#i had to reply to this despite myself because he was like

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I can't bring myself to imagine this shit of a man (Cyprus) with these sappy 'If you love me if I were a worm' questions like Yves because he gonna spitting this.

"A worm, huh? Pretty fucking specific. What kind of worm are we talking about here? A cute little earthworm or one of those gross-ass parasites?"

I will be a parasites for Yves ✊😔💕♥️

Tw: dub con, smut, afab reader

It has been a long day of work, you and Cyprus are both exhausted and ready to just end the day. He settled you into his bed first before diving in, smothering you in his big arms and beefy pecs. He whispered good night and pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. You made yourself comfortable on his chest, as usual, using him as a pillow.

After a few minutes, you softly called his name to get his attention.

"Hmm?" He sleepily replied to you, his large hand absentmindedly squeezing your rear as he waited for your response.

You asked him if he would still love you if you were a worm. He immediately snorted in amusement.

"Another one of your internet trends, baby?" He shuffled around so that you were lying on your side, facing him directly. "Alright, I give up. What's the answer to this week's riddle?" Cyprus tickled under your chin with his index finger, causing you to squirm and pull away; to which he chuckled.

You said this isn't a riddle, and you just want to know his answer. There is no right or wrong, just whatever he thinks is an appropriate answer.

He hummed again, before suddenly crashing his lips onto yours. You let out a muffled yell but it was cut short when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. His hands wander under your shorts and shirt, sensually caressing and prodding at all the sensitive spots. You couldn't escape as his legs trapped yours in place. Soon, the question was forgotten as you allowed yourself to sink deeper into pleasure, he has always been a damn good kisser.

You fell into a daze, watching his silhouette take his tank top off as he straddled your hips. Although it's dark in the room, you could see that he has that handsome smirk on his face, you could feel it.

He started kissing and nibbling on your neck- surely leaving hickeys for you to shamefully cover up or flaunt the next day. His hands work hard to slide your shirt and shorts off your body. But then, you regained a bit of agency and stuttered whatever was on your mind: the question regarding love and worms. You stumbled on your words but the meaning behind them was still obvious.

Cyprus snickered against the nape of your neck, "You didn't specify how I should answer that, doll." Your breath hitched when you felt him needily pressing against your already slick entrance.

You whined, telling him to tell you his answer. But before you could even finish your sentence, you gasped when he thrust himself into you, making you feel so full and stuffed despite thinking that you had gotten used to his size.

"You and your funny internet questions..." He muttered before pressing another kiss onto your drooling lips. Cyprus momentarily pulled away and massaged your hips, "Fine, you want words? I'll use words." He brushed messy strands of hair away from your stunned face.

"If you were a worm, I'd be on you like a fucking trout." Cyprus lets out a loud, hearty laugh at his own answer, finding it silly and cheesy, yet he's proud of it. You were too far deep in h(ell)eaven to even register what he said, all you could focus on was how he kept ramming deep into that sweet, sweet spot.

Although you two were originally dog-tired, Cyprus somehow managed to worm the energy in to fuck you all night. Or at least, fuck the question out of your mind, so you wouldn't ask him that anymore.

Actually, he doesn't mind if you do. Because he likes the answer he came up with for the question, very much. He especially likes the part where you cummed on his cock twice before he could even finish inside of you once.

His answer is so good, that it kept blanking your brain. And Cyprus takes great pride in that.

[fortifice]

The Captain of the Silvermane Guard? He’s young, exceptionally handsome, respected by all those who know him. He comes from a noble, wealthy family, he’s kind hearted and brave, loyal to his people to a fault, and he never wavers in his dedication to protecting them even when he’s on the verge of collapse. By all means, you would think someone like him has everything and more a person could long for in this world. It’s unfortunate that it’s all a mask and nothing more. I don’t see someone’s who has the entire world in the pan of their hand. More like… someone who has been forced to bear the weight of it on his back for as long as he can remember. Has he ever once in his life been asked what he wanted? Does he even know? Can he name to you his closest friends, or the last meaningful relationship he was in without having to stop and mull it over?

I can admire his more impressive qualities, of which their are many, and still feel a vague sense of disgust at a population who would expect someone who hasn’t even had the chance to live yet to lay down his life so they can continue their own uninterrupted. Where is the justice? If someone born into that kind of privilege can be sentenced to a prolonged, inevitable death in the freezing cold, surrounded by monsters and fallen comrades, what the hell is there to hold out hope for? I won’t pretend to understand what happened with the last Supreme Guardian, but all I know is that for a planet that claims to embody Preservation, it’s pretty damned pathetic that no one thought of looking to alternate solutions instead of sending their sons to die every few years. To allow a tyrannical monarch to segregate the population in half and leave the less fortunate side to rot should have been a cal to serve her head on a platter and take control back of their own destiny.

What was done to those guards that they were okay with leaving some of their people for dead instead of standing up for what was right?

What came first, the people of Belobog losing faith in the idea that circumstances could improve if even just a fraction of them stood up and rallied for change? Or the previous generation breaking down their children to the point where complacency and absolute obedience was the only thing they were permitted to do?

But things are improving now. Belobog has outside help, allies, friends. They have options. It’s time to let the guards live instead of expecting them to sacrifice their bodies and souls to death only to raise their children to do the same thing.

If I could ask the Captain two things it would be this: what does he truly want? And would he ever willingly force his own child into the position he is in now? If the answer is no, then somewhere song the way, someone failed the guards.

It was painful to hear the truth so candidly, for they had grown complacent when facing the imminence of death at every dawn and laying their fallen brethren as dusk settled. It was not to say that it was a merciful thing, it was to say that they expected it, it was the way things had always been, would always be. He had seethed with the unjustness of it for so many years, trod the path of his forefathers and accepted that he would die, it was fate, for someone to stand up and ask who wanted this ? who asked for this, there wasn’t an answer he could give that was truthful. No one wanted to die. The men he had marched into battle with that had lost their lives had wanted to live more than anything else, when someone had seen them huddled around a fire laughing heartily, sharing meals together, living together, it became so excruciatingly obvious that none of them had asked for this. He does not take his position as captain lightly, for as much as it is a shackle he has always walked with it with pride. It was an intrinsic part of who he was, but to ask what he wanted, would he be an honest man if he answered that this was all he had ever coveted, that it was not imprisonment, condemning young men to die for the sake of preserving normalcy. Not many were brazen enough to speak up against the Supreme Guardian’s will, it had encompassed belobog for decades, in the wake of her death things were changing but it was like thawing frozen, brittle cogs. Everything would take time, it was an inevitable thing that, because these people had become accustomed to survival, not living. This commanding letter imbued with all that fervent emotion makes his chest ache, because he knows it’s not wrong - he knows he does not have the answers that they might want. But when they ask him, implore him for his own feelings, is this what he wanted ? would he force his children to take up the mantle and die for the people of belobog. He looks haunted by that revelation, because he knows that his truth is not in accordance with the Supreme Guardian’s will that had dictated so much of his life. “ No..” it sounds pained, like he were gritting it out from between his teeth, like every breath in the wake of change was excruciating for him. He was having to learn about himself, about others, when his whole life had been shaped for one thing and now he was left to reel in the aftermath of it, change wasn’t easy - it wasn’t pleasant, it hurt. “ I would not condemn anyone else to walk the path I have, it is far too imbued with suffering and death.” he could envision the other’s hands clenched into fists, grabbing his white livery and shaking him until he realized that he did not need to die for them, no one wanted him dead. “ If I was afforded the opportunity I would leave this place.” it’s such a blasphemous thing to say, that his whole soul keens beneath the weight of it. “ I have spent much of my life protecting it but all I have wanted is to leave.” wouldn’t it make others recoil from him, knowing that the pristine white of the captain’s uniform was stained with the desire to walk away from it all. The death was too much, when someone asked for him to be honest he thought he may be crushed under the corollary of his confession. “ Their words are harsh but they are not wrong, Belobog needs to change.” and this letter he crumples up, he doesn’t throw it away, he thinks if another’s prying eyes were to lay upon it they too might suffer with the revelations he did. 

[front-facing-pokemon]

[despairforme]

He's swiping right on literally everyone now. Fuck it. He's gonna find a date.

[burger-goblin]

.

[coldvampire]

.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[mangoofthesea]

.

[delulujuls]

so cold | house of the dragon

hi, if you haven't watched s02e02 of hotd yet and you don't want spoilers, then please don't scroll below. but feel free to hit a heart button if you wanna came back later and check on this one.

all rights to ideas used here belongs to george r.r. martin, hbo and warner bros, i just added a bit to them from myself. title is inspired by so cold by ben coaks. also, in this one reader is viserys' fifth child, older than helaena but younger than aemond, aegon and rhaenyra.

summary: targaryens started falling into madness forgetting that they are family and a strong family needs love, not war

warnings: death of a child, murder, explaining of a killing

pairing: sister!reader x rhaenyra targaryen x aegon targaryen (ft. daemon the troublemaker)

Young mother cradled child in her arms, rocking her gently to sleep. She lovingly pressed her daughter to her chest, softly humming under her breath. The girl slept, nestled against her mother, who couldn't bear to let her go. She feared that if her daughter left her embrace, something terrible might happen to her.

Someone will hurt her like they hurt her beloved boy.

"Your grace, you should rest," one of the maids whispered, preparing the queen's chamber for the night.

At one point, the young woman didn't hear her words, staring into the candle flame and lightly rocking her daughter in her arms. After a moment, she looked up at the servant and, realizing she had momentarily lost touch with reality, only sniffed and nodded. She carefully laid the girl in bed, covering her with a blanket. She gently sat next to her, hastily wiping herself her tear-streaked cheeks. Young queen placed a hand on her daughter's head, tenderly stroking it.

"Your grace," the maid began again, trying to encourage her to rest, but the she didn't let her finish "Stay with her until I return, alright?"

She asked, but it sounded more like a command. Y/N lifted her gaze to the maid, who nodded quickly. The young queen glanced at her daughter one last time, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She adjusted the blanket on her one last time and then stood up. The maid immediately took her place. She didn't look at the sleeping girl, but at her mother, who quickly put on a cloak and hood over her nightgown.

"Where are you going, my lady?" the maid asked softly, nervously clutching her apron. She knew there were two guards outside the queen's chamber, and no other entrance to it. Yet, she was terrified of the responsibility the woman was placing on her, leaving her child in her care, after everything that happened not so long ago.

"I need some fresh air," she replied, wiping her wet cheeks again. Despite her whisper, her voice was firm. "I'll be back shortly. You're safe here."

The maid nodded and watched the young queen leave. She disappeared behind heavy doors guarded by two knights of the Royal Guard, who straightened up as soon as they saw her.

"Your grace," one greeted her, about to ask where she was going, noticing her attire suggested an outing. However, she cut him off. "I need some fresh air before sleep. Until I return, there's a maid inside with Jaehaera. Let no one inside, and if anyone asks, I'm asleep."

She announced, scanning their faces to ensure they understood her words. The knights nodded and bowed, because who were they to deny the queen leaving the castle, especially in her current state? Each of the three people Y/N informed of her departure assumed the young queen would take a short stroll around the castle or stop in one of the gardens to clean her mind before going to bed. However, Y/N was heading to the Dragonpit, not even thinking about going to sleep any time soon.

When she arrived, the dragons immediately sensed her presence. Feeling her sadness and grief, they murmured softly, with their gaze following her steps toward Vermithor. The old dragon knew where he would have to fly before she even appeared inside. He would fly to Dragonstone.

The cold, night wind swept tears from the young queen's cheeks as she sat on the back of the Bronze Fury. She realized she didn't actually know what to say when she will arrive to the castle. Would the guards even let her in? Would Rhaenyra want to talk? Maybe Daemon was nearby on Caraxes, wanting to attack her?

However, no one attacked her from the air, and when she landed, no one awaited her with an army. As she reached the castle gates, she removed her hood, letting her white hair fell over her shoulders.

"Your grace," the guards bowed, but they would have lied if they claimed her appearance didn't shock them.

"I want to talk to Rhaenyra," she announced, looking at their faces. Seeing her swollen eyes and wet cheeks, they didn't even dare ask if she was armed. Before them was a grieving mother who didn't want war. She wanted explanations.

When Rhaenyra was awakened and informed of her sister's visit, she quickly went to the main hall, barefoot and in her nightgown. She felt like she was still dreaming and her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she saw her sister accompanied by two guards, she realized the reality. Sisters looked at each other in silence, unsure of what to say and how to begin. Rhaenyra felt a lump in her throat when she saw in what state Y/N was. She felt like she was looking at her reflection from a few weeks ago when she herself mourned her son's death. Y/N's eyes welled with tears again. She hadn't seen Rhaenyra for so long.

"Nyra-," she began, but her voice broke. The older woman started towards her, but a guard stopped her with a hand gesture.

"Your grace, we don't know-," "She's my sister," she said firmly, glaring at him. She passed the young knight and approached the girl, whom she immediately hugged. As soon as she closed her in her arms, Y/N began to sob. Rhaenyra held her tightly, feeling her own tears burning beneath her eyelids.

"They killed my boy," she cried, clenching her fists on Rhaenyra's robe. "They killed my angel, who did nothing wrong. Why? Why did they kill one of the two most innocent people in this cursed castle?"

Rhaenyra had no answer to any of her questions. Even if she wanted to say something, she couldn't, being completely out of words. She hugged her sister, who trembled in her arms. Despite her heavy cloak and cape, she felt her body shaking.

Still embracing young queen, Rhaenyra led her to one of the couches where they sat together. She held her hands tightly as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say. Y/N had no idea what to say either, she just wanted to rid herself of all the pain no one in the castle cared about. No one wanted to listen to her, no one even wanted to hug and comfort her; everyone needed to be heard and comforted as well. Of all the people, Y/N could only come to Rhaenyra, who was now an enemy to all of King's Landing. However, for the young queen, she was not an enemy but a sister and a mother who had recently mourned the death of her child, too. No one could understand her better.

"They cut off his little head as if he were a worthless pig," she said bitterly, staring into the flame dancing in the fireplace. Rhaenyra saw that Y/N still had her dead son's body before her eyes, and she knew that the sight would stay with her for a long time. She would give anything to relieve her pain.

"I've never seen such a small coffin. And it was still too big for him," Rhaenyra quickly wiped her wet cheeks herself, but it didn't gave much help.

"Instead of treating his funeral properly and with respect," Y/N began, but her voice broke. "Otto ordered a procession. They dragged him through the entire city along paths he was not even able to walk in his lifetime."

Despite the sadness, grief, and sympathy, Rhaenyra began to feel anger. The Hightowers turned the death of a child into a spectacle to portray them as victims and her as a murderer. It wasn't even about deciding to condemn her even more; it was the fact that they used the tragic death of an innocent child for it.

"He said Alicent and I should take part in the procession so that people would sympathize more. She…she-," young queen began to sob, to which Rhaenyra hugged her tightly. "When I said I didn't want to, she declared it was my duty. It wasn't my duty, was it?"

"Of course not," she answered, stroking her head. Rhaenyra's tears soaked her sister's hair as she hugged her. "You didn't deserve this, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

The young queen cried in her arms, and Rhaenyra continued to hug her tightly. All she could do at the moment was provide her with a little comfort, which she was so eager for. Y/N herself had not been a child so long ago and now she had to deal with such suffering.

After a while, when the wave of despair passed, Y/N moved away from her sister and looked at her face, desperately seeking explanations.

"What actually happened, Nyra?"

"There was a mistake," a voice came from the corner before Rhaenyra was even able to open her mouth to speak. When Daemon came out of the shadows, Rhaenyra hugged her sister tighter and gave him a fierce look.

"You have no right to be here," she said sharply, but her voice trembled on the last spoken word.

"I have the right to explanations," he replied calmly, looking at her and then at his niece. The young queen looked at him in silence, finally wanting to know the truth. The pain could be devastating, but she knew that moving forward would require it.

"Why-," she began, biting her lip painfully. She didn't want to cry in front of him. "Why did they kill my little boy?"

"Aemond was supposed to die," he said, approaching. "Son for son."

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, snuggling into her sister. She couldn't look at her uncle.

"They didn't find Aemond, but they found you and your children-" "That's enough," Rhaenyra interrupted sharply. "Leave, now."

However, Daemon approached even closer, still looking at his niece. He knelt in front of her.

"There are no words to describe how sorry I am," he said quietly but firmly. "I'm so sorry Y/N, that you got caught up in this conflict. You and your children shouldn't be involved at all."

The young queen sniffled and looked at him tearfully. She felt a cold hand tighten around her throat, struggling to breathe because of what she heard.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he repeated, this time looking her in the eye.

"How many more family members will I have to mourn for this madness to end?"

Rhaenyra kissed her temple and hugged her tightly. The three of them remained silent for an indefinite time. At one point, Y/N stood up, breaking free from her sister's embrace. She wiped her wet cheeks and took a deep breath.

"Aegon is angry and wants war," she began, looking around them. "But more than anger, it's grief that consumes him. He lost a child."

"We don't want war either," Rhaenyra assured, holding her hand. "The last thing I want is more death."

"I'll try to talk to him and appeal to his reason," she said, squeezing her sister's hand one last time. "I don't want any more death, too. This has to end."

She was about to leave, but Rhaenyra stood up and hugged her tightly one last time.

"I love you, bird," she whispered, holding her tightly. "I love you and I'm so sorry for all of this."

"I'm not your enemy," Y/N said softly, closing her eyes. "I'm your sister. And I too love you."

After a difficult farewell, the young queen returned to the castle. As she walked through the empty, silent corridors, she tried to be quieter than a mouse. However, as she passed Aegon's chambers, she heard sobbing. Her brother must have sent the guards away because there was no one at the entrance. The girl fought herself for a moment, but after a while she quietly entered the room. Aegon sat by the fireplace, leaning his elbows on his knees. He nervously rubbed his hands and his hair covered his face, but she could hear him crying.

Y/N still had her hand on the doorknob, unsure what to do or say. Since the news of their son's death, they has not spoken a word with each other.

"Aegon..." she began uncertainly, but he didn't react to her words at all. The girl left the door ajar and walked slowly to him, afraid of what she might expect from him.

"I just wanted to-" she didn't have the opportunity to finish, because he caught her around the waist and pulled her towards him, hugging her tightly. The young queen put one hand on his shoulder, the other stroking his head. She herself felt tears under her eyelids again.

"Why does this keep happening to us?" he asked, raising his head and looking at her from below. Aegon also desperately needed explanations that could help him digest the pain, but no one wanted to provide them to him. The girl touched his tear-stained cheek and wiped it off, shaking her head helplessly. She also didn't have an answer to the question that would haunt them for the next few weeks, months, maybe even years.

"I just wanted to be happy and have a loving family," he said, his voice breaking. "What did i do wrong?"

Y/N burst into tears again and sat on his lap, hugging him tightly. Aegon hugged her even tighter, ignoring her cloak and the smell of the night she brought with her into his chambers. At that moment, all he desperately needed was a little comfort and a silent assurance that everything would somehow work out.

She needed it, too.

Targaryens needed each other.

[ellecdc]

I’ve been thinking about a Remus (or ig any ship that includes him?) x metamorphmagus!reader who is always turning into other people in order to mess with people. despite them being very good at acting and visually/audibly indistinguishable from their target, once the moon comes close and his senses are heightened Remus is able to recognize them from scent alone. I also think he’s observant enough that even when his senses are as normal as they can be, he is able to notice little ticks and habits that break through the disguise. I don’t think he would ruin their fun, observing and if he isn’t in pain even helping with their mischief.

It’s just such a cute little concept to me, and I think it could be fun to play with, so I would love to see if you can come up with a little Drabble or something about it! Thank you mother ❤️ I love confident and mischievous readers with quiet but enabling characters

this was a cute concept! thanks for the request! also, I didn't intend for this to be Potter!reader, but with the way the story went it ended up feeling like it had to be potter reader hahaha

Remus Lupin x Potter!reader who is a metamorphmagus [800 words]

CW: fem!reader, 'your mama' insults, talking about students getting it on in a broom closet

“Never thought I’d find myself happier to see this Black than the other one.” Barty Crouch Junior drawled as he sauntered into the library looking innocent for all intents and purposes - but Remus knew better.

“Sod off, Junior.” Sirius sneered back as he glared at the Slytherin from behind his book. 

“Oh, someone’s getting off, I can assure you.” He jeered; a mischievous sparkle shining in his eye giving Remus not nearly enough time to prepare for the coming theatrics. 

“Oh? Could you hear me and your mum last night?” Sirius replied haughtily, turning a page of his book for show. “I’ll try to make sure we’re quieter next time, but she’s a screamer.” 

Barty simply hummed as he dragged a finger across the back of a chair; expression glowing like he was simply loving this. “Are family members not off limits then, Black? Because if that’s the case, someone really ought to tell Reg and Potter that there's no need to be rutting against each other in the third floor broom closet like a couple of ne’er-do-wells.”

Sirius was standing in record time; his chair grating across the floors before landing with a thunk and his book (prop) laying long forgotten.

“You’re not serious.” Sirius spat menacingly, a true testament to how riled up he got over his brother and best friend (even though the two had been publicly dating for almost two months now) that he didn’t even bother censoring himself against the verb form of his name.

“Deadly.” Barty smirked, and that was all it took for Sirius to go racing off into the castle to cause a bigger scene than either Regulus or James had been prior to the announcement of their secret tryst. 

The library returned to its prior volume as Remus watched 'Barty' simply stare after the last place Sirius could be seen. 

“That’s not nice, dove.” Remus chided gently, though he didn’t bother hiding his smirk as he stared back down at his book.

“Whatever do you mean, Lupin?” You sneered back, but you were wearing a beaming smile that told him clearly you knew the ruse was up. 

“James has been trying very hard to make sure he isn’t throwing his relationship with Regulus in Sirius’ face.” Remus explained tiredly, though it was all for show. 

“And James has been making it very hard for me to not want to stab myself with a quill during quidditch practices.” You pouted as you took the seat across from him.

“All this over quidditch drills?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

You didn’t break his gaze nor the pout of your lips as you added “and he ate the last of my fizzing whizzbees.” 

Remus hummed in understanding. “An egregious crime, certainly.”

“Right? What would you have done if he’d eaten all your chocolate?”

“Nothing short of murder; he’d be out the dormitory window.”

“See, I knew you’d get it.” You replied with a smirk, though your eyes turned soft as you looked him over.

“Be nice to your brother.” He murmured quietly, earning a dramatic groan as you threw your head back in exasperation.

“I don’t have to be nice to him, he’s my brother.” 

“What would your mum say?” He asked as he leaned back in his chair and held his book against his lips to hide the smile on his face.

You groaned again and looked over at him nonplussed. “To be nice to my brother.” You offered back in monotone.

He lowered his book so you could see his beaming smile, causing you to launch forward in an attempt to swipe his book from him only for him to catch your wrist instead.

“How did you even know it was me? I thought I had the impression down pat.” You murmured quietly, face now inches from his.

“You certainly look like Junior.” Remus conceded as he gave you a once over. “But he would have never let that comment about his mum fly.”

You let out a bark of laughter that Remus knew to be only yours. “That’s true, I suppose. I’ll do better next time.”

Remus gave you a shake of his head in faux admonishment as he leaned closer to you. “I’ll always recognise my sweet girl.” He murmured, massaging the inside of your wrist that he was holding captive with his thumb. “I’d recognise you by smell alone.” 

Your gaze turned hungry as your eyes flit down to his lips and then back up again. 

But Remus pulled away before you could connect your lips to his.

“Do not kiss me as Barty Crouch Junior.” He deadpanned, causing you to let out raucous laughter that got you more than a few shush’s from surrounding tables before he watched you melt back into yourself.

Remus loved your mischief, but this was by far his favourite version of you.

[sashaforthewin]

Multi-chapter fic on Ao3

Steve had been enjoying a nice relaxing lounge by the pool despite it being night. He had his hearing aid off and his fruity drink and a romance novel Robin had let him borrow. He was determined to have a good time despite the circumstances. 

Someone tapped his foot, scaring the crap out of Steve and making him drop his book and nearly knock over his drink. 

It was a fellow cruise passenger and he was saying something. Steve turned his hearing aid back on.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked why you were out here instead of at the concert,” repeated the man with a smile.

“Oh, um. I’m not actually a fan of metal music. It gives me headaches if I listen to more than one or two songs in a row,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

This stranger was still clearly a metal head, but he looked significantly less scary than most of the ones he had seen so far that day. Everyone Steve met had been nice, but Steve hadn’t felt comfortable telling anyone he wasn’t a fan until now. Maybe because it was just the two of them out here and he was smiling so cutely. 

“Not a metal fan? Well damn, not to critique your life choices, but I think maybe going on a metal cruise wasn’t an ideal choice for you? I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve.”

There were plenty of deck lounges around, all empty, but Eddie sat down on Steve’s right next to his legs. 

“Steve. So Steve, why are you on a metal cruise when you don’t like metal? These tickets were not exactly cheap and there’s no way you missed the theme, it was pretty clearly advertised,” Eddie asked teasingly.

Steve looked Eddie over, noting that he was actually pretty cute. Pretty eyes, nice full lips, dimples, and he was that type of lanky Steve was drawn to. He had good skin and his hair had some volume and texture to it, Steve could work with that. Bit of a fixer-upper, but a better starting point than most of the men that had flirted with him since his last failed relationship. He also had the vibe, so Steve decided this guy would be fine to open up to. 

“Well, Eddie, I bought this ticket for my dear friend Dustin for his birthday, but then the little shit went and outed me to my parents. Accidentally, of course, and he feels like shit about it. But still, that got me kicked out of my home so maybe I’m being petty but I decided he shouldn’t get to go on this cruise after all. I forgive him, it really was an accident, but still, gotta teach him a lesson.” Steve shrugged. “And I would’ve gotten the ticket refunded but the money would’ve gone back to my parents and they clearly don’t deserve to get anything back from me. So, instead of trying to figure out how to sell a ticket to a very niche interest cruise, I figured I deserved to just come and treat myself for four days before I have to go back to living in my ex-girlfriend’s basement. It’s actually pretty nice to have the ship to myself while all you guys are in there shaking your heads to loud music.” Steve gestured to the pool and the drink.

“Ex- girl friend’s basement?” Eddie asked.

“Shut up, I’m bi.” Steve smacked Eddie on the arm with his book. 

Eddie grabbed the book and looked at it as he replied, “Hey, just checking to make sure I’m not barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh? Is that what you’re doing, barking up my tree?” Steve said, playfully.

“If you’ll let me,” Eddie flirted back.

“So how come you’re not in the show right now?” Steve asked, gently stealing his book back from Eddie’s grasp.

“Oh, I’m touring with those guys right now, I have heard them play the same set like fifteen times already. I’d much rather be out here getting to chat with you. You know you’re beautiful, right? How come you don’t live with your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” Eddie asked, quite obvious in his fishing for information.

“I’m single and yes, I do know I’m beautiful, but I still like hearing it. Are you like a roadie or something?”

“Actually,” Eddie said, “I’m the lead guitarist in the headlining band. We play tomorrow night. Can I buy you another drink? Maybe dinner?”

“The, uh, the bill goes to our cabins,” Steve answered, too shocked that an apparently famous musician was asking him out to respond appropriately.

“Baby, I’ll put your entire tab on my cabin if you’ll let me. You are the most beautiful, and dare I say cleanest man on this entire boat. Metal heads are great, but they aren’t really my type.”

Steve takes a sip of his cold drink just to make sure he’s not fallen asleep and dreaming. The ocean is calm and the moon is full and he is most definitely awake.

“And what is your type?” Steve asked. 

“Handsome men with soft hands who will let me pamper them,” Eddie said, picking up Steve’s hand and feeling his lack of calluses. He placed a kiss onto each finger tip. “These hands aren’t meant for labor, let me spoil you rotten.”

Well, Steve reasoned, even if this ended up being just a weekend fling, it was going to be worth the price of admission.

[futurewdclandonorris]

The Interview | Lando Norris⁴

Pairings: Lando Norris x bsf!reader

Warnings: smut

Requested: yes

A/N: My first time writing bsf!Lando yay!!! This was a pain in the ass to edit and as twice to write. I wanted to burn it at least six times in the process, but I finally won that war and here we are. I don't hate it, but don't necessarily like it either, but I hope that's only because I read it like 945437 times and already know every sentence by heart 💀 and that you will actually enjoy it <3

Interviewing your best friend, how hard could it actually be? As you sat across from Lando Norris in the cozy McLaren hospitality, you realized that interviewing him was proving to be much more challenging than you had anticipated. Especially when he was looking like that.

Sweats and hoodies were his all time go to whenever he was at home, and you have seen him wearing it numerous times. But that morning when he came to pick you up from your hotel room, you didn’t expect that exact outfit to be the one to leave you stunned.

As you tried to ignore how effortlessly good he looked, in white sweatpants and a light grey jumper that showcased his lean physique, and curls of his hair falling in just the right way over his forehead, you cleared your throat and focused on the notes in front of you. But as Lando flashed you a charming smile and leaned back in his chair, all thoughts of the interview questions went out the window.

“So, what do you want to know that you already don’t?” Lando asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So, Lando," you began, trying to keep your voice steady, "what do you think sets McLaren apart from the other teams on the grid this season?"

"I think what really sets us apart is our team spirit," he replied. "We have an incredible group of people working together towards a common goal, and that camaraderie is something special." Lando flashed you yet another one of his charming smiles.

His words were filled with passion, and it was impossible not to be captivated by the way his voice drew you in. Despite being your best friend, there was something different about seeing him in his element, fully immersed in his love for the sport.

"It's no secret that you have a huge following on social media," you continued, steering the conversation towards a lighter topic. "How do you handle the pressure of always being under the spotlight?"

Lando chuckled softly before replying, "Oh, you know, I just try to be myself and have fun with it. The fans are amazing, and I'm grateful for all their support. Plus, it helps that my memes game is strong," he added with a wink.

"You definitely have some iconic meme moments," you agreed with a laugh, feeling more at ease now that the conversation had shifted to something more familiar. But beneath the banter and playful exchanges, you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there was something Lando wasn't telling you.

Throughout the interview, you noticed subtle shifts in Lando's demeanor whenever certain topics came up. His jokes became more frequent, his sarcasm sharper, as if he was intentionally deflecting your inquiries. You made a mental note to revisit those moments later, but for now, you decided to go with the flow and enjoy the time with your best friend.

Leaning forward, you fixed him with a steady gaze and said, "Let's talk some more about you. It’s the beginning of a new season and fans are eager to know what your goals are for the upcoming races. Can you share with us what you hope to achieve this year?"

For a moment, there was a flicker of seriousness in his eyes before he smirked and replied, "I hope to give all the other drivers a head start, just to make things interesting," Lando quipped with a mischievous grin.

You chuckled at his response, recognizing the familiar playful tone he always carried. But beneath the humor, you sensed a hint of determination in his eyes. Pushing further, you pressed on, "Come on, Lando. We all know you're not one to settle for anything less than the best. What are your real aspirations for this season?"

“You already know what my aspirations are, y/n. Can’t you just make something up?”

“Of course I can’t. What if I put together a statement and then you tell a different version of events to another journalist?”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head at your persistence. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t lie to them? Other reporters aren’t my friends so I think it’s actually you who’s in advantage here.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shot back, "Oh, so now I'm the lucky one getting the inside scoop, huh? Well alright, if you’re already so tired of answering my questions, how about we take a break and take some pictures for the article? I also heard you got a new helmet you’ll be wearing for testing as a tribute to Gil de Ferán, right? Let's capture that moment."

Lando's eyes lit up with enthusiasm at the mention of his new helmet design. He eagerly agreed, and the two of you made your way to the McLaren garage where his helmet awaited. As he carefully lifted it up, you couldn't help but admire the intricate details and the thoughtful tribute to the racing legend. Lando slipped it on with a sense of pride, and you couldn't resist snapping a few photos of him posing confidently in front of his car.

“Let’s go out to the track and have some shots of you and the helmet there. You could sit on the pit wall and hold it in your lap while admiring it,” you suggested, already envisioning the striking images that would accompany your article. Lando flashed you a grateful smile, appreciating your creativity and dedication to capturing the essence of his racing journey.

Lando perched on the pit wall, his expression a mix of focus and determination as he cradled the helmet in his hands. The vibrant colors of the design shone brightly against the backdrop of the racing circuit, a visual representation of Lando's respect for the sport's history and his aspirations for the future.

You snapped photo after photo, each frame telling a story of passion, ambition, and unwavering dedication.

“You’re choosing some interesting angles,” Lando teased as you were crouching down to get a shot from a lower perspective.

You couldn't help but smile at his lighthearted comment, your cheeks flushing with a warmth that had nothing to do with the scorching sun beating down on the track. Lando's voice had a way of enveloping you, drawing you in like a magnet and as you adjusted your position to capture another shot, your eyes inadvertently lingered on his hands, noticing the way his fingers traced the curves of the helmet with a gentle reverence.

You always thought Lando had beautiful hands, but in that very moment you couldn’t help but think what it would be like if those hands touched you. Really touched you.

The professional journalist in you was focused on capturing the perfect shots and telling Lando's story through the lens of your camera. But the other part of you, the part that had known Lando for years and cherished his friendship above all else, was struggling to keep up with the sudden surge of desires and thoughts that threatened to unravel your composure.

Lando's easy laughter and playful banter did little to ease the tension building within you. With each click of the camera, his presence seemed to grow more magnetic, his features more captivating. You couldn't deny the allure of his smile, the intensity in his gaze, or the way his energy seemed to envelop you in a cocoon of warmth.

While you reviewed the photos on your camera, Lando leaned in closer to get a glimpse as well. The heat of his body so near sent a shiver down your spine, and you hastily cleared your throat, trying to dispel the sudden rush of emotions coursing through you. But Lando was oblivious to your inner turmoil, his attention fully focused on the images displayed on the screen.

"These look amazing, y/n," he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with genuine excitement.

"Thank you, Lando," you managed to reply, your voice sounding slightly breathless even to your own ears. Clearing your throat once more, you added, "We should head back. You still owe me some answers.”

As you walked back towards the McLaren hospitality unit, Lando slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a playful headlock. "You know, y/n, for someone who claims to be a professional interviewer, you're not half bad as a photographer either," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You chuckled, swatting his arm away with mock indignation. "Hey now, don't let my talents overshadow your own star power. I'm just here to make sure the world sees the real Lando Norris in all his glory, on and off the track," you quipped back with a grin, the easy banter between you a testament to the years of friendship that had only grown stronger through the shared journey in the fast-paced world of Formula 1.

As you reached the hospitality unit, Lando released you from the headlock and held the door open with a flourish. "After you, madam photographer," he said with a mock bow, his eyes dancing with a mischievous gleam.

You both entered the bustling hospitality area, filled with team members preparing for the upcoming race weekend. The familiar sights and sounds enveloped you, a comforting blend of adrenaline and excitement that always accompanied a race day.

The familiar faces of the McLaren team greeted you warmly, their camaraderie palpable in every interaction. Lando's presence only added to the vibrant ambiance, his infectious laughter drawing others to join in.

Taking a seat at one of the tables, you watched as Lando engaged in animated conversations with his teammates, his passion for racing evident in every gesture and expression. It was moments like these that reminded you why you were drawn to motorsport in the first place—the sense of community, the thrill of competition, and the shared pursuit of excellence.

“Sorry for leaving you like that,” Lando said, sliding into the seat across from you, “but duty calls. It’s time to jump in the car. We can finish the interview later tonight, if that’s alright?”

"Of course, go do your thing out there on the track. We'll pick up where we left off," you replied, giving him an encouraging smile.

You stayed for a while, watching him drive and snapping a few more photos of his swift maneuvers on the track, each turn and acceleration a testament to his skill behind the wheel. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the circuit as the day drew to a close and you decided to go back to the hotel and edit the material you’ve gathered so far.

Having spent the whole day on track in the glowing sun, you first took a shower and got more comfortable in your pajama shorts and loose top before settling down at the small desk in your hotel room. The soft glow of the lamp bathed the room in a warm light as you organized your notes and sifted through the photos from today's shoot. Lando's vibrant energy leapt off the screen, each image a kaleidoscope of emotions and determination captured in still frames.

Lost in thought, you were startled by a knock on the door. Puzzled, you made your way over and peered through the peephole to see Lando standing outside, a sheepish grin on his face. And he was back in that damn outfit from before.

Despite the late hour, you couldn't suppress a smile at the sight of Lando standing at your door, his eyes alight with a mischievous glint. Opening the door, you raised an eyebrow in mock admonishment.

“Look who decided to show up. I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me,” you quipped, stepping aside to let him in.

“Never,” he replied with a grin, making himself at home in your hotel room. “Besides, I thought we could finish that interview now that I'm all fresh and ready to spill some secrets," you couldn't help but notice the way he moved with an easy familiarity, as if he had been in this space countless times before. “Oh, sorry, were you getting ready for bed?” he asked, as if only now noticing your comfortable attire, his gaze lingering on your bare legs a little longer than necessary, before innocently looking you in the eyes with a small smile.

Ignoring the flutter in your chest at his gaze, you shook your head with a chuckle.

“Not at all, I was actually working. You should see your helmet shots on a big screen. They turned out to be amazing.” you gestured as you took a seat at your laptop to show him.

Lando leaned over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck as he peered at the screen. You couldn't help but notice the closeness between you, the shared intimacy of the moment sending a chill down your back.

“Wow, these look incredible,” Lando breathed, his voice low with awe. ”You really have an eye for capturing the moment.”

His praise sent a flush of warmth to your cheeks, a mixture of pride and something else you couldn't quite name. As you scrolled through the images together, Lando's hand brushed yours accidentally, sending a jolt of electricity through you both.

Clearing your throat and trying to ignore the nervous flutters, you turned to face him. "So, about those secrets you promised to spill..."

Lando's eyes sparkled mischievously as he settled into the armchair beside you, his gaze intense as he studied your face. For a moment, there was a weighty silence that hung between you, thick with unspoken words and unexplored emotions. You could sense a shift in the air, as if the room itself held its breath in anticipation of what he might reveal.

Finally, breaking the tension with a casual shrug, Lando chuckled softly. "Alright, alright. What do you want to know?" he asked playfully, though there was a glint of vulnerability in his eyes that you couldn't ignore.

Seeing him sit there casually in that armchair and in those sweatpants with legs spread lightly made your breath a little quicker. Taking a deep breath and clearing your throat, you busied yourself with your notebook to keep you from looking at him. “So,” you started, flipping through pages. “We have a few unanswered questions left...”

You couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves at his intense stare, and you mechanically placed a hand on the back of your neck, stretching it out slightly. Lando's gaze followed the movement, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch your hand, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin. The simple gesture sent a shockwave of warmth through you, the soft brush of his touch awakening a hunger you tried to suppress the whole day.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone low.

You chuckled, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Why would I be nervous? It’s not my first time conducting an interview.”

Lando's gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours with a depth that made your heart race. "Maybe it's not the interview that's making you nervous," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The air between you crackled with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the room as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, emotions swirling within you as you met his gaze, feeling as though you were on the precipice of something unknown yet undeniably thrilling. In that moment, all the barriers you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability you had long kept hidden.

“I noticed the way you were looking at me out on the track today,” Lando murmured, his voice husky with unspoken desire. “It wasn't just the photographer's gaze anymore, was it?” His hand lingered on yours, a silent question hanging in the air. “Especially when you crouched down to get those low angle shots of the helmet. I could feel your eyes on me longer than necessary. You didn’t do it because you wanted to capture the shot perfectly, did you?” he continued, his gaze searching yours for any sign of confirmation. “No, you did it because you wanted to be on your knees for me, to be close to me, to feel the heat of my body as you snapped away at your camera. Admit it,” Lando's voice was a whisper, causing a flurry of emotions to swirl inside you.

His words were like a sharp blade, slicing through the air and laying bare a hidden longing that had been bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what he had just said settling in the space between you.

“Even this, you inviting me into your dimly lit room—”

“I don’t like big lights,” you interjected, as you tried to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

But he continued as if you hadn't said anything. “—in your silky pajama shorts and that flimsy tank top that leaves little to the imagination,” Lando said, his voice dropping even lower as he leaned closer, his gaze smoldering.

“I was getting myself comfortable—”

“Of course, you’re smart and already have a reason for everything I point out,” Lando's gaze softened at your words, a flicker of understanding passing between you as he reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness of his touch sent a wave of sensation to travel down your spine, reigniting the fiery connection between you. “But I am your best friend, and I know you. You can try as much as you want, but you can’t hide the truth from me,” Lando murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as he leaned in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. “I know you inside out.”

His words hung in the air, the tension between you palpable as you both teetered on the edge of something unspoken yet undeniably present. And maybe. Maybe he was right. Intentionally or not, you did know he was coming.

In that charged moment, with your heart pounding in your chest, you made a choice. You took him by the collar of his shirt and smashed your lips together. You pulled him with such force that he stumbled forward, but he quickly found balance by taking a handful of your hair and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched your own. The kiss was electric, a surge of raw desire and pent-up emotions finally breaking free. The world around you faded away as you lost yourself in the intoxicating taste of him, the warmth of his lips searing through you like a wildfire.

Every touch, every caress, ignited a blazing need within you, a longing that had been buried for far too long. As you melted into each other, the boundaries that had kept you apart crumbled, leaving only the raw, primal connection that bound your souls together.

As the kiss broke, you both gasped for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Lando's eyes bore into yours, a mixture of surprise, craving, and something deeper that stirred within his gaze.

“Is this what you wanted?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the tense stillness that enveloped you both.

“I wanted to kiss you first, but god, you’d beat me to it,” a low chuckle escaped his lips as he spoke. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes, but beneath it lay a raw vulnerability that mirrored your own. In that moment, as you gazed into each other's eyes, you knew that nothing would ever be the same between you.

You reached out to touch his face, your fingers tracing the contours of his jawline as if committing every detail to memory. The room felt as though it had shrunk, leaving just the two of you in your own intimate world where words were no longer needed.

“Then kiss me,” you breathed.

Lando's lips met yours in a frenzy of passion, each kiss deepening the connection that had ignited between you. His hands dug into your shirt, pulling you closer as if trying to erase any remaining distance between you. You responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, a surge of emotions overwhelming your senses.

He picked you up in his arms and carried you to the bed, laying you down gently, your laughter mingling with his in the heated moment. As he joined you on the mattress, his lips trailed down to your neck, your skin tingling at his touch, and you moaned softly as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. A shiver ran through your entire body, and you arched into him, inviting him further.

He took the invitation, his hands exploring every inch of your body, his touch feather light at times, then rougher, aching to leave his mark upon you. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers traveled over your chest, igniting a wave of heat inside you. Each touch left a trail of fire, intensifying the sensation.

His mouth found its way to your lips again, his tongue darting out to taste you, and you met him eagerly, your tongues twining together in a frenzied dance. The room was filled with the sound of your breaths mixing, your hearts pounding in sync, as you lost yourself in each other's embrace.

Lando's body pressed against yours, his heat searing through your clothes, making your skin feel like it was sizzling. You could feel his hardness brushing against your core, making you moan softly, yearning for more.

Your hands found their way to his back, pulling him closer, needing the intimacy that only skin-to-skin contact could provide. His mouth gently moved down the curves of your neck, leaving a tantalizing trail of kisses that sent sparks of exhilaration coursing through your body. You arched your back yet again, wanting more of his touch, more of his attention.

Slowly, he lifted your shirt, revealing your stomach, and you felt a sudden rush of heat between your legs. His eyes locked onto your bare skin, a hunger gleaming in them. You knew he was seeing all of you, every flaw and imperfection that made you, you. But he didn’t care; he wanted you just the way you were.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the sincerity in his words, and a wave of vulnerability washed over you. This wasn’t just about the physical attraction; it was about the emotional connection you had built over time.

He kissed your stomach, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. You wanted him closer; you wanted to feel his skin against yours. You reached behind you and tugged off his shirt, revealing his muscular physique that you had always admired.

You pulled him closer, and he kissed you again, his hands wandering to your breasts, tracing the outline of your nipples through your pajama top. You moaned softly, arching your back, wanting more of his touch.

He took off your top, revealing your bare chest, and you shivered at the feeling of his rough hands on your skin. He kissed your torso, his tongue darting out to taste you, and you moaned softly, inviting him to explore more.

He trailed his lips down your stomach, leaving a path of wet kisses that made you tremble with longing. You could feel his breath on your thigh, and you knew what was coming. He traced the edges of your panties, his fingers teasing you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Lando looked up at you, his eyes filled with craving. He wanted you more than anything, and you knew it. You were his, and he was yours.

You reached down and pulled off his pants–the damn pants that started all this in the first place–revealing his erection that strained against the fabric. Your fingers grazed it, and he moaned softly, his eyes locking with yours. You could see the need in him, and it made your heart race.

You pulled off his pants, revealing his naked body, and you couldn't help but admire him. He was perfect, every inch of him, and you knew that this was what you had been waiting for. This was the moment you had been dreaming of, the moment you had been yearning for.

He laid you down gently and continued to explore every inch of your body. His fingers traced the curves of your hips, your waist, your thighs, each touch setting off a firestorm of desire within you. You moaned softly, your body arching towards his, craving his touch.

He slid his fingers between your legs, teasing your most sensitive spot, sending waves of delight coursing through you. You gasped, your breaths becoming shallow as you struggled to control the growing want inside of you.

Lando's eyes locked with yours, a mixture of lust and tenderness shining in them. He leaned down and whispered in your ear, his breath warm and sensual, “You are never to interview any other driver, you hear? You are mine. My best friend, my reporter.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with his as he skillfully used his hands to bring you to satisfaction. "I don't know, Lando. What if my boss wants me to do another story? What will I say then?"

“Then you do it somewhere I can see you. And you wrap it up, no inviting other drivers into your hotel room cause look what happens,” he quipped, his fingers moving faster, sending shivers throughout your body.

You gasped for air, your body trembling as you felt the waves of pleasure building up within you. You knew that you were close, that you couldn't hold back any longer. “Lando, please,” you begged, your body aching for release.

Lando's eyes met yours, a fierce intensity in his gaze. He knew what you needed, and he was more than willing to give it to you. With a sudden, forceful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

You cried out, your breath hitching as each thrust sent you higher and higher. Lando's pace quickened, his body slamming against yours, each movement a testament of his want for you. The room was filled with the sounds of your intertwined bodies, your hearts beating in sync, lost in the moment.

“You feel so good,” Lando panted, his voice low and rough. He reached up, his hands tugging at your hair, pulling your lips to his in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, tasting you, possessing you.

You wrapped your legs around him, your nails digging into his back, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. Your body ached for more, craving the release that only he could give you.

Lando's thrusts became more insistent, his hips pistoning against yours, each movement driving you closer to the edge. Your breath came in short gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as the ecstasy built up inside you. You could feel the heat coursing through your veins, the desire consuming you.

“Lando, oh god, I'm so close,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. Lando responded by increasing his pace, his body slamming into yours, each thrust sending overwhelming bliss throughout your entire body.

You felt the familiar sensation building up within you, the pressure rising, the heat spreading. You knew what was coming, and you welcomed it with open arms. With a loud cry, you arched your back, your body trembling as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, engulfing you completely. Lando's body followed suit, his thrusts becoming erratic, his voice hoarse as he emptied himself within you, crying out your name.

Your bodies collapsed onto each other, panting heavily, your skin glistening with sweat. You didn't know how long you lay there, lost in each other's embrace, but the moment felt timeless. 

You glanced at him, only to see him sound asleep with a contented smile on his face. You couldn't help but run your fingers lightly through his hair, feeling the warmth of his body and the weight of his head on your chest. But you still had the article to finish and the call from your editor to make.

You gently extracted yourself from his embrace, feeling the cool air on your skin as your body adjusted back to reality. With a tender kiss on his forehead, you whispered, “I'll be right back,” feeling a sense of contentment and a touch of guilt at leaving him there.

You put on a robe and sat down at your desk, using the warm glow of the computer screen to illuminate your face as you typed away, every word bringing you closer to finishing the article. Although he owed some questions to the world, as his best friend you already knew the answers to almost every one. Remembering his words from earlier, you took it to your advantage to finish the article.

As you worked, the memories of the night still fresh in your mind, you couldn't help but recall the way Lando's hands felt on your body, the way his breath grazed your skin, the way his voice whispered husky promises in your ear. It made it hard to concentrate, but you knew you had to be professional.

With the piece finally done, you sent it to your editor, knowing that you had captured the essence of Lando's journey and the excitement surrounding his career. You knew that this was just the beginning of many great things for him, and you couldn't be more proud to have witnessed it firsthand, as his best friend, reporter and maybe something more in the future.

[flowerandblood]

White Marriage (2)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: fingering, virginity loss, sex content, poetic smut, angst, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After their nuptials, the court becomes even more divided. The King, however, wishes to spend the last years of his life experiencing the joys he finds in the closeness of his wife. His bride was never to lose her maidenhood, however, is what the King has proclaimed to his subjects what he really craves? ]

Author’s Note: After the warm reception of the first part, which I didn't expect at all, here is the second part of their story! I have to admit that I had a great time writing it and I love them. I tried to leave some realism and not forget about his illness and the fact that it is contagious.

Part Two of Paradise Fruit. Can be read as a standalone story.

Word count: 4.600

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their nuptials were humble – apart from the Archbishop, who gave them his blessing, uniting them for eternity, they were accompanied only by Sibylla and her husband, enraged, thinking that the King was just fulfilling his sneaky plan.

He truly believed that he would have exposed her to such danger, condemning her to the cruel disease that tormented his members to try to beget an heir.

She was grateful to her Princess for lending her one of her beautiful, gold-embellished robes that day – Sibylla knew what purpose this marriage was intended to serve and that it would not change the order of succession.

She was to be his comfort, a moment of relief and solace, nothing more.

Nevertheless, she smiled, feeling happiness filling her heart, her king's gaze tender and full of affection, from which she felt warmth in her chest.

She thought that she had fallen in love with him.

Their marriage was announced to all and sundry, and she became a king's wife, but not a queen.

She was not bothered by this.

She was assigned a chamber right next to his – she could now visit him whenever she wished and did not have to worry about the King's honour.

As she walked into his quarters, clad only in a thin night robe, a smile of happiness adorned her face. Baldwin, though tired, also seemed pleased and rose at the sight of her.

"Wife." He said, entwining his hands behind his back.

His figure was all clad in white as usual, though the material of his wardrobe seemed thicker to her, a silver mask on his face.

To her surprise she noticed that his gloves were black, apparently made of leather.

She bowed to him, recognising that she was not intending to think about it now.

"My King. My husband. You are the man of your word." She whispered warmly, looking up at him from above her long lashes, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen meeting his gaze, hot and dark.

"I am." He replied. "I couldn't deny myself this pleasure. It was an act of my selfishness, not my greatness."

She blinked, cocking her head, feeling for some reason amused by his words.

"Does it matter now?" She asked lightly – something flashed across his gaze, she thought he smiled.

"No. Not in the slightest."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his orders – he had announced that because of his disease he would not take her maidenhood and their marriage would be white, however, after what had gone on between them earlier, she did not think her husband would want to remain an ascetic in every aspect.

"Let me see you." He said finally, his voice like a sigh.

She knew what he meant, she knew what he wanted – she could see it in his gaze. Her hands rose to the small knot above her breasts, untying it, slipping the thin material of her nightgown off her shoulders in a light, gentle motion, remaining bare before him.

She shuddered, feeling the chill of the chamber surround her body despite the flames burning in the fireplace beside her, her lips parted as she noticed her king's gaze shift, misty and filled with a familiar, hot desire.

For a moment he looked at her with his head tilted, as if he was simply admiring her, nothing more.

"My physicians have said that the leather material, as opposed to linen, will ensure that you are protected from the touch of my bare skin and what it may cause." He said, tentatively extending his hand to her, and she felt her heart thump harder in her chest with joy.

She could touch him.

They both drew in a loud breath as she placed her fingers on his palm, letting him pull her a little closer, the spot between her thighs all swollen with desire, slowly growing moist with her wetness.

Her lips parted with her gasp of surprise as his other hand touched her cheek – she snuggled her face into it, placing affectionate kisses of her lips on it.

"I would give all the treasures of this chamber, my possessions and my gold coins to feel the taste of your lips on mine." He gasped, looking at her as if she were a precious jewel, a spring water that quenches thirst, an olive tree that feeds whole nations.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the sizzling fire and their hitched breaths as his thumb ran over her full, lower lip. She parted it before him and let him slide it deeper, between her teeth. Her lips clamped slowly around his finger, looking up at him with desire as she began to suck.

A low groan escaped his throat at the sight, clearly imagining that he was forcing something completely different down her throat.

He placed his other hand on her back, at the same time pulling her closer and holding her at arm's length, apparently afraid that even his breath was dangerous to her, possibly dooming her to his fate.

She moaned when he gave in, when his mask pressed against her forehead, his eyelids all red around his bright pupils.

"– forgive me –"

She didn't know why his words, filled with so much sadness and desire, made her throw her hands on his shoulders, her lips clinging greedily to the unpleasantly cold, silver structure of his mask.

She closed her eyes, hearing his gasp of surprise, placing lingering, hot kisses full of her saliva and tongue on the surface of it, imagining he was able to feel it, his hands sinking into her hair.

"– touch me, husband – I crave you –" She mewled helplessly, running her hands over the material beneath which was his head, his hair, his jaw and neck.

She squealed when he lifted her suddenly by her buttocks, the quiet hiss that escaped his lips made her understand that this sudden movement must have caused him pain.

She stroked the back of his head as he moved towards his bed with his face nestled between her breasts, not wanting to show him any sympathy now that he wanted to be a strong man in her eyes.

He let out a breath as he laid her down on the soft sheets, his gaze full of tenderness as he looked at her face.

"– lie on your stomach and spread your thighs –" He said calmly and gently, however, something in his words and their undertone made her feel a heat in her lower abdomen and a wonderful tickling sensation.

She obeyed his command immediately, feeling her legs become stiff as he caught her around the waist and lifted her hips, forcing her to buck her buttocks in front of him in a shameless manner.

She heard his heavy breath as he positioned himself behind her on his knees, running his leather-gloved hands over the soft skin of her buttocks, herself panting hard, knowing where he was looking now.

"– the reason why Paris abducted Helen of Troy – the cause of the downfall and delight of all mankind locked deep between my wife's thighs –" He whispered in such a sensual way that she moaned pathetically, clenching her eyelids as his thumb ran over her leaking, throbbing womanhood.

Apparently he liked the sound she made, because one of his hands slid into her hair, holding her in place, reassuring him that she wouldn't take advantage of his weakness and try to expose him in an act of pleasure, endangering him and herself.

"– lie still – shhhh, my love –" He whispered, hearing her innocent cry of desperation as his fingers began to trail around her oversensitive, swollen bud, waves of tingling and tickling sensations spreading through her body dulling her mind, causing her to emit uncontrollable sounds.

She could hear him panting as she watched what he was doing to her, his fingers digging into her delicate folds with a loud click of her wetness, barely teasing her – her hips began to roll back and forth, responding to his treatments, trying to find a better source of rubbing.

"– have mercy on me –" She mumbled with difficulty, her lips parted wide in a girlish moan when, at her request, the tip of his middle finger burst into her fleshy, hot interior.

The experience was at once full of discomfort and delight – at first the material of his glove was cold, but in time her body temperature enveloped him with its heat.

"– God – so warm –" He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, in some involuntary, primitive reflex forcing her to take his finger deeper inside her, meeting resistance.

"– yes or no –" He breathed out, making her gasp.

Yes or no.

She froze, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, knowing that he had lied: he had only declared their marriage as white so that after his death his sister's husband would not attempt to kill her out of fear that she might be carrying his heir.

The future King.

"– yes –"

Her fingers clenched on the fabric of the sheet beneath her as he pierced something inside her in one aggressive motion, along with her squeal taking her maidenhood.

She began to wriggle under him with sweet whimpers of delight as his first finger was joined by a second, opening her wide for him only to fuck her before his eyes.

Tears of pleasure and shock ran down her cheeks as she moaned like a mere whore, spreading her thighs wider, his fingers thicker and longer than hers, stretching her so wonderfully.

"– please –" She whimpered, responding with her hips to each thrust of his hand, the tips of his fingers hitting the sweet spot deep inside her with startling precision again and again, while his thumb teased her little pearl between her folds with reluctance.

She bucked up more, panting loudly along with him, feeling the drops of her own wetness begin to run down her thighs one by one, soaking his hand, the fingers of his free palm clenched in her hair.

"– go on – please your King –" He commanded in a low voice from which her weeping cunt clenched around his fingers in convulsions of ecstasy, the sweet, stupefying pleasure making her cry out loudly, her legs bent at the knees quivering all over from the exertion.

"– a-ah –" She mumbled out, her face red with emotion as her body shook with a fulfilment so strong that her leaking, hot walls began to simply suck him inside. He felt it and moaned in a boyish manner, stopping moving, keeping his two fingers slipped deep into her body, just wanting to feel how it pulsed around them.

"– yes – just like that – easy now – easy –" He praised her, slowly sliding them out of her, and she swallowed hard, letting her body fall back onto the bed, panting loudly.

She sighed as he turned her onto her back and spread her thighs, looking at her with eyes black with desire, his hand slipped under the material of his robe.

Only then did she notice that his garment had a slit in the area underneath where his manhood was.

Although he had not allowed her to look at it then, now that he had grasped it in his hand and directed it at her throbbing womanhood, she saw the fat, pink head of it, dripping with his desire.

His hand clamped down on her soft breast, careful, however, not to cause her pain as he began to squeeze his swollen erection in his palm, with sharp, aggressive strokes from the very base to the tip chasing his fulfilment.

She moaned innocently, surprised, tilting her head back as his thumb ran over her hard, sensitive nipple, playing with it, something like satisfaction flashed through his gaze when he saw that this kind of touch was giving her pleasure.

"– my wife is so eager – so devoted to her poor husband – hm? –" He gasped, his breathing heavy as he accelerated, already squeezing only the base of his manhood, rocking his hips back and forth, struggling to restrain himself from opening her up, from sinking into her, from feeling her.

She rolled her hips forward encouragingly, rubbing her moist cunt against the thick head of his erection, drawing a low, almost animalistic groan from his throat, his silhouette moving slightly away.

"– no –" He growled with pain and anger, involuntarily returning again and again to her warmth, letting the tip of it push against her swollen, thirsty slit.

"– please, my King – put inside me –" She begged, but he shook his head and simply came with a loud moan of pleasure, his pearly, sticky spend spewing onto her womanhood.

He stared at this shameless sight, his head bowed low, his breath heavy as if he had just accomplished some heroic feat.

"– you need to bathe in hot water – immediately – dress yourself, I'll call the servants –" He exclaimed, rising abruptly from the bed, covering his manhood back with his robe, wiping his hand sticky with her wetness into its material.

She stood up quickly, horrified that he was surely angry with her for not listening to him, hastily dressing her nightgown over her shoulders, bursting into sobs.

"– forgive me, my King – forgive me, do not send me away –" She begged, but he did not listen to her, ordering his servant to immediately bring the tub into his chamber and fill it with hot water.

Although it slightly burned her skin when she stepped inside, her husband-king explained that the heat killed whatever was spreading his disease, and the oils and herbs that were thrown in were to prevent any other infections.

She looked at him with big eyes as he sat beside her, dipping his leather-gloved hand into the water along with a piece of cloth, sinking it then between her thighs, making sure not a single drop of his seed remained on it.

"– will you forgive me, my beloved? –" She muttered pleadingly, watching his face. He looked at her with a chastising look and sighed heavily.

"– it is I who should beg your forgiveness – I have allowed myself to be carried away by my desires, which have suppressed my reason – do not fear, it will not happen again – after your bath you will return to your chamber and will no longer visit me in the evenings –" He said calmly, looking away.

Her heart stopped in her throat, her brow arching in pain and disbelief at his words.

"Are you sending me away?" She muttered with difficulty. He looked at her, surprised apparently by her question and reaction, his hand froze in mid-motion.

"You can't sleep here because I am here. My breath, my proximity are deadly. I am exposing you even now. Before sleep, my physicians pull off most of the fabric that covers my body. I will never let you see this." He said and swallowed hard, seeing as tears one by one began to run down her cheeks.

"You break my heart. At least let my bed be placed next to yours. Drape it with curtains so that I may not see you or your body at night, but that I may at least hear your voice, hear your presence in the same chamber." She said pleadingly, touching his beautiful silver mask with her hand, his gaze tired and sad, filled with pain.

He hesitated.

"The chamber is not locked. Place my bed by the windows, by the fresh air. Do not condemn me to solitude, show me mercy, my King." She whispered, once again placing a kiss on his mask, on his cold, silver lips, his sigh testifying that he pressed his lips on the other side, reciprocating her caress.

"You are my doom."

At his command, her bed was moved to his chamber, raising voices full of resentment from some of the monks and priests, commenting on the fact that her maidenhood might be called into question.

"White marriage, to my knowledge, does not mean that husband and wife live separately. On the contrary, we should indulge in prayers together and be each other's comfort by day and night."

Honour Knights and Lords were concerned about what kind of comfort his little wife was to him.

Each day, the physicians sent by King Saladin checked the condition of her body and whether there were any signs of infection – her husband watched it from the sidelines in horror, relief in his gaze each time he heard from their lips that his wife was in good health.

However, taking advantage of the fact that the King had left the chamber after her examination, returning to his duties, one of his medics approached her, pale.

"My Lady. Spending so much time in the King's company, you will certainly contract his disease. Often its first symptoms do not appear until years after infection. It is possible that it is already too late." He muttered, bowing before her.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him calmly, feeling discomfort in her stomach.

"Would my husband live to see the time when the first symptoms could be apparent? If it turned out I was infected." She mumbled, and he shook his head.

"No, my Lady."

She smiled at his words and nodded.

"Thank you. Assure my King that I am well and can abide with him as before."

The man looked at her, in his eyes disbelief but at the same time a kind of admiration, compassion and warmth from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"My Lady."

The days in Jerusalem were often sunny and hot, and as her husband rejoiced at the sight of her bare body, she walked around his chambers naked, feeling like a Greek goddess, Aphrodite or Artemis.

She would read old volumes, play the lute or embroider while spreading out comfortably on large cushions so that he could see her, and he would admire her from afar like a nymph.

"– my wife is like a fruit of paradise – like a goddess born of the sea foam –" He murmured, looking at her contentedly, bent over the dozens of parchments spread out on his table.

The servants knew that they could not enter his quarters without permission, for although he was gentle and affectionate in his manner, he did not wish to share this shameless sight with anyone.

However, what most of their days consisted of were conversations.

Her husband was a great speaker – they were discussing the Bible, faith, philosophy, poetry, art, war and history for long hours.

At nights, when he couldn't sleep from his pain, hearing his sighs and quiet moans that he tried to suppress for her sake, she would ask him questions.

She couldn't touch his hands or embrace him – his body needed rest, to breathe to keep from rotting and for at least a few hours a day it was supposed to be uncovered.

"Christ says to the adulteress: go and sin no more. However, he knows, as God incarnate, that this is not his command, but a recommendation. Sin is the fatal disease of every human being and we all sin in thought, in speech, in deed, in neglect. This is no reason to be sad. Christ is merely saying: live in such a way as not to cause yourself or others suffering, try to live with dignity, in harmony with yourself and your Father in Heaven."

"Is it known what happened to her afterwards?" She asked quietly, looking at his silhouette, seeing only its outline on the other side of his bed.

"Some identify her with Mary Magdalene or Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. But it could also have been a person not mentioned by name in the Gospel. She certainly followed Christ and became one of his disciples." He said, his voice clearer without his mask, calm and soft.

"Do you think God considers me an adulteress?" She asked in a trembling voice and heard him shift restlessly in his bed.

"Why should such an unjust and harsh judgment fall on my wife? Because she is devoted to me with her soul, heart and body? Haven't you done everything I asked of you and even more? You are as pure as the sheet I lie on, as the delicate fabrics I wear on my skin. Your beauty makes me even more aware of my ugliness." He whispered with pain that made her swallow hard, shocked by his words.

"To me, you are the most beautiful of men. Before I met you, I swore to God that I would never marry, that I would not share Sibylla's fate. He showed me mercy, filling my heart with a burning feeling for you, my beloved."

He was silent, but she heard him exhale loudly, his trembling sigh full of suffering.

He cried.

"If only you could look at my face, see what a disgusting caricature of a human I am, you would understand what a great mistake you made." He howled, choking on his own tears, clearly letting out what had been weighing on his heart for weeks.

The fear that if she accidentally saw his face, she would scream in terror and run away.

"Is your faith in me so weak? I hoped you think of me with respect." She mumbled, heartbroken, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She heard him swallow hard at her words, clearly terrified that he had offended her.

"I do, my love. Forgive me."

"I fell in love with a human, not an earthly shell." She said, but he didn't answer her.

She watched the silhouette of her husband and his physicians each evening through the curtains, seeing them only as through a fog in the candlelight, their shadows dancing around her.

She could hear his hisses and cries of pain as they treated his wounds, see the outline of his head, always with his back turned to her.

When they were finally left alone and he lay down on his bed, she heard his sigh of relief, his face, though she couldn't see it, turned towards her.

"My sweetest?" He whispered, and she smiled warmly, feeling a wonderful delight in her heart every time he called her that.

"I'm here, my love." She murmured, twisting comfortably in her bed.

"I desire you."

She swallowed hard, feeling her warm womanhood throb around nothing.

"I desire you too, my beloved."

They were both silent for a long moment, the tension around them palpable in the air.

"– one of my physicians –" He began in a trembling voice. "– at my request, he created something that I can – put on my length so as not to touch you directly – from what I understand, he made it from the intestine of some animal and disinfected it – he assured me that it would be safe for both of us, but –"

"– yes –" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like crazy at the thought that he wanted to do this to her.

"– you know it's a risk –" He said, his voice quivering with longing, the shadow of his silhouette turned towards her.

"– I knew it from the very beginning – I don't care what happens to my body – I just want to feel my beloved husband inside me –" She whispered with embarrassment and that seemed to be enough for him.

She heard him stand up, quickly putting the cloth and mask over his head as he appeared on the other side, beside her bed, looking as he usually did – the same black leather gloves on his hands, his fingers clenched on a small wooden box.

"– undress –" He commanded, and she did so, literally ripping off herself her nightgown, laying down on her stomach.

His silhouette was instantly next her, kneeling behind her buttocks, his breath hitched and quickened when she heard the rustling of something and another strange, sticky sound.

After a moment, his fingers tentatively and gently ran over her swollen, pink folds, collecting her wetness, which had already managed to trickle down her thigh.

"– no other treatments are needed – my sweet wife is leaking like a forest stream –" He hummed with delight and admiration, she felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment.

They both sighed as she felt something thick and hard begin to push against her puffy slit, opening her wide – despite her lack of preparation her cunt pulsed in delight, moist with desire.

The feeling of him deep inside her, so intense and definitive, of how hard his long, thick erection stretched her fleshy walls was shockingly pleasurable and terrifying at the same time, as if her body no longer belonged to her.

"– yes, yes, yes –" She mewled as she felt his hands clamp down on her buttocks, spreading them apart as if he were tearing a piece of fruit, another determined thrust of his hips sinking him completely into her hot core with their moans of pleasure.

"– fuck –"

She wasn't sure if he had ever cursed before, but then, as his hips immediately began to pound into her with loud slaps, nothing more than their panting, grunts and words insulting to God left his mouth.

"– we'll do it frequently – so that you can remember this feeling well – your husband deep inside your warmth –" He exhaled in a way from which her little cunt began to squeeze him greedily, sucking his erection inside, her lips parted wide in a loud, helpless whines of pleasure so strong that she had to close her eyes, her hands clenched on the bedding.

His gloved fingers dug into the delicate structure of her hips, imposing a more aggressive pace on her, his fat manhood bursting deep between her fleshy walls without slipping out of her, hitting again and again her sweet little spot.

"– yes – yes, I love you, I love you, I love you, please –" She cried out, feeling the tension in her silky womanhood reach its zenith, the pleasant tingling in her belly testifying to the fact that she was about to reach her peak with him and dreamed of nothing else.

He moaned low, slamming into her like mad, feeling her weeping core clench around his twitching length more and more, his manhood hard as a rock with desire.

"– G-God – oh, fuck, yes, yes, my sweetest, let me, ah –" He gasped in delight, coming deep inside her, filling the thin material overlying his manhood with his release.

Her eyes closed and her mouth parted wide as her peak came down on her like a thunderbolt, shaking her body with convulsions of delicious delight.

They both moaned and panted, rocking their hips for a moment more with the loud click of her slick cunt, his hands soothingly kneading the skin of her buttocks.

"– I will order more of this to be prepared – so that I can fulfil my marital duty every night –" He sighed with satisfaction.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath, looking up at him over her shoulder, the moonlight shining outside the window reflected in his mask.

"– what kind of white marriage is this? –" She asked teasingly, rolling her hips, feeling his half-soft manhood pulsate inside her again.

"– our kind – do not fret – I will explain it to God once I am before him – I will tell him that I loved my wife too much –"

_____

Author's note: Between their wedding day and this next act, weeks actually pass during which he doesn't touch her (she mentions the days spent in his company and how she is examined every day, how he watches her naked, but apart from that nothing happens between them). He is afraid that if he tries to touch her again, he won't hold back (he had already had difficulty not taking her on their wedding night), so he tried to think of something so as not to touch her directly with his manhood. Their intimacy is an act of their desperation, the pain of knowing that their marriage will last a year or two at most. The desire to touch her and feel her is as strong in him as the desire to protect her and push her away. Their love is tragic and complete to me, and she knows what she is risking (she knew from the very beginning).

[haeryna]

in my dreams you love me back (i still love you) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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summary: soft moments with shoko keep your heart soft as well, but suguru finds something that he wasn't supposed to.

tw: sfw but vague mentions of losing your virginity. your mother MEDDLES but let's be real, we'd do the same. allusions to the bible for the aesthetic but also because i like the imagery of the themes. not proofread.

notes: title taken from red velvet's "in my dreams." the second half of "i would give up heaven if i had to." another short chapter because i split it in two originally! banner from @/cafekitsune

"You look like shit."

You can't stop the huff that escapes your mouth as Shoko peers at you from your phone, propped up against your rice cooker. She's somewhere in the United States right now, attending a medical conference. She isn't wrong; your ten minute break in the bathroom had turned into a full-blown half hour breakdown. Thankfully, none of your coworkers pointed out the redness of your eyes and the sallow tint to your skin. Your manager had practically forced you to go home early. They all assumed that you had broken down about how the Gojo Satoru had demanded you be the one to make his drink. At this point, you were too tired to correct them.

"I just got back from the cafe, leave me alone." Yawning, you reach for a bowl. "I'm starving and exhausted, and now you're going to yell at me, Sho?"

You can hear the heavy exhale, and the camera blurs as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. "I never said that. Did you see them today?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nobody else can make you cry that hard, and I know it wasn't me."

You hesitate for a moment. "Mom thinks I should hear them out."

"Personally, I would tell them I'll speak to them after a down payment of 5k."

"Shoko!"

But your laughter fills the air, and you can catch Shoko's self-satisfied smirk from the other end. "There she is." A soft haze fills your screen as her voice softens. "Do I need to fly back and tell the two of them to fuck off?"

"I can tell them to leave myself," you protest, but Shoko gives you a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, maybe it'll be hard."

As the silence falls, warm and comfortable, you bustle around the kitchen, spooning rice into your bowl of leftovers. The air is warm, and despite your exhaustion, you can't help but appreciate the dreaminess of the evening. Shoko watches you, dark eyes unreadable. "What?" you finally ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Just be careful," she sighs. "Satoru and Suguru will probably do some crazy shit to get you to notice them. I just don't want those idiots to scare you."

"They don't care enough to do that," is your sardonic reply, and this time, it's her turn to laugh.

"If you really think that, then you're blinder than I thought."

He is breaking me down on every side, and now it's too late for me; he has uprooted my hopes like a tree.

When the number of your old landline rings on Suguru's cellphone, he almost blocks it out of habit before he registers the last four digits. Panicking, he immediately accepts the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? I-"

Your mother's voice chirps back at him, a bit staticky from the old phone that he knows she'd insisted on keeping installed in the kitchen. "Suguru, dear, could you do me a favor?"

Ingrained instinct forces a "yes ma'am," from his mouth before he can even process the request. He can practically hear the smile in your mother's voice. "It won't take too long, don't worry. My back has been aching an awful amount after my last surgery, but I've been meaning to wear some of my old church clothes to Bingo Night. Would you mind grabbing it for me?"

The attic is cluttered and old, and the dust stings his eyes, but Suguru can't bring himself to complain as he begins to rummage through boxes. It feels like seeing you again, like being your Suguru again, as he unearths old photo albums, and stuffed toys. There was the rabbit you used to carry around all the time. A picture frame, of you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru one summer afternoon. Carefully, he wipes away the dust, smiling at the memory. You'd lost your front tooth that summer; now, it was forever memorialized.

Finally, he reaches a small collection of boxes in the back. The dress lays draped over a small stack of boxes, but as he grabs it, one topples over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Suddenly, selfishly, Suguru is grateful that Satoru stayed behind back in their hotel room, because inside the cardboard box is envelopes. At least thousands of them, crammed into each possible corner, dates written on the front in the same handwriting you've had since high school. He tears open another box, only to find the same. Three whole boxes of letters. Selfish hope and heavier dread sinks into his skin like the dust that is slowly falling to the floor; Suguru has unearthed something that he knows he's not supposed to see.

Was this how Adam felt, holding the forbidden fruit in his hand? Which was stronger; the will of God, or the love of man?

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

He's almost frantic as he searches for the first letter, scattering them around himself until he finds it; labelled a week after Suguru had taken Satoru with him to pursue what they had believed to be an impossible dream. Suguru hesitates only for a moment, until with one decisive swipe, he rips the flap from the waxy paper beneath. This one is addressed to him.

Suguru,

My parents put me in therapy. Remember how we always used to joke that if anyone needed it, it would be you? Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? It hurts, Sugu, why, why, why My therapist thinks that keeping letters will help, and my parents want me to at least give it a try. Mom won't say anything, but I know she's concerned. Dad's already torn into Toru's parents, so the whole town is fully aware of what they've done. Shoko says that they're practically livid with shame, skulking around the town as that'll fix their reputation. You missed it; there was one night when the fireflies came back, and I swear they filled the entire sky. It was beautiful. It reminded me of the first time we met, do you remember that?

I wish you'd been here to see it. I'm sorry, Suguru. I'm sorry that I wasn't good enough to take along. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you I love you. I hope you're safe. I hope you're taking care of Toru for me.

I love you so much that it's hard to be mad.

Water drips down onto the ink of where you'd signed your name, and with a start, Suguru realizes he's crying. Gently folding the letter, he sets it aside, and reaches for the next one.

Mom and Dad have what Grandma had. I'm scared, Toru. I wish you were here. You'd always say something silly that would make me forget for even a moment.

Another.

I saw you on the television today, Toru. You're so beautiful it hurts.

Another.

I've given up on properly going to college. They're so sick that I'm terrified to leave them alone.

More. More. More.

I try my best not to listen, but the radio in the coffee shop plays the songs you make, Sugu. I hate it, but it's selfish of me. The girl you sing about, does Toru get along with her? Does she make you happy?

He can't stop himself from reading any more than he can stop the tears pouring down his face. They'd missed so much of your life, and yet you'd dutifully written letter after letter, as if you'd planned on them seeing it. Like you hoped they would come back some day. The next letter was only written two years ago, but it turns Suguru's blood to ice.

I saw the scandal on one of the gossip magazines while I was out shopping for groceries, Toru. The Chanel model? Really? I was kind of hoping for the Gucci one, she seems so nice to her assistant.

I say this like you're a celebrity. A celebrity that I can just laugh at, and say "must be nice, having supermodels fall into your lap!" You were mine, once, long before you were hers. I love loved you.

I did something stupid, last night. Remember Kenji, from high school? The one you always hated? I can't even explain it, how furious I was, when I saw you with that model. You looked so happy, like it didn't matter that all your joy and abundance didn't come at my expense.

I ended up sleeping with him for the first time, with anyone for the first time really. I'm not going to write more; it's embarrassing, and it wasn't even good, but I think I'm more upset with myself. It doesn't matter.

It's not like you'll ever find out. Even if you do, it's not like you'll care.

It's not like my love mattered to you to begin with.

Suguru's chest feels as though someone has washed his heart in acid. On paper, the person you were after they left was more jaded. Less optimistic. You no longer spoke of things you wished they were able to experience with you, but rather all the things they'd left behind. You thought they didn't care, and as he forces his useless lungs to take another breath, he knows that he can't leave this town until he convinces you to come with him. As he stumbles down from the attic, dress in hand, your mother gives him a knowing stare.

"Did you find the dress I asked you to grab?"

"Yes ma'am," Suguru says numbly. It's all he says. It's all he can say. Your mother sighs, patting the chair next to her. "Why don't you call Satoru over, hm? Try some of the tea I bought. I remember your mother saying you only drink black. You really should call her more."

Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, and whom God hath hedged in?

"I'm home!" you call out, slipping your shoes off with one hand as you balance the full bag of groceries in the other. "Did you take your medi-"

The carrots drop to the floor as you take in the sight of Gojo and Geto sitting at your kitchen table with your mother of all people. "What the fuck?"

Geto's eyes are rimmed red, like he'd been crying, while Satoru stares at you with a hint of anguish. "What the fuck," you repeat again, dumbfounded. "Why are you in my house right now?"

Geto opens his mouth to speak, but your mother waves it away. "You know how bad my back's been lately, I really wanted to wear that old emerald dress your father got me, do you remember?"

Stunned, you can only nod.

"And, I didn't want to have you come all the way back from the city just to grab a dress for me, so I called over Suguru and Satoru to help me out," your mother finishes. You can't stop the panic from leaking into your voice.

"Where was the dress?"

From the look on their faces, you know that Geto and Gojo have found it. All the letters you were too weak to send, too weak to throw away. How much did they read?

"The attic, dear," is your mother's quiet response, and when you turn her attention to her, you can see the quiet love and encouragement in her eyes.

What's more important? The love for all the things they did do, or all the things they didn't?

White noises rushes into your head, and you can barely process your mother's departure. Something about Bingo Night? The door clicks shut and you're left with silence so profound that your body almost instinctively crumples in on itself. Suguru can't look you in the eyes, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the delicate porcelain teacup that looks comically small next to his calloused hands. Satoru merely watches, but you can see the tension in his neck, in the way his fingers flex around empty air.

So, you do the only thing you can do. You run.

Turning, you all but sprint up the stairs. You lied. You couldn't do this, couldn't face them, see them, hear them-

Toned arms reach around from behind, pulling you decisively to a well-defined chest. The air is forced out of your lungs as you yelp, squirming out of the hold, only to freeze as Satoru places his cheek on your head, nuzzling into your hair.

"I missed you."

Tears spring to your eyes but Satoru keeps going. "You were the only thing that kept us going. Our apartment was so shitty, we had to put cardboard on the floor just to keep warm. I thought of you all the time. I thought of which stage outfit you'd like better, how you would get along so well with the other members of the group. We didn't forget you. We love you too much for that."

"Stop," you choke out, as your legs crumple under you. Satoru catches you, tugging you further into him, as tears trickle down your face. A blurred shape; Suguru, kneeling in front of you, gently taking your hands in his.

"One chance, princess," he breathes. "Give us one chance to explain ourselves. After that, we'll do whatever you want, give you whatever you want. We've only ever been yours."

[ariestrxsh]

*˖ ݁𖥔.𓀏·:*¨༺ .♱.✮.♱. ༻¨*:·𓀏.𖥔 ݁ ˖*

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, use of handcuffs, use of butt plug, degradation, humiliation, rough blow job, first-time anal, dacryphilia, hair-pulling, double penetration, creampie, mean!roughdom!matt, mean!roughdom!chris

📝 author's note: 📝 this is part four of she thinks of me. 💖 here are parts one, two, and three. inspired by the fact that there's not enough dp in chratt fics. 🫦 there will not be any more parts to this

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Chris and Matt finally give you what you've been starving for - both of them at the same time.

*˖ ݁𖥔.𓀏·:*¨༺ .♱.✮.♱. ༻¨*:·𓀏.𖥔 ݁ ˖*

she thinks of me part four 💖

Matt drew me a bubble bath that night while I recovered from the intense session we'd just had, and he sat next to me on the ledge of the tub, caressing my cheek and looking in to my eyes.

The bath water was hot like the mug in my hands. Matt had made me a cup of chamomile lavender tea, and I sipped on it slowly while we sat in the candlelight.

"You know, there's one more toy I bought for you," he smiled at me. "What is it?" I asked, shifting around in my bath. This sparked my curiosity. What else could he possibly have bought? "You'll find out," he smirked at me. I glared at him while I held the mug up to my lips, taking another drink.

"You know, I love being in a relationship with you. I love the way you make me jealous and the way you keep me on my toes. I'd be bored if I were with anyone else," Matt told me under his breath while he brushed the back of his hand up against my face.

I was really happy to hear this, because until Matt and Chris had made this bet, there seemed to be a bit of passion lacking in the relationship, and it felt like this little arrangement we had going with Chris was breathing life back into our connection.

"I love you," I whispered, silently wondering what I did to deserve such an incredible man. "I love you, too," Matt responded warmly. "I can't get enough of you," I replied softly.

"Can't get enough of Chris either, huh?" He asked his voice saturated with lust. "It really turns you on, huh?" I questioned, biting my lip. Matt nodded.

"I mean, it's weird. At first, I was so jealous, but watching how good Chris made you feel.." Matt's voice trailed off. We could both feel the sexual tension in the air. It was strange how inviting Matt's brother into our sex life was bringing back the fervor into it, but we weren't going to question it.

He leaned in, and his lips enveloped mine into a deep kiss. Despite how tired I was and how many times I had finished earlier in the night, I felt myself full of desire again for both of them. "You're gonna love what Chris and I are going to do to you," Matt promised, and my mind swarmed with all the possibilities.

After my bath, I sat on the couch downstairs, completely naked, wrapped in a cozy blanket. Matt had told me not to even bother putting on clothes through his smirk before he'd gone to retrieve the last item he'd bought while he was out.

Matt and Chris reappeared in front of me a few minutes later. They were both in nothing but their boxers, and Matt was holding something behind his back. They both had shit-eating grins on their faces. "Why don't you bend over, sweetheart?" Chris cooed gently.

I shimmied out of the blanket and did what  Chris told me to do, laying my head on the armrest of the couch and sticking my backend up in the air. The anticipation was getting to me, desperately needing to know what they were going to do to me.

I heard the sound of the handcuffs from earlier, and I grew ever more excited as Matt grabbed both my wrists, pinned them behind my back, and clicked the restraints shut around them "This is gonna hurt for a minute, darling but I promise we're gonna make you feel so good," Matt promised, and I heard the sound of a lube bottle opening.

All of a sudden, I felt a lubed up pair of fingers teasing my hole - but not the one I was used to. I let out a pained sound while Matt poked and prodded around, beginning to stretch out my backdoor for the first time.

I'd expressed to Matt my curiosity about anal before, and he certainly never seemed opposed to it, but I didn't know it would be happening now and in front of Chris. A part of me was humiliated to have Matt exploring such a taboo part of my body, especially in front of his brother. The other part of me was dreaming about having both my holes filled at the same time by each of them.

Once I got used to Matt's fingers, I felt the tip of what felt like a butt plug lining up with my back entrance. He slowly started working it into my tight hole, and I let out a few sobs. "Shhh, it's almost all the way in, princess," Matt hushed me.

Finally, I could feel the toy all the way inside me, and I started to get a bit used to it. "Such a good girl for us," Chris whispered, coming around to the other side of the couch until he was in front of me. He grabbed ahold of my hair and yanked my head up so that my big eyes were locked on him.

I admired his body, how angelic he looked towering over me, and the way I could perfectly see the outline of his cock through his underwear. I could tell where this was going.

I heard the sounds of them both removing the last bit of their clothing, and my stomach did turns and flips as I felt Matt's tip brushing up against my sore cunt while the butt plug stayed in place.

Chris held his dick in his hand and gently pressed it up against my bruised lips, silently asking to be let in. I let him sink into my mouth while Matt sunk into my pussy, and the sensation of my new toy elevated the whole experience.

They both began thrusting in and out of my different holes, filling the room with their harmonic moaning. "Such a fucking slut. This is your dream, isn't it? Being used by us both at the same time?" Matt growled from behind me, and his words made me weak, but I couldn't answer him with his brother's cock stuffed into my drooling mouth.

I looked up at Chris, who was staring intently down at the way he disappeared behind my lips every time he'd rock his hips forward. The expression on his face gave away how much he was enjoying himself - his jaw was tensed, his lips barely parted, his blue eyes filled with need, and his eyebrows pulled together in a way that might have looked like concern or anguish in any other context.

I loved that Chris looked like that because of me. I loved the grunts that would escape his gorgeous, pouty, pink lips while he relaxed into his sexual desire. All while admiring how handsome Chris looked while I sucked him off, I could feel Matt's strong thrusts from behind, jerking me forward to take more of his brother's cock into my mouth.

"Fucking whore. Choke on it," Chris urgently whimpered while I started to gag on his length. His hands wandered into my hair, holding my head still so he could face fuck me again, but before he could get too carried away, Matt pulled himself out of me, and he removed my plug as well. "I want you to ride Chris' cock, sweetheart," Matt requested with his voice full of desire and lust.

Before I knew it, Chris was beneath me, my wrists still cuffed behind my back while I rode him, his hands tightly gripping my waist.

I thought I heard the sound of Matt opening the lube bottle again, but I figured I was imagining things until he said, "Stay still, you little slut," and I stopped bouncing up and down on Chris' length for a moment.

Then I felt it - Matt's tip brushing against my other hole. I sharply inhaled and let out a cry as he slowly pushed it in. The pain at first was excruciating, but Chris caressed my face, wiped away the tears that started to roll down my cheek, and hushed me as Matt entered me further.

"Take it all for me, baby. I know you can," Matt cooed. He took his time, allowing me to get used to him before sliding in another inch. The sensation was insanely powerful, the feeling of two men in my different holes, and not just any two men, but my incredibly hot boyfriend and his incredibly hot brother.

It felt like it took ages to acclimate to Matt's girth filling me from behind, but once it started feeling good, it was impossible to contain my satisfaction. My eyes rolled back, and my whines filled the atmosphere. They both moved together in unison, bucking their hips at the same fast and powerful pace, sending waves of pleasure through my whole body.

"You love getting fucked in the ass, don't you?" Matt grunted in a low voice, gripping your hips. "She loves it. She's our little cock slut," Chris whimpered.

"Love using all your holes, naughty girl," Matt breathed. "Poor girl. So dumb for our cocks, she can't even speak," Chris relayed in a faux sympathetic tone. Their hand placement, the way they spoke to me and about me, and their animalistic ways of fucking was enough to have me reaching the point of no return.

I started to tremble and loudly moan both of their names. My orgasm ripped me with incredible power like a force that couldn't be stopped. I felt myself clench around each of them while I rode out the rest of my climax.

They laughed at my desperation and high-fived each other as my pleasure washed over me. My legs grew weak as I struggled to hold myself up, but Matt and Chris steadied me on their cocks with their glorious hands running all over my body.

They both continued pounding away, chasing their own sexual satisfaction, but what they didn't know was how expertly they were hitting all my favorite spots over and over, and how I couldn't take it for another moment.

A second orgasmic feeling cascaded over me, the knot in my stomach coming unraveled and releasing all my pent up energy back into the air around us. The two boys penetrated my five senses, my thoughts, and all of my orificies.

In unison, both Matt and Chris started pumping each of my holes full with warm spurts of their white, sticky substances while they each called out my name. I could feel each of their dicks pulsing inside of me while they finished, loving every second of being filled by them each back-to-back.

And as they each pulled their cocks out of me, their cum started dripping out of me at both ends, and they both watched in awe at the messes they each made. "Look at that," Chris whispered, smiling at the sight before him.

"Fuck, naughty girl. I can't believe you let us both fill you up like that. Such a little whore for us," Matt smirked, releasing me from the handcuffs. "Thanks for letting me put it in your backdoor, princess. That was hot as fuck.."

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[a-lexia11]

Healing vacation and World Cup (Meeting in Barcelona part 4)

Alexia Putellas x reader

Words count: Around 11k

Part 1,Part 2,Part 3 , part 5

Note: So I know that I said part 4 will be the last but I changed my mind, there will be another part.

The night of the “breakup” with Alexia was one of the worst experiences of my life. I couldn't sleep a wink; my mind was consumed with thoughts of her—her radiant smile, her infectious laugh, and the scent of her perfume lingering in my memory.

In my desperation, I scrolled through my phone, endlessly watching the pictures and videos we had taken over the past weeks. It felt truly pathetic; we weren't even officially dating, yet here I was, heartbroken.

The worst part was going to bed without receiving one of her goodnight texts. I had grown so accustomed to her sweet messages that the silence felt unbearable.

I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I got my heart broken in Barcelona. It's supposed to be the city of love and romance, not a place for shattered hearts.

——

The next day was Sunday, and despite having a mountain of work to prepare for the final week of school, I couldn't muster the energy to leave my bed—except for the occasional trip to the freezer for more ice cream.

I lay there, feeling utterly defeated, listening to a playlist of sad songs. The ice cream, which was supposed to be a comfort, tasted salty because my tears kept falling into the tub. This only made me cry even more, creating a vicious cycle of sadness and melted, salty ice cream.

At one point, my mom called me, asking how I was, and I completely broke down. I told her everything that had happened, every detail of my heartbreak and the overwhelming sadness I was feeling.

She and my dad tried their best to comfort me. My mom's soothing words and my dad's attempt to lighten the mood with his comment about there being plenty of other fish in the sea.

While I understood his intention, it was hard to accept because I had already chosen my fish, and now, we couldn't be together anymore.

Their efforts, though subtle, did provide a small measure of comfort, but the pain was still very raw.

After we hung up, I found myself drifting back into a state of inactivity. I couldn't muster the energy to do anything but cry. The tears flowed until I was utterly exhausted, and eventually, I fell into a deep sleep, drained from the emotional turmoil of the day.

——

I woke up startled by knocks on my door. Groggily, I got out of bed and shuffled towards the front door, wondering who could be visiting so early. As I opened the door, there stood Alba, looking uncomfortable and biting her lips.

“Hola” she said quietly, her voice almost trembling.

“Hola” I responded, trying to sound more awake and opening the door wider to silently invite her in.

She stepped inside, and I closed the door behind her. We walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. Alba seemed hesitant, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words.

“¿Cómo estás?” (How are you?) she asked, giving me a small, tentative smile.

I raised my eyebrows at her, feeling my exhaustion wash over me again.

Girl, I looked like a mess—my face was all red, my eyes were so puffy I could barely open them, and my hair looked like a bird's nest.

“La más feliz que he sido en mi vida“ (The happiest I've ever been) I replied sarcastically, unable to hide my frustration.

Alba just nodded and looked down at her hands, playing with her rings.

I realized that my behavior was unkind, but the events of yesterday are still very fresh in my mind, and I can't forget how she ignored me the entire afternoon and suddenly snapped at me.

It felt like a complete disregard for my presence and feelings, which is something that really gets under my skin.

While it might appear childish to react in such a manner, I genuinely don't care because the feeling of being ignored is incredibly painful and frustrating.

It made me feel insignificant and unimportant, which is one of the worst emotions to experience. I understand that everyone has their moments, but being treated like that was really hurtful and left a lasting impact on me.

After about a minute of silence, Alba decided to speak. “Um… Lo siento mucho por lo de ayer. Estaba tan emocionada de ver a Marina de nuevo que me olvidé por completo de ti” (Um… I’m really sorry about yesterday. I was just so excited to see Marina again that I completely forgot about you) she said, still looking down, her voice tinged with regret and her shoulders slumped.

Great, Alba, that does not make it any better. “Forgetting” about me just because your friend is also here… it made it worse. The sting of being overlooked, especially by someone I considered a close friend, cut deep.

I could feel the tension between us growing, the silence becoming heavier with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Alba’s apology, though sincere, did little to mend the hurt.

The memory of being sidelined, of feeling invisible in the presence of someone she deemed more important, was still fresh and raw. Right now, she makes everything worse.

I’m feeling really let down and upset with the Putellas sisters. They are the last people I want to see or talk to at the moment. The incident is still very fresh, and I need some time to come to terms with it.

If I continue discussing this with her right now, I might say something I’ll later regret.

It’s such a stark contrast to just a few weeks ago. I used to look forward to seeing Alexia and hanging out with Alba.

We would go out with our friends, enjoy dinners, and have movie nights where I’d cuddle with Alexia.

Those moments felt so warm and comforting. Now, the thought of seeing them fills me with dread and frustration. It’s heartbreaking how quickly things have changed.

I rose from my chair, feeling the tension in the air. “No quiero hablar contigo en este momento” (I really don’t want to talk with you right now) I said, my voice strained with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “Creo que es mejor que te vayas” (I think it’s best if you leave)

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked towards the front door, my footsteps echoing in the quiet room.

The distance between us grew with each step, and I felt a heavy weight lift slightly from my shoulders as I reached for the doorknob.

Alba rose from her seat and slowly made her way towards the front door. As I opened it for her, she paused right in front of me, her eyes meeting mine with a glint of unshed tears.

“I’m so, so sorry” she whispered in English, her voice barely audible yet laden with emotion. With that, she stepped out of my apartment, leaving a lingering sense of sorrow in the air.

I closed the door behind her and let out a deep sigh, resting my forehead against the cool wood.

The silence of the apartment seemed to echo the turmoil in my heart. Friendships and love are so difficult, I thought, feeling the sting of her departure.

The complexities of human connections often left me feeling both enriched and exhausted, and this moment was no different.

Settling back onto my sofa, I reached under the coffee table to grab my labtop. With a few quick clicks, I booked a flight back to New York, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation.

I really need to be with my family and friends. Spending my summer vacation in New York wasn't part of the plan—I was supposed to go to Bali with my friends but given the circumstances, that's no longer an option.

The thought of being surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of home brought a sense of comfort. I missed my parents and friends deeply, so NYC, here I come.

Just one more week of school, and I can finally escape Barcelona. The city had been beautiful and full of life, but right now, I needed the warmth and support of my loved ones more than anything.

——

Returning to work turned out to be easier than I had anticipated. Seeing all the children again brought a sense of joy and made me feel a little better, lifting my spirits.

I couldn't avoid Alba at all since we were working in the same class, but it was clear that something had definitely changed between us.

I wasn't talking to her, avoided making eye contact, and only spoke to her when it was absolutely necessary.

I maintained a professional demeanor throughout the entire week, focusing solely on my tasks and responsibilities.

It was challenging, but I knew it was the right thing to do for my own peace of mind.

I could see that she desperately wanted to talk to me; she always looked at me with eyes that seemed to say I had kicked her puppy or something equally heartbreaking.

I'm not going to lie, it hurt me more than I want to admit. Seeing her like that tugged at my heartstrings, making it difficult to stay firm in my decision.

But right now, the best thing for us, for me, is to focus on myself and my well-being. If that means I have to ignore Alba, then that's what I'm going to do.

It's not easy, but sometimes you have to make tough choices to protect your own mental and emotional health.

“Entonces, chicas, ¿algún plan para el verano?” (So, girls, any plans for the summer?) Valeria asked as Alba and I were in her office, having a little recap of everything that had happened at work.

Today is Friday, the last day of school, and finally summer vacation.

“Um…Sí, voy a Bali con mi hermana y amigos” (Um… yeah I’m going to Bali with my sister and friends) Alba said kinda quietly like she was ashamed of saying it.

Even though I’ve never told her directly, I think it’s safe to say that we silently agreed that I’m not part of this trip anymore.

“Eso es genial, Alba. Bali es hermoso, te vas a divertir mucho” (That’s great, Alba.Bali is beautiful you’re going to have so much fun) Valeria responded more exited that Alba. “¿Y tú, Y/N?” (What about you,Y/N) she asked turning her head,looking at me.

“Voy a regresar a Nueva York, voy a pasar un tiempo con mi familia” (I’m going back to New York, I’m going to spend some time with my family) I told her with a gentle smile.

Valeria smiled excitedly at me, nodded and said “¡Espero que se diviertan! Se lo merecen. Ambos fueron increíbles, y los niños no pueden esperar para verlos de nuevo en septiembre” (I hope you guys have some fun! You deserve it. You both were incredible, and the kids can't wait to see you both again in September) Valeria told us, smiling gently at us.

We thanked her.

After 30 more minutes of talking, Valeria finally let us go with a hug and a “see you in September” Alba and I made our way out of the school.

The sun was shining brightly, and the air was filled with the sounds of children laughing and playing, celebrating the start of their summer freedom.

In the parking lot, I turned to her and managed an awkward smile. “Diviértete en Bali” (Have fun in Bali) I said, my voice betraying a hint of the sadness I felt.

I was just about to turn around and walk to my car when I felt her hand gently stop me.

I turned around and looked at her, confusion etched across my face. She let go of my hand and took a deep breath, her eyes darting nervously.

“Um… quería contarte algo” (Um… I wanted to tell you something) she began, her voice trembling slightly.

“Te lo estoy diciendo para que no te enteres por las redes sociales ni nada... pero... um... Marina viene con nosotros a BalI” (I’m telling you so you don’t find out through social media or anything… but… um… Marina is coming with us to Bali) She paused between some words, her stress clearly evident as she gauged my reaction.

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her shirt, and I could see the worry in her eyes, reflecting the weight of the news she had just delivered.

I really don’t know what to say right now. It feels like they’ve replaced me with her. Y/N isn’t coming to Bali anymore, so let’s decide to invite Marina instead... just like that.

It’s incredibly frustrating and makes me feel really sad. Marina played a significant role in the fallout between Alexia and me, and now they’re still choosing to go on vacation with her.

Alba noticed my silence and quickly added, “Bianca es quien la invitó. Estábamos cenando juntos, hablando del viaje a Bali, y Bianca se sintió mal, así que la invitó” (Bianca is the one who invited her. We were having dinner together, discussing the Bali trip, and Bianca felt bad, so she invited her) she said, looking me directly in the eyes, as if to prove her sincerity.

Honestly, I don't have the energy to argue, so I just nodded and said, “Bueno, diviértete” (Okay, well, have fun) in a monotonous voice.

She bit her lip and replied, “Disfruta tu tiempo con tu familia” (Enjoy your time with your family.) I nodded again and turned towards my car.

I'm so over this. I really need to disconnect for a few weeks and stay away from them. It's the only way I can fully move on and heal from this.

——

On Sunday, I decided to go shopping since I’m leaving on Monday and wanted to get something special for my parents from Barcelona.

While I was browsing through necklaces for my mom, I suddenly heard someone calling my name from behind. I turned around and, to my surprise, it was Marcus.

I hadn't seen him since Bianca’s birthday, and seeing him there in the middle of the store brought back a flood of memories.

“Hey Marcus! How's it going?” I greeted him with a friendly hug, happy to see his familiar face.

“I'm good, and you?” he replied, his smile genuine and welcoming. “I'm good too, thanks” I answered, matching his friendly vibe.

“What are you up to here? Checking out the necklaces?” he asked, glancing at the jewelry selection.

“Yeah,I’m getting a gift for my mom. I’m heading back to New York tomorrow, so I wanted to grab something special for my parents” I explained, appreciating his interest.

“That's cool! I'm also heading back to New York soon. We should hang out” he suggested casually.

“For sure! That'd be awesome” I replied warmly, looking forward to catching up with a good friend.

Following our conversation and exploration together, Marcus's kindness and relaxed demeanor truly enhanced the entire experience.

We found a beautiful necklace for my mom, shared some laughs, and swapped phone numbers to plan a future meet-up in New York. Finally, we bid each other farewell.

I still needed to find something for my dad, and knowing his love for football and the Barça team, I decided to visit a Barça store.

The store was vibrant with the team's colors, and the energy was palpable, filled with fans and tourists alike.

While browsing through the aisle filled with various jerseys, I was meticulously going through each one, trying to find the perfect fit for my dad.

Suddenly, I looked up and there she was. Alexia.

In a promotional poster, wearing a Barça shirt, her blonde hair gleamed in the picture, and she had her arms crossed, looking intently into the camera.

Her presence, even in a photograph, was commanding and powerful.

Ugh, what did I expect? Not seeing her in a Barça store? When she's one of the best Barça players? It was almost inevitable.

I can't help but stare at her. The sight of her brought back a flood of memories, and I realized just how much I missed her.

Her intense gaze, even from a poster, seemed to reach out and touch a part of me that had been dormant for too long.

After a few minutes of just staring at that poster of Alexia, I finally pulled myself together and continued looking for a jersey. The store was bustling with fans, and the atmosphere was electric, filled with excitement and chatter about the latest matches and players.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I found the perfect jersey for my dad. It was a classic design with his favorite player's number on it. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, I headed to the cashier, paid for the jersey, and stepped out of the store and in the busy street of Barcelona.

——

Later that day, I found myself packing my suitcase. I put a lot in it since I’ll probably be spending the whole summer there and will come back only in September.

The thought of being away for so long made me feel a mix of excitement and nostalgia.

While rummaging through my stuff, I stumbled upon a little box with the butterfly necklace that Alexia had given me.

Memories of the day she gave it to me flooded back, and I felt a bittersweet pang in my chest. Despite the mixed emotions, I decided to take it with me.

There was something comforting about having it close, a tangible reminder of the good moments we shared, not just the bad.

Carefully, I placed the box in my suitcase, knowing that it would bring a sense of connection and warmth during my summer away.

——

The next day, I found myself at the bustling airport, ready to embark on my journey back to New York.

The excitement of returning home mixed with a tinge of sadness about leaving behind the vibrant streets of Barcelona, even if temporary.

As much as I love the city's rich culture, beautiful architecture, and warm, sunny days, I missed my hometown deeply.

The familiar skyline, the hustle and bustle of the streets,were calling me back. With a mix of emotions, I boarded the plane, looking forward to reuniting with everything and everyone I had missed so much.

——

Landing in New York, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I finally escaped the confines of the long flight. The anticipation of seeing my family again made every step feel lighter as I navigated through the crowded airport.

I made my way to the baggage claim area, weaving through the throngs of travelers, each with their own stories and destinations.

After what felt like an eternity, my suitcase finally appeared on the carousel. With a sense of accomplishment, I retrieved it and checked my phone.

A message from my mom popped up, informing me that she and my dad were waiting for me near the airport entrance.

As I descended the escalator, my eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on my parents. My mom was holding a sign that read “Bienvenido a Nueva York,” written in bold, colorful letters, while my dad stood beside her with a bouquet of vibrant flowers.

Their dramatic gesture brought a smile to my face, reminding me just how much I love them.

The moment they spotted me, my mom called out my name, her voice filled with excitement.

She waved frantically, her enthusiasm infectious. I couldn’t help but laugh at their eagerness, feeling a warm sense of belonging as I made my way toward them.

Stepping off the escalator, I hurried towards my parents and enveloped them in a tight hug.

I had missed them so much; their familiar scents and warm embrace brought a sense of comfort that only family could provide.

As tears welled up in my mom's eyes, I could feel the depth of her emotions, her love for me shining through every tear.

On the other hand, my dad's beaming smile could have lit up the entire airport; his joy at seeing me again was palpable, filling the air with a contagious happiness that lifted my spirits.

After our emotional reunion, my parents extended an invitation to dine at a nearby restaurant. Amidst the cozy ambiance and delicious food, I poured my heart out, recounting every detail of my Barcelona adventures.

From Valeria's kindness to the lively banter with the school kids, the bond with my new friends, and the captivating tales of Alba and Alexia, I painted a vivid picture of my life in Spain.

My parents, ever the attentive listeners, hung onto my every word. When I revisited the story of Alexia and me, my dad's protective instincts flared up, his playful threat of converting to a Madridista eliciting laughter from all of us.

Meanwhile, my mom, with her gentle wisdom, offered comforting advice and reassurance, grounding me in her maternal warmth and understanding.

——

After spending a few hours at home, I finally decided it was time to unpack my suitcase, so I enlisted my mom to help me out.

We began carefully pulling out the clothes, one by one, chatting about the trip as we went. Suddenly, my mom's eyes caught something small and delicate—a little box tucked away in a corner of the suitcase.

She gently picked it up and opened it, revealing the butterfly that Alexia had given me.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the box and seeing the butterfly. “Wow, that’s really pretty! Where did you get it?” she continued, inspecting the necklace.

“Oh, it was a gift from Alexia,” I trailed off. My mom looked at me sadly and gave me a sympathetic smile.

“Ooh, is that your initial imprinted on the wings?” she noticed, placing a hand on her heart, touched by it.

“Yeah, it is,” I answered, feeling a little sad as I looked down at my clothes and began folding them as a distraction.

“That girl seemed to really like you, dare I say maybe even in love with you,” she said, and that made me look up at her so fast I almost got whiplash.

“In love?! Don’t be ridiculous, Mom. She is not in love with me; we’ve only known each other for barely three months,” I told her, looking at her weirdly.

“And? The heart wants what it wants, right? Time doesn’t matter; it’s the connection that you have that does. Plus, I’m pretty sure that you’re in love with her,” she said, smirking at me.

That’s ridiculous. I’m not in love with Alexia, just because I think about her every day and every second, and that I love to admire pictures of her, and that I would do anything for her, and that—oh my God, I think I’m in love with her.

I looked at my mom with wide eyes. “I’m in love with Alexia… oh my God,” I told my mom. She just looked at me, nodding her head and smiling gently.

“I know you are,” she said, placing her hand on my shoulder before turning back to folding my clothes.

Now that I think about it, it all makes sense, but it's adding layers of complexity to my feelings. How am I supposed to fully move on from her when my heart feels so entangled?

And then there's the question of whether Alexia is really in love with me. A part of me desperately hopes for a definitive answer, either yes or no, because ambiguity just makes everything more complicated.

If she is, it brings a whole new set of challenges; if she isn't, it might make it easier to let go, but it still hurts.

——

I spent my first two week in NYC just soaking up the city and relaxing with my friends and family. It felt so good to reconnect with Madison and Carter; I had missed them more than I realized.

We laughed, reminisced, and created new memories together. To make the most of this precious time, I decided to disconnect from my phone completely. I deleted all my social media apps and any other distractions, focusing solely on being present with my loved ones.

One of the highlights was inviting Marcus to hang out with us. He had mentioned he was also in New York, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to include him in our group.

Surprisingly, he fit right in, as if he had always been a part of our tight-knit circle. We explored the city, shared stories, and bonded over our shared experiences, making the week even more special.

He’s basically become part of our group now. We’re always hanging out together, even when we’re just doing nothing. I’ve gotten to know him better, and I’m not disappointed.

He really belongs with us. It’s been great to see how well he fits in with everyone. We’ve had some amazing times, whether it’s surfing in the Hamptons, grabbing a bite to eat, or just chilling at someone’s place.

He’s added a new dynamic to our group, and I can’t imagine it without him now.

This two weeks were truly amazing until I decided to go back on social media and saw Bianca’s new Instagram post.

She had posted an insta dump with pictures from Bali. There was one picture in particular that caught my eye: all of them sitting at a restaurant, smiling. Alexia and Marina were sitting next to each other, with Alexia’s arm around Marina’s shoulder.

I just stared at the both of them; they really do look like a couple. Alexia had confessed to me that at one point she felt something for Marina, and now that they are on vacation together, maybe they’ve rekindled that flame.

I made the mistake of going through the comments. Alexia’s fans were all over it, recognizing Marina as her ex and freaking out, shipping them, saying they look cute together. It was like a punch to the gut.

Huffing, I locked my phone and threw it across my bed. I fucking hate them! Well, not Alexia, but in that moment, I did hate her.

Seeing them together like that brought back so many memories and emotions. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and hurt. It's like everything we had talked about, all the feelings she had shared with me, were just thrown out the window.

I felt betrayed and confused, the comments only made it worse.

I needed to get away from it all, to clear my head and figure out what I was really feeling.

I decided to take a long walk, hoping the fresh air and solitude would help me sort through my emotions. But no matter how far I walked, the image of Alexia and Marina together kept replaying in my mind.

How can my mom even think that Alexia is in love with me when she's so openly affectionate with someone else? It's confusing and hurtful, and I don't know what to believe anymore.

Feeling jealous and angry, I decided to make an Instagram dump too. I posted several pictures of food, Madison, Carter, and most importantly, Marcus.

Alexia was jealous of Marcus; she told me herself, so I thought, why not post about him?

I included a particular picture of all of us in swimsuits after we went surfing in the Hamptons.

The picture was a selfie taken by Madison. In the background, you could see Carter sitting by himself, eating. Marcus and I were in the foreground, sitting on a surfboard.

I had my arms wrapped around his stomach, and his arms were comfortably resting around my shoulders.

The sun was setting, casting a beautiful glow over the scene, and you could see the waves gently crashing behind us. The picture perfectly captured the joy and relaxation of that moment.

And I captioned it : “ Mis favoritos momentos con Mis favoritas personas” (My favorite moments with my favorite persons)

——

As I was laying on my bed at night, I received an instagram notification.

alexiaputellas liked your post.

I really hope you liked my post, Alexia. I mean, I truly hope it brought you immense joy and satisfaction…

And then I received a message from Alexia. I quickly sat up, my mind racing as I debated whether or not to read it.

The curiosity was killing me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it might be something important. After a moment of hesitation, I decided, “Oh, screw it, I should just read it.”

La Reina👸 : Hola,Y/N how are you? I hope I’m not bothering you.I just wanted to know how you are, I saw some of you pictures that you posted,I’m really happy that you’re enjoying yourself.You deserved it.

Ugh,suddenly you want to know how I am right after I posted those pictures...

I knew it, posting that picture with Marcus definitely got to her. I mean, it was bound to happen, right?

But should I respond? I can't deny I missed talking to her. She saw that I read the message, and if I don't reply, it’ll seem rude... Plus, it's not like I want to start any drama.

So frustrating. I'll just reply casually and normally, keeping things light and friendly.

To La Reina 👸: Hey Alexia, I'm good, thanks! How about you? How was Bali?

Is it too short? Should I add more? No, it's perfect. And I send her the message, hoping for the best.

After a few minutes, her call suddenly came through. I sat up even more, almost falling out of my bed, my mind racing with questions.

Why is she calling now? Isn't texting enough? Oh no, what do I do? She knows I'm awake; I just replied to her message.

Shit! I’m panicking, I’m panicking.

Okay, calm down. Deep breaths, in and out, in and out.

With a deep breath, I finally picked up the phone.

“Hello” I greeted Alexia, trying to sound as calm and casual as possible, even though I was on the edge of a panic attack.

“Hello, Y/N,” Alexia responded softly. Hearing her voice and that familiar accent made my heart skip a beat. “How are you?” she continued.

“I’m good. And you?” I asked her genuinely, eager to hear more.

“I’m good too, thank you,” she said gently, her voice as soothing as ever.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I decided to break the ice. “Did you have fun in Bali? Are you back in Barcelona?”

“Yes, I had a lot of fun, and yes, I am back in Barcelona,” she answered casually.

I furrowed my eyebrows. She’s back in Barcelona, and it’s like 4 a.m. there right now. Why is she awake?

“Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s late in Barcelona right now,” I told her, my concern evident in my voice.

“I couldn’t sleep. I—” she stopped in her tracks. The silence stretched for a few seconds, and then she continued, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I closed my eyes, feeling a mix of emotions. God, why do you say those kinds of things? And at night, I’m so much more vulnerable at this time.

“Y/N? Are you still here?” she asked, worry lacing her voice, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Um... yes... sorry, I’m still here,” I answered, totally dumbfounded, trying to process her words and the emotions they stirred within me.

I sighed deeply, "Alexia, you can’t say things like that," I said with a hint of sadness in my voice.

"But it’s the truth," she responded sincerely, her words cutting through the silence.

I sighed again, feeling the weight of her words. "How is Alba?" I quickly changed the subject, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from our feelings.

"She is very good. She misses you, you know…" she trailed off, her voice softening.

"I miss her too," I responded truthfully, feeling a pang of longing.

I can't lie, I miss Alba a lot—her presence, her humor, her teasing. Maybe I should try and reach out to her at some point. I can't stay angry at her forever.

The thought of reconnecting with Alba brought a small smile to my face, despite the emotional turmoil I was feeling.

After that, Alexia and I talked for a while, but only about our vacations—how they went, what we did, the places we visited, and the people we met. I completely avoided talking about Marina.

The pain of that situation still lingered, and I wasn’t ready to confront it just yet.

Alexia also mentioned that in less than a week, she will be flying to New Zealand for the World Cup.

She was very excited about it and maybe also a little nervous. I mean, it’s the World Cup after all. She talked about how she’s been training hard and how much it means to her to represent her team on such a big stage.

She’s looking forward to the experience but also feels the pressure to perform well.

She also shared with me the various issues the team is currently facing with their coach.She mentioned that the disagreements are affecting their training sessions and overall team morale.

She seemed really upset about it.

“Will you come to see one of my matches?” she asked suddenly, catching me off guard.

“I don’t know, Alexia,” I replied hesitantly, unsure of how to navigate the situation.

“Lo cubriré todo: los billetes de avión, los hoteles, todo” (I’ll cover everything—plane tickets, hotels, everything) she quickly added, her desperation to convince me evident in her voice.

“Alexia, that’s not the issue,” I informed her, trying to convey the complexity of my hesitation.

“Entonces, ¿cuál es el problema?” (Then what is the problem?) she asked, her frustration starting to show.

“You know what the problem is,” I retorted knowingly, hinting at the unresolved issues between us.

“Sí, pero por favor, creo que es hora de que tengamos una conversación cara a cara, no por teléfono. No podemos seguir así. Te quiero en mi vida; significas mucho para mí” (Yes, but please, I think it’s time for us to have a conversation face to face, not over the phone. We can’t stay like this. I want you in my life; you mean so much to me) she said emotionally, her voice softening as she tried to reach me on a deeper level.

She was right; I can’t avoid this situation forever. I need to work things out with Alba and her. I work with Alba, and we need to make things comfortable with each other once we get back to work.

The tension can’t affect my professional life.

And Alexia is now also a part of my life. I need to work things out with her too. It’s the only solution to live in peace and move forward without this cloud hanging over us.

“Okay, I’ll come to see one of your matches,” I told her, finally giving in. I think I can squeeze New Zealand into my schedule, though it will be tight.

I’ll ask Marcus, Carter, and Madison if they want to come along. It might be good to have some company and support during this trip.

“Good!” she said excitedly. “I can pay for everything,” she started saying, but I cut her off.

“It’s okay, Alexia, you don’t have to pay for anything. I can cover it, really,” I informed her.

After a few minutes of back-and-forth arguing about whether she would or wouldn’t pay for my trip, she finally gave in.

“Now, I’ll need to go buy a Spain jersey” I told her jokingly, trying to keep the conversation light.

“You know I can give you one; you don’t have to buy it” she replied matter-of-factly, her tone amusing.

“Who said I wanted your jersey?” I retorted with a playful grin, letting out a little laugh at the end to show I was just teasing.

“Oh, so you don’t want to carry my name on your back?” she responded, her voice filled with mock indignation.

“No, thank you. I want a Bonmati jersey” I informed her.

“That’s a very good choice,” she said sweetly and honestly, her smile warm and genuine.

“I'm just teasing, I only want to wear your jersey, no one else's” I said softly, my tone becoming more tender as I gazed into her eyes.

Ugh, I'm starting to get emotional now... stop it, Y/N.

“Can you FaceTime me, please? I really want to see you” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, you can FaceTime me” I replied after a brief pause.

I received the FaceTime call and accepted it right away.

She appeared on my screen, looking so relaxed. I could see she was lying on her bed with Nala in her arms.

“Hola” she greeted me with a gentle smile.

“Hola” I responded. “Can I see Nala, please?” I asked, and she chuckled softly. She moved her camera to show Nala, who was peacefully asleep.

“Oh, she's adorable” I whispered to Nala. I really missed that little dog.

Alexia brought the camera back to herself. “You got a tan; it looks great on you” I complimented her.

“Gracias” (thank you) she said “Sabes, me habría divertido más si hubieras estado aquí con nosotros” (You know, I would have had more fun if you were here with us) she added, sounding a bit sad.

I sighed deeply, feeling a bit lost on how to respond.

“Maybe one day, we'll be able to go there together again” I suggested, smiling warmly at her.

“I would love that” she replied, her smile mirroring mine.

“Um... I saw your pictures on Instagram. You and Marcus are friends now?” she asked hesitantly, trying to choose her words carefully to avoid sounding rude.

There it was. The unmistakable hint of jealousy I had been expecting.

“Yes, we ran into each other again in Barcelona. I told him I was heading back to NY, and he mentioned he was going too. So, yeah, we've been hanging out” I explained, trying to keep my tone casual.

I couldn't resist asking, “I saw Bianca's Instagram. You and Marina seem to be getting closer too” I pointed out gently, not wanting to sound accusatory.

“Sí, somos amigas” (Yes, we're friends) she said simply, and I nodded, though doubt lingered in my mind.

It's hard to fully believe her right now. Noticing my hesitation, she looked at me through the screen and said firmly, “I promise you, nothing happened with her. She's just my friend”

I nodded again, her earnestness making me think she might be telling the truth. I decided to trust her.

Alexia then yawned, clearly exhausted from our long conversation. We had been talking for at least an hour.

“Alexia, go to sleep. It's late, or rather early, for you” I gently urged her.

“Quiero seguir hablando contigo, no hemos hablado en tanto tiempo, te he extrañado más que a nada” (I want to keep talking with you, we haven’t talk in so long, I missed you more than anything) she whispered softly, her voice full of longing.

Oh, Alexia, I miss you so much too, more than anyone or anything but I decided to ignore the comment

“Let's talk tomorrow, okay? ” I told her, trying to convince her to go to sleep.

“Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night, cariño” she said casually, her voice soft and drowsy.

I don't think she realized the pet name she used because she was half asleep. It caught me off guard but made me smile.

“Goodnight, Alexia” I said simply. She smiled gently at me through the phone, and then there was a soft click as she hung up.

Having this conversation with her was really good. I feel so much lighter now. All the anger that had been weighing me down just disappeared. It feels so good to talk, even though we didn't address the problem directly.

Just hearing her voice and knowing she's there for me made everything better.

——

Over the next few days, I reached out to Carter, Madison, and Marcus to see if they were interested in going to New Zealand for the World Cup. They all responded with enthusiasm.

We then went online to purchase Spain jerseys. I chose Alexia's jersey, while Marcus and Madison went for Aitana's jersey. Carter, like me, opted for Alexia's jersey.

I sent a message to Alexia, informing her that we would be traveling to New Zealand to watch her play. She was thrilled and thanked us for the support.

We all agreed to invite Alba to join us. I feel it's time to finally forgive her. The three weeks apart have allowed my anger to dissipate, and I've realized how much I miss her.

This trip seems like the perfect opportunity to mend our relationship and enjoy an unforgettable experience together.

So that’s why I’m calling her right now.

“Hola” she answered the phone, sounding really confused.

“Hola, Alba,” I replied warmly. “Cómo estás?” (How are you?) I continued sweetly.

“Hola, Y/N. Estoy bien, ¿y tú?” (I’m fine, and you?) she asked back, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

“Estoy genial, gracias” (I’m great, thank you) I answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “Te estoy llamando porque quería preguntarte algo” (I’m just calling because I wanted to ask you something) I continued, feeling a bit nervous.

“Dime” (Tell me) she said, her tone encouraging.

“Quería saber si te gustaría, ya sabes, venir a Nueva Zelanda conmigo y mis amigos” (I wanted to know if you would like to, you know, come to New Zealand with me and my friends) I asked, my voice wavering slightly. “Tuve una conversación con Alexia hace poco, y vamos a ver algunos de sus partidos y también pasar un tiempo allí de vacaciones” (I had a conversation with Alexia not long ago, and we’re going to see some of her matches and spend some time there for vacation as well) I continued, rambling nervously.

There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity before she finally answered, “¡Sí, me encantaría ir con ustedes!” (Yes, I would love to come with you guys) she said, and I could hear the genuine smile in her voice.

“¡Eso es fantástico! ¡No puedo esperar! Um, ya sabes, también nos dará la oportunidad de hablar sobre, ya sabes, lo que pasó” (That’s fantastic! I can’t wait for it! Um, you know, it will also give us the opportunity to talk about, you know, what happened) I added, my nerves showing through.

“Sí, me gustaría hablar de todo eso contigo también” (Yes, I’d like to discuss all that with you too) she said, sounding relieved and perhaps a bit emotional.

“De acuerdo, te enviaré toda la información.” (Okay, well, I will text you all the info) I informed her, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.

“Sin problema, estoy feliz de que hayas llamado“ (No problem, Y/N. I’m really happy you called) she said, her voice filled with emotion, and I returned her words before we said our goodbyes.

——

We’ve been in New Zealand for about two days now.

After an incredibly long flight, we have finally landed in New Zealand two days ago.Alba is supposed to join us today, and I’m sure her arrival will make the trip even more exciting.

I did not have the chance to see Alexia in those two days,since she does not have much days off.

The Spanish team has played three matches so far and has won two of them, which is amazing. The excitement of the matches is palpable, and I can’t wait to see more of them in action.

Besides the matches, I’m looking forward to exploring this beautiful country with you all and creating unforgettable memories.

“Where is she? We've been waiting for like 20 minutes! Send her a message” Carter complained for what seemed like the hundredth time. We are currently at the airport about to pick up Alba.

“Oh, look, there she is!” Madison pointed out Alba and greeted her excitedly, waving and calling her name with enthusiasm.

Alba turned her head and upon seeing us, her face lit up with a big smile. She quickened her pace and approached us swiftly.

When she finally arrived, she greeted us all with tight hugs and kisses on the cheeks, her joy palpable.

When she reached me, she put her hand on the back of my head and hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe, but I hugged her back just as tightly, feeling her warmth and affection.

“I've missed you so much” she said in English with a voice that was almost breaking into tears. I hugged her even tighter if that was possible and echoed her words, feeling the emotion of the reunion.

We parted with a kiss on each cheek and, with a mix of laughter and chatter, headed towards our rental car.

After returning to the hotel, Alba and I engaged in a deep and emotional conversation that lasted at least an hour , with a few tears shed here and there.

She confessed how terrible she felt about the hurtful comment she had made and how she had ignored me when Marina was around.

Her voice was filled with genuine remorse, and I could see the regret in her eyes.

Alba promised that she would never behave that way again and, in a light-hearted moment, even said I could slap her if she ever did. She went on to tell me how much she missed me and how everyone in Bali missed me too.

She mentioned that the trip would have been so much better if I had been there, and hearing that truly touched my heart. It made me realize how much I mean to them and how much they value my presence.

I forgave her wholeheartedly, understanding that time has allowed me to heal and that it’s now time to move forward. I feel that this experience has the potential to make our friendship stronger than ever.

Perhaps we needed this argument to reinforce our bond and understand each other better. With a tight hug and a playful slap on my ass, we left the hotel, ready to explore the vibrant city of Aucklan.

——

After a long day of sightseeing, we finally got back to the hotel to freshen up and prepare ourselves for the match tonight. Spain is playing against Switzerland, and the excitement was palpable. I headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, eager to get ready for the evening.

As I was getting dressed, my eyes fell upon that familiar small box with the butterfly necklace inside. I hesitated, debating whether or not to wear it. After a few minutes of contemplation, I decided to put it on, feeling a sense of comfort and connection as I clasped it around my neck.

While rummaging through my suitcase for my jersey, Alba emerged from the bathroom, her hair still damp and a playful smirk on her face. Her eyes immediately went to the necklace I was wearing.

“Lo sabía, se vería realmente hermoso en ti” (I knew it would look really beautiful on you) she said, her smile gentle. “Yo la ayudé a elegirlo, ¿sabes?” (I helped her choose it, you know.)

“¿De verdad?” (Really?) I asked, genuinely surprised.

“Sí, pero fue idea de ella añadir las iniciales. ¿Verdad que fue lindo?” (Yeah, but it was her idea to add the initials. That was cute, right?) she added smugly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I couldn't help but smile back at her. I had missed her teasing more than I would like to admit. It felt good to have this moment, a reminder of our deep bond and the shared memories that made our friendship so special.

I playfully rolled my eyes at her and was about to put on my jersey when Alba stopped me.

“Espera, no te lo pongas todavía, tengo algo más” (Wait, don’t put it on yet, I have something else) she said, rummaging through her suitcase with a determined look on her face.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, curious about what she could possibly have. She finally pulled out another jersey of Alexia’s and handed it to me.

“Alba, es la misma camiseta que compré” (Alba, it’s the same jersey that I bought) I told her, puzzled, as I was about to give it back.

“Dale la vuelta” (Turn it around) she said, rolling her eyes with a knowing smile.

I turned the jersey around, and there, on the number 11, it was written with a sharpie, “Una camiseta especial para alguien especial” (A special jersey for my special someone.) I immediately recognized Alexia’s handwriting, and my heart skipped a beat.

My cheeks blushed at that, feeling a warm rush of emotions.

“Alexia me dijo que te la diera” (Alexia told me to give it to you) Alba said, smiling gently at me before returning to the bathroom to continue getting ready.

I put the jersey on, and it smelled exactly like Alexia, bringing a sense of comfort and closeness. She is so sweet.

Take that, Marina—I bet Alexia didn’t give you her jersey with a cute message like this.

——

We arrived at the stadium, and the energy was palpable with a crowd already gathered. We found our seats near the field, eagerly anticipating the events to unfold.

The atmosphere shifted as the Spanish team players emerged from the tunnels, greeted by enthusiastic cheers. Alexia, with her slightly faded pink hair, immediately caught my eye. She looked impeccable in her suit, AirPods in, exuding confidence and focus.

As Alexia and her teammates inspected the field, their concentration was evident. They took in every detail, preparing themselves mentally for the match ahead.

Then, Alexia turned her head, and our eyes met. A wide smile spread across her face as she waved at me. I waved back, feeling a rush of excitement. Noticing she had her phone, I gestured for her to check it.

“Thank you so much for the jersey, I love it” I messaged her. I looked up to see her reaction. She read the message, then looked up and blew me a kiss with a wink, making my heart flutter.

Alexia then spotted Alba, Marcus, Carter, and Madison. Their faces lit up with big smiles and enthusiastic greetings. Alba blew her a kiss, which Alexia caught and placed on her heart, a gesture of the deep bond and affection among friends.

After a while the players all went back to the tunnels.

——

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. Spain had an easy victory, dominating Switzerland with a 5-1 scoreline.

The stadium erupted with cheers, singing, and dancing as fans celebrated Spain's qualification for the quarter-finals. Alexia and her teammates were visibly elated, their faces beaming with joy and pride.

After soaking in the jubilant atmosphere for a while, we decided to leave the stadium. It was quite late, and our stomachs were rumbling, so we headed to a nearby restaurant to grab a bite to eat.

The streets were alive with fans celebrating Spain's victory, adding to the festive mood.

While we were at the restaurant, I received a message from Alexia. She told me that she would have some time off the next morning and asked if I wanted to join her for breakfast. Without hesitation, I accepted her invitation, eager to spend some quality time with her.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, I continued texting Alexia. She seemed very angry and frustrated because there were ongoing issues with the coaching staff. I did my best to comfort her, offering words of support and encouragement, but it was tough as she was clearly very upset.

I hoped that our breakfast together in the morning would lift her spirits and bring some much-needed positivity.

——

I stood in front of the hotel, my heart racing as I waited for Alexia. She had texted me moments ago, saying she’d be here in just a few minutes, but each second felt like an eternity. The anticipation was almost overwhelming—I hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever, and the thought of being near her again made my chest tighten with longing.

And then, suddenly, I saw her. She was across the street, her figure unmistakable even from a distance. Alexia was dressed in a Spain training kit, the familiar colors bringing a rush of memories flooding back.

Her pink hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, some strands gently framing her face. In her hand, she held a bouquet of flowers,more specifically roses,my favorite.

The sight of her took my breath away, and for a moment, I could do nothing but stand there, captivated.

She hadn’t noticed me yet, and I felt a sudden, urgent need to be closer to her, to close the distance that had separated us for too long.

Without thinking, I stepped off the curb, my eyes locked on her. But I was so mesmerized by the sight of her that I didn’t see the car coming.

The blare of a horn jolted me back to reality, and I snapped my head to the right, just in time to see the car screech to a halt.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I quickly raised my hand in a gesture of apology to the driver, mouthing a hurried “sorry” before practically sprinting across the street.

As I drew nearer, Alexia’s eyes finally met mine. She must have seen everything—my near miss with the car, the way I had been so lost in thoughts of her that I hadn’t even looked before crossing.

But instead of the concern I expected, her face lit up with the brightest smile, one that made my heart swell with so much emotion I thought it might burst.

She opened her arms wide, and I didn’t hesitate for a second. I rushed into her embrace, wrapping my arms around her with all the pent-up longing I had been carrying for so long.

Being in her arms again was like coming home. The familiar scent of her skin, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the way her strong arms enveloped me—it was everything I had missed, everything I had dreamed of in the quiet moments when the distance between us had felt unbearable.

I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply, trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

Alexia’s hug was firm and reassuring, and when she lifted me off the ground, spinning me around, a laugh bubbled up from deep inside me, full of pure, unfiltered joy. I could feel her laughter too, rumbling softly against my chest as she held me.

“¿No te dije que miraras a ambos lados antes de cruzar la calle?” (Didn’t I tell you to look both ways before crossing the street?) she whispered into my ear, her voice teasing but full of affection.

Her breath was warm against my skin, and the sound of her voice sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t help but laugh again, the tension and anxiety that had been building up inside me all day finally melting away.

“I missed you so much,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, but I knew she heard me. I could feel her smile widen against my cheek, and she squeezed me even tighter, as if she never wanted to let me go.

After what felt like both an eternity and an instant, we finally pulled back, though neither of us seemed eager to break the contact entirely. She gently lowered me back to the ground, her hands lingering on my arms, as if grounding me, keeping me close. Then, with that same tender smile, she held out the flowers she had been carrying all along.

“For you,” she said softly, her eyes full of warmth and something else—something that made my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, Alexia,” I replied, my voice thick with emotion as I took the flowers from her. I brought it to my nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance, but all I could really smell was her.

I looked up at her, unable to keep the smile from my face, and I knew in that moment that no matter how far apart we had been, we were here now, together.

"Let's go eat; I'm hungry," she said with a smile, extending her hand toward me. I reached out and took it, her touch warm and familiar, and together we started walking.

The time I spent with Alexia felt almost surreal, as if no time had passed since we were last together. It was like slipping back into a comfortable rhythm, where everything between us just flowed naturally.

We talked about everything and nothing, our conversation as easy and effortless as it had always been. Laughter filled the air, and for a while, it felt as though the weight of the past few months had lifted.

We just catched up on those few weeks that we spend apart.

But eventually, the conversation turned to the topic we had both been quietly avoiding—my decision to end things between us. We spoke a little bit more in details about it, all the things that I could not said that night that I “broke up” with her I told them now.

I could see the sadness in her eyes as we talked, a hint of melancholy that tugged at my heart.

Yet, despite the pain, she listened carefully, nodding in understanding. She didn’t try to argue; instead, she respected my decision, something that only deepened my admiration for her.

The maturity and grace with which she handled the situation reminded me of why I had fallen for her in the first place.

At one point, her gaze dropped to the necklace I was wearing—the one she had given me. Her eyes softened as she noticed it, and I saw a flicker of surprise mixed with something like relief. I realized then that I had never properly thanked her for the gift.

So, in that quiet moment, I finally expressed my gratitude, telling her how much it meant to me and how I had kept it close, even after everything.

She smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that made my chest tighten with emotion.

After about an hour,Alexia walked me back to my hotel, our hands brushing against each other occasionally as we walked side by side. When we reached the entrance, she turned to me, her expression gentle and full of warmth.

Leaning in, she placed a soft kiss on my cheek, the gesture simple yet filled with affection.

“I'll text you later,” she promised, her voice soft, almost a whisper. I nodded, smiling at her, knowing that even though things were different now, there was still something strong and unspoken between us.

As I watched her walk away, I felt a mixture of emotions—gratitude, sadness, and a lingering sense of connection. It was a bittersweet reminder that while things may have changed, some bonds are too strong to ever truly break.

——

I’ve been in New Zealand for just over a week now, and it’s been such a refreshing experience. The country is absolutely stunning, with its breathtaking landscapes and peaceful atmosphere.

I’ve spent most of my time simply enjoying the beauty of the surroundings and taking some much-needed time to relax and recharge.

Marcus, Madison, and Carter all left the day after the intense quarterfinal match between Spain and the Netherlands. It was an exhilarating game, with Spain emerging victorious once again, solidifying their place as one of the top teams in the tournament.

After they departed, it was just Alba and me for a few days, which gave us some time to bond and explore the area together.

Later, Eli and Alexia’s uncle and some friends joined us minus Marina,she had to word thanks God. That added a new dynamic to the group and made things more lively.

Spain then faced Sweden in the semifinals, and it was another thrilling match. Spain pulled off another impressive win, which meant they secured their spot in the final. The excitement among everyone was undeniable. The atmosphere was electric, with celebrations all around.

Alexia, in particular, was over the moon with joy, as were her teammates. You could really feel the pride and happiness radiating from them—it was such a special moment for all of them.

When it comes to Alexia, I haven’t been able to spend as much time with her as I would have liked. Her training schedule has been intense, so she’s been focused and busy preparing for the matches.

However, I did manage to carve out some quality time with her and her family, which I really cherished.

Even when we weren’t physically together, we stayed in close contact through phone calls, FaceTime, and constant messaging. It was nice to keep that connection strong, even with everything going on.

——

Today is the big day—the World Cup final. England versus Spain. The anticipation is overwhelming, and I can’t help but feel incredibly nervous yet excited for the outcome. I’m really hoping Spain takes home the win.

They’ve worked so hard and gone through so much to get here, and they truly deserve to lift that trophy after everything they’ve endured.

The atmosphere in the stadium was absolutely electric, with the tension and excitement hanging thick in the air. Both English and Spanish fans filled the stands, their voices blending into a roaring sea of cheers and chants for their respective teams.

The energy was contagious, and you could feel the passion radiating from every corner of the stadium.

Alba, Eli, Alexia’s uncle, and all of Alexia’s friends were completely caught up in the moment, cheering at the top of their lungs. The excitement was overwhelming, and we were all proudly sporting Alexia’s jersey, a united front of support for her. We were on the edge of our seats, anxiously waiting for that breakthrough moment.

Finally, after nearly 30 minutes of nail-biting tension, Spain scored. The stadium erupted into pure chaos. Everyone around us was euphoric, jumping up and down with pure joy, screaming and hugging each other.

It was a moment of collective celebration, with emotions running high and the feeling of victory inching closer.

As the clock ticked into the 90th minute, the anticipation grew even stronger. Then, finally, Alexia stepped onto the field. The crowd’s response was immediate—cheers and applause filled the air as she joined the game.

Her presence alone seemed to elevate the energy in the stadium even more.

With 15 more minutes added, the tension was almost unbearable. Then, at last, the final whistle blew. A wave of emotion washed over the field, and every player seemed to collapse—some from sheer happiness, others from the weight of disappointment.

From where I stood, I could see Alexia lying on the pitch, surrounded by her teammates who were leaping onto her in celebration. It was a moment of pure joy, a culmination of everything they had worked for, and it was incredible to witness it all unfold.

Eli pulled all of us into a heartfelt group hug as we celebrated the incredible victory. Our cheers were filled with uncontainable joy, and the tears streaming down our faces were a testament to our deep happiness.

It was an emotional and beautiful moment, seeing Spain triumphantly win the World Cup. The sense of accomplishment and elation was palpable, and the scene was truly unforgettable—one we will always cherish as a perfect culmination of their hard-fought journey.

Once we finally managed to steady our emotions, the scene on the field was nothing short of magical. The players were awarded their well-deserved medals, and the moment Spain lifted the World Cup trophy was met with a surge of cheers and applause.

The stadium buzzed with an electrifying atmosphere as fans celebrated the culmination of a remarkable journey.

The players took their time to engage with the crowd, posing for photos and signing autographs. Their joy was evident, and they seemed genuinely thrilled to share this victory with their supporters. It was a beautiful display of gratitude and connection between the team and the fans.

As the crowd began to thin out, a few of us made our way onto the field to find Alexia. The security staff, allowed us access. When Alexia spotted her family, she didn’t just walk; she sprinted towards them with such speed and emotion that it was as if she was propelled by sheer joy.

She embraced her mother and sister tightly, tears streaming down her face, her happiness radiating in every direction.

Her interactions with her friends were equally heartfelt. She greeted each one with the same infectious enthusiasm and warmth, her smile never fading.

I stood a little to the side, giving her the space she needed to enjoy these precious moments with her family and friends, while I chatted with the families of other players who were also basking in the afterglow of the victory.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alexia scanning the crowd, her gaze searching for someone. She turned to her mother, who pointed in my direction.

When Alexia’s eyes finally locked onto mine, a look of recognition and excitement crossed her face. She made a beeline towards me, her expression filled with joy and relief.

As we met halfway, she enveloped me in a tight, heartfelt hug, lifting me off the ground with an energy that matched the day’s celebrations.

I whispered, “You did it,” into her ear, and as she buried her face in my neck, I felt a tender kiss graze my skin—a fleeting, sweet gesture that spoke volumes.

After a few moments of this intimate embrace, we slowly pulled away, but Alexia kept me close, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

She led me back to where her friends and family were gathered, her presence and warmth a constant source of comfort and joy amidst the ongoing celebrations.

After a while of mingling, celebrating with friends and family, and capturing memories with photos, it was just Alexia and me left on the small stage situated in the center of the field.

The revelry had started to wind down, and the festive atmosphere was beginning to settle into a more intimate moment.

We sat close together on the stage, surrounded by a sea of confetti that glittered in the fading light. I found myself idly playing with the colorful pieces scattered around us, a tangible reminder of the day’s excitement.

“I still can’t believe you’re a world champion now,” I said, my voice full of excitement. I gently touched the medal draped around her neck, admiring it’s shine and significance.

Alexia looked at me with a mix of disbelief and joy. “I can’t believe it either,” she responded, then, with a smile, she carefully removed her medal and placed it around my neck.

The gesture was both symbolic and heartfelt, and I couldn’t help but grin as I felt the weight of her achievement resting on me.

She moved even closer, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a tender embrace. I leaned into her, feeling a deep sense of contentment as she planted a soft, affectionate kiss on my cheek.

The warmth of her touch and the intimacy of the moment made it feel even more special.

In a hushed tone, she whispered, “Estoy lista” (I’m ready.)Her words were gentle but filled with a depth of emotion that caught me off guard. I looked at her, confusion and curiosity mingling in my expression.

“I’m ready to start a relationship…with you,” she continued, her voice steady but heartfelt. “I want us to be together officially.”