#time left before i leave to the airport: an hour and a half

[cuchillx]

the more i travel the more i do it under the worst circumstances

[mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers]

i am god’s strongest soldier (tummy hurts in a new jersey airport)

[teabutmakeitazure]

Dissimulation Continued

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (modern au)

>Word count: 4.9k

>a/n: childe "leave your degree and be my wife" tartaglia. i dont think anything in this classifies as yan since its just a continuation of the original story but still tagging that since the original is yan. also, i wrote the beginning during my flight lol

Being housemates with a mafioso isn't a very ideal situation.

First Part | reasons why Childe is #1 husband | Continued Again

Airports are holes in the fabric of time. Minutes and hours are blurred, the signature beeping sound before the limitless number of announcements causing an odd fogginess in your mind. They're surreal but comforting. You are forever a traveller there, only at the mercy of your own mistakes and mishaps.

A familiar hair colour stands out in the distance, rising above the lake of heads. Your luggage trolley is pushed closer and closer to that lake, but instead of relief, only a subtle feeling of dread settles in. It is true that in airports you are at the mercy of your own mistakes, but it is the same for the outside world. The only difference is that simply existing and being alive is not considered a mistake in the former.

The voice you've been hearing through your phone for the past weeks finally greets you directly from the source. Everything is a blur, your eyes focusing on the person who makes way through the busy crowd to get closer as the sounds become exceedingly loud. Slowly, you stop in your tracks, mind still under the haze of indistinguishable time. 

The first to go is your backpack, the item promptly removed from your shoulders. The next is the trolley. Your grip on it is gently loosened, and fingers snap in front of your face to dispel the haze from your mind.

"Earth to [Name]? Hey. You alright? The flight couldn't have been that bad, come on."

Your eyes blink a few times, the background chatter becoming more prominent and the face in front of you being focused on by your vision. Words refuse to form on your tongue, so you have to rely on your actions as a last resort. After closing your mouth with mild embarrassment, your eyes settle on his oversized t-shirt. Bare arms greet you when you look for a sleeve, so you settle with grabbing the side of his shirt instead. 

It’s still summer. Of course he’s wearing cap sleeves. The display of what one could easily pass off as clinginess causes him to take a step closer, his arm reaching to wrap around your shoulders. You refuse to directly look him in the eye, but allow the arm to slither around you. ‘I am with this person,’ the arm announces. ‘And we are more than what a first glance can reveal.’

“Are you feeling alright?” The arm pulls you inside a half-hug, the warmth of his body comforting with the smell of familiar cologne. “Did something happen?”

A shake of your head is all you can manage, but it is not accepted.

“Hey,” voice low, the arm around you travels upwards to gently run up and down your head. “Tell me. We’ve talked about this. Don’t hide anything from me. I only want to help.”

To yield and share your feelings with someone such as him is not easy, but you do so anyway, surprised at how easily you were able to speak. “It’s something silly,” you say, eyes glued to the floor. “I just miss home.”

The arm strokes your back comfortingly. There is more than just comfort in his voice. There is sympathy. “I understand.” Commiseration drips from his tone, a hint of melancholy behind the way he holds you closer. “We’ll get through it. Don’t worry.”

The hand grabbing the shirt is now wrapped with another, the warmth from both palms and the touch more noticeable than you would have preferred. Calluses are barely felt, but you know they are there. You saw them in detail right before you left for home. How could you ever forget?

With the other free hand, the trolley is pushed along as both of you walk to the exit. You say goodbye to the building and the odd feeling of time passing inside it. A familiar routine and life is welcomed in its stead, but the welcome is short lived.

You both have stopped walking.

“[Name]?”

You raise your head but do not meet his eyes.

“You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”

Pointing out your actions is cruel, but so is your treatment. Thus, you capitulate like you always do. The sight of the familiar dull blues is something you did not want to welcome but you do.

“Sorry.” You try your best to give a smile even if it’s shaky and uncertain. “I’m just… shaken up. I’ll be alright in a few hours.”

Unfortunately for you, the devil has another demand. “Say my name. You haven’t even said my name yet.”

“Childe?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “My name.”

A light bulb shines above your head, and you immediately respond. “Ajax.”

He smiles. “Again.”

“Ajax.”

You’re near the car before you know it. 

The sun is setting which paints the sky in a beautiful gradient of red and yellow, hints of magenta red peeking through the clouds. The car’s trunk opens and your luggage is promptly placed inside. Your company for the evening comes to stand in front of you, and your eyes instead go to the constellations of freckles dusting across his cheeks. Diverting your attention to him seems to please him because he’s smiling at you.

“It’ll be night by the time we’re there.”

Your statement makes Childe turn around and face the sunset as well. Somehow the mahogany coloured t-shirt is a perfect compliment to the sky’s colours, his hair glowing a fiery red with the sunset behind him.

“If it’ll be night,” he says, hand reaching for the phone inside his pocket, “you can go home and sleep. You need the rest.”

“No.” Childe turns to look at you, phone in hand, but you continue speaking. “I need to call my mom. She said to call when I reach the airport.”

The questioning look on his face turns into a smile. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”

You raise a brow. “Taking me home?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “With my phone. What do you think I’m doing with my phone?”

Your eyes widen when he clarifies, mouth agape before you compose yourself. “Oi. I’m supposed to talk to her, not you.”

Childe’s thumb presses something on his phone, cheeky grin infuriating you further. “Too late. I sent her a text. I told her I picked you up and that we’re on our way home.”

Mouth having fallen open again, you stomp towards him. Aiming for his phone doesn’t help, for he simply raises it above his head and takes a step back. Thus, you grab onto his shirt’s neckline and pull. The smile falls from his face only to return when he’s barely an inch away from your face, noses almost brushing.

“[Name],” he breathes, eyes staring into yours, “I’m sure this counts as public indecency. Let’s go home first.”

Unbothered, you simply sigh. “I told you. I’m supposed to talk to her. Not you.”

Childe pulls away, his hand gently undoing your grip on his shirt. “And why’s that? Maintaining a good relationship with your family is important.”

“If my mother finds out I’m with you so often, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He blinks, obviously not having understood. “Isn’t that good?”

“No!”

Childe tilts his head, hair no longer glowing in the sunset. It’s starting to get dark now. “Explain.”

With a groan, you humour him, albeit begrudgingly. “She’ll scold me for being too carefree. I don’t want her on my case all the time.”

“Alright,” he whines. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need some dinner and rest.”

The car park’s street lights illuminate the area, and following Childe you get into the passenger seat. With a huff, you look at his smile - that upturn of his lips seemingly always present in front of you - and plop down onto the seat only to feel… ‘something’ under you. Childe raises a questioning brow as you halfway stand up, trying to grab whatever hard object was under you.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t daunted when a heavy, cold metal object sat in your palm.

Like throwing away a scalding hot piece of iron, you fling the gun to the back seat, eyes boring holes into the item as it lays in the back. Almost as on cue, memories of what had occurred pre-departure flood back in mockingly. It was foolish to be even slightly comfortable around him. Have you forgotten your differences?

“Woah! Careful there!” Childe glances at the firearm sitting on the back seat, but quickly turns back to you. Seeing how your chest is heaving as you look ahead, he breathes a sigh of relief. At least he used the safety lever so that it accidentally doesn’t fire. That would have ended badly.

He watches as you pay him no mind, eyes focused on what you can see through the dashboard’s glass. “Hey,” he whispers gently, “I left it there by mistake. My bad.”

You put a hand over your throat, fingers pressed to your right carotid artery. The continuously pumping blood grounds you. It grounds you, but it provides no comfort. Whatever strength remains in you after a long trip is what helps you compose yourself again.

“Let’s just go home.”

Your words are taken as a command, and Chide nods, immediately reversing the car out of the parking space. It’s completely dark now, the sky only illuminated by the moon and whatever stars are visible with the light pollution. As you exit the airport premises, you allow yourself to immerse in the silence.

Head resting against the window, you close your eyes. It’s a shame your family doesn’t know about your new living arrangements.

-

The first thing to greet you at your new accommodation is silence. The next is the sound of your phone ringing. The bag on your shoulders is eased off as you press the device to your ear, Childe leaving the thing on the sofa. Silver chalice coloured polished tiles stare back at you as you greet your mother while your new mafioso ‘housemate’ drags your luggage to your room.

After reassuring your mother that you have reached home safely, you excuse yourself with wanting to rest, something she respects and immediately cuts the call for. Now, your greatest conundrum faces you with crossed arms, dull blue eyes observing you instead of simply looking. It’s a test. You know it.

Thus, being the good student that you are, you play along. It is absolutely crucial that you do so because there is only one thing that may land you in hot water: your refusal to cooperate. Despite all that, there are boundaries you will not allow to be crossed, no matter how much he insists.

“Are you sure about the guest room?” Childe patiently eyes you as you mull over an answer. Eyes still taking in every minute detail of your body, he doesn’t miss you biting your lip for a moment.

With a meek voice that you know is his weakness, you mutter a yes. “I’m sorry,” you excuse yourself. “I don’t think I’ll be comfortable sharing a room just yet.”

“Well,” Childe tries again, grabbing the backrest of the sofa behind him for support, “maybe we could live in the same room, but uh, I’ll go to the guest room to sleep. Then we can slowly get comfortable with each other-”

“Childe.”

He blinks. “Yes?”

“Please.” You make it a point to slightly frown, just to garner his sympathy. “I promise I’m not being distant. I’m just… not comfortable yet.”

He sighs, the sound bouncing off the newly painted walls. “Fine. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” His commiseration, although begrudging, is welcomed on your end. Thus, to show your gratitude, you walk up to him and pat his cheek twice. The action makes his eyes widen as he looks at you, and you’re again reminded of how simple-minded he is at times. It’s almost cute… if you ignore the other stuff.

“Do you… want me to be next to you while you sleep?” Childe asks. “It’s a new environment for you. M-maybe my presence will help you fall asleep.”

You smile at him, thankful that he’s caring about your comfort. Nevertheless, you’ll be fine, so you decline. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll pass out as soon as I hit the pillow.”

He’s still looking at you like a sad puppy in hope you’ll change your mind. You do not. “Fine,” Childe yields. “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll… wake you up for dinner. You can nap until then.”

Just the thought of bed makes you sleepy, so you nod and head for your new living quarters. Unfortunately, you do not turn to look at your new housemate’s empty gaze.

-

It takes great strength to open your eyes, even if for just a moment, but you do not bother with waking up. Turning to the other side instead, you snuggle deeper into the cover with the contentment that your mother will come and wake you up whenever appropriate. And she does. The warm hand that rests on your cheek caresses the skin gently, a voice hesitantly calling your name.

The realisation that the hand and voice do not belong to your mother is cruel, but it suffices to instantly wake you up with a startle.

Blue. That is what you first see.

The mattress underneath you feels too hard for a moment, and you feel as though you are somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere you mustn't be. The feeling seems to be a mockery created by your mind, but you allow yourself to breathe before listening to the culprit of your disturbed sleep.

“Sorry.” You give no reaction to Childe’s apology. He continues, “It’s starting to get late, and I didn’t want to wake you up for dinner but decided against that because you probably haven’t eaten in a while.”

You continue to stare at him, giving him a look that says, ‘so?’ but he doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, he has the gall to grab your hand from underneath the cover.

“Let’s eat together.”

Childe ends up receiving a very tired raised eyebrow from you before you actually make a move to get up. However, before he could comment on your tired state and ask you to stay in bed, you have thrown the cover off your body and are already on your way to the living room. It makes him sigh, but he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is late and quiet. It’s around half past ten, but Childe doesn’t mind since you don’t have class in the morning. He took a day off as well, just to make up for lost time. The last time he saw you was weeks ago. Of course he wants to spend time with you.

You, on the other hand, down the home cooked meal without any second thought, brain still on autopilot. It makes you feel bad since you don’t have the energy to compliment his cooking, but hey. He woke you up from a deep sleep. He should feel bad. Nevertheless, the cook shamelessly asks about his cooking.

“Did you like it?”

You blink up at him, responding with a sigh. “I’m too tired to taste it.”

Hands folded over his chest, his portion of food is also gone. “I see. Want to go to bed again? I’ll lay down with you till you fall asleep.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Childe gives you a look again, one that reminds you just how easily his dull eyes make you acquiesce. Despite fighting it, you fail and give in like you always do. “Okay okay,” you grumble. His celebratory smile falls when you elaborate. “But no getting into bed with me. You can uh… just sit there.”

“Why not?” The tilt of his head is accentuated by his slightly furrowed brows. It honestly reminds you of a kid trying to negotiate a later bedtime with his mother. “I promised you I won’t try anything you don’t want me to.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is?”

Sensing an argument coming up, you decide to steer the conversation elsewhere. There is too much at stake to anger him just because you’re tired, and you would rather not act like a whining child simply to get what you want. No. You are better than his tactics. Better, but not necessarily perfect.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice low and dejected, “I just want to be alone. I just got back from home and everything feels so weird.” You sigh, simply to make a point. “If I was living in the dorms, I would’ve still been in bed. I really appreciate you, truly, but I just want to be alone. Living alone isn’t easy.”

He counters almost instantly. “You aren’t alone.”

“I meant family,” you clarify. “Being away from family isn’t fun.”

A pensive expression takes over his face. Childe actually looks like he’s thinking, the gears in his head moving as he tries to make sense of your words. Though they were only to get him to back off and subtly establish your boundaries, not everything was a lie. Well, some of it at least.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “I’ll sit next to you.”

Funnily enough, sleep comes easy with his presence. The fact had baffled you when you woke up in the morning, but the plentiful rest ceased any thinking on your part.

-

Like a sponge slowly soaking up water as it’s left over a water stain, Childe has entered almost every part of your life. He has consumed it entirely, trapping you within his confines as every single activity remains scrutinised. You had first thought you were the sponge, but you were mistaken. Childe is the sponge. You are the water he has soaked up and gotten hold of.

The power is in his hands. Though it’s not unpleasant most of the time, his proprietorial behaviour never fails to remind you of the numerous differences in both your personalities and mentalities. At first, you were able to subtly manipulate him like you did when you first got back. Unfortunately, he has either realised your tactic or grown immune to your tired expressions with displeased frowns and sweet pleadings.

You have no idea what to do.

It absolutely does not help that you are under the added stress of your studies and with no means of clearing your mind because you aren’t sure how to go out with your friends. It also doesn’t help that you simply don’t have the time to go out with your friends. 

Rubbing your eyes, you cross out the name of a particular course before clicking on the submit button. The word ‘submitted’ appears in front of ‘assignment 3’, and you instantly put your head down on the table. As usual, your laptop’s screen turns off after its three minute timer is up, prompting your mind to start thinking over your next assignment.

There’s around five days to the deadline and it’s an essay. Perhaps having it drip with affectation might impress the tutor. She is one for grandiose after all. All you’ll need is to find synonyms of every other word and make them sound pretentious. Yes, that’ll do. Just make a rough draft and then edit it with the synonyms so that it’s easier to write and organise your ideas.

Wait… you haven’t even done the reading yet. How are you supposed to write it without doing the required reading? 

Taking a peek at the clock on the wall, you make a mental note of reading and writing down main points and ideas before bed. That’s the only thing you have the energy left to do. Maybe you’ll watch a movie tonight, forget any academic obligations and let the mistakes take over.

“Sulking? Or tired?”

Your beloved housemate’s voice calls out from somewhere behind. That gives you a very clear idea that he’s invited himself inside the room. The door was closed. You didn’t hear anything.

Without raising your head, you mumble out your reply. “Both.”

A chuckle, and you hear him sitting down on the bed. “Wow. You sound like you need a twelve hour sleep.”

“Maybe I need twenty.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles again, “you’re going to need drugs for that.”

With a sigh, you raise your head, eyes staring at Childe’s blurry reflection on your laptop’s screen. “Maybe a drug cartel-ish business would’ve been easier. How much do you make again?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t really need to keep track. It’s more than enough.”

“Show-off.”

“To be fair there are no drugs involved.”

You raise a brow at his reflection. “Then what is?”

“Hm.” Childe crosses his arms, faking deep thought. “You would have to be assassinated if I told you. Which is obviously unpreferable.”

“Yeah. I’m good then. Keep your secrets.”

He laughs again, louder this time. “Technically, spouses are immune to that rule. You’re gonna have to marry me if you want to know.”

A click of your tongue and you turn to look at him. Your expression is anything but playful. “Keep your secrets.” Now that you see the burnt maroon shirt and black pants, you figure that he just came back home. He’s even wearing his gloves.

“Oh, come on [Name]. I’m not that bad.”

You don’t reply.

“I am…?”

“No comment,” you deadpan. With that, you turn back to your laptop and turn it back on. Quietly, you close the pdf files of your submitted assignment and open the ones relating to the essay you need to turn in. By your estimate, you need to do lots of brainstorming, so if you start right now, you can get it done in around three days.

A hand flat on the table next to yours and warm breath over your ear startle you as you attempt to start reading. “Week six,” Childe reads, “the emotional mind: emotion, reason, and consciousness. Discuss the argument the author of this document has laid out and present your own views on the topic he is discussing. There is no right or wrong answer. You will be graded over your coherency in your writing and skills in identifying any possible discrepancies or invalidity of arguments. Please feel free to contact me or your tutor if you need help. The format is the same as what we discussed in class. Good luck.”

You open the document that is your required reading for the assignment and hear a grumble from Childe. He moves closer to you and instinctively, you lean forward to maintain what little distance there was. Gently, he coaxes your hand off the touchpad and asks if there’s any unsaved progress in the tabs you’ve opened. Once you say no, he closes everything.

After shutting down the laptop, he picks it up and places it on a side table. “Take a break,” he says. “You don’t need to work so hard.”

Tired, you’re almost tempted into listening to him but snap out of it when you hear what he says next.

“I’m going to take care of you, so even if something happens and you can’t complete the degree, you don’t have to worry.”

The statement makes you frown and you clearly show your displeasure with your expression and words. "That's not very nice."

He simply shrugs. "All I'm saying is that there's no pressure on you. Take it easy."

"The kind of pressure you're talking about is irrelevant."

Childe shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hand on a hip. "Is it? In what way," he challenges. "You left home to come to a different country to study. Of course there's pressure to succeed. I'm just trying to ease that."

"No. You're not." You finally find the courage to look straight into his challenging stare, unyielding despite feeling your heart start to beat faster. "You might be trying on your end, but it just makes me feel worse."

Your chest rises with every beat of your heart, the lub dub clearly audible in your ears. Again, Childe shifts his weight onto the other foot. He’s still looking at you that way, and it’s freaking you out. How can his stare be so… overwhelming? 

“If you really think,” he says, “that what I say makes it worse, then I’m sorry.”

Out of surprise, you look over his expression but the furrowed brows fail to show any sign of insincerity despite his flat tone. The discrepancy makes you frown again, but you don’t bother explaining the expression to him. “Alright,” you say. With that, you go back to your table only to stare at the empty space in front of you.

There’s eraser dust around the table, your stationery haphazardly lying around and a single notebook open. There’s also your phone and a little packet of salted peanuts to munch on while studying. You hear a deep inhale from somewhere behind you but don’t bother pausing your aimless staring. It’s the sudden physical presence behind you that demands your attention back.

“[Name].”

Be mature about this, you tell yourself. There’s no need to be petty and say something neither of you will like.

At your silence, he continues. “[Name], are you… mad at me?”

Of course not! I love it when you say that you’ve cemented the idea of the both of us together. You start, “Childe-”

“Ajax.”

“Ajax,” you correct yourself, “gosh I’m still not used to that name. Anyway, I’m not mad at you.”

There’s a sound of disbelief that comes from behind you. “You’re not even looking at me!”

“I’m processing not having to use my brain. Give me a moment.”

He scoffs this time. “I don’t believe you. You’re doing the same thing. You’re being distant again.”

“I’m not,” you defend.

“Yes. Yes, you are. I know how this will inevitably go down. You’re going to grow more distant and talk less until there’s a confrontation that leaves you crying.” Childe continues despite your silence. “I don’t want that.”

It forces you to think he’s selfish, that he only thinks for himself when he says that he doesn’t want that, but despite wanting to think so, you know that he says that for you. His countenance gives away what his words cannot, and you still remember the face he made when it had happened.

That pure horror and regret is one of the reasons why despite his actions you still respect this man. Maybe it’s the only reason you don’t scream at him everyday, be acrimonious and cry yourself to sleep over your predicament. He may have taken over your life, but he also undoubtedly and unequivocally loves and cares for you. Even if he sometimes looks at you like you’re hiding something.

You will ignore the occasional watchful eyes in favour of the care he is capable of. Perhaps, or even most likely, it is the only reason why you think twice before speaking when you’re in a bad mood.

“So,” Childe says, a hand now next to yours on the table as he leans closer behind you, “let’s talk it over, okay?"

A question pops up in your mind, and you voice it after pulling your hand under the table. “Talk over what? I was just about to say that I’ll try my best not to do that again. And as for right now, I’m really just processing things. I’m tired.”

“Hm,” he hums. “The offer is still on the table. I can make your life easy. All you need to do is give me one chance.”

You scoff. “Easy? I think my life is easy enough. I don’t have to work, only study. Heck, you even do the groceries and cook more than half of the time.”

“I suppose you have a point.” In one swift movement, your chair is grabbed by the backrest and dragged to the edge of the bed. There, Childe seats himself, satisfied at the eye contact. “But I could make it easier.”

Arms now crossed, you respond to his offer with a question. “What, so you’re a magician now? I didn’t know you had a side gig.”

He laughs, boyish and charming. “Of course not. I’m just telling you what I can do for you. Nothing more.” 

The smile on his face unsettles you. It’s one of the scheming ones. The one he has when he’s cooking up something that definitely is not food. Nevertheless, his little ‘clarification’ is met with nothing more than nonchalance on your end.

“Alright,” you shrug. “Thanks for making me take a break. I really needed it.”

He’s still smiling, albeit differently this time. It’s morphed into something more sincere, something more warm and welcoming. The look in his eyes is no way the same. “Absolutely. There’s no way I wouldn’t help you.”

The conversation seems almost over, and you are about to get up to lie on your bed when a demand pauses your movements. “Say my name,” he says. “I love hearing my name from you.”

You know why he asks that of you sometimes. It grounds him, reminds him of who he is behind the red mask that lays next to the vase on the side table. Gloves are peeled off, and hypnotised by the reveal of the long fingers underneath them, you mindlessly give your reply.

“Ajax.”

“[Name],” he breathes.

You are just as breathless. “Ajax.”

Face now resting in his palm, his smile is small but affectionate. “[Name].” Eyes follow as well, turning into something more soft. You finally see the image of someone adoring and can’t help the almost desperate call that slips from your mouth.

“Ajax.”

You do not know who you were calling to.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Handle With Care - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Reader and Aaron meet for the first time before she starts as a full-time nanny for Jack.

Notes: Hopefully will be at least 5 parts! I'm excited to be writing again :)

Word Count: 4.6K

I always believed in new beginnings, but as I stood on Aaron’s doorstep, rolling a suitcase in one hand and a Vera Bradley duffel bag in the other, I was tempted to question my resolute thinking. It had yet to fail me. Not when I was hardly eighteen and living on the other side of the country, vying for my spot at the esteemed culinary arts program. And not when I’m twenty-four with a stint as the private chef

Professional chef turned nanny–for my father’s beloved mentee, no less. My parents, ever supportive and ever loving, practically held an intervention when I showed up on their suburban door step a fractured shell of the bubbly daughter they dropped off at the airport. 

Five years later, I’m sleeping in the same bed. I had nightmares about leaving once again. And yesterday I gave up that bed for a full-time position as Aaron Hotchner’s live-in nanny. Aaron, who I never even met, is my father’s protege. He knew him as a whip-smart, young lawyer from a family Law dynasty at Quantico. My father took him under his wing and even after his early retirement from the BAU they would get together for an annual work lunch. 

I was nearly finished with my final year of the Los Angeles Culinary Arts Program when my fathers called to say that Aaron’s wife was murdered. I remembered thinking how lucky Dad was and how brave Daddy had to be. With one day off saving the world and the other left to hold down the fort with an awfully anxious only child daughter. 

One year later, I was unemployed and completely blacklisted from the culinary entertainment industry for reasons beyond my control and without my fault. I gripped the suitcase, my chipped fingernails so jagged they punctured my skin. 

Aaron had a nice house with a manicured front lawn, a big wrap around porch, and a fully furnished backyard. Clearly, he was a man with a lot of education and a lot of smarts to top it off. He worked hard. It showed, these neighborhoods of Arlington, Virginia weren’t cheap. No wonder my dads were dying to relocate to Georgia. 

The door swung open before I could work up the courage to ring the bell or knock on the dark cherry wood. Aaron answered. He wore a dark green men’s quarter zip that was pushed up, showing off his forearms. His dark, charcoal gray watch shone as he let me into his foyer. 

He had a foyer.

And a house that smelt like warm cinnamon and musk. 

“Y/N,” Aaron said, nodding to me with a smile, “Please give me your bags. And we’ll go sit and chat before Jack comes. His grandma is still in town and brought him to the zoo.” 

I complied. There wasn’t a need for me to protest. And clearly, by the looks of those forearms, he would have no problem handling my bags. I only brought a single suitcase, a duffel, and five boxes of books. Aaron’s mother-in-law, Lorriane, had been staying with them since Haley died a year and a half ago. But her husband broke his hip. Apparently, Aaron had added a mother-in-law suite for Lorriane and judging by the looks of his home, the suite I’d be living in for the foreseeable future was twice the size of my studio in LA. 

“Thanks.” I said, grabbing a seat on the brown fabric sofa, “My dad said I had to say hello to you for him. He still raves about you. Like all the time.” I chuckle, watching as Aaron hands me a glass of iced tea. 

“Marty’s a good man. He and Gideon built the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Our team is in constant debt to him.” Aaron spoke so formally, gesturing for enthusiasm with his hands. 

“Yeah, well. He’s always just been dad to me.” I smiled, the man I knew showed up to my field hockey games even if it meant holding office hours there. He was the most there dad I could ask for– maybe it was neck in neck for the both of them. 

“So Jack?” I said, breaking the silence. “How–how’s he been?” I couldn’t help but wonder. My dads had a close friend who helped them with their surrogacy journey, so while I didn’t have a mother in the traditional sense, the woman who I’ m half of  was still alive and in my life. Debra was more like an aunt to me, fun and spirited and eternally youthful. But I still had her. 

Unlike Jack, who’s Earthly ties to his mother were shredded in an horribly violent way. 

My dad hardly ever cried, but when he called and told me that Aaron’s wife died I could hear it in his raw voice. Aaron’s a man cut from the same cloth a Dad; stoic and responsible. He was a wall of somber trepidation, but somewhere deep inside I could make out the man that wasn’t cataclysmically destroyed. 

“Jack is…he’s a strong kid. I put him in therapy after it happened. He still goes once a week. Laura, she’s his therapist. She’s wonderful. Truly has helped Jack work through all this.”

“That’s good. That’s really good, Mr. Hotchner. It seems as though Jack has a solid foundation here.” I say, unsure what to say exactly. I can make an omelet six different ways, yet it’s lost on me to know what to say to a widower with a little boy. If I had to bear even a fraction of their grief, I’m sure it would break me. I would crumble. But these two boys? They’re a good man in the storm. And I know in my bones, it’s entirely Aaron’s doing. If that man is anything, he’s steady. 

“It’s Aaron. Please, Mr. Hotchner reminds me of my father.” He cringes, the lines on his eyes creasing, “Your dad said you’re a professionally trained chef? Unfortunately, Jack’s still squarely in the dinosaur shaped chicken nugget and baked tater tots phase. It’s been a struggle to get him to try anything new…for…for awhile now, if I’m being honest.” 

I nod, thinking that Jack’s food discouragement might stem from losing his mom. “Well, the way I see it, Jack lost his mom at how old? Four and half? That’s when we’re starting to really know what we like and don’t like to eat. His life was turned upside down and shaken all around when you lost her. So maybe he needed some consistency in a world of chaos. Not that your home is chaotic, it’s lovely and clean and happy. It’s just…loss…”

“Losing your mother as a toddler really fucks up your life.” Aaron says. He speaks so definitely, as if he means everything so ardently you could cast it into stone. 

“Yeah.” I add, somberly. “But I think we can get him to branch out. Make it a game. I’d love to cook with him. I can get him kid-safe tools so he can be involved in food preparation and cooking. Oh! Maybe Jack and I can have a garden. I’m sure that will get him eating vegetables and fruits.” 

Aaron’s neutral expression slowly transitions to a soft smile. He thumps his fingers on the wooden table, as he looks out through the deck. I could feel him glance back at me and then to the yard again. 

“I think that a garden would be lovely over on the side. It’s far enough away from the pool and patio.” Aaron offers, sipping his tea. It’s sweet tea, too sweet for me. Working in kitchens throughout my program has trained me to not only tolerate black coffee, but to actively seek it out. He smiles, his grin defining his face. “Good idea.” 

I feel heat at his praise. I like doing well, who doesn't? But after a series of mishaps and bad luck, an 'atta' girl is my Hail Mary of the month. I simply nod. “Simple things to start so he can see some quick results. I’ll get him super involved in it. Make him feel like he’s a part of a team.” 

“I work a lot. My team flies across the nation, as you know. It takes me away from here for days on end. It was getting too much for Lorriane. And how her husband broke his hip.” Aaron shakes his head, “Honestly, you couldn’t have shown up here at a better time.” 

He runs his pointer finger over the water rung pooled on the coasters. “Jack’s a very easy kid. Reasonable. But shy. He was shy even before Haley…even before last year. I’ve brought him to the pediatrician because he stopped talking for a while, but she said that we’ve all survived an immense trauma and our brains simply process and live through that trauma differently.”

Sitting there, I couldn’t help but think how lucky this little boy is. His dad was running up the hill; pushing that boulder up and up and up for an eternity. It must be an awfully lot to carry, without anyone to share the load. 

“Yeah. I’m sure it is? Is he going into Kindergarten after the summer?” I ask, wondering if Jack went to Kindergarten on time or if Aaron and his grandma kept him home when they lost Haley. 

“Lori, Haley’s mother, taught preschool for thirty-five years. She told me to keep him home for a year, let him be a little bit older and get the help he needs to heal and then send him. So I listened. I think that was one of the only decisions I made as a team this year.” 

Sympathy must have colored my face because Aaron’s demeanor shifted quickly. He sat up, sipping his iced tea and wiping his hands on his jeans. “So basically your weekdays are around 8am-7:30pm. And occasionally on the weekends when the team does have to be on location But recently, I’ve been trying to transition to a more leadership position at headquarters. Hopefully, that’ll mean less traveling.” 

I quickly journaled the hours down in my notebook. Live-in nannying hours are not for those looking for a job to allow them the life of leisure. Naturally that couldn’t possibly be true for a position whose main coworker is a five and a half year old boy. 

“Alright. So that’s summer hours. We’ll need to brainstorm lots of stuff to do all day. Maybe the library?” I write a small note to get ideas and have them approved by Aaron.

He nodded, “Yes, summer hours are a lot, but Jack will be going to a couple camps that his therapist recommended. So you can get a couple hours each day to yourself. I am ready to compensate accordingly. Between my new role at the BAU and other personal investments, we live comfortably. How’s $2,500 to start and then we’ll discuss a raise in the future. And naturally your room and anything you may want to eat or have will be covered by me.” Aaron says it again in a way that leaves no room for argument. He must’ve been a great lawyer; no wonder dad adores him. 

“That’s quite a lot of money.” I’m shocked and my face does a horrible job of hiding it. “I’m not a professional nanny. I’m good with kids. Really good. But I don’t do this for a living. This is you doing me a favor because if it wasn’t for you, I’d be a waitress at my dads’ country clubs” I cringed, my mind instantly filtering in an image of me serving one-time sorority sisters bottomless mimosas for an Easter Brunch. 

“I apologize if you though that it was up for discussion, Y/N. Your first month’s pay will be $2,500 each week. And then it will increase to $3,250 each week. If I’m asking you to work 13 hour days plus one weekend a month? I better be paying you that much. And you’re still on Marty’s health insurance?” 

I rolled my eyes, of course dad mentioned that to Aaron and of course Aaron double checked. Aaron just might have Marty, JD beat when it comes to thoroughness. “Yeah, till I’m 26. And that’s like…a year and change away.” I say, implying that it’s not up to me, or Aaron even, to know how long I’ll be with him. I wasn’t sure if I would ever venture out to LA again; not after what happened that sent me back here for good.

But the thing about food is that everyone wants good food, no matter where they live. And right now, the ones that wanted something good in their lives, lived in a lovely Colonial home on Moss Avenue. 

“I guess there’s no arguing with you, prosecutor.” I say, my voice increasing just so that it balances the line between teasing and something else…something else I should be too ashamed to admit. 

It elicited a smile from him and all of the sudden it was completely worth it. Aaron finishes his tea, and places it into the sink after dumping the remaining ice chips down the drain. 

“Non-negotiable. It’s in your contract. Along with a health insurance package should you need to go off Marty’s name. Plus all that tax information that I’ll get you someone to walk you through it.” Aaron explained. 

“Thank you.” I replied, grateful that it was both all above the table and that I would be given the resources to help me figure it out. Looking at the pile of paperwork in my lap, I was sure that if Aaron didn’t offer legal literacy assistance I would be way in over my head. “That’s wonderful. Really.” 

“I just…I just want my son to be a good kid with a good childhood. That’s all. I want to be there for him and if I’m not there, I want the next best thing there. You know?” Aaron said and I’m not sure if it’s a plea or statement. Or if it was stuck somewhere in the middle; lost at sea like Aaron was himself. An island unto himself, drifting as the tide rolled in. 

I break the silence. “What was Haley’s favorite meal?” 

Aaron smiled. His eyes, crinkling again. “She had chicken piccata on our first date. And we ate it at our wedding. And when she found out she was pregnant with Jack she made it for me.” I nodded, understanding the important link between food and memories. 

“Let’s make it. For Jack and you and Lorianne to share tonight before she leaves. It’s going to be a big transition for him to go from having grandma all the time to me, someone very new.” I expressed, hoping that I didn’t sound bossy or as if I wanted to parent Jack myself. 

“That’s a lovely idea, Y/N.” Aaron sighed. “But I never was much of a chef. I wouldn’t know the first place to start.” 

He leaned his hands against the table, a slight smile breaking the formidable since that had fallen between us in the moments before. I smiled back, standing from the table to reach my tote bag. 

I pulled out an apron, the kind that criss crossed over my back. It was denim blue with a canvas front and large pockets. 

“Move over,” I said, tying my apron, “It might be your kitchen, Aaron, but for tonight you’re kicked out” 

The chicken ended up being more chicken piccata adjacent than a true representation of the dish. I mixed a seasoned blend of flour and spices for the dredging. Then, butterflied and pounded the chicken breasts into thin pieces. 

Aaron’s kitchen was spacious and airy. There was a large island with barstools on one side and lots of pantry and cupboard space on the other. I stood at the island, dredging the chicken in seasoned flour before placing it nearly on paper towel lined trays. The chicken, thinned and butterflied, didn’t take long to cook in the oil and butter. 

I let the skillet heat up till the oil, butter, garlic, and capers produced a mouthwatering aroma. Aaron gave me a bottle of white wine, imperative to make the sauce taste even better. I added freshly squeezed lemon juice and lemon slices to the pan sauce, letting the brown bits cook a little bit more. I scraped the edges of the skillet, incorporating the sauce even more. 

I placed the chicken back into the pan, letting it absorb the lemony, garlicky flavor of the sauce. The sauce thickened, forming something that was similar enough to chicken piccata. I added a bit more butter to the pan, along with some lemon. I figured that it would stretch a little bit more for some sauce for the pasta on the side. 

The chicken was simmering in the pan and the pasta water nearly boiling, when Jack came home. He looked like his father, but must have gotten his lighter colored hair and eyes from his mother. 

Aaron walked into the kitchen with Jack, his hands resting on Jack’s shoulders protectively. Jack’s shy demeanor was evident as he peered over at me. I smiled and waved as I finished the pasta. 

“Jackie, this is Ms. Y/N.” Aaron introduced me to the young boy, who stood shyly by his father. “We talked about how Grandma Lorraine needs to go back home. And we’re gonna have a friend come and live here.” 

Jack nodded, his little mind clearly spinning and spinning to make sense of all this. He was clearly well adjusted, even for losing his mother at such a young age. 

“Hey, there Jack!” I smiled. “I made a good dinner for you and your dad. I heard you went to the zoo with Grandma. I love the zoo. Especially the tigers.” 

Jack nodded, eagerly walking around the kitchen island to talk about the zoo. “Yeah,” he said, “I liked the monkeys. They were funny. The babies were learning to climb and jump.” 

I nodded, plating up some food for Jack. “Super cool. They’re kinda like little people. The way they act and play.” I placed the plate on the counter. “I used the Cars plate. It was way too cool not to.” I crouched down and whispered to Jack, “Just make sure your dad doesn’t swipe it. Between you and me I can see him eying it from here.” 

Aaron chuckled, reaching high to grab not one, but two plates. He handed one to me before telling Jack to go sit for dinner. “You’re joining us. It’ll be good for us to get to know one another.” 

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nothing you do would be an intrusion. And it’s good for Jack to see that we’re friends. He’ll be more trusting of you.” 

I nodded, understanding that it was very important for Jack to become used to me. Especially considering Aaron’s job could take him away for days at a time. 

“Alright.” 

Aaron nodded. “Sit. I’ll get your plate.” 

There was an understanding that washed over me. An understanding that Aaron was the kind of man that didn’t ask for things. He was simply used to things he wanted being carried out. I envied that security. Maybe if I had even an ounce of it I would still be hacking it out in LA. Or maybe I wouldn’t have needed to figure it out because I would’ve figured it out already. 

Jack and Aaron went back and forth, swapping facts about dinosaurs. Jack was squarely in the dinosaur phase. Five minutes in, and I already had promised to help him find a dinosaur coloring book, with dinosaurs besides just the “cool ones”. 

“Uncle Spencer says that some dinosaurs had heads as big as a car!” Jack said, practically shrieking with excitement as he recounted all the facts a certain Uncle Spencer had told him. 

“Uncle Spencer’s so smart. And he’s a kid!” Several of Jack’s stories started with the aforementioned Uncle Spencer and I couldn’t help but wonder where the connection lay. Especially if, like Jack claimed, Spencer was a child. Sometimes some cousins are so far apart in age they’re more like an aunt or an uncle. Perhaps this was the case.

“Spencer is on my team.” My face must have shown my confusion. I always wore my emotions and thoughts on my sleeves, something that failed me several times over. Most notably when my friends in LA would get hit on by men at bars in the most vile of ways. One of the blessings of being deemed unapproachable by men was being left alone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t burdened by their lack of tact in seducing women. “And he’s 28…yes about 28 now, and has been on the team since he was 23. He’s brilliant. Jason Gideon, who worked with Martin, scouted him when he was hardly 21. His mind works in ways that are simply unexplainable.” 

“Which means he must have some pretty sick dino facts?” I ask, my question causing a prickly smile to appear on Aaron’s face. Jack giggles, he must enjoy seeing his father smile. It seems that even though the boys find themselves moving alone, smiles are few and far between. Especially from the elder Hotchner. 

“And three phDs.” Aaron cut the rest of Jack’s chicken, sliding his plate over and reminding him to at least try the vegetables. “It’s like these kids are getting younger as fast as they are getting smarter. Sometimes I just look at Spencer and my knees hurt. Then again, I’m pretty sure I would beat him in anything athletic. Even though he’s much younger.” 

I raised my brow instinctively, smiling. “Was that a joke?” I deadpanned. “My dad said you made two jokes the entire time he knew you. And the first was…”

I stopped myself short. But it was far too late. Aaron, like myself and my father, knew when the first joke he made to my father was. His wedding day. My father had long retired, and moved his mind and soul far, far away from the BAU. He trusted Aaron and Gideon to handle it. Instead he decided to live as himself, freely with his husband and their daughter in the suburbs.

If there was one thing that I shouldn’t have done the first night working with a nanny family consisting of a widower and his son, it was to bring up the marriage of the widower. 

When Aaron married his late wife, Haley. My fathers attended, but I didn’t even remember. It must’ve been one of those times that Nana would sleepover. I remembered it was painting nails, ordering Chinese, and watching Walker, Texas Ranger and Family Feud. I remembered it as falling asleep to my Nana’s snoring as Home Shopping Club glowed on her ancient TV set and waking up to her chocolate chip pancakes. My father remembers it was the first time his young protege made a joke. And Aaron remembers it was the day he married the love of his life. 

“Daddy?” Jack said, cutting through the silence, “I don’t like veggies. They’re too mushy.” 

“Don’t eat them, bud.” Aaron, murmured, his voice laced with a guard that I hadn’t noticed till now. It was careful, like he crafted each tone and cadence before he spoke. “We’ll figure it out, Jack. Come on, let’s show Ms. Y/N her room. Where she’ll be staying.” 

Each sentence is clipped and calculated. I nod, smiling as Jack stands next to his father. 

“I’ll clean up.” 

Aaron nodded, thanking me as he took Jack up to get ready for bed. Minutes later, the kitchen was back to normal and a couple extra meals were packed away for leftovers. I left a note on the counter for Aaron in the morning. 

Lunch is in the fridge.

I always like to make extras! 

Have a nice day

Y/N

Aaron returned, without Jack. “You didn’t have to do the whole kitchen. I don’t expect that. This isn’t a housekeeping job, it’s taking care of Jack.” 

“I don’t mind. Being a chef…or I was a chef, as much as a pain in the ass cleaning and dishes can be sometimes it’s a good way to finish it all. I don’t know…I don’t make sense.” I chuckled, trailing off in a rambly way that fully gave away my nerves. My previous blunder had shaken me, especially since Aaron seemed completely unnerved, even though I knew it stung.

“I suppose, sometimes I used to stay late to do all the paperwork, even though the interns usually will do it for us.” Aaron wipped his hands on his pants.“Anyway, let me show you to the room. I had it cleaned over the weekend and put Lorianne up at a hotel for a couple nights so there wouldn’t be any issues or crossover.”

Aaron led me through the rest of the house. It was neat and tidy and I didn’t expect anything else from someone like Aaron, even though he does have a young, energetic son. There was just something meticulous about him. Something so put together and careful. And then there was me. Messy and complicated and unsure and terrified. Anyone would be that after having the carpet pulled out from under them. And I couldn’t name a bigger carpet than having to bury your life. 

There was a locked door that led to what Aaron explained as my private area. “Jack and I won’t come over here. From the time that I get home in the evenings, or frankly, some days, till I leave in the mornings is your own. This is your spot in the house, but my housekeepers that come twice a month will clean in here, if you’d like.” 

I nodded, grateful for that added bonus. The small attachment was the size of a studio apartment. There was a kitchenette with a nook tucked into the corner with the windows. The furniture matched the rest of the house, clearly Aaron had spared no expense to add this attachment. The queen sized bed was pushed up against the wall and nestled into the corner. Next to it was a nightstand with a lamp. And, as I turned the corner, was the crowning jewel. 

“Are those built–ins?” I asked, staring in disbelief. “Those are so gorgeous. I have like, easy, a ton, of books. God! Can I use them?” I turned, practically jumping from joy as Aaron chuckled reluctantly. 

“Of course. This room’s yours.” Aaron must’ve carried my bags into the bedroom while I was cooking because all of my belongings sat on the floor near the set of love seats and armchair. “I’ll leave you to get settled. 8:30 okay for tomorrow?” 

I nodded, stunned beyond belief as I opened my boxes of books. Aaron handed me a set of keys, one to the house, the shed, and the other to my area of the house. 

“You’re the only one that has a copy. If you want others made, I’ll cover the expense.” Aaron explained. “Have a good night, Y/N.” 

“Good night,” I replied, hooking the keys onto my set. “And thank you for this room. It’s nicer than my apartment in LA.” 

Aaron leaned against the doorframe, “Of course, I think Jack'll be very happy. It’s been hard to trust others. With him, honestly…Jack’s all I got left.” I had known Aaron for about three hours, heard stories of his skill and professionalism and talent for years, but he wasn’t someone that I had known, let alone even met. But in those three hours, I could count several times where I saw a sliver of emotions.

“I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Night.” 

“And Y/N?” Aaron said, stopping me as I reach down to start shelving books, “Food does hold memories. You’re right. I needed it. We did. Jack and I. He needs to remember her.” 

“Food has memories.” I said, shrugging, “You’re gonna have to learn I know more than you think I do.”

Taglist

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @pear-1206 @this-is-calm-and-its-anne @little-jana @pastelpinkflowerlife @sarcasm-and-stiles @ilovefictionalmennn

[qatarsprint2023]

Hi can I request a lando x f!reader when she’s really sick and how lando takes care of her, like A. fluffy and comforting fic. I just found ur acc and I’m so excited for ur upcoming writings!!!!

~🎀

Thank you sm! Hope you enjoy this one, 🎀<3

Sick days and Race weekends— LN4

Lando discovers that his girlfriend got sick while he was away for a race and didn't want to worry him. — Lando Norris x f!reader, fluff, comfort, reader has a bad case of the flu, no use of y/n word count: ca. 1.2k

Ever since you were a kid you'd never been the type of person to get actually sick. Sure, a little cough and runny nose maybe, but nothing ever really drastic. Personally, you were pretty sure your immune system was simply a wonderful combination of good genes and growing up in the countryside.

Your parents had always told you that the fresh air and spending a lot of time outdoors with some exposure to animals had probably played some part in your never being sick as well and developed your immune system in a way people who grew up in urban areas would never have.

But when you moved to London for uni a little later in life, a huge city with tons of traffic, pollution and surprisingly little greenery, you found yourself getting sick more often than when you lived on your parent's farm surrounded by green grass, fields that stretched for miles and lots of animals. However this time you got sick. Runny nose, aching joints, pounding headache, hacking cough, fever that came and went as it pleased... The whole flu package, really.

You'd already started feeling a little off before Lando left for Austin on Wednesday and it had gradually gotten a little worse each day, but by Friday it all just hit like a wrecking ball. But you being you, decided not to say anything much about it and tell your boyfriend it was just a common cold you were dealing with back home.

He'd done so well in Qualifying on Friday and he should really be concentrating on his upcoming race and not his girlfriend's inane complaints from halfway across the globe. You didn't like worrying people. It didn't feel right plaguing someone else with your problems when surely you could somehow find a way to work it out yourself anyway.

But now it was Monday morning and you had curled up on the couch under the heaviest blanket you could find with a half empty tissue box and a giant mug of tea on the coffee table beside you a few hours ago already. You were cold and shivering like leaves in the wind on an icey autumn day like today, even with your hot drink and the warm blanket thrown across your body.

You couldn't have been more miserable. You felt like you were dying. You couldn't go to work, or leave the house because you simply felt awful and weak. So, you decided to just lay down on the couch and wait for Lando to get home.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting for the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock, you perked up a little at the sound coming from the door across the room. Lando stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a soft sigh slipping past his lips, not noticing you.

"Hey... P2!" you croaked weakly and forced a small smile onto your lips when you saw your boyfriend step into your shared flat, suitcase in hand, his coat and shoes still on as well after he just made his way through Heathrow airport and probably (definitely) went through a mini heart attack too when his luggage didn't immediately come out with everything else from the flight, like he always does when you're flying somewhere.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd actually heard you call out to him. It was the last thing he expected to hear. Reasonable response, you had to concur— after all, you were supposed to be at work. Then he turned to face the couch and saw you laying there, basically drowning under the heavy fabric of your blanket.

"Hey, hey... What's wrong? Why aren't you at work?" he asked in a voice that showed obvious signs of worry as he quickly kicked his shoes off and went over to you, feeling your forehead with his cold palm. "Jesus. You're basically on fire, baby... I thought you just had a normal cough?!"

"Didn't wanna worry you," you chuckled with an innocent smile, but before you knew it, your chuckle turned into yet another harsh cough. According to your mum, you sounded like an elephant with tuberculosis, like she told you over the phone yesterday. Harsh but true comparison, you had to admit.

Lando groaned and shook his head in an exaggerated way. "Yeah but, you should worry me when you get a fever like this!" However his expression softened to one of sympathy as he sat down beside you on the edge of the beige couch, gently stroking your forehead in an attempt to make you feel more at ease.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt this bad when we talked yesterday?" he frowned, some of his soft curls falling onto his forehead.

"You just got P2 and you sounded so happy about that on the phone, so I didn't wanna dampen the mood," you respond with a shrug.

"The only thing you've got me feeling right now is worried, baby. Come on, you can hardly talk without having a coughing fit," he sighed, putting his arm around you and planting a kiss on the crown of your head. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"Not yet," you sniffled softly and shook your head, rubbing the bridge of your nose with your index finger and thumb. It felt like there was someone playing a damn drum solo against the inside of your skull. "Didn't have the energy to make myself anything more than tea. I feel like death..."

"I know, baby, I know..." Lando sighed softly and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb as he stood up and placed his hands on his hips, looking down at you. "I'll make you some toast, okay? But first let's get you to bed... The couch isn't comfortable enough for when my girl needs to rest. It'll give you a stiff neck, sweetheart."

Lando gently looped his arm around your waist and helped you get up from the couch, a soft groan escaping your throat. He held you upright as you slowly walked over to the bedroom where your boyfriend lied you down in bed and pulled the covers over your shivering body, enveloping you in a warm sea of soft bedsheets.

"Alright..." he said with a sympathetic gaze in his hazel eyes and fluffed up your pillow a little, so you could lay down more comfortably. "I'll make you something and I'll bring you your tea in a minute too. Oh and some of that cough syrup we have as well. I know you don't like it, but I don't like it when you sound like you're gonna cough up your lungs any second. Do you want me to make you some soup later too?"

"You can make soup?" you retorted raspily and covered your mouth as another cough slipped past your chapped lips.

"Well... no... But I can make soup from the can?" Lando suggested with a sheepish grin, which caused you to smile a bit as well. It was so nice to have someone who just wanted to help and make you feel better.

"That'd be nice, thank you..." you replied softly and smiled, though you quickly covered your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you. "No! I'll get you sick too!"

"Well, I sure as hell won't let you sleep alone tonight, so whether I kiss you now or have my arm around you for seven hours tonight doesn't really make a big difference, does it?" he chuckled and gently took your hand away from your face to press a chaste kiss against your pale lips.

"Stay with me afterwards?" you hummed softly, not yet pulling away from the tender sensation of his lips on yours and your hand in his.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to," said Lando in response and gently gave your hip a pat. "But first I'll get you something to eat and your tea from the living room, yeah?"

[wannabeschyulersister]

Clingy Carmen?

It had been a week and a half since you last saw Carmy. Your best friend from college was getting married in Maine and you wanted to be there with her to finalize any details and of course on her big day. You took your maid of honor duties very seriously.

You missed Carmen everyday. He would text you during the day to check on you but it wasn’t very often. You knew he was extremely busy so you didn’t take it to heart. He did FaceTime you once right when he got home one early morning. He looked exhausted so you didn’t chat too long.

On your last day in Maine, you got a text from Richie.

Richie: next time you go out of town, take my idiot cousin w/ you. He’s been a fuckin nightmare.

It was around nine in the evening when your flight got in. By the time you made it out of the airport and got a cab, it was close to half past ten. You knew it was still early and Carmy wouldn’t be home anytime soon.

To your surprise, he was already sitting on your sofa when you walked into your apartment. When he spotted you, it was like you could see the stress leave his body.

“Carmy? What are you doing here?”

He stood up and made his way towards you without saying a word. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him, “I missed you so fuckin’ much.”

You returned the hug without a second thought. He smelled of your body wash and cigarettes. A weird but familiar scent. “I missed you too.”

Carmy held onto you tight, but not painfully, as if he were scared you would slip right through his arms. “Richie sent me home. Said I was being a dick.”

You laughed a little. Your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat soothing you in that moment. “If Richie said that then you must’ve really been a dick. He texted me saying that I should bring you with me next time.”

“That dick.” He mumbled as he rested his head on top of yours. You rubbed his back softly and for the first time in a week and a half, Carmen felt at peace.

When you left, he felt this knot forming in his chest. It seemed to get bigger and bigger as the week went on. He felt restless and irritable. Now, with you in his arms, it felt like that knot was gone. He felt like he was finally able to breathe.

“I need to shower and get this airport smell off of me.”

Carmy reluctantly let you go but grabbed your hand in one and your luggage in another. He brought you to the bedroom and watched as you gathered clothes for a shower.

He sat on the toilet seat as you bathed and told him about the wedding. He wanted to hear all of the details about the week.

As soon as you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself with your towel, he was up and hugged you from behind. His head resting on your shoulder. You reached back and touched his hair softly, “You really missed me, huh?”

“You have no idea.” He mumbled as he kissed your bare shoulder.

He watched as you did your skin care routine and helped brush your hair. Carmy was delicate with it in a soothing way.

“Did you eat somethin’? I should’ve asked when you first got here.”

You nodded, “Yeah, I grabbed a sandwich at the airport.”

Once you were dressed for the night in your favorite pajamas, you made your way to the living room when Carmy right on your heels. He had a movie playing from before but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to it. He had been antsy for your arrival.

You sat down on the sofa and he sat right next to you. Arm around your shoulders and he pulled you closer so you were resting against his chest. He breathed in the scent of your floral shampoo.

“How has things been at the restaurant this past week?” You asked him as he trailed his fingers up and down your left arm.

He sighed, “Horrible. We only have six weeks until we open and it seems like everything is shit.”

You hated leaving Carmy in the middle of the restaurant’s renovation. You had a full-time job that made you unavailable to help during work hours. The second you were off for the day, you made your way to The Bear. Carmy appreciated you being there for him to help with any decisions where he needed the opinion of Sydney or you.

Sometimes, you just being there to give him a quick kiss or a comforting touch on his arm made a world of a difference. He felt safe whenever you were near. Like he could handle any shit that was thrown his way.

“You know I’m here to help with anything that you need.” You told him softly.

Carmy kissed the top of your head, “I know. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

[apute11as]

Everything happens for a reason ~ Alexia putellas x reader

Author note: The poll was close but I’ve decided to do it as parts as it’s easier for me to get regular smaller posts out with my work and things but I hope you enjoy❤️

⚠️ suggestive themes, slight smut, pregnancy, failed ivf mentions

——

The sun light pierced your blinds, bathing your room in a gentle yellow glow. As your eyes fluttered open, you were met with the beautiful site of your wife’s naked, tattooed back asleep next to you. You knew she’d be tired, as were you after your late night activities that went on into the early hours of the morning, needing to make the most of your time together before a gruelling 2 months likely without seeing each other at all.

You admired the woman next to you, and the way that the light made her tanned skin look ethereal. Tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears, you pressed a light kiss to her cheek but as you went to bend back up, you felt an unusual lurch in your stomach. Rising immediately, you went to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. After gagging for a couple of seconds, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, one that surely belonged to your girlfriend.

“¿estas bien mi amor?” she questioned with a soft look of concern present on her features.

“Si carino estoy bien I think it’s just nerves because of how soon the World Cup is and the pressure that I’m going to be under.” you replied patting her hand that rested on your shoulder.

“Ok if you’re sure let’s get some water” she exclaimed, offering her hand and using her other to lift you by the hips.

As you entered the kitchen, she quickly made you water and a warm cup of coffee which seemed to work pretty well to soothe your aching stomach, a sure sign that this wasn’t a bug but simply nerves.

——

A couple of hours passed and you were feeling almost completely better which definitely helped in reducing your girlfriend’s anxiety. She had helped you with all the finishing touches to packing your bag so that you were now completely ready to go to the airport. Despite the original plan being for you to get a taxi to the airport, after this morning Alexia insisted she drive you in her car, claiming that she could easily divert her taxi to take her to her camp from the airport. After a large discussion, filled with many kisses, you finally agreed.

You planned to leave at 8am but it was currently 7:30 so with half an hour to spare the two of you were cuddled up on the sofa, with Nala settled asleep across both of your laps.

“I’m going to miss you so much amor” alexia whispered into your neck, tightening her grip around you.

“I’ll miss you too Ale, but I’ll see you in the final, when we both get there” you replied, kissing her cheek.

“Hmm” she hummed into you, her hands creeping up your jumper and onto the bare skin beneath it.

“what do you think you’re doing love” you giggled as her cold hands made contact with your exposed midsection.

“Mmm gonna miss you so much” she mumbled as she pulled you into her further, startling poor Nala who preceded to fall into the rug, showing her annoyance with a small bark. At this point, you were now straddling her hips, and she was leaving open mouth kisses on your neck on the marks she’d left last night. She then carefully slotted her thigh in between your legs, trying to make contact though the layers of fabric between her legs and your pussy.

“Ale I need to get ready to go soon or else I’ll miss my check in.” You reminded her but she seemed unfazed as her hand reached your breasts and began to massage them. You moaned as she reached your nipples, allowing her to keep going despite the more logical side to you saying no. However, you draw the line when her hands reach down into your sweatpants to touch your pussy. “Alexia putellas segura you are like a teenage boy are you always horny?” you questioned, whilst simultaneously trying to escape her newfound grip on your hips.

“No I just love you so much bebita and I’m going to miss you and these” she said groping your breasts again.

“Ale stop it I mean it we have to go” you say sternly, finally managing to escape her grasp.

“Fine” she huffed like a child being scolded by their parent. She made a move to stand up but not before giving your ass a smack as she shuffled past you.

“You little-“ you remarked as you began to chase her, Nala joining in with her mami’s playing.

After a painful 15 minutes of Alexia touching you in anyway she can, you finally made it to the car with all of your stuff and Alexia of course opting to carry as much of your stuff as humanly possible, the princess treatment ever present as always. And of course once you had begun your journey, Alexia had placed her hand on your thigh for the entire 30 minutes.

Once you finally reached your destination of the airport, Alexia parked up her Cupra and promptly strolled around the other side of the car to open the door and offer her hand to you so you could get out. Hand in hand, you both ventured to the car trunk to collect your bags, and of course Alexia carried as much as possible; ever the gentlewoman.

So you walked over to the airport hand in hand. After unloading your stuff into the baggage section, it was time to say goodbye to your girlfriend for the next two months. What you hadn’t expected was for the tears to form in your eyes so easily.

“Amor are you crying” alexia asked, her eyes slightly glassy too.

“Yes sorry my love” you responded, letting the tears fall without restraint now as she held you tight in her arms, just had she had after every failed IVF attempt.

“Don’t be sorry I’m just shocked you don’t normally get this emotional I’ll see you soon I promise cariño” she stated with a pitiful smile.

“I think I’m just having one of those days my love I’m really going to miss you” you replied

“And I you guapa” she smiled.

With one last hug, the two of you parted ways and you headed to security and baggage check, boarding pass in hand and unsettling feeling in your stomach.

Once you boarded the plane, you quickly found your seat, it was next to a woman and a small child. Placing your stuff in the overhead storage, you sat down by the window staring into abyss. Around 20 minutes into the flight, the unease in your stomach returned and you suddenly felt bile begin to rise up in your throat. Noticing your discomfort, the woman next to you spoke up.

“are you alright love” she questioned with a maternal glint in her eyes.

“Oh- yes sorry just feeling a bit ill” you replied hesitantly.

“would you like travel sickness tablets?” She asked with a smile.

“Oh no thank you I don’t usually get travel sick” you assured her.

“Well haha I thought the same until I was pregnant with this one here” she said pointing at the toddler asleep next to her.

“I was great with travelling but then I just started to feel sick every time I entered a moving vehicle” she chuckled.

“Oh wow I’m sure I’m not pregnant though” you offered weakly.

“Probably but you never know” she rebounded.

“Actually I took a test the other week we were trying for a while, but after the last negative we’ve decided to give it a break” you replied with a hint of sadness.

“Ah I see but those box tests aren’t always correct, I’m sorry if I’m overstepping here but given what you’ve told me maybe it’s worth taking another” she professed.

“Maybe” you said weakly, offering a small smile.

Throughout the journey your thoughts spiralled, what if you were pregnant and the test had been wrong? How would you explain this to your coaches, to Alexia? The sickness persisted, you excused yourself to the bathroom once or twice, but nothing but dry heaving occurred. The likely reality of your predicament began to settle in and what felt like an extensive flight, despite the fact it was only 2 hours, the plane touched town in rainy England and as you stepped out of the plane, all that you felt was dread.

[nyrasbloodyclover]

a hot welcome (modern!aegon targaryen x reader)

cw: smut, p in v, fingering, reader is a virgin, aegon targaryen is a perv, daeron bff,

a/n: i am not really satisfied with this, but i had to finish it. anyway, i am logging out for some time. see you soon!

"I need you to help me pack, Daeron."

"No you don't, do it yourself. In case you forgot, I have to pack too."

Since you two became friends in freshman year, you were inseparable. You helped each other study, you hung out all the time and now he asked you to accompany him on his trip to visit his family, since they lived across the country.

"I thought you were finished! We have to leave in an hour!"

"This is why you don't have any friends. You think anyone would want to put up with this?"

"And this is why you don't have a girlfriend!"

You could've gone for hours like that, but it was really time to go.

Thirty minutes later, you were finished, and on your way.

The flight was pretty short, and you felt the nerves kicking in. The main reason Daeron asked you to come with him was that he didn't really like his family. Especially his brothers.

And from the stories you heard, you weren't a fan of them either.

Aegon was a drunk and a pervert (not Daeron's exact words, but your conclusion) and Aemond was cold and distant, emotionally unavailable probably.

Helaena was fine, she even visited a couple of times. Daeron rarely came home and his mother was very worried. She made him promise that he'd come once the school year was over.

You really had no other friends. You were glad you met him, but other people tend to be loud and too much work. You hated that.

Alicent picked you up from the airport, visibly on edge, because she wasn't very present during Daeron's childhood, but he never mentioned it. Not once. He was asking about his siblings and their pets and Alicent's new potential boyfriends. He was really nice and you loved him because of that. You tried to join their conversation, but failed so you kept quiet until you came home.

Once you got into the house Helaena was the one who greeted you, with a smile and a spider crawling up her arm.

"Oh my god! Wait, you have—" I tried to brush the little creature off, but she just laughed.

"That's my new pet. Wanna hold him?"

"Uh... Yeah, sure." She was kind and you really liked Helaena, you'd also like to get to know her better.

"Stop bothering her, sister. She just got here." It was an unfamiliar male voice and he was walking down the stairs.

Unkept shoulder length hair, dirty mouth and half closed eyes? Yes, that was Aegon.

"Why? So that you could bother her? Leave us alone."

You recognized him from Daeron's stories and he wasn't exaggerating, everything was on point. You could practically feel, not the mockery, but the perverse part of him coming to the surface.

"Hi. Aegon, right?"

His smile was twisted. "And for how long will this pretty thing be staying with us, Daeron?" He was walking over to the kitchen and your friend frowned at his brother.

"Aegon, don't."

"What?" He laughed, "It was merely a question."

Later that day, Daeron showed you your room, it was a guest room, larger than the apartment you shared with Daeron. His family was pretty wealthy.

If you'd only looked at Aegon, you could never tell.

While you were unpacking, you sensed someone's presence behind you, but before you could turn around, he was already sitting on your bed, looking like a very happy puppy. Who might do things to you if you let him.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, at least I think so. If you cooperate."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No," he giggled, he actually giggled.

"Would you please get out?"

Aegon got up and instead of leaving the room, he closed the door. You two were alone in your temporary bedroom.

"Aegon. Please get out, I don't want anything to do with you." But that was a lie. A big, fat, lie.

You wanted him to ruin you to your core, until there is nothing left for him to take. You never even had your first kiss.

It was the attention. Nobody gave you this much attention in your life, at least not in that way.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire..."

"You are so drunk. Isn't it almost dinner time? Are you going out?"

"No. Just came here...For you."

He stepped closer towards you and the back of your knees hit the bed. If he decides to come any closer, you'll have to crawl over your bed which you don't plan on doing.

Aegon could practically smell the innocence on you. It made him go mad. It made him go into his room and drink the whole bottle of wine in a heartbeat, only to be brought into your room, while you were bending over that bed, unpacking.

Daeron warned him, but he didn't give a shit. He's going to have you, one way or another.

Now you were all flushed, waiting for his next move and he didn't plan on wasting any more moments.

His hands were in your hair and in a second he was pulling you in and kissing you, devouring you and Aegon tried to slip his tongue inside your mouth, but you were still too stubborn.

You pulled away, pressing a hand over your mouth, like you've done something sinful. He loved the taste of you, and he wanted more of it.

"You..." You couldn't even look at him. How he wanted to spread you on that very bed until you can't walk.

He was ready to continue, but there was a knock on the door. Daeron.

"Dinner is ready. Mother already called, but I wasn't sure if you heard..."

"Coming!" You managed to get out, but your voice was shaky. Your face was burning.

During the dinner everyone ate silently, and at some point you could feel Aegon's knee brush against yours while he watched you from across the table. You tried to remain calm but your face grew hotter every second. You crossed your legs and he didn't fail to miss it.

His drunken eyes wandered over you, especially your cleavage in a shirt that was a bit more revealing. You forgot about it, but then cursed yourself for wearing it in such a moment.

It was thankfully over soon and you got to shower, finally! You were just finishing washing your hair when you heard the door open.

Aegon couldn't see anything, but you were paralyzed.

He took off his shirt and you had to admit, you wanted to be able to see somehow. You had no idea what his deal was, but it made your knees tremble.

"Aegon, what is it?"

"Nothing." You could see the outline of his body, he was completely naked now and he was walking towards you.

"Stop. I'm getting out. Give me a towel."

To your surprise, he obeyed and tossed you a large towel to wrap around your body. When you slid the door open his naked body flashed you, but you prepared mentally, so you didn't react, and certainly did not look anywhere besides his face and the smug expression he was giving you.

Despite your best efforts, you saw black ink of his tattoos and that was the last straw, you bolted from the bathroom.

It wasn't until you were in your room that you remembered you left your clean clothes there.

You cursed yourself, but took a spare shirt you had and used it as a pajama.

You peeked from your room to see if the bathroom was empty, and when you saw the light was out, you ran to get your things, but what took you by surprise is that the clothes were still there, all except for your underwear. Which was at the top of the pile.

Maybe you left them in your room, you didn't know, but you were too tired to care, anyway, so you got under the covers and took some time to read your book. You were so close to drifting away, but a strange noise awoke you. Like someone was in pain. It was the room beside yours.

No, not in pain, you realized, embarrassed. It was male moaning and occasional whimpering. And it was Aegon.

Was it possible that you got the room that was so close to his? You knew that he was doing that on purpose, touching himself, just to make you even more flustered.

You had trouble sleeping that night, refusing to acknowledge the pain and wetness between your legs. You woke up around four in the morning and decided to drink some cold water and try to calm down. Your heart was hammering against your chest, remembering the sounds of pleasure Aegon was making.

You opened your door, but before you could go down the stairs, you felt someone's hand on your mouth, pulling you backwards, until you were in another room. You didn't even get to panic properly. But of course, when you turned, it was Aegon who was smiling at you. It was almost dark in his room.

"What the fuck?" You whispered.

He didn't answer, but he did pull you towards him and start kissing you, no, swallowing your face would be more appropriate. It caught you off guard, but you weren't mad. You wanted him to take control, you were desperate for it.

"Ever been fucked?" He mumbled in between kissing.

"N...No," you breathed out, every part of your rationality leaving, there was just him, only him. He grinned and seemed quite satisfied with your answer. He wanted to be the one who is going to destroy you.

Just in your shirt, it was easy for him to start touching you immediately, not having to remove any clothing. You gasped at the feeling of his fingertips.

You ended up on his bed, not being able to see clearly, dizzy from the sight of him.

His fingers pulled your underwear to the side and slowly touched your clit, using your wetness to prepare you for him after slipping one finger inside of you.

"We are just getting started. Relax," he whispered the last word in your ear as his finger slid in and out. Aegon kissed your neck and collarbones, just to soothe you before slipping in another finger. He did his best to stretch your walls before entering you.

"Aegon," you covered your mouth with your hand, remembering where you were and who might hear you.

He looked at you like you were a piece of meat he was ready to butcher.

Telling you nothing more, you suddenly felt him rubbing himself against your folds. Teasing you at your entrance, making you squirm beneath him.

"I was going to wait. I really was." He grunted, but continued, "I couldn't do it, it was a perfect opportunity and this is how you're going to spend every night in this house."

Your hips moved, needing him to touch you, bury himself deep inside you. And that's precisely what he did.

He went slow. Just the tip, and then he went deeper and deeper, the pain growing, but it was quickly switched with pleasure.

He slammed his dick inside you, making you cry out in pain, not yet accustomed to him. "You're going to ride me so well, I know it." Aegon's fingers dig deep into your hips.

He even forgot to take off your panties, it was stretched to the side while he kept going in and out, without mercy.

You dragged your nails against his bare back, leaving red marks behind. You realized he probably slept just in his underwear.

He pulled himself out of you, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness.

"Shh, it's okay, come here," he gestured towards himself. Aegon was now laying down and you supposed you knew what he wanted. You were scared.

"But I've never— I don't know how—"

"Nonsense." He guided your hips towards his cock and pulled you down on him, again, very slowly and then started moving you in the rhythm that was good enough for both of you.

You continued as he showed you, his hands were on your ass, squeezing until it hurt.

You felt him deep, throwing your head back, but keeping your mouth shut.

Aegon grunted, but then a moan escaped his mouth, "Do it faster." And you tried to listen to him, you gave him your best and he seemed satisfied enough.

When you reached your peak, you stopped moving completely, letting yourself squeeze him, your thighs trembling. Aegon held your hips in place and then pulled out, but continued to rub himself on your still sensitive clit.

Your moans were what set him off and he came all over his and your stomach, gasping for air once you both fell on the bed beside each other.

"I am going to teach you so many things."

You just hoped nobody finds out. And when you turned your head you saw your missing underwear, sitting on top of Aegon's nightstand still wet.

[yazmarina]

cariño (pintas en color)

pepe martí (f2) x gn!reader

surprising your long-distance boyfriend has never been sweeter.

warnings/notes: fluff, a meet-cute, just some general sweet stuff

a/n: for my pepe enjoyers out there <3 oh how I love this man. enjoy!

You met him at a bar in Barcelona.

It was clear, based on your initial judgment, that he doesn't frequent these establishments. His fingers fiddled with the condensation on his glass. When he's not swiping at the droplets, he's tugging at the tie loosely hanging around his neck.

He had his friends with him, at least, and they seemed to be having a good time. They must be celebrating something or on the way home from a formal event as they're all dressed sharply, youthful faces made a little more mature by the crisp fabric of their suits.

Your blouse and jeans suddenly felt a little too tight, a little too hot when the handsome young man with the cute smile approached the bar, stopping right next to you as he called out for the bartender.

"Another martini, please," he said in Spanish, that much you could recognize with what little of the language you picked up over the past six months.

You glanced up at his face casually, startled when you saw him already looking. You looked away in a panic, feeling your heart leap into your throat.

"I like your shirt," he said, leaning against the bar, head tilting as he studied you.

"T-Thank you," you said in stuttering Spanish. Only then did you notice how low-cut the neckline of your shirt was. "You look great in your suit."

He smiled, sliding into the bar stool next to you.

"I'm Pepe," he declared, in English this time, peering closer at your face as if to gauge if you'd be more comfortable using this language.

"I'm ______," you replied, smiling politely.

"Cute name," Pepe commented, nodding toward the bartender as his drink arrived.

"Not as cute as yours," you responded quickly.

Pepe chuckled, holding his drink up to you. You took ahold of your beer and clinked it against his glass.

"So, tourist? Expat?" he questioned before taking a sip.

You shook your head. "Student."

Pepe raised his eyebrows and nodded. "How long are you here for?"

"Another six months or so," you explained. "I'm on an exchange student program."

"So you're leaving eventually?" Pepe asked again, leaning closer. Your cheeks had heated up significantly at this point.

"Not anytime soon, though. Lots of time to...explore," you offered, bumping his shoulder with yours.

Pepe laughed then, eyes disappearing and his face lighting up despite the dim bar atmosphere. It wasn't the last time you'd look at his laughing face. But how you wished consistently in the months that followed that it wasn't just through a screen.

So now, standing in the middle of the Barcelona track complex, your heart pounds, your legs seemingly moving on their own accord as they start to walk towards what you know is the F2 paddock.

The last you've seen of Pepe in person was nearly half a year ago when you left Spain to return home. Almost a year since your first meeting and you can count on two hands how many physical dates you've gone on.

It wasn't ideal. You're not even sure if you and Pepe were meant to meet. Had he picked up his martini and left, the two of you would never have uttered a word to each other. If you hadn't returned his compliment, your life would look completely different right now.

A year of mismatched schedules, airport goodbyes, tearful last dates, and hours-long phone calls have come to this.

You're here now, walking to the Campos garage. Pepe's outside, warming up for qualifying. He's with his trainer, his back to you, completely oblivious to the grin his trainer flashes at the sight of you.

"Hola, cariño."

Pepe whips around and his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as he sees you. You're immediately picked up, giggling as your boyfriend spins you around in glee.

"You're here! How?! Why didn't you tell me?!" Pepe nearly stumbles over his words as he gently takes your face in his large hands.

You beam up at him, laying your own palms over his reddened cheeks. Pepe wastes no time and pulls you in for a kiss, sweeping and romantic and uncaring of all the eyes that stare at you right now.

"I love you," he professes.

It's a wonderful feeling, to stand here and to be able to show the person you love just how much you love them.

"And I love you, mi amor," you reply, balancing on your tip toes as you land a sweet kiss to his grinning lips.

-

"I can't believe I'm immortalized forever with this clip!"

You replay the video on your phone, groaning when your worried face fills up the screen once again. Pepe cackles with laughter beside you, doubling over, as if your concern for his safety was oh-so-funny.

"Would have been funnier if they did the label thingy as they do on F1," Pepe gasps in between laughs. "'________, Pepe Martí's partner', and then your face looking like that!"

You roll your eyes, but a grin spreads on your lips.

"You were wheel to wheel with your teammate, how else would I have reacted?" You ask, shoving Pepe lightly. "And how would I know that the camera guys were that interested in me?"

Pepe wipes away at the tears that have sprung up in his eyes, leaning closer to you. He leaves an innocent peck on the tip of your nose, giggling as your face scrunches up.

"Anyone would be interested in you when you're this beautiful," Pepe declares.

"I know I was," he adds, gripping one side of your face, tilting your lips upward toward his.

The two of you melt into a searing kiss and all you can do is smile, fingers carding through Pepe's hair.

[narryffdreaming]

A TOAST TO THE FUTURE — ONE

Summary: Aurora and Harry used to be friends, but life happened and they grew apart. Now, 6 years later, they meet again.

Rating: +18

WARNINGS: The story contains explicit language and mentions a past abusive relationship (mostly the consequences of psychological/emotional abuse). Some chapters also contain explicit sexual content.

Author's note: You have no idea how much I love these characters and how nervous I am to finally share this story again. I posted ATTTF for the first time back in 2022 but never got to finish it, so I'm hoping I'll get to do it this time! If you read this, I hope you enjoy it, and please be gentle with them! (lol)

PART ONE: 5,4k words

The sky is still dark when the Uber driver drops Aurora off at Stansted airport. 

The polite man, who just kept her company for an hour and a half, wishes her a safe trip, and Aurora smiles, waving him a last goodbye and wishing him a good day right before she shuts the door of his black Toyota Prius. Once alone, a light breeze tickles her shoulders, but she doesn't give it enough time to settle as she rearranges the strap of the navy duffel bag on her shoulder and turns around, then sets her feet into motion.

Hopefully, she isn't late. She doesn't think she is. She left the house forty minutes before she needed to, and the ride to get there was shorter than expected because of the early hour, so she shouldn't be. 

Still, she wants to make sure. 

Just in case. 

You can blame it on the fact that she hasn't spent a weekend with her friends in years. Or that it is the first time she's going out since… Well, since everything in her life turned upside down.  

The strap of her bag slips from her shoulder, and Aurora catches it between her fingers. She puts it back in place and tightens her grip around the soft fabric, turning sideways to squeeze herself between a group of people that's happily chatting on the sidewalk. An apology leaves her mouth as she runs past them, but they don't seem to care nor notice they're standing in her way — or in everyone's way. 

Has the Stansted airport always been this crowded?

The lights are bright outside, and the glass walls reveal how equally well-lit it is inside the terminal building. When she reaches the automatic doors, they take a moment to open, and she stops. It gives her enough time to catch a glimpse of her reflection, and her stomach quivers. Her hair is messy, the sports bag she's carrying doesn't match the maxi dress she's wearing, and she's showing off too much cleavage for a woman her age. 

Those are too many things to notice in one quick glance, and she wishes she hadn't. Still, it is too early in the morning to feel insecure about the way she looks, and she doesn't have time for that. She has a flight to catch. 

(Also, she really needs to pee right now.)

So she breathes in deeply and darts her eyes down, then takes her free hand up to her chest and pulls the fabric up. When she moves next, she keeps her sight fixed on the floor, then grabs the pendant of her necklace between her fingers and walks through the doors, biting the flesh inside of her cheek and fidgeting with the gold disk as her feet drag her inside the airport. 

Everything feels slow and heavy. And there's a mix of nervousness and anticipation that's building up inside her. It's unsettling, but it keeps her moving, at least. 

Once inside, Aurora looks up again. She turns her head to one side, then to the other, short nails never letting go of her necklace. 

The wide open area in front of her leads to multiple check-in desks from several different airlines, but she ignores all of them, aiming solemnly on the huge departure boards placed around the terminal. 

She doesn't have any luggage to drop, and her boarding pass is printed and ready inside her bag — and, just in case, there's also a copy of it saved on her phone — but she wants to make sure she won't be running late if she takes another five minutes for a quick run to the toilets before standing in line to get through security. 

Her determination drives her forward, and she only stops walking when she's right in front of the closest monitor. She blinks a couple of times, making sense of all the information while searching for the only flight she cares about. And it only takes her a minute till she finds it: 

6:45, Ryanair, Naples. 

She drops her shoulders, and a yawn eases from her mouth, along with a shaky laughter. 

She is fine. Everything's just fine. Desks aren't even open for check-in yet, so she has plenty of time to go to the bathroom and wake herself up. There's no need to collapse.

At some point she'll have to face the fact that she didn't sleep at all last night, but she plans to keep herself together and entertained until she's settled on her 2 hours and 45 minutes flight. 

Then, she'll sleep.

Aurora turns around, and wanders her eyes to find the nearest toilets. She can't tell when was the last time she's been at Stansted Airport, but everything feels different from what she remembers. Did they go through renovations? Or has it always been big and hectic like this? 

Well, it's not like Aurora is familiar with airports, anyway. She doesn't travel that much, and London has too many of them for her to get familiar with. The last time she went somewhere — anywhere — was for Noah's birthday, when she and Zack took him to Disneyland Paris for a quick celebration. They took a flight from Heathrow, though, and that place was so big that it did nothing but overwhelm her. So much that she barely remembers it. 

Her chest tightens, and she closes her hand in a fist around the pendant. 

A lot has changed since Noah's third birthday. In fact, everything changed because of Noah's third birthday. And things never stopped changing since then. Not even a year and a month later. 

Oh God… In a couple of years she is going to be sitting on a leather couch, facing the traumatizing memories she and Zack created for him and apologizing for ruining his childhood. 

She knows she will. She can see it happening. 

A man bumps into her, and Aurora stumbles forward. She looks over her shoulder and apologizes, but he isn't around to listen anymore. Sighing, she lets go of her necklace and shifts her bag from one shoulder to the other, holding the strap to keep it firmly in place.

What was she even—Oh, toilets!

Right!

She shakes her head. 

It takes her another minute until she sees some directions that will help her get there, and then she's walking again. 

The toilets she's heading to are placed in a much quieter area, where even the lights are dim. Only a few people are there, seemingly waiting for time to pass — some occupying themselves with their phones on the chairs, but most of them laying on the floor, sleeping next to their luggage or using their backpacks as pillows. A baby cries somewhere distant in the terminal, and there's some coughing coming from a corner behind her, but besides that, everything's quiet. 

She reaches the door at the exact moment a lady is walking out, and she almost bumps into her. They exchange polite smiles, and Aurora takes a step aside to make room for her to walk by. Once the lady is off her way, Aurora moves inside, then lets the door shut behind her, and everything goes silent.  

The room is bright again, and someone must've just cleaned the place, because the smell of disinfectant is fresh and strong. 

Aurora sighs. She heads to the last stall, walking past a row of other six on her way there.

After relieving herself, she stops by the sinks and washes her hands, taking the opportunity to look around her. And mostly to look at her. 

The mirrors are big, almost covering the entire green wall between the sink and the ceiling, from side to side. To be fair, staring at her reflection doesn't sound like a good idea, but she promised she would try her best to go into the weekend with a positive mindset, and she can't do that while feeling so insecure about herself.

She lets the duffel bag slide down her arm and places it between her legs, then crouches to find her washcloth inside it. Holding the soft fabric between her fingers, she closes the zipper and stands up again. 

Public toilets aren't the ideal places for skincare routines, but she's determined to do the best of whatever she can get. She places the washcloth on her shoulder and grabs the hair tie from her wrist, pulling her locks into a bun and getting them out of her way. Hunching down, she turns the tap on and puts her hands together, filling them with water before splashing it on her face. The coldness makes her wince, but it also makes her shoulders relax, and she pulls her lips into a timid smile. 

She repeats the same process three times before grabbing the washcloth again and placing it against her skin. She doesn't rub it, but instead lets the fabric soak in the dampness. Finally putting her hands down, she looks at her reflection in the mirror, and bites the insides of her cheek. Her face looks more alive now that she's freshened up, but the rest of her body doesn't feel the same.

When she'd put that maxi dress on, an hour before leaving her house, she didn't think she would end up regretting the outfit. It's been probably a decade since the last time she's put it on, sure, but it used to be one of her favorites, and she always went for it when she didn't know what to wear. She used to consider it her safe choice. 

And yet, wearing it now feels everything but safe. 

It also doesn't feel nearly as comfortable as it used to. Maybe it's because of the straps… She never wears sleeveless outfits anymore, let alone something that's held by such a thin string of fabric. And the V neck… Oh God. How did she walk around London showing off her chest so comfortably? How did she go to class not bothering about people being able to see the curve of her breasts?

Even its color shade looks weird now, and she's not sure she enjoys how that rust red looks on her anymore. Her body hasn't seen the sun in a really long time, and her skin doesn't look very appealing — it's dry, and filled with stretch marks. 

Honestly, the full length and loose fit are the only things she can still appreciate from the dress — although around her waist it doesn't feel as loose as it used to feel before.

Shit. Did she even pack one thing that's going to make her feel good about herself in Italy? 

No, of course she didn't. Because Madison was the one who helped her pack for the weekend, so of course all of her choices included the tiniest, brightest and most provocative outfits that were hidden and forgotten inside of her closet since… Well, basically since Aurora stopped being single, to be honest. 

"You need to loosen up," she'd said. Along with "you're divorced, not dead," and "your tits need to see the sun; they are gorgeous, they deserve it". 

Alone inside the restroom, Aurora rolls her eyes at the memory of her best friend's words. Obviously, the whole chit-chat did nothing to convince her. Most of the old clothes Maddie had found hadn't seen the light of day in almost a decade, and Aurora doesn't have the same body she used to have back then to simply put them on again. 

Not to mention she doesn't want Noah to ever see her wearing any of those outfits. It's not the image of a mother she wants him to remember. And she's been already messing up so many things for him, that she doesn't need to add "being an embarrassing mom" to the list — and she won't add an accusation of excessively exposing her son to his own mother's naked body in those future therapy sessions she already knows she'll be paying for. 

Call it damage control, if you want to. After all, that's how she's facing it herself.

But then Maddie had put her hands on her shoulders, stared deeply into her eyes, and said: "it's going to be us. Just us. It's the perfect and safest place to have some fun and try out of your comfort zone. And you and I both know how much you need it right now." And Aurora couldn't fight her on that, so she said yes and agreed to put all of her jeans and t-shirts away for the weekend — which she can now confirm was a terrible, terrible decision.

She sighs. Again. 

It's going to be a long weekend, isn't it? 

Still examining herself, she turns around and looks over her shoulder, facing her back on the mirror. Fortunately, it doesn't show too much skin, although the flesh of her armpits could be more covered. 

There was a time when Aurora felt breezy and comfortable on her own body. When she looked at herself and felt beautiful and free. Even sexy. Now, though, the simple thought makes her laugh. It sounds ridiculous, and she can't even make sense of it. 

Biting her lip, she turns around one more time, and something catches her eye. She stops midway, narrowing her eyes to find out what it is, and then, she raises her eyebrows, and a spark of hope ignites inside her — she completely forgot about the adjustable straps! 

Fully turning around, she squats down and puts the washcloth away, then stands up, already reaching both hands towards her back to tighten and shorten the strings. It isn't easy, and for a moment she even considers to hide inside of a stool and take the dress off to do it more comfortably, but eventually she succeeds, and the slight change instantly makes her chest feel more covered. 

It's a small win, but Aurora is serious about making the best of whatever she can get that weekend, so she takes it, and smiles at her reflection. 

The gold disk shines on her chest, and she takes it between her fingers, pulling it to her mouth and placing a soft kiss to it. She's really going to miss spending the weekend with Noah, but she knows she needs to take care of herself to be able to take care of him, and that it's also important for him to spend some time with his dad. Besides, it's only going to be three days — not even that. By Sunday afternoon she'll be back home with him, and everything will go back to normal.

Yes, see? That's it: two days.

Two relaxing and fun days with her friends, and then everything will go back to normal.

The line to get through security is huge. 

Aurora stops behind a chatty and cheerful family of five, and sighs. She puts her frizzy hair down, then crosses her arms under her chest and lifts one hand to fidget aimlessly with her pendant. 

Honestly? She can't wait to get to Italy. She can't wait to finally see that beautiful ocean in the Amalfi Coast. It's a trip she always dreamed about, but also one she didn't think would actually happen — and one she's sure she wouldn't be actually embarking on if she hadn't been forced to by her friends.

Aurora's mouth turns into a smile, and she looks at the ground, taking the pendant to cover her lips. 

Despite everything that went wrong with her own marriage, she is happy for Lucy and Theo. She truly is. Just because things didn't work out for her, it doesn't mean they won't for them. Besides, their relationship is the only thing between all of them that hasn't changed since their graduation, so who knows? Maybe they'll have better luck than her and Zack. Maybe Lucy won't mess things up like she did, and maybe Theo won't— 

"Auri?" a deep and low voice calls. Aurora furrows her brows and takes her hand down from her lips, putting her necklace back to its place. "Aurora?"

She turns on her feet, finding flamingos on a loose black shirt. Blinking a couple of times, she darts her eyes up, and meets the face of a friend she hasn't thought of in a really long time. 

She widens her eyes, and places the palm of her hand on her cheek.

"Oh my God," she whispers. She raises her eyebrows, and her mouth curves into a smile at the same time it falls open. "Harry!" 

She breathes out a laugh and takes a step forward, then stands on her tiptoes and throws her arms around his neck. 

The duffel bag on her shoulder follows the movement of her body, hitting Harry's stomach before she can stop it.

"Ouch," he groans into her ear.

Aurora pulls away. "Sorry, sorry—"

He chuckles, hunching down slightly and placing his hands in the middle of her back. 

"'S okay, c'mere," he says, pulling her body closer and crossing his arms around her waist, embracing her into a tight hug. 

Heat takes over her body, radiating through her chest and tingling from head to toe. It's so good to see him! She can't help the smile that lightens up her face, so she closes her eyes and rests her chin on his shoulder, circling his neck with the same affection he's putting into his hold. 

"What are you doing here?!" she asks, still too excited to let him go. 

Did he get even taller? 

Or is he just stronger than he used to be?

"Probably the same thing as you?" Harry chuckles. 

Shit. She's so stupid! Of course Harry would be at Lucy and Theo's party. Of course! After all, he was part of the group, too. Sure, maybe the last to join and the youngest of them all, and also the only one living across the world, but still… He was—he is part of the group. And Lucy and Theo would invite him, too. Of course they would. How didn't she think of him when thinking about the weekend? 

"Don't wanna break the moment," Harry murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down her back, "but I think we gotta walk." 

Aurora jumps away, holding her weight on his shoulder and twisting her neck to see the line ahead of her. She slides her fingers down, watching as the family of five gathers their things. They aren't rushing, though, and it doesn't seem like they'll be taking more than two steps forward.

Still smiling, she bites her bottom lip to keep her excitement down, then looks back at him.

Harry is standing with his arms loose on each side of his body, chin down while he stares down at his chest.

Following his sight, Aurora finds her own hand, and she widens her eyes. She's clutching at the second button, where both sides of his black shirt with pink flamingos meet. His hairy chest is on display, just like tiny bits of black ink tattooed on his skin and the long golden string of a necklace. 

A rush runs through her fingers, and she withdraws her arm. 

"Sorry," she whispers, pulling her hand to her own chest and squeezing it into a fist.  

Harry clears his throat. 

"'S okay," he murmurs. Without looking at her, he straightens his back and stretches an arm, pointing out to the empty space in front of them. "Shall we?"

Aurora moves quickly, shuffling on her feet and nodding in silence. She turns around, and the strap of her bag falls from her shoulder, dropping to the crook of her arm. She winces, and stumbles a little. 

"Shit."

"Here," Harry says, and the weight on her elbow disappears. "Let me."

Frozen, she watches — and feels — the way he gently grabs her wrist and takes her bag out of her arm, pulling it to himself. 

"Harry…" She drops her shoulders. "You don't have to."

"Just walk, c'mon. We're holding the line."

Aurora peeks over his shoulder, and certainly people don't seem friendly while watching them. She sighs, but turns around and walks. 

It only takes them three steps to reach the family of five once again, though, and she's back to facing him. 

Harry is rearranging the straps on his shoulders, holding two duffel bags now — his own, and hers. 

"Okay," she says, stretching her arm to him, "now give me that." 

He chuckles, and dodges her. "Nope."

"C'mon!" She rolls her eyes, but a smile dances on her lips. "I can carry my own bag, okay?" 

Harry shrugs. "Never said you couldn't." 

She sighs, and tilts her head. "Harry…" 

"Will you stop being stubborn?" 

Harry grins widely, contrasting his words, and his eyes brighten with amusement. 

Aurora lifts her brows and parts her lips. A shaky chuckle coming out of her mouth. "I—Excuse me?"

Harry diverts his eyes somewhere behind her, and he tilts his chin up. 

"C'mon, we gotta walk again."

Lifting her left eyebrow, Aurora crosses her arms, and stares silently at him.

Harry glances back at her, then presses his lips together, watching her for a moment as he wanders his eyes around her face. He purses his mouth, and then he cracks into soft, genuine laughter. 

"Ha!" He throws his head back for a moment, chuckling lightly, then looks back at her. "I totally forgot you could do that."

Aurora's beaming, just like him, but her heart is racing, and her breath gets stuck in her throat. His smile is really contagious, framed by deep dimples on his cheeks and wrinkles all around his eyes. It's hard not to feel mesmerized by it.

"Uh…" She blinks a couple of times. "Do what, exactly?" 

He walks, prompting her to walk along with him. Still smiling, he points a finger up, right to her face. "The thing… Y'know. With your eyebrow." 

"Oh…" Aurora widens her eyes for a second. "Right." 

She laughs and shakes her head, relaxing the muscles of her entire body, including her face. 

She takes one hand to her forehead, and rubs the tip of her middle finger on her left eyebrow. Even though it's something she used to intentionally do pretty often when she was younger, usually to prove a point, it was also something that came up so naturally to her that she never paid too much attention to it. And a habit that, with time, she left behind. However, now that she found out Noah thinks it's super cool that his mom can lift only one eyebrow while most people can't, she's been consciously doing it more often. She never cared about being a cool mom, to be honest, but lately it seems the title started to mean something to her. 

They stop walking, much closer to the metal detectors now, and Aurora stretches her arm again. She doesn't say a word, simply reaching for the strap of her bag on his shoulder.

"Auri..." Harry chuckles. He grabs her wrist between his fingers, then slides his touch to her hand, taking it to his mouth. He places a single kiss on her knuckles, and looks at her. "Please, 's nothing. I promise."

Aurora presses her lips together tightly, words getting stuck on her throat. It only lasted a second, but it was enough to keep the warmth of his lips lingering onto her cold skin.

"Okay." She nods. Her voice is softer, and she looks down to smile. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he says, taking her hand down and gently letting it go. "Did you bring a jacket?" 

Raising her head, Aurora narrows her eyes, and meets his stare. "What?"

"Your hand's really cold." He shrugs. "Do you want my jacket?"

Aurora chuckles, and waves him off. "Oh no, I'm fine. My hands are always cold."

Harry pulls his brows together. He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it again.

"Anyway…" She clears her throat. "How are you? We haven't talked in… I don't know… Five? Six years?"

Harry looks down and nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Around that, yeah." 

"Hmm… Well, I had no idea you were back in the UK!"

"Uh, yeah." He shifts on his feet, and shrugs. "Came back a couple of weeks ago, actually. Haven't seen anyone yet."

Taking one hand out of his pockets, he lifts his arm and scratches his jaw. The movement draws Aurora's attention to the facial hair he seems to be growing, but also to his chipped yellow nail polish and the three rings he's carrying on his fingers. And when he rakes the same hand through his curls, pulling his hair away from his face, she notices the amount of new tattoos covering his slightly tanned skin. 

His movements are subtle, almost timid, but Aurora is hypnotized. She hasn't seen him since… Damn, when was the last time she saw him? He was at her wedding, she remembers that, because she remembers the floral-printed suit he was wearing, and that his hair used to be longer than—  

Aurora gasps, and Harry jolts. 

"What?" 

"Your hair!" Uncrossing her arms, she takes a step forward. She stands on her tiptoes and reaches for his head, touching the tips of his short curls while switching her voice to a soft murmur, "It's so… Short."

Harry shoves his hand back inside his pocket, but doesn't say anything, and Aurora entertains herself stroking the hair at the back of his neck, and then pulling some longer bits around his ears. 

"Oh my God…" she murmurs again.

For as long as she's known Harry, she's known him with curls long enough to french braid, pull into buns and even attempt some ponytails — he hated the last ones, by the way. The girls used to tease him for having softer and shiner hair than any of them, and they all even went through a phase of trying to use the same hair products as him. 

And yet, looking at him now, she's not sure if there's length enough for even a hair clip. Well, maybe a tiny one, to keep those curls that fall into his forehead out of the way… But still… 

"The line," Harry murmurs. 

Aurora pulls her arm to her chest, and lands her heels back on the floor. 

"Right."

She turns around and takes a couple of steps forward, and an unsettling feeling grows in the pit of her stomach. It squeezes her lungs, and it makes her mouth go dry, so she presses her lips into a hard line and swallows. Then, she takes a deep breath in. And another one.

There's silence between them, until Harry clears his throat. 

"I cut it as soon as I left," he explains, and Aurora glances at him over her shoulder. "I think this is the longest it's been since then." He shrugs. "I'll probably do something about it next week."

Aurora hums, and curls one side of her mouth up. 

"You got a lot of new tattoos, as well."

Harry smiles, albeit sheepishly, and nods once. "Guess I did."

Facing away from him, Aurora can't help but smile again.

What a weird thing it is, to stand in front of Harry after so many years and find everything about him so familiar, yet completely different and strange at the same time. To have grown so distant from his friendship, and yet feel as close to him as she's ever felt before. 

How could she forget about him? 

How could she go through life without thinking about a friend? Without wondering about how they are, or what's going on with their lives?

Shit. 

Tapping one foot on the floor, she grabs her necklace between her fingers. 

She can't spiral into this right now. She hates coming face to face with the person she's become, and this weekend isn't for her to swell into guilt and drama. She's supposed to have fun. She's supposed to let things go. She's supposed to—  

"Auri?" 

Aurora stops the steady movement of her foot, and looks at him over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

Someone from security calls the next passenger, and she follows Harry's movements to walk forward, not even bothering to look where she's going. 

"Nothing." Harry shakes his head, dismissing the subject, but Aurora can see the way his brain is working hard to figure something out. Noah tends to do the same a lot of the time — he'll have questions, and when he doesn't understand the answer, he'll purse his lips and shift his eyes around him, as if looking for a different explanation. 

It appears Harry is going through the same process, because he keeps staring at her arms, and at her hands. And when he pinches at his bottom lip — something she recognizes as an old habit of his — it's enough for her to confirm her suspicion.

"Harry…" She chuckles and rolls her eyes, making sure to keep her voice soft as she calls him out. "Don't be silly. Just say what's on your mind, c'mon."

An amused and short laugh leaves his chest, and she smiles at the way his entire face lights up again. 

"'S nothing… I was just… Because you… I mean, you don't seem to be taking a lot of stuff… Then I realized you… Well… I was wondering…"

There's a bit of silence, and it quickly becomes clear he won't complete any of his half-sentences. 

Aurora half-smiles. "Yes?"

"Sorry." He shakes his head. "Is your husband coming, too?"

"Oh…" She lifts her brows, then puts them down again. 

She nods once, understanding where he's coming from. It is a genuine question, a very reasonable doubt. After all, the last time they saw each other was at the wedding — her wedding — and not many people know about the many changes in her life since then. So she can't expect him to know, nor blame him for asking. 

She doesn't want to say the words out loud, though. Is there a way to tell him without actually telling him?

"Hm, no," she tries. "It's just me. Zack's with Noah." 

Harry hums. He gives her a lopsided smile, and nods. 

Aurora frowns, and turns around to face the line. 

That probably wasn't helpful. It didn't announce Zack isn't in her life anymore. It just seemed like he stayed home with Noah. 

Which he did, yes, but he isn't at home with Noah. He is at his own place, a very fancy apartment he didn't struggle at all to buy after their divorce. 

Ugh! Why is it so hard for her to announce to the world that Zack isn't her husband anymore? He hasn't been for a while now, and it's not like she wishes he would still be. Honestly, figuring out her relationship with Zack keeps being exhausting, no matter how much distance she puts between them. 

Will that ever change? Will things ever get easier for her?

"How's he, by the way?" Harry's voice sounds behind her. "Noah, I mean. Just turned four, right?"

Aurora bites her lip, but it isn't enough to hold back the grin on her face.

People move forward, and they walk a couple of steps. There are only three passengers left in front of the family of five. 

Aurora nods. 

"Yes, he's four now. And he's the most adorable kid in the world! So, so, so sensitive, and so smart" —she walks forward again, but doesn't stop talking— "and now he's getting into this stage of trying to do things by himself, and it's just so endearing to watch! And he's really chatty, too, oh my. He loves telling stories, so he keeps—" 

Aurora widens her eyes, and turns around. 

Harry is beaming at her, and she covers her mouth with one hand. 

"I'm sorry," she mumbles against her palm, then puts it back down. "Sorry, sorry. I'm so—I mean, I know, I'm one of those mums now."

"What?!" Harry laughs. "I was loving it! Was even hoping you'd show me a couple of pictures."

Her cheeks warm up, and she looks at her feet. 

"Right."

Her hair falls to her face, and she takes both hands to put it behind her ears. 

Please, don't blush. 

Please, don't blush. 

Please just keep it together. 

"Hey, I mean it." He places one hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. His hand is warm, but his rings are cold and her skin tingles with goosebumps. Shit. Now, her earlier prayer becomes a silent cry of help for him not to notice her reaction. "He sounds a lot like you, by the way."

Her lips twitch, and she bites her bottom lip to hold back the stupid smile that keeps looming on her face. 

"Well… Would you really like to see some pictures? 'Cause I have plenty of them."

Peeking up at him, she finds him staring and smiling. Harry's hand is still on her shoulder, but it promptly circles her neck, grabbing her opposite side and pulling her forward. 

Aurora holds her breath, crushing against Harry's chest as he squeezes her body and kisses the top of her head. 

"God," he groans, his lips brushing her hair as they move, "you're so adorable. 'S so good to see you again."

Hii! If you're here, thank you so much for reading part one :) it truly means the world to me! I care a lot about this story and these characters, so I'd love to know your thoughts about it — and I hope you'll feel comfortable to share them with me!

Once again, thank you for reading! :)

Dani

PART TWO

[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

[jishyucks]

Flight of Fate — sjy

‣ pairing: jake sim x reader

‣ genre: fluff, meet-cute, implied strangers to something more

‣ wc: 4.5k

‣ summary: After months of being apart from your family, you finally get to fly back home for the holidays. On the flight there, you’re placed next to a cute stranger who has taken it upon himself to talk to you. What happens when the roads from the airport are closed overnight and you’re stuck with said stranger? You’re just hoping he doesn’t have any plans of kidnapping you.

‣ warnings: reader’s from Korea, but an ethnicity is not not explicitly stated (travels from Sydney to Korea, and family is from Korea), reader’s shorter than Jake, one quick scene where it’s really crowded

‣ an: uhh,,, idk how this reached 4.5k (I just kept writing) but this was cute ngl,,, im sorry if it seems so rushed in some parts, I rly wanted to write everything more detailed but I need to keep these short :( and im behind on this series’ sched too rip, but I still enjoyed writing this, soooo pls enjoy reading! *hand heart*

Series Masterlist

The second you settle into your airplane seat, you knock out. 

No, you didn’t care about seat belt instructions and how to tug the oxygen bag on, nor did you care about where the exits were on the plane because, frankly, you’ve flown enough times to recite it yourself. 

So the moment you sit down in your chair, even double-checking to see if you are in the correct seat, you buckle yourself up, slip your headphones on and shut your eyes. 

In your half-slumbered state, you feel the shuffling of other flyers nearby, you can hear the aggressive shutting of the overhead compartments above your seat, and you can hear the engine begin with a loud hum. 

You try to lull yourself to sleep with thoughts of finally coming home after months of studying abroad, feeling the corners of your lips lift to tighten your lips into a smile. You missed being home and seeing your parents, your siblings, your dog. You missed your bedroom and your house, and that familiar bump in the road that the car falls victim to on the way home.

And despite having to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to leave for the airport, it was all worth it when you remember that you’ll see and feel all of this soon. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Gentle tapping on your shoulder rouses you from sleep, and you're uncertain how far into your flight you are. 

“Hm?” You realize you’re lying on a stranger’s shoulder when you raise your head. Your neck almost breaks when you turn to look at him, “Shit.”

“Would you like any drinks?” The flight attendant questions from your right and she and the other passenger, a woman, next to you are staring back at you, “We have pop, juice, tea, water, and coffee.” Her fingers hover over the selection of drinks, waiting for your response. 

“Um,” you say, voice hoarse from just waking up, “Just water would be fine, thank you.” The woman nods and pours you water into a cup, handing it over to you before moving on to the next set of people behind you. 

It’s suddenly getting really hot underneath your sweater and you’re growing a hundred times more aware of the man to your left. You’re afraid to even look at him, embarrassed that you were using his shoulder as a pillow. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s got his hood up, a mask covering the lower half of his face. His head is angled down to his lap, probably using his phone, so he doesn’t notice the way you’re tensing up all because of him.

You clear your throat and turn to the woman next to you, “How long into the flight are we?” She gives you a side-eye, not even bothering to give you an answer before she sticks her nose back into her book. 

Before irritation kicks into your system, the man next to you speaks up. His voice comes out as soft, which you honestly didn’t expect. 

“We’re about two hours in.” 

You whip your head in his direction, eyes wide when you realize he’s looking back at you, “T-thanks.” 

“It’s no problem,” he replies. The way his eyes curve, you can tell he’s smiling behind his mask, “Looks like you were having a good sleep there, huh? Sorry I had to wake you up.” You can’t tell if he was making fun of you or not. But the tone in his voice seemed playful. 

You feel your cheeks heat up and you turn away from him, embarrassed that you were almost drooling on his shoulder, “Uh yeah, I did… sorry about… you know…” 

When your eyes flicker to his arm, he immediately understands what you’re trying to say and he lets out a laugh that wouldn’t disturb anyone else on the plane, “It’s nothing. I really didn’t mind, to be honest. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy.” 

You feel the tension in your body begin to dissipate, shoulders falling back against your seat as you continue the conversation, “Well, if you don’t mean it in a creepy way, then it’s not creepy.” You reach for your water sitting on the pull-down table in front of you and take a sip from it. 

Your actions somehow remind the man that he had just gotten a drink, too, so he mirrors your actions, extending his arm to grab the cup of coke sitting on his own table. He hums to acknowledge your reply before tugging down his mask to take a sip and, oh boy, were you not ready to see his face. 

Sure the man had pretty eyes and a voice that could perfectly suit a podcast or two, but you didn’t expect him to look… 

Okay, he was cute. Like really cute. He resembled a puppy, in a cute way and you were trying your best not to physically react to the man’s face reveal. You let out a huff of air and then take another sip of water before you scoot back into your chair. 

He gulps down the beverage, mask hanging off one ear. He looks over at you and offers a grin, which you find yourself swooning over, “So, are you going home or are you on a trip?” 

Your heart warms at his efforts to make conversation and you’re driven to angle your body closer toward his direction instead of directly in front of you, “I’m going home, how about you?”

He nods, “On a trip, but I have a lot of family in Korea, so it’s a mix?” The boy’s eyes look off to the side as he’s honestly unsure how he should describe his trip. 

“You’re going alone?” You ask. 

“My family went ahead of me because I had exams,” he continues, “They wanna get their money’s worth with the tickets so they wanted to head there earlier.” 

You nod, “That’s fair.” 

And he lets out a low hum, “Yeah, gotta squeeze every bit out of those tickets.” 

You nod again and look down at your lap. There’s a beat of a brief silence before you see a hand stick out under your nose, palm facing you, “I’m… Jake, by the way.” 

It hadn’t occurred to you that neither of you asked for names. The conversation just rolled out naturally. Since Jake offered his left hand to shake yours, you do the same, gently taking his hand, “Y/N.”

Surely, you thought that conversation would end there, maybe with a bit more small talk over the next several hours of the flight, but boy, you were wrong. 

The (one-sided) awkwardness between you and Jake seemed to dissipate entirely as time elapsed and you found yourself genuinely enjoying your conversation with Jake. The conversation jumped from topic to topic, starting off with the basics like where you studied and majors before it branched out into more specific subjects like why you chose to study biomedical sciences and why he aspired to be an engineer. Then, it was a matter of time before you dove down into what your go-to movie was when it came to flying, especially when the flying time between Australia and South Korea was long.  

“Do you like Australia or Korea more?” Jake looked over at you with a cheeky smile, knowing that the question was something that would throw you off. 

You take a moment to think because, yes, Korea was your home. It was where you were born and raised. But you’ve also grown to love Australia over the past almost 4 years of undergrad. It was different from your hometown, but you’d say that’s also a place you could call home, too. It was genuinely hard to choose, especially when Jake, someone who was born and raised in Australia, was waiting on an answer—you didn’t want to offend him or betray your own town.

“Well…” You say, “Both?” “Oh, c’mon~” Jake whines playfully, “If you had to choose one, and only one, which one would you choose?” 

“Well, I’d choose South Korea,” you retort, “The same way and reason you’d probably choose Australia.” You peek at the boy through your lashes before a small grin appears on your face, “Am I right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jake mirrors your expression, “But I still love Korea.”

“That’s me with Australia,” you point out, “They’re both really different, so it’s hard to choose a favourite. But I like familiarity, which is why I chose Korea.” The weather and climate, geography, people… the list goes on. Both places were beautiful in their own way. 

If it wasn’t for the flight attendant returning for the 2nd meal of the flight, you would not have realized that there was far less than half of the flight left for you to go. The hours had passed by seamlessly, and you're surprised by how fast the time has flown. Jake was easy to talk to and the conversations with him had made the flight feel like a brief interlude rather than a long-haul journey. 

As you enjoy the meal, Jake glances at the small screen in front of him, checking the flight progress. "We're almost there," he remarks, a hint of regret in his voice.

The realization that your journey is coming to an end settles in. You can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment, knowing that you'll soon part ways. The prospect of returning to your routine is now accompanied by a newfound friendship, one you didn't anticipate when you boarded the plane.

"I guess we'll be landing soon," you say, trying to mask the reluctance in your voice.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are now beginning our descent into Seoul, South Korea. The local time is 5:38 in the evening. Please remain seated with your seatbelts securely fastened as we make our approach. The weather in Seoul is a chilly negative nineteen and heavy snowfall, but do not worry, we expect a smooth landing. Thank you for flying with Korean Air."

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Jake trails behind you as you both make your way out of the terminal, rolling your carry-on down the long airport corridor. Your legs feel like jelly from the sitting, almost feeling like a newborn calf learning how to walk for the first time. 

You pass by people waiting to board their planes, and others arriving alongside your flight. Although the air in the airport was refreshing in comparison to the plane, you were craving to get a whiff of actual fresh air from outside. 

When you finally reach the exit, you couldn’t help but glance back to see if Jake was still there, which he, in fact, was. His eyes melt into crescents when he notices you looking back—you’re guessing he’s smiling—and you quickly turn back to look where you’re going. 

You wonder if it was too far-fetched to ask him for his number. 

Besides, he wasn’t a total stranger. You spoke to the man for practically the entire flight, excluding the times you both wanted some shut-eye or needed to get up to pee. 

So he really wasn’t a stranger. 

You were just afraid that it would be weird to actually ask for his number or his socials. 

You don’t expect to see a huge crowd of people the minute you step out of the terminal and into the baggage claim area. It was almost as if someone had amplified the sound of bees buzzing, the muttering and babble of people filling the room. 

“What in the…” you hear Jake next to you, almost confused as you were, “What’s going on?”

You turn and look up at him, shrugging as you bring yourself up to your tippy toes to try and gather some kind of feasible understanding of the situation. Left and right, individuals were yelling (rather angrily), and others appeared to be just as confused as you were.

People were trickling in from behind, slowly pushing you and Jake closer to the people in front of you. And when Jake notices the way your eyes widen at the accumulating group of people, he situates himself behind you to act as a buffer between you and the growing crowd. 

“For those of you just joining us, we want to explain what is going on.” A man closer to the front of the crowd was standing on a counter, megaphone in hand. The room grows quiet, though not completely. “As you all know, it is currently snowing rather heavily in Seoul. The city has decided to close the roads to ensure everyone’s safety.”

Loud murmuring erupts among the people and you hear Jake join in, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“This means…” The man waits for room to grow quiet so that he doesn’t need to repeat himself again, “This means that you all, unfortunately, have to stay put within the airport as we wait for the city to reopen the roads. From our understanding, we do not know how long this will take, as it is still snowing. We apologize for the inconvenience. We are providing some resources and services for free or at a discounted price for the time being. Thank you for your understanding." 

He hops off the counter and the crowd begins to disperse. Although angry, disappointed, or confused, everyone knew that they really couldn’t do anything about the situation. 

You’re not sure how to feel. Because you were so close to getting home and now the damn snow has decided to stop you from doing so. The man did say that it wasn’t going to be long before the roads reopened, but you felt like you were a puppy being held back by a leash. 

“This is fucking stupid.” You say this to no one in particular, feeling tension in your forehead when you furrow your brows. 

“Look at the bright side,” Jake says, “You’ll get home safely. I’m sure they’re probably clearing and salting the roads right now.” 

You huff, “You’re right.” The taut muscles in your shoulders loosen at the thought and you mentally thank Jake for pointing that out. You’d very much rather get home in one piece. And you’re pretty sure your family would like that too. 

“Hey, since we’re sorta snowed in,” Jake starts, “Wanna go grab our luggage and then find someplace to sit together?” Then he realizes how weird this could sound depending on the person, “We can talk and stuff?” 

Though that was a given that you were going to be sticking around Jake until you left, especially since you did not want to spend this time alone, you appreciate the way he still asked you. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

With a huff and a shared understanding, you and Jake make your way to the baggage claim carousel. People were already awaiting their bags, standing behind the yellow line marked for safety around it. The atmosphere in the airport feels different now. The excitement you had initially felt was replaced with a mix of frustration and resigned acceptance, and you were sure that the other travellers were feeling the same way. 

As your luggage appears on the conveyor belt, you and Jake quickly grab your belongings and maneuver through the dispersing crowd in search of a place to settle. 

“Do you care where we go?” Jake asks. He’s taken it upon himself to look for a spot for you both, being able to crane his neck higher over the crowd, “Or do you prefer a corner?”

“Somewhere with enough space,” you retort, “Otherwise, I don’t mind anywhere.” 

You watch Jake as he gets up on his tippy toes, teetering from one foot to the other. He knows it shouldn’t be too hard, especially since other travellers were moved to the 2nd floor. 

“There!” Jake mindlessly grabs your hand and starts speed walking, dodging people walking aimlessly. His long legs send you flying, trying to keep up with his pace. Sure it wasn’t super fast, but with his long strides, you find yourself running to match Jake’s steps.

He guides you to a place closer to the wall of the airport, seats empty for you guys to wait it out. You’re surprised that no one has actually taken the space yet, but you figured that since it was a harder-to-reach area, people didn’t want to bother making their way to the spot and instead decided to settle on whatever free area they could find. 

When Jake realizes that he is still holding your hand, he quickly lets go, "Guess I got a bit carried away there. Sorry about that." He stuffs his hand into his hoodie pocket and his mask covers the bashful smile.

“It’s fine,” you say reassuringly. It’s not like Jake had any ill intentions when he grabbed your hand. 

To change the topic, you suggest making the small area comfy for the two of you, ensuring that it truly was a place that would be great to relax while you waited the situation out. 

You and Jake drape your coats over the chairs you’ve claimed, setting your suitcases and bags down to create a mini barrier between your space from your neighbours. The airport's ambiance echoes with a mixture of impatience and resignation. As you and Jake settle into your makeshift waiting area, the tension in the air slowly begins to dissipate. The soft hum of conversations and the occasional announcement overhead become the backdrop to your current predicament.

"Alright," Jake says, looking around your little haven, "Now we just wait, I guess."

You nod, pulling out your phone to check for any updates. The snow outside seems to be relentless, creating a serene yet inconvenient winter wonderland. You sigh, realizing that this situation might take longer than expected. You send your mom a quick update, explaining the situation before you go to reach for your laptop.

“Wanna watch a show with me?” you suggest, “Kill some time?” 

Jake doesn’t hesitate to accept your invitation, stating that he didn’t mind any show. You balance your computer up on your suitcase and press play on an older episode of Abbott Elementary. 

The show, you figured, was a feel-good show, one that you hoped would distract the both of you from the current situation. Surely enough, you and Jake find yourselves immersed in the show, occasionally laughing and commenting. 

It was funny when you think about the current situation. You were trapped at the airport with a boy you met not even twelve hours ago and you were enjoying your time. Which was odd. Because you knew that if you were going through this entire situation alone, you wouldn’t know how you’d be doing. 

That points back to the question of whether you should ask Jake for his number or his number (or just anything you can use to contact him). Would it still be weird at this point? I mean… he held your hand… even if it was instinctively. It shouldn’t be weird, right?

After a few episodes, the long day started taking a toll on you and your eyes began to grow heavy. If you weren’t in the same room as a hundred and something other people, you would have just been knocked out right then and there. But there was a good chunk of you that was afraid to go to sleep, both for your safety and your belongings sitting out in the open like this. 

“If you’re tired, you can take a nap,” Jake reads you like a book. You didn’t even realize that he noticed, “I’ll watch over you and our stuff. But only if you let me keep watching.” 

Your stomach flutters at his offer. If you were being honest, Jake was scaring you just a little bit. Because how can a guy be so cute and so kind and seem so perfect? 

You hum and give him a side-eye, “And how do I know I can trust you?”

Jake’s eyes widened, alarmed, “I haven’t done anything creepy, have I? I-I said I was sorry all those times!” 

You almost laugh out loud, “But what if that was all just to gain my trust?” You were mostly joking, but you were still suspicious simply because Jake didn’t seem real. 

Jake’s face contorted, visibly thinking the situation through, “Okay, I pinky promise you I’m a good person! A pinky promise is one of the strongest promises of all promises.” He sticks his pinky out like a child, blinking rapidly at you with his puppy dog eyes. 

“Fine,” you huff, locking your pinky with his, “Wake me up in an hour? Then I’ll let you nap.” Jake nods and watches as you slump in your seat, angling your body across the chair and using your arm as a pillow. 

When you wake up, it almost feels surreal that you’re waking up in a packed airport, the fluorescent lights still beating down on those trying to rest. You lift your head to look at Jake, feeling the blood rush oddly in your head at the sudden change of position. 

You smile when you see that Jake is still there, sitting and watching a show on your laptop like how you left him. The only difference was that he was holding a hot beverage cup in his hand and that another was sitting on top of his own suitcase. When he spots you stirring, a warm smile spreads across his face.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he says, his voice a gentle wake-up call.

You greet him back and reach for your phone, checking to see if you have any notifications. When your eyes flicker to the time, you gasp and go to hit Jake on the shoulder, “Jake, I told you to wake me up after an hour! It’s been three!”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” he replies. He leans forward and picks the other cup up, “Here I got you hot chocolate and a cookie not long ago. I didn’t know what you liked. I asked the lady over there if she could watch you and our stuff if I got her a drink, too.” 

You thank him, taking the drink and cookie before taking a long sip from the cup, “Thanks… Now I feel bad because you haven’t been able to go to sleep.”

Jake smiles nervously, “If I’m being honest I fell asleep for a bit… Please don’t be mad at me! One second I was awake and the next I was waking up!”

You can’t help but laugh, “I’m not mad at you, don’t worry. Thanks for watching our stuff by the way.” 

“It was nothing, really,” Jake says, “I didn’t mind it at all.” 

Your eyes twinkle realizing that Jake's sincerity is both endearing and genuine. As you sip the hot chocolate, the warmth seeping through your body, you feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected company in this airport limbo.

Then you look around. The atmosphere around you has shifted. Despite everyone’s initial rush to get home for the holidays, you notice that everyone has given up on stressing themselves out, settling on their temporary homes within the airport, sharing stories, snacks, and even the occasional game. It was cute. 

“Wanna go for a short stroll?” Jake speaks up, “I’ll make a deal with auntie again.”

“Let’s go.” You nod ecstatically, needing to stretch your legs, “And I want real food too.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have some important news. The snowstorm has finally abated, and we are pleased to inform you that the city has reopened the roads. Flights will now resume their regular schedules. Please check the updated departure boards for your new gate assignments. Thank you for your cooperation, and we apologize for any inconvenience caused."

The announcement echoes through the airport, bringing a wave of renewed energy and a realization that the long wait is finally over.

You exchange a wide-eyed glance with Jake, the reality of the situation hitting you. The roads are open, and your journey home is back on track. For some odd reason, you even feel like crying, because you’ve been stuck at the airport for almost eight hours (the longest eight hours of your life), and now you finally get to leave. Your wide eyes were quickly replaced with that of relief and excitement. 

“Fucking finally,” Jake breathes out. The two of you join the collective movement as passengers around you celebrate the news. Luggage is grabbed, bags are slung over shoulders, and the airport buzzes back to life. You can already predict that traffic is going to be nasty on the way home despite it being almost one in the morning. 

It hadn’t dawned down on you that you and Jake were going to be separating ways soon and you still weren’t sure if it was okay to ask him for any contact information. It was either grow a pair and just go for it, or never speak to him again. 

You start bundling up, sending a quick text to your mom to ask if she is on her way when you feel Jake staring at you through between his hood and scarf. 

“I had fun today,” Jake says, “Genuinely.” 

“I did too,” you reply, “I don’t know how I would’ve survived if I was alone.” 

You continue rummaging with your things, making sure you have everything that you brought with you. 

“I’d like to—” Jake clears his throat, “I’d like to hang out again.” 

Your hands pause their movements as Jake's words hang in the air. His admission catches you by surprise, and you turn to look at him, meeting his gaze through the layers of winter clothing.

"Yeah?" you ask, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. A sense of relief washes over you, thankful that you weren’t the only one who was enjoying your time with the other. 

"Yeah," Jake confirms with a nod. "I mean, if you're up for it. No pressure, of course.” The sincerity in his eyes reassures you, and you find yourself reciprocating the sentiment. 

"I'd like that. A proper hangout, not stuck in an airport this time." 

Jake grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Deal." Jake shyly sticks his phone out to you, the screen showing a new contact page. You gladly take it, happy that Jake took it upon himself to ask for your number. 

"I guess we should get going," Jake suggests, noticing the large groups of people gathering by every exit of the building. 

"Yeah, my mom's near, actually," you say, shouldering your bag. "I’ll text you when I can, and we'll plan something."

"Looking forward to it," Jake replies.

The two of you follow the wave of people leaving the airport in silence, focusing on actually getting out of the building. Surprisingly, the constant pace that the other people were taking had allowed you both to finally step foot out of the airport, and you two were able to get a much-needed whiff of fresh air. 

Before you actually part ways with Jake, you turn to him, "Happy holidays, Jake. Take care, okay?"

“You too.” He nods, “Let me know when you get home safely."

taglist: @tytrackfebreze @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi @mrchweeee @ariadores @reignessance

[jeysbvck]

it always leads to you (in my hometown)

oh hi, im back after almost a year of not posting fics, and of course it's my main man who pulls me back in! this is my first jey uso fic, so pls comment & reblog & let me know what you think!! i tried to make it angsty, to fit the song more, but i guess that's not the direction my brain wanted to go!!

jey uso x afab!reader

smut, 18+, minors dni!!

word count: 2,420

some people i thought might like this (if you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!): @southerngirl41 @bebesobrielo @harmshake @afterdarkprincess @rollinsland @wrestlezaynia @crxssjae

summary: when you're in town for the holidays, it always ends up with you in jey usos bed for the weekend. this time, it isn't enough, and jey shows you why you can't leave him behind.

You stared out the window, feeling content as you watched the snow fall outside, frost gathering on the glass. You and Jey had spent all weekend in bed, sleeping half the day away and sharing body heat in more ways than one; which is how you spent all the fleeting weekends together. You had so much to do before you left in two days, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave the warm bed, especially when Jey was sleeping beside you, looking like a literal angel.

This had been happening for the last four years and you remembered it all too well; the bewildered, haunted look when Jey locked eyes with you for the first time in years, like he'd seen a ghost. You remembered the ice that ran through every vein in your body when he walked past you without acknowledging you, making you consider whether you were a ghost. You remember lying in your childhood bedroom, old photographs of you and Jey still on your walls, staring down at you, judging you. You knew you'd hurt him when you left, he didn't think your reasons were good enough; but it never crossed your mind that he'd pretend you were a stranger. But as you stared at the posters and photographs on your walls, you realised that you were a stranger now, you didn't recognise the girl in the photographs anymore.

A few days later, you bumped into Jey again, this time you were both alone, walking past the school you used to share, and things seemed different. He opened a dialogue, asked you how you'd been, asked about your life, and before you knew it, you'd been standing in the cold for half an hour. Jey offered you a ride, and you weren't ready for this to end; it felt familiar, but also new. So you accepted and you drove around the small town, commenting on how things hadn't changed. Four hours later, you were in his bed, doing things you had only dreamed about.

You thought it would be a one-off, that maybe the universe was giving you a better goodbye than the first time, a better reunion than the one in the bar. But the next holiday you were in town, he text you, and you ended up in his bed again. Then Jey started surprising you at the airport -sometimes you hadn't even told him what time your flight was- and although he dropped you off at your parents house, it wasn't long before you were spending most of the time with Jey. It was essentially a weekend-long holiday hook up, a way to make you feel less lonely during the holidays and a way to have what could've been -what should've been- if you had just stayed.

Jey stirred in his slumber, retracting his arm that was stretched over you, taking away the warmth and leaving a chill behind, as you pulled the quilt up further, you couldn't help but think of it as a metaphor for how you would feel in a couple of days when you left. You turned your back on the beautiful view outside the window to the -in your totally, unbiased opinion- the more beautiful view next to you. Even after all the years of knowing Jey, he still took your breath away, he still set your heart ablaze. Every time you were here, you took every opportunity to mentally record every detail of him to take back with you. Every new grey hair, every tattoo, every laughter line, every perfect imperfections, you took it all in. You basked in the warmth, the comfort, the happiness that you felt in this bed, knowing it would all be over in a flash.

"Mornin' babe," Jey said, with a sleepy smile, "you're watchin' me sleep, forgot you were a creep."

You hummed in response as you leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his pillow-like lips. "And I forgot you snore." You teased, and Jey scoffed, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss.

"Such a liar." He mumbled against your lips and you smiled, pulling away and finding your place on his chest. Your fingertips traced the lines of his intricate tattoo on his chest, as his stroked your back, soothingly.

The time you spent with Jey, in this bed, the room, the house; felt like a different world. Like reality as you know it didn't exist here, it was just you and Jey, and nothing else mattered. You hated leaving, you hated getting on the plane, going back to your life like you hadn't just left the warmest place you'd ever known.

"So..." Jey started, and you knew what was coming. The dreaded question that he asked every time. "How long we got? Until you-"

You cut him off, not wanting the words to be said, as if it somehow wouldn't happen if Jey didn't speak it into the universe. "I know what you mean, Jey." You sighed. "Can't we just stay in this bubble for a little longer?"

"How much longer? Like, you wanna talk later, over dinner? Or how about the mornin' of your flight so we barely get to say goodbye?" He snapped, and you scoffed at the outburst. "Ay, you're the one who-"

"Okay," you cut him off before he finished the sentence, sitting up and throwing your legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing the robe that had been thrown on the floor the night before as you stood up and pulled it over your body. "You really wanna spend the time arguing?"

"No! I jus'-" Jey groaned and turned on his side, his elbow resting on the mattress. "Okay listen, I know our whole thing; no stayin', no waitin', but-"

"No Jey, this works!" You lied. You knew you were trying to convince him more than yourself, because you knew it wasn't working. If it did, leaving him wouldn't break your heart, you wouldn't spend the year counting down to the next holiday. Nobody in your life knew you like Jey. They didn't know which smiles you were faking, or which laughs were genuine. They didn't even know your coffee order, or your favourite film.

"This works for you? This is enough for you?" Jey asked. "Because it isn't for me."

You bit your lips, you'd expected this every time, you knew it would happen eventually. Jey was always going to find someone who could give him more than you could offer.

"What are you saying?" You asked. "You don't-you wanna end this?"

Jey got his knees and shuffled towards you, leaning up and cupping your face with his hands, his eyes level with yours. "I don't wanna end this." He said. "I wanna be with you."

"Jey," you whispered, hoping he could see in your eyes how much love you have for him. "I can't- We can't-"

"Ay, just listen." Jey said. "What if I came wit' you?"

You stared at him, speechless, your face still in his hands. "That's not funny."

"It ain't supposed to be funny."

"Stop it. You can't just say stuff like this, not in here, not like this when we're all caught up in the bubble!" You said, throwing your hands around. "You have your family here, a life here, you're just gonna leave it all behind?!"

"Didn't stop you." Jey retorted, and you rolled your eyes.

"That was different! I didn't pack up my life to follow someone across the country!" He smirked at you, making you roll your eyes a second time.

"Ay, you think highly of yourself, don't ya?" He joked, but you groaned and pulled his hands away from your face, putting your own over your face. "What if I ain't doin' it for you? What if I'm doin' it for me?" He asked. He pulled your hands from your face and held them. "I know you tell me not to, but I wait, babe. I wait for you to call, to text, I ask your parents when you're comin', so I can wait at the airport for you. I don't wanna wait anymore, I wanna be wit' you, for real, and you can't stay."

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let yourself smile, and you turned your back on him, sitting back down on the bed. He was saying all the right things, wearing your favourite smile, and it was hard to be logical right now. This was never an option, because what if he ended up resenting you? Having Jey sporadically in your life through the year was better than the alternative.

Jey ran his hands up and down your arms, planting little kisses on your shoulder and neck. "Jus' think about it, babe." He whispered in your ear as he kissed your neck. "We can have more than jus' weekends." His hands slid over your skin, grazing your breasts as he followed a path down to your stomach, sending shivers through your whole body. "We can do this-" His hand slipped into your underwear, teasing you. "-whenever we want."

You tilted your head back, leaning it against his shoulder as he nibbled your neck, and you hummed, bucking your hips in an attempt to get his fingers exactly where you needed them. He clicked his tongue before he dug his teeth into your neck, a moan escaping your mouth as his fingers teased your entrance.

His hard cock was pressed against your back, and as he played and teased you, you reached around and grabbed his cock. He rutted against your hand, moaning into your neck as you stroked the long length, the action making him push two fingers inside you. They moved inside you, matching the pace of your hand on his cock; when you slowed down, he did, and when you quickened the pace, he did too.

Jey upped the ante, his thumb flicking over your clit, making your hips buck, your grip on his cock tightening, making it twitch. Jey groaned into your shoulder, and when you ran your thumb over his tip, he pulled away from your hand. "Nah, you're gonna make me cum." He mumbled into your shoulder. He kissed your skin again, before pulling his fingers out of your cunt, making you whimper pathetically. You watched as he slipped off the bed and pushed you backwards on the bed before getting on his knees. "Gotta remind you what you'll be missin' if you leave without me." He smirked, burying his head in between your legs.

You moaned loudly as he flattened his tongue against your cunt, slowly licking every part of you. He quickened the pace, and just as you arched your hips, he pinned them against the bed, while pushing two fingers inside you, his tongue flicking and sucking your clit. This was euphoric, you writhed underneath him as he drove you wild. Jey knew exactly what he was doing and his plan was working, you knew that he could ask you for anything right now -doing that thing with his tongue- you'd say yes to anything and everything.

"So wet for me." He muttered against you, nibbling the inside of your thigh as he fucked you with his fingers. All you could do was gasp and moan as he didn't give you a moment to breathe, sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue. You tried to hold out, to delay your orgasm, but it wasn't long before you let yourself go, bundling the sheets in your hands as your thighs gripped his head.

Jey pulled back and crawled up your body, his thick, hard cock grazing your cunt, making your body twitch. He grinned down at you, his beard glistening with your juices, his dark eyes full of lust and you pulled him down by the chain around his neck for a kiss, your tongues dancing with each other as you ran your hands down his toned back. He rubbed his cock against your cunt, and you bucked your hips against him. "Fuck me, Jey." You managed to gasp, and he grinned at you, his eyes darkening more. He grabbed your wrists with one hand and pinned them above your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he pushed his cock inside you, moaning with you as your cunt tightened around him.

Your moans were lost in Jeys mouth as your bodies rocked together, your kisses getting rougher and more passionate. His free hand playing with your breasts, switching between them, refusing to let your hands free. "Such a good girl, takin' my cock like this." He grunted and you threw your head back as he attacked your neck once again. Your orgasm was bubbling up inside you, your legs beginning to shake as he fucked you harder and deeper, his own orgasm imminent. He brought his lips back to yours, the kiss slower, but not less passionate, and when he let go of your hands to grip your hips, you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

"Shit, baby, I'm so close." He groaned, burying his head into the crook of your neck, his thrusts getting harder. You rolled your hips making his cock twitch inside you, and in all the bliss and passion as your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami, three words slipped out of your mouth.

"Come with me." You whispered, nibbling his earlobe. "So close." He repeated, and you grabbed his head, making him look at you.

"No Jey, come with me." You said, and he looked in your eyes, he flashed you that beautiful smile -one that could light up a starless night sky. You nodded, and he kissed you, just as his own orgasm hit, and he thrusted into you a few more times, his moans being caught by your mouth.

He dropped onto you; his body like a welcome weighted blanket, and you wrapped your arms around him as he lay on your chest. "Did ya mean it?" He asked quietly. You ran your fingers through his hair, and thought about what you said. You hadn't meant to say it, especially in that moment, it had just slipped out. You also hadn't meant to confirm it was in fact, what you meant. But you meant it with your whole heart, and you knew as soon as Jey voiced it as an option, you knew you couldn't leave him behind again.

"I mean it, Jey. I've never meant anything more."

[juyeonszn]

NECTAR

PAIRING kim sunwoo x f!reader

WORD COUNT 7.14k

GENRES smut ﹒ fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, umm age gap!! reader is like 10 or so years older than sunwoo (it’s never really specified what her exact age is), reader is also eric’s older sister, there’s a bit of spanish thrown in here lol they’re in mexico for vacation what did u expect, sun eric and hak are professional baseball players, there’s a scene where a waitress is kinda icky to reader bc she’s older, i think mentions of alcohol, sunwoo is down BAD down bad to the point of no return it’s crazy, he’s also a horny impatient little shit, soft dom!sunwoo ig idk, oral (m! & f! receiving), face fucking, handjob ish, a little bit of hair pulling, vaginal fingering, So Much Praise, UNPROTECTED SEX pls be safe!!, edging, delayed orgasm kinda, missionary position, creampie, aftercare :P, the last scene is so cute and disgusting i hate couples

SUMMARY despite being nearly a decade older than him, sunwoo’s always had his eyes on you. so when your younger brother invites you to join them on vacation, you fall right into his trap. you can’t really blame him for finally taking the bait after all these years.

MORE woah hey again 😋 this one isn’t as wild as the hyunjae fic, but it has its moments LOLL if u ever read my warnings about this when it was on my wip list, then u know that this was actually an old fic back from when i wrote for anime 😭 i changed a lot tbh but a good chunk of the original plot is still there 👍 i got inspo for the last scene from a tumblr quote my irl posted on instagram isn’t that crazy anyway….. enjoy!!

PLAYLIST nectar — wayv, tangerine love (favorite) — nct dream, delicious — the boyz, passion fruit — the boyz, horizon — jaehyun, moonlight sunrise — twice

When you agreed to go with your younger brother on a vacation in Mexico for a week with his friends, you weren’t sure what you were expecting.

You knew your brother’s friends well. They'd gone to high school together and after partly going their separate ways following graduation, decided to go on yearly trips to make up for any lost time. This year, the destinations were the gorgeous beaches of Mexico. Cozumel, Cancun, you name it. You were hitting all the spots.

Those were the luxuries of being the older sister of a professional baseball player.

From the start of your getaway, every single one of your movements felt like they were being watched. Your skin burned with the heat of mocha brown eyes staring at you. Half of you wanted to point it out to Eric, but figured you’d save yourself from the drama. Besides, you were a big girl and two could play at that game.

The first instance took place before you even left for the trip.

You lived about an hour away from Eric and since you were all taking the same flight, you thought it would be more convenient to just ride to the airport together. And because he was closer to the airport, he offered for you to stay at his and Sunwoo’s apartment. Haknyeon would be meeting you there due to prior engagements with his own team.

When you arrived at your brother’s place, you immediately regretted it. You hadn’t called before going over and Eric happened to be out, leaving you alone with Sunwoo. There was nothing wrong with him, you just hadn’t seen him in a couple years and you were afraid of it being awkward.

The younger male helped you bring your things inside, huffing when he dropped your suitcases in the guest bedroom. He wipes away imaginary sweat from his forehead, blowing out a raspberry as he turns to face you.

“Did you pack bricks in there? Why the fuck was that so heavy?”

You laugh. Sunwoo had always been quite the clown as long as you’d known him. “I’m a girl, what did you expect? We never pack lightly.”

“You can say that again,” he snorts, twisting his torso to pop his back. “Uh, are you hungry? We have some leftover takeout in the fridge ‘cause you know damn well neither of us know how to cook.”

Before you can respond, you’re distracted by the sight of him raising his arms to stretch, his t-shirt riding up to show a sliver of his abdomen. From the way his slender fingers lock above his head to the taut skin peeking behind the fabric, you’re entranced. Your brain finally comprehends the fact that Kim Sunwoo was no longer a teenage boy, but rather a grown man.

He clears his throat, breaking your trance and forcing you to stop staring. Your cheeks flush slightly as you attempt to hide the embarrassment flooding your features. His lips are pulled into a smug grin, making you aware that he caught you. He doesn’t say anything though, keeping the cocky smirk as he leaves the room. (Presumably to go to the kitchen.)

With hefty feet, you drag yourself to follow. He’s already warming up the leftovers for you as you take a seat at the island barstool, resting your chin on your palm and your elbows on the counter. Your moment from a few minutes ago is long forgotten as you become transfixed by him on the other side of the island.

It’s weird for you to think about how much Eric has matured, coming from an older sister’s point of view. But having that same realization for Sunwoo is a completely different can of worms. You watch as he extracts the container out of the microwave and opens a drawer beside him to grab a pair of chopsticks simultaneously, all without skipping a beat.

He spins on his heels to place the food in front of you, pausing when he notices that you’re staring at him again. The glint in your eyes was more wholesome than before and it made his heart stutter in his chest. He slides the container across the surface of the island, leaning closer to you.

It was almost like your gaze trapped him in a spell, taking over his actions and drawing him towards you like a magnet. He’s never wanted you as much as he did right now, seeing you in his home, sitting on the stool in his kitchen. Your eyes widen when you’ve snapped back to reality.

Before he can do anything, the sound of the front door unlocking stops him and he’s stepping away to tidy up his mess as if nothing happened. Eric comes in to greet you happily and life continues on just as it had prior to Sunwoo leaning into your personal space. He acts like it never occurred, laughing along at a stupid joke your brother made.

And for some reason, you thought he would keep pretending nothing happened. What a rude awakening you were in for.

It’s a couple days into your trip and you were sitting on a lounge chair poolside, while Eric and Haknyeon had gone to get drinks. Sunwoo placed himself in the seat next to you, his sculpted chest and torso gleaming in all their tanned glory.

He knew it was wrong of him to pine after his best friend’s sister, but how could he not? There was something about your maturity that drove him crazy. But even if you ignored that, anyone who could see would find you stunningly gorgeous. The sight of you scantily clad in a bikini was enough to make the strongest men weak.

Perhaps it was also the thrill that you were nearly a decade older than him.

At this point, you weren’t sure if the warmth engulfing your body was from the sun or the brunette’s intense gaze, but you want to push your luck, the incident at the apartment still fresh on your mind.

“Sunwoo? Do you mind putting some sunscreen on my back for me?” You ask innocently, grasping the base of the tube firmly. His tongue darts out and swipes across his lips.

She knows what she’s doing, he thinks to himself.

“Yeah, s’no problem,” he responds cooly, standing from his chair to sit behind you on yours.

You’re borderline on his lap, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. Just to fuck with him some more, you reach behind yourself to untie your swim suit top.

You’ve been on this playing field long enough to know when a man wants you, but you’ve never been an easy target. It was like a game of cat and mouse for you. Right when they think they’ve got you, you always seem to be three steps ahead.

This little chase that you were leading Sunwoo on wasn’t any different.

His fingers dance dangerously low on your back, working the lotion into your skin wonderfully. As you’ve gotten older, your body has undoubtedly changed. The fat of your thighs was far more than it was when you were in your early twenties/late teens. Your stomach was lined with stretch marks, no two the same. But even so, you remained ever confident. You wouldn’t put up with anyone who wouldn’t agree that your so-called ‘imperfections’ were beautiful.

After a few minutes, once the trap had been set, you tied your bathing suit back. The ghost of his skilled fingers lingered as you stood from the lounge chair, spotting your brother and Haknyeon walking back.

The brunette had never been denied before. He got what he wanted without fail, and he’d be damned if this was the one outlier. He’d just have to prove to you that even though he was younger, he was more of a man than any you’d ever been with. And that was a promise.

Later that evening, the four of you had gone to your respective rooms to shower and get ready for dinner. Luckily, Eric had used his brain for something good and reserved separate hotel rooms for each of you. ‘Just in case,’ he’d said.

You did the finishing touches of your makeup and checked your phone, finding a text from your brother.

[8:07] eric: we’re all in the lobby

[8:07] eric: just waiting on u

[8:07] eric: but take ur time dear sister pls don’t rush on our account

[8:08] eric: it’s not like we have an uber waiting for us or anything

[8:08] eric: note the sarcasm btw

You roll your eyes as you grab your purse, tossing the device inside. Who was he to talk about how long it took you to get ready? You were in your thirties and you were not about to be bossed around by your little brother. Back when he was still in high school, you were the one telling him to speed up his morning process.

Your dad had gotten a job halfway across the country right before his second year and it crushed him. You remember how upset he was when they broke the news, the thought of packing up his entire life and leaving all of his friends stung. So instead, you got a well paying job and bought a two bedroom apartment for the both of you, that way he could stay and finish out the rest of high school. You made some sacrifices, sure, but you were practically done experimenting in your life. You were in your late twenties by this point, what more was there to do? You’d already graduated from university so helping out your brother was doing everyone a favor.

After living together for nearly three years, you and Eric had grown a lot closer. With such an age difference, it’d been difficult to relate to one another and bond over certain things. When he’d discovered a new phase to go through, you had moved past it years prior. You were always just out of reach from each other until then. It was like the universe itself was trying to bring you together.

Even now, both of you much older, he still calls and asks to come over to your place so he can hang out. You meant just as much to him as he did to you.

The elevator dings, opening so you can stroll towards the group of young men waiting for you. Right when they caught sight of you, you started making your way to the Uber parked under the carport outside of the hotel.

The drive to the restaurant was silent, but you could feel an intense gaze on your form. Purposefully, you’d worn your most revealing outfit. A nice tight dress to hug your matured body and some skinny heels to elongate your legs. You were thankful that your brother wasn’t the type to be overly protective, well aware that his older sister could carry her own by now. However, you think even Haknyeon had started to pick up on your actions and the unspoken tension between you and Sunwoo.

You arrived at your location for the evening, stepping out of the car gracefully. You received multiple stares from other patrons and even a few employees. You weren’t sure if it was because you were just that drop dead gorgeous, or if it was another reason entirely. Maybe they were wondering what three men who looked as young as they did, were doing with an older woman such as yourself.

You don’t have to dwell on it for too long, a host showing the four of you to a booth almost immediately. Shout out to Eric and Sunwoo for having connections.

The seating arrangement ends up with you and Sunwoo on one side, Haknyeon and Eric on the other. You had a feeling this was not a good idea. They’d dropped you right where he wanted.

When the waitress comes to take your drink order, you feel the toasty warmth of a hand on your thigh, nearly tripping you up as you point out a margarita on the rocks from the menu. After she jots everything down, she taps her pen against the tablet. She then gestures between your party.

“Are any of you dating?” she asks curiously, eyeing you with a quirk to her brow. To anyone else, it’s a normal question. Eric, Haknyeon, and Sunwoo were indeed good looking guys. (One of them was your brother, of course he was attractive— where do you think he got it from?) But you could see right through her fake act. She had to have recognized the three baseball players.

“Haha, no actually. She’s my sister.” Eric chuckles, pointing at you with his thumb. She narrows her eyes momentarily before covering it up with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Ah, tú hermana.” She tries to laugh off, but when the boys furrow their eyebrows, she realizes it fell upon deaf ears. You fight the urge to burst into laughter at how stupid they were.

“She said ‘your sister’ in Spanish. Idiots, I swear.” You explain to the still confused table. They let out a chorus of ‘ohhhh’s in response. Learning Spanish was something you’re glad you did, seeing as you sometimes needed to translate during your trip. You would definitely hold it over them when you got back.

The waitress seems to notice how close you and Sunwoo are sitting, but doesn’t call you out on it. While the other two are oblivious to her fixation, the brunette catches on quickly, squeezing the inside of your thigh as she continues her silly little version of twenty questions.

“Cuantos años tienes?” She asks you personally, realizing that you can understand her. What ever happened to girls supporting girls?

“How old are you?”

“En mis treinta.” You answer without hesitation, not exactly telling her for the sake of your own satisfaction. The press of Sunwoo’s fingers trails upward, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

“In my thirties.”

You can sense that she wants to say something snarky to you, her opposition to your age clear as glass, but she chooses not to. Whether that’s because she wants to seem like a good person in front of the boys or otherwise, you couldn’t care less. As long as you hadn’t been disrespected. And you knew if you were, Eric and the guys would jump to defend you with all their beings.

After what feels like a millennium, she finally leaves you alone, even going to the extent of switching tables with another waitress. Was that even allowed? You’re not entirely sure, but at least you didn’t have to deal with someone rude.

The majority of the dinner goes smoothly, the drinks and the food tasting unlike anything you’d ever had. Haknyeon couldn’t stop raving about the different flavors he was experiencing. At some point you think he told the waitress to send his thanks to the chef, in true Haknyeon fashion. That was the majority. The rest of the dinner was spent in absolute agony.

A certain baseball player couldn’t keep his hands to himself, eating with one and teasing you with the other. How no one paid any attention to what was happening right in front of them was beyond you. You’d even accidentally whimpered, covering it up by pretending the food was just that good.

The check couldn’t come fast enough, your body betraying you and anticipating getting back to the hotel. Your brother had different plans, claiming that the night was still young and he wanted to have drinks somewhere else. Your disappointment must’ve been obvious, because Sunwoo comes to your rescue.

“Eric, I think your sister’s ready to hit the hay.” He pats the brunette’s shoulder, one hand on his hip.

“Oh we can head back then—“ You interrupt him.

“No no, it’s fine, Eric, I'll be okay on my own. You guys have fun, don’t let me stop you.” You dismiss him. You could get rid of your problem yourself this way. No one to bother—

“I’ll go with you. Someone’s gotta make sure you get to your room safely, N/N. Besides, I'm beat. The sun’s starting to catch up to me.” Sunwoo grins, ruffling your hair. You glare at him, your irritation coming to light for the first time since you’d landed in the country. You’d done so well at acting like he wasn’t affecting you.

“Alright sick! Thanks, Sunwoo! Hak and I will see you tomorrow I guess,” Eric says. He turns to you, hugging your side. “I'll check to see if you’re still awake later.”

And that was that. You and your brother went your separate ways, ordering two Ubers for the pairs you were in.

It took all of about seconds following the ding of the elevator reaching your floor, for Sunwoo’s lips to meet yours. You jump, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, his large palms supporting you from your ass. It was so attractive that he could hold you like this— showing off the muscles he’s built from all his years of playing baseball, a far cry from that scrawny kid you knew when he was younger

He fumbles with his keycard, waving it frantically in front of the sensor. There’s a flash of green and he pushes the door open wide enough to fit the two of you through its threshold. Never once do your mouths disconnect, kissing each other so feverishly it raises the temperature of the room. He kicks the door closed behind him with his foot, pressing you up against the floor to ceiling mirror-wall beside the bathroom. The heat radiating off of your body fogs up the outline of your figure.

Sunwoo can’t seem to get enough of you, groping and grabbing any part of you that he can. You have to admit, you’ve never felt so needed— so wanted— in your life. In the messiness of teeth clashing and tongues tangling, your desperation begins to run rampant. You whine as he tugs at your bottom lip.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, N/N,” his voice is husky and breathy, his soft pants filling your ears. He pecks your bare shoulder affectionately, cupping your right breast in his hand. “How long I’ve been waiting for you to take me seriously… to let me treat you like a real man should.”

His knee nudges itself between your legs, creating some much appreciated friction momentarily, his erection prominent against your thigh.

“I know that you know what you're doing when you dress like this. All slutty and revealing, showing yourself off to everyone,” his mouth hovers over the skin of your neck, goosebumps littering the surface. “But really, you do it for me, huh? You do it on purpose ‘cause you know how crazy it makes me. You know exactly what I’ve been wanting since we got here. That’s my smart girl.”

You can’t help the small moan that erupts from the back of your throat, his words and the wet feeling of his tongue circling the area he had just been sucking on going straight to the excitement pooling in your belly. He smiles mischievously, thumb running over your clothed nipple.

You’d been so lost in pleasure that you hadn’t even realized he’d moved you to the bed, your back on the fluffy white comforter and your thighs spread apart for him. He takes a hold of the back of his collar and removes his shirt in one swift motion, pushing your dress upward afterwards to assist you in discarding it.

His eyes rake your now half-naked body, the fullness of your tits nearly spilling out from the lacy nude strapless bra you were wearing. He drags a finger along your lace covered slit, his lips curling when he watches you shudder underneath his touch.

“Sunwoo, please…”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for, just that you need it. And you need it badly.

“Please, what?” He tsks, now massaging your inner thighs, working you up just like he wants. You pout, hoping to convey the message without pleading. Embarrassment floods your body when you realize he’s not gonna make it easy for you. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

You shut your eyes, hoping to will away the sheer mortification flushing your entire being. “P-please touch me.”

This fuels his ego even further. As if it could get any bigger.

“Open your pretty eyes, baby,” he coos, leaning forward to kiss you. When you obey his request, he hooks his long fingers into the waistband of your panties. “There we go. See, good girls get what they ask for.”

He slides them off, parting your legs immediately. The cool air makes you flinch. The one article of clothing that kept you unexposed was gone now, along with the confident woman from earlier in the day.

He repeats his actions from minutes ago, his pointer finger collecting your slick as it slides through your folds with ease. The squelching sound it makes is horrifying, your shame settling back into place. He kisses the plane of your stomach gently, murmuring into the skin.

“Do you hear that, sweetheart? Do you hear how excited you are for me? There’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.”

Your eyes widen at his words, opening your mouth to say something in retaliation but he takes this opportunity to bury two fingers inside of you. A gasp leaves your throat consequently, your back arching on instinct. It had been a while since a man had set aside time for foreplay. He truly was making good on his word, treating you like a real man should.

He lowers himself, positioning his face in front of your pussy and darts his tongue across his lips before flattening it against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, though that reaction is nothing compared to what happens next. He curls his fingers inside of you, brushing that certain spongy spot that drives you insane, then begins alternating between kitten licking and sucking on the engorged skin of your clit.

You cry out, hands flying down to tug at his hair and dig your nails into his scalp. He doesn’t appear to mind at all, more like he enjoys it, reveling in the way you’re losing yourself to him slowly but surely. It's a dream come true for him. He's finally getting the opportunity to completely ruin you after waiting for-what-felt-like-ever. Horny, teenage Sunwoo would be jumping for joy over this.

He remembers the first time he met you. Eric had invited him, Haknyeon, and other members of the team over to your shared apartment for a team bonding during their second year. The only thought in his mind upon seeing you was ‘damn, I love older women.’ You were just so sure of yourself, he couldn’t help the tightness in his pants and the thumping in his chest.

And those feelings never seemed to fade.

In fact, it appeared that they grew with time. He’d dated other girls since then, especially because he was so popular in high school and in university. Yet for some reason he could never quite pinpoint, things never worked out. They just didn’t feel like the one for him, so he’d end the relationship before anyone got hurt more than they had to. Then the yearly trip would happen and Eric would update him on your life and his crush on you would come rushing back to him.

Even when you’d gotten engaged a few years ago, nothing could stop the way his heart beat only for you and you alone. He didn’t really like the dude all that much, but expressed support for you anyway because he wanted you to be happy. After Eric told him that he broke off the engagement to pursue someone else, Sunwoo just about lost it. He wanted to hunt the guy down himself. He couldn’t fathom how one could just throw away the once in a lifetime opportunity of calling you his. You deserved the world and so much more.

Everything resurfaces and it’s evident in the way his fingers dive even deeper inside of you, his appendage lapping mercilessly at your aching clit. You don’t question him even if you wanted to, your entire body feeling like it’s on cloud 9. He takes a break from licking and sucks at the sweet spot harshly, ripping out a prolonged moan from your lips.

Your release is in your field of vision now, so close that you can nearly taste it. You attempt to buck your hips up into his mouth to chase what you’re yearning for. He senses exactly what’s happening, so he slows his assault, much to your aggravation. You can’t even help the pleas that tumble from the back of your throat.

“No no no no, please,” you sit up, your hands still intertwined with his messy brown locks. “Sun, please… why’d you stop?”

His smile is almost conniving, you swear you can see his canines peeking through. He hovers above you, caging you between his torso and the bed. “You've been having all the fun, so now I think it’s time I have some, too.”

You’re about to ask what he means, when he steps back to undo his belt and zipper, pushing down his pants in record speed. Even through the black material of his (expensive looking) briefs, you can tell he’s well endowed. You rub your legs together, still sensitive from being deprived of your orgasm, and your hunger for all of him increases immensely.

“Eager, are we?” He chuckles, switching places with you. He sits at the edge of the bed, his legs open enough for you to fit between them. You bite your bottom lip, gripping each of his muscular thighs. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing to get crushed by them. It sure would be a hell of a way to die.

He leans back onto his palms, bunching up the sheets in his fists. You move forward to press your mouths in a searing kiss, cupping his clothed erection in your hand. He groans as his teeth nearly gnash with yours. You seize the chance to discard his underwear and massage his cock. The warmth and length of it makes your mouth water, almost whimpering at how flushed it is. You can tell that he’s painfully hard in the way he’s extremely responsive to all of your touches. You swipe your thumb over his slit, collecting the pre cum that’s formed there.

After deciding that enough is enough, he parts from you in favor of ordering you to get on your knees. You maintain eye contact as you wrap your lips around him, the nerves you’d been feeling all night finally washing off. Your tongue swirls around the tip a few times before it licks a broad line from the base back up along the underside. You take him down your throat this time, massaging his balls as you do so. Your cheeks hollow out as you bob your head, your hands jerking what you can’t fit.

An erratic knock at the door startles both of you and you’re about to remove yourself from him, but he keeps you there with a large hand, urging you to continue. You listen reluctantly, assuming the person would just go away if you ignored them.

However, the knock comes again moments later. Sunwoo looks down at you. His eyes tell you all you need to know, so you don’t stop.

“Sunwoo! Hey, have you seen my sister? She’s not in her room.”

You practically choke on him at the sound of your brother’s voice, but he still doesn’t let you pause. His attention doesn’t leave you as he replies.

“Uh yeah, she’s borrowing my shower. Hers wasn’t working.” He lies. His eyes bore into yours intensely, the knowledge that he had Eric’s hot older sister right here in front of him on her knees shrouding his mind.

The brunette outside seems to find that answer sufficient enough and doesn’t interrogate further. “Okay, cool. Just tell her to text me when she gets back to her room.”

“You got it.”

His footsteps can be heard padding against the carpet of the hallway as he walks away.

Your nose brushes against the hair at the base of his cock before he cups your cheeks and lifts your mouth off of him. You take in a deep breath, keeping your hands on his dick firmly. As you regain your breathing, you leave kisses all over, starting at the tip and ending down the shaft. You feel him shudder beneath you, a satisfaction coming from knowing that you’re the one who has him so weak.

You had Kim Sunwoo wrapped around your pretty little finger.

Unbeknownst to you, that’d always been the case. Since day one. But it didn’t matter at the moment. All that either of you cared about right now was wrecking each other.

He slides his cock down your throat again, loving the sight of you getting face fucked by him. You moan around him, the vibrations causing him to grasp at your hair tightly, though you don’t mind the sting either.

“You look so gorgeous like this, sweetheart. Your lips look so pretty wrapped around me. Can’t wait until I’m inside you,” he hisses when your tongue runs over his slit. “You want me to fuck you into the mattress? Until you can’t even remember your own name?”

You release him from your lips once more, nodding frantically. It’s almost pathetic how needy you are for him, your brother’s best friend, someone nearly ten years younger than yourself. “Yes, please, Sunwoo. I want you so bad. I want you to fuck me so hard, I can’t walk properly.”

His smirk from your pleads is ungodly. He swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, pinching it between his fingers before he pulls you up to kiss you roughly. Even though he has this big dominant act up on display, you know he wants you just as much. And he conveys it in the desperate way he moves his mouth against yours with such fervor.

After a few minutes, both of you get sick of wasting time and he flips you around so you’re on your back. He nips at your neck, whispering dirtily as he pumps himself in his hands.

“The only thing I want on your mind is me, you got that?” He lines his dick up with your hole, nibbling on your earlobe while he does so. “The name Kim Sunwoo is gonna be engraved in your fucking brain after tonight.”

Without any semblance of a warning, he pushes himself in, giving you no time for adjustment. His cock fills you up nicely, better than you’ve ever been before, and the feeling alone rips a particularly loud moan out of you. “Oh my god, Sun. Y-you're so big and your cock f-feels so g-good. So s-so good.”

“You’re so tight, your pussy is squeezing me. You gonna cream on my dick?”

He gives you another one of those sly grins, where it’s almost like he’s baring his canines to you, and you swear you’ve never wanted to be ruined as much as you do now.

His pace is unrelenting, nothing but sheer power going into every thrust of his hips. His cock hits places deep inside that you didn’t know existed. It amazes you how much stamina he has and it doesn’t appear like he’s letting up any time soon.

“Sunwoo, just like that— f-fuck yes— right there,”

“Look at you, Y/N, so fucking messy and all because of me.”

He hooks one of your knees on his shoulder, plunging even further into your pussy. The mewl you release is voluminous, enough to wake up anyone in the rooms surrounding his. One of his hands holds your leg in place while the other travels south, gripping your side and using his thumb to vigorously circle your clit.

The added stimulation is just what you need to nudge you closer to your tipping point, what you were deprived of earlier. He, of course, notices that and stops his attack with his finger. You whine in protest, not wanting to deal with his teasing again right now.

You open your mouth to express your distaste at the same moment he rolls his hips experimentally. So instead of complaining about his edging, you let out a choked groan.

“Sunwoo, please, let me cum. Please, I'm begging. I need to.” You hate that you’re in this position, but you can’t hold out much longer. Fatigue is catching up to you and if you don’t cum soon, you might pass out.

“You wanna cum, baby? You want me to let you cum?” He all but growls in your ear. You moan wantonly in response, quickly becoming a babbling mess. “I think you can wait a bit longer. Take it like a big girl, yeah?”

Your other leg wraps around his waist, allowing his already buried cock to kiss at your cervix. The new angle is unhinged, short circuiting your brain. Discarding any thought behind your actions, moving on autopilot, you pull him down to press your mouths together.

The combination of passion and pure lust drives both of you wild, fueling your desires. His lips part from yours and he moans breathily as you clench down on him, the exhale fanning over the lower part of your face. The sound is unlike anything you’ve heard before and you’d do just about anything to hear it again. The brunette was completely unaware of the effects he had on you, something as simple as a noise kicking you into high gear.

But it seems even he’s reaching his limits, not able to hold himself back anymore. In an attempt to finish you both off quickly, he brutalizes each piston of his pelvis. Your nails sink into his shoulders.

“F-fuck— S-Sunwoo I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum— so fucking—“

His thumb finds its way back to your clit and resumes its previous attack, the other circling around a peaked nipple, cutting you off. You arch into him, trying to bring the two of you impossibly closer. His cock rams in and out of you almost inhumanely at the rate he was going. With one particularly harsh thrust, he commands,

“Cum for me, sweetheart.”

The words send you overboard and you release around him, simultaneously gripping him like a vice and moaning so pornographically, you kind of feel bad for everyone else staying on this floor. Your whole body spasms with your orgasm, hushed moans falling from your swollen lips. Seconds later the twitch of his dick alerts you as he follows, filling you up with the warmth of his own cum. Had he not still been inside you, you were certain it’d flow right out, something akin to Niagara Falls. But you’re both too busy trying to catch your breaths to really pay attention to any of that extra stuff.

The ache was settling in your bones instantaneously, and you half-regretted encouraging him to ‘fuck you so hard you couldn’t walk properly’.

After what feels like an eternity, he slowly pulls out his softening cock, your pussy clenching at nothing and feeling empty as he presses a soft peck on the tip of your nose, his dominant personality dissipating along with it.

The moment feels strangely domestic, his coos of praise and the worry that he was too rough with you not flying over your head. Things like ‘you did so well, sweetheart’, ‘I’m so proud of you, baby’, and ‘your pussy was made for my cock’ floated around the air. He caressed your belly with one hand and your hair with the other before pulling himself away from you fully.

“Let me go get you a towel,” he smiles warmly, disappearing into the bathroom he told your brother you were borrowing. When he comes back, he has a fresh pair of briefs on and a damp washcloth on his forearm. “You know, I‘ve had the biggest crush on you since high school. The moment Eric introduced us, I practically fell in love.”

He carefully cleans up your cum covered thighs, weary of how sensitive you are. It dawns on him that you’re fighting back your sleep, but he also realizes that you can’t stay in his room, running the risk of being compromised and Eric finding out. He helps you into a sitting position and leads you to the bath.

He washes your hair and body for you, increasing the overwhelming amount of domesticity that you already started to feel. Even with his admission, you didn’t want to assume that this was something he really wanted. You’d made that mistake before, with your asshole of an ex fiancé, and you couldn’t stomach the thought of that happening with him. He was a young, hot professional baseball player. Why would he want to be tied down to you?

With a towel wrapped tightly around your body and your clothes draped over a shoulder, he aids you in your sneaky trip to your own hotel room. You fumble a bit with the key card, nervous under his gaze for some reason. When you finally get it open, you hurriedly enter, desperate to get away from him to avoid small talk. You were a grown ass woman and here you were, acting like a petulant child.

He reaches for your wrist and stops you prior to getting too far past the door frame. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter? Why won't you look at me? Did— did I do something wrong?”

“N-no! You didn’t. I just— I don't wanna misinterpret the situation...” You betray yourself and look him in the eyes, nearly melting at the soft chocolate color staring right back. He leans forward to kiss you on the lips. It isn’t rushed or forceful like any of the others from earlier in the night. It’s more like the loving one he placed on your nose. It conveys exactly what he wants to say, but can’t put into words, and rids of your doubts all at once. You instinctively shut your eyes, a smile working its way across your face.

“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Goodnight,” is what he leaves you with, scampering off to his room.

You bring your fingers up to your lips, the stupid grin not disappearing. He wasn’t kidding when he said the name Kim Sunwoo would be engraved in your brain tonight.

The next day, the four of you visit one of the beaches. You chuckle to yourself as you observe Eric and Haknyeon attempting to skimboard, but failing miserably. Your brother flies forward when his board skids to a stop and he stumbles a bit before regaining his bearings. The older laughs at him, hunching over and clutching his stomach as he does so.

Your eyes stay on them for a bit, but your head turns at the sound of footsteps approaching you and the beach towel you were sitting on. You finally glance over when a grunt fills your ears over the crashing waves. Sunwoo leans back onto his palms, sunglasses perched on top of his head. The goods you wanted were set between you, a bag nearly full to the brim with mandarin oranges.

On your way to the beach, you passed a vendor on the street selling different fruits. Among said fruits were the mandarins that caught your attention. You pouted when you realized you left your purse at the hotel, only having your I.D. on you. Being absolutely smitten with you and having no self control, Sunwoo made a promise to himself to come back when you were least expecting to buy you as many as he physically could. (Gift giving was one of his love languages.)

He smiles as your eyes light up like a Christmas tree in August, instinctively reaching for one of the oranges. You bring it up to your nose to smell the faint citrusy scent of the rind, humming contentedly afterwards. With the summer breeze blowing through your hair, the humidity painting your cheeks rosy and the sun behind you giving you a halo-like glow, you look like a scene ripped straight from a movie. Sunwoo feels like the most fortunate guy in the world knowing that he’s the only person who gets to see you like this, committing the visual to memory so he can look back on it whenever he pleases.

He decides that he could die right here right now, and he’d be satisfied with his life. He can already see it, his headstone; Rest in Peace Kim Sunwoo, 2000-2023.

You slowly start to peel the mandarin, each corner of your lips curled upwards. You pop a piece into your mouth, closing your eyes and savoring the taste of its nectar. Without pausing to think about it, you scoot closer to Sunwoo, feeding him some of the orange. A small giggle escapes the back of your throat when he smiles again, this time at how much more comfortable you are with him. (And also how yummy the mandarin is.)

“It almost tastes as sweet as you.”

He meant for it to be an innocent insinuation, but completely forgot about the fact that it could be misconceived as an innuendo. You slap his shoulder with a gasp because that’s exactly how you took it, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Woah, I was trying to be cute. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”

You roll your eyes, shoving a few more pieces of mandarin into his mouth to shut him up. “Kim Sunwoo, you’re lucky I like you.”

His cheeks are puffed up with the fruit and he tries to smile at you, his pouty lips making him look a little silly. You press a quick kiss to them, forgetting that you were very much in public. He turns to you with eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“What if Eric sees?” He swallows thickly.

You shake your head. “Let him. I’m happy. That’s all he really cares about.”

It befuddles you that just a week ago, you never would’ve thought this could happen. A week ago, Sunwoo was still that high school boy who stuttered whenever he spoke to you and came over to yours and Eric’s apartment every day after school. A week ago, you were still apprehensive about putting yourself out there, out of fear that you’d just get hurt again. But somehow, Sunwoo managed to change your entire perspective. And sitting here on this beach towel, feeding him mandarins and giggling at his jokes solidifies that for you.

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[disneyprincemuke]

baby, it's cold outside

alternatively: she just wants to stay in bed

in which she always get seasonal depression at the same time of the year and he tries to make her feel better about it

(series masterlist)

logan opens the door to their apartment, slightly baffled at the eerie silence he's greeted with. he smiles slightly when stubby approaches him with a smile, hopping right by him as he slips his shoes off right by the entryway.

the corgi pads behind him by a step as he makes his way further into the house. when he entered the living room, he had half expected to find his girlfriend sitting on the couch with kidnapper on her lap while she binged on the new netflix show she started to watch last night.

but nothing. his girlfriend is nowhere to be found in the common areas.

he hums before heading for his room - the last place he had seen her before he left in the morning for the gym. surely enough, there she was still in the same spot as he remembered.

"you haven't eaten yet?" logan voices out, gently putting his bag down right by his bedroom door. he turns on the light, tilting his head in confusion when she pulls the blankets over her head. "babe, it's almost one in the afternoon."

"i'm not hungry," she answers simply.

"have you gotten out of bed yet?"

"no, i don't have anything to do today."

"have you fed the kids?"

"i thought you fed them breakfast."

"i did. what about lunch? they were supposed to eat at twelve-thirty."

she doesn't respond immediately. she removes the blanket from her head and turns to look at him. "i lost track of time. i'm sorry."

she starts to push herself off the bed, carefully moving around the cat that's decided to take solace at the foot of the bed right next to her feet. "i'll do it right now."

"hey, don't worry about it," logan sighs, walking over to where she is. he holds her shoulders and gently forces her back down to her previous spot. "what's wrong? you're usually up and about by nine."

she lowers her chin and then lifts her eyes to meet him. she pushes her hair behind her ear and sighs. "it's too cold," she mutters, shaking her head slightly. "and it's so dark outside - i couldn't get myself out of bed."

something immediately connects in his head. he should've known that this was coming. every year, without fail, during the peak of winter when it gets too cold to do anything, she tends to start feeling a little bit under the weather.

the sun is only out for a short window of time every day, and it’s only contributed to how hard it’s been to get herself out of bed.

everything just seems so blue and mellow, as she’s said several times before.

“okay, how about,” logan hums with a small smile, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. he takes his hands into hers. “i’ll go make lunch, feed kidnapper and stubby. and then let’s go on a date? let’s go drive to the park outside of town and take a walk?

“or, if you want… i heard from ciara that there’s a new go-kart place that opened downtown. if you wanna race, we can go and do that!”

“the sun is gonna set in two hours,” she whines, throwing herself back into the bed head first. “what is the point of even doing anything during the winter?”

“don’t say that,” logan frowns, pulling her up to prevent her from lying back down. “we’re heading to australia in a couple of days — just hang on for a bit and then we can go bask in the sun and piss oscar off.”

“that’s too far away. i don’t wanna do anything until we absolutely have to leave for the airport,” she insists, attempting to drop herself back into the bed once more. “just leave me here to rot and die.”

he laughs softly, letting go of her hands when she drops herself on her back one more time. she turns around to lie on her stomach and buries her face into his pillow. “babe, you have to eat something.”

“i don’t have to eat anything. a human body can survive days without food,” she says, moving her head slightly to peek at him with one eye. “i hate winter. i’m so glad we’re going to melbourne for christmas.”

“i won’t be able to go to melbourne with you if you don’t eat anything,” logan frowns, resting a hand on her lower back. he shakes her slightly, prompting an annoyed mew from the black cat on the bed. “sorry.”

“i’ll starve until melbourne.”

“babe.”

“baby.”

he presses his lips together, trying to rake his brain for the file that had the list of ways that they would do over the years to pull her out of her seasonal depression. it’s always a challenge to try and remember the whole list.

instead of thinking, logan inches forward before resting his entire body weight on her back. she groans and attempts to roll out from under him, but he doubles down and simply grabs her wrists.

“let me cook you lunch so i can nurture you! your mum will kill me if i let you starve!”

“she won’t know unless you tell her!”

“i’ll tell her!”

“then i’ll feel bad cause she will kill you! just don’t tell her!”

“feel bad enough to eat what i’ll cook you?”

“no!”

“what if we go to the chinese restaurant down the street?”

he feels her lift her head, making him crane his neck to look at her. she pushes the hair out of her face and stares at him blankly. “beef noodles? dimsum? really?”

he smiles at her enthusiasm. “yeah, of course. that’s what you eat off their menu.”

for the first time that day, there’s a spark in her eye and a smile that he’s glad is finally making an appearance. “and then let’s go-kart after?”

“yeah! it’s a date?” he gets off her to sit up, letting her roll over and sit up with him. “and then we can go to your favourite cafe for some coffee and cake.”

she lifts her eyebrows, puckering her lips out. “oo, cake.”

she sits on her legs with her hands resting on her knees politely. “i’ll get ready after i feed the kids! hold on.” she starts moving away from him, crawling towards the other side of the bed. “kidnapper, let’s feed you.”

logan yanks her into him, making her fall on her back and her head lands in his lap. he grins and pinches her cheek lightly. “i’ll feed them. you go get ready.”

“but i was supposed to feed them lunch.”

“yeah, but i’m here now. i can do that,” he beams. “you worry about getting ready — i’ll take care of everything else.”

she pouts her lip out. she stretches her arms up towards him, cupping his cheeks to squish his face. “that’s so sweet. thank you.”

“of course.” he scrunches his nose as she pulls him down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “cup of orange juice for the pretty girl?"

taglist: @myxticmoon

[magics-neptunes-things]

Better With You (Prompt)

Hi guys!

This is a new prompt, sorry for the wait ♥ It was great to write with Caitlin, I was looking to it for a long time.

31. Everything always looks better when you’re with me, with Caitlin Foord

TW : A liiiiittle bit of angst maybe

___________________________________________

Looking upset, Caitlin puts her phone in the pocket of her shorts for the tenth time in fifteen minutes, attracting the intention of her mother and sister. The two women exchange a look before Jamie speaks, directly talking to her little sister.

"What do you have?"

"Nothing" grumbles Caitlin, shifting her attention to the plate of her breakfast in front of her.

The truth is, Caitlin has something. It’s been long hours since you haven’t answered her messages and your phone seems turned off since it didn’t even ring when she tried to call you. You told her you had a busy day today, but the fact that you didn’t even have time to send her a single message since like 13 hours to keep her informed of your day worries her.

The Australian decided to join her family in Australia to celebrate Christmas and New Year, after a long discussion with you. You know perfectly well how much Caitlin misses her mother and sister, being on the other side of her family’s globe must not be easy every day. You are lucky to be in the same country as your loved ones, your family being only an hour by car from London.

"Don’t make that face" said Simone gently, laying her hand on one of her youngest daughter. "She will write to you soon, I’m sure"

Caitlin gently shrugs her shoulders for a simple answer. Despite the reassurances of her family, she cannot help but feel a strange sensation in the hollow of her belly. Something isn't normal, she's convinced.

"I’m gonna go shopping in town, do you need something?"

The two young women answer in the negative, Simone takes the time to clear the table before kissing each of her daughters on the head and leaving the house. Jamie, meanwhile, decides to drag Caitlin with her to go on the beach and possibly change her mood.

An hour and a half later, you finally leave the plane you’ve been on for over 13 hours. You left London, before making a stop in Dubai during which you had to run from one end of the airport to the other to catch your second plane in time. That’s when you sent the last message to Caitlin, taking advantage of the airport wifi, before jumping on your next plane.

You didn’t hesitate long before surprising Caitlin and join her for a few days in Australia. You quickly understood the guilt she felt with the idea of leaving you in London and if your mother would have disowned you if you hadn't participated in the family Christmas, the last piece of turkey swallowed you went to London's airport to join your girlfriend.

Your girlfriend who continues to sulk despite the efforts of her sister and her sister-in-law to make her laugh. When you join your mother-in-law, she welcomes you with an embrace and a big smile. You often spoke with her when Caitlin called her on FaceTime and you met her officially at the World Cup. When Caitlin came to support you in the stands for the final, Simone and Jamie were with her. Despite England’s defeat, having Caitlin and her family to support you on top of your own family helped you console yourself a little.

"Cait' is pouting" tells you your mother-in-law with an amused smile, when you are in her car in the direction of the family's home.

You make a face and hesitate a split second to get your phone out, but your mother-in-law keeps talking.

"She’s worried about not hearing from you, but when she understands why she won’t blame you. Jamie was supposed to take her surfing, they’re still at the beach."

The idea of being able to take a shower and change before hugging your girlfriend is more than attractive, even if you have been together for a few months, you prefer to be seen to your advantage.

Caitlin being always absent when you arrive home, you hurry up to put your suitcase in your girlfriend’s room and go to take a shower. Having slept during the flight, you don't feel particularly tired and rather in line with the time it is in Australia. You just have time to get dressed and to brush your hair that Simone comes knocking gently at the door of the bathroom.

"They are here in like two minutes"

"I’m ready" you smile as you gently open the door.

According to the little plan you had fun preparing in the car, you will hide in the kitchen while the two sisters shower in turn. When Caitlin is back in the living room, her mother joins her and offers her a mischievous smile.

"I brought you something from the supermarket and I'm pretty sur you’ll like it"

"What is it?" Caitlin asks, gently frowning.

"Come and see"

Curiosity making her forget for the first time your lack of news, Caitlin gets up from the sofa and follows her mother with attention to the kitchen. In which you are sitting on the central island with a big smile. The surprise that appears on Caitlin’s face when she sees you is so big that you can’t help but laugh. Her eyes almost came out of her head.

"Surprise!" you happily sing, swinging your legs before jumping from the furniture to join her.

Still in shock, Caitlin hasn't moved an inch but her arms surround your waist when you take her in her arms.

"What are you doing here?" Caitlin stutters before releasing you to look at you.

"I wanted to visit Australia and I told myself that you would not be too bad as a local guide" you answered, shrugging your shoulders.

You see her blinking and looking at your face for a few extra seconds, like she’s hallucinating.

"Come on, kiss the girl!" tease Jamie who watched the scene from the entrance of the kitchen.

It seems to bring Caitlin back to reality, but Simone comes out of the kitchen, dragging Jamie with her to let you enjoy your reunion.

This time she takes you in her arms, in an embrace ready to break your ribs. You let her do it, of course, passing your arms around her body and pressing your face into the hollow of her neck.

"I missed you" you whisper against her skin, finding back with pleasure the smell of your girlfriend.

Caitlin shudders when your breath tickles her skin and it makes you smile. But, right after, she gently takes your face between her two hands and looks at you carefully.

"I can’t believe you’re here" she whispers

You smile softly and put your hand on her to intertwine your fingers. You obviously hoped that you coming would please her, you were even afraid that your arrival would bother her a little and that she would have preferred to spend more time with her family. But just with the way she looks at you, you know she’s happy you’re here. Maybe you don't not how happy, but you know she is.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Of course you can, since when do you even ask?" you laugh softly.

If the first kiss she gives you is tender and delicate, Caitlin gradually regains confidence. Then, when you both need to catch your breath, you have the right to have kisses all over your face, then again on your lips before she tightens you against her.

"How long will you be here?" Caitlin asks after putting a final kiss on your cheek.

"I’ll go home at the same time as you, if it's ok?"

"Of course it is" smiles Caitlin

You are interrupted by your mother-in-law who comes to inform you that the meal is ready and Caitlin grabs you by the hand to train you in the dining room. She won’t let go your hand throughout the meal, forcing you to cut your food with one hand, but it’s for a good cause. You see her roll her eyes when her sister teases her about her bad mood at the beginning of the day, but a simple glance in your direction reminds her that it was worth it.

"Do you want to go for a walk on the beach?" asks Caitlin after dinner.

You gladly accept and about twenty minutes later you arrive on the beach, hand in hand. You’ve never been to the place where Caitlin grew up, when you were there during the World Cup, you stayed in the cities where you and your team played.

You smile as you catch Caitlin staring at you from the corner of her eye and arching an eyebrow.

"What?" you ask, laughing softly.

"I’m trying to get used to the idea that you’re really here. I feel like if I stop looking at you you’re going to disappear" Caitlin says, carefully avoiding looking at you.

"As long as you’re not fed up with me, I’m not going anywhere" you tell her with a smile.

It seems to be enough for her since she releases your hand to pass her arm around your shoulders. And you take the opportunity to slip your hand into the back pocket of her shorts.

"I’ll never get tired of you, for your information"

"Good to know" you laugh softly "Was it also the case when you sulked because I didn't write to you?"

You’re only teasing her, but seeing how pouty Caitlin is, maybe it’s still a little early. Besides, she presses an accusing finger on your chest while answering.

"Don’t be an ass. I was really worried"

When you roll your eyes smiling, she frowns again.

"I thought I had pretty well prepared the ground by telling you I had a long day"

"A 14-hour day?"

"It’s not my fault if the girlfriend I chose come from the other side of the globe" you point out.

A little smile is finally back on Caitlin’s face and you put a kiss on her cheek.

You turn your attention to the landscape around you and admire the view. Fine sand and the ocean as far as the eye can see. There are fewer people than you could have imagined, but it’s not to displease you.

"I used to come here a lot with Jamie and my friends when I was a teenager" Caitlin informs you.

"It’s beautiful" you comment by letting your eyes slide on the waves on the horizon.

"I used to think so too, but today is even better. Everything always looks better when you’re with me."

You put your attention back on your girlfriend and you can’t hold back the tender and slightly amused smile on your face. The vastness of the feelings you have for this girl scares you sometimes, but other times she has an way to verbalize her own feelings that it takes your breath away. And the worst part is that she doesn’t even realize it.

Another proof again today since she seems surprised to feel your lips crashing on hers and the strength with which you kiss her. So much so that it takes her a few seconds to react and respond to your kiss. You still don’t know that this kiss will be immortalized by people who recognized you and that this photo will be on social media, but you won’t care when you realize it.

Caitlin is your girlfriend and you couldn’t be happier.