire. He peeled off your clothes, revealing your flawless skin and the tits he adores. His mouth watered at the sight as he lowered his head, taking a nipple into his warm mouth, sucking gently. You clutched his shoulders, feeling the sensations radiate through your body. He kissed his way down your stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses and soft bites. When he reached your throbbing pussy, he teased you, blowing gently on your wetness, making you squirm.

"Please, Jude," you begged, your voice laced with desperation. He smiled against your inner thigh, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. He spread your legs wider, exposing your glistening pussy. With slow, deliberate movements, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them to find your sweet spot. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as he thrust his fingers in and out, building the pleasure.

"You're so wet for me, baby," he growls, his voice filled with satisfaction. He added a third finger over time, stretching you, filling you with a delicious fullness. You were on the edge, trembling, when he used his thumb to circle your clit, sending you spiraling towards an intense orgasm. He just watched you fall apart simply off the work of his fingers, satisfied, smug, possessively sure that you were his. "Cum for me, Y/N," he urged, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. You tightened around his fingers, crying out his name as your body shuddered through a powerful climax. You were still riding the waves of pleasure as he lined his cock up with your entrance, lifting your hips up and guiding his length inside. You were so wet it was seamless. “You’re such good girl f’me. You okay, baby?” You nodded as he began to thrust after he let you adjust. You and Jude just understood each other's bodies, what each of you needed but Jude was asking maybe from a more emotional standpoint because frankly… he stretched you out every time with how big he was. Naturally, he found the perfect spot again and again in quick succession. He pinned you under him as he continued to thrust deep inside you. The sensation of being filled by him was overwhelming. You clung to him, your nails digging into his muscular back as his strokes began to get harder, his hips snapping against yours. He set a relentless pace, pounding into you, his balls slapping against your ass. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, mingling with your desperate moans.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you whined, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. He leant down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts. “I missed you so much.” You whimpered as your waterline filled with tears you weren’t sure were from the physical heaven you were in or from the separation. You tried to put your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans knowing people were home but he wasn’t having that. He pinned your hands above you with restraint as he continued to fuck you.

“Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel back at home now, angel.” He whispered against your neck before biting your sensitive skin only pulling another, louder, moan from you.

“Fuck….” you whined. “Please, I’m so close, I’m so… f-fuck!… I’m so close.” You told him squeezing your eyes shut as you started to feel your orgasm approaching. He was so deep inside that you could feel every ridge and vein. You could feel the pleasure coiling tightly in your core. Jude could feel it too, he reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit in firm circles as he fucked you with abandon. You were both slick with a sheen, your bodies glistening in the dim light, as you surrendered to the raw, primal urge. "I'm gonna cum, baby," you whispered, your voice shaky.

"Cum with me, angel," he panted, his jaw clenching as he fought for control. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and that's all it took. Your mind turned to complete mush. His thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier and harsher. “Cum all over my cock, yeah? Make a fucking mess on my cock.” Jude babbled as you came, your body aching, your eyes squeezing shut again. You cried out, your pussy clenching around him as you exploded in a mind-numbing orgasm. Jude followed his body tensing as he filled you with his hot cum, rope after rope, triggering another wave of pleasure.

“Baby” you moaned, feeling his release painting your insides. You were gasping as Jude fucked you through your high.

“That’s my good girl.” He said as he let his weight come down on top of you completely spent as you both breathed heavily, whispering ‘I love yous’ back and forth. As your hearts pounded and your bodies trembled, Jude moved to collapse himself onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You snuggled against his chest, feeling his heart thumping against your ear. “You okay?” He asked gently. You hummed letting your eyes flutter closed. “Get you cleaned up in a second. Just need you right here with me for a second.” He cooed holding you tighter.

“With you at home.” You quietly added. He smiled hearing your voice.

“Yeah at home, angel. Not ever leaving me again," he vowed, kissing the top of your head. "We belong together, you and me, forever." You smiled, wiping away a stray tear, knowing that this time, it's forever. You were here to stay.

“I like being at home, I think.” You sheepishly but cheekily smiled with a giggle as you inspected Jude’s pretty flushed face. He shook his head with a roll of his eyes but still kissing your forehead. And whilst you were in this bubble of bliss of reconciliation and confirmation in your relationship, Jobe and Toby unfortunately downstairs couldn’t get the tellys sound loud enough to not hear some of the noise echoing from Jude’s room.

“I think they’ll be alright.” Toby laughed, turning up the volume one more notch, not being able to stomach another ‘good girl’ or ‘please.’

“Yeah clearly.” Jobe grimaced. “Honestly, just shut the fuck up, we get it.” He groaned, placing his hands over his ears falling back into the couch. They were laughing, complaining about you and Jude, and making snide jokes as they continued a game of fifa but deep down Jobe and Toby both were fairly relieved this fall out was fast repaired.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 22 - Galería D’ange xx

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut

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phant0mth1ef · 3 months ago

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oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both, oh yes-.

all for one, and one for all.

those three words ruled your life from the moment you were brought into the earth by your father. no matter how you phrased them, they never left your mind.

you’d grown up in a slum in kamino ward, your father keeping you right beside him, like you were some trophy that he’d always had on display. it irked you to the point of no return, but then again, who could say no or defy your father?

you’d grown up quirkless until about the age of 10, where he’d brought you to some shady lab and held you down as liquid flowed through your veins, the syringe that had been used was long discarded by then.

since then, you’d been thrown to the side by your father. but then again, was he really yours? it was so degrading to come second to someone who wasn’t even blood. you’d lived at the hospital with him. the doctor.

you knew your role when your father visited you after being gone for years, a news article was dropped in front of you as you looked down at it. all might would begin to teach at ua at the start of their new term.

he’d looked at you, you’d looked at him.

everything in your body had told you to decline, told you to just defy him for once in your life.

but, then again, who says no to all for one?

you’d walk home with aoyama daily, chatting with each other as you both nearly sweat every piece of your skin off. he was watching, even when you’d thought he wasn’t.

in class you wouldn’t talk to anyone, and at the start it was easy. todoroki was doing the same exact thing, refusing to make friends and acting coldly towards everyone.

the usj incident wasn’t meant to be as destructive as it was. no. the plan was originally for you to meet with your father and discuss, but once you’d begun acting coldly towards him. he’d quickly shown you what he was capable of.

eventually todoroki opened up to the class, but you, oh god you were such a hard shell to break.

you were so suspicious, so conniving. and when you’d found out you were being followed by a certain blonde haired boy, that had to have been the worst of it.

“time manipulation: time stop.” everything froze into place as you’d walked behind bakugou, forcing his body into mid air so that he’d collide with the ground the moment he fell.

“time manipulation: reset.” with those words his face hit the hard concrete, and he’d picked himself up with an angry smile on his face, a cut on his cheek. (definition of a crash out, i fear).

that night at ground beta, you’d both fought all night. the boy being unable to land a hit on you due to your borrowed quirk.

you could never call it yours. it was stolen from someone much more worthy than you.

aizawa had caught you both, reprimanding you and sentencing you both to detention after school for weeks. and oddly enough, bakugou didn’t avoid you after the incident.

“hey, idiot.” he’d whispered to you during detention while throwing a wad of paper at your head. you’d turned towards him, eyebags under your eyes.

“spar with me after school.” he was nearly incoherent as you made a face, trying to understand what he just said.

“no.” you’d nearly spat, it wasn’t meant to come out in such a rude way.

“tch. c’mon. don’t be a loser.” that caught your interest as you side eyed him, quirking up an eyebrow.

from then on, you’d both begun to hang around each other more. whether it be small things such as walking home together, although you’d never allow him to walk you home for obvious reasons.

sparring, taking walks together after school, he even went so far as to invite you to the pool before you’d all left to training camp.

and eventually once you’d been forced to move into the dorms after your father was captured, you’d thought that maybe, just maybe, your life could be normal as you looked at bakugou who was helping you carry boxes into your room.

“how the hell do you have so much stuff?! are you some typa hoarder?” you threw a pillow at him.

you’d lived your life as if you were a normal teenage girl, at least you did.

you’d just finished up watching a movie with bakugou, the boy shut the door to your dorm. almost on cue, a smokey purple substance appeared in front of you, your body racked with chills as you stared at it.

“time manipulation, small space time stop.” everything in your room was exactly the way it was when bakugou left, even the shape of you asleep in bed as you’d passed through kurogiri’s warp gate.

you’d been thrown into a laboratory, shigaraki stared down at you. a cold glare in his eyes. he was just like him.

he’d officially combined with shigaraki, overtaking the young adult’s body as he stared you down at coffin in the sky. you’d been frozen in fear once you’d seen him.

“what are you standing there for?! stop time and take him out, damn it!” bakugou yelled at you as shigaraki, well, all for one, smiled back at him.

“she won’t be doing that. after all, she can’t.” he’d smiled, a grimacing look in his eyes as you’d been forced to gravitate towards him. probably a quirk he’d stolen.

“the hell are you doing?! come back!” his voice was so commanding.

“i can’t.” tears welled up in your eyes as you were pulled towards what was left of your father, your body trembling with each step you were forced to take.

“after all, how could she say no to dear old dad?” the gasps that were let out would never leave your memory, your head hung low as you’d trudged towards him.

footsteps were heard behind you, rapidly pounding against the dirt of the biome as you’d looked back.

bakugou was chasing you, trying to reach you and shield you from him despite the hatred that was in his eyes.

you’d turned back, your father was running at full speed now. or was it shigaraki? you couldn’t tell these days as he outstretched his arm.

because if he couldn’t have your power, nobody would.

god i hate this so bad i feel like its so rushed 💔💔😢😢

@bakuettes

#mha #myheroacademia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki

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unfair-water-plane · 5 months ago

Text

So one thing that has always made me chuckle in ME2 is the fact that Kal’Reegar is a marine in a Quarian suit. And he fits in with Shepard easily, the same attitude and headspace and cadence (for mShep at least). And I’m sitting here at work and the thought just hit me.

What if that’s because he is a marine in a Quarian suit?

Hear me out. Kal is older than Tali, or at least gives off those vibes, and so he would have been on his pilgrimage a while ago. Like maybe right after first contact. And here are these brand new people who came out of nowhere and had apparently enough fire power and attitude to give the Turians a very brief pause. The whole galaxy wants to know more. And humanity has no idea who is out there, but surely they can’t all be like the creepy bird people?

Cue one very curious Quarian in Shanxi, just as curious an out humanity as humanity is about everything. Meeting with early alliance brass, giving them information common palace to any kid with an extranet feed but wholly new to humanity. He explains that the Quarian don’t have ground forces because they don’t have a ground, and is honest about the geth, and is like ‘so how did you make the Turian Hierarchy freak out?’

And somehow ends up observing basic training, and falls in love with it. To the point where he actively asks to go through marine boot camp in Hanshan, and is just earnest and endearing enough to be allowed. So he goes through it, puts in the work and the blood and sweat and tears and makes the kinds of friends that you sort of have on the Flotilla, but everyone also knows you are all going to separate ships eventually and getting attached is hard.

But the humans will pack bond with a robot vacuum without issue, and when they meet a Quarian who wants to learn and thinks it’s amazing that they stood up to the biggest military in the galaxy running on old fashioned rocketry and spite? The marines adopt him as one of their own. They are brothers, something most single child Quarians have no experience with, and Kal gives it back in spades. He talks like them, fights like them, jokes and learns and is like them.

And when it is over and they graduate, it’s hard to turn down the offer to stay. But humanity respects the loyalty to his people that takes him back to the fleet, and it almost brings him to tears when his graduating class passes a cap for his passage back to the fleet in more comfort than sitting on a box in a volus cargo ship.

It actually brings him to tears when his drill instructor informs him that while it might not be in great shape, Arcturus has authorized them to gift Kal’Reegar with a battered but space worthy corsair and an official greeting from the Systems Alliance to the Migrant Fleet.

The SSV Jarhead is perhaps the best gift anyone is his age range can give to a future captain, though his practical military experience is a gift to the whole fleet. It catapults him through the Quarian military, from for soldier to instructor to commander, and somewhere he hopes that his brothers and sisters are as proud of them as he is of every transmission that makes it back to him.

On Haestrom, that training keeps him alive long enough to watch his squad die, and that cuts like nothing else. But he can’t stop, because the principle is still depending on him, and until his suit gives out he has to fight to her.

But then the voice cuts through the chatter of his own mind, and he *knows it*. Knows the cadence and the phrasing, knows how a human mouth forms the phrases that he has spent years trying to teach. Commander Shepard might not be a marine, but they are a human combat specialist and the fraternity is there.

Maybe it’s just three more people who are going to die for this fools errand, but somehow Kal doesn’t think so. There are two bone deep beliefs that he will carry it’s him to either the home world or the afterlife, and it has always felt appropriate to him that they rhyme. That they sound similar, when he breathes them into the air.

Keelah Salai. Semper Fi.

#quarians #migrant fleet #mass effect #commander shepard #headcanon #Kal’Reegar #haestrom #I have feelings about humans and other races bonding in the early days

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nofingjustaninchident · 2 months ago

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omg Leah tysm for doing this event ily. Hear me out, Jason proposing to gf!reader, when she's not really having a good day, and feels down (maybe the reason could be that her friends left her out on plans or something but it could be anything, really). But Jason just ironically makes it her best day ever with his secret sweetly planned proposal ahhh 🥹🩷

ᯓ★ id marry you with paper rings

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

pairing jason grace x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary worst. day. ever. or maybe not.

warnings nah, just fluff

authors note this one was so cute to write omggg

now listening to paper rings by taylor swift

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The day had been rough. Y/n was sitting on the couch, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on her. Her friends had, once again, gone out without her, leaving her feeling lonely and left out. Just to match, her whole week at work had been extremely bad, and now she felt like a good old piece of shit.

The gloom settled over her like a heavy blanket, and no amount of distraction seemed to lift it. Her boyfriend, Jason, was also not home, as he had to spend most of his days at one of the camps – sometimes even both of them.

To lift her mood a little bit, she heard the key turning on the front door, immediately bringing a smile to her lips. Jason walked into the room, smiling down at your slumped form on the couch. He was beaming with an enormous bouquet of her favorite flowers in hand.

Unfortunately or not, he could read her like a book, and the sadness in her eyes was impossible to miss. His smile disappeared almost as fast as it came and he went straight to her, enveloping her in his embrace.

Ever since the war ended, he’d been so afraid to lose another friend because he wasn’t strong or powerful enough to protect them, that he’d been training a whole lot harder, which made his hugs so so more comfortable.

She shrugged, leaning into his embrace. “Just… feeling down. My friends went out without me again. I don’t know, it just sucks.”

Jason’s heart ached seeing her like this. He hated knowing she was hurt, but he also knew he had the perfect way to turn her day around. He had been planning this for weeks, waiting for the right moment. Maybe today, despite its rough start, could end on the best note possible.

“Hey, how about we go for a walk?” he suggested, his tone light. “Fresh air might help.”

Y/n looked at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, that sounds nice.”

They both put on their jackets and headed out, Jason holding her hand firmly in his. Maybe she was a little paranoid, sure, but his hand was a little sweaty, and she could swear that he seemed a little nervous; he kept looking around as they walked, biting down on his bottom lip and often squeezing her hand. She decided to ignore

They ended up on the beach. He put a blanket on the sand and they sat there, holding hands as they stared out at the beautiful sea. For a moment, they chatted about their days, a few jokes and stolen kisses were shared.

Until Jason suddenly stiffened as he stared right into y/n’s eyes. “Hey, babe, I, uh... I gotta tell you something.” He said.

Y/n raised one eyebrow at him, suddenly afraid. She hoped that it wasn’t anything bad, but she couldn't help but think about her current luck. Her friends leaving her, her favorite coworker getting fired... Jason wouldn’t leave her, too. Right? “What is it?”

He got up, pulling her with him. She tilted her head to the side. She had absolutely no idea what to expect with that.

Until he smiled and reached out to his pocked. She followed his hands’ movements, until he pulled a small, velvet box from his jeans. Her breath hitched, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she saw the scene she wanted to see for god knows how long: Jason Grace, the praetor of the Twelfth Legion, getting down on one knee.

He looked up at her with all the love in the world as he spoke, a speech that was as engraved in his mind as the words of the Prophecy of The Seven.

“Y/n, my love. You've been making me the happiest man on earth ever since I woke up in that bus holding your hand. Every moment we’ve spent together has been the best of my life. From the laughter we share to the challenges we’ve faced, you’ve been my rock, my joy, and my reason to smile every day. You’ve shown me what love truly means - how it’s not just about the good times but also about sticking together through the tough ones. Your strength, kindness, and endless patience never cease to amaze me. You’ve made me a better person, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

As his words started to sink in, her heart swelled with love and affection. The tears were already falling down her cheeks, and she couldn’t wait to say the words that’d change her life.

“Y/n, you’re the light of my day and the breeze of my nights. I can’t wait to build a family with you. Would you give me the honor of accepting me as your husband?” He finally asked, smiling as never before.

“Gods, yes!” She said, throwing herself on his arms. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! I love you so much, love you, love you so much.” She muttered into his neck, bawling her eyes out as he hugged her.

She hadn’t seen the ring, with all the tears and the emotion that was making her mind spin. But she was sure that anything with him would be perfect.

He pulled away to slip the ring on her ring finger. It was a tourmaline, her father’s gemstone. She looked at him with pure awe as she thought about all the times she told him how that was her favorite stone. Gods, she loved him more than she could imagine.

And she couldn’t wait to spend her life with him.

#ᯓ★ all my love #jason grace #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo #heroes of olympus x reader #jason grace x reader #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you

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autumnmobile12 · 5 months ago

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My Hero Academia AU: Living Ghost

A little bit different than my other comics; I've never done a time lapse before.

In the Ambush Simulation notes, I mentioned that Dabi has a canon divergence in this AU where he returned home after the three years he was missing/presumed dead, but nothing in the household changed and he was still an unhinged mess. This is the AU comic behind ‘unhinged mess’ and the partial reasoning behind his antagonistic behavior in The Summer Camp Ambush Simulation.

…

All right, so canonically Dabi is a walking, half-dead, Lovecraftian nightmare of mental and physical health issues who's keeping himself going through sheer willpower/hatred. Ujiko says that after waking up from the three year coma, he should not have survived longer than a month as a result of the injuries he sustained from the fire. So even in an AU where he was reunited with his family after the fact, that’s still the reality of his situation.

Enter Endeavor: In this scenario, at that point in his character arc, I think he would have retreated back into his usual pattern of refusing to face the issue. The Todoroki family got Touya back, but they also learned that he wouldn't be with them long. If a missing/presumed dead child turns up after three years, they're immediately going to a hospital to establish mental and physical condition, so the health issues resulting from the fire would have been discovered almost immediately.

From the point of view of Endeavor, Touya's return was cause for celebration and was initially viewed as a second chance/an opportunity to repair some of the damage he'd already done to his family...but then the severity of Touya's prognosis becomes apparent and they're told he has weeks to live. In Ambush Simulation, Endeavor takes the coward’s way out and leaves the problem for everyone else to deal with so he doesn't have to face Touya. He told himself it was a way of not getting attached and so on, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, the avoidance is his guilty conscious.

The same goes for Rei. She refused to see Touya after he came back just so she wouldn't have to say goodbye to him a second time.

But Touya doesn't die.

Despite what the doctors predicted, he survives '...albeit with complications, various emergencies, experimental treatments to delay the inevitable, no clear answer on how the hell he was still breathing, and no promises that he would ever live a full life...' And now, just like in canon, he has 7-8 years of simmering resentment with the trauma of a near-death experience, the realization of having lost three years of his life due to the coma, the fallout of terminal health, and the crushing disappointment of what should have been a heartfelt reunion turned into a second abandonment.

In this AU as a vigilante, Touya has the Pandora’s Box of being an outrageous public menace and a potential family embarrassment because he figured out the only time his father pays any attention to him is when he’s ‘acting out’ and he decided he’d rather be the problem child than the invisible child. And unfortunately, this mentality has also ruined his relationship with Natsuo.

In some respect, canon is a happier outcome for Touya because at least in canon, the poor bastard has a purpose instead of reduced to a living ghost.

…

The piano panels are him rehabilitating his hands. Technically after a three year coma, he should not have been walking and talking as quickly as he did. Not with that kind of atrophy. So I’m balancing that inaccuracy out with the headcanon his fine motor skills were likely completely ruined.

Plus, if your life is a train wreck, have at least one positive hobby.

...Yomaha...

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andreas-river · 11 months ago

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I would like to request a Nikto x Reader :)

Nikto overheard a conversation you were having with the other operators on base about how beautiful the nearby flowers are blooming in spring. He has begun a daily ritual of hiking up the hill to find the prettiest and gathering them for you. Secretly leaving little bouquets in places you would find.

ʻʻLingering scentʼʼ

Pairing: Nikto x Fem!Reader

TW: none, mostly fluff.

He never meant to eavesdrop on you.

That’s what he repeated to himself every time, watching the space ahead of him but with his ears focused on the tone of your voice, hearing the smile that you had. He never felt it before, nor did he know that you could feel a smile in someone’s voice.

There were small details, the way you pointed at the flowers outside on the way to the base, his eyes travelling all the way around to see the camp at the side of the road.

And to be honest with himself, he never noticed them, until now.

He couldn’t ever be a gentleman, there was no way that he saw himself give a bouquet of flowers to someone. The thought almost made him feel sick from the bottom of his stomach.

That same night, Nikto walked out of the base, a flashlight in his left hand as his boots left imprints on the cold ground. The snow was long gone, the days were becoming longer and longer, feeling like a fish out of water as the temperatures became warmer.

When he dropped down and pointing the light at them, gloved fingers brushing at the stem as he picked it from the ground, he realized that he never observed a flower in his entire life. The petals looked so bright under the artificial light, the center a bright yellow, reminding him of the time he saw you wear a yellow shirt.

He never expected to see you with that color on you, attracting more than a few pair of eyes, yet you walked straight like you weren’t a complete walking headlight.

He collected others from the ground, without even counting them as he held them in his other hand, walking back while trying to figure out a plan to give them to you. That’s when the thought hit him like a train: he was planning to give you a bouquet of flowers.

—

The following day, he stayed more than usual at shooting wooden targets with his rifle, his fingers tingling as if pure electricity was flowing in his veins, trying to keep himself at bay. He still remembers how he found himself searching for anything that could’ve kept the flowers together, finding only a rubber band inside one of his drawers.

He didn’t know what was driving him to such actions, he just felt like it was the right thing to do after hearing what you said.

At one point, he was forced by his teammates to get out from the training area, almost pushing him all the way. He sat with them as they were eating their lunch, his box still closed—he would eat it only in the privacy of his own room.

Still distracted by the flow of his own thoughts, he didn’t acknowledge your presence until you walked by, surprised to see you alone. He listened as you asked for a plastic cup—a bit weird, bottles were most used, until he watched you pouring water inside it as you gently placed flowers inside. Those flowers.

Until you turned in his direction, finally going back to reality and seeing his teammates waving at you, inviting you to sit with them.

He didn’t realize he was staring at you until your eyes watched him back, yet your smile never faltered for a moment, sitting in front of him and placing the flowers on the table.

“And where did those come from?”

He watched you blush at the question, murmuring that you didn’t know, and telling how you found the little bouquet of flowers tied at the handle of your door that same morning.

He held back a groan as Rodion tried to understand who could have been the gentleman behind that gesture, your face becoming redder by the second as his teammate tried to think of any person.

You let out a nervous laugh, distractedly fixing the flowers inside the cup.

His heart skipped a beat when you shifted your gaze on him, even if it was only for a moment.

—

It happened again, and again, your room perfumed from all those flowers that somehow ended up in spots where you always went. Always held by a rubber band, always tucked in a corner—yet you knew exactly what the corner would be.

You were dying of curiosity since that morning you first found them, soon being aware that someone was doing that on purpose, but not leaving any trace behind.

But you knew better than that.

The way he stared at you—someone even said that he was a creep, but there was more than meets the eye. The more you watched him, the more you started to understand that his eyes gave out more about him, or the way his legs shifted when he was sitting, or how he crossed his arms in his chest or if he left them at his sides.

It was a difficult book to read, too many difficult words to understand and concepts hard to grasp at first glance.

But you wanted to know more, to know him more and the reason behind those flowers.

Slowly sticking your head out of your room and closing the door behind you, you stealthily walked out, going straight to your favorite spot in the little yard of the base. You could feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, almost afraid that someone could hear it, even if it was impossible.

At night everything was easier for you. It happened occasionally in the past that you would meet him, the insomnia having the best of you both, ending up talking—you would always do most of the talk, he would just sit and listen at everything, from the gossips that went around the base to personal matters that heaved on you, feeling almost childish to trust him so blindly.

Apart from seeing him in the field, you knew nothing about him, except all the thing other said about him. All the rumors that went around the base, the way everyone dared to talk behind his back but shutting their mouth the moment his shadow appeared closer to them. They were afraid of him, that was obvious.

But that didn’t stop you at all, reasons why you sat under that tree in the middle of the night, waiting for him to appear.

Little did you know that he was observing you from afar, trying to walk his way around but knowing well why you picked that spot—you already knew. And like in that moment, you already managed to put yourself in his way, always stopping him in his tracks at every inopportune—and opportune moment.

The dirt under his boots made enough noise to attract your attention, watching you turn around, your eyes light up the moment you saw him. No one ever watched him that way.

“You should sleep at this hour.”

Your smile widened after his words. “I can say the same about you.”

He didn’t answer your statement, the flowers in his pocket burning like fire, their perfume making his head spin. He noticed the way you breathed in, surely noticing the sweet scent lingering around him. Not saying a word, you just shifted, making space for him on the bench, patting the cold material with your hand and inviting him to sit.

After a moment, he obliges.

For some time, he just imitates what you do, watching the sky above, clouds and stars blending in one big painting, letting all thoughts slip away from his mind, somehow less clouded than ever.

You let the wind do the talk this time, your smile never faltering for a moment, not even when he finally gets up from the bench, the first lights of dawn filling the sky in bright stripes. He cannot help but feel the shadow of a smile forming behind his mask as your lips murmur a ‘thank you’, voice too low to understand—but you both surely didn’t need the voice to understand each other.

You follow him soon after, this time leaving the scent from the chamomile flowers lingering for a bit longer on that bench, their petals flying away with the wind of that new morning.

#nikto #cod nikto #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #call of duty mw2 #request open #cod mw #request #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #nikto mwii #nikto x reader #cod mw19 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #nikto x fem reader

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alotofpockets · 11 months ago

Text

Secret admirer | Jackie Groenen

Pairing: Jackie Groenen x Nedwnt!Reader

Prompts: "It was you the whole time?" & "Your handwriting is recognizable, you know that right?"

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1.1k

Ever since the national team camp had started, you have been finding little notes everywhere. Most often you would find them in your bags, or in your locker but sometimes you would find a note with your name on it in a shared space like next the the coffee machine outside of the conference room.

You loved whenever a new one would show up, always smiling at the lovely message that was written on it. Usually either a compliment or a beautiful quote. You kept every one of the notes that you had received from your secret admirer in a box, happily adding the newest editions each time.

Today when you entered the dining hall all eyes were on you, “What’s going on?” You asked, getting a little shy from all the attention. “We’ve found another note from your secret admirer.” Daan says while wiggling her eyebrows, waiving the note with your name on it through the air. “Hey, give that to me.” You say while snatching it from her hand. “Does it say your name, huh?” Daniëlle just laughs at your possessiveness of the little note.

You grab your food and sit down at one of the tables. Taking the little folded note from your pocket to read it. It was another one with a compliment which made you blush instantly, you looked pretty today! was written on the note you had to work hard on to hide from your curious teammates. “Do you know who they are from, yet?” Jackie asks. You shake your head, “No, the notes are always anonymous.”

In reality you had known who the notes were from almost instantly. You just chose to let this play out, because quite frankly you felt very flattered and loved by how much effort your not so secret admirer was putting into making you smile.

After breakfast you head out to the training field with the rest of the team. They continued their teasing when you’d taken the note with you instead of leaving it in your room. You couldn’t care less about their teasing though, you had fallen hard for the writer of the notes a long time ago, and were eager to get to the stage where she would let you in on her secret.

It wasn’t until a couple weeks into training camp when you and a few of the girls took a trip to the beach on your day off. It was the perfect weather for a walk on the beach and you were so glad that Jackie suggested it. Unbeknownst to you, her intention was to only ask you to go but when people got wind of it, they invited themselves along for a group hang.

When you all walked past a small restaurant, Daan suggested taking a little break. Most of the girls were down, just Jackie seemed to not be into the idea. “Actually, I think I want to continue walking for a bit longer. You guys go ahead though.” You excused yourself from the group and followed Jackie, noticing the slightly somber look on her face. “Hey Jacks, mind if I join? The weather is just so nice today.” Her smile quickly returned. “Yeah, I actually wanted to talk to you about something, so this is perfect.”

You continued walking as Jackie started talking. “So, since camp is nearing its end, I wanted to tell you something.” You smiled at her, encouraging her to continue, knowing full well what she was on about. “The notes you’ve been getting.” She started, nervously looking up at you. Jackie seemed to be too nervous to continue, so you decided to ask her, "It was you the whole time?" Her eyes widened, did you know or were you guessing? “Yes, it was me.”

You smile wide at the confession, even though you already knew it was her, it was just so good to hear her say it. “Aw Jacks, that’s sweet. I had no idea!” She studies your face, noticing a slight sparkle in your eyes. “You already knew it was me, didn’t you?” You laugh, “Yes, yes I did.” Jackie hides her face behind her hands. “Oh god, I’m so embarrassed right now.” You shake your head and move your hands over hers, effectively taking them away from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed. I loved it.” You reassure her. “Why didn’t you stop me as soon as you realized it was me?” You left one of your hands on her cheek, gently stroking it with your thumb, while you held her hand in your other. “Because I never want you to stop leaving me little notes like that.” She searches your face again, looking for the meaning behind your words. A meaning she finds when you start slowly leaning in, waiting for any kind of response from the woman in front of you to make sure that this is what she wanted to. The moment Jackie starts leaning in too, you smile and pull her face closer to yours, connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

After you pull back from the kiss, you wrap your arm around her, hugging her tightly. “I just wanted to say that I look out for your notes every single day, they mame me very happy. Especially knowing they came from you, of course.” You place a quick peck to her cheek and the two of you continue walking down the beach hand in hand. It wasn’t until about five minutes later that Jackie stopped you in your tracks, “Wait, how did you know it was me?”

You reach in your pocket to pull out the note from today, "Your handwriting is recognizable, you know that right?" Jackie starts laughing, “How did I not realize that?” You laugh with her, “I have no idea, but it’s very cute.”

Since the wind was getting colder you decided to turn around and head back to the restaurant the rest of the girls went to. You walk up to their table together and each order a hot chocolate to warm up again. The hot chocolate came with a small napkin, which gave Jackie an idea. She reached in her purse and grabbed a pen. You smile when you realize she is writing you another note, this time right in front of you. You read her note with a big smile on your face.

Life is an adventure, and I cannot wait to live this adventure with you by my side.

xx Jackie

Your first signed note and the start of a beautiful adventure. You pocket the note, the rest of the girls not having noticed anything yet, hoping to keep this between the two of you for a little longer.

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#pockets celebration #jackie groenen #jackie groenen x reader #nedwnt #nedwnt x reader #oranjeleeuwinnen #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #jackie groenen imagine

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midnightsnyx · 1 month ago

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girl at home | mat barzal | part 11

pairing: mat barzal x reader

warning: alcohol and angst word count: 1288k (sorry)

authors note: i can't wait for nora to break everyone's heart in this chapter :) :) :) anyway im so sorry this is short and 100% a filler chapter but I need it to be able to write what will happen next. pls comment even if it’s constructive criticism because comments feed my writing soul 🩵 big big thanks to @justonemorewallflower for editing this!!

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The aftermath of her is interesting, to say the least. Training camp is creeping up and soon, Mat will have to return to New York. The two of you had a long but enlightening conversation shortly after his breakdown at your apartment. You had woken up the next morning to Nora’s foot digging into your kidney and Mat’s feet near your face but all the discomfort evaporated when the three of you made breakfast together.

For the first time since Mat found out about Nora, you didn’t have anxiety or dread hanging over your shoulders. You weren’t worrying about other people's opinions or how Mat is adjusting or crazy girlfriends. You’re finally able to focus on trying to figure out how exactly to make this work.

Mat on the other hand, is doing everything he can to try and make up for everything but he’s going a tad overboard.

“She does not need a kitten, Mathew,” you say firmly, refusing to look at his phone that has a picture of a kitten.

“C’mon, look at that cute little fluffy baby,” he says, trying to push the phone closer to you. “It’ll teach her responsibility!”

“She’s six,” you remind him, picking up a blanket off the couch and folding it. Mat’s been sleeping at your apartment but on the couch, much to Nora’s dismay. She assumes now that Mat isn’t dating anyone, you and Mat will get back together. The look of relief on her face when Mat told her Calista wasn’t going to be around anymore made you want to cry. You hadn’t truly understood just how much Mat’s toxic relationship was affecting Nora.

However, her insistence that you and Mat get married now is getting a bit out of hand.

“We should talk about it,” he says quietly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

He’s not talking about the kitten now. He’s referring to what kind of living situation you’re going to have come hockey season.

“Yeah,” you sigh, placing the final blanket on the pile and turning to face him. He looks unsure, eyes darting around the room and looking everywhere except at you.

It’s unusual to see him unsure about himself. The Mat you knew when you were young was confident and rarely doubted anything.

The past two months changed that, Nora changed it.

“I know you said that you don’t want to move-”

“Mat,”

“-but what if we just do weekends?”

You give him a dry look. “Weekends? You want me and Nora to fly to New York every weekend? What are we, Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift?”

“If you’d told me about her in the first place, this wouldn’t be an issue!” He snaps, and you flinch because he’s right. If you had listened to what everyone was telling you seven years ago, and told Mat about Nora, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You had your reasons though, and you’ll stand by them.

“You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know how I can.”

. . .

Bringing up the news that Mat has to go back to New York soon does not go over well with Nora. You’ve seen her throw tantrums before, but this is next level. She locks herself in her bedroom and refuses to come out, demanding for grandma Nadia to come to your apartment, which is an easy fix. One phone call and she’s at the front door.

Nora opens her bedroom door when she hears Nadia’s voice, but still looks suspicious when she opens it enough for her to squeeze through. They’re in her room for about fifteen minutes before they both come out, Nadia looking exasperated but somber at the same time.

They stand in front of you and Mat, Nora staring at the floor and Nadia looking at the two of you.

“Nora would like to ask the New York Islanders owners to relocate to British Columbia,” she says, pressing her lips together. You can’t tell if she’s trying not to laugh or not to cry.

Mat kneels down so he’s at Nora’s height and hesitantly takes her hands in his. “We can definitely write them a letter peanut, but that’s a lot easier said than done.”

She’s looking at the ground still but you can see teardrops hitting the floor and your heart breaks even more, if possible.

“Why?” She sniffles and Mat gives you a desperate look. You’ve been a mom for six years, he hasn’t even been a dad for 2 months.

“Nora,” you say softly but firm enough that she looks up at you. “I explained how hockey works, remember?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, sniffling. “But maybe if we explain, they’ll change it.”

You kneel down so you’re at her level and wipe her face. “They won’t, baby.”

She starts sobbing when you say that, throwing one arm around you and one around Mat. You keep yourself from breaking down but you can hear Nadia sniffing quietly and Mat’s shoulders are shaking.

All you wanted was for Nora to know Mat and his family but nothing has worked out the way you planned. You have no idea how it got to this point and you’re not sure if it’s going to be able to be fixed.

. . .

“What are you wishing for this year?” You asked Nora before she blew out the candles for her fifth birthday.

She tapped her chin a few times before grinning. “A daddy!”

Nobody else heard her and she was too distracted to see the heartbroken look on your face.

. . .

“Figure anything out yet?” Marlee asks, putting a glass of wine in front of you.

After taking a sip of your wine, you shake your head. “Nope. I can’t uproot Nora’s life, and Mat has to go back to New York.”

He’s been trying to spend as much time with her the past few days after her breakdown. They’re at the Barzal household tonight so you’re at Marlee’s, trying to forget for a while. You have no idea what to do and it’s killing you. Nora has been quiet and distant, and you don’t know what to read of that. Part of you wonders if she wants to move to New York with Mat, but deep down you know your daughter and if you just take her away from everybody and everything she knows, it won’t end well.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Marlee says, being completely unhelpful. You know she can’t solve your problems but you thought she would at least have some advice.

“You got nothing?” You ask dryly.

She sighs, looking up at the ceiling before turning her gaze to you. “Look, moving to New York? Probably a bad idea, but is it worth trying? Maybe.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “How many glasses of wine have you had?”

“This is my first, thank you very much,” she sniffs.

“But you’re suggesting I move Nora to New York?” You ask incredulously. This is completely out of character for Marlee. She’s usually the one who thinks things through.

“A trial,” she says. “Try moving to New York with Mat. The worst that will happen is you and Nora coming home.”

Even though she’s saying this nonchalantly, she’s staring into her wine glass thoughtfully. You know she wouldn’t have suggested it if she hadn’t thought it through.

The idea of moving is daunting and you’re not sure if you will even be able to go through with it. She’s right though, you could do a trial before Nora starts school. See how life in New York with Mat would be. If it would work.

“You really think it could work?” You ask quietly.

“You won’t know until you try.”

tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @fallinallincurls @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @lovinbarzal

@whatthepuckisgoingon @teapartydreams @alilstressyandlotdepressy @keiva1000 @hischiershoe @bellstwd @alwaysclassyeagle @brrbrina @nonsensical-nonsence @love-like-woaah @swift-sos @barzygirl13 @ilyrafe @samanthasgone @mariamuses @feminieun @abeautifulcherryblossom @ya-pucking-nerd @bborra

if you wanna be added or taken off the list, let me know please! or if i missed you!!

#allies writing #hockey imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal x reader

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rel124c41 · 1 month ago

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GOT YOU (WHERE I WANT YOU) (AS HEARD IN THE MOVIE DISTURBING BEHAVIOR). jade leech

In Jade’s logical mind, there is only one concrete truth: You are getting bored of your boyfriend.

1/3.

tags: no grim AU, established relationship, social criticism, piercings/tattoos, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort, punk!jade leech

word count: 9,684

It is hard to pin down when it started.

For a man who likes to keep himself organized – his books, his shoes, his bedsheets, his life, his mind – it should not be this difficult to pinpoint the start. Perhaps because this change can be attributed to a number of variables, it puzzles him so. In his mind, he tries outlining all of them: Is it because your three month honeymoon phase has passed?; is it possibly an underlying issue he has never noticed?; or, could it be — well, Jade would rather not think about that third option.

Perhaps it is not really important to pin down when it started. Does the beginning matter when already so deep in the middle? Besides, there is a more pressing matter at hand: “How about this one,” Jade holds it up to his brother, “if you do not use it, I’m throwing it away.”

What he holds in his hand is a long sheet of glistening paper. A tattoo sticker measured to be a full arm sleeve that depicts a lion head at the top, prayer hands, and three crosses at the bottom like headstones. Not Jade’s style. “Naaaah.” And apparently, not Floyd’s either. Jade tears it down the middle and discards it in his trash.

As he flips through the other choices, the same question winds itself around in the train station of his mind, stubbornly refusing to halt. It is hard to pin down when it started. When did it start?

Maybe it started in the prologue. Or perhaps it predates the prologue, starting in the preface. The preface where his stomach twisted itself into the most complex, intricate sailor knots when you looked at him. That awful preface where he had to hold a hand to his heart to muffle the sound of it when you smiled at him.

If he was trying to pin down when his attraction towards you emerged like some parasite, there are so many prefaces to start upon. For example, there is the time when:

You sat perched on the cobblestone wall in the main courtyard with a pocket-sized copy of Animal Farm in hand, balancing it between your fingers like teacup ceramic. Dark, heavily mascaraed eyelashes flutter as your eyes slice up each sentence and devour them on your tongue like greasy, hot pink stripes of bacon. Then, those cold marbles – that looked at him fleetingly, glossed over like he was not worth dissecting – caught him beyond a window and held eye contact undeterred.

– or –

You sang with a microphone in hand, caught in a spin with one leg tucked up so your skirt fluttered with your single circulate, “Exhibitiiion is the name! Voooyeurism is the game!” Pinched between forefingers, you lifted up an edge of the box pleat skirt to cheekily reveal a lace pair of coconut white thong panties. In the back, Floyd — who Jade was sent to retrieve after he abruptly left his shift at Mostro Lounge — hammers away on the drums, taking up the spot for an ill Kalim at your pleads.

– or –

The time you had piqued the eel-mer’s interest by stumping and finding a flaw in his land knowledge due to a simple misunderstanding. Jade – who admittedly still had a lot to learn about the current world above sea – had heard in the rumor mill he frequented that you wore a two-way. He had assumed it was something less than innocent until you flipped open a prehistoric device not even talked about in Land Boot Camp and told him excitedly it was cutting-edge technology from your world.

– or – “I like that one.”

Snapped out of his reminiscing, Jade blinks down at the tattoo sticker he has not fully been paying attention to. It depicts an oceanic scene of a Poseidon made of water rising from the waves where a doomed ship falls into an octopus’s grip. It also ends with a sunken statue head of Poseidon where Jade’s wrist would be.

The one that Floyd likes, Jade does not find himself sharing the sentiment. Bit too on the nose. Besides: “I don’t think (Name) would though.” Which is why he goes to place it back down. His bones jolt in surprise before he can pick up the next one.

“AHA! I knew it! ‘Just wanted to change my own aesthetic’ – knew this was for Shrimpy.”

On Jade’s desk, sixteen more of the remaining tattoo stickers lie. Fifteen remain on the desk when Jade pointedly analyzes one to ignore Floyd’s revelation. He subtly grits his teeth in annoyance, upset that by slipping into memories, he also allowed his words to slip.

“It is not for her. I am simply keeping her preferences in mind. We are dating after all.”

Those concrete words – dating – help to alleviate a small sliver of Jade’s anxiety over his current situation. That despite the feeling of everyone wanting to have a piece of you, he had been the only one to succeed. He got the whole pie and he would not be sharing a slice with anyone. He is impossibly greedy to the end.

Yet, it seems his disdain for this situation (because it is so hard to pin down the start of it) must show on his face. “Aw poor Jade.” His brother’s voice is more mocking than sympathetic. “Trouble in Shrimpy paradise?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

Floyd hums as he leans back into bed. “It totally is. I can see it ya face.”

“Please, keep talking. And I assure you will soon find out what talking while missing a tooth feels like.”

“Hehe. Yeah, you wish.”

“Wishing is for people afraid to act. Let me remind you, I am very much a do-er.”

The laugh that escapes Floyd is genuinely amused. Jade drops fake malice from his grin into something softer. At least, Jade can count on his brother for when matters in life get too complicated, both can retreat to this small dormitory and rely on the other.

Matters of dating are so complicated and unnecessary. For moray eels in the Coral Sea, the equivalent of dating involves typically half a decade of elaborate gifts and proving themselves as a fierce protector before a kiss even happens. On land, it has proven to be much more complex. Friends can evolve to lovers; they can vary from lasting three months to two years to the rest of their lives. How fickle. Cater Diamond had mentioned that phrase humans go through, a three month honeymoon, before the other partner ‘flakes out’ (Cater’s words) with their affection. When a child grows bored, they find a new toy under the Christmas Tree to tear into.

Jade likes to think you would not be the type … but, as observative as he is, he knows better. It is almost scary how similar and identical the disposition between you and his brother is. You two are always chasing the next high. Fluttering through life, you refuse to be bored ever.

Which is why, perhaps, Floyd is finally able to pinpoint the start. After an interlude of silence, shuffling through a few more prints, Floyd breaks the quiet with a contemplative sentence. “It’s because of that time ya went to that record store, ain’t it?”

Hooked like a fish, Jade only gives his acknowledgement of Floyd’s response by tearing a lightning bolt through the sticker. A faultline forms through a pinup sitting cheekily on a pair of dice and a heart with a king’s crown hovering over it. As the casino-themed sticker is casted aside into the trash, his twin knows he hit the nail on the head.

“Pike Cichlid again? That guy’s so lame. He’s got nothing on you, Jeido.” And though his twin’s encouragement is genuine and coming from a good place, it is like a teaspoon of water thrown with intent to douse out a forest fire.

That had not been the start. It had been when Jade had already found himself waist deep in this situation. So rarely caught off guard or unsure of where the start is, this whole situation seems to be the equivalent of a trap. Is love not one of life’s most fantastical imprisonment? Covered in saccharine sentiments, love can hide the worst and best in one’s self. It certainly seems that way when Jade found his ankle crunched between love’s many bear traps.

He had only noticed at the record store. Numbness worn off. Pain crashing in. And, after watching you laugh so genuinely and talk so animatedly and dance so freely, Jade realized he had fallen into an emotion that he thought he could avoid for his entire life with demure logic.

“I love that band!” Before Jade realizes what had happened, your hand had slipped out of his. The clunk of your platforms sound like ricocheting gunshots on the floor. “I thought I was the only one that knew about it.”

You glow a bit brighter with your excitement. As a frequent observer, Jade knows when the zenith of your excitement floods through each of your veins like lightning chords of gaiety. It shows so clearly on your face. You have not glowed in a while because of your concerns of filling Cater’s and Lilia’s spots in the band. A band to you is family. So, seeing someone across the store pick up a record you know fairly well, it causes each synapses of joy in your veins powers on; you glow a bit brighter, smile a bit wider.

Before he can even cover the distance between the rows of records, your mouth is moving a mile a minute. You are asking about their favorite single off the album, diving into history you know about the makings of the album, and (simultaneously jumping in place and swaying back and forth on the balls of your heels) talking about the chords you like the most, imagining yourself fully dancing along to them. Your energy is infectious. Like a sun in a solar system, everyone turns their face to you to feel your warmth. It is because of this bewitching nature of yours that Jade is late to revealing who you are talking to.

Until he notices the macaw feather that dangles from the stranger’s left ear and the golden bracelet wrapping up the stranger’s wrist, that odious laugh falling from the stranger’s lips and disrupting your laugh … Insecure is an adjective that poorly describes Jade; it is not synonymous with himself.

Other people have made you glow: Cater, Kalim, Floyd, Lilia, the list can go on. It has yet to bother him with those people. Watching how you glowed at that time was somehow different. It is different than watching Floyd bind himself around Riddle Rosehearts or Azul suction himself to Jamil Viper. The glue between the three of them is tighter than a breakable bind or a suction; their new friendships are insignificant and do not worry Jade. However …

“Nothing on me? I am assured that that guppy is irrelevant. I am hardly worried.”

The way fate sorted out their Unique Magic is nothing sort of an advantageous miracle on Jade’s behalf, what with the way Floyd’s gold eye narrows in skepticism.

“Sureee.”

The center of the situation is this: Jade could not go back to being nothing in your eyes. A sentence to skim over. A body to ignore in the crowd. A musical chord progression you do not find interesting enough to play.

So, he pulls out another tattoo sleeve sticker from the pile.

It depicts a scene of engorged, psilocybin mushrooms with fat stems that travel in a mountain trail spiral. Some of the psilocybin will reach up to the skies on his shoulder. Like a giant artifact, a larger-than-life skull is found on this pathway, vomiting up bulbophyllum phalaenopsis. Which are actually interesting species of flowers Jade would love to tell you about as long as your attention persists.

“Help me apply this.”

“We’re twenty. Why don’t ya just a real tattoo?”

“Pliers or my fist?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got ya.”

If you put up with him a bit longer, he will prove the rest of the student body is dull.

With two of your band members graduated, it has been a wild scramble from both you and Kalim Al-Aism to find people to fill those holes.

This timeline, Jade has outlined perfectly. In September, yours and his relationship was on a rocky tectonic plate. Switching and rolling between the waves of will they, won’t they. Even though you were only friends, Jade had V.I.P tickets to the absolute distress of coming back to practice with only a drummer and singer to make up the formation of a four person band. He has never seen you act so distraught:

“You played bass?” Though the structure of it was a question, it sounds more like an accusation coming from your mouth. Marching into his space, you aim the question slash accusation at him like a knife. Your face and eyes are not friendly at that moment. The expression on your face reeks of perfidy, like he is some knight that committed treason against his King.

Which Jade finds ridiculous and endearing. The emotion in your voice as you ask him about the instrument he used to play in middle school is just so uncharacteristic that it makes him hum happily.

Not bothering to stop in his trek, Jade says with an artful dodge, “Yes. Floyd, Azul, and myself happened to be a band.” Then, he no longer elaborates. He wonders how you found out. Though, right now, he focuses on making his strides short so you can scurry after and match his pace.

“And you what? Never thought to mention it to me?”

There you go, faithfully matching his steps.

“Is it really that interesting to you?”

“I’m in the Pop Music Club. Of course it is.”

“My apologies, I did not anticipate my middle school years would be so interesting to you. Are we to now have slumber parties and reveal our deepest, darkest secrets to each other while watching a romantic comedy?”

“Jade, this is friendship 101! You tell your best friend about your time in a Band.” You say band with the paramountcy as if you found out he has been secretly working undercover for the Mafia. Capitalized importance aside, you look so cute when frowning. He wishes you were his.

“So did you use a Fender, a Gibson; I think you strike me as an Ibanez man! Oh … wait, those brands might not exist here though, right?” The way your frown morphs into genuine sadness causes something odd – concern? – to twist in his guts. Hoping to alleviate your stress, Jade answers punctually.

“I’m afraid I never heard of those brands. I played a Downton brand double bass.”

“... Double bass?”

The face you are directing towards him is horrid. It isn’t cute like when you are drawing your lips into a pitiful pout; it does not have him chuckling with satisfaction when you look at him like he has betrayed you. It is something else entirely. He has seen it before at the start of the Entrance Ceremony, where you surveyed the crowd like each individual was a wad of gum on the bottom of your soles, observing everyone’s matching robes; this is some private university, isn’t it, you spat with disgust.

Is jazz really that disgusting to you? He had never known you hated it so.

As you look at Jade like he is vomit upon your shoes, his heartbeat quickens. Under your breath, you mutter, “Ah … nevermind … that’s not what I meant. Shit.”

“(Name)?”

“Thanks for your help, Jade. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“For that sleepover? I would not miss it for the world,” Jade jokes with his customer service smile.

Trying to appear unbothered, he beams. It is disheartening because you are rushing away from him, lengthening your strides twice as long as his. At least, won’t you depart on a lighthearted joke and laugh with him? It would soothe some of his worries. Yet, you simply rush away, distractedly muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

Then, you have slipped through his grasp once again.

However, that September night, about three months ago, you did apologize to Jade for your rudeness. As you both took to watering your extensive number of pots housing oleander and planting talismans into the soil to ward off the three, ill-tempered ghosts in Ramshackle, you explained about how you are simply in a rush to fill up the spot that Cater Diamond and Lilia Vanrouge left behind. As the singer, you felt responsible for finding two new players – bass guitar and electric guitar.

Plucking a straw of sage incense from its paper sleeve, Jade assured you it was of no harm. He understood you felt a little lost without the cement foundation of a band. He knew why too. As wisps of sage incense bloomed the stick’s tip, Jade took to telling you, sincere and quiet, that he would allow you to lean upon him if you needed to.

Still caught between the riptide of will they, won’t they, both of you grew flustered. The rest of the nightly ritual of implanting protection charms and talismans against ghosts was spent in silence. That night in the parlor, you two sat a little closer to each other on the moth-eaten couch.

That had been some time ago. Since then, you managed to fill both of those spots after a lot of trial and error. Cater and Lilia had left some impressive shoes to fill, one the wildcard bass player and the other the mediator guitarist. Those sacred spots could not just be given to anyone who could successfully play a simple riff; those spots were meant for someone who viewed music as a lifeline and chords as their heartbeats. At least, that is how you described it to him.

Forming a band – in Jade’s eyes – is much like forming a business. All the gears need to be oiled and attuned to each other. Where one section is struggling, the others must take up the helm. As Azul, Floyd, and himself balanced each other out, you, Cater, Lilia, and Kalim did the same. Though the new gearheads you have acquired might be a bit too clunky or rusted, it seems that your personal business is going well.

Jade only wishes you would not mix business with pleasure – despite the glaring fact that your business is your pleasure.

Jade likes to imagine your pleasure lies somewhere else, perhaps with him.

Right now, Jade is so engrossed and deeply in the middle of business. At least until Floyd barges through the V.I.P door, loud enough that he startles the pen out of Heartslabyul student’s hand. Jade watches, stifling a grin all the while, the delicate roll the pen makes as it falls away from the contact and moves down the marble table.

“Floyd,” Azul barks indignantly.

Delighted and elevated, Floyd takes no qualms with Azul’s harsh tone. Instead, humming a light tune that Jade does not recognize, Floyd sweeps into the private meeting with a drink in his hand. His twin seeks him out right away, making his way over to the couch he is seated upon, nudging a glass in Jade’s face and repeating, “Try, try, try!”

As Jade takes the milkshake glass in hand and swirls the peppermint patterned straw, the words of Azul’s annoyance at his twin are a great thing to hear. “Floyd. How many times must I remind you not to interrupt these important meetings. I’m terribly sorry …” Jade does not listen to the student’s name, having already forgotten it, as he takes a sip of the ruby red concoction in front of him. The taste of chocolate raspberry floods his tongue.

“But, Azuuul, try this.” The peppermint straw is forcibly removed from Jade’s mouth as his twin bends it towards Azul (who sits on the same couch as Jade).

The housewarden’s face crinkles with disgust. “I would rather not. Sharing food with you two is extremely unhygienic.”

“I’m clean.”

“You wound me, Azul.”

“The both of you,” Azul grunts, shaking his head. He turns back to the Heartslabyul student, noticing the pen at the very least back in the victim’s hand. Anger mulled over a bit, he instructs Jade sternly, “Jade, tell your brother to take back his drink. We have specific times that we discuss menu item additions.”

“But I don’t know the recipe, Shrimpy made it,” Floyd whines.

“Well, quite frankly, I don’t care about that. She can —.” But before Azul and Floyd can get into an argument, Jade interrupts.

“Raspberry Riptide.” He looks contemplatively down at the red slush. Takes a sip so deep that his cheeks hollow a bit. “Hm,” he hums with the taste on his tongue, “or perhaps, Red Sea.” The milkshake glass is about halfway lighter than before when the vice-housewarden stands up elegantly.

“Huh?”

As Jade starts to speak, musical and low, he methodically takes off his blazer plus scarf and rolls up the sleeves of his lilac undershirt dorm uniform. “I’m quite assured we have everything completed here. Our dear card soldier seems to have come to a conclusive decision. I’ll return shortly.” And even if the card soldier is hesitant, the way Jade’s new tattoo moves as he flexes his forearm should be warning enough. Don’t make a dumb move.

As Jade and Floyd exit, the sound of a pen scribbling on a contract their departing sound, Jade reflects on how much influence tattoos hold.

Appearances are influential. One must learn how to construct their appearance to be what they want to be perceived. Perception starts with the linear body, speech and action comes secondary. The beginning there is easily defined and clear-cut. How you look makes all the impact stick, as Floyd has found with shoes and Jade has found with keeping his outfits ironed so neatly that not a thread is out of place.

Tattoos hold a certain volatile quality about them. Coming in such a wide variety of styles, images, and spots, each tattoo is scrutinized by an outsider’s perspective with so many unpredictable thoughts. Their father has an oceanic canvas of the Sea Witch dragging the princess’s boat down to the watery depths, all done by the extensive method of chisel tattooing. The scene inscribed upon his shoulder blades and spine commands respect. Depending on how a person wants to present themselves, they seek to alter their appearances in the best way to match their embellished image of themselves.

You’re in your uniform. Jade observes it as Floyd and him close the distance with a warm smile. Not an NRC uniform of any sorts, rather the uniform Crowley gave you for your job as janitor. You are not enrolled as a student in this college on account of having no magic.

Your appearance goes like this: the top of your coveralls is tied around hips to expose the tight, form-fitting tank top you have underneath; bumblebee yellow mechanic gloves are gripped in your right hand which you balance on your waist; a pair of thick stereophones hang around your neck (ones you found in the back of a dusty, unused computer lab); and, lastly, there is a smudge of oil on your cheek like a delicate kiss.

“Try hitting the switch now,” you instruct the Mostro Lounge worker. “Don’t hold it longer than five seconds but don’t do it less than three either. Got it?”

As the worker does as told, Floyd whispers to his brother, “Shrimpy been textin’ ya back?”

Displeasure presses an intimate kiss to Jade’s lips. As he scowls, he says with polite resistance, “As of this moment, no. That is typical though; her communication device is quite primitive and, frankly, faulty on its best days.”

“Hey, if Shrimpy heard you talk about her pager like that, she’d slap ya.”

“Perhaps. But I’d accept any reaction of her’s.”

“Sap. Ya let her kill ya?”

“I would not be opposed.”

And since they are drawing closer to you and the trash compactor you had been fixing, his brother sings one last time, “sap~” before pushing Jade towards you. Not as though he needed the shove, you were his final destination after all. Still holding the milkshake glass, predictions about what you will name it floating around in his head, Jade presses the chilled glass upon your pierced ear.

You jump; you squeak like a mouse; then, you turn your body sharply towards Jade with wide, surprised eyes. How absolutely adorable you are. The hand holding your gloves holds itself protectively over your ear as you stutter, “J-Jade! What was that!”

Giving you a toothy, mischievous grin, Jade pulls the drink so it is eye level with you. “Shouldn’t you recognize your own handiwork?”

Get it; as you are a handyman of this college? Jade waits patiently as you open your mouth, perhaps to tell him he isn’t funny (he is) or – well, your retort is unknown as the student by the sink’s trash compactor cheers happily, “it’s fixed!” And whatever fleeting amount of your attention Jade was gifted with immediately flies towards your actual handiwork. You are a bird forever uncaged.

“Good,” you say. “Now, be more careful with what goes down there. Pasta and bread, no matter how little of it, shouldn't be thrown out in the disposal. It clogs. Got it?” The staff member nods as you take to slipping your gloves inside your coverall pocket. “Good, good,” you tut in repetition.

With that, you lean down to organize your suitcase of screwdrivers and wrenches. You are filing away your hex keys by sizes. As you do, Jade steals your attention once more, “Have you ever considered working at Mostro Lounge?”

You stifle a laugh and reply with sarcasm — without turning to Jade’s disappointment — “, of course. It’s been my lifelong dream to work after high school.”

“If you are diligent about it, I’m sure you can secure the position. It would allow customers to indulge in the drinks from an alien race.”

“Alien? Heh.” Focus entirely on your plies, you click and snap each tool back into their proper placement in the suitcase’s labyrinth. “I was thinking of naming that extraterrestrial drink Raspberry Riptide.” Your head then turns and Jade almost anticipates finally getting to see your eyes. Instead, chin parallel with your shoulder, you continue, “or Red Sea. I couldn’t decide.”

“Both are creative choices.” Jade smiles fondly behind you, proud of himself for guessing correctly both of your workshopping names for the drink you made. He thought surely only one of them would be right.

“Too much alliteration in the world.”

“I disagree, you can never have enough alliteration.”

“Riveting Raspberry Riptide?”

“Riveting, Rapid Raspberry Riptide?”

You laugh, hand hovering by your lips, and it is as if all the tides have gently washed over Jade’s body. Whenever he is around you, it feels like he has drunk hundreds of candied milkshakes and smoothies. So saccharine, your mere voice leaves a tattoo of sweetness on his taste-buds.

“You’ll have all your customers tongue-tied trying to say it,” you chuckle and close your suitcase. The back of your neck is exposed as you latch all the locks. Truly, you do leave yourself too unguarded around him.

You almost hit him with your thick suitcase as you whirl up and around, giggling happily, “Hey! What’s with you today!” The back of your neck drips with the condensation from the bottom of the Riveting, Rapid Raspberry Riptide’s glass. An appreciative hum bristles in Jade’s ribcage as he catches the scent of dark oil and rich sweat radiating off your body.

Finally, looking at me again.

“I assure you, I’m acting as I typically do.”

You appear unconvinced. “Mmm, yeah right.” Those seductive witchcraft eyes map a miniature flight across Jade’s visage. “Hey, you aren’t in uniform. What gives?”

He wonders how long it will take you to discover it. Scrutiny is not a labeled weakness or strong suit of yours; your observance skills are perfectly average. However, Jade’s patience for this has been biding a fair enough amount of time until you two collided paths again. He wants to drink your reaction now. Swirling the fountain glass, red undulating in the glass like blood in his veins, Jade waits.

“Well? Is this a guessing g–?” Then, your torpid eyelashes bounce up, suddenly alert. It is good for you that Jade has a .00001 probability rate of ever spilling anything in the lounge, or you would have ended up with a new color on your tank top. “Holy hell! Jade!”

“Fufufu … don’t squeeze too hard now. The skin is quite tender.”

You hold onto Jade’s right arm as if it is a rope thrown out in rescue. As if it can save you from the boredom you must have felt all day without him here at your side. Content to be a helpful hand, Jade allows (perhaps even preens under) your constant ministrations. You are like an unstoppable force. He only has to stop when you attempt to twist his whole arm, which would have surely split Riveting, Rapid Raspberry Riptide all over yours and his shoes.

A mischievous (yet almost softly giddy) smile anchors up Jade’s lips. Silver teeth peek through as he requests, “Would you perhaps kindly indulge me on your … mile-a-minute thoughts?”

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, tracing the lines, you are full of energy. Each time your nail scrapes across the outline of a psilocybin’s stem or traces along the edges of the skull, it sends a brillant tingle up his spine. You look as if you hope to memorize the new artwork upon his skin like it is enchanting braille.

“Jade.” You squeeze his wrist and he thinks the bones might bruise. “Jade!” A wide smile blinds. “This is so, so cool! And the mushrooms! Oh, I love that it fits you so well. There’s more above your elbow right; does it go all the way up? When did you get this done?”

“Floyd helped me with it last night. The design –”

“He did the design!” You turn your head, waving at Floyd who is pestering and stealing bites from a line-cook. “Floyd!” His head springs up. “This looks so good!” From far away, Floyd’s thumb pops up to get you a positive response, chewing on rosemary bread he stole. Your mouth only halts from shouting out something from across the room again, uncaring of who hears, when something wet touches your cheek.

Like a turtle, you shrink away. Wide-eyed, you turn bewildered to stare as Jade as he removes his thumb from your cheek. “You had a bit of oil on your face.” The material of his glove is slick with his own spit and your oil. It seeps into the fabric like gray moss.

Those centipede legs of mascara flutter. Your face slowly morphs to a brighter hue, rosing up with a blush, as you suddenly turn your head away. It almost seems like you will continue your conversation with Floyd. Has his actions offended you? He had anticipated a thuggish smile on your face, not a quick, avoidant head-turn.

Under your breath, you still urge him to tell you more about the tattoo by saying, “It is a very intricate design. You and your brother work well together.”

“Fufufu, I’m glad you think so.”

You blink hard twice at the floor before remusing being yourself. Looking up at him, you question, “So, how’d it feel to be under the needle?” When he gives you a befuddled quirk of his lips, you supply him with, “during the tattoo?” That does not clear up his confusion.

“It was done with a sticker. The magical properties –”

“Boring,” you mumble under your breath. It is an ugly truth; you never say comfortable lies, too blunt for that. No guilt is your eyes. Perhaps because you thought he did not hear.

Your words spear through Jade’s chest like a whale-hunting harpoon. Or more appropriately, eel-hunting. Yet, he continues steadfast in his explanation, making sure not to stumble once. “Magical properties make it –” Yet once more, he is interrupted and it is by a student saying that they need you to look at the light fixtures while you are still here, maybe Mostro Lounge blew a fuse somewhere, could you please check?

Everyone needs to disappear. It is the only coherent thought in Jade’s mind as he shimmers silently in anger. If everyone could go away today and forever after, he would not have to play an elaborate game of hopscotch to keep your attention on him.

Always in motion, you reply to the student (who will now be working overtime tonight and receiving less pay too), “Yeah! I’ll be right there!” To him, “ Tell me about it later, yeah? I’m sure it’s … cool!”

Then, you stand on your tippy-toes to kiss his cheek. He imagines the distance must feel like a burden. After such a torturous day fixing areas of the campus, do your toes ache when you have to kiss him?

“Well, I have to shuffle along. Ain’t no rest for the wicked.”

Suitcase in hand, you follow after the student. The glass in Jade’s hand has started to drip, condensation like a dewy rainforest on the shining surface. Love you. He watches you with a forlorn brow, missing you already. Who knows when you two will see each other. It is like trying to keep track of a bus that never arrives on time, always unpredictable.

Until next time, Jade thinks, certain.

A moment or two pass.

You come barreling back into the kitchen.

You almost wipe down a staff member holding a tray of drinks. Yet, still moving like a train, you push a hand under the silver metal, steady its balance effortlessly, and continue on your track steadfast. Your destination? Well, it is quite clear as you drop your suitcase and tightly interlace your fingers with Jade’s gloved ones.

He blinks twice as you stare with the magnitude of a galaxy.

“You! Scarabia! Tonight! Will you come!”

The smile you knocked off his face in surprise slowly re-emerges. Too fast for life itself, you often give out invitations at the last moment notice. Not that he minds as he has grown to appoint free minutes and hours for your spontaneity’s usage.

Slothful and intentional in his words, Jade murmurs for only you to hear, “I would be delighted to come.”

You might as well have bioluminescence with how alight you turn at his mere words. “Sounds razer!”

Then, like a shooting star, you are gone.

There is no need for elaboration from you: him, Scarabia, tonight. Those words make a clear outline for what Jade should be expecting. If it is not a concert in Scarbia, this will be a rare glimpse of Jade’s mental prowess growing old with age.

Imagine that, he just turned twenty last month. No, he is sound of mind. He knows his starts and his ends.

There is a portion of the upcoming Animal Languages exam which he was planning on studying tonight. However, the review can surely wait for another time. It is not often you remember to invite him to one of your concerts. Always racing around, it is a frequent thing for some of your thoughts to slip out your head like cubes of bar soap. An invitation from you is something to cherish.

Jade is intentional when he chooses an outfit that will show off the full expanse of his arm. Besides the top part of his shoulder that is covered by a tee sleeve, the majority of mushrooms are shown. On pale canvas, spiraling columns of psilocybin paint an eldritch picture, slowly growing grotesque. More frayed like torn curtains and oozing like wounds.

If you had only waited a little longer, you would have seen that.

However, one should not fool themselves into thinking a perpetual motion ever stops for one silly person. Jade has always been deliberate when letting Floyd satisfy his impulses. You and his brother match in dispositions. Walking through the maw of a venomous snake with his twin, the mirror shimmering like crystals, Jade knows he only feels so assured of their bond because they are blood. Matching with fingerprints and mirroring irises.

You and him are fragile in a terrarium he is just starting to construct. The environment is so volatile. Jade chews on the words three month honeymoon and the human culture implications of it, as Floyd races away from him, calling out Sea Otter and Sea Snake.

Late in the night, Scarabia starts to cool down. The pocket dimension’s sun sets and the pocket dimension’s moon rises. That does not mean the light in Scarabia is snuffed out though. Instead, acrid scent coats the air like a thick, overused perfume. Sulfur waves puff up from the campfires placed around like chess pieces and trickle out from the lanterns that hang overhead like bats.

His nose is not used to the smell of fire. Magical fire is clean without expelling residue. Fires like the one in Scarabia – correct in nature’s chemical code and unheard of in the Coral Sea – irk his senses.

Still, Jade endures as always.

Walking deliberately, he takes in the sights of campfire light flickering unsteadily. As expected, there is quite a crowd here tonight. Most are Scarabia students, resting on draped carpets or snacking by the hors-d'œuvre, but there are a good handful of Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, and Pomefiore students. Most are gathered near the empty stage, waiting.

Some items feel out of place without their owners. Like how uncanny school hallways and mall outlets can be devoid of people walking in them. The desolate microphone on stage seems almost sad without its owner howling and singing into it.

“Jade! Jade!” But, its loneliness will soon be cured. As will his own. “Jade!”

Jade allows himself to be barreled at. He has been hit harder, but he finds he revels in the weight of your abuse the most. He wishes you would squeeze tight enough to crack a rib (as if it were a mere toothpick) as you hug him and bounce giddy on the balls of your boots.

As is routine, his nose finds the crook of your neck and inhales deeply as you ramble. “Jade! You’re not going to believe this! I get to have the first hour of the set to myself instead of having to wait the second hour! I’m so excited! Hehe!”

You pull back slightly to show him all your teeth, grinning and glowing. With your eyes closed like that, Jade memorizes the shade of eyeshadow you have on your lids. The base color is gold and the top layer mimics a tiger skin pattern. Those pretty witchcraft eyes pop open when he asks, “What will you be playing?”

“Ah, I was thinking some Suicide Machines, some Offspring … Oh! I really wanted to do Inside Out by Eve 6 but I don’t know if our new guitarist has the chords down yet.”

“New guitarist?”

“Yeah, our last one said he needed to focus on his studies more. Truth be told, I think he left because he hated how Kalim’s playing dominated over the guitars.”

“Well, Kalim certainly has a unique way of playing.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it more fun when you try out new things!”

“I suppose so. Playing without any variety is a tedious endeavor.”

“Exactly! Better to switch things up!”

After the hypocritical sentence falls out of your mouth, Jade shifts his hands from your shoulders to the swell of your hips. Now, that’s not entirely true, is it, pearl?

He will not say those words; he does not want to cause you unnecessary pain. However, he lets his hands speak for him as he comfortingly rubs the side of your left hip.

It was a grievous experience to you when Cater and Lilia graduated. You stood before them, bottom lip ceasing to stop quivering no matter how hard you bit it. There were no tear drops hanging on your centipede-leg eyelashes, but your body seemed to be stuck in mid-sob all the same. You did not deal well with band members coming and going. Yet, you slapped on a facade all the same. Perhaps you just choose to rush away from grief in the same manner you choose to rush away from everything.

“I’m sure he is a fabulous addition. Do I know him?”

“Yeah, you do! He’s actually –!”

“(Name)! Ah, I’m glad I found ya. We’re starting in ten, ya dummy.”

Jade is not surprised. The face he wears is one of clear anticipation for this very moment, cool eyes and slight smile lifting as his attention moves to your new guitarist. Truthfully, Jade had been prophesying this exact moment.

He would be a fool to not be at least three steps ahead of everyone in this lawless world. So, sliding a bare hand down the length of your arm to interlock fingers, he replies for you, “Sounds like plenty of time. I won’t keep her for much longer than five.” And then the rest of hers and mine life.

The Scarabia student with the macaw feather earring tears his gaze away from you (good) to look at Jade. His face briefly pinches before flattening out, gruff in his mannerisms yet light in tone, “as long as ya promise to deliver her to me before the show starts.”

“I can assure her punctuality.”

Diverting from eye contact, the Scarabia student looks towards you for your confirmation. “I’ll only be a few minutes, Iago! I’ll be on stage at five!”

Iago nods. When he leaves, Jade notices how many rings are on his fingers. Would that not obstruct him from playing his guitar? “You’re the boss. See ya, (Name).”

“I’m not the boss!” Iago smiles mischievously; you start to laugh. “C’mon! You know I hate that!”

“Aye aye, captain.”

You are giggling up a storm as Iago leaves. Big and toothy, like all the ones Jade adores to see. Soft, you glance up at Jade and there is something carefree in your witchcraft eyes, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. “He reminds me of,” then you say your old guitarist’s name. The one from your original world.

Sea-urchin quills pierce his lungs like balloons. Jade’s hand tightens around yours as he is going to lose you again. Expression neutral, he hums, “is that so?”

“Their mannerisms are kind of similar! Their playing style isn’t a perfect copy but it is pretty damn close! It’s like … a warped fingerprint of each other … ya know!”

He supposes he does not. Jade never met your old guitarist, probably won’t ever either. Praises, however, were sung loud and often enough to feel he had sat down in a past life and drank tea with your old guitarist. As a retired musician himself, he knows a bit about the DNA residue of other musicians – most intimately he knows Floyd’s and Azul’s musician thumbprint – that he can safely nod. “Similar but not quite identical.”

“Similar but not identical! Yeah!”

How enthusiastic. Cute. Jade opens his mouth to dissect (and maybe exploit the weaknesses) in your old guitart’s playing style with Iago’s when you are suddenly squeezing his hand tightly. “Jade! Wow! This is!” Your eyes are glued to his arm, mesmerized. How enthusiastic.

It has morphed since the last you saw it. Around his biceps, psilocybin mushrooms come apart like time-lapsed fruits, bruised and decomposing in sunken holes. Like a book-cover or sticker coated in felt, you touch the unique texture of real life bulbophyllum phalaenopsis lying on Jade’s porcelain skin. As you pet the orchid family plant, Jade smiles.

“Bulbophyllums are one of the worst smelling plants in Twisted Wonderland,” like a child hearing a story, your eyes draw up to observe Jade, “they grow deep in the heart of the Sunset Savanna. Warthogs are the only animal that can digest them and their smell is said to drive men to want to cut off their noses.”

“I would ask how the smell would work against the undead, but I would rather keep my nose intact.”

“As would I.” He taps you on the very appendage. “An adorable feature deserves to stay on an adorable face.”

“Is there a reason they smell so bad? Like are the pheromones supposed to protect something?”

“It is to deter most animals looking for a snack. Once past the smell, there is –”

“(Name), Kalim can’t find his drumsticks!” And though your attention was fiercely focused on him, it evaporates like a drop in the summer sun. Your neck almost cracks with the speed you use to turn back towards where your band members are gathered. Iago waves at you urgently.

Lip wobbling, you murmur guilty, “Jade…”

“Go. I’ll be off to the left side of the stage. Perhaps, if it is not too much strain, blow me a kiss?”

You turn with gratitude in your expression. “Thank you,” you breath relieved. Before you race off, you gift him with something even sweeter than a blown kiss from the stage. You press your lipstick painted embrace on his cheek, leaving a mark that is dark as fresh blood. “I love you. Thank you.”

Logical and intelligent, Jade is correct about one thing irrevocably. The microphone stops looking uncanny as you take it in your grasp.

It is as much a part of you as his sturgeon scale earring is a part of him. An undeniable accessory to your body that you fit into the mold of yourself like a puzzle coming together. Microphone held in your grip, you speak minutes later (rarely without shouting), “This is a song that came out last year in my world before I came to Night Raven. It was September 1998. And, at the start of my senior year in high school, it was all anyone heard on the radio. I practiced it every day after school until I memorized the chords. I decided when I graduated in 1999 that I was going to be a woman like that – a rockstar.”

Kalim, energetic, slams a beat on his drums, getting the crowd hyped. A grin materializes on your face. Fond, you shuffle a few steps back on the stage, looking towards your drummer, before turning to face your beloved crowd.

You howl into the microphone — everyone … please make some noise!! — as the band starts to play.

Jade thinks to himself, there are certain places people belong.

The first time you two officially met, it was after Azul’s overblot.

Too distracted about the success of having two hundred and twenty-five magicless students under his thumb, Azul had not anticipated the slothful Leona Kingscholar deciding then and there would be a perfect time to destroy the contract between the two housewardens. Given Kingscholar’s haughty disposition, it was only natural that he would take to unraveling each and every contract Azul ever made. From there, the spool of Azul’s self control unraveled until he was naked, lying on the floor, come undone like a sweater.

In the aftermath, sprawling among his unthreaded mind and magic, Mostro Lounge had suffered significant damages.

Smashed plates, broken tabletops, shattered ornaments, and an indoor aquarium leaking out corpses of fishes and intestines of underwater plant-life. Jade himself happened to lose a one-of-a-kind tea kettle that was a family heirloom. However, his grief was a mouse compared to the elephant in the room: the irrefutable fact that Azul had truly lost so much in mere hours.

Not that Jade held any doubts that Azul would bounce back better than ever. There has always been an undercurrent of confidence in both Floyd and Jade that is Azul trips, he comes back sprinting.

A rich image, though, if you imagine a slow, eight-legged Azul ever being able to achieve a sprint; simply, it is all metaphorical.

Hilarity aside, yours and Jade’s colliding paths happened after Azul’s overblot. It is an easy start to label. Puppetered by fate or perhaps coincidence, Jade had found himself unable to fall asleep that night. A teacup, drank down to the granular leaves at the bottom, sat on both the nightstand of Octavinelle’s housewarden’s bedroom and his own brother’s bedroom. Not wishing to usher himself into sedative-induced sleep just yet, Jade slipped into the wreckage of Azul’s restaurant and found you dancing upon it.

Now, you were not vindictively celebrating a release from contract. Nor were you particularly happy about the overblot in general. At this point in time, you have not even met Azul before, much less held a reason to revel in his misfortune, but still you danced.

It is a violent twitching and lurching motion like you are trying to dispel a ghoul out of your body. Juxtaposingly, it is a gentle swaying and gyrating like you are performing on the thawing, icy floes of northern waters. It is a combination of motion Jade has never seen before. Some he will later learn have names and rules about how they are done; others are merely the eldritch and true hypnotism of music puppeting your body.

I think I know them; Jade squints. Perched on the stone walls in the courtyards. Caught in the middle of cleaning an empty classroom. Finally, the memory flutters in: you, pitching a fit at the Headmaster, saying you did not want to be attending college, much less a private college.

You are the janitor. He knows you. Not intimately (and he does not even know your name) but he does recognize who you are. Dull and colorless in his world, there is no reason for you to be here when Jade came to the lounge to fight his own insomnia through cleaning up the mess.

And, you aren’t even cleaning up anything. You might as well be a thousand stars away, a hundred planets, and ten galaxies away from this place right now.

In hand, you have your trickling mop which you strum invisible frets on. As if determined to wring music out of a cleaning supply, you violently took to dipping it as if caught together in a macabre tango, jerking it like horse reins, and pounding it against your sternum when a particular hard chord is struck. Despite the violence, it would take a blind man to not immediately recognize you know what you are doing with your fingers.

As you strum and pluck at air, the motion in your phalanges reminds Jade of the incessant twitching of shrimp legs as they glide down underwater vegetation. Fluid as if you were a machine constructed for the purpose of playing the guitar until fuel runs out, your programmed raison d'etre.

Jumping like a restless rabbit, your boots slam upon the lounge floor. Pound. Airborne. Pound. Airborne. It is a repeat that only ends when you plant them both down. Your hip ticks back and forth as if you are balancing on a surfboard. Then, in a mannerism he has seen of many beastmans, you throw your head back and howl.

It is not at all like the cacophony of those beasts. From your pursed lips, you eject a bewitching melody that threads itself through Jade’s ears like a dangerous conjuration. It causes the teapot in Jade’s hands to tremble slightly.

“Awooooouuuuh! Got you where I want you!!”

What peculiar lyrics. He has never heard anything like that before. Although, with the pair of ancient headphones over your ears, you might as well be as unreachable as the moon. Jade still has to evacuate you from the lounge. Talented singer or not. Holding onto his kettle of sympathy, he makes his way over to you.

The only reason that there is a .00001 probability rate of Jade spilling drinks in the lounge instead of being a plain 0 is because … well, frankly, it is sentimentally embarrassing. Yet, when you turn around, lyrics like cigarette smoke on your lips, and face him, you perform a spell. Now, Jade knows you are magicless.

This knowledge is contradicted by the way your eyes instantly cut each of his Achilles tendon and drain all tangibility of his legs from underneath him.

Or perhaps it is because of the spot you left wet from the mop.

“Dude! … Sir! … Um, shit! Whoever you are, ugh! Idiot!” Headphones yanked around your neck, you race forward and leave your mop-guitar behind.

Now, Jade has not had legs for as long as his peers. He got them at seventeen, practiced with them over the summer at Land Boot Camp, and he is now nineteen in his second year of college. So for approximately two years, he has been anchored by hamstrings, calves, ankles, etcetera. He is familiar with them enough to know when he cannot recover from a fall.

It is quite a shock to the walking eel-mer when he does not in fact hit ground – despite the clear, piercing sound of another family heirloom being broken to bits, at least he can fix this one, all the chipped pieces congealed in one place – and it is not an act of magic this time.

“You okay there?”

Starstruck, Jade blinks at your face hovering over his. Briefly, he feels your knobby knee on the small of his back. His body is bent uncomfortably like an abused violin bow; yet he feels no dull sense of pain. The touch of your embrace is irreplicable, as pleasant as home. Into your swirling eyes, Jade stares and recalls a childhood memory from the days that legs seemed an impossible addition to his body.

The bottom of the northern Coral Sea is dark and cold, yet it is home. Additionally, it is not entirely the bottom of the sea where he grew up. There are still depths unexplored before in that great expanse of stretching black sand.

Jade is seven and a quarter (he likes to count his age meticulously) when he comes across one of those unventured abyssal areas that he has never seen before. He knows he has gone further than ever before because he has never seen such an eccentric trench before. When he is eighteen, he will find that manholes closely resemble the sight.

It is one giant manhole. It is like some behemoth man carved a circle into the seabed. Where the black sand underneath him is seeable, this sudden descend is full of a nebulous black without any sort of gray or silver shadows. A ring of ineffable ebony.

It is wide enough that if he stretches his tail across he might be two feet off from measuring out the mere radius. The diameter is twice (and then some) as long as his tail. Approximately, Jade calculates diligently in his head, the trench is 5.282 meters long across. And since it is a perfect circle (this has Jade entranced as trenches do not form like this in the environment) it is a full 5.3 meters in each direction he could swim across it.

Not that he would dare. No. He is too terrified to even calculate the time it would take to swim that distance.

Yet still: “Goin’ to swim across?” His mother eggs him on.

Young Jade looks behind with wide eyes. A swarm of impish intent is swimming in those violet blue hues. He loves his mother dearly but her errant ways are sometimes too much for him. Now so more than ever. As he feels his sinking stomach drift down and down, he replies dutifully and clearly to her troublesome inquiry, “No, Mama.”

Then, because he is still a child, his eyes mistakenly slide back to the circular trench. His stomach lurches. Jade relocates behind his mother. He tries not to let his chagrin show as she laughs at him, high pitched and musical like a witch.

She eventually turns her head around, talons delicately placed on her chin which is parallel with her shoulder. Like jellyfish tentacles, her deep black hair sweeps across her nose and cheek much like scars. Jade shivers at the water breeze, not cowering but using his parent as a shield.

“Afraid, baby?”

“No, Mother.”

“Do not lie.”

“... I’m not afraid.”

It is a half-truth from a squeamish boy. But it is spoken with the conviction of a man. So, his mother only turns her head a bit more to glance down at Jade who stays firm behind her back. Her violet blue eyes narrow like they are knives meant to dissect his larynx.

She likes ugly truths and loathes comfortable lies.

A soft smile graces her face. And, Jade, who was keeping his eyes intently focused on his mother’s slithering teal tail, steals a quick glance up at it. His tense muscles unwind. Then, as his mother does whenever one of her two boys hide behind her, she grabs Jade by the black strand and tugs him hard in front of her body.

She digs her talon in his shoulders, almost draws blood (would if he were anyone else), and pushes his body to overlook the trench.

His mother does not relent, even as Jade binds his tail around her forearm almost hard even to break the bone (would if she were anyone else). Without a single whimper, he squirms in her harsh hold. His dual-colored eyes are wide in fright. The abyss looks bottomless. If his mother loosens her talons, he will surely fall in and never be heard from again.

Delicate and dangerous like a nightmare, his mother puts her head onto Jade's and whispers, “fear, insecurity, and anxiety are like curses. You’ll learn about curses soon in school. The more power you give them, the worse it gets for you, Jade.

“So,” here her grip relents finally and Jade starts to unwind his tail from her forearms, “banish it.” The cavern swallows like flowing sheets undulating over his head.

That exact feeling is mimicked by the stare in your witchcraft eyes.

And those eyes fall all over town.

#twisted wonderland #jade leech x reader #jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #punk jade leech #twst jade

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