#i come for you soon shoreline.... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blueaetherr · 2 months ago

Text

permission to feel

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): longer than usual, minor mistakes, angst?

summary: the one where two disasters discover lost feelings

author's note: part 2 to this imagine. this was supposed to come out a while ago but i kept changing and rewriting stuff. final product so enjoy as you can.

now playing: come back to me by teyana taylor ft. junie & rick ross

It was late at night when Jude and Y/N decided to stray away from the party. That was what they planned—with hushed discussions, (Jude's) unmistakable winks, one's glances across the room, some slow and steady movements toward the exit—to settle on the beach where Jobe and her brother could find them if they chose to join them sometime later.

But they continued to walk along the beach without a thought to slow down, without a thought beyond themselves and their unceasing conversation.

And they went on to walk along their spontaneous path unbothered. Party music soon became distant to their senses. There were fewer and fewer people to encounter in their wide vicinities. Slurred voices faded into the evening night with ease. Distance between themselves and their siblings stretched beyond agreement—until it was only them, with the company of the sand under their feet and the sound of the sea rolling into itself repeatedly.

And that was okay, really. Even though neither Jude nor Y/N voiced it, this was what they wanted; to be alone together for a moment. One that they probably already robbed themselves of one too many times in the past.

Leaving Jude behind Y/N wandered towards the shoreline of the small beach, quite careless in her steps. She took in a deep inhale, letting her chest rise as she let her senses navigate the setting. Strings of winds softly fanning her face and passing between her fingers, the sea and the sky carefully falling into each other farther out in the distance, sand under, on and laying on her feet—usually, and once irritating and gritty at initial contact—now comforting and warm against her skin.

Letting her chest fall slowly, Y/N closed her eyes. Then, at the touch of wind, the feeling along her legs, the calm in her heart, mind and soul– she smiled.

Being away on holiday let Y/N appreciate the little things whilst being uncaring about her daily obligations. Here she stood, far away from her responsibilities to her family and community. She didn't have to present herself as a model of all things good that others thought came to her innately. She didn't have to wait on anyone; she could receive without feeling she should send too. She didn't have to act as the third parent to her young siblings as they were in the safe care of their parents.

Here, responsibilities were damned to infinity. It was all temporary, of course, she knew that well enough. It's just that, well, for once she could indulge in nothing—or something, or everything—and just rest. That was all she wanted.

Opening her eyes Y/N turned around only to find Jude's gaze stuck on her, his head tilted to the side. She sniffled out a laugh as she made her towards him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

And Jude let his focus remain on her. His gaze circled between Y/N, the sea and the sky, and everything two times over again. His eyes were full of wonder and curiously at the sight of the three differing bodies together and in comparison. Something about resemblances, physical aspects, mirroring movements or even shared loveliness. He had an idea in mind. There was something to say, something to point out. Whether evident or not held no relevance. But he was unsure; a bit of confirmation would ease his mind.

"This... this may sound weird." That was the worry, indeed. That she would find his creation of thoughts and ideas weird. That she would find him weird. But that wasn't it at all. There was a nod and a smile and that was reassuring enough for Jude to resume asking, "Just out of curiosity... has anyone ever compared you to the sea and the sky?"

After telling Jude the meaning behind Blues she had initially believed that all talk and things connected to it anyhow would ultimately die out. She didn't think Jude would catch onto things, even if he was unaware of the fact. Again, Y/N nodded as the existing smile across her lips continued to bloom. "Only one person," she said as she held up a finger.

Jude's face and shoulders fell slightly. He figured this out when he only knew a bit and some about Y/N. There was only one other person who would know this very thing about Y/N, and he knew everything about her. "Please don't tell me it's him." Searching Y/N's expression carefully he found happiness and delight and subtle laughter, and Jude couldn't say he was surprised. Even the mention of his brother in conversation had her in bright spirits. "Really? It was Jobe?"

Y/N scoffed out a laugh. Even while joking Jude still managed to diminish Jobe. "Why are you surprised by that?" she asked as they moved to sit on the sand.

Jude huffed out a deep yet relieving chuckle. "No offence to him. I just—I didn't know he was—" His facial expression almost broke out into a frown, a subtle measure of something. Romantic was the word that first came to him. He knew it didn't apply to his brother nor did Jobe hold anything romantic towards Y/N. The soulmatism between Y/N and Jobe, though grey and blurry, when defined was strictly platonic. There was love between the two and that love would always remain sufficient for them. No more, no less.

Romantic. 'Cause if Jude had been the one to initially compare his friend to the sea and the sky— a pair of bodies he found both regular and remarkable, two figures that reflected Y/N in every way possible— then the gesture would have been romantic. All the way from the intentions down to the execution. Jude pulled in a breath, clearing his throat. "Poetic," was the word he settled with as he shrugged. "I didn't know he was poetic like that."

"Like I always say, he's a sensitive boy," Y/N said, locking her fingers around her knee. "That's probably why I always leaned towards him instead of you growing up." A beat. "That is if you take away other things of course."

"Yeah?"

Y/N hummed, nodding. "Definitely. It lets him be emotionally mature and respond to situations in a logical and understanding manner, and I don't think I could ask for more from someone. Like..." Another beat came between the pair until she let out a sigh, pinching the root of her nose. She already knew what Jude's reaction to her following words would be. "Remember when Jobe had a crush on me?"

Immediately, laughter burst from Jude, filling the open air with his amusement and joy as he leaned back in his place. Y/N tried to discourage him by lightly shoving him though it only encouraged more waves of laughter from Jude. And in the end she had to give up; the sound of happiness, even when originating from mockery, was contagious.

Eventually, Jude let himself calm down. He took a few deep inhales before saying, small laughs still slipping passed his lips, "Oh yes. How could I ever forget?" Being such vivid detail of their childhood and something Jobe could never deny because everyone remembered it, his crush on Y/N was one of the easiest things Jude could tease his brother about.

"The point is— the point is, Jude, yeah," she stressed, dragging her words to overpower his laughter and inability to listen, "you know how I found out about it?" Soon, silence fell over Jude for a second. He tilted his head in thought though nothing relevant came to mind so he shook his head. So Y/N admitted it, straightforward. "He just told me."

His eyes grew narrow. "He told you," he said plainly, his voice dripping with doubt. "Just like that?"

All the possible answers he expected, and Y/N managed to say none of them and less. This whole time he thought Y/N knew about the crush because of him and her brother. Quite unreasonably, the older boys—who had discovered everything from a discussion between their moms—had teased Jobe about the crush when they were younger, and Jude assumed Y/N heard about it in passing.

Turns out that Jude couldn't have been farther from the truth. He had assumed everyone was involved in the network of information except for the person who was responsible for its creation.

"He just told me," Y/N, too, plainly said, her voice somehow expressing empathy for the confusing nature of the situation. She let her chest rise as she turned towards Jude, speaking to him directly. "He mentioned that even though that's how he felt, he knew that it wasn't about to be a forever thing. That's why he was so cool about it– so there was nothing for me to do than also be cool about it."

When Jobe discovered his crush on Y/N, he soon realised that it wouldn't last the way others assumed it would. That crush was a dream, an irrational mix of reality and fantasy and imagination—an accumulation of his favoured elements about his best friend. That's all it was and that's all it ever would be.

Truthfully, Jobe loved Y/N. He did, really, but that was it. He loved her but he knew he could love someone else more and in a different way, first witnessing such when Y/N had been with her first boyfriend. He loved her and she equally loved him too, and that was more than enough. They didn't need more of each other than what they had already established together.

Until they both found their other halves– something they wouldn't find in one another– they were each other's first-person for now, and Jobe was perfectly okay with that.

And as Jobe grew out of crushing on Y/N, he only gained more perspective. All thoughts about Y/N—these desires—never went beyond wanting a friendship with her. There was love but they weren't and never would be intimately bonded to one another. She wasn't his whole world. There was much more beyond his initial ideals about Y/N. He could live with her simply being his best friend for their lifetimes together.

"I'm just saying... you're always asking what makes me and Jobe's tight like that: we give each other permission to feel, both the positive and negative emotions. We give each other grace to be in tune with ourselves first, understanding our baseline feelings and thoughts. And when we can do those things alone and separately, it makes doing them together much easier, you know?"

Sighing, a semblance of a smile appeared upon her face as she turned away from Jude and towards the sea, appreciating its strong yet delicate movements all over and under itself. "Everything is just free to flow... kinda like the waves."

Jude couldn't find himself disagreeing with any of Y/N's words, and a lot of Y/N and Jobe's general interactions during this holiday proved them to be true.

They understood each other beyond spoken words. Their smiles and laughter were always real, wide and overtly alive. Their arguments, though sometimes heated, still held understanding and eventual compromise; there was never a day where they ended things on bad terms. They let their happiness be happiness and they let their sadness exist as sadness. They let their anger present itself as anger. Never to exploit or irritate others, but to let it diminish and falter into safer feelings.

And there was something to learn with that, something to take in and adopt for his own good. But Jude, of course, knew he couldn't just let Y/N gain a win over him like that. Disrupt the moment with a joke. He leaned his head back. "Or maybe it's because you guys are younger siblings."

Confusion briefly laced Y/N's facial expression, weakened with slight laughter. "What?"

"Just think about it," Jude started, "Jobe is my younger brother and you've been the youngest sibling for most of your life as of now and we all know how younger siblings are."

She shook her head and waved him off. She didn't appreciate the emphasis on younger siblings. "I fail to see the connection. If there even is one." Technically, Jude was right (unfortunately) but he was also wrong. In theory, sure, she could understand where his words fit. But in practice, they didn't hold much weight. 'Cause between the four eldest siblings between the two families—in terms of maturity, reliability and trustworthiness to watch over others—Y/N could confidently say that she felt like the eldest with the way she could manage them during their holidays.

"Okay," he said, though the sarcasm was evident in his voice.

"I'm not going to affirm or deny your argument. Besides, it already falls flat by the fact that I'm older." Only by a sole month but that wasn't the point.

There was more to say. Jude could have said more for his defence—there was more to say if he really wanted to. But for now, he let Y/N win. Instead, he let Y/N be happy, he let himself be happy as they shared all kinds of banter and laughter in the night sky.

This was what he wanted, what she initially wanted—what she initially had gone out seeking for and specifically with Jude. And this, supposedly by the power of the universe and stars, was what they were supposed to have and be all along—friends, two people indefinitely intertwined together.

It was quite lovely. It all felt lovely for Jude. To spend time alone with Y/N without her being on edge. To be the one responsible for her joys and her laughter. To share conversations that were outside of his usual scope. To have moments with Y/N that didn't involve their brothers. They were good together as friends. That wasn't to say they were any better than Jobe and Y/N or Jude and her brother. But they were indeed better and more defined than what they used to be and it was all for the better. Two individuals who could interact with one another beyond their familial ties.

And even though what they had wasn't what he wanted, for now, it was enough for Jude. Having Y/N in his good graces was more than enough.

Though he knew their current state wasn't enough for someone else. Jude let his head hang, already knowing the conversation would go south. "What you have with Jobe... is that what you want with me?"

Y/N paused in her movements, thoughts quickly getting in order. "What we have—or some of it at least—it's not unique to your brother," she explained. Though slightly exasperated, her voice remained soft and sweet with understanding. "I have that with everyone. So naturally yes."

"And do you feel like you have that with me?" He wondered.

Her eyes narrowed at his words. "I think you already know that answer, Jude," she said, pointedly. Her softness and sweetness still left room for frustration and annoyance to express themselves. "And before you ask me, I don't know why. I don't know."

Unfortunately, being on good terms didn't cancel out everything that once had them on bad terms. There was still something missing in their friendship that she didn't lack with others. She could have interesting and intrinsic conversations with the parents. She had a bond that was playful and maternal with her younger siblings. She and her brother always found it difficult to stray away from a discussion when it started. She had what she had with Jobe. Some relationships applied to her and the next person over, both in the same or opposite way.

Then there was Jude. Sure, they were close—they were closer than what they used to be—but the distance between them was evident and there, or at least in her eyes. Y/N wanted to be friends, she wanted the two to work out for the better. Y/N didn't want to be angry, sad or annoyed with Jude, she took no joy in any of it. But it was hard to be satisfied when she felt like she was the main one pouring into their friendship while Jude only offered enough to keep them alive while they could be. So much so that she sometimes questioned his intentions with wanting to be her friend.

Still, Y/N tried to remain positive as she turned the conversation positive. "But I understand that these things take time to happen. We share history, and that's not going to go away overnight and probably never will. But I don't think that should stop us from being friends. I want to be your friend. I know that well 'cause you always want to remind me that that's all I've wanted since we were kids."

Letting a low hum, a faint smirk pinched at his cheeks. "I gotta make sure you don't forget," he said.

"It's hard to forget," she said, smiling faintly as she glanced down at her hands. Then without much thought to the question—and the answer—she wondered, "Do you want to be friends with me, Jude?"

A mindless question only required a mindless answer. Yet Jude could only respond with, "Well, um— I mean." He could only stumble over his words; his nerves were acting up. He wanted to answer the question truthfully as Y/N wanted, but it was difficult when things weren't straightforward. Unfortunately, he couldn't just say yes in this case.

But of course, Y/N was unaware of this. In her eyes, his response was a rejection of her friendship. "Oh. Okay, wow." She chuckled, snatching her hand away from Jude. Her smiling exterior contrasted with the stinging burn she felt inward.

Jude tried to reach for Y/N only for her to fold her arms. His face fell, wincing in deep guilt. "Y/N." It wasn't his intention to upset her, but he recognised that he did so nonetheless.

"I-I just didn't think that would be such a difficult question to answer." She stared aimlessly towards the sea, biting down on her lip. She refused to meet his gaze; tears would be shed if she did. "That's all."

She wanted to cave in and hug herself to the point where she just fell into the earth, perhaps even disappear into infinite oblivion and never be found again. She felt embarrassed, beyond humiliated. For the past few weeks, Y/N had given Jude the benefit of the doubt. She had given them another chance, permission to pursue this friendship again. Not for the sake of just being friends but because he said that's what he wanted, and truthfully that's what Y/N wanted too—a mutual agreement.

Or at least that's what Y/N thought. For a want Jude had wanted since forever, the switch-up definitely took her off guard. And now her mind couldn't seem to cast out the doubts tumbling in. Questions about whether Jude actually wanted to be her friend all this time, whether he was just leading her on just to beat her down later on. Questions regarding his sincerity and concern for her. Questions over whether he was only putting up a front as her friend, perhaps he was only making her smile and laugh out of pity and obligation for his past actions.

All this time Y/N had this genuine want to be friends with Jude, something she had been building up to accommodate. So to see that suddenly not be reciprocated, after these last few months, she could only feel pure betrayal. All he had to say was one word. It would have validated her thoughts, calmed her doubts and put her mind at ease. A simple yes, but even that he failed to do—he outright refused.

But hey, it was not like that was anything new.

Maybe Y/N was reaching for something that just wasn't meant to be, even with the input of the universe. It wasn't hard to recall that Jude and Y/N didn't begin as friends, and for the longest time despite the many chances, they were never moved to become friends. Jude's unfavourable behaviour and attitude towards her used to be habitual—so normalised to the point where Y/N would remain unphased from time to time.

She had gotten so excited, so caught up about this idea of friendship—forming something good and special with Jude—that she failed to realise he could easily fall back into his previous ways just as quickly as he fell out of them. It slipped her mind that he didn't have to stay faithful to their mutual agreement.

So it was a real possibility– Jude didn't want to be friends with Y/N as much as she thought he did. And perhaps Y/N needed to accept it and let him go. Maybe that's why the two were together alone; perhaps Jude wanted to let her down softly in hopes that the blow would hurt less with the absence of others.

But even that didn't sound like enough to Y/N. He should have just rejected her at the party in front of everyone and the internet, to make her understand that she had to stop holding out hope for someone that didn't want her in the first place. That she was delusional for ever thinking that Jude wanted something meaningful with her in the first place.

This disaster, it was all on her.

"You don't understand. It's not like that," Jude pled. He knew reaching her was only going to get harder from here. It was never like that. It was never like that. Not even for a moment.

"Then tell me, Jude." She wore a facial expression that was tired and withdrawn. Tired of the humiliation and rejection she always had to face at the hands of Jude. Was she really that easy of a target? She exhaled as she closed her eyes. "Help me understand. I want to feel for you, but I can't if I don't understand. What about the thought of being friends with me is so hard for you to hear about? So much that you can't even answer my question."

It would be fitting to say that Y/N was fed up. She had spent many years being disappointed and annoyed by Jude, and by some point she had gotten used to it. But they made up and discovered new ground for them to settle on. She gave him another chance to do right by her. But of course, he couldn't resist doing her wrong all over again.

Did Jude do all of that just to bring her down, to make her deeply feel all that disappointment and annoyance again all at once? Was this just another cruel way for him to have another victory over her? Was she so terrible that she couldn't be desired as a friend by the very guy who was desired by everyone else?

"I know. It's just—" Jude released a slow breath. Because he knew that after this he wasn't about to get another chance to explain himself a third time. Y/N was tired and sad and feeling all kinds of ways towards him. He could no longer give half-truths like last time; only the simple truth would suffice. "Just know that I haven't lied, just left out a few things before," he assured, though he wasn't sure it was assuring.

Opening her eyes, Y/N let out a sigh. "What is it?"

Jude mumbled under his breath as he pinched his eyebrow. No half-truths, just the simple truth. "You know Jobe's crush on you?" Ironic. The very thing he had been laughing at only moments ago was the same thing bringing him rightful torment and embarrassment.

She quickly turned to Jude, her nose scrunched up. "What about it?" At first, she felt like the conversation was heading in the wrong direction. But Jude didn't correct himself or anything so she didn't say anything further.

"You know that he doesn't talk about you a lot to me, right?" Her face still remained confused but she nodded nonetheless. "Okay well when his crush on you was at his peak, he would talk a lot about you, like what he liked about you and all. He didn't say all that to me but to my mum, his friends, you know? But I would still be around sometimes hearing everything he was saying. And... I think me back then found his words so convincing that his crush on you kinda rubbed off on me."

Y/N initially heard the humour behind his words before her eyes widened; the realisation came in all at once that surrounding distractions became null. Along with Jobe at some point, Jude had had a crush on her.

"I never really acknowledged it so I didn't really try to concern myself with you." Jude tilted his head as he rubbed his jaw. He was struggling with his words; to be outwardly vulnerable took a lot of courage. "My... my crush for you was because of Jobe's crush on you so it would fade."

"I thought it would fade. Jobe's crush on you eventually faded but... I don't think mine ever did. I still didn't acknowledge it because we weren't on good terms for a long time nor we were even friends. I didn't think what I was feeling about you was, like, real. And then we made up, and I still felt the same as before." Sniffling, Jude turned to look at Y/N and captured her gaze. It was quite easy in fact. From his eyes to his all-around facial expression; it was nothing short of devastation and truth—it was all rather captivating. "I still do."

Y/N had to lean back in her place and ponder for a moment or more. What Jude was saying—there was a lot to take in and accept. There was far more than enough going on, in her mind, in her heart. Feeling more emotions than she was used to carrying. All in one night she and Jude went from being simply friends to almost reverting to their previous relations to then finally discovering that, actually, Jude had liked her all this time. And that slightly scared her because unlike before, she wholeheartedly believed every word he spoke.

"The reason I didn't say anything to being friends with you isn't 'cause I don't want to be friends. I'm not cruel like that you know," he chuckled, bitterly. He disliked how despite everything he felt for her, he managed to make her feel like he felt the opposite. One couldn't be further from the truth. "Obviously, I want to be friends, Y/N. It's just hard answering the question knowing that I want more than that. That's all."

She blinked a few times before responding, "Why didn't you tell me before?" Believing Jude didn't cancel out the remaining gaps in the story. If Jude had felt for her all this time– just over five years– why was he only telling her now?

"Because," Jude strung out a breath, slightly deflating a bit. He began to toy with his fingers. "After everything that's happened between us, I didn't think it was fair for me to feel that way towards you."

He had tried to play it off with denial for a while but the truth always persevered above others—Jude had feelings for Y/N. There was uncertainty as to what was what but he could definitively say that he liked her, and he was in way too deep to return them. But he also knew well that everything he felt for Y/N was disproportionate to what he should feel for her, what he deserved to feel for her.

He always assumed that's why Jobe never made the effort to make them friends, why Jobe made it his mission to remind Jude who Y/N ended up being friends with despite her initial intentions. Truthfully, he was undeserving of her feelings, of her time, of her energy. He was undeserving of her altogether.

Yet weirdly, Y/N never acted like that was the case. And if she believed it then she never displayed that through her words or actions. Since they made up, she showed him nothing but grace and understanding. Treated him like she treated her siblings and Jobe, and that only made Jude feel immense guilt. While he was struggling to give her his slightest parts, she managed to always give him her all.

It made him wonder sometimes why she was so willing to be his friend. Yes, she forgave him and yes, they reconciled and started over again. Still, doubts wandered about in Jude's mind more than they drifted into nothing. He was delusional—to think that they could exist as something beyond friends, to think his friendship with her could even slightly match what she shared with Jobe. While Jobe had been poetic and compared Y/N to the sky and the oceans, Jude had only brought Y/N plain misery in the past.

Yeah, he didn't stand a chance.

Besides, it was very likely everything he felt for her was narrow and simply one-sided. After everything that has happened between the two, after all the distress Jude had once brought into her life, why would she feel anything for him?

Jude cleared his throat. "But yeah, that's what I wanted to tell you." He said everything that needed to be said. He spoke the truth and withheld no further truths. Still, he didn't know if he felt any better or relieved after doing so. Whether it was worth it or not would be up to Y/N's verdict. "I'm sorry if I just piled everything on you like that."

She shook her hand as she waved him off. "I asked so... you shouldn't feel like that," Y/N said, the sound of her words slowly faltering. There wasn't much to say.

Evidently, there was a reluctance for the two to continue the conversation, to define what they now were and what they would be after tonight. A lot was said and a lot needed to be taken in. The want to abandon the discussion was there and to even sit in silence was favourable at this point. But they were mature, young adults; they would see it through until the end. At least they had the comfort of the sky and the ocean; even with the uncertainty of Jude and Y/N to stretch beyond the following day, the two bodies would exist in the morning and forever after that.

Suddenly, Jude huffed out a small laugh. "Jobe does say that kindness is your best and worst quality," he pointed out as a sad smile pulled at his lips.

Her brows drifted up, her head tilting slightly. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean look at us now." Jude gestured between the two, and he was right. They were friends—or had only been able to be friends—because she had been kind enough to extend some grace to him a few months ago. It was all her while he created problem after problem for the pair.

"Take away the last five minutes. We are where we are because I allowed it. I forgave you—"

"And you were understandably ready to take that back."

"Yes, I know. I know," she spoke with a calm tone. She needed Jude to understand that she didn't want to be argumentative, she didn't want to fall into another argument. They needed to finish the conversation for both of their sakes. "But now I understand things better now. About you, about me."

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "Yeah? Like what?" His voice carried a sense of resignation as if he had already accepted his fate. It's okay. Just say it. I don't want to be friends anymore, Jude.

"Jude." Suddenly, there was a change in how she spoke. Her voice, her tone—it was small yet measured and smooth and effortlessly persuasive. So much so that Y/N was able to pull Jude away from his conflicting thoughts. She caught his gaze with hers and rewarded him with a gentle smile. "I might like you as much as you like me."

He claimed that he had a crush on her though Y/N didn't think that was the correct label. Who did once have a crush on her was Jobe. Things were easy and casual and normal after he told her. They were still able to be friends effortlessly almost like he had never told her in the first. Y/N was for the most part, unaffected.

But it was different with Jude. There was something there for sure. She could feel the words he spoke. She wanted him to resume talking whenever he stopped. Even when he committed wrong, she found herself gravitating towards him. Jude and Jobe shared the same eyes yet she only found Jude's to be enchanting. Her gaze for him reflected considerable admiration and longing. For a person she couldn't stand for the longest time, she couldn't bring herself to look away.

And everything she had internalised about him, Jude almost felt the exact same. There was nothing easy or casual or normal about the two.

Jude paused in his movements as his mouth fell open. "Oh?" His voice grew a few octaves.

Despite feeling her cheeks grow warm, she continued to hold his gaze which wasn't hard considering Jude refused to look away too, and nodded slowly. "Yeah..."

Everything, from the beginning of the discussion to now, it was all overwhelming 'cause for once, they could finally say I understand.

They used to be two individuals who were thought to be incompatible and barred from ever experiencing one another. Their problems were endless yet weirdly similar every time. The first time they couldn't bear to be friends only to discover that was the fault of misguided feelings. The second time they questioned their friendship only to discover that was at the fault of their own buried and undisclosed feelings—feelings Jude once thought to be one-sided, feelings Y/N didn't notice up until recent moments.

Jude and Y/N thought that they would stop there, at friends. But now feelings, intentional yet confusing, were involved and from both sides.

And that kinda left the two in an awkward position. They didn't exactly know where to go from where they were, the grey area between friends and lovers(?). Was it best to pull away and take things slowly, or close the gap and rush to experience all the things they had missed out on by their own faults? An awkward position indeed.

But it was a good, awkward position. It would let the pair start fresh, reimagine their dynamics and bring to reality what they should have been from the beginning. They were walking on fairly new territory but that was something they would soon learn to navigate with ease. 'Cause now there was a sense of relief to everything that was about Jude and Y/N. For the longest time, they were plagued by secrets upon secrets that crafted nothing but distrust, hostility, anger, annoyance and probably more.

Now, they could rid themselves of everything harmful and damaging. That anger, that hostility, that annoyance– could perhaps be laid to rest to make way for all things infant and shy yet genuine between them. That desire, that tenderness, that love and all coming from both directions. It was thrilling and fascinating to observe and something new.

Her gaze shifted down towards her hands, clasping them together. "That doesn't take away from the fact that you've fucked me over. So much that you managed to fuck yourself over." While harsh she knew that she had to point out Jude's previous wrongs, especially knowing how he was one to get in over his head over the smallest things. She had to let him know that whatever they ended up being after tonight, it was because she chose to let them happen. She had control over how they would end or continue as a pair.

Jude nodded in agreement. "I know." A drop in his tone, yet one could hear the hint of happiness in his voice. He didn't want to misplace his emotions in the conversation, he really didn't. Though it was hard not to now after discovering his once unreciprocated feelings were actually reciprocated from the very person he had unknowingly been crushing on since forever. Maybe he wasn't so delusional for holding on to hope.

"But," she breathed in a good lungful as a smile budded upon her lips. Witnessing Jude's unserious demeanour was making it hard to maintain her own. "I also think you're wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

"I remember my mum describing you as wonderful once," she explained briefly. "Jude, he's wonderful, she said or whatever. But because we never got along before I always thought being wonderful was something negative rather than it being positive. And even after that, I still found you wonderful. Maybe not towards me but still wonderful. Wonderful but in the way my mum intended for me to understand which makes sense; my mum is never wrong."

"Your mum is never wrong," Jude repeated with a laugh.

"Can I be real with you for a second?" When he nodded it was then when Y/N decided to drop her guard, and she didn't plan to pull it back up in front of Jude again. She took hold of his hand and let their fingers intertwine. "I want wonderful, Jude. I want us to have wonderful. I know you have done some questionable things—I have too—but that doesn't stop us from deserving it. We deserve this for us."

She was right. Jude and Y/N have spent so much energy and time on one another only to share many poor experiences. They have spent so much time hating just to hate, despising each other for reasons beyond knowledge. They have spent so much time, so many years exchanging harsh and miserable feelings. Over misunderstandings, over uninformed decisions as kids. So much negative when it should have been all positive and happy and gleeful. It cost them the love and affection they were supposed to experience in the first place.

And that's why they deserved to like each other without shame or guilt, to be young and in love without the judgement of others. Jude deserved to like Y/N without a reminder of his past actions; she forgave him after all. Y/N deserved to like Jude—to experience wonderful—despite his past actions. They deserved to experience love for what it was, and specifically with each other.

This was the final plea. She was tired of getting only half of Jude all the time, tired of seeing strangers receive more of Jude than she ever did. For once in her life, she wanted to be selfish and have him whole.

Jude glanced at their interlocked hands, feeling his lips curve upward as he let their hands sway a bit. Testing out the waters. And he couldn't lie, he enjoyed the moment more than he could have ever imagined. "I do too. Probably why we never worked as friends." He returned his gaze to Y/N and beamed even more when he realised they were carrying the same expression; glances of guiltless delight. "Wonderful sounds great."

The universe and the stars were wrong to initially assign Y/N and Jude as friends. A straight misdirection of fate. Because even if that intention had been a reality for a little longer, no matter how hard the pair tried, the feelings would've surfaced eventually. And now they were here, fully disclosed and expressed from both sides. All because Y/N and Jude extended grace and gave themselves—and each other—permission to feel for one another truthfully.

So when they were over the silence gazing, they fell into a kiss that was softly endearing and delicate. For the lost time they would never be able to retrieve. For the feelings that were forever lost in time. For the time they weren't able to acknowledge their feelings for what they were. For the fact that they weren't able to fall in love traditionally. For all the love and fondness that was shadowed by misunderstandings over the years.

This moment– this was exclusively theirs to treasure.

Pulling apart they still craved one another, reasonably; their lips just barely touching to breathe each other in, one nose leaning on another for that extra contact, eyes closed so their remaining senses could focus on the person they had been deprived of for what felt like a lifetime.

What brought Jude to pull away further was the distant sound of the sea and the sight of the moon from the corner of his eye. He let out a lighthearted chuckle. If that was the case then his attention never really shifted away from Y/N. "Don't tell my brother."

"Only if you don't tell mine."

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurbs #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x black!reader #black!reader #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fluff #angst #football blurbs #football oneshots #black writers

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himexyandere · 6 months ago

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As promised, here's my yandere!octopus OC! His name is Dr. Mikka Lapan, and he's a mimic octopus/marine biologist. No one knows his secret: not even you, his faithful assistant.

Not yet, at least.

“[Your Name].”

“Yes, Dr. Lapan?”

“Do you like sea creatures?”

Equal parts bemused and amused, you ceased shuffling through the papers on your desk and turned your full attention to your boss.

“No offense, doctor, but I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t.”

Dr. Lapan gave a light hum in response, seemingly satisfied with your answer. With no further questions, you went back to reorganizing the messy stack of research papers the doctor kept in the lab. According to him, he had his own system for remembering where everything was meant to go. Needless to say, you didn’t exactly believe him.

A few minutes had passed, and you found yourself sneaking a peak at the doctor, wondering what prompted him to ask such a question in the first place. He was uncharacteristically quiet, peering blankly into one of the many tanks situated in the far corner of the lab. His hand was pressed against the cold glass, fingers aimlessly tracing along with the movements of the creatures dwelling within.

“Doctor?” You called out to him.

Without turning to look at you—or even stopping his motions—he responded, absentmindedly, “Yes?”

Concern creased your brow, leading you to stand up and fluidly cross the room until you were standing beside him. His eyes were still fixated on the tank before him, the soft bluish light mirrored in the thick lenses of his glasses.

“You seem preoccupied today, Dr. Lapan.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah— is something wrong..?”

Your voice seemed to be just what he needed to be brought back to reality, as he finally turned to look at you with a guilty smile on his face, eyebrows upturned.

“Nothing is wrong. I’m sorry for worrying you, dear [Your Name],” Dr. Lapan’s eyes softened. “As always, I appreciate your assistance and concern. We should get back to work now, shouldn’t we?”

Having returned to his usual chipper attitude, you saw no reason to press him any further, opting instead to push his out-of-character behavior to the far recesses of your mind.

That night, you dreamt of the ocean.

Alone and drifting amongst the unforgiving waves, dark and opaque in a way that not even the moon could ever hope to illuminate. Your limbs wouldn’t move. Your mind was racing, but you remained still — even as one particularly zealous wave carried you further and further away from the shoreline.

You willed your hand to move, outstretched toward the receding sands that were becoming blurrier by the second. Something—or more accurately, somethings—cold and slimy wrapped around you; limbs and all, until you were fully encumbered and immobile. The thought to scream came next, naturally, though it was all too soon thwarted by another thing coming up to cover your mouth in cold sliminess.�� “If I could have you for more than a night… If I—”

#if y'all like him then pls feel free to send some asks about him!#yandere #male yandere #yandere octopus #mermay #octopus oc #Mikka Lapan #my art #teratophillia #yandere teratophilia #yandere drabble #octopus hybrid #male oc

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katcoquette · 2 months ago

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Ocean Rain

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

masterlist | taglist

summary: a simple moment with your love during a walk on the beach.

★ word count: 1.3k

★ tw/tags: not edited, cutesy, made me feel lonely, glenesque photo vs hangmanesque (it looks so cute there does this make sense)

★ author's note: it's like I can only write about rain moments or somethin lol. but fr I love writing the quiet moments and rain is always one of those for me.

It was a gloomy day, and though seeing the dark clouds overhead always put you in a good mood, it had the opposite effect on your boyfriend.

He was grumbling before he’d even walked through the door.

“Everything looks so dreary out there.” He groans into one of the pillows on the couch he’d thrown himself onto after work.

You glance at him briefly from your laptop at the kitchen table. “You’re being dramatic, Jake.” You sing-song over the tapping of your keyboard.

He stands up and makes his way over to you, leaning over the back of your chair to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “I don’t know why you get so cheery on days like this.”

You tilt your head to the side to get a better look at him and pause your typing with a smile. “Because it makes everything cozy. I don’t know why you don’t.” You reach up to the side of his face, pulling his lips to yours. “Besides, when it rains you can wear comfy sweaters.”

“I don’t think it has to be raining to wear a sweater. Plus it’s kinda hard to show off my massive biceps in a comfy sweater, darlin’.” The shit-eating grin on his face is enough to tell you that he’s joking, but you also know he wouldn’t miss a chance to show off if the opportunity presented itself. That had played a part in your meeting after all.

“You’re insufferable.” You say sarcastically, a soft laugh lingering on your lips as you glance back to your computer.

“You love me.” He keeps his arms around you while you finish composing an email, then you’re slamming the lid to signal the finality of your work day. “Let’s go on a walk.”

“But it looks like it’s gonna rain.” He looks genuinely confused when you twist around in your chair to face him.

“A little water never hurt anyone.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Didn’t people used to die from going outside during storms?”

His question is so sincere that you have to hold back another laugh, instead narrowing your eyes and looking up as if you’re pretending to think for a few moments. “We’re in San Diego in the twenty-first century, J. I think we’ll be okay.”

You glance out the window behind him, itching to get out of the house after a long day of working from home. “It looks like we have at least an hour.” You have no idea if that’s true. “Please?”

“Damn you and your eyes. Fine. But the second I feel water falling from the sky we’re coming back.”

He lifts his hand, and you intertwine your pinky with his own. “Deal.”

You jump up from the table and grab one of Jake’s hoodies from the closet, throwing it over the outfit you’d put on earlier when it had seemed like it was going to be a hot and sunny day.

When you walk back into the living room, you pull the front of the hoodie forward, showing it off to him. “Comfy sweater.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You do look great in that.”

As soon as you’re both out the door, he’s reaching for your hand and loosely intertwining your fingers.

You inhale deeply, humming contently as you exhale. “Fall’s just around the corner, I can feel it.” You look over at your boyfriend with a glint in your eye, “The air feels different.”

“You say that every time it’s cloudy. I think you’re just impatiently waiting for Halloween.” You click your tongue. “This time I mean it. I’m declaring it officially.”

He chuckles, “Alright, hun.”

You spend the next thirty minutes walking toward the beach and then down the shoreline hand in hand, talking and laughing. You stall to watch the waves, pulling him to a stop next to you. When you lean into his side, he realizes you intend on lingering for longer than a pause, so he wraps an arm over your shoulders and kisses the side of your head.

“I’m glad we live so close to the water.” You mutter, and he smiles to himself, humming in agreement. “Should we head back?”

He purses his lips, “Let’s walk a little longer.”

You return his smile and bend over to slip off your shoes, shifting them into one hand. He follows your lead and then he’s taking your empty hand and intertwining your fingers once again.

It was one of the many things you loved about Jake. No matter where you were, or how hot or cold it was, if he had the chance to hold your hand he would. “I like to feel that you’re next to me. Wouldn’t want to lose ya.” He’d explain with a wink.

The sky gets darker the longer you walk, but the two of you don’t pay much attention to it until you start to feel droplets hit your skin. It makes you pause, and look up, a habit that always resulted in water pelting your face and getting in your eyes.

You blink and look at Jake, “Did you feel that?” You ask solemnly. He nods, unable to read the expression on your face.

He thinks maybe you’re upset with him, since he had made such a big deal about getting caught in the rain and that’s exactly what had happened thanks to him, but you don’t.

You break into a laugh. And when he hears it, he realizes he should’ve known better than to think you’d be mad about something so insignificant. You squeal and run towards the water, pulling him with you until he lets go of your hand.

He stops a few feet back, watching you slow to shuffle further into the cold water, despite the rain picking up. You stop and let your toes squish into the sand. The waves are rougher now, splashing up your thighs every few minutes. It makes you shiver and pull the sleeves of Jake’s hoodie down further, folding your arms around yourself.

“I could use some body heat over here.” You tease.

When he doesn’t respond right away you turn to look for him. His heart skips a beat when your eyes find his.

You tilt your head curiously at the wistful look on his face, “What?”

He shakes his head and smiles, closing the distance between the two of you. “You just make me happy to be alive.”

You playfully bump into him. “Aw, Jake-“ but he holds your shoulders in place. “No, I mean it.” His hands slide up your shoulders to gently hold your face. “You have a way of always finding the little joys in life, and it’s infectious.”

It makes your face heat, so you pull him closer and kiss him deeply, raindrops running down both of your faces.

Jake pulls away giggling, giggling, and rests his forehead on yours. “You’re so wet.” You gasp, letting out an incredulous laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that”

“Oh, we both know I didn’t mean it like that!” He smirks, “Well if you mean it like that…” His hands grab your hips, and you hook your hands around his neck, pulling him into you.

“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting this moment..” You say lowly, kissing him again. “But I am, in fact, soaking wet.”

You step back and hold your arms out to show him the completely soaked through hoodie. He looks down at his own shirt, now almost see through and clinging to his chest. “Yeah we should probably head home now.”

He sighs contently, taking both pairs of your shoes in one hand, and slinging his other arm over your shoulders. You wrap your arm around his waist and look up at him.

“So do ya still hate the rain?” He purses his lips into a smile. “Definitely not.”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #top gun maverick

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solxamber · 23 days ago

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Hello! I saw that you said it was fine to request still, so if it's alright I'll give you my thoughts/promt if it's fine by you.

Also wanted to say i love you're fanfics! Super entertaining and well written so i was wondering if you could write one that's Vil x mermaid! Reader (romantic) the prompt is-

Vil has been slowly falling in love with the reader; not just by her beauty but her personality the two have these little meet ups where she sings/the two talk endlessly and just enjoy eachothers company, but what I'm getting with this,is that Vil would take time to process his feelings but eventually he gets there and confesses. Maybe it could be a friends x lovers?

whatever you want to do with this idea is cool beans, I just really want to see what you come up with!! Alright,that's all much love ♡♡

Vil Schoenheit x Mermaid! Reader

the idea is so big brained!!! I hope you like it <3

Vil has always appreciated beauty. He lives and breathes it—the art of refinement, the craft of elegance. But lately, beauty has taken on a new form for him, and it looks suspiciously like you. He can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but he knows it’s tied to those secret meetups you two share by the shoreline.

You’re a mermaid, and you make a point to remind him of that every time he mentions something about the "unbearable" human world. You always roll your eyes dramatically, your tail shimmering in the moonlight as you laugh at his over-the-top complaints about fashion disasters, inferior skincare routines, or the latest scandal in the entertainment industry.

"You humans are so fragile," you often tease, resting your chin on your hand as you float lazily in the water. "Honestly, Vil, it’s a wonder you haven’t all crumbled under the weight of your own drama."

He gives you a sharp look every time, but there’s always a trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And yet, here you are, meeting up with one of these fragile humans every week."

"I didn’t say you weren’t entertaining," you retort with a sly grin. "It’s like watching a soap opera, except with more skincare tips."

Vil chuckles, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, which somehow manages to stay flawless even in the salty sea breeze. "You’d be lost without my advice. I’ve seen your seaweed face masks."

You pretend to gasp, putting a hand to your chest. "Seaweed is a perfectly valid skincare ingredient! In fact, it’s far superior to that toxic concoction you call moisturizer."

"Seaweed smells like the bottom of the ocean."

"And you don’t?"

That’s how it always goes—banter, teasing, comfortable silences filled with the soft crashing of waves, and eventually, music. You sing sometimes, when the mood strikes you. It’s never anything planned; it just happens. Vil always listens, captivated, because your voice is something he can't quite describe. It's raw, but pure, untouched by the expectations of the stage or the pressures of fame.

Sometimes he sings back, though he pretends he’s only doing it because you insist. "Come on, Vil. Just a few bars. You know you want to."

"I am a professional," he says, crossing his arms. "I don’t perform on a whim."

But you know how to coax him, and soon enough, he’s harmonizing with your lilting melody, his smooth, controlled voice intertwining with yours in a way that makes the night feel magical.

It’s been months of these little meetings, and Vil has never been quite sure what to make of you. You’re beautiful, of course—stunning, really—but that’s not what has him coming back to the shore every week.

It’s the way you make him feel completely at ease, the way you challenge him without being mean-spirited, the way you listen to him vent about things you couldn’t care less about yet still offer thoughtful responses.

And then there’s that laugh of yours—sharp, like the crack of a wave against the rocks, but warm enough to make him feel lighter every time he hears it.

He’s always valued control—over his image, his career, his emotions—but with you, he’s found himself slipping. He realizes, with some discomfort, that he’s been looking forward to these meetings a little too much. It’s not just the singing or the banter anymore. It’s... you.

That thought bothers him, because Vil Schoenheit does not get "distracted." He doesn’t fall for anyone. At least, not like this.

But here he is, walking down to the beach again, heart beating faster than usual as he anticipates seeing you. Tonight, though, something feels different. Maybe it’s the way the moon is hanging lower than usual, casting everything in a silvery glow, or maybe it’s the fact that Vil can’t deny his feelings anymore.

You’re already waiting for him when he arrives, sitting on a rock with your tail swishing lazily in the water. "Late again, Mr. Superstar?" you call out teasingly.

"I’m fashionably late, thank you," Vil replies, though there’s a softness in his voice. He takes a seat on the sand, smoothing out his coat with practiced precision before looking at you.

"You’re slipping," you say, eyeing him critically. "Usually, you’d have a comeback ready. What’s the matter? One of your beauty products finally backfired?"

Vil snorts softly, shaking his head. "No, though if it did, you’d be the first to hear about it." He looks out at the horizon, his expression thoughtful. "I’ve just been... thinking."

"Uh-oh," you say, folding your arms over your chest. "That sounds dangerous. What about?"

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. Vil has always been calculated, measured in everything he does. Confessing his feelings, though? That’s not something he’s prepared for. He glances at you, and suddenly, the words start spilling out before he can stop them.

"You know, for someone who claims not to care about humans, you certainly seem to enjoy spending time with me."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift in tone. "Are you fishing for compliments, Vil? Because I don’t need to stroke your ego any more than it already is."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, it’s just... You’re always teasing me about humans, about my world, but you keep coming back. Why?"

You tilt your head, considering his question for a moment before replying. "Because you’re interesting, Vil. You’re not like the others I’ve met. Most humans get caught up in themselves, but you... you’ve got a spark. You’re genuine, even when you’re being all high-and-mighty. And, well, it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options for good conversation under the sea."

Vil’s heart skips a beat at your words, and he finds himself smiling despite the nerves building up inside him. "I see. So I’m just your entertainment, then?"

"Oh, definitely," you say, grinning. "But you’re also... more than that."

Vil blinks, his breath catching slightly. "More?"

You nod, your expression softening. "You’re someone I look forward to seeing. I like being around you, Vil. You make me feel... seen. And I’m not just talking about my looks. It’s like you actually care about me as a person, not just a pretty face."

He swallows, his chest tightening as he listens to your words. This is it. He can’t hold it in any longer. "I do care," he says quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "More than you know."

You look at him, your teasing expression fading as you sense the weight behind his words. "Vil...?"

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think... I think I’m falling for you."

There. He said it. And now his heart is racing, his palms are sweating, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Vil Schoenheit is unsure of himself. He braces for your reaction, half expecting you to laugh it off or tease him like you always do.

But you don’t. Instead, you blink at him, your mouth opening and closing as you process his confession. "You... what?"

Vil clears his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I’m in love with you," he repeats, more confidently this time. "I’ve been falling for you for a while now, and I didn’t want to admit it, but... I can’t keep it to myself anymore."

There’s a moment of stunned silence before you break into a wide smile. "Vil, you absolute idiot."

He recoils slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I’ve been waiting for you to say something for months now! I thought I was going to have to spell it out for you."

Vil blinks, taken aback. "You... you knew?"

"I didn’t know know," you admit, "but I had a feeling. You’re not exactly subtle, Vil."

He stares at you, a mixture of relief and embarrassment flooding his system. "Why didn’t you say anything, then?"

"Because I wanted to see how long it would take for you to figure it out yourself," you say with a smirk, leaning forward slightly. "I didn’t think it’d take this long, though."

Vil narrows his eyes, though there’s no malice in his expression. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you love me," you tease, reaching out to cup his cheek gently. "What does that say about you?"

He huffs, though his heart is fluttering in his chest at your touch. "That I have terrible taste."

You laugh again, the sound bright and infectious, and before Vil can say anything else, you pull him in for a kiss. It’s soft, gentle, and Vil feels like his entire world is melting away in that moment. The taste of saltwater lingers on your lips, and for the first time in a long time, Vil isn’t worried about appearances or perfection. He’s just... happy.

When you finally pull away, both of you are smiling like fools. "So," you say, your voice teasing, "does this mean we’re a thing now?"

Vil rolls his eyes, though he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face. "I suppose it does."

"Good," you say, leaning in to kiss him again. "Because I’m not letting you back out of this one, Mr. Superstar."

Vil chuckles against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you even closer. "Oh, trust me," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, "I have no intention of backing out. But I do expect you to stop wearing those dreadful seaweed masks."

You gasp dramatically, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eye. "Excuse you! Seaweed is nature’s skincare miracle, Vil. Just because it’s not wrapped in fancy packaging doesn’t mean it’s ineffective."

He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Perhaps, but you’ll have to let me introduce you to something a little more refined. If we’re going to be a couple, I simply can’t allow my significant other to use subpar beauty products."

"Oh, is that so?" you ask, amusement twinkling in your eyes. "I didn’t realize I was dating a beauty tyrant."

"It’s for your own good," he says with mock seriousness, though there’s a warmth behind his gaze that betrays his affection. "Think of it as part of your glow-up. You’ll thank me later."

You can’t help but laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the man in front of you. It’s strange, really—how quickly this has all come together, yet how natural it feels. You never would’ve guessed that your casual banter and late-night talks would lead to this, but now that it’s happening, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Vil reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but purposeful. "You know," he says softly, his usual sharp tone melting into something softer, "I’ve never met anyone quite like you."

You smile at him, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your chest. "I could say the same about you, Vil. You’re not as scary as people think, you know."

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "That’s a well-maintained persona, I’ll have you know. Can’t let people think I’m soft."

"Oh, but you are," you tease, poking him lightly in the chest. "At least with me."

He scoffs lightly, though there’s no real bite behind it. "I’ll deny it if you tell anyone."

You laugh, resting your forehead against his as you savor the closeness between you. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel completely at peace, as if everything has fallen into place. Vil, with all his elegance, wit, and sharpness, has somehow become the person you’ve come to care about more than you ever thought possible. And now, as he holds you close, you know that you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

"I’m glad it’s you," you whisper, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. "I never thought I’d fall for a perfectionist with an ego the size of the sun, but here we are."

He lets out a soft, genuine laugh, his arms wrapping around you more securely. "I never thought I’d fall for someone who argues with me over skincare, but I suppose life has a sense of humor."

"Looks like we’re both in for a wild ride, then," you say with a grin.

Vil hums in agreement, his hand gently stroking your hair. "As long as it’s with you, I think I can handle it."

You smile, feeling your heart soar at his words. There’s a certain magic to this moment—a kind of fairy tale that feels like it’s been written just for the two of you. And as you sit there, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something truly beautiful.

"Well then," you say, pulling back slightly to look him in the eye, "looks like you’re stuck with me, Schoenheit."

"Forever, I hope," he says softly, before pulling you in for another kiss—this one longer, deeper, filled with the promise of something lasting.

And in that moment, with the moon shining overhead and the waves lapping gently against the shore, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together..

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #vil #twst vil #twst vil x reader

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slytherinshua · 8 months ago

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SLEEP IS THE BEST MEDICINE

genre. fluff. sickfic. warnings. reader is sick (sore throat/coughing). mention of food. pairing. seungkwan x fem!reader. wc. 1.4k. request. no. a/n. for @wheeboo who is sick and so i had to write her a sickfic smh (i love her sm pls feel better soon lovely)

As soon as you heard the buzzing of your phone breaking through your attempt at sleep, panic filled your body. One glance at the caller ID confirmed everything, and you shut your eyes tightly, trying to muster up all your energy and a half-decent attempt to get your normal voice back before you answered.

Of course your boyfriend would be calling to check where you were. You were supposed to meet him 30 minutes ago. Not only had you forgotten all about the date you had planned days in advance, but you had also managed to get sick since the last time you had seen him (and forgot to tell him about it).

Seungkwan’s voice sounded cheery as soon as you picked up the call, “Hey, love! Is the traffic bad or something? I’m at the restaurant— people keep giving me looks cause they think I’m dining alone.”

A small smile crept onto your face as you imagined the scene, guessing that your boyfriend probably wore a pout on his face just by the tone of his voice.

“About that… I kind of forgot?” You started to explain, your voice coming out in a painful rasp even as you tried your best to clear your throat.

“Are you sick? You sound awful.” Seungkwan asked hurriedly, completely ignoring what you were trying to tell him. You tried to think of a good excuse to give him, but the silence in response to his question already gave Seungkwan his answer.

“You are sick, aren’t you! Why didn’t you tell me?” He scolded lightly. You could imagine vividly the way he usually pursed his lips in disapproval, and a sigh left your lips. You had really been looking forward to the date, now that you remembered that it had been scheduled. It had been weeks since you spent more than an hour or so with Seungkwan, and you missed him so badly.

“I’m sorry, Kwannie. Can we reschedule it? I still want to go with you.” You said softly, clearing your throat between sentences in failed attempts to stop the uncomfortable scratching every time you talked.

A dinner date with your boyfriend at a seaside restaurant was exactly what you wished you could be doing right now. If only you hadn’t gotten sick at exactly the wrong time, you would be enjoying a fancy meal across from him right about now. You knew the night would have led to a walk along the shoreline under the moonlight— something that you never got tired of. And it would have been chilly enough for you to justify stealing Seungkwan’s jacket (you really just loved it because it smelled like him, and was so perfectly oversized on you).

“Of course. That’s not even a question.” He replied with a tsk, wondering why you would even have to ask that with such a regretful tone. The night certainly wasn’t ruined for him, even though he had been looking forward to the date as much as you had. “I’ll come over. We can still eat dinner together, okay?”

Your heart melted at his suggestion, though you were tentative to accept immediately. Logically, you should probably stay away from him just in case he got sick too; but you wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and sleep. You opened your mouth to start protesting, your mind finally winning over your heart, but then you remembered how stubborn your boyfriend was. Even if you forbid him from coming in your front door, he would probably scale the side of the house and sneak in through one of the windows just to get to you.

With a cough, and a small ‘okay’, you hung up the call and let your head hit the pillow again. You swiped over to your phone camera, frowning when you saw how you looked. Seungkwan would probably arrive still in his date outfit, looking as charming and handsome as he always did— and here you were looking like a complete mess under your blankets. From your tired eyes to your tangled hair to the patches of skin that were breaking out on your face due to the cold weather, you would look almost disgraceful next to your boyfriend.

You itched to get up and put on makeup before he arrived, but you knew he would notice right away and be absolutely appalled. You were too tired to put in the effort either way. It was silly for you to still care so much about how you looked even after dating Seungkwan for years, but you still wanted to look pretty for him. You forced your mind to give yourself a little grace about your appearance. It was absurd to expect to look your best while sick.

Seungkwan arrived sooner than you expected, announcing his presence at the door in a sing-song voice. You croaked out that you were in your bedroom as loudly as you could with how painful it was to talk and hoped that he was able to hear you. He knocked on your door a mere second later, opening it slowly. He had a goofy loving smile on his face and a plastic bag in one hand. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile as soon as you saw him.

“I got some soup on the way. It’s supposed to help with colds.” He explained eagerly, setting down the bag on your bedside table and taking out a large container of soup. He opened up the lid to let it start cooling before turning his attention back to you.

“My sweet girl. I only left you for 1 week and you still managed to get sick in that time.” He teased fondly, sitting on the edge of your bed where he could easily reach to tuck away the hair that fell over your forehead. You only frowned in response, trying to rest your voice as much as possible. It was easier to communicate non-verbally when your boyfriend could see all your facial expressions.

“Sit up a bit so I can feed you.” Seungkwan instructed with a smile, grabbing the container of soup and spooning out some to blow on.

“I can feed myself.” You whispered.

Seungkwan locked eyes with you, “I know, but let me feed you anyway. You never let me do anything for you.” You scoffed lightly at his response, although it made your chest buzz with warmth. It was clear that the opportunity to pamper and take care of you excited Seungkwan. Knowing your boyfriend, it didn’t surprise you.

The soup was soothing on your sore throat, and just the fact that Seungkwan was right there feeding you each spoonful gave you the energy to actually finish the bowl. He told you about his past week as he fed you, making sure that each bit of soup was sufficiently cooled before it reached your mouth. He gave you a proud smile once you had eaten the last bit of soup, despite how unimpressive the feat had been— certainly not one deserving of such praise.

“You look tired.” Seungkwan commented softly, setting aside the empty container of soup back on the table and adjusting your blanket to cover your entire body again. You hummed a little in response, already letting your eyes flutter closed. As soon as you felt the tiniest bit of motion, though, your hand flew out to clutch your boyfriend’s shirt tightly.

“Don’t leave.” You pleaded, earning light laughter from your boyfriend.

“I was only going to go wash out the container, but I guess that’ll have to wait.” He already knew exactly what you wanted just by your eyes. He wasn’t one to deny you anything when you were already feeling under the weather, so he shifted over to the other side of the bed where there was space for him to lie down and draped an arm around your body.

“If I get sick from this, you have to take care of me, too, okay?”

“Okay.” You closed your eyes again, shifting closer to him half a centimetre at a time in an attempt to be discreet. Of course, he noticed right away and pulled you closer before you were even halfway done closing the distance.

“Sleep. Sleep is the best medicine.” He urged you quietly. It was already a million times easier to fall asleep next to him, but as soon as he started humming old lullabies, the task became almost effortless. You were curled up in his chest before too long; the sound of his singing making its way into your dreams.

↳ svt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @minholing,, @shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @wonwooz1,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu

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fimmiest · 2 months ago

Text

light - danielle x fem!reader

"you always had me, you're always shining"

non!idol au, established relationship, purely fuffly!! not sure abt the pacing but just needed to get this one out of my system... enjoy :)

"beach! beach! beach!!" two excited voices cheered in the backseat, the windows rolled down and you remember seeing the shoreline getting closer and salty breeze pickling on your skin. every summer break you would go with danielle's family at the beach, it was your favorite thing.

a spot where you and dani had spent countless afternoons digging in the sand, collecting shells, and daring each other to jump into the waves, how her eyes would always be full of wonder and excitement, full of life. it was just how she was, always shining.

"look yn!!" little danielle exclaimed holding a shell out like a treasure meant only for you.

you glanced at her and there was a glow about her, like dani belongs here, in this moment, with the ocean and the open sky. her sunburned skin from being out in the sun all day, and pretty sure yours were too.

"it is beautiful" you take the shell and hold it close to your heart, gaze not on the ocean trinket but on her.

you remember falling asleep at dani's shoulder at the ride back that day.

—

if you could choose, sunday night would probably be your least favorite time of a day. just the thought about the next day being a monday and all the stressfully school week coming back again it was enough to loom your head... well it would be. but since danielle noticed you got what you named 'monday blues' she made it her mission to spend every, not skipping a single one, sunday night with you.. not that you ever tried to stop her

just like right now, it didn't even needed much to be enjoyable. you two were just laying on your bed after dinner, danielle was watching another disney movie since she said she would marathon them all over again, you payed attention on the first one laughing along with her but at the second your focus had drifted. you were teetering on the edge of boredom and sleepiness, lulled by the warmth and comfort of having danielle close.

your fingers absentmindedly played with her hair, since she was lying on your chest, her head nestled against you as you traced random patterns on her hairline and face.

she turns her attention to you, her heads tilts in a silent question that you didn't understand, you tilt your head back at her, confusion written on your face.

"you've been going around at this side of my face for a while" danielle smiles pointing at your fingers resting at the right side of her face and you freeze for a second by the observation

"oh, sorry does it bother?" you began to pull your hand away, embarrassed that you hadn’t noticed.

"no no" she replied quickly, grabbing your hand and holding it in place. "is just funny.. cause you always do this when we are laying down"

"i..." thump "i like your little moles, you know? they are like little stars.. a tiny constellation"

"yeah?" her smile was teasing but the longing on her eyes told you the otherwise, it made your chest tighten.

"uhm.." without thinking too much, you leaned down, pressing a soft peck to the moles near her cheekbone. there was one near her eye, mostly hidden, but for you it was the most adorable one, you lingered there for a couple of seconds longer, hearing dani let out a tiny involuntary squeal soon after.

—

"you know what I want?" you heard dani saying, her hand tugging on your shirt to draw your attention to her, as if it wasn't ever

"yes?"

"go to the beach"

you nod absentmindedly, missing the beach days you two used to go when kids "yeah, well the test season is ending next week. i think we can go-"

"no. i mean, right now"

"what??" you turn to look at her, eyes wide "dani we can't-"

"look" she starts "it's only.. six and it's like uhmm a hour and half to get there, right? and then we stay for a solid two hours, if all goes right we return home before midnight!" she finished with a big smile, you are not even surprised by the sudden burst of organization.

you shake your head already knowing this would undeniable, until your remember a detail "and how are we going there, my sun?"

"yn" she looks at you like the answer is already obviously "my star, darling, aren't you a licensed driver now?"

you open and close your mouth, thrown off by the fact that she trust in you driving "i mean.. yeah, but-"

"then let's go!!" dani jumps up and grabbed a bag that, conveniently, was sitting next to your desk.

the sudden footsteps coming from the stairs makes your mom, who was at the living room look up surprise at you girls "where are you two going?"

"to the beach!!" danielle exclaim excited, you tried to answer her question but dani was already dragging you by the hand out of the door.

—

"hey, sunshine?"

"hm?" dani turns to look at you, normally bathed by the sun it was different looking at her in the moonlight glow. if it was even possible, she looked more beautiful under the stars.

you smiled softly, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"nothing" the words you didn’t say hung in the air, you were sure it didn't needed to be said, for the moment you look at the ocean back again

dani chuckles loveably and rest her head on your shoulder "i love you" her holds your hand, fingers intertwining as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you gently squeeze her hand in return.

"i love you, too"

#newjeans x reader #newjeans imagines #danielle imagines #danielle x reader #danielle marsh #newjeans danielle #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye #mo jihye x reader

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comicaurora · 10 months ago

Note

Sorry to drop a hella irl-political question on your mostly webcomic blog, but have you/any of the OSP gang heard of/been participating in the week-long strike for palestine that's been (presumably) all over tumblr/the internet?

For some background info: Following the attack on Oct. 7th by the hamas militant group (a terrorist org. Or resistance group, depending who you ask), the state of israel (which is practically a mass colonial settlement on Palestinian land since '48) has taken the attack as an excuse to indiscriminately bomb the homes of thousands if not millions of homes while forcebly displacing almost all of the ~2.3 million people crammed in the gaza strip with no escape.

'Israel' has also tightened it's blockade on the strip of land such that a growing majority of people there are experiencing catastrophic starvation, disease from sewage-infested drinking water (as water aid is too scarce). Soon even deaths by preventable causes such as diabetes will occur since insulin pens for children have been blocked from entering by israel, who controls gaza's borders, water, power, food supplies, and shoreline. Civilians in Gaza are very frequently and indiscriminately killed often in places they were told were safe zones to evacuate to. It's agreed upon by both experts and laymen worldwide that what is happening (and has BEEN happening before Oct.7th) is nothing short of genocide.

In the occupied Palestinian west bank, where there is no hamas whatsoever to use as an excuse, Palestinians are still arrested without a fair trial for years, abused, prevented from using certain roads, shot, and often straight-up have their houses stolen by armed or military-backed israeli settlers (many of whom have no ancestral connection to the land at all) in a system often compared to or outright stated to be apartheid.

Very recently, a journalist in Gaza by the name of Bisan Owda called for a strike from January 21st to January 28th. The conditions of the strike can be paraphrased as:

Cease all unnecessary purchases or payments, avoid generating ad revenue when possible

Do not go to work or school if you can possibly avoid it

Pay for things only in cash if you must

Use social media exclusively to flood the internet with palestinian voices and resources about the ongoing genocide against the palestinian people

Attend protests if you can

Be visible.

It's the 26th now, but joining late would be far better than to not join at all and stay silent.

I figured I'd ask since since OSP has covered various topics about history and/or politics and we're kinda watching some awful history unfolding, the kind of history where neutrality doesn't really work and a side needs to be taken.

Opinions? (Sorry if I'm coming across as condescending! I just really want my favorite blogs to be aware and take a stance rather than being silent hhhghf)

Okay, here's my answer.

OSP has been supporting calls for a ceasefire for months, and we were fundraising in direct support of it via Doctors Without Borders all through November and December. Total, we raised over $30,000. If we include the UNICEF fundraiser we ran on the Spider-Man streams, the total is over $40,000.

During our charity livestreams, we have made our positions clear – we support a ceasefire, Israel is perpetuating settler-colonialist violence and has been for decades, Hamas is a terrorist organization that endangers Israelis and Palestinians alike, the innocent people of both Palestine and Israel deserve safety and peace. We concluded that the best thing we could do under the circumstances was empower those who are in a real position to actually help by providing funding for their work. We believe this is significantly more beneficial than adding Another Angry Internet Post to the pile of insular outrage on Internet Land. Fundraising for the organizations with boots on the ground feels like it does a lot more good than being loud online for the benefit of other online people.

This is not the first time I've heard reference to the strike, but it is the first time I've seen the parameters of the strike laid out, which to me indicates that it wasn't spread as widely or effectively as it could've been.

I understand and appreciate why you sent this ask, but your premise worries me. I know this may surprise and startle us denizens of the internet, but being extremely loud on the internet is not the only or the most effective form of activism, and people not being extremely loud on the internet with every account they have is not the same thing as silent complicity in war crimes, and people acting like those two things are the same thing has been unbelievably frustrating to watch.

If we act like everything is a binary moral choice between "scream your loudest, most angry opinions online every time you feel angry about them" and "not doing that is literally the same thing as participating in genocide", we are creating a very strong pressure to flood the internet with our angriest, most unformed thoughts, lest we be branded as complicit in war crimes. Social media sites live and die on engagement, hence why twitter has rapidly trended towards doomscrolling and encouraging inflammatory clickbait - angry shouty people are traffic and traffic is money. The cynical part of me is utterly unsurprised that social media encourages the idea that the only true form of activism is being loud on social media.

It sounds like you had the feeling that sending me this ask was weird and a boundary overstep, and you were correct. My platform is not world-changing or in any way politically powerful beyond our ability to create charity fundraisers for causes we believe in, and we are doing what we can to help in the tiny ways that we can from halfway across the world, from a position of absolutely zero political weight beyond emailing our representatives. You are just asking me to also shout about it online loudly enough that I measure up to an artificial loudness metric, because my existing shouting was not already loud or omnipresent enough.

You are not entitled to know every thought in my head or every action I take in my life. I am not online to perform outrage and live up to an arbitrary moral standard of Shouting Enough. I am especially not online on my fantasy webcomic blog to do those things. Please understand that what you see of me is what I choose to share, and I am under no obligation, moral or otherwise, to share more.

#asks #not aurora #taking a big risk putting this on the reading comprehension website #turned off reblogs just so I don't stress all night

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minhosimthings · 9 months ago

Text

All my Loving || 18+

Pairings: husband!Heeseung × wife!fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, oral (f receieving), overstimulation, p in v sex, unprotected sex (not for you bubs), daddy kink, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, reader is called 'princess', boob sucking whadup, slow dancing, comfort in the beginning, reader cries.

A/N: my baby @candewlsy asked for husband hee taking care of her. I might have accidentally written a different kind of taking care of IM SORRY BABY I KNOW. But I couldn't help myself alright? Also tagging @jaeyunluvr, another one for our Mr Lee.

Music, dancing, poetry, love, Heeseung.

Ain't all those so similar?

Did I mention Heeseung by the way?

Of course, he was the epitome of love. To you atleast.

And one of your most favourite things to do with him was to bask under the gentle moonlight and sway your body with his in such beautiful synchronisation that even the Milky Way stopped to take a peek from your bedroom window.

Especially when your mind is drooping into the bylanes, your husband's arms cuddling your waist could always find a way to rope you up towards the sky.

"Bad day princess?" Heeseung asked, his hands going to your waist as if it was a magnet for the irons of his fingers, as he started tracing shapes there, like he always knew could cool you down.

His being could always calm you down, making the rough waves striking against the shoreline convert into a gentle lapping at his mere touch.

"I just don't feel loved anymore, Hee." Your voice cracked, trying to keep the sob in your throat imprisoned, "They won't talk to me again."

"Aww princess." You felt the cold metal of Heeseung's ring on his ring finger touch your skin as he pulled you even closer, the mere inches between you earlier, now occupied. He knew you had been having trouble with your parents for quite a while now, but it had never been to the extent that you had shed tears.

"Tell me what you need, love." Heeseung whispered, placing a chaste, feathery kiss to your neck. The gentleness of the kiss made your emotions break out of their bonds, as your sobs broke the silent winter air and simultaneously, Heeseung's heart. He absolutely detested hearing you cry. Turning you over to face him, it broke even more at seeing your tear stained face.

"Shh love, shush now." Heeseung cooed sweet words of love into your ear, making your eyes crinkle open to look at him, "You're alright, you're with me, hush now."

"I-Its just so—and I-" your words wouldn't come out no matter what.

Heeseung silently listened to you crying, all the while whispering honeyed words to you, making you calm down a tad bit. You both stayed in silence for a while, as you played with aglet of his hoodie and he traced shapes along your waist.

"Love?"

"Hmm?" You hummed in response to his gentle voice.

"Why don't we dance for a bit hmm? It always cheers you up."

His gentle request sounded through your ears like an oblique memory. You were infatuated with the idea of dancing with Heeseung.

"What song?"

"Our wedding one?" Heeseung hummed, setting the vintage rustic record player on track, a generous gift from Jay, "Because I genuinely can't help falling in love with you."

Making a giggle erupt out of your mouth, Heeseung mentally patted himself on the back and strode towards you. In his opinion, you still looked as beautiful as you did on your wedding day. God damn what he'd give to experience that moment again, that moment in time when all the clocks stopped for him as soon as you said "I do".

"My lady." Your husband dramatically bowed to you, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips to it, "Care for a dance?"

"Of course, My prince." You answered, taking your arms to place them around his neck, as his went to your waist again, as if they never wanted to leave it.

Wise men say, only fools rush in.

"I must be the biggest fool of them all." Heeseung chuckled, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, his oceanic eyes sinking into the abyss of your own.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?

"Probably the greatest sin I've ever thought to commit." Heeseung said again, spinning you around the room with ease.

You knew what he was doing. This is what he'd always done when you were down. Recite the lines of his vows to you again, to remind you that you truly were loved.

Redamancy was a word that you had always loved. It meant love between two which is mutual and warm like a new born child. And at this time, it felt like you could feel each letter of that word flow through your blood.

"I love you, you know that princess?" Nothing but red ribbons of love flew out of Heeseung's mouth and wrapped around you.

"I do." You giggle, as he spun you around one more time, before burying his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your intoxicating sense, which could get him drunk as if it was wine, made from the grapes of the Garden of Eden itself.

Gripping your hips tighter, Heeseung made his way to your lips, pressing them against his tightly. Under the moonlight, you seemed to taste like strawberry liquor and a memory he never wanted to fade away.

You moaned against his lips, as the kiss got deeper, more desperate and more carnivorous. He slid a hand up your leg, pushing your shirt up, and gripping your right breast through your bra.

"Hmm, my favourite one?" Heeseung moaned, in between the kiss, as his delicate fingers elicited a moan out of your mouth.

His hands made their way through every button, snap and strap on your body. He left you in nothing but the undergarments you wore. His hands were placed back on your hips as his mouth placed on your neck. Sinful symphonies erupted and you gripped onto his shoulders.

"Get onto the bed, princess." You obeyed his command promptly.

Heeseung’s gaze remained on you as he got undressed. Soon he was bare as you were. His hands were on your breasts, his mouth was on your right nipple.You almost kicked out your legs from the sensation of it all. You yelped and felt a shiver down your spine.

He massages your breasts further, it was almost a little painful. He moved to the other nipple and you moaned loudly into the night air. Your heart raced as you felt yourself drown in the pleasure of it all. You seemed louder as well with the more he touched you.

"Let me give you what you deserve princess, alright?" Heeseung's gaze softened as his eyes met yours. You could do nothing but nod. You were his now, and forever. And you'd take whatever he gave you.

Heeseung thought you were divine. He thought there was no one else quite like you. He moaned into your skin as he nipped at it. He left small bruises around your chest which only made you moan louder. He stimulated you further as he felt you try to fight against him. He knew he was making you feel good.

"Tell me what you want princess, use your words now."

"Y-your—tongue" the feeling of him nipping at your buds has already got you stimulated, your legs try to wrap around him, but his hold on them is unwavering.

Heeseung groans, breaking your kisses as he moves to grab your shins, spreading your legs wide. His eyes sweep over you, pausing at your exposed core.

"So fucking pretty for me.” He says to you in a raw voice. His hands roam your body, a hand tugging at a nipple while the other caresses your curves.

Your cunt, so slick and desperate for more, throbs with desire as Heeseung puts his hands on you, guiding you to position his head between your thighs, exposing the heat of your core to him.

Heeseung lets out an audible sigh of relief as he wraps his arms around your waist, bringing your cunt straight to his mouth; the sensation is heavenly, the angle of the position has your clit and folds fully exposed, resting in his mouth as he takes worship in you.

The vibration of Heeseung’s little moans tease you, causing you to settle into him further.

"d-daddy—ah shit" you moaned, as the sensation filled you with fire.

You can’t focus on anything any longer, every worry, every tint of sadness was gone as Heeseung’s motions send shockwaves of pleasure through your body. As his expert tongue focused solely on your swollen nub, you go totally lax.

You feel your rumble of ecstasy rise up within you, and you’re hoping you aren’t gushing too much as you spasm around his tongue.

Suddenly, Heeseung's tongue flicks up to touch that tiny spot he always knew could get you like a rabid dog. The small sensation is enough to make the ribbon restricting your stomach to break, as you feel higher than an addict, writhing in utter euphoria and creaming in his mouth as he takes you.

His nose, lips, chin, were soaked in you cum, his pupils blown with lust at your scent, as he looks up to your eyes still scrunched up in pleasure, not noticing the absense of his tongue.

Once his mouth finds yours, his kisses are fervent, passionate, matching the slow pace of his strokes. His tongue is so soft, and he tastes so good with your come on his lips that you’re already primed to give him more.

“Such a messy girl,” Heeseung sucks a spot again on your collarbone, "My messy girl."

It was a sick part of Heeseung, to have your belly all swollen with his seed. He had never voiced it out, but tonight he couldn’t contain himself. He moved back to being on top of you, he moved your legs to be around his waist. He brushed his cock up against your sweet pussy. You moaned and held onto the pillows under your head.

"daddy—" you whimper against him, "n-need—your cock"

"Say please?"

"Plea—ah fuck!" You all as but scream as his tip just brushes against your pussy, "Please."

He groaned as he continued to fondle you as you tighten your legs around his waist.

Heeseung kisses your pout and quickly grabs his cock. He pumps himself a few more times before lining up at your entrance. When Heeseung sheaths himself fully in your heat, the wind is knocked out of you. A collective groan of ecstasy escaped from both of your mouths.

Heeseung groaned through grit teeth as he pushed his cock into you. You tensed and he groaned louder, he held onto the bed under you and moved all the way inside of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly as he started to thrust. You moaned into his skin as he moved against you.

Your body felt numb but in a pleasurable way. You could only lie there and accept all the pleasure that he was giving you. He kissed your soft face, he could feel your racing heartbeat under your skin. His face went back to your neck where he left more bruises on the flesh. He felt heat through his body as the pleasure coursed through his veins. It was arousing, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling.

He gazed down at you as his chest rapidly rose and fell. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before he grabbed you by the waist and rubbed his cock up against you. He could feel heat settle in his body as his cock throbbed for you. He wanted you, he needed you more than he needed air. And he was more than willing to let you know that.

“Shit.” He sighed, “You feel so good.” His hands were back on your chest as he started to thrust in and out of you. His aw tensed for a moment as he felt the pleasure pool in his gut. Sweat cooled on his back as he massaged your breasts.

"Want daddy to fuck a baby into you hmm?" Heeseung asks, his lustful breathing breaking the air, "You'd like that princess?"

When you didn't answer, the overstimulation almost killing you, Heeseung snapped his hips suddenly, making you cry out loud.

"Heeseung! Ah-god—"

The heat consumed your body as you rutted against him. Your nipples remain hard as the two of you move against one another in a situation of passion. The high in your body only heightened the pleasure between you too.

"Such—a pretty girl-ah fuck fuck!" Heeseung moaned loudly, as he felt you clench tightly around his cock, the walls were basically suffocating him, "takin' me so well, fuck—"

You moaned into his words, your arms dropped to the bedroll and kept a tight hold of it as you arched.

Your head spun as he continued to move. You could hear his heavy breathing but your head felt full of nothing. Everything had a heightened yet fuzzy feeling to it as the pleasure made its way through your body. You laid there while he fucked you, unable to do much but accept the continued pleasure from Heeseung.

He felt on the tip of an orgasm. With another hard thrust, he shoved his cock as far as it would go and then he finished inside of you. At that moment you finished as well.

“Look at me. I want you to watch you come on my cock." Heeseung all but demanded and you had no choice but to obey, "fuck—you're so beautiful, all filled up with me."

Silky ribbons of beautiful pleasure flew out as your eyes gazed into Heeseung's, which had nothing but love flowing in them.

Heeseung kept pumping his seed into you rhythmically, as you lay almost limp on the bed. Staying inside you for a minute or so, Heeseung pulled his length out carefully, making you form a 'o' shape with your mouth, as your walls were left almost sensationless as your husband's cock left it.

"Fucking hell." Heeseung muttered under his breath, "Are you alright love?"

"You just fucked the brains out of me and you're asking me if I'm alright." You rolled your eyes at him, and chuckled, "I'm sorry are we married, Mr Lee?"

"We sure are Mrs Lee." Heeseung pressed his nose to yours, "How about a shower hmm?"

"You're washing my hair."

"Whatever you want, my love."

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randombush3 · 9 months ago

Text

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary

warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh

notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x

weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!

i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part

The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses.

However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver.

“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!”

The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp.

“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers.

“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise.

“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?”

“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?”

“In the sand?”

“Sí, in the sand.”

He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest.

“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.”

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia.

“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally.

“Mm. You are magically both.”

You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.

A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level.

“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission.

She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due.

She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.”

“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect.

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.”

“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.

“She has her own team, you know.”

“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze.

“Why?”

“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”

Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down.

“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.”

“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.”

“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps.

Cheated.

“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.

“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards.

“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you… alright?”

She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up.

You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos.

Intimate, huh.

They are practically snogging.

There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last.

The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021.

The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.

What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you.

The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true.

Love goes up in flames before your eyes.

And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more.

“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you.

“Where is Lena?”

“Dormida, aún.”

Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.”

“Vale. Te quiero.”

You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps.

Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?”

…

The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost.

You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat.

It has been six hours since you found out.

Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died.

When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable.

You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect.

“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.”

“Why? What have I done?”

She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”

It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is.

She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her.

Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would.

She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened.

In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself.

“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic.

She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it.

And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer.

“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.”

Everything is ruined because of her.

It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife.

Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak.

Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod.

She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie.

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?”

“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”

He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land.

You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died.

But this is how it goes.

You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.

It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t.

The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine.

Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay.

“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.

He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?”

“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.”

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it.

“She sounds funny.”

“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading).

“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?”

You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners.

You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.”

…

Alexia does not know what to do.

She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible.

She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come.

The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that.

Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill.

She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net.

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns.

Something goes wrong.

Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it?

Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible.

Maybe.

The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.

“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee.

She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears.

A second later, she is unconscious.

When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her.

A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name.

She whispers it over and over again.

“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.”

…

The call is unexpected.

Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros.

“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment.

Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given.

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too.

Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery.

It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport.

When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them.

This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish!

She has two children with you, for God’s sake!

“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”

Alexia, The Ruiner.

She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner.

Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.”

“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.”

Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however.

“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner.

It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic.

Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle).

She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point.

She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup.

“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing.

Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?”

“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.”

“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!”

All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently.

If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable.

Instead.

Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!”

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked.

“What have you done?”

Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.”

…

Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access.

For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would.

Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will.

“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…”

“I don’t think she wanted to–”

“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!”

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.”

“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.”

“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.”

“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her).

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.”

Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”

You swear.

“What time’s our train leaving?!”

The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many.

England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury.

The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well).

“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug.

“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.”

She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?”

Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership.

You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour).

You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary?

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married.

“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information.

You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete.

When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with.

…

Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family.

Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least.

You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves.

You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you.

“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.

“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”

“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing.

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes.

She quickly blinks them back.

“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–”

“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”

“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?”

Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said.

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–”

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies.

“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.”

She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor.

Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.”

The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi.

Alexia begins to get nervous.

Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression.

Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish.

Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.

The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines.

You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime.

A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family.

“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence.

Ona stands to one side and you pass.

Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries.

You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse.

You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way.

Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough.

Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players.

“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.”

Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her.

…

September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album.

Judgement Day.

For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.

Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.

You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children.

They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go.

Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power.

Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years.

In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that.

You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music.

“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.”

At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself.

You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house.

Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last.

…

Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.

Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler.

Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)

“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?”

“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.”

“Who?” he pouts.

“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia. “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–”

He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.”

“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.”

“Really?”

“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.”

Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers.

As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.

“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it.

He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles.

“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.”

Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.”

“I miss Mama.”

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable.

“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.”

“Really?”

“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that.

“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!”

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.

After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite.

High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all.

The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe.

There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything.

Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around.

One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia.

Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility.

“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it.

“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.”

Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.”

“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.”

The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’.

With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up.

The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?

“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more.

“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well.

“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.”

You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?”

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like.

“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.”

You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod.

“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.”

…

Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.”

“What, Alexia?”

You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her.

“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!”

Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”

“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”

Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.”

“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–”

“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”

Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it.

“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!”

Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.

“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”

“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!”

You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off.

Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place.

It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit.

("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.

"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.

It never ends.

So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”

She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting.

"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"

"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."

"And why not?"

Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more.

Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles.

"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."

The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner.

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."

Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."

To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.

"You need to fix this.")

Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #fc barcelona #mapi leon #ona batlle #alexia #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

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thetxtdevil · 4 months ago

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My mind went wild when i saw those pics of Kai at the beach with his sisters. Imagine going on a vacation to the beach with him and wearing a cute but quite revealing bikini just for him and to see how he will react. Ofc he would be a gentleman and try to hide the fact that he is horny as hell just by the sight of you , his sisters are there after all!!!. But going back to the room after playing all the day at the beach, he would literally devour u and make u his

Exactly took the words right out of my mind And I should probably start adding pictures to the requests making them look somewhat tempting

--nsfw--

The sun was bright, wind rushed through your hair once you stepped out of the airport. You took a breath of the humid air and quickly take Kai's hand into yours. All of you were rushing to the hotel to get away from paparazzi and just to get cozy. Kai was thrilled to have a small vacation with his family and his girlfriend. He and the boys have been working so hard and a little too much that he not only wanted but needed to let loose.

Arriving in the hotel room you and Kai shared, Kai immediately wanted you. He strides towards your figure beginning to unpack your bags and pulls you into a kiss. His big hands engulfing your face as he passionately kisses you. The deep desire quickly fades when one of his sister's voice can be heard from the other side of the door.

"Hurry up and get into your guy's swimsuits we're going to the beach."

You smile at Kai's huff of irritation breaking free from his firm grip on you. Slipping into the bathroom to change as the man changes in the room, you come out modeling for him. You blush at the way Kai's eyes open and jaw drops looking at your little pink bikini. This was going to be torture for him.

Walking along the beach hand and hand with your boyfriend, all of you were enjoying each others company. You got along with Kai's sisters well, always talking about girly things laughing and having fun, and especially taking about Kai. He'd roll his eyes when you mention a new habit of his and the girls would laugh fluff his hair.

Kai lets you have your fun but that's because he was be too focused on your body. Discreetly eyeing up the cut of your top, being able to see the curve of your breasts. Eyes drifted lower looking at you sheer draped cover-up the hung low on your hips. He admired your confidence however your confidence tends to get him in heated conditions.

The sun shining on you made your cheeks blush and your skin sweat, you looked delicious. All the dirt that was running through his mind was stacking up. Throughout the day all Kai could think about was what he would've done if he didn't have his family come along. Possibly have his hand sneak their way into your bikini bottoms while lounging at the beach. Maybe whisper dirty things and making out with you on the shoreline.

You noticed Kai's distant look, thinking it was the heat of the sun. "Hey we're going back the room, I think the sun is getting us both fatigued."

Your comment awakened Kai from his daydreaming, he asks you if you're sure but you insisted. The was the getaway that he needed, his somber look turned into a determined one by dragging back to the hotel. He struggles getting the lock to turn green, you giggle helping him out but your light attitude flies out of the window once Kai basically manhandles you. Thrown to the white clean sheets of the bed you get your bearings looking up at the man.

Lust consumed him as his eyes were dark swimming with hunger. He hovers over you kissing your lips deeply like before. Soon his lips travel to your jaw, neck, and then to your exposed breasts. "You look so hot in this" he kisses, licks in between your tits, "but it was not fun holding back." Your fingers comb through his dusty blue hair kissing the crown of his head.

"Looked so good I could've fucked you on the sand."

You gasp at his words not knowing what to do with this version of Kai. All you could do is let him have you, he deserves it anyways. And to have you he will as he kisses, licks, bites every inch of your glistening skin. Freeing your breasts from the small bikini top and grouping them until they became sore. His nose glides down your abdomen and then into your clothed cunt. Tearing off the bottoms, Kai hovers over your face again, you moan into his lips when you feel his fingers explore you wet slit.

"Can I fuck you in these sheets instead?"

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio

#txt devil #txt imagines #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt devil asks #hyuka smut #hyuka hard thoughts #hyuka hard hours #hyuka x reader #huening kai x reader #hueningkai imagines #huening kai smut #huening kai x y/n #huening kai x you

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latenightdaydreams · 3 months ago

Note

Hii i love your writing and was wondering if you could do king-eldritch!konig and human!reader(female)

I was thinking like maybe reader when to far in the beach and got kidnapped by king-eldritch!konig because he felt that reader is his mate and wanted her for himself but to complete the mating process they had to be intimate and he couldn’t do that because she had a human body

So he took her back to his kingdoms sea witch and had human!reader turn to a eldritch hybrid 🙀🙀🙀

Chat im fuming with this idea

-🧸

Hi! Thank you!! 🩷🩷

Eldritch!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, kidnapping, almost drowning

1.1k word count

🐙

It’s a gloomy day at the beach, meaning few people are going to be there. You get dressed in your bathing suit with a small white dress over and walk down to the beach. Once there, you see a few older couples, so you walk down along the shoreline to the other end. The waves calmly roll in, the water feels cool over your feet. Unaware of eyes on you, you feel relaxed; a sense of tranquility washes over.

König watches you, not too far out from the shoreline. His curious eyes looking up and down the curve of your body. In all his time he’s seen plenty of humans, but you… you’re something spectacular. He follows you as you move. You’re totally oblivious to his presence.

You stop once you feel far enough away from everyone and take off your dress. The bikini you’re wearing barely covers any of your body. With slow steps, you walk into the water, letting your body get used to the temperature. You turn your gaze up towards the grey sky, enjoying the peace that surrounds you.

The tension in the air changes once you feel eyes on you. Slowly you look around, seeing if anyone is approaching the beach where you are, when you suddenly feel something on your feet. You jump back slightly and look down to see two tentacles inching their way to your ankles. When you look up, your eyes are met with two glowing eyes from under a black hood covering its face.

Fear washes over you as you notice the size of this creature. You’ve encountered octopus before, but never have you seen a creature like this one. Lifting your right foot, you attempt to step back, but the creature quickly grabs your leg. In a panic, you look around to see if there was anyone on the beach to assist you.

A tug and you fall on your back, a small pained groan leaves you. Before you can recover, the tentacles pull you into the water. Your fingers grasp at the sand and attempt to ground yourself and fight against it. Soon you’re forced to take a deep breath as you become fully submerged in the cold water.

König swims away with you, too tangled in his grip to break free. You aren’t a strong swimmer, yet you still try to swim away. The lack of air is getting worrisome, your thoughts turning dark as you feel this is how you die. Within a few seconds, you get light-headed before you eventually pass out.

When you come to, you’re lying on the rocky sand inside of a cave. Waves crash up on your feet as your eyes inspect the area. For a moment, you wonder if everything that just happened was a dream. Maybe you just slipped and floated out. That is until you look down at your legs and see the suction marks that cover your skin.

König reveals himself to you, he comes out from the water with a hood covering his face, only his eyes visible. He stands almost as tall as the cave, well over 15 feet, causing you to shiver in fear. His tentacles slithering to your body. They crawl up your legs and hold you down. You gaze up at him with wide eyes as he lowers himself down to get closer to you.

“Do not fear me, Kleine.” You hear a voice echo within your mind. “I’m König.”

His tentacles up your leg and pulls at the fabric covering your lower half. He pulls the fabric down to expose you to him. A low rumble leaves his body as his tentacles move up. You can feel his tentacle press against your pussy, causing your legs to twitch when he passes over your sensitive clit. He attempts to shove one inside of you, desperate to see every inch of you. A burning feeling happens, a pained wail leaves your lips as you close your eyes.

Once he realizes you’re in pain he withdraws. You’re too small. Your human body can’t take his size so there is no way you’d be able to carry his children like this. As he thinks, he caresses your body in an attempt to keep you relaxed.

“Es tut mir Leid, Kleine. I’ll fix this.”

“Fix what?” You say out loud.

The echo of his voice causes your head to ring with agony. Your hands go to the sides of your head, rubbing your temples in an attempt to calm your mind. König slips away back into the ocean.

You stand up and walk to the edge of the sand, looking out to see how far you are from the beach. As you gaze out across the water, you realize that there is no way that you could swim back yourself. The cave is deep, and you’re too fearful to explore further. Tears fall from your eyes as you sit in a fetal position.

Hours pass before you see the water moving. König beckons you near the water's edge. Hesitantly, you slowly stand and wipe the rest of your tears away. The small rocks under your feet are painful as you approach König.

A woman pokes her head out of the water next to König. She’s smaller, almost human size. Her skin is translucent and her eyes are almost a pale white. When she speaks, it causes goosebumps to form all over your body. The language is unknown to you but sounds like a calming melody.

Her cold hand reaches out and grabs you, pulling you closer to her. She looks deeply into your eyes, speaking in a soft voice, slowly lulling you into a trance like state. Inch by inch she pulls you into the water to join her. You aren’t in control of your body at this point.

In the water she brings you under, her word never stopping as she forces you to drink something. You take in the liquid as a full mouth of salt sea water. Your body struggles as your lungs attempt to take in a deep breath, but all you get is more water. This is how you die, drowning alone in the middle of the ocean. A sharp wave of pain travels throughout your whole being before you finally pass out, slowly drifting to the oceans floor.

König watches over your body as you lie on a bed of soft plants, he made a while ago once he began his journey to find a mate. You look so beautiful, your new body is larger and will be able to take him and carry his offspring. While he is consumed with excitement and wants to wake you, he knows that the transformation took a lot out of you, so he just sits near and watches you. A small satisfied look on his face; finally, a queen.

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starlightkun · 10 months ago

Text

❧ word count: 2.4k ❧ warnings: cursing, random old man makes reader uncomfy for 0.2 seconds (using real dialogue that a random old man said to me irl) ❧ genre: fluff, enemies to lovers (or are they…), secret dating, getting stuck on a ferris wheel together

“What are you doing?” You asked him through gritted teeth, making sure to whisper quiet enough that hopefully nobody else could hear you.

Sungchan yawned loudly, stretching out his arms until one was wrapped around your shoulders. “Gosh, just got tired all of a sudden.”

You were going to kill Shotaro. As soon as you got down from this Ferris Wheel.

A trip to a pop-up fair on the coast with all your friends had somehow turned into your worst nightmare. The line for the Ferris Wheel was long enough that you’d darted into the restroom while everyone else held your group’s place. Upon your return, though, it seemed that everybody had divided themselves into pairs, leaving you with the odd man out: Sungchan. After pleading with every single one of your friends to switch with you, you got six no’s in a row. Including, incredibly, Anton and Shotaro. You were going to kill Shotaro in particular, who had pulled you aside and suggested that maybe you and Sungchan could finally get over your long-running disdain for each other, because that confirmed your suspicions of this being intentional.

The Ferris Wheel getting stuck, however, you doubted your friends had anything to do with, unless they had bribed the college kid operating it while neither you nor Sungchan were looking.

So now you were perched at the top of a Ferris Wheel, all of your friends in the carts ahead of you, trying not to look at the boy next to you.

“Hey, Y/N, we want Sungchan to make it down in one piece, okay?” Shotaro called up to you.

“Do we?” Seunghan snickered from two cars in front of you.

“Okay, less than five pieces, how about that?”

“I’m going to kill you guys, you know that, right?” You snapped, leaning forward over the lap bar to try to look any of them in the face.

Your sudden jerking only succeeded in making your cart sway precariously, and you let out a squeal as you scrambled back in your seat to safety.

“You’re going to kill us both like that, Y/N,” Sungchan scoffed.

You didn’t respond, simply crossing your arms over your chest and looking in the opposite direction from him again, out to the ocean. From up here you could smell the salt on the seabreeze, hear the calls of seagulls down on the shoreline, and watch the waves as they rolled in. The rest of your friends had gone back to chatting among themselves, paying you and Sungchan no mind.

Which was when you felt the boy next to you slowly slide closer to you, until your sides were pressed up against each other.

“Beautiful view,” Sungchan murmured in your ear.

“What are you doing?” You asked him through gritted teeth, making sure to whisper quiet enough that hopefully nobody else could hear you.

He yawned loudly, stretching out his arms until one was wrapped around your shoulders. “Gosh, just got tired all of a sudden.”

“Wonbin and Sohee are right there.” You pointed to the two heads right by your feet. If they looked over their shoulders, you were sure they’d be able to at least see Sungchan’s change in position.

“And you and I are right here.” The cocky smile was audible in his voice. “Come on, you wouldn’t rob a guy of the perfect opportunity to kiss his girl at the top of the Ferris Wheel, would you?”

“Maybe I would.”

“Funny, what was it you said in the House of Mirrors? ‘No, not yet, just a little longer…’” You could feel the curl of his smirk against the shell of your ear as he kept his voice low. He was of course referring to earlier in the day when the two of you got “lost” in the House of Mirrors, letting your friends wander far ahead of you. You had yanked Sungchan into an out-of-the-way dead end, and came back out with sore lips.

“It was dark in there!” You hissed.

“Okay…” He sighed, his fingertips smoothing circles into the skin of your upper arm. “I guess you really do hate me…”

“Sorry, whose genius idea was it to not tell our friends?” You snorted. “You sure you don’t hate me and want to hide me?”

“Of course not.” He dropped kisses to the crown of your head, then your temple, your cheekbone, your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “Want to keep you all to myself, baby.”

You finally turned enough to look over at Sungchan, perfectly aglow in the sun, and your worst fears came true. He just looked too good, you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his collar and crashing your lips together. He groaned immediately, a sound that you hoped was muffled by your mouth, as he simultaneously pushed you even further into the corner of the Ferris Wheel seat and pulled you closer by the arm he had around you.

Sungchan still tasted like the cotton candy he’d bought earlier, the sugary sweetness permeating the kiss more and more as his tongue sought out yours. You, meanwhile, had faint remnants of popcorn on your lips, turning it salty and sweet. Small whimpers slipped past your open mouth as he nibbled on your bottom lip, and one of your hands tangled in the hair at the back of his head, trying to ground yourself to something as it felt very much like you were going to float away at any moment.

You ignored the distant voices of your friends trying to play ‘I Spy’ or some word game or other. Using just a second to breathe, you pressed your lips to his again, taking kiss after kiss after kiss while you could.

Suddenly, the Ferris Wheel started again with a jerk, and you bit down on Sungchan’s lip in surprise. He cursed under his breath, pulling back and cradling his mouth, and you were left with a faint taste of metal. You pecked his cheek and whispered a final ‘sorry’ to him before he scooted back to his side. All of the other passengers had erupted into cheers at finally being free.

Back on the ground, your friends were all waiting for you and Sungchan, being the last two to get off. He was still nursing his wounded lip, tongue flicking over the swollen area habitually.

“Damn, Sungchan,” Seunghan whistled lowly and grabbed his chin, tilting his head this way and that to get a better look. “Y/N deck you in the mouth or something?”

“Why do you people always act like I’m going to kill him or something?” You huffed. “I’m not homicidal.”

“Maybe because you say ‘Sungchan, I’m going to kill you’ like ten times a day?” Sohee pointed out.

Sungchan knocked the other boy’s hand away. “I bit my lip when the ride started again. I’m fine.”

“Did you guys hear anything weird, by the way?” Eunseok asked, looking directly at you and Sungchan.

“No.” You said at the same time that Sungchan said, “Weird how?”

“We could hear somebody sucking faces like, the whole time. I think it was the couple behind you guys.” Eunseok and Seunghan had been in the cart ahead of Wonbin and Sohee.

“Yeah!” Sohee perked up. “I thought I heard something weird!”

“You two really didn’t hear anything?” Wonbin raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Yeah, it was like, nasty.” Sohee pretended to gag.

Your skin was on fire, and you tried to shrug and play it off as coolly as possible. “I don’t know, guys, I was trying to block out the experience, not eavesdrop on whoever may or may not have been making out behind me or whatever.”

“Ditto,” Sungchan coughed.

“The first time they agree on something,” Shotaro grumbled, shaking his head.

A little while later found you all perusing the area where various vendors were selling trinkets and cheesy souvenirs. The guys had gotten more food and were taking a break from rides so they could eat it. You were looking over a display of fridge magnets displaying the fair’s logo and many different mascot characters when you suddenly registered a presence walking towards you. Thinking that it was another patron of the booth trying to get by you, you pressed yourself further into the corner to get out of their way, but instead the man stopped right in front of you.

“Man, if I was thirty years younger…” He breathed out, lecherous stare clearly going up and down your body.

You let out a nervous chuckle, desperately looking around both for your easiest route of escape and for where exactly your friends were. Most of them were several booths down the row, engrossed in watching some other guy play a basketball shooting game. You couldn’t even spot Sungchan’s tall head over the crowd.

“Uhm, thank you, but I have a boyfriend,” you nodded and smiled awkwardly, trying to step out to the side of him to go around him, but he met your move to stay in front of you.

“Hey, we were just talking.”

“I said I have a boyfriend.”

“Then where is he? Shouldn’t have left a pretty thing like you alone.”

“I’m going back to my friends,” you told him, setting your jaw as you looked to duck out behind you instead.

The man’s patience was clearly wearing thin, too, as he growled, “I’m not done with you.”

Then, you finally spotted Sungchan emerging from right behind the man, pushing by him to stand next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders with no hesitation, offering you a smile despite the vein bulging in his neck, “Hey, baby, is there a problem here?”

“Who the fuck—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped at the other guy, all kindness gone from his tone and features.

You shifted in place, gratefully pressing yourself into his side. You gulped and nodded, answering his question, “Yeah, I’m having trouble leaving.”

“Then let’s go. No reason why we shouldn’t be able to, right?” He was now glaring daggers at the older man.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Sungchan kept himself between you and the man as he practically shoved him out of the way for you two to leave, hurrying back into the crowd.

“I didn’t see him touch you, did he touch you?” He asked fervently, rubbing your arm.

“No, he didn’t, I just couldn’t leave,” you breathed out in relief at finally being out of there. Leaning your head against him affectionately, you added, “Thanks, Sungchan.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone, I’m sorry.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Yeah but I’m your—”

“Y/N, oh my god!” Shotaro exclaimed as he and the others ran up to you two at that moment. “Are you okay?”

“We thought you were going to get like—” Eunseok made a slicing motion over his neck.

Wonbin smacked him on the arm. “Not helpful.”

“I’m fine, guys, thanks,” you reassured them with a tense smile.

“Good thing Sungchan is scary tall, huh?” Anton laughed.

“Speaking of—” Seunghan eyed Sungchan’s arm that was still around your shoulders. “You can uh, you can let go of Y/N now, Sungchan.”

“Yeah, the guy is gone,” Sohee confirmed, jumping up and down to see over the crowd. “You don’t have to pretend to be her boyfriend or whatever.”

“At this rate I’m pretty sure Y/N’s going to start screaming for help again,” Anton snickered.

Judging by the tight grip he had on you, you already knew that he wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon. You gazed up at him questioningly. He patted your shoulder, and that was the final reassurance you needed.

“Sungchan wasn’t pretending to be my boyfriend,” you admitted, bracing yourself for their reactions. “He is my boyfriend.”

Dead silence. They all blinked, and looked at you, and looked at each other, and looked at Sungchan, and looked at each other, and looked at you again.

“Wait, for real?” Eunseok asked.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Like, actually?” Wonbin double-checked.

“Yes.”

Seunghan looked you in the eye very seriously. “Y/N, blink twice if you need help.”

Sungchan rolled his eyes and held up both his palms where they were at on either side of you so they could see his hands. “I’m not holding her at gunpoint, jeez.”

“Seriously, guys,” you laughed. “We’re not messing with you.”

“So all the fighting… It was fake?” Shotaro rubbed his temples, presumably remembering all the times he’d felt the need to step in and break up your little arguments.

“Not really?” You half-answered. “I mean, we really do bicker like, all the time.”

“But not because we hate each other’s guts,” Sungchan added.

“Sorry.”

“Ha!” Eunseok fist-pumped victoriously, then pointed to everyone else. “Alright, pay up, bitches.”

They all started groaning and refusing loudly.

“Come on, don’t be sore losers.”

“No, you said they hated each other to cover up secret crushes on each other,” Anton argued. “You said nothing about a secret relationship.”

“Exactly!” Sohee agreed. “We don’t owe you shit!”

“Same difference!” Eunseok scoffed.

“Big difference!” Wonbin resisted.

Nudging Sungchan with your elbow, you then locked eyes with him, and immediately knew you had the same idea. Right as the two of you turned around and started walking off, however, the loud, accusatory voice of Shotaro called after you.

“Woah, woah, woah, where are you two going?” He was glaring at you with his hands on his hips, reminding you an awful lot of your mother.

“If you guys are just going to keep arguing, we’re going to the games.” You jabbed your thumb over your shoulder in the general direction of all the games.

“I’ve got to win my girl something, obviously,” Sungchan explained, smiling down at you.

You snorted. “If you even can.”

“That doesn’t sound like a girl who wants me to win her the huge cow Squishmallow she was totally eyeing earlier,” he teased, loudly kissing the top of your head several times in a row.

Eunseok gasped and pointed at you accusatorily. “Oh my god, it was you two sucking faces on the Ferris Wheel earlier! Wasn’t it?!”

You figuratively and literally bit your tongue, opting not to answer directly.

“I’m going to puke,” Sohee announced, covering his mouth.

“Anyway, you guys are welcome to find us whenever you’ve figured out your whole bet thing,” Sungchan offered, gesturing to all of them. “If it’s worth anything, I think Eunseok was sort of right.”

“And he totally owes us half his winnings,” you said, then gave them all a cheery wave. “Bye!”

As the two of you took off towards the games, the other six devolved into loud bickering again, mostly ganging up against Eunseok, with the occasional comment about Eunseok giving some of his money to you and Sungchan.

“That should keep them occupied for a good thirty minutes at least,” Sungchan sighed with content.

“Are we bad people?” You questioned.

“Maybe a little.”

“Thirty minutes should be enough for you to win me that cow, right?”

“As if you even need to ask, baby.”

⤷ blog masterlist

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revrover · 2 years ago

Text

The Stranger - Pt 1

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, blood, brief mentions of violence and alcohol

Summary: Upon discovering the unconscious body of a woman floating in the water, you rush to provide aid. Little do you know her people are searching for her, bringing a mysterious man to your door.

A/N: Still very new to writing fanfic (this is literally post number two), but couldn’t get this drabble out of my brain for a week so here it is. Please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

It’s close to dusk when you make your way from town back to your home on the secluded shoreline. With food and supplies in a bag slung over your shoulder, it will be another two or three days before you head back to restock. Although a fair distance, you have come to cherish the 5-mile trek into town. Walking along less traveled paths, visiting with the locals, and admiring the breathtaking nature around you have become some of your favorite things about living on the island.

As the sun steals its last glimpse over the horizon, the vibrant orange and purple hues stretching across the sky begin to dim. The outline of a small bungalow comes into view about a hundred meters down the way. The warm glow of lanterns you hung before you left shines from the front porch, welcoming your return.

You stumbled across this place two years ago, abandoned and needing major repair. Maybe it was just your nature to see the beauty and potential in broken things, but as soon as you laid eyes on the residence, your heart was set on it. Wrapped around the front is a porch with stairs that lead down onto a stone path, eventually making its way to the sand. Through the front door, an open entryway and a small kitchen are situated to the left accompanied by a simple sitting area. To the right is a doorway that leads to your bedroom and bathroom. It's a humble home, but you've worked hard to make it comfortable.

As you walk the familiar pathway toward the bungalow, you look out at the ocean. You watch as the water dances its way up the beach with every push and pull of the tide, waves gently lapping their way up onto the sand to make a melodic rhythm. You breathe in the salty air and revel in the beauty the island so generously offers.

The moment of serenity is interrupted when, out of the corner of your eye, you notice something just past the wave breaks. You squint as you try to focus your gaze to ensure the evening shadows aren't playing tricks on you. A shiver shoots down your spine.

There's something floating in the water. Only, it's not something. It's someone.

"Oh my god," you say in disbelief, your eyes widening as you feel the air rush from your lungs.

You react on pure instinct, immediately dropping your bag to the ground and sprinting into the water. Taking a deep breath, you plunge straight into the waves, pumping your arms and kicking your legs until they burn. You swim as hard as you can toward the body as it floats face down.

When you reach it, you fear the worst. Quickly you turn it over to check for a pulse and discover it is a woman. Her frame is small, but she's solid and muscular. Body adorned with beautiful gold and jade trinkets, she appears to be wearing some sort of woven armor. You also notice her raven-black hair tied in a knot on top of her head, and a mesh-like apparatus covering her nose and mouth.

You carefully cradle the woman's head, lifting it out of the water.

"What the hell??" You mutter in shock.

Right before your eyes, part of the woman’s face that is now exposed to the air turns a pale pigment of blue. She seems human enough, yet the way the blueness of her skin contrasts with its golden tones underneath the ocean surface makes you question what she might be instead.

All thoughts are pushed aside, however, the moment your attention is drawn to the sight of blood. Two gouges, a laceration across her shoulder, and a wound to her abdomen are seeping red into the salt water. She’s in poor condition and time is not on your side.

Doing your best to grapple her body, you kick your feet and pull the woman back to shore. The tide's added assistance gives you both the momentum needed to propel you toward the beach. As soon as you are able to stand, you turn and haul her body the rest of the way out of the ocean.

Gently you lay her on a patch of dry sand as you take a moment to catch your breath. Your chest repeatedly rises and falls, your lungs straining for more oxygen. Staring at her now, you feel your heart nearly pounding out of your chest as the rest of her body turns the same shade of blue as her face. You shake your head as you fight back both your fear and curiosity. Whatever the woman's origins, tending to her wounds is your main priority. Help her now, and ask questions later.

Still unconscious, you reach up to remove the apparatus over her face, preparing to administer CPR. Suddenly, her arm shoots out and grasps your wrist, scaring the shit out of you. With unbelievable strength, she restrains any movement your hand could possibly make. Her eyes are wide and intense, pupils dilated.

"Okay, okay, I won't mess with it!" You promise. Her grip slackens as her eyes roll to the back of her head, losing consciousness again.

You rub your wrist, the bruise already forming. Deciding it would be best to move her from behind, you link yourself under her arms and pull her towards your home, unwittingly leaving a trail of sand and blood behind you.

Making it to the bungalow, you manage to get the woman inside and onto your kitchen table. She's breathing, but it's shallow. Quickly, you grab all the first aid and sewing supplies you can scrounge out of the cabinets. You swipe a bottle of tequila from the shelf above the sink for good measure. Then you get to work to patch her up the best you can.

You clean the wound on her abdomen first, as that's where the bleeding is most prominent. Disinfecting it, applying pressure, then sewing it up, you focus meticulously on the needle in your hand, threading it back and forth through her skin. Once you finish, you fashion a bandage to soak up the excess blood.

The sky is dark as you move on to her shoulder to do the same. It feels like hours have gone by as you continue dressing the woman's wounds. It’s well into the night now, and the only light reflecting off the ocean for miles is from the moon and the lanterns of your home.

That's when he finds you.

A dark figure emerges from the water. He surveys the scene in front of him, eyes filling with rage as his focus dials in on the bloody trail leading up to your door. Spear in hand and body seething with anger, he marches towards your little house.

Just as you clip the thread used to sew up the woman's shoulder and begin to apply another bandage, you're startled by a deafening CRASH!

Behind you, your front door gets obliterated. Through it, storms a man who quickly steps over the wooden debris that now litters the floor. His presence swallows the room as water drips off of his body. His eyes lock on to yours.

"Holy shit!" You exclaim in terror. Before you know what is happening, he has made his way over to you, aggressively backing you up against the kitchen cabinets.

Face-to-face with you now, he holds the tip of his spear to your throat, grazing your skin with it threateningly. He leans in so close you smell the salty ocean spray that covers his dark skin and can practically see your reflection in the cold piece of jade pierced through his septum. His breath is steady, but his glare is wild and ferocious. You raise your hands, attempting to show you mean no harm, only you don't account for the fact that your arms are covered in the woman's blood. His look becomes more menacing.

"What have you done?" He growls, his voice low and dangerous. A fire is burning in his eyes as they widen with rage.

"I'm helping her! I'm helping her!" is all you manage to say as you plead your case to the mysterious, hostile stranger.

His stare remains intense as you feel the growing pressure of the cold metal spear against your throat. Everything inside you is screaming, telling you to close your eyes and that one way or another it will all be over soon. But you don't - you hold your ground and hold his gaze, searching his face for any shred of hope that he will spare your life.

The man's eyes flick over to the woman on the table, taking in more of the scene. As his head turns, you notice his pointed ears and beautifully hand-carved gauges made of jade. He turns his head slowly back to you, looking at you this time as if deliberating in his mind whether or not you are telling the truth.

Again he leans in close, and you hold your breath as you await his final verdict.

"You will speak of this to no one." It's not a question. It's a command.

You nod, willing to agree to anything at this point if it means not having your jugular sliced open.

"You will forget this night, and what you have seen."

Again you nod.

He keeps the spear pointed at your throat while carefully backing away toward the table. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as adrenaline pumps through your veins. You don't dare move a muscle.

The man retreats, withdrawing his spear and scooping up the woman who looks so petite in his arms. He carries her through the doorway but stops to look back at you. He says nothing, but his eyes are deadlocked on yours. You can’t describe or decipher the electric sensation that runs through your body at that moment, so you chalk it up to being in shock.

Finally, he turns to leave, seemingly floating down to the shoreline with the woman securely in his arms. You watch as they disappear into the ocean and the night.

Left alone, surrounded only by silence, the stinging memory of a blade against your neck, and a buzzing in your chest, you look around the empty kitchen. Blood and first aid supplies cover your table; debris that was once your front door now lays scattered across the floor, a draft gliding its way through your home.

Your mind is still processing everything that has happened. Physically and emotionally, you are exhausted.

"Screw it," you say out loud, grabbing the tequila still on the table and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I'm going to bed."

You wake up the next morning as the sun is starting to rise and feel just as exhausted as when you had fallen asleep. Your mind is hazy. Your body is sore. You get up and pull on a fresh shirt and some shorts before making your way out of your bedroom. Groggily you shuffle through the entryway and into the kitchen to greet last night's mess.

Only a few steps into the kitchen, however, you stop. Blinking a few times, you rub your eyes. On the table, where bloodied gauze, cloths, sewing needles, and the works had been scattered, now sits your bag next to a neat pile of the food and supplies you had gathered from yesterday's trip into town. You look down at your feet to discover a clean, debris-less floor. Moving in reverse, you pace a few steps back into the entryway and turn your head. Stunned, you see a new, beautifully carved wooden door in place of where your old one had been kicked down the night before.

You pinch your temples as you try to convince yourself you're not losing your mind. You move closer to inspect the door. Eyes full of wonder and amazement, you run your fingers down its wooden grooves. The surface is smooth as stone, yet the grain in it gives the material a richness that makes your jaw drop as you admire it.

Before you can even ask yourself how it was possible, you open the door and your breath catches in your throat. The man from last night is sitting there on your front porch, legs hanging off the edge of it, looking out at the softly illuminated horizon.

"I apologize about the door." He says, still facing the ocean.

Fear takes over as you find yourself frozen in his presence. He senses your uneasiness and, still seated on the edge of the porch, turns toward you. He raises one hand to the air as a sign of his peaceful intention.

"I promise I am not here to bring harm to you... or your home," he adds, his eyes trailing toward the doorway. You say nothing, equally stunned and confused by his being there.

"I am sorry for threatening you," he says, his voice turning somber. "I didn't know what you were doing to her."

"Is she okay?" You ask, finally finding your voice. "Your wife?"

He lets out a sharp chuckle.

"Namora isn't my wife, she's one of my generals -- my best, in fact. And yes, she is okay, thanks to you."

A general. You avert your gaze, feeling foolish for assuming incorrectly. Suddenly the events of last night take on a different tone than what you had perceived.

"We had been searching for her for two days." The man continues to explain, "When I finally traced her whereabouts here and found her with you, I assumed the worst." He looks back out toward the ocean. "History has not typically been kind to my people in these types of situations."

You feel your chest tighten as the weight of his words sinks in. Your eyes wander from the ground up to the stranger. You watch as beads of salt water forge paths on his skin, rolling from his dark slick hair down the toned muscles of his back.

"Who... are your people, exactly? Who are you?" You find the courage to ask.

He turns back to look at you, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he considers his answers.

"There are some who know me as K’uk’ulkan." He says thoughtfully. "But most know me as Namor." Pushing himself up to a stand, he continues, "As for my people, that is a discussion for another time."

Namor walks up to you, and once again you find yourself face-to-face with him. Only this time his presence is not menacing, it's hypnotizing.

"Thank you," he says softly, "for what you did. It will not be forgotten."

There's a rich sincerity in his voice. Mesmerized by it, all you can muster in response is a nod of your head. A slight smile pulls at the corners of Namor's mouth as he closely studies your face. The light of the morning sun reflects in his eyes, and where you had only seen brooding darkness before, you now see shimmering flecks of gold. Everything about him is beautiful.

"You are not what I expected." He says warmly, leaning in closer as if the two of you are sharing a secret. He lingers there a moment longer. Then, all too soon, he nods and turns to head down the stairs of your front porch. As he reaches the end of the stone walkway, he stops before stepping out onto the sand.

"Remember," he says, repeating his instructions from your encounter last night, only gentler. "Speak of this to no one."

"Will you be back?" You ask earnestly. You don't know what prompts your question, other than the thought of his departure suddenly pulling at your soul in a way you can't explain.

He turns back to look at you and smiles. You return it with a smile of your own. No words are needed for you to know that somehow, someday, you would see him again.

You watch from the porch as Namor strides out into the water and disappears below the surface. The sun glimmers brilliantly across the waves as they engulf him in their deep abyss.

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