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#like i was sitting here waiting for people to bring back the camp of the 2000s and she said yes im gay and i'll do it
too-deviant · 1 month
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The incessant ringing of loneliness (or three weeks part two).
Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader
Summary: Luke is back, officially. But you can’t find it in yourself to be happy about it.
Content: angst, loser!luke makes an appearance, a lil fluff, this one is probably happier than part one
Word Count: 4k
Notes: i can’t thank you guys enough for the love on three weeks :( it really means the world, and i hope you enjoy this one too! i don’t think there’s gonna be a part 3 just because i want the rest of luke and r’s story to be up to your own interpretation - especially since his path to healing is such an important factor and it could go in any way. hope that’s ok with you guys :)
꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷
You weren’t very popular at camp.
Despite the fact that you’d been there for longer than most of its occupants, and that you’d bandaged up some of their gnarlier injuries, you just didn’t have what it took to have people know your name upon first glance.
Clarisse had her unbridled aggression — she scared people into knowing who she was. Charles Beckendorf was the guy you went to when you broke a sword and didn’t want Chiron finding out about it, plus he was six foot six and kinda hard to miss. The Stoll Twins were behind pretty much every crazy scheme that ended up in Hermes losing desert privileges. Luke was…well, he was Luke. Need I say more?
Point is, while everyone knew everyone, not everyone really knew you. They knew your face, your parentage, and your overall skill set. But they didn’t know your name, or what made you tick.
Which was fine, really. You liked the alone time you got in the infirmary when your sister would run out to gossip with her friends in Aphrodite whenever she saw them walk by. You didn’t mind that, when your cabin got their hour of free time each day, your siblings would rush off to their friends and you would simply settle down with a good book.
It’s not as if you were entirely lonely — you had your fellow Apollo kids. You, Alina and Lee bonded especially, being the older kids of the group. So you had them — the only difference was that they had other people, too.
Which, again, was fine.
Except when you started to take care of Luke, you finally felt like you had a person. You looked forward to seeing him after meals each day, and you found excuses to linger in his room whenever possible. Call it odd, but you grew to enjoy the fact that nobody else knew he was back. Because that way, you had him, he had you, and that was that.
But then Luke got better.
You didn’t even have time to worry about it — one minute you were scarfing down your breakfast, eager to bring that second plate up to the Big House, and ignoring the strange looks your siblings sent you. Then in a split moment, everyone was cheering, people were standing and suddenly you didn’t feel so crowded anymore.
You heard murmurs of excitement, but people were practically standing on the table around you — unhygienic, much? People are eating here — and you couldn’t see what they were looking at. You tugged on your brother’s leg and he glanced down at your raised brow, then he said, “Luke’s back!”
It was like you were sucked back in time. No — it was like you were sitting in a waiting room, shivering from the cold breeze that whisked in through the automatic doors. And then the doors closed, and you could release the tension in your body because the warmth was already reaching your fingers — only for someone to walk past and make the doors open again, sending the sharp sting of the cold right back to where it was before.
Yes. That’s what it was — the warmth Luke’s eyes on you had provided was suddenly ripped completely from you the second your brother's words reached your ears. Replaced with the blistering cold of nobody ever knowing your name.
So it was back to normal for you. The normal you had grown accustomed to — the normal you liked. The normal you thought you liked, anyway. 
You didn’t even catch a glimpse of Luke’s face as you stood and left the Pavilion, focusing on the floor beneath your feet rather than the crowd forming around him. Oh, but you couldn’t forget that he was back, it was all anybody could talk about. Once they’d done the math and realised he was the patient you’d been taking care of for three weeks, you locked yourself in your cabin to avoid all the questions, and didn’t see him until the very next day. 
The chatter of Luke’s return had died down when you woke up the next morning — a little later than you usually did, Lee having to shake you so you wouldn’t miss breakfast. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pulled a clean camp shirt over your head, stumbling a little due to the fact that you hadn’t fully woken up yet. 
When you were ready, Lee was waiting by the door. A few of your siblings were still getting themselves into a line after his loud Fall in! had woken them up, so you had time to stretch your arms and let out a sigh once you had taken your place beside him. You and Alina always walked with him to mealtimes, even though neither of you were counsellors, and you greeted her with a smile. 
The air was stuffy again — so much so that even Lee let out a wince when the shining glow of the front door hit his eyes. Then he stepped out of the cabin — his usual routine of checking the garden and cabin for pranks before letting them out coming into play. But he stopped. 
“What?”
He swung his head back at you, brows raised and smile growing, “Luke’s back.”
Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes, “Pretty sure we all know that, already.”
“Yeah, but —“ He turned fully then, hands on the doorframe and grin shining, “He’s back, which means the Hermes kids are finally under control again, which means we don’t have to worry about being pranked first thing in the morning!”
“Holy crap.” Alina was grinning now, both of your siblings looking at you and each-other with this excited expression that made you sort of angry – why are they perceiving Luke? They’re not allowed. 
You huffed a sigh as Lee started to lead the line outside, “He got back yesterday, there’s no way he’s already –”
But he was. As you stepped into the sun, the skin on your thighs already forming an uncomfortable layer of sweat, you looked to where the Hermes cabin was filing out of their door, led by the one and only Luke Castellan. You paused. 
He’d been back a day. Sure, his scar had healed nicely, but it was only three days ago that he was struggling to hold his own in a sword fight – if he was back to his counsellor duties, was he going back to teaching sword fighting? You were unsure he should even be in charge of all those Hermes and unclaimed kids so soon, but going back to teaching only days after coming back to camp? There was no way he was ready for that.
Should you say something? Or would he dismiss you, now that he was done with you?
You watched as he walked with Chris, chatting idly as if nothing was wrong. But you saw Chris glance occasionally at the jagged line through his brother’s eye, and you saw Luke attempt to ignore it. 
Should you say something?
You tripped. You were so busy staring creepily at Luke that you tripped over your own feet and tumbled into Lee’s back. He stumbled slightly but righted himself with a huff and a chuckle, turning and asking if you were alright. 
But you had looked straight back in Luke’s direction – he was still talking to Chris. He wasn’t looking at you. 
He wasn’t your person anymore.
Luke was unsure. 
Which didn’t happen often — as one of the oldest campers, and the one everyone else looked to in times of peril, it was sort of essential for him to be sure. He needed to know what to do, to have a solution for every situation, and to be completely calm about it. Otherwise, camp would go to shit. 
That much was obvious — he didn’t know why you hadn’t told him this in the three weeks you spent together, but camp had turned itself upside down in his absence. Apparently nobody was prepared for him to be gone for so long, and they kind of all lost their shit. 
He was happy to be back, don’t get him wrong. He lit up when he saw his brother’s faces again, when he felt their arms wrap around him. He laughed when Travis joked about thinking he was dead, and when Connor quipped that the camp was seconds away from starting a revolution. He nodded at Chiron, smiled amusedly when Mr D rolled his eyes, he scooped Annabeth into his arms, whispered to her that yes, he was alive, and he let himself be whisked to his table, the crowd following like moths to a flame. 
It was slightly overwhelming, but he was well-equipped to deal with it. He liked the feeling — if he ignored the throbbing on the side of his face, it could be like he’d never even left. The quest never happened, the dragon never happened, and people are just happy to see him because he’s their counsellor. Of course they would be. Everything was fine. 
Everything was fine — so he ignored the urge to scan his eyes across the crowd in search of a familiar head of hair. He stopped himself from glancing at the Apollo table, from looking in Lee’s direction, just in case he wasn’t standing alone. 
Because he didn’t need you anymore. Not that he didn’t appreciate all you did for him, but the healing was done. He was better, he was back at camp — he was Luke Castellan again. If he looked for you, if he met those eyes and returned that smile, it would be admitting defeat. Admitting that he wasn’t better, that he still needed his doctor. 
But he didn’t. Because he was back, baby! And he didn’t need to think about that stupid quest, his stupid dad, or his stupid scar ever again. 
He had a short chat with Chiron, who looked a little uneasy when he expressed his readiness to get back to camp duties. He told him that it was fine if he needed time to settle in, but Luke was firm. He didn’t need to settle, he didn’t need to wait. So Chiron sighed, and told him to escort his cabin to the climbing walls for their morning session. 
And that’s how the rest of the day went — climbing wall, arts and crafts cabin, strawberry fields, archery practice. Luke did it all, just like he used to before he left. If people would just stop looking at his damn scar, maybe he could pretend he never left at all. If they stopped murmuring about him being the secret camper, hidden from them this whole time, he could avoid thinking about you and the sweet touch of your fingers on his face. 
The fact that he hadn’t seen you at all since his return helped him on that front — you weren’t around at breakfast, lunch or dinner. You weren’t in the infirmary whenever he peeked through the windows. You weren’t with the rest of your cabin when they were paired with Hermes for hand-to-hand defence practice. 
Not that he was looking for you, or anything.  
“Hey, man.” Chris clapped him on the shoulder as they walked up to breakfast. It had officially been twenty-four hours since Luke’s return, and the chatter had died down significantly. That was good for him, helped him ignore the fact that he was ever not there. 
All he had to do was keep his eyes off you — who had magically reappeared in camp — as you also walked up to breakfast, the Apollo kids trailing behind you, Lee and Alina. 
“Listen, you did great yesterday.” His brother was saying, and he zoned in on it. “It was like you never left.”
Cool, that was the plan. 
“But it’s sword fighting today.” 
Luke raised a brow, “So?”
“So…” Chris sang, awkwardly waving a hand, “You don’t have to jump right back into training us, is what I���m saying.”
He scoffed, running a hand through us curls, “Nah, bro, I’m good.”
“Are you sure? Because —“
“Y’know, Chris,” Luke sent his brother a cheeky look as they took their seats around the Hermes table, “if you’re scared to get back to my gruelling training sessions, just say that.”
Chris’ face fell, appalled, and he put a hand on his chest, “Scared? Dude, you’re the one who should be scared. I’ve gotten good since you’ve been gone.”
And there it was — a reminder that it wasn’t the same. That he couldn’t pretend he had never left, because nobody else was. Whatever, it’d be fine. A couple of weeks and this would all blow over and he would never have to think about it again. 
The Amphitheatre, unlike the rest of the camp amenities, was familiar to him. He didn’t need to stand and take it all in like he did with everywhere else, because he’d been here not even a week ago with —
No. Stop. You aren’t in his life anymore. He never went on his quest. Everything is how it should be. 
The kids gathered around him were letting off a range of emotions as Luke stood before them, sword in hand. The younger ones were giddy, eager to get back to training with their favourite teacher. Some of the older ones, however, were only slightly confused that he’d bounced back so quickly. If he had to spend three weeks in the Big House before even going outside, was he ready to jump right back into sword training? Maybe he’d go easier on them today, take it slow. 
“Alright — if there’s anything I've learnt over the years, it’s that sword fighting is all about reflexes. So, today, we will be working on y’all’s dodging skills. Oliver, get up here!”
Luke was back on Mount Tamalpais. The fiery breath Ladon was shooting at him seared his skin and burnt holes into his shirt. He was ducking out of the way, but there was no room to breathe when another one of his hundred heads came at him with a fierce snarl. His sword felt useless in his hands, every swing being deflected and every jab proving useless compared to the dragon's swift movements. 
He blinked, and he was back at camp. Sparring with an unclaimed kid who’s name was lost on him. Sweat dripped down his brows but he wiped it away with shaky fingers. He gave an off-handed comment on the kids form before calling a water break. 
“Yo— woah, man!” 
Chris looked wide-eyed at Luke. He had tapped him gently on the shoulder and he had responded with an aggressive swing towards him. He stepped out of the arc just in time, but Luke still dropped the sword like it had burnt him. He stepped back, hands shaking, and stared at the ground. 
It was odd — being at Archery in the mornings. You’d spent three weeks skipping the hour in favour of taking food to Luke and ensuring his dressings were changed. Which for most cabins, was what? Three classes a week? 
Not for the Apollo kids — who have always and will always have their first hour spent on the Archery fields. Mainly because it’s when the sun is rising, shining on them in the early mornings and giving them their power to hit the bullseye. You included, even if healing was more your purview. 
So you’d missed probably around twenty classes, give or take a few. Your form was, well, subpar at best. Lee had to spend the entire hour making sure you didn’t accidentally hit one of your siblings — and that was after he had to re-teach you the basics. 
You probably would’ve been better had you not been so distracted — your mind whirring with thoughts of Luke. You wished your brain would just leave it alone, but apparently you weren’t done mulling over the situation. You wanted to slap yourself across the face and say hey, idiot. The three weeks is up, he’s healed. It’s over. But your siblings would probably look at you weird, so you decided against it. 
Instead, you threw yourself into your duties. Archery was a bump in the road, but now you were smooth sailing. You didn’t focus on anything else but what you had to do that day — not taking a moment to breathe because if you did that, you’d start thinking about Castellan again. You didn’t want that, you really didn’t want that. 
It was going really well, too. But then Chiron just had to interrupt your canoeing session, asking you to clear out any medical supplies you left over in the spare room of the Big House since nobody was staying there anymore.
Oh, great. You were thinking about him again. 
And then all the thoughts you’d been suppressing since ten in the morning were overflowing your head, and you thought you might have had to ask Mr D if you were going mad because when you cracked open the door and peeked your head in, Luke was sitting on the edge of the bed like usual and you had to blink to make the hallucination go away. 
Except it didn’t go away. Instead it looked at you and smiled, “Hi.”
Your lips parted, and you stepped in. Your eyebrows curved in on themselves, “Uh, hey. What are you…”
You were still about seventy percent sure that he wasn’t real, but nobody was there to listen to you talk to air, so you replied anyway. Luke clicked his tongue, let out a chuckle, then sighed, “I don’t think I can do it.”
Okay, fifty percent sure. 
“Do what?”
“Go back out there.” He gestured a hand to the window that pointed outside, although it was still covered with the curtain. “I thought…I dunno, I guess I got too excited yesterday. Thought I was ready to jump back into it.”
You stepped fully through the threshold, and he followed you with his eyes as you walked over to the desk. Nothing but a few spare bandages that you scooped into your arms before looking back at him. You tilted your head, “Healing isn’t linear. It’s perfectly normal to feel like you’re on top of the world one day and then like it’s crumbling around you the next.”
He stood, walked over to you. Thirty percent. 
“I don’t want to disappoint them.” 
“You won't.” You shook your head, “You made a big step, coming back to camp. That's it for now, you don’t need to take any more big steps for a while.”
He nodded, “No more big steps.”
“Not until you’re ready.”
Luke’s hands reached out, taking the bandages from where you cradled them to your chest. He put them back onto the desk behind you. Ten percent. 
His eyes bore into yours, “I don’t think I’m done healing.”
You shook your head surely, “I don’t think you are, either. And that’s okay.” 
He nodded, lips clicking when he parted them, “Which means you’re not allowed to leave me yet. You have to stay with me until I’m fully better.”
You shook your head then, stammering, “It’s — that’s not how it works. What you went through, it — you might not ever be fully better.” 
But Luke just nodded like he knew that already, taking a step closer, “I think I’m okay with that.”
“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. What the hell do you say to that? “Okay.”
He nodded, pressing his lips together, “So you’re not gonna leave me.”
Five percent.
A shake of your head, “Not until you ask me to.”
“Good.”
He wrapped his arms around you, and you froze. Okay, he was real. He was really there. You were sure. You hugged him back — he buried his face into your neck and whispered something about you never leaving him again and you whispered something in return about how you wouldn’t dream of it.
So, apparently, you severely underestimated what it was like to be friends with Luke.
You’d thought about it — of course you had. You would imagine what perfect golden boy Luke Castellan was like when he didn’t have to be a perfect golden boy. When he could just be a boy, hanging out with his friends like a normal person would. What jokes did he tell? Did he still keep up that Luke Castellan Grin or did he relax into an easy smirk? Did he make his friends follow the rules even when they were alone? Did he follow the rules when he was alone?
You wondered, although you never thought you’d actually find out. But he’d made it clear you were never leaving his side so long as he still needed you — and he was sticking to that. Firmly.
The summer sun was hot on your back — only this time your dad seemed to be going easy on you, as you weren’t completely uncomfortable under the warm cotton of your camp shirt. You still wafted it every now and then, proving some cool air to your chest, but overall you were feeling good.
You walked into the Amphitheatre with the rest of your siblings — who were less than amused that, despite Luke’s return to camp, Tyler P from the Hephaestus cabin was still running sword fighting practice. They heaved themselves onto the tiered seats with dramatic groans, but he simply grinned at them.
You paused from where you were about to sit down next to Alina when a waving hand caught your peripheral. It was Luke, tucked into the very top corner of the steps, smiling at you from the shadows.
“What the hell are you doing?” You asked when you reached him, raising your brow in amusement. He patted the spot next to him and you sat down, just as Tyler began to talk. Luke leaned in.
“I’m watching.” He muttered into your ear, then he smirked at you, “You can’t stop me from doing that.”
“I wasn’t going to.” You murmured, leaning back on your elbows and watching as your siblings paired up reluctantly. “Thanks for pulling me away, though. Gives me an excuse not to take part.”
Luke huffed a laugh, “He can’t be that bad, right?”
“Just you wait.” You smirked.
Turns out, Tyler was that bad. Every ‘new skill’ he tried to teach them either (a) they already knew, something Luke liked to whisper at you with a shake of his head, or (b) he couldn’t even do it himself, let alone teach others how to. Another thing Luke commented on from where he sat beside you, hands aching to get in there and show him what was what.
“Just one tip, and then I’ll go.” He begged under his breath as Tyler dropped his sword for the umpteenth time. “Please.”
“No.” You didn’t even look at him, “Because one tip turns into a demonstration. And a —“
“— a demonstration turns into a class, yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes, but you just grinned at him. He smiled, “You’re mean.”
“I know.” You said in a faux-sympathetic tone. You pouted at him, “I’m just so cruel, aren’t I?”
His eyes narrowed, and his mouth stretched into a disbelieving grin, “Damn, doc. What happened to you?”
You scoffed amusedly, “You did.”
His mouth dropped open and you smiled, looking away. He poked your side and you shuffled away with a giggle, attempting to ignore his riled up smile. He didn’t relent, for every inch you moved away from him, he scooted right back towards you. You looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “I miss when you were too miserable to talk to me.”
“No you don’t.” He shook his head. He was right, you didn’t.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, and you felt it on your face. That was when you realised how close your faces were — mere centimetres apart. You swallowed thickly, but you didn’t move away. Luke’s smile stretched, and his hand began to inch up your arm.
You squinted, “What are you doing?”
It was his turn to feign confusion, pulling his lips into the same pout you did only moments earlier, “What are you talking about?”
His hand was at your elbow now, sliding higher. You shook your head, a minute movement, “Doctor Patient Fraternising isn’t allowed.”
He gasped, pulling his hand back in favour of placing it dramatically against his chest, “It’s not?”
“Nope.” You grinned amusedly, “Sorry.”
“Damn.” He leaned back, glancing at you for a second before looking back towards Tyler’s shitshow of a sword lesson, “Guess I’ll have to get another doctor.”
You snorted, “You’re a loser.”
You stood up and went to rejoin your siblings, and Luke shouted after you, “I’m your loser!”
“What was that?” Lee asked when you stopped beside him.
“What? Oh,” You glanced back at where Luke was sat, and he averted his gaze from where he had been looking at you. You looked up at your brother, “He’s just happy to be back, is all.”
He chuckled, “Sure.”
Whatever. He was your person again and Lee could suck your dick if he had anything to say about it.
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thatfreshi · 7 months
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Can I request Astarion x reader and he drinks from u when your standing and your legs buckle and you start to collapse from the blood loss but he catches you and Carries you to your bedroll and takes care of you?
Forgive me if it's rough, still trying to figure out the speech patterns!
Recommended Song: Ivy - SALES
It usually wasn’t often that Astarion asked to feed on you. Sadly, resources have been scarce, wild animals included. Anytime Lae’zel is out scouting she tries to bring something back for him, but to no avail. Recently, he had been asking quite often, and there is always an air of guilt in his question. 
“I’m sorry to ask my love, I just worry the others will see me differently, if I were to feed on one of them.”
It’s not as if your other companions aren’t aware of his situation, or the fact that you have to satiate him every once in a while. You think he simply feels like a burden, having to ask people for the very thing that sustains him. He just feels a little less like a burden when he asks you.
“Of course dear, no need to be sorry.”
You’ve gotten used to how this goes, as you’ve been travelling together for quite some time, and you and Astarion got smitten rather quickly. He’s always quite gentle, even if it does hurt at first. Instead of sitting down however, you continue working on stitching up a piece of your sleep-wear. With powerful magic from the likes of Gale and Shadowheart, you think such minute things could be fixed easily, but alas, they still require a realistic solution.
While you’re busy putting to work the simple stitch he taught you, Astarion moves to drink, wrapping you in a warm embrace. Many would think that the act of being drained of your own blood would be, well, terrifying, but something about it is quite intimate, heartwarming even. You don’t even really think about how your veins start running cold, how you start to feel much worse than normal. Then, you’re on the ground, needle and thread along with you. 
“Darling! I apologize, I should’ve had you lie down first, I should’ve-” 
He cuts off his own words as he scrambles to think. You’re still not fully there, but you want to tell him you’re fine. Sadly, eyes can’t always tell all. Even your parasite seems too drained to connect with him. When you regain some of your senses, you see that Astarion has brought you back to your bedroll, muttering something to himself, pacing the tent.
“I could’ve waited, I would’ve been fine. I-”
He pauses, realizing you’ve started to stir.
“Tav, darling, are you alright?”
You try sitting up, and he quickly moves to support your back, wrapping his arm around you waist.
“Yeah… yeah I’m okay.”
“I apologize, I knew it was a risk to feed on you again so soon. I put you in a terrible position, asking you like that.”
You reach to put your hand over his.
“No, it’s alright. I’ve become so nonchalant about it, I should’ve been much more considerate of the circumstances.”
He’s silent, trying to find another way to blame himself. The truth is, both of you were quite tired from the recent adventuring, and weren’t thinking straight. 
“I’ll tell them all we should stay at camp for another day. Or perhaps they can journey back to the Grove and we can stay for another evening.”
You tighten your grasp on his hand until he finally make eye contact with you.
“Astarion, it’s fine, truly. I’ll be fine tomorrow, come morning.”
You smile at him, despite the nausea caught in your throat. He feels bad enough, no use in making it worse. 
“Here, come lie with me.”
You meet the ground once again, and he joins you shortly after. He still has that look, that dreary mist across his eyes. Instead of trying to tell him in words, you nestle into his side, wrapping yourself around him, a way of saying ‘I still love you, no matter what.’ He leaves a kiss on your forehead, and finally lets the tension go. You close your eyes soon after, exhausted. Astarion never tells you, but he stayed awake and by your side the entire night, unmoving, just in case.
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love-that-we-were-in · 2 months
Text
indelible scars, pivotal marks
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader
summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.
a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !
Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 
The respite lasts one night.
By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.
Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 
Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.
*
You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 
“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”
He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.
“I like to watch the sunrise.” 
He hums. “I’m Luke.”
He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.
*
Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.
You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 
“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 
He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”
Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 
There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 
“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 
He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.
“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 
“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”
It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.
Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.
“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”
*
There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.
You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 
“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”
“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”
“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 
He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”
There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 
He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.
Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 
*
You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 
“Don’t be mad at me.” 
“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”
Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”
“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 
In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.
“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.
“Doesn’t really seem that way.”
“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”
It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.
He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.
There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 
“Promise to be here when I get back?” 
“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”
He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.
*
The scar becomes a part of him. 
It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 
It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 
His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 
Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.
“You got attacked by a dragon?” 
It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.
“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”
“At least it looks pretty cool.” 
The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.
“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.
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randombush3 · 1 month
Text
dies irae
alexia putellas x reader
part one, part two, part three
words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)
summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary
warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh
notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x
weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!
i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part
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The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses. 
However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver. 
“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!” 
The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp. 
“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers. 
“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise. 
“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?” 
“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?” 
“In the sand?” 
“Sí, in the sand.” 
He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest. 
“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.” 
“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia. 
“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally. 
“Mm. You are magically both.” 
You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.
A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level. 
“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission. 
She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due. 
She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands. 
“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.” 
“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect. 
“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.” 
“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.
“She has her own team, you know.” 
“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze. 
“Why?”
“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”
Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down. 
“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.” 
“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”
“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.” 
“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps. 
Cheated. 
“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.
“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards. 
“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.” 
“Thank you.” 
“Are you… alright?” 
She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up. 
You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos. 
Intimate, huh. 
They are practically snogging. 
There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last. 
The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021. 
The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.
What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you. 
The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true. 
Love goes up in flames before your eyes. 
And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more. 
“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you. 
“Where is Lena?” 
“Dormida, aún.” 
Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.” 
“Vale. Te quiero.” 
You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. 
Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps. 
Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia. 
A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?” 
The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost. 
You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.
Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat. 
It has been six hours since you found out.
Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died. 
When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable. 
You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect. 
“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.” 
“Why? What have I done?” 
She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”
It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is. 
She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her. 
Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would. 
She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened. 
In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself. 
“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap. 
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 
Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic. 
She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it. 
And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer. 
“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.” 
Everything is ruined because of her. 
It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife. 
Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak. 
Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod. 
She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie. 
“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?” 
“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”
He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land. 
You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died. 
But this is how it goes. 
You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.
It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t. 
The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine. 
Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay. 
“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.  
He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?” 
“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.” 
Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.” 
“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it. 
“She sounds funny.” 
“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading). 
“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?” 
You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners. 
You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.” 
Alexia does not know what to do. 
She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible. 
She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come. 
The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that. 
Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill. 
She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net. 
Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns. 
Something goes wrong. 
Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it? 
Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible. 
Maybe. 
The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.
“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee. 
She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears. 
A second later, she is unconscious. 
When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her. 
A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name. 
She whispers it over and over again. 
“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.” 
The call is unexpected. 
Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros. 
“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment. 
Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given. 
Pain becomes part of everyday life.
Crutches, too. 
Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery. 
It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport. 
When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them. 
This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish! 
She has two children with you, for God’s sake!
“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”
Alexia, The Ruiner. 
She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner. 
Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.” 
“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.” 
Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however. 
“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner. 
It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic. 
Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle). 
She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point. 
She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup. 
“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing. 
Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?” 
“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.” 
“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.
“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!” 
All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently. 
If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable. 
Instead. 
Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!” 
Eli sits back in her chair, shocked. 
“What have you done?” 
Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.” 
Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access. 
For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would. 
Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will. 
“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…” 
“I don’t think she wanted to–” 
“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!” 
You cringe. “Don’t be crass.” 
“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.” 
“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.” 
“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her). 
“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.” 
Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”
You swear. 
“What time’s our train leaving?!” 
The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many. 
England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury. 
The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well). 
“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug. 
“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.” 
She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?” 
Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership. 
You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour). 
You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary? 
Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married. 
“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.” 
You smile. “Really?” 
“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information. 
You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete. 
When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with. 
Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family. 
Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least. 
You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves. 
You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you. 
“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.
“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”
“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing. 
Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes. 
She quickly blinks them back. 
“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–” 
“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”
“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?” 
Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said. 
“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–” 
“Isabela,” Isabela supplies. 
“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.” 
She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor. 
Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.” 
The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi. 
Alexia begins to get nervous. 
Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression. 
Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish. 
Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.
The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines. 
You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime. 
A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family. 
“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence. 
Ona stands to one side and you pass. 
Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries. 
You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse. 
You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way. 
Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough. 
Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players. 
“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.” 
Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her. 
September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album. 
Judgement Day. 
For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.
Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.
You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children. 
They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go. 
Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power. 
Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years. 
In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that. 
You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music. 
“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.” 
At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself. 
You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house. 
Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last. 
Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.
Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler. 
Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)
“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?” 
“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.” 
“Who?” he pouts. 
“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia.  “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–” 
He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.” 
“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.” 
“Really?” 
“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.” 
Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.
Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers. 
As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.
“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it. 
He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles. 
“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.” 
Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.” 
“I miss Mama.” 
His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable. 
“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.” 
“Really?” 
“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that. 
“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!” 
Then again, there are other ways to be petty.
Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.
After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite. 
High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all. 
The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe. 
There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything. 
Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around. 
One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia. 
Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility. 
“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it. 
“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.” 
Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.” 
“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.” 
The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’. 
With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up. 
The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?
“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more. 
“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well. 
“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.” 
You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?” 
He is too young to know what scepticism looks like. 
“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.” 
You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod. 
“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.” 
… 
Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.” 
“What, Alexia?” 
You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her. 
“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!” 
Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”
“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”
Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.” 
“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–” 
“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”
Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.” 
It is a baseless accusation. You both know it. 
“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!” 
Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.
“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”
“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!” 
You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off. 
Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place. 
It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit. 
("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.
"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.
It never ends.
So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”
She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting. 
"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"
"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."
"And why not?"
Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more. 
Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles. 
"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."
The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner. 
"Smartass."
"It's just the truth."
"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."
Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"
"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."
To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.
"You need to fix this.")
Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.
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lovelytsunoda · 2 months
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nation of two // oscar piastri
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summary: a camping trip in perth, and a set of missing sleeping bags brings together a pair of childhood friends in a way neither of them had quite anticipated
pairing: oscar piastri x female reader
warnings: lando being a little shit, wee lil' age gap (reader is a year and a half older than oscar is), general outdoorsy activities, forced teambuilding. for all intents and purposes, this is in the very beginning of lando and oscar's time as teammates and they don't know each other well yet.
authors note: I was so tempted to make this a fic for a different fandom but knew y’all would hate me if I started dropping top gun fics out of nowhere instead of the f1 goodness you’ve come to expect, and then this prompt was just so perfect for oscar and now here we are
the australian sun beat down as she trekked up the rocky hiking trail, rugged outdoor shoes digging into the dirt and mud beneath her feet. sweat soaked through the back of her concert shirt, her black bucket hat concentrating all of the sun's rays on her scalp.
"jesus, piastri! how much further?" she whined, taking oscar's outstretched hand and allowing him to pull her up the trail.
oscar laughed, looking over and grinning at how ridiculous she looked with her massive backpack and sweat stained shirt, the hot pink of her sports bra showing through the white fabric underneath the words 'duran duran'.
"don't be such a baby!"
"i'm older than you!" she shreiked, feeling the burn in her legs as she rested her weight on the younger boy. "carry me the rest of the way?"
"no! you have to get to the lookout yourself."
she groaned, rolling her eyes. "then where are lando and will? i'll sit in the damn wagon if i have to. how are you not winded?"
she hadnt planned to even be here. oscar had phoned her late the night before, asking if she would be up for a hike. she'd agreed, searching for a reason to get out of the house. it wasnt like she had anything better to do.
she'd known oscar all her life. in elementray school, they waited for the big yellow bus at the same stop, and were in the same homeroom for most of secondary school with oscar taking advanced classes for his age and y/n sinking down a level in maths, despite oscar's many absences. their mothers were in the same knitting club, and many a night teenage oscar would apologetically come to her house and collect his wine-drunk mother from the knitting circle. (despite it all, she loved nicole. how could she not, the woman was an icon)
"because i'm an athlete and you're out of shape?" oscar guessed jokingly, prodding at the cute pudge of her stomach.
the action gave her butterflies, a feeling in her stomach that wasn't welcome when thinking about the younger man she was leaning against.
they'd always been friendly. too friendly, some may say, eyebrows raising when people heard about the age gap. what did a sophisticated older woman want with oscar piastri?
it was simple: she liked stupid men with hearts of gold. and so far, nobody had compared to the 21-year-old. she was 22, so the gap wasn't even that bad.
and oscar didn't really think she was out of shape. he might joke, but that small bit of pudge on her stomach was so adorable, like a kangaroo pouch in his head, and he dreamed about the day he could cuddle up behind her and wrap his arms around it, skin to skin between cotton sheets.
"shut up." she whined, relieved that the group had finally stopped. she flung down her badly-packed and underprepared rucksack and slumped against it, pulling her hat over her eyes. it was getting cooler, though still humid, as the sun began to sink below the horizon.
"i think it's time we think about making camp." mark webber suggested, stretching out his old man limbs, tapping the giant stick he held as a walking aid against a rock. "this is as good a spot as any. lando, do you have the sleeping bags?"
"do i have the sleeping bags?" lando repeated jokingly. "what kind of muppet do you think that i am? of course will and i have the sleeping bags!"
the mclaren driver sidestepped towards the wooden wagon, dramatically ripping back the tarp on top to reveal the cardboard tent box (which had been duct taped back together so many times that it was more tape than cardboard) and the clusters of rolled up sleeping bags.
one by one, lando and will started tossing the bags at the hikers. in almost no time at all, everybody had a sleeping bag.
well, everybody except y/n.
"oi, orlando, what the fuck!" she shouted, deliberately getting his name wrong. "where's my stuff?"
not looking sorry at all, lando shrugged his shoulders, eyes hidden underneath the brim of his bucket hat. "i guess i miscounted."
"you didn't miscount shit." she glared at him, using both of her hands to flash the man her middle fingers.
lando stifled a laugh, looking over at oscar. "are you sure she's the older one?"
"lando, shove off." oscar defended before turning to her. "my sleeping bag is a double, we'll be just fine. as long as lando hasn't lost the second tent."
y/n chuckled darkly, using the rock behind her to push herself to her feet. "the tent is in my rucksack. there's no way in hell that i'm sleeping on the dirt floor."
"princess." lando coughed into his fist, hoping that neither oscar or y/n noticed.
see, lando norris had a plan. a plan that was formed out of one too many rom com nights with his girlfriend, and an impatience born from watching y/n and oscar run circles around each other like horny dogs too nervous to get to humping.
the way lando saw it, hiding the sleeping bag was just going to help that along.
"anyways, im heading out." y/n sighed, getting to her feet and brushing the leaves and twigs off her thighs. "you freaks better not follow me into the woods and watch me piss."
oscar watched her leave with a dreamy expression as she pushed branches out of the way, stumbling over tree roots and branches. he saw her loose her footing in the mud , scraping the side of her knee on the tree bark.
"you okay?" oscar shouted, ready to jump into the woods after her.
"i'm fine!"
when she came back from the woods, legs slightly scratched up from the way she stumbled, hat dangling from the chinstrap around her neck and her sweat-matted hair falling down her shoulders. oscar was setting up the tent, shirtless as he hammered the tent stakes in place. all in all, the tent was fairly well constructed considering that oscar had done it all himself.
"so, your new teammate is a jackass." she laughed. "who suggested this trip?"
"i did. against my better judgment." oscar rolled his eyes, straightening up at dusting off his hands before peeling back the zipper door to the orange tent. "welcome to my humble abode. ladies first, your highness."
"oh, shut up." she laughed, her face turning pink as she ducked into the tent.
it was a large space, backlit by the battery powered lantern from oscar's rucksack. the soft yellow lighting made their shadows dance as she sat down on the double sized sleeping bag, unsure of what to do next.
they hadn't shared a bed since they were sixteen years old on a joint family trip to fiji and they had been so drunk that they fell asleep together on a sun lounger.
it's okay. you can do this.
"can i have the right side?" she asked timidly as oscar followed her in, zipping up the door behind him.
"knock yourself out." oscar said, avoiding eye contact as he reached into his backpack and passing her a bag of cheetos.
the proximity and the rising heat in the tent was starting to make him uncomfortable. no doubt he was also thinking about the sun lounger.
"i'm glad that you came. i missed spending time with you, y/n."
she laughed, popping the bag open and cursing when she spilled orange cheese dust on her leg. "me too. i've been at a loss lately. a crossroads, if you will. this is exactly what i needed to get out of my head."
"remember what mark said? leave your problems at the bottom of the mountain!" oscar laughed. "just put one foot in front of you and keep moving.''
she grinned, popping a crispy cheeto into her mouth. "easier said than done when thinking about the future paralyzes you."
oscar moved his body along the sleeping bag so that he was sitting directly next to her, his thigh touching hers. the sleeping bag took up most of the floor space, neither of them wanting to lean back, lest they cause the whole tent to topple over.
the feeling of his skin against hers made the hair on her arms stand up, goosebumps following in its wake.
"you'll figure it out. i know you will. have some faith in yourself."
the way the led lantern highlighted every pore, every contour of his skin should have been reserved for the film crew on fifty shades of grey. he looked so breathtaking in the dark that it had just that effect: taking all of her breath away. she felt like she'd been hit in the lungs, unable to think about anything except the greek god in front of her.
and she was going to have cheeto breath when she kissed him.
outside the tent, their silhouettes danced in the half light as she leaned towards him, lips moving to whisper something inaudible but that the aussie seemed to understand instantly, wrapping his hands around her waist to pull her closer.
and when oscar kissed her? she forgot all her worries, this airy feeling spreading throughout her body. the skin around their lips would be stained from the cheetos, as would the sleeping bag where the bag toppled over, but neither of them could find it in them to care, too lost in the others touch as oscar's calloused fingers ran up her t-shirt, gently squeezing the part of her stomach that made her the most self-conscious,
"you're beautiful. and smart. and brilliant. and i'm sorry that nobody has ever told you that." he whispered in his kiss, his tongue licking into her mouth. he growled at the taste of cheetos, something that was suddenly so much sexier than he had ever believed it could be.
"shut up." she blushed, kissing him again.
outside the tent, lando and will sat by a crackling fire, watching the embers rise in the air and wondering if the pair knew that the lantern allowed them to see everything through the tent walls.
"i knew he had it in him." lando laughed. "look at the little guy go."
"should we tell him about the lantern?" will chuckled, popping a marshmallow into his mouth.
"nah. they'll figure it out in a minute when we all start wolf whistling."
TAGS
@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @twinkodium @thatsdemko @userlando @libraryofloveletters @diorleclerc @lorarri
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jnkgrnde · 3 months
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— can’t take my eyes off of you, clarisse la rue, pjo
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summary — basically just you and clarisse pining for eachother and your siblings being sick of y’all
pairings — clarisse la rue x fem!black!reader (your choice of descent)
authors note — the obsession w clarisse is getting worse yo..
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how your siblings were sick of you.
they loved you, but they needed you and clarisse to get it together before they forced you to kiss. it was everyday at this point; you talking about how you and her kept making eye contact and how she throws smirks your way and calls you endearing nicknames, and this that and the third.
it was another one of those nights, where you were laying with your half-sister, mila. she was one of your siblings you were closer with, so that meant she was one of the people you went to the most to talk to about clarisse.
“and it’s just like, there’s gotta be a reason she’s around me a lot, right?” you asked her. you were laying in a position where you had your legs up on the wall, mila sitting laying under your legs with her head on her propped up elbow. “when are you two just gonna kiss and get together?” she asked.
“mila she probably doesn’t like me that-“ “how many times do i have to tell you you’re not delusional? you come in here telling me ‘she winked at me today!’ ‘she did this today!’, she clearly likes you! now, her telling you that herself is a matter of its own. if she doesn’t tell you herself, you should probably just ask.”
you sighed, lacing your hands together and putting them on your stomach. “should i do it tonight? after the bonfire?” you asked. “if you feel up to it.” she responded.
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later in the day, the camp gathered around the large bonfire. the smell of food wafted throughout the night as plates were passed around. each cabin, respectfully, were sat with their siblings who were laughing and chatting away.
you were laughing along with them, crinkles around your eyes and a bright smile on your face. clarisse watched, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. she had a soft smile on her face, looking back to her siblings just barely catching onto what they were talking about.
“clarisse, when are you asking her out?” one of her siblings asked. “what?” she feigned confusion. “you know we’ve all been waiting. ask her tonight.” her half-brother encouraged. “i don’t like her like that!” she lied. her brothers face deadpanned.
“.. i’ll ask her tonight.” she mumbled. “that’s the spirit! i’ll bring her over!” and before she could stop him, clarisse’s brother called out your name. “oh my gods.” clarisse gave her brother the harshest glare she could.
“clarisse wanted to talk to you about something! isn’t that right?” clarisse stood up abruptly. “come on.” she grumbled. you furrowed your eyebrows, extremely confused. clarisse’s brother just threw you a smirk.
when you caught up to clarisse, she was already almost halfway from the fire. there was awkward silence on the way to.. wherever you were going. you just let her take the lead. “hey.. so, is- is there a reason your brother said you wanted to talk to me? because you seemed to want to do the opposite of that, so-“ “just wait a minute.” and you went silent immediately.
you walked behind her, letting the blades of grass brush up against your legs. she did it silently, but she grabbed your hand to bring you up with her and put her hand on the small of your back to stabilize you. you stumbled over your words before you finally spat out a thank you. “mhm.” she hummed.
you finally reached your destination — it was relatively far from the fire, but close enough where you could run back if something were to happen. apparently, she wanted to take you to the lake where it was quiet enough for you two to talk without interruptions.
you loved the lake, especially at this time of day. the moon glittered across the moving water, and the stars were out to highlight your features, which clarisse adored.
she led you over to sit on one of the canoes so you two wouldn’t have to sit on the rocks. “so, what did you wanna talk about?” you asked her, finally tearing your eyes away from the water to look at her, only to find her already staring at you. she cleared her throat when she realized you caught her.
“i wasn’t really planning on telling you this tonight, or for a while.” she told you. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “ilikeyou.”
“what?”
“i like you.” she reiterated. you blinked at her. did you hear her right? you were planning to confess sometime (not really you lied to mila when you told her you were doing it that night), but you didn’t think clarisse would do it first.
“so i wasn’t making things up?” you asked her like she knew. she smiled and chuckled, though. “no, no you weren’t. i like you.”
“oh.” you sat with her for a second. “i was convincing myself you didn’t since i wasn’t really sure, and i kept asking mila about it to make sure i wasn’t delusional or anythi-“ you were cut off when clarisse reached up to hold your face and pressed her lips against yours.
it was like fireworks were going off in the background; her lips were a little rough, but against yours they felt sincere. you wrapped your arms around her neck, her hands going to your waist.
you could get used to this.
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soulessjourney · 2 months
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Mother and Father Are Fighting Again
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Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader
Word count: 1.5k
Summary: Tav and Gale clash over the role of the party's leader.
Warnings: Some language, Humor, Tav and Gale Bickering
A/N: 100% how I envisioned the party selecting thier leader going. This guy is a little short but I do hope you enjoy it!
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Your small yet growing group sits around the fire, their gazes occasionally landing on each other and often resting on you. There you are, half asleep, your hair tangled and messy on one side of your head. They had woken you up because the thought of having no official leader plagued Astarion’s thoughts at night, to the point where he couldn't meditate properly. Rubbing your hands over your face, Shadowheart picks at her nails before speaking up.
“I think Tav would be a good fit; I mean, she is the one who got us all together in the first place,” she says, earning a hum of agreement from everyone but Gale.
Letting out a yawn, you bring your hands up to rub at your eyes, and Gale points at you. “I disagree; she can barely keep her eyes open. We need a leader who can be alert just in case someone decides to raid our camp. She sleeps like a log; I mean, look how long it took us to wake her this morning.” Your eyes slowly trail over to Gale before falling into a tired glare.
“I’m sorry that it was hard to wake me. It’s not like we fought an entire goblin camp yesterday while you sat there and nagged me about having the Tiefling's celebration here last night,” you snap, brushing the stray hairs from your face. “Besides, I didn’t ask to be included in the nominations; they all just decided to include me. I don’t even want to be the leader of the group,” you say, throwing your arms in the air.
Gale goes to say something before Karlach speaks up. “Well, think about it, soldier. Whenever we speak to others, they immediately begin talking to you. You walk with confidence; they already think that you’re our leader. You defuse situations and persuade people just like a leader does,” she says, causing Gale to let out a groan.
Nodding along with her words, you can see where she is coming from. Those in Emerald Grove talked to you and only you as your party stood behind you waiting for something to happen. When you dealt with Auntie Ethel, she specifically dealt with you and only you. “You’re right; maybe I will consider running for the position. I mean, if people already think that I lead our group, why not?”
Gale shoots up, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “No, you just said you don’t want to lead our group; you don’t get to backtrack now. That’s not fair at all. Besides, my case still stands; you’re not fit to be a leader, especially if we can’t even wake you. You’ve also made some questionable choices. For example, who just decides they want to take on an entire camp for a cuddly bear?”
Crossing your arms, you lean back against the log and against Shadowheart's leg. “I’m allowed to change my mind, especially when someone makes a valid point. And I didn’t decide to raid the goblin camp just because Halsin is a cute little bear,” you gush, before your smile drops. “I did it because allying ourselves with most of Emerald Grove was in our best interest, and the best way to do that was to take down their leaders and then wipe the rest of them out. Besides, most of it was done for us when I chose to poison their drinks,” you shrug, a smug smile spreading across your face as Shadowheart pats your shoulder in agreement.
Gale lets out a scoff as he racks his mind for anything else to hold against you. His eyes widen before a sly smile spreads across his face. “Maybe if you and Astarion weren’t sneaking around so much, you’d actually be able to sleep.” So, he had heard you sneak off last night. Heads slowly turn to look at Astarion, who raises his hand, his eyes widening slightly.
“In my defense, oh who am I kidding, I won’t hide the fact that our night together was just as enjoyable as watching you get drunk and cry over Mystra.” Astarion shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.
Karlach lets out a laugh, and you turn to face her with a confused look. “Sorry, soldier, you just looked so horrified when Gale pointed out your nighttime escapades. Don’t worry; we’re all quite aware that you and Fangs fancy each other. You’re not that secretive. Just do tell Shadowheart and me the details later.” She shrugs, earning a groan from you as you hide your face in your hands while Shadowheart lets out a hearty laugh.
Gale clears his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention and giving you a break from the girls trying to fish for any details they could force out of you. “Are we just ignoring the elephant in the room here? That elephant being I’m the most qualified to lead our little group of... you.” You raise a brow, your hands moving to fix and straighten your hair out.
“Alright, Gale, since you’re being so moody, do I need to go find a boot for you to chew on so you don’t explode on us?” You press, “Besides, they’re our friends, and they all have names, so I suggest you start learning them. Some leader you want to be.” You grumble, looking away. The bickering between you and Gale goes on for some time as the heads of your friends move to watch whoever is talking.
You weren’t sure who got tired and broke first, but Lae’zel speaks up. “Why don’t we just vote? Each person can cast two votes, and we go from there. It can make figuring out the leader easier and just as fair.” Lae’zel wasn’t one for many words, but when she brought up ideas, they sure as hell were amazing. If only you could get her to actually pitch in on attack plans more often. “Those who want to run can’t vote, just so we know you’re not casting votes for yourself.” She says, grabbing a journal from her tent. Ripping out the paper, she sets them down on the makeshift desk made out of a rock a few feet away. Setting out the quill and ink, she turns and nods. “Cast your votes and then place them into the helmet on the table.” She says, watching as the other camp members stand up and walk over to the table.
Looking at Gale, he keeps his eyes trained on you, and you let your eyes narrow in his direction. “What do you want, lizard brain?” You snap, shifting your body away, and you look over your shoulder, your eyes narrowing even more.
“I have a lizard brain? Have you not looked in the mirror recently? Actually no, lizards are extremely intelligent creatures. Now, a good insult is that you look like a lizard.” He quips, sending you a triumphant smile.
Before you could respond, Shadowheart sighs and sits between the both of you. “If you two don’t stop arguing, I’ll have Astarion tie you both up and leave you here as we move on.” She grumbles, only to earn a laugh from Astarion.
“I would too! I mean, Darling, you would just as delectable tied up for me, begging me to let you go.” He hums, only to earn a horrified gag from Gale, and your expression to match his. Astarion was many things, but a shameless flirt with zero filter was one of them. Sure, you were attracted to him, given your many outings into the woods together at night, but sometimes you reevaluate just as to what about him drew you in with half the things he manages to say.
Lae'zel settles back onto the ground, arranging the scraps of paper before her. Counting them, she lifts her gaze, eyes shifting between you and Gale. "Tav wins the votes," she declares, casually tossing the helmet aside. Gale glances around at everyone, beginning to complain, alleging that you had charmed them in an attempt to secure the votes.
Karlach sends Gale a pitying smile. "Sorry, Gale. It's nothing against you. Tav just appears to have our best interests in mind and is a natural leader. Not that you're not a leader, but it just feels right to follow in her footsteps," Karlach says gently. Gale nods in understanding, then looks at you.
"I apologize for being childish, Tav. That was extremely wrong of me, and I shouldn't have done that. You deserve the role as much as anyone else here. I will follow your command and trust you to lead us in the right path," he states, bowing his head. His words and actions bring a smile to your face.
"Thank you, Gale, and I apologize as well. I promise to be the best leader I can be. Your input matters to me; I can't make decisions without you guys. But I do promise one thing: I will get these tadpoles out of our heads and save every single one of you. You're my family, and you all deserve saving." You notice Astarion looking at you, pride and admiration filling his eyes. There's something about that gaze that brings a blush to your cheeks. It's a look you'd kill to see over and over again.
Astarion uncrosses his arms, smiling gently at both you and Gale. "I'm glad you both kissed and made up. It's extremely odd to watch our mother and father fight again," he remarks, earning a confused look from you and Gale as the others laugh. Clearly, you both missed a chapter in this adventure.
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pablitogavii · 5 months
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Hey I’ve love your stories for quite a while now and it’s absolutely amazing btw!!!! But I kinda wanted to request like enemies to lovers trope. Something about Gavi and the reader hating each other but gavi still like over protecting and jealous over the reader
Nerd.
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Pablo Gavi...loved my many...hated by some (mostly jealous fanatics) was the biggest bully you ever met in your life.
Everything started the evening the Gavira family invited yours to dinner when you moved to the neighborhood six years ago. You grabbed a cup of milk but as you turned back you collided with Pablo's chest spilling it all over his brand new white Barça hoodie.
Ever since then, he would purposefully bump into you, call you "nerd" and mess with your by stealing your glasses and making you reach for them. God! Couldn't he just get over something that happened when you were 11 years old!?
"Let's just take two cars and meet there?" Fermin suggested since there was quite a bit of people going to watch them play El Classico today at Camp Nou.
"I'll go with them.." you said walking towards the group away from Pablo just wanting to avoid his snarky comments.
"Whatever nerd!" he said and Fermin hit his chest in annoyance really trying to figure out why was his friend so mean only to you all the goddamn time!??
"Qué pasa!?Estás enamorado de ella o algo así, hermano?" Fermin said and Pablo just snarled shaking his head while watching you get into another car your skirt rising up as you moved. His shorts got tight!!!
When you arrived, there were some members form the opposite team already at the hallway and you got all shy being surrounded by so many famous players. Every single one was more handsome than the other...of course your bully had to be the most handsome of all!!! Damn, you're screwed in the head for thinking it!!!
One of the boys was definitely chatting you up while Pablo was observing the whole thing utterly furious. After barely five seconds, you heard Pablo's annoyed voice.
"Hey! Nerd! Come here!" Pablo said and you were rudely interrupted from answering a question from a boy who seemed genuinely interested.
"I was talking to him!" you say but Pablo's hand was already around your wrist as he pulled you away from a guy who was very loudly protesting while your friends watching in confusion.
"What do you want from me Pablo!??" you said pulling away standing in the empty room with Pablo pacing around and grunting in annoyance.
"You do know he is the enemy right!? You don't just go fuck an enemy!" Pablo was yelling without thinking about his words and you just stared at him in utter disbelief. Did he really think you would let someone do that after simply sharing two sentences with him!? Now, he really hurt your feelings!
"Good luck on your game, Pablo.." you said with tearful eyes clouding your classes before running out of the room just wanting to go home already. You were used to his occasional teasing, maybe even rude nicknames like 'nerd',or 'four eyes', but now he really passed the line.
"No..wait! Please! Nerd!..Um..Y?N!!!" Pablo was yelling after you but they were already calling him to join the others in the dressing room.
The whole game, Pablo was agitated getting angry easily and getting himself a yellow card already in the first half. You were at home still watching the game (ofc!) but it was mainly Fermin trying to calm down Gavi on the screen.
Seeing his handsome face despite bringing you butterflies now reminded you of those awful words..is that really how he saw you???
"Hijo de puta, ella es mía después del juego!" the player whispered to Gavi during the corner kick and he pushed him down without second though receiving another yellow which added into the red and got him kicked off the field. He theatrically exited tossing his jersey aside before sitting down in the chair.
Despite what happened with Pablo, Barça won, (luckily) and you turned off the TV getting ready for bed. You really dolled up today with a Barça jersey and your favorite skirt as a chosen outfit..you kinda wanted Pablo to notice but instead he called you a whore!
You were working diligently on your assignment trying to get your mid off things while it was roaring rain outside. Suddenly someone knocked on the door of your apartment. You were terrified...it was late..your mom was on her business trip..and someone is at the door!? Scary!
You tried looking through the peep hole but it was too dark to see.
"Um..who is it??" you said and there was a silence for a few minutes.
"It's me! Open up, nerd!!" Pablo said and you sighed in relief that it was someone you knew but then you realized who exactly was in front of your door right now..what was he doing all the way up here tonight!?
You opened up and there he was completely drenched looking hotter than ever before..damn it's even better than in the edits..Get yourself together Y/N!!! "Um..what..what are you doing here P..Pablo?" you were a mumbling shy mess and he could tell that he was making you very much nervous right now.
He changed into some clean clothes he had in his bag from practice before coming our of the bathroom to your still flustered face.
"Why are you always so shy around me!?" he said a bit roughly and you just looked down in embarrassment. You couldn't exactly be hones't, could you?? It's because I love you even though you make fun of me every single waking moment of every day!!!
"Ughh you're impossible to understand nerd!!!" he said walking into the living room and you followed after him like a lost puppy. He saw all your paperwork on the floor matching with your books and graphs.
"You weren't sleeping?? It's late?" he said and you just shook your head sitting back down on the ground wanting to continue your work.
"I had to study.." you answer simply.
He sat down as well looking at you working but what you didn't know is just how much in awe he was seeing you like this..it made him want you so badly. You might be the sexiest nerd he's ever laid eyes on...
"You know why I call you nerd???" he said raising up your chin and you looked into him with those dowey eyes through your big glasses. He slowly took your glasses off smirking at your blushed cheeks.
"Because you hate me..?" you say finally gaining bravery to look him straight in the eyes and he smiled shaking his head while caressing your chin. Was this really real right now!!?
"Because I love you.." he said and your whole belly got filled with butterflies..this was indeed real..you were not hallucinating..Pablo Gavi loves you too!!?
"Umm..today was the first day to hear you call me Y/n.." you say to that looking away from his eyes again.
"And did you like that??" he asked this time tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You just shrugged your shoulders not knowing how to feel about all of this..it was so sudden..you were excited and scared of waking up from a dream all at the same damn fucking time!!!
"Because, you know..there are other things I can call you..hmm..like mi amor..." he moved closer while whispering that nickname into your ear and then leaving a slow kiss on your earlobe while you closed your eyes in ecstasy.
"Nena preciosa.." he whispered again this time moving lower to kiss your neck and you gasped which he really like..you knew what you were doing to him. Little minx!!!
"Mi princesa guapa.." he said moving up and sucking marks into your skin until reaching your chin and kissing it softly while holding your face as you slowly opened your eyes to look at his hungry looking lips. He was like a starved predator and you were his only prey.
"Aii mis ojitos negros lindosss...I always loved how you looked at me with glasses on..like a good little girl..me vuelves loco siempre princesitaa" he said and you were still looking at his lips wanting desperately to feel them against yours right now!!!
"Are you a good little girl, preciosa??" he asked teasingly touching your lips with his thumb and you pouted nodding your head completely under his thumb right now.
"Hmm that's good,..but I want more..I want you to be only my good little girl, vale? I don't want you talking to anybody ever again..toda mia siempre!!" he growled the last part finally devouring your lips as you moaned into the kiss moving to straddle his lap and he welcomed it with a smirk.
Pablo was groaning the more you were moving on his lap before you two pulled away from air and he kept you on his lap with his strong arms wrapping tightly around your body.
"I only did it to piss you off.." you said and he looked at you with raised eyebrows.
"I talked to him because it was making you angry.." you paraphrase it and his hands lowered resting on your bum where he squeezed roughly.
"And here I thought you were a good girl nena???" he smirked and you moaned hiding your face into his neck shyly.
"I just wanted you attention..papi" you kissed his neck while he groaned at the use of the nickname he dreamed about hearing from your lips for years.
"Well you got it now preciosita" Pablo smirked kissing you again while standing up and carrying you into the bedroom putting you underneath the covers.
You were making out in bed for a good half an hour before he pulled away catching you by surprise.
"Todo bien, Pablito??" you ask and he smiled at the new nickname you found for him. If it was anyone else he would be annoyed..but you could call him what you wished to call him at all times.
"I just want to say I'm sorry about how I've been acting for the past years..I just didn't know how to show you I like you properly..so I bullied you..it's dumb!!!" he spoke and now it was your turn to take charge and shut him up with a kiss.
"Hmm I always knew you had a soft spot for me in here Pablitoo tho.." you say touching his chest where his heart was being fast and regular rhythm.
"H..how?" he was pretty stunned but wanted to hear more of it.
"Little things..you would always call me annoying whenever I got cold but always gave me your jacket.." you say and he nodded remembering how much eh would love when you give it back and it smelled so strongly of you.
"Whenever we go out and I drink, you never do..you are always the one to drive me home" you say remembering the night you accidentally 'confessed' but refused to talk about it afterwards. Pablo would often call you out on it just to annoy you but when his feeling got stronger he stopped doing it.
"Or that one time you were holding my glasses above my head so I can't reach and I slipped, fell and started crying" you said and that one made Pablo become sad..he was really an asshole and he had a lot of making up to do for you..
"Amor..I'm.." he couldn't finish the sentence because your hand was on his mouth while you were sitting on top of him.
"You dried away my tears, put my glasses back on and helped me up..I always knew I was your weak spot" you giggled removing your hand while he watched up from below in awe sitting up and starting to kiss you passionately again.
"Nerd.." he whispered into your mouth with a smirk and this time you smirked back nodding your head while wrapping your hands into his curly hair.
"Hmm a nerd that got you weak Pablo Gavi.." you said and he nodded with a chuckle laying you both back down as you were making our before both feell asleep in each other warm arms.
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nyctophicbtch · 1 year
Note
CAN YOU DO SOMETHING ABT NETEYAM x F!READER, like they met when they were both teenager, then neteyam and his family had to go away, then they met again when all were well grew up, and not long after that nete and reader make out PLSSSSSS–😭
Seeing Neteyam for the first time in years
Neteyam met you by accident
It was in the Hallelujah mountains high camp
You weren’t even supposed to be in the avatar area; Na’vis weren’t actually permitted to roam around here
Neteyam was in a rush and accidentally bumped into you somewhere near the bio labs, causing you to drop all your stuff
And you were in a sour mood that day, so you snapped at him without seeing who had bumped into you
“Nari si, kurkung!” (watch it, asshole!)
You receieved a flurry of apologies
His voice sounded familiar and when you looked up you froze
If today couldn’t get any worse, you found out you had just yelled at the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Before you could apologize and explain, you heard voices nearing
So Neteyam pulled you by your hand to hide behind one of the labs
He put a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet
After the accidental meeting, Neteyam found himself curious about you
He never actually got your name
So the next time he saw you in the camp, he approached you, much to your friends’ confusion
You quickly became friends
Or whatever your relationship was called
People can always feel the tension whenever the two of you are in the same room
Kiri somehow finds out
Then Lo’ak, and then whole family will know
Neteyam casually brings you along even when his family is there
It was all going so well and you were getting closer each day, but then he suddenly had to leave
He gave you a strand of beads and trinkets as a reminder of him
When he left, you felt empty
And that was how you ended up often just zoning out randomly when you thought about Neteyam
Your friends noticed and when they’d ask, you’d dismiss it as an old memory
Until his family comes back to the clan so many years later
You weren’t sure if he even remembers you
But you saw the stolen glances he’d give your way when he noticed you
Whenever he worked up the courage to talk to you, something would always get in the way
It was the night of celebration for the Sullys’ return
You’d see him in the crowd only to find him already looking at you
He’d make his way towards you, eyes not leaving yours
And then his sister interrupts him
When he turned his attention to you again, you were already gone
The loud noise of people celebrating was getting to loud
So you decided to take a walk outside
And then accidentally stumbled upon Neteyam sitting alone in the forest, feet dipped in the pool of water underneath him
You wanted to turn back but it was too late
From the way Neteyam’s ears perked up, you knew he’d heard your footsteps
He would snap his head towards you so fast to see you already trying to leave as quick as possible
“Wait- stay-“
You silently approached and he moved a little to the left to give you space to sit next to him
It was quiet for a while, none of you knowing what to say to each other
Neteyam had rehearsed his speech many times, but his mind went blank the second he felt you so close beside him
The thought of you finding someone else while he’s away kept nagging at him
But then he caught a glimpse of the strand of little trinkets hidden beneath the leaves on your loincloth
“You kept it?”
His fingers would gently brush over the beads, and he’s unaware with how you shivered from his touch
He hand’t necessarily touched you, but his fingers were way too close to your hip
“I thought you’d forget me” you quietly uttered and he looked at you as if you’d grown a pair of wings
He could never forget you
The grumpy girl who had called him an asshole when you the first met after he’d bumped into you
The girl who would hold him and listen to his frustration after a bad day of training
There was no way he was forgetting you
As if finally aware of the effect his fingers had on you, he slid his hand around your hip
And this mf pulls you closer to him
def heard the way your breath hitched
“How could I?”
Your heart was about to leap out of your chest from the way his eyes held their gaze on yours, briefly flickering to your lips
His thumb was giving gentle strokes to the side of your hip and you swore you could pass out right then
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
You couldn’t respond when all you could feel was the way his lips lightly brushed against yours
Both of your breaths grew heavy and he couldn’t hold back anymore
Neteyam closed the gap between you two, kissing you with the pent-up passion he held for you all these years
His ears twitched and his tail swayed leisurely from side to side when you let out a breathless moan as he deepened the kiss
“Neteyam-“ you managed to gasp out before his lips were on you again, hands pulling you closer by your hips until you were sitting on his lap
Your hands were all over him, and so were his on you
But when you lightly tugged on his hair, he groaned into your mouth
Then you decided to gently scratch the base of his queue which had him going crazy
And he had to pull away from you to stop himself from doing anything stupid
The both of you were panting and you didn’t make any efforts to climb out of his lap
He wanted to go further
He wanted to so bad seeing the way your lips parted in heavy breaths and how flushed you were
But he reminded himself that he’d just started talking to you again
So all he did was close his eyes and affectionately rubbed his nose against yours
“I’m sorry for the years we had to part. Let me make it up to you.”
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twst-drabbles · 2 months
Text
Baul 2
Summary: You hand Baul a fruit for him to peel and it leads to an unusual heart-to-heart that made you realize you may have messed up.
(More time travel shenanigans! Because I cannot resist. I like the thought of Baul giving an accidental hint and Janitor immediately mentally going "oh shit!" This is what the Janitor gets for being a fae magnet.)
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You were given a strange fruit by Lilia for you to munch on. You didn't really know how to go about eating it, honestly. It looked like nothing you've ever seen, so instead of fumbling and potentially having Lilia snark at you, you left and sat down on a nearby log.
Before you know it, Baul exited the main camp and walked towards you. You both caught eyes and you just nodded to him in greeting. He gave one back before speeding up to sit right next to you.
Wordlessly, you handed him the fruit and Baul took it without question.
"You need something, Baul?" Rare was it of him to come to you. Whenever he wants to enjoy the silence, he'd usually do that by himself.
Baul took out a knife and began to peel the fruit. He took his time in replying.
"It won't be long now, will it?"
You raised an eyebrow. "…that's ominous. Mind being more clear?"
Baul sighed as he tossed the long peel into the leaves besides him. "I've heard Lilia and her Highness speaking of returning you home. To a place, far… far from here."
…yeah, you'll finally be able to go back to your time. There was no chance of being able to recreate the spell from scratch, but there was enough unique residual magical energy to manipulate and activate. All they need is to simply, let it flow into its most natural path.
"Very far. And I don't think I'll be able to visit anytime soon."
"Hmm, of course," Baul mumbled, eyes narrowing, "not when you have many friends and loved ones waiting for your return. And certainly not with this possibility of war rising high over our heads."
"Staying would do me more damage than good," your time travel isn't a secret but it's certainly hard to believe. Whether or not they believe you, you don't know, but at least Baul understands that where you're going, it's very far.
"…I once thought you a danger," Baul started, now evenly slicing the fruit, "then an intruder, then an annoyance, and then…"
You leaned forward. "And then?"
He looked up to the night sky. "And then… you became someone I can think of as a peer. Someone I can call a… friend, I suppose. And someone…"
"Hmm?"
Baul grabbed a slice of the fruit and handed it to you as he gave a most gentle smile, "And someone who I can make a promise with. A promise to cherish anything and everything they have ever given me. So that I may never forget what joys people such as you can bring."
…oh.
…oh no.
His eyes glowed with a tender light under the full moon, his body was leaning towards you as though wanting to get closer. And his smile. It was a rare sight and it was one you were hoping you were wrong about.
You were hoping that… that this wouldn't happen. That this tenderness wouldn't exist.
This is not coming from a place of arrogance. You're not assuming that you're such a catch that Baul would be willing to wait for you for four hundred plus years, rendering the existence of Sebek null and void.
It's his words, his promise to hold his memories of you close, so that he may never forget what humans are capable of. To hold close the things you have given him.
He made a promise to you.
You had already grabbed the slice Baul handed to you. He fell silent as he let go but didn't retract his hand. His eyes focused on your finger tips while you remain frozen in time.
When he made to reach closer, inching just a bit, you retracted and stuffed the slice in your mouth.
"Aren't promises too heavy for that?" You leaned back on the log, facing forward just so your internal storm doesn't show on your face, "You don't have to do that with my gifts. They're not some precious treasures you know? They're just things I make, do, and give. It's okay if you lose or replace them."
But you can't confront him in his face about it. You have to be careful, lest he shuts himself away, because you genuinely don't want to hurt him like that. Baul is… so similar to Sebek in how fiercely protective they are about matters of the heart. And the fact he was willing to let even a little hint of it slip past and not backtrack immediately told you the intensity of these feelings, and the acceptance of them.
It's dangerous. Too dangerous. You don't want anything to happen to Sebek. So you have to guide Baul away from you without burning this bridge.
"…human life is fleeting," Baul started, a soft timber, "when the time comes, and you must leave, then I will only have this to remember you by. Perhaps I will meet another human. Perhaps I will receive new gifts. But I cannot replace yours. I want to treasure them. Otherwise I'll-"
"If you forget, that's fine," you waved at Baul, casual as can be, "it's a nice sentiment, really, but you and I aren't immune to time. If you forget, even if you cherish everything as closely as you could, it's fine. All you can do is move on, Baul."
"But-" Baul leaned forward and the distress in his face had you quietly sighing.
"It's fine," you didn't want to but you had to keep him from talking, from keeping that promise, "as a friend, I just want you to find happiness. And if the memory of me brings you pain, then it's fine to forget me altogether. Just move forward, okay?"
"A human that doesn't mind being forgotten, huh?" Baul looked at you, as though trying to find something to comfort him, then gazed towards the ground, hands held together. "You… really have mastered the art of confusing me."
You didn't move to comfort him, but you sat on that log nonetheless. "I know. It can't be helped, so I can't really apologize for that."
"I'll get angry if you do," Baul's bard was very weak at best, spat out with tired laughter.
"I know, I know." You shrugged with a laugh yourself.
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justpan · 2 years
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Title: Kindness and Cruelty 
Summary: Pan had failed to cast a cruel curse, but even still a girl shows him kindness.
Pairing: Peter Pan x Reader
Peter Pan had failed.
Those damned Charmings had actually managed stop his curse and capture him, not only that but his mistake of a son had even managed remove his armband and create one that would work on him.
So here he was, the once powerful ruler of Neverland, now powerless, captured and waiting for the Charmings to decide what to do with him.
He sat in the Sheriff’s station, cursing this entire damn town, having long ago gave up on removing the band.
Then the door opened and in walked a girl in stupid floral sun dress; she was carrying a plastic sack in one of her hands.
She looked around the police station and saw him sitting on the bench in handcuffs.
‘Oh umm, do you know where Emma is?’ 
‘Do I look like I care where your Savior is?’ he spat.
She looked down at his hands that were he was cuffed to metal bench he was sitting on and sighed.
‘You must be Peter Pan, Mr. Charming told me you’d be here.’ she said mostly to herself.
‘Well you’ve seemed to have caught me just as I heading out to run a few errands.’ he snarked as he rattled the metal of cuffs.
‘No need to bite my head off, I didn’t make you try to curse the town and I didn’t put you timeout.’ she scolded as she sat down plastic sack on the desk the Savior sat at earlier.
‘I just came to drop off some teas and snacks, the Charmings have a bad habit of drinking only hot chocolate, coffee and booze.’ she mused as she unloaded the sack’s contents.
As she was doing so she suddenly stopped and looked over at him.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ 
Peter looked at her in mild surprise, this body hadn’t eaten since before he’d left the Neverland Camp to kill Henry; he was starving.
Of course none of his captors had asked if he needed food before they stuck him in this seat and all left to discuss his fate.
‘I don’t want anything from anyone here, I’d rather die.’ he declined.
Pan was surprised when a small chuckle hit his ears.
‘Well that just isn’t true, you gave up your own child for life eternal. People who make those kinds of sacrifices aren’t known for throwing in the towel when their backs are against the wall.’ the girl said as she grabbed what to Peter looked like a small cake wrapped in clear plastic.
‘Eat this while I fix us some hot tea.’ she insisted as she handed it to him and walked over to the other side of the sheriff station.
He watched her as he unconsciously opened the cake he’d been handed, even while eating the overly sweet treat he kept his eyes on her. She moved about the small table for a few more minutes before she turned  around with two steaming mugs.
‘Here you go, I didn’t think you’d want too much sugar, I’m not sure if your stomach is used to so much sweets.’ she said while sitting down the cup on the bench beside him.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m nobody worth manipulating if that’s what you’re asking, no magic or importance. I’m just a babysitter really.’
‘Babysitter?’ Pan repeated.
‘I’ve been babysitting Henry for a few years, whenever his Moms were working during the summer I took care of him. I come by here whenever I have free time to bring snacks or just to chat.’ she answered.
‘You chose to watch over a child that wasn’t yours? Foolish.’ he scoffed as he took the tea and sipped at it.
‘I like taking care of others, they don’t have to be children. And scoffing at that is a very rude thing to say to me when I have been nothing but respectful to you Peter.’ she scolded as she sat aside her mug and stood.
‘I was extending kindness, and all I expected was decency; if you can not meet those low expectations I will be leaving.’ she continued as she went back over to a desk and appeared to write and leave a note.
‘Enjoy your tea, Peter.’ she said before leaving. 
Peter sat there, not that he had any other options, thinking about the girl, he didn’t know her name but she had in fact shown him kindness.
Another hour passed before the Savior and The Evil Queen arrived along side the larva he had as a son.
‘You had a visitor, she left a note.’ he said, looking away from them.
‘What did you say to her?’ Emma asked dis-trustingly as she moved to her desk where the snacks were placed.
‘Nothing polite by the way she stormed off.’ he sassed.
‘Listen you demonic toddler, if you have messed with her there will be hell to pay. the Evil Queen threatened.
Emma picked up the note and held it up as she read it out loud for everyone.
‘I came to bring some things over but you weren’t in, please give Peter my apologies. I got offended and I lost my temper, it was an overreaction please do let my interaction with him sway your judgement. With love (Y/N).’
(Y/N)...so that is her name.
‘There is more written on the back of the paper Ms. Swan.’ Rumple informed.
Quickly Emma turned the sheet over and kept reading.
‘PS: he is very hungry, but I don’t think he like sweets very much but I’m sure he will eat whatever you feed him.’
2K notes · View notes
canirove · 3 months
Text
In The Name of Love | Chapter 12
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"Your no boyfriend is the best, Val. Getting us tickets for el clásico and so close to the pitch? Amazing."
"Yeah, well" I shrug as we sit down.
"These days they allow anyone come to the Camp Nou" a man says behind us. "Madrid bitch."
"Don't listen to him, Val" Marina whispers.
While she is wearing Pedri's shirt, I decided to take my Real Madrid scarf, hoping it would not be too noticeable and that no one would say anything to me. Turns out I was wrong. 
"Bringing rubbish like this to our home… fucking hell" the man says, kicking the back of my seat, the two men sitting next to me giving him a disgusted look.
"What? Do I have something on my face?" he says to them. "Fucking morons."
"They do allow anyone into the Camp Nou, yes" the one next to me sighs. Though only I can hear him, everyone else cheering as the players come out for their warm-up.
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"Well, that wasn't that bad" Marina says when the referee signals the end of the first half.
"You only managed to score once" I chuckle. And no, it wasn't Pedri. So far he is keeping his promise of not scoring against my team.
"Wait until the next 45 minutes. We are gonna destroy you" the man behind me says, starting to kick my seat once again.
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During the second half Real Madrid is attacking on the side of the pitch where we are, and on one of those attacks…
"Goal!" I scream, lifting my arms and clapping.
"Shut up, bitch!" the man behind me says, slapping my hands and starting to kick my seat again.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" the one sitting next to me says.
"Or what? Are you gonna call the police?" he laughs, kicking my seat once again.
"Maybe we will" the other says.
"Don't bother. He is not worth it" I tell them, trying to ignore the burn in the hand he had slapped.
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Minute 35. Real Madrid keeps attacking, our second goal getting closer and closer.
"Oh, look! Ferran is warming up!" Marina says, calling his name and waving at him.
"Hello" he smiles, waving back.
"He is so cute… Isn't he, Val?"
But I can't answer. My eyes are fixed on the pitch, on what is going on.
"Goal!" I scream again, this time getting up from my seat and clapping.
"Sit down you Madrid bitch!" the man behind me says, grabbing me by the scarf and pushing me down. Luckily, it was loose around my neck and he didn't choke me, but now he has it. "Fucking rubbish" he says, spitting on it and throwing it away.
"Hey! What the fuck, man!" Ferran yells from the pitch. 
"You shut up, you useless piece of shit!"
"Is everything ok?" a security guard says, one of the men sitting next to me standing behind him. When he said they would call the police, he wasn't lying.
"This man has been harassing this girl the whole game and he just spit on her scarf and threw it away" the one sitting next to me says, nodding towards where my scarf is.
"That's a lie! I did nothing!"
"Is this true, miss?"
"Don't you dare talking, you fucking Madrid bitch!" the man says, grabbing my arm.
"You are hurting me!" I complain.
"Sir, let her go" the security guard says.
"She shouldn't be here!" he says, twisting my arm.
"Sir, please. Let the girl go and come with me."
"I'm not going anywhere! She should be the one leaving! Rubbish like her isn't welcomed here!"
"Sir…" the guard says, moving towards us to try and free me. 
And then, everything happens too fast.
The man lets go of my arm, giving it one last twist before pushing me against the nice one who had been defending me. But he doesn't have time to react and catch me, and I see myself falling against the empty seats in front of us since the people who were sitting there are now up, looking at everything that was happening. I hear Marina calling my name, I think Ferran too. And then the next thing I know is that I am on the floor, feet everywhere around me, my right side hurting as hell.
"Val! Val, are you ok? Move! Stop filming and move! Val!"
"Ferran? What…" 
"I'm here, it's ok. It's ok" I hear him say next to me before everything becomes a blur.
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"Val, stop moving. Didn't you hear what the doctor said?" Marina scolds me.
"I did. But this stretcher is so uncomfortable…"
"Ferran's arms are more comfortable, uh?" she smirks.
"Idiot" I reply, rolling my eyes. He had carried me away. He had jumped the billboards and ran towards where I was laying, picking me up and taking me to the infirmary himself, not giving a shit about the game. He even stayed with us while one of Barça's doctors checked me.
"I was right about him, wasn't I? He is your no boyfriend. I mean, why else would he do that?"
"Because we are friends?"  
"Val! Valeria, are you alright?" Pedri says, storming into the room.
"Hey" I smile.
"I am so sorry. So so sorry" he says, cupping my face and kissing me. "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine, yes. Just a broken rib."
"A what? Ferran said it was just a contusion!"
"He probably didn't want to worry you" I say while he caresses my cheek.
"Oh… my God" Marina gasps next to us. I had completely forgotten she was there. Shit.
"Marina, I can explain."
"He is your no boyfriend! Him!" she says, pointing at Pedri.
"He… he is, yes" I sigh. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't know how."
"Oh, my God" she repeats, her eyes going from me to Pedri and back at me.
"Marina, are you ok?" he asks.
"I'm… I'm… Yes. I think. I just… He is your no boyfriend!"
"You already said that" I chuckle.
"Not Ferran or Eric. Him!"
"Yep."
"Oh my God, Val. I knew you were the cool cousin, but this… this is…"
"I am the cool cousin? I thought I was the disgrace of the family" I laugh. Though maybe I shouldn't have. That hurt.
"Don't listen to your mother, she knows nothing" Marina says. "You've always been the cool cousin, everyone agrees. And now you are even cooler because you are a wag! My cousin! A wag!"
"I'm not a wag, Marina."
"Maybe not officially, but he is the one giving you the vitamin D, isn't he?" she smirks.
"Marina!"
"Sorry" she shrugs.
"You can't tell anyone about us, you hear me? No one."
"My lips are sealed."
"I'm being serious, Marina."
"I won't tell a soul, Val. I promise."
"Not even as revenge because she has stolen your boyfriend?" Pedri teases her.
"You told him?" 
"Sorry" I shrug.
"Now you are a 5% less cooler" she says, her cheeks bright red. 
"Poor me… ouch!" 
"Are you ok?" Pedri asks with a concerned look. Even in moments like this he is the cutest. Ugh.
"I'm fine. It's just that laughing hurts."
"Right. Then we have to become boring and not make you laugh. Can you do that, Marina?" he asks her.
"It's gonna be very difficult…"
"Do it for your cool cousin who currently is a 5% less cool" he says, trying not to smile.
"Idiot" I murmur.
"Ok, I'll try" she sighs.
"Great" Pedri says. "Now let's take you home, shall we?"
"What are you doing?" I say when he puts his arms around me.
"Carrying you?" 
"I can walk, Pedri."
"And I can carry you. I've done it before, remember?"
"Val, let him do it. He's probably jealous of what Ferran did" Marina smirks.
"Wait, are you?" I ask him.
"Of course not! I just want to take care of you."
"Aww, cute" Marina says.
"Ok, fine. But try not to drop me."
"When have I done that?" he says.
"There is a first time for everything, Pepi."
"Val! Did you also tell him about that?" Marina complains.
"Don't worry, I already knew. Now let's go" he says, picking me up while I wrap my arms around his neck.
"Boyfriend goals" Marina sighs, walking behind us. "Or no boyfriend in this case."
54 notes · View notes
cowboydisaster · 11 months
Text
The Fire In Your Eyes
part IX: horseshoe overlook v
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pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
word count: 6.1k
summary: Three days after watching Arthur fall, three days of grief, three days of regret, and it all comes crashing down on you in one bittersweet moment.
a/n: here we are fellas... a much awaited chapter, technically the second half of last chapter. Star waits three days at the bank of the river... and so I've made you wait three days too. I want to say a few things so if you're sticking around to read the notes buckle up. Firstly I could absolutely not have done this chapter without Margo (linked below). She literally held my hand through writing this lol, and offered me more support, kindness, and praise than I deserve. She gave me so many tips and ideas and suggestions for this and I'm just so proud of the way it turned out, thanks to her. This was a group effort for sure. Secondly, I'm still in shock from the level of support this series has been getting. Its just incredible to see how many people come back so consistently. Last but not least, I love you guys, really I do. And I can't wait to see what you guys have to say about this chapter.
beta read by @margowritesthings
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, violence
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SERIES MASTERPOST
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It's been three days, searching the banks, knowing that he won't be back, won't be coming home. You saw him hit the water, and he didn't come back up. A fall like that is barely survivable. You know he's gone and it isn't until you allow yourself to think it that you break. All that you should have told him, should have opened up about and you didn't. You didn't. And now Arthur will never know any of it.
Arthur is gone, and he left thinking that you didn’t want him. You hate yourself, for your inability to open up and you hate him for this whole job. You told him you didn’t feel right about it but no one listened. Now he's gone and you're so mad, so angry with the world and your heart and him. 
It's pouring, thundering and lightning in the dark night and you've started to accept that he isn't coming back. In your head you know it, it's all you've thought about. You know he's gone, he's never returning to you, but your anger keeps you from returning to camp because what is the gang to you without Arthur? Can you really go back there and live with his ghost?
The rain pounds down on the top of your tent, falling down and drenching the ground. Lightning lights up the night, showcasing to you the dark, empty lake. John had come by a day ago, and when you realized he was alone your heart shattered all over again. It's a strange thing, you realize, to love someone but never have the courage to admit it until it's too late. Thinking back, you know you loved Arthur, it's obvious, but you couldn't admit it at the time. It took losing him to realize how much you need him. You don't know who you are, here now, without him. You belong nowhere, you have nothing, you want nothing other than him. 
You think about going up north, up to West Elizabeth for a while, but you can't bring yourself to leave the shore just in case. You haven't eaten. You haven't slept. You've been sitting in this tent at night haunted by ghosts and regrets, and surveying the lake in the day, futile as it may be. You know you need to do something, to go somewhere other than this damn shore, but you're lost. Your head tells you to run, but your heart tells you to go back to those who care about you. 
Arthur cared about you. And it's sick, and it's twisted but you're so mad at him for your feelings, so mad that he cared about you so much because it made losing him that much harder. 
Lost in thought, you don't even hear the footsteps as they approach the tent, nor do you hear Balius's quiet nicker. The rain doesn't help, coming down along with thunder that shakes the ground. You don't even notice his presence until he speaks up. 
"Star?" 
Everything stops. Your eyes go wide, and immediately fill with tears at the familiar, gravelly voice that you haven't been able to get out of your head for three days. At first you're sure you're imagining it, losing your mind, until he speaks up again. 
"Star? Y'in there?" He asks again, and too shocked and confused to speak, you crawl out of the tent. Your eyes land on him as you stand in the rain and you freeze, mouth agape. He looks…  he looks fine. And you take a step back as the emotion of it all comes crashing down. At first you're shocked and confused, and then you're relieved… and then you're mad. Because you spent three days thinking he was dead, and he's standing in front of you washed up in a brand new outfit with a smile on his face. The rain soaks in your clothes, drenching you as you try to breathe. 
"Where have you been?!" You cry out, full of emotion and fear and rage. Arthur sees it all playing out on your face, and his eyebrows draw together. 
"What-" He begins but you interrupt him.
"Why are you walking up here  like everythings just fine? Where were you?!" You half cry- half hiss, thinking of all the time you'd spent scanning the water, waiting for his body to wash up. 
"Swam down the river and hid out for a couple days till the bounty hunters lost me." Arthur sighs like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "What's the matter wit you?" 
Arthur isn't used to having someone to return to. No one asks or complains if Arthur comes back late from a job, he's never had anyone care so much as to worry for him like this- he's just not used to it.
You huff, a humorless, sarcastic laugh. 
"So you were just hidin' out?" You ask as a loud boom of thunder shakes the ground. 
"Yeah." Arthur huffs, irritated with your attitude. Your tone is angry, condescending and sarcastic as you continue on. Tears fill your eyes, but he can't see them in the dark.
"Well, I'm glad you've been safe all this time." You reach into your tent grabbing his hat before throwing it towards him angrily. "Here's your damn hat. Found it washed up in the river after you fell. Y'know, it would have been nice if you let me know- If you let me know you were just camping, taking a few days off while I've been here!" You yell, fighting back sobs, watching as he grips his soaked hat, growing more confused. 
"Star- what is your problem?" 
"It doesn't even matter." You toss your hands in the air, chuckling humorlessly. Your hair is soaked through, and Arthur glances to the sky as it lights up with bright white lightning. 
"Clearly it does matter! Ain't my fault you can't express your damn feelings!" He yells, growing angry alongside you. 
"Oh, that is rich coming from you. Like you can?!" You immediately bite back, voice growing louder as you step closer to him. 
"Yeah! I can, with you! I told you about my past, about my son and my parents and Mary! And I know nothing- I know nothing about you- what you want, where you've been." Arthur yells louder than the thunder, pointing his finger in your face as he does so, "You won’t open up and it's killing you. God- what are you so afraid of?! What's holdin’ you back? It's eating at you and you won't just deal with it SO WHAT IN THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLE-" 
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!" You yell, stepping forward with your shoulders squared, meeting him with just as much aggression. You're so angry with him, for the train and for coming back like nothing happened. Your anger gets the better of you as you lean forward, hands pressed against his chest and you shove him backwards with all the fire you can muster, growling as you do. He stumbles backwards, eyebrows drawn together as you ball your fists, ready to scream at him, to berate him for leaving you out here. But at the thought, something in your heart cracks, and the fire and the rage pales in comparison to the fear of losing him. 
A loud boom of lightning sounds out, and Arthur prepares for your inevitable verbal knives with his eyes cast on the ground, but you never throw them. 
When he looks back up, your shoulders are rising up and down heavily, and your finger points at him like you're about to chastise him, but you don't. He watches as your shoulders slump slightly, and he sees the way your hand, pointed at him, falters. Glancing up to your eyes, he sees that you're fighting back tears, and biting down on your lip to stop it from trembling. 
Exhausted, and terrified and hurting, you can't find it within you anymore to yell. In fact your voice is barely above a whisper as you meet his green eyes, 
"I spent days thinking you were dead… Do you have any idea what that was like?"  
Arthur sees the moment that you break. He watches as your face crumples, and he sees the pain that you've been going through. God, he didn't even think. He didn't even think. You crumple, erupting into quiet sobs as you hold your face in your hands. In two strides his arms are around you, and you sink into his touch, letting all of the pain and the grief be washed away by the rain.
"I'm so sorry, Star. Shit, I'm so sorry. I'm here. It's okay." He coos, protecting you from the rain with his warmth as you sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him to make sure he's really here. 
"John had to pry me away from that bridge…" You choke out, "I thought you were dead and I can't- I can't lose you, please, please don't leave me-" You whimper, feeling more vulnerable than you ever have in your life, but knowing that you trust Arthur with every fiber of your being to be the one to piece you back together. At your words, Arthur's heart shatters, falling to the ground in fragmented pieces along with your own that had fallen apart three days ago. Even with the rain, lightning and the pitch black, he cups your cheeks, pulling your teary eyed gaze up to him. 
"Look at me. You aren't alone- look at me, Star- I'm not going anywhere." 
And looking into his eyes, seeing him here, you know it's a promise he intends to keep. He's in front of you, he's safe, and having him here is too much and not enough all at once. He's scanning your eyes, searching for something to signal that you're going to be okay, and that's when it happens. With his hands resting on your face, and his eyes searching yours, you lean up on your toes, and you kiss him. You kiss him with everything you have in you, ignoring the storm and the pain in your heart. You thought you'd never have the chance to do this. And with him here in front of you, you need him to know that you want him too. You've repressed so much love and so much emotion, and now that he's here in front of you, you can't help but feel it all. 
He's shocked at first, eyes open and lips slack until he catches up and leans back into you with just as much emotion. His eyes slip shut, and you curl your hands into his shirt, opening your mouth for him to gain entrance. Your tears slip down your cheeks, mixing in with your lips. It's hungry and raw and filled with the emotion of you terrified of losing him, and needing him in every way possible now that he's here.
You pull away to catch your breath, tears slipping down your cheeks as you look up to him, making sure once again he's still here. He smiles down at you, wiping your cheek with his thumb, smearing the rain and the tears away. And then you're pulling him back down to you, kissing him again with the same hunger, and he kisses you back. His hands grip onto your waist and he pulls you against him as your lips slot against each other. It's him who breaks the kiss this time, and he looks down to your eyes, his green irises searching yours and seeing the intention in your gaze.
"You sure you want this?" He asks you, rain soaking his hair and causing a piece to hang down in front of his face. 
"Stop talking." You whisper, barely a breath as you run your fingers through his hair before leaning up to kiss him again. Your hands grip onto him, and you whimper into his mouth as his tongue mixes with yours. You need more, you need him. You need to know he's with you. 
Arthur seems to read your mind, hands grabbing the underside of your thighs as he pulls you up against him, carrying you. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you only break the kiss momentarily as he carries you into the tent. He lays you down on the soft blankets, taking a moment to admire you laid before him in the lantern light. Then he lines your body, leaning over you on his forearms as the storm rages on outside. His lips are on you again, in the crook of your neck, kissing the spot where your pulse beats erratically. Your legs are still wrapped around his waist, and as he kisses you, his left hand unbuttons your shirt. 
"You done this before?" Arthur asks, pressing messy kisses to your jawline. He remembers your conversation up in the Grizzlies, and he's almost certain this is new for you. You shake your head. 
"No." You admit. You're no saint, but you've never trusted anyone enough to go this far, not before Arthur at least. 
He exhales, nodding, but he seems hesitant, his hands slowing on your buttons. You grip either side of face, pulling his attention to you.
"I want it to be you. I need it to be you." You admit, whining as he groans, nodding. He leans back, sitting up in between your legs to shed his clothes. You help, pulling his shirt off of him quickly once the buttons are undone. He's left in just his jeans then, but you stop him from taking them off. You pull him down back over top of you, and he obliges, though a bit confused. 
"Kiss me." You plead, and he does. He kisses your lips over and over again, he kisses your neck and your jaw and your forehead while you get used to everything. He wants to do right by you, he wants to do this your way. 
You reach your hand down between your bodies as Arthur pops the last button to your shirt. You line your hand along the bulge in his jeans, and you press against it, eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. You smirk, popping the button of his jeans before slipping your hand inside. You wrap your hand around his shaft, feeling how much he wants you. 
It's overwhelming, all the feelings he gives you. In every way. He's perfect. Warm and loving, and his tan skin is kissed with freckles all over and he's so beautiful it makes your heart ache.
"I'm ready, but I don't know- How do we do this?" You whisper against Arthur's ear. You're letting him take control, and he nods, kissing your lips softly. 
"Let me take care of you, let me be strong for you." He whispers, pulling your shirt over your shoulders and kissing your collarbone until there is a mark.  Then he leans down, pulling your dark jeans down over your legs by the waistband, leaving you fully exposed. Once your denims hit the discarded pile of clothes, Arthur leans back, smiling down at you. You can't find it within you to be self conscious, not with the way he's looking at you. You lean up on your elbows, watching him drink you in as he leans up to grip onto your hand. 
"You're so beautiful…" He mumbles, eyes trailing up your figure lovingly. He squeezes your hand, and leans down to your right thigh where a messy scar lies, the gunshot wound from Blackwater. He kisses the scarred skin. 
"N' so strong." He whispers, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.  Leaning up to meet him, you crash your lips against his own, trying to shove his jeans down off his form. He chuckles, leaning back to shed the denim. Now both fully undressed, he stops, looking over you again. Your wet hair is sprawled out on the blankets, lips plump from where he's kissed them. He's sure you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on.
"Arthur-" You whimper, pulling him back down to you by his hand. He takes his time warming you up. There's no rush, and you're so glad to just be together. 
He places kisses down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, and you chuckle, fingers intertwining into his hair as you pull him back up to your lips. 
"Arthur?" You breathe out. 
"Hmm?" 
"Touch me." You plead, spreading your legs for Arthur. He smiles, running a finger down your thigh as he leans in to kiss your neck. You gasp, feeling his fingers brush against your core. He stops, groaning when he feels how wet you are, the sound cathartic. Then once you wrap your legs around his waist, he resumes his pace. His thumb gently rubs around the small bundle of nerves at your core, and you gasp, gripping onto his shoulders as he continues to kiss your neck. Then as his thumb continues, his middle finger stretches into your tight heat, and your nails dig even deeper into his shoulders. 
"Please, just-" You beg, but he stops you, pressing a kiss to your lips. 
"Sweetheart, I gotta take my time. I don't wanna hurt you." He says, and you nod, trusting him. He works his finger in you for a while, curling it up and coaxing little gasps from you. Then, he stretches a second finger into you, and you wince from the pull, but after a while of him working you, it starts to feel good. And shortly you're breathing quickly, ready. 
"Perfect." Arthur whispers, sliding his fingers out of you while he presses a kiss to your forehead. His arms flex on either side of your head as he holds himself up, and your legs wrap around his waist as he lines himself up. 
"You ready?" 
"Yes, yes-" You mumble. 
You feel the tip of his length against your entrance, and you spread your legs even further for him. And then he's sliding in, slowly. You gasp loudly, gripping onto him tightly as he thrusts in, slow as to not hurt you. 
"S'it hurt? You okay?" Arthur asks, stilling as you toss your head back and pant. 
"No- yes-?" You whimper, acclimating to the feeling. You nod, signaling him to continue as the thunder rumbles outside, not nearly as loud as your gasping breaths.
"Oh, Arthur-" You moan as he slides into the hilt, and bumps into your sweet spot. He slides back out partially, and then picks up a slow, steady rhythm. Your body arches beneath him, and you moan, pulling his face down to yours in search of his lips, tears coming in rivulets. He kisses you again, giving you butterflies as he thrusts in and out of you. You grant him access to your mouth then, and when he pulls away to breathe, still thrusting steadily, you whimper, tears running down your cheeks. 
"Star?" Arthur asks, worried. And he stills his movements. 
"No- don't stop." You beg, pulling his head down into your chest as he resumes his movements. 
"I'm so glad you're okay Arthur." You cry, shaking against him as you hold his head against you. 
His lips are on yours then, reminding you that he is here with you, safe, loving you. 
"I'm right here, darlin'." He reassures, and you nod against him, biting your lip. You can't help the moans that you start to let out, timed with every one of Arthur's thrusts. He runs his thumb over your hard nipple, teasing it and giving you goosebumps. You don't have to worry about the noise, as there is no one to hear you but the raging storm outside. The power of the black clouds, bright lightning and pounding of rain pale in comparison to the crashing together of you and Arthur. Your moans seem to encourage Arthur, and he begins to thrust even harder into you, kissing you in between his movements. You can't keep your hands off of him, running them from his face, pulling his lips to yours or digging them into his shoulders as you gasp and moan. 
He feels the same way, gripping your hips, kissing your breasts, and your lips and your neck it's almost too much. You feel yourself approaching an orgasm quickly, but you fight it, clamping down on yourself in an attempt to slow the process. You don't want this moment to end, you could stay here forever with him, and never have to worry about anything else. But your abdomen clenches and you feel your nerves begin to tingle. Arthur isn't oblivious to this, and he runs his thumb over your sensitive bud, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
"Star, let go." He whispers, lightly biting your earlobe. You shake your head, gripping his shoulders as tight as you can manage. .
"No." You argue, squinting your eyes shut and shaking your head, thighs clamping around him as you try to stop the inevitable. 
"Darlin, let go. I told you, I'm not goin' anywhere." He whispers again, and you release, automatically setting off the intense waves of pleasure that crash down over you. You set Arthur over the edge, constricting around him and your moans fill the tent as you arch your back, pulling his lips down to yours. You moan into his mouth, hips rocking against his own as you climax, feeling so close to him and so intimate and vulnerable. You never knew it could be such a beautiful thing. 
He begins to groan loudly in your ear, and you pull him down to you as you continue to rock and moan against him. Your grip on him tightens, and you're not sure whether or not he's planning on pulling out, but you don't want him to. You need him with you. Your legs wrap even tighter around him and he gets the message. A few stuttering breaths later and Arthur groans, grinding his hips against you as he finishes in you, lips pressing kisses to your own between heavy groans and breaths. 
His forehead falls against yours, resting there as he catches his breath. You do too, still clinging to him in every way possible. After a few moments, he presses a slow kiss to your forehead, and then slides out of you. You wince from the pull, but once he lies down on the blankets beside you, he pulls you into the crook of his arm and covers you with the blanket. You rest your head on his chest, soothed by his heart beat after the past three days. 
"You okay?" Arthur asks, running his hand up and down your back over the blanket. You nod, truthfully. 
"I think I'm better than I've been in a long time." You admit. Arthur leans up on his elbow, grabbing your canteen from his side of the tent. 
"Here." He offers you the water, and you take it willingly, sipping down some of the cool liquid before handing it back to him.
You cuddle down against his chest again, hand sprawled out on his stomach as he looks up at the ceiling, thinking. 
"We gotta talk about this. Please, don't close up again, not now." Arthur says, worried that come morning you'll close yourself off again. You nod. Truly, you have no intention of hiding anymore, not after tonight. But for now you don't want to talk, you just want to be with him.
"In the morning?" You ask, tucking yourself into his side, yawning. 
"Yeah, in the morning." He whispers, and you lean up, pressing one last, slow kiss to his lips. He chuckles as you toss your leg over his, formed tightly against him. 
"Arthur?" You ask, not meeting his eyes. 
"Hmm?" He asks, hand still running up and down your back while the other holds yours tightly. 
"I'm so glad you're okay." You say again, a tear falling down your cheek and getting lost against his chest hair. You draw stars on his bare skin, distracting yourself as he wraps the blanket tighter around you both, protecting you from the thunder outside. 
"I know, sweetheart. S'alright now, you just get some sleep."
Everything seems to make sense now, like it's finally fallen into place. You grip onto his hand, holding it as you start to drift off to sleep. You're his grief, his joy, everything he desires and loves. And you feel the same about him. You've denied yourself this for so long, that finally having it happened in one big collision. You wouldn't change it, lying here with him now. You know you have to talk about this, and you have to get Arthur back to camp, but it's all a problem for tomorrow. Right now it is about the two of you, just existing together for the first time.  
— — — — 
When you begin to wake up, it takes you a few moments to come to your surroundings. Your eyelashes flutter open, eyes squinting to block out the harsh sunlight that is filtering through the tent flap. There is a strong, steady warmth underneath you, and realizing your surroundings, you smile. Your head is laying on Arthur’s chest, legs still intertwined and hands still locked together under the blankets from the night before. Arthur's other hand runs soothingly up and down your bare back, and you prop your chin on his chest to look at him.
"How'd you sleep?" He asks, voice deep and groggy. 
"Real good." You hum, telling the truth. You've slept in the same bed as Arthur on a handful of occasions, but you've never been able to do so as openly as now. You've never woken up so content before, even with the residual ache in your hips. It's a good ache, a reminder of where Arthur had touched you, binded his body to yours in the most intimate of ways.
"I'm sorry that I just… jumped you last night." You whisper with a chuckle, fingers running down Arthur's chest, tracing through the sandy blonde hair there. 
"Do you regret it?" Arthur asks, looking down at you sprawled over his chest. Immediately, you shake your head.
"No. Not at all." You say truthfully. Even though the circumstances around your crashing together were less than ideal, you don't regret it even for a moment.
"Good." Arthur hums, smiling down at you. 
It grows quiet for a while, comfortably so. You listen to the birds and the river, but mostly Arthur's steady breathing, and you realize that you could lie here with him forever. You thought you'd lost him, and now that he's here, you can't bring yourself to let go for fear that he will disappear again. At the thought, you realize that you've not discussed what happens now, and a question forms on your lips. Your hand is still intertwined with Arthur's, and you play with his fingers as you speak up. 
"I reckon I already know the answer to this… but this was more than just sex right?" You ask, a little nervous. You're almost certain this is an emotional commitment, but your anxiety still prods at you. Arthur cracks a smile, bringing your wrist up to his lips before tenderly kissing the point where your pulse beats.
"Yes," He laces his fingers back with your own, "I'm all yours darlin', if you'll have me."
"Always." You whisper, ear pressed against his chest. The rhythmic pounding of his heart is a sound you can't get enough of as you slip your eyes closed, still reassuring yourself that he's here. 
"We gotta head back soon," You sigh, "I know John is worried sick. I'm sure everyone else is too." You whisper, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest for keeping John in the dark while you'd kept Arthur to yourself all night. 
"Just a few more minutes." Arthur counters, wrapping his arms around your waist. His thumb glides over your lower back, and you look up to see him lost in his head again. 
"Why did you stay out here? Why didn't you go back to camp with the others?" Arthur asks, propping his hand under his head to look at you. 
"How could I have left you? I didn't know if you were alive, I didn't think you were, god- that fall… but the thought of you hurt somewhere, or needing help, I couldn't just leave." You whisper, emotion bubbling up again at the thought of his fall. You don't bother to hide it anymore, even though your nature wants you to. 
"I can't stop seeing it, Arthur. I've never been that scared in my life." You admit. 
"It was a hell of a fall, I'll tell you that. Hurt like hell hittin' the water too. I didn't even know if I was alive, the water turned me around real bad and then I was on the shore of the Upper Montana River." He explains, eyes lost in the memory, "Hid out for a while and I heard the law whistles so I stole a horse n' ran to Strawberry. I was so worried about you… I didn't see you get away." 
"Cause I didn't." You whisper, "John had to pull me away from the bridge. Athena carried me here and I sat in the grass the rest of the night just… waiting for you," You take a deep breath, a loose tear slipping down your cheek, "and then your hat washed up, and I was sure you weren't coming back."
You can't shake it. Every time you bring up the bridge it all comes rushing back. 
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't come back to you." Arthur hums, feeling terribly guilty as he sits up in the tent. You sit up next to him, pulling a blanket around your shoulders to cover your breasts. 
"Well, you're here now." You whisper, teary eyes looking into his. He shakes his head, and you see the regret in his eyes. 
"I shouldn't have called you a hypocrite. That was unfair of me." Arthur says, and your hand reaches up to his cheek, running through the thick stubble there. 
"No, you were right. That's somethin' I've thought about a lot the past few days, somethin' I plan on workin' on." You say, "And, Arthur, I shouldn't have gone through your journal."
Arthur huffs, humorously. 
"S'all you anyway." Arthur admits, and your eyebrows pull together, not understanding. 
"My journal. It's all you." He reiterates and you smirk. 
And then he's pulling you into his lap, unable to keep his hands off you now that he's able to touch you like this. 
"We have to go." You chuckle as Arthur runs his thumb over the purple splotches on your collarbone. His lips are on your jawline in a heartbeat, pressing slow, languid kisses to it. 
"They can wait." He whispers against your skin, thumbs gripping onto your bare hips as the blanket slips down from your shoulders. You lean into his kisses, loving the feeling of his lips on your skin, something you've denied yourself for so long. 
Your stomach grumbles lightly, and Arthur slowly leans back, raising an eyebrow at you. 
"You eaten anything?" He asks, and you sigh. 
"No." You admit, sighing as he slides you down off of his lap. 
"C'mon, let me make you breakfast." 
"Didn't think you were the type; cookin' a girl breakfast the morning after." You chuckle as Arthur starts plucking your wet clothes up off the floor, tossing them in a useless heap. 
"Yeah, well… only for you." Arthur huffs, grabbing your saddlebag from his side of the tent.
"You got any other clothes? These are drenched from the rain." Arthur asks, nodding to your outfit from last night. You nod, searching through the bag until you find a decent outfit. You grab a pair of black jeans and a white long sleeved shirt and you pair it with a tight black vest and a choker-style neckerchief, it's a damn cute outfit. 
“Alright, go on and get breakfast ready, I’m starvin.” You joke, pulling your shirt over your arms and buttoning it from the bottom up. Arthur laughs, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he groans, getting himself dressed for the day. 
He makes a little fire out front, and you smile, sitting at the entrance of the open tent as he prods and pokes at the smoldering logs with a stick. He puts on a little pot of coffee, and pulls a few cans from his satchel. 
“It ain’t much, but it’s what we got.” Arthur says, stabbing his knife into the top of one of the cans and cutting away the seal. He hands it out to you then, and you smile at the label. Strawberries, another delicious treat that Arthur had stashed away in his bag.
“It’s perfect.” You hum, slipping your fingers into the can and pulling out one of the berries. Today proves to be the calm after the storm, and despite the rain that soaks into the ground, covering the grass in a mist, the day is beautiful. The sun shines brightly down onto you and Arthur, sipping your coffees and making quiet, comfortable conversation. One by one, eating the berries, you begin to feel replenished. Not having eaten for the past three days, too devastated to even move, you devour your whole can of strawberries, and then you pick at Arthur’s. It breaks his heart a little, seeing how you’ve deprived yourself of basic needs in his absence, but he says nothing. You squint your eyes shut, relishing in the warm bitterness of your coffee until you’ve drunk it all down. 
“Thank you.” You say, placing the empty cup on the ground next to the empty cans, “For everything.”
“Course.” Arthur smiles, standing from the ground with a groan. He picks up the trash, and you raise an eyebrow at him as he tosses it into the woods. In just a matter of one night he’s managed to piece you back together, both physically and emotionally. It’s a debt you’ll owe him forever, though you know he’ll ask for nothing in return. 
“Star?” Arthur asks, looking at the tent as you stand from it, packing up, “This John’s tent?” He asks, looking over the familiar dark camping kit, one that he’s pitched his own next to on many occasions while out working.
Your eyes go wide and you snort, remembering that John had left you his camping kit back when you’d told him you planned on staying by the river. 
“Oh my god-” You say, horrified, “We’ll have to get him a new one.” 
Arthur chuckles, amused as he brings the tent down and starts packing it up with the blankets. 
“Nah, he won’t know.” Arthur brushes it off, snickering to himself. 
“Arthur-” You chastise, jaw open slightly as he rolls everything up and ties it onto the back of Balius. Arthur says nothing, a smirk on his lips as he walks to the front of his scarred shire, petting his head. 
“Missed ya, boy. I hope you took real good care of the lady while I was gone, I know you did.” Arthur whispers to his stallion, patting his neck a few times while pulling some mints from his saddle bag. He gives Balius one, and then looks back to you, blushing at the smile on your lips from his whispering. 
“Ready?” He asks, gripping the horn of his saddle. 
“As I’ll ever be.” You sigh, kicking dirt into the fire before mounting onto Athena, patting her in thanks for getting you across the river all those days ago.
You wonder what happens now. When you return to camp will Arthur showcase your newfound relationship?- If that's what you’re calling it, that is. You don’t know if things will slip back into their usual routine, or if this will change everything. You’re not ready for the gawking, hushed whispers of the girls, or the disapproving glare of Dutch. Though it's nonsensical, you feel that everyone will know what happened out here, and you feel terribly selfish for spending the night with Arthur when his own family didn’t even know he was alive. Still, you don’t regret it. 
Trotting across the river back towards Horseshoe Overlook, back towards home, you glance up ahead. Arthur is in front of you leading the way, and you release a breath, letting all of the worry and the guilt fall from your shoulders and be lost in the river. Because no matter what faces you back at camp, he's with you now, by your side with no intentions of leaving. You'll face it together.
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taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow
series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup @btsiguess-kpop @how-the-heck-would-i-know @rratman @eyelovie
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jo-writes-fanfiction · 6 months
Text
Sick day
Sick Day Daryl’s Daughter Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader Words 1174 Warnings/Notes: Sick, passing out, none other than the show
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not my image
You wake up one morning feeling dizzy and nauseous. You roll over and look to see if Daryl is still in bed or if he’s already out and about. You see his pillow and pile of blankets but not him. “Daryl?” you call out, hoping he’s somewhere near the tent. When you get no response you decide to get up and look to see if he’s in the camp or out hunting. You climb out of your tent and realize you are more dizzy than you thought and your head hurts like hell. “Daryl?” you call out again, this time holding your hand up to your head. You get no response and try to walk farther towards the rest of the camp but your head is spinning and you can barely stand up right. “Y/n? Are you ok?” you hear someone say before you fall to the ground and pass out.
“Someone needs to get Daryl, now!” Lori says with a firm tone, and one of the people goes running off. Lori is still holding the girl from when she caught her, breaking her fall moments ago. “What happened?” a young Carl comes running up beside his mother. “We don’t know right now but I need you to wait by the rest of the group. That goes for the rest of you too.” Lori waves them all away with her hand. “She could be sick and we don’t want everyone else to get sick as well.” As everyone is walking away Lori picks up the young girl and brings her back to Daryl’s tent where she had been staying. She puts the girl on her cot and checks her head and neck for a fever. That's when she felt that she was burning up. Just as Lori was about to leave and see if they had found Daryl yet he came running up to the tent. “Where is she? Is she ok?” He seemed frantic and worried. “She's right here, Daryl. She is burning up and probably has a fever, which means she might be throwing up and coughing a lot later.” Lori tries explaining to him but he doesn't seem to be listening as he sits down and feels her for himself. “Daryl, are you listening? You're going to need to keep an eye on her.” “Yea, I hear ya.” “Ok, let me know when she’s up and I’ll heat up some soup for her. Don’t let her eat sweets or drink any pop or anything.” “Alright, I got it, will you just let me sit with her?” Daryl said it a little louder than he meant to, and probably a little too harsh, but he really just wanted to make sure that his girl was ok.
When you wake up the first thing you feel is Daryl’s hand in yours. You slowly open your eyes and it feels like the sun is too bright and the world is spinning. “D-Dary-l?” You croak the words out, and it takes all of your strength to do so. “Hey, it's ok kid, I got ya, you're ok.” he shoots up so he's right up next to the bed. “E-Everything h-hurts.” you take long and deep breaths after talking. “It’s gonna be ok kid, don’t waste your energy talkin’. I got you.” Daryl moves one of his hands up to brush your hair out of your face. He keeps it on your head after, moving his thumb over your forehead. He keeps his other hand interlocked with yours. You look into his eyes for a while before drifting off to sleep.
It’s been an hour before you wake back up. “Hey kid, how ya’ feelin’?” Daryl smiles at you from his spot on his cot. “Not any better.” you let out a couple coughs before continuing. “Can I have some food?” “Oh right, Lori told me to tell her when you woke up, I’ll be right back.” He leans down and kisses the top of your head before unzipping and stepping out of the tent. “Alright.” you reply, although it’s more for yourself since he can’t even hear you.
Daryl returns a couple minutes later. “Lori is gonna make you some soup. Said it’s got healthy stuff in it.” He smiles as he says healthy stuff. You smirk back. He always jokes with you about how you two eat things differently or act differently from everyone else. “Can you read me my book while we wait? Please?” You're still smiling and it melts his heart that little bit more every time. “I guess, which one do you want?” He always pretends to be grumpy about doing things for you. Things that “show his emotions” as you like to call it. “Y-you pick.” you let out a couple more coughs before settling down facing him. He only gets about halfway through when Lori knocks on your tent. “Hang on.” Daryl sets the book down next to you and clears everything off your foldable table before quickly opening the tent and taking the soup from her. “Thank you, Lori.” He gives her a quick nod. “I appreciate it.” She gives him a smile before looking down at you. “And how are you doing? Feeling any better?” She smiles at you. You just shake your head no in response and turn back to face the rather large bowl of soup. “Alright well I’ll leave you two alone then. Get some rest y/n.” Lori looks up and exchanges a nod with Daryl one last time before zipping the tent back up and leaving. “Can you sit up? To eat?” Daryl kneels by your bed again to help you sit up if you need. You simply shake your head no and struggle a little but sit up as much as you can. “Here.” Daryl holds the pot by the handle and gets a spoonful. You expect him to hand it to you but instead he brings it up to his mouth and blows on it. He then takes the whole thing into his mouth. He sits and chews for a moment before nodding his head slightly and getting another spoonful. He brings it back up to his mouth and blows before bringing it up to yours. You take a bite and chew. You smile at the warmth in your scratchy raw throat. He repeats this process with you over and over again. Eventually you finish the soup and he sets the pot back down. “Want me to finish the book?” he reaches over and grabs it, holding it up in front of you. You just nod yes and he gives you a little smile before starting to read again. You lay back down and let Daryl’s voice carry you to sleep. Once Daryl saw that she was asleep he carefully pulled the blankets up to her shoulders and tucked her in. He sat there for a moment after. Just watching her and thinking. Eventually he gets up and lays in his own cot, ready to get some sleep himself.
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kalisburnerphone · 2 years
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Haruchiyo “I might be trigger happy” Akashi/Sanzu. Haru didn’t really listen to anybody besides Mikey. He did whatever the fuck he wanted,when and how he wanted without a care in the world.
Haru’s motto of ‘what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is also mine’ didn’t really work to well for him in his relationships because while whatever girl he’d chosen to give the time of day was giving 100 to the so called relationship, Haru did what he wanted and they never lasted.
That is until he met you. Haru had no idea how the fuck you were friends with the pet shop trio, mainly Keisuke’s mean mugging ass but he wanted you. You gave him quite the run for his money before you finally agreed to one date with him. As cliche as it was,you weren’t like the girls that he usually went for. Short, slim usually easy for him to manipulate.
You on the other hand, you didn’t buy his bullshit at all. You had walked out of the restaurant the moment he got too comfortable with the waitress and threatened to call the cops if he didn’t stop camping out in his car outside your apartment complex.He did stop camping out but only after he bought the entire complex in your name and moved in next door.
When you found out, you had made camp at Baji’s. It took him 3 months to get you to accept another date with him which his coworkers thought was odd given that Sanzu was never short on pussy but apparently yours was all he wanted now and he hadn’t even gotten it yet.
That was 3 years ago and now Sanzu was a somewhat reformed man. He was still the same crazy fucker, albeit your crazy fucker who’d gone from fucking multiple women in a week to breaking your back multiple ways in a week.
Sanzu now firmly believed in a 50/50 effort when it came to relationships mainly the one with you, fuck everyone else tbh. Which brings him to his current situation. He currently at a Bonten warehouse, he may have told a little lie when you asked where he heading off to at 3am but he’d make it up to you.
Ran had informed him that the individual he’d ask them to find was currently sitting in their club. Sanzu waited for him in the parking lot and just as he was about to cross towards the section where his car was parked, ran his ass over , twice, and then tossed him in the trunk.
Said individual is now hanging upside down in a Bonten warehouse with Haru’s trigger happy ass.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Sanzu giggles,fucking giggles. Maybe he was a bit high, you’d both indulged in some new grade of weed Kazutora was harvesting but the fact still stood that clearly he didn’t run him over hard enough.
“Who I am really isn’t important here. What’s important is that you think very hard about what I’m about to ask you cause I may just put a bullet in your skull if I don’t like it.”
“The fuck do you want?”
“Two nights ago at Luxe, at a company dinner, you made a comment towards a young woman.”
“Is that what this is about? Tha fat bitch sent you to beat me up?” The mans scoffs before spitting blood on Sanzu’s shoes.
“Ah, you remember. She has no idea that I’m doing this. I don’t like when people make my wife uncomfortable, you see, she’s taught me that a relationship should be 50/50. And for me that means that my baby wears whatever the fuck she wants and I deal with little fucks like you, who make her uncomfortable.”
Sanzu slips his gun back into the holster deciding that killing him won’t be as fun as turning him into a human vegetable. He grabs one of Rin’s baseball bats and starts using it to push the mans body like a swing set.
“I bought that pretty little outfit she wore that day and my baby was so happy until your dumbass opened your mouth. It’s been brought to my attention that this ain’t the first time either. You used to hit on my woman until you found out she had a man, then she became a “fat bitch”. “Don’t you think a size bigger would fit you better?, why you always eating?”
Sanzu didn’t understand why you didn’t tell him shit like this was happening, instead he had to hear it for himself while he was having dinner with the boys. You weren’t fat, you definitely had a fat ass but that’s besides the point. You were healthy and happy with your body so who gave this irrelevant fuck the audacity to tell you shit like that at work?
Sanzu wasn’t having it, he’d deal with the situation and every time this fucker saw you he’d turn the other direction. The first swing lands to his ribs and the scream that ripples through the air has Sanzu smiling manically.
By the time he’s finished he’s positive he’s broken enough body parts to get his message across. He has a couple lackies drop the idiot off in front of the hospital. He takes a shower before heading home. You’re wrapped up in his silk sheets, naked save for the pair of panties you’d slipped on after he had his way with you. Arms wrapped around his pillow as you slept peacefully.
Sanzu smiles as he watches you ‘cause yeahhhh he’d definitely commit murder for you.
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doe-writes-stuff · 1 year
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Rick finds reader camping in the woods and, over time, convinces her to join Alexandria. Happy, lovey (optional smutty) ending please!
A/N - Thank you very much for the request! ^_^ Your comments and reblogs always touch my heart <3 I'm glad you're enjoying my stuff.
WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, blood, injury, strong language. Reader has trust issues. Set during the time-jump between seasons 8 and 9. This will likely have a second part with smut to come >.>
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The first time you meet him, he scares you.
You hadn't anticipated meeting anyone out here in the wilderness, let alone someone who didn't intend to kill you. But there he was, stumbling out from the thicket of trees you'd camped within, gun held loosely in his hand, seeming just as startled as you that he'd found someone out here. The pure shock of it had left you both silent, staring
There were so few of you left, and often the people you did have the misfortune of encountering were something less than human nowadays. It was better--safer--to assume he was no different. But rather than lift the weapon to shoot you then and there, he held up his hands in a placating gesture, backing away when you'd stood to prepare yourself for a fight.
"Hey, hey...'m not gonna hurt you. Let's not do anythin' we can't take back, now." He reassured, one palm facing you and the other slowly lowering his gun back into his holster to show he meant the words. Your eyes are riveted on the weapon, your hand grasping the hilt of your knife with a white-knuckle grip.
There's little it could do for you at range against his gun, but still, holding onto it made you feel better.
"My name is Rick Grimes." He watches you carefully, his hand still stretched out to try calming you. "And I ain't lookin' for violence. Just out scavengin'."
You say nothing at the introduction, not trusting anything he had to say. You shift uneasily on your feet, eyes flicking away to the surrounding tree line to look for anyone else hidden from your view. Surely a man like this wasn't alone-
"It's just me out here." He seems to understand what's on your mind, settling into a more relaxed standing position in an effort to get you to do the same. "Just us."
Still, you say nothing. Whatever his true motivation for being out here, you know better than to believe what people tell you at face value. It was a big factor as to why you'd lived this long.
"Can I ask your name?" Perhaps discouraged that you still hadn't responded to his words, his head tilts in a reassuring way, and he takes a step forward, hesitantly.
"Got nothing to say." You gripe, throat tight with anxiety. You match his step back, taking care not to stumble over the log you'd been sitting on mere moments before he'd arrived. "Just wanna be left alone. Best be on your way."
"Maybe we can help each other-"
"Leave."
It's so obvious that he wants to say more, wants to try convincing you he was harmless, but the hair on the back of your neck is standing straight up and you can't bring yourself to care. Your hand takes a better grip of your knife meaningfully, and Rick seems to get the message, once more holding his hands up and slowly backing away the direction he'd come from.
"I'll leave you be, then."
You stay standing, waiting, for at least 20 minutes after he disappears and the sound of his footsteps fade away in the sounds of the forest. You can't trust that he won't turn around and try killing you when your guard was most lowered.
Eventually, your hackles lower. And with a somber glance around at the cozy little campsite you'd occupied for the past couple months, you sigh. You supposed it was time to move on.
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The second time you meet, you nearly kill him.
The little cabin in the woods you'd discovered after packing up camp had clearly seen better days, but over the course of the few weeks you'd been staying there, it felt a little more like a home. Some reinforcing wood planks to keep the door from caving in case the infected got wind of you, and a bit of cleaning to get the worst of the bloodstains off from the floor saw the inside looking downright cosy.
It wasn't exactly your apartment from back in the day, but hey, one couldn't be picky.
The sound of shuffling feet outside has you glancing up from your book and sighing, annoyed that an infected or two had wandered their way close to your shelter. It was strange that they so frequently seemed to wander by this deep into the woods. You hadn't seen that pattern at your old campsite, but here it was almost routine.
You dog-ear the page you were on and set it on the side table, next to the burning candle providing you with the light. Grabbing your improvised spear leaning in the corner of the main living space, you rise and peer out the window to out into the darkening evening.
You freeze, pulling yourself out of the window's sight. A stuttered breath escapes you.
Two men. Not infected. Shit.
Backing away and crouching down below the sill of the window, you scramble as quietly as you can towards where you kept your small bag of weapons on the nearby counter. One hand reaches up into it, ears perked up for any sign that the men had reached your doorstep, and blindly closes around the handle of your 9mm pistol.
Thank fuck you always kept it loaded.
You catch snippets of the two talking outside, the distance and the walls in between you making the words indistinguishable, but their closeness had your heart pounding a little faster in your chest. Your eyes scan the room, looking for a hiding spot or a vantage point that would protect you from possible harm. And suddenly the cabin doesn't seem all that great anymore, seeing nothing to aid you and nowhere to hide.
With a snarl, you curse your own shitty luck. This might get ugly.
Drawing the knife from your hip into your other hand, you crouch to the right of the front doorway, back to the wall. At least it should shield you when they initially entered your little home. Maybe it would buy you a little time, but you didn't hold out hope you could hide from them completely. Not with two of them...
Heavy boots on the steps to your cabin alert you to their impending entrance. With a moment to close your eyes and focus, you adjust the gun's grip in your hand, opening them again when you hear mumbling and hesitation from the two intruders. Their voices are low, gruff.
A spike shoots through your heart when the door bursts open, swinging towards you on its squeaking hinges. Just as planned, it shields you from their initial entrance. They step inside, systematically checking the room. You get ready on your toes, prepared to spring out at a moment's notice.
You get your chance as the door begins to close, the man doing so with their back to you, talking to their companion in a hushed tone. And while the crossbow-wielding companion widens his eyes as he spots you, the other that you'd set your sights on is too late to react as you gun is held to his temple and the knife rests upon his neck. He tenses with a curse under his breath, and smartly doesn't try to resist.
"Hey!" Your captive's companion shouts, eyes hard. "Let 'im go."
"Hell if I'm gonna just let you bastards walk in and take what you want." You say with as much steadiness as you can manage in your voice. "Y'all're trespassing in my home. I got every right to defend myself."
He practically growls back. "Ain't gonna be anyone's if you don't get those outta his face."
The crossbowman shifts on his feet, trying to figure out what to do, given his friends is currently in such a precarious spot between your weapons. It surely doesn't help your own nerves seeing him so antsy. You find yourself pressing the knife just a little bit more against your hostage's skin, not enough to actually cut, but at least so he doesn't get any stupid ideas while you have control.
"Tell your friend to put the crossbow down." You mutter into the man's ear, ignoring the feeling that you somehow...recognized him. You hadn't gotten a great look at his face before holding him captive, but something about him felt...familiar.
"Daryl, easy." The man in front of you says, one hand coming up to try placating the other. "Put it down. We'll talk."
One of the crossbow bolts is leveled straight at you, but you're careful to keep most of your body hidden behind the man you were currently holding hostage. If he was smart, he wouldn't try taking his chances with shooting the small portion of you that was visible. Besides, even if he got a shot off, there was no telling if you'd accidentally pull the trigger or slice his neck on the way down. And that doubt was exactly what you needed.
You can see him--Daryl, supposedly-- glancing between you and his friend, but eventually the crossbow is lowered to a more non-threatening state. Wasn't all that happy about it, either. He still hadn't put it onto his back, ready to bring it up and shoot you at a moment's notice, but at least you weren't staring down the business end of an arrow.
"Say your piece." Daryl spits.
"All I want is to be left alone." You demand, keeping the knife to your captive's neck, but pointing the gun at Daryl. You flick it quickly towards the open door behind you. "Leave, and I'll send your friend a few minutes after when I'm satisfied you're not nearby."
Clearly unhappy with that demand, Daryl takes a step forward, but your gun returns to his companion's head for emphasis. "Don't have to like it, but if you don't want him hurt, then do as I ask."
"Like hell I'll-"
"Do what she says."
Daryl's jaw sets. "Rick, I ain't leavin' you with-"
"Like she said, it's her home."
Before you can fully mask it, your brows twitch upwards in recognition. That name...
"Askin' me to trust her..." Chewing on his bottle lip with worry, Daryl looks back to you with a glare. "What's to say you won't kill him the moment I walk out that door?"
"All you got is my word that I won't." You admit, knowing that promises meant so little nowadays. Your answer doesn't inspire any reassurance in the bowman, who scoffs and shakes his head. "I just want you away from me, and I'd prefer not to kill anyone to do it. But I will if you make me."
Rick nods as much as your knife allows him to towards the open door. "Go on. I'll catch up with you."
It takes several seconds, and no doubt some unspoken conversation between Rick and Daryl, but eventually the crossbowman takes one step and then another towards the door. You shift and lead Rick so that your back is never to Daryl as he goes, the gun and knife staying right where they are just in case he tries anything stupid.
You watch, adrenaline quickening your breath, as Daryl does as he's told and steps down onto the grass, finally disappearing into the trees beyond after some minutes. And even still, it takes another minute before you're completely comfortable that he's left.
Now, to deal with your hostage...
You release the knife and push him away from you harshly, gun leveled squarely on his head. Rick recovers, turning to see that while he was no longer in your hostile grip, he wasn't fully in the clear either.
"Told you once already Rick." You say, immediately recognizing the man and his scruffy facial hair. From the scrunch of his eyes and furrowed brow, clearly he'd also been wondering why you sounded so familiar too. "I just wanna be left alone."
"Didn't know it was you." He says, reaching up to rub at his neck, checking for cuts. But there was nothing. "Far as I knew, you were still campin' somewhere in the woods. If I'da known, wouldn't have come out here."
"Well..." You give a sigh, feeling a sudden sensation of fatigue. All this had thoroughly exhausted you. "Doesn't matter now. What's done is done."
He looks at you silently, appearing very relaxed for still having the gun aimed at him. Perhaps he didn't believe you'd really shoot. And unfortunately for you, it was growing more and more likely you wouldn't.
With a glance towards the door--there was no sign of Daryl, still--you gesture to it with your knife. "Go on. Don't come back. I'll be gone by the time you might come looking anyway."
Rick gives one last look, before slowly walking to the open door. But, he stops just as he gets to the threshold, turning back to you again with a thoughtful expression.
"You don't have to be alone." His voice is soft, gentle, and yet still holds onto that confidence and certainty you'd heard when you'd first met. "Daryl and I...we come from a community. Dozens of people. Good people."
You only stare, making it clear what your answer was with the hardness of your expression. Even still, it doesn't stop him from trying one more time.
"It ain't safe out here on your own anymore. People have always needed each other, even before, but that's more true now than it ever was. Can't you see that?"
At the very least, you spare him a few moments of thought, before you gesture towards the door with your gun without a word. Rick looks down, accepting that he hadn't convinced you. Then, you see a little amused smile lift the corners of his mouth, head shaking slightly.
"I still don't even know your name."
You match his smile, though it lacks the amusement.
"It's better that way."
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Hmm, well, they say the third time's the charm.
Out of breath, heart beating the drums of adrenaline and survival instinct through you, your eyes whipped around the forest for any sign of your pursuers. The rain wasn't making it easy at all, pouring down through the canopy of leaves above and making everything much too noisy to hear if anyone was closing in.
You'd lost a lot of blood, and you'd no doubt lose a lot more unless you managed to get a decent bandage on your wound. The first had already fallen off, sopping wet from the rain and doing nothing whatsoever to staunch the blood from seeping out of your side. Whatever caliber round the person with the rifle was using was terrifying, and you doubted another shot would miss its mark quite like the first did.
Fatigue was dangerously close to descending on your muscles and limbs, and already you could feel the impending weakness from not enough blood pumping through your veins. You didn't have much time. But your only option was to run.
Blindly. Frantically. No destination in mind, and no one to help you. Was this how you died? Were all those years making ends meet, killing and scavenging and surviving just to bleed out like this? Like a wounded animal in the middle of nowhere? It all felt so unbelievably unfair.
Teeth grit against both the searing pain of your wound and the tired muscles in your legs, you rise from against the tree with a gasp and limp as fast as you were able through the dark grey forest.
Paranoia had you hearing the crunch of leaves behind you every few feet, but no matter how many times you'd whip your head around to face the incoming threat, there was no one there. The rain deafened everything else, and it was then that you realized you needed to have a better sense of the direction you were running. All of this wouldn't be helped by running face-first into the jaws of a hungry infected.
Wiping the rain from your eyes as best you can, squinting into the gloom, you make your way in one set direction. The forest all looked the same, no matter where you swept your gaze. For all you knew, you could be running in circles-
The distant bang somewhere behind you wasn't what caused your body to jolt painfully in place, but the splintering of the tree trunk from the bullet's impact right beside you certainly did. With a yelp of surprise and fear, you take off with renewed vigor, pushing past your already screaming lungs and shaking limbs.
You would not die out here. You swore it.
Now making a zig-zagging path through the forest, hopeful that the unpredictable path would discourage further shots from your would-be killer, you keep going. Your own sense of dread rises the more you feel yourself becoming dizzy. Whether it was from pushing yourself too hard, running for too long, or simply the loss of blood, you can't be sure.
And suddenly you're breaking through the trees and onto an empty road. And while you're surprised by the unexpected change of scenery, you don't have time to properly stop and process it.
That's why, seeing something that looked manmade at the end of the road up ahead--too far to make out properly, but clearly a construction of some kind--you immediately make your way towards it. The thought that someone might be inside didn't even cross your mind. Perhaps it would give you the shelter or place to hide that you needed. That was the plan, anyway.
Black dots edge at your vision, and you slow, chest heaving with the need for oxygen. Which, in turn, only further worsens your body's need for blood to distribute it.
No, no, no no no!
You'd reached your limit, and barely 100 meters from the walls you'd been running towards, you collapse in a heap in the rain. The impact upon the pavement doesn't register until moments later, and by then you swear you're hearing things because...over the sound of the pounding rain, you swear you hear voices.
Stay with me.
Don't close your eyes.
Self-preservation tells you that something is nearby, and a figure takes up the small window of vision you still have left, but everything is much too blurry to make out. The disorientation of being on the brink of passing out is terrifying.
This is the end, you think, cursing everything and everyone you can think of in your last moments, quickly losing the ability to even care as blood loss seeps you of strength. How completely unfair.
Consciousness eludes you, and everything goes black.
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No matter how many days you heard it, some part of you believed you'd never get used to the sound; the laughter of children. Sing-songy voices as they played chalk games and tag in some nearby yard. When was the last time you'd heard such...such joy?
You'd cried when you realized you could no longer remember. The doctor attending to you--Siddiq as you'd learned his name to be later on--was quite concerned upon seeing you with red, watery eyes when he'd returned. It had taken quite a lot to convince him you were fine. It had taken all afternoon to truly accept the fact that you weren't dreaming and this was indeed real life. Without even having to explain your feelings, he'd seemed to just know, and understand.
There was little else to do but sleep and think when stuck in an infirmary bed for days on end. It had only taken you until that first afternoon to inspect your room with suspicion. The decorative trinkets and knick-knacks almost felt offensive. You'd nearly just died, and they'd stuck your ass in a room that looked right at home in one of those interior design magazines from way back when.
Rick had visited you that first evening. Came to check on you and see if you were recovering ok. Past the basic small talk, and the most superficial of answers to deeper questions, the conversation had been brief. And then he'd left, promising to come back another time when you were feeling more up to talking.
After that, there'd been more hours of staring up at a ceiling. More bouts of short naps that, admittedly, were very much needed. You hadn't slept as long or so comfortably in...hell, you couldn't recall. Unable to lift yourself from the bed, there was little else to do but wait, bide your time and recover.
And it unfortunately wouldn't be quick.
For the most part, you were left alone. From what you had surmised, they'd stuck you in a room separate to the rest of the infirmary, perhaps for safety. You didn't mind the distance. It gave you plenty of time to listen, to observe, to get an idea of what Rick had talked about in that cabins all those weeks ago. His words had meant so little back then, but now...?
Rick and his people truly had it lucky. All this...normality. People forgetting about the world out there, if even for a moment. Such luxury you'd never been able to afford. Slipping up for even a moment could very literally be a death sentence--hell, it nearly had been, even when you'd stayed vigilant--but these people...they didn't live every waking moment wondering if the next would be their last. They didn't sleep with a knife in their hands, ready to strike against anything that felt out of place. They didn't need walls around their hearts and minds because they'd built them from metal to protects their homes and their families. Large sheets, tall and sturdy.
These people...they laughed, they loved, they danced and sang. They ate dinners together around a table as a family. They gossiped with their neighbors, worried about if you were comfortable or if you needed another pillow behind your head. They cared, damnit. They felt safe.
They lived, so fully and freely.
Could you say the same for yourself?
If asked, you didn't think you'd be able to describe the feelings being in a place like this was invoking. Some mix between disbelief and...hope, perhaps. Something once thought unattainable, or lost forever, was right here in front of your eyes. And suddenly you thought you understood the difference between living and just surviving. Or, at the very least, began to grasp at the concept.
Your wound was still tender. It would be for another week still. But after several days of bed rest you could finally stand and walk around without much difficulty now. You wouldn't be running marathons anytime soon, but it was better than being confined. Although, Siddiq kept you from leaving the infirmary and getting some fresh air, which indicated that someone had put you on some sort of house arrest.
Made sense. You weren't much more than a stranger to any of these people. No one would let someone like that run amuck in their home.
You heard the footsteps leading up to your door before it actually opened. Turning away from the window you'd been looking out of, Rick enters almost cautiously. You meet his gaze, searching for any hint of deception, or bad intentions, but find none. He was comfortable in his surroundings.
He even felt safe enough to offer you a smile.
"Good to see you on your feet." He says evenly, leaning one elbow against a shelf on the opposite end of the room. His thumb slots into his jean pockets with the other. "Siddiq wasn't sure if you'd pull through that first night."
"Yeah, well..." You shrug, not sure what else to say, arms crossing over your chest. "Tougher than I look, I guess."
"That you are."
There's a lull, neither of you really sure what to say. Your gaze returned out the window of your infirmary room, tracking a group of children running after one another playing some sort of game. You couldn't tell exactly what the objective was, watching from afar.
After several moments of watching them, your lip twitches upwards a little. "This all...still feels a bit like a dream. Like I'll wake up at any second and be hit with reality."
You hear him huff an amused breath, steps coming closer. And while you once might have tensed and put more distance between the two of you, it seems illogical that he'd drag you into his home to save your life just to take it now. The reassurance that Rick didn't mean you harm meant you didn't flinch when he came up beside you to peer out the window as well.
"Felt that way for us, too, when we first came." He says with an understanding nod. "Feelin' like the floor's 'bout to give way from underneath you, somethin' like that?"
You nod, then something he'd said makes your brow raise. "You weren't here from the start?"
"My people came later. Much later, actually. We spent weeks on the road just...survivin.' Searchin' for somethin' we didn't know was there or not. And this,'" he gestures out the window, "is what we find at the end of it all. All I could tell myself is 'there must be somethin'. There had to be somethin'...wrong about it. Nothin's that easy. Not anymore."
"And was there? Something wrong?" You can't help but ask, unable to help but get invested in his little story.
"Nothing a harsh wake-up call couldn't fix. They weren't prepared for it, what's out there. Didn't realize how bad it could actually be." Another gesture, this time to the wall you could see in between the gaps of two houses further down. "But they're still here, and that's gotta say something about this place."
You look to him with a side eye. "That they're lucky?"
"That they're capable." Rick's head shakes, meeting your gaze. "See, that's what I missed the first time. I didn't see what they could make themselves to be. It may look like the old world, might have a few fancy amenities, but they've been through more than you think to still be here. And we did it together. For one another."
It's silent as you take in what he'd told you, eyes flicking back to the kids outside. "Tryin' to convince me to stay?" You ask, the humor evident in your tone.
Rick chuckles, that same smile gracing his expression. It still amazed you how at ease he could be in a stranger's presence. "Is it workin'?"
"Not sure yet." You say honestly, a lot of things on your mind.
"I'll take 'not sure' over 'hell no.'" Rick surmises with an accepting nod, not pushing it any further than that. "Siddiq expects you to need awhile longer to recover, so...gives you plenty of time to think on it."
"Maybe..." A thought suddenly comes to mind, and your own smile comes out. "I doubt your friend would appreciate me stayin'."
"Who, Daryl?" Rick's hand dismisses it with a wave. "He'll come around. We were the ones breakin' into your home, after all. Can't blame how you went about defendin' it."
You only shake your head, not truly believing him. Daryl, as you recall, had been ready to skewer you with one of his crossbow bolts. You weren't altogether convinced he still wouldn't the next time you met face to face.
"I'll let you rest." Rick says, pushing away from the window and laying his hand on your shoulder briefly, before turning to leave. "And if you do come to a decision, let me know."
Chewing on your bottom lip in thought, you nod, and he takes his leave of your room, the door closing shut behind him. Your stare remains on the wood for several minutes after, before eventually returning to the window. The children had disappeared from sight, perhaps off to get something to eat. It felt around lunch time anyway.
You had a lot to think about...
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