#anyway it rained for half of the song and then stopped :(

[zorobraun]

ex husband ghost at your kiddo’s football game part two

“dad, what does ‘sex’ means?” theo asks, looking at simon while they’re playing video games. his father freezes. “what did you just say?” simon stares at his son in disbelief, instantly crashing the car in the game. “sex.” theo says again, his bright soft eyes full of innocence. simon swallows hard, frowning his nose. “first of all, how did you discover the existence of this word?” simon raises an eyebrow at the kid, laughing quietly. “mommy’s friend.” theo replies in a worried tone, his cheeks getting red from both regret and embarrassment.

“is that so?” simon’s tone is a bit angry now. “i’ll have a word with your mom, then.” he adds with a sigh, looking at his son. “don’t, please. it’s not her fault… she was very uncomfortable.” theo’s eyes are desperate and worried. “don’t worry, buddy. i’ll just talk to her… nicely.” simon reassures him with a soft smile, caressing theo’s head. he nods with a half hearted smile. “her friend was saying something about… mom missing the sex she had with you. i wasn’t supposed to hear that, but she’s too loud.” theo swallows hard, looking away.

simon is in shock. he holds back a laugh. “and mom said that… she can’t help but miss having sex with you, that you’re the best she ever had.” theo completes with hesitation in his tone. “oh my god, really?” simon asks with a fake surprise, laughing out loud. he’s not cocky, but he obviously knew that already, you used to tell him all the time. “yes, dad…” theo mutters with a light chuckle, still confused about the meaning of his mom’s statement.

simon shakes his head, still laughing in disbelief. “your mom is crazy, huh?” he says in a playful tone, wrapping his big arms around theo. “sometimes.” the kid replies, laughing too. “so… what’s ‘sex’, anyway?” theo raises an eyebrow, curious and confused. simon takes a deep breath, staring at his son in a serious, calm way. “sex is… an intimate moment that you share with someone you trust.” he explains in a non explicit way, smiling softly. “really? so you and mom… you trusted each other.” theo smiles sadly. “actually, it was more than trust. we… we loved each other, which makes the experience even better.” simon adds in a calm tone.

“do you miss having… that… with mom?” theo raises an eyebrow, innocent and naive as always. simon suddenly sighs quietly, the memories eating him alive. “i can’t believe we’re talking about this, buddy.” he lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “but yeah, i miss it.” he pauses. “i miss everything.” a sad smile appears on simon’s lips. theo stares into his father’s eyes. he knows that simon is not okay, but he decides to ignore that and give him a tight hug. “let’s get you back to mommy’s house.” simon breaks the silence, kissing theo’s temple.

a few minutes later, simon and theo are standing in your doorstep. you quickly open the door with a smile, since you were already expecting them. you crouch when you see theo, hugging him while you kiss his soft cheeks. “i’ve missed you!” you chuckle quietly, kissing all over his face. “mom, stop, it tickles!” he chuckles, pulling away from you. simon smiles softly in silence. the loud thunder makes the three of you look at the sky. the rain is just getting worse.

you look at simon. his eyes look like coming home. like listening to an old good song after months without listening to it. “hi.” you greet him, smiling. “hey.” simon smiles back, his fingers interlocking with your strands, caressing your head gently. “he already had dinner. and he also showered.” simon tells you, just like always. most of your conversations with him are like this. you nod with a smile. “um, you should come in. it’s raining too much.” you look at simon with a an awkward smile, making him chuckle quietly as he shakes his head. “it’s fine, but thanks.” he says, looking at you. “seriously, don’t drive right now. don’t make me worried.” you reply, touching his arm in a friendly way. simon seems to be hesitant.

“please, dad. stay a little longer.” theo grabs simon’s hand, pulling him inside. simon could never deny his son, so he gives in, clearing his throat before looking around your cozy living room. the living room that was once his, too. it’s a bit awkward to realize that he let you stay without even thinking twice, while he had to buy another place to live. “make yourself at home.” you say the magic words and simon feels that pain in his heart. this is his home. or used to be…

“can i get you something to drink?” you ask with a weak smile. “i’m fine, thanks.” he smiles back and you nod. simon takes a seat on the couch, theo throws himself beside his father. before you could sit next to theo, he leaves the couch to give attention to the puzzle on the ground. you and simon look at each other with a soft smile. you sit next to simon on the couch, making sure to keep a certain distance. “so, did you guys have fun?” you ask with a playfulness in your tone. “of course, mom.” theo chuckles, focused on the puzzle. simon chuckles too, his gaze shifting from theo to you.

“hey, can i talk to you about something?” simon asks, laying his arm lazily on the couch, his body turned towards you. you swallow hard, nodding. “sure. what is it?” you smile nervously. “tell claire to stop talking about sex in front of my son, for fuck’s sake.” simon laughs quietly, touching your hand and squeezing it in a playful manner. your cheeks get instantly red. “w-what? i mean, how… how do you know it’s claire?” you seem embarrassed at first but you end up laughing, slapping simon’s thigh.

“i know all of your friends, idiot. only claire would talk about such things in front of theo.” simon laughs again, making you laugh even more. “i already told her, alright? she’s impossible, i swear…” you smile playfully as you shake your head. “oh, i can tell.” simon mutters in a joking tone. you raise an eyebrow at him, mockingly. “she’s so blunt, it’s funny.” he adds, chuckling.

“she really is. remember that time when you first saw her? it was right in the beginning of our relationship, we had just started dating…” you say with a nostalgic smile. simon’s attention is fixed on you, a laugh wanting to leave his throat because he knows exactly what you’re talking about. “fuck yeah… she said: oh, honey. this isn’t your boyfriend anymore, it’s ours. i couldn’t believe my ears when she said that.” simon completes, laughing out loud, just like you.

“oh my god… i was so embarrassed. i felt so bad for you.” you mumble between chuckles, grabbing simon’s arm in a playful manner. “i was willing to break up with you, she almost scared me off.” simon jokes in a teasing tone, chuckling. you roll your eyes with a laugh, pushing him away. he laughs, adjusting himself on the couch. you stare at his lap for some reason, maybe because you just had flashbacks of the two of you having some late night fun on this couch. simon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly judging your malicious stare. you shy away.

the tension is too heavy when simon sighs quietly, staring into your eyes with so much longing that it almost hurts. he misses you like crazy… but then his brain reminds him that your boyfriend is probably upstairs, waiting for you, as he lays down on the bed that you used to share with simon. suddenly, he gets mad. he gets mad because that stupid boyfriend of yours doesn’t deserve you. he can’t even handle being with a woman like you. simon clears his throat uncomfortably, trying his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts.

“mom, did you tell dad about your wedding?” theo breaks the silence while focused on his puzzle and the world stops. simon holds his breath for a while, staring into your eyes as if he’s pleading to hear that this wedding thing is a joke. he feels like theo’s words opened an unhealed wound. he sighs quietly, looking away. the realization hits him. so you weren’t bluffing when you said that you were actually willing to marry your boyfriend. your eyes are filled with despair as you notice simon’s reaction, you can almost hear his heart shattering. “i’m so happy for you.” he finally says something, but his words are meaningless, shallow. he leaves the couch so he doesn’t have to be near you.

“w-wait, where are you going?” you stand up too, grabbing his arm. “i’m going home.” simon replies with a fake soft smile. you can see in his eyes that he’s devastated. “simon, just… stay. let’s talk.” you swallow hard as your touch stays on him. “i think we’re both done talking.” he replies in an annoyed, upset tone, still faking a small smile. “no, simon. i know you…” you insist in a frustrated frown. “don’t leave me in the dark, alright? please. your opinion matters to me.” your voice breaks a little, already fighting the urge to cry. simon has that pain hidden in his face, that you only saw when he was right on the edge.

“what do you want me to say, y/n? do you need my approval, is that it? don’t you think i’ve had enough of your bullshit already?” simon asks with an extreme frustration in his tone, a hint of betrayal. you hold eye contact with him in silence. a silence that’s too loud. you lick your lips nervously, swallowing hard. “i need… i need you to be okay with this. i need to hear you say that i won’t hurt you if i marry him.” you say in a whisper, your eyes tearing up.

simon sighs heavily, looking away in disbelief. he takes a step back. “oh, you want me to be okay with this? you must be out of your goddamn mind.” simon says with a hint of sarcasm. “i can’t keep doing this, y/n. i can’t keep getting in the way of your new love life, just because you want me to. stop relying on me to make decisions that i don’t have the power to make. i’m so fucking tired of having to watch you give all of your love to another man, right in front of my eyes.” simon stares at you with a certain anger as he comes closer again, grabbing the back of your neck with both hands. he’s tearing up. “can’t you see that?” he whispers, almost begging.

“you ended me the night you asked for a divorce instead of trying to make things right again, because you know damn well that i was more than happy to fight for you. for our marriage.” simon’s tired eyes are still on yours, just like his hands on the back of your neck. “so yes, you will hurt me if you marry him. after all we’ve been through… you betrayed me. i spent years loving you, treating you right, taking care of you, helping you through tough times… just so you could change your mind about us and fall in love with someone new in less than a year.” his chest tightens with his own words, pure betrayal consuming his veins.

“all i ever wanted was you, with all of your qualities and flaws. i wanted my son to have both of his parents living under the same roof. but maybe i asked for too much.” he says, a hint of disappointment in his low voice. tears start running down your cheeks and he sighs tiredly, wiping your tears away, again. “you see? you break me in half but i’m always the one to put you back together somehow, when your boyfriend should be doing it. so look me in the eyes and say that he deserves to be with you. say it. you can’t. because it’s my hand you reach for when you’re falling apart.” simon adds, kissing your tears away. it catches you off guard.

you can’t seem to have the strength to answer, so you just stay silent, feeling the safe warm feeling of his touch on you. simon stares into your eyes, waiting for a response. “y-you don’t understand, simon…” you mutter in a shaky voice. his hands are shaky too. he closes his eyes for a second, feeling even more frustrated and desperate with your words. his pleading gaze fixed on you, his chest rising up and down.

“you don’t seem to understand how this breaks my heart, love. you haunt me. i search for you in anyone, anywhere. i search for you in my empty bed, in the passenger’s seat of my car. in the grocery store, by my side, reading our grocery list out loud. i search for you when i’m out with our friends, when i’m at my mom’s and she asks how have you been, when i’m watching our favorite movie with theo for the thousandth time.” he swallows the lump in his throat. you close your eyes, you can’t handle it anymore. “god knows i even miss your toothbrush next to mine.” he chuckles quietly and sadly, making your heart break.

theo stares at his parents with sad, guilty eyes. but he knows that this seems to be a conversation for adults, only. so he stays quiet, turning his attention back to the puzzle. “you said you wanted my opinion, so i’ll give you just that. i want you to be happy, with or without me. if you’re sure that he’s the one for you, marry him. don’t let me hold you back.” simon’s voice is trembling, he keeps holding back his tears, he needs to sound firm and reassuring. “i’ve got you, always.” he adds and you sob uncontrollably, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

you hide your face in the crook of his neck while he strokes your waist gently. “i… i can’t live without you.” you whisper against his skin, almost begging for him to keep getting in the way of your new love life. simon sighs heavily. “you don’t mean that, love. you were the one who decided to live without me in the first place.” he places a bitter kiss on the top of your head. simon hates the fact that you make him weak to the point where he doesn’t even mind being raw and vulnerable. you know all sides of him, anyway. just like he knows all of yours.

“dad, please…” theo mutters, making the two of you stare at him with surprised eyes. “just tell her.” he turns his gaze towards his parents, holding back a cry. simon immediately walks towards him, crouching in front of the kid. he feels terrible for having that type of conversation with you in front of his son. theo starts crying quietly, making simon widen his eyes with a certain despair. “h-hey, kiddo, it’s okay…” simon picks him up, hugging him tightly. “i’m so, so sorry. i shouldn’t have said all of that in front of you, i’m sorry, buddy.” simon strokes theo’s back, kissing the top of his head.

you take a deep breath to calm yourself down, trying your best to stop crying. you have to be strong for your son. you walk towards them. “you always make her cry, dad…” theo mutters with a sob and simon’s heart and breathing stop for a moment. “theo, baby, no… it’s not like this at all.” you stand up for simon, caressing your son’s wet cheeks. “your dad is… the most caring, lovable person in this whole world, okay? don’t ever say that again.” you plead him, kissing his forehead. simon feels like shit.

“he’s a liar… he said that you’re still his love… that he misses everything.” theo says in a low tone, touching your face. simon sighs heavily with a defeated frown. you look at simon in silence, speechless. “enough, theo.” simon says in a more firm tone. he puts his son back on the ground, crouching in front of him. simon looks theo in the eyes, grabbing his shoulders gently. “sometimes love is not enough, but you’re too young to understand that.” simon completes, caressing his son’s cheeks.

theo stares at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your response to his father’s statement. but you never open your mouth. “i already told you, mommy’s in love with someone else and that’s okay. that’s life. people come and go, right? just like waves. you know when we’re at the beach, swimming in the sea? the waves, they come and go.” simon smiles softly at him, kissing the top of his head before standing up. theo looks at you, disappointed.

“i-i do love you, simon.” you grab his arm, getting a little mad at his statement. “don’t say that in front of our son.” you scold him with red, puffy eyes. “you know exactly what i meant.” simon bites back, almost in an angry whisper, touching your arm briefly. “just be happy, alright? but don’t you dare be happier than you were with me. do this one thing for me, love.” he adds as a single sour tear runs down his cheek. he can’t hold back anymore. simon runs his fingers through your hair gently, while more tears start filling up his eyes. he breathes out, placing his hand on the back of your neck.

you’re staring at him as if you’re screaming i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for punishing you for things you never did. he pulls your face closer to his, leaning his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, so you can’t see how betrayed he feels in the corner of his eyes. “you broke me like your promises, but just between us… you’ll never be unloved by me. you’re too well tangled in my soul.” he whispers, being completely honest. you sob, speechless. then he kisses you. it’s not a passionate kiss. it’s a sad, tender, salty kiss. it’s the last kiss. it’s the closure kiss, for him.

this is the night in which simon finally sets himself free from the bitter embrace of your ghost. he officially gave up on you, for good. and you can feel it too — in the way he breaks the kiss without even looking at your face. he even seems a bit disgusted. simon pulls away from you, walking towards the door without looking back. now you feel cold without his body to make you warm. “i’ll pick you up at school tomorrow, kid.” simon mutters to theo in a defeated cold tone before leaving your house.

your love maimed him so excruciatingly well that suddenly he feels like a soldier who’s returning half his weight, waiting for his lover’s deadly kiss to put him in a never ending sleep.

#call of duty #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley angst #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #simon riley x y/n

[ajortga]

sweet pt.2

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: jenna can't stop thinking about you, the coffee girl. she may or may not have asked you out on something her friends consider as a date.

word count: 3k+

read pt.1 here! sweet- part 1

It became sort of a habit for Jenna.

It would be music, think about you, eat, think about you, sleep, think about you, film, yay Jenna gets to see you!

Maybe she’s over exaggerating it, but at the same time she’s really not.

Jenna wasn’t the regular person to be a love bird. Head over heels for someone was barely something she was used to. Well sure she would pass some guys in the city or notice them on set and think, “Oh his hair is perfect” or “He’s kind of cute.” She’s dated a few guys, broke them off because they weren’t for her.

All of the guys only hung out with her knowing she was a celebrity, or she would really think they were the one, until they lost interest and treated her like some toy. She hated when they did that. In fact, she was disgusted by it so much that she didn’t even want to think of having a lasting relationship at all. She just had to find someone right for her.

-

“You’re awfully quiet,” Melissa nudges Jenna as they’re both in their Tara and Sam outfits.

Jenna hums, looking at the taller latina with a small roll of her eyes while their makeup is getting patched up, “Just hungry, I guess.”

She shifts in her seat, her earbuds in and waiting for this day to be over, she forgot an umbrella. Of course the forecast would show as non-stop rain the whole day with thunderstorms, she literally checked the day before and it said sunny.

“Well, we only have to shoot like, 5 scenes. You wanna go with Jas and Mason to the Italian place you like? On me.”

Tempting.

But Jenna’s mind has other plans. 

“I think I’m gonna drop by the coffee place next door, craving a latte you know?”

She sees the way Melissa’s face twitches upwards, almost as a confused yet searching look, “You don’t like coffee.”

“The shop changed my mind, Y/N recommended a latte that is actually really good.”

“Y/n you say?” And from Melissa’s sing-song voice, she knows what’s coming.

“Yes,” Jenna scoffs, she can feel her ears begin to heat up.

“I didn’t know you had a friend named Y/N.”

It’s a little quiet, the only noise is from Jenna’s half put in earbud, “I met her a couple days ago, she’s a barista that helps her parents run their coffee shop. Keeps the place cozy and organized.”

“So she’s a barista?”

“Yes,” Jenna replies, half distracted as she picks at her cuticles.

“Who helps run her parent’s coffee shop?”

“Yep.”

“Next door?”

“Uh huh.”

“You like her,” Melissa smirks, it’s not a question anymore.

“Yes-Wait what? No!” Jenna slaps Melissa’s arm, caught off guard.

Jenna hears her laugh, half-heartedly, “I’m just kidding, but you do seem out of it, are you thinking about her often?”

She shrugs, picking off skin that she just scratched.

“Well I think you are, you’re nervous.”

Now the daydreamer turns to face Melissa, “No I’m not, I just think she’s sweet and she’s someone that already brought me out of that introverted lookin’ shell when I first meet people.”

It was true. It’s like you two knew each other when you first met, she hopes you thought of her that way too. She hopes you’re thinking of her as much as she thinks about you everyday.

Melissa looks down at Jenna’s cuticles, then back up at her, “You’re thinking about her, you’ve been quiet today and don’t think I didn’t see what song you’re listening to. You never listen to love songs!”

“What?! I have not been listening to love songs!”

“Lover by Taylor Swift? Lingers by The Cranberries? About you by the 1975?  Dark Red by Steve Lacy??”

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

“I just have taken interest in love songs I guess, it’s spring anyways right?”

“Spring my ass! That is bullshit!” Jasmine chimes in, making Jenna flinch and turn to the corner where Jas was hiding.”

“What the fuck Jas.. Are you eavesdropping?” Jenna shrieks.

“I know when a girl likes a girl,” Jas rolls her eyes and immediately stands up from her squatting position, “Don’t think me and Mason didn’t see you texting someone that you named mY y/N OOoO La lAAaAa..”

Jasmine shuts up with a slipper slapped into her face.

“Just go ask her out or something,” Mason says, popping behind Jasmine and getting the second pair of slippers thrown to his stomach, making him yelp.

“I barely even know her,”

“And there's no difference, you barely fall in love, girl, love at first sight for you means that she’s the one. You know your priorities and she checks all of them. If not, you wouldn’t be listening to those dumb love songs.”

“Gotta agree Jenna, what about this, we’ll go to the Italian restaurant first, then we’ll leave you alone with her in the coffee shop, you come out and tell us how it goes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you love us.”

“Ugh.”

-

The alfredo pasta was twirled from the fork Jenna was holding, eating as the cast of scream 6 giggled and talked during their lunch break. It was a big bowl of pasta to say the least, she shared it with the whole cast but she was eating it up like there was no tomorrow. She knew around this time she came to your cafe, she only came around two times, but if you didn’t see her on a Thursday in the afternoon, she can almost feel the disappointment you might feel. Or hopes you feel, Jenna’s wondering to herself if you even think of her.

“Oh she’s falling hard for this silly Y/N girl,” Jasmine whispers to Melissa, to which she agrees almost immediately.

“No I’m not,” Jenna blurts, placing down her fork.

Everyone in the table clicks their tongue, a few, “Oh come on” and “Liar!”

“Well you wouldn’t have responded, we’ve been talking to you for the past 5 minutes and you only jerk your head when you hear anything about her!” Jasmine groans, showing her hands if they would somehow present something.

She signals for the check, she quickly pays, and as soon as that happens her real life core four push her out of the restaurant and to the outside of the coffee shop, like parents.

“Go,” Jenna’s shoulder was pushed into the door and it was too late to go back as she heard the familiar bell ring.

“I hate you Jas,” her hands flip the 3 people giggling behind the foggy window behind her as she hears the voice she’s been thinking about the whole day.

“Jenna!” Your tiny figure pops out from the coffee bean machine, waving to her happily.

Cute, she thinks to herself. You’re so cute.

“Almost thought you wouldn’t come today,” you murmur, making Jenna shake her head.

“Just had some lunch with friends, but I couldn't miss out on coffee on Thursdays though.”

“Ah,” you hum, your eyes focused on the latte art you were working on.

The only noise is the r&b music and the small chatter that keeps the environment comforting. 

A small bunny was being created, pouring the creamer carefully. 

“You’re almost looking as tiny and cute as that bunny,” your co-worker, Matteo says, a few feet away from you.

A soft laugh erupts in your throat, rolling your eyes from his compliment, but thanking him nonetheless. Jenna doesn’t know if she’s feeling a strong pit of jealousy that sizzles beneath the back of her mind. Her eyes train on the boy, hazel eyes, brunette hair. 

“Okay okay, stop that,” you grumble, a small smile plastered on your face as you playfully nudge him to show your annoyance.

“Feisty,” he chides.

“The only thing I did differently today is that I curled my hair. You can barely see it in this ponytail,” one hand is pointing to your hair while the other keeps concentrating on the bunny.

“You’re also wearing a bow, your freckles are more visible, mmm,” he thinks for a moment, “Oh and,” he comes closer, whispering in your ear so only you can hear. Your body almost shivers from it, “You’re staring at a new coming regular and smiling like a weird teenager.”

You stop your latte art, groaning in frustration since you were caught by a coworker that also is a kind friend of yours.

“No I’m not, stop whispering in my ear and let me do my latte art,” you shove him away and continue to work on your bunny.

Jenna swallows the prickly feeling in her throat, feeling herself scowl at some guy who’s name tag seems to say, “Mat ear.” Maybe she should switch out acting with latte art for a day.

The bunny looks complete. 

And perfect, you exhale a breath from pride, slide the latte and call out the person’s order with a warm smile.

Then Jenna feels like a fool standing there because she just realized that she’s been staring at you making another person’s latte. Then you feel stupid for not sending someone over to serve her since you’re assuming that she wanted something.

“Sorry!” You apologize, smacking the top of your head as you lean across the countertop, “Hi Jenna, did you want something?” Jenna looks down at your lips for a moment, your teeth tugged on your bottom lip, then trails back up to the menu.

“No worries, I should’ve sat down, I just wanted to visit I guess. Sure. Um,” She doesn’t know what to get.

“Confused again huh?” You tease, looking at the menu then at the lattes. It makes her almost fan herself to know that you know she wants a latte today.

It takes a moment for you to think, “I don’t even think I put this up on our menu, but the other day when I was closing I tried a hazelnut caramel, you down to try that today?”

“That sounds pleasing, sure I’ll take that.”

“Okay, one hazelnut caramel!”

“Dude, I swear your cafe sells at least every pastry known to mankind. Those brownies and chocolate chip cookies look like it could make society salivatate.”

You laugh, “Thanks silly, I just experiment and make sure everyone in NYC can have a taste of home if they are from somewhere else. Sometimes I take my recipes from a past generation baking book, other times I just try baking from eyeing measurements.”

Jenna smiles at that, touching your hand with hers and pressing it down to the counter, “Well trust me, this is probably why you get a hell load of customers every morning.”

A light-hearted, non-forced, soft giggle comes from you, not moving your hand that is pressed from hers.

“As long as it makes others happy and continues a legacy while doing other things I love, and meeting sweet people that mark my memory like you, I think that I wouldn’t trade it. Did you want anything else?”

“I think that’s it today,” Jenna breathes, moving her hand away from yours. Immediately your hand misses the warmth and just wants to pull her back.

She can’t help but notice the smile plastered on your face, “Okay, hazelnut caramel coffee, on the house.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nuh uh, not on my watch,” Jenna insists, pulling out a 10 dollar bill and immediately you shoo her away.

“On me! Honest! I own this place anyways and it happens at least twice everyday, don’t worry about it love.”

She hears a small “aww” come from her phone and she freezes, her cheeks heating up in an instant.

“I’m paying you one day,”

“If it’s banterings and consistent times that I see you besides Tuesdays and Thursdays, then okay,” your voice echoes as you begin to prepare her latte.

Jenna smiles at you and as soon as she turns around she picks up her phone and curses into it, “What the hell Jas? How the hell did you manage to call me before I got into the shop and stalk into our conversation??”

Snorts and laughs come from the other line, she immediately plugs her earphones in.

“On the house, hmm??” Mason teases, everyone in unison going “ooh la la..” 

“I’m going to chop your heads off-”

“And of course you place your hands on top of hers!! It’s like watching the corniest romance in front of my eyes!”

It had only been 5 minutes that Jenna had talked with you, and somehow she still got stuck and caught by her friends.

“Shut up,” Jenna says, her voice soft, but grumpily as she scoffs.

Melissa, Mason, and Mindy are shouting from outside, she can hear them screaming through the phone.

“Hey,” you say softly, bringing her latte with two wrapped pastries in hand and slide it to her front, “Try the brownies and cookies you were looking at and tell me what you think?”

Jenna wants to keep her cool and to smile politely, but the three crazy people outside that are listening in are making it hard. Especially with all the kissing noises she can hear, so she takes out her earbuds and tosses them in her hoodie’s pocket.

It takes her a while to realize she didn’t buy the pastries that made her hungry.

“Seriously?” 

The way your cheeks curved upwards and your nose scrunched as you smiled made Jenna smile on the spot there, “Seriously,” you assured. 

“I hate you for this,” she says playfully, sarcastically.

“Who can hate two free pastries? That’s a win for me,” you pull the chair out, sitting down as you take a small break, exhaling.

There was a cute cat design on the hazelnut caramel latte, the steaming, sweet bitterness scent that wafts in the air makes Jenna shiver. She plays with the wrapping of the chocolate chip cookie before mumbling a soft, “Thank you.”

“Mmmhm, no problem.”

There's a quiet pause, Jenna sips her latte, looking up at you and seeing you giggle. It’s sweet, light, bitter, and perfect.

You hand her a napkin, there's a small white foaming mustache from the creamer.

It takes a moment as she takes the napkin before you speak again, “So, filming mm? Is it stressful, you know, having to wake up early and doing stuff like that?”

“Honestly, there are days where it can be too much and I need to wind down a bit. But I love seeing cameras and doing something that I have the fortunate privilege of doing, I know a lot of people don’t have that and it makes me grateful.”

You hum in response, nodding, playing with the nape of your shirt.

“I used to want to act and direct,” you smile.

“Really? Why not now?”

Your shoulders shrug, “I still do small stuff, holding cameras, auditioning for stuff, it’s just a little harder since I’m working here and making sure I can continue doing, you know, this. But I love working here, it heals something in me.”

It makes Jenna feel almost bad, not in an overly guilty way. She just can’t fathom feeling pressured to do something instead of going the way you want.

“You have coworkers, you don’t have to be here everyday, you know?” She tilts her head.

Her eyes meet yours, and again she sees those doe eyes, with nothing but something to make her own self melt.

But I'm in so deep

You know, I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger? 

“I know, sometimes I’m afraid this place will go haywire.”

She giggles at that, then thinks for a moment, “You know, I get on set tomorrow at 11, which is later than most days. Do you wanna, you know, just come and look around? The directors and producers are the sweetest people I know and they don’t mind a plus one. I would like, show you around and you can reach out to some people.”

It’s silent, your face is thoughtful as you’re processing what she said.

“I’ll stick by your side the whole time we’re not filming, introduce you to the cast, as long as you don’t do anything silly, which I highly doubt you might.”

“Okay, I’ll have to check in with Matteo, ask him to bring his sister that comes in on Saturdays and switch it to tomorrow.”

The brunette feels her heart flipping and she nods, burying her face in her hands to try and stop the redness that is invading her cheeks.

You come back soon later, beginning to talk about the plan of the coffee shop tomorrow, but Jenna gets distracted, it’s hard seeing Jasmine blowing her breath on the window, making hearts, then wiping the fog and seeing the way all her friends are making dreamy gestures to mock her. They’re all dancing and she wants to flip them off.

“I’ll be there tomorrow, could you by, um any chance, pick me up? I usually walk here and get my car repaired.”

Oh fuck, Jenna thinks, because she get’s picked up by Jasmine and tomorrow Melissa and Mason will be joining, like they do twice a week. She wants to face palm, she can almost picture the way when you make conversation with her in the car tomorrow, she’ll see in the corner of her eye Mason batting his eyelashes and sticking his tongue out.

“Sure, if you’re okay with some of my crazy friends.”

“Tomorrow it is,” you say, waving and ruffling your hair before waving and walking back to work.

Jenna looks down at her earbuds and she completely forgot she didn’t end the call, she just stashed it away, she’s bearing what is to come, putting her earbuds back in.

“SHE’S ASKING HER OUT ON A DATE” (Mason)

“NO WAY” (Jas)

“SHE’S A FOOL” (Jas)

“SHE’S GOING TO GET EMBARRASSED TOMORROW.” (Jas)

Not to mention the way they are waving their hands outside, she can almost hear the screaming from here.

“There’s no way in hell you asked this sweet pretty girl to come on set tomorrow,” Melissa sing-songs.

“Paws off,” she grumbles.

“She wants her for herself, of course.”

“Shut up!”

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega imagine #jenna marie ortega

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…” 

“Leah.” 

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?” 

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.” 

Do you want to? 

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality. 

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!” 

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.” 

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.” 

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?” 

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?” 

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them. 

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like. 

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you? 

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh? 

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will. 

She wipes her mouth. 

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already). 

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?” 

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.” 

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.” 

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed. 

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.” 

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.” 

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.” 

“Well, you know that–” 

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.” 

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed. 

She had not expected this from herself. 

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows. 

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace. 

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut. 

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail. 

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.” 

Silence. 

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into. 

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?” 

“Do what, my daughter?” 

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be. 

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.” 

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.” 

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” 

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else. 

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers. 

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared. 

Alexia is so very lost. 

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home. 

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one. 

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it. 

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive. 

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge. 

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence. 

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood. 

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time. 

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it? 

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do. 

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin. 

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them. 

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later. 

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help. 

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.” 

“You have a lot to account for.” 

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.” 

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.” 

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred. 

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong. 

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind. 

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you. 

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had. 

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia. 

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side. 

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?” 

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying? 

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.” 

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona. 

You’re a busy person, after all. 

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.” 

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end. 

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it. 

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.) 

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task. 

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view. 

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?” 

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you. 

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife. 

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality. 

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.” 

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing. 

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.” 

“I heard you were in London?” 

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.” 

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her. 

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this. 

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written). 

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall. 

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.) 

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat. 

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight. 

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show. 

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia. 

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that. 

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.” 

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage. 

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event. 

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly. 

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher. 

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice. 

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces. 

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers. 

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?” 

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.” 

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger. 

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.” 

“Im-men-lee?” 

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.” 

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her. 

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?” 

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.” 

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward. 

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.” 

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.” 

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.” 

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you. 

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.” 

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!” 

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands. 

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.” 

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight. 

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend. 

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant. 

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal. 

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on. 

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality. 

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact. 

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.” 

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?” 

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.” 

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter. 

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.” 

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair. 

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds. 

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk. 

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show? 

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well. 

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!) 

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking. 

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless. 

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it. 

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking. 

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours. 

Perhaps it never will. 

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot. 

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.” 

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?” 

It starts off innocently. 

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’. 

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it. 

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought. 

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside. 

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up. 

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass. 

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober. 

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?” 

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.” 

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company. 

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop. 

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.” 

She opens the next bottle for you. 

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult. 

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa. 

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?” 

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.” 

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.” 

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.” 

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.” 

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.” 

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away. 

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty. 

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway. 

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after. 

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you. 

Your fingers repay the favour. 

“More,” you request just as she pulls away. 

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets. 

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine. 

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants. 

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less. 

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode. 

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates. 

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible. 

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.” 

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy. 

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it. 

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much. 

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.” 

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau. 

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.” 

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn. 

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.” 

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon. 

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime. 

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it. 

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.” 

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.” 

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through 

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it. 

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.” 

Is that an understatement? 

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?” 

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around. 

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear. 

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.” 

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands. 

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.” 

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.” 

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply. 

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes. 

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all. 

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay. 

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso fanfics #randombush3 #leah williamson x reader #woso imagines #barca femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine

[bisexualbard-writes]

So I was thinking about kim (nothing new there), but fledgling Kim trying to leave the compound, and his father gives him an option. He’s allowed to move out, his father has a place that’s near his school and his studio, that has staff who will see to all his needs.

The catch - it’s an elderly assisted living home. His father offers it basically dangling a carrot on a stick and assumes Kim won’t take the bait and continue living at home. But Kim is like fuck it, anything to get outta here. It’s not like I’ll have to interact with anyone else in the building.

What he doesn’t expect is that the other residents of his building are old people who focused on their careers instead of family and so have no visitors, or old people who’s children are focused on their careers instead of family and so also have no visitors. There are like 200 wannabe-grandparents in the building with no one to spoil and fuss over.

And Kim is finally living on his own and loving it, and he’s pretty good at dodging his elderly neighbors, but there’s a grand piano in the lobby that one of the residents plays everyday. One day Kim is walking through the lobby to get to his special penthouse elevator when he hears a Sinatra cover and gets distracted listening. That’s when the first grandpa pounces and when he’s done playing the song he chats very casually with Kim about music and asks Kim if he has a request. He can play any song Kim can think of made before the 80s by memory.

Kim mentions a song his mother used to play for him, and offhandedly mentions she’s dead, and that’s what really opens the floodgates. Piano-grandpa goes to all his other friends and rallies them, and from then on Kim knows no peace. One grandma keeps making him cookies (he suspects they’re poisoned, why else would she insist) while another grandpa leaves him healthy home cooked meals at his door. One day he leaves the apartment only to be assaulted by a tiny tiny woman with a measuring tape, then two weeks later she returns again with the softest home knit sweater.

He thinks this is all pretty weird and rather annoying and probably they’re on his father’s payroll to be nice to him… but also he’s sixteen and no one has really fussed over him since he was little and his mom was around.

So when he discovers the grandma who always checks if he has an umbrella when it’s raining is getting extorted by her niece, he takes care of it quietly. And when train-facts grandpa and strawberry-jam grandma both complain about the new nurse being too rough, he takes care of it loudly.

So by the time he’s 22 and could actually move out to his own place, he doesn’t want to because he has 200 grandparents taking care of him where he currently lives.

When he brings Chay around all the grandparents adore him. Chay finds Kim’s living situation delightfully odd, but everything about Kim is delightfully odd so it makes more sense than it doesn’t. It’s photography grandpa who slips Chay the instant camera and tells them to have fun.

And when Chay stops coming around half of the old folks shower him in extra love because he’a obviously heartbroken and half of them want to whip his ass for being an idiot and coach him how to win Chay back.

Anyway, just thinking about Kim with mettlesome and well meaning grandparents

#I don’t even know where I’m going with this #I just think it would be neat if more people loved Kim #kim theerapanyakul #kimchay #bard writes

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

update on the good omens grieving process

Hello hi yes maggots your mascot sacrificial goat here, none of your ominous bloody warnings prepared me for this. On the advice of one of you I took a break from tumblr today so I thought ah, yes, I shall not think about Good Omens during this time. Hahahaha bet. This is a long post, about a series of disturbing good omens moments that haunted me anyway. Proceed with caution.

It was nine hours away, out of which I slept through four.

During the first nap, it became clear how tumblr brainwashed me. You'll never guess what I dreamed of. If you said Good Omens the answer is no.

I dreamed that someone on the television was reading out an audiobook of a nature arts and crafts book I had as a kid. And there were six pages dedicated to praising Neil Gaiman.

So then in the dream I wrote a tumblr post about it saying, "I thought y'all were kidding about the whole Neil being in our falafel thing but goddamn he really is everywhere".

Then, still in the dream, I remembered I wasn't supposed to be on tumblr, so I tried to delete the Neil Gaiman falafel post. Instead tumblr fucking glitched and set the post to 'lo-fi mode'. I kept trying to delete it.

At this point my screen was covered with pop-ups of tumblr yelling at me and a goddamn timer counting down from 41,000 minutes. Tumblr informed me that their 'delete post' function is actually run by BitCoin.

Currently due to their skeleton staff and the fact that this hellsite is held together with washi-tape and queer trauma, they were having negotiations with BitCoin and so I could not delete my post. I tried again anyway and the entire site hung. Then I woke up. This is some @one-time-i-dreamt shit.

The only social interactions I had were with the two irl good omens fans I know, whom I informed that I had finished Good Omens.

One of them sent me an audio clip of him screeching about trauma and six months and children of divorce at the top of his voice.

The other one texted ASMIIII YOU'RE A CHILD OF DIVORCE HOW ARE YOU COPING WITH THE PAIN. Two hours into my tumblr break I was already facing withdrawal and I wanted to sob that's what the maggots call me but that would have led to them saying BECAUSE THAT'S YOUR FUCKING NAME and I didn't wanna descend there yet.

I then went on Amazon and tracked my good omens book package like a creep. I then went on the US Amazon to cry over all the Good Omens merch that I cannot buy and isn't available here.

I then went on Pinterest to look at Good Omens tumblr screenshots. It was all going well until I found a stupid fucking post that said the duration of the song playing in the Bentley during the final fifteen and the duration of the kiss are the same. So he was replaying the kiss in his head before stopping the music.

Naturally, this then made me cry over Crowley. Painfully.

I looked up Good Omens ambiences on Youtube and cleaned a whole half of my desk while an Aziraphale's bookshop ambience played with rain and shit and when the lockdown audio came I smiled again.

And now here I am. Back. In pain.

#good omens mascot #good omens #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #good omens fandom #crowley #lgbtqia #aziraphale #neil gaiman #good omens s2 #aziraphale's bookshop #mr a. z. fell #aziracrow #tumblr culture #good omens brainrot #ineffable brainrot #final fifteen #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #TUMBLR BRAINROT #adopted child of divorce #children of divorce #youtube #one time i dreamt #weird dreams #hellsite

[wrathofrats]

Some gay freak DMd me “I love the idea of mist hating rains attitude and how fucking high n mighty he seems to feel so she wrecks him and maybe she has Dew watch for a touch of humiliation bc dews obv so obsessed w Rain, it'll be good for droplet to see how pathetic he rlly is or smthn” and then I blacked out and wrote multiple paragraphs in his DMs so enjoy

(Love youuuuu @divine-misfortune)

Warnings for: dubcon, humiliation, probably technically exhibitionism, tentacles, trans rain, mean mist, yeah

Rain hasn’t looked at her all day.

Between trying to teach him how to play all the way through square hammer and trying to even begin touching the newer songs he’s expected to play, rain has barely even spoken or looked her in the eyes.

When mist corrects his technique he ignores her, playing through anyways like he hasn't done anything wrong. His attitude can be rough at times, as any water ghouls is, but today? Mist doesn’t think she can handle it. She can deal with snarky comments and eye rolls, but rain acting like he knows better than her makes her blood boil.

“Is this seriously how you’re going to act today?” Mist scoffs when rain looks up just to look back down again. “Are you really not going to listen to me?”

“I already know the song. Maybe if you stopped talking you’d be able to hear it too” rain mumbles.

Mist almost sees red. She hastily grabs the bass from his hands, trying not to let her rage damage the instrument. Once she knows it’s safe back in its stand she grabs rain by the shirt collar and drags him to the common room, ignoring the curses and protests rain yells out while clawing at her hand.

Dew sits in one of the chairs, legs lazily thrown over the arm with his phone in his hand. He honestly looks like he’s about to fall asleep before he hears the sound of rain threatening mist coming from around the corner.

“Get your fucking hands off of me mist!” Rain almost screams as she practically throws him to the ground in front of dew. It’s a pointed decisions, she’s seen the way dew looks at him, can read him like a book after all the time they’ve had to spend together. If rain wants to act like a brat for her, then he should have no problem showing that side of him to dew as well.

“Stay down if you know what’s good for you” mist hisses when rain scrambles. Dew can only stare wide eyed at the situation in front of him. He swings his legs to sit normally, confused on if he should stay where he is or leave to save rains dignity. The look mist throws at him keeps him glued in the chair.

“Our perfect water lily seems to think he’s figured everything out” mist smiles at dew, slotting herself behind rain. “Just thought that there’s one more thing he might want to know about”

One arm holds him to her chest as he struggles, the other yanks his pants to his ankles. Rain attempts to cover himself, pull his legs up and place his hands over his exposed cunt, but shame fills his face even if dew can’t actually see anything like this.

Dew just sits and watches, doesn’t dare to move. He’s half embarrassed for the poor ghoul in front of him because he knows damn well what mist is about to do,

But the other half is almost too excited to see it.

Mist whispers something unintelligible into rains ear that subdues him enough to let her force his legs open. His pussy is on full display for dew to gawk at. He’s already starting to get slick and shiny, pretty. Rain can bare to look at him, instead shoving his face into mists neck as she coos.

Mist slides her fingers up and down his folds, gathering the slick that’s already about to drip onto the carpet, and spreads him wide so dew can see how he clenches around nothing when she ghosts her fingers over his clit.

It’s obscene. Dew feels like he’s the sick one for staring so hard but god it’s impossible not to watch. Rains thighs twitch as if he desperately wants to close them and hide himself but he knows better, breathing heavy while mist just smiles at how docile she’s made him.

She rubs at his clit, purposeful motions that have him bucking up into her hand in search of more friction. The debauched wet sounds get louder as she works, dew wouldn’t be surprised if the floor below him was soaked already.

Mist is shocked it doesn’t take much, even more so that rain doesn’t know about this part of himself yet since he seems to be so easy. She rubs faster when she begins to feel it, rain lifting his head in slight panic.

Dew knows what she’s doing, knows the terrifying feeling.

A thick tentacle slowly reveals itself from rains cunt, bluish in hue, dripping in rains own arousal.

“Oh there we are waterlily” mist smiles as rain again tries to wiggle himself away to close his legs in shame from whatever is currently happening to him.

Mist keeps him open and on display, strokes the tentacle and guides it to stretch him open. Not super long but absolutely thick enough to have rain gasping and jutting his hips away,

It’s wet, making a mess of the poor ghoul for dew to watch, just seeing his little crush get ruined by his own tentacle in front of him.

#I’ve been meaning to shove this hear for a bit #eye twitches #ohhh humiliating rain my beloved #and mean mist my beloved #cw tentacles #cw dubcon #cw humiliation #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #mist ghoulette

[its-time-to-write]

i hold it like a grudge - ch. 2

I forgot to mention, the chapter titles/series name comes from the song, “the grudge.” I’d highly recommend listening to it at least once to get the feel I was going for in this fic, or at least what influenced parts of it.

table of contents try to be tough

It’s raining, not completely unusual for early August, and it feels like a reset. The air smells clean and fresh, and you know that it’s going to be a slow workday. You pull out your computer and check up on your online orders and update some posts on social media. You’re gaining serious traction, with reposts and likes from some American celebrities. Shit, with the way things are going, you could sell your flat and buy an actual house.

The grudge you hold against Jamie doesn’t seem so huge at the moment. It’s still there, but it no longer feels as though he pulled the rug out from under your feet. For the first time, you’re allowed to think about other things than the struggle he left you with. For example, why did he leave you in the first place? You hadn’t considered about it since cutting up everything he ever gave you, too busy with the all-consuming thought how will I survive?

It hurts, hurts much more than you think it still should. 

The two of you grew up together in the same council estate, right next to each other. You terrorized the neighbors while your mothers discussed money and shared food and scrounged together what they could to support both of you. 

When you got older and he was scouted for footie and headed for the academy, you still called him almost every day. He’d listened when you cried about your mum and watched her fade away right in front of you.

He’d gotten leave and come home for her funeral, and helped you pack everything up to either sell or to move next door with Georgie.

Jamie had been there for every part of your life, just as you’d been there for him when his dad came around, or he got yelled at by his teachers. 

He knew you, knew how much it meant that he stayed. Knew how much the support meant, and the way you both had clawed your way to get at least close to the top.

This plagues you as you wrap pickup orders for the day and place them in their spots behind the counter. 

You’re coming to the conclusion that he did it on purpose, that he must have known exactly what he was doing and somehow decided you deserved it, when a customer comes in out of the rain.

“Morning!” you say. “I have your order all ready for you. And it’s all paid for, so nothing else is needed on your end.”

Keeley says “Thanks,” with far less energy than she showed the other day with Jamie.

You ask, “You alright?” before you can stop yourself. 

She huffs out half a laugh. “Yeah, fucking great. Life’s just peachy at the moment, as I’m sure you’ve read in The Sun.”

You hadn’t, but you’ve a good guess what it has to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say as she takes the earrings. 

She just laughs again, short and grating. “Yeah. Y’know, I’ve been on all your socials. Read your website about empowering yourself and all that. Part of the reason why I wanted to come here, actually, y’know, fucking… girls supporting girls.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

“I’m glad you’re getting the success you deserve, babes. Your bio said you went through a lot of shit to get here. Guess I’m still in my ‘lot of shit,’ part of life, you know? Anyway.” She goes to leave, jewelry tucked safely into her purse.

You think, fuck it.

“Keeley?” you ask hesitantly. She turns back around to face you.

“I just- I’ve been with someone who didn’t value me. Who didn’t hold himself accountable. It didn’t start that way at first, it was a lot of fun, but it ended up hurting me. I haven’t been able to trust anyone like that since, and I don’t want you to end up like me. You don’t have to stay with him. You can have a whole life all on your own, you know?”

Keeley gives you a small smile, says, “Thank you,” and heads out the door.

—

I deserved it.

Those words ring in your head as you walk home. You don’t bother to open your umbrella, opting to let the rain fall as it will in some form of absolution.

I deserved it.

You shut the door to your flat and drop your clothes on the way to the shower. You turn the knob to scalding, and let the suffocating steam fill the bathroom.

I deserved it.

The rain hits the roof with more force as you drink half a bottle of wine in lieu of dinner. It’ll hurt you tomorrow, but you don’t work tomorrow.

I-

No. It’s 3am, and you’re awoken from vivid dreams of your mum and Georgie and Simon, of Keeley, and of fucking Jamie. 

No. You didn’t- you don’t deserve it. 

“No,” you say aloud. “I know how to swim. I made it.”

With that pronouncement, you pull your blankets tighter around you, slipping easily into a dream where your mum holds you and whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

—

It’s another rainy day in Richmond. The sky is dark and cloudy, and you can hear the sound of drops hitting the pavement as soft music plays in the shop. You haven’t seen Jamie or Keeley in a while, but his face is stuck all over Richmond, just like you predicted. 

Every time you see it, you think a calm, fuck you and continue walking. You didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you.

You’re working on an order when the door chimes and Keeley Jones breezes in.

“Hi, welcome back! Jamie buying you more jewelry?”

Keeley grimaces. “Broke up with him a bit ago, actually. Thought a lot about what you said about accountability, then a friend of mine used the exact same word. It’s a little bit shit, but like you said. I can have a whole life all on my own, yeah?”

“Yeah!” you hastily reassure. “I promise you, it’s fucking brill without him. Hard at first, but you have to know your value.”

She grins a little half-grin and places the Keeley earrings on the counter.

That’s not unexpected, people often want to get rid of gifts from their ex, but you do still have a business.

“I’m so sorry about your breakup, but we can’t really do returns. Everything’s custom, so…” you trail off.

“Oh!” Keeley says. “No, I actually came back because I really fucking love these earrings, and I want something else to go with it. What d’you recommend?”

“Oh!” you parrot. “Well, we have necklaces. The charms are the same style, I can make a mockup for you if you give me a minute.” You turn around to pull out some boxes, and hear the door jingle. The air in the room changes ever so slightly and you know without looking who has just stepped in.

Jamie looks back and forth between you and Keeley, like he didn’t expect to see either of you there. 

That fucking drowning feeling, the one you worked so hard to get over, comes back in full force. 

“Hey,” Jamie says hesitantly, “um, I’ll just-” 

He leaves as quick as he came.

Keeley gives you a strange look. “What the fuck?” she laughs. “Was he looking for me? How the fuck did he know where I was?”

You tear your eyes away from the space Jamie just occupied. It’s been what, a month since the first time he came into your shop? Longer? It feels right and wrong somehow, like it’s both at once; you and him, in the same room, just like it’s always been. Like no time has passed. 

But time has passed, and more importantly the time for you to respond to Keeley has passed. You’ve been quiet a beat longer than normal, and she catches it. Keeley’s a smart girl, smarter than she’s given credit for. She’s puzzling out all the information she has, and you can practically hear it all bouncing around in her mind.

Something clicks into place. You see it in the way Keeley’s entire expression changes. She claps a hand over her mouth and exclaims, “Oh shit!” 

You don’t have a a chance to say anything because she looks at you with horror in her eyes and says, “It was Jamie.”

“What do you mean?” you ask carefully. 

Keeley’s still processing. “It was Jamie,” she repeats. “That’s your ex. The one who didn’t hold himself accountable, the one you said cheated on you. Oh my god, I’m the other woman! How could I do that to you?”

Keeley is having an epiphany mixed with a heart attack.

“You didn’t know!” you argue. “You didn’t know, and you never would have done it if you had.”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she moans.

You grab her arm. “Keeley. You. Didn’t. Know. It’s been over a year. I’m fine.”

She snaps out of it a little bit, but still looks dazed as she says, “Why the fuck have you been so sweet? You knew exactly who I was.”

You lift a shoulder. “Jamie… he’s like a magnet. I dunno. I get what it’s like when he looks at you, it’s like you can’t believe that someone that wonderful even notices you. And I guess I understand why he dumped me, you know? We’ve known each other since we were kids and it’s fine if you have a regular job, but if you’re a fucking Premier League footballer… probably best to stick with models.”

Keeley walks over to the door and flips the sign to “closed.”

You look at her quizzically, but she just leans against the door and whispers, “I didn’t know you knew each other that long.”

There’s no good response to that statement, so you chew on your lip. For a long moment, you two just stare at each other.

Finally you say, “Okay. Fuck this. We’re going to my flat and we’re going to eat a shit ton of food and get absolutely smashed.”

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[wqnwoos]

“seokmin is here.”

two years ago, that sentence would have sent butterflies careening through your stomach. a smile threatening to break out, a quick glimpse stolen from the corner of your eye, a small golden ball of hope — perfectly warm and spherical — settling in your chest.

now, it only brings dread, a tangle of it trapped under your ribcage.

two years ago, seokmin was the boy you’d fallen head over heels for. one year ago, he was the boyfriend you were still head over heels for. one month ago, he became the ex-boyfriend, and you weren’t really sure if you were head over heels or not anymore.

right person, wrong time? or maybe that was a feeble excuse you conjured to settle the dregs of regret. either way: graduation was creeping up — your post-university paths couldn’t be more different — he was moving, you were staying — nothing was aligned.

so now: one month after the breakup. your favourite café, a concerned best friend in front of you, and your ex-boyfriend in the queue for a coffee. (iced vanilla latte, whipped cream, pain au chocolat.)

“you can go,” you say, after a long moment, to your friend. chan had been about to leave anyway, an appointment he couldn’t miss — you’d intended to stay and get some studying done. and when chan is gone, after much persuasion, you take one more look at the back of seokmin’s head and decide that actually, you can’t.

everything is shoved haphazardly into your bag, wires tangled and keys jangling, but your only aim is to get out of there. before you do something stupid.

you have, however, forgotten to factor in one major problem: it’s raining.

you don’t have an umbrella — you don’t even have a jacket, because it was hot as hell when you set out earlier in the day, and suddenly now, at the most inconvenient possible time, the heavens have decided to open and pour out their misery. so you stand outside the door for a minute, eyeing the rain, shivering a little, wondering if it would be stupid to just make a dash for it, or if maybe you can call chan back, or maybe —

“i have an umbrella.”

you don’t need to turn to recognise that voice, but you do anyway, and your eyes fall on lee seokmin. half-uncertain, half-sheepish, he meets your eyes with a small smile and a black umbrella he holds out over your head.

“thanks,” you manage finally, voice so quiet he has to strain to hear it over the pattering of raindrops. but his eyes have moved past you, over your shoulder, up.

“look,” he says softly. “a rainbow.”

you turn, and it’s there; one of the clearest you’ve seen. something catches in your throat — you swallow it down — and instead, you stand there. silence, side by side with the boy who will have a piece of your heart forever.

(are those raindrops on your cheeks, or tears?)

your hand brushes against his, one last time, and the rain stops. you step out from under his umbrella. one last look at him. this is how he stays in your memories: soft eyes and bright smile, stood under a smudged pink sky.

an / every time i proofread something i wrote i want to curl up into a ball and never write again. so it’s not proofread. also if someone could take the italics button away from me, that would be appreciated.

requested by @hannyoontify for my 1k event! hope u like it kie❣️sending all the hugs in the world. song prompt: rain by sekai no owari

taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager

#seokmin fluff #dk fluff #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #dk comfort #dk fic #dk fanfic #seokmin fanfic #seokmin fic #seokmin comfort #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen comfort #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen scenarios

[strangersteddierthings]

Fic Masterpost

General Fic Tag Ao3 Account - All fics with [Ao3] next to them can be found here. Reference post for Steve's BMW

Bad News First, Eddie - Completed [Ao3] Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Final Part

Shovel Talk(s) - Completed [Ao3] Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Final Part

Porcelain Steve - Completed [Ao3] Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Final Part

What's Eight Plus Seven? - On Going - [Ao3] Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

The Interview - Completed [Ao3] The Interview (Part One) The Response (Part Two) The Conversation (Part Three) Untitled Song - A The Interview Tie-In Fic [Ao3]

No Regrets - On Going Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Good People - Completed [Ao3] Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

My Default’s Self-Destruct (Oh, I’m Not Used to Normal) - On Going Part One

Steve and Robin talk about how Steve wants to be romanced, instead of always doing the romancing.

Eddie's over dramatic, Steve talks him down, and they're okay in the end :)

Steve reflects on how other people make the decisions in his life and decides, y'know what? No. Fuck that and fuck you.

Beg You to Love Me - Steve and Eddie talk for the first time two and a half years after they break up. [Ao3]

Steve pines for Eddie and carves a pumpkin for the first time. He is completely normal about both things. [Ao3]

Eddie left, and has to face the consequences of that

Steve has great parents and goes to therapy. Too bad he forgot to tell his friends that [Ao3]

Middle School Meet Cute? [Ao3]

One sentence and one phone call are all it takes for Steve to realize he needs to go after what he wants [Ao3]

Steve's sad, Eddie's an (accidentally on-purpose) jerk, and the miscommunication gets solved? [Ao3]

Steve gets Vecna'd and a terrible rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody saves him

Angsty Ella Enchanted AU

Steve finds it funny, the differences between him and Eddie.

#81. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?” [Ao3]

#23. “Just pretend to be my date.” and #60. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.” [Ao3]

#60. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me." [Ao3]

#13. "I dare you to kiss me"

Requested by Anon - Eddie catches Billy throwing Steve around in the locker room; it leads to an unintentional deescalation of the situation and a conversation Eddie's surprised to have. [Ao3]

Steddie Week 2023: Day 1: Pining [Ao3]

Anon Prompt - Robin brags about her boyfriend to Steve. He's a little jealous, because he wants to brag about his own boyfriend but doesn't know if Robin is safe to tell that too. Until, whoops, turns out Robin's BF and Steve's BF are the same boyfriend. [Ao3]

Steve doesn't want to be put on a pedestal. Eddie doesn't understand, and tries to reassure Steve. [Ao3]

Eddie's friends try to prove Steve's cheating on him. Eddie doesn't take kindly to them trying to ruin his relationship for no reason.

Plot Idea I’ll never fully flush out or write but gotta get out of my head or it’ll never let me know peace again. It’s basically Steve sent from the future going all John Wick.

Steve-focused ficlet exploring the idea of Steve becoming a Mean Girl because he learned his tactics from Carol Perkins rather than Tommy, and how he regrets the results of that.

Domestic Bliss fluff fic that ends in a loving blow job. Minors DNI. [Ao3]

Childhood Best Friends AU where Steve and Eddie agree to learn the elvish script from The Hobbit so they can pass notes and no one can read them. Things get a little messy when Eddie moves away with no notice but Steve takes it upon himself to learn Elvish anyway. [Ao3]

Steve doesn't think before he all but crawls seductively into Eddie's lap accidentally. There's also not much thinking once he realizes what he's done, or in the aftermath of it. [Ao3]

Steve, Gareth, and Chrissy Are Cousins [Ao3]

Steve, Gareth, and Chrissy are all cousins, and Gareth doesn't want anyone to know that. For his street cred.

The Steve, Gareth, and Chrissy are cousins AU gets sad (Sad AU Part 1).

Steve realizes he's the only adult left In The Know in Hawkins; Gareth wants answers, one way or another (Sad AU Part 2).

Steve doesn't attend a funeral; Gareth goes with Jason&Co to Reefer Ricks (Sad AU Part 3).

The gang arrives at Skull Rock and Steve learns Gareth's now involved. Robin learns the truth (Sad AU Part 4).

Vecna gives Steve the vision and forces him to make a choice (Sad AU Part 5).

Everyone learns they are cousins now and it goes well. Gareth makes his own plan to save the day. (Sad AU Part 6).

Wayne joins the fight and Gareth ensures that Max gets saved (Sad AU Part 7).

The cousins reconcile. Max and Steve don't (yet). It's as happy an end as a Sad AU can get (Sad AU Final Part).

Time Travel Fix It Fic

Class of '85 [Ao3]

Save Max [Ao3]

September Prompts 2023

Coffee Smell ○ Horizon ○ Foggy Mornings ○ Jukebox ○ "Kiss me or leave me" ○ "Did you lie to me?" ○ Bonfire ○ Recipe Book ○ Gas Station

#my fics #masterlist

[cripple-punk-dad]

Once again feeling emotions about God, Forgive These Bastards: Songs From The Forgotten Life Of Henry Turner by The Taxpayers. I listened to the whole album not really knowing the background or the story behind the title. I just loved the music and the artist's voices. But then I found the explanation by the main vocalist on the album, Rob Taxpayer, and:

"The first time I met Henry Turner I feared for my life. I remember the exact date – February 18th, 2007 – because the day before, a close friend of mine had unsuccessfully attempted to commit suicide in his studio apartment and I’d spent the entire night at the hospital. It was one of those terrible and typical Pacific Northwest winter nights where the rain seemed relentless and the gloom was contagious, and as I waited at a sheltered bus stop on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard for the # 6 to arrive, a man approached me for a cigarette.

I shook my head and gave him a half-smile.

“Sorry. I quit a few years back.”

I stuck my head back into the newspaper I was reading, and he took a few steps closer.

“How about a buck and a quarter then? All I need is a dollar and a quarter and I’ll have enough for bus fair.”

I shrugged and fumbled around in my pocket.

“I’m using an expired bus transfer myself, but I might have a few extra dimes. It ain’t much, but if it helps, it’s yours.”

I passed him the change, and when he grabbed it, he ducked down to my level and looked me straight in the eyes.

“Look at me. Does it look like a few extra dimes would help? You think a few extra dimes would do any good to anybody? Take a look at me. I got a rotten heart and a bad shoulder and I ain’t slept a good night’s sleep in the past ten years, and you wanna know the kicker? I get fuckers like you tossing me their condescending extra dimes.”

He was tall and intimidating, with wild gray hair and deep wrinkle lines all across his face, and his eyes would occasionally roll up into his head, quiver, and then refocus. His thick, wet coat and his tangled beard had bits of crumpled leaves stuck to them, and he carried himself with the strange confidence of an angry and confused lion.

“And the best part about all of this is that I know you’re cheating me. And you know what I did to the last bastard that cheated me? “

He paused for a few silent, terrifying seconds.

“I bit his ear off.”

I almost pissed my pants. My brain was telling me, “get up and run”, but my body was frozen in fear, and I sat there shaking in excruciating silence. Sure, maybe he was harmless, but something about the look in his eyes terrified me. I could see the bus approaching from about a quarter of a mile away. I did the math. From that distance, it would be another minute or so before the bus arrived, saving me from certain death. I could try to fight back. But while he was an old man, he was an enormous old man, and anyways, you just can’t fight a crazy person. I could run. That was it. I was going to have to get up and run before he sunk his teeth into me, or pulled out a knife, or worse.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter. Not a maniacal laughter, but a booming, good-natured laughter, and his angry eyes became kind and warm. His snarl turned into a crooked smile, and he slapped me on the back like an old friend.

“Aw, I’m just fucking with you, kid. Ain’t much for laughs around here. You’ll have to forgive me.”

He held out his massive hand for me to shake.

“Henry Turner. Friends call me Hank. How ya doin'?”

I was still petrified. Was this some sort of a trick? Was he going to grab my hand and then snap it off like a tree branch? He looked me over and laughed again, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a bus pass.

“Here. This one ain’t expired. Go on, take it, I got a whole stack of ‘em.”

And with that, the bus pulled up to our stop in the rain, the doors opened with a loud mechanical sigh, and Henry held out both his arms, outstretched, in the direction of the doors.

“After you, kid.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was a semi-celebrity around town, although most people wrote him off as just another one of the crazy folks that told rambling, drunken tales – amusing for a few minutes, but best largely avoided. It was true, he had his demons, but he also had a magical brilliant quality to him, and whenever I ran into him around town, I’d end up spending a few hours with him, if for no other reason than to listen to his unbelievable stories. It didn’t really matter whether they were true or not, it was the way he told them, with absolute clarity and confidence, no matter how crazy they sounded. Some of it even checked out. He’d often talk about his years playing baseball with Georgia Tech, and the famous play-off game where he pitched a two-hitter in 1979. When I got home, I went on the internet and looked up the Georgia Tech roster from 1979, and there he was. Henry Turner. I’ll be damned.

The years went by. I’d leave town for months at a time, but when I came home I could always expect to run into Henry for the latest news and a ridiculous tale. Businesses closed and new ones opened, houses changed ownership, new faces arrived and old ones disappeared, but he was like an ancient marble pillar – unaffected by the changes around him. Or so it seemed. In the winter of 2010, three years after we first met, I ran into Henry on one of the downtown park blocks. He was disheveled and had these crazy eyes, and when he recognized me, he touched me on the shoulder and said something to the effect of, “Gonna go away for a while. You’ll hold onto something for me, yeah?”. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a huge stack of unused bus passes, thrust them into my hands, and walked away. It was the last time I would see him.

Henry Turner died on March 25th, 2010, a product of years of substance abuse and tough living. If a funeral was held I wasn’t aware of it. The news of his death hit me harder than expected, and it sparked an obsession: I began compulsively writing down every outlandish and unbelievable story he’d ever told me, as a sort of tribute. My band started working on an album of songs pertaining to Henry’s life. My nights were spent researching everything I could find about the Turner family. I would rant on and on to complete strangers about the whole ordeal. Then slowly, it began to subside. Life went back to normal. Though I never quite forgot about it, my utter entrancement with the Turners faded.

What follows is an amalgamation of the stories Henry told me, as best as I can remember them. I hope I did him justice. There are some embellishments and I took quite a few liberties, but like all good narrators, Henry knew that any story worth telling should be grand, significant, and a little bit false. It’s important to note that Henry was no hero, and I’m not trying to romanticize or defend him – as you’ll find out, he was a murderer, an abusive husband, an unapologetic addict, and a crook who was haunted by his most awful moments. But he was also at times a tender, loving father, a brave adventurer, and an amazing pitcher, who was surprisingly candid and an absolute charm to listen to. No person can be summed up by their worst actions. And despite his insistence that “forgiveness ain’t an inherent human quality”, that’s what this whole thing’s been about for me: the capacity to forgive someone’s most wretched moments.

Ultimately, I think that when Henry was at his best, he was something simple: a kind, strange friend" -Rob Taxpayer, from The Taxpayer's Bandcamp page

Look at me look me in the eyes: "No person can be summed up by their worst actions" I'm broken I'm dead I'm deceased. The last track on the album is an interview with somebody who knew Henry as a child. It's about remembering someone that nobody else thinks about it's about preserving the memory of the jerks and the assholes and the addicts because everyone deserves to be remembered and to have songs sung about them and have their stories told in whatever way they can be told.

#the taxpayers #diy punk #punk music #tw suicide mention #punk community

[renardiererin]

two: vicious

you dated rintarou suna for a little over a year. everything was so picture perfect-- retrospectively staged to get you too caught up in his shallow, strategized acts of "affection" to notice what kind of a guy he really is. he's in a band; a pretty popular one, at that. he's the lead singer/guitarist, and half the internet is in love with him. every red flag you excused as typical male behavior. every problematic response to a fan's message or an article making him look bad, you just brushed off as the hate getting to him. you kept trying to look for the best in the worst, but every time you defended him it just turned the hate towards you. it caused quite the commotion. after you broke up, you decided to be private about it. keep your feelings to yourself-- and your best friend who came over with ice cream every night for 15 straight days-- and quietly carried the burden of the relationship you devoted an entire year of your life to. he started going to therapy, as per your advice, and started being nicer to his fanbase. all of it was forced by his management team to stop the bad press he was getting left and right, and it worked. the world stopped fighting against him, and he turned into a rock god. beloved by people all around the planet. he turns up at hospitals every couple of weeks to hang out with his fans there in order to make himself look good-- he won't do it if there's no press--, he started donating to charities, advocating for climate change (and by advocating, he was just reposting shit on his social media. hey, at least he's using his platform!), etc. the world treated him like an angel. you're not so sure that's true, though. you knew him for three years despite only dating for one, and you know rintarou like the back of your hand. if he's an angel, he's lucifer on a redemption arc. rintarou suna is the most cunning, machiavellian, cryptic, self-motivated, vicious man you've ever known. every girl he's seen with in public-- and it's a new one every week-- all have reputations for being "smart," yet all of them clearly neglect intuition if they're dating somebody like him. he's called you drunk a couple times since the breakup, whenever he gets insecure, and always ends the voicemail by pouting about how you don't love him and then some girl is pictured half naked leaving his house the next morning. he just runs to whoever's convenient. it's like he doesn't remember that night when he said it was you and him for life, because now he's kind of acting like you died. he stopped reaching out, moved on with his life after a week or two, and when he gets asked about your breakup in interviews he just furrows his eyebrows and says: "i'm sorry, who?" it's like he doesn't even feel remorseful. does he really regret nothing? maybe he doesn't think he hurt you. he wrote one song about the breakup, ending with the closing line: "wish you the best," so maybe he thinks that's his apology and you've forgiven him. maybe you were only the next one of his victims to take his love songs as a promise. you really just feel sorry for whatever girl he chooses to take advantage of next, because when she breaks he won't come back to pick up the pieces.

masterlist

taglist: @alienvarmint @kiyoily (raine ik you didnt actually ask but i <3 u so youre here anyway)

#haikyuu!! #hq #hq imagines #hq x reader #haikyu x reader #hq hcs #rintarou suna #suna rintaro haikyuu #rintarou suna angst #suna angst #suna rintaro x reader #suna headcanons #sunarin x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintaro #rockstar suna #emails i cant send x rintarou suna #eics series #haikyuu smut #hq smut #suna smut #rintarou suna smut #suna rintaro smut #suna rintarou smut #sunarin x reader smut #sunarin #suna rintarō #suna rintaro x y/n #suna

[chapel-of-rizztual]

25. "... You were right." "Say that again!" for Phantom/Bongwater Ghoul and Swiss pretty please :'3

Phantom was sick. That much was obvious, but the little ghoul was in deep denial about it. Swiss had shared a hotel room with him last night and spent the better half of the night trying to convince Phantom to rest, the shower could wait for another day, save his energy because he’ll need it for the show tomorrow. Phantom had just waved him off, saying he’s never felt better, despite him shivering so badly his teeth were chattering. 

The next morning, very predictably, Phantom was worse. At breakfast Swiss watched him take small sips of water, trying to hold off gags as he sipped. He slept through lunch, hardly stumbled through practice, missing easy marks and making basic mistakes. The actual show wasn’t much better, Swiss kept a close eye on him, watching him sway unsteadily on his feet, hardly keeping up with each song. 

Later that night, when they were back in a different hotel, Swiss had to bribe Rain to swap rooms with him, although it wasn’t much of a bribe, one mention of sharing with Dew and Rain was happy to swap. Phantom was still in denial about it, still trying to put on a brave face and convince Swiss he was fine, even though he was pale and clamy, Swiss could see the sticky sheen of sweat and dark purple circles under his eyes from the opposite side of the room. 

Swiss is pulled out of a deep sleep by the covers of his bed rustling and something cold and clamy pressing up against him. 

“I-wha-what? What is it?” Swiss rubs his eye with his fist, the sleep fog still clouding his mind. 

Phantom squeaks and hiccups behind him, clinging harder to Swiss. 

 “Are you crying?” Swiss turns himself around onto his back, pulling the smaller ghoul onto his chest. Phantom sob, burying his face into Swiss neck. 

“Oh, darling. What’s got you so worked up?” Swiss rubs at his back, feeling how sticky with sweat he is.

Theres a pause, Phantom hiccuping into his neck, taking a deep steadying breath.

“I- you- you were right.” He sobs.

Swiss feels a little taken back.

“Say that again?”

“You were right.” He sobs again. “I think I’m sick.”

“You think?” Swiss raises an eyebrow to him. “It’s not like I’ve been trying to tell you that for the last two days.”

Swiss feels Phantom stiffen and he lets out a pitiful whine.

“Im sorry, Swiss- I’m sorry- i didn’t-“

Swiss sits up, pulling Phantom into his lap.

“Oh, don’t be sorry, little star. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He rocks them gently back and forth.

Phantom clings to Swiss’ neck, letting himself be rocked like a kit. Swiss continues rubbing at his back, one hand running through his hair. He feels himself calming slowly, the tears slowly stopping making their tracks down his face at Swiss’ gentle touch.

“That’s it, little star. Doing so well for me.” Swiss whispers into his hair, placing a kiss to Phantom’s sweaty hairline.

They sit like that for a while, with Swiss gently rocking Phantom in his arms, whispering comforting words to the smaller ghoul, until he starts shivering in Swiss’ arms.

Swiss presses the back of his hand to Phantom’s forehead, feeling his temperature.

“Are you cold, little one?” Swiss looks down at the ghoul, noting a slight blue tinge to his lips.

Phantom nods, resting his head on Swiss’ shoulder.

“Cant get warm.” He stutters, his teeth chattering. “Couldn’t sleep because I was so cold.”

Swiss hugs him tighter.

“Oh, little star. You should have said something sooner.”

Phantom shivers more, curling himself up smaller in Swiss’ arms.

“I didn’t- I’ve never- I’ve never been sick before.” He pauses in between shivers. “Not without my mother anyway.”

Swiss feels his heart breaking for the smaller ghoul, the stark reminder of how much younger the ghoul was in comparison to the others. Swiss knew he was brand new, never been summoned before, but he had no idea he’d never even left his family pack to find his own.

“Oh, darling.” Swiss holds him tighter, nosing along his hair, scenting him. “I’ve got you now, little star. Don’t worry about it, ill look after you.”

Phantom feels that tell-tale lump in his throat rise and tears well in his eyes again.

“I didn’t- I was scared, I didn��t want to be sick, tried so hard to ignore it- but- I-“

“Oh i know, darling, i know.” Swiss rocks him gently again. “I’ve got you though, hmm. I’ll look after you, little star, I’ve got you.”

A harsh shiver racks its way through Phantom’s body, making him shake in Swiss’ arms. Swiss lands one last kiss to Phantom’s forehead before moving to stand up, leaving Phantom buried under the covers.

“Let’s get you warmed up, hey? That sound good?”

Swiss doesn’t wait for a reply before rummaging through his suitcase, pulling out a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He grabs the duvet from Phantom’s bed, spreading it over his own for extra warmth. He dresses Phantom in his hoodie and sweatpants as quickly as he can, wanted to get him as warm as he can. Phantom lets out a happy thrill, rubbing his face along the neckline.

“That nice, little one? Nice and warm?” Swiss asks, climbing back on bed, pulling Phantom back into his chest, pulling both duvets over them both. Phantom doesn’t reply, just lets out a deep purr, rubbing his face on Swiss’ chest.

“In the morning we’ll go to Mountain and get him to make one of his teas. Now, the medicinal ones taste like shit, just warning you, but they do make you feel better so its worth it.” Swiss runs a hand through Phantom’s hair, scratching at the base of his horns.

Phantom cling to Swiss, and despite the purr rumbling though his chest, and the many layers he had, he was sill shivering.

“You still cold, darling?”

Phantom nods against Swiss’ chest, his teeth still chattering.

“Okay, thats okay. Lets see what I can do about that.” Swiss taps into his fire element, feeling heat swirl under his skin. “Now, I’m no hot water bottle, unfortunately for us he’s with Rain and i fear trying to separate them will end in me getting bit, but ill do my best.”

Phantom giggles at him, clinging to him harder feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. He lets out a contented sigh in between purrs, and finally feels himself relax. He can’t help himself kneading at Swiss’ chest, finally feeling himself warm up, his eyes sipping closed falling into a comfortable sleep.

#not edited if you see a mistake no you didn’t #ficlet #the band ghost #ghost headcanons #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #my writing #thanks for the ask!

[jmdbjk]

Episode 7: Still Purple

Beyond the Star, produced by HYBE Media Studio

"Every single one of our performances was significant to us, they are all precious memories." – Jimin

The song Butterfly starts and I know this episode is going to be hard to watch because I'm already tearing up.

This is a long post. Apologies. There's a lot to say about it.

They are talking about what concert memories mean the most to them:

Hobi says it was their first stadium concert at the Rose Bowl which was the most significant memory for him as far as which concert was the most memorable.

Jungkook says it was Chicago when it was the first time they'd ever performed in the rain:

Jin says it's when they perform IDOL that is his favorite concert memory.

Jimin says even though fans would see what he's talking about through photos but in real life, what they see from the stage is so beautiful, words can't do justice to describe it:

They reminisce about their concert at the Olympic Gymnastic Arena and recalling the emotions they felt then, that they had reached the top in 2016 are a very precious memory to them

Concerts are what they were made to do. Their type of performance, the big choreography, the big songs... big performances... belong on the live concert stage.

And now we're at the series of concerts that were to be their last before they really embark on Chapter 2: PTD Las Vegas.

BigHit/Hybe pulled out the stops for this one. The city of Las Vegas was all in and being the party city it is, it was one of the most fun and extravagant things I've ever witnessed.

I 1000% regret not going. I didn't know it was going to be the last chance for a long time.

They get to do things like attend a few concerts and visit the Bellagio Fountain when the fountains of water are set to the rhythm of Dynamite and Butter. I know Hobi has a video of Jungkook and Tae vibing to Dynamite at the Bellagio Fountain on his camera roll! Show it to us Hobi!!

Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon went to the Silk Sonic concert.

I think it's curious that they do not mention the 2022 Grammy performance or event at all. When they left Seoul for this trip on March 28, 2022, Hobi was not with them because he had tested positive for covid prior to departure. Jungkook wasn't with them because he'd left the day before for the purpose of a work schedule but I don't remember what it was, and upon landing in the U.S. he tested positive for covid and had to quarantine until he had a negative test.

They were to perform at the Grammy Awards show on April 3, 2022. They were missing two members up until the day before the performance. Thankfully Hobi tested negative in time to catch a plane to Las Vegas:

Jungkook tested negative the day before the performance and was able to practice ONCE with the group. Here he is doing a Vlive while quarantining in his hotel room:

And after all that, they gave a performance of a lifetime during the Grammy Awards:

Anyway... I digress... just curious they make no mention of it at all...

Jungkook brought his boxing coach (Coach Tommy) and this might be the workout he was doing prior to joining Hobi, Tae and Jimin for that Vlive following one of their concerts.

Jungkook says the only thing he regrets about the previous 10 years was that it took him a while to realize certain things and then put them into practice.

Namjoon wonders what it would've been like had they ended things after ON and Yoongi reflects that they would've taken a break from November 2020, if the pandemic had not happened and they would've been on a break for about two and half years (for enlistment). They didn't expect the pandemic to go on for so long (none of us did).

Namjoon wonders if he stayed true to the lyrics he wrote in ON while living his life. He thought they were running straight ahead all this time but as it turns out, they had gone in a circle and were back at the starting line. He contemplates what to do to run forward again.

The last PTD Las Vegas concert is bittersweet for all of us. So much has happened to culminate with this.

Tae says it's time for them to organize their thoughts so they can come back with a better image and performance and they aren't saying they are done, they are saying they've worked hard and now they need the time to grow.

And then we see Jimin in the car, on the way home after their last PTD Seoul concert on March 13, 2020. He is on the phone inviting someone over. Guess who?

It looks like he's taken a shower. He shows us a pot of fish cake soup his dad made for him. Jimin prepares three place settings, fetches 3 bottles of soju, and pardon me but the fact Jimin has a can of spray cheez in his auxiliary kitchen changes everything for me.

Why is he consuming that and why does he store it above the kitchen sink in is extra kitchen? Why do these expensive apartments have two kitchens? Jimin barely needs one kitchen but he has two...

Anyway, Jungkook arrives and they proceed to eat and drink.

While they are having a conversation about what time they go to bed and wake up, Jimin says he might sleep until 4 pm and then this ensues:

When Jungkook makes the remark that he sounds like Yoongi, off-camera, you can hear someone stifling their wheezing laugh. Staff camera man is in on the joke and the documentary editors are too as they cut briefly to Yoongi eating take out chicken.

The editors were wrong for that! HAHAHAHAH!

Then Tae and Namjoon talk about and show us their living spaces and how they feel living on their own.

Namjoon is very particular about his space and he says its very precious to him. He says the way one curates their living space speaks a lot about their personality and taste. I agree 100%. He says he wants to show us his space so we can know what kind of person he is.

Tae says he decorated his own space, commissioning art pieces for it. He has an extensive collection of vinyl records and puts on a yellow vinyl disc that appears to be Betty Wright, a recording of a live performance. He says boredom can be a given when living alone and he says he looks for Small but Definite Happiness in his daily life. SDH. We should all strive to do that.

Then we're back at Jimin's and Jungkook is cooking more food, chopping vegetables. FYI, that Miele induction cooktop is about $3,500.

Watching Jimin retell the story of when one of his friends pointed out that he seemed depressed, was not himself, was one of the most revealing things we've ever heard from Jimin.

And now he feels he's in a very healthy place. I'm gonna elaborate on this in another blog post when I'm done with this series.

All in all, the members had to learn to live alone after living together for 8 years or more for some of them.

Yoongi reflects on running so hard in their 20s. He wonders if they shouldn't have enjoyed themselves more and not let the pressures become overwhelming. Regardless, now that he's reached 30, all those worries and thoughts have disappeared and he feels liberated.

I've realized some of these interviews for these episodes were conducted on the day they traveled from Seoul to Las Vegas because they are wearing the same clothing.

Episode 8 coming soon... and more.

#bts beyond the star #jimin #jungkook #yoongi #namjoon #hobi #jin #taehyung

[nightfall-kachiniko]

starry night // hawks x reader fanfic

summary: lonely nights cause for longing. you stare at the blank ceiling, your mind full. His number on your phone. He fills the lonely with his presence, even by the crack of his voice.

“mmm.. hey.. you alright birdie…?” the sleepy voice softly mutters through the speaker of your phone, his tired hums acting as a sense of reassurance as they fill your ears.

The dark room around you felt all to quiet. The silence reminding you of the loneliness that filled your house. It felt like self confinement, being alone was. Starting at the wall and scrolling on your phone gave you no help. No matter how many times you tossed and turned, it could never give you that sense of comfort you longed for. After hearing the silence that filled around you, it was finally silenced by a few short rings and a soft voice through your phone, the one that gave a sense of relief in your chest. Though even though your clock read 2:09 AM, you were accompanied by the half awake hero on the other end of the phone.

“hey kei..” you say, your voice not as weary as his. Your eyes felt heavy, but only shut to blink. Your body felt as heavy as a weighted blanket, but your mind remained awake. The bedsheets crinkled as you slightly adjust yourself, bringing yourself closer to the phone placed to your side.

“you okay honey..?” his groggy voice asks again. You feel a warmth burning inside you, slowly easing up to his presence. Though you had his words, you still longed for his touch.

“Yeah, I’m just- too tired to sleep.” You said blankly. You heard a slight chuckle from the other end, followed by an “only you..”

You slightly smiled at his playful response, a sweet comfort erupting in your chest. “It’s just too quiet.”

“mmm.” He hummed in understanding, the background filled with the small sound of his bedsheets rustling.

“is there something on your mind..?” you heard him softly say, his voice seeming more closer than before.

“Just thoughts.” You say. “stop thinking” he replies back, making another one of his dumb jokes that makes ur lips slightly curl. You can sense his smile coming through the screen as he hears you laugh, he’s probably got that sleepy look in his face.. where he’s slightly smiling but his eyes are shut.. his hair is messy and the pretty marking on his eyes look like a drawing. He reminds you of a painting.

Like a soft song, the type of songs that reminds you from the smallest gust of wind that blows through your hair, silencing the suns warmth on your skin for a split second, to the peace of a quiet, saddened night, the type that gives darkness an alluring feel.

“you’re so dumb..” you softly smile as you hear a small scoff through the speaker. “you’re dumber.” he said. “righttt…” you breathed out.

“sorry I called, I know you have work early tomorrow I just-“

“hey, don’t worry about it.” He interrupted. “I can’t talk to you if I’m knocked out huh?”

You scoffed a small laugh, followed by a small smile beginning to curl at the corner of your lips.

“I’d rather talk to you then sleep anyway, the morning comes wayy too quickkk..” you heard Keigo yawn.

“Kei, we spend eight hours a day in the same office,” you laughed a bit, “how are you not tired of me..?” You asked the semi-serious question in a kid tone.

“eight hours isn’t enough.” the phone said. “if anything neither is the whole day.”

you softly smiled, his words causing that wave of anxiety to pass over with a slight breeze.

“I wish you had more time. ” you confessed. your eyes remained starting at the bare ceiling.

“You want me to come over?” He asked, sending a pang to your heart. “You do know it’s 2 in the morning, right?” You said. “Mhmmm…” he hummed. “Kei, you’ll be exhausted.” Your mouth talked, but your heart stayed silent, even though it tugged on your vocal cords, telling you to speak it.

“so what? I’ll be with you.”

His response made you softly smile, breathing out .

“It’s raining, you’ll get your wings wet.”

“You got towels right?” You rolled your eyes, as your grunts were heard through the phone.

“Plus, I know you want me to.” the phone said In a flirty tone, making you blush out of embarrassment.

“oh my god- Just get over here you idiot” you said, rolling ur eyes with smile plated on your face.

his small chuckle hummed through the phone.

“See you in a little bit, yeah?”

“yeah.” You replied, before hanging up the phone.

Your eyes remained at the ceiling, now feeling the silence all around you. Everything was so quiet, too quiet. It was dark, but not saddening. It was lonely, but not depressing. It was just bare. Everything was too blank, even if the walls were filled with posters and decorations, the house itself felt alone.

you spaced out for a while, your eyes glued at the dull setting surrounding you. And soon after a while, a small shut of the window, pulled you out of your trance.

you stepped out of your room, seeing the back of his figure.

“Geez.. I’ve told her… so many times about leaving that window unlocked..” you heard him mutter under his breath, his presence making your lips slightly curl into a relieved smile.

“Well how else would you get in?” You snarky replied, your unexpected voice making his shoulders tense up.

he turned around, a bit more swift than usual, to see you standing behind him, looking at him in the way that makes his heart pound. Your arms crossed together in that sassy way you do, as you were clothed in the pajamas he had gotten you for your office’s ‘Secret Santa’. But the best thing wasn’t the way you leaned back against ur door frame- or how your hair was slightly ruffled from its friction against your pillow. It wasn’t the way you looked in the dim light, or the dumb fluffy socks that’d make him blush everytime he saw you in them. It wasn’t the way one of your legs were positioned slightly infront of the other, or the way your fingers pushed back the hair in front of your face. But that distinctive smile, the one that laid plastered on your face like a painting. The way your lips curl slightly upwards, showing off a faint glimpse your dimples on your cheek. The smile that elevates the plump or your soft lips. The smile that consumes him like the second medicine kicks in. The smile thats so contagious it moves his facial muscles for him, reflecting that same, soft, smile back to you without even realizing it, like a natural instinct of his, his body moving on its own. The smile that softens his gaze. The smile that no one else gets to see but him.

“hey…“ he smiled through your gaze, “hey..” you said back, his look making you smile wider. “If you ever get broken into because of that I will taunt you about it for the rest of your life. ” He said his soft smile turning to a sneaky smirk.

“Oh haha- you’re hilarious..” you roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile.

“Just saying,” he said, coming closer to you. His hands sneaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The atmosphere eased with an intimate aroma. The air surrounding you becoming more thick. More sensual. His eyes didn’t help either, as they started back at yours, taking glances at your lips every so often.“What if.. a villain comes through your window huh..?” You weakly laughed at his tease, you both somehow closer than before. .

“oh hush- The only villain coming through my window is you.” You joked back at him.

“I’m a double agent, different thing.”

“Yeah tell that to the league, then they’ll be breaking through your window.”

Your remark made him chuckle, his laugh eventually becoming a muffle as he kissed your soft lips. His gentle pecks becoming passionate as they continued, his exhales breezing a warm breath on your skin. Your arms found its way to his broad shoulders, relaxing them onto him, as his grip tightened at your waist, luring your lower body closer to his.

Keigo’s grasp was firm and protective, the heat of his body radiating his warmth onto you. His tall, strong figure towered over your body, his hand making its way to cup your cheek.

“mmm… thats what i missed…” He said lowly, a rasp in his throat.

He finished the kiss by giving you a firm, aggressive peck on your cheek, making you let out a giggle.

“Gosh you tryna kill me.?!” You playfully hit him to let go.

“Mmm that was the goal.” He teased, pulling his head back.

“Damn you suck at killing people.” You scoffed

“Nahh don’t worry I’ll get you in your sleep” your smile widened at his stupid joke as you muttered a “shut up” through a few laughs.

“Speaking of sleep..” he began to speak.

“Ohh yeah…!” You recalled. You two were having too much fun to even realize the clock read 2:35. If he hadn’t of brought it up, you two would’ve probably gotten no sleep at all.

“Ughh I blame you, you distracted me,” you groaned, opening the door to your bedroom.

He gently released his hands from your side. “Oh yeah? Distracted by what exactly..?” He smirked.

“Oh my god just get in the bed Keigo” You replied back, flustered.

“A request orr a demand?…because I’ll do whatever you want sweetheart.”

“KEI-!”

“OKAY HAHA FINE-“ he laughed like a child, before playfully falling on the bed, grabbing your waist and pulling you down with him.

He laughed at your squeal before you thudded onto him, feeling his chest raise up and down with every laugh that escaped his lips. You punched him as your way to get back.

He smiled at the snarky smirk on your face, feeling accomplished at your act of revenge. "that didn't even hurt" he said, smirking back at you.

"shut up before I make it" you replied as he pecked your cheek, making you softly smile.

Keigo pulled your under the covers with him, cradling you to his chest. "Now…go to bed." He muttered, his body relaxing slowly into the bed, releasing the exhaustion he held back with laugh and giggles, finally letting it take over him.

You softly smiled at being close to him again, your head buried into the crook of his neck, his strong arms wrapping lovingly around you, as his warmth surrounded you. Now you could see that lovely face you imagined over the phone, where his eyes are closed, but a small soft, sweet smile laid on his face. His sleepy face, You kissed it, gently.

You eased into his arms, cuddling closer to your lover as he hummed sweetly, pressing a kiss to the crown on your head before resting his next to yours.

“ m’ love you,” you heard him grumble, making your lips curl into a soft smile. “I love you too kei..”

He’s calm. That’s who he was. A peaceful painting you painted in your head. And in the darkest lonely night, he wasn’t the shine of light through your window. He didn’t magically make the night day. But he made the dark just as comforting. Just as peaceful as the light. He reminded you that though you’re surrounded by the darkness, the stars still shine light. And though it is dark, and there isn’t much light, there’s still the same peace as if it was day. That’s just who Keigo was, a painting. A beauty of streaks of colors and light. An image with a hidden story inside. Keigo, he..was ur starry night.

#my hero academia hawks #boku no hero academia hawks #hawks x y/n #hawks fluff #hawks x reader #hawks scenarios #hawks fanart #wing hero hawks #mha hawks #jealous hawks #hawks headcanons #hawks x you #bnha hawks #mha takami keigo #keigo headcanons #jealous keigo #mha keigo takami #keigo x y/n #keigo imagine #protective keigo #keigo takami headcanons #keigo x reader #keigo tamaki #keigo fluff #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #Keigo scenarios #hawks drabble

[neverinadream]

They Don't Love Me, They Just Want To See Me Naked - Part I

Summary: Billy broke her heart, corrupted her reputation with lies and left her unable to trust anyone else. Eddie just wants to love her for who she was. And Y/N doesn't know what to do.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (mentions of a past relationship between Billy and the reader)

Song Inspo: Tattoos - Reneé Rapp

Requested: Nope

Warnings: post season three/pre season four, slow burn, angst, strangers to friends and then eventually lovers in later parts, soft!eddie, talk of blood

Notes: feedback is always welcome and greatly appreciated, requests are open so please do send them in

No one ever plans to fall in love. You don't jot it down in a planner or clear out an hour of your day to spruce yourself up in anticipation of its arrival. Love strikes us all in a single moment. You can find it in a smile or you can find it as you're swept off your feet in some elaborate, grand gesture. It's taking a step back in the moment and saying to yourself that you, out of the six billion that inhabit the planet, have found the one person you want to share the rest of your life with.

After Billy crumpled her trust up like nothing more than a piece of paper, tearing holes into it with lies he could not take back, Y/N was scared to love. To be in love again meant she was opening herself up to the possibility of being hurt, broken beyond repair, and she already saw herself as a silly, little, helpless, broken girl, who gave away her virginity to the first person who told her he loved her. He didn't.

Love was a strong emotion and Billy had shown her just how cruel it could be.

Dates came and went, calling her a tease when she refused to put out on the first date, as they had been told by Billy. "Buy her a milkshake," he told them, "and she'll give you a blowjob. That's what she did for me on our first date." And others gave her the "it's not you, it's me" speech after enduring weeks of nothing. None of them wanted to get to know her or to love her, they just wanted to see her naked.

But that's when Eddie came along, driving through Hawkins, with his music blaring and fingers drumming against the steering wheel, copying the beat to whatever song had been playing at the time. He had spotted her walking alone, her hair and makeup ruined by the rain, and her arms hugged herself as tightly as possible, her whole body shivering as she moved as quickly as her feet would allow. There wasn't a single spot on her body that hadn't been touched by the rain.

"Y/N!" Eddie shouted her name, pulling his van to a stop and rolling the window down. The wind carries his voice, making her jump; her hair sticks to her cheek as she whips her head in the direction of the voice. To see Eddie had been a surprise, but she was more surprised to know he remembered her name. "Jump in," he insists, preferring that she wasn't spending another minute out in the rain, "I'll give you a ride home."

"It's okay," she initially rejected him, biting her bottom lip to stop it from trembling, "I'm fine with walking."

Eddie frowns. "You're not walking in this rain," he insists, "besides, we're both going the same way." She looks down at her feet, which were now submerged in a shallow, murky puddle. Eddie wasn't wrong, they both were heading in the same direction. "What's the matter?" He attempts to crack a joke. "Scared to be seen with the likes of me?"

She lifts her head, looking back at him with pinched eyebrows. "And you're not scared to be seen with the likes of me?" She fires back, her eyes quickly bouncing around to check who was about.

"Not at all."

Giving in, she climbs into the passenger seat of his van, giving him half a smile as she pulled her seat belt on. The inside of the van smelt like cheap cigarettes and pine air fresheners, but it didn't bother her. Billy had always smelt like cigarettes and strong cologne, so the smell of Eddie's van was no different to her. She was just thankful to be out of the rain.

"What were you doing outside anyway?" Eddie asks, adjusting the volume on the stereo. He keeps his focus on the road ahead of them, silently cursing under his breath as the wipers take too long to sweep the rain away.

"I was on a date," she answers, pulling uncomfortably at her skirt.

"And he let you walk home in the rain?" He glances across at her, watching for a second as she tucked strands of wet hair behind her ear, showing off the small golden studs she wore. "He doesn't sound like a gentleman."

"They never are."

Pulling into the trailer park, Eddie shuts off the engine but keeps the headlights on, casting a shadow onto the side of his uncle's trailer. The trailer she lived in with her mother and her little sister was only a few feet away, the only home she had ever known. "I don't-" Eddie clears his throat, loosening his grip on the steering wheel until his hand drops into his lap. "I don't believe what they say about you," he admits, feeling like he needed to tell her.

"You don't?" She watches him shake his head. "Why not?" It was a simple question. "Everyone else does," she mumbles, anxiously chewing on the end of her thumb, "everyone thinks I'm a no-good piece of trailer trash, who will give anyone a handjob for the price of a smile." She wipes her hand down the front of her skirt. "What makes you any different?"

"Because the same people who say that about you, tell people that the Hellfire Club is a cult, with me as their leader, and we partake in human sacrifices down by Lover's Lake," Eddie answers, recalling the lies that he had heard about himself, "it's all bullshit. Hell, I don't like the site of my own blood, never mind someone else's." She hides her smile behind her hand, swallowing a laugh, but Eddie sees her eyes temporarily light up. "It's true," he insists, nodding his head, "I got a nosebleed once when I was in middle school, fainted as soon as I saw the blood."

"That was you?" She asks, a quick flash of an old memory.

"That was me!"

She releases a sigh that wasn't a sad sigh but still wasn't a happy one. "Thank you for giving me a lift home," she undoes her seat belt, the elasticated strap slotting back into place.

"You know," Eddie follows her as she gets out of the car, swinging the driver side door shut behind him, "I heard the rain isn't going to stop for a few days, I can give you a lift to school tomorrow if you want?"

"Oh," she wipes her hair out of her eyes, "uh-"

"You can say no," he squints to stop the rain from getting in his eyes, "it was-"

"-nice of you to ask," she intersects, "it's just Delilah is also at school now, so I gotta make sure she gets to school too."

Eddie raises his eyebrows. "Delilah's in school now?" She nods her head, a bright, warm smile appearing when thinking of her sister. "Wow," he places his hands on his hips, "I swear she was still a baby the last time I saw her."

"They grow up fast," she says, still smiling. It was the rain splashing on the end of her nose that reminded her of the current state of the weather. "Look, uh, thank you again, Eddie," she shuffles on her feet, trying to get some warmth back into her body.

He clears his throat, dropping his hands and stuffing them into his pockets. "Yeah, it's uh, it's nothing really," he mumbles, bouncing his eyes between her and his feet, "uh, goodnight, I guess." She nods her head and Eddie watches her disappear into the dark. "Goodnight, I guess?" He questions his own words, turning to open the door to his uncle's trailer with one hand, as the other pinches at the bridge of his nose. "I'm such an idiot."

Y/N hurried home, shaking her feet and body off before she entered the trailer. It was dark inside, the TV lighting up the living area and casting a shadow over her mother, who was fast asleep on the couch, with one leg hanging off the end, snoring with every other breath. She hung her wet coat beside Delilah's smaller jacket, sighing when she noticed the hole in the left elbow. That would just be another thing she would need to fix.

Reaching for the remote, she turns the TV off, drags an old blanket over her mother's sleeping body and picks up the ashtray full of cigarette ends. The kitchen counter is covered in microwave dinner packets, the evidence to show that her sister had been given something to eat tonight, just not something that was nutritious and good for her health. She throws away the cardboard boxes and empties the cigarette ends into the trash, setting the ashtray back down on the side and sighing as she flicks off the rest of the lights.

She checks in on Delilah before she goes to bed, chuckling when she finds Delilah sitting up in the middle of her bed, waiting for her. "You're all wet," she tells her older sister, scrunching her face up as she knelt at the side of her bed. Reaching out, she giggles and pulls her hand quickly back after poking her wet hair. "Was he your prince charming?" Delilah asks, referring to the boy she had gone on a date with.

She shakes her head. "No," she answers, "no, he wasn't."

Delilah frowns. "Maybe next time."

"Maybe." Y/N leans across to kiss her little sister's head as she lies back down, tucking her in. "Goodnight, bug," she whispers, turning off the little yellow lamp she kept beside her bed.

Y/N had never meant to fall in love with the long-haired boy, who played Dungeons and Dragons and performed to a crowd of five every Tuesday in some dive bar on the edge of town. She never meant to fall in love ever again. But she ignored the warning signs and then suddenly it was too late.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things angst #stranger things fic

[violet211221]

Your galaxy | Bang Chan

♡ pairing: bang chan x reader ♡ genre:  angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ♡ word count: 3.7k ♡ tw: mentions of self-harm, low self-esteem ♡ short summary: you have a secret from Chan, but he is there to remind you that he will always be by your side ♡ a/n: if you hurt yourself, I just want to give you a big virtual hug. I know why you do it, I can't blame you. I just want to tell you that I am very proud of you, of the fact that you are a survivor and continue to fight every day. you are a fighter! love yourself and give yourself time. one day, you will shine brighter. I believe in your galaxy.

You are alone in your apartment, on an ordinary friday. It's already dark and you're tired after a long day at work, so you've decided to order some pizza and watch a basic american series. It's raining quietly outside, but it's warm inside the house, which means you've thrown on the most comfortable pair of shorts and a baggy, gray shirt. You don't plan on seeing anyone anyway. You have already seen 10 minutes of the episode when you hear the doorbell. You quickly pause the series and run to the door. You are surprised that the pizza came so quickly, since the app informed you that due to the rain and the crowd, the order might arrive more difficult than usual. You open the door with a little too much force, being so hungry that you feel like devouring the food in its entirety. Only, to your tummy's dismay, on your doorstep isn't the pizza boy, but your best friend, Chan. His eyes meet yours, him looking at you questioningly from behind the black mask. "You seem disappointed to see me." he tells you half seriously, half-jokingly. When he is around you, he always uses english because it reminds him of home, from when he was little and it was his main language. His australian accent tickles your ears and immediately makes you smile from ear to ear. You always found him adorable. "No... not really. I just didn't expect you to come." The truth is that you did not expect to see him. He and his band are preparing for a new comeback, and Chan locked himself in his studio working non-stop on the last details of the songs. Your friend is a born perfectionist, and you know it very well. So, you didn't want to interrupt him from what he was doing. And that's how you ended up not seeing him or writing to him for a few days. "Are you going to let me in or am I going to leave here crying and hurt?" His voice interrupts your thoughts, making you realize what a colossal mistake you are making. You let your friend sit in the hallway, in front of your apartment, risking that at any moment he will be seen by someone. Then Chan could be in the middle of a dating scandal, and it would all be because of you. In a panic, you grab the poor boy's sweatshirt and drag him into your apartment, closing the door behind you. Immediately after that, you put your ear to the cold and hard iron material, listening for any sound of footsteps or another closed door. Any sign that someone saw the two of you together. "Are you okay Y/n? Did something happen?" You turn to face Chan, giving him a look that begs for mercy. "I'm sorry Chris. I was listening for signs of movement in the hallway. I left you there and I'm afraid someone saw you." you explain to them. You reach your hands out to him, gently cupping them in your own small hands. You reached towards him a bit, placing a kiss on his cheek, right next to the dimple you loved so much. "Hold still, Y/n. There was no one there. Should I stay?" "What do you want to say?" Chan glances into your apartment as if inspecting it. "Is anyone here? Or are you expecting someone? You looked very shocked to see me."

You laugh at his assumption. The truth is that you have had a big crush on Chan for several years. You two are nothing more than friends and of course you had other relationships during these years. However, no boy besides him and your mutual friends ever came to your house. "I ordered some pizza. I thought it had arrived when I heard the doorbell." you assure him. "Make yourself comfortable. Are your clothes wet? I think it's raining pretty hard outside. Maybe I can find a shirt that fits you." You see him take off his sneakers, then take off his cap. He ruffles his curly and already messy hair even more. You always liked his natural hair. "It was raining quite hard, but I came by car." "With the company car?" you ask him confused. "Did you take an Uber or ask your driver to bring you here?" "Neither. I drove myself. I might even take you for a ride sometime. It would be nice if we could go see the stars, don't you think?" A sound of amazement escapes your lips when you remember that your friend recently got his license. "However, I might think about it again considering you're disappointed that it's pizza." he jokes, now following you barefoot into your living room. "Stop laughing at me. Nothing is better than you. And you know it." you try to defend yourself. "At least you ordered a large pizza. I'm starving." "Unfortunately, I only ordered a small one. You should have texted me before you came, I would have known I had to get a large one. But I can make some ramen or something." you scold him as you start opening the kitchen cabinets. "I wanted to surprise you. But yes, ramen sounds perfect. However, let's wait for the pizza first time." "Yes, but I could boil water and..." "Come on, Y/n. I've missed you so much and I just want to enjoy your attention for a bit. I'm happy if we just sit here and wait, looking at…"  Chan pauses, looking confused at your paused TV screen. He is looking for help from you regarding the name of the series you are watching. "Supernatural." you let him know. "Would you like something to drink? I have some coke." "So I'm happy if we just sit here and wait, watching Supernatural while we wait for that damn pizza. Some water is perfect though." Chan closes his eyes and relaxes completely on your sofa, seeming to enjoy the quiet moments. It’s obvious that he is more than tired and that stress has left its mark on him. You put water in his glass, hoping that he will fall asleep until the food comes. However, you notice that Chan looks at you as soon as he hears you coming towards him with the glass in your hand. He keeps his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, looking at your body. In fact, his gaze leaves your face to rest on your bare thighs, then returns to your face. His lips open as if he wants to say something, then close again. You realize you're wearing shorts and your scars are visible. You panic, not knowing exactly what to do. Chan seems to understand the situation, because he lightly taps the seat next to him on the sofa. You step unsteadily, placing the glass on the table in front of him, then sitting in the place indicated by him. Almost immediately you take one of the pillows and cover your legs. "Did you place the order on my name as I suggested?" Your friend insisted for a long time that you give any kind of order using his name.  He is already worried about the fact that you moved alone, a little further from the dorms he shares with the boys and his company, so it takes him longer to reach you in case of need. Chan was always a friend who protected you without suffocating you with his presence, and this method seemed to him the best way to let people know that there is someone who cares about you. Besides that, Chan managed to accompany you on the street several times, especially after dark. He turned this into your little game: the two of you pretend to go on business around town, you being just a staff member accompanying your idol. In reality, Chan is the one who takes care of you, but in the curious eyes of the fans, you are just another innocent girl on his team doing her job. "Of course." You confirm without looking him in the eye. "I've been doing this since the first night I promised you this." "I'm proud that you finally decided to stop being stubborn, Y/n. And thank you for deciding to trust me." he answers you as he wraps his strong arm around your shoulders, hugging you gently and surrounding you with his pleasant warmth. Chan has such a kind heart and is so full of love that you melt. You two have fought many times because of the little games you play. You understand his need to protect the people he cares about, but you also feel the need to protect him. In your view, games like this are dangerous for him and for all his work. But Chan had the patience to calmly explain to you, several times even, that he has the situation under control. And in the end, exactly as he just said, you decided to trust him. In fact, he is the only person in the whole world in whom you have full confidence. But it scares you that he would risk everything just to keep you safe. That's how Chan is. He has around him a small group of people who are really close to him, and he wants to take care of each one of them. You know very well that this includes you. Chan wants to know you safe, happy and unharmed more than anything. Your mind wanders to the scars on your thighs. The fact that Chan saw the results of your weakness makes your heart ache. You did this a while ago, when he was just an trainee. Back then, Chan was careful to take care of each cut separately, bandaging you with a lot of love and attention, not just with pieces of material. Your friend chose to understand you, not to judge you. He used to say that heroes have scars from their battles with villains and that you are his secret hero. Chan always joked that he would always keep your superhero identity a secret as long as you continued to fight your villains. And for a while, you stopped hurting yourself, and he started saying that good defeated evil, you succeeding in bringing that good into the world. He really made a beautiful story about courage in your weakness and cowardice, continuing to tell it to others. He pretended that he was fine, that he was not hurt by the fact that his friend was hurting herself. The truth is that you could see the pain in his eyes. You could see how devastated he was when he talked about it, trying to save others, saying in pain: "I had friends who did this.". You understood that your suffering was his suffering. The fact that you were the one hurting you, and he couldn't do anything to protect you, really messed him up. So you stopped. You stopped because you loved Chan. Then you gave in and started again. You were too embarrassed to tell Chan, and he already had too many things to deal with right now. So you kept everything a secret from him. At this moment, feeling him so close to you, the guilt grows in your chest, forcing you to keep your head bowed before him. You feel guilty that you lied to him, that you kept something so important away from him, that maybe you made him not feel wanted in your life. And that hurts more than the fine cuts on your skin. Because Chan is everything you want in your life. Chan knows how you feel. He knows you well enough to easily read your thoughts in your eyes, even if you hide as much as you can from him. He is not stupid. He felt that something was wrong with you, that you run away from him for a reason. This is the reason why he decided to finish the work he had to do in the studio faster this night and come to you. Chan understands how you feel and decides to give you time and space, choosing not to approach you directly. "Let's make another order. I'll pay." Chan tells you as he starts to massage one of your shoulders to reduce your stress. "But we decided together that I'm going to cook for you. That's if instant noodles can be called 'cooking'." "You're kidding?” Chan's voice is happy and relaxed, looking at you with playful eyes and a sweet smile at the corner of his lips. "You're the best instant noodle chef. But..." Chan stops to take his phone out of his jeans pocket, searching for the food app. "I'm tired. I've had a very long few days." he pauses again, thinking. "And nights too. But more importantly, I'm sure you've had a busier time than I have. So I can't let you cook. I think it's our time to relax." He finishes his sentence with a pout, and you need all the will in the world not to pinch his cheeks. You can quietly swear with your hand on your heart that your friend is a huge guy. He is not the tallest, but the hours spent in the gym and his large shoulders make him look imposing despite his height. He is definitely an intimidating man for many. What few people know is that Chan has the soul and innocence of a child. And you fully enjoyed this side of him because he never shied away from showing it to you. "So, do you want anything else to eat?" Chan asks you, scrolling through the menu on the app. "No, I think I'm ok with pizza." "Oh, come on. You're only saying that because you're going to eat whatever I order. I know you too well. Ok, I'll have double portions." Chan tries to talk briskly and joke, since you know exactly what you're both thinking. Your volcanic temperament cannot let this pass. "I know you want to say something, Chris. Please, just say it, I can't take this tension anymore. Let's talk about whatever you want to talk about." "I actually want to ask you something." he begins. "Why did you suddenly disappear?" Chan finishes ordering and throws the phone on the coffee table in front of you, turning to face you. He keeps one leg under him, his head supported by his hand, looking at you with soft and warm eyes. It seems that Chan is determined to focus only on you. "You didn't come to me anymore. You didn't send a message like every day, you didn't call me at the end of the day to tell me about your day." continued your friend. "You completely disappeared for a few days, and when I tried to talk to you, it was as if you were running away from me. I was worried. So I came here." "You have enough things to take care of right now. You're constantly working and taking care of so many things that you barely have time to take care of yourself. I didn't want to be something that takes you away from your work."  After hearing your words, Chan straightens up, looking at you closely. "Did you avoid me because you thought you were too much for me?" You see something in his eyes, something that hurts you. Something you can't bear, somewhere between pain, fear and worry. The thought that your beloved friend feels this way because of you devastates you. You feel you don't deserve Chan. You avoid his gaze, pretending to gather imaginary fluff from the pillow you hold in your arms.  "Of course I don't believe that." lie to him. You hate to lie to him, but you seem to be doing it more and more lately. "I just wanted you to have more time for your work. And I'm so excited to see what you and your boys are up to. I really am. But I know how important work is to you and…” "Y/n."  Chan interrupts you, then grabs your hand with which you started to pick up the invisible fluffs more and more aggressively. He intertwines his fingers with yours, leaning forward a little to meet your gaze. "I want you around me. I want you to be in my studio again, to give me your opinion on the songs I'm working on or just to work together quietly. Even if I'm busy, I need you and I want to hang out together."  A tear slides down your cheek, causing Chan to place a finger under your chin, lifting your head. "Look at me, please." Chan asks you, in the softest voice possible, as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumb. "Don't run away from me. Even if I'm always stuck in my studio, the door is always open for you. You can always come to me, whenever you need. I'll always listen to you, even if you think I'm busy. I'm never too busy for you." Chan gently takes the pillow from your legs, pulling himself towards you and wrapping his arms around you. The perfume that you often laugh at because it is too strong envelops you, calming you down even if you are now crying a lot. The big hug he gives you is warm and familiar, and he just holds you, knowing you need to vent. "I'll never judge you. You know that, so please don't run away from me. My work is important, but you're more important. And I'll never leave you behind. After all, I'm just Chris, and you are Y/n. No one can come between us." Chan starts caressing your thighs, gently running his fingers over your old scars and being careful not to touch the new ones. You feel ashamed and want to stop him, but you still don't. His caress feels so healing, that you enjoy it with a special thirst. The truth is that Chan is the first person to see your scars. You were careful to keep them hidden, even from the guys you spent the night with. This is also the reason why the thighs were your favorite place to take revenge on yourself. You didn't want anyone to see how weak you really are. Only Chan managed to see this vulnerable side of you. "I'm not mad about it. I can't imagine the mental pain you had to endure alone to do this again. In my eyes, your scars make you even more beautiful. But please, don't hurt yourself anymore . Come to me whenever you feel the need to do so. I will do whatever it takes to protect you." Chan whispers to you. "I know you would do anything for me. But what do you mean my marks make me more beautiful?" you ask him in total confusion. "You know, stars are just a collection of gases held together by their own gravity. If we were to think about it objectively, we could say that they are ugly things, right? But people have been fascinated by them for centuries. We grouped them into constellations and gave them their own stories and meanings. Even the two of us are fascinated by these gatherings of ugly gas. We see them as beautiful and have spent whole nights watching them." Chan looks at your face full of love, tirelessly wiping the tears that flow down your cheeks while he speaks. He giggles when he sees your even more confused expression. "Stop laughing. I didn't understand your comparison." you growled at him while lightly slapping him on the shoulder. You realize that you are also laughing despite the sadness you feel, then you sulk like a small child. This is the effect Chan has on you. You simply laugh every time he is near you. He melts at the sight of your pursed lips, hugging you tighter. You almost suffocate in his bear hug, but you never want him to let you go. "What I mean is, these scars of yours are your constellations. Maybe you see them as ugly things, but to me they are beautiful because they tell stories. Each one is a fragment of your story, just like each star is a fragment of the story of its constellation." Chan explains. "With each of your constellations, your galaxy grows, thus becoming bigger, stronger and brighter. A galaxy that I’m most fascinated by and about which I most want to learn. This galaxy is you, and I I can't imagine my universe without this wonderful galaxy." You continue to cry into your friend's arms until your order arrives, closely followed by his. Now he is in your kitchen, preparing everything you need to eat. You are so happy to see him again. Everything seems so natural, he complements the landscape of your apartment so well, that your heart jumps again. This time for happiness. You realize that the real reason why you hid from him is shame. But Chan understands and accepts you as you are, offering you only love and security in return. Maybe you are not perfect, but he sees something beautiful in you. And that is enough for you to continue. And tomorrow, and the next day and every day. You can't help but run to the kitchen, the sound of your bare feet making him turn towards you just in time. You throw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. Clinging with your whole body to the only man who really matters to you. "I promise you that I will never run away from you again. I won't hide anything from you, Chistophor. I promise you that.” you whisper to him in a hoarse voice. Chan hugs you in turn. He doesn't say anything. He knows that it is not necessary to add more words to me. All you need now is for Chan to hold you.

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