#from the literal disability they agree with you on having

[soullessjack]

they should invent a transition into adulthood that doesn’t make me want to kill myself before i turn 20

[aroaceleovaldez]

The himbo, malewife, goofball -fication of percy jackson is such a crime by both the fans and riordan. It has made Mr not like percabeth as a couple because in all posts and in later books annabeth is such a girlboss, while Percy's dumb and can't fight his way out of a paperbag without her. All the posts are about how annabeth will be an architect and percy would love to be a trophy husband.

Even the humor in the books went from Percy's sharp wit and snark to 'my pancakes can't drown because I'm a son of poseidon.'

And now this recommendation letter bullshit.

Honestly now I'd wish percy just separated from annabeth (but they remain best friends.) He stays home with his family, becomes a camp counselor, helps young demigods, holds God's accountable and eventually becomes a social activist. (I also dislike him doing something marine biology related. It's clear he hates academics but he always wants to help people. Him helping demigods and mortals is such a wholesome profession for him.)

I fully agree with the first half of this, though I slightly disagree with part of the latter.

The later-series and fanon mischaracterization of Percy is at least a solid 50% ableism minimum, full stop. He's being warped into a very stereotyped ADHD character and the exact reason why he's being characterized as "dumb" is because of ableism. Percy is a very intelligent character! That's exactly why he's so in sync with Annabeth and they're such a strong duo! It's just generally Annabeth is more book/academically smart.

I disagree with where you say he hates academics - because that's one of the common misconceptions about his character. Percy doesn't hate learning or academic subjects! He's not even bad at them! We know explicitly that when he is in an accommodating environment he is interested in learning and gets significantly better grades! Percy only dislikes school because it is generally an environment that systematically he struggles with. It's literally just he has a learning disability (two, actually)! That's it! When his learning disability is accommodated for he does well! It's almost like that's what accommodations are all about! We know this from the first series! It's discussed pretty in-depth! Percy isn't a dumb character and he doesn't hate learning, he's just been let down by school systems so much that he's inherently distrustful of them. If they actually accommodate him though then he does just fine!

And that's exactly what CHB was all about and why New Rome University was supposed to be such a big thing for him! CHB is a learning environment geared for demigods. NRU is a demigod college. Both inherently imply an environment meant to cater to and accommodate students with ADHD and dyslexia! They are both systematically structured to be able to accommodate him! Heck, CHB and CJ even both address in the wider themes of the series a metaphor about how ADHD and dyslexia are commonly seen as childhood disabilities, and how it can be more difficult to find accommodations into adulthood because of that attitude but those disabilities don't just go away - that's why CHB is a summer camp but they talk about how demigods outside of CHB don't often fare well. The metaphor there is those who are not getting help or accommodations are struggling. Because that's how that works! This is a fully intentional metaphor from the first series! CHB is never framed as being perfect for demigods, because one of the entire central conflicts of the series is Percy and Luke going back and forth about this flawed system meant to help and support them but still letting people fall through the cracks. The "claim your kids by 13" thing is a metaphor about how acknowledging a child's disabilities (and possibly getting a diagnosis) earlier/as early as possible means they will have more time to learn and build up resources and support for themselves to be able to use later in life. One of CHB's major flaws is that it can accommodate demigods to a certain point, but it can only do so much before those demigods have to leave (the metaphor being accommodating school systems when those disabled students do not have any other forms of accommodations in their lives.)

And that's why Camp Jupiter was framed as being so revolutionary for Percy because it had an environment acknowledging that this is not just a childhood disability, adults with ADHD/dyslexia exist too and still need and deserve accommodations, AND is a place where those accommodations are available. That's why Camp Jupiter and NRU are treated as such special and important things to Percy, because it's essentially Percy being shown this type of thing can and does exist and it is available to him. It is an option he never thought was possible. Percy never thought he'd be able to go to college because he would not be able to go through school without accommodations, but NRU proves otherwise.

The part that's absolutely stupid is Rick then proceeded to retcon NRU so that apparently it's not a full college and Percy still has to take classes at normal mortal college which DEFEATS THE ENTIRE PURPOSE OF NRU EXISTING. Rick has fully retconned that demigods struggle past the ages of 16-18 when they're on their own (see above elaborated metaphors) and in doing so we have fully killed all symbolism in literally all of that. It's so stupid. And by having the plot of the CoTG trilogy entirely be that Percy is not actually allowed access to NRU in the first place because he is a son of Poseidon and has to do extra to even be accepted is stupid!

All that to say, I agree the marine biology feels like a huge cop-out and a disservice to his character by reducing him to just a son of Poseidon. The literal only reason why it's the default option people take for him is because oh, fish thing, fish guy. But I feel like everyone ignores the really obvious answer for what Percy would want to do which is - writing. Both his parents are writers/authors and he clearly admires that about them. Percy likes telling stories! He canonically is already a published author in-universe! That's what the books ARE in-universe! The first series fully exists in their universe and Percy is the author! This is explicit canonical information! Percy canonically has help physically writing it down (accommodations) but he is still the credited author! Percy is a writer! Already! Canonically! Why are we making him a marine biologist he already has a profession that ties into his character significantly more. Like you said, Percy likes helping people. That's what the books in-universe are supposed to be for! It's point blank at the beginning of the series! Book one! The thing everybody quotes all the time! The books exist because it is Percy trying to give advice to other demigods who don't know what's going on yet! It's Percy's writing down his experiences to help new demigods understand and contextualize their experiences so they can understand themselves better and figure out what's going on - WHICH IN ITSELF IS ALSO A METAPHOR ABOUT ADHD/DYSLEXIA! Because the core of the series has and always will be built around ADHD/dyslexia! Percy as a protagonist EXPLICITLY was created so that ADHD/dyslexic kids could see themselves as a hero!

Sorry that all was a very tangential rant but my point being: Absolutely. Percy in newer stuff in the franchise and in fanon is horrifically mischaracterized in ways that are functionally either fully ableist (shoutout TSATS for just outright claiming Percy is intentionally lazy and skips school out of disinterest, which is like the number one ableist attitude towards kids with learning disabilities) or a complete erasure of Percy's disabilities. Also I think he should be a writing major not a marine biologist.

[weareuniqueandimportant]

EMPATHY GLAMORIZATION IS NOT ABOUT EMPATHY BUT SUPERIORITY TORWARDS APATHETIC PEOPLE BIGOTRY TORWARDS THEM TYPICAL BIGOT EVIL. SIMPLE AS THAT. IF YOU SEE THEM AS LEFTIST YOU'RE NO LEFTIST YOURSELF. HORRIBLE. THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO HAVE ONLY EMPATHY AND BAD TO THINK EVERYTHING YOU DO IS SUCH ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY'RE CLEARLY BEING APATHETIC IF ANYTHING WHEN THEY DO THIS...

COMES TO SHOW BIGOTRY TORWARDS CRAZY AND DISABLED PEOPLE ASWELL AS PARAPHILIA PEOPLE ISN'T TAKEN AT ALL THE SAME AS SEXISM RACISM AND QUEERPHOBIA... OR PERHAPS... LIKELY... THEY ARE ALL THE BIGOTED THINGS EVIL AND TAKE NONE THAT SERIOUSLY... BELITTLING DOWN THEIR PAIN AND DAMAGE...

[andromachos]

denying a trans man gender afirming surgeries and trying to legally make him incapable of having decision over his own body, is transphobic, undoubtly, but the legislation exists to control cis women. the societal expectation of fertility and searching all the posible means to have control over the womb and vagina of another person is both fundamentally racist and ableist in nature, as ranging from liberals to full on conservatives, will see people they oppress getting forcibly castrated and relish in the thought of them having "no legacy"

' irreversible damage ' was written about trans men, but we should not forget, from cover to the author's intention, that it's expressing the fear of losing women's fertility and societal indoctrination of baby makers. this is because, to the misogynistic mind, the idea of gender non-conformity presents the idea of questioning gender roles, which between many things not only proposes a woman that does not live for men, but also a woman that can find fulfilment without birthing kids through pregnancy. for these reasons self proclaimed "radicals" venerate the divine feminity and conservative groomers defend their right to refuse to teach girls about anything other than how to carry a pregnancy. it is the fear of losing the conditioned woman who is submissive to patriarchy, and the hipocrisy of considering race, class and disabilities despite claiming to be "pro-life"

trans liberation will come with women's liberation and viceversa, as they both encourage body autonomy and the concept of the woman happy with her existence without serving men. we should not think one cannot advance without the other, as transmisogyny shows us how deeply settled the standards of cis womanhood are, even within cis women themselves, when needed to shame women into conformity and submission and the shame of failing to be molded "correctly"

[gibbearish]

hey cool that literally isnt what that said in the slightest

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

.

[wosofutbolfan]

When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

A story of a lifetime spent growing together. To what end?

Songfic

WC: 17k. Check TW inside.

TW: Bullying based on disability. Death of a parent. Angst. Grief.

Hi Guys.

This has sat in my drafts for months and inside my head for even longer. There is no part 2 planned. This is angsty with fluffy moments. Be warned.

I think we can all agree the most heart wrenching media moment of all time is Toy Story 2 and the below song.

If you don't agree. Move along this is not for you.

Reader calls Alexia, Alex throughout this fic. That's based on this video. Cause I have never heard someone refer to that and I thought it was cute. Alexia refers to R as 'Conejito' as a literal translation of bunny - I have since realised there's a more vulgar translation of this which I'm ignoring. Ha.

Spoiler Alert - This story deals with the death of a parent. Which I went back and forth on writing. Something about it still feels ick to me because these are real people. I may delete. Everything within is based on my own experience of parental loss. And it comes from no place of malace or weirdness.

This also deals with a severe speech impediment - which again, I do not suffer from myself but have experience with and hope I have done the struggle justice for anyone who may suffer.

My spanish is google translate because I am an ignorant English speaker. Apologies.

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart

It was raining on the day that you met her.

That was strange. For Barcelona. The rain.

You found yourself where you usually could be found, to anyone who would take notice. Which wasn’t anyone to your knowledge except for a few observant teachers. In the art room, in the back corner, working relentlessly at an easel that your favourite teacher would set up for you.

You had transferred into the school part way through term, and for the first few days as with most schools you were the new and shiny thing. At 12 a lot of the kids in school had known each other since birth and you were new fresh blood to entertain them.

That didn’t last too long though when they realised you weren’t actually that interesting.

Shy and quiet as you always had been, you kept yourself to yourself. Its not that you didn’t want to make friends. You did. You so desperately did. But you just didn’t know how.

You had a stutter. That never helped. Kids could be cruel. And with the move from your hometown to Mollet for your mum's job it had only gotten worse. 

Words felt like lead in your mouth, your jaw felt tight and you struggled to get your words out. They stuck in your throat and refused to move from there. 

The teachers were kind. Your peers were not. Your speech therapist was helping. You spent more time than any 12 year old should thinking about sentence structure and breathing techniques.

You knew your parents worried about you. Waiting for you to get home from school every day with worried glances and eager smiles; “Did you make any friends today niña?” your dad would ask, pretending to be casual, flicking through some book or another. “Not today Papi.” You would reply, never wanting to lie to your family, before happily jumping the couch next to him and starting to scribble in your notebook.

“Maybe tomorrow niña. There is always tomorrow”.

Well. Turns out dads are clever.

Because there was always tomorrow. And on an unusually rainy day for Mollet tomorrow came.

“Putellas!! Get back here! Pute-...”

The door to the art room quickly opened and slammed closed. The noise jolts you out of your peaceful reverie. A tall brunette girl smashed her back against the door and a hand quickly flicked out to turn the lights off to the room.

She clearly hadn’t noticed you huddled in the corner as she slid down the door onto her butt. Closing her eyes she let out a deep sigh and rested her forehead on her knees.

You didn't know what to do.

You knew who she was. Of course you did. She was Alexia Putellas.

The Alexia Putellas. Futbol superstar. Well… the 12 year old playground version of that. The coolest girl in school. She oozes confidence. Was always surrounded by a gaggle of your peers. Never without a ball at her feet or in her hands. But she hadn’t noticed you. Arm still raised working on the canvas in front of you, vision now impeded by the dark she had forced onto the room by turning the light off. You froze. Mouth slightly agape and hand starting to sweat. You watched as she rocked her forehead side to side on her knees. Your arm became tired in its upright position and the noise of you plopping the brush back into the water jar seemed to jolt her out of her stupor. Her neck snapped up and you met her wide, hazel eyes that bore into you. “Oh! Lo siento, I didn’t… I didn’t know anyone else was in here.” She was met with silence. Your stutter affected you terribly on a good day. Nevermind your safehaven suddenly being invaded by the coolest girl in school. Who you had idolised from afar since arriving in Mollet. Her head tilted curiously as she took you in. You felt her eyes drift to the canvas behind you. “Did you paint that?” She stands to her full height, still keeping her distance from you. “Why are you painting in the dark…?” She asks curiously. Head still tilted. Faced with a direct question you couldn’t put it off any longer. You couldn’t delay the inevitable. “Y..y…you, tu…tu….switched off….” Changing the words you intended to use halfway through was a coping mechanism that your therapist had tried to get you to work out of your system. She called it masking. You called it getting by. You raise your hand and point to the lightswitch that she had flicked when she entered the room. She looks at you harder now. You feel her eyes boring into you and wait for the inevitable laughter. The pity. Maybe even the cruelty that you are used to when people hear you speak. You cast your eyes down, waiting for the blow. But you just hear a flick of a switch, and the darkness behind your eyelids lifting. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have switched it off if I had known. I was just trying to get away. I kicked a football at Senorita Lopez by accident in the gym. They won’t let me play outside in the rain. Idiotas” You lift your eyes at her gentle, lilting tone as a smile teases your lips. She's moved closer to you now. “You didn’t answer. Did you paint this?” Her hand comes out to hover over the lines of your still-wet painting. Carefully. Again, you’ve been asked a direct question. “Si.” you reply, quietly. You don’t struggle so much with single words. “By yourself?” she asked, aghast, wonder taking over her features. You nod in reply. “This is so cool! Show me!” A grin overtakes your features as you nod more enthusiastically. Glasses slipping down your nose. Pulling out a fresh canvas for your new friend. “Lo siento, I haven’t told you my name. My Papa says it's rude not to introduce myself…” she stands tall and thrusts out her hand. Very formally. Very practised. “I am Alexia Putellas Segura.” You pause for a moment, looking at her outstretched hand. You wipe your clammy hands on your jeans. And shake her hand. “A…A…” you grow frustrated with yourself, the words getting stuck in your throat. You pull your hand away but Alexia keeps her grip firm and nods at you encouragingly. “Al…Alex… Alex.” you give up. Eyes downcast. Maybe you can tell your papa you nearly made a friend today. “Alex! Cool! I’ve never had that nickname! Most people call me Ale. But it can be our thing. I know you, you are y/n I remember Senora Perez making you stand at the front of class. Show me how to paint! Please? ”  Alexia was not a good painter. She quickly got bored and distracted by the newspaper on the desk intended for a paper mache project which she screwed up together, fashioned into a football and then spent the rest of the wet lunchtime kicking around the art room aiming for various targets that she would shout out to you. 

You dutifully cheered at every successful hit of the target. That night as you climbed onto the couch next to your papa and he asked; “Did you make any friends today niña?”. You couldn’t wait to reply; “Si! Alex.” You missed the way his newspaper dropped ever so slightly, and he caught the eye of your mami who was in the kitchen. “Ah, Si? Alex should come for dinner! We would love to welcome him!” He replied, his delight even obvious to you. “No tonta… Alex is a girl!” you let out. In that hilariously moody way only 12 year olds can. You became inseparable. Alexia was your best friend. Complete and total opposites. She would spend wet lunches in the art room with you. She would drag you to the playing fields after school and on break and you would be a goalie for her. Which was really just you standing complaining about where you found yourself and you dived away from balls as she cackled out a laugh. She came round for dinner with your family most nights. You spent every weekend at the Putellas household, travelling to her football games, strapped up next to Alba in the back of the Putellas family car, scribbling away in a notebook as you drew landscapes that you passed. On the way home you would sketch and sketch, only slightly hindered by the weight of your gangly best friend as she slept on your shoulder.  Your art would sit on both family fridges. Alex’s football boots would litter both entrance ways. Your mami would pick Alba up from the junior school if Eli got stuck at work. Joint family dinners were the norm.

Your relationship evolved through the years. Easily. Blissfully. You grew together. You became taller, however still paling in height compared to your best friend. You got braces and had them removed, You wore contacts most days now instead of your thick rimmed glasses. Though you still could usually be found in the art rooms.

Alexia filled out, she became less gangly and more strong, after years dedicated to football and training. 

Your speech improved. Your stammer only comes out rarely and you know your triggers. You worked hard every week with your speech therapist but you always credited Alexia. She gave you confidence. 

No one at school would roll their eyes or laugh at you when Alexia was by your side. She didn’t rush you. She didn’t finish your sentences. Nothing was more formidable within your school walls than if Alexia had found out someone had made fun of you, or not been patient with you. She got in trouble countless times defending your honor. Even if the teachers hated punishing her for it. 

You maybe realised on some level that you were as important to Alexia as she was to you the day that caused her to miss the U15 School Championship final. 

One of the more idiotic older basketball boys had caught you in the hallway. Trying to impress his gaggle of followers he had tripped you up as you were on your way scurrying into the art rooms to finish the sign you had made for Jaume to wave at the upcoming championship final. You had fallen flat on your face, quickly moving onto your back and pressing yourself against the wall. It had been a while due to Alexia's influence but you had dealt with bullies your entire life and you knew you had to just make yourself small and wait it out. “Oh s-s-s-s-s–s-s-oooorry it w-w-w-as an a-a-a-a-accident!!” the boy taunted you, leaning over you and exaggerating your stutter. 

His spittle hitting your face and making you wince. He brought himself to his full height, which was impressive for a 16 year old and turned to his friends. “Honestly, how is she even in this school, she is so estupida!” His guffaw was matched by his followers however their faces quickly dropped as they looked behind their ringleader. “What did you just say to her?” a cold, terse voice entered the conversation. You didn’t see his face drop but you could imagine it. 

He quickly turned and looked at Alexia standing in the doorway. Sunshine behind her darkening your view. As she stepped into the halfway you took in the thunderous look on her face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her as angry. 

You barely recognised her. “I-i-i sai…” This time he wasn’t impersonating you. 

He knew he was fucked. She moved quicker than you had ever seen her move on the football pitch. The tall boys friends quickly scattered as she grabbed him by his shoulders. He may have had at least two foot of height difference on her but that quickly diminished to nothing as she kneed him squarely between the legs. He doubled over in pain as she landed blow after blow to his stomach. “Alex… stop.” you instructed, gathering yourself to your feet. 

Your voice cut through her rage and she immediately stopped her punches. He scurried off as soon as he was able to, no serious damage done apart from to his ego… and maybe his balls. She turned to face you after shouting some choice expletives to his back, face immediately morphing into one of concern, eyebrows furrowed as her hands cupped your face. “¿Estás bien?” She asked, seriously. Hands moving to check you over. 

“Si, Si, estoy bien.” you replied. “You shouldn’t have done that Alex.” you regarded her with sceptical eyes. 

Her brow furrowed further, “What should I have done then? He’s un maton, he hurt you. I taught him a lesson. I would do it again. I would. I am not sorry.” she said firmly as she moved your head beneath her chin and wrapped her strong arms around you. 

You tried to pretend that the butterflies in your stomach erupting at her protectiveness were a normal reaction to a friend. 

Right? She repeated the same platitudes the next day, but this time with Jaumes hand on her shoulder as she sat in the headmaster's office. The boy she had humiliated so happened to be the son of one of the school governors. The headmaster told the footballer and her father that if Alexia apologised to the boy then she would go unpunished, otherwise, he would be forced to stop any of her extra-curricular activities, including the interschool championship final. Which, as headmaster, he really didn't want to do when his school had their first chance of winning in over a decade. She refused. 

She was banned from playing.

The team lost. 

Badly. The guilt ate away at you as you both watched from the sidelines as the 5th goal against your team went in. 

She grasped your knee, and still watched the game. “Stop feeling guilty. I am still not sorry. There are more important things than football conejita.” 

You took a breath and placed your hand on top of hers. You turned to look at her incredulously. “I mean, very few. Football is still in the top 2. Food is 3.” she continued, deadpan. Forcing a laugh out of you. You asked her once, years after first meeting, one sleepover when you were both lying side by side on the Putellas trampoline looking up at the stars. Why was she so patient with you? When no one else was? She looked at you, dumbfounded, genuinely confused by the question. “You have a voice y/n. You deserve to be heard.” she replied. Moving into her favourite position which was pulling all of your weight completely on top of her. Your head rested over her heart. You could hear the thump thump thump against your ear. You hoped she couldn’t feel the fluttering of yours.  

It was that simple to her. “Plus you looked like a rabbit in the headlights when I barged in, you were too cute. Mi pequeña coneja”.

Your Alex. 

You transitioned from best friends into girlfriends at 16 with no fanfare. A shy kiss after a win at Alexia's latest championship sealed it. Her grin splitting her face. Yours matching when you realised your dreams could become a reality. Hands held tentatively in the backseat of Jaumes car as he smiled at the scene through his rear view mirror.  Days later, as you both stood in front of your mami and papi shyly holding hands you realised, squeezing the trembling hand in yours, that it was the first time you had seen Alex nervous. In all of your years of friendship.

Alexia still had her weirdly formal streak, the same as the day you met her, so you let her do what she felt she needed to.

“Senor y Senora y/l/n… “ she started, taking a breath. “Mi and y/f/n…”

Your parents caught your eye, dumbfounded. She never used their titles. They rarely heard her use your name. You were always conejito.

“Alexia… estimada…” your mami started, with kind eyes. You could tell she knew what was coming. You shook your head at her slightly, Alexia too caught up in her own moment to notice. Your mami let her speak.

“Mi and y/f/n…”

Your papi, however, was not as emotionally in tune as your mami, “Monito, what is going on? Why are you being muy loca? Have you got mi mija pregnant? I know you're an overachiever bu…” “Papi!” you screeched out, interrupting him. 

Alex stood mouth agape, face flushed as she looked to you for help. “Papi, Mami, Alex is tr…try…tryi… telling you that we’re together together.” you let out, raising your joined hands. Your mami let out a laugh behind her hands, your papi however stood and exclaimed, “Was that some sort of secret!? Dios Mio of course you are! We thought you had been for years!  You made me change your bedtime story from princesses to football-playing princesses on the day you met!  Why do you think your Mami makes you keep your door open when this one stays, Mija?” 

Now it's your turn to blush as your mouth drops open. As he passes Alexia he gently smacks her upside the head, ruffling her long brunette hair. “Now come on cabeza de bola, me and the guys from work are starting a 5 a side. I need your help on penalties…” You huff out a laugh as your girlfriend is dragged away, confused look stuck on her face - eyebrows adorably drawn and mouth furrowed and clinging to your hand until distance forces her to let go. 

Your mami settles her arm across your shoulders. “I’m happy for you Mija” she mutters, in her gentle tone as you fall into her embrace. “You’re going to marry that girl one day.” Even after everything that would happen and the hell you would feel, you thank God for the unseasonal rain in Barcelona that day in junior school.

And when she was sadI was there to dry her tearsAnd when she was happy, so was IWhen she loved me It wasn’t long after you made your relationship official that you had your first real test.

You knew something was wrong with your girlfriend probably before she did. You knew her like the back of your hand. Though it finally came to a head one early evening at the Putellas household.

You had both picked Alba up from school, and you had set out to making dinner in the Putellas kitchen whilst Alexia's parents were both stuck at work.

It was standard practice, occurring at least once a week. You moved through the kitchen with ease. The ease is what alerted you.

Usually, on nights like these, Alba would huff off to her room like any other pubescent teenager, head stuck in her phone and earphones firmly in place. Alexia however, would usually be found attached to your back, arms wrapped around you as you cooked, or sat at the breakfast bar, swiping chopped veggies til you hit her with a spoon to make her stop, rolling your eyes as she insisted she was a growing girl and she needed the extra.

No, this was too easy, you thought, as you moved around, you missed your big inconvenience in the kitchen and you made sure your pasta sauce was bubbling nicely and went to search for her. 

You find her in the living room, her large frame draped over the sofa, eyes mindlessly watching the TV. But you can tell she isn’t watching whatever is on. Ale isn’t a big TV-watcher. She's very rarely sitting still for long enough to concentrate. The exception being if you're in her lap, where she entertains herself by playing with your hair or tracing the lines on your palm. “Hey, amor, estás bien?” your voice brings her out of her thoughts, “Ey? Ah sí conejito, lo siento, is dinner ready?” she asks, making to stand, but being stopped by your hand on her shoulder.  “Ay, when did I become the hired help, ey?” you ask, trying to tease a smile out of your girlfriend. “Dinner will be ready soon. Tell me what's on your mind.” The thing about Alex is she’s an open book. People may think she is stern and serious but she wears her heart on her sleeve. You can always see her thoughts plainly on her face, so you know something troubling her. She knows she can’t hide it from you, so she doesn’t try. “I’ve been offered a professional contract.” She states, plainley. Your heart lifts for her. Your whole life Alexia has bled football. For many years she believed, and you did too though you would never admit it, that it wouldn't be possible to make a career from the sport. You don’t think you have ever seen Alexia as sad as when she aged out of the Barcelona FC teams. She was devastated. It was a harsh reminder that Spain wasn't the USA. The opportunities are not always available. But the thing you loved most about Alexia was her dogged determinedness. She would train in the morning, in the afternoon, between classes. You are overjoyed that all of that hard work has paid off. Something wasn’t adding up with her reaction, however. “Alex, that's amazing news!” you exclaimed, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “Why are you not more excited? Is it a bad deal?” “No, amor, it is a fair deal.” she sighs. You just look into her eyes, waiting for her to tell you what she wants to share. She takes a deep breath. “It’s Levante, I would have to move to Valencia.” Ah, you see. Your heart breaks at the sad frown painted on the usually stern face of your girlfriend. Your hand moves up to trace her eyebrow, forcing them to unfrown and moving down to cup her cheek. She leans heavily into the warmth of your hand, and damp eyes open, fixing to yours. “Oh Alex, it’s okay” you whisper. The truth is you had always known that with the career your girlfriend was destined to follow, that you would have to spend time away from each other. You already did. Alexia has often been away throughout your friendship and now your relationship for national camps. 

You had a very mature relationship for 17 year olds. Having been woven into each other's lives for so many years. You were part of each other's DNA. You knew how to manage the time without your girlfriend. You were both grade A communicators. You accepted that this would be different, and no doubt unimaginably hard for the footballer, her family was her life. But so was football. And you know you needed to encourage her to take this step. “It’s not okay!” she stated, firmly, sitting up straight on the couch. “It’s not fair! Finally I get what I have dreamed of but it comes at the expense of everything I love. Mi familia, Barcelona, you! Why can’t I have both? I don’t know what to do” “You go to Levante, Alexia.” you say, seriously, “This is a huge opportunity for you.” She looks at you incredulously and you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong. “Oh, so it is that easy for you? Si? You just let me go like it doesn’t even bother you!” You aren’t used to Alexia's stern frown being sent your way, usually it's aimed at someone in defence of you. Or at a goalkeeper.  You, however, know the brunette is feeling vulnerable, she has waves of insecurity at times, she puts so much pressure on herself it's inevitable, but you are always there to assure her of her worth, and your love. “You know that's not true, amor.” you say, tenderly, hand reaching into her brunette locks to sooth her. “I agree, it’s not fair that Barca don’t have a women's team but I have always known your talent would take you away from me, “ she opens her mouth to interject, “but I love you. And I know you love me. We are tethered. Forever. When, not if, you go to Valencia, we will make it work. You know we will amor, you can have both” “But I will miss you.” she whimpers, pathetically. “I will miss you every second. But it will get better, it’ll pass Alex.” Her head finds your neck as she settles in there. Her larger frame is quite comically draped over you. “Do you promise?” she lets out, weakly. And you don’t let a moment pass, “I promise.” and seal your promise with a kiss to the crown of her head. She moves her chin up and faces you, “Beso, por favour” she asks, who are you to refuse? You kiss softly, you don’t know how many minutes you are tasting her sweet lips pass before you are interrupted by a sulky 14 year old.  “Ewwww!”

Alba appeared, making the two of you split apart, her disgust at the scene she's found making you laugh as Alexia peels herself from you, rolling her eyes.

“I’m gonna tell Mami that you two were making out instead of feeding m…ahh!” Albas accusations getting lost as Alexia chases her around the living room, ready to fight in a way only sisters can.

A strange smelling odour fills your nose. Oh… Oh no. You rush into the kitchen to find your dinner smoking on the hob.

“Oi, Putellas diablos!” You stick your head into the living room where you find Alexia sat on her younger sister whilst she tries to battle off the huge weight she finds on herself. They both pause and look at you guiltily. “C’mon, shoes on, we’re going out to eat, on me, we’re celebrating!”

Both of them unite in cheers as they childishly jump up and run to the front door in glee, shoving each other out of the way to try to get their shoes on first as you watch, affectionately shaking your head.

It will be months later, after a summer filled with memories made with your girlfriend, days at the beach, trips to the market, lazy days at home and soft moments made in the streets of Barna, that you would find yourself alone in bed.

That was weird.

You had spent the day packing with Alexia, the sadness of moving away had started to be replaced with excitement from the tall girl. Her dreams were coming true, okay, it may not be perfect, she finally understands, but it's a step in the right direction.

She can’t believe that she's going to get paid to play football.

Paid. The evening after a long day of packing was spent having a family meal at the Putellas household. Your family is also in attendance. It was a loud and joyous affair and it helped to keep the sadness out of your girlfriend's eyes. After a long evening of sombremesa Alexia had insisted on coming back with you to your parents to your house.

She didn’t want to spend her last evening in Barcelona in her empty bedroom, instead finding solace in yours. You had both talked into the early hours, in the arms of each other, trading soft touches and exchanging breaths until sleep took you. You pretended for her sake that you couldn’t hear her rattling breaths or feel the dampness of her cheeks on your fingers.

Now, however, you were alone, and unsure at what woke you up. Until a tapping comes to your attention. You sit up in bed and hear it again. What is that? You get out of bed and go towards your window, yep, there it is again, coming from outside. You throw open the curtains and peer out into the moonlit garden.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you can’t take that moment because you suddenly are hit squarely in the face by a pebble. 

“Ouch.. what the he…” you stand suddenly and bang your head on the window frame “Ow, Fuck!” “Ay Dios Mío, lo siento amor! I didn’t see you had opened the window!” Alexia's panicked voice reached your ears, why was she in the garden? What the hell was going on? “Are you okay conejito?” You take a moment to steady yourself and your mind into your new and abrupt situation. “Conejito?” “Yes, Alex, I am fine. What are you doing out there?” You’re met with silence. “Al?” The tall brunette is scuffing her foot against the pebbles of the garden that she had previously been launching at the window. “I don’t want to say. I feel stupid now.” You arch your eyebrow in her direction. You don't think that she can even see it but she knows what's aimed in her direction. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. And also sad. And muddled. And I will miss you so much so I was just imagining how good it will feel when you visit, or I visit. Or when I score a goal and you’re watching. Which I know you’ve seen but now it's my job.” she rambles, pausing momentarily to take a breath. 

“Anyway, I thought about how cool it would be if I came to visit and woke you up by throwing stones at your window like in a film! You’d love that! Then I just couldn’t wait to do it. So here’s me, doing it. I’m being romantic.” She throws a crooked grin up at the window and your heart literally melts. “I..I….” and you promptly burst into tears. “Oh no mi amor no! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to throw a pebble at your face! I’m sorry!” she gestures towards you with her hands frantically. “It’s not that Alex, you’re just such an idiot. And I love you so much. I am going to miss you so much. Get up here.” needing her arms wrapped around you. She nods vigorously and makes to climb the trellis that goes to your window. “No you idiot! Use the door! You have a key!” “Oh yeah.” you hear her mutter to herself before she scurried back inside. As you’re settled back into her warm arms, her huge hands palming through your hair. “That was very romantic Alex.” you mumble and you practically hear her purr with pride at herself. “Next time though bebe, use your key, I would much rather you be here in bed with me.” “Noted.” she mumbles into your skin, wiping away the tears that you can’t stop from rolling down your cheeks. Alexia got settled into her professional team quickly and efficiently, she was one of the youngest but easily the most talented on the pitch. You would travel up with Jaume religiously at the weekends wherever you could, your time in the week spent busy with the Art College you had enrolled in. Alba sometimes tagging along when you bribed her with snacks.

As promised you were there when she scored her first professional goal, her beaming smile sent directly to you and Jaume in the stands, stood cheering for her. You witnessed her wide eyes, after the game, as you stood waiting for your celebratory hug and maybe a cheeky kiss, when she was stopped by a little hand. “Hola.” the small girl had to crane her neck to look up at your girlfriend. She was shaking with excitement. “Hola?” she replied, confused. “Can I have your autograph por favour?” she asked, sweetly. Alexia just stood there, like a sim. 

You stepped forward with your notepad and drawing pencil that you carry everywhere, you had more drawings of inside a football stadium than anyone would need. You ripped out a page and handed Ale the pencil. “Of…of course?” She scribbled down her autograph for the young girl who beamed and ran away holding it above her head to show her mami who picked her up in glee. Alexia's wide eyes stared at you. “Did you see that?” “I saw that bebe, I handed you the pencil. I also saw your goal, superstar!” You couldn’t control your grin, which was mirrored by your girlfriend. “You played so well! Alex!” You're interrupted as she drags you over the fencing and pulls you into a bear hug. Her face nuzzled into your neck, her body vibrating with excitement. “I scored for you conejito!” she says “Well, hija, I won’t be offended, I have only been to every game you’ve played for 10 years” Jaume appears above you both still in the stands, smiling teasing his lips. “And you papa!” she releases you and pulls her papa into a hug. Dragging you back in after a moment before declaring that her first goal means that she deserves pizza and ice cream courtesy of her papa. 

Through the summer and the fall We had each other, that was all Just she and I together Like it was meant to be

You finished your college course and your love for art had never died. You made the trip to Valencia wherever possible to see Alex and she came back to Barna at least once a month to see her family and you on an off weekend. You would spend those weekends living at Alexias house, soaking up every moment together as much as possible. 

She would bring her clothes home for Eli to wash as she was useless at anything practical. You would make sure that you would always snag a sweater of hers before it was washed and keep hold of it, soaking in her scent before you could swap it out again. Alexia, used to pretend she hated it, they would always be returned with paint stains around the cuffs which would harden and she said irritated her skin.  You tried to be more careful but you didn’t stop stealing them.

You saw the same amount of her family as before she moved away, your lives had been so intrinsically linked that you had become an honorary Putellas, and she was a part of your family. You hung around with Alba and you helped Eli with her shopping when her car broke down. You were family.

Weirdly enough, it was you that met Alexia's future best friend first. After college, you started to make money from your art by being a live artist at weddings.

You knew your parents were worried about what you would do with your art. Teaching was the obvious choice but with your speech issues, it was your idea of hell.

This was perfect.

It was a niche business but you got paid well and you loved it. You got to go to weddings for a job. You got to capture people's joy on the most important day of their lives.  You would sit in the corner with an easel set up, sketching and painting guests, the dance floor, the top table. And you could immediately give your paintings to the couple and their guests, the validation was enormous, you were good at what you did. Discreet and professional.

You soon get a client list for miles and the money starts to pour in.

It was at one of these weddings that you met Mapi. She caught your eye during the speeches and you started to draw her outline. She was clearly very very gay at a very straight wedding. But it wasn’t just that that caught your eye, her tattoos intrigued you. And you loved sketching them and adding hints of colour here and there.

She looked up at you and caught you sketching, as guests often would, you were able to not let it distract you, ever the professional you offered a gentle smile.

“You like football?” a heavily accented voice reached your ears as you were adding the finishing touches to the dancefloor scene that was set out before you.

“Que?” It wasn’t often that guests interacted with you, but sometimes it happened.

“Your bag, FC Barcelona? That's not usual for a pretty girl like you, to like football.”

“Ah, Si.” You reply, your eyes not moving from your painting. “It’s my girlfriends.” you reply, emphasising your relationship status, not wanting a moment of confusion.

“Ah, boo, you have ruined my fun.” She replies, “Maria Leon '' She introduces herself, hand out for you to shake, you don’t take her hand, handing your paint-y hands up. She holds her hands up in surrender. “I see, I see. FC Barcelona though. Good team. No women's team though.”

“No, but there will be, and my girlfriend will be their top scorer when it happens”  you reply confidently. “You seem so sure?” “I am.” She lets out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that, then I will be their best defender” she offers a huge smile. Mapis smile is magic and makes you smile.

You and Mapi become firm friends. She talks. And talks and talks and talks. You don’t know how she has so much to say. But she is fun and she is kind. Your stutter makes an appearance as it sometimes does but it is perfectly offset by her inability to stop yapping. You don’t feel a pressure to fill the silence because you know she will. 

Years later, at a supercup final, you will both laugh about your first conversation. About how both of your statements came true. Turns out, people paid well for authentic paintings of their favourite moments. And as a young adult you found yourself with enough money to get yourself a small apartment in Mollet. You loved it. And you loved the independence it brought you. You think that was the happiest time of your life. You would spend days on your sun drenched terracotta tiled balcony. Painting watercolour and sketching the scenes both in your mind and your view over the square that your apartment was on. You had quite the online following and would get some commissions for your art which brought you a sense of purpose and joy. The absolute best time was when Alexia had a free weekend, or a break, she would stay with you and you would live in domestic bliss. It was an unspoken agreement. No question that she would make her base for her time back at your apartment. Even when she wasn’t there you wouldn’t sleep on her side of the bed. More of her clothes made their way into your closet. More of her sweaters would get paint marks on them. You would cook together, sing together, dance together in your small kitchenette. Feeling happy and in love as only young people can. Nothing gets between you. Training had been kind to your girlfriend, and you struggled to keep your eyes off her as she would do basic tasks. She was thick. For want of a better word. Her gangly limbs had become pure muscle, her back would ripple when putting on a t-shirt, you would find yourself staring at her forearms as she would cut vegetables. She knew what she did to you and she loved it. Often sending a wink your was and sending you into more of a stuttering mess then usual, heat climbing to your face. You felt your heart grow as you would go shopping for groceries together. Take strolls in the square, you sitting on a bench and sketching as she inevitably got herself involved in a football game with the local kids. Her favourite time of day would be Friday nights. Often, if she was lucky, she would be scheduled an early kick off on fridays. You would travel back from the game together with her papi. You took the backseat as you knew you would monopolise her time back all weekend. Giving her a chance to catch up with her family. You would get home, she would shower whilst you made a light dinner, both taking it in on the balcony before moving inside and settling on the couch. She would put on some illegally screened recordings of the game she had played in. But she would mute it as she pulled you into her chest. You would have a sketchbook in hand and continue working on your art, or a piece from a wedding that needed finishing up. You always told her the commentary wouldn’t distract you. But she insisted. Once finally saying, “I like the sound of your pencil, it soothes me, and sometimes you trace the sketch on my leg with your free hand. It gives me goosebumps. I like it.” you never asked again. You argued, of course, like any couple did. But it never lasted long. Alex would get angry when she would find paint in the sink, and you would struggle to share your space at first. But you never went to bed in a fight. Even if you tried to be stubborn your body would fail you and you would gravitate towards her in the moments before sleep, muttering your apologies or forgiveness. In those early days of young adulthood it would be the only time in your relationship where you had more money than Alex. 

Football did not pay well. It did not pay a living wage. 

You didn’t care. 

You felt privileged every time you scanned your card for the groceries, or paid for dinner on a date. You knew she hated it though. “One day conejito, I will give you everything life can offer, I promise” she would whisper into your skin whilst she tried to make it up to you in other ways. You would always tell her you had everything you needed right there with you. It was perfect. Life was perfect. You had friends, a stable job, the love of your life. Yes, distance was hard, yes, each time she left you would cry and hold her tighter to you, but you knew it wasn’t forever, and you never felt that distance in your relationship. You grew together, like a plant, your love was carefully cultivated in experiences and shared memories.

And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her And I knew that she loved me

You had never felt sadness like it. It was all encompassing. You couldn’t get away from it. You were sad for your chosen family. You were sad for your own family. You were sad for yourself. But you were devastated for your girlfriend. You didn’t know what to do with so much sadness. You couldn’t hold it in, but you couldn’t let it out. You needed to be strong for your girlfriend. Who was walking around as a shell of the person that you knew her to be. Well, that was when she was walking, she would throw herself into her childhood bedroom and stay there silently for hours. You would be okay with it if she was sleeping, but she just stared at the wall aimlessly. Her Papa was her inspiration. The reason she got into football. She would look up to him even as she towered over him. And it was so so cruel that he had been taken away from her in such a manner. A week after Jamues passing you found yourself next to Alexia at his funeral. It was a beautiful affair, a celebration of the life of a man who loved hard and was loved hard. The morning had been difficult, you had ironed Alexia's dress and set it out for her. She took your instruction like a small child, you brushed her hair straight and pulled it out from her face. You struggled to speak. Such immense grief you felt the words became garbled in your mouth, rendering you mute. But you didn’t want any pressure on Alexia. 

You knew when your stutter made an appearance she would drop everything, concentrate on doing your exercises with you, hand automatically cupping your jaw and massaging the soft area beneath your ear because she knew that relaxed your facial muscles. So you both moved around silently. That morning. As you guided her around what needed to be done. As you packed her bag with tissues you hoped that you needed to use them. You hadn’t seen her cry since she rushed home from Valencia to the news. So no, you didn’t know what to do with your grief. You loved him too. He was the first person you had loved and lost. You had your own special relationship built from long car journeys and shared snacks. He would put your art on his fridge like you were one of his own. He was kind and he was half of the person who you loved to your core. God. If you felt like this. You don’t know how Alexia was still breathing. You had been spending all week as the Putellas household. Not leaving Alex's side. But also not leaving Alba, who would lean heavily into you of an evening, seemingly crying all of the tears that her sister couldn’t. It felt healthy though, through the tears you could share memories and make her laugh. You would go to bed with Alex and the silence would continue. When you were sure she was asleep you would sneak out of bed and grab your sketch pad, settle into the corner of the room and just let it out. Her dad told you once at a game how his father worked as a coal miner. He said it proudly, he adored hard work. That's where Alexia got her devotion from. It was a passing moment, a memory that you didn't even know you had. But it stuck with you as you went into the Putellas garden and took a lump of coal from the barbeque and settled yourself into the dewey grass. Hand not stopping over your sketchpad and tears rolling down your cheeks.

The night after the funeral you stayed at your own parents house. You couldn’t handle the loneliness of your own apartment. You didn’t want to intrude at the Putellas residence, and you hoped that maybe some time with her family would be what Alexia needed to open up. You were right, but not in the way you imagined. A soft clink, clink, clink, woke you up, This time you were not frightened. You had heard this noise before. You immediately jumped out of bed and ran to your window, showing it open and shoving your head out. “Alex! What are you doing here, why didn’t you use your key?” The brunette looked up at you with sad eyes, you saw she was in her pyjamas, eyes sideways showing no car, she had walked here. “I forgot it.” she let out, morosely. “Oh mi amor, no p..p..problem, hold on I will come down and let you in.” before you had a chance to bring your body back into the house you heard her again, “You left me.” your heart cracked into two. You didn’t reply but instead hurried downstairs into the moonlit garden. She stood there, with all her muscle and height, looking everything like a toddler who was lost in a supermarket. You took her hand in yours and used your other to cup her cheek. “Oh, mi amor I didn’t leave you, I thought you wanted some space.” Maybe you expected her to agree, maybe you expected her to disagree and shout at you for getting it so wrong. You didnt realise that you were to her, like an umbrella in the rain, protecting her from the downpour. With you gone she drowned in the grief. You didn’t expect her lip to tremble and her to burst into tears. “I want my papa.”  Those 4 words broke your heart as you huddled her into your arms, rocking lightly to bring her confort. There was nothing you could say, you just brought her into your bed and held her as she cried, painting her skin with whispers of your love “I know, bebe, I know, I promise it’ll pass, I promise, and I will be here. The pain will go. It will pass Alex and I will be here.” It became a mantra that you whispered into her skin.

As she calmed down you took a moment to think. As you got out of bed and she groaned in annoyance you hushed her with your lips to her skin. “Un momento, mi amor, I have something for you.”

You presented it nervously, unsure of the reaction you would get.

It was a framed picture that you had created. Not like your usual artwork as it was made from coal. Coal from the Putellas barbecue to be exact. It was a sketch of a man in the stands of a football stadium, somehow, eyes beaming with pride, laugh lines visible on his face. A footballer with a long ponytail and similar features jumping into his arms.

It was a scene you had witnessed hundreds of times throughout the years. You didn’t need to see it again to create it. The coal added a haunting and beautiful dimension to it. When you explained your reasoning Alexia looked deeply into your eyes. Holding onto the frame with white knuckles like her life depended on it.

“I love you.” 

And when Alexia scored and helped her team to win the U19 Championship for her country not 3 weeks later. Celebrating with eyes to the sky, fingers pointed. You knew that, eventually, she would be okay. 

So the years went by I stayed the same But she began to drift away I was left alone Still, I waited for the day When she'd say, "I will always love you"

It was as though it had been destined for years but finally finally the news came that Barcelona FC would have a women's team. Mapi had texted you with glee when the news broke out, she knew that she was stuck in her own contract but the fact it existed made it a possibility for her dreams to come true. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, was a free agent. You thought, privately, that even if she wasn't a free agent that she would break every law on planet earth to play for her childhood club. She was offered a contract and signed without any hesitation. A mist in her eyes at the missing presence in her signing photos. You drove with Alba to collect her and all her things from a year in Valencia directly to your apartment. As you unpacked her stuff, Alba on a food run with money you had shoved into her hand, your small flat suddenly felt full. “Alex,” You called, from the living room, you heard her shuffle around and pop her head into the bedroom where you stood, surrounded by boxes. “Si, conejito?” she asked, breathlessly. You took in her smile, that you had missed over the months, the light in her eyes, the ease of her movements. “I am just asking, I don’t actually remember asking you to move in?” You say, teasingly, gesturing to her boxes surrounding you. It was true, you hadn’t, it had just been assumed by both of you, as well as both of your families. A blush rose up her neck, “I mean… I-i-..”. You burst out laughing. “I am just teasing you”. A glint in her eyes took over and you had half a second to brace yourself before you were tackled by an almost 6ft wall of muscle. You landed gently on the bed with a thump. “Well, light of my life. I think it’s too late for that. Maybe I can make up for my rudeness.” Her voice takes on a sultry tone, attacking your neck with kisses, making you groan. “No, No, No, No, stop it you two! Why is this my life!” Well. Alba was back, You groaned as Alexias full body weight fell onto you as she heard her sister. You had a feeling you both had plenty of time to make up for it. Living with Alexia full time was natural. You had obviously had practice from the year she spent in Valencia but you didn’t realise how easy it would be. You knew where to step to not fall over her boots in the hallway without looking. 

You amended your grocery show to include all her weird protein-packed foods. She would help you get ready for work in your evening gowns that you had to wear to fit in at the weddings, and she would stay up to make sure you got home safe and listened as you babbled on about your favourite parts, all the while taking it in for ideas for your own wedding. You continued to make money at weddings, Alexia rose through the ranks at the new Barcelona Femini team. Quickly establishing herself as a calm and serious captain. 

She took her role seriously,  she would study games religiously at home as you would paint or sketch. Your easel set up in the living room or on the balcony. She would rub your shoulders as you painted, eyes set on the TV at the game. The shared time doing your own activities matched you both perfectly. And just like that, years passed. Years in domestic bliss. Spent together and with your families. Vacations in Ibiza and even a pet cat called Pablo Petcatso, or Pabs for short, entered your little family unit. He was a ginger cat who loved a cuddle and loved getting into Alexia's kit bag, he even made it to the training once or twice, and you had to drive over there to pick him back up. Dragging him away from 22 cooing footballers. 

Women's football grew, as did Alexia's paycheck. And with that, you think, looking back, as did the cracks in your relationship.

“We're here!” Alexias excited voice explained, you had pulled up outside a tall apartment building in the centre of Barcelona. She hadn’t shared with you where you were going. Insisting it needed to be a surprise.

“And where is here?” you looked up at the towering glass building above you, you didn’t come into the city much, you preferred the quiet of your suburb.

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” Her excitement was catching, and you found yourself giddy as the elevator took you further into the skies of the city.

“Ta-da!” She presents a huge open plan space before you, the glass fronted living room has views over the city to the sea. You could count at least 3 bedrooms from where you stood in the hallway. The kitchen was sleek, straight lines and clean granite. 

“What is this place?” you ask, confused, taking in your surroundings. “It's our new apartment!” What? “What?” you breathe out. “Don’t you love it?!” Alexia remains giddy, her excitement not fading and she fails to notice your unenthused reaction. Your mind whirred. “Come look, come look!” she grabbed your hand, and pulled you further into the apartment. Proudly presenting each room to you. “And this room. I thought you could have it as your art studio!” “Art studio?” you whisper. “Yeah! Isn’t it so cool, and so much space. Now I wont get cross at you for getting paint all over the kitchen! Pabs will have so much room to explore!” She turns around and pulls you into her embrace, you are still shellshocked at everything presented to you. “I promised you, didn’t I? I would give you the world conejito.” Her eyes are so bright with joy, the smile so wide on her face, you couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the sleek lines, the large space, and the modern kitchen were beautiful. You didn’t see it for yourself, you preferred your terracotta tiled balcony and your plants overtaking your kitchenette. You loved painting in your living room when Alexia would watch a match. Pabs crawling over your shoulders, your little bubble with your family. But you could see how proud Alex was of herself, of what she had achieved. You must have taken a moment too long, as her eyebrows furrow. “You don’t like it.” you said, plainly, “No… No Alex, I do! I was just so surprised. I love it, and I love you.” “Yeah?” her eyes brighten again. You kiss her lips softly, “Yeah.” “Good! And think conejito, maybe one day there would be room for a bigger family?” she asks, shyly. Your heart melted as you nodded frantically and threw yourself into her embrace. As Alexia's career grew, so did the pressure on her. She was often away, it was something your whole relationship had survived, but now, being away with both club and country, as well as in an apartment that had never truly felt like home. You felt lonely. You would come home from weddings with only Pabs to greet you, you would create art in your studio without the background noise of Alexia watching a game, or preparing a smoothie. She would do that in the living area. Nights together were rarer. Your love never dimmed. Alexia showed you in her every movement that she adored you. Date nights, whilst few and far between, were the highlight of your week. Though that soon became the highlight of your month. The one saving grace during this time was that Mapi had finally joined Barcelona Femini and you took it on yourself to be her personal Barcelona guide. As Alexia's fame grew, you shied more into the background. You weren't an extrovert. You would never hide your relationship and you never asked Alexia to but the only social media that you had was that to promote your artwork. Meanwhile, Alexia's followers grew and grew. A few crazed fans had deep dived into her archives and knew of you but that was only a portion of the fanbase. She hated the delving into her private life, and that caused her to stop posting anything of you onto her public accounts. Any trace of you, gone. Before being a footballer, in Alex’ mind, she was your protector, that hadn’t changed from 15 years ago. With 2021 came great change. All of the years of dreams and hard work had paid off and Barca had reached the champions league final. You travelled to Gothenburg with Eli and Alba, a nervousness in your stomach more than usual. For both your girlfriend and your best friend. You celebrated the win with a euphoria you had rarely felt. Everything felt worth it. The lonely nights, the travel around the country, the sacrifices you had to make as the partner of La Reina.

And as she pulled you into her arms after the final whistle, and pulled you over the barricade the same way she did when she scored her first professional goal your heart couldn’t swell more with pride. You don’t want to say that Alexia changed after the Ballon D’or. Because she didn’t. Well, maybe she did, she suddenly sported bright blonde locks which, you admit was sexy, but you missed the softness her natural hair gave her face. By the second Ballon D’or you thought maybe it was you that changed. Maybe it was you that put up a barrier. One that couldn’t be identified easily. But with study it could be noticed. The problem was that Alex wasn’t there to notice. Yeah, you were together, you did things together, you made love and you made memories. You went back to Mollet regularly and ate with your families and you went to games with Alba.  But Alexia was busy. She had brand deals, she had interviews, she had achieved her dream of being the best footballer in the world. You knew she was since you were 12. But now the world knew too. And the world wanted her attention. 

Oftentimes she was exhausted when she got home. She didn’t want to cuddle on the couch. She didn't want to walk around the plaza. She didn’t want to hear about your day. She would ask, but you could tell her mind was elsewhere, in some contract somewhere, so you started to lie. To give answers which would satisfy her without arousing suspicion. Always trying to put her ease first. 

You would decline for nights out with her teammates, you even lied once or twice and said you had a wedding to paint, just to avoid suspicion. Alexia would take your answer as the truth, and kiss your cheek lightly as she left the apartment which quickly felt like it had become your prison. Mapi could see through you. She would try to get you to talk, but she was Alexia's team mate. Alex was her captain. It didn’t feel right to discuss your relationship issues with her. Not when you wouldn’t even talk to the woman in question about it. You found yourself in the familiar seats of the Johan Cryuff stadium taking in the first home game of the new season. Alba and Eli by your side. The first game was always a family affair. With the Putellas cousins in attendance, a restaurant booked for this evening for you all. It was an easy win for the Champions of Europe. And as you stood with Mapi and her new girlfriend Ingrid at the end of the match chatting, Patri bounded over, sweat on her brow and joy in her eyes. “Hola Senora La Reina” she teased you, kissing your cheek, you had been around the team so much that they all knew you well. “Ay, Idiota, hands off” and large, familiar hands wrapped around your middle, a kiss planted to your other cheek as you melted into her embrace. “Congrats bebe” you muttered, craning you neck you see her looking down at you with a smile. “Senora Reina, you’ll come out for drinks with us to celebrate the win, won’t you?” Parti asked, full of joy. 

The attention of the 4 footballers on you suddenly unsettled you. Maybe it was the busy environment. Maybe it was being with Ingrid who you’d only met a few times. Maybe it was Alexias hands around you for the first time in what felt like months. But you struggled to get your words out. “Ah, gra…grac…gracias  for the invite diablo, but m…m…me…” “She’s coming out with mi familia Patri, it’s tradition! You know that! Vamos, I will come out quickly for a drink then join you all, conejito” Alexia interrupted you, planted a final kiss on your cheek and headed to the changing rooms. She didn’t feel you freeze in her embrace. She didn’t see Patri and Mapis expressions change. She didn’t see Ingrid's look of confusion. You felt sick. You felt like you were about to burst into tears. Your throat burned and you struggled to swallow. 

You felt small. You shuffled your feet on the ground and looked up to see Mapis' face had grown furious, her girlfriend's arm had come to rest over her shoulders, trying to settle her but unsure why. You went straight into damage control. Alexia has protected you your entire life. She had never interrupted you, she knew you couldn’t stand when people would finish your sentences. It was the worst thing you could do to someone with a stutter. She knew that. You don’t know why Alexia's endless patience ran out that day. But you knew you wanted to protect her from your best friend's rage. You knew it would happen one day, you just wish it had happened without any witnesses. For both of your sakes. “Mapi, it's fine.” “It is not fine!” Patri backs away from the situation with a kiss to your cheek and an apologetic look. “I don’t know what's wrong with her lately. I am going to kill her…” she moves towards the changing rooms but you pause her with a soft hand. “Maps, please don’t. It’s f…f…okay. I am okay. Ju…just go get changed and go on your night out. I will t..text you tomorrow. Please.” You look to Ingrid for help, you don’t know her well but she has the power over Mapi seemingly, and as she guides her to the changing rooms the small Spaniard seems to settle down. 

Not enough though, apparently, because as soon as she sees her captain again, a flicker of that rage comes back to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Mapi hisses to her captain, “Maria, stop” Ingrid tugged her by the elbow, trying to take her away. Alexia looked up from her phone with a look of indignation, yes she was Mapis friend but she was still her captain, and they were in front of the whole team. Her defensive wall immediately came up. “Discuple?” Her eyes cast across the changing room, their team mates continued to get changed and pretended they weren’t eaves dropping into the mini argument that had developed.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mapi spat out. “Why did you interrupt her?” Something in Alexia's stomach dropped. Her hands become clammy, her body reacting to the accusation before her mind could. “What? I didn’t. I would never.” she whispers in reply, but more to herself. “No, No I didn't.” she said more surely, somewhat desperately. 

Mapi takes in her best friend's demeanour, the usually stoic and strong captain looked devastated, maybe even petrified? Mapi knew what she had done, but could see that Alexia would punish herself more than Mapi ever could. She stepped away, guided by Ingrid. Leaving Alexia to replay the last 10 minutes, desperately. Mapi saw the moment that realisation came to the Catalan Captain, as she bolted out of the changing room, hair damp, throwing her shirt on as she sprinted back into the stadium. Which is where she found you, moments later. You were sitting in the friends and family section, Alexias new baby cousin settled onto your knee, playing with your hands and babbling to himself. You made cooing noises and spoke softly to him and all her Tias and Tios got rounded up for your meal out. You felt her presence behind you, you could practically feel her anxiety coming off her in waves. You looked back quickly and confirmed your suspicions, her blonde hair damp and wetting her shoulders, her foot twisting against the concrete floor, hands knotted together and bottom lip drawn into her lip, chewing anxiously. “It’s fine Alex.” you said, as you turned, attention back on the baby in your lap. She must have seen this acknowledgement as her body surged towards you, she loudly collapsed into the seat next to you, the anxiety coming off her in waves. “Conej…” she started. “No Alex, I pr…pr… I swear. It’s okay. But I’m currently holding the ba…bab…ba… child.” you take a sigh. “I am holding the child and I don’t want to cry so p…please. It’s okay.” If it's possible. She looked even more devastated. Her whole face collapsed. She hated when you would revert to old techniques to speak, by changing up your words mid sentence. Alexia was your protector. It was her proudest badge. Before she was a footballer, in her mind, she was your partner. And she had let you down. She had done the worst thing she could have done. To an outsider Alexia's moment of impatience may have been a minor indiscretion at most. But to you? To Alex? It was the basis of your whole relationship. You felt safe with her. You had a voice, she said, all those years ago when you fell in love, and you deserved to be heard. And now she has brought that into question. “Can I touch you?” she asked, gently. This brought tears to your eyes and you nodded, whilst still entertaining the baby in your lap with coo’s and a false smile. She touched your knee, the heat of her hand bleeding into your skin. “You don’t need to mask in front of me y/f/n.” Alexia never used your name. “Please. Use the words you want to use. I am here to listen. Always.” You are interrupted as Alexias Tia comes to claim her baby, who you hand back with a last pat on the stomach and raspberry to the cheek. You are trying to avoid the next 5 minutes you know will happen. Alexia is somewhat rude when her Tia offers her congratulations, eyes boreing into your head. You sweep your hair back as you face her, having had a moment to think you get your words out easier. “Alex, it’s okay. It was bound to happen one day. Don’t worry about it. Please. Go out with your friends. I will go to the meal as planned. I promise. Alba will drive me home later.” “No.” Alexia says desperately, clutching your hand in hers, “Let’s just go home, amor. Please.” “Ale I made a promise to your mami. I am going to eat. I will see you later.” you press a kiss to her cheek and wander off towards her family.  As she stands, watching you interact with her sister and her mami, her teammates call her over. She feels torn. She just wants to go home with you. She just wants to wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you in her arms. Safe. But you don’t want that right now, so she turns to do as instructed. Throwing one more glance your way, missing Albas worried face as she wipes a tear from your cheek.

Lonely and forgotten Never thought she'd look my way And she smiled at me and held me Just like she used to do Like she loved me When she loved me

You came home early. You asked if Alba could drop you off as soon as you had finished your meal. She was happy to oblige, worried about your silence the entire meal. You were looking down at your phone as you entered your apartment. Assuring Mapi again that you were fine and she should enjoy her drinks. You go to flick on the light in the living area when a stream of light below the door of your studio distracts you. You push the door open cautiously and see Alexia standing there, looking at your work in progress. It was different to your usual work. A close up sketch of a hand, wrapped around a flower, tenderly, it was in the early stages, you could see the lines of the palm and the blades of grass in the field behind. It was mounted onto canvas on your easel and the splashes of colour you had started to add contrasted against the paleness of the room. She hadn’t heard you enter, too lost in the image before her, but Pabs making a run for the door as it opened brought her attention to you. As you stand there, under her gaze, you struggle to remember the last time you saw Alexia in your studio. Yeah she would bob in to let you know dinner was ready, or that she was heading out, but she didn’t come in often enough to take in your work anymore. Now it wasn’t forced on her in the living space. It seemed Alexia had the same realisation as she broke her gaze with you and gestured towards your painting, and then further, to your desk overlooking the window, where more of your work lay. “You’re amazing. I didn’t… I.” a deep breath. “I hadn’t forgotten but I think I… Got lost? Somewhere along the way?” you tilt your head curiously. You don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have been a bad partner to you.” 

“Alex…” “No. I have. And I’m not interrupting you but I won’t let you lie to protect me.” her eyes go again to your easel. “You’re amazing. You are so talented. You are filled with so much kindness. You deserve so much more than this.” her eyes fill with tears and she looks at you. “I tried. You know? I promise I did. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought this,” she gestures towards you and around you “was what you deserved. And it is. But more than that you deserve everything.” She takes a step towards you and grasps your hands with hers, her hands are cold, you note. As you take her in you see dried tear tracks down her cheeks, and… damp hair. “Alexia, did you not go out with the team?” “How do you think that I could go out with the team after what I did?” she asks, aghast. The reminder of the way the evening went washes over you. Alexia panics when she sees your eyes fill with tears. And she pulls you into her chest. “I am so, so sorry mi amor. I am so sorry” she whispers into your hair. “I have broken something sacred between us. And I will never forgive myself.” she swears to you. Though that doesnt bring you any joy. “I forgive you Alex.” she shakes her head in despair, joining you in tears. “You said it was bound to happen someday,” she starts, “Do not think like that amor. It was not. This is not your fault. In any way. It is mine. Please don’t think that, you deserve to be heard. I am so so sorry. So sorry. I will never do it again, promesa.”  All you can do is nod into her chest.

She pulls you from the room and settles you both into the sofa, keeping the light off, only the skyline of the city illuminating your living room through the large, glassed wall. 

She lets you cry into her t-shirt, soaking it more than her damp hair, and through the darkness you pull away and take in her face, she looks youthful. Gone, the professional make up, the expensive jewellery, and hair darkened by the dampness from her shower. You take in a large choked breath. “We need to talk.” you let out. Fear takes over her features and she starts to shake her head. “No, Mi Conejito please no, don’t do this.” she wails. It is a heart wrenching sound. She thinks she's going to be sick. “Woah, woah, woah” you place your hands on her cheeks and pull her panicked eyes to yours; “Mi amor I am not breaking up with you.” you state, clearly. “I am not. Now breathe with me.” Her eyes steady from their darting around the room in fear, and you place your hand on her chest, making her breathe with you. “Okay, okay… okay. Yes, please. Talk to me.” she begs, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.  “I feel alone. I feel… sa…sad. A lot of the time. And I know… you y…you aren’t doing it on pur…purpose.” Your girlfriend looks heartbroken. Like she had just found out her entire family had died. But refuses to interrupt you as you speak. But you have needed this conversation for so long, that the words start to tumble out of you. Getting lodged in your throat. Har large hand comes up to that familiar place, and massages the soft tissue behind your jaw. Trying to help you without interrupting. “You aren’t doing it on purpose.” you repeat. She pauses for a moment and doesn't ask what you thought she would. “Why am I making you anxious?” she asks, cutting through your thoughts. You move away from her and settle your elbows to your knees. Rubbing your face as you feel a large hand settle onto your back. You hated your stutter. You hated that it ruled your life, but most of all you hated how it exposed you. You were like a child who can’t hide a blush in front of their crush. “You aren’t, Alexia.” “Alex.” she corrects, “I am Alex to you” she insists, “your Alex. It’s just me, mi amor.” she looks at you desperately. “I feel alone, you are never here, and when you are here physically, you aren’t here in your head. Your head is in the clouds, it is with your agent, with your coach, it is not with me.” you’ve started now, so you won’t be able to stop yourself “it is me and Pabs and, even though you're dumb as bricks bebe, you're a better conversationalist than him” you try to joke, a half smile on your face. Which she matches, hand not stopping her ministrations on your back. 

“I cannot remember the last time we just sat together, the last time that we cooked together. Can you Alex?” you don’t receive a reply, 

“I haven’t had your eyes, look at me, really look at me for months. You give your time so easily to those around you, your team mates, people I see you out with at events. I can’t blame you, this is what you always dreamed of. But… I miss you.” Your speech is strong now; “and I love you. That will never change. But you need to know how I am feeling. So it's fair to you. I feel as though you are bigger than the world. And I am just the girl you saved in the art room.” She is openly crying now. “Don’t say that, you are everything” she mumbled, through tears. 

She knew that she had been busy. But she didn’t realise the damage that she had done. She had been to events, you had been at her side. But. When was the last time she asked about a wedding you’d worked? God, you used to sit for hours describing the beautiful scenes, and she’d store away ideas for your own wedding.  The last gallery you had shown at? When had she last visited your mami and papi, who had been there for her her entire life? She kept you off social media for your protection, but she didn’t mean to erase you. When had she become so god damn selfish. “Amor, I think that somewhere along the way, I had forgotten, and forgotten to remind you. There are more important things than football. Well. Football is second”.

You are thrown back to a memory, a school championship 15 years ago, sat on the bleachers watching your school get destroyed. The lanky football captain sat by your side. You can’t help it but tears fill your eyes. You missed her. That girl. The one you were and the one she was. “But.. you told me once, that I could have both.” she whispered, into your neck, “and you can, Alex. Of course you can. But you have to want both. And at the moment. It feels. It feels like you don’t want me.” “No! Mi Amor, Mi Vida, Mi Conejito. You are everything. Eres mi mundo. I am nothing without you.” she takes a breath, deep and shuddering. “I will fix this. Thank you for telling me how you feel. I have a chance to fix this. Si?” she asks, desperately. You nod, “Of course Alex, and it's for both of us to fix, I should have said something sooner.” She refuses your admittance of guilt and drags you into bed. She sticks to you like a second skin. Moves with you to brush your teeth. Standing waiting whilst you use the toilet. She places a fresh glass of water on your bedside table.You want to tell her to give you a bit of space, but the fear in her eyes prevents you from doing so. As soon as you crawl into your side of the bed she has pulled you into her embrace and the warmth that fills you goes beyond the shared body heat. For the first time in a long time, you wake up in the strong arms of Alexia. She hasn’t moved in the night an inch, and you take a moment to take her in. This is what you missed. Just breathing the same air as her. Just existing in the same space. As though she can feel you looking at her she begins to stir. Taking a moment to come to her senses, her arms grip you tighter around your waist. “Hola, Mi amor” she whispers into the air. Your response is a kiss to her lips, which she steals, hungrily. As you deepen the kiss you feel her begin to pull away. “Lo siento, mi amor, we cannot get carried away. Things to do.” your heart hurts again. You roll off the taller girl and reach for your phone as a distraction. 

You thought, maybe, just maybe, for today at least. You would spend the day together. “Things to do!” she repeats, jumping out of bed with glee. “Where’s your passport”. That grabs your attention. “Que?” you ask, confusingly. “Your passport amor, Vamos!” She had long ago left the bed, and had started moving around the room, picking up various bags which had definitely not been there when you went to bed and moving them into the hallway. She was like a ball of energy, she stripped off her oversized t-shirt she had worn to bed, leaving her standing in just her boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight. Well, you think, at least all the time not spent with you was doing something good. You find yourself in a trance, practically salivating at your view.

A change of clothes being thrown at your head brings you out of your stupor. “Dressed. Go.” Alexia teases you, definitely having caught you starting. This makes you finally start to move as you shrug on the jogging bottoms and hoodie she threw at you. Happily, you note, it's one of hers that you’ve already destroyed with paint marks on the cuffs. “Why do you need my passport Alex? What's with the bags?” “We’re going on vacation!” That stops you, half in, and half out of your hoodie. Getting yourself stuck. “Vacation?” you ask, voice muffled by the fabric. You hear Alexia make her way over to you, then feel her gently pull you free from your fabric prison. “Si…” she gently tells you. A look overcomes her face which you can’t distinguish, then she kisses your nose, softly. “Vacation. Just me and you amor.”

“But what about work?” you ask, still catching up. “You don’t have anything booked for 6 days, I checked your calendar. And where we are going, you can bring all your art things if you need them. I’ve packed the basics in my carry-on already.” “Not my work. Alex, your work. You have a busy week.” at this point you seem to have lost her attention as she turns to your question dismissively. “I cancelled it.” she replies, simply. “You cancelled it.” you repeat. “Si.” “Alexia! Have you lost your mind! You have training, you have that meeting with Oakley - you have the pre-euros media to do! You have a game in 3 days”  you reel off her calendar, watching as she continues to dress and pack her toiletries. She heaves out a sigh and turns back to you.

“Conejito, I know what I had, you don’t need to tell me I have just spent all night cancelling all of them. I spoke to Jona and he’s happy for me to miss the game. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” she moves closer to you again, “So no, I have not lost my mind. But, I did almost lose you, so please. Please tell me where your passport is so we can get on the plane I booked. Mapi will be here in a moment to take Pabs for the week.”  You find yourself standing there, stunned. She seemingly had thought of everything. You look into the hall at the bags packed there ready to go. Pabs sniffed them curiously. She’s looking at you with wide, expecting eyes. There's nothing else for you to do you suppose. As you turn from her and open your bedside table,  a smile can’t be kept off your face, you turn triumphantly with your passport held high. “Voila!” you present it to her; “What are you waiting for then Alex! We've got a plane to catch!” as you scurry out of the room and you hear the front door knock. Alexias cackle behind you. Alexia was always full of surprises when she wanted to be and she remained tight lipped all the way to the airport, refusing to tell you your destination. 

You assumed it would be one of the islands somewhere, with the size of her luggage maybe somewhere farther afield, sun, sea and a pool somewhere promised. But she shocked you. When you got to the check in desk and realised you were flying to Switzerland you could have been knocked down with a feather. Your Alex, who was upset when she even had to wear a bikini top in the month of August, has booked for you to go to Switzerland? 

She ignored your curious stare and just continued to sweet talk the check in lady, upgrading you to business class. As you descended hours later, between the snow peaked mountains against a stunning orange sun you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your hands itched to claim the sketch book from Alexias carry on. Soon, after collecting your luggage and Alexia picking up a hire car that has also been pre booked (seriously did this girl sleep at all the night before?), you found yourself being driven through a mountain forest, as a lodge that seemed to cling to the mountainside came into view, isolated and beautiful. You stood on the wooden balcony, hands gripping a warm drink as you took in the view of the sun setting behind the mountains. “Look at that, Amor.” you felt, more than heard, whispered against your ear. Lips planting a kiss at your jaw as strong hands settle over your stomach. 

You fell back into her embrace. “It’s so beautiful.” you replied, eyes focused on the scene before you. “I saw this advert. Months ago.” she continued. “Just in the back of a catalogue at work. They will have the Euros near here, you know, 2025?” That made you snort with laughter. “Ah, I see Putellas, now it makes sense how you’ve been dragged from the beach, scoping out the environment are we? Anything for that competitive edge.” your teasing is clear in your voice. 

You feel a pinch on your stomach, “No, idiota,” though the laugh is clear in her voice. “I saw that advert and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It is so beautiful here.” you hum in agreement, “But what I could not get out of my head was that I wanted you to see it. I love seeing the world through your eyes.” 

She turns you in her embrace and she places a gentle kiss to your forehead as you feel her breathe you in. “You see things so beautifully, Amor, and then you paint them for the world to see. You are so special.” Your heart melts at the blonde, and you feel some of the despair that had settled into your stomach over the last months shrink. Here Alexia was, at work, flicking through some promotional material between interviews and training, and her thoughts are with you. “And I will not let you forget how special you are, ever. Never again”. You spent those days in pure bliss. You spend the days hiking - her pretending to be as tired as you at the peak of a mountain, she was a terrible actress but you appreciate the sentiment non the less - having picnics, exploring the mountain villages, and on one particularly spicy day, skinny dipping in an isolated mountain lake that a swiss teammate had told Alexia about. Evenings were spent looking up at the stars together, you firmly in alexias lap on the balcony, sharing a glass of wine which you held. She pointed out stars that her Papa had shown her and given silly names to, and you were there to catch her tears. She would complain only minimally that she was cold, and you would offer to warm her up and she would lead you gently into the bedroom. Nights spent in each other's embrace, sighs shared and no alarms to wake you. You would dance around the kitchen, play cards at the table, share wine and stories and just catch up. 

The pit in your stomach mended with each kiss, each peel of laughter and each stroke of the skin. 

One evening, after the skinny dipping adventure in which the footballer insisted that she must have hypothermia and had taken herself off over an hour ago telling you she wasn’t coming out of the warm shower until she had become a prune. You had started to add the finishing touches to a sketch of the scene beyond your lodges window when you felt the blonde return into the room, You eyed her quickly, flannel tartan pyjamas covering her tall frame, hanging over her wrists, matching shorts which are despicably short. Fuzzy socks on her feet. She looked absolutely adorable. 

You didn’t know why she was staring at you though, She moved towards you and you made space for her on the couch.  “You have your glasses on, Conejita.” she mumbled, and you reached up, as though to confirm they were on your face, “I didn’t know you still wore them.” You didn’t, too be honest, but with the long day of fresh air and a strong sun on the mountainside your eyes had grown tired. You shrugged at her, as she placed a soft kiss on your lips. Lovesick look in her eyes. “You’re so hot.” She mumbled, more to herself. You hear though, and the blush runs up your neck. 

You moved to get your work off your lap but she stopped you, pulling you back into her embrace and you automatically moved your knees up to rest your sketchbook there. “Carry on, please.” her chin rested on your shoulder. You hesitated, you didn’t come all this way to not spend time with the blonde, you wanted to soak in every minute. You wouldn’t be happy if she started to kick a ball around in the kitchen. She could sense your hesitation, “please. Remember, I like the sound of your pencil.” she moves your free hand to her bare thigh, “and it gives me goosebumps.” You fell in love again over those 6 days. You never fell out of it. But maybe you both just needed reminding. You felt whole, your communication about how you were feeling had worked, Alexia had listened. You just had one worry though, as the plane landed back in Barna you couldn’t hold it in. “Alex.” you said, before the seatbelt sign came on, gripping her arm lightly. “This was the best trip of my life. Thank you.” Her smile cracked her face, and she looked immensely proud of herself. “Mine too, Amor.” she agreed, easily, her face was peaceful . “But. I can’t go back to how things were again, si? I don’t think I could survive it, not after this week.” she's already shaking her head. “It won’t, I promise. I will not let that happen. Me and you, Si? That is all that is important” you take a moment, “And Pabs.” you amend for her, breaking the tension. “Si, of course” she rolls her eyes, “and Pablo Petcatso.” 

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart When she loved me

“Hey, Al?” you shout, into the living room as you enter your flat. It's been a few weeks since you returned from your impromptu get away. A busy few weeks. You have been booked up and Alex had to make up for the time she had lost, Barca were still in 4 competitions so the match load was heavy. You could see she was trying though, so that made the darkness that had started to creep back in more bearable. She wasn’t home from training yet. Which disappointed you more than usual. You were giddy. 

You had just found out that your art had been selected to be shown at a huge gallery opening in the centre of the city. An established and high-end gallery. It was a big deal, and it was potentially your big break. You got flutters in your stomach even thinking about the commissions it could make you. Pabs popped his head around the door and you picked him up giddily and span him around, his meow in response you took as a congratulations as you danced and laughed. You didn’t hear the door behind you open but you heard your favourite voice in the world, “And what have I walked into here, hey, a party with my favourite two? Without me?” Alexia laughed.  “Alex, we're celebrating!” you let Pabs free from your grip as he scurried away from his crazy mama. Her arms loop around you as you move into a slow dance, grinning up at her; “Ah, Si? And what are we celebrating?” “I got chosen! For the gallery!” Your feet leave the floor as the taller girl fully brings you into her arms, lifting you and spinning you around in glee, the squeal she lets out is full of childlike joy. “Of course you did! You are amazing!” she plops you back down and attacks your face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you Mi Amor and I am so excited to see your gallery. Oh I can get all dressed up and be your arm piece!” The thought brings you pure joy, the image of Alexia standing by your side, proudly, champagne in hand. Your Mami and Papi and Eli and Alba all present. Pabs in a little bow tie. “Si?” you ask, shyly, much more used to being by her side, “You’ll come? It is in 4 weeks. The 16th. You should be just starting on break.” A shadow of sadness passes her face at your insecurity, “Amor even if I was not on break I would not miss this for the world. If I had the world cup final I would call in sick. I will be there.  I will be the girl with the biggest bouquet of flowers in all of Barna with the lovesick look on her face.” It had been a whirlwind of a month, you had to put the finishing touches on your pieces. 

You have chosen to showcase your best landscapes. 

Scenes from the road to Valencia, The Square in Mollett, Beach Scenes in Barca, Snow capped mountains of Switzerland.

It was the story of your love for Alexia. Told through scenes only the two of you could understand the significance of. 

In the week leading up to the opening, you would spend late nights at the gallery, setting up lighting with Mapi and your Papi. Eli would walk around straightening frames on the walls. As you settled into bed each night, Alexia would open her arms and bring you into her warn embrace. 

You couldn’t wait to share your love story with the world. Alexia was having a bad day. It started bad. And continued to be bad. First, she woke up alone, which she hated. 

She recalled a kiss to the forehead and a whispered ‘I'll see you later’ before she'd dozed back off.  Then she realised that she had forgotten to charge her phone and was therefore late to training. Well. Not late for normal people. But late for Alexia. Then she forgot her socks and had to steal some of Irenes. She had a bad training session and Patri beat her in all their 1v1’s. And then the icing on the cake. She was dragged out from her gym session to do media which she hated. By the time she had finished the changing rooms were mostly empty, with only Pina and Patri left, scheming together in a corner.

“Ah now, Capi! Turn that frown upside down!” Pina teased her, “Ay, come out for a drink with me and Patri, the girls are all coming later, a bonding session before the break!”

And Alexia would usually say no, she wasn’t one for massive social events. But a drink sounded good. And it was the last day of training before the break.

Which is how she found herself 4 drinks in, deep in a booth in Patris favourite bar downtown. Most of the girls had joined them and laughter and chatter filled the roped off space. Something was missing and it took Alexia a moment to realise that there wasn’t a yapping in her ear.

“Ay, Pina, where are Mapi and Ingrid?” 

“They text the group, they had something on but they’re going to join us after. Ah… here they are!” Pina turned as Patri dragged her to the dance floor. Alexia turned to where Pina had pointed and saw Ingrid and Mapi walking towards her. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave, as they got closer she took in their state of dress; “Ay, sexy mamas, it’s only a night out with the team. Why are you dressed so nice? Have you just come from your wedding?” Mapi looked at Alexia. But really, really looked at her. “What?” nothing. “Maria, what? Why are you looking at me like that? Ingrid?” she faced the usually kind woman but she wasn’t met with her usual smile, “What’s happening? Wh-ohmygod.” It hit Alexia like a freight train. Like 10 freight trains. She physically had to hold onto the chair to her side to remain standing.  “No, no, no, I didn’t, I couldn’t have done.” She starts to pat herself down and pulls her phone out, dead, still uncharged from the night before. She holds it up to Mapi, as evidence, evidence of what she doesn’t know. As though it gives her a lifeline. She knows it doesn’t. “Ingrid? Ingrid please tell me I didn’t miss it.” she asks, desperately. The tall girl looks away, as though she can’t even face what the captain had done. “Alexia.” The rage is barely contained in Mapis' voice. “I can’t even look at you.” Mapi turns to leave, but it's as though her anger wont let her; she turns again and spits out; “Do you think she needed a reminder on her phone to know when the Champions League final was? Do you think… I can’t… I have just come from her gallery opening. Her life's work. A life shared with you. And here you are. At a bar. Celebrating, what?  A game of football? A half season well done? Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck. Off” Ingrid grips her hand and tries to pull her away. All Alexia can do is stand there and take it, it's not a hundredth of what she deserves. “No Ingrid.” She pulls her hand free and pushes her finger into Alexia's chest. “You are a selfish monster. She thought you must be hurt. That's what she thought. She thought you were in a ditch somewhere. She almost cancelled the whole thing to run around hospitals to find you. But then Alba saw you on Patris instagram. And here you are. La Reina.” Mapi looks her up and down, pure disgust on her face. “Your Mamis held her as she sobbed. Alba redid her makeup. I would steer clear of her Papi for months if I were you. She is strong, and she gave a speech.” Alexia couldn’t breathe. You gave a speech? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.  “Please, Maria, stop. I can’t listen.” Alexia couldn’t take it. She moved Mapis' hand off her chest and ran to the door of the club. One thought in her mind. Get to you. Get to you. “It's too late Alexia.” Mapi shouts to her back. She ignores her. It can’t be. No It can't be. She jumps out of the uber onto the unfamiliar street. The lights to the gallery are off but she desperately tries the door regardless. Banging on it with her fist in frustration. She lets out a scream into the empty street. Peering through the windows she sees wall after wall of your work. Scenes she recognises from her life. Football pitches. Beaches, Mountains. The scene from your balcony in Mollet. It was all so beautiful. So carefully curated. And she wasn’t there. She takes off at a run. It’s not too late. Mapi is wrong. It’s not too late. She will die if it is too late. “Y/N!” she barged into the apartment. She must have ran 10 miles. “Y/N are you here?” She runs from room to room. But there is no one there. When that's established she plugs her phone into the charger on the breakfast bar and makes her way back through the apartment. She goes into the bedroom. No, please no. The wardrobe is open, your side is empty. She looks around. Your things are gone.

The kitchen remains largely unaffected. Though the picture of you and your parents no longer sits on the shelf. Your trainers are gone from the hall. Your favourite blanket from the couch. She looks at the walls. Anything you had painted. Gone. Alexia always insisted that your art be on the walls, in each home you shared together. “Why would I want strangers work on the walls, Mi Amor? When I have the best artist in the world here?” she would say, making you blush. She was addicted to that blush. She walks back into the hallway. One picture remains in pride of place. The picture you presented to her in her darkest moment. You would never take that away from her. It was a gift of pure adoration. All it does is make the stabbing pain in Alexia's heart worsen. She pushes open the door to your art studio. All that remains are paints and blank canvases. Except. In the middle of the room. The easel. A picture she had seen before, in its early stages. A hand. A hand holding a beautiful flower. But it had changed somehow. Pressure lines had appeared. The flower beginning to wilt under the force. It wasn’t your usual work. Alexia stood closer. Entranced. As she inspected the image she saw the light tease off still wet paint. You had touched this up recently. Her eyes search, frantically for anything of your last moments in the apartment when she catches it. Too light for anyone not searching for it. 11. Blended into skin at the wrist of the image. A tattoo. So lightly painted but it etched itself fiercely into Alexia's soul. This was her hand. This hand that was silently destructive, was hers.  She saw a post it note stuck to the leg of the easel and in your looping handwriting: ‘Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they won't use it.’

She brought her hand up to her mouth and let out an audible gasp. She runs into the kitchen and dry heaves over the sink. There, she watches as her tears splash into the marble. And as she watches. She takes note of a single paint droplet. Her tears joined it, creating the most heart crushing piece of work she had ever seen.

God. She used to get so angry at that paint in the sink.

It's been years, she thought, years since she found paint in the sink. How much did you have to lessen yourself in order to be with her?

She collapsed into a seated position. Back against the kitchen cabinet. And brought her knees to her chest. She sobbed. And sobbed. She was joined at one point by Pabs. She thought you’d taken him with you. But no, in a typical act of kindness you wouldn’t leave her alone in her despair.

His little bow tie still sat around his neck, skew-whiff, as he looked at his mama curiously. He licked her nose and she sobbed harder.

Weeks passed.

She doesn’t know how she got through those weeks. Thousands of missed calls. Hundreds of messages. Went unanswered.

Alexia didn’t hear from you. Her Mami and Alba had forgiven her after Alba had found her in a state and unable to look after herself but they made it clear they were on your side. Mapi wouldnt look at her. They wouldn't tell her where you were, they wouldn’t pass on any message.

She was too frightened to go to your Mami and Papa.

She hadn’t trained well for weeks, She arrived at training exhausted. Sleep would never find her. She was barely clinging on. Jona still insisted she play. She was La Reina.

And then she broke. And that's where Irene found her, after another match of lacklustre performance. In a back corridor of the stadium. Broken and staring at the wall in front of her.

A ghost of the woman she was. 

Her phone lay next to her. A message from you. A response to her apologies, her thoughts, the pain she had told you she felt for your failed relationship. 

Finally, Word you were alive. 

3 words in fact. “It’ll pass Alexia.”

[bratzforchris]

Sunflowers

Summary: Chris gets distracted easily. Like really, really easily. When he gets separated from Matt and Nick in the mall, he meets a lovely soul who understands just a little bit more than anyone else.

Pairing: ADHD!Chris x autistic!feminine reader

Warnings: Neurodivergent overstimulation, getting lost, crying, brief mentions of ableism

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: The sunflower lanyard (pictured above) signifies that someone has a hidden or invisible disability and may need extra assistance/patience/kindness. I am not saying or assuming Chris actually has ADHD. If he doesn't, cool, if he does, also cool! This is all for fun and for diversity in the fandom<3 Enjoy!!

ADHD was a difficult thing to live with. It was more than just the stereotype of “Oh look! Squirrel!”. It was a constant condition that caused a lot of impact on one’s day-to-day life and happiness. Chris knew this better than just about anyone. Having been diagnosed in middle school, he found himself on a constant pendulum between spaced out with his head all over the place and extra hyper. Though he was medicated for it, there were still days where his body and mind were consumed with extra hyperactivity and energy, meaning he could be easily distracted, rambunctious, and fidgety. 

Both Matt and Nick were aware of their younger brother’s diagnosis and were extremely supportive of it, letting Chris run wild when he needed to and gently reminding him to take his meds and do his other daily tasks now that they no longer lived with their parents. The youngest really couldn’t have asked for a better support system, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t days where his brain betrayed him for quite literally no reason. 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

“Do you want your lanyard, Chris?” Matt asked as he grabbed his car keys off the hook near the garage door. 

The key rack held all of the boy’s keys and things they would need when they left the house, but it also held Chris’ green and yellow sunflower lanyard. These lanyards were a universal symbol that someone had a hidden or invisible disability and might need some extra kindness and assistance when they left their house. Chris had fought the idea at first, claiming that he didn’t need that; he rarely struggled in public. However, the change after he had agreed to try one due to Nick’s pleading to give it a shot had been immense. Strangers no longer looked at him like he was rude when he couldn’t help to butt in or play with his fidget toys as an adult, nor did shop owners hastily bat his hands away when he just wanted to touch things in stores. Of course, there were still bigots, but the improvement was more than he could have asked for. 

Now, Chris possessed his own sunflower lanyard, complete with a small card attached that read “I have ADHD. I can act restless and tend to fidget. I may act on impulse and have trouble concentrating. Please be patient and understanding.” and had both Matt and Nick’s names and phone numbers on it in case of an emergency. His lanyard also had a few pins, buttons, and pop-its on it so that the boy would always have something to fidget with. 

“It’s probably a good idea,” Nick added, coming down the stairs and typing out something on his phone. “Christmas is next week. The mall is going to be busy.”

Being triplets, Matt and Nick were incredibly in-tune with Chris and each other, and both boys could tell that today was going to be a more hyper, easily distracted day for their younger brother. Normally, they would’ve postponed busy, crowded spaces and must-do errands for a day where Chris was feeling more mellowed out, but they flew back home to Boston in just a few short days and had yet to buy Christmas presents for, well, anyone. 

Slowly thinking over the situation at hand, Chris grabbed his lanyard off the hook and placed it over his neck, but it wasn’t long until he had moved on to something else. “Do you guys think that there are triplets just like us?” he asked as Matt corralled him out the door. “But like, in China or something?”

The drive to the mall had been much longer than anticipated with all the holiday traffic, which allowed Chris more time to let his mind wander, blurting out every random thought he had as he played with the shark pop-it on his lanyard. Luckily, Nick quickly engaged the youngest in all his conversations so that Matt could focus, his own head spinning as he tried to keep up with Chris’ mile-a-minute chatter. 

“We should go people watching,” Chris announced as Matt parked their car inside of the heavily filled parking garage. “We could probably see some crazy shit. Speaking of which, did you guys see that episode of Live PD last night?”

Matt and Nick shared a glance over Chris’ head as they walked into the mall. The more Chris talked, the more he began to fidget, earning stares from onlookers, despite his lanyard. The mall was insanely crowded, which could either help or hurt. Somedays, Chris absolutely thrived in chaos, able to hyperfocus and get tasks done in record time. On others, his brain became so stimulated by chaos and change that he would shut down, often losing his ability to executive function in the process. Today was an absolute toss up. 

“Let the games begin.” Nick mumbled, grabbing his brothers’ hands and sliding through the crowds. 

As ‘cringy’ as it was, the triplets still held hands with each other in public, especially after Chris had received his ADHD diagnosis. Matt and Nick felt an almost protective sense over their younger brother, opting to help keep him safe when his brain didn’t always remind him to do that himself. 

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Things had been going fine for well over an hour now, but it was starting to become too much for Chris. They had already gotten presents for their dad and Justin, and were now on the hunt for a gift for their mother. As much as they loved and adored MaryLou, shopping for a woman as 20 year old men in a mall this crowded was a task. 

The youngest triplet was beginning to become overstimulated. His own thoughts had already been so loud and so chaotic this morning, and to add hoards of people, blaring Christmas music, screaming kids, and overwhelming smells from the food court wasn’t helping. He hadn’t meant to get separated from Nick and Chris; the boys had been poring over the jewelry counter in Macy’s when Chris dropped Nick’s hand, opting to pull his Airpods out of his pocket. Maybe if he could listen to the music he liked and that calmed him down, he could manage the rest of this trip without a meltdown. 

Chris had just slipped his earbuds in and pressed play on Life of a Dark Rose when he realized that neither Matt nor Nick was standing next to him. Not yet panicked, he looked around the floor of the department store, searching for Matt’s Red Sox hat or Nick’s blond hair above the crowd. When that didn’t work, he simply shot a quick text in their sibling group chat that read where are you guys??. Much to his discomfort, the text quickly came back with a ‘cannot be delivered’ message, making the brunette curse when he realized that the signal in the store was awful. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Did you see where my brothers went? They have tattoos. One’s blond and has a nose ring, the other was wearing a hat?” Chris asked the lady at the jewelry counter hopefully. 

Either not noticing his lanyard or not caring, the employee turned her back to Chris, leaving him desperate. He didn’t know his way around this mall at all, his phone wasn’t working, and it was beyond crowded. How was he supposed to find Matt and Nick? What if they left without him? He couldn’t drive and he had left his wallet with Nick. How would he get home? This was just a glimpse into the anxiety that circulated through Chris’ mind whenever he became overstimulated. 

The brunette felt his eyes beginning to grow wet, cursing himself under his breath. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t cry. Not here. Chris wiped a few stray tears that were running down his cheeks and began to retreat to a quiet area of the store to contemplate his next move. The last thing he needed was for a ‘fan’ to snap a photo of him crying and overstimulated and post it online. 

The children’s toy area proved to be the perfect place for him to hide. With all the stock having been bought out for the day in the holiday rush, the department was completely empty. Chris sat down on one of the leather benches, running his hands through his hair as a stim and anxiously checking his phone in hopes of regaining signal. He was so caught up in his anxious stimming and trying not to have a meltdown, that he hadn’t even noticed someone appear beside him. 

“Are you okay? I saw your lanyard,” You offered kindly. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Chris looked up at you, taking in your appearance. You were absolutely beautiful, dressed in a soft, sensory friendly outfit with a purple cow Squishmallow clutched to your side. That wasn’t what caught his attention, though. What truly caught his attention was the sunflower lanyard hanging around your own neck. Glancing briefly at the card, Chris noticed it read “I’m autistic”. 

“Can I sit?” You asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to the boy. 

Chris nodded, wiping his eyes and clearing his throat. “I can’t find my brothers.” he admitted tearfully. 

“Is that who’s with you?” You asked knowingly, having been in similar situations yourself. “Do you want to call them?”

“I can’t. My phone won’t send the fucking text and they were just with me and I can’t find them. What if they left me?” the more Chris talked, the upset he became, anxiously chewing on his nails. 

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay. They wouldn’t leave you. Would you like a fidget?” You pulled a tangle from your purse, holding it out for the boy to take.

Chris stared at you for a moment before tentatively taking the toy from you, instantly focusing on the colors and movement of the plastic. “...thank you.” he whispered. 

“Would it be okay if I touched you?” You asked gently. From your own experience, you knew that it was important in situations like these to ask for consent to touch someone who was overstimulated. “My lanyard has my emergency contact on it. Does yours? Maybe we can work together to find your brothers.”

Chris nodded softly, allowing you to softly look at his lanyard and identify both Matt and Nick’s phone numbers and names. By some miracle, your phone had much better service than Chris’ did, allowing you to let both brothers know where you were and that Chris was looking for them. 

“So, tell me about yourself if you want to.” You tried to make easy conversation to take the brunette’s mind off his current overstimulation and panic. 

“‘M a YouTuber,” Chris muttered softly, highly subdued. “And I like rap music and y’know, I have ADHD.” when he saw your soft, blushy smile and attentive listening, Chris became more animated. 

“I’ve always thought YouTube would be a cool job. I’m a pet sitter. I love animals so much. They’re one of my special interests.” You nodded to your cow stuffed animal. 

Chris remembered reading about the term when he was doing some self reflecting on being neurodivergent. Although he didn’t experience them himself, he knew that they were an enormous part of being autistic, and he felt grateful that you were willing to share something like that with him. 

“How did you, um, find me?” Chris asked shyly. 

“Well, I came to see if they had any stuffed animals because I love them, but instead I found you.” You smiled, fiddling with your own fidget toy. 

You and Chris continued to chat as you waited for his brothers. The difference in his personality when you first found him to now was like night and day. He had become more animated over the course of your conversation, talking with his hands, eyes aglow. You looked up when you noticed two men who looked eerily similar to Chris walk up next to you. In your head, you connected the dots that the boys must have been triplets. The blond who approached you had a hard look on his face as he noticed his brother talking to a stranger, but when his eyes caught your lanyard, he visibly relaxed. 

“Matt! Nick!” Chris squealed, leaping off the bench and pulling his brothers into a hug. 

You watched with a soft smile, thinking the sibling’s embrace was cute until the brother in the Red Sox hat turned to you. 

“Thank you,” he told you sincerely. “Thank you for helping him.”

“It’s really not a problem.” You were becoming shy under the attention, but Chris came up and wrapped his arm around you. 

“I love her,” Chris said, before blushing as he realized what he had said. “Not like that! I…I mean…” he stuttered. 

“I’ll give you my number,” You chuckled, standing on your tiptoes and kissing Chris on the cheek. “For being such a sweetheart.”

tags ♡:  @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy

note ♡: if you'd like to bed added to my taglist, click here <3

[glossysoap]

*crashes through your wall like the fuckin cool aid man* (is that even how you spell the drink? idk i’m australian)

YOU AND SOAP GANGING UP ON GHOST IN THE MORNING TO KEEP IN HIM BED AND PEPPERING HIS SHOJLDERS AND BACK AND CHEST WITH KISSES TO LULL HIM BACK INTO COSY AND SLEEPY

i love them both and want them both and want to pepper them both with kisses and tell them they’re loved

- @vgilantee (it’s not a crime to want two boyfriends. two muscular, strong, sweet, handsome boyfriends… i’m coping so well with being rejected by the guy who i thought liked me lmao)

AHHHH YES i’m sorry i’m so not used to writing something without smut and that probably shows 😭 literally the only fucking piece of fluff on this damn blog. posting this then going to bed 👍

you have him sandwiched in bed, you pressed against his front and soap hugging him from behind.

the light filters in through the window, fanning across the three of you as the sun rises. your bodies are all sleep warm and your arms that are slipped under simon’s heavy body have long fallen asleep.

both you and johnny are cherishing this. it’s unbelievably rare that they’re on leave and able to enjoy sleeping in. you're usually stuck with sleeping by yourself in an empty bed, that suddenly felt way too big. both sides were cold when they were gone, where they usually lay just empty and waiting for them to return.

you couldn't stop yourself from snuggling into simon's big, hairy chest as you thought of your usual circumstances - which only served to make you even more grateful for what precious moments like this one you could get.

johnny definitely shared in these sentiments. when him and simon were deployed, they both ached to have you next to them. they ached to have you cuddled up in between them at night and wake up with you in their arms in the morning. they felt that cold space of emptiness just like you did when they were gone.

so as you and johnny sandwiched simon as he slept, the two of you were intent on keeping your boyfriend in bed with you as long as you could. even when simon started groaning awake, stretching where he lay in between you two.

"g' mornin', love." johnny whispers in simon's ear, his hands caressing simon's sides before resting on his waist - where your hands already lay. you and johnny linked hands over simon's waist, which also let you two trap him in even more.

"morning, baby." you mumble into simon's chest, towards both simon and johnny. you and johnny stroked his waist as your hands remained linked.

simon peeks his head up a bit to scan the room as he mumbles out a confused and sleepy, "morning, you two." he feels strangely rested, at least more than he usually does. did his alarm go off and he missed it somehow? no, unbeknownst to him, you had disabled this morning's alarm on simon's phone.

"should get up." simon says, with not much determination behind it. he wants to relax, deep down. he just feels guilty actually doing it. he tries to prop himself up on his elbows, to drag himself out of the sweet slumber that clings to his bones like honey. but neither of you relent. you keep your weight against him, your arms wrapped around him.

"no, love." johnny murmurs against simon's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the scarred skin. he breathed simon in, wanting to inhale his very being. he settled on kissing any freckle or scar on his shoulder or back that he could reach. "none o'that. yer gonna stay n' relax."

"mmhmm." you agree, your voice all muffled into his chest as you nuzzle your head against him. “go back to bed, si.”

"the world won't fall apart if you actually relax for once." you start kissing down his chest, going over his scars.

johnny mirrored your actions, kissing down his back. you peek up at simon while you pressed kissed down his chest, using your hands to massage him as you did. you watched as the tension in his face slowly melted away.

you and johnny worked on rubbing his muscles, focusing on any knots that might be giving him trouble.

you and johnny kept leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin, humming against him as you heard simon let out groans and grunts of pleasure. not even like the full throttled pleasure that the three of you are usually in the throes in. but instead just.. contentment. no stress, all just lax and pliant as he melts into you both.

“mmm, that’s it, honey.” johnny croons the praise into his shoulder. “just relax.”

“don’t worry about a thing, baby. everything’ll be just fine.” you whisper into his chest, reaching down to pull a blanket over the three of you once more.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission.

[intoaneverythingbagel]

the tragedy of war torn veterans and it's correlation to my hero academia

I think the conversation revolving izuku midoriya, and how he's been treated since the war ended is very, very interesting. The general consensus being that it's genuinely insane the mistreatment he's faced only a bit after the wars ending. He's a hero. He was beaten, bruised, mutilated and traumatized on live television for the entire world to see. And has received zero acclaim.

Most people are saying that it's genuinely fucked up, and yeah, I agree, it totally is. I mean, a 16 year old boy had to step up because a bunch of adults couldn't hold their own, saving the entire world, all while simultaneously losing himself and his quirk. He gave up his dreams, his sanity, and almost his life for peace; and yet he gets to relish in none of that. None of the fame, the acclaim that comes with heroism. Nothing.

Some have said that they find it to be unrealistic- "he saved the world, of course he's famous!- horikoshi is just bad at writing!" And yeah, he should be, but I don't think that horikoshi is bad at writing or that him getting acclaim is just something that isnt being shown. Horikoshi knows how to write fame, how to write stardom, we see it with hawks and Merko and most definitely all might. We even see it in the newest leaks (427) where bakugo and todoroki have fans- the new first years.

So why then? If horikoshi can write, and he knows how to portray fame, then why is izuku facing neglect? Well, as we know, mha has always been a show about how people with disabilities are treated. (I will go further into dept on this in a future post, probably today or tomorrow) being quirkless is seen as being less abled then others= disabled, and now that izuku has lost his quirk, he is back at square one- being disabled. Not to mention the physical strain the injuries he has faced leave him with. He will face life long repercussions from those injuries. He is literally a disabled veteran. And for a lot of disabled veterans, the reality of the situation is that you don't always get to be a war hero after all is said and done. You don't get the fame you deserve, or the acclaim, or the help you need! or any of that because no one wants to hear about the gory, sad, disgustingly depressing side of battle. They want the glamour, the starlight and shine.

They want the miracles, and izuku is no longer a miracle.

I think what horikoshi is trying to portray is that things really dont go back to normal right after the war ends, peoples hearts and minds aren't all immediately changed, and the mindset that has been pushed for decades about quirklesness and it's abled-bodyness will not disappear just because the hero was once quirkless, because at the end of it (at least in their minds) they were right, someone who is quirkless could never truly be strong.

So, my consensus on this debate is that horikoshi is trying to portray how a lot of veterans end up after battle. It isnt some glorifying, amazing thing. It's not this heroic adventure. It's war, and it's after and disgusting and horrific and so so scary and it kills people, and it's usually the real heroes who end up the most fucked. A commentary on how veterans are often discarded once not needed anymore. Shits deep.

[growling]

*average self-proclaimed safe space tumblr blog voice* I soooooo support people with schizophrenia that must be so hard to you anyway I just saw some weird looking woman talking to herself right outside my house im fearing for my life should I call the cops. Yeah dude I support all the adhd havers in the chat just try to pay attention when I talk to you it's not that hard it's like the least you could do to show some regard for the other human being in front of you. Like it's fine to have memory problems but why did you forget this one thing in particular that was important to me do you like not care or anything you should try harder. I am one of the only real mental health advocates to still exist in this world I hear your struggles that being said I hope I never get to meet one of those irl sociopaths or people with aspd whatever they call them now they're so freaky and they can blend into society so well you might never know if you're actually face to face with an actual socio i mean person with aspd in the store absolutely one of my biggest fears what if they torture me in their basement. I absolutely empathize with all the people in here suffering from delusions as long as they like, don't actually show it or have one concerning me that'd be highkey uncomfy leave me out of this dude im not talking to you until you get help, anyway my fav character from my anime just presumably died but i still think they actually survived im sooo delulu lol. We should push for more wheelchair accessibility in our cities I agree but like it's so difficult to tell how many people are actually disabled and who are actually faking it, like, ummm why did that "wheelchair" "user" guy stand up just now cover blown lmaoo…. Yeah I support people with facial differences but I still have a right to be disgusted you can't control my emotions anyway can you tag your selfies as #body horror this deeply triggering to me. Speaking of triggering can you also pleaseee hide your scars or at least warn us beforehand jesus do you know how many people genuinely do not want to see it. Here is my extremely fast strobing lights and flashing gifset #epilepsy. Yeah I loveee girls with bpd beautiful princess disorder am i right they're so interesting the stigma sucksssss i'd love to get to be one's favourite person as long as they don't actually have any of those weird or violent symptoms or don't go into any of their "episodes" near me like that's a bit dramatic….. I deeply feel for those who had underwent narcissistic abuse from the hands of an npd I think my shitty ex boyfriend was a narcissist too tbh #surviving narcissism here are 10 signs you are dealing with a narcissist and here's a tutorial on how to trigger a narc crash to epically own them anyway does anyone else think we should start enforcing mandatory castration of all the newly diagnosed narcs like you know what happens when they reproduce right. But I am willing to support them as long as they go to therapy to get that fixed it's just you know. Anyway sometimes hospitalisation is fine if they're genuinely a danger to themselves like what do you want them to go live on the streets or actually get help?? I support all the people dealing with being a professionally diagnosed disordered system and I think it's sooooo terrible how literally 99% of the youth population nowadays is purposefully faking it for attention I did my research (1 minute google search, 2 minute r/fakedisordercringe scrolling session and consulting a single system that agrees with me). It's just not believable to me that there's really that many people with it isn't it supposed to be rare… Also are we really sure all those alleged people in their heads are really real or just their imagination maybe all of them are actually faking it huh food for thought. I am very uncomfortable with nonverbal high support needs ppl actually having sex like consent is supposed to be explicitly verbal only and, are we really sure they can even consent arent they like basically children. You can't call me ableist I'm literally autistic

[19-1-20-25-18]

Last info post. After this there will be more of full artworks.

Bill suffers from BPD and Stanford has autism.

Bill didn't realize that something was wrong with him until Ford created for him an analogue of pills for what he used to live with. He did not understand that constant outbursts of anger are not normal, that constant mood swings are also not the norm. Many do not see or hear what he sees when he is alone. After Bill began the course of treatment that Ford would prescribe with the advice of several therapists, he began to miss the old feelings. He didn't give out anything that could bring him joy again, or the filled feeling in his chest that was so pleasant to him. He was ready to face again what was hurting him and others. Bill didn't need sleep, but the side effects of the pills, which Stanford hadn't foreseen, were literally disabling his consciousness. He felt detached from the world, as if everything he did was meaningless. Nothing was as enjoyable as before. He tried to drown out these thoughts with work, not allowing himself to relax even for a minute, so as not to face the reality of what was happening again. But the further he went, the further he got away from Ford. He didn't like it.

This pushed him to give up the pills from time to time, after which all the symptoms returned with renewed vigor. Paranoia, mood swings, hallucinations in the form of his parents and their screams before death. He could hear them… "Why did you do that?" The emptiness inside him that he so desperately wanted to fill was coming back, hurting himself and a loved one. He stopped loving again, the world was divided into "black and white", when at one moment he was ready to sing Ford's praises, but at the slightest mistake, Ford turned into something terrible, something that was not worthy of love and something that deserved pain and all the anger and despair that Bill was testing it. Obsessive thoughts of murder, uncontrollable actions, a feeling of unbearable loneliness. All this came back to him with a new wave. It happened that Ford found Bill in a room full of broken things and torn wallpaper on which triangles were painted in blood… _

Bill has many forms. From young women to senile old men. He changed them depending on what people needed, he became someone they wanted to see and love. Having assumed his current appearance, he planned to cause terror in people and show his authority even with his appearance. But even with this look, Ford fell in love with him. It was only after that that Bill decided that this will be the only form he would take.

Bill can only relax when he is next to Ford. In all other situations, he cannot afford himself to do this, both for personal reasons and for reasons of his work.

Bill can also read minds, but after he married Ford, he never did this to him, as he respects him and his personal space.

At their first kiss, Bill couldn't keep his human form because of the influx of emotions. If Ford had reacted in any way incorrectly or said something that might have seemed wrong to Bill, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Ford has been investigating the origin of the triangle on ancient records for a long time. While Bill was with him all the time and listened to Ford's theories, sometimes agreeing with him or confusing him or carrying complete nonsense like: "I'm sure this triangle would be a good kisser."

During all the time that Bill was in the human dimension, he had countless husbands and wives whom he could never love. They either left him, or Bill left on his own. It happened that because of boredom, he stayed with a person for the rest of their life, emotionlessly watching their last moments of existence. And it was only with Ford that he could feel what love was. And along with this, the fear of losing a loved one, the excitement for him. If before that he did not know what the meaning of human life was: so short and worthless, now this "pathetic life" was all he lived for.

[hazel2468]

"UWU op defends Israel UWU"-

Have I not made it clear enough what I think of the Israeli government? Have I not made it clear enough that what infuriates me the MOST about all of this shit going on is that neither government gives a damn and civilians will CONTINUE to die because Hamas and Netanyahu are cranking that war machine for their own benefit? Have I not made it clear that I think what the Israeli government is doing is fucking horrific, a war crime, murder, a violation of human rights?

Why do I even need to MAKE that clear? Why is it that you can talk about LITERALLY anything else, any other country, and people don't rush to fucking accuse you of personally supporting the government when you discuss the wrongs committed against a people, but the SECOND you're a Jew you have to justify your stance about Israel?

Why is it that I cannot even be angry about the slaughter of MY FUCKING PEOPLE. Innocents. Civilians. Fucking CHILDREN. The slaughter of the Palestinian people. Innocents. Civilians. FUCKING CHILDREN.

Without one of you absolute fucking monsters deciding to slap some shit on an unrelated post about how "uwu op defends an apartheid state just ignore that"? Do you have to make it part of EVERYTHING I do? Do you consider everything I put out there tainted somehow because I don't support your joy, your cheering, your unrestrained GLEE at the murder of Jews? Do I need to publish a fucking thesis on my stance on Israel, Palestine, and their respective governments like a fucking disclaimer any time I want to talk about myself, my oppression, my experience as a Jew, or a disabled person, or a queer person, because you fuckers cannot for five seconds be NORMAL about Jews?

To decide to slap something about Israel and Palestine on a post I made about MY oppression, about how people will oppress you no matter who you actually are- it all depends who they think you are. It's a bit ironic, isn't it? Doesn't QUITE fit, but it's funny that someone would read that post, agree with it, and then think "Ah yes, THIS is the place to put some tags about how OP, a Jew who has been reeling for the last couple of weeks about the violence, who has been checking on their Israeli friends every day to make sure they aren't fucking dead, who is dealing with vicious antisemitism from people who they thought were friends, who watched as the people claiming to be progressive supporters of human rights on this hellsite and others OVERWHELMINGLY reply to the murder of their people with good they deserved it fuck you, is CLEARLY a defender of an apartheid state and that makes them a bad person because something something I don't know what nuance tastes like and I am a bigoted ass."

I am TIRED.

[bonefall]

Thank you for speaking out against the ableism towards Moonpaw, genuinely. I’m an actual intersex person with XX / XY chimerism, and I have slight physical ‘abnormalities’ resulting from it, too.

The XL Bully post being at the top of the Moonpaw tag genuinely hurt my feelings, and badly. People equating her chimerism to a ‘deformity’, making jokes about how ‘oooh she killed her twin in the womb LOL’ and all that…

I tried expressing concerns with a pretty well-known designer/artist who reblogged that post, but they just blocked me - and not before making a snide comment abt how I’m apparently ‘evil’ because I, too, ‘killed my twin in the womb’.

It’s so upsetting that almost nobody will actually give two fucks about the irl people that they’re shitting on - physically disabled people and/or those with chimerism - and will just cower away when their hypocrisy is pointed out. Thank you for spreading awareness

XX XY Fusion Chimerism is cool as hell and I'm so sorry there are people out there who are unironically acting like serfs from the fucking dark ages about something that happened when you were an EMBRYO. Like, we understand that there is nothing EVIL about things zygotes do, right??

We ALSO understand that fertilized eggs don't literally eat each other??? What happened wasn't some struggle for dominance where the larger twin hunted the smaller one down, something happened and two sets of complete genes merged. There's a few ways this can happen, one of them being because there were two eggs that didn't fully separate to begin with-- so both get fertilized and then one zygote "retreats" back into the other one.

You didn't kill your twin. First of all, there wasn't another "twin" to begin with, it was just a bundle of cells because we are talking EARLY pregnancy. Second of all, there's a high likelihood that it wouldn't have even been capable of getting carried to term anyway. If ANYTHING, Chimerism is the only way that ""twin"" SURVIVES.

But. I'm doing the thing where I'm barking logic at something completely irrational. Mostly I hope it makes you feel a little better.

What was said to you was shitty. Jesus Christ. Chimerism and intersex conditions are not a deformity. Being disabled isn't a cosmic punishment. You're not evil for existing.

(I'm feeling a need to just. Pause on that. Who the fuck implies zygotes are capable of evil. I thought we all agreed Brokenstar's plot thread was ridiculous why are we doing it for REAL PEOPLE).

Insane that someone needs to say this but these aren't hypotheticals. Everything I'm talking about with this discourse is based on the existence of REAL. PEOPLE.

[cy-cyborg]

Writing disability: The Super-Crip Trope, and how to avoid falling into it's harmful elements

The "Magical disabled person" or as it's often called in disability circles, the "Super-Crip" is the name of a trope in which a disabled character has some kind of magic or special abilities, which is used to mitigate or erase the impact of their disability. While not a mandatory part of the trope, many super-crip characters are also stronger than their peers, specifically because of their disability's impact on their powers. So why is this trope so unpopular among many disabled people? There's a few reasons. The main one is because more often than not, Super-crips who are written by non-disabled people are often treated as an easy way out of actually having to deal with a character's disability, and a shortcut out of having to do the research into how a disabled character would deal with certain situations. When these writers encounter something they think their disabled character can't do, instead of actually talking to people with the same disability as their character and doing research, they just write that its not a problem because "magic powers go!"

In some cases, but not all, their powers all but erase their disability completely, at least from the perspective of it's relevance to the story. While, to my knowledge, this was never in the comics or movies, A good example of this is a "fan-theory" I've seen among non-disabled X-men fans who claim professor X could use his telepathy to walk, functionally bypassing his spinal injury (Or his leg injury, if we're going off some of the comics' timelines). This would functionally erase his disability, making it an example of both the super-crip trope and the miracle-cure trope.

ID: An image of Professor X from X-men, a white bald man wearing a suit, sitting in a silver wheelchair, and another unknown man in a suit standing beside him, framed by a circular doorway, both their faces are partially obscured by shadow. /end ID]

Another reason this trope is disliked is because writer's often have good intentions when using this trope, but they actually end up undermining the points they were trying to make. Often, super-crips are portrayed as badasses in an attempt to show that "you can still be a hero/useful to the plot and be disabled", but the way they portray it usually implies that disabled people, as they exist in real life, aren't useful unless they have something that compensates for their disability or have impossible powers.

So should super-crips be avoided entirely? Some folks in the community think so, but personally, I don't agree. Despite all of what I've said so far, I think there are ways to write characters who technically fit the definition of a super-crip, without it being harmful. There's an argument to be made that "super-crip" specifically refers to harmful version of the trope, so not everyone will consider characters who aren't part of it, but I do, and I think it's important to discuss both the harm this trope can bring, and how this trope can be used in non-harmful ways. Humans (and creatures with human-level intelligence) are adaptable creatures, and in a world where magic exists and especially in worlds where its common, disabled people will find ways to use it to help themselves. but help is the key word there. So let's talk about some ways you can write super-crips, without it crossing the line into becoming harmful. The following are some things for you to consider about your character's disability, how their magic/powers interacts with it, how they interact with the world (and vice versa) and more:

Are your character's powers an aid or a cure?

The first, and one of the most important things to consider, is if your character's powers function like an aid or piece of assistive tech, or a cure? If you boil it down, is the magic helping them or "fixing" them? This can be a cure in the literal sense, as in giving an amputee the ability to shape-shift to get their limb back, or a functional cure, meaning the power essentially by-passes the disability, like the above mentioned professor-X fan-theory. It's not literally curing him, but it might as well be. In a world where this magic or super-powers exist, it's perfectly natural that a character might use the magic to lessen the impact of their disability, but it shouldn't erase it entirely. Give the magic a trade off, make it imperfect. You character can cummon a magic prosthetic, but there's a time limit on how long it lasts for, or their magic needs to recharge it. A wheelchair using mage might be able to engrave magic runes on their chair that allow them to pass over rough terrain, but only to a certain extent. It might allow them to go up-stairs, but it can only be used so many times per day (and make sure you show the times where they need to get up the stairs, but have run out of uses!) Things like that.

Is the power directly tied to their disability?

Is the power you're giving the character directly tied to their disability? There's 2 ways you could read this, and both should be considered. 1. The power is something you, as the author, gave to them specifically because it would help mitigate their disability (e.g. giving a character without arms telepathy so they can still pick things up/hold things because you couldn't figure out how they would be a badass swordsman without it) or 2. Does this character, in universe, have their power specifically because of their disability? e.g. Did our arm amputee develop telepathy through sheer-force of will because they really wanted to be a swordsman, and their determination manifested as telepathy/A god gave them the powers because they felt bad for them/a wizard taught them how to do it because they were inspired by the person's perseverance? If the answer to the first one was yes, perhaps reconsider and do more research. If the answer to the second one is yes, proceed with a lot of caution. Generally, if the powers originate from someone feeling sorry for your character, being inspired by them or anything to do with their determination and perseverance, I'd recommend changing that. However, if the powers came from your character having to adapt something to to their disability, that is really a case-by-case basis thing. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. your success with it will depend on the character, the setting and the specifics of how.

Is this power common, or is this character the only person in the cast/only person we see with this ability?

Is the power you're giving your disabled character rare, or even unique? It's fine to give your disabled characters powers that are common within the world, but if they're one of the only people who has that ability (or similar abilities), ESPECIALLY if it directly helps mitigate their disability, you might want to reconsider that choice. In a world where everyone can fly, it would be weird if your wheelchair user couldn't without an explanation. But if no one else in the story can fly except your wheelchair user, it starts looking more like you just gave them that power so you don't have to think about accessibility in your world. If you really must give your disabled character the rare/unique power, consider making another character with a similar disability but no/more common powers so you aren't just avoiding the issue, or making the power not related to/impact their disability directly (e.g. giving your leg amputee super-hearing.)

Does this power solve a wider access issue in your world, or does it just make it easier for your character alone?

As a general rule of thumb, if you are writing a story where you don't want accessibility issues to be a thing (e.g. a story set in a utopia), focus on fixing the environment, not the characters. Instead of giving your wheelchair user the ability to fly upstairs, give the buildings ramps and lifts. That way, its a solution for everyone with that disability, no matter their access to things like magic or technology. When talking about super-crips, this is especially important, doubly so if your character's power is rare! I made a (mostly joking) post ages ago about an idea for an earth-bender character in the Avatar universe, who gets fed up with republic city being inaccessible and starts earth-bending all the stairs into ramps. This solves the accessibility issue for them, but also makes their environment more accessible for others without bending to get around. Of course, not every disabled character will want to help/care to help others, but often when non-disabled people write disabled characters with powers, they kind of forget that their character won't be the only disabled person in this world. It often feels like they honestly think fixing things for their character means there's no problem anymore, and that's not the case.

Avoid, "I may have [insert disability here] but I can still do stuff because of my power!"

By this, I mean give your character other ways to address issues relating to their disability than just their powers. One funny example I remember reading in a writing group I was a part of was this author who was bragging about how their paralysed character could still drive a car because they had electrokinisis (the ability to telepathically control electronics). Aside from the fact that wouldn't work on all cars - including the one their character drove, since not all cars have electronic components controlling their acceleration and brakes, the way they described it was extremely complex, and overall not worth the effort when the real-life solution, hand controls, was much, much easier and the setting allowed for easy access to that kind of tech. When I pointed this out to them, they said they had no idea hand controls were a thing, and they had no idea that real disabled people could drive. They thankfully changed it, but there's 2 things to take from this: 1, double check that disabled people can do the things you assume they can't, your magic solution might very well not be needed, and 2. variety is important regardless. No one device, or in this case, magic power, should act as a one-size-fits-all solution. IRL disabled people have lots of tools to help us, I have 2 sets of prosthetics for different tasks, a wheelchair, a grabby claw (for reaching things on high shelves when using my short legs and wheelchair) and hand controls in my car (or at least I used to but we won't get into that lol). My prosthetics won't "fix" all my problems, I need other tools too. keep this in mind when it comes to magic too - it shouldn't be the only thing at your character's disposal.

There's nothing to compensate for.

Remember, don't treat your character's disability as something they need to make up for (especially if they "make up for it" using their powers). Your disabled character is allowed to make mistakes, they're allowed to have flaws both related and unrelated to their disability, they're allowed to not be good at some things, and they don't always have to be the best at whatever their roll in the plot is. In most stories, they should be on par with the other characters, or at least in the same ball-park, but as I mentioned before, a lot of stories don't let disabled characters fail. In order to justify them even being present, they are often made out to be the undeniable best, almost to mary-sue levels of perfection and super-crips especially fall into this issue a lot. They can be good at things, but balance it out, like with any other character.

You don't have to use all of these points, but they are still worth at least considering. For example, Toph fails all of these points except the first three. Despite that, she's still one of my favorite disabled characters in media, even if she's not perfect, and I'm not alone in thinking that. I've seen lots of other disabled people say the same about her. Which of these points you should use will depend on your story, character, setting and tone. As I've mentioned a few times now, the key is striking a balance. At the end of the day though, these are only general pieces of advice and a lot more factors go into making a character like this work. only disabled people will be able to tell you if you've pulled it off, and that's where beta-readers and disabled sensitivity readers come in!

Also, remember, these kinds of tropes don't just apply to the more common/well-known disabilities like amputations and wheelchair users, that's just what I have experience with! Be sure to research any disabilities your character has to ensure you are not falling into these tropes.

[notjustjavierpena]

Cruel

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Alas I’m back with more filth to feast on. This is very much rough and painful, so please read with caution to the tags. Enjoy getting slapped across the face!

Summary: Joel and you never attend the rest of Jackson’s population when it’s movie night. Instead, you become one messy tangle of limbs and oh, how you love him being a meanie.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, minors DNI, rough p in v sex, dirty talk, f masturbating, nipple play, unprotected sex, pussy eating, pussy slapping, literal slapping, lots of tears, spit, finger sucking and breathplay.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47776672

Cruel

Jackson is quiet this evening. It is movie night, but you remember the one they’re watching from before the outbreak, and it will just remind you of everything before and send you nauseous to bed at the thought of never getting it back. It’s not that you’re ungrateful about your situation, but you often find yourself sentimental about the life you had before everything basically went to shit. You share that feeling with Joel. It isn’t said out loud, but the way that you lock eyes across the room when others are around or the way that he fucks you when he feels frustrated tells you enough. Joel wasn't there before the outbreak, you often remind yourself.

Joel is slightly older and knows a great deal more about loss than you; it goes way deeper than yours. He doesn’t talk about it to you though, only to Ellie, and you certainly don’t have any intention of asking any time soon, afraid that it will ruin what you two have when the others are at the movies. He just makes you forget your sentiments, and you like to think that you return the favor on the roughest of days.

To you, love and human connection is the last thing that matters in a world like this. Joel will agree. It doesn’t have to be love in a way where you forget to suck in your stomach around a guy, it doesn't have to be strawberry ice cream, butterflies and sweet nothings. It can also be his strong hand around your throat as he makes your head swim and cunt clench. He is better than anything else, you think obsessively, referring to the way he once told you that you were better than pills, but your fling might just be the surrounding circumstances. Though no one can deny, especially you, how well you sleep after being with him. 

The bedside table in Joel’s room has a lamp that shines dimly, barely surpassing the fairy lights that shine from outside on the street. He has told you once, in a moment of weakness after getting head, that he’d like to have more decorations in his bedroom. You made a joke about you sufficing and he has called you his pretty little thing ever since.

He is on top of you, a hand sprawled across the skin of where your neck meets your shoulder, thumb reaching up so he is also cupping your face. It is dangerously close to your mouth, and you can hear his breath hitch ever so slightly in his throat when you close your lips around the digit and suck to the point of hollowing your cheeks. 

“Filthy little thing you are,” he mumbles lowly, moving his hand slightly to cup your whole cheek and press his finger down on your tongue. You immediately start to drool, but you make no effort to swallow down your spit and it starts to spill from your mouth, glistening over your lips and making you choke slightly. Joel marvels at you, pushes down further until your jaw automatically opens for him and saliva starts dribbling. You whimper for show.

It feels impossible to move. You are both naked and your legs are tangled on the sheets, but despite the romantic nature of your bodies’ position, you have dampness running down between your cheeks and pooling on the bed from sucking his finger like you would his cock. 

He leans down to kiss your open mouth filthily, not fully removing his thumb to keep you from swallowing, so that his own saliva can mix with yours and his tongue can touch your spit-covered one. It’s making the pulsing between your legs too difficult to ignore, too difficult to not do something about.

You only just manage to cross one of your legs over the other under Joel’s weight in this position, squeezing your thighs together and rocking your hips until you are moaning at the friction to your clit. You are too desperate to even feel shame as you pathetically start masturbating underneath him without your hands, and he growls approvingly at the first high-pitched mewl with his finger in your mouth. 

His thumb slips from between your lips after that, dragging a string of saliva in its wake whilst the air is thick with how much Joel enjoys watching you come apart by your own doing. His hand skims down your throat to lay between your breasts, palming against the left one and then squeezing the roundness of it as he continues kissing you hungrily, lapping at your tongue.

You slide your hands through his salt-and-pepper hair, tugging a little as you continue chasing your high. You do this sometimes alone too, have developed a technique to come from this as long as Joel is on your mind or your own hands are on your tits. Sometimes, when the thought of him won’t go away, you’ll rub your cunt against the corner of a bunched-up pillow too, but it’s rarely worth the effort to get a towel to save the pillow from wet stains. 

“Down, go down,” you whisper when you have a second to breathe, but Joel growls at the idea of you telling him what to do. You squeeze your legs tight over and over, feeling sweaty and wet between your thighs as you speed up your hips. Your mouth is devoured again, but only for a moment as Joel moves to plant lazy open-mouthed kisses down your chin and neck. 

“You gonna come, baby?” Joel hums. He stops his descent down your body when his mouth hovers above your chest, following your plea to a certain extent, but without completely capitulating. You might be a drug, but he can control his addiction. At least he thinks so.

“Close, fuck— yes, I’m close” you moan and let your eyes fall shut. You furrow your brows in concentration, rhythmically clenching and unclenching your thighs and cunt to stimulate yourself closer to orgasm. It feels so good despite how empty you are, but it’s hard to not stop what you’re doing when you know Joel’s cock and hands are within reach, it isn’t enough to start searching him out though. You go faster and more desperate, letting out tiny cries as you near the edge. 

“Jesus, you’re pathetic,” he chuckles as he inspects the redness that has started to spread across your chest. You like it more than you want to admit when he is a little mean to you.

He leans down further to nose along your cleavage and afterwards licks a stripe up along the very same trail. When he reaches the visible dip just below your neck, the suprasternal notch, he presses his mouth into it and sucks hard enough to create a mark of dark red and purple. 

Joel then goes back to your breasts and presses another wet kiss to the swell of your right one, bites down afterwards and watches with satisfaction how your nipple hardens at the attention to the sensitive skin. He laps at the hardened nub, placing the flat of his tongue against it and then gently swirls the muscle around it afterwards. Just when he has given you the illusion of tenderness, he tugs on it with his teeth. 

“Just make me forget it all, Joel, please, please,” you cry as he gives the left breast the same treatment, “I’m going to—“

Your little cute gasp as your orgasm comes has him swearing under his breath. He lets go with his teeth to stare up at you through his eyelashes, marveling at how you arch your back underneath his weight and smile up at the ceiling as you are pulled away from him into a reality of ecstasy. Your thigh clamps down on the other as you ride the wave, hips stuttering on the bed.

The pulsing sensation between your legs fades out until the over sensitivity kicks in, forcing you to relax and sink further into the mattress that sticks to your skin because of its dampness. You dare to open your eyes, realizing what Joel has just witnessed you doing and it makes your cheeks burn with shame, a feeling that had been practically nonexistent a minute ago. 

Joel’s cock hangs heavy between his legs as his eyes roam over your body. It twitches when you gain eye contact, but he looks anything but repulsed by you. Instead, his voice has dropped an octave and you find him curling a hand around your thigh to yank your legs apart for him. 

“You want me to be mean, doll? Is that what you want?” He asks but you only nod for show; he knows your answer, “Good girl. First, I’m going to eat your sensitive pussy until you cry about it, then we’ll see what I want to do with you. Deal?”

You nod. 

“Words,” he roughly grabs both of your thighs and presses them outwards until they’re against the bed, holding you in place whilst settling between your legs. You whimper at the sight of him inhaling your scent, him watching the drips of slick coming from your slit. You don’t have to look down to know that you’re red and puffy from all the blood in your body having gone down between your legs. Maybe that’s why you feel stupid and drunk; you have no blood in your head.

“Deal,” you whine as he cups you, touching you only by covering your cunt with his hand. Teasingly, he slides his fingers through your folds and then goes gently from side to side. You moan shakily due to having come moments before, wiggling as much as possible with one of your thighs being held so tightly in place.

Suddenly, you feel his hand leave you for just a second before coming down onto your swollen clit in a smack. The noise that leaves you is a mix between anguish and pleasure, your free thigh falling inwards to protect yourself from it happening again despite your womb clenching in interest. 

“Lie still, baby,” he says sternly and yanks your thigh to the side again. He repeats the move again, but instead of a single slap to your cunt, he spanks it several times in a row until you sob and thrash as your nerve endings come alive. You try reaching for his wrist, but he doesn’t let you come near a sense of control as he bats the hand away with a tut, “Stop… and don’t act like you’re not thinking about how it’ll feel when I pound her soon.”

He is right.

The torture goes on, your legs still trying to cover yourself up from his huge palm by falling inwards. The feeling is grotesque and hot in a way that is confusing, so much that it makes you beg for him to stop but without wanting him to. It is to no avail, and hot tears fall down your cheeks, your cunt throbbing from the pain that you hope he might soothe soon. 

When Joel finally backs down, you are crying genuinely as you stutter his name, but only because you cannot find other words to say that he has made you want his cock inside of you more than ever. If only he’d put it in you soon. 

Your chest moves rapidly to catch your breath that still feels stuck in your throat, burning from never getting properly into your lungs as you have endured slap after slap to your clit. You babble for a moment, bucking your hips up into nothing. 

“They’re going to stop the movie with all that noise you’re making. You don’t want them to suddenly be in your window, do you? They would see that red cunt of yours.”

You whimper, but silence yourself. You reach down between your legs, trying to soothe your aching vulva but as soon as you touch yourself, your mouth trembles into a little pained noise. Still, you find yourself rubbing your clit and it makes Joel chuckle darkly.

“Shhh, babydoll, I’ll kiss it better,” he tells you in a gentle tone that contrasts the way that he leans over your cunt with hungry eyes. He removes your hand, moves his mouth around for a moment and then spits down onto you. You wait in anticipation, watching it dribbling from his mouth with a disgusted yet aroused curiosity. 

He lies on his stomach with his feet a little off the bed, positions himself so he can press his hard-on against the sheets if everything becomes too much. You’ve been watching, discreetly, you hope, and you can see how much restraint that he shows you, because his cock is angry and red, precome having beamed at the tip for a while now. You won’t point it out though, not when he is in a mood for being mean. 

Every coherent thought flies out of your mind in the next moment as Joel’s face disappears between your legs and the only thing you can see is his gray-speckled hair. You can feel him nose along the mound of your cunt, being kind enough to not start too intensely and so, you reach down to run a hand through his hair to show him how grateful you are. You hear him breathe in through his nose. 

Both of his hands curl around your thighs and slide inwards until they’re resting on either side of your sex. One of his thumbs reach in to scoop slick up to smear along your labia and then clit, where he rubs one or two lazy circles around the hard nub. You breathe deeply through your nose, “Joel… please.”

“I know,” he says softly, but then presses down harshly, and the move makes something tug inside of your body. You wail, pressing your feet into the mattress and arching your back. Joel goes for it then; he covers you with his mouth, holding you in place as he eats your cunt.

His lips suck your folds into his mouth, nose pressing firmly against your clit. He causes a little friction by bobbing his head ever so slightly, and the image of you coming on his face at the mercy of his nose and dripping into his mouth passes through your head. You moan loudly.

Joel opens his mouth against you then, stiffening his tongue to dip it inside of you for a second. He hums with contentment as you clench, tastes you with a soft noise like was he taking the first bite of his favorite meal. You respond by pulling at his hair and saying his name, trying to keep your orgasm at bay for just a little longer so he can stay on you. His warm mouth is soothing, his tongue is experienced and velvety against your sensitive skin. 

He continues lapping, licking, sucking, closing his mouth around your clit finally and pulling with his swollen lips until he releases you with a soft pop. He repeats the move, but there’s something that tells you that he isn’t quite satisfied with himself yet.

You have goosebumps as he pauses and your orgasm starts fading away from you. He lifts your legs to place your thighs on his shoulders to which you respond by crossing your ankles behind his back, tugging yourself closer to him and further underneath him. He nods approvingly, rubs your thighs up and down a few times before going back to make you fall apart again. 

Your orgasm approaches again. You don’t want to ask him to put his fingers inside of you despite needing to be filled by him with a newfound urgency as you now have the ability to pull yourself up against his mouth.

You can see his hips moving a little too, tilting upwards to fuck against the bed. You do it too; start grinding on his mouth and nose.

His hands come all the way around your thighs until his palms are resting just below your belly button. Like before, one thumb goes down to your clit but instead of stimulating you, he pulls back the hood of your clit to suck more directly. The pleasure mixed with pain yanks you closer to the edge immediately.

“Fuck, fuck— Joel, I’m going to come,” you groan, pulling roughly at his hair as you grind down on his mouth to speed everything up. You want it so bad. 

Just a little— oh. 

A little more. 

There it is. You come undone for the second time, and the immediate release of dopamine that floods your body makes every little bit of pain fade into the background. You arch your back, feel Joel moan against your cunt as he moves against the bed with the same kind of desire for relief that you had earlier. 

As the world comes back to you, your legs fall off his shoulders and hit the bed, making the mattress bounce slightly. You are panting in a way that makes you wonder if you’ll ever come down again, head swimming with post-orgasmic bliss. 

“My pretty little thing,” he says lovingly as he crawls up towards you again. His whole face is shiny with your arousal, but you still tug him upwards until you can kiss him deeply. You taste sweet on his tongue. Loving him almost feels like something in a world gone wrong. 

“What about you?” You ask innocently after he breaks the kiss for air. 

“You think I’m done with you?” He laughs quietly, his hand coming up to rest on your chest, just above your breasts, “I recall telling you that I was going to think about what I wanted, and I think that might be pumping you full of come.”

“Yeah?” You can feel his hand going up until it rests against your throat. He doesn’t squeeze but something tells you that it won’t take long before he does.

“Yeah,” he mocks your tiny voice. You love how he switches between being loving and cruel, “Drunk on my tongue, aren’t you? Just wait till I turn you into a cockdrunk whore.”

You want to tell him that he can do whatever he wants to you, that you’re here and willing without an ounce in your body that will protest if he uses you right now. Unfortunately, words are gone from your brain and, in this moment, a foreign concept. You tell him by bending both of your knees on either side of him, planting your feet on the bed and spreading your legs wide on the bed. You’re still somewhat sensitive, but no matter the mouth-drooling intensity, it’ll be worth him feeding your pussy with his cock. 

“Dirty girl, cock craving and all,” he says under his breath, shuffling around a little without lifting his hand from where it is resting at the bottom of your throat. He presses his palm down into your collarbones as he moves to his knees to get comfortable, pushing air out of you. 

You wait patiently, look down between your bodies to watch his hand wrap around his length to stroke himself a few times. Then he leans forward, settles and breathes deeply as he stretches you open. He stuffs you to the brim, thighs against the back of yours. 

“So fucking tight for me,” he growls as he pulls back a little before slamming forward again. Your head swims. You’re his now, forever, until he says he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re so big,” you pant as you adjust to him splitting you open with the way that he drills into you without hesitation. You still feel the impact of being slapped earlier, but the last orgasm has numbed the sting significantly to the point where you stay in a blissed-out haze as he slams his pelvis into your cunt, “Feels like— oh, fuck, feels like you’re splitting me open, baby.”

Joel cruelly fucks you after those words, the severity of them spurring him on. Your eyes roll back into your skull, mouth falling open with the threat of drooling again as the whole bed shakes underneath the both of you. You whimper like a wounded animal, fluttering around his length and sucking him in further with how wet you are.

“Look at me,” he commands and you obey immediately. The hand not on your chest moves to cup your cheek, “Good girl. Keep those eyes on me, want to see the shock in your eyes as you take my come.”

Your brow is furrowed as he angles his hips a little, pounding against your g-spot as he chases his own orgasm. He notices your eyes fluttering closed as you’re stimulated by the head of his cock nudging just right, so he makes them fly open to look at him in horror as he smacks your face, palm landing flat against your cheek. It makes tears start to well up in the corners of your eyes, and the sting goes straight to your cunt that clamps down in surprise.

“I said— shit,” he begins but trails off for a moment when a particular thrust makes his mouth fall open. It takes a moment to recover, “I said look at me.” 

You nod and moan, the first tears spilling again and making you want to avoid his eyes despite everything. You do as you’re told though, trembling as you take his cock like a trooper and feeling the pressure build just below your navel. A part of you wants him to do it again, but you also need to be able to leave your house without red, swollen cheeks; you can avoid questions about why you’re not sitting down by doing outside work, but you won’t be able to avoid getting questioned about why you have Joel’s palm painted on your face.

You lift your legs to wrap around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You want to show him how much you’re turned on by him being like, staring into his eyes with furrowed brows and desire unlike any other. He meets your devotion to him by grinding his pelvis into your clit, barely pulling out anymore to go deep inside you.

“Faster, no, harder,” you moan and Joel growls, “Please, Joel. I’m so close.”

The bed frame shakes by now, knocking into the wall with a force that would have the whole village knocking on your door if they weren’t too busy with a stupid rom-com. Thank goodness that Joel lives in a house and not an apartment complex. 

Above you, Joel is panting. He shifts on the bed one last time, moving to hover over you to press his weight down further and follow up on your request. The hand at the base of your throat goes slightly up and you let out a silent moan when his fingers wrap around your neck.

His calloused palm is warm and somehow gentle, all things comforting despite what the hand is doing. His fingertips dig into your carotid arteries to the point of making your head swim, and whenever you whimper or gulp, you feel your throat burn at the pressure that becomes slightly harder as your neck muscles force down spit. 

“If you could see yourself,” he breathes above you and you can hear that he is about to come, “Come on, doll, milk me dry, honey.”

You cry without sound as your orgasm comes. It hits you like a runaway train, and by the first clench around Joel’s hard cock, he relaxes his big hand’s grip little by little and your eyes widen as oxygenated blood slowly returns to your head. The rush is incredible, making your cunt pulse even harder as your brain suddenly makes a burst of adrenaline flood your body. 

You practically scream as you can breathe again, but the noise is hoarse and pathetic above all else. You’re lost in the moment, staring doe-eyed up at Joel as he thrusts a few times more before finally seating himself inside of you and coming inside of you with a grunt. He must’ve been waiting for that since you got naked. 

After that he collapses on top of you, slipping out of your spent cunt. The both of you make a noise and then melt into each other whilst time stands still for a moment. 

Joel’s cruelty has faded, and you hug him close until he remembers that he isn’t supposed to be in love with you. He remembers the conversation, and how simple it had seemed to just be an outlet for you and vice versa. It doesn’t seem as simple now that he has a moment of clarity. 

“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” He asks to stop his train of thought. You chuckle at his gentle giant nature, shaking your head into the crook of his neck. He can feel you smile against his skin, and his body responds by scooping its arms under you and wrapping them around your waist. 

“I could draw you a bath,” he adds, “If you want.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” you reply with a soft kiss below his ear. You mumble a dazed thank you, inhaling his scent one last time before he untangles himself from you. ‘I love you’ is at the tip of your tongue but there’s too much at stake to say it out loud.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️