#and that just hit like a wave of emotions

[pitchsidestories]

cause you know I love the players and you love the game II Alexia Putellas x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1181

a/n: thank you anon for sending us this prompt, we hope you readers enjoy the short oneshot. ❤️

warnings: 18 + smut

It was in the middle of an important game for Barcelona, the last minutes of the second half were on and there was still no goal in sight until this moment.

Emotions ran high between fans and players alike when you’re fouled by an opposing defender in the penalty area.

For a moment the pain was overwhelming, you could feel your girlfriends worried gaze on you as you slowly got to your feet again.

Meanwhile the referee has pointed to the penalty kick, Alexia was readying herself to fulfil her captain duties, but you held her back with your less hurting arm. There was a fire in your stomach which gave you the belief that you’d be able to score.

“Amor, let me do the penalty kick.”,

“What? You?”, she raised her eyebrows surprised.

“Yes, come on move over, Ale.”, you told her unimpressed.

“No.”, Alexia shook her head determined.

“Alexia.”, you replied impatiently.

“You know what you’re doing?”, your girlfriend sighed.

“Of course I do.”, certainty shimmering through your words.

“Make sure you hit it with enough power. To the left, it’s the goalies weak side.”, the blonde advised you.

She knew you were unstoppable when you were in the mood you were in. Her trust was rewarded with you converting the penalty kick. Immediately your teammates gathered around for a group hug.

“Not bad.”, Alexia commented nonchalantly.

“Told you so.”, you grinned triumphantly at her as you started running next to each other, there was still a bit of time to play in the game.

During an injury break she whispered into your ear, her voice being raspy from the match sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

“I still hate being told what to do. Except in the bedroom but that’s a different story.”

“Oh, you do, huh? I’ll keep that in mind tonight.”, you answered in a teasingly tone.

“Girls, we’ve children on the pitch please keep that in mind.”, Marta intervened chuckling.

“I’m 18 now that means I’m an adult, Marta.”, Vicky protested.  

“How did you even hear this?”, Alexia asked the older teammate.

“That’s my secret.”, she winked conspiratorial.

“Anyways. We still have some more minutes to play.”, the blonde reminded everyone.

“Yes, let’s keep focused and not think about tonight.”, you agreed smiling when you noticed your girlfriend shudder at the hinting of later. Tonight sounded like a promise to her.

“Yes, come on, girls.”, she nervously redid her ponytail.

“What did you say to our capi?”, Ona wanted to know curiously after the final whistle.

“Oh, nothing just what we’ll have for dinner.”, you shrugged laughing.

“Alright. I understand.”, the younger defender exchanged a knowing look between you.

Alexia raised her eyebrows and echoed: “Dinner?“

You shrugged with an innocent smile: “Yes, you looked very hungry.“

“I am in fact.“, she winked, playing along.

“Don’t worry, we’ll satisfy your hunger later.“, you laughed and got back into position.

You watched Alexia bite down on her lower lip: “Can’t wait.“

Stifling a laugh, you tried to focus back on the game without thinking too hard about the flirty sound of Alexias voice.

For the first time, you couldn’t wait for the referee to finally blow her whistle and end the game.

Ever since your girlfriend started teasing you mid-game, you felt this pulling sensation in your lower half. Maybe Alexia wasn’t the only one that needed to satisfy a craving.

You walked the perimeter of the football pitch, applauding and thanking the fans for their support when all you wanted to do was go home.

Alexia caught up with you, finally done with signing jerseys and taking selfies.

“Ready to go home?“, you asked.

She nodded, tired but happy: “Very ready.“

“Bye, girls.“, you waved to your teammates who slowly got ready to leave the stadium as well.

Ona gave you a meaningful smile and plainly said: “Enjoy.“

“Thanks.“, you grinned at her before turning to your girlfriend. She was already busy waving to the crowds again. “Come on, Ale.“

“Coming. Goodbye, Mapi.“

“Bye, girls.“, the defender waved with the arm she didn’t have around Ingrid.

You have never been more grateful that Alexia only lived a few minutes away from the stadium. When you finally reached her doorstep, you let out a sigh: “Home.“

“Finally.“, your girlfriend agreed as she unlocked the door and let you go inside first.

You smirked, dropping your bag on the floor and slipped out of your shoes: “Someone’s impatient.“

She didn’t deny it. Instead she flung the door closed and bridged the gap between the two of you, pushing you up against the wall.

“I think I waited long enough.“, she murmured into your ear. Her breath was hot against your skin, her hands trying to find their way under your shirt.

You bit back a moan and gently pushed her away: “Go to the bedroom. I’ll be coming soon.“

The suggestive nature of the last sentence wasn’t lost on you.

Alexia obediently followed your instruction. She was already in her underwear when you rejoined her in her bedroom.

And she hadn’t gained any more patience. She continued where you had left off.

Putting her lips on yours, she pushed you backwards onto her bed with such force that you bounced on the mattress.

You laughed as she kneeled over you, her lips exploring your body, leaving sweet kisses all over your naked skin. Her hands cupped your breasts, drawing small circles with her thumbs.

Every touch filled you with more anticipation. You arched your back, making sure she didn’t take too much time, making sure she knew that you couldn’t wait any longer.

Finally, she moved her hand between your thighs. First, slowly rubbing before she slipped her long fingers inside, curling them extremely effectively.

It didn’t take long until you sighed in blissful relief.

You had gotten what you craved. About time to satisfy Alexias hunger next.

Unlike her you knew you’d take your time with her. First you let your gaze wander at the midfielder’s sight in front of you after you helped her slipping out of the sports bra. She was looking back at you with almost a bit of a shyness biting her lips. A slight blush was creeping on her high cheekbones.

“Don’t let me wait for too long.”, Alexia whispered as you made your way from kissing her mouth to the vein on to her neck to her collarbone, while she shivered pleasantly under your touches.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”, you asked innocently.

The blonde replied with an eyeroll which could only be read as are you serious you know the answer to it.

Despite her impatience you continued your trail of kisses through her body until you reached her pants which you took off in one move, it was already a bit wet.

Softly you parted her legs before you used your mouth to lick first slowly than faster till you heard her moan from pleasure.

The different story had unfolded right here in the bed sheets and you both wouldn’t have it any other way.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 9 - His Angel | ‘Act II’

word count - 12k

One evening, while at a friend’s party, things boiled over. Jude was already on edge, his emotions raw and barely contained. Toby had been trying to talk him down, saying it wasn’t worth getting upset over, but it only fueled Jude’s frustration. 

“She was probably just waiting till you filled her wardrobe up,” Toby said casually, taking a swig of his drink, not fully understanding the depth of Jude’s turmoil. Jude froze, the words striking a nerve he hadn’t even realized was so exposed. He narrowed his eyes, the anger building inside him. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.Toby shrugged, not sensing the shift in Jude’s mood. 

“I mean, come on, mate. You think she’s ignoring you because she’s heartbroken? Girls like that move on fast. She’s probably prepping for the next season—new baller, new clothes, new Instagram posts. You know how it is.” Toby chuckled a little like this was obvious. 

“Are you serious right now?” he growled, stepping toward Toby. “You think she was just some girl using me? Using me for fucking social media clout?” Jude snapped. His fist clenched, the frustration of everything—the uncertainty, the silence, the way you left—pushed him over the edge. Toby looked taken aback by Jude’s sudden aggression.

“Hey, relax, mate. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying...the whole thing’s been, what, a holiday fling? You’re just trying to make yourself feel better because you’re finally realizing what this was. You’ll be fine, bro. Take a breath and move on. You said yourself you’re still the same lad… before and after Y/N.” The words hit Jude like a punch to the gut. The idea that this was just a fling, something temporary, something you’d move on from, sent him into a blind rage. He shoved Toby back, his voice rising as his emotions bubbled over. 

“You don’t know anything about her or what we have!” Jude shouted, his face twisted in anger. “It’s not some fling, yeah? I fucking love her!” The room went silent. Toby stared at Jude, wide-eyed and speechless. He had never seen Jude like this—so raw, so vulnerable. It was clear this wasn’t just some casual relationship for Jude. His feelings for you ran deeper than anyone had realized, maybe even deeper than Jude himself had admitted before.

“You...you love her? Wow.” He asked, his voice soft, the shock evident in his tone. Toby blinked, trying to process what Jude had just said Jude, still seething, ran a hand over his face, realizing what he had just admitted in the heat of the moment. His chest heaved, the intensity of his emotions crashing over him like a wave. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, quieter now, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “I love her.” For a moment, neither of them said anything. Toby, still stunned, finally nodded, understanding dawning on him. 

“I didn’t know, mate,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize it was like that.” Jude slumped down on the couch, his anger subsiding into a heavy, aching feeling in his chest. 

“Yeah, well...I fucked it up so now the girl I love left.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of his own words settling in. He had messed up. He had pushed you away, and now you were gone. And for the first time, he was admitting—out loud—that he was in love with you, and he might have lost you for good. Jude got up and left the room, his heart racing and his mind spinning. He found an empty bedroom down the hall, pushed open the door, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands raked over his hair, pulling at the roots as if that would somehow release the pent-up frustration. Everything inside him was burning—anger, regret, sadness, but more than anything, pain. Moments later, the door creaked open. Toby hesitated for a moment before stepping in, the awkward tension filling the air. He cleared his throat. 

"Do you... do you really love her, mate?" He asked. Jude didn’t look up, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the floor. Toby, trying to lighten the mood, let out a small, nervous laugh. "I mean, I never thought we’d get past having school crushes. You know? Didn’t think you’d actually—"

"Shut up, Toby," Jude snapped, his voice thick with emotion. The lightheartedness grated against the rawness he felt. This wasn’t a joke. Not to him.

"Sorry, man. I didn’t mean—" Toby's smile faded. 

"It’s not funny." Jude’s voice cracked. His chest heaved as he tried to gather the words, his hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly. "You don’t get it. You don’t understand how much it hurts being apart from her. It’s like...it’s like breathing is harder when she’s not around. Everything is harder." His voice broke, the vulnerability he had tried to suppress for so long spilling out now that the dam had burst. Toby stood in stunned silence, his eyes widening as he watched his usually composed friend unravel. He had never seen Jude like this—so utterly broken. He wasn’t sure what to say. Jude continued, his voice softer but filled with despair. "When she’s around, everything feels lighter, man. She... she’s this perfect angel, and when she’s there, she makes everything easier. I didn’t realize how much I relied on her until she left." His fists clenched, and he let out a shaky breath. "I pushed her away. I hurt her, and now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to fix it." Toby took a cautious step closer, seeing the tears welling in Jude’s eyes. He had always known Jude to be strong, unshakable, but now? Now he was witnessing the depths of Jude’s emotions, the sheer gravity of what this relationship meant to him. Jude blinked rapidly, fighting to keep the tears from falling, but they slipped down his cheeks anyway. "You don’t know what it feels like. My heart... it’s in so much pain, and it’s my fault. I did this." His voice cracked again, the weight of his guilt crushing him. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, but the tears kept coming. Toby finally sat down next to him, completely out of his depth but trying to be there. He placed a hesitant hand on Jude’s shoulder. 

"I had no idea it was like this, man. I’m sorry, bro. I didn’t realize she meant so much to you." Toby spoke. Jude shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"I knew. I knew and I ignored it... until it was too late." He let out a deep, shuddering breath. "I’m in love with her, and I pushed her away. Now, I don’t know if she’ll ever come back." Toby sat there, unsure of what to say, but knowing that this was the most serious, the most real, he had ever seen Jude. The magnitude of what had just unfolded between them was undeniable. Jude wasn’t just heartbroken—he was devastated, and it was clear that losing you was his worst fear coming true. Jude sat on the edge of the bed, his emotions swirling like a storm. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the weight of it all was too much. His hands gripped the duvet beneath him, knuckles white with frustration and sadness. Toby wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave. Jude—the cool, calm guy who always had it together—was now unraveling in front of him, and Toby had no clue how to help.

"So… love her? You sure? Maybe you’re just.. I don’t know, mate. Just take a breath here, yeah?”  Toby spoke, this time softer, without the nervous laugh from earlier. He thought maybe Jude was stressed, maybe he had drinks Toby didn’t see, he wasn’t sure. This felt foreign.  Jude didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the floor, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 

"You don’t know her, Toby." Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, but every word was loaded with meaning. 

“What do you mean? I’ve met her. She seems nice. But you know, maybe—" Toby frowned, confused by the response

"No." Jude cut him off, looking up at Toby for the first time, his eyes blazing with emotion. "You don’t know her." He wiped his face roughly, trying to rein in the tears that kept threatening to fall. "She’s...she’s not what you think. Not just some girl I picked up while on holiday, not some girl after my lifestyle. You have no idea." Toby stayed quiet, realizing Jude wasn’t just venting. He was confessing something very real. Jude shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. "She’s so much more. She’s strong, yeah, but... behind that strength, behind this thick wall she puts up, she’s soft, man. So soft. It’s like... like there’s this glass around her, and you’d never know how delicate she is unless you’re lucky enough to be let in. And I was." His voice cracked again, but he kept going. "I was the lucky one. She let me in, and I didn’t even realize how much of a privilege that was. I took it all for granted." Toby was silent, his earlier casual attitude completely gone. He could see now that this wasn’t just about a girl or a fling. This was something deep, something Jude had been hiding, maybe even from himself. Jude rubbed his temples, frustration clear in his every movement. "She’s... she’s perfect, Tobs. I mean, not in the way you’re thinking. Of course, she’s fit but she’s perfect in all the little ways that matter. The way she smiles when she thinks I’m not looking, the way she laughs at my dumb jokes, even when they’re not funny. And when she talks about something she loves, it’s like the whole world disappears. I’d be lucky to even have a chance to hear her talk about a painting for hours." Toby shifted, unsure of what to say, but Jude wasn’t done. His voice grew more intense as he continued. "You don’t know what it’s like to have someone like that. Someone who makes you feel like... like you’re not just another guy, like you’re special and not special in the way the whole world perceives you to be. Special in a way because of everything but that. And I messed it up. I pushed her away because I was scared. Scared of how much she means to me." Jude’s fists clenched, his breathing ragged as the emotion took hold again. "You don’t get it, Toby. When she’s not around, when she’s not there to lighten the load. She’s... she’s my angel, man. And I don’t know if I’ve lost her for good."Toby’s eyes narrowed at the weight of Jude’s words sinking in. Jude wasn’t just in love—he was consumed by it.

"Mate..." Toby started, trying to find the right words. "I really had no idea. You should’ve said something. I’m sorry I piled on. You’re Jude though, girl stuff always works out for you.” He gave him a sympathetic smile. Jude shook his head in disagreement. You were not another girl and he should’ve told you that because he knew it. Toby could feel his despair radiating off him. “I know I give you shit but you should’ve told me. I would’ve listened, I… I would’ve… I don’t know maybe treated her a bit differently knowing she wasn’t just passing through. I didn’t know you two were like that… honest.” Toby sighed a bit consumer by guilt that he hadn’t seen it.  

"Of course you didn’t," Jude muttered, shaking his head. "No one did. I kept it hidden because I didn’t want to seem weak. But now? Now, it’s all crashing down, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve hurt her, Toby. I’ve hurt the one person I’d do anything for." Jude’s eyes filled with tears again as he confessed, "I’ve never felt like this before. It’s not just about her being beautiful or smart or whatever. It’s about who she is when no one’s watching. How she holds everything together, how she let me in when she didn’t have to. And now… fuck." Toby couldn't wrap his head around this. A big part of it being that Jude had been playing two roles. One for everyone else and one for you. He sat next to Jude listening as his friend poured his heart out. Jude wiped at his eyes again, trying to stop the tears from falling. "I love her, Tobs," Jude said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I love her so much that it hurts. And now she’s gone. I really fucking love her." Toby squeezed Jude’s shoulder gently, realizing that this was more than just a rough patch. Jude had found something rare, something deep, and in his mind, he had lost it all.

The stillness of the gallery felt almost oppressive as you sat there, staring at a message from Aurelian. The silence that had once been comforting now seemed suffocating. The familiar hum of the city outside didn’t reach you here, not in this moment. The world outside carried on, but in this space, in this moment, everything felt frozen. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath. Your hand trembled as you clutched your phone, reading and rereading the message.

‘Hey, chérie. Haven’t seen you around lately. Thought you disappeared or finally wised up and left Jude xx’

The words played on a loop in your mind. What was meant to be a lighthearted joke carried the weight of something far heavier. The irony, the bitter truth woven into those casual words, twisted something inside you. It wasn’t the joke itself—it was the reality behind it. You had left Jude. You had wised up, hadn’t you? You’d finally done what was necessary to protect yourself, hadn’t you? But why did it feel like anything but wisdom? You leaned back in your chair, staring blankly at the paintings in front of you. The half-finished piece seemed to mock you, its vibrant colors dulling in the dim light of the gallery. Your mind wandered back to Madrid, to the moment you stormed out of Jude’s house, his voice ringing in your head, the anger, the hurt, the finality of it all. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the pain was still fresh, still raw. Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from the spiral of thoughts. Another message from Aurelian.

'Jude never said anything, so I wasn’t sure if you two were still a thing. I just wanted to let you know I’m having a party for my birthday. You should come. Jude’s invited too, but I figured you’re your own person, right? No pressure, just thought I’d throw it out there.'

You read the words once, twice, then a third time. It felt strange—foreign, almost—that Aurelian would reach out. You barely knew him beyond the surface level. He was Jude’s teammate, someone who existed in Jude’s world, not yours. Yet here he was, extending an invitation like none of that mattered. Like you mattered outside of Jude. A strange mix of emotions churned inside you—nausea, confusion, a flicker of something resembling hope, but mostly a gnawing emptiness. You weren’t sure why, but something about Aurelian’s message made your chest feel heavy. Maybe it was the idea that people already saw you and Jude as over, as if the relationship had never really meant anything. As if it was nothing but a fleeting moment in time. But it wasn’t fleeting for you. You hadn’t moved on. You couldn’t. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face—those dark, cheeky, expressive eyes that told you more than his words ever could. You saw the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he said your name like it was something sacred. And now, all you had left was this void—a gaping hole where he used to be. You glanced back down at the screen, your finger hovering over the reply button. What could you even say? Did you even want to respond? Aurelian’s message, innocent as it was, brought everything crashing down on you all over again. You thought you were coping, thought you were getting through the pain, but the reality was you had simply buried it deep enough to pretend you were okay. And now, it was all bubbling back to the surface. You stood up, pacing the small gallery space, the echo of your footsteps the only sound in the room. Aurelian’s words replayed in your mind. 'Finally wised up and left Jude.' Was that how it looked to everyone else? Like you had made the smart, rational choice? Like leaving him was the right thing to do? But it didn’t feel right. It felt like a mistake—a colossal, gut-wrenching mistake. And now, here you were, standing alone in New York, trying to figure out where everything had gone so horribly wrong. You sank back into the chair, a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your hand moved instinctively to your phone, pulling up Jude’s Instagram. He hadn’t posted much since you left. Just a few cryptic photos—training shots, some scenic views of Madrid. Nothing personal, nothing that gave you any insight into how he was feeling.  You clicked back to Aurelian’s message, staring at the text. Your finger hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say or if you should even say anything at all. But then, almost without thinking, you typed a response.

'Hey, thanks for the invite. I’ve been back in New York for a while now… just needed some space from the fun in Madrid. Have had a lot of work to do.'

You stared at the message, fingers trembling. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough. You hit send, heart racing as you watched the message deliver. It was a small step, but it felt monumental. 

'I hadn’t heard about the party from Jude…'

You carefully added, hoping the implication was clear enough for Aurelian to realize that you weren’t in touch with Jude. That you weren’t even in Spain. You made sure to emphasize you were definitely your own person now. The reminder, more to yourself than to Aurelian, stung. You had almost let Jude take that from you—your independence, your sense of self, your confidence.You didn’t know about the party from Jude. In fact, you didn’t know what Jude had been doing at all. You had been intentionally distancing yourself from him, avoiding his social media and keeping your phone at arm’s length. But it was impossible not to indulge in the pain of checking his match results. You still couldn’t help it—typing and deleting messages to congratulate him on an assist or a goal, as if some part of you was still tethered to him, as if a simple 'good game' might somehow fix what was broken. When Aurelian had messaged you about his birthday party, you felt a sudden pang of confusion mixed with something else—an ache, maybe, or a resentment toward the situation you were in. The sting of realizing that Jude hadn’t told you anything about it cut deep, but you quickly reminded yourself that you weren’t in Madrid anymore. You weren’t part of that world, part of his world. Not anymore. When Aurelian responded again, the message caught you off guard. The tone was familiar, comfortable, but there was something about it that made you pause. Flirty? Maybe. Or maybe you just wanted it to be. 

'City's not as fun without you around. You’re your own person so just wanted to extend the invite to you but it was a stretch. I’ve always known you were in a league of your own.'

It was a compliment, for sure, and your heart fluttered a little. You weren’t sure how to feel about it—how you should feel about it. There was a part of you that felt guilty, as if entertaining the idea of anyone else, even casually, was some kind of betrayal to what you had with Jude. But there was also a part of you that felt validated, like you needed to hear that someone—anyone—still saw you as more than just the girl Jude had left behind.

'If you find yourself in Madrid for my birthday, it’d be the best present if you came through.'

You stared at the message, unsure whether to laugh or feel conflicted. He was obviously joking—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But the words lingered, hanging in the air, teasing the idea that maybe you weren’t just a footnote in Jude’s life. Maybe you could still be seen, desired, wanted, even in this limbo you were living in. What really stopped you in your tracks, though, were the last few lines. Aurelian switched to French, and the words hit you in a way that English never could. 

'J’espère que tu vas bien. Tu me manques, ton accent, tes blagues, nos conversations.' [I hope you are well. I miss you, your accent, your jokes, our conversations.]

Even though French was spoken around the world, it still felt like a secret code between the two of you.You reread the message, your heart twisting in your chest. French had always been a part of you—a piece of your identity that grounded you, that reminded you of home, of your family, of everything that existed before Madrid, before Jude. And now, here was Aurelian, using it to reach out to you in a way that felt intimate, like he understood more than you thought. You closed your eyes, letting the words wash over you, the familiarity of the language wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. There was something nostalgic and bittersweet about it, like you were being pulled back into a part of yourself that you had forgotten. Or maybe, a part of yourself that you had abandoned.

'Tu me manques.' [I miss you.]

You missed him, too. Not in the way you missed Jude, but you missed the life you had in Madrid—the conversations, the lightheartedness, the easy camaraderie with people like Aurelian, who didn’t make things so complicated. It felt simple, effortless. And right now, you were craving simplicity. You stared at your phone for what felt like hours, the cursor blinking in the empty text box. What could you even say? The idea of going back to Madrid seemed impossible, a fantasy. The thought of running into Jude again—of reopening those wounds—was too much to bear. And yet, the thought of staying away, of cutting yourself off completely, left you feeling hollow. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. You wanted to tell Aurelian that you missed the conversations too, that you missed speaking French, missed feeling like yourself. But the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, you typed something simple, something safe.

'Thank you for the invite. I’m not sure if I’ll make it back to Madrid anytime soon, but I appreciate it. Hope your birthday’s a good one. Joyeux anniversaire, beau garçon.' [Happy birthday, handsome boy.]

You sent the message before you could overthink it, and then you sat back, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight of everything—Madrid, Jude, the mess you left behind—settled back into your chest. You didn’t know what was next, didn’t know how you were supposed to move forward. But for the first time in a long time, you realized that you didn’t have to have all the answers. Maybe it was okay to just exist for a little while, to find your footing again before diving back into the chaos.  As you sat there, your phone buzzed with another message from Aurelian. You didn’t open it right away. Instead, you allowed yourself to breathe, to sit in the stillness, to think about what you really wanted. Not what Jude wanted, or what Aurelian wanted, but what you wanted  Because in the end, you were your own person. And no one could take that from you.

When Whitney called to tell you she was going to see Jude this week, you felt a sharp pang in your chest. It wasn’t unexpected—after all, he was still part of her circle, somehow—but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. Your heart hurt, caught somewhere between jealousy and sadness, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words to respond.

“I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard,” she explained, her tone filled with concern. Whitney’s voice was careful, measured. You appreciated the gesture—her honesty, her care in telling you ahead of time—but that didn’t stop the dull ache from creeping up on you. You swallowed it down, trying to muster a neutral response.

“It’s fine,” you said, forcing the words out. “He’s your friend too, right?” There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Whitney’s voice came through, more insistent this time. 

“No, he became my friend by proxy,” she clarified quickly, almost urgently. “You’ve always been my best friend. My loyalty is with you.”  That small distinction—her reassurance—eased the tightness in your chest, if only just a little. Whitney had always been your person, the one who knew your heart inside and out, and hearing her reinforce that was a reminder that you weren’t alone, even in the aftermath of everything. You sighed, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Thank you,” you managed, but your voice wavered, the emotions rising up again. Before you could stop yourself, you stuttered, your words spilling out in a quiet, vulnerable rush. “Just… could you tell me if he’s okay? When you see him?” There was silence on the other end, but you knew Whitney. You knew she was processing the weight behind your words, the lingering feelings you had been trying so hard to suppress. You could practically feel her heart breaking for you, even across the ocean.

“I promise I will…” she said softly, her voice filled with the kind of empathy only a best friend could offer. You could hear the unspoken wish in her tone, the way she wished she could be there, in person, to wrap her arms around you and hold you through it all. “I hope he isn’t.” She sympathetically giggled. You smiled but bit your lip, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over.

 “I wish you were here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability of the moment caught you off guard, the way everything felt raw and exposed. Since Whitney moved it had been hard. You didn’t fault her any, in fact you encouraged her move to England but you missed her.

“I wish I could hug you right now,” Whitney said, her voice cracking just enough to reveal her own emotion. “But I’m here, okay? I’m always here, even if it’s over the phone.” You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, and let the quiet between you settle like a balm on your aching heart. She offered to come be with you but you had work and she had Teddy. When you needed her you’d tell her.

When Whitney saw Jude, it was after an England international team friendly. Jude and Trent had gone out with some other friends for dinner, but eventually returned to Whitney’s house, where a group of footballers filled her living room. Despite the chaos, Jude slipped away from the group, finding Whitney alone in the kitchen. 

“Have you talked to her?” Jude hesitated for a second before he spoke.She was rinsing out a glass when he walked in, his presence behind her unmistakable.  Whitney turned off the sink, exhaling softly as she faced him. 

“Obviously, I have. You know I have,” she replied, her tone firmer than usual. There was no room for pleasantries. She had always been fiercely loyal to you, and this moment wasn’t any different.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the weight of the words heavy. Jude stood there, not knowing what to say. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his eyes a little lost. 

“You should be,” she told him, the anger she felt for you evident in her voice. “You really fucked her over, Jude.” Whitney didn’t hold back, meeting his apology with the kind of brutal honesty only a best friend could deliver. The kitchen fell quiet, and while the silence felt tense, it was also thick with a shared understanding. Whitney had every reason to be mad. She had seen you through the worst of it, the heartbreak, the silence, the ache that wouldn’t go away. Jude felt the weight of her words sinking deeper into him. Despite her frustration, Whitney’s naturally nurturing side softened her posture after a while. She had always been a mix of fire and warmth, too kind for her own good at times. So, after the silence had stretched on, she rounded the kitchen island and sat next to him. Jude’s hands clenched into fists on his lap as he looked down, clearly torn.

“How is she?” he asked meekly, as if he was afraid of the answer. Whitney looked at him for a moment, her expression softening. She could see how broken he was, but her loyalty to you came first.  Your heart came first. 

“I’m supposed to tell you she’s fine without you…” She bit her lip and shook her head gently, her voice dropping. Jude’s face contorted in a grimace at those words, the thought of you being okay, of you not caring about him anymore, striking something deep in him. His jaw tightened as if he was fighting back something raw. “Jude… she’s hurt,” she finally admitted, her voice tender despite the situation. “You didn’t just treat her poorly. You led her on and you left her with questions she didn’t deserve.” Whitney saw the pain flash across his face and sighed. Whitney sighed, her frustration palpable as she tried to find the right words. She wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things, but she also didn’t want to completely crush Jude. Still, this wasn’t a situation where being nice felt easy or right. “She’s upset, Jude. You hurt her. You hurt someone who has never even put herself in a position to get hurt before. It was a massive deal that she was opening up to you. She was willing to hurt and you promised her you wouldn’t and yet here we are.” Whitney said, her voice carrying a heaviness that had been building since this whole mess began. Her eyes locked on him, trying to gauge how much he really understood. “Do you even know how much she liked you?” The question hung in the air, and Whitney’s stomach twisted as she waited for his response. She wasn’t just asking for you. She needed to know if Jude had even an inkling of what he’d lost, of how deep your feelings had been, and if he was capable of feeling anything in return.

“Subconsciously, I felt like I knew… but it scared me,” he admitted, his voice quiet, almost ashamed. “Because I think—I know—that I might’ve had even stronger feelings for her. But I didn’t know what to do with that. It scared me, Whit. Telling her, admitting it, would’ve meant growing up… leaving behind this life I knew I was good at.” Jude ran his hands over his face, frustration and regret etched across his features.  He looked down at the floor, almost as if he couldn’t bear to face the truth of his own words. “I don’t know anything about real relationships, and I know she doesn’t deserve anything less,” he added, the words almost a whisper. Whitney sighed again, softer this time, and reached out, picking up his hand.

“Every relationship is different, Jude, so I can’t speak for yours but none of us know what we’re doing at first. We’re all going in blind.” Her fingers tightened around his, a gesture more sisterly than anything, as she looked him square in the eyes. She paused, trying to give him space to let her words sink in. “But eventually,” she continued, “things get crystal clear. You figure it out. But you’ve got to be brave enough to take that step, to risk it. You’ve hurt her so much by not even trying. You’ve been playing it safe because you think you’re good at the life you had before her, but… you’re not that guy anymore, are you?” Jude shook his head. He had told Toby he was but he knew he wasn't. He wasn’t the guy he was ahead of that Greece holiday. His expression twisted, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He did feel stupid. 

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered. He felt reckless for how he handled things with you, for not being able to face his feelings, for choosing a fleeting life of surface-level connections over something real, something lasting.

“Yeah, but we like you…” Whitney took a deep breath. “Jude… She really really likes you.” Whitney paused. She wasn’t going to say something for you but she knew you loved him.

"I bet she told you to kick me out." His voice was quieter. Jude shifted uncomfortably, his hands still fidgeting as he looked at Whitney.  Whitney glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in the air. 

"I offered," she said with a playful edge, trying to cut through the heavy mood, knowing he needed something lighter for a moment. Jude’s lips curved into a genuine smile, the first one he had managed in what felt like forever. "But you know her. She’s not like that... especially with you."  Whitney quickly clarified, her smile fading into something more serious. 

"Yeah," he murmured. "I know." Jude nodded, the weight of those words sinking in. Whitney hesitated for a beat.

"Y/N… she asked me to make sure you were okay." She explained. Jude’s heart clenched, his chest tightening at the thought that, after everything, you still cared enough to ask about him. The sound of your name, even in passing, nearly undid him. His throat felt thick, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

"She… she asked about me?" Jude’s voice broke slightly, his face a mask of conflicted emotions—relief, guilt, regret. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. He couldn’t say your name though it hurt too much and it pinged in his brain that this could’ve all been avoided if he had just grown up and said it. 

"Yeah. As much as you’ve hurt her, she still wants to know you’re alright." Whitney nodded slowly. Jude let out a long, shaky breath. He was crumbling from the inside, the realization of just how much he had messed up crashing down on him like a tidal wave. 

"What do I do, Whit?" he asked, his voice full of desperation. Whitney sighed deeply, walking around the counter and enveloping him in a hug. He felt like a lost kid in that moment, someone who had made a mess but wasn’t sure how to clean it up. She rubbed his back and let out a breath of her own before she stepped back and met his eyes.

"I want to help you, Jude. I really do," she said, her voice laced with compassion but also firm. "If I tell you what to do… well then I should be the one seeing her.” Whitney smiled. “But you’ve got to make a decision for yourself. Take action, real action, on your own." Jude swallowed hard, sensing there was more she wanted to say. And there was. "If you can’t put in the effort on your own merit…" Whitney hesitated, hating that she even had to say it, but she knew it was the truth you needed to hear. "Maybe it’s not right for her. Maybe you don’t deserve her." Jude’s face fell, his eyes shutting tightly against the sting of her words. They were brutal, but he knew deep down they were right. Every step he had taken up until now had been half-hearted, marked by insecurity and fear. But those steps had led him to lose you.

"I know," he whispered, the admission feeling like the hardest thing he’d ever said. He opened his eyes, filled with determination but clouded by regret. "I’m going to fix it. I have to fix it all." Whitney watched him, hoping against hope that this time he meant it—not in the shallow, fleeting way he’d tried to patch things up before, but genuinely. She could see the fight in him, but she had seen it before, and it had never been enough. Jude was always good at grand gestures, but this time, she needed him to be good at the small, meaningful actions too.

"You better mean it this time," Whitney said, though her voice was softer now, more gentle than before. She wanted to believe him. Jude stood up straighter, his fists unclenching as he let out a long breath. 

"I do. I swear, I’ll do it right." He pulled Whitney into a hug, one filled with unspoken gratitude. When they pulled apart, Jude asked, "But will you help? With the… you know, the finer details. The stuff that isn’t make-or-break, but would… I don’t know, make it all feel special. Like, a nice gloss over the top?" Whitney smiled softly, shaking her head at his typical Jude manner of wanting things to be perfect, even in chaos. 

"Of course, of course," she said, her voice warmer now, filled with the hope she had buried earlier. "You know I’m a sucker for a good love story." Jude chuckled lightly, though the gravity of the situation never really left. 

"Thanks, Whit. I’ll figure out the rest. I have to. For her." Whitney gave him one last encouraging squeeze on the shoulder, her voice soft. 

"Make sure it’s not just about fixing things, Jude. Make sure it’s about growing up. Loving her for real. You owe her that." Jude nodded, his eyes serious, carrying the weight of everything he had lost and everything he still had to prove. Whitney stood there, watching as he steeled himself, silently praying that this time, he’d really be the man you deserved.The air in the kitchen was still thick with uncertainty, Whitney hoped more than anything that this wasn’t just another fleeting attempt. You deserved more than that. As Jude stood there, lost in the weight of his thoughts, Trent strolled into the kitchen with his usual easygoing smile. Without missing a beat, he threw his arms around Jude in a goofy hug. 

"Wow baby, really been bulking up, huh?" Trent teased, pulling back and laughing at his own dad joke.

"You’re hilarious." Jude let out a small, tired chuckle, shaking Trent off him along with a disapproving kiss of his teeth.  Whitney, standing nearby, smiled, rolling her eyes at Trent’s antics. She could always count on him to bring lightness to the room, even when things felt heavy. Trent playfully shoved Jude in the shoulder before turning to wrap his arms around Whitney, kissing her cheek in that affectionate, natural way of his.

“You know, mate, it’ll be alright. If you work at it." As he pulled away, he turned back to Jude, his expression softening, but still carrying that calm confidence Trent always had. Jude glanced at him, taking in his words. There was something comforting in how Trent said it, like a quiet reminder that not everything was lost. But it was the way Trent looked at Whitney when he spoke that made Jude stop and really listen. Trent kissed Whitney on the cheek again, grinning as she rolled her eyes but smiled at him all the same. "Good ones," Trent added, his eyes still on Whitney, "take work." Jude's chest tightened, his eyes flickering between the two of them. There was an undeniable truth in Trent’s words, something simple but powerful. He could see it in the way Trent looked at Whitney, the ease of their relationship, built on years of effort, love, and mutual care. It wasn’t easy, but it was real. Jude swallowed hard, nodding slowly as the realization sank deeper. He had to work for it. He had to fight for it. You were worth that, more than worth it.

"Yeah," Jude murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I know." Trent clapped him on the back, a supportive gesture that said more than words could. Jude gave him a faint smile, appreciating the quiet wisdom in the moment. It wasn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever was. As Trent and Whitney shared a look, both of them hoping Jude would finally figure out what he needed to do, Jude stood there, taking in the moment. He felt a spark of something he hadn’t in a while—hope. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start fixing things.

Your apartment was quiet, too quiet. It felt suffocating in the silence that followed your final goodbye to Jude. The words had spilled from your lips before you could stop them, before you could even fully comprehend them. 'I’m done,' you had said, your voice cold, detached. But when you returned home, the weight of it all came crashing down. You hadn’t meant it— maybe not entirely, a part of you knew very well that you wouldn’t ever be ‘done’ with Jude. But your heart was bleeding beneath all the bandages you were trying to wrap it in, and you didn’t know how to stop the pain. Jude had hurt you, over and over, and now it felt like the only thing you could do was push him away before he could break you further. The worst part was that when you told him you were done, you broke your own heart even more. Sitting on your bed, you buried your face in your hands, trying to hold back the sobs that were already clawing their way up your throat. You never cried before you had met Jude. You were always the strong one, always the one to hold it together. But Jude had shattered that, broken down every wall you’d spent years building. Since you met him, it felt like you’d done nothing but cry. Your chest heaved as the tears came anyway, silent and unstoppable. You wanted the world to swallow you up, to take the pain away because it was too much to bear. You were drowning in the ache, in the loss, in the thought that maybe, just maybe, you had lost the one person who made you feel like you were truly seen.

On the other side of the Atlantic, Jude sat in his own room, staring blankly at the floor. His phone was in his hand, the screen dark now, but your voice—your words—echoed in his head. 'I’m done.' He hadn’t believed it, not at first. But the longer he sat there, the more it sank in. You were really gone. He felt like the world had shifted beneath him, like he was untethered, drifting in a void. Everything was harder without you. Breathing, moving, thinking—everything felt like a monumental effort. You had become a part of him, and now that part was ripped away, leaving him raw and exposed. Jude ran a hand over his hair, frustration and despair mixing in a sickening cocktail of emotions. He’d tried to make you understand how much you meant to him, but he’d failed. Words weren’t nearly enough. He had pushed you away without even realizing it, and now he was paying the price. You were his everything, and he had let you slip through his fingers.

In your apartment, you curled up on the bed, pulling the covers around you as if they could shield you from the emptiness that was swallowing you whole. Your heart ached, every beat a reminder of what you had lost—or rather, what you had forced yourself to lose. Jude was still there, in the back of your mind, in every corner of your soul, but you had pushed him away. You had to. It was the only way to protect yourself. It felt like you were dying inside. You had never loved anyone the way you loved Jude. It hit you like a tidal wave, the realization slamming into you with full force. This was love. This was what all the poets and songwriters and dreamers talked about. The kind of love that took everything from you and gave you everything in return. The kind of love that tore you apart and put you back together, all at once. And you were pushing it away.

Jude stayed sat, tears burning in his eyes as he stared at the floor. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted you. But now, the distance between you felt insurmountable. The silence was deafening, the space between you growing with every minute that passed. It was as if you were moving in parallel, both of you hurting, both of you broken, but never able to meet in the middle. That was the cruelest thing about parallel lines—they never intersect. No matter how close they run, they remain apart.

You sobbed into your pillow, your chest tight with the weight of it all. You had found love—real, heart-wrenching, soul-deep love—and now, like a masochist, you were destroying it because you couldn’t bear his idiodic behavior. You were so mad that Jude had made it so hard. You had pushed him away, told him you were done, when the truth was you were anything but. You loved him more than you had ever thought possible, and it terrified you.  And now you were alone, both of you suffering, both of you desperate for the other, but too afraid, too hurt to bridge the gap. The world outside moved on, oblivious to the two souls shattered in their separate spaces, each aching, each lost. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you would ever find your way back to each other.

Jude and Aurelian were running through a drill at training, side by side, both focused on the task at hand but equally caught in conversation. 

"So, when's she coming back to Madrid?" Aurelian casually asked. Jude, distracted by the passing drill, shot him a quick glance. 

"Who?" He knew exactly who Aurelian was talking about, but his chest tightened at the thought of you.

"You know, her. I mentioned the party, but it seemed like she hadn’t heard about it." Aurelian’s voice was light, but there was something behind it, like he wasn’t just asking casually. Jude’s brow furrowed as he made another pass.

“What party?” Jude’s voice was sharp, unable to mask the frustration brewing inside him. Aurelian shrugged, chasing after the ball. 

"My birthday, bro. I invited her. She said she was working a lot lately, though, seemed busy." His words were clipped between breaths as he jogged alongside Jude, unaware of the storm building. Jude’s steps faltered for a second. He missed a beat, his mind racing. 

"How do you know that?" His voice came out more demanding than he meant. Aurelian gave him a side glance. 

"I told you. I invited her to my birthday. She's her own person, no? Inviting you wouldn't mean I invited her." He tossed the comment lightly, but Jude could feel the weight of it sinking into him. With minimal thought, Jude rocketed the ball towards the goal, but it went flying high, way over the post, disappearing into the stands. Aurelian noticed the change in Jude’s demeanor immediately—his body stiffened, and his expression darkened. Aurelian felt the shift, sensing the tension wasn’t really aimed at him but at something much bigger. The ball wasn't the only thing that had skyrocketed—Jude’s emotions had clearly spun out of control. Jude’s jealousy was practically radiating off him. "You alright?" Aurelian asked, trying to gauge how deep this ran. He could feel the heat of Jude’s anger simmering under the surface. Jude clenched his fists, trying to ground himself, but his thoughts were spinning. You were talking to everyone—Whitney, Trent, Winnie—but not him. And now, Aurelian? The fact that you were having conversations with someone he trained with daily, sharing things about your life, things that Jude felt he should know, made his blood boil.

"Yeah, I’m fine," Jude muttered, but his face was hard, his jaw tight. He wasn’t fine. Far from it. Aurelian nodded but didn’t push. He could feel the jealousy rolling off Jude in waves, and while he didn’t want to be the source of it, he understood. After all, it was clear Jude still had feelings for you. Jude’s mind raced as they continued their drills, his body on autopilot while his thoughts spun out of control. You hadn’t mentioned the party to him. You hadn’t mentioned anything. It felt like everyone in his life knew more about you than he did, and it stung.  Aurelian’s words echoed in his head: ‘She's her own person after all.’ That statement rattled him more than anything else. Jude, feeling the heat of jealousy and confusion, was quick to blurt out, "So, are you trying to pursue something with her?" His voice cracked slightly as he tried to maintain a calm exterior, but it was evident that his emotions were getting the best of him. Aurelian stopped mid-drill, looking at Jude like he’d lost his mind. 

“What? No, bro. I mean, yeah, she’s sexy.” Jude winced. “She’s really attractive but… you were with her, weren’t you? Or at least, you were.” He shrugged, baffled at the insinuation. But Jude, unable to stop himself, continued to ramble. His words came out fast, almost panicked, as if saying them out loud would somehow justify his own feelings or even ease the burning jealousy coursing through him.

"I get it, you both speak French and all, but do you even know what she’s like? She’s way too good for—" He stopped, realizing what he was about to say. Aurelian raised an eyebrow, intrigued but letting Jude continue. Jude, realizing he’d opened Pandora’s box, kept talking, listing all the reasons why you were amazing, how intelligent you were, how thoughtful and creative. He rambled about your quirks, how you liked your coffee with just the right amount of cream, how you’d stay up late sketching, your laugh, your ridiculous but charming wit. His voice cracked as he started talking about how you deserved someone who would pay attention to all of that, someone who would cherish every part of you, never take you for granted. And then it hit him—he was describing all the ways he should have taken care of you. The way he should have been with you from the start. The way you deserved to be treated. He froze, mid-sentence, the weight of it all crashing down on him. The image of you floated in his mind, standing there with that duffel bag your dad had gifted you, and how you’d once described it with such admiration. You’d talked about how it was made with so much care, each detail meticulously thought out, each stitch precise. Jude realized, in that moment, that the way he should’ve treated you was the same way you described that duffel bag. With reverence. With attention to detail. With care. And he hadn’t. Before Jude could even process the revelation, Aurelian laughed, stepping up to the ball and striking it with precision. It sailed smoothly into the goal, perfectly nestled into the net. At the same time, Jude's shot, born from frustration and confusion, clanged hard off the crossbar, echoing through the empty training ground. The sound hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Call it irony.

"You know, Jude," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "clearly, she is too good for you."  Aurelian turned back to Jude, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jude's eyes snapped to Aurelian’s, his chest tightening. Aurelian continued, his voice calm but pointed, "You had a wide-open goal, mate, and all you’ve done is hit the post." The metaphor hit Jude harder than the ball hitting the crossbar. He stood there, speechless, the truth of Aurelian’s words sinking in. You were too good for him. You were always too good for him, and in his insecurity, he’d let you slip through his fingers. Jude's hands clenched into fists by his sides once more, frustration burning in his chest. Aurelian was right. Jude had the perfect opportunity, the perfect person, and he fumbled it. Now, you were talking to other people—Aurelian, Whitney, Trent—and he was stuck watching from the sidelines, knowing he had no one to blame but himself. Aurelian watched Jude’s face, the conflict playing out in his features. With a more serious tone, he added, “Look, bro, it’s not about me. It never was. But if you don’t get your head on straight, someone’s going to step up and treat her right. Maybe not me, but someone will. You’ve got to figure out if you're gonna be that person—or keep missing the goal.” Jude swallowed hard, the weight of the realization crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He had to fix this. But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it was even possible. You deserved more than he’d given, and if he didn’t act soon, you’d find someone who would.

You had ignored Jude for ages but he continually checked in with Whitney to at least make sure you had a pulse. He had thought about calling or texting a million times but he just couldn’t do it. It felt too menial.  In a haze of exhaustion and heartbreak Jude decided to send you a gift. Jude had never bought art before, but this time, he knew it had to be different. Jewelry or a purse wouldn’t cut it; they were too shallow, too ordinary. He needed something that spoke to you, something that communicated how he felt in a way words never could. That’s how he found himself diving into the unfamiliar world of art, navigating galleries, and dealers, determined to find something that would reflect the depth of his feelings for you. 

So when a large package arrived at your door, the deliveryman insisting on a signature, you were understandably confused. The box was massive, covered in bold warning labels about careful handling. Your heart raced with a mix of curiosity and confusion as you brought it inside. It was no ordinary package. As you carefully unboxed it, peeling away layer after layer, you finally revealed the painting. It was large, vibrant, alive with a serene energy that filled the room. Jules Olitski’s 'Beauty of Angels'. Your jaw dropped. For a moment, you wondered if it had been sent to the wrong address, maybe meant for your gallery. But even then, it was impossible to fathom—it was priceless.  You stood there, staring at the painting. It was contemporary, beautiful, and yet, somehow serene. The way the colors seemed to dance across the canvas, soft and yet striking—it felt like it was holding something deeper, something that called out to your soul.  And then, you noticed the card. A small, simple envelope tucked beside the frame. Your fingers trembled as you opened it reading the title of the work, Beauty of Angels. Your heart shattered. Jude. He had sent this. The title of the painting felt like a punch to the chest. You weren’t supposed to be his angel. Not after everything. Not after the hurt and betrayal that still clung to the edges of your relationship. And yet, here you were, standing before this breathtaking piece of art that he had chosen for you. You held the card in your hand, staring down at it, feeling a wave of emotions rush through you—pain, longing, confusion, and an ache that you hadn’t let yourself feel in weeks. It was a grand gesture, yes, but it was more than that. It was his way of trying to communicate, to reach you in a way that words had failed. But the irony of it all was almost too much to bear. You didn’t feel like anyone’s angel. If anything, you felt further from it than you ever had before. The cracks in your heart, the jagged edges of your hurt, made you feel anything but angelic. And yet, here was Jude, sending you something so personal, so profound. It was like he had seen something in you that you couldn’t see in yourself anymore. You stood there, your heart aching as you looked at the painting again. It was beautiful, yes. But it also felt like a reminder of everything you had lost. Of everything that had once been and everything that could never be again. The room felt heavy with the weight of it all, and you had to sit down, the card still clutched in your hand. The painting stared back at you, a testament to how Jude saw you—even now, even after everything. But was it enough? Could it ever be enough to heal the wounds, to fix what had been broken? You weren’t sure. But for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel the sadness, the longing, and the love you still had for him. The painting was beautiful, but the emotions it stirred in you were even more powerful.  And despite everything, a part of you couldn’t help but wish you were still his angel. Even though you knew you weren’t.

You stared at the painting for what felt like an eternity pacing around it and your apartment for what felt like hours, the walls feeling like they were closing in on you. The city buzzed outside, cars honking, people shouting, but you were lost in the quiet chaos of your thoughts. Jude's name glowed on your phone screen, your thumb hovering over the call button. Every second that passed felt like another nail in the coffin of whatever this had been between you two.  Weeks had gone by since you left Madrid, and the memories still cut deep. That night. The arguments. The coldness in his eyes when he couldn't even say your name. You hadn't intended to call him today; you told yourself that the space was necessary, that you needed to move on. But the ache in your chest never went away, and you couldn’t hold back any longer. You wanted closure. No—you needed it. You needed to hear him admit that it had all been for nothing, that you hadn’t meant what you thought you did. Finally, your thumb pressed down, and the phone rang. Each ring was like a countdown to the moment you weren’t sure you could handle. The silence between you was about to be broken at last. When he finally answered, his voice came through soft, tentative. 

“Y/N,” Jude’s voice was soft, full of emotion that he had been hiding from you until now. “I’ve missed you… so much.” Just hearing his voice made your heart skip. For a brief moment, all the hurt and anger melted away, and it felt like home. Like all those nights lying beside him, talking about nothing, just listening to the sound of his breath as he slept next to you. But that feeling was fleeting, replaced quickly by the cold reality that had driven you both apart.

"Hi," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could hear the waver in it. You had told yourself this was going to be a calm conversation, a way to smooth things over, to leave on good terms. But the minute you heard him, all the old wounds felt fresh again. “I’m sorry I left the way I did.”  Your own voice catching slightly. A part of you raged that you just apologized to him. Another part of you wondered if he had slept with someone else to relieve the blue balls you had left him with. 

“I’m sorry I gave you a reason to leave,” Jude replied, his sincerity evident. “I should’ve told you what you mean to me, but I was scared. I still am, but I can’t stand not talking to you.” You felt your heart swell with a mix of emotions—relief, sadness, hope. 

“I was scared too, Jude. I didn’t want to get hurt but you’ve hurt me anyway though.” You sighed. This conversation almost felt like it was too quick for you though. Jude was too eager to fix it all. 

“There’s been a lot of hurt lately…” Jude began and that planted a seed. “ I don’t want to hurt you,” Jude said, his voice firm despite the vulnerability behind it. “I want to make things right. I want to be the man you need, Y/N.” There was a pause, both of you taking in the weight of what had been said. This wasn’t an easy fix, but it was a start—a chance to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you finally said, your voice steady.

“I’m not letting go of this,” Jude replied, determination in his voice. “I’m not letting go of you.” And with that, the silence between you was broken, the first steps toward something new, something real, finally being taken. As the phone call continued, the initial relief you felt from hearing Jude’s voice began to dissipate. Jude’s voice, which had always been so steady, so confident, now carried a different tone—one you weren't prepared for. “Y/N,” Jude began, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I’ve been thinking… a lot, actually. I don’t want to lose you. I want to give this a real shot. I like you, Y/N. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” You felt your heart shrivel up in that moment. You wanted an 'I love you.' Those words hung in the air, and instead of bringing comfort, they sent a cold rush through your veins. Suddenly, everything felt too real, too fast. Your mind snapped back to all the things you’d been trying to ignore—the doubts, the fears, the reasons you’d tried to keep Jude at arm’s length.

“No,” you blurted out, your voice sharper than you intended. “I can’t do this, Jude. Look, I appreciate the painting, it’s amazing and so thoughtful but I just can’t.” It was like the walls Jude had broken down, the ones that you were currently working on building back up were encased in steel buried deep in the ground now.

“What do you mean?” Jude asked, confusion and hurt beginning to seep into his voice. “Why not?”

“It’s just… it’s all stupid, Jude,” you said, your voice cracking with a mix of frustration and fear. “This whole thing—it’s just been stupid sex.” Jude felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him. You didn’t believe that in totality but you needed to pull the plug. 

“Stupid sex? Y/N, you know it’s more than that.” Jude was so offended. He knew he was in the wrong but god did it hurt to hear you say that.  Why did you call then? When he saw your name appear on his phone he thought the chasm had begun to yield. 

“Is it?” You shot back, your emotions spiraling out of control. “Or am I just another one of your conquests? Another girl you’ll get bored of and move on from? Another girl you treat like shit. It took you no time at all really to find another one of me.” You snapped.

“That’s not true,” Jude insisted, desperation creeping into his tone. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. You’re different.” He felt sick to his stomach. 

“Different?” You echoed, your voice rising. “How am I different, Jude? You think I don’t know what you’re really like? I know about all the women before me, the playboy lifestyle. You’re just saying this now because you’re used to getting what you want, and you can’t stand the idea of someone saying no to you.” Jude was reeling, struggling to keep up with the barrage of accusations. 

“Y/N, that’s not fair. I know I’ve made mistakes, but it’s different with you. I’m not trying to play games. I want to be with you—really be with you.” He mused in panic. His voice was shaking.  But you couldn’t hear him over the roar of her own insecurities. You felt tears burning in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t let yourself be vulnerable, not now, not anymore.

“No, Jude,” you said, your voice trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. “It’s too much. I don’t want this—I don’t want you.” You cried, your heart breaking for the millionth time.  It hurt saying something you didn't entirely believe. You did want Jude.

“Y/N, don’t do this,” Jude pleaded, his heart breaking alongside yours with every word you spoke. “Please, don’t push me away.” But it was too late. The walls you had built around your heart were snapping back into place, and you couldn’t let yourself break them down again.

“All I do is cry not. You shouldn’t make me cry!” you said, your voice breaking as tears began to stream down your face. “I never cry. This isn’t what I want, Jude. I’m sorry.” You apologized and you weren’t sure why. Jude was silent, the weight of your words settling like a stone on his chest. He wanted to fight for you, to convince you that you could make this work, but the pain in your voice was too much to bear.

“I don't want to make you cry. I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m really glad you called though," Jude said, his voice quieter now, as if he were afraid to say too much. He was trying to revert the conversation back on course. "I’ve been thinking about you. About… us though." The way he said "us" made your stomach churn. Us. Was there ever really an us? Or had it just been you, constantly trying to be enough, constantly trying to get him to see you? All you ever wanted was for him to acknowledge what you were to him, but he never could. And now, hearing him say those words, that he had been thinking about us, it made your anger flare.

"Jude," you began, taking a deep breath, "what are we even doing?" There was tension in your tone. There had been a momentary lull but you were about to kick off in a way Jude probably wasn’t prepared for. 

"What do you mean?" His voice tightened, like he already knew where this was headed but was hoping to stall the inevitable.

"I mean, what is this? What have we been doing all this time?" Your voice rose slightly, the frustration that had been building for weeks spilling over. "I’ve been here, waiting for you to tell me something, anything. And you’ve given me nothing. Nothing that I can hold on to... And today, I mean the painting is gorgeous. You already knew I’d like it but…." You sighed. You genuinely loved the painting but you were avoiding the word love at all costs at the moment. You felt embarrassed that you did love him at the minute but should the circumstances be different you would’ve swooned over someone buying you art like this. 

"I’ve told you, you mean something to me," he said, his voice pleading now, as if that was supposed to be enough. But that was the problem. That had always been the problem. You weren’t just something. You were so much more, and he never saw it. Or if he did, he was too afraid to admit it.

"That’s not enough," you snapped, your voice cracking. "Do you hear yourself? ‘You mean something to me’? That’s what you’ve been saying for months. Do you even know what that means? Because to me, it feels like nothing." You quipped. He was quiet on the other end, and you could feel your heart racing, your emotions boiling over. You had held back for so long, tried to be patient, tried to understand where he was coming from. But now, it was all crashing down, and you couldn’t stop yourself. "I’ve been waiting for you, Jude," you continued, your voice shaking. "I’ve been waiting for you to tell me how you really feel, to be brave for once and just say it. I’ve given up so much for you. I left New York. I stayed in Madrid. And for what? For you to keep stringing me along with vague promises that I mean something to you?"

"I never wanted to hurt you," Jude said, his voice strained, like he was trying to hold it together. "I just… I don’t know how to say it." The tears were gathering on his water line. This felt very much like the beginning of the end.  Jude really hoped that this wasn’t the way this conversation would go but a part of him also wasn’t all that surprised. He knew he had wronged you. 

"That’s the problem!" you shouted, unable to hold back the tears that were now threatening to spill over. "You never know how to say it. You never know how to tell me what I mean to you. I’ve been bending over backwards for you, trying to be patient, trying to be enough, but it’s never enough for you, is it? Never enough for you to tell me." Jude’s breath hitched on the other end, and for a moment, you thought he might say it. That he might finally say the words you’d been aching to hear for so long. 

 "I… I’m trying to show you that I care. I don’t want to lose you." But instead, he stammered. Your heart clenched painfully at his words, and the tears finally spilled over again. 

"But you already have." You bluntly told him. The silence that followed was suffocating. You could hear your own breathing, heavy and ragged, and you knew that he was on the other end, feeling just as broken as you. Jude had to mute his phone for a moment for the sob that he felt ready to escape him. He couldn’t breathe properly. But he still couldn’t say it. He couldn’t give you the one thing you needed.

"I…" he started again, but the words faltered. You felt like he was never going to say it. He never would. Why couldn't he say it? Jude was wondered the same thing. It would feel unfair to say now. You almost worried he would say it in a last ditch effort and you didn't want it that way.

"I don’t think I can do this anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible as the tears continued to fall. "I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how you feel about me. I can’t keep holding onto something that’s never going to be what I need." Jude was silent again, and you could feel the finality of it all sinking in. This was it. Whatever had been between you, whether it was a relationship or some undefined situationship, it was over. The love you both refused to name had shattered into pieces, and there was no going back now.

“Y/N, angel. Please. Can we… Please it hurts me to think that I'll only got to know you this long. I want more. I’ll give you a lifetime of me, please.” Jude muttered terribly upset and terribly aware this was it. 

“Jude, please know that for the past few weeks I have imagined you imagining me. It's been the only thing that would soothes me. Dreaming you’d want more but… I know now that it’s just been a dream. You have been my favorite almost… really” You whimpered, tears running.  "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. "I’m so sorry, Jude." And before he could say anything, before you could hear the regret in his voice or the words he couldn’t find, you hung up. You stood there in the middle of your apartment, phone in hand, tears streaming down your face, knowing that it was done. Whatever you had with Jude, whatever it had been, was gone. You loved him. You had loved him with everything you had, and now you had to let him go.  Jude sat in his room, the emptiness around him mirrored in the ache inside his chest.  He loved you and never told you. The ache in your own chest was unbearable, but you knew it was the only way. The relationship—or whatever it was—had ended, not with a grand declaration of love, but with silence. The silence that had always been between you, unspoken and unresolved.

And now, you had to learn how to live without it. Without him. 

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 10 xx

[eroselless]

PATO - SEVEN

[charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader]

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS

warnings: angst

note: HI LOVES! I am so so sorry its taken me so long to get this out. I had some troubles with motivation and stupid writers block but as soon as I was able to get it going, I got it. Thank you all so much for you patience and continued support <3

BRAZIL, NOVEMBER 2024

The sun sets over the circuit, long shadows shifting under the dimming light, the sound of cars zooming past reverberating through the air. The crowd around the circuit erupts in cheers as the final lap begins, a new wave of excitement rolling through the sea of red Ferrari flags. The tension is palpable as each turn pushes the drivers to their limits.

You stand near the pit wall, Lucero perched on your hips. She plays with the strands of your hair, occasionally tugging at the earrings you forgot to take off that morning. Your heart races with the roar of the cars as you watch the screen in front of you. The mechanics and engineers around you shift nervously, their eyes glued to the screen tracking the final moments of the race. Carlos’s car is a bright red blur, expertly maneuvering the last few corners. He is leading, and he’s nearing the finish line.

"¡Vamos, Carlos!" a mechanic shouts, his voice lost in the cacophony of engines and the cheers of the crew. The tension in the pit lane merges with the anticipation on the track. You can all see it—victory is so close.

The radio crackles with team communications as Lucero squirms in your arms, fascinated by the spectacle, her eyes wide at the noise of cars zooming by, completely unaware of the significance of the moment.

“Baba,” she babbles as she hears his voice echo through the paddock, her small voice a little clearer than before. The word hits you like a warm wave—a mixture of joy and something you can’t quite place yet. She has taken to calling him that, not yet able to say papa, but now it falls from her lips with more confidence than it did a few days ago.

You watch as Carlos rounds the last corner, sending the Ferrari pit into an explosion of celebration. He crosses the finish line first, the checkered flag waving in the air like a beacon of victory. Your heart soars with emotion, your body buzzing with the shared joy of the crowd. The paddock becomes a flurry of activity—engineers, mechanics, and team members shouting, hugging, clapping, and celebrating. Lucero giggles in your arms, imitating the others as she claps along joyfully.

The team ushers you out to meet Carlos as he slows his car into parc fermé, coming to a complete stop. He pulls himself out with ease, pumping his arms up into the air as he stands triumphantly on his car. His arms are outstretched, as though he’s trying to absorb every bit of energy the crowd offers him. He did it. He’s a winner again. It wasn’t just a victory; it was a statement.

You see it in his eyes as he pulls off his helmet and turns toward you, his gaze locking on the crowd of Ferrari red waiting for him. He sprints toward the barricade, right to where you’re standing. The press swarms, photographers snapping photos as he closes the distance, but he doesn’t care. They can speculate all they want—about him, about you, about Lucero.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate. His hands cradle your cheeks as he lifts your face toward his, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that is both celebratory and claiming. He breathes you in before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours. His skin is slightly damp against yours when he does. Lucero squeals in delight as he pulls both of you into an embrace, arms circling around you and Lucero in a tight, protective hold. The cameras flash around your small group, murmurs filtering through the crowd.

But in this moment, neither of you care about the spectacle. This is his little victory, with his little family.

"Mi amor," he whispers breathlessly, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability you’ve come to cherish, and it overwhelms you. The heat of his affection feels as potent as the Brazilian sun beating down on you.

Lucero wiggles in your arms, laughing as Carlos takes her, holding her high in the air, earning another giggle. It sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach, your heart swelling with emotion once again.

The roar of engines continues as the other cars finish the race. Lando crosses the line in second, Charles bringing his car home shortly after in third. The podium is set—Carlos, Lando, and Charles. It would have been perfect if the tension just below the surface wasn’t beginning to ripple.

As Charles comes to a stop in parc fermé, his gaze finds you celebrating—Carlos all wrapped in your presence, arms around you, beaming at the baby girl in his arms. The sight pierces through him, an unexpected pang of something sharp and unsettling. Jealousy? Maybe. Or maybe it’s regret. What he could’ve had is playing out in front of him—the woman he once loved with his child, in the arms of another man, celebrating a win he had so badly yearned for. That could’ve been his, had things gone differently. If he had done things differently.

He removes his helmet once out of his car, his heart pounding with something other than the rush of the race. As he stands there for a second, he finds he can’t tear his eyes away from the small family huddled together, completely oblivious to the reporters and photographers circling them.

He watches as you beam up at Carlos, your eyes swelling with joyful tears as he continues holding Lucero. He recognizes the look on your face, a look he’d once seen directed at him, long ago. He catches Carlos’s eye across the paddock. There’s no smugness, no malice in his gaze, just a quiet acknowledgment. We’re here now, his eyes seem to say. This is how things are.

It feels more complicated for Charles. Is he envious of Carlos? Or is it seeing you again—the woman he had loved, maybe still loves, and the child that could’ve been a part of his life from the beginning? He can’t place it exactly, but the sight of Lucero babbling in Carlos’s arms twists something deep in his chest. Lucero looks so much like him—the same wispy golden-brown hair, the same blue-green eyes. She is a miniature version of him, yet she clings to Carlos like he’s her world.

Charles stands frozen for a moment, watching as Carlos hands Lucero back to you, kissing both of you before stepping into the arms of the team.

“Charles!” one of the mechanics calls, breaking him from his reverie. He tears his eyes away from the three of you, forcing a smile as he walks toward his team. They greet him with enthusiasm, engulfing him in a sea of high-fives and hugs. His mind is elsewhere, lost in images of what could’ve been.

As the celebrations continue, the podium ceremony looming closer, you can feel the tension between the two men simmering beneath the surface. You can feel Charles’s gaze on you, how it lingers. You can feel how Carlos instinctively leans toward you and Lucero whenever Charles comes near. Though you’ve agreed to prioritize Lucero’s well-being, how long would it take for these feelings to reach a boiling point and spill over?

Lucero tugs at your sleeve, bringing you back to the present. You look down at your daughter, who hasn’t even noticed the tension building around her. Children have a way of simplifying things that adults complicate. For Lucero, there is no battle for affection, no jealousy to sort through. She has you and Carlos. But you can’t help but feel the tightening coil in your chest. Charles has missed out on so much of Lucero’s first year, and now he’s trying to be present. But where does that leave Carlos, who has stepped into the role so seamlessly, becoming papa without hesitation?

Your thoughts are cut off by the announcer calling out Carlos' name. Lucero squeals once again as Carlos takes his spot on the top step, eyes closed and face angled up toward the sky. When he opens them again, they find yours, a bright sparkle shining in them. The crowd chants his name, and for a moment, everything feels right again.

But as Charles passes by on his way to the third step, his eyes find yours as well. There’s no hiding the emotions swirling in him—regret, longing, confusion. He quickly turns away, his jaw tightening as the champagne bottles are handed out. Oh, what he’d give to see you here, with your daughter, cheering his name instead.

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

The crowd roars around you as the three men raise the bottles of champagne into the air. The spray from Carlos’s bottle catches the golden light of the setting sun, creating a shimmering halo as the liquid spray around him. Lando follows suit, laughing as he chases Carlos with a playful spray. Charles, though holding his bottle aloft, is quieter—less involved. The celebratory atmosphere to him felt muted, a blur of flashing lights and loud cheers. The taste of victory, third place, tastes bitter in his mouth. 

As the champagne spray over them as they bask in the moment, Lucero claps her little hands together, echoing the excitement of the crowd. Her calls for baba seem to cut through the air, rising over the noise of the crowd. Carlos’s face softens as he finds you in the crowd, finding her safely nestled in your arms. 

The men step away from the podium and Carlos makes his way down to you, wiping champagne from his brow. The crowd seems to part as he nears, giving you space. The noise seems to filter away as he pulls you into his arms again, earning a squeal from you as his soaked racing suit comes in contact with you. 

He reached out, gently stroking Lucero’s cheek, fingers lingering there for a moment. “You were cheering me on, weren’t you, mi pato?” he says softly, a boyish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Lucero giggles, reaching up for him with both hands. It’s impossible not to melt at the sight of them together.

Her laughter continues to fill the air as Carlos is swept away into some post-race duties, interviews and such. You can see Charles from the corner of your eye, lingering in the background. His racesuit now hangs from his waist, the third place cap securely on his head. It is obvious–his reluctance to leave, his need for something unspoken. A deep breath escapes you as you realize there’s no way of avoiding this. 

He approaches you, voice soft and tentative as he calls out for you. You greet him shyly, not sure if you should hug him now. You stand there for a moment, letting the weight of everything between you settle in the air.

“You were great out there,” you finally say, your voice quiet, measured. “Lucero and I, we were both watching.” his eyes flicker to his daughter, expressing softening jut for a second. 

He steps a little closer, his eyes never leaving Lucero. “Does she…” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “Does she know who I am?”

The question hangs in the air between you like a fragile thread. You glance at Lucero, who is babbling contentedly in your arms, oblivious to the tension around her. You swallow hard before answering.

“She’s still young, Charles. She doesn’t fully understand everything yet.”

He nods, but you can see the pain in his eyes. He steps closer still, his voice barely a whisper. “But she will, right? One day, she’ll know that… that I’m her father?”

The question sends a wave of emotion crashing over you. You hadn’t expected this conversation to happen here, now, in the midst of the celebrations. But you can’t avoid it any longer. You look up at him, your heart heavy with the weight of the truth.

“She’ll know,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “But it’s… complicated.” he nods, eyes full of sadness and yearning. 

“I’m sorry I never told you,” you say gently. “I won’t keep her from you anymore but that doesn’t change everything we’ve been through.” You mean the arguments, the late nights you waited up for him. All the tears you shed for him and the heartbreak that came with boarding the fate train to Spain, you and Carlos. Charles knows this, a pain flickering in his chest as he nods sadly. 

“I get it,” he says. “But it still stings.” 

Your response is halted when Lucero reaches for Charles, babbling softly as she stretches her tiny arms toward him. His face softened immediately, and he stepped closer, gently taking her into his arms. 

You knew they looked alike but the similarities are so much more obvious now that she’s cradled in his arms. Her smile is timid as she plays with the decals of his fireproofs. Her eyes crinkle just like his, her hair reminiscent of his at the same age. 

“You two are almost like twins,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch them. A smile paints Charles’s lips, it's one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his gaze far away. “She does.” though there was so much of him that he saw in her, he could see you. In the way the baby scrunched her nose, in how her eyes lit up and how she laughed seemed to capture everyone’s attention. It was what made him fall in love with you in the first place. 

The tension between you hung in the air, unspoken words and unresolved feelings swirling around like the last remnants of a storm. Charles’s gaze flickers back to yours, and for a second, you see something in his eyes that makes your heart ache—regret, maybe. Or longing for something that was lost. But you had no desire to go back to that place, to that time when you were the one waiting for him to notice, to care for you.

He had Alexandra now. And you had Carlos.

Carlos reappears, a bright smile on his face as he joins the two of you. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you in for a tight hug. He lets go, a bittersweet smile as he sees Charles holding Lucero. 

“Looks like she’s making new friends,” Carlos said lightly, though there was a slight edge to his voice, his gaze lingering on Charles for a moment longer than necessary.

Charles gives him a tightlipped smile, handing Lucero back to you, nodding as he stepped back. “She’s incredible. You’re lucky.”

Carlos’s grip on you tightens just slightly, and you could feel the tension between the two men—the unspoken rivalry that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

“We are,” Carlos says softly, his eyes filled with warmth as he looks at you and Lucero. “Very lucky.”

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

The Ferrari Family Drama Deepens: Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N Relationship Confirmed, Tensions With Charles Leclerc?

In the wake of the Brazilian Grand Prix, a new chapter in the unfolding drama within the Ferrari paddock has captivated fans and media alike. Speculation about the personal lives of drivers Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc has reached a fever pitch, following a string of high-profile appearances involving a mystery woman—now identified as Y/N L/N—and a young child.

Y/N L/N, who had previously flown under the radar during her relationship with Leclerc, has now emerged in the public eye alongside Carlos Sainz. Their close interactions during the Grand Prix weekend, particularly after Sainz’s victory, left little doubt among observers that the two are romantically involved. In the celebratory moments after the race, Sainz was seen pulling L/N and the child—whose identity has yet to be confirmed—into a tight embrace, a gesture that all but confirmed their relationship status.

Eyewitnesses described the scene as heartwarming, with Sainz not only basking in the glory of his win but also sharing the moment with his newfound family. The child, speculated to be L/N’s daughter, appeared comfortable in Sainz’s arms, fueling rumors that he has taken on a fatherly role in her life. However, without any official word, questions surrounding the child’s identity remain unanswered, leaving room for continued speculation.

The plot thickened further when fans spotted L/N having a private conversation with Charles Leclerc, captured from a distance by photographers. The conversation appeared somber, with both parties showing visible signs of tension. Leclerc, who finished third in the race, was seen standing near L/N while the child stayed close, sparking curiosity about the nature of their exchange. Though no details have emerged about what was discussed, the history between L/N and Leclerc seems to weigh heavily on both.

The identity of the child—who, according to witnesses, shares striking features with both Leclerc and L/N—remains a mystery, adding to the intrigue surrounding the unfolding drama. 

The questions on everyone’s minds now are: how will this personal entanglement affect the drivers moving forward? And what does this mean for their upcoming races and the Ferrari team as a whole?

a/n: Hi friends! If you’ve gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! Any feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated, they seriously keep me so motivated <3

tags: @kravitzwhore @janeh22 @apollosfavkiddo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @tremendousstarlighttragedy @sltwins @bwormie @marshmummy @honethatty12 @staplerrrr @smithieandy @loloekie @musicheaux @jeondeluxe111 @dessxoxsworld @xoscar03 @emryb @yl90 @poppyflower-22 @a-distantdreamer @raynetargaryan @halleest @cosmoscoffeee @crying-in-fangirl @khaylin27

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.2)

You die in their arms (Part.2)

In the heat of battle, you succumbs to fatal injuries in the arms of your partner. Each X-Men, torn apart by grief, reacts to the devastating loss, facing the crushing reality that their greatest power cannot bring back the person they love most.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Rogue & Erik Lehnsherr

Logan Howlett

The battlefield was chaos. Explosions, gunfire, and the sound of metal clashing filled the air, but none of it mattered to Logan as he ran toward you. His enhanced senses had caught the scent of your blood, and his heart had clenched in a way that it never had before. He had seen you fall, your body crumpling under the impact of an enemy’s blow, and now every instinct screamed at him to get to you, to protect you.

When he reached your side, his breath hitched. Blood was seeping from a wound in your chest, staining the ground beneath you. Your eyes were open, barely, and you smiled weakly as you saw him. "Logan..." you whispered, your voice barely a rasp above the noise around you.

Logan dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over your body as if afraid to touch you, to hurt you further. His jaw clenched, and he growled low in his throat, fighting back the overwhelming panic that threatened to take hold. "Don’t talk, darlin'," he ordered, though his voice was gruff with emotion. "I’m gonna get you outta here, alright? You’re gonna be fine."

You shook your head, your breathing labored as pain surged through your body. "Logan... I’m not..." You coughed, blood splattering from your lips as your strength faded. "I can’t..."

Logan’s eyes flared with anger and desperation. "Don’t you dare talk like that!" he snapped, though his voice cracked with grief. His hands finally found your face, his rough fingers cradling your cheeks as he leaned over you. "You’re tougher than this. You’ve survived worse."

You tried to smile, but it was weak, your strength ebbing away with every passing second. "Not this time," you whispered, your hand weakly reaching up to rest on his arm. "I love you... Logan..."

Logan's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, the battlefield disappeared. It was just the two of you, alone in this moment, and the weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut. "I love you too," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than you know."

Your eyes fluttered shut, and your hand fell limply to the ground. Logan's heart shattered as he felt your pulse fade beneath his fingertips. He let out a broken, guttural roar, pulling your body close to his chest. His claws unsheathed instinctively, the rage and pain surging through him in a violent wave.

But no amount of violence could bring you back.

For the first time in years, Wolverine felt utterly helpless.

Remy LeBeau

The battle had been brutal, the air thick with the scent of smoke, gunpowder, and blood. Remy had always thrived in the chaos of combat, but today was different. He had been fighting with one eye on the battlefield and the other on you, making sure you were safe.

But the moment he saw you fall, his heart stopped.

Remy sprinted toward you, his heart pounding in his chest as fear took hold. When he reached you, his world narrowed to the sight of you lying on the ground, your body broken, blood pooling around you. "Non, non, non," he muttered under his breath, his Cajun accent thick with panic as he dropped to his knees beside you. His usually nimble fingers shook as he touched your face, brushing your hair back from your sweat-streaked forehead.

"Chérie, I’m here," he whispered, his voice trembling as he tried to hold it together. "Stay wit' me, d'accord? You ain’t leavin' me like dis."

You opened your eyes weakly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Remy..." you whispered, your voice so faint he had to lean in closer to hear you. "I... I can’t..."

Remy shook his head, his hands pressing against your wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. "Non, you’re gon' be alright," he insisted, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. "Remy gon' fix dis, I promise. You jus' gotta hold on."

You looked up at him, your vision blurring as the pain became too much. "I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible now.

The words hit him like a ton of bricks, and his heart clenched in his chest. "I love you too, mon amour," he choked out, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Please, don’t go... I can’t do dis without you."

But your body was already going cold, and as your last breath left your lips, Remy’s world crumbled. He let out a ragged sob, pulling you into his arms, your blood staining his coat. The energy that always crackled at his fingertips fizzled out as grief consumed him.

The playful charm that Remy LeBeau was known for was gone, replaced by the hollow, crushing pain of losing the love of his life.

Kurt Wagner

The night sky above the battlefield was dark, but the flashes of light and explosions illuminated the destruction around you. Kurt had always been quick, teleporting in and out of danger, but even his agility couldn't save you from the blast that had hit you. The pain in your chest was unbearable as you crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

Before you could register the pain fully, the familiar sound of Kurt's "bamf" echoed, and he was beside you in an instant. His golden eyes widened in horror as he saw you lying there, blood pouring from your wound.

"Y/N, mein Gott!" His voice cracked as he knelt beside you, his blue fingers trembling as they hovered over your wound. You had always loved the gentleness of his touch, but now those same hands felt helpless.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out as a rasp. "Kurt..."

He shook his head quickly, tears welling in his eyes. "Nein, don’t speak! I can take you to safety. I’ll... I’ll fix this, just hold on!" He reached out as if to teleport you away, but the pain was too great. You gasped, clutching his hand, stopping him.

“Kurt... it’s too late.”

His heart broke at your words, and he shook his head in disbelief, his tail twitching anxiously behind him. "No, no, no, it’s not too late! Please, Y/N, I cannot lose you!"

You could feel the world slipping away, the cold settling into your bones. Your hand found his cheek, brushing against the soft fur of his face. "I love you," you whispered, your voice growing weaker with every passing second.

He let out a choked sob, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you too, more than life itself," he whispered, his tears falling onto your skin. "Please, don’t leave me."

Your heart slowed, the pain fading as the darkness crept in. The last thing you saw was Kurt’s face, his eyes filled with anguish as he held you close. You wanted to stay, to comfort him, but your body failed you.

As your heart stopped, Kurt’s grip on you tightened, a broken cry escaping his throat. He teleported away with your body, his sobs echoing in the empty space as he held you in his arms. For the first time, the darkness of the battlefield felt like a reflection of the void inside him.

Scott Summers

The battlefield was chaos, and Scott's voice rang out over the comms, directing the team with his usual authority. You had fought beside him countless times, but this battle felt different. The enemies were stronger, more relentless, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself caught in an explosion that left you broken on the ground.

Scott had seen it all from a distance, his visor hiding the horror in his eyes as he screamed your name. He ran to you, laser blasts tearing through the enemies that dared to stand in his way. When he reached you, his heart stopped at the sight of your blood-streaked form lying motionless on the ground.

"Y/N!" His voice was thick with fear as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. He had always been the leader, the one with the answers, but in this moment, he was lost.

You looked up at him, trying to smile despite the pain that wracked your body. "Scott..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Don’t talk," he ordered, his voice trembling as he tried to maintain control. "I’ll get you out of here. You’re going to be fine."

But you knew better. The cold was already creeping into your bones, and every breath was a struggle. You reached up, your hand weakly brushing against the side of his visor. "I love you," you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

Scott's composure shattered in an instant. He grabbed your hand, pressing it to his chest as tears filled his eyes, hidden behind his red-tinted visor. "I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, Y/N, don’t leave me. I can’t lose you."

But even as he spoke, your vision grew darker, and the world around you faded. You could feel your heart slowing, your body giving up. The last thing you saw was Scott’s face, his usually stoic expression replaced by one of utter devastation.

When your heart finally stopped, Scott let out a choked sob, his body trembling as he held you close. His visor glowed with an intensity that reflected the storm of emotions raging inside him, but he refused to take it off, knowing that if he did, the force of his grief would destroy everything around him.

He stayed with you, holding your lifeless body as the battle continued to rage around him. In that moment, nothing else mattered. You were gone, and with you, a piece of him had died too.

Ororo Munroe

The storm raged above as the battle unfolded, lightning flashing across the sky, mirroring Ororo’s inner turmoil. She had always fought with grace and precision, her connection to the elements unmatched, but today her focus was split. She kept glancing toward you, her heart tight with worry as you fought on the battlefield alongside the rest of the X-Men.

Then, in a flash of light, Ororo saw you fall.

Without hesitation, she soared through the air, the wind carrying her swiftly to your side. She landed next to you with a graceful thud, her heart pounding in her chest. “Y/N!” Her voice cracked, filled with a raw fear she rarely allowed herself to feel.

You lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath you, your breaths shallow and uneven. Your eyes flickered open as she knelt down, her hands hovering over you, unsure of where to touch without causing you more pain. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. “I’m right here.”

You tried to smile but grimaced, the pain too much to hide. “Ororo... it’s bad.”

She shook her head, her white hair whipping in the wind as the storm above mirrored her growing panic. “No, it’s not. You’re going to be fine. I won’t let you leave me.”

Your fingers weakly reached up, brushing against her cheek as you gazed up at her, your expression soft despite the pain. “I love you... always have.”

Ororo’s heart clenched, her breath catching in her throat as she cupped your hand to her face. “I love you too,” she whispered, her tears falling freely now, mixing with the rain that had begun to pour. “Please don’t leave me.”

But she could feel the life slipping away from you, the spark in your eyes fading with each passing moment. Your hand fell from her cheek, and Ororo let out a heart-wrenching sob, clutching your body tightly to her chest as the storm above erupted into a frenzy of lightning and thunder.

The sky wept with her as she held you close, her heart shattering into pieces.

Rogue

Rogue fought with everything she had, her strength and agility keeping her a step ahead of the enemies on the battlefield. For so long, she had feared touching others, but now that she had full control of her powers, she fought fearlessly, knowing she could protect the ones she loved.

But when she saw you collapse in the distance, her heart stopped.

Without thinking, Rogue flew across the battlefield, her breath catching in her throat as she reached your side. “Y/N!” she cried out, dropping to her knees beside you. Her hands shook as she touched your face, her gloved fingers trembling as she saw the blood staining your clothes.

You looked up at her, your vision blurred and fading. “Rogue...” you whispered, your voice barely a rasp above the chaos surrounding you.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Rogue whispered, her voice breaking as she gathered you in her arms. “You’re gonna be okay, ya hear? I ain’t lettin’ ya go.”

You smiled weakly, your hand reaching up to touch her face. “It’s too late... I can feel it.”

“No!” Rogue’s voice cracked as she held you tighter, her heart pounding in her chest. “Don’t you dare say that. We’re gonna get through this, together. Just hang on.”

But as you coughed, blood splattering from your lips, she knew the truth. You were slipping away, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

Rogue choked on a sob, tears streaming down her face as she pressed her forehead to yours. “I love you too, more than anything. Please don’t leave me.”

But as your hand slipped from her cheek and your body went limp in her arms, Rogue’s world collapsed. She let out a broken cry, pulling you close as her tears fell onto your lifeless body.

For the first time in her life, Rogue felt truly powerless.

Erik Lehnsherr

The battlefield was chaos, a cacophony of screams, explosions, and the constant hum of metal twisting under Erik’s control. His powers were unmatched, and even as the battle raged, he moved with precision, guiding every metal shard, bullet, and beam to protect those who fought beside him.

But then he saw you fall.

In an instant, everything else became irrelevant. The clamor of war faded into the background as Erik’s heart seized with terror. He flew to your side, his cape billowing out behind him, metal shards scattering as he rushed to you. When he landed beside you, his breath caught in his throat. You were lying in a pool of your own blood, your eyes barely open.

"Y/N!" Erik’s voice was more frantic than it had ever been. He knelt beside you, his gloved hands hovering over you as he tried to figure out what to do, how to help. But for all his power, for all the control he had over the world’s elements, he couldn’t fix this.

You coughed weakly, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth as you looked up at him. "Erik..." your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it as though it were the only sound in the world.

He shook his head, his steel-blue eyes wide with fear. "No, don’t speak. I’ll take you somewhere safe. I can save you." His voice was thick with desperation as he reached out, trying to wrap you in a cocoon of metal to shield you from the world.

But you weakly lifted your hand, stopping him. "It’s too late," you whispered, your voice filled with a sadness that made Erik’s heart shatter. "I... I love you."

The words struck him harder than any attack ever had. Erik had faced war, genocide, and the loss of his family, but nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had prepared him for losing you. "No," he whispered, his voice breaking as tears welled in his eyes. "I can’t lose you. Not you, Y/N."

You smiled weakly, your hand slipping from his grasp as the life faded from your eyes. "I’ll always... love you," you whispered, before your body went limp in his arms.

Erik let out a guttural cry, a sound filled with pure, raw grief. The metal around him trembled, shaking violently as his control faltered under the weight of his anguish. For the first time in years, Magneto was powerless, and it tore him apart.

He held you close, your lifeless body cradled in his arms as the world around him collapsed into chaos. He didn’t care about the battle anymore, didn’t care about the war or the cause.

All that mattered was that you were gone.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.5

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part and if you've missed part 4 here it is.

Charles steps closer, his brow furrowed with concern as he gently places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft, calming, but you can hear the underlying worry. Without thinking, you nod, though your heart is still racing from the encounter. The relief of having Charles step in hits you all at once, and before you know it, his arms are wrapping around you in a comforting hug.

You lean into him, grateful for his warmth and steady presence. He holds you just tight enough to make you feel safe, and you close your eyes, letting the moment calm your nerves.

As you stand there in Charles's embrace, you don’t notice Arthur approaching from across the room. But he sees you. The way Charles is holding you, the protective way his arms are wrapped around you—Arthur’s chest tightens with a mix of emotions.

That should be me, Arthur thinks, his jaw clenched as a wave of jealousy rushes through him. He’s always been the one looking out for you, keeping you close. And now, seeing his brother comforting you, it feels like something is slipping away, something he thought was only his.

He quickly crosses the room, pushing those thoughts aside as he approaches. "What happened?" Arthur's voice is tight, though he tries to mask the storm brewing inside him.

Charles lets go of you, and you take a deep breath, turning to Arthur. “Some guy wouldn’t leave me alone. Charles showed up just in time.”

Arthur’s eyes darken as he processes what you’re saying, a flash of protectiveness sparking in him. “What did he do?” he asks, his voice low and serious now. The tension is clear in his posture as he steps closer, his gaze flicking from you to where the guy had disappeared into the crowd.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. He just… wouldn’t take no for an answer. Charles handled it.”

Arthur’s expression softens as he looks at you, his concern overshadowing the jealousy he feels toward his brother. Gently, he reaches out, his hand brushing your arm as he steps even closer. “Are you okay?”

His touch is different from Charles’s—more familiar, warmer in a way that makes you feel safe, like you’ve been here a thousand times before. You smile softly, trying to ease his worry. “Yeah, I’m okay now.”

But inside, Arthur’s thoughts are far from calm. Charles is always swooping in, isn’t he? he thinks, though he hides it well. He wants to be the one you turn to, the one you feel safe with—not his brother. The jealousy gnaws at him, but seeing you shaken like this, his priority is making sure you’re alright.

“Let’s get out of here,” Arthur suggests, his tone gentle but firm, still not quite able to shake the possessiveness he feels. He looks over at Charles, who nods in agreement.

The three of you leave the party together, Arthur keeping you close by his side. He glances over at Charles, who walks on the other side of you, and for a brief moment, he catches his brother’s eye. There’s a silent understanding between them—both of them are here for you, but Arthur can’t help but feel that old rivalry flaring up again, just beneath the surface.

As you step outside into the cool night air, you feel a sense of relief wash over you. Arthur stays close, his hand on your back, while Charles walks quietly beside you. They’re both there, looking out for you, but in Arthur’s mind, there’s only one person he wants to be, the one you need..

As the three of you walk out into the cool night air, the tension from the party starts to fade. The silence feels comforting, but you can sense that Arthur and Charles are still watching over you closely. You feel their presence on either side, and it’s reassuring, but also a little overwhelming—like you’re caught between them in a way you can’t quite place.

Suddenly, Charles breaks the quiet. “How about we get some ice cream?” he suggests, his voice light and easy. “Might help brighten the mood after… all that.”

You smile at the idea, grateful for the distraction. “Ice cream sounds perfect.”

Arthur, though still a bit tense, nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’m in.”

A short while later, you’re sitting outside a small ice cream shop, the three of you at a quiet table. The atmosphere is much more relaxed now, and you find yourself laughing at something Charles said about the last time he tried to cook. It’s easy, comfortable—just like old times.

As you take a bite of your ice cream, Arthur glances at Charles, his voice teasing but with an edge of curiosity. “By the way, doesn’t your girlfriend miss you right now? It’s getting pretty late.”

Charles’s expression shifts slightly, a small shadow crossing his face. He lowers his spoon, and for a moment, he hesitates. “We broke up,” he says simply, his tone more serious than it’s been all night.

You stop mid-bite, eyes widening. “Oh, Charles… I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Without thinking, you reach out and place a hand on his arm, your touch gentle.

Charles gives you a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. It wasn’t working for a while now. But thanks.”

You nod, giving him a sympathetic look. “Breakups are hard, but you’ll get through it. You always do.”

Arthur watches the exchange quietly, trying to push down the flicker of jealousy that rises in him when he sees you comforting his brother. He knows you’re just being kind, but it still stings to see how easily Charles seems to pull you into his orbit. I need to be the one she turns to, Arthur thinks, but he keeps it to himself, staying focused on you.

After a moment, Charles glances at you, his expression curious but lighthearted. “So, what about you? Anyone special in your life these days?” His tone is casual, but there’s an underlying tension in the question that you don’t notice.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Nope. Just me.” You take another spoonful of ice cream, completely unaware of how both Charles and Arthur are subtly watching your every move.

What you don’t realize is that the moment you answered, both brothers held their breath, waiting for what you’d say. They both feel a strange mixture of relief and anticipation at your response, even if neither of them lets it show.

“Well,” Charles says with a playful smile, trying to keep the mood light, “that just means they haven’t met someone as great as you yet.”

Arthur chuckles, but his smile is tight. He’s glad to hear you’re single, but he also knows this changes things. There’s no competition—except between him and his brother.

You smile back at both of them, oblivious to the tension that simmers just below the surface. To you, it’s just another night with two of your closest friends, not realizing how much more it means to them.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12

[steddiebang2024]

I was a teenage dirtbag  |  Mature  |  75k

Author: @hellfireloserclub

Artist: @academic-clown

Beta Reader: @kaypie91

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington , Erica Sinclair, Dustim Henderson, Nancy Wheeler. 

Tags: Slowburn, Future Fic, Year 2000, Post-season Four, Bisexual Steve, Bisexual Eddie, Comedy /angst, Long distance friendship to lovers, Radio Host Eddie, Hairdresser Steve, Wedding fic.

Trigger Warnings: Sex, Alcohol, and Recreational drugs

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

“So…” Dustin started.

“So what?” Eddie asked, fixing his eyes on the side of Dustin’s face, trying to work out what way this interrogation was going to go.  

“I don’t have my own ringtone, Wayne and Mom don’t, but Steve does?” Dustin avoided looking at him, staring at the overhead signs pointing to the short stay parking, acting like they weren’t at the airport at least twice a month with the family coming and going. 

“I thought it was funny,” he said in his own defense. 

“And I totally believe you.” It sounded like a question. 

“But?”

“But are you sure there's not more?” someone shouldn’t look so smug as they reverse in a multi story, yet here was Dustin excelling at it. When Eddie didn’t answer he cut off the engine turning to look at him, all signs pointed to the next few minutes being incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Spit it out, I have to get to the gate,” Eddie grumbled, he felt like he was under a microscope, his little brother's eyes boring into him.

“Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Steve?”  Eddie wanted to yell- yes, I just don’t know what? But he bit it down, this wasn’t the time to trigger a Dustin intervention. 

“Just because you can't procreate outside of the close knit circles you were dragged up in, doesn’t mean we all have to hook up within our little friend group.  You gotta stop trying to pair us all off dude, it's not cool. Remember when you used to keep trying to pair off Steve and Robin? How did that work out for you?” Eddie questioned. 

“In my defense-”

“No. Say less. Stop. I broke up with Yumi two weeks ago, I don’t need you to help, I don’t need your psychoanalyzing me with Max over the phone. I don’t need you to try and set me up with a rebound. I’m a big boy alright. I’m going to Boston to get stupidly drunk with Steve, talk shit about you all lovingly, and lament the fact that both me and him are probably gonna die old and alone.” He reached over the back of the seat and grabbed his duffle bag, before reaching over and tapping Dustin on the cheek. “But look at the plus side, if me and Stevie don’t bring a plus one to the wedding that will save you two meals and a headache with seating plans.”

“You make my resolve to not meddle in both of your love lives impossible, you know that right?” Dustin asked, leaning over the center console. 

“Cause you were doing an absolutely stellar job of it before this conversation?” Eddie closed the door behind him. “Dusty, I love you like you’re my own flesh and blood. But please, let this one go?” 

Dustin looked poised to say something else but Eddie didn’t have time for it. “If the words curiosity journey come out of your mouth, I’m not speaking to you for a month.”  Dustin snapped his mouth shut. “That’s it, save it for Applejack, I don’t want to know.”

Eddie gave the car a courtesy wave as he went through the doors of the airport, but he didn’t look back. He was pretty sure Dustin had hit the nail on the head with his observations, but as far as anyone was aware Steve was just his friend, and letting go of any control on that narrative was like letting a fox off in a hen house. It would be chaos. Although Eddie was starting to think it was a lost cause. This was so much easier when he and Steve hated each other, enemies to fuck buddies was a much easier story arch, with a lot less emotional baggage.

[hellfireloserclub]

I was a teenage dirtbag | 75k | M

Author : @hellfireloserclub Artist :@academic-clown ( @acaademicqueer if it ever gets un nuked) Beta : @kaypie91

Sorry it's late ! Ao3 was out!

Nothing but love for the wonderful artwork @academic-clown has done for this fic. The detail and the love in this art is wonderful.

And thankyou kaypie for the wonderful beta work.

“So…” Dustin started.

“So what?” Eddie asked, fixing his eyes on the side of Dustin’s face, trying to work out what way this interrogation was going to go.

“I don’t have my own ringtone, Wayne and Mom don’t, but Steve does?” Dustin avoided looking at him, staring at the overhead signs pointing to the short stay parking, acting like they weren’t at the airport at least twice a month with the family coming and going.

“I thought it was funny,” he said in his own defense.

“And I totally believe you.” It sounded like a question.

“But?”

“But are you sure there's not more?” someone shouldn’t look so smug as they reverse in a multi story, yet here was Dustin excelling at it.

When Eddie didn’t answer he cut off the engine turning to look at him, all signs pointed to the next few minutes being incredibly uncomfortable.

“Spit it out, I have to get to the gate,” Eddie grumbled, he felt like he was under a microscope, his little brother's eyes boring into him.

“Are you sure there's nothing going on between you and Steve?” Eddie wanted to yell- yes, I just don’t know what? But he bit it down, this wasn’t the time to trigger a Dustin intervention.

“Just because you can't procreate outside of the close knit circles you were dragged up in, doesn’t mean we all have to hook up within our little friend group. You gotta stop trying to pair us all off dude, it's not cool. Remember when you used to keep trying to pair off Steve and Robin? How did that work out for you?” Eddie questioned.

“In my defense-”

“No. Say less. Stop. I broke up with Yumi two weeks ago, I don’t need you to help, I don’t need your psychoanalyzing me with Max over the phone. I don’t need you to try and set me up with a rebound. I’m a big boy alright. I’m going to Boston to get stupidly drunk with Steve, talk shit about you all lovingly, and lament the fact that both me and him are probably gonna die old and alone.” He reached over the back of the seat and grabbed his duffle bag, before reaching over and tapping Dustin on the cheek.

“But look at the plus side, if me and Stevie don’t bring a plus one to the wedding that will save you two meals and a headache with seating plans.”

“You make my resolve to not meddle in both of your love lives impossible, you know that right?” Dustin asked, leaning over the center console.

“Cause you were doing an absolutely stellar job of it before this conversation?” Eddie closed the door behind him. “Dusty, I love you like you’re my own flesh and blood. But please, let this one go?”

Dustin looked poised to say something else but Eddie didn’t have time for it.

“If the words curiosity journey come out of your mouth, I’m not speaking to you for a month.” Dustin snapped his mouth shut, “That’s it, save it for Applejack, I don’t want to know.”

Eddie gave the car a courtesy wave as he went through the doors of the airport, but he didn’t look back.

He was pretty sure Dustin had hit the nail on the head with his observations, but as far as anyone was aware Steve was just his friend, and letting go of any control on that narrative was like letting a fox off in a hen house. It would be chaos.

Although Eddie was starting to think it was a lost cause. This was so much easier when he and Steve hated each other, enemies to fuck buddies was a much easier story arch, with a lot less emotional baggage.

[on-the-clear-blue]

The idea warms are hitting extremely hard today, so outside of my usual DPxDC I give you, Spider-Man in Gotham...Not MCU Peter edition!

Give me a Peter Parker that is 18 going on onto 19, he has been Spider-Man for like, 5 almost 6 years, getting his bite very early, and dealing with all the things that happen to him younger.

And give me a Year One Batman. Who is still trying to figure out what the hell he is doing, and toting along a 9 year old Robin

Peter, falling out of a portal, and doing his standard check of surroundings, spotting Batman staring at him in clunky armor and a brightly colored child: Waves slowly

Bruce, who heard some freaky shit was happening with a cult near by and went to investigate: blinking at the blue and red being that got summoned

Dickie, who is trying (and failing) to do the Bat glare: still waves back.

And like, just the idea of this 19 year old Spider-Man taking a much older vigilante under his wing, teaching him the ins and outs of it all.

Like..

Bruce, Storming through a bag guys base gets suddenly pulled back by a web to his cape.

Peter, giving him a "bitch you dumb" look under his mask: Traps! LOOK FOR TRAPS?? AND LOOK UP? PEOPLE HID THINGS UP?

Bonus, Spider-Man bending himself into a human pretzels and Dick "I have no bones" Grayson is gleefully testing to see if he could do it too.

Jump cut, years later, Peter beats emotional intelligence into Bruce with Dick.

All the Bat kids grow up with Uncle Peter, (either Peter can't get back or has been told specifically that he can't by a higher being or something) and like...

Peter is the only one that catches Tiny Tim following them during patrol, he shows him all the places to get the best angles, even poses a few times for him.

Either is there when Jason dies and saves him, or is there mourning with Bruce

(Gotham lives in fear of the memory, Batman at his most brutal and Black Suit Spider-Man)

Teaches Jason how to control his pit rage after he comes back, what is Spider-Man if not control?

Stephanie is his bestie in puns and white girl music tastes.

Tim finds a partner in constantly staying up far to late as well as someone who likes to invent,( because I hc that Peter has pretty much worked with every scientist in New York, cus like since this is a blend of canons, he has worked with the Lizard, Doc Oct, Reed Richards, the only one he said no to an internship was Stark)

Duke gets a meta mentor that can help him with his powers, Spidey has been on more than one team with someone that had some form of light powers.

Plus I think Spider-man is Gothams daytime hero before Signal joins him, they are the daytime duo

Cass is his favorite (don't tell anyone because they already know) she can see him and he can see her in a spider sense, they do the point meme whenever they sense each other.

Little stabby Damian finds out that this person with his father has been trained by many an assassin (Wade, Daredevil, Natasha, Shield in general)

And Wade...Deadpool pops up occasionally, even he doesn't understand why or how lBruce gets a strange feeling he should punch the Flash in the face the next time he sees him)

Bruce having to deal with Deadpool is terrible for him and I sadly love it.

(Also on the point of Black suit spidey in Gotham...ESPECIALLY after Jason is murdered? Oh Peter is killing the Joker, or his arm privileges forfeit. I feel like Peter would try not to kill him but wouldn't try too hard.)

Spider-man being a founding members of the Justice League, them having to deal with Peter crawling on the ceiling, and scuttering through air vents!

Peter making Parker Industries, pointing inventions from other heros/villains from his world, he isn't above pettiness, and that's how the DC world gets some of Reed Richard's old designs he gave to Peter "Because they are practically useless" they arnt they save millions of lives. Not to mention Arc Reactors, Peter grinned the whole time claiming it was his idea.

Hope you enjoy my ADHD rambling brought to you be sleep deprivation

[katuschka]

Blowing Smoke – coming soon

Tom (m!OC) x Josh Kiszka x m!OC

Huge thanks to my dear @edgingthedarkness, who came up with the initial idea for this fic and later offered it to me to write it, so I think of this as a collab. Thank you for your consultations, babe. Mwah. If Tom sounds familiar to you, you're right – it's the Tom from Usually Sexual and A Rollercoaster Ride with Tom&Jerry. I just really like the character and he fits in perfectly. :) Warning no.1: This is going to be pretty intense. Full of smut, angst, deception and intense emotions (if you know me already, you know what to expect...)

Here's my taglist, if you're interested.

TEASER BELOW contains heavy angst, foul language and a dose of violence.

“I’m not interested in hearing the whole tall tale, you asshole. Get to the point. DID.YOU.FUCK.HIM…?”

The silence that followed should have shattered the window wall. Physical laws should have succumbed to the power of their internal screaming. They could both feel it: the supersonic wave of go-to-hells and suck-my-dicks. However, nothing happened. On the contrary, the setting sun kept mocking them as it continued to cover the room in its warm glow. How fucking romantic! It once was, when they were both equally loud, but for completely different reasons…

Tom couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed his still half-full whisky tumbler and smashed it against the wall, dangerously close to Josh's head. To make him say something. 

Again, nothing happened. Looking at now utterly bewildered Josh, Tom thought the hell must have frozen over during those last few horrid minutes they spent yelling at each other, because that was the only explanation for Josh’s sudden loss of speech. For years, those puppy eyes filled his heart with joy and his dick with blood, but now they only made him SICK. 

“Nothing? Not even a simple yes or no? I thought I deserved more than that. But you know what? Don’t bother trying to explain. I already know you did. You finally did it! We’re done.” 

Finally? FINALLY!!! The sheer hypocrisy of Tom’s accusations finally helped to untie Josh’s tongue. Hitting the very same wall with his own fist, he bellowed back: “Yeah, because he told you, huh? This was your plan all along! You played me…” 

“Not this! Not this public parade. I never wanted this...”

The last words left them both deflated. When Josh finally spoke again, it was with a shaky voice: “No, that was his plan. He played us both.”

I started a joke which started the whole world crying But I didn't see that the joke was on me oh no I started to cry which started the whole world laughing Oh If I'd only seen that the joke was on me

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names @gretasfallingsky @clownstarr @lipstickitty @gvfmarge @emojakekiszka @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @wetkleenex-gvf

[swordtit]

ortega should cry after sex with step for the first time (and many, many times after that) it has to be overwhelming to finally have them in his arms, safe and sound, and loved.

[alilarxy]

Happy 3rd anniversary Starry Sky Parade 🫶

[defiledtomb]

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO RELAX!!!!

[spaciebabie]

need 2 make out with my friends but platonically. do you understand.

[lunar-wandering]

maybe it's just cause im all alone rn or cause i didn't really eat much for dinner but for some reason right now i feel like nothing i create is good enough anymore

[thesaltyace]

I am SO ANGRY.

I should have pulled out of the garage to open the back hatch. But I opened the hatch while it was inside. Which was actually fine. The garage door was open, plenty of room.

But then I hit the button to close the garage door. While the hatch was still open. And now I have a huge scrape in the paint, down to metal, on the hatch. 🫠

I can't even right now. I'm so angry I could cry.

[moldy-flowers]

I love the scene in naruto shippuden where Kakashi says "I'm really starting to take a liking to you" not because naruto freaks the hell out but because this implies that for the other like 3 and a half years Naruro knew Kakashi and the 16 years Kakshi knew of Naruto Kakshi just did not like Naruto at all.