#god im so glad im over all of those feelings

[ladyjang09]

Lovely Runner Fanfic | The Very First Night

Synopsis: Reimagining on what happens after the sofa scene. ‘Coz my smutty filled mind convinced me that they can’t get off their hands from each other. Im Sol is the first one to initiate “things”, ‘coz why not, she’s been suffering and longing for Sun Jae for 15 years. Expect a fluff on the first chapter then smut on the succeeding ones.

CHAPTER 2

Next thing she knew they were on his bed, and he was feasting on her breasts. Oh, God, yes. There.. Sol dreamed of this, imagined it so many times, but the reality was better. This Sun Jae was infinitely better.

He gently rolled her over and placed himself between her legs. She felt his legs rubbing against her inner thighs as he kissed her, his hard cock resting against her thigh.

It was such a strange feeling, to be exposed to him. And yet it was so natural that they would share themselves. She reached up and ran her hands along his cheeks to bury them in his hair as she saw the needful hunger in his eyes.

“I’m so glad you remembered me. I cannot believe you are here with me now,” she breathed.

Pain and ecstasy mixed in his brown eyes as he stared at her as if unable to believe he’d heard her. He looked as if he were dreaming and terrified of waking. “I’m sorry I forgot. I promise you I will not forget about you, about us, again,” he vowed.

Sun Jae brushed his hand against her cheek. His eyes held hers as mutual understanding and care passed between them. It was a priceless moment of sharing, and it went a long way in giving her hope for them. Hope that they will stay in this lifetime, being loved by each other until they were old and gray.

Then he dipped his head and claimed her lips in a passionate fiery kiss. He drove himself deep inside her body.

Sol tensed as pain overrode her pleasure.

He froze.

“I’m sorry,” Sun Jae whispered. “Does it hurt much?”

Sol swallowed and shook her head. The pain was already subsiding into a dull ache as her body stretched to accommodate the large size of him. It had just startled her.

Sun Jae braced himself on his arms to look down at her. Sol stared up at his eyes as she felt him deep and hard inside her body. He was so incredibly handsome.

“I am fine, Sun Jae-ah,” she said, offering him a timid smile. It was so very intimate, to look at him while they were joined this way.

With every breath he took, she could feel him throbbing inside her. Feel him rigid and hard all over and in her.

“Don’t move, Sol-ah, please,” he ordered. If she didn’t move, he could fight this. He could withdraw. He held himself rigidly still, even though it was killing him.

Probably.

He almost managed it. But she moved, rubbing those nipples against his chest. “Move, don’t stop,” she begged. She tilted her hips, forcing him an inch deeper, drawing him deeper as her muscles tightened around his cock. Sun Jae growled in response, and a look of pleasure crossed his face that it spurred her to bolder actions as she writhed beneath him.

His vision darkened. His head lifted from his body. And the need to claim her filled him until nothing else existed. He held his breath at the sight of her lying beneath him while she milked his body with hers. Sol should take as much pleasure from this night as he did. More so, in fact. And he loved watching her discover her sexual power and bliss as he did the same.

Never once had he dreamed making love could be like this. Never had he dared to hope of a night where he would be with a woman so unreservedly and know that she was with him by her own free will. She felt so good surrounding him. Surely there was no better pleasure than her warmth.

Sol ran her hands over his chest, up his arms and brushed them through his hair and forehead. “Move, Sun Jae-ah, I am ok,” she shyly smiled.

He lowered himself to her and gathered her into his arms. Then, slowly, very slowly, he began to gently rock himself between her thighs.

Sol sighed in pleasure at the feel of him so deep, hard and strong inside her. She wrapped her arms around him and listened to his breathing as he moved. Arching her back to draw him in even deeper, she kissed his shoulder blade and inhaled the scent of him. He quickened his thrust, sliding himself in and out of her, deeper and deeper. Her head spun from the sensations of his skin on hers, of his breath against her neck.

He quickened his pace. “Sun Jae-ah…” She breathed his name as she clung to him and met him stroke for stroke. Her please became a chant. “Yes, Sun Jae-ah. Yes, there. Round and round. God, it’s so good. Sun jae-ah! It’s so gooooood!” Her body felt out of control. She was hot and tingly. And just as she was sure she would die from the pleasure of him, her body erupted into an ecstasy so intense that she screamed from it.

Sun Jae ground his teeth at the sensation of her body gripping his while he kissed her deeply. Holding her tighter, he felt his own body release. With one forceful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her and felt the waves of pleasure rippling through him as he gave her a part of him he’d never given another single soul.

He lay completely still, holding her for what seemed an eternity, and yet it seemed no time at all. As gently as he could, he withdrew. He gathered her up and carried her down into the bathtub across his bedroom. As the warm water swirled around them, she released a contented sigh and buried her face against her neck.

“Is it always like that?” she asked, her voice awed.

Sun Jae drew a ragged breath as he drifted down from heaven, back into his body. “I don’t know.”

Sol looked at him curiously. “Don’t know or you won’t tell me?”

He started to cover the slip with a lie, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No, he wouldn’t lie to her. Not after she had suffered so much alone for the past 15 years.

Embarrassed, he looked away. “I’ve never been with a woman before tonight. It’s just doesn’t feel right.”

Sol stared at Sun Jae, a mix of disbelief and dawning realization flickering in her eyes. “You’re serious?” she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. Sol’s mind reeled. Sun Jae, the man who graces covers and sent hearts aflutter on screen, the lead singer of the boyband, Eclipse, was claiming this was his first time? The countless headlines about him and his co- stars, the whispers of “on- again, off- again” relationships, all a carefully crafted illusion by his team perhaps?

If the rumors were fabricated, then the countless women she’d compared herself to, never truly existed. It meant this connection, this raw intimacy they shared, was unique, a testament to their undeniable bond, forged by four lifetimes, tied by a red string of fate.

Sol stared at Sun Jae, a mix of disbelief and dawning realization in her eyes. “You’re serious?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. You’ve never…you’ve never been with anyone?”

Sun Jae shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “Honestly? No,” he admitted, a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s always felt…incomplete. Like a missing piece of a puzzle.”

Sol’s heart ached for him. The years he’d spent searching, oblivious to the life they could have had together. The full depth of his loneliness slammed into her. Omo, he had never been intimate even on the most basic level with another person. It wasn’t unheard of for a man of his stature and prowess to remain untouched.

“I can’t believe you haven’t— those rumors…about you and all those actresses,” she blurted out.

“Are just rumors…it’s all a PR game, Sol- ah,” he confessed, his voice low. “You know how it works. Management creates these narratives to keep my image hot. The truth is, I never felt a connection like this before. Not with anyone. Just ask Park Dong- Seok or Baek In- hyuk. The truth is, I never felt a connection like this before. Not with anyone.”

A hesitant smile touched her lips. “So, she said, a playful glint returning to her eyes, “you’re telling me, the great Sun Jae, heartthrob of millions, is actually a romantic novice?”

Sun Jae chuckled, a nervous sound. “Maybe,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “My mind unconsciously remembered some lifetime ago, there was this drunken, jealous, giddy teenager who shouted from a rooftop of their house that a man should have conservative lips. And cannot let some random girls kiss you!” he teased with a wink.

“Yah!” Sol laughed, smacking Sun Jae’s chest. Oh, how he loved her laughed. Remembering that fateful day at the convenience store, when he fell in-love with her in this lifetime, she, laughing at him. It was like a cascade of tinkling bells, genuine and infectious. A joyous sound that made him look up to meet her sparkling eyes. He’d stammered out a joke, more to hide his awkwardness than anything, and to his surprise, it elicited another peal of laughter. From that moment, a spark ignited within him.

Sun Jae reached out, his fingers brushing against a strand of Sol’s hair. A lifetime, they’d been together, through countless lifetimes. Yet, every time her laughter filled the air, it felt like falling in love all over again.

Sun Jae’s eyes softened as he looked at her. “I’ve always been waiting for the right person. I didn’t know it then, but deep down, it was always you, Sol- ah.”

Sol’s smile faded slightly as the weight of his words settled over her. The years of loneliness, of longing for the love she lost, of looking at him as he reached his dreams without her, all vanished with his heartfelt confession.

“I can’t believe how much time we’ve lost,” she murmured, her voice tinged with sadness.

Sun Jae reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “We haven’t lost anything, Sol- ah. We’re here now. We have this moment, and every moment after.”

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she felt the warmth of his hand. “I was willing to sacrificed myself, for you to be safe. But, I…it was so hard to forget you,” she cried.

“Shhh…all is well now,” he said softly. “Fate gave as a chance. And now, we can make the most of it.”

Sol opened her eyes and met his gaze, a mixture of hope and determination burning within her. “Then, let’s not waste any more time.”

Sun Jae smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “Agreed.”

The spent the rest of the night talking, sharing stories and memories, filling in the gaps of the years they had spent spart, in all lifetimes. As dawn began to break, they lay side by side, hands entwined, feeling a sense of peace neither had known before.

Their journey was just beginning, a new chapter in a story that had spanned lifetimes. And as the sun rose, casting its golden light over them, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, their bond was unbreakable.

They had found each other again, and this time, they were determined to hold on, never letting go.

[toytulini]

Okay i have yet to see a post about this that isnt filled with ppl being Annoying as Fuck on it, but,

theyve found wreckage of the submersible, it imploded (thank god, thats better than a drawn out suffocation over the course of several days, implosion means it was pretty much instantaneous) and the us navy have revealed they heard a weird sound on sunday from about where communication with the sub was lost, that was probably the sound of the implosion, [implied that they didnt say anything cos they didnt want to jump to conclusions without evidence of a wreckage, if there was a chance they were still alive.] no idea what the banging sounds were.

I do hope rescue efforts are extended to the migrants off the coast of greece, and am angry and horrified at their mistreatment, and that the media clearly cares less for their fates than that of the billionaires on the sub.

also, while i have you here,

The difference between a submersible and a submarine is not that one is safer. The titan was a submersible that was unsafe, but that is not because it was a submersible.

A submarine (or sub) is a watercraft capable of independent operation underwater.

A submersible is a watercraft designed to operate underwater, usually supported by a nearby surface vessel, platform, shore team or sometimes a larger submarine.

submarines generally dont go as deep as our deepest submersibles, but some can be down there for months at a time bc it is like. a self sufficient Ship. not all submersibles can go crazy deep, but to my knowledge, the only crewed vessels that can go that deep, are submersibles. (Alvin, deepsea challenger, limiting factor, trieste, fendouzhe or "striver").

[hella1975]

so it turns out it was actually never that serious

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[seilon]

sudden vivid memory of being 14-15 years old and daring to wear knee-length boy’s shorts to a local summer festival in one of my first public acts of transgenderism and despite that being the most mundane thing on earth (especially considering I was still not allowed to cut my hair at that point so i by no means looked mistakably like a guy or anything) being verbally torn to shreds to the point of sobbing by my mother upon getting home because I was apparently making myself (and her by association) look bad and being a flagrant humiliation in front of my friends’ parents. i guess sometimes i forget how scarring and often terrifying simply Existing as a trans kid was lol

[rafeandonlyrafe]

comparisons

words: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, female receiving oral, insecurities, semi public sex, partying, drinking but not by reader, good girl!reader

“are you seriously looking at her profile again?” your sister questions, snatching your laptop from you.

“give it back!” you squeal, standing up and attempting to grab it, but she has the height advantage on you.

“seriously, this is getting out of hand.” she sets the laptop back down on your desk, navigating to the block button. “and don't unblock her. it's unhealthy for you to care so much about your boyfriend's ex.”

“she's just so pretty.” you groan. “like how can he go from her to me?”

“you're gorgeous, y/n!” you sister sighs. “you love him. i know you do. just enjoy being together and don't let your insecurities ruin what you have.”

--

you don't mention it to rafe, no matter how anxious you feel. 

“what is it?” rafe questions, hand rubbing over your cheek. “you look sad.”

“no, no.” you shake your head aggressively, forcing a smile onto your face. “im fine, promise. just lost in thought.”

in truth, you saw rafes ex at the party. it's why you retreated to the patio with rafe, glad to have some distance. 

“hm…” rafe mumbles, looking over you. “you sure? if you're not feeling the party, we can leave.”

you smile at rafe. you weren't sure what you were getting into when you started dating him. you hung out in the opposite crews at school, rafe was popular and easy going, captain of the football team. you never attended the same parties as him during those years, it wasn't until after school where you graduated valedictorian that you got close to him.

“you love to party, babe. i can handle it.” you love it too, usually.

“yeah, but there's a lot of drinking going on. if you're uncomfortable-”

“no.” you shake your head. you aren't a fan of getting drunk yourself, but you don't mind being around people if all they're doing is dancing and having fun.

“then what is it? you can't fool me darling.” 

“i just… saw your ex at the party.” you frown. “i can't help but compare myself to her and… it makes me feel insecure, but im trying not to. i want to get better, seriously.”

“aw, baby.” rafe pulls you onto his lap, tired of any distance between the two of you. “you have nothing to worry about. i only have eyes for you.”

“i know, im being silly.” you sigh, wiping at your under eyes before your tears build up.

“you're the most beautiful girl ive ever seen. i even thought that in high school.” rafe laughs. “but you were so good, so focused on school, i didn't want to become a distraction by trying to get you out on a date.”

“oh my god!” you squeal. “how come you never told me that before?”

rafe just shrugs, a soft smile on his face. “if i knew you felt that way, i would have. i promise, you've got nothing to worry about. im yours.”

you press your lips against rafes, kissing him deeply, right there on the outdoor sofa for everyone to see.

“i need you baby.” rafe groans, hands squeezing at your sides.

“yeah.” you nod. “yeah, need you too.”

“want to go home or… or can i find a room upstairs? kelce won't mind.” 

“upstairs.” you stand up, rafe quickly following. 

“good.” he smiles down at you, arm wrapped around your waist as he leads you back inside, into the crowd of people.

“rafey!” a voice squeals, making you frown. he doesn't let anyone call him rafey except for you.

“hayley.” rafe sighs, sounding nowhere near as enthusiastic, wanting to get you upstairs as soon as possible. “what do you want?*

“just to say hi.” she twirls a piece of hair around her finger, eyes darting to look at the way his arm is wrapped securely around your body. “how's my rafey?”

“not your rafey. its just rafe to you.” he grunts out.

“oh, you're so silly.” she lets out a shrill laugh, reaching forward to press her hand against his bicep.

“hey, in case you haven't noticed-” you speak up. “rafe isn't with you anymore. so stop calling him rafey and stop touching my man.”

hayley pouts and looks at rafe, giving him an opportunity to defend her, but he just smiles down at you.

“believe me now?” rafe pulls you away towards the stairs, leaving hayley to huff and head for another drink.

“ill believe you when you fuck me.” you smile, shutting the bedroom door behind you and making sure to lock it. 

“get naked then, babe.”

you both are quick to strip before coming back together in a mess of tongue and lips as rafe dominates your mouth, leaving no room at all for doubt.

“god, feel how hard i am for you.” rafe takes your hand in his, guiding it to his cock.

you stroke up and down his length, the weight heavy and familiar against your palm. “all this for me?”

“you know it, baby.” he laughs dryly, cut off with a moan as you swipe the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock.

“but first…” rafe takes your hand away, and your eyes widen as he sinks down to his knees. “i have to taste you.”

“oh!” you squeal as rafes hands grip your hips, his mouth burying between your thighs.

“fuck!” you moan out, grabbing onto the large poster bed, sinking your fingernails into the wood as his tongue swipes through your folds.

“god, you're so yummy.” rafe moans, his words vibrating your pussy. he tilts his head up, eyes locking on yours as his lips wrap around your clit.

“rafe!” you scream out, not caring if anyone hears, hoping hayley is nearby enough to hear your moans of pleasure as he focuses on sucking at your clit.

“god, i would make you cum like this over and over, but i need to get inside of you.” rafe stands up, capturing your mouth again.

“wanna ride you.” you tell him. you've slept with rafe many times since the start of your relationship, but he's always been the one on top and in control.

“really?” rafe grins at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“yeah.” you nod. “im feeling- im feeling confident.”

“that's just what i like to hear, darling.” rafe presses a kiss to your lips before laying himself down on the bed, head propped up against the pillows so he can watch you.

you climb over top of him, the only light in the room from the moonlight streaming in the window as you align him with your cunt, sinking down with a moan.

“fuck, baby.” rafe grips your hips, not ready yet to fully give up control as you begin to move up and down with his assistance.

“god, so big.” you gasp out.

“mhm, and all for you, my girl.” rafe helps you speed up, not used to being in this position.

your joint moans fill the room as you ride him, grinding your hips back and forth with every movement until you find the spot inside of yourself that has you screaming out.

“ah, fuck, right there?” rafe begins to lift his hips into you, planting his feet into the bed to get the maximum lift possible as he thrusts upwards, angling his cock to push against just where you like it.

you fall forward, pressing your chest against rafes as he holds your hips still, pounding up into you.

“oh my god!” you squeal out, hands gripping onto rafes biceps as they flex and bulge as he lifts you up and down.

“gonna cum baby, can't last.” rafe presses his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. “you feel too good.”

“yeah, inside me.” you nod, own high not far away.

“fuck.” rafes moans grow as his cock swells inside of you, releasing only moments later.

the feeling of him flooding your insides sends you overboard, your orgasm causing your entire body to shake as your cunt squeezes down on rafes cock, milking the rest of his cum, not wanting to leave a drop.

“fuck.” rafes hands squeeze your hips again. “you're so perfect.”

you smile up at him, feeling tired from the sudden act. “take me home?”

“yeah.” rafe let's out a yawn. “in a minute.”

“mmkay.” you hum, resting your cheek against his chest. “don't fall asleep on me, rafey.”

you have to poke rafe awake a minute later. you both get dressed to get out to your car, the party still raging as you walk hand in hand.

“oh, there you are!” hayley stops in front of you, but you've had enough of her.

“sorry, no time to chit chat.” you plaster on a fake enthusiastic smile. “his cum is dripping out of me right now, so we gotta get home and take care of that. enjoy the party though!”

you pull rafe outside as he cackles. “damn, baby.” his arm wraps around your shoulders. “you are so hot when you're jealous.”

[l13]

part two here

cw: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! f!reader, peter is married and having thoughts of reader soo cheating? voyeurism, masturbation, peter getting off to you and miguel fucking:), not proofread

perv!peter b parker who comes in Miguel's control room (or whatever the fuck) ready to annoy the fuck out of him, when he’s suddenly very glad he didn’t bring his daughter with him as the obscene sounds from up above reach his ears.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, mi vida. Look at you, dripping down my cock. Couldn’t even wait till I was finished hm?” if that wasn’t proof enough for what you guys were doing, then the sloppy sound of Miguel fucking his cock in your pussy gave it all away.

Peter felt as if someone threw cold water down his back, and he searches his brain for answers- something to justify the outline of his now hard cock in his pants. You were attractive, he wasn’t blind, but weirdly enough he’d never thought about you that way.

Until now, that is. Now, that he can hear your pretty moans and whimpers of Miguel’s name as you beg him to go faster, to fuck you deeper, to make you come.

Peter’s thankful that the floating platform is all the way up, and that he has no view of you, or else he’d never be able to get the picture of your body, of your face scrunched up in pleasure, out of his mind. It would ruin him.

In fact, Peter could see nothing except Miguel’s wide back, shoulders hunched over, no doubt holding your thighs up for easier access. Fuck, Peter could feel precum dripping down the tip of his cock, at the vile picture forming in his head.

He was so hard that it hurt, and he could feel the stinging of his eyes, tears gathering up fast. He wanted to touch himself so bad, but he couldn't. He shouldn’t.

“Hah- shit. What if someone came in here, bebita? hear you like this? See you like this? You'd like that, wouldn’t you? Ffuck you tightened up so much when I said that. Such a little slut for me. Say it.”

Peter turns around, ready to walk out the door. He shouldn’t be here, he wasn’t allowed to be here during this. He should go home. MJ was waiting for him to- Fuck, MJ. He has a wife. What the fuck was he doing? He-

“Yes! yes fuck, i want everyone to know that im a good slut for you!Ah-want them to see me like this pleasepleaseplease”

Peter clamps a hand over his mouth, and moans, letting himself fall against the wall, elbow propped up against the surface to keep him upright, and he bites his lip roughly, keeping his mouth shut just so that he could palm himself through his sweatpants.

God, fuck, he wanted to see you so badly. He wanted to be the one fucking you, to be the one pulling those sounds from you. Hell, he’d let you pull those sounds from him. he’d do anything - using you or being used by you. Peter couldn't decide which thought excited him more.

His last remaining morals were thrown out the window when you cried out, and he could hear you thrash around, Miguel muttering praises and encouraging words that fall deaf on peter’s ears. By that point, Peter had completely tuned out any sound Miguel made, choosing to focus on your pleas and cries.

Peter was full on jerking his cock now, sweatpants bunched up at his ankles, as he fucks the lame excuse of a hole his hand made, all the while imagining that it’s you. He was timing his thrusts to the sound of your broken moans, having to bite on his forearm to keep quiet as he whimpers and grunts, drool running down his chin.

Unbeknownst to Peter, the platform, slowly but surely, makes its way down to the floor. After all, even if Peter made sure he was being quiet, that was still loud as fuck to Miguel's ears, who had heard him the minute he stepped in the room.

2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

[tim-shii]

hi! just found your acc and i just want to say i absolutely adore your work first off. you bring my wife (aventurine) to life beautifully.

saw the as a boyfriend and oh my GOD the part about him getting anxious over reader speaking with ratio? so good. i need jealous pouty aventurine. and honestly might be a bit ooc for ratio but i think he’d encourage it just to get under aventurine’s skin tbh.

up to you though, i’d love for you to write a lil drabble or something of the sorts expanding on this, whatever you have the imagination to write.

that’s all~!

a/n: tysm ?! ure so kind im glad very happy !! that u adore my work 🫶 we have to make sure wife is loved always 🫡 here's jealous aven from this ; @svnarin proofreader !! (she told me to put it here)

cw: bf!aventurine, slight angst

“such lavish proposal. are you certain i am the person who should be hearing that?”

“absolutely. you’re the perfect person i should be consulting about it.”

aventurine is not a jealous person. he’s confident in himself, you had praised him several times of how much of an amazing person he is. jealousy means there’s a lack of trust between the two of you and aventurine doesn’t like that idea at all. he thinks that trust is a significant factor when it comes to relationships. he doesn’t keep secrets and even if he does, he’ll eventually open up to you after some time.

aventurine is a quartz-based gem stone. a stone that brings good fortune and helps you create your own luck. it’s also green. the same green in the monster’s eyes that’s currently chomping down on aventurine. he can’t help it! can he really blame himself when uneasiness swirls in his stomach after seeing you with dr. ratio?

out of everyone he gets jealous of, it just had to be him. veritas ratio. his good friend, veritas. the most logical man aventurine has ever known.

while aventurine is confident in himself, no doubt there’s a part of him that feels inferior to the doctor. the man has radiant violet hair that compliments the tone and structure of his face. he also has a slightly muscular build compared to aventurine’s more slender one. there’s a lot to compare and aventurine isn’t sure if he can even list it all out.

his brows furrowed, eyes dulling as his thoughts consumed him at once. what proposal? what’s that about? and perfect person? he doesn’t understand. are you leaving him? can he really not make you stay? was it something he did? something he said? but he can’t ask you those. because what if instead of an answer, he’ll be greeted with a farewell—

a flick on his forehead snapped him out of the daze. aventurine blinks back, now finding you in front of him.

“i was right. he was sulking.” he hears veritas quip.

“not sulking. more of, in a daze.” your fingers thread through his soft locks, aventurine hums at the affection, absentmindedly leaning his cheek on your palm.

“you give him too much credit. he’s probably wallowing in the sorrows of his mind for no apparent reason.” ratio snickers ever so quietly.

“or he could just be tired and sleep deprived.”

“or he’s jealous. he glares at me any longer, my skin will start withering and rotting.” for a doctor who has more than eight doctoral degrees, he can be quite the drama queen.

“goodbye, doctor. thank you for your opinion, i shall greatly treasure your wise words.” veritas only shook his head before slipping out the door. once he’s left, all your attention shifts to your boyfriend.

aventurine lets you sit atop his lap, gloved hands instantly finding home on your hips. for a moment, you both stare at each other in complete silence.

“spit it out. what’s wrong?” you spoke first.

aventurine sighs. “i didn’t like seeing you with him.” for all his life, lying came easy. with his good looks and charming personality, making people believe whatever he says is child’s play. but aventurine can never lie to you. he doesn’t have the heart to face you once you’ve realized he’s fooled with your thoughts.

you raised a brow in amusement. “so you were jealous?”

“no. i don’t get jealous.” he grumbles. “i just,” aventurine gazes at you with a fond look, an expression so serene and completely enamored. “i’m better looking than him, right?”

blood rushed to his cheeks when he felt your lips on his. his hold moved from your hips to your neck to deepen the kiss, left thumb caressing over your pulse. he chases your lips like an intoxicated man once you pulled away. only to be stopped by you leaning your forehead on his.

“the best looking man in my life and in the whole universe. my most beloved, too.”

“you flatter me.” he grins stupidly before pulling you in for another kiss.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

[wszczebrzyszynie]

one of the things that used to annoy me a bit back durning the pandemic when i got very popular on instagram very quickly (my posts got 20k-40k likes on average at that time so you can imagine it got very weird quick) and so naturally lots of people started suddenly taking inspiration from me (all from simple inspiration to just tracing over my work), and part of that inspiration was the general... rise of interest in poland and polish culture? which is fascinating because i am not nor ever have i considered myself patriotic and i dont really "love" poland. Its a complicated thing but its also a feeling i treasure to an extent; i understand why people think that, considering that my work is very clearly polish, and i am very clearly polish, but its more the case of creation based on familiarity mixed with my interest in history and folk costumes than creation based on the "love for my country". Its kind of funny that i had to ever explain that, because its not something usually assumed about american works set in america, or japanese works set in japan, even when they include traditional/cultural elements of those countries. Well Either Way a lot of people (majority of which were not polish; only 8% of my total following was based in poland, so in numbers around 8 thousand people; there was probably some polonia, but i base it on ig statistics) who followed me started drawing pseudo-folk costumes after that claiming them to be polish or polish-inspired based on the "aesthetic" (so, objectively drawn incorrectly) and it was always just such a werid thing for me to copy for yourself, especially with no connection to the country. Its not a crime to just draw a pretty dress with a lot of colours and embroidery on it, but to then claim its actually polish because an artist you like does the same thing was in retrospect so weird and funny. Even then i thought it was funny but in broad concept of how people treated my art it got annoying sometimes. im glad i didnt do anything stupid and public then to regret now. god bless. Either way all of this is to say i think at some point in 2021 i created some of the first ever polandboos or how would you call them. lore exposition post. im going back to studying

[marvelwinchester67]

I’m gonna need 5-10 business days to recover from the Hazbin Hotel season 1 finale.

Hazbin Hotel episode 7 and 8 spoilers (because I’m going feral) and my thoughts/unhinged feelings about it because no one else can understand quite like tumblr can

Read at your own risk

What. The. Fuck. Guys.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

IT WAS NIFFTY WHO KILLED ADAM?!

AND SIR PENTIOUS?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IM NOT OKAY BUT IM GLAD HE IS

Lucifer “now I’m gonna fuck you” Morningstar everyone (plz I love him so much)

So Carmilla knew who Vaggie really was and just, didn’t give a shit? Love her for that

I love Rosie. Her design, her personality, she’s amazing. She was so sweet to Charlie when she didn’t have to be and actually listened to her and encouraged her (points for the relationship advice)

So Alastor is on someone’s leash and he’s trying to wiggle his way out of it, the Vees are plotting (of course they are), and LUTE KNOWS LILITH?! THEY MADE SOME KIND OF DEAL?!

I’m so so curious about how Lute and Lilith know each other and why Lute would want her to deal with her daughter

But this implies that Adam had a previous deal with Lilith regarding something we don’t know yet, since Lute said she was in charge now that he was dead and that their deal pertained to her now

ALSO?! You’re telling me that’s what Adam looked like under his mask?! (I still loathe him but lowkey he was hot I’ll be honest right now)

Sir Pentious telling Cherri he loved her was so sweet

I soaked up every single scrap of Huskerdust I could within those last two episodes they own my soul and I’m so excited to see more of them in season 2

So it looks like Vox thinks Alastor is missing again which is why he’s plotting with the other Vees, but Alastor showed back up at the hotel during repairs so that might not last long

Alastor’s fight with Adam was so good holy shit omfg plz give me more of Alastor’s powers that shield was so cool and his verse in that final song gave me chills like, oh my god he was so mad and I’m here for it

And Lucifer showing up and telling Charlie she changed his heart and mind about the sinners? He is so precious plz protect this duck loving man at all costs

Charlie and Vaggie’s More Than Anything Reprise? Please I am sobbing they love each other so much it hurts

To top it all off- Alastor having beef with literally everyone will never not be funny. Fucking Susan? Are you kidding me. I was laughing so hard. Rosie seems like she deals with Susan a lot and Alastor calling her an Ornery Bitch was so fucking funny for no reason.

Everyone has beef with Susan now.

There is so much I have to say about this show and I could literally talk about it for years but for now I will be repeatedly listening to the soundtrack and impatiently waiting for season 2 because I no longer have the will to live after I sobbed on my bedroom floor over this show. VIVIENNE I AM IN YOUR WALLS-

[tojisun]

I’m in such a soap mood rn and that hockey!soap ask just near ruined meeeee!! What if he is dating a more alternative girl and he goes out of his way to find his tooth on the ice, making sure his team know that it’s not weird and he is not being over dramatic cuz its actually a very big deal. The next time his team sees her is at their engagement party and when they ask to see the ring she shows off a real pretty gold band with a pointy tooth replacing a stone.

this is so fucking peak im shaking like an old dog

part of this rambling teehee; f!reader // sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au mlist)

“wan’ ma’ fuh-kuh’ tooh’,” johnny grumbles, throbbing mouth muffled by the towel he’s using to stop the bleeding, before turning to kyle who blinks at him.

the game hasn’t resumed yet which is honestly a drag at this point, johnny thinks, because there’s only nine seconds left and sure miracles can happen within that time—some teams seem to have abundance of those—but does johnny even care anymore? no.

he’s angry and tired and in pain, and all they gave him was a white ass face towel and pinched smiles, before handing his team a four-minute penalty too. what the hell?

he would’ve complained if it wasn’t for the burning feeling in his face, thrumming from the base of his jaw to the tender press inside his cheek where the tooth was ripped out of his gums. he’s glad he was able to throw a punch in retaliation, that and the fundamental silver lining—

his loose tooth is out there.

johnny needs it.

“you… want your tooth?” kyle asks, looking at him like he’s the oddest creature in the rink. “why—”

the face-off begins, kyle and johnny turn, watching the puck fall, lumbers smacking against each other in the final grapple and skates slashing the ice, taking speed and taking force only—

the horn blows, marking the end of the game.

“fuh’ yeah!” johnny screams, banging on the glass protector, before he curls in the open arms of his teammates, laughing, bloodied gum forgotten.

they’re kicked out of the penalty box, finally—“it’s been twenty seconds, ‘tavish.”—and johnny gargles something unintelligible to price who skated towards them for a celebratory hug because there’s something johnny needs and he needs it now before the ice girls come in to swipe the rink.

he whirls past teammates trying to pull him in, waving his glove in lieu of a response because he can’t dignify them a proper one, not with the way his eyes are trained on the ice like this is his first time skating again, hesitant and eyes all-seeing.

he skates at the scene of tragedy, nose scrunching at the faint blood but otherwise empty patch of ice. god. where the hell did that go?

johnny almost gives up, almost decides to just knock out another tooth, probably the molar this time, when his eyes finally snag something that looks like it doesn’t belong on the ice. it’s tucked there in the corner of the rink, unassuming and still pink with blood.

“oh, y’r tooth,” simon grunts beside him.

“ye’,” is what johnny manages. “‘m taki’ it home.”

“…sure, whatever,” his friend says like he hasn’t done anything weirder. remember montreal 2019? yeah.

johnny skates towards the little thing, plucking it off the ice and holding it tight within his palm. he turns, blinking in surprise at seeing both kyle and john there beside simon now. the other guys are still parading, celebrating their victory with the audience, so johnny doesn’t know why his closest circle are here.

“what.”

“y’know you don’t need that for the implant, right?” john asks slowly like johnny’s some spooked thing.

“uh-huh,” is all johnny says, not understanding what price is insinuating now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and the sharp stinging pain in his gums thrums harder from within. “leh’ go. wan’ medi-hin.”

kyle huffs, shaking his head fondly, before leading the pack out of the ice after a last lap for the audience. johnny keeps up with them, bright in his own happiness, pain be damned, because their fans deserve to see the fruits of their unwavering support.

besides, he knows someone’s out there, cheering for him louder than anyone else is.

.

“ah, there it is!” johnny cheers as he rummages through his locker, grinning when he meets the curious eyes of his teammates to show off his prized possession.

“your tooth?” enzo asks, face scrunched in his slight disgust. “don’t you wanna, you know, chuck it out?”

kyle murmurs something to reyes, something distinctly like, “just leave him be, mate,” but johnny bulldozes through, excited, and replies, “hmm? nae. i’m givin’ it to my girl.”

johnny doesn’t even notice the sudden silence in the room until the awkward petering laughter of gus.

“he smashed his head harder than we thought, no? probably needs more than a dentist.”

johnny rolls his eyes with a huff and flips him off, but he stops when he noticed the genuine concern in kyle’s face, the poor lad looking at him like he truly believes gus’ words and that he’s a second away from dialling for the standby medical team for johnny.

“what,” he bites out, shoulders hunching because why are they looking at him like that?

“it’s your loose tooth, johnny,” kyle answers, bug-eyed like there’s something obvious that johnny isn’t getting.

“i know.” it’s johnny’s turn to be confused. “‘s why i’m giving it to ‘er.”

“oh for fuck’s sakes— johnny, fill us in: why are you giving your girl your tooth?” price finally pipes in, looking more tired than he was on ice.

oh! johnny thought, his mind finally catching up to the situation. he breaks out into a smile, giddiness going rampant in his chest again, his stomach swooping at the thought of it—

“i’m proposin’ to her.”

a beat.

“that answers fuck all!”

he doesn’t even know who screamed that anymore, jumping in his own surprise at their explosive reaction, before yelping when a leg pad—probably price’s—was flung over his way with sharp accuracy.

“riley!”

.

you and johnny invited the boys and their plus-ones to celebrate the engagement, keeping most of it as private as one could after johnny posted a picture of you crying in his account, with the caption, “she said yes!”

(“couldn’t you have posted that selfie of us with the ring instead, baby?”

“shit, m’bad, bon. s’just that ye were too cute cryin’, almost had me panicking when you wouldn’t stop heaving.”

“…right. okay. can i post a different picture then?”

“of course, bonnie.”)

(yourname

liked by jmactavish.91, specgru_newscentral, and others

yourname a lifetime with this fool <3… (read more)

jmactavish.91 your fool

yourname my fool 🩷)

the party was vibrant, formalities thrown away at the promise that not a single photo would be posted without anyone’s permission. any news sites were explicitly banned, guests screened because you and johnny had wanted to, at least, keep one celebration for the engagement closed off to the world.

you’re chatting with simon’s girlfriend, who is so shy and sweet, bug-eyed because she said she’s only ever seen you from her phone when she watches your games, when johnny returns with his mates and instantly slots himself beside you.

simon nods at you in greeting, while john and kyle repeat their congratulations, beaming at your quiet chuckles while johnny preens at them, so boyishly charming and endearing.

you can’t help but brush a kiss on his jaw, faint as to not transfer your gloss to his skin. johnny tips his head down and looks at you like you’ve hung the moon for him.

“since y’r engaged, i just gotta say,” kyle begins after sipping from his flute. “did you know ol’ johnny wanted to propose to you with the tooth he lost last season?”

johnny snorts and you two share a fond look, even as you quirk your brows up because you are so sure he told them, at least.

“lord,” john whispers, catching on.

“oh,” kyle adds, humour leaving his face, and is replaced with incredulity. you would have giggled if it weren’t for the fact his eyes are now trained on your hand as if to gauge how it looks.

simon grunts before you can show it off to them, and when you all turn to him, he just shrugs, avoidant, until his partner pokes his side with a confused tilt of her brows.

“i mean,” he begins, almost petulantly. “it’s johnny.”

he sniffs like that explains anything, and, given than you’re the person marrying johnny, it really does. you can’t help the giggles now, and you turn, smothering them on johnny’s shoulder who is busy cussing out his friend in murmurs.

“may i?” john asks, apparently tired of dancing around the topic.

“or course!” you reply, smiling, and put your arm out to show to them the pretty ring that your boy has given you with a warm promise of an eternity shared with him. if you��ll let him.

(there were so many more you wanted to tell johnny, so many more you wanted him to hear, but they all fell short. they all felt incomplete. but right there, in that moment, you knew what it was that you had to say. what it was that would let this bring his promise to life.

“yes,” you gasped out, choking on your own tears. “a hundred times yes, johnny!”

you two were trembling as he slid the ring on your finger, hearts throbbing with all the love reserved for each other.)

they crowd around your arm, leaning, their eyes bulging at seeing johnny’s tooth nestled there, in between the gold and the little diamonds surrounding it, and—

“i saw that fall off his mouth, oh my god.”

you laugh at kyle’s words, your heart so full and so fond because everything is just so beautiful.

johnny nuzzles his nose on your cheek, ignoring his lads in favour of kissing you.

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

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

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

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

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

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

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

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

“Leah.” 

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

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

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

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

Do you want to? 

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

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

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

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

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

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

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

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

She wipes her mouth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel safe.

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

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

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

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

“Well, you know that–” 

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

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

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

She had not expected this from herself. 

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

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

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

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

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

“Do what, my daughter?” 

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

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

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

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

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

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

Alexia is so very lost. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

“You have a lot to account for.” 

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

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

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

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re a busy person, after all. 

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

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

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

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

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

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

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

“I heard you were in London?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Im-men-lee?” 

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

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

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

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

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

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

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

The silence is awkward. 

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

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

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

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

“She’s a very good person.” 

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

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

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

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

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

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

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

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

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

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

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

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, London was great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps it never will. 

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

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

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

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

It starts off innocently. 

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

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

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

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

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

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

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

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

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She opens the next bottle for you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia knows you well.

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

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

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

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

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

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

Your fingers repay the favour. 

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

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

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

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “Okay.”

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

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

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

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

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

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

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

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

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

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

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

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

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

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

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

Is that an understatement? 

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

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

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

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

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

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

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

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

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

...

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

[bbina]

after spending the whole night with the guys, it was time to go home

“are you riding with us?” you hear sungchan ask, referring to him and eunseok since you guys did carpool on the way to the place the guys decided to meet

you glance at wonbin who was busy chatting with shotaro. wonbin feels your gaze and turns to you with a smile. that was the only answer you needed

“i’m gonna go with wonbin” you say absentmindedly

“ah, okay” sungchan says, patting your shoulder before he going to eunseok to probably tell that you wouldn’t be going home with them just yet

from your peripheral vision you see wonbin holding his hand out and just like a magnet, you instantly gravitate towards him.

“another late night date i assume?” shotaro teases, nudging wonbin with his elbow. wonbin laughs, pushing shotaro away as he blushes a bit. (he’s legitimately down bad im ctfu)

“hope you don’t mind i steal him again” you poke your tongue out at shotaro before wrapping your arms around wonbin’s, snuggling to his side as you patiently wait for them to finish chitchatting

shotaro laughs, before shooing wonbin away.

“you can keep him all you want”

you grin at shotaro before he says his goodbye to wonbin. he was probably gonna ask to ride with the rest of the guys, most probably ask eunseok to drop him off but you didn’t care as long as you were with wonbin

“sorry bout that, we were just talking about random shit as if i don’t live in the same building as him” wonbin chuckles, fishing for his car keys (more like shotaro’s) as you two walk to the parking lot.

wonbin clicks the unlock button on the keys. before you could grab the car door, wonbin himself opens it for you.

“my baby should never open her side of the door on her own” he jokes, winking as you sit down on the passenger seat with a laugh.

“god you’re insufferable” you giggle, watching him jog over to his side of the car before he turns the ignition on. you feel your cheeks start to hurt with the way you’re smiling so widely. who knew you and wonbin would ever be like this

“but you like it” he claims. which was true, you do like this side of wonbin that only you get to see. to the others he may seem a little mysterious and nonchalant, but to you? that’s a whole different story

“so, where to?” wonbin asks, as he backs up on the parking lot. his other hand on your head rest as he turns around to see where he’s going. you feel yourself blush at the sight. one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your seat as he meticulously gets out of the tight parking space.

there goes the butterflies in your stomach again. they’ve been at it for a while now. ever since that one date where he got you ‘just because’ flowers. you try to ignore those weird fuzzy feeling you get whenever wonbin’s around but lately, it seems to be impossible

“anywhere really” you say, not caring where the road takes you two. the night was still young

“i’m glad i met you, y/n” wonbin starts softly, a smile creeping up his face. stealing glances here and there as he once again drives you around the streets of seoul

“we met during freshman year” you point out, holding in your laugh as you remember how you initially met the boy beside you.

it was just like yesterday when you all were just freshmen in highschool. all fresh out of middle school as you all adjust to the new life of being a highschooler.

that year you weren’t classmates with neither eunseok and sungchan. they were classmates in another section so that meant you were alone during your first year.

that’s how you met wonbin. you were in the same class at him and you two got paired for a research paper in science together. a subject you weren’t really the brightest in

it was after school when wonbin first approached you. you were waiting for eunseok and sungchan to come pick you by the hallway when wonbin approached you for the first time.

“hi” he said so softly that you almost didn’t hear it. you looked at him in surprise, is this the first friend that’s not sungchan that you’ll ever make?

“i’m your partner–”

wonbin wasn’t able to finish his sentence when eunseok and sungchan arrive. the first thing eunseok heard out of all things was “partner” and instantly, his overprotective brother mode just switched on

“partner?” eunseok raises an eyebrow at the kid who seemed to be around his age in front of him. “you and my sister?” he pushes on, using his height as an advantage to press on the poor boy in front of him

wonbin visibly gulps and turns to you with nervous eyes. a little call for help as you’d like to think. even if the situation was funny, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for your new… friend

“eunseok quit being a dumbass he’s my partner for a paper we’re doing in science” you roll your eyes as you pull your brother away from the now shaking wonbin. poor boy must’ve been shaken up from the sudden interrogation from a guy he didn’t even know, who seemed to be in a different class in a new environment

“science? oof. good luck with her, kid” sungchan makes a sour face, teasing you. you let out an irritated sigh before smacking him and eunseok.

“hey!”

“what was that for!?”

wonbin can only watch the three of you in amusement. you, his classmate having this power against the two twin towers from another class

“anyway kid, i was just joking around back there. i’m eunseok, what’s your name?” eunseok brushes his wrinkled uniform before holding his hand out for wonbin to shake

“i’m wonbin” he mutters, shyly taking his hand

“nice to meet you wonbin! i’m sungchan!” sungchan greets, also holding his hand out

“don’t mind them. they’re practically my brothers and we’re all attached by the hip.. anyway! about our paper, we can talk about it tomorrow or i can give you my number and we can talk about it later tonight?” you suggest options since you can’t really do much now that eunseok and sungchan has arrived

wonbin hears sungchan mumbling about already giving out numbers on the first meet, earning another smack from you

“or he could join us to eat right now. i’m starving and i’m craving for ramen” eunseok proposes, having enough of prolonging the after school meal you three had planned all day.

even if wonbin wanted to decline initially, who could say no to food?

“that sounds better! that way we can get to know him too!” you cheer as you throw your thumbs up in front of wonbin

“what do you say, wonbin?” you ask, waiting for his response

“i’m cool with that” wonbin smiles at the three of you. you all cheer as he tags along with your group for the first time. who knew during the first day of classes he’d already find himself a group of friends (or acquaintances for now)

and after that, the rest was history. your little friend group, backstreet boys was formed.

who knew the same boy you were partners in for a class back in freshman year would turn out to be your partner again a few years later.

“i’m serious! who knew you’d be this important to me..” wonbin mutters the last part hoping you wouldn’t hear it but unfortunately for him, you heard it

“awweee is this wonbin finally admitting he likes me?” you jokingly coo, reaching over to pinch his now blushing cheek.

wonbin scrunches his nose as he leans towards your touch

“so what if i do?” he banters, turning his head to look at you with lovestruck eyes before turning his attention back at the road ahead.

“of course everyone likes me, it’s me, the song y/n. the one and only”

“that’s not what i meant” wonbin interjects and it made your stomach drop

your eyes widened as you retract your hand from his cheek. does he mean it like that?

“.. oh” you laughed awkwardly, caught off guard at the sudden shift in the conversation.

“yeah..” wonbin murmurs. of course you’re song y/n. the song y/n that ultimately stole his heart amidst the chaos and uncertainty of your arrangement

the song on aux suddenly plays k. by cigarettes after sex. the soft, slow mellow ambiance of the song changing the atmosphere inside the car. it was now a silent car ride heading to who knows where. wonbin then reaches his hand towards yours, intertwining them as he rests his hand on your thigh

“think i like you best when you're just with me and no one else”

wonbin sings along to the song. stealing glances here and there til the song finishes.

you’re not dumb. there was a nagging feeling at the back of your head on where this was going and you didn’t like it one bit. you thought about this for a while now. sure, you’d be beyond happy that you and wonbin would become official. disregard the whole fake dating set up and make it real once for all but it’s just unfair for wonbin.

it’s so unfair.

you both knew what you two were getting into and the last thing you wanted was to actually catch real, genuine feelings for each other.

unlike with sungchan, the feeling of being with wonbin was just different. so different that it genuinely scared you to try anything real. maybe it was the close proximity during the trip that made you daring back then. knowing that by the time the trip was over, you and wonbin were also over. like you two didn’t share those quiet moments, those kisses, those lingering touches, intimate moments with wonbin that are now a distant but fond memories

what you didn’t expect was the arrangement to continue on. you didn’t have a back up plan when you initially made this pact with wonbin and now you’re seeing the consequences.

it’s not like you didn’t fall for wonbin along the way. you definitely did at some point, but to refrain yourself from making the same mistakes you did with sungchan, you chose to suppress the feeling. the feeling wonbin makes it feel like you two are missing puzzle pieces, the feeling wonbin makes you feel so secure in yourself, the feeling wonbin makes you feel that it’s him that you want and no one else

you can’t hurt wonbin. you couldn’t hurt wonbin. you can’t be with wonbin

with a fake smile, you gently squeeze wonbin’s hand. as if it’s a sign that everything will be alright. you’re hoping that wonbin wakes up from his little dream with you in it soon. it can’t end like this.

not like this.

between the lines ★ long way home

⤷ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

 ˗ˏˋ prev | next  ˎˊ˗

★ notes .ᐟ im pissed the fuck off bc my plane just left me so enjoy the next two chapters because i know i will

★ taglist .ᐟ @callanton @annswwa @renjuneoo @pinkraindropsfell @lecheugo @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ahnneyong @haechansbbg @snowyseungs @sseastar-main @odxrilove @leeknowarchives @onlywonb @wonychu @leehanascent @jaeyunsb @au-ghosttype @revehosh @keilovr @kyusqult @dreamyyyz @ether-yeol @yangasm @qwonbani @starwonb1n @ffixtionista @daegale @scrumptiousloser @seunghancore @marksluvs @wonbinfiles @ohmykwonsoonyoung @reenfluffmarshmallow @bunni @artstaeh @yizhoutv @sie17136 @koeuh @07yujin @poollabug @vernonburger @dutifullyannoyingfox @000rpheus @wccycc @sunus-sun @highhjime @chweverni @toosspicy @heartlvrrss @s9nwoo @yoursyuno

[jealousjersey]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⊹₊.༄ pussy pleaser ⊹₊｡₊°❀⋆ೃ࿔*:･

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🫧 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🫧 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🫧

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ mike schmidt eats you out

a/n: IM BACKKKKK probably won’t post as much, been busy af. more of a short blurb but i promise longer fics coming soon!

mentions: afab fem pronoun reader x munch!mike. cum eating, pussy eating,

˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚

mikes been obsessed with you since you started babysitting for him. something about you in being in those tight leggings drove him mad. he keeps wondering how you taste, how you look naked, and what your orgasm face looks like. the thought alone consumes him. it gets especially bad when he’s working night shifts, staring at a picture of you from your social media for hours on end, just wondering how you look from his point of view, preferably with his face between your legs.

tonight mike comes home from work to you, sitting on the couch awake. you had already put abby to sleep and you were just up fucking around, reading a book or watching a movie, whatever the case, he’s just glad your awake.

seeing you nearly burns a whole through his jeans, just by looking at your fat ass in your tight leggings he’s already soaking with precum. you consume every waking thought he has.

“hey, surprised you’re still awake” he says softly, noticing the quietness of the room.

“yeah, i tried going to sleep on your couch but i just couldn’t” you say, eyes heavy as you yawn

“do you want me to help you…get to sleep?” he asks, almost innocently. his eyes are full of concern and lust. he needs to taste you. even if it’s just once.

as he says this you have a confused look on your face. “how?” you ask innocently

“i’m gonna eat you out.” he says nervously yet firmly. he needs to do this and he won’t take no for an answer.

“if you insist” you laugh as mike leads you to his room. as soon as you sit on his bed he rips your pants off of you and pulls your panties down just enough so he can lick a thick strip down your folds. you yelp at the warmth of his tongue on you.

mikes eyes are filled with lust and desire as he stares at your cunt, soaking wet. “holy fuck” he whispers at the sight of you. it’s more than he imagined, he worships your pussy. mike can’t get enough of your taste. he pushes his tongue deep inside you as his fingers rub your clit.

mike removes his tongue from you as he suctions himself onto your clit. his fingers curl inside you as you moan softly. “oh fuck mike” you moan softly, his free hand instinctively covers your mouth, muffling you as you bite on his finger, trying your best not to be loud but god you can’t help it.

“mike im gonna cum” you whimper through his hands, still muffling you. you feel him smile as his teeth brush against your clit. he curls his fingers inside you once more, the sensation being all you needed to cum all over his face. he moans unashamed. he gets more pleasure out of this than you think. mike sits up, his face glistening with your liquids. he smiles as he wipes his face with your underwear.

this really was the best sleep aid for you. you don’t even bother to clean yourself up, knowing mike will do it. you start to fall asleep as he gets you dressed in his clothes.

[hockeymenarehot]

Oh my god!! The late night call story was amazing can you make a part two please!

Late Night Sex Feat. Bill Kaulitz

ofcourse I can! im glad you enjoyed and i hope you enjoy this one as well!

pairing: best friend!bill kaulitz x fem!reader

summary: this is part 2 of Late Night Calls

warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected, sort of rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, name calling (slut, whore), degradation, praise, use of petnames (princess, darling), he calls you pretty girl once, no use of y/n, aftercare, mentions of pain medication, he tries to be gentle but it fails, not proofread ignore mistakes please, lmk if I missed anything! :)

Beep Beep Beep

Three beeps, indicating the call was over. (Or moreover that he had hung up on you) You tapped your phone again to check the time.

4:26 A.M.

You were still trying to wrap your mind around everything that had just happened. I mean, Bill is supposed to be your best friend. You didn't think 'best friends' were supposed to be on the phone at night making each other cum. You remembered the words he'd said right before he hung up "...why don't you come over and see how well you can take my cock?"

Those words rung through your head, making your heart rate speed up and the ache in your core return. Your hand began to slide down your stomach subconsciously, the aching outweighing the sensitivity of your prior orgasm. Right before your hand reached your pulsing cunt, you decided to consider his offer again. I mean, what was the worst that could happen? He was obviously into you, and taking into account how you just drenched your perfectly good bedsheets to the sound of him was probably an indicator that you were into him too.

And honestly, if he could make you squirt just by his voice, the thought of what he could do with his cock had you rubbing your thighs together all over again.

Against your better judgement, you slid your silk nightgown down (which had remained unscathed surprisingly?) and slid a pair of panties on before grabbing your keys and heading out.

It took you a surprisingly short amount of time to reach his place. Maybe due to the fact that you were practically flooring it in anticipation. Being faced with his front door, you quickly thought about the consequences of what you were about to do again. About to take a second to contemplate, the universe apparently decided for you because the door swung open.

"Hey, sweetheart. Decide to take me up on my offer, huh?"

Your heart thrummed in your chest as you took in the sight before you. His hair was slightly dishelved, but still absolutely fucking gorgeous, and his face was dusted with the prettiest shade of pink. He was wearing a black shirt, and apparently decided against pants as he was leaving little to the imagination with how his obvious boner was poking through his boxers.

Feeling vulnerable with how his eyes were practically stripping you and fucking you right there, you mumbled a small "Y- yeah.." and chose to avert his gaze. "Aw, c'mon princess, you don't have to be like that. You think I can't see how your thighs are clenching? I can tell how bad you want this. Now come inside so I can fuck you so hard you won't be able to overthink, or even think at all." He shuffled a little to the side allowing you space to walk in. You drew in a large sum of air, trying to clear your mind. You looked up at him and he gave you a comforting smile, which was all you needed to pick your feet up and walk through the door.

Knocking the air out of your lungs, he spun you around with one arm, keeping it on your lower back so you wouldn't get hurt, and pushed you up against the door. With his other he basically slammed the door shut. You didn't have any time to think about what was going on before he was viciously attacking any skin on your neck and chest. You made a mental note to buy some concealer for tomorrow after you left.

Working his way up your jawline, peppering kisses and biting your skin, he let out subtle groans. The noises he made made you impossibly more wet, and you honestly didn't think you could take the teasing after the show he gave you about an hour ago. You let out a little whimper when you felt his hard cock press against your leg "Please... t- take me." You swore you could feel him twitch beneath you. "Yeah? That's what you want princess? You sure?" You blushed at his consideration for consent, as if you had practically forgot who you were about to get fucked by. "Yes! Please! Just fuck me!" He scoffed at your impatience, as if his cock wasn't twitching at your words. "Patience, darling. I've barely gotten started with you." With that, he picked you up bridal style and walked with you towards his bedroom.

Closing the bedroom door with one foot, he almost threw you onto his bed. You noticed how is bedsheets were clean, which was honestly a bit surprising. He made his way to the foot of the bed, before climbing towards you and hovering over you. He brushed his cool fingers against your cheekbone, making you blush. "Hey pretty girl" He whispered into the shell of your ear. The name made you let out a soft whimper, and you could hear him try to contain a groan in the back of his throat. "Fuck, do you know what you do to me? What you've always done to me?" The last part came out just above a whisper, and all you could do was lie there, awaiting what he had planned for you. Bill quickly lifted his shirt off his head, clearly having waited long enough. In no more than a couple seconds he was completely naked, vulnerable for your eyes to completely take him in. To devour him, just like he was about to do with you. He stroked his completely erect cock three times, letting out a subtle moan with each one. Then, he focused his attention completely on you. And thank God he did, because his actions had you practically panting with want.

Bill took more time with you, wanting to be gentle. It was almost as if he didn't want to break you. He slowly lifted your nightgown up, exposing your bare breasts to him. His hands came up to massage them, twisting and rubbing your peaked nipples. You were beginning to become frustrated with how much time he was taking. You didn't want him to be gentle. You wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Bill... P-please just fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard!" He looked a little taken aback by your words. "Hm, such filthy words from such a pretty mouth. But how could I say no to you? You've been so good to me." It didn't take him long to basically rip your (quite nice) panties off. He took a second to admire your cunt and the way it gushed for him, running a finger through your folds making you gasp. But he wanted to follow your instructions, wanted to please you.

Because you were so wet from your little phone call with him not too long ago, Bill decided you were prepped enough. He flipped you onto your side and laid down on his side behind you. He traced his fingers down your hips before slotting his cock between your legs and abruptly pistoning himself into you, making you cry out. "Ah!" Bill chuckled a little bit at how your body reacted to him. "Fuck, you have such a perfect pussy. I know you've been thinking about this for a while now, thinking about me." He didn't give you much time to adjust to his large length before fucking into you at a brutal pace, trying to find that spot in you that would have you a crying mess. You became suddenly a bit self conscious about how much noise you were making, and how he wasn't making nearly as much noise. You covered your mouth with your hand in an attempt to muffle your sounds. This was to no avail, as Bill immediately caught on. "Ah ah, princess. Needa let me hear your sweet sounds. Needa hear just how much of a whore you are for me." The sudden transition from his sweet petnames to him calling you his whore had you clenching around his cock. "Yeah? You like that? Like when I call you my little slut? Is that what you want? To be my little -Fuck- cumdump?" You whimpered out a meek "Yes!" And he suddenly found the strength to push his cock into you even harder, finding that spot in you that had you crying out his name every time he hit it. Feeling the way your pussy spasmed around him, he reached down in between your legs to rub figure 8's around your clit. He took his other hand to play with the flesh of your breasts, not wanting any part of your body to be untouched by him. "Gonna -shit- cum for me? Go on, cum around my cock like the slut you are." It didn't take too long with how he was touching you and his filthy words to making you cum on his cock with a scream of his name. Your visions was blurry around the edges, and you were practically drooling with the intensity of your orgasm. Bill flipped you over onto your back and began fucking you at an ungodly pace that no human should be able to move at. "Bill! Wait- Ah! I'm sensitive!" This didn't stop him "Don't give me that. I know t-that you can fucking take it. Be a good whore for me." The overstimulation was driving you mad, and you could already feel another orgasm building up in between your legs. You couldn't form coherent thoughts let alone words as Bill shot his cum deep inside you with a large thrust. Soon after you also came with a loud cry, not bothering to stop the tears rolling down your pink dusted cheeks.

"You did so good for me. So fucking good for me." You cringed as he pulled out, hating the feeling of being suddenly empty. He began to walk away to get some water and some pain medication that you would probably find useful for your soreness. "Wait- don't leave." He grinned at you before pulling himself up, "Don't worry, I'll be right back." and he walked out the door.

It felt like an eternity before he was back, but he did return as he promised with some ice cold water and some over the counter pain meds. "Here you go, beautiful. You doin' alright? Did you enjoy that?" He spoke gently as he laid back down beside you. "Enjoy it? Bill, you just fucked my brains out. Don't think I'll be walking for a couple days." He smiled at you while he trailed his fingers down your stomach.

"Guess that means I have you to myself for a couple days then too, huh?"

a/n: I tried my best to write something u might find enjoyable! thanks so much for all the love. if you've sent a request just know I've seen it and I'll be working on it! requests are still open because I really love your ideas. be sure to keep sending prompts! <3

[sage-green-matcha]

LOVE LETTERS - ETHAN LANDRY 💌

Small love letters Ethan would give you during your 3 years of dating in high school!

Content includes: fluff! Cuteness idk!! Small argument :(

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Dear Y/n,

Hi :) you did really well on your project today. I hope you get the grade you want! You look beautiful. Yours, Ethan Landry <3

Dear Y/n,

Hi :) I missed you in 5th period today. Hope you feel better soon! I like your sweater by the way :)) Yours, Ethan Landry <3

To my dear Y/n

You looked so beautiful today, I wish I could see you more throughout the day. I can’t wait to see you later <3 have an amazing day :) - Ethan <3

Dear Y/n!

Today I got an A on my final! I know I was stressing you out since I was freaking out!! Thank you for dealing with me!! I love you, have a good day ;) <3 Yours, Ethan <333

Dear Y/n

I know you’ve been feeling down but I just wanted to say I love you. I can’t wait to see you at lunch. You look pretty like always, hope you feel better soon. Yours, Eth <3

Dear Y/n!

My mom said you can come over for dinner tonight! Don’t get nervous I already know my family is gonna love you. Quinn is practically already in love with you so don’t worry about her. Yours, Ethan Landry <3

Dear Y/n <3

My parents literally adored you. They keep asking when you’re gonna come back. My moms already planning on inviting you to Christmas. Have a great day! I love u and adore u sm! Yours, Ethan :)

Dear Y/n!!!

When you walked into the classroom I was like “What the fuck?!!” You look more than beautiful, I love you and your style so much. You look so good. Style me next lol. From your amazing boyfriend, Ethan Landry <33

Dear Y/n!!!

Meet me at the library after school today? I have a surprise for you! Bring yourself and that’s it! Love you so so much! - Ethan! <3

Dear Y/n

I hope you liked your surprise from yesterday! I can’t wait to see what dress you wear to the prom. I already know you’re gonna look beautiful. Your baby, Eth <3

Dear Y/n <3

I had so much fun at prom with you. I can't stop thinking about you and that beautiful dress of yours. You’re taking over my brain but I’m not complaining. From your cutie of a boyfriend, Ethan Landry!!!

Dear Y/n!!!

I’m so hungry, text me so we can figure out what to get for lunch. Legitimately starving, I could eat you up ;) jk…but also not jk? ANYWAYS! lmk :) - Ethan!! <3

Dear Y/n

I know you’re upset at me. I’m sorry. You know that I will always support you in whatever you do. I was just scared to be away from you and I hope you know I love you and will support all of your decisions. Yours, Ethan Landry <3

Dear Y/n!

I can’t believe you’re leaving me for a whole week. I might just die without you. I hope you have the most fun on your trip! Hopefully, London is as beautiful as you are! (Which is impossible) - Your sad boyfriend, Ethan Landry <3

Dear Y/n

Oh my god, I missed your face so much. Thank you for bringing me all those snacks! I loved getting to see you this weekend. So glad to have you back I was so touch starved - Ethan! <33333

Dear Y/n:

Our last week of high school!!! I can’t wait to move into our apartment soon. You know I love you!! Get to packing! Yours, Eth <3

My dear Y/n

For the last 3 years, I have been writing you letters and giving them to you in between passing periods. Im gonna miss this a lot. But I’m glad that we’re getting to grow together. I'm so thankful for you and all your support. I can’t wait to walk up on that stage and look for you in the crowd. I love you so so much. Maybe when we get settled into our apartment I can write you notes on the fridge with magnets or something. Yours, Ethan Landry <3