#sorry for the length of this post im just getting a bit tired and sad seeing the amount of people on here who are fighting for good causes!

[hofftrans]

Getting real comfortable unfollowing and/or blocking blogs that only use political activism as a way to give themselves a feeling of like moral hierarchy. Like I think it's something we all struggle w to an extent, there's this long held concept of "I can only feel that I am good if I have someone bad to compare myself to" and in a terrifying world with so many terrible, terrible things going on in it I so understand the desire to be sure in the knowledge that you are a good person.

But part of kindness and community and compassion is being able to communicate patiently and empathetically with others, and so often I see posts or tags on this site that could be incredibly informative and create real change if they weren't written like somebody trying to get a mic drop moment instead of trying to get people to change and grow.

This is not to say minorities need to or should be polite to their oppressors, that's absolutely not the message of this post and I wanna clarify that to avoid a "love pancakes = hate waffles" situation.

The message of this post is about the amount of posts on here that bring up any issue in the world at all and phrase it as "not that any of you give a shit" or "and no one fucking cares" or "reblogging this is literally the least you can do" or "but I know you'll just ignore this so fuck you"

Like idk I just feel like we've accidentally recreated protestant values and catholic guilt over the idea of actual change, as well as the dangers involved in like "you should know to do the right thing because you're SCUM IF YOU DONT" instead of going "here's some education or a way to help" and then responding that way once someone refuses growth or change.

I'm going to try and practice what I preach here by explaining one of the reasons I think this is so dangerous without insisting you're a monster for not knowing: a large amount of the population suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder, and one of the major ways ocd can present itself is ocpd or as my mates and I have come to call it "ethical ocd." Ethical ocd (in vague terms bc I'm not a doctor) is the extreme anxiety/fear/obsession over being morally wrong or a bad person and sufferers often feel the need to prove absolutely that they are good and can often feel the need to self harm or partake in dangerous behaviour if they make any mistakes or have an intrusive thought of a violent or hurtful nature. I know this because I've suffered from this a lot throughout my life, and as a teenager I spent many years away from tumblr due to how the moral hierarchy culture here was just like pouring fuel directly onto an open bonfire. This is obviously an issue many people don't know about and I get that, I feel no judgement towards them for that. I'm just pleading with people to consider whether their activism on here is coming purely from a place of actually wanting to help people improve their behaviour and improve the world we live in or if it comes from a much deeper need to feel sure and right in yourself, which again is not something that is a moral failure or makes you a monster, just something I really hope people can get help with before it spirals into a more and more harmful behaviour

[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

[byierficrecs]

when u go through submissions, do you read them before you make the graphics, post it etc? bc obviously some of these fics tend to be longer so do you have a backlog of fics you get through eventually and shorter fics to read/post if you havent finished any other ones? or do u post the ones with the most recs? is a combination of both where if a fic has more recommendations you dont read it vs if just one submission mentions it you read it? it im just curious as to how that works especially because you’ve mentioned that the graphics can take quite a while, which is pretty evident on account of how nice they look btw, so i was wondering how the reading side of that looked like !! (sorry in advance if i come across as rude or anything of the sorts in my ask, it genuinely wasnt my intention as i was just curious)

hello! anything under 40k i read in its entirety, anything over that (chaptered fics) i try to read a handful of chapters,,, maybe 10-15k to get a good idea of the vibe. it's also important to me because the submissions (and authors in ao3) sometimes omit relevant tags and it hasn't happened, but i'm scared i might at some point share something with some heavy warning that was not mentioned anywhere :S

(i've been in various fandoms and read a lot of fics,,, the amount of times i've read something with mcd that is not tagged or mentioned is unfortunately in the double digits ;-;)

in regards to the order in which i read the stories, it's the order in which they are posted! i try my best to do the submissions in the order in which they arrive, but i do switch things around depending on length (i try not to group long fics), author repetition and trope. for instance, domestic fluff tends to end up with pastel graphics and it'd be a bit much to post five thingies that look very similar in a row; so, i put other stuff in between.

sometimes, when i'm too tired or overwhelmed and don't want to read (it happens), i switch long stories for short ones on the go.

i've never just "trusted that a story is good", sort to speak. there are some authors i love so i know their stuff is good without reading it, but they also deserve to have their work read and i do still need to get the vibe right. fics that are shared more than once are rare (i think it's only happened 4 times in total), but i promise that is not a factor in how i organise or approach the stories.

(besides, if that were the case and i admitted it, then people would start spam-submitting the story so i'll hurry with the graphic and that would just make me sad and anxious)

i hope this answers your questions? i confess, i just woke up so this might not make that much sense x.x anyway, please don't worry about your tone, you didn't come across as rude whatsoever~ happy holidays!

[h2bakugou]

🍀 hello! I have a suggestion

How would the class 1 a boys react to you both getting recognized in public as "the secret class 1 a couple?!" And seeing it on the news or social media, Before yous are dating. Hope this makes sense 💖

a/n: hi!! this is super cute! i decided to do a bunch of the boys from 1-a, i didn’t get to do all of them, but this is certainly a cute idea!!

headcanon: them reacting to news of being a couple before they’re actually a couple

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

It happens during a training battle with class 1-B. 

It’s just a little get together, the two classes joining for some competitive training.

You’re working with Bakugou since he tolerates you the most, which he would gladly chose you over Beavis and Butt-Head Kirishima and Kaminari.

He also has a crush on you but that’s a secret teehee.

You got one on him too so don’t act all innocent.

But of course, Monoma happens to be one of the members of the group you face off with.

He’s just messing with you, teasing you. Calling you pet names like Angel or Honey.

He’s doing it ‘cause it clearly pisses Bakugou off.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners, flirting with your significant other.” Monoma apologizes as he slaps Bakugou’s shoulder, activating his quirk.

“We’re not dating!?” You yell as you charge at the blonde that isn’t your crush.

“So you mean the entire class has been lying to me?” Monoma pouts.

After training, Bakugou asks you out, stating he’d been thinking of doing it sooner but he had been caught up with staying top of the class-

He was most certainly jealous.

»»————-　★　————-««

izuku midoriya

»»————-　★　————-««

HIS MOM. PLEASE. IT’S HIS MOM AND ALL MIGHT THAT ARE LIKE YOOO CONGRATS ON yOU TWO GETTING TOGETHER.

Like legit, Deku’s in some parent-teacher conference and All Might is like ‘many things are blossoming, such as young love.’

And his mom is just like ‘finally you and y/n got together, about damn time.’

And Deku’s just like ????? IM SORRY????////

Literally races over to you and is like

“They think we’re together-”

And you’re just like

“Well damn we should be” *lip bite*

Deku blushes but asks you out on the spot so he doesn’t have to explain to his mom that it wasn’t like that.

Lowkey he had the biggest crush on you and was just really nervous that you were too occupied with studies to even notice him.

His mom is so proud of him, probably throws him a party or something for your first official date- please i love her 

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Tell me why I think this fool finds out about the whole ‘secret couple’ thing from Dabi-

It’s just so bad that it’s absolutely perfect.

Tell me that this crispy ass patchwork villain would not take every opportunity to tease Shoto.

“So you came here to fight me with your true love? Perhaps romance isn’t dead.”

Literally about to light his ass on fire and Shoto’s just frozen-yeah go on laugh I know you want too-and just stares at this dude like??? 

come again? pardon?

Deadass looks over at you and just raises an eyebrow.

“I think he thinks we’re a couple.” You fill in the blanks and Todoroki eventually nods.

“Well yes, they are indeed my true love, but I think this might be a bit extreme for a first date. Perhaps when we’re done beating your ass, I can take them out for dinner.”

chivalry isn’t dead *heart eye emojis*

»»————-　★　————-««

denki kaminari

»»————-　★　————-««

Honestly with the flirty comments you litter under each other’s social media posts, google probably be recommended y’all relationship stuff, those little heart lamp message things, matching necklaces, technology was dropping all the hints.

No but Kirishima probably just assumes you’re together when Kaminari brings you along to one of the mall trips they usually go on.

“Dude you finally asked them out, sick, took you long enough.” 

Cue red Kaminari. Man is a tomato. Like he just turns to you shaking throwing a thumbs up.

“Awe, you like me?” You give him a hug and kiss his cheek, shoving your hand in his.

“Yeah, totally, I mean who wouldn’t.” Kaminari is back to being smug, he’s got a pretty person’s hand in his own he is now taken JSFSJFJ

He will literally be in debt to Kirishima for getting the two of you together. Like he’s deadset on somehow repaying Kirishima.

»»————-　★　————-««

eijiro kirishima

»»————-　★　————-««

Two words. Katsuki Bakugou.

Kirishima is super sweet, like I just see him doing a bunch of really nice stuff for you, helping you carry things to your dorm, or like maybe doing your hair if you asked.

Bakugou is extremely observant and will just watch how y’all act but like he’s finally so tired of watching you act like a couple. He knows you two have to be a thing so why hasn’t Kirishima mentioned it.

WHY IS BKAUOGU MAD THAT KIRISHIMA IS LIKE NOT SAYING HE”S TAKEN DUDE FKSFKSJI JUST KNOW HE WOULD BE SJFSKFSJK

“We get it you’re together! Just cut the sappy shit already!” Bakugou snaps randomly one day because you’re just sitting in his lap because all the couch seats are taken.

Your cheeks burn and Kirishima’s face turns the same crimson color as his hair.

“Dude we’re-”

“Friends.” You finish, but there’s a hint of sadness.

“You certainly don’t act like. Fucking ask each other out already goddamn.”

Do what he boss says.

Kirishima brings you pretty flowers and asks you out, literally taking you on a date when you say yes, god he’s so sweet love him kiss kiss.

»»————-　★　————-««

tenya iida

»»————-　★　————-««

Honestly, I think Aizawa’s gonna just have to lecture Iida on social cues. ‘Cause Iida may seem like he’s just being a good class rep, but walking you to and from class, carrying your bag, and tucking hair behind your ear are most certainly beyond what classifies as ‘class rep behavior.’

A bunch of students from class 1-a are gonna be really suspicious, whispering around, making plans to try and catch it happening.

Sure enough, Iida’s carrying your bag as you walk back toward the dorm building, your pinkies just barely touching, before you finally heave a sigh and interlock yours with his.

Kaminari can’t hold in his excitement, congratulating the navy-haired class rep on scoring such a hottie.

“I’m confused, you’re congratulating me-”

“Because you finally asked (y/n) out!” Iida just turns red and stares at you.

“No no, I think you may have misinterpreted!”

“Really? On god? Just like that?” You pout, lowering your head.

“No! I...” 

Iida quite literally has to prove he likes you by kissing you in front of the class. Guess it’s not really a secret anymore.

»»————-　★　————-««

hanta sero

»»————-　★　————-««

Much like Kirishima, Bakugou and/or Kaminari and/or Kirishima play a big role in ‘exposing’ the two of you.

Late nights in each other’s dorm playing video games?

Wearing each other’s sweaters?

Picnics and walks together?

Yeah try convincing off-brand pikachu, red robin, and the fitness gram pacer test you’re not together.

the fitness gram pacer test bit sounded much better in my head but i didn’t really have any other funny nickname for bakugou other than johnny test which made about as much sense as the fitness gram pacer test.

“Yo we’re going to the mall!” Kaminari is the first to spill the plans for the weekend.

“Oh shoot alright-”

“I meant us. Don’t you have a date with (Y/n)?” Kaminari points to the rest of the group, excluding you and Sero who sat side by side, under a knitted blanket.

“Uhm, Kaminari we’re-”

“Oh no, I know you like them.” Kaminari leans in really close to Sero’s face before squishing his cheeks and turning him to face you.

“I’m so sorry.” Sero whispers to you.

You roll your eyes and lean over, planting a kiss on his cheek, earning a few cheers from Mina and Kaminari who pretty much played matchmaker.

Sero takes you out on a date when they plan to go to the mall, but it was really all a ruse to spy on you on your date.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[rhapsoddity]

Let you down

ive not posted fanfics in eons, and im only posting this bc its easier to get this out through writing rather than a comic

Hermitcraft au angst time wooOOO-

_____________________________

Grian was warm. 

And sleepy.

He didn’t really wanna get up from his warm nest. But he was overtired. He could feel his body aching to get up and at least stretch. Grian shifted a little, reluctant to get up. He woke up a little more at a familiar voice.

“Grian…?” They sounded hesitant and… worried? “Oh man, please wake up…”

Grian shifted, groaning as he shifted his weight a little.

“Mmmmnngh hey Mumbie-”

Mumbo sighed in relief. When he made this containment in the first place, so long ago, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was going to work. He was sure on knocking Grian out with redstone, but keeping him alive and preserved for this long? There were hundreds of things that could have gone wrong! He was just damn lucky that the redstone contraptions surrounding the box stayed functional all these years.

“How are you feeling Gri?”

“Tired.” Grian grumbled, “Man, did you let me oversleep again?”

“... You could say that.” He grimaced.

“Mumbo! You know I have to at least try finishing a build this month!” He sighed.

Grian started to sit up when a wave of hair swatted him in the face. Okay, mystery hair woke him up a lot more. On giving himself a second to feel, it was like… his hair had quadrupled in length overnight? How- and his nest was surrounded by obsidian? That would be a pain to mine through, when did anyone have time for this?

“Mumbo? This isn’t your style of prank-”

“-It is my fault.” Mumbo bit his tongue. He wasn’t sure how to approach admitting what he’d done to Grian. Would he understand and forgive him?

Before Mumbo could explain Grian got up and left the room, Mumbo scrambling to follow. Grian petted Professor Beaks as he exited the room, before seeing what was where grassy fields once was.

“Grian wait! Let me exp-”

“W o a h … “

Grian has slowed down in awe of the build surrounding him. It was a beautiful church, it was clear in the craftmanship that this build had a lot of care and pride in making it. Stained glassed adorned the walls, the morning light projecting a plethora of rainbows onto the stones that the main hall with. His eyes lit up at seeing himself, in his nest, as one of the stained glass designs. This build was too complex, and Grian had slowly noticed, too weathered to have been built in one night. How long had his nap been?

“Mumbo… did you build this?”

He shook his head, a sad glint in his eyes.

“No, I built around your nest. The locals built this around your room while I was away.”

“This didn’t spring up overnight… did it?”

“No,” Mumbo sighed, his eyes trailing down to the floor. Grain wasn’t used to his best friend acting this… anxious and guilty? “This is why I wanted you to wait… so I could explain…. A lot has changed since you were last awake.” Grian narrowed his eyes at Mumbo. What was he getting at? What did he do?

“Mumbo. How long was I asleep for?”

“...”

“...Mumbie?”

“Centuries. I’m not really sure how many, it’s been a blur.”

Grian laughed a little nervously. 

“Haha… nice prank..? But you gotta do better to-”

“I’m sorry Gri.”

Grian swallowed the lump rising in his throat. It added up; the long hair, the old church- but why???

“Mumbo. What. Happened.”

Mumbo backed up a little. He was planning to let Grain down slowly, not dropping him in the deep end, but the words were already tumbling out of his mouth before he could cushion them.

“There was a meteor. Most burn upon coming through the atmosphere but this one? It was different and big. I wasn’t sure what effect it was going to have on the land, but I did know one thing; anyone left out there was going to die.-”

Grian was barely keeping up with Mumbo’s train of thought. If people were going to die, why not have him help?

“I knew you would have wanted to help, even into the impact… I’m sorry Gri i couldn’t let you, I can’t lose you.”

“W-what are you getting at?”

“I- hell it’s even uncomfortable saying it- I made you sleep. And kept you alive until it was safe again. Redstone is a powerful substance.”

“I- you- Mumbo you drugged me??!?”

Grian was taken aback. It wasn’t like Mumbo to drug people. It’s true Grian would have never agreed to this, he was right, Grian would have fought till his last breath. But making him sleep? Stealing him away from his time, his place in the world without permission? That wasn’t fair!

“I’m s-sorry!”

“Are you? Mumbie if the circumstances came again would you do it again if it meant keeping me?”

Mumbo stayed silent. Grains frustration grew.

“Fine! The effects of the meteor hitting, that can’t have lasted that long, there’s clearly civilization-” He gestured at the building surrounding them. “- Why didn’t you wake me sooner? Did you want to keep me all to yourself???”

“No!!!” Mumbo cried out, tears forming. He didn’t want it to come to upsetting Grian, but he was far too late for that. “After I protected you, I heard rumours of technology that could stop the meteor, or at least defect it off its course so I didn’t have to worry. Gri I travelled to the other side of the world to save everyone. But I was too late, it hit, and I was buried deep in caves- I didn’t have any equipment-”

“You’re immortal!”

“Immortality doesn’t mean I can break through thousands of layers of stone! I only just managed to return to you this week!”

“And you waited a week?”

“A week is nothing,” he sighed, wiping at his tears, “I needed to figure out how to explain it to you- but clearly that didn’t go well-”

Grian didn’t respond to that. He just turned around and headed for the exit.

“W-Wait! Grian where are you-?”

He turned around, the anger in his eyes making Mumbo wince. It was a rarity Grian was angry, and it was terrifying.

“Away. I’m not sure where. I have a lot to process, away from you.”

And with that, Grian took off.

And Mumbo fell to his knees, sobbing.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Recovering Your Catfish: Touch

Summary- 1.7k Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader. You are up early to make that Lemon Layer Cake for later that night and Frankie comes searching you out, wrap you into his arms. There was once a time he wasn’t always this affectionate in his recovery. 

A/N- A self indulgent series I don’t expect anyone to pay attention to. But I just love this boy being so soft for his girl. I am tagging @babiiface95​ cause she helped me with these thoughts. 

Masterlist

The smell of lemon and sugar took over your sun warmed kitchen, the windows open to allow a breeze to flow through before the day got too hot. It was also why you were up early in the morning, before even getting dressed to get this lemon cake made for tonight. 

Confectioner sugar was spread around the counter top where you were making the frosting, the cake sitting next to the oven ready to pop it in as soon as the oven would get to temp. 

Your finger dabbled into the beginning mix of the frosting, bringing it to your mouth to suck the sweetness off in a test. More zest was needed and you got your grater to start taking off some of the peel, humming along softly to the radio Frank had wired in the window by the sink, the antenna only being able to pick up any decent stations from that spot. 

Frankie came down the old wooden stairs in just his boxers, having woken to find you gone. Which was not unusual, but the drive to have contact was strong, it grounded him from all those bad thoughts that regularly plagued his mind. Instinctively he knew you would be in the kitchen, and he was about to cross the threshold when he saw you at the old butcher block you used as your kitchen island. 

Your back was to him, your hair was curled up into a messy bun atop your head, strays of hair poking every which way as you didn't bother to brush it yet, just balling it up off your neck to combat the heat that was already starting. The slope of your neck was tilted as you studied something he couldn't see. Your tank top had ridden up slightly to expose the dip in the small of your back, cute boy shorts covering your bottom, but then from there down was bare legs and feet dancing slightly in place on the old worn linoleum flooring he promised to one day replace. 

You were so perfectly at home that you didn't break from what you were doing when you looked over your shoulder to smile at Frank, your lips turning up almost lazily as you greeted him good morning between your singing along to the radio. 

“What's got you up so early Frankie?” You ask as you tap your grater over the bowl and roll the lemon on the wood to loosen it up before slicing it in half, going to squeeze it in the frosting. You felt heavy masculine arms slide around your hips while he pressed his face into your neck, breathing in deeply. 

It had been a few days since you brought him home from the airport, aside from that hug and grasping your hand, Frank had yet to really let you touch him. Not even in his sleep would he let you press against him as you normally did, cuddling each other in sleep. Every morning you would find him gone, sleeping in his chair in the living room with the television on mute. At first you tried to be understanding, give him his space while he adjusted back to everyday life. He had been through an ordeal, one you couldn’t begin to understand. 

But it continued, day after day the way he kept space, sure to never let his fingers brush with yours or take a step back when you passed him. You could see from his expression that he wanted to, but was holding himself back. 

One night you two were watching tv, on opposite ends of the couch. You could see him looking down at a beer bottle in his hands, rolling it. Not even focusing on whatever was playing. You had spent the time side eyeing him, trying to figure out how to bring this new distance between each other up to him. 

Might as well just do it you finally decided when you pushed up off the couch and approached him, taking the bottle from his hands. “Frankie…” You said in that soft way you always said his name, shifting him to sit back and you straddled his lap. 

His eyes went wide, his hands held away while he stuttered. “Wh-what are you doing Y/N?” 

You slid your hands along his chest and reached to take his hand and place one on your hip, then repeating the action till he was holding onto you. 

“What does it look like Catfish?” You purred slightly with a smile. “I missed you and wanted to cuddle. But is this okay?” 

“Yes… I guess?” Frank muttered, looking a bit lost in how to respond. You could feel how tensely rigid he was, nervous and uncomfortable. 

“I woke up Mon Cherie and you were gone.” Frank muttered against your neck, pressing his entire body in against you like he couldn’t get close enough, you chuckled while tilting your head so he could nibble against the length of your neck.

“I wanted to get this cake done before it's too late. Gotta have something to serve the neighbors when they come over this evening for supper.” You scooped a bit on your fingertip once more and held it up over your shoulder which he took a teasing taste, refusing to let your finger go from between his teeth and a swirl of his tongue. “What do you think?” 

“Open a bakery and I will be your little errand boy for more tastes of that.” he rumbled when he finally let your finger go so that you could return back to whipping your frosting till it was smooth, tinted just barely yellow from the fresh lemon you added. 

The welcoming citrus scent was paired with warm kisses on your neck as Frankie nuzzled in against you, sure to grind himself against you, his tone gravelly, and you were unsure if it was the early morning hours causing it, or the excitement he was building up between you two. 

“How can I entice you to return to bed Mon Cherie?” 

You grab some saran wrap and cover your frosting, slipping from his hold so his hands fell to the butchers block, watching you while you stuck the frosting in the fridge and slid the cake into the now warm oven. 

“You got… 45 minutes before I HAVE to be down here to check the cake.” 

A grin cracked on his face, his hair still askew from waking up and making him look boyish. 

He was so stiff underneath you, his breathing clipped like he was trying to tolerate your touch. You had been pressing gentle kisses on his neck, but you could tell he wasn't enjoying himself and you pulled back. Maybe it was too soon, or maybe… 

Maybe he no longer saw you that way? 

Usually whenever he returned home after being away on a mission, you couldn't keep him off you. Not that you tried. Even during the bad ones. 

This time, it was so different and you were lost about what to do. It was only seconds but the bit of doubt in your eyes matched the sadness in his own. “Im sorry Y/N…” he started and you just shook your head, moving to untangle yourself from him but he grasped your hips to hold you in place, sinking you back onto his lap. “It's not you, I swear.” 

Frank could always read your emotions since the day you met. You didn't try removing yourself again and fidgeted your fingers together. “What is going on Frank?” 

He let his hands fall to the couch cushions, rubbing his palms against them while he worked his jaw, looking for the words to say. “Y/N… I’m tainted. Like after this mission, you deserve better than me. Its killing me, cause I just want to keep you but fuck baby. I don’t deserve you.” 

Your brows arched in confusion, not at all expecting to hear that from him. 

“Frank why would you-” You started and suddenly he was moving to a stand, you sliding from his lap to the couch. “-Where are you going?” You scramble up, but he was so quick, quicker then you could process and he was out the door and off the porch. You rushed to the door, watching as the truck's headlights flicked on, cutting through the swamps darkness and pulling away, more confused than before. 

You laid sweaty on your back, staring up at the lazy way the ceiling fan swung through the humid morning heat. Frank was laying further down the bed, his head laying on your belly, humming satisfied himself as your fingers brushed through his hair gently, letting yourself enjoy the post orgasm bliss. 

“Mmmh, you know Frank that timer is about to go off any minute.” You break the silence and he groans while rolling to his side to look up your body at you. 

“You want me to go check it?” 

Lifting your head from the pillows, you arch your brows with a smirk. “Do you know how to tell if the cake is done?” 

Frank shrugged a bit. “Well… it can’t be hard can it?” 

You shoved at his shoulder with a shake of your head and reached down to grab his shirt from the night before since it would cover you enough to go streaking through the house. “Catfish, you are going to make me burn my cake and have to go get something from the ice box if you had it your way.” You stuck your tongue out at him as you left the room. “And I ain't serving the neighbors no wanna be homemade cake.” 

You sprinted into the kitchen just as the timer went off and grabbed mitts to stuff on your hands. Pulling open the door, you pull out your delicate cake that has raised beautifully. You could already tell that it was gonna be like your Granny's cake that you grew up with, easy to layer and would be a lovely decadence to finish off the night with. 

Frank followed along behind you, just not with as much of a rush. So he happened to catch you leaning over to pull the cake out at just the right moment. 

“I swear Mon Cherie, I will never be tired of seeing you in the kitchen.” He approached again, this time his hands finding your bare hips under his shirt sweeping just over your ass. 

“You're insatiable.” You mutter while checking the cake with a toothpick to make sure it was coming out clean. 

“Only for you.” 

[artificialqueens]

Girl I Met On The Internet, 5/6 (Crystal x Gigi) - Strawberry

a/n these chapters aren’t really that long but i keep taking forever to get them written and edited lol but anyway i hope ya’ll enjoy!! 

Gigi stayed at Crystal’s house for a while after their kiss. Crystal showed Gigi all of the art that was not yet hanging up on her walls, gave her a house tour, and introduced her to her cat Tic Tac, who Gigi instantly fell in love with. 

Gigi finally had to go when Crystal said her mom was on her way home from work, and would not be happy with Crystal if she found out she had someone over without permission. 

“Are you sure you’ll be fine walking home?” Crystal asked, watching Gigi put her shoes back on from where she was standing in the kitchen.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I live like, two streets down, actually so I’ll be there in like five minutes!” Gigi reassured her.

They hugged goodbye, Crystal walking her out and standing on her front porch until Gigi went out of sight. A few minutes later, Gigi messaged her.

gigi: i’m home and i miss ur cat

crystal: :o only tic tac??? not me??

gigi: yeah <3

crystal: you’re a loser

To Crystal’s disappointment, she didn’t hear from Gigi again until much later. Crystal had been debating getting off TikTok and going to sleep early for once when Gigi finally messaged her back. 

gigi: do u wanna facetime

crystal: YEAH!

Crystal balanced her phone on her history textbook that was still laying on her bed and grabbed Tic Tac, knowing Gigi would love seeing the cat again. 

“Hi!” Gigi waved, gasping when she saw Tic Tac in frame. “Who’s the cutest cat ever?”  

Gigi showed Crystal her room and her closet. Eventually, they both exited the FaceTime app to go on Twitter, but stayed on the call. They made it their mission to annoy the other girls by spamming them with pictures of frogs and other memes they had found funny.

crystal: frog in a hat frog in a hat

nicky: why not sheep? they are the superior animal!

crystal: No <3 but i fuck with you for trying

Jackie: Does this happen often?

nicky: crystal and gigi are always on some bullshit. just ignore them queen

jan!: nicky pls stop trying to steal jackie 

nicky: i simply breathed

“Hey, I think I’m going to bed,” Crystal yawned, “I’m tired. I would’ve been asleep by now if you didn’t want to talk.”

“Wait, before you go, do you maybe want to walk to school together tomorrow?” Gigi asked, coming back onto the app to see Crystal’s face.

Crystal smiled. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Great! I’ll message you in the morning. Goodnight, ba- bitch!”

Being so tired, Crystal almost didn’t catch Gigi’s slip up. “Goodnight, Gigi.”

Being just friends was going to be difficult, Crystal decided before finally allowing herself to fall asleep.

-

Walking to school became Gigi and Crystal’s new thing. With Crystal’s mom’s permission, Gigi would join Crystal after school on days she didn’t have practice, often staying for dinner. Crystal’s mom met Gigi a week after they started doing this, and was very skeptical the first time she met Gigi, not expecting Crystal to have befriended a cheerleader, but quickly welcomed her with open arms.

After Gigi had dinner with Crystal and her mom, her and Crystal went back into Crystal’s room to get some homework done. Gigi’s mom requested her to come home after Gigi and Crystal finished Gigi’s algebra homework. They were both pretty bad at math, but Crystal insisted if they worked together they would be able to figure it out, which was debatable at best.  

“I don’t want to go. I’m too comfy,” Gigi complained, not wanting to get up from Crystal’s bed.

“You have to. Sorry.” Crystal replied, making Gigi stick her tongue out at her.

A few moments later, Gigi sat up, remembering that she wanted to ask Crystal something. “Hey, so before I go, I was thinking…”

“You think?” Crystal teased, giggling. Gigi gasped in mock offense, throwing a pillow at her head.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Gigi continued, “I was thinking that we should have lunch together tomorrow. Only talking to you in the halls is not enough.”

“Yeah, of course! Do you want to meet me in the art room then?” Crystal asked, shutting her textbook and turning to face Gigi. 

“No. I’ll come meet you outside your class. What happens next is a surprise.”

Those words replayed in Crystal’s brain for the rest of the night. A conversation that happened in the group chat when Crystal was in the shower got her even more excited.

gigi: guys guess what

jan!: yeah??

gigi: i miss crystal :(

jan!: weren’t you at her house like an hour ago

heidi: hold up WHAT

heidi: miss gigi was WHERE????

jaida: what now

gigi: JAN SHUSH you ruined my reveal!!!

jaida: JAN YOU KNEW THIS??? and didn’t wish to share???

jan!: uh-

heidi: not a reveal DHGJSDH

gigi: i’m gonna ask crystal out and then after that i was gonna send a selfie of us revealing that we are dating AND that we live in the same town and everyone would lose their minds at the superior couple

jaida: now why would you announce that if she’s in here

gigi: SHIT

gigi: everyone spam the chat she doesn’t read up 

jan!: SUPERIOR COUPLE?? HELLO???

jan!: stealing your idea. we aren’t dating yet but look at me and jackie :-) 

nicky: I HEARD JACKIE IM HERE

jaida: nicky why do you hit on everyone who’s not available dgfhfj first gigi, and then you were a crystal stan and now this

nicky: why are you acting like this is a problem jai

Jackie: I find it hilarious. Jan only reserves that side of her when Ariana Grande posts a selfie. I’m chopped liver to her.

jan!: JACKIE THAT’S A LIE DHJBFDKH WHY DO YOU ONLY COME IN HERE TO BULLY ME

Jackie: ;)

gigi: jackie’s using emojis we did it gays

nicky: i am a homewrecker. jaida, find a partner and i will flirt with you too

heidi: nicky literally no one asked

jaida: well damn.. 

jaida: hey heidi you single??

heidi: NOT THISIDHDGKJS

Crystal usually didn’t read up, due to pure laziness and the fact that these girls could send fifty messages a minute if they wanted to. It was too much for Crystal sometimes. This time she decided to read up, and she was glad she did. They didn’t try hard enough to hide anything Gigi said, and Crystal was even more excited for the next day.

-

Crystal got up extra early that morning, putting more effort than she usually would on taming her curly hair and put on a tad bit more makeup than usual. She searched her closet for the perfect outfit, and finally picked out a hot pink jumpsuit with purple flowers on it, with a headband with the same design on it to match. 

She loved what she saw when she finally looked at herself in her full length mirror. Crystal knew this was going to be a good day; she looked good, and Gigi was going to ask her out during lunch. She was so excited.

gigi: im on ur street!

Crystal tried her best to mask her excitement as she walked down the hall and out the front door, not wanting Gigi to know she was aware of her plan.

“You look so cute!” Gigi exclaimed as soon as she saw Crystal.

“Thanks! You do too, we match!” Crystal replied.

Gigi was wearing a pink floral shirt with white shorts, and Crystal thought she looked very nice. Gigi always did, but it didn’t appear that she put in any extra effort, unlike Crystal did.

Crystal didn’t let that upset her, she told herself that the way Gigi dressed probably wouldn’t affect anything Gigi had planned. 

Due to Crystal’s impatience, the morning felt much longer. When the bell signaling that it was lunch finally rang, Crystal couldn’t hide the gigantic grin on her face if she tried. Right outside the doorway stood Gigi, and two other girls who were on the cheerleading squad. Crystal found this odd, but made her way over anyway.

“Hey, you ready?” Gigi asked, giving Crystal a quick hug. “This is Rosy and this is Symone,” Gigi said, motioning to the other girls. “I want you to meet them so we’re all having lunch together!”

Realization hit. There was no date, Crystal was way off. She really hoped her face didn’t show her disappointment. She tried to ignore it, Crystal was curious to meet Symone and Rosy. Gigi had mentioned them briefly before, but they must’ve been close if Gigi was introducing them.

“Just with you guys? Not Dahlia?” 

“Nope, she has a dentist appointment.” Gigi confirmed, and the four of them took off to the cafeteria.

Lunch was surprisingly nice. Rosy and Symone were way nicer than Dahlia ever had been to Crystal. Symone liked to paint, and Rosy loved Harry Styles so there was much for Crystal to discuss with them. Crystal didn’t like them as much as she liked her internet friends, but she couldn’t say they didn’t exceed her expectations. Crystal wondered why Gigi wasn’t always surrounding herself with cheerleaders like Rosy and Symone, who were genuinely nice and positive, but that would be a question for another time. 

Despite lunch going better than expected, Crystal was sad that she was so off about what Gigi had planned. She felt stupid, even though none of what Gigi had said hinted to only inviting Crystal to have lunch with her friends on the squad.

-

On their way to Crystal’s house, Gigi could tell something was off with the green haired girl. She was going to get to the bottom of it. 

“What’s wrong, babe?” Gigi asked once they got in Crystal’s room, both of them sitting on the bed. 

“It’s stupid, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” Crystal lied, busying herself by petting Tic Tac, who had jumped up to join them on the bed.

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.” Gigi pushed, wanting to help.

Crystal took a deep breath, and let it all out. “What are we, Gigi? We said we’d be just friends for now but I thought you were going to take me on a date during lunch today since you told the group chat about your plan but I was wrong!” 

Gigi had to take a moment to process everything. “I was going to try to clear that up by taking you on a date during spring break.” She admitted, making Crystal’s eyes go wide.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I just-” Crystal mumbled, feeling awful,

“That’s why I wanted you to meet my other friends.” Gigi continued, “I think I’m going to come out to them before spring break.”

Crystal was shocked, “Gigi, spring break is next week. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah. I need to. I talk to them about you all the time and I think they’re starting to get suspicious.” Gigi blushes.

“Even Dahlia?”

“Yeah, but she’s moving this summer so she’ll be out of her hair soon enough.”

“I think this is the best day ever, honestly.” Crystal giggles, leaning forward to press a kiss to Gigi’s cheek, making her whine.

“No. On the lips.” Gigi pouted. 

“I don’t kiss before the first date, Georgia Rose.” Crystal teases. 

“You’re so stupid!” Gigi huffs, tackling Crystal onto her bed, tickling her sides until she thought Crystal had enough. When Gigi finally stopped, Crystal lied there for a moment, still giggling even though Gigi’s manicured fingers weren’t on her anymore. 

“You’re so mean! I didn’t deserve that.” 

“You’re the one who wouldn’t kiss me!” Gigi whined again, flipping Crystal off.

“Don’t stress. G. Spring break will be here before we know it.”

[horansqueen]

AM Conversations : chapter 41

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13 || CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 15 || CHAPTER 16 || CHAPTER 17 || CHAPTER 18 || CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 20 || CHAPTER 21 || CHAPTER 22 || CHAPTER 23 || CHAPTER 24 || CHAPTER 25 || CHAPTER 26 || CHAPTER 27 || CHAPTER 28 || CHAPTER 29 || CHAPTER 30 || CHAPTER 31 || CHAPTER 32 || CHAPTER 33 || CHAPTER 34 || CHAPTER 35 || CHAPTER 36 || CHAPTER 37 || CHAPTER 38 || CHAPTER 39 || CHAPTER 40

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -3.9k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- if you want to be notified when this is updated, please message me or leave a comment!

- you can send me questions and theories and comments. tbh they all make me SO SO SO SOOOO HAPPY! and make me want to write more! you can also tell me if there are things you WANT to happen. you never know, i may add it :P

- note for this chapter: short smut scene. also, tell me how you felt! and if you thought something would happen or not and what you think of what did or didnt happen. not clear? just read, thank youuuu!

still no request for this chapter but i have a few planned very soon! PLEASE KEEP SENDING THEM!!! i love getting them! (ill reblog the post about it)

Chapter 41 : Her chapter

OLIVIA

I was surprised at how much Niall would insist to talk to me. I had heard about him a lot in the first week but when the second week started, he seemed to be a bit too busy and I totally understood. I missed him, but I didn't want to stop him from living his trip plenty and the way he had expected to, I just decided to be there when he had time and not make a big deal of when he would cancel our plans. It was only six weeks, and half of those were already over, I had a lifetime to spend with Niall, or at least I hoped for it, so there were no reason to try and make him feel bad about it.

Still, the fact that he called twice by himself on the same night and seemed impatient to talk to me made me feel slightly better. I wanted to believe him when he said he'd stay faithful, and I knew he loved me, but how many people have cheated on their lover even thought they loved them? I knew I was being insecure but I felt like I was also being realist. I was well aware we didn't play for the same league, and that our statuses were different, but I liked to believe it didn't matter to him.

"I wish I was there with you too, petal." he whispered as I stared at him.

I wanted to tell him that if that's really what he wanted, he should jump in a plane and come back to me but I knew it was not reasonable and that not only would I be disappointed, I would also end up feeling guilty for asking, whether he'd come back or not, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't anyway.

We remained a while just looking at each other without talking and i loved the way his eyes roamed on my face. He finally moved slightly in bed and leaned his head on the pillow behind him. He was in the dark, his face only lighted up by the weak light of his phone, and it hit me how tired he was but also how handsome he was. I always knew, of course. I used to spend so much time analyzing his facial epressions and enjoying the way he laughed, but at this exact moment, it was even more obvious and the good thing was, he was looking at me in a loving way. He was staring at me in a romantic way, a way I would have never even dared to hope for, but it was happening.

"What were you saying before I parked?" I asked with a smirk, raising my eyebrows.

His lips curled too and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. I loved knowing I could make him laugh.

"I said I wanted to feel myself inside you so bad, darling."

And I loved knowing I could make him horny, too.

"Let me just get inside-"

"No."he cut me, surprising me a bit. "Start where you are. Move your shirt up, petal, let me see your tits."

"Are you serious?" I wondered in a low tone, noticing his eyes falling on my body and making me suddenly very self-conscious.

"Dead serious, Liv. I haven't seen or touched you in three weeks and i've been sharing rooms with my cousins every damn night." he groaned low. "Please, show me your tits."

I bit my bottom lip, glancing around to see if someone could see me but I ended up just moving my hoodie up along with the shirt I was wearing under. I had decided not to wear a bra at all and I had to admit I was being a bit lazy in the past weeks but I missed Niall and I was too sad to care.

"Fuck, I wish I could touch you." he groaned again.

I waited a few seconds and finally brought one of my hands on my breasts, rubbing them slowly as I watched his face change. He moved slightly on his seat and shook his head, his eyes following my hands.

"I want my hands all over you." he whispered, making me biting my bottom lip.

"I want your mouth all over me."

I watched as he moved again and he finally positioned his phone better. I held my breath when I saw his fingers wrapped around his cock and my whole body started throbbing at the sight. I looked as his hand moved up on his length, reaching his tip, and he squeezed it a bit before going all the way back down, letting out a groan again.

I couldn't handle it anymore and grabbed my keys but just as I opened the door, I heard my boyfriend's voice again.

"Stay right where you are."

His voice was louder than normal and firm, and it made my heart skip a beat as I stopped moving completely. After a few seconds, I closed my door again and licked my lips, staring at him. I loved when he told me what to do and I just wanted to do everything he'd tell me to.

"I'll let you know when you can get inside."

I nodded quickly and pressed my thighs together, feeling my inner thighs throb harder. Three weeks felt so long without him and the bed felt so fucking empty but at that exact moment, I realized how far he was even more. If he was a few hours away, i'd drive to him just to feel him inside me and then drive back, but it was impossible. I missed the warmth of his body and I was craving him and his hands on me. I wanted to feel his breath on my neck so bad that something in my stomach stirred.

"Move your phone a bit darling, and slip your hand in your pants. I want to watch you touch yourself."

I was grateful he didn't ask me to get naked because it was a bit cold outside and did exactly what he asked. I felt my cold fingers brush against my cit and let out a short whimper as my legs tensed.

"Haven't touched myself in so long, fuck." he admitted, making me bite my bottom lip. "Should have brought you with me."

My lips curled and I chuckled slightly, tilting my head.

"So you could just use me to get laid and then abandon me in crappy motels?"

"So what?" he smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Don't pretend you wouldn't want to be my little fuck toy."

My smile fell and I pressed my lips together, making him smirk even more. I pressed the tip of one of my fingers on my clit and whimpered more.

"I already am." I whispered.

"Yea? Tell me."

I pushed two of my fingers inside me and breathed in, my heartbeats accelerate at the feeling. I wanted him so bad it was barely bearable.

"I'm your little fuck toy." I murmured as I noticed his eyes dropping to my lips and then between my legs. "I'm all yours, you own me."

"Are you wet, petal?" he asked before I slowly nodded. "Take your fingers out and suck on them."

Reluctantly, I took my hand out of my pants and very slowly brought my fingers to my mouth, brushing them on my bottom lip and finally letting my tongue slide on them. After a few seconds, I pushed them in my mouth and sucked on them while staring at him. I had never felt as attractive to someone as I did to Niall and it was a great feeling.

"Okay just get in the house now." he ordered quickly. "You close the door behind yourself and get totally naked. Do it."

I didn't have time to time, I just rushed out of the car with my phone in hands and unlocked the door quickly before getting in and closing it behind me. I put the phone on the first counter I saw and took both my shirts off before pulling down my pants and panties.

"Get on the couch."

I tried to think of a way to make things easier and finally just leaned the phone on an arm's couch as I got on my knees, on the couch too, facing my phone. Quickly, I brought my hand between my legs and started touching myself again. I couldn't explain how horny I was and I was pretty sure I wouldn't last long.

"Mm, it's hell without you, you know it, right?" i confessed with a short whimper as I pushed my fingers inside me again. "I miss you."

I brought my free hand to my breasts and felt my eyes flutter as I was bringing myself closer and loser to an orgasm.

"It's hell without you too." he breathed, moving his phone a bit, making me see that he was jerking himself harder.

The sight made my whole body tense and my lips parted. I was about to say something when he groaned again.

"Pet, you're gonna make me cum."

That thought  made me reach my peak and I started shaking. My eyes fluttered close but I forced myself to keep them open just to stare at him.

"Niall, fuck... oh god, Niall!"

I heard him moan louder this time and watched as his face twisted before my eyes dropped to his cock. Watching him cum all over himself made my orgasm even stronger and I let myself fall on the couch when my heartbeats started decelerating. I grabbed my phone and brought it up, biting my bottom lip as I looked at him slightly embarrassed.

"Three weeks without you, three weeks without an orgasm." I pointed out after a minute of silence.

"That's way too long." he chuckled. "And hearing you moan my name as you came? Fuck, darling, you need to do that more often."

"I agree." my lips curled and I just licked them as a shiver crossed my whole body.

"Cold?" he asked as I nodded. "You can dress back up, i'll wait."

I sent him a fond smile and put the phone done before getting up and going to his room to get a pair of sweatpants and when I came back, I grabbed his hoodie again and put it on, leaving the rest of my clothes on the floor. I knew he'd hate it if he was here and I did plan on putting them in the laundry basket but it could wait. I came back and lied down, grabbing my phone again. He noticed my hoodie and smiled, moving his chin in my direction.

"Did you at least wash it?" he asked, making me shaking my head. "Disgusting."

I grimaced and he laughed but I just tilted my head.

"It barely smells like you anymore." I explained with a shrug. "You've been away for too long."

We stared at each other for what seemed like an hour and he finally passed his hand in his hair, making a cute mess of it before sighing low.

"I know." he replied cautiously. "I'll be back in three weeks though, you think you'll be okay?"

Something seemed to break in my chest and I was scared it was my heart but i ignored it and nodded a bit, sending him a sad smile. It was unfair of me to make him feel guilty and I swallowed my pain. He brought his phone closer and I tried to focus on how blue his eyes were but he stopped himself as soon as his lips parted. The door flew open and I saw movements behind him, hearing someone laugh.

"You alone?" Niall asked with a frown.

"Yea I think he'll be back late, maybe only in the morning." Willie explained. "Mate, the girl you left alone at the bar to come here? She was dirty!"

I felt my heart jump in my chest, not really knowing what it meant exactly but I could swear it was not something good. My smile fell and Niall quickly got up, showing his forefinger to his cousin and locking himself in the bathroom.

"Niall?" I asked in a murmur, swallowing again but my tears this time.

"No wait, Liv, it was just a girl flirting with me, nothing happened."

"Nothing happened because I accidentally called you? Or nothing would have happened anyway?"

I didn't want to be the hysterical jealous girlfriend but my boyfriend was on the other side of the world and it literally took the smallest thing to make my imagination run wild.

"Nothing would have happened, Olivia, I fucking swear on my life." he replied low, staring in my eyes. "I'm so sorry, I promise there's no reason to stress or anything. I love you and only you."

"Love and sex aren't always linked, Niall." I pointed out low, closing my eyes a few seconds.

"You're right, but this time, it is." he replied, making me frown. "I mean that this relationship is different. I would never do that to you."

I stared at him for a while and finally nodded gently. I trusted him, I always have and there was no reason for me to stop.

"Okay." I whispered so low I was not sure he heard me.

"I should sleep, it's late here." he replied softly. "But I'll text you tomorrow, okay?"

I nodded again, very slowly this time, and he raised his eyebrows, his facial expressions still very serious.

"Trust me, Liv. I'll never lie to you." he added. "I love you, goodnight darling."

"Goodnight Nee, I love you too."

The screen went black for a few seconds and then my phone's background appeared. I put my phone on my stomach and closed my eyes, trying to let my emotions get the best of me but after a few minutes I couldn't handle it anymore and started crying. I didn't even try to wipe the tears off my cheeks and I even allowed myself to sob for a while, feeling my tears slide down on my neck. I missed him, I was scared to lose him but most of all, I hated to feel like I was not enough, or like I didn't deserve him. It was an intense and disgusting feeling and it always made me feel like shit. I don't know how long I remained laying there on his couch crying but after a while, I took my phone and sent a quick text to Louis.

'SOS'

He replied so quick I sort of guessed he was already on his phone.

'I'm on my way.'

I turned on my side, my face pressed on the couch, trying to get rid of the bad feelings inside me without much success. It took me every ounce of strength I had left to get off the couch and walk to the door when Louis rang. He saw my face and immediately grimaced at my sight.

"You look horrible."

"And you look like that stupid emoji."

This time, he let out a short but loud laugh before wrapping both his arms around my neck and grossly kiss the side of my head, leaving a wet trace on purpose. I groaned and pushed him slightly.

"And suddenly it's like Niall never left." I half-joked.

I took a step back and sighed, closing my eyes. I felt Louis' hands on my uppe arms and opened my eyes again only to meet his. He sent me a small but understanding smile and my heart twisted in my chest.

"It's okay to be weak, Liv, you know?" he let out in a soft voice. "I know you, you're exactly like me. Let it go, okay? I'm not here to judge you and if it can reassure you, you're one of the strongest persons i've ever met."

I stared at him for a few seconds, swallowing hard again, and without thinking, I just threw myself in his arms. He held me tight against him and I buried my face in his shirt, crying without shame. I felt his hands rub my back gently as he remained silent. I was grateful for him and for his presence, especially since we barely knew each other, but I had to admit that he had been a real friend in the past few weeks.

"Come on, let's get you a drink darling."

I followed him to the kitchen, letting my feet rub against the floor in a lazy way, and watched as he took a few bottles out.

"Shooters and wine, how's that?"

I sent him a small smile and he replied with a big one, handing me the bottles as he grabbed glasses. We ended up on the couch and I brought my knees up, wrapping my arms around them as he poured us vodka in a shooter glass.

"To our new friendship." he said after handing me one.

I raised it up and quickly downed it and as soon as I put it on the coffee table, he filled it up again. I chuckled but accepted and drank it quickly, the liquid not burning my throat like the first one did.

I don't know how many glasses we drank but I was pretty sure the bottle of vodka wasn't even near being empty when we found it. The bottle of wine, on the other hand, I knew was full when Louis got it out of the fridge but I watched him fill my glass with what was left of it. I took a sip and put it on the table, leaning against the couch. We had talked a lot and I always enjoyed it. At first, I explained everything that happened with Niall and he told me how much Niall cared and loved me. The conversation changed and we literally ended up talking about anything that would come to mind, whether it was relating anecdotes or sharing our opinions of different subjects. Louis was funny and interesting and there was not a boring moment with him.

I felt a wave of fatigue hit me and leaned my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes.

"I'm so sorry about El." I mumbled, feeling drunker suddenly. "I know how much you love her."

"Yea well, shit happens." he replied after a moment of silence.

I moved my head up and frowned, staring at him until his eyes met mine.

"It's okay to be weak, Lou, you know?" I let out, using his exact words and making him smile.

I could see his eyes sparkle, or maybe it was only the light of the living room reflecting in them, but it made me smile more.

"You're right." he just admitted, grabbing both my hands between his. "Thanks so much for being there."

I chuckled and shook my head.

"No thanks to you for being there for me." I argued. "I mean I know Niall asked you to but yea, thank you anyway."

We stared at each other for a while and I felt better knowing I wouldn't spend the whole night alone again. He was drunk, probably drunker than me, and there was no way he could drive.

"You can use one of Niall's guest rooms if you want." I shrugged, getting up.

He pulled on my hands and I fell back on the couch, laughing a bit.

"I don't think you realize how beautiful you are, Olivia."

His words took me by surprised and my lips parted. My eyes roamed on his face and his grip tightened slightly on my hands. Mine were cold and the warmth of his made me feel better.

"You think Niall is gonna cheat on you, or stop loving you, or stop wanting you..." he added, shaking his head. "It's not true, he won't. I don't know why you keep saying he's out of your league. There's no league. There's just this strong bond between you two that will never be destroyed. It's obvious for all of us. You need to see it, too. Because I know exactly what Niall sees in you, and what Harry saw too. Why can't you see it?"

I felt my eyes water as I listened to him. He seemed sincere and I didn't know how to react or what to say. I just let my eyes roam on his face as I squeezed his fingers as tight as I could, nodding slowly. I couldn't talk, knowing y voice would crack, and moved a bit closer, leaning my head on his shoulder again.

I thought about Niall and how much I missed him. I thought about how he was everything to me, and about how bad I wanted this to last. I thought about everything we went through and every moment I was grateful for. I thought for so long that I ended up falling asleep.

When I woke up, it was already morning and I groaned, feeling the soft but annoying sun rays hit my face. I turned my head away and rubbed my face on the thighs my head was leaned on, feeling a shiver run up my spine.

"Mm, Niall." I whimpered very low, my eyes still closed.

"Mm, wrong lad, love."

Louis' voice took me by surprise and I quickly sat up, letting out a short wail and grimacing due to the sudden headache hitting me. Louis laughed and when I opened my eyes, he was looking at me with a big smile.

"'Morning!"

"Fuck mornings." I pointed out, making him laugh even more.

"Yea I hate them too." he admitted, raising his nose up. "How about we take some meds and go back to sleep in a real bed for a few more hours?"

"It's like you're reading my mind, Tommo."

He got up and extended his hand out. I grabbed it slowly and he helped me up as I grabbed my phone to bring it with me. I followed him to the bathroom but decided to check my messages, smiling suddenly when I saw Niall had sent me a few. I felt lighter despite all the alcohol still making me dizzy and read them all a few times.

'I'm thinking of you. I'm always thinking of you.'

'I wish you were here. I almost took a plane back after we hung up.'

'No one is you. I love you.'

The last one made my heart melt and when I looked up, Louis was smirking, reading Niall's texts over my shoulders.

"Hey! It's private!"

"Don't be all offended, you literally told me how you liked to be fucked last night."

I stared at him as my heart threatened to jump out of my throat. He laughed again and handed me two pills and a glass of water.

"Really?" I asked with a grimace after swallowing them.

"Oh really!" he chuckled. "Come on, go back to bed. I'll be right there if you need me."

He pointed out an other room and I nodded, walking to Niall's room and letting myself fall in his bed. His pillow still smelled a bit like him and I wrapped my arms around it, pressing my nose on it and inhaling deeply. I waited a few minutes but couldn’t seem to fall asleep without answering his text messages and I just took my phone that was laying next to me on the mattress, typing a message and trying not to make any typos.

'You are the love of my life. I'll always be waiting for you.'

[kpopblog91]

Overboard

Summary: In which Jongin goes a lilllll too hard during sex and hurts you, slight aftercare and stuff

Type: im..... not sure. fluff? lmao

Length: 1.4k 

gif unrelated i just love jongin and wanted to leave a small fic for y’all before i go on a writing binge and prob won't post a full story till tues/weds

“It hurts.” You pouted, you were rolled on your tummy, fingers playing against the sheets in the dim room.

Jongin sucked in a breath, his eyes a bit wet with worry as he examined your body up and down.

It was tinged a variety of different colors, pink, red, some purple intermixed with the older bruises. The skin seemed to vibrate with a soft hum next to the silence of the entire room.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, gnawing at his bottom lip.

He hadn’t meant to grip so tight, to use so much force, he didn’t mean to draw blood in some places, he didn’t mean for any of that to happen.

Sucking in a breath that hurt your ribs to do, you moved your neck the best you could, looking down at your hips and behind, examining the bruises and small nicks here and there.

Jongin watched you as he swallowed deeply, his body far away from yours, curled up and holding himself up, he didn’t know what he could do for you.

“Jongin, it’s okay.” Flicking your eyes up, you focused on his face, it was staring at your behind, your neck, your arms, everywhere Jongin had touched you only moments before.

“Jongin, I agreed to this.” You shook your hair out your face a little, wincing but trying to contain your reaction so you wouldn’t worry Jongin any more than he already was, but it didn’t work.

“I did this to you.” He sounded like he wanted to cry, his own eyes not leaving your body.

You mustered up a small smile, pulling up your arms up against your body’s own screams to simply leave them be, propping yourself up on your elbows, Jongin’s eyes maneuvered their way to yours, meeting them with a sad kind of glint.

“Jongin, I agreed to this. I consented, I knew what I was getting myself into.” You laughed airily, your carefree attitude causing Jongin to jump forward a little in surprise.

“But I hurt you, y/n.” He shook his head, light and dark brown pieces of hair falling into his eyes as he closed them, and you sighed again.

“Yeah, you did.” Breathing out again, Jongin peeked at you once the words left your mouth.

He was about to presumably apologize again, before you held up one of your fingers, signaling to be quiet.

“But, I knew what you liked. I wanted to give you what you enjoyed, and it’s not like I'm dying Jongin. It’s just some bruising and a little blood. I’ll be fine.” You pointed your sentence with a smack of your lips, hoping your point was conveyed to Jongin, but he only shook his head again even harder.

“No, I’m sorry y/n.” He was intense, his concern warming up your tummy as you watched him scoot closer to you, his hands hesitant as they came to cup at your face.

Jongin expected you to wince, to pull back, but you only closed your eyes and relaxed into his hands, a small smile creeping up onto your face.

“This is never happening again.” He looked at you with determined eyes, unwavering as the words left his mouth, and you shrugged your shoulders.

You didn’t answer him, only watching as his hands drifted over your body, ghosting near the places he had previously been squeezing, gripping, smacking, and biting.

You weren't a stranger to what Jongin had liked, you noticed he always gripped you like he couldn't get close enough to you, sucked at your neck like he wanted to swallow you whole, pumped into you with an intensity that would turn you into a mess.

You had wanted him to let go, stop containing whatever it was he wanted to do to you, to treat you like you were there for his pleasure only, it’s what you had wanted for him and for you.

Had Jongin went overboard? You couldn't decide, the bruises on your body that were forming from his grip as he had pumped into you, the bites along your neck, some red with blood, those all pointed to yes, he did go overboard.

But it had felt good, you didn't feel good at the moment, but Jongin letting his control slip away and use you for his own pleasure was pleasure for you. You wanted to tell him that, but Jongin was too focused on the results of his actions that it wouldn't have mattered, so you only pursed your lips and blinked up at his face as he examined you still.

He pulled himself up, sliding off the bed as you cocked your head, his soft footsteps making hardly any noise as you watched his body travel off, and you frowned, resting your head into the bed, unsure what was going on anymore.

Moments later, he returned, and your eyes watched with curiosity as he toted something towards you, his eyes cast downward the entire time. He folded himself onto the bed again, reclaiming his spot next to your body that was still rolled over, hair falling over your shoulders and playing around your ears as you continued to examine him.

“I-I… Lay down.” Jongin’s voice was small, and if it wasn't for the silence of the house, you wouldn't have heard him.

“What is it?” You asked, voice much louder than his and you watched him wince as he began to scoot closer to you, sounds other than voices now filling the air.

“Shhh. Just lay down please.”

You complied, not really wanting to keep your head up anymore anyways. The soft bed below enveloping your scalp as you sighed lightly, closing your eyes as Jongin shuffled a little more.

“Let me know if its too cold.”

You tensed as you felt a cold compress began to swipe at your body gently, traveling lightly over the bruises and small wounds. Jongin watched with tired eyes as your body fell and rose with every breath you took, worry still painted against his features.

The cold compress made its way all over your body, and you felt content. The silence and Jongin’s slow breathing lulling you away as he continued. This went for a while, small cold swipes while Jongin’s hand free hand rubbed lightly at your muscles.

Finally, the cold compress slipped from your body, and you almost completely felt taken over by sleep, not bothering to move as you felt Jongin’s hands began to travel, dropping a cover over your body as you hummed, the pain almost completely subsided now.

His mouth tickled at your ear, and you smiled as his lips opened and small bits of breath played against your skin.

“Lets take you a bath, it’ll help the bruises and swelling.” He whispered, one of your eyes opening to meet his as he pulled away from your ear.

“Can we just cuddle for a bit?”

Jongin pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing lightly.

“No, bath. I want to make you feel better.”

“I already feel better. And I want to be cuddled right now.”

Jongin shook his head, more determined this time.

“Y/n, we have to-“

“Jongin, please.” You closed your eyes, wanting nothing more than to relax and fall asleep next to Jongin for a bit, and you felt him waver next to you, his shoulders dropping in defeat.

“Only for a bit.” He chided, and you smiled, feeling his body tentatively glue itself to you, and Jongin winced as he felt you slowly start to glue yourself to him. 

“Be careful.” 

You gently placed your head into his open arm, the pain completely gone now as Jongin rubbed his eyes, your bodies completely intertwined now.

“Okay.”

And you both stayed like that, Jongin’s hands coming up to swirl patterns along your body and his breath tickling the top of your head.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine Jongin.”

“I love you. I didn't mean to hurt you like that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Jongin pursed his lips, unsure of what to do. He watched your body evenly breathe against him, his eyes wet still.

Your breathing evened out eventually, and soft puffs of air came out, signaling to Jongin you were fast asleep.

He stuck out his lips, letting them make contact with your forehead, slick with drying sweat and he smiled despite his inner turmoil.

He hadn't meant to hurt you, hadn't meant to squeeze you and bite at you so hard, and as he watched your body fast asleep, plastered to him without a fear to spare, he couldn't help feel relief that you knew that too.

[queenharumiura]

Neo’s RP Comforts

RP Comfort Meme A valuable hella long meme for any role-player! Come display your comfort levels so your role-play partners are aware of what they can do, and of what they should avoid! A healthy relationship between role-play partners is the key to a good time! While this meme shows the basics, please remember to communicate with your role-play partners!

Tagged by: Lol I took this from dA honestly.  Tagging: Anyone who dars fill out his monstrosity.

RP Basics

RP Methods I am comfortable doing:

im: Chat with me on im or on skype (ask for it) if you wanna! We can like plot or just simply chat~

Asks: I’ve done a few rp’s where they just continue through with asks. If you prefer that, we can do that. ^^

Skype:I used to rp more on skype, but I don’t really know with how skype is just...non-functional. I can use it to rp though. 

Google Docs: I’m okay with this if you wanna go for that. Most likely if it’s NSFW, i’d opt for docs because of reasons. 

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OOC/Headcanoning/RP Planning Methods

I love to just talk about HC’s and I also just love to plot. I’m very okay with simply winging things as well. 

im: Feel free to hit me up on im if you just wanna plot or HC with me. I’m totes mcGoats okay with that. 

Asks: I personally do prefer asks because it’s a lot easier for me to hunt through for past conversations rather than on im where I have to scroll forever. 

Skype: If you have my skype, if I have my phone near me, I will hear the notification sounds and will answer as soon as I can. If it’s not around me-- then i’ll only answer if I happened to be logged onto skype.

. Participants I am comfortable with:

One on one RP’s: These are the easiest for me to work with for obvious of reasons. Much easier for me to keep track of where the thread is and whose turn it is to reply. 

Up to three people (including myself): I can manage this

Four or more people: Ehh;;; I can try but that’ll be difficult for me to keep track of. I’d rather not. 

. RP Style I am all right with:

Lit/para: This is basically my default and I love it. This is the easiest for me and so i’m very much down with that. 

1-3 lines: If you wish for shorter threads, I can do this. For shorter threads, I try to match the best I can. For longer threads, I tend to just write however much feels right to me. ;;;;

[text]: I can do these, though I tend to make them a bit on the long side eventually. OTL

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Post Length

I usually write about:

1-3 Pragraphs: I do try to stick within this range if I know people are most comfortable with this range. 

3-10 paragraphs: This is normally when I get a bit carried away because super duper excited and I wasn’t asked to stay within a certain paragraph limit so whooo!!!!!!

PAGES: I really really really try to not get so long that it takes up pages in microsoft word, but it does happen. Normally for angst threads or AU threads. //coughs. I get uh... really excited sometimes

. Partner Post Length I am comfortable role-playing with people who write:

Dude, you do you boo: You can give me one-liners, all the way up to PAGES upon PAGES worth of a reply. I’ll appreciate the effort you put in and have fun regardless. You don’t have to match me. Just write however much feels right to you. I literally will not get mad at you or anything. I just want everyone to have fun. I personally write however much feels right to me anyways, so you can do the same. Write however much you are comfortable with. 

DO NOT GIVE ME LESS THAN 4 WORDS THOUGH, PLEASE.

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RP Speed

I usually reply:

Within minutes: If i’m online and the thread is relatively short and so I can crank out a reply in no time. 

Within a day: Probably got to replying after I get back from work. I have a full time job that I work from 8-5 so during that time frame, I can check the blog during breaks but I can’t reply. 

Within the same week: If it ever takes me longer than 48 hours to reply, I either just took a break, i’m feeling lazy, or it took me that long to realize I never replied. 

Within a month: I’m probably either very busy, I’m being lazy because ‘oh wow such a long thread... maybe tomorrow’ and the cycle repeats. || ‘Oh snap! I thought I replied to this! OMG OMG OMG SO SORRY!’

Longer than a month: I probably am being lazy and lost my motivation. Most likely the reply is hella long and i’m just trying to recharge myself. || ‘It’s my turn? WUT? I thought it was yours! OMG SO SORRY!!!!’

Sporadic: I’m probably just doing all kinds of stuff so don’t be surprised if I’m real active, suddenly disappear, and then get real active again. I do that. 

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I expect my partner to reply:

Dude, you do you boo: I understand you can lose muse for a thread, or that you just lose muse in general. I also totally understand that people have busy lives. Just reply whenever you feel up for it. I’ll wait however long you need to. 

Within 2 years: I’ve waited a year for a reply before and I was totally okay with it. 2 years is pushing it a bit as i’m likely to forget a lot of stuff, but I’ll just re-read the thread if it comes to that. 

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Role-play Requests

The people I’ll take rp requests from: 

Mutualship: Are we mutuals? If you hit me up with a request, i’ll take you on! We’re not mutuals?

Non-mutuals: Wanna rp? Hit me up. If you are an rp blog and you followed me there is a 95% chance i’ll follow back. The 5% chance is if I falsely believed you to not be a rp blog.

OCs: I accept OCs. Whether you are a self-insert or whatever, I don’t care. Just read my rules and abide by them, and we’re good. I’ll take anyone on. 

Charas from other series: You don’t have to be from KHR, I’ll RP with you anyways. That’s what AU’s are for, right? Or simply just winging it. I don’t care. If you wanna rp with me, i’ll give you a shot~

ANYONE WHO ADORES HARU: As long as you tell me that you like Haru, I will throw her at you. Let’s rp, friend!!!

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Expectations

I expect my RP partner to:

Have read my rules.

Use punctuation marks: At the very least use “” if you won’t be using any punctuation. You don’t have to have perfect grammar or whatever, because even I struggle with it, but at LEAST add paragraph breaks and quotation marks, otherwise i’ll struggle super hard.

My Activity: Understand that I work full-time so I can’t reply during work hours. Sometimes I get tired after work and am not feeling up to replying after I return. I also have a shitty sleeping schedule. Understand that I can’t rp 24/7. I will at least try to reply within 48 hours if I can. If you can’t respect that, I don’t think we can rp together.

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Romantic Relationships

** Important: Communication is the key to a real life relationship, it shouldn't be abandoned for a fictional on either! Be sure to talk to your partners when considering romance! Shipping I am comfortable shipping my characters:

With chemistry: I need to feel a ‘vibe’ between the two characters. Like something in my gut that tells me they’ll work together well. If I don’t feel it, I can’t force myself into shipping with anyone. I cannot just jump into a ship. I personally can’t do that and Haru wouldn’t appreciate it. Unless I feel the two characters can get along well, I won’t ship wit anyone. 

With considerable interaction: I will not ship with anyone after just having one thread with them. I personally prefer a gradual build up. I need there to be a good amount of interaction between the muses for me to gauge how well I think they can be together. 

AU: If it’s for the sake of an AU, then i’m okay with shipping then, but I won’t consider it a canon ship of the blog. If you’d like for it to be, discuss it with me.

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If you want to ship with my characters:

Interaction/chemistry: Ensure there is a decent amount of interaction between our muses and for there to be chemistry between them. 

Ask: Just ask me how I feel about shipping and i’ll give you the honest truth. 

HC’s/Angst: Understand that shipping with me means that I WILL throw HC’s at you left and right. I do not stop. I am a tornado of random ideas and I WILL BURY YOU WITH THEM. I will probably also throw angst at you because it FUELS MY VERY SOUL. If you don’t like angst, I will refrain. 

     -    Abuse/toxic: I absolutely do not condone this and cannot and WILL NOT do this. I’ve had my own experiences with different kinds of abuse or toxic friendships, so I cannot handle these on any level. They really bother me and scare me. If you want a toxic relationship, I am not your gal.

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NSFW material 

NSFW material i’m comfortable with: 

Violence: I mean, this is the KHR-verse. It’s bound to happen. I’m sorry to say that i’m not very good at writing out action and violence. OTL

Blood: I think this is a separate category? I mean, this is just territory with the series she’s from so--ye. If Haru is going to end up hurt, i’ll be sad for her, but I’d totally do it. Angst threads, here I come.

NSFW Material i’m okay with:

Smut: I am a shy bean okayyyyyyyyy? I don’t know if I can/will smut on tumblr but if I do, just know the first time will consist of me CRYING IN THE TAGS. Most likely i’ll cry at you and ask to move this to docs because i’m hella mega SHYYYY. Though if you manage to keep me on tumblr for the first time, I’ll become comfortable and it’s free game from there. ((By ‘first time’ I mean the first I rp smut with anyone. lol It’s like an initiation lololol))

Torture: Again, this is KHR-verse. This is to be expected. I’m not very good at writing this out though... so I’d likely refrain from trying-- but I so can.