#lela x reader

[randombush3]

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In the sand?” 

“Sí, in the sand.” 

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

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

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia. 

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

“Mm. You are magically both.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.” 

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

“She has her own team, you know.” 

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheated. 

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

“Are you… alright?” 

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

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

Intimate, huh. 

They are practically snogging. 

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

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

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

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

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

Love goes up in flames before your eyes. 

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

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

“Where is Lena?” 

“Dormida, aún.” 

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

“Vale. Te quiero.” 

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

It has been six hours since you found out.

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

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

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

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

“Why? What have I done?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

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

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

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

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

Everything is ruined because of her. 

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

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

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

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

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?” 

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

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

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

But this is how it goes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.” 

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

“She sounds funny.” 

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

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

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

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

…

Alexia does not know what to do. 

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

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

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

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

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

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns. 

Something goes wrong. 

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

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

Maybe. 

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

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

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

A second later, she is unconscious. 

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

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

She whispers it over and over again. 

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

…

The call is unexpected. 

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

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

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

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia, The Ruiner. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead. 

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

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked. 

“What have you done?” 

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

…

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think she wanted to–” 

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

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You swear. 

“What time’s our train leaving?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married. 

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

You smile. “Really?” 

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes. 

She quickly blinks them back. 

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

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

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

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

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–” 

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies. 

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

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

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

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

Alexia begins to get nervous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ona stands to one side and you pass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

Judgement Day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” he pouts. 

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

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

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

“Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss Mama.” 

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable. 

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

“Really?” 

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

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

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like. 

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

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

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

… 

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

“What, Alexia?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It never ends.

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

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

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

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

"And why not?"

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

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

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

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

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

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

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

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

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

"You need to fix this.")

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

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 3) Chapter Twenty-Seven

TOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Festival of Friends

Summary: The Enterprise arrives on Celia for its Festival of Luminosity, and they get to meet (Y/N)'s family.

            Captain’s Log: We are in orbit around Celia to act as the Starfleet representation to their Festival of Luminosity. It is a celebration of their history, and as our very own Negotiations and Communications officer is a Celian, we were the perfect choice. As such, we have a landing party gathered, and we will be joining the entirety of the festivities.

            (Y/N) was buzzing with excitement as they stood in the Transporter Room beside Spock. Finally (for (Y/N) really had no patience when it came to seeing their home planet after so long), Bones and Kirk walked in.

            “So, Lieutenant, how are you feeling to be going back to Celian?” asked Kirk, smiling widely.

            “Although I love my work on the Enterprise, sir, I am looking forward to the festival. It was always so much fun growing up, and I haven’t been back for many years,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

            “I’m always up for getting out of this ship,” said Bones, as not-grumpy as he could be. “And a party? That means a few good drinks, and that’s a good enough reason to go down to Celia for me.”

            “Doctor, it amazes me that you are given the chance to an observe a unique culture, and yet you manage to focus on the most banal aspects of it,” said Spock, the usual repartee beginning between the pair.

            “Yeah, because it’s the culture and not (Y/N) you’re interested in,” replied Bones, just as witty in his retort.

            “Speaking of (Y/N),” said Uhura, turning to her friend. “Aren’t you going to be involved in the festivities even more than us?”

            “I am a Celian,” said (Y/N), smiling. “It’s customary, and I know all the traditions.”

            Uhura smirked and crossed her arms. “So we get to see that dance I saw you practicing in the recreation room?”

            (Y/N)'s cheeks warmed in embarassment. “You will. But I’m a bit rusty.”

            “I’m certain you’ll be wonderful,” said Spock.

            “Thanks, Spock,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Yes, and we will have a great time watching you celebrate your festival!” said Kirk. “So how about we head down?”

            “Right, let’s get the transporting over with,” said Bones, stepping onto the Transport Pad.

            “You all heard the doctor,” chuckled Kirk, stepping up.

            Spock, (Y/N), and Uhura stepped up.

            “Scotty, energize,” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said Scotty.

            The Transporter powered up, and the group dematerialized.

l

            The landing party—Spock, (Y/N), Kirk, Uhura, and Bones—materialized in Celia’s council building. The building had a tall ceiling where a mural of the sky and clouds stared down at them. Outside, the sun shone and a large garden sloped away to the nearest city. The group took a few steps to the wide open doors and looked outside. The city of Lelas stretched out in front of them, beautiful architecture highlighted by the sun and green pathways growing free.

            Bones whistled. “Now this is what I call a nice city.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “This is home.”

            Yes, thought Spock. This place, peaceful and beautiful, would create someone like (Y/N).

            “(Y/N)!” shouted an excited voice.

            “Uh-oh,” said (Y/N).

            A blur of long blond braids and a pale blue suit rushed by everyone to nearly tackle (Y/N) in a hug. “Ah! I’ve missed you!”

            (Y/N) stumbled and laughed as they tried to keep themself upright. “Hi, Merope.” It was their cousin, here to greet them with her wife.

            “Darling, they’re working,” said a calmer voice.

            Kirk smiled and turned to the second Celian who had arrived, this time the ambassador Alekto. “Ambassador, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, extending a hand.

            “It is, Captain,” said Alekto, smiling and shaking it. They wore a purple dress with flowers crawling up the end. “And this time on a far more enjoyable occasion.”

            Spock nodded. “Indeed.”

            The last time they had encountered one another had been when the Enterprise had taken ambassadors from various planets to a neutral planet to discuss the admittance of Coridan to the Federation. It hadn’t gone smoothly—what with attempted assassination and his father’s need for surgery—but it had ended in success.

            “We’re so happy to have you all!” said Merope, smiling brightly and letting (Y/N) go.

            “Clearly,” said Bones, chuckling as (Y/N) groaned at their cousin’s antics.

            “Darling, again, they’re working,” said Alekto, gently taking her wife’s arm.

            “Fine, fine,” said Merope. She just grinned at (Y/N). “I’m sure we’ll have a ton of time for fun once the festivities begin.”

            “Don’t worry, Merope, we’ll have time to catch up,” assured (Y/N).

            “I’m going to hold you to that,” said Merope.

            “Alright, alright,” said Alekto, patting her wife’s arm. She smiled. “And now for a more official welcome.” She extended an arm around her. “Welcome to Celia. We are happy to host one of our own, Lieutenant (L/N), but we are honored to also have foreigners come to experience our Festival of Luminosity. So, thank you, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy, and Lieutenant Uhura. And welcome once more.”

            “Thank you,” said Uhura. She smiled. “I’ve heard so many stories from (Y/N). I’m sure we’re going to have a wonderful time.”

            “Yeah, I’m up for a party after all the work I’ve been doing,” said Bones jovially.

            “We still have to meet the council,” reminded Spock.

            Kirk smiled. “And I’m sure we’ll enjoy that, too.”

            “Well, then, follow me,” said Alekto, turning with her wife and walking in the direction of the council chambers.

            “If I can ask, what exactly is this festival about?” asked Bones as they went. “I like a good party as much as the next person, but I usually like to know what I’m celebrating.”

            “The Festival of Luminosity is to celebrate the day that Celia gained control over empathy and became a peaceful planet,” said Spock.

            Merope smiled. “You’re quite knowledgeable.” She smirked at (Y/N) knowingly. Any empath seeing their emotions around Spock knew how they felt.

            (Y/N) just smiled and nodded alongside Spock. “Yes, the festival celebrates our history. We have a lot of singing and dancing during the various festivities, so that’s why I’ve been practicing.”

            “And there’s the Crown of Radiance, correct?” remarked Spock. He had researched and paid attention whenever (Y/N) spoke to him of their culture. He would make sure to understand and respect their traditions.

            (Y/N) smiled. “Right.”

            “The Crown of Radiance?” asked Uhura.

            “Now that sounds impressive,” said Kirk.

            “It is,” agreed Merope emphatically. “But it’s only given out once ever fifty years.”

            “What is it?” asked Bones.

            “It’s an honorary title given out to a single Celian per generation during the Festival of Luminosity,” explained Alekto. “It symbolizes Andromeda, the first Celian to develop empathy and lead our planet to peace.”

            “Wow, it must be a pretty special Celian to get such a title,” said Kirk.

            Alekto nodded. “A Celian given the Crown of Radiance is usually an incredibly powerful empath that has done some great deed with their empathy,” she explained. “They have to be someone who really has the spirit of Andromeda and the peace she fought for.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “It will be our first time seeing someone crowned. It’s very exciting for Celians of my generation.”

            “It’ll be an honor to see it,” said Spock. He glanced at (Y/N). He wondered who could possibly be more deserving of the Crown of Radiance than them. Admittedly, he was biased and only knew one Celian, but (Y/N) was just…incredible. And even logic came to that conclusion.

            “It’s going to be quite something,” agreed Kirk.

            Alekto paused at a set of doors and looked back at them. “We’re at the Council chambers. Everyone ready?”

            Everyone nervously squared their shoulders, and even (Y/N) shifted. It had been years since they were on Celia, let alone saw the Council in any capacity. Spock brushed his fingers against theirs in support, and (Y/N) smiled.

            Alekto and Merope exchanged surprised glances before smiling, and (Y/N) sent them a playful glare as their emotions turned teasingly warm.

            Then, the doors opened, and Merope stepped back to let Alekto guide the Starfleet representatives into the Council Chamber. The room was wide open with plenty of seats for people sitting in on meetings or waiting their turn to speak to the council. The Counselors themselves sat at a long marble table, each wearing official robes in different colors of the rainbow with gold stitching on white scarfs.

            “Ambassador Alekto,” greeted one counselor, standing.

            “Counselor,” said Alekto, nodding politely. “May I introduce the Starfleet representatives?”

            “Of course,” said another counselor. “We are happy to have them.”

            Bones gave a happy sigh. “Real hospitality instead of people trying to trap us or kill us.”

            (Y/N) just chuckled and patted his back.

            “This is Captain James T. Kirk,” said Alekto, gesturing to Kirk, who waved. “This is his First Office, Commander Spock.” The Vulcan inclined his head in acknowledgement. “His Medical Officer, Dr. McCoy.” Bones smiled and nodded. “The Communications Officer, Lieutenant Uhura.” She smiled and raised a hand in a wave. “And the Negotiations and Communications Officer, Lieutenant Commander (Y/N).” They smiled and nodded, aware of the recognition of their name.

            Alekto then gestured to the Counselors. “And now can I introduce our Council. We have Counselor Coronis of Internal Affairs.” The woman in red robes nodded and smiled. “Then we Counselor Hyperion of Foreign Affairs.” The man in orange waved. “Counselor of Legislation, Helle.” The person in yellow smiled. “Counselor Leander of Agriculture.” The man in green nodded. “Nereus, Counselor of Education.” The person in blue waved. “And finally, Counselor Rhea of Judiciary Affairs.” The woman in purple smiled.

            “We welcome all of you to Celia,” said Nereus.

            “It’s a pleasure to have people from multiple cultures present for our Festival,” said Hyperion, smiling.

            “And to have one of our returned after so long,” said Leander.

            “Thank you, Counselors,” said Kirk.

            “We are honored to have been invited,” said Spock, formal as ever.

            “We hope you all enjoy yourselves,” said Coronis.

            “If you are in need of anything, simply let one of our staff know,” said Rhea.

            “And Ambassador Alekto will act as your guide during your time here,” said Helle. “And she is known for being quite good at her job.”

            Alekto nodded and smiled. “If you guys have any problems, just let me know. And now that all the introductions have been made, I can take you to your quarters.”

            “Thanks,” said Bones as Alekto led them out and the Counselors nodded goodbye.

            “No problem,” said Alekto. “I know that the Counselors are pretty busy with preparations for the start of the festival, anyways, so we can get on to some less formal activities.”

            “What are some of the festivities that are going to start soon?” asked Uhura.

            “We have a city-wide lunch,” said Merope, appearing back beside her wife.

Alekto nodded. “All of our local restaurants prepare food and donate to the community, and then we let everyone simply go around and decide what they’d like.”

            “It gets pretty chaotic, but there’s always way too much good food for one person anyways,” said (Y/N), smiling fondly at the memories.

            “And then we have singing and dancing,” said Alekto.

            “I love that part the most,” said Merope.

            “It sounds lovely,” said Uhura.

            “You should join the singing,” said (Y/N). “You have a great voice.”

            Her friend smiled. “Maybe. But I don’t know your songs.”

            Merope shook her head. “We have a ton of free time during the celebrations. I mean, first we have organized performances from various levels of schooling, and then us adults dance together, and then it’s a free-for-all, so anyone can join in to sing or dance whatever they’d like!”

            “Then maybe I will,” said Uhura excitedly.

            “If the lunch is soon, I need to go and get ready,” said (Y/N).

            “Do you get a costume?” teased Bones.

            “I have a more Celian outfit to wear, yeah,” said (Y/N). They chuckled nervously. “I just hope it’ll look good for the celebration.”

            “I’m sure you’ll look nice,” said Spock.

            “Thanks, Spock,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Before you go, we have two more people for you to say ‘hi’ to,” said Merope.

            “Oh? More officials?” asked Kirk.

            “Don’t worry. It’s nothing formal,” said Alekto, shaking her head. She pointed ahead of her to where a woman and a man were standing and waiting for the group.

            “Oh, god, did you bring my parents to the Council Building?” said (Y/N) incredulously.

            “I told Merope you’re technically working right now and she should wait for at least lunch, but, uh, she insisted,” said Alekto, chuckling.

            “So that’s why her emotions were so bright. She was excited about her surprise,” said (Y/N).

            Merope smiled. “Guilty as charged.”

            “We get to meet the people who raised you?” said Bones. “Maybe that’ll help explain your taste.”

            “Doctor, (Y/N)’s parents are a pleasure to meet, and yet you insist on deciding to, as you say, ‘tease’ me,” said Spock.

            “(Y/N)!” said (Y/N)’s mother, finally seeing her child and smiling.

            “Welcome home,” said their father.

            “Hi, Mom, Dad,” said (Y/N), letting their parents hug them and hugging back. “It’s great to see you.” They smiled as the familiar warmth of their parents’ emotions encompassed them.

            “Oh, good, we were worried Merope was pushing for seeing you too soon,” said their mother, stepping back.

            “Merope always gets her way,” said Alekto fondly.

            Merope laughed and kissed her wife on the cheek. “It’s not my fault you spoil me.”

            (Y/N)’s mother waved to the group. “Hello, I’m Eirene, (Y/N)’s mom. And this is my husband, Nikomedes. We’re so happy to meet (Y/N)’s colleagues and friends.” She smiled widely.  

            “So, who are your friends?” asked Nikomedes brightly.

            Spock, Kirk, Uhura, and Bones were quickly realizing that (Y/N)’s warm personality definitely came from Nikomedes, but their general calm and patience came from Eirene. All the energy was clearly on Nikomedes and Merope’s side of the family.

            “This is my Captain, Kirk,” said (Y/N). “My friends McCoy and Uhura.” They shifted nervously, and their parents’ raised their eyebrows knowingly as (Y/N)’s emotions turned to love as they looked at Spock. “And this is my boyfriend, Spock.”

            Nikomedes grinned widely, and Eirene smiled softly. “Well, it’s great to meet you all,” said Nikomedes.

            “It’s nice to meet you, too,” said Bones.

            “Right,” agreed Kirk.

            “Yes,” said Uhura.

            Eirene looked at Spock. “Especially anyone so close to our child.”

            Spock nodded. “It is an honor to meet the family of my t’hy’la.”

            (Y/N)’s parents nodded approvingly at Spock. They trusted (Y/N)’s taste, and he seemed nice, and for (Y/N) to have such deep emotions for him, it meant their relationship was truly strong.

                        “He seems good, (Y/N),” said Eirene, smiling at her child, and Nikomedes gave a thumbs up.

            (Y/N) turned red. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Mom.” They gave their dad a look. “And stop that, Dad.”

            “Well, now that all the introductions are done, I guess it’s time for (Y/N) to go and get ready,” said Merope. “They’re the only Celian not ready for the Festival.”

            “Who held me up?” said (Y/N), smiling still.

            “Me! But I’m also who’s gonna make you all pretty, so be nice to me,” said Merope, grabbing (Y/N)’s arm and dragging them away.

            “I’ll take you guys to where we’ll be having the lunch,” said Alekto, gesturing for the group to follow her.

            Eirene turned to the Starfleet officers as they walked. “How has (Y/N) been doing in Starfleet?”

            “They are a good person and a great officer,” said Kirk. “We’re lucky to have them on the Enterprise.”

            Spock nodded. “Indeed. They are invaluable. Many people have benefited from their presence.”

            “They’ve saved our lives, even,” said Uhura, smiling. “And they’re always willing to help people in need.”

            “Yeah, the amount of trouble they’ve gotten us out of is only beaten by the amount of times we’ve gotten into trouble,” said Bones.

            “We’re glad,” said Nikomedes, smiling. “I can tell our child is cared for.”

            “We were worried,” said Eirene. “(Y/N) choosing Starfleet…it was quite unexpected.”

            “Really?” said Bones in surprise. “They’re a perfect negotiator.”

            “Oh, yes, but we—indeed, all of their professors, friends, and family—thought they’d go into work more geared towards their empathy in a more emotion-based environment,” said Eirene.

            Alekto nodded. “Like being an Ambassador like me or working with different planets in need of guidance.” She smiled. “A lot of people thought that they’d become a Counselor pretty quickly if they went into governing.”

            “Well, they do a lot of good work and help many people in Starfleet,” said Kirk, smiling.

            “We’re sure, and we’re very happy for them,” said Nikomedes, clearly speaking the truth. It was evident that (Y/N)’s family loved them very much.

            “It is merely that empaths will such strong abilities usually stay on Celia or close to Celia since their skills are perfect for our planet,” said Eirene.

            “Other Celians have gone to Starfleet,” said Spock, not to argue but to discuss. “What makes (Y/N)’s position unique?”

            “The Celians in Starfleet have the basics of empathy to work well in confined quarters with others,” said Eirene. “And (Y/N)…”

            “(Y/N) was the prodigy,” said Alekto. “Their empathic abilities are off the charts in strength.”

            Nikomedes nodded. “So we worried when they chose Starfleet since we don’t want them to be harmed because of how much they feel from others and because it was unusual.”

            “Is (Y/N)’s empathy really that strong?” asked Uhura, surprised. “I thought what they could do was normal.”

            “All empaths can feel and manipulate emotions to some degree,” said Eirene. “Most have a specific emotion or sensation they specialize in. (Y/N) is strong in everything. A lot of people were hopeful they’d stay on Celia since such strength could be helpful.

            “But if they’re doing well and happy, that’s all that matters to us,” said Nikomedes.

            Eirene nodded. “Yes. We don’t care about people’s expectations for (Y/N). We’re just happy they’re happy.” She paused. “Alekto, dear, Nikomedes and I still need to pick up a few things for the lunch. We’ll return in a bit, alright?”

            “Right, Auntie,” said Alekto, smiling, watching her aunt and uncle walk away. She glanced at the Starfleet officers. “You know, there’s one more thing Uncle Nikomedes and Aunt Eirene didn’t mention.”

            “Oh?” asked Spock, raising an eyebrow.

            “Yeah,” said Alekto. “No one really wants to talk about it, but, uh, people thought (Y/N) would stay on Celia because even though they have really strong empathy, a lot of people thought they were pretty and could do well in something traditionally Celian.”

            “So not just bureaucracy and helpfulness,” said Bones.

            “(Y/N)’s said that they don’t like people looking at their appearance,” said Uhura. “They had a lot of trouble at the Academy because of it.”

            “What would (Y/N) have done with their empathy if not use it?” asked Spock, not liking the idea of people wanting (Y/N) to be a certain way. He knew they were beautiful, but he knew how much more they were.

            “Dancing, modelling, ambassadorship…” Alekto sighed. “Everything that deals with people and perception can be helped by appearance. Plus, (Y/N) is very free-spirited. People thought Starfleet was too ‘serious’ for them.” She smiled. “But I remember that as soon as (Y/N) realized that’s what people, they refused to back down. If there’s one thing (Y/N)’s good at, it’s proving people wrong.”

            “They’ve definitely shown what they’re worth,” said Kirk, smiling.

            “And many people respect (Y/N) for who they are,” said Spock.

            Alekto smiled at him. “I’m sure some people do.” She didn’t need to be able to feel the Vulcan’s emotions to know he cared. “And I’m glad (Y/N) really has a place to belong.” She laughed. “I hope they get a chance to really shove it to the people who thought they couldn’t do it.”

            “Very diplomatic,” laughed Uhura.

            Alekto grinned. “I might be an ambassador, but (Y/N)’s my cousin-law-law. So as soon as I’m off-duty, I’m just here to support my family.” She shrugged. “And if I don’t encourage (Y/N) to stand up, Merope will.”

            “We won’t let them be disrespected, either,” said Bones protectively.

            Spock nodded. (Y/N) was his t’hy’la, an incredible person full of passion and strength. They were beautiful, intelligent, skilled, and so much more. But it was everything put together that made (Y/N) the person he loved.

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

[dino-fart]

In Reina In Waal | Chapter 2: Reunion

Pairing: Namor x Female Reader

Genre: Action, Adventure, Romance

A Sequel to This Request

Summary: You awaken in the caverns of Talokan alone. You are reunited with the great Ku'ku'lkán...Will this be a tender or bitter reunion? 

Summary | Preview | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

“Hold still, child!” Okoye dragged the boy by the collar of his shirt to stand him up straight. 

“Let me go, lady! I gotta get back and find my mom!” He tried to run but the general grabbed him by the arm. 

“You need to answer my questions, now!” She commanded and the boy nodded his head quickly. 

“Y-Yes ma’am!” He shook with fear. 

“Who were you running from?” 

“T-This big dude! He had blue skin and big muscles and and he had a weird thing on his face! He tried to grab me but I went into the jungle and that’s...That’s how you found me.” The boy said nervously. 

“You said you need to find your mother, where is she?” 

“I-I don’t know...He attacked us and my mom told me to run.” 

“Blue skin...Did he come from the water?” 

“I wasn’t really paying attention, ma’am, I was too busy trying to hide.” The boy sighed. 

“Come with me, child. I will take you somewhere safe.” Okoye gestured for him to follow her through the jungle. 

“My name is Titus.” The boy said following behind her. 

“Titus. I would request for you to be quiet while we get there. Just in case your pursuer is hiding here.” 

“Where are you taking me?” Titus whispered. 

“To Wakanda.” Okoye smirked and led the way. Titus gasped, he had heard stories about Wakanda. He only wished his mother was here with him...

Attuma swam to the throne room and saw his king sitting on his throne, holding a small jade necklace in his hand. “Ku'ku'lkán!” He announced his presence and Namor looked up immediately. “Ts'o'ok in suut yéetel yane'... Interesantes t'aano'ob (I have returned with some...Interesting news).” Attuma said. Namor raised a brow and gestured for Attuma to continue speaking. “Lela' u asedio u reino le reina. Yaan juntúul paal yéetel xiik' le tobillos (It is about the siege of the queen's kingdom. She has a son with wings on his ankles).” Attuma said and Namor’s eyes grew wide. 

“K'axik in (Bring him to me).” Namor said firmly. 

“U intenté, u majestad, ba'ale' bey ti' le wakandianos ku u séen úuch u láaj bis (I tried, your majesty, but it seems the Wakandans have taken him).” Attuma bowed his head and Namor’s blood boiled. He grabbed his spear and swam swiftly past Attuma. The general turned around to see his king rush out. To where? Attuma had no idea...

You awoke with a jolt and sat up straight. You looked down to notice you were in a hammock then looked up to see the glow worms on the ceiling. You didn’t recognize where you were but you did recognize the woven basket by the hammock. You got out of the hammock and walked past the basket to explore your surroundings. You stopped when you saw the large pool of water to your right. 

You walked over there to see your reflection. You were still in your blood-stained armor, your hair was a wet mess and you saw the cuts on your face. The cuts didn’t bleed though, thanks to the stone that had gifted you the power of invincibility. You sighed in irritation as you realized you needed to change. You walked over to the basket that you were sure Namor or at least his people left for you. 

You took out the piece of clothing in it and changed. You were now wearing a blue, white and gold dress with a gold and jade neckpiece. You tied your hair in a ponytail and put on the brown sandals that were remaining in the basket. You walked on ahead to see a small hut with colorful walls inside. You stepped inside and froze at what you saw. 

The colorful walls were murals, murals that depicted the birth of Talokan and their leader, Namor. You rolled your eyes, “Shit.” You approached the wall across from you and ran your fingers to trace the lines that shaped his face. While you resented him for leaving you behind...You still loved him. 

“It’s been a long time...” You heard a familiar voice say behind you. 

“Has it? I’m surprised you noticed.” You snapped. 

“It’s good to see you, in reina (my queen).” 

“Bold of you to call me that.” You turned around to face him. 

“I didn’t come here to fight or to argue. I came here to check on you.” Namor said softly and approached you. You stepped away from him and pressed your back against the wall. “I...Heard something interesting...About your son or should I say our son.” Namor studied your face to see your reaction. You pursed your lips in a thin line and averted his gaze. Namor understood and nodded his head slowly. 

He moved his hand to gently cup your cheek. You moved away from his touch and glared at him. Namor felt his anger rising but remained calm. “Do I disgust you, hm? Does the mere thought that you gave birth to my offspring make you ashamed?” Namor moved his hand to grip your chin and forced you to look at him. 

You laughed at him, “You want to talk about shame? How about when you refused to let me see Talokan because you were ashamed that you slept with a surface dweller? Or how about when you were ashamed to even listen to how I felt about you when I wanted to show you my kingdom?” You retorted and grabbed his wrist roughly. Your nails dug into his skin and he hissed in pain and released you. Namor looked at you and felt his words die on his tongue. You were right...

Namor gently moved his hand to hold yours and laced your fingers with his. “I...Do not know what to say...Except I’m sorry.” Namor brought your hand to his lips. 

You moved your hand out of his grasp and crossed your arms over your chest. “Don’t be...I knew what I meant to you despite my feelings. I just...Found it hard to accept. I thought about telling you I was pregnant...But I wanted to deny that from you. I wanted you to suffer the way you made me. Jokes on me I guess, you didn't even care.” You sighed. 

Namor raised a brow at you, “Do you hate me that much? Does our son remind you of me?” 

You glared at him, “Don’t flatter yourself, Namor. Our son is nothing like you.” 

“He is a mutant. He has wings on his ankles and his ears are pointed. He is everything like me.” Namor said calmly. 

“He’s not a murderer.” 

“Neither am I. But I will protect my people at all costs as I am sure you will.” 

“Of course. But I don’t go around starting fights with people! Your obsession with Wakanda’s alliance will be your downfall and I hope that Queen Ramonda is the one to take you down.” You hissed. 

Namor’s blood boiled at your words and he gritted his teeth, “Did you know that our son is in Wakanda as we speak?” 

“Good. He’s safer there than here.” 

“So you wish for him to fight alongside Wakanda against our own people?!” Namor raised his voice. 

“Talokan is NOT our home nor our kingdom! You made that clear when you left me!” You stared him down. 

“I was a fool! And I want to make it right.” 

“Then don’t go after my son. Release me and you won’t see us again.” 

“On the contrary, in reina, I will have Attuma bring him to us and we can be a family. Then you will see. Now rest, our son will be here soon.” Namor turned his back to you and walked away. 

“He lays ONE finger on our son and I will kill you both! You hear me Namor?!” You shouted at him when he was walking away. You watched him leave and collapsed onto your knees. The tears that had been threatening to fall finally did. You covered your face with your hands and sobbed as you feared what was going to happen to Titus. You only hoped that the Queen of Wakanda would keep him safe...

Tagging: @deepbatched, @vikingqueen28, @leonkennedyslefthand, @stewardofningishzida, @icytrickster17, @onlinecemetery, @marki-moo0, @absolute-not-original, @creamecafe, @scrubb, @nightingal3-tales, @alliethedaydreamer, @strangesthirdeye, @alexa-33, @zombiedixon89, @sunnsettee, @deliciousfestsalad, @kiaradaniell, @freyafriggafrey, @criticalroleobssedperson, @avengersfan25, @lunamoonbby, @androgynouspersonapricotfan, @foxcantswim, @namorkawaiiwife, @starkiller-queen, @kyuupidwrites, @luciamajer, @renatas10, @ayamenimthiriel, @gaiagurl05, @dipsylou, @pinkthick, @hansai, @andywinter16, @iambored24601, @3-cheese-tortellini, @cumbrbatchbenedict, @ironstrange1991, @aribas-stuff, @rianumochi, @vibaracal, @lostpirateinwonderland​  

[wurm-food]

Desire (Angel x AFAB!Reader)

Summary: Even with you so close to him, Angel wants the impossible (@p00pdev1l cursed me with these horny thoughts)

Word count: 0.4k Chainsaw Man master list

CW: NSFW, protected sex, angst if you squint really hard, edging kind of, no pronouns used but written with AFAB! reader in mind (reader is wearing lingerie), a whooooole lot of pining, Minors DNI Read this work on AO3!

Tag list (tagging the Angel loving moots too!): @p00pdev1l @hawkix @tojislawyer @theogonies @akicore @lela-ri Join my tag list

“What do you want?”

A simple question, one that Angel knew the answer to as he watched you watch you bounce on his cock. He knew exactly what he wanted. He should have all he wanted. You looked exquisite on top of him, a thin condom and the delicate lace lingerie you wore just for him was all that separated you. He memorized the freckles and scars on your skin like constellations in the night sky, how your muscles moved beneath your skin through the sheer fabric. You knew the risks of being close to him, one simple graze could take days off your precious life. But with one look into your hungry, lust filled eyes, he knew you held no fear for him. You were reckless with your own life, dangerous even.

“Tell me what you want, Angel?”

The way his name rolled off your tongue lilted with desire made his head spin. Your eyes blown wide, face flush pretty pink with ecstasy as you leaned back to give Angel a full view of your form. Each roll of your hips sent Angel closer to his own edge. The warmth of your contracting walls around him consumed his thoughts in fantasy. He wanted to know what it was like to slide inside you freely, to feel every inch of your skin beneath his fingertips, to taste your lips that spoke his name so well. You were here with him, but it wasn’t enough.

“Angel…”

Between moans, his name sounded like a symphony. He memorized the shape of your lips around every syllable, how they hung open in pleasure. Doe-eyed and losing grip on his composure, he could only beg for the impossible.

“Kiss me… please…”

With a coy smile, you leaned in close enough for Angel to feel the warmth of your skin, rolling your hips at an unbearably slow pace. Your parted lips danced dangerously close to each other, noses narrowly avoiding contact. It was a courtship dance of death, an agonizing temptation that made Angel salivate. Dizzied by the proximity, Angel closed his eyes and let out a moan into your parted mouth.

“Look at me, Angel.”

Your voice so sweetly beckoned to him like a waking dream. You smiled, studying his pleading sanguine eyes.

“Pretty…”

The lightest sensation of your breath hovering over Angel’s lips was feeling he’d never forget. The closest thing to a kiss he’d ever get with you, it had to be enough. 

“Don’t close those beautiful eyes of yours now.”

“Not as long as you stay right here, I promise.”

[actually-phoenix]

Characters/Ships/shows/movies I write for:

I take requests for x readers tell me if you want different pronouns

Euphoria: Rules, Elliott x Jules x rue, Lexi x Rue, Maddy

The Fallout: Mia x vada

Wednesday: Wenclair, Bianca

Life is strange: Chloe x Rachel, Alex x Steph, Sean x Finn

Teen beach movie: Brady x mack, Mack x lela, Brady x Tanner

Villains of valley view: Hartley x amy

Full house: Stephanie x Gia

Cobra Kai: Sam x Tory, Robby Keene, Hawk

Karate kid: Daniel Larusso

Victorious: Jori, Beck x Jade x Tori

Riverdale: Beronica, Choni

Descendants: Malvie, jaylos

13 reasons why: Justin Foley x Jessica Davis

My babysitter's a vampire: Sarah x Erica, Benny x Ethan

Dickinson: Emisue

Bestfriend whenever: Syd x Shelby

Girl meets world: rilaya

Andi Mack: Tyrus, ambi

[bubblefina]

King of Hearts chapter 26

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Tom meet during their years at Hogwarts, but as the years pass a rivalry grows between the two of them, which leads from soft beginnings to tragic endings.

What the characters look like!

“A cold kiss on the forehead, and both of them depart to their dorm rooms.“

Pairings: Tom x f!reader

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.

Chapter 26- New paths

Trying to gain control over your powers seemed to be a task that you could just not do. No matter how many weeks had passed, you could barely lift an ink cartridge off of a table. 

The amount of concentration you had put into your work seemed futile when you noticed that the bottle was barely even shaking.

The end of the term was nearing, so you couldn’t continue your lessons with Dumbledore after classes. Before your sessions with him ended, however, he suggested that your background may have something to do with it. You had mentioned that your father told you a story about your ancestors. 

Subspecies of humans, angelic like creatures named the Fahaada. They used pure magic, which included a form of light magic. Sang songs which could bring people back from the dead, all fascinating things to Dumbledore.

“I still think it’s rubbish. There is no evidence out there that this species of subhumans exist.” you murmur, packing up your things in your back. The sun, which was now setting, shined through the tall windows onto the multiple rows of furniture, creating a warmer atmosphere.

“So you think that because there is no evidence, then it does not exist?” Dumbledore asks you, sitting down at his seat, hands on his desk.

“It’s more complicated than that. If there was just one record of these people existing, then I’d have something to go off of. Maybe that would help me find out how I was able to do what I did to Lela.”

“Y/n, have you ever taken a second to think that perhaps the reason there are no records of these people, is because there were others who didn’t want any records to be left behind,” Dumbledore reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a small, old piece of paper, “Here is a small article from a few years ago of vampires being prosecuted.”

You walked up and took hold of the small paper, it was a bit torn, but you could make out some words. 

“Vampire hunters are now at a disadvantage with vampire protection laws being planned. Outrage throughout the wizarding world as others begin to show compassion to the living dead. Despite the initial violence against wizards which was carried out by the vampires, the ministry will try to bring peace for the greater good”. 

Your heart stung for a second, remembering your adventure time traveling in the 20s. You remembered Kieran, and how he was brutally ripped away while trying to save you. Your eyes showed sorrow, and Dumbledore took notice.

“Thinking of something?” He asks.

“N-no. I don't, I mean I’m not thinking of anything. Why did you show me this, professor?”

“I’m showing you this because this piece of paper is one of the few records left of the mass vampire hunting excursions carried out decades ago. Many important wizard families wanted to wipe out the race, but when their crimes came to light, they made sure that any and all records of their actions against vampires were erased. I managed to snag a piece before everything disappeared.”

You stared at the paper one last time before looking at Dumbledore once more.

“Are you suggesting that the people who supposedly prosecuted my ancestors wiped out all records?” 

“Not every record can be wiped out, y/n. There will always be something, or someone that will have a recollection of what happened, you just need to find it.”

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

Sure, there may be some record of what happened to your ancestors, but who could possibly have a record from thousands of years ago? It seemed like you were just walking yourself into a dead end if you were to continue searching, but it’s not like you had anything better to do. 

There was a night where the library was nearly empty. Only a few people were left. Your eyes began to droop from looking at long pages of words that you couldn’t comprehend anymore. Looking through pages and pamphlets of different types of magical creatures felt like a chore of an assignment, even if you were doing it out of your own will.

Suddenly the library went silent, not a word was being spoken, nor a footstep heard. Closing the book you were reading, you slid out of the hardwood chair, walking around the shelves looking to see if you were really alone, and you were.

Looking ahead of you, you made eye contact with the doors of the restricted section. How ironic would it be if you actually did manage to find something there. It was as if your feet acted on their own, slowly walking towards the rope that blocked the doors. Your hand extended outward to touch the rope, fingertips barely touching it.

A hand gripped your wrist, making your head spin around to see who it was.

“What are you-” 

“Are you aware of where you’re trying to enter?”

The face you would least like to see, Tom. Him in gracing you with his greater than thou attitude, hand still on your wrist.

“Are you aware that I don’t want you to touch me?” you retort, allowing him to let go of your wrist.

“What are you trying to plan here, y/n? The restricted section is restricted for a reason, after all.”

“Haha, you’re one to talk. If I recall, didn’t you enter through these doors years ago? Or has your memory truly gone to waste.”

“You shouldn’t mess with my authority much more, I am being favored to be a prefect next year. Any misstep from you, and who knows if you’ll be here much longer.”

“Misstep? From me? You should think about the missteps that you’ve taken Tom, or better yet, take action for the missteps of the snake you call a girlfriend.”

You couldn’t possibly enter the restricted section now, so you turned on your heel and went out the door. 

It was really hard to comprehend how south you went with him after all you’ve been through. It was just an up and down cycle over and over again. Would it be better to just ignore him completely? You had wonderful people in your circle already, people that actually care about you and wouldn’t stab you in the back by dating a girl who made your life miserable.

No use worrying over something like this. Summer break was about to start soon, and you have bigger fish to fry with asking your dad about his side of the family. Which itself would be hard considering he was practically disowned when he hurt that girl doing a spell. 

This would just have to be another obstacle you’ll have to get through to understand how you did what you did.

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

It had been 2 weeks since you had arrived back in London. You hadn’t had the chance to ask your dad, or you didn’t have the courage to. How would you go about telling him that you almost made the same mistake as he did, except Lela didn’t end up in the hospital.

Your father took notice of your spacing out, especially when you kept poking at your meals rather than eating them. Your mother noticed too, but she only saw what was happening on the outside. Simply “stop poking at your food, dear” and any line that was similar to that. Her words went through one ear and out the other, which did irritate her. She felt as if you were purposefully ignoring her.

“Young lady, will you stop poking at your dinner. It’s not polite.”

“Mmm…” you said through closed lips.

“You have been spacing out ever since you came here, it’s as if you’re not even willing to participate in any family activities.” She set down her utensil and looked at you firmly.

“What family activities have I not been participating in?” you stop poking and look back at her.

“Activities don’t have to be physical. You don’t sit with us, nor do you indulge in playing with your little sister.”

“I’m sorry… other things have just occupied my mind.”

“That is still no excuse. That wizarding school seems to be at the center of your attention these days.”

“Well, that's obvious, I spend most of my time there.”

“Not for long. After you graduate, you’re better off getting married, our family could use the extra money.”

Your eyes did a double take at her after what she had said. You’re barely even 15, yet she’s thinking of selling you off to someone.

“M-marriage? Mom, I'm barely 15. I haven’t even experienced life yet, you’re thinking of marriage already?” 

“Because of the war, money has been scarce. You’d be doing us a favor, marrying into a good family.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying right now? I could earn money by being a wizard, marriage won’t solve everything.”

“We will not argue at the dinner table. Save it for later.”

Later wasn’t going to happen.

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

You managed to snag your dad to talk alone without the disturbance of your mom. Asking him about the apparent genocide of your ancestors wasn’t exactly an easy conversation topic.

Unfortunately, it was a dead end. He didn’t know anything that he hadn’t already told you. It’s as if you had built up this hope for nothing, only to be crushed by the weight of reality.

“I’m sorry, you know.” He says.

“It’s not your fault, dad, not the easiest subject to talk about.”

“So you were able to cast magic without incantation nor your wand, that’s pretty impressive, I’ve got to say.”

“That’s what’s confusing about it. I don’t know how I did it, nor do I know how to do it again. Which is why Dumbledore said to ask you.”

Your father looked at his lap for a few stray moments. Feeling rather useless that he couldn’t even answer a question his own daughter asked him personally.

“Don’t mind your mother…” he trailed off.

“What do you mean?”

“I know the both of you aren’t the best of friends, but times are stressful. She’s only looking out for you, what's best for you. At this time, we won’t know if we have a tomorrow, so we must plan for today.”

He embraces you in a hug, which you return.

“What’s this all about, dad. You’re acting strange.”

“Tell you what, I’ll try to get in contact with my family. Maybe they’ll have an answer for you that I don't have.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Well, if my daughter has special powers, I’d like for her to know about it. Of course y/n, anything for you.”

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

Back at Hogwarts already for your 5th year. Telling Dumbledore about how asking your dad was a dead end, but he told you that he’d contact his family to ask instead. 

If your family was native to the wizarding world, wouldn’t it be easier if you tried to contact them instead? Would they hate you because you’re the daughter of their son who was shunned by the entire family, hard to think about?

Undoubtedly, Tom was right. He had been chosen as a prefect, much to your dismay. It felt as if his ego had grown tenfold, which stung a bit. This was really the boy who saved you from being killed by a maniac vampire, and stood by your side as you recovered.

“Earth to y/n, y/n!”

Snapping you out of poking your breakfast pastry, you look up and see your friends calling out to you.

“What's gotten into you, it’s like a habit for you to torment your food.” Naomi comments.

“She’s just lost in thought.” Melissa adds.

“Thoughts about what, the term started only a few weeks ago,” Azalea cups your cheeks in her hands, “What's on your mind y/n”

“Azalea! Don’t treat her like a child. If she wants to tell us, she will.” Melissa unlatches Azalea’s hands from your face.

“It’s nothing special, I just…people are annoying.” You continue to poke your food.

“I think she’s talking about a certain Slytherin,” Naomi whispers to the other two.

“Who, Tom?” Azalea asks, quite loudly. 

Melissa clamps her hand over Azalea's mouth to keep her from talking any further. Afraid of attracting attention, unwanted attention.

“Can you blame her? The both of them seemed to be close last year, but ever since he started dating Lela, things just went downhill.” Naomi continues to whisper.

“I’m right here, you guys, I can hear you.” You tell them.

“I thought she had a crush on Archer? She’s too good for Tom.” Azalea, whose mouth had been freed from the grasps of Melissa’s hands, now talked a bit more timid than she had initially.

“I did not have a crush on him, or Archer-”

“Lela is her mortal foe, maybe it felt like Tom backstabbed her when he didn’t stop Lela from antagonizing her. We remember how that fight went.” Melissa giggles, the other two gasp.

“Lela went flying back, y/n, you are truly amazing. Ten out of ten.” Naomi claps her hands and the other three join in. 

It may have seemed like they were teasing you, but it was just their way of making you feel better. A true friend isn’t a friend if they just leave you hanging.

“We can’t spend all this time talking about Tom,” Azalea made a gagging face, “What about Corrin. How have you two been keeping in contact since the ball?” 

A slight blush appeared on Melissa’s face.

“We’re doing as good as we can. Not easy when there are eyes everywhere looking at us.”

“True love always has a way of coming back, remember what professor Merrythought taught us.” Azalea waits for a moment, looking to see if the others have caught on.

“The most powerful magic of all…” Naomi continues.

“The power of love.” You finish.

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

Love, the most powerful magic of all.

It's a hard contradiction to what Dumbledore told you back when you were in the 20s. Hi words still rang in your head.

“Never put your full faith in love, especially if that person has darkness in their heart”

He was talking about Tom at that time. When he said it, you couldn’t really believe it. Sure Tom was a bit of a snob, rude, but evil…

However, seeing as he could fall in love with Lela, anything is possible at this point. 

If there is a sense of darkness in him, then why do you feel a sense of longing towards him? As if you wanted nothing but to talk to him again, even a few snide remarks.

You two may have had ups and downs in the past, but this felt different. It felt odd to say, but you missed him.

Lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t even notice that someone was approaching you.

Under a giant tree, you were just thinking to yourself. Maybe a little too hard.

“Isn’t there somewhere you should be?”

You whip your head around, speak of the devil himself.

“I asked if there’s somewhere you should be.” Tom clasped his hands behind his back.

“No, I have a free period and decided to spend it here.”

“Staring at a tree?”

“Is there something wrong with staring at a tree?” 

“I suppose not.”

An awkward silence, felt as if you were suffocating. You needed to say something to take the edge off, anything.

“How have you been?”

“Well, the position of prefect suits me well. I have more authority over these bumpkins who don’t know their left from their right.”

“Ah. Glad you aren’t my prefect.”

“Yes, what a shame it would be if you were caught by me sneaking out of your dorm late at night. It Won't end very well.”

A smirk creeped upon your lips, surely he didn’t forget all the things that happened between the two of you.

“Don’t act like you haven’t snuck out late at night,” you walked up to him, “but don’t let me stop your supposed stainless reputation holding you back.”

Perhaps there was something in the air, but it felt like you couldn’t hold onto hatred for him. Did he start dating your arch nemesis during a grace period between the two of you? Yes he did. But there was nothing that can change that now, better to live worry free.

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

Later that night, Tom strolled the halls. It was a part of his prefect duties. He had found some 2nd years attempting to enter the kitchen, but was quick enough to stop them and send them back to their rooms.

Later, he went back to the Slytherin dungeons where he was greeted by a friendly face. Lela had been leaning against one of the stone walls, waiting for Tom to finish his patrols so they could do boyfriend girlfriend things.

“You’re back” She walks towards him.

“And you’re waiting.” 

Tom slides past her and continues to walk towards the common room, which wasn’t too far away from where they met.

“Of course. I didn’t get to speak to you much today so I thought we could use this time to catch up.”

“Catch up on what exactly.”

“I saw you talking to her today, that ravenclaw girl.”

Tom stops for a moment, his handle on the door to the common room, “She has a name you know.”

Both of them enter, the room completely silent. No one was there.

“Since when did you care about her name?” Lela raises a brow, sitting down on one of the couches.

“I prefer to talk about people using their name, not some petty code words that you and your friends use.”

Lela scoffs, “I can use whatever name I want, she hurt me.”

“You hurt her first, if I remember correctly.”

“You’re taking her side now? What exactly did the both of you talk about under that hideous tree.”

“I asked her why she was there, she explained, and then went on her merry way.”

“You shouldn’t be talking with her in the first place,” Lela stands up and walks closer to Tom, her voice turning into a whisper, “If you want to fit into high society with the pure bloods, you shouldn’t be fiddling with filthy half bloods like her.”

Tom takes a piece of her hair and twirls it with his fingers, a soft smile appearing on his face.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she won’t pester you. As long as I’m here.”

A cold kiss on the forehead, and both of them depart to their dorm rooms.

✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮*•̩̩͙✧•̩̩͙*˚✧*˚✮

The war in the muggle war became more serious. Young men alike had begun to be drafted to join the fronts to fight. You had been keeping in touch with your father through owl messages. He says that sometimes late at night helicopters would fly overhead.

It made people fearful, to the point that they began to sleep every night in the bomb shelter. He says that letters may be hard to get out, so if there are less as time goes on, don’t worry about anything.

It had already been early November, and you had around 5 letters from him, but nothing about what he had promised to do. To reach out to his family and ask about the shared heritage with the Fahadaas. There was no hurry, but it would be nice to learn a little bit more. 

The letters came less and less frequently, you didn’t notice that much because classes kept you so busy.

In DADA, Merrythought brought in a large thin snake. It was one of the creatures that she had been covering for the past week or so. It looped around her arm and around her neck, but she showed no fear.

“Hogwarts has a very special connection with snakes, as you may know. Slytherins especially, Salazar Slytherin himself was able to communicate with serpent like beasts through a language known as parseltongue.”

She moved around the classroom, the snake of course following her as it was laying upon her body. Students tried to avoid her range, fearing that the snake would bite their noses.

“However, parseltongue is not a common thing to know. It's to be said that only the descendants of Salazar himself can speak this language, so for those of you who want to communicate with snakes, I am truly sorry.”

“Ms,” a boy raised his hand, “Do we know where the descendants of Salazar Slytherin are today?”

“I’m afraid that line has run very dry. Last known trace of them was from a family with the name of Gaunt. However, not much is known about them since they have practically been erased themselves.”

“Talking with snakes, talk about creepy.” Azalea whispers.

Melissa overhears and turns towards her, “You have futuristic visions in your head, if anything that is more creepier.”

Azalea began to pout, but quickly stopped when Merrythought stopped next to her. 

“Anything the matter, Miss Ravens?” She asks.

“O-of course not professor, please continue.” Azalea laughs awkwardly, trying to admire the snake that was looking straight at her. Its eyes were so brightly yellow, it felt like it was blinding her, yet she could not look away.

Melissa elbows her seatmate, “You okay? You look like you’re in a trance.”

Azalea blinks a few times before turning towards Melissa.

“That snake is weird, I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something up with it.”

She grabs her ink pen and begins to scribble onto her note paper. The page was soon filled with blank ink, except for one spot that was left perfectly untouched. It was shaped like a circle. She kept staring at it, as if what she had created was supposed to make sense, but it didn’t. 

At least not at this moment.

Taglist <3

@omotan​ 

@namaiinotashi

THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING PATIENT. Idk what happened through the course of this year for me to take this long to update this story, but I came through!!! Managed to get a burst of creativity and finish this. Enjoy my luvs <33333

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Lela Masterlist

none yet!

[multifandomsimagine]

Imagine being a surfer and being in a secret relationship with Lela

——— Masterlist / Ko-Fi ———

“I can’t. I have to get going. ” [Name] laughed, waving off her friends’ pleas to stay longer at Big Momma’s. Shrugging off Seacat’s arms off of her as the boy tried to block her way, she shook her head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you all another day, okay?” 

With that promise, the Surfers let her go, however begrudgingly that was. Giving the group one last wave, she stepped out of the restaurant. Walking down the steps, she began making her way down the road, running a hand through her hair before placing them in her pockets. [Name] had only walked before she stopped to look over her shoulder, making sure that none of the surfers had decided to chase after her. When the coast was clear, she quickly made a sharp turn and began heading toward the beach. 

“[Name], you’re here!” A voice cut through the air, shouting over the crashes of the nearby waves. Looking up, [Name] smiled as she looked up and saw Lela. The latter quickly ran toward [Name] before jumping into the former’s open arms. 

Shaking her head though a smile began growing on her face, she was ready to catch Lela. Holding her tight, she spun the other girl around, enjoying the giggles the action caused. Letting her down, [Name] cupped her girlfriend’s face before pulling her into a slow kiss. As her lips moved against Lela’s, she made sure to enjoy the moment knowing that they happened few and far between. Pulling away reluctantly, [Name] rested her forehead against Lela’s. “I wish we didn’t have to sneak around.” She whispered, breaking the soft moment between the two. 

[glamorizingchaos]

Oh LELA 😩😍😍😩

It’s so good!!!!!!!!! I suck at writing my feelings but I just love it. Seriously. 😭😭

It’s so sweet and loving. I felt the love in every word. I adored how much detail you put in. The whole premise is straight up adorable. Especially the bit about how they first met and Din like adjusted his clothes nervously. And then how his eyes never strayed far from them since then!?!?! I die. 🥺🥺😍😍

Reading this felt like a warm hug which is exactly what I needed at the moment. I am so proud of you for writing this, for posting it. It’s truly so wonderful. And I hope to see more if you ever want to post more. (Please tag me 💕☺️)

Of Course (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Word count: a little over 2.2k (i really don't know how it came to this)

Warnings: none! However, be aware of 1) a probable overdose of clichés, since this is extremely self-indulgent; 2) my lack of knowledge on the Crest's floor plan; 3) my most likely poor skill in characterizing Din 🤠; and 4) i don't understand dialogue punctuation in English therefore there's very little dialogue, and please let me know of any mistakes since it's not my first language!

A/N: I was tagged by @dincrypt and @the-scandalorian in their neat Mando Writing Game and I know this was supposed to be a drabble but my lil something quickly became a big something and now I'm finally happy enough with it to post! This is my first ever attempt at fanfiction and many thanks are in order for my amazing friends and perfect enablers: Lynx, @ew-erin and @mndalorians , your advice was not given with this in mind but it was still priceless 🥺💕; and @oloreaa , you are an angel in general but even more so for beta'ing for me and listening to my rambles 🥺❤️

I got episode 11, minute 22, which fell into the empire prompts. My choice was “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

-

You wonder if the Crest’s lights are always this bright as you stagger onto the lowered ramp. You had been adamantly against taking the night off from your partner and his son, but after some gentle convincing, the Mandalorian had managed to persuade you into going to the nearest cantina for some fun.

It’s very late already and you hope he put the kid to sleep before you came home. After a very long day on your feet paired up with a night dancing along freshly made friends, you’re feeling so tired your vision is hazy around the edges.

As soon as you stepped into the cantina, a visibly drunk bride-to-be smashed into your side and you didn’t even have time to accept her apology before she excitedly complimented your leather jacket. That compliment was the key in her launching into a very excited rant about her fiancée’s leather jacket. Apparently it was her favorite because it brought out their eyes and she eagerly continued on rambling to you about her partner. The girl elaborated on their story while you nodded and smiled, a bit confused but very softened at her antics.

There were four other young people surrounding her, presumably her friends, smiling fondly as she went on, and you felt your heart melt in the face of such bright and pure love. A cheerful song started playing and she squealed mid-sentence, pulling on your wrists to accompany her as she followed her friends to the dancing floor. You hung out with them for as long as your back and knees could handle, before you said your wistful goodbyes and dragged yourself back to the ship.

You absentmindedly fiddle with the buttons beside the ramp as you rub your eyes and sigh longingly, reliving the last few hours in your mind. When you finally manage to punch the right command to close the hatch, you huff with pride filling your chest at your competence, only to turn around and smack your hip straight into the sharp corner of an out of place metal crate. You let out a loud string of curses and regret not drinking at the cantina, which leaves you with no excuses for being clumsy other than being overly tired. Rubbing the sore spot, you frown at the inanimate object, making a list of pros and cons of kicking it to get revenge.

The cons include you probably hurting your foot, nicking your shoe and most likely disturbing a sleeping tiny green child with the noise. The only pro is how satisfying it will be to feel strong and petty, and in your poor sleep-drunk brain, the childish reaction seems definitely worth it. You wonder if there’s a snack in the food cabinet as you balance yourself to boot the box when his voice startles you.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Mando remarks, leaning against the shadowed ladder with his arms crossed over his broad chest as he studies your attempt to regain your footing.

Your current state of fuzzy-mindedness and sleep deprivation makes you forget all about being angry at the offending crate when your attention snaps to the dark figure who must have been watching for a while. You beam at him like he is the most beautiful cherry-topped slice of your favorite cake, practically launching yourself into his space. Even though he’s caught off guard by your attack of affection, his quick reflexes allow him to uncross his arms and brace himself before you crash onto him and circle his waist with your arms.

“Mando!” He kindly doesn’t comment on how surprised you sound, considering it’s his ship and that you’ve grown used to each other’s presence in the almost seven months since you took on the role of the child’s caretaker. He tentatively places his hands on your shoulders, giving the right one a few uncertain taps. You don’t realize that it takes him a moment to thaw out of his frozen state, also unaware of how he tenses in an effort to ignore the butterflies erupting in his stomach as you tuck your head over his cowl.

You proceed to tell him all about your night, tightly clinging to his frame, as if this sort of intimacy is common between you. The lip of his helmet is nearly touching the top of your head, and for a moment you think he will push you away, but instead he slowly slides one of his hands to your nape, cradling it, while his other arm stretches across your back. He gives you his undivided attention, humming from time to time in encouragement while lightly scraping your neck in a manner that almost makes you purr. You pretend to pay no mind as you chatter on about how full of light your heart felt when you heard the deep love in the bride’s words and how you wish you had some confetti with you right now.

A never-ending stream of words cascades from your lips with absolutely no filter, varying among apparently disjointed topics. You bounce on your feet as you mention how you love dancing and how he should totally come along the next time. Has he ever considered how adorable the kid will look trying to dance? Or, if he wants to be safer, he can put the baby in the sling you use when you take Grogu with you to go after supplies on stops. You tell Mando you won't mind if he doesn't want to dance, just rocking back and forth will be fine! It won't be different from when he's putting the kid to sleep. Oh, stars, how sweet will it look? It was definitely worth the risk.

Your words form a bubble of sunshine inside his chest, adding to the struggle Mando is going through to wrap his head around how right you feel in his arms. You pretend not to notice how he's failing to keep his amusement contained, especially when you start venting about how unfairly cute you find mouse droids and how it's not nice of him to be impolite to them. You actually bask in the knowledge you are able to make the Mandalorian snort, and your speech gradually loses its logic as you digress, slowly fading while your body relaxes against him.

You feel sneaky for relishing the moment of quiet closeness without him knowing, innocently thinking it’s one-sided, even if his hand has not stopped caressing your nape for a single breath. Your head moves with his chest when Mando takes a deep breath to speak, but before he’s able to, your focus quickly shifts again.

“Is the kid okay?”, you blurt, eyes widened almost comically. Your hands are quick to rise and cover your mouth for a second then curve around your lips, forming a tunnel for you to whisper as if you’re telling a secret, “I wanna see him!”

You eagerly push yourself away from Mando and nearly trip as you sidestep his boot, gracelessly making your way toward the hole in the wall where the baby usually sleeps. You fail to notice how his helmet follows you longingly with his helmet before he flexes his hands and trails after you. You study the sleeping child for a few heartbeats and turn to the tall man, pressing a finger to your lips. Making an obnoxiously loud shushing sound and whispering just as loudly, “He’s a baby”. A puzzled look crosses your face as the Mandalorian nearly chokes trying to suppress a laugh, and you quickly correct yourself, “He’s asleep.”

You’re still looking a bit muddled when Mando reaches for your hand with a soft “Come on,” and steers you towards the ‘fresher. The tiredness you felt seems to have increased tenfold, so you gladly follow his lead. He hands you the sleep clothes he swiftly snatched off the top of your open bag and patiently waits outside while you brush your teeth in lazy strokes, relieve yourself, almost fall asleep, change, touch your forehead to the wall and groan, lastly splashing some water on your face. You emerge with your eyes barely open and your shirt put on backwards, adorable in a very disheveled way, and drag your feet towards your bed.

Turning over in your mind the now blurred lines between you and your employer in the few steps it takes to get there, you can’t help but fluster when you remember he’s right there watching you. You’re almost at your cot when you glance at the silent man and notice he shed his armor, only wearing dark and well worn clothes aside from his helmet and gloves. Even though your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, your mind still takes a moment to think he looks really good like that.

Your lizard brain lacks focus and makes you take an uncoordinated step. Your arms flail as you stumble with a yelp, but Mando grabs your elbow before you faceplant on the cold durasteel floor, and you’re suddenly thankful his visor has been trained on you since you opened the door. His eyes have actually never strained very far from you since he first ever saw you, but you don't know that. You were making ridiculous faces at a stray dog while rubbing their upturned belly, and the Mandalorian felt his heart falter when he saw your grin as you waved at the animal and went back inside the shop where you worked. You also don't know that he adjusted his cape and armor before puffing his chest and straightening up his shoulders before approaching you later on to ask for information about a bounty.

You catch a whiff of his clean, distinctive smell as Mando holds you upright, which distracts you, so you don't notice he doesn’t let you go until you sit down on your bed. You're staring a bit dazedly up at his chest and he has to tug a few times at the bundled discarded clothes you still hold in your hands before you realize you have to release them. He gives up on trying to hide his amusement as he carefully places the bundle over your bag, rasping a heartfelt chuckle through his modulator.

You fully lay down, sighing deeply as your bones settle comfortably over the soft surface. Mando helps you pull the warmest blankets he has on board up to your chin (the baby has the fluffiest, while the man himself only sleeps with his cape covering him), and you don't even try to mask the shameless heart eyes you're making at him. Openly regarding you for a moment and leaning into this newfound intimacy between the two of you, he asks with an audible smile, “What’s gotten into you?”

You hum contentedly, finding it really hard to keep your eyes open and reveling in the molten warmth he always manages to unknowingly make bloom between your lungs. You reply in the middle of a yawn, turning on your side, “Babysitting a tiny menace and his dad nonstop for months does this to a person.”

The brightness of your sleepy smile after the gentle tease breaks away any sort of annoyance he might have felt, and his heart feels close to bursting at the seams. He muffles a yawn of his own as he starts to step away to let you sleep, but your hand stops him by his wrist.

You nuzzle your pillow before softly murmuring, “Thank you for taking care of the kid tonight.” Your thumb slips under the sleeve of his black shirt and your surprise at the smoothness of his skin keeps you from listening to the hitch in his breath. You stroke his delightfully warm skin a few times before you continue, so quietly it almost escapes his ears, “And for taking care of me.”

The Mandalorian doesn't move while his body feels like it will shatter at the force of the overwhelming wave of tenderness your words elicit. He watches your breath even out and feels your grip slowly go limp around his wrist, but his heart is still beating funny inside his chest. You barely even acknowledge his gentle grab on your hand to tuck it back beneath the covers, your mind already far away from there.

Mando stands a bit unsurely beside you, unable to step away just yet. Steady, deep breaths are leaving your parted lips when he delicately grazes the top of your cheekbone with his knuckles and says as silently as he can so as to not stir you, “Of course, love.”

He contemplates your peaceful face for as long as he dares to, up until you grumble and shift very slightly, shooting panic into him. Mando takes a long breath before slowly backing away, rubbing the back of his neck before he finally turns and goes get ready for bed.

Climbing into his bunk, he spares a moment to check on the sleeping baby, still feeling his pulse thunder through his veins. Rest evades him for a long time after he lays his head on the pillow, his mind repeating in circles your words and actions tonight, and his own too. The Mandalorian carefully stores the feeling of you in his arms deep into his heart, and his last thought before falling asleep is a quiet echo in his head, wondering if you were still clinging to consciousness when he replied.

[heliads]

heyyyyyyyy.... would it be possible to do a butchy x reader from teen beach movie? maybe the reader is also a biker and visiting her friend lela and butchy tries to flirt with her but shes not having it until he eventually wears her down?

literally rewatched teen beaches 1 and 2 so that i could properly write this and AA i forgot how good they are! thank you for the req anon

masterlist

Start your engines, everyone. It’s time to see a friend.

You are arriving at the beach late at night, heading down past the boardwalks and clusters of kids in surf shorts. By the time you pull up outside the door of a beachfront restaurant familiar only through photographs, the stars have long since started to outshine the sun.

You’ve been driving for a while, but you don’t mind the chance to have a road trip all to yourself. There might never be another mode of transportation half as fun as your motorcycle, although perhaps that’s just the biker in you.

According to your good friend Lela, bikers are well received here, although your arrival does make something of a stir. You can feel curious eyes flocking to your bike, checking it for underinflated tires or grease marks or anything that could mark you as ‘less than’ in their eyes.

One of the bikers is even bold enough to approach you directly, holding up a hand as if to help you off your bike. You consider his unspoken offer, then jump off by yourself.

The boy appears undaunted, flashing you a chrome-bright grin. “Hey there, stranger. My name’s Butchy, and I’d love to get yours.”

You arch a brow, unbuckling your helmet and fastening it back on the handlebars of your bike. “Y/N.”

The boy’s smile deepens, if possible. “Y/N. I like that name.”

“Thanks,” you say, “I think.”

You move to walk past him and into the restaurant, but the boy just follows you. “Say, if you’re new here, I wouldn’t mind showing you around.”

You fix him with your best cool stare. “Are you like this with every girl you meet?”

Butchy winks. “Only the pretty ones.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “That sounds about right.”

This time, you do manage to make it past Butchy and into Big Momma’s. Instantly, you’re enveloped in a wave of colors and noise. The place is warmly lit, and full of kids hanging around and talking. You see both surfers and bikers, which is a welcome surprise, all mingling throughout the restaurant.

More importantly, you see Lela. She’s talking to some blond surfer who looks like he’s been pulled out of a fairy tale or magazine cover, although she beams the second she notices you’re here and instantly runs over to say hi.

“Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it!”

You’re engulfed in a hug, and manage to choke out that you’re glad to see her too around layers of pink ruffles and perfectly glossed hair.

Lela leans back, delighted. “Oh, I knew you would like it here. There are so many people I need you to meet. Seems like you already talked to my brother, though.”

Confused, you follow her line of sight until it lands directly on Butchy. You pause for a moment to think this through, then gasp in something not entirely unlike horror.

“This guy is your brother?” You ask, eyes wide.

Butchy grins. “Try not to sound so disappointed, sweetheart. I’ve been told that we’ll get along just fine.”

You shoot him a dark look. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Lela just smiles, either unaware of the preexisting tension or delighting in it. “Well, I’m glad you already have one friend, Y/N. Say, I hate to leave so early, but I need to go sing. It’s very important to have the right mood in a place like Big Momma’s, you know.”

Before you can stop her, or perhaps beg her to take you with her, Lela swooshes off to the stage at the other side of the restaurant to begin a jazzy number.

Butchy holds out a hand to you as couples start to fill the floor. “Can I have this dance?”

You arch a brow. “Can I say no?”

He grins. “Only if you like hurting Lela’s feelings.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but reluctantly follow him to the dance floor. “That seems like cheating.”

Butchy shrugs. “Not if both of us are having a good time. Say, I love this song. ‘Falling For You’ has such a pleasant melody, it might be my favorite song yet.”

You eye him cautiously. “Do you know any songs other than this one?”

Butchy pretends to think. “Not sure that I do. That definitely makes it my favorite, though.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, and despite your attempts to turn the sound into a cough, Butchy still beams as if you’ve awarded him the highest compliment.

“Are you laughing at a joke I made? We might be doing better than I thought.”

You elect to focus on the steps of the dance instead of making direct eye contact with him. “I’m sure I was laughing at you, not with you. There’s a difference.”

Butchy spins you, then makes sure to step just a little closer as he does it so you have no choice but to lean against him for balance. “I’m sure there is.”

You reach for some sort of antagonistic comeback, but, disappointingly, you come up short. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about this other than looking even more pleased with himself, but still.

It looks like Lela’s getting to the end of her song, so Butchy guides you into a quick dip. “Looks like you literally fell for me, huh?”

You frown, even as he pulls you upright again. “I didn’t fall, you leaned me down. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Butchy sighs dramatically. “It’s an important thing here, you wouldn’t understand. Just go along with it.”

The song is over, but he still hasn’t let you go. For some reason, even the lightest touch of his hands on your arms and waist is enough to keep you motionless.

A hesitant cough to your right startles you from whatever trance you seem to be trapped in. Glancing over hastily, you realize that another biker is looking at you hopefully.

“I was wondering if you wanted to dance.”

The new boy quails under the depth of the glare Butchy sends his way. You, however, just flash him the sharpest smile you can.

“I’d love to dance.”

You make sure to fill the word ‘love’ with as much feeling as you can, and it does the job. Butchy’s face drops immediately, and he looks just about ready to deck the new boy, even if they’re a part of the same biker gang.

In an effort to avoid friendly fire, you leave Butchy’s arms and walk a little ways away with the other boy. Even after the next song begins, which you’re fairly sure is just another rendition of ‘Falling For You,’ you still can’t seem to shake Lela’s brother from your mind. Maybe it’s because your new partner isn’t quite as good at dancing, or his lifts don’t take you quite as high.

Or, maybe it’s because you like being able to mess with Butchy just as he’s messing with you. Regardless, you try to put it out of your mind. You’re here to visit Lela, not flirt with her brother.

When Lela finishes performing, you head over to her, intent on shaking the whole Butchy situation from your head under the cover of a good conversation with a friend. Lela, however, doesn’t appear to be letting you off that easily.

She smiles knowingly at you after taking a sip from her strawberry soda. “You know, you seem to be getting along with my brother quite well.”

You scoff a little too loudly. “No, that’s crazy. He’s so annoying.”

Lela raises an eyebrow. “You guys have been staring at each other practically nonstop since you walked through the door. I mean, I’d hate to say anything–”

She hesitates at the sheer ferocity of your gaze. “Alright, I do love saying things. Point is, you guys wouldn’t be the worst together. I think you’re more alike than you think.”

You shake your head firmly. “I would never go near Butchy in that sort of way. I mean, girl code, you know? You can’t date your best friend’s brother.”

Lela shrugs. “That’s assuming that I don’t know about it. I think there’s a girl code loophole in which I’m fine with you dating Butchy.”

In fact, she might be more than just fine with it, judging by the hopeful looks she keeps shooting you. You sigh with more than a touch of theatrics.

“I don’t want to think about boys, Lela,” you say, “I want to talk with my friend. Besides, Butchy’s probably just doing the run-of-the-mill flirting stuff he does with every new girl who stops by.”

Lela shakes her head. “Actually, I’ve never seen him like this before. That could be because no one new ever comes here other than Brady and Mack that one time, but still. I wouldn’t chalk it all up to him being annoying.”

You can’t quite argue with that, so you just purse your lips and change the topic of conversation. Lela looks at you with an infuriating spark in her eyes that tells you she knows exactly what’s going through your head, but thankfully, she doesn’t bring it up again.

You end up talking to Lela for a while, and get to know at least a few of the other bikers and surfers. After a couple hours, though, the late night starts to wear on you, and the constant music in the background of Big Momma’s changes from charming to just loud. You wave goodbye to Lela and discreetly remove yourself from the restaurant.

Instantly, you’re doing better. The night air is crisp and cool compared to the heat inside the diner, and your lungs quite like the change. You take off your shoes, plopping them in the sand so you can walk down further towards the beach.

The sky is clear out here, so far from the rest of the cities, and you can see stars for miles and miles. You can name a few constellations; others are utter strangers. Still, you find that you like to watch them. Maybe you’ll find a new celestial arrangement that will be yours, and yours alone.

A voice at your side makes you jump. “Had enough of us already?”

You glance over to see Butchy, although for once, his presence doesn’t irritate you, if it ever did.

He winces at your surprised movement. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shake your head. “No problem, I think I was a little zoned out. It’s a nice enough night that I wasn’t paying attention to much else than myself.”

Butchy smirks. “You’re pretty enough that I can understand that.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re laughing. Maybe he’s wearing you down after all.

A sudden sea wind rolls across the beach, and your laugh turns into a shiver. You do your best to hide the gesture, but Butchy still notices, and pulls his leather jacket off in one smooth motion.

“Here, take mine.”

You remain stock-still while he places it around your shoulders, and you pull it towards you instinctively.

“Won’t you be cold?” He’s only wearing a t-shirt, after all, and it must be thin; you can see every line and curve of his muscles.

Butchy shakes his head. “You’re hot enough that I’ll stay warm anyways.”

This time, you blush alongside your smile. “Don’t you ever get tired of coming up with those pickup lines?”

“You’re assuming that I’m only saying them to make fun of you,” he comments, “I’m not.”

You tilt your head to the side, considering this. “Then why do you say them?”

Butchy spreads his hands. “Because they’re true. Also, you always have to say something back to them, and that gives me an excuse to keep talking to you.”

Your shoulders shake with the laugh, and you can feel Butchy’s eyes on you, following the movement. “You could have just asked if you wanted to talk, you know?”

He thinks about this, then frowns. “I don’t know that you would have taken me up on that offer. You seemed to despise me when I first went up to you.”

You can’t deny this. “Yeah, but I’m better now.”

Butchy’s grin is back, full-force. “Yeah, I think you are.” He glances around, as if checking to make sure no one is watching, then turns back to you. “Say, I know you’re not going to be here forever. Can I get your number so we can talk later?”

You smile, reaching inside your pocket for a faded scrap of paper so you can write down the necessary digits. “Absolutely. You have to promise that you’ll call, though.”

Butchy takes the paper with a smile. “Easy. I’ll call so often that you’ll be sick of me.”

Couldn’t happen, you think. Even when he was doing his best to stay on your mind, you still ended up falling for him, just as promised.

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

[glamorizingchaos]

Summer Rains Part 4:

Things Can Be Different

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Rating: M (To be safe 18+)

Warnings: Angst, swearing, pining, smoking, slight jealous Javi, probably a bit OOC for Javier but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️. Everything is made up anyways. Let me know if I forgot any!

Summary: Chucho is everyone’s dad now.

A/N: Well Hi there! Its been a bit, I know. I had some serious writer's block, I know exactly how I want it to go but I realized I've been stopping myself from writing it. I am also moving out of my family home for the first time in a week. Which is extremely scary for me and I don't handle transitions well. So with that, a new job, and the semester starting up, I don't really know if I will be able to write or how much. I did decide to split this up into two parts and I WILL finish the rest of it before life gets super crazy though. I want to thank @over300books for beta reading again. Lela, you truly are an angel and help me get out of my head. So thank you so much for being you! Thanks for reading and Spanish translations are at the bottom of the post!

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! I’d love to hear feedback!

You felt for the first time in a long time, that you were closer than ever to having a real honest to god home; and damn it you were not letting it go without a fight.

What a fight it would be. The first few days in Texas were unexpectedly great. Chucho had welcomed you with open arms, so different from his son’s reaction. They were different in many ways you came to find as you spent more time with them. Where Javier was jaded, Chucho was kind. When Javier was spiteful and angry, Chucho was patient and calm. It didn’t take long for you to care for your daughter’s grandfather. He wormed his way into your heart, must be another one of those Peña traits.

You quickly fell into a routine with the Peña men. Each morning, you would have breakfast together; sometimes Chucho would let you cook, but the man rose with the sun, always beating you to the kitchen. Then he and Javier would go to work, Chucho on the ranch, and Javier to the DEA office in downtown Laredo. Chucho always reminded you they were a call away if you needed anything. Then it was just you and Sofia.

It was nice to spend so much time with her. When Sofia was first born you were unable to take a very long maternity leave. So you left her with your neighbor; a sweet woman in her fifties who was already watching her grandkids. It was incredibly hard watching as someone else experiences milestones with your daughter. But you made it through and now Javier was keeping to his promise. The two of you would be taken care of.

But with Javier being gone all day, the two of you never had a chance to talk. Alone. Anytime you tried to broach the topic he’d find an excuse. He worked long hours and when Chucho had church meetings Javi would come home late smelling of cheap whiskey and bar smoke. Not staggering drunk or anything, but late enough that you had already gone to bed. You knew he was avoiding you. Then when he was home at a decent hour or any free moment he had was obviously spent with Sofia. You felt lost like you were floating at sea. Everything was peaceful now, but the tide was turning. A storm was coming.

-

It was a quiet night, so quiet that the sound of Javier’s jeep door slamming echoed across the ranch. It was late. The sun had long since set and the stars were shining bright in the sky. His shoulders hung low as he stomped up the porch. He felt guilty, he knew that you knew he was avoiding you. That he came home smelling like cheap booze. Yet you said nothing to him. Like you were scared to burst this bubble of peace you created. He hated that. You were never timid. You always gave him shit. But then again, the two of you are very different people now. Honestly though, who is he to judge? He is just as cowardly. Javier is avoiding the same conversation. The two of you had been pussyfooting around it for weeks. He just can’t pin his emotions down long enough to even express them. One minute he is seething with rage and the other the sadness overwhelms him. Then he sees you with Sofia or his dad and all of that thaws for a second. He allows himself to pretend for just a second that everything was different. No lies or secrets or hidden pregnancies, just you and his little family. For one moment everything is perfect before reality comes crashing back. So he avoids you, it’s better this way.

He trudges up the steps of the porch pulling out a cigarette and lighter as he did. He flicked his lighter and leaned down to light it. Taking a long deep drag he leaned on the railing, looking up at the shining sky. The stars were always brilliant on the ranch, just far enough outside the city to be seen.

“You’re home late.” The cigarette nearly falls out of Javier’s mouth as he jumps and chokes out a cough at the sudden voice. He turns and sees the faint outline of his father sitting on one of the old rocking chairs. Javier widens his eyes he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice his father sitting, waiting for him.

“Jesus pops, warn a guy next time,” Javier’s throat constricts as he tries to stifle another heavy cough. It takes a few more coughs for his lungs to finally settle, “fuck.”

“Sit. We need to talk.” The strained tone of Chucho’s voice is telling, he’s not happy, and Javier is about to hear about it. Javier tries to come up with an excuse, to get inside far away from the incoming lecture but falls short. With a deep sigh, he indignantly throws himself in the chair beside Chucho.

“Mijo,” Chucho pauses, contemplating his next words carefully, “what is going on with you? You stay out late and when you are home, you are cold and distant. Why did you bring the girls here if all you are going to do is isolate yourself? What is the point in them uprooting their lives and living here at this rate?” Chucho’s voice is calm and collected, but Javier can hear the underlying annoyance bubbling up.

“Por favor, Papá. Not tonight.” Javier’s eyebrows pinch together as he reaches to rub the line forming between them.

“If not now, when? When Sofia is old enough to question why her parents don’t talk to each other? ¡Deja de decir tonterías!”

“That’s not fair. It’s-it's more complicated than that.” hisses Javier. “You wouldn’t understand. You and Ma were different; soulmates or whatever.” Javier gave a dejected shrug as he pulled the cigarette back to his lips. The light from it illuminated half of his face as he inhaled, the lines and dark circles on his face prominent. Evidence of his inner turmoil. Smoke billowed around the two men, mixing with the mistiness of the evening. There was a heavy silence between the two, that seems to be a habit of theirs.

Chucho looked up at the sky, searching as if an answer to his son’s problems could be found amongst the stars and space rock. A wistful look formed on Chucho’s face as he became lost in his thoughts. “Did you know that when I met your mother the week after our first date she dumped me?” Javier’s head snapped to look at his father, he opened his mouth but remained silent. Chucho’s eyes remained on the night sky, “Said she was in love with someone else.” Chucho let out a soft wry chuckle at the memory.

“I was angry, yes, but I cared for your mother and wanted her to be happy. If this other person made her happy, fine. I’m washing my hands of it.” He put his hands up in conjunction with his words before folding them back in his lap. “The next month, I ran into her at the movies. Nearly spilled my popcorn running into her. She was in tears because the guy she was so in love with, dumped her outside the theater and left. So I handed her a napkin and asked her if she wanted to watch a movie or go home. She decided to stay and watch the movie with me, then I drove her home. The rest is history, Mijo.” A small smile grew on Chucho’s face as he recalled that night.

“That is a completely different situation. Mom didn’t lie to you or left you with no word of where she went. This is different. This isn’t some dumb fight between teenagers.” The indignation in Javier’s voice was mirrored on his face. His nose scrunched up with every word and his eyes flashed with anger.

“¡Basta ya! No seas un pendejo.” Chucho rarely raised his voice. He was always calm and collected. But his son always knew how to bring out the temper of even the calmest people. “I had a choice to make with your mother. Leave her there crying and hurt just like she left me or lead with kindness. Thirty years of marriage and you think we never fought? No, we did. Plenty. But we made the choice to work together rather than against each other because at the end of the day? There was no one else we wanted, no other life we wanted, than the one we were building together.”

“I don’t know if I can do it. Fix things.” Javier’s voice was small, barely audible over the crickets. “Things can never go back to what they were, but I don’t know if they can be different either.” His eyes were now beguiled with his shoes to avoid looking at his father. What Javier wouldn’t -or couldn’t- admit was that he was terrified. Terrified of being a father, of how things have changed in his life, of you, and how much he still cared for you even with everything that’s happened. But he was most terrified that he would constantly be walking on eggshells, that the current situation would never change.

“Otro gallo cantaría” Chucho pats Javier’s shoulder as he stands, “and they still can be.”

-

You find Javier home more the next few days, no longer coming home smelling like the bottom of a whiskey bottle. You don’t know what caused such a change in his behavior so quickly. He still was quiet around you and awkwardness always followed the two of you, but there was more of an effort to be present. You still had no idea what his plans for the future entail. If they included you or not. If you wanted to be included in his plans. You had grown to love the little home the four of you made, but your feelings for Javier were still all jumbled.

There is so much history there, so much heartbreak, maybe too much. The heartbreak you had a hand in creating. You can admit that now. Maybe things could have been different, yes, but they are because of a choice you made. Spending long days at home alone with a not yet one-year-old leaves lots of time to think. Time to realize the huge mistake you made and how different things could have been. It was hard to not daydream about the life you could have had with Javier. What he would have been like during your pregnancy and the birth of Sofia. Then before you can get too wrapped up in your fantasy, you remember the lies he told you, the venom in his voice when he yelled at you. It's then that you begin to spiral; every bad thought and situation that could have happened hit you all at once. It's like a freight train of anxiety and anger all at once. You’re mad and sad and hurt and anxious all at the same time. Because yes, things could have been different, that doesn’t mean they could have been good.

Luckily Saturday rolls around rather quickly this week. Saturdays were the days that Chucho would watch Sofia and you would go to the grocery store. It was your form of self-care, somedays you would go have some lunch before and take some time for yourself. A much-needed break, where you could pretend just for that hour that your life was not crumbling around you.

You were doing the breakfast dishes when Javier peaked his head into the kitchen drumming his fingers on the door frame, “Hey, uh, Pops had some errands to run today, and I thought Sofia and I could just go to the store with you today?”

“Oh. Yeah, sounds fine.” Without another word, Javier disappeared from the doorway and left you alone again. You toss the rag onto the counter and stand staring at the bubbles leftover in the sink. You didn’t even know how to react, he had never asked to go with you before. The two have not been alone without Chucho for more than 30 minutes at a time since coming to Texas. As you grab your purse you walk to the door, nervously chewing your thumbnail. This was going to be an interesting afternoon.

Much to your surprise, the trip has been going quite well. With Javier taking charge of the cart and entertaining Sofia as you browse the aisles. The two of you having some pleasant small talk, even though you both despise small talk. As you stroll through the baby section to find some diapers for the tiny poop machine you two loved so much, Javier abruptly veered the shopping cart to the left. “What-”

“She needs this!” He holds up the cutest overalls with little daisies embroidered on them paired with a striped pastel rainbow shirt. Before you had even walked towards the rack, he quickly searched for her size and pulled it out. His brows creased in concentration as he continued to look through the outfits.

“It is cute, but-”

“No buts, c’mon querida she will look adorable. I gotta find her some boots to go with it.” You felt warmth spread throughout your body at the term of endearment, but he didn’t even notice it. He just continued through the aisles looking for the baby shoes. Like it just came out naturally. He was so happy and focused, and the outfit would look adorable with some boots.

With a sigh and a soft smile, you follow him down the aisle towards the shoe racks, “Not those, those are ugly!”

For the rest of the trip, Javier seemed to warm up even more. The two of you giggling over the cheesy onesies (and picking up a few of them) and Javier grumbling about how expensive diapers are. You had to stop yourself from tearing up because of how nice it felt. How natural and at peace, you felt. Being here with Javier pushing Sofia in the cart was everything you ever wanted.

Your little trio started heading over to the check-out counters and you decided to look over your list one more time. “Shit!”

“What?” Javier looked up from playing with Sofia, an eyebrow raised.

“I forgot Chucho’s oatmeal. You guys get in line, I’ll be right back.” You quickly backtracked through the store to get the forgotten oatmeal. The smile that was plastered on your face felt permanent. For the first time in a while, you could feel a sense of peace settling in around you. It felt like curling up in a blanket during a thunderstorm.

You hummed to yourself softly as your eyes quickly scanned the shelves. Of course, with your luck, the oatmeal was at the top of the shelf just out of reach. You stretched your arm up and stood on your tippy-toes trying to grab it, but alas you were still empty-handed. With a huff, you stared at the offending box trying to decide what to do.

“Would you like some help?” You turned to see a young man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes giving you an amused look. He was tall with a broad chest and a lopsided smile. He was every bit the stereotypical handsome southern boy.

“That would be great. Thank you.” You sent him a small smile as your body felt warm in embarrassment. You sidestepped around him to let him through to the shelf. Effortlessly he leaned up and grabbed the oatmeal.

“There you go, darling.” His voice was smooth and rich; his charm was electric. You choked out a laugh as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. When you went to thank him one more time he quickly stopped you, “It's nothing. Helping a beautiful woman is no inconvenience to me.”

You gave a light laugh at his open attempts to flirt with you, “Quite the Galant southern gentleman huh? All easy charm and compliments.”

Now it was his turn to laugh, and what a great laugh. Light and carefree. “Well tell me, is it working?”

“So is the grocery store the new place to pick up women? Instead of hanging out at bars, you stake out the cereal aisle?” You give him a measured look, normally you wouldn’t be so open and flirty. More often than not you were lost in your head. But today you were just so goddamn happy you couldn’t help it. He was harmless.

His sweet southern drawl was like honey, “Well as I see it, no place better.” He leans closer and you can smell his overpowering cologne, it was like he doused himself in it. It permeated the air and stung your nostrils. Nothing like the warm spice you’ve come to prefer. “This way I know what you’ll want for breakfast in the morning.”

You let out a loud laugh at his boldness, “Very smooth.” You rolled your eyes and began to walk backward away from him.

He followed at a respectful distance, “No luck today huh?”

“Afraid not, but it was a gallant effort.” You stop walking at the end of the aisle and turn and face the handsome stranger.

“Well, you can’t blame me for shamelessly flirting with such a beautiful woman.” This man just doesn’t quit huh? He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small card and places it in your hand. “Just in case you change your mind.” He shoots you the most stunning smile and you find yourself laughing at his brazenness again. You reach out and pat his arm to say goodbye and just as your hand lands at the crook of his elbow, you hear a heavy cough behind you.

You swivel around so fast you nearly drop the oatmeal in your hands, eyes as wide as saucers as you lock on to the pair of dark eyes staring back. Because of course, Javier Peña would arrive just at this moment with your daughter in tow. If the look on his face said anything, your lovely outing was over. “Sorry to interrupt. You were taking a while.” His whole body was stiff, an edge to his voice as his eyes flicked between you and the stranger. His sharp gaze falling on your hand on the other man’s arm, his grip tight on the shopping cart in front of him. You quickly snatched it away as if burnt. It was as if the little dream day you had never happened and he was back to being unattached.

Your mouth opened to speak, to explain away whatever he thought was going on, but no words came. You felt as if you were a child being caught getting into the cookie jar. Like you had to explain your bad behavior. The situation felt like something out of a movie. Javier strolling up to you with Sofia babbling away in the cart in any other situation would make you laugh.

“I’ll leave you to it darlin’.” The handsome stranger let out a breath with a puff of his cheeks as he eyed Javier and Sofia. With a small nod to Javier, he quickly turned on his heel and left. Obviously not wanting to get involved in whatever situation that was happening.

Javier’s eyes shifted back to you, they no longer held the same warmth they had earlier. Now they were cold and closed off once more. You desperately wanted to reach out and grab him, make him understand that NOTHING happened. That he was misreading the situation. To get him to talk to you and tell you what was rattling around in that head of his. But his face was emotionless, stiff, and unreadable. He shut you out. Again.

“Well c’mon. Let's go.” Javier’s voice is flat and cold as he turned to leave you standing alone. Every hope you had for the day had shattered around you. The remnants were left in the cereal aisle with a stupidly handsome cowboy. Just your fucking luck.

-

The car ride back to the ranch was deadly silent. Javier had loaded the groceries in the car without a single word. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, just brood in his own head. This is not how today was supposed to go. He wanted to spend time outside of the house, away from all the bullshit. Just pretend for an hour that everything was normal. And for a while there everything was great. For a moment he got a glimpse of what life could have been and maybe what it still could be. He truly felt himself relax and it felt like he could finally take a deep breath.

He got to do the domestic things with you he never thought he’d want to. Like oggle over fucking baby clothes, which are so expensive it’s highway robbery. But hearing you laugh and smile at him, because of him, again? He felt so light. Like he could do anything. It felt nice.

But of course, that couldn’t last now, could it? When you left him and Sofia, he couldn’t help the wistful smile. The wanting look that followed you as you disappeared in the maze of aisles. He looked down at Sofia and gave her a soft kiss on the top of her head, his smile only growing.

You were taking forever though and Sofia was starting to get fussy. How long does it take to get fucking oatmeal? With a huff, he picked up the second toy Sofia threw on the floor and went to go find you. As he made his way towards where he thought the cereal aisle was and he heard your laughter float towards him like music. His joy at the sound was quickly diminished when he heard it followed by a male voice. He couldn’t make out what you were saying yet, but you sounded rather happy and entertained by whoever you were talking to.

Javier could feel his infamous scowl forming even before he turned the corner. Now he was close enough to hear the man speaking, “Well you can’t blame me for shamelessly flirting with such a beautiful woman. Just in case you change your mind.” As he finally turned the corner he saw the man, young and all prince charming like, hand you a card. Then he saw you put your hand on his arm and laughed. He was flirting with you and you were flirting back.

Javier could feel the anger start to bubble up again, but not only anger, jealousy. This man could give you all the things he couldn’t; he was younger than him and probably had far less baggage to deal with. Everything Javier isn’t. Every insecurity he’s had about you comes seeping back into his mind. But also the anger and all his thoughts raced around his head almost painfully. Was he the only one that enjoyed the day? Did you resent him encroaching on your space? Did you always flirt with men at the grocery store? How could you go flirt when the two of you had such a nice day?

As Javier pulled the car into the drive he sat back and watched as you threw your car door open and stomped to grab the groceries. Javier went back to grab a sleeping Sofia from her car seat and put her down. You stormed past Chucho who came to the door to greet the two of you. His eyebrows knitted together as he gave Javier a questioning look. Javier rolled his eyes as if to say don’t ask and strode past his father

You were still in the kitchen putting groceries away when Chucho walked in with more bags. For a few minutes, Chucho stood and watched you. He surveyed the tension in your shoulders, the lines forming between your brows, and the tight line you’ve pressed your lips into. Something happened while you were shopping.

“¿Mija, Todo bien?” Chucho crossed the kitchen and leaned on the counter to look at you. At his question, your eyes stayed focused on the groceries on the island in front of you. He said your name softly to try and push for an answer.

“Everything is fine.” You feel the burn of acid in the back of your throat. You hate lying to Chucho. You finally drag your eyes up to meet his concerned look, “Really. Please don’t worry about me.” You force a smile but it doesn’t meet your eyes. Chucho’s eyes narrowed with disbelief.

“I always worry about you. It’s my job.” His voice is calming to your shattered nerves. Like with every word a little bit of the weight on your shoulders is lifted. “Now tell me, did something happen?”

Not much gets past him, to be fair it’s not like you are being discreet. You look up at the older man’s face. His eyes hold a softness and warmth within them that immediately pulls you in. But underneath there is a strength and fire that he controls. You can see the flecks of flames in those dark irises. You know you can trust him, Chucho has never given you a reason not to, but he is still Javier’s father. Not yours.

“It’s just-” you hesitate for a moment to think of how to phrase what you are thinking. Chucho nods encouragingly for you to continue. “Everything was good. Great even. Then something happened and it was like he shut down.” Your voice is quiet, not wanting Javier to hear.

“My son is a complicated man. He is too hardheaded and stubborn, too much like me.” You smile softly as Chucho chuckles. The smile quickly leaves his face as he grows serious, “The thing about my son is that he cares more deeply than he will ever let on. He tries to hide it under layers of bravado and machismo, but if you dig deep enough you will find it. He feels things to extremes and when it comes to the people he cares about he can drown in those feelings.”

“I’ve caused him so much pain.” Tears prick at the edges of your eyes and your voice is heavy with emotion. “How could he ever forgive me?”

“I think you need to start by forgiving yourself.” Chucho slowly approaches you and lays his hands on your arms. “We all make mistakes and hurt those we love. What you did, you did out of desperation. A need to protect yourself and your daughter. Understand that what Javier is doing now, is the same. He is trying to protect himself from getting hurt again. From ruining things.”

“I never wanted this to happen. I wanted to tell him-” A sob cuts you off as you lean into Chucho’s outstretched arms. You can’t stop the tears once they’ve started, emotion pours through you as you shake with every sob.

Chucho rubs your back as he speaks to you, “Like I said the past can’t change. But your future can. Talk to him.”

You lean back from his embrace with a hiccup, “How? He won’t even be alone in a room with me.”

“Leave that to me.” With a light kiss to your forehead, Chucho leaves the kitchen. He hears Javier’s heavy footfalls down the hallway and the clang of the screen door to the backyard. The house is once again entrenched in a weighted silence.

You feel the breath leave your lungs in a deep sigh and your head falls to your chest. Your hands grip the side of the island to the point that your knuckles turn white trying to steady yourself. Slowly your breath begins to return to a normal breathing pattern. A wave of exhaustion starts to hit you, you are so tired. Tired of the fighting and second-guessing.

Your hand reaches into your pocket, moving of its own accord, and pulls out the small card. You rub the smooth paper between your fingers then tap the edge on the surface of the counter. How could something so small and innocuous as a piece of paper hold so much power? You could rip it up now and be done with all the drama, would that change anything? Would that magically make Javier come back to you? What if you did and it changed nothing? A cry from deeper in the house drags your mind away from the card. You shake your head to get rid of the anxious thoughts threatening to swallow you and rush to your daughter. The card slips from your fingers and falls to the counter, forgotten.

Masterlist Next Part

Spanish translations:

¡Deja de decir tonterías!: Stop talking nonsense!

¡Basta ya! No seas un pendejo: Enough already don’t be an asshole!

Otro gallo cantaría: Literally means another rooster would sing. Means things could have been different.

¿Todo bien?: You alright?

Please let me know if any of the Spanish translations or usage is incorrect!!

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[lordabovehelpme]

Hi, Lordy!!! Happy milestone once again!!!! For the request, I'd love:

Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

Or

One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

Basically,,,,,,, I'm a whore for size difference 🤷 even more so when it's with Din 🥰

I'll love anything you come up with!! Thank you in advance and congrats, congrats, congrats!!! 🥳🥳

A/N: Oh boy! Lela, why must you make me choose? You are evil and always know exactly what to ask because boy oh boy did I have a rough time choosing. So I just said, why do I have to choose? Merry Christmas, you get both all wrapped in one! Size kink for the win! Hehehe. I hope you enjoy love!

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference, and 48. One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner's. (Din Djarin x Reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anger radiates off his skin, weaving through the thick undershirt and threatening to melt the everlasting beskar. The leather of his gloves creaks as it grips your wrist, pulling you… dragging you after him.

Your legs stagger as you try to keep up with him. Various eyes watch as he tugs you behind him. You knew you shouldn’t have. You should have turned away as the man approached you. You should have not responded when he asked if the seat was taken beside you. You should have told him you were waiting for someone. But the thrill of it was all too easy to fall victim to.

The Mandalorian barges through a door, forcing you in front of him, caging you between the wall and his broad chest. The stairwell is silent, music muddled and distorted by the thick wall, but the only thing you can hear is how your heart beats loud and your blood rushes in your ears.

Rage glimmers beneath the unforgiving dark abyss of his visor, like erupting lava down a volcano. You can feel the heat of his irritation flowing from his skin in wave after even hotter wave.

“What was that?”

The words are like poison, spoken with such rasp and fury, slicing through your head and cutting into your throat. Your breathing is short and quick as you try to stand your ground, but it’s hard when you have to crank your neck to stare up at his visor.

He glares down at you, hands on his hips and so close that you can smell the earthy tang of his sweat and natural scent. His chest swells, filling with fiery passion and the primal instinct of claiming you.

“I leave you for one minute.”

He seethes as the exasperated words boom from his throat. And you just stare back up at him, too stubborn to give away your motivations and thoughts.

Before you even know it, his helmet is ripped from his head and his hands grip your jaw, shoving your face up as he leans down, lips mashing against your own. You rise to your tiptoes, nerves screaming out at you as your neck is stretched, but he doesn’t hold back, throwing all his anger, frustration, and passion into the kiss… or rather, kisses.

His mouth demands your breath, sucking the sharp intakes from your lungs and instead offering his hot air. His teeth meet your lips and sink into the pillowy flesh, pulling the skin back only to release it for a second, and his tongue licks into your hot cavern, tangling with your own.

Then large leather-clad hands trail down your form, grabbing and squeezing any flesh they find. They move with the intent to bruise… to mark… to brand.

Your own hands drift up to tangle in his shaggy curls, pulling at the ends near the base of his neck. A growl rumbles up from his chest and sends vibrations through your body, running shivers down your spine.

“You’re mine.”

The raspy words, spoken with such raw emotion send molten hot sparks down your spine, they leave no room for argument or question.

But as your calves start to scream out in weariness, you slowly lower yourself.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The question is still harsh and sharp, but his irritation is starting to become forgotten in the presence of your touch.

“You’re too tall.”

A dark chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest causing small vibrations along your lips. His hands grip your waist and lead you a few steps back, his mouth staying only a few centimeters away, letting you feel the rhythm of his breath.

You blindly follow his lead and soon your feet meet steps. He softly pushes you back, not forcing you but rather showing you where he wants you. Taking a few steps, you rise to the same height as him.

It’s so much easier here. Your arms naturally relax upon his shoulders and your mouths find each other once again.

You smile into the kiss, “Much better.”

His own lips softly rise at the corners, but that doesn’t stop him from nibbling on your flesh.

What was once rage and anger now bubbles into zest and zeal. Twinges of compassion twirl and waltz with his irritation, a complex dance of emotions and love, making your kiss hot and fiery yet so so soft.

An idea lights up in your head and your smile grows as your feet climb higher. He doesn’t notice, too caught up in your caresses.

The Mandalorian stays lost in your touch, drunk on the feeling of you in his arms and intoxicated by the movements of your lips.

But soon you find yourself craning your head down to meet his.

“What are you doing little one?”

You giggle and break from his lips to peck his nose. Your eyes open and find his still closed, tan eyelids covering expressive brown eyes. Where his eyebrows were once furrowed in anger, now rest still and calm. He’s so stunning.

“Just wanted to experience things from your end.”

Once again you are gifted that handsome and deep chuckle. His eyes open, long eyelashes fluttering in the movement. Your heart sings at his warm gaze, happy to find adoration instead of annoyance.

“I’m still mad at you, stop being cute.”

You smile and lean down to kiss him again, your hands finding his jaw, your thumbs finding his cheekbones, your hearts swelling with intimacy. The music seeps in through the walls, surrounding the two of you with old rock. And the best of it, you both know that is not mad at you anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you all enjoyed it! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment with your thoughts! I love hearing what you all have to say or what you thought about my writing! It makes my little writer's heart smile!!!

Masterlist

[littleferal]

for fic writer appreciation, I’d love to shout out @over300books and @mindidjarin! I first got to know Lela and Mindi as incredibly supportive readers and friends and both of them have started writing incredible fic in the last few months! Lela’s “Of Course” and Mindi’s “Morning Coffee” and “Try Something New” are so good and creative and lovely. I’m so impressed by both of them transitioning from readers (really, the most supportive readers IN THE WORLD) to writers (each with their own distinctive voice, which is also v v impressive), and I’m so excited to read more of their work in the future ❤️ (-@letterfromvienna)

we've got some loving for @over300books and her piece Of Course (Din Djarin x gn!reader) AND some loving for @mindidjarin and her pieces Morning Coffee (Joel Miller x f!reader) and Try Something New (Din Djarin x f!reader) 🥰

send some love to your favourite fic writers for new year ✨

[bubblefina]

King of hearts chapter 13

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Tom meet during their years at Hogwarts, but as the years pass a rivalry grows between the two of them, which leads from soft beginnings to tragic endings.

“Admiring his devilishly good looks as that heart of yours beats faster every time he says your name?” Tom adds, making your cheeks heat up.”

Pairings: Tom x f!reader

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ ✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.

Chapter 13- A duel

A week later, Hogwarts managed to be rebuilt, with new additions along with it. Now that the school was able to function again, students were allowed to return to their everyday classes. With the rebuilding came new rules and regulations. Apparition on Hogwarts grounds is forbidden, no student or professor can apparate to or from Hogwarts. Hogsmeade trips for third years and above are cancelled until December. Aurors would patrol the grounds and beyond until Christmas break, ensuring the safety of the school.

The DADA classes introduced dueling clubs to second years and above, for the purpose of teaching more advanced defense techniques against the dark arts, along with dueling in general. The first meeting took place during a Thursday evening, just before dinner was starting. Professor Merrythought along with the charms professor, professor Elms, worked together to begin the club and allow for demonstrations.

The professors were the first to duel, using spells like expelliarmus, protego, and finite. They picked and allowed students to volunteer to duel each other. No nasty jinxes or spells are allowed during the duel, the professors didn’t want the students to greatly hurt each other. As the duel went on, people like Abraxas fought Tom, Lucy fought a Hufflepuff boy and lost against him.

As the professors praised the students who fought, they also looked to the crowd of students for other participants.

“Shall we have someone from Ravenclaw join the duel, miss l/n?” Professor Merrythought looked towards you.

“Me?” you pointed towards yourself.

Merrythought nodded and motioned you to join her on the stand, “Professor Elms tells me that you excel in his charms class, I’m sure you’ll do well in this duel.”

Professor Elms called up the last person you wanted to see, Lela Selwyn. She walked to the stand with her smug face and brought out her wand.

“A Slytherin versus a Ravenclaw, this shall be an interesting match.” Elms spoke as both him and Merrythought walked off of the stand.

“Now remember, no dirty tricks, this will be a fair match, wands at the ready.” Merrythought said.

Both you and Lela brought out your wands and held them to your face.

“Careful now, l/n. Wouldn’t want you falling off the stage.” Lela said, an evil smirk plastered across her face. A few Slytherins started to chuckle at her comment.

“I’ve told you before, Selwyn. Next time I fall, I’m bringing you down with me.” You set your wand down and turned to walk away from her, after walking 10 steps you turn around and point your wand at her in an offensive stance.

“On the count of three, cast your charms to only disarm your opponent, no nasty jinxes of any kind.” Merrythought instructed.

“One”

“Two”

“Flipendo!”

Lela pointed her wand at you, blue light erupted from it, casting its way at you.

“Finite!” you shot a spell back, the mixture of red and blue light erupting from both of your wands caused a small explosion, causing you to step back a few feet. You looked at Lela with furrowed brows.

“The professor said we had to disarm our opponent, not knock them backwards, or can you not understand simple instructions Selwyn?” your hand gripped at your wand, visibly irritated.

“Miss l/n is right Miss Selwyn, the point of this demonstration is not to harm our opponents, it is to disarm them. Please try again.”

Lela looked as if she hadn’t been paying attention, rolled her eyes and turned to walk 10 steps away to regain her position, you did the same.

The countdown began again, and this time you were the one who shot a spell first.

“Expelliarmus!” you waved your wand and pointed it at Lela, knocking her wand out of her hand.

“Excellent miss l/n. Now, the both of you may continue with your duel with more spells that are in your inventory, but remember, no nasty ones. Please begin.”

After the next countdown ended, the both of you lifted your wands, ready to cast the next spell that came to mind.

“Relashio!” Lela shouted at you. You managed to dodge the spell by kneeling to the ground.

“Impedimenta!” you tried to slow down Lela’s movement, but she countered it again.

“Levicorpus!” the spell had hit you. Your ankle hoisted into the air as you flung upside down, flailing to get control again. Your uniform skirt began to fall to the rules of gravity, but thank Merlin you decided to wear stockings underneath today.

“Liberacorpus!” you chanted the counter curse for the spell Lela was using and landed back on the ground with a thud. She wanted to play dirty by using spells that wouldn’t necessarily cause harm, but were still a pain in the ass. The professors, who seemed to be invested in the duel, seemed like they didn’t care about what spells were being used, so you decided to use some special spells underneath your sleeve against the person you despised the most.

“Saltu Caeli!” a vaulting charm of some sort was cast out of your wand, it flung Lela into the air for a few seconds before you could cast your second charm, “Incarcerous!” Ropes had wrapped themselves around Lela, who was still in the air, and brought her down to the floor with a bang. A few gasps were heard amongst the crowd, and a few claps as well.

Lela, who looked a bit flushed, reached for her wand and undid the ropes, got up and pointed her wand at you. You didn’t know what she was going to cast next, but you had Finite ready just in case.

“Incendio!” a burst of flames came your way, but you had countered it, and when you could finally look at Lela again when some smoke subsided, she had this crazy look in her eyes.

“Stupefy!” another spell shot at you, but again, you managed to counter it. 

“Expelliarmus!” you tried to disarm Lela before she could use another spell against you, but she dodged it and prepared for another spell.

“Serpensortia!” Lela let out another spell, a black looking snake conjured itself from her wand and landed on the dueling table. A few gasps were heard around the room. You took a step back as it slithered towards you, baring its teeth.

Shooting a spell at it wouldn’t do it any good, if the snake managed to survive it would become even more irritated and attack you even faster. The situation you were in felt all too familiar as well.

The professors took notice of the live snake on the dueling table and pushed through students to get to it. While they were making their way towards the table, the snake came closer and closer to you. 

“Vipera Evanesca.” Merrythought had cast a spell towards the snake and walked onto the stage in front of you.

“Miss Selwyn, what are you thinking about bringing a snake to a duel? A venomous one at that, 15 points from Slytherin, take your seat,” Merrythought turned towards you, stern look on her face, “Take your seat please.” you were guessing that she wasn’t impressed with the actions you took either.

You gulped as you headed back to the Ravenclaw section. The fellow Ravenclaw students gave you a pat on the back and said that it was okay and that they were glad you stood up for yourself in the duel.

After the dueling club ended, the students were dismissed for dinner.

You met up with Azalea and Melissa, who decided to sit out on the dueling club to do things for their other classes. Of course, in a friendly fashion, you decided to tell them about your duel.

“She shot a snake at you?” Melissa said, choking on her potatoes.

“Don’t choke, madam Crafince is a bit too busy to deal with you if you collapse.” Azalea said.

“Yeah she did. Luckily, Merrythought made it disintegrate. I really hate her, you know, Lela.” you said as you cut into your food.

“In my opinion, I think she was getting mad at the fact that you were getting the upper hand and started to play dirty.” Azalea said.

“That's what I thought, too. I’m just glad I’m not the one that lost 15 points from my house.”

“Don’t worry, knowing them, Slytherin will gain them back in some way.” Melissa snorted.

“Did you get the chance to visit Naomi today?” you asked them.

“Azalea did, I had to help Utonell with her plants in Herbology.” Melissa replied.

“She’s still the same. They managed to heal all of her external injuries, but she hasn’t woken up yet. I hope she’ll be okay.” Azalea ripped apart a bread roll with her fingers.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay, most of the students that were knocked out are waking up, it won’t be long before she does too.” you reassure a worried Azalea who looked like she was about to ruin her dinner by squeezing the rest of it.

After returning to your dorm later that night, you collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. You felt something tingle your arm and looked down, Orion had made her way onto your palm. You picked her up gently and began talking to her.

“I’m glad you’re nothing like that nasty snake I had to face today Orion,” you coo to her, rubbing circles on her head, “I never want to see Lela again, but I have almost 5 more years with her.” You placed Orion on her small pillow and fed her some snake food before you went to the girls' lavatory to take a shower and change into your pajamas.

★──────────★★──────────★★──────────★

The next morning, you had gotten an owl from your dad about some big news that had occurred back home.

Dear Y/N,

My sweet girl, I have big news. Your mother and I have learned that we are expecting a new member to this family! Your mother is around two months pregnant, and we are all so happy, and I hope that you will be when you get this owl. I hope to see you this Christmas, so we can rejoice as a family for this miracle.

Love, dad. ♡

You dropped the note onto your toast, it being smeared with some butter.

“What’s wrong?” Azalea asked, swallowing her cereal quickly, worried at your shocked appearance.

“My mom’s pregnant.” you whispered, cleaning the butter off of your letter.

“Really? That’s wonderful, y/n! Congratulations. Why don’t you look happy?” she asks.

“I am happy, I guess. It’s just that I never had the best relationship with my mom, so I don’t know how I should feel.” you tucked the letter into your robe and began to eat.

“What do you mean by ‘the best relationship with your mom’?” Azalea asked.

“Ever since I started doing magic, she’s just been acting weird. We’ve been getting into more fights, so I don’t know if I’m fully happy about this.” 

“I understand, I remember when my parents divorced my mom and I used to not get along either, hence why I moved to Spain with my dad, but it got better. I’m sure you’ll make a great big sister to your new sibling.” Azalea gave you a hopeful smile, which lifted your spirits enough for you to stomach your breakfast.

Your classes for that day were plain. Barely focusing on what you were learning, your thoughts were all focused around the news in that letter. You didn’t think that your parents even wanted another child, they seemed pretty content with two kids. In the end you decided not to send an owl back to your dad, they’d see you at Christmas anyway, which is only a month away. 

After classes had ended, you spent the day in the Ravenclaw common room on the sofa near the fireplace, blankly staring at the potions book in your hand. Slughorn said that he was planning on making a healing potion during the next class, and advised the students to study up on the ingredients used in the potion.

Trying your best to concentrate on your book, your eyes skimmed over the words, not absorbing any of the information. The crackling of the fire popped in your ears, making it that much harder to focus. It was snowing outside, so studying out in the courtyard was out of the picture. You reached for the letter inside your robe and pulled it out to read it again. It was only your dad that had written to you, not even your own mother could write a sentence to you. After staring at the letter for a few more seconds, you reached over to the fire and threw the letter upon the open flame, its edges instantly turning black and falling apart.

Tomorrow is Saturday, you closed your book. Potions is on Monday, you had two days to review the material, no point in reading if you won’t learn anything. Putting your book back in your dorm, you head out into the halls of Hogwarts, hoping to find a distraction from all the thoughts that roamed your head.

The snow had been finding its way inside the cloisters of the halls. While walking, you looked at the floor, bumping into many people on the way, mumbling apologies whenever you could. All of a sudden, you full on ran into someone that had books in their hands, their books falling to the floor. The thud of them dropping snapped you out of your trance, and you looked to see it was Solomon that you had bumped into.

“I am so sorry, Solomon!” you said as you bent down to pick up the books along with him.

“Don’t worry about it, y/n, but I have to ask, most people look ahead when they’re walking, so why are you looking at the floor?” he asked, his Gryffindor scarf covering his mouth.

“Something has just been bothering me all day, I can’t shake it out of my head.” you said, handing back two of his books.

“Care to talk about it? I have nothing better to do, and you look like you might run into someone not as forgiving as me if you continue walking like this.”

“Yeah, I think I do need to talk about it.”

You told Solomon about the letter and why you felt the way you did, and the fact that your mom didn’t even bother writing to you either.

“Your mother hates magic, correct?” he asks.

“Seems like it.”

“Perhaps, there’s a part of you that is fearing that this child will be used to replace you in some way. Your younger brother hasn’t shown any signs of magic, which results in him being spoiled by your mother, while you’re left to the side.”

“I never thought of it that way. Some part of it is true, I guess. I did get a little jealous when my mom started paying more attention to my brother after I started doing magic, but I never thought she’d try to replace me.”

“Remember that it is in your head, y/n. You are the type of person that can never be replaced, by anyone. I can see that you will be a wonderful big sister to your unborn sibling. If that child should be magical, you’ll be a wonderful magical tutor as well. Even if your mother doesn’t show you the same love she once did, you still have others that will.” Solomon stepped away from the spot the both of you were sitting at and pulled out his wand. He waved it around and conjured a small cup and filled it with what smelled like hot chocolate.

“Here, to cheer you up. Try not to run into any more people, things will get better, bye now.” He picked up his books and started walking to the other side of the hall, leaving you with the cup of hot chocolate in your hand. Taking small sips of the drink, you made your way across Hogwarts, feeling a little better now, the chocolate was definitely helping.

★──────────★★──────────★★──────────★

That Monday, madam Crafince had informed you that Naomi had awoken in the hospital wing. After classes, you accompanied Azalea and Melissa to the Hospital wing, eagerly waiting to see Naomi, who had been in a coma for almost a week. When you finally gained sight of her, she looked frail and weak. Her once shining blond hair was now a pale yellow color, and her blue eyes seemed gray.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” Melissa asked as she put her hand upon Naomi’s.

“I’ve been better…what happened?” Naomi asked, her voice very coarse.

“Grindelwald's acolytes attacked the school. From what we heard, the first attack was in the tower you were in, you were unconscious for about a week.” you explained to her.

“Did you guys make it out okay?” Naomi asked.

“Me and Azalea made it out with a few injuries, but y/n had a bunch of debris fall on top of her, luckily Tom Riddle was with her, he helped her out.” Azalea told her.

“The Tom Riddle?” Naomi sounded a bit shocked when she heard what Azalea had said.

“He’s not the worst person to be stuck with, I could have been with someone who was much worse.” you shrugged your shoulders and laughed.

The four of you talked as much as you could, but were informed by Crafince that Naomi needed lots of rest before she could be able to take in deeper conversations. The three of you left the Hospital wing, Azalea had unfinished homework and Melissa had to help professor Utonell with her plants again. You on the other hand went to the courtyard. It was still snowing, but it fell very slowly and lightly, good enough for you to walk around.

While looking at the snow falling, a small flower blossom fell between your feet. You picked it up with your gloved hand, wondering where it could have come from. 

“I messed that up.” you heard someone groan behind you.

Turning around, you were greeted by a flushed looking Archer.

“Mess what up?” you ask him.

“I meant to conjure you a small rose but all that came out was a small blossom, saw you looking down for the past few days, thought it would help.” he shrugged his shoulders and laughed, so did you.

“It wasn’t a total mess up, I enjoyed the thought.” you place the blossom gently into your winter coat, walking over to Archer.

“What brings you to this part of the school?’ you ask him.

“I have a few minutes before quidditch practice, so why not talk to my favorite person?”

“I’m your favorite person?” you ask him, heart on your chest in an act of surprise.

“No, I thought Marcus Diggory would be here, but he’s not.” 

You punched him in the chest, and he started to laugh again, which made you cheer up.

“You have quidditch practice even when it’s snowing?” you ask him.

“Even in the toughest conditions, the captain isn’t going to go easy on us just because the weather is changing.”

“Brutal, makes me want to rethink joining next year.”

“C'mon, I'll have fun knocking you around during our matches together, it’ll be great.”

“Yeah for you, I don’t want to fall off my broom ever again.” you began to laugh again.

“Okay, fine, but it will still be a load of fun, but I have to go before the captain sees that I’m missing, catch you later, y/n.” he waves you goodbye, and you watch him run back to the hallway, a small smile plastered onto your face.

“If you continue to stare any longer, you might burn a hole in the back of his neck.” 

The sudden voice behind you makes you jump back.

“Who- what- ugh, don’t do that, Riddle!” you say as you whack him with your scarf.

“Okay, then don’t abuse me with your scarf.” he says as he seizes the fabric between his hands.

“Give it back, my neck is cold,” you mumble, quickly wrapping your neck again as he lets it go, “And I was not staring, I was simply…” you couldn’t think of a word, so you stayed quiet.

“Admiring his devilishly good looks as that heart of yours beats faster every time he says your name?” Tom adds, making your cheeks heat up.

“Why are you here anyway, usually you’re tucked away behind some book.” you say, fixing your outfit.

Tom pulls out a book behind his back, and you roll your eyes.

“I heard that your blonde friend has woken up.” he says, putting his hands behind his back.

“Yeah she did, I visited her not too long ago, she doesn’t look the best, barely remembers what happened.” you sat down near a small well and Tom continued to stand.

“The hospital matron will deal with her, and if she doesn’t get better, she may be transferred to St Mungos.”

“Speaking of, why were you staring at the window during the attack?”

“Curiosity. I was looking at the destruction the acolytes were causing, how simple it was for them to apparate here and destroy the castle as if it were nothing, how easy it was for them to corner students, knock them unconscious and stir worry into their hearts.”

“God, you’re so morbid Riddle, is there anything peaceful in that brain of yours?” you ask him.

“I could ask you the same thing, you were bumping into so many people on Friday I thought you’d bump into a wall and be knocked unconscious like your friend.”

You went quiet, Tom took notice of this and stepped closer.

“Did I hit a nerve?” he asked, a little smug.

“None of your business.” you crossed your arms and looked away from him.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you, but you did well during the duel with Selwyn, a shame that I didn’t get to fight you and had to waste time with Malfoy.” he rolled his eyes at the last statement, which made you breathe out a small laugh.

“If I recall, we did a duel, and I knocked you onto your ass. Maybe we will duel seriously in the distant future, but I won't go easy on you.”

“Neither will I.”

“Speaking of, why didn’t you talk to the snake that was conjured in the duel, you could have easily stopped it.”

Tom sighed, “I don’t like showing that ability in the public, so please, never speak of it.”

You shrugged your shoulders and sat up from the well, “I’m going to go back inside for some hot chocolate, care to join me?” you extended your hand to him, which he looked at with a raised brow.

“No, thank you, I’ll be heading back to the Slytherin common room.”

“You’re trading in hot cocoa with me for the Slytherin common room? C'mon, Riddle, raise your standards.” you take back your hand and follow Tom as he walks back to the hallway. You were kind enough to say bye, but he didn’t return the gesture.

 ★──────────★

Spells used in the duel: ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Exeplliarmus: disarming charm

Relashio: releases the target's grip

Impedimenta: hinders movement of the target

Levicorpus:causes victim to be hoisted into the air by their ankle

Liberacorpus: counter to Levicorpus

Saltu Caeli:(I made the name up, but the charm is real) vaulting charm, flings opponent into the air

Incarcerous: binds target in ropes

Incendio: conjures flames

Stupefy: stunning spell

Serpensortia: snake summoning spell

Vipera Evanesca: snake vanishing spell

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Teen Beach Movie Masterlist

Brady

Mack

Tanner

Lela

[multifandomsimagine]

Imagine having a sleepover with Lela

——— Masterlist / Ko-Fi ———

“Come in!” 

Lela had just been laying down on her bed reading one of the magazines CheeChee had let her borrow when someone knocked on her bedroom door. Moving to sit upright, she watched her door slowly opened and Lela smiled widely when she saw who it was. Letting out a happy cheer, she got off her bed and made her way to her friend. “[Name]!”

Reaching [Name], Lela was quick to pull the girl into a tight hug, her smiling growing bigger when she felt her reciprocate the action. Pulling away slightly to give [Name]’s cheek a peck, Lela let out a giggle as she grabbed her hand and began leading her friend to her bed.  “I’m so glad you’re here! “ She told her once the two took a seat. “We’re going to have so much fun! I just got a new nail polish color that I am sure is going to look so good on you.”