#anyways im glad i finally came back to finish the roughs for this its just been sitting in my drafts for so long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

randombush3 · 1 month

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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

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso fanfics #randombush3 #leah williamson x reader #woso imagines #barca femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine

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lukeevangelista · 2 years

Text

surprise baby - matt boldy

baby matt 🥺 ilhsm

anyways

no warnings, just fluff / not edited

———————————————————————————-

*i typically dont do flashbacks, but we needed one here to give a little bit of details.*

“i miss you so much. i miss you so much that it physically hurts me.”

“i know, ill see you soon, hopefully.” you frowned as you hung up the phone abruptly so you didn’t give away that you were currently in an uber on your way to kevin fiala and his wife’s home. you had reached out to jessica on Instagram, hoping she would be able to help you surprise your sweet boyfriend. you were going to stay the night with them and then one of them drop you off at jordans house, where he would help you finish the plan.

you knew matt had been having a rough time with you going back to michigan for school.

you had met him through johnny beecher, you going to the hughes lake house with him one time when the boys had met there for the summer before you returned home for the summer. you lived in michigan, but during the school year, you lived on campus to get the full college experience. you grew up a few houses down from the hughes household, so you actually knew them quite well as well.

(*flashback to the summer of 2020*)

“c’mon!” johnny whined, “it’ll be fun!” he continued, “plus some of my friends are single and you’re hot.” he shrugged causing you to scoff, “it’s a great chance for someone to wife you up!”

“i mean he’s not wrong,” his girlfriend walked up, her deciding to go with you guys, “there’s one there that is fixing to play in minnesota that i think you would like.” she grinned as she pulled your hair back, starting the braid you had asked her to do since it was going to be hot outside. originally, this had not been in your plans at all. your original plans were to go on a run and then hang out by the pool, with no one to bug you.

paula and johnny were like siblings to you. and that’s why paula didn’t panic anytime johnny called you hot or tried to boost your confidence. when it came to you guys, nothing like that ever bothered her because she knew you would never attempt anything.

you just weren’t that type.

“i mean maybe.” you sighed as she kept pulling pieces into the braid, “i dont know any of them.”

“that’s the whole point. look, you know the hughes and they’ll be there. and you know cam! hell be there too.” she kept going on, johnny joining in until you finally agreed to go.

“whatever.” you said, just to shut them up, “i’ll go.”

“thank god.” he laughed, “i’d hate to tell them you decided to bail after i told them you would.”  “you what?”

“nothing!”

——

“so glad you could make.” jack grinned as he pulled you into a tight hug, rocking from side to side.

“stop hogging her!” quinn laughed, his smile wide as he pushed jack off of you, pulling you into a hug next, “missed you. you need to come visit me in vancouver!”

“one day quinner.” you softly smiled as you pulled back. your eyes darted to luke who was sitting beside some of the boys he would be playing with at michigan, them being the freshman fixing to go in. quinn guided you through the house, you obviously recognizing some of the boys, like brendan since he had been around for as long as you could remember.

“sup baby.” brendan grinned at you as he walked up, bringing some of the others with him as he introduced them.

 “still too young brisson.” you joked, knowing the two of you were around the same age.

he let out a cackle before he wrapped his arms around you, “it’s good to see you.”

“i see california has been treating you well.” you smiled, him nodding.

“oh yeah it has. its been the best summer, but im ready to get the season started here!”

you nodded as johnny walked up, pulling you away despite brendan’s protests, claiming he was talking to you first.

johnny let out a laugh as he drug you outside, seeing a bunch of shirtless boys and a couple of girls sitting by the pool.

your eyes darted towards johnny, who was now standing beside you, “are you okay?” he asked, “i dont want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“i’m fine.” you offered a fake smile, sucking in a deep breath, “it’s just weird seeing this many people that i dont know. i’m usually the one throwing the party so i usually know everyone.”

 “i know, but you’ll be okay.” he patted your shoulder as he tugged off his shirt before cannon balling into the pool, causing the water to ripple and splash over the edge.

you sat down on one of the lawn chairs, placing your bag next to you before grabbing the book and the sunglasses you had brought out of it. you opened it, turning to the page that you had stopped on the night before.

if you had it your way, you definitely wouldn’t be reading while at a party of this caliber, but if you were going to be begged to come, you might as well get the summer reading you had been putting off out of the way for your literature class. classes were set to return in almost two weeks and you hadn’t done anything you had been assigned from that class, including finishing this book. you teacher had been adamant about talking about it on the first day and you definitely weren’t trying to get on his bad side on the first day.

“are you really reading at a party?” you were asked as the sun was blocked away from you, droplets of water landing on your wrist.

“hey! watch the book!” you fussed, “it’s on a loan, back up!” you said as you watched the tall dirty blonde back up.

“sorry, sorry.” he raised his hands, “anyways, why?”

“does it matter to you?” you asked, cocking your eyebrow at him.

“well- uh-um..” he stuttered out.

“i’m just kidding.” you laughed, “it’s for a class and procrastinated and classes start soon.”

he nodded, “i see. well i hope you enjoy it.” he said as he walked away.

it wasn’t long he reappeared, but he was dragging a lawn chair behind him, “i figured you could use some company, even if we dont speak.” he sheepishly grinned, “i’m matt.”

“i’m y/n.”

(*end of flashback*)

“are you excited?” she asked, her turning around to see you in the back seat, kevin driving.

“so excited. it’s been since christmas since i saw him.”

“that is quite a while.” kevin hummed as he made the turn onto the street of jordans house.

you nodded, looking out the window, watching as each house flew by. you whipped out your phone, sending a dm to jordan, letting him know that you guys were close to his house and to make sure matt wasn’t around to see kevins car.

you knew matt was moping around, complaining how he missed you, considering that was what jordan had told you over the phone call you two had a couple of days ago and the call you had with matt earlier confirmed how homesick the boy truly was.

“you ready?”

“as ready as i can be.” you laughed as you walked up the stairs, jordan opening the door quietly.

“up the stairs and to the right. he was on his computer last time i checked on him.”

you nodded, following his directions. luckily for you, matt had his back turned to you, his headphones in his ears so he didn’t hear a peep, not even the door slightly squeaking. you quickly crossed over behind him, your hands covering his eyes as he ripped his headphones out of his hears, whipping around.

“what the-“ he started before he realized you were actually in front him, “hell.”

“hi baby.” you grinned as you went to wrap your arms around his waist, his going around your neck.

“oh my god, you’re here.” he whispered into your neck, breathing in your scent, “you’re really here.”

“in the flesh.” you whispered back as you slightly pulled back, getting a view of his sweet face.

“i can’t believe it.”

“well believe it because i’m here to stay.” you smiled at him.

“wait- what?”   “you heard me. i got a job out here and i’m officially moving soon.”

“oh my god!” he squealed, picking you up as he placed his lips on yours, “so you’re going to be out here full time?”   “i am.”  “oh my god.”  “matt if you say oh my god one more time..” you laughed.

“i just can’t believe it.”  “well believe it baby.” you said as he placed you down, you snuggling into his chest, “believe it.”

#matt boldy x reader #matt boldy imagine #matt boldy #minnesota wild #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl blurb

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

#obey me #om satan #om belphegor #om diavolo #om barbatos #fun request!

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moon-goddess-posts · 3 years

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Hi I saw your requests were open and I’d like to request maybe Kaeya comforting his s/o once they’re rejected from the knights of favonious. They’ve tried really hard to get accepted but got rejected for some reason.

Hi! I'm so sorry it took long to answer your request 😭😭 school has been pretty rough and my motivation has been dying but here it is!

Kaeya comforting s/o

Hurt/comfort, fluff, slight angst, slightly suggestive 🤨

You trained so hard for this day, practiced everything from knightly poses to helping the city as much as you could for hardly any pay. Some told you it was over working but you desperately wanted to be accepted. You wanted to continue helping others and you longed for the next step of that. But life wasn't always fair. You were on your way to try outs, people cheered for you with their hearts believing you were more than capable to become a knight. Excitement filled your bones and nervousness kicked in as you were greeted with the Knights of Favionus doors.

With giving everything you've got in the try outs, you were sure you'd be able to get accepted. You worked so hard right? Had the gods witnessed your hard work as well? Walking back home, so many thoughts raced through your head. Days went by waiting for a note, you never gave up on waiting for a response and you dreamed of wearing the uniforms and going on so many missions. Even possibly working with your boyfriend the calvary captain, Kaeya. You had met during your practice on becoming a knight and he was impressed to say the least.

Finally after a week of waiting, a letter came in. Reality kicked in as you read the note.

"We would like to inform you that unfortunately the Knights of Favionus believed you didn't meet the requirements to become a knight. We were impressed by your mastery of your swordsmanship but it was not what we were looking for. Please don't be discouraged, there are always other try outs being hosted.

Thank you for your hard work

-Knights of Favionus"

"What...?" Confusion and sorrow began creeping in. Had this been a mistake? But your name had been at the beginning so it couldn't have been.

"Was I really not good enough?" You had worked so hard for this opportunity, had they turned a blind eye to what you've been doing? Tears started seeping out of your eyes and you didn't hold them back. So many thoughts raced through your head to the point of insanity. You were laughing hysterically as tears slipped down your face. You wanted to rip your hair out, all that training, all that practice, all those times Kaeya trained with you, the times he believed in you. It was for nothing. All of it was for nothing. Laughs turned into loud sobs, into cracked whimpers and weeps. How would you face everyone now?

You didn't leave your house for several days, completely ignoring the fact that there was people out there who need your help, who wanted to see you. Knocks were at your door but you didn't bother to answer until your heard a particularly familiar voice.

"Kaeya, he can't see me like this! Not when I'm such a wreck!"

"Hey its me Kaeya, please open your door. I know what happened and im really worried about you," his voice wasn't like usual, it had a mix of sadness and worry.

"G-give me a second please!" You rushed to the bathroom to try and freshen up, making sure he didn't notice how puffy your eyes were. You opened the door and saw kaeya, you wanted to cry again, cry into his arms, but you held in your tears.

"I'm here now..." was the only thing he said before pulling you into a tight embrace. You couldn't help but cry again, but this time it was comforting. You felt safe as you let someone finally help you, maybe that was what you were missing. The ability to ask for help in difficult situations. All this time you had thought being a knight was only helping and protecting others, but you also lacked the trust for them to have your back as well. More tears flowed out like a faucet at that realization.

Kaeya didn't dare speak a word as you both embraced each other for some time. You didn't notice being carried until you felt the familiar sensation of your bed.

"Kaeya...I dont know what to do...I worked so hard for it, I wanted to work with you as well, I wanted to help people more," choked sobs came out and Kaeya rubbed your back.

"Becoming a knight is just a title. I recognized your hard work, and so many others have. Jean was the one who made the decision, i'll talk to her about it tomorrow."

"N-no its fine i just...I dont know, was I not good enough?" You gripped his shirt.

"You were and will always be good enough my love, you've done so many good things for this city and you're so humble about it too. Even without being a knight, so many others see you as one." You were glad for Kaeya's reassurance, the tears started to slow down and you started to get sleepy.

"Stay here i'll get you water ok?"

"Mmhm..." you let him go and started getting under the covers. Few minutes later he came back with the water and some of your favorite snacks.

"Would you mind sitting up for me?" You followed his instructions and grabbed the cup of water gulping it down.

"Would you like to eat these snacks or get out of the house and order something from Good Hunter?" You've been stuck in your house for almost a week and you longed for fresh air.

"I wanna go outside." He gave you a warm smile and nodded his head.

"I'm gonna go take a shower and get ready"

"Alright ill be here if you need anything, I love you darling" Kaeya said genuinely, which made you blush.

"I-love you too," you rushed to the bathroom and he chuckled

Freshly out of the shower, you grabbed a new pair of clothes and it felt weird being in something other than pajamas. As you were about to put your shirt on you heard a knock.

"Ah, dont come in im not done changing yet!" Kaeya didn't listen though and barged in anyway.

"Kaeya! I told you not to come in!" You were blushing profusely.

"Hm? Whats wrong? No need to be shy, I've seen it all before" he smirked and walked toward you.

"Thats not the point!" He didn't seem to stop coming towards you while you covered yourself with the shirt you were about to put on. You slowly felt his hands creep over you waist and you flinched from the cold sensation.

"You always feel so warm," he whispered in your ear, now his hands going up further and his lips on your neck.

"Kaeya...I thought we were going out..."

"Haha we are, I just missed you too much. I'll be done soon..." you felt his smile on your neck and you closed your eyes. His hands, his lips, his voice, it made you realize how much you missed him too. You hung on to him waiting for Kaeya to be done with his little shenanigan. His hands and lips left your body suddenly which made you whine and he laughed.

"Shall we get going? Oh right, you still have to get dressed" he snickered.

"GET OUTT!" you shoved him out the door and he still kept laughing. You hated but loved his teasing. He hadn't even kiss your lips but you already felt so hot all over. As you put on your shirt, you hoped he'd give you more after dinner. Once you were fully dressed, you walked out the door with Kaeya.

"You look absolutely stunning" kaeya kiss your hand and you rolled your eyes, you loved him anyway.

"You better finish where you left off after you take me out." You looked at him in the eye and a smile tugged at his lips.

"Oh? After you were so embarrassed back there? Will you be able to handle it?" You playfully punched his shoulder and he laughed out.

"Are you done?" You said

"Yes yes, let's get going for real" he smiled and took your hand. You smiled back already forgetting what had happened to you.

#kaeya x gn reader #i love kaeya #kaeya fluff #kaeya x reader #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x you #genshin impact kaeya #gi kaeya #genshin kaeya

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itsamejin · 4 years

Text

the one that got away || hendery angst || part 2 (finale)

Part 1

Summary: Some days you don’t regret the decision to leave him, but most days you do.

Warning: self-hatred, insecurities, mutual pining

Genre: angst, fluff, mutual pining

Pairing: Hendery x reader

Premise: You two broke up and that should’ve been the end of it, but he sends you a message and all of a sudden it isn’t.

Commission Request: @iron-lix

Word Count: 4,164 words

—

hey, its guanheng. just got your new number lol, wanted to know if you would like to catch up sometime and talk? Idk… just text me back if u want to

You were tempted to delete it, bury it in your trash bin along with all the other concerned messages Guanheng sent you before you blocked his number. It would’ve been the right thing to do, to end any sort of contact before you could hurt yourself further. Insecurity nagged at the back of your brain, yet you find yourself texting him back anyway.

if you want

Short. Simple. Enough to get the message across, but not enough to make him think you were desperate. Did you come off as desperate? Please, don’t make him think-

omg

u actually replied!!

how are you???

and im free on sunday

do u wanna meet up then?

The bombardment of texts brought a sad smile to your face. It really was him. It was Guanheng. No person used question marks as liberally, no person sent that many texts consecutively. You hesitate to answer. Too much could go wrong for you to risk seeing him again. You could break down in tears and be left in the dust, similar to how you had left Guanheng just a year earlier.

You convinced yourself that there was nothing left to talk about, there was no more closure needed. You two broke up cleanly and it should stay that way.

i’m doing fine, and yeah i’d love to :)

Your thoughts contradict your actions and you find yourself burying your face in your hands, frustrated at how easily you agreed. What the hell was wrong with you? You blocked him for a reason, you wanted to get over him. Agreeing to “catch up” with an ex wasn’t getting over him. You would only end up missing him more after all was said and down.

What made you think that you deserved to see him after all you had done?

—

At a small cafe on the outskirts of Macao, you reconsider every decision you made that led up to this point. You fiddle with your fingers, wondering why you even decided to paint your nails like he’d even pay attention to them in the first place. You scratch at the polka-dotted dress you wore, cursing at yourself for wearing his favorite color- pink. You purse your lips, regretting putting on such heavy makeup to hide the dark circles that formed underneath your eyes from the sleepless night you had. You couldn’t get a wink of rest knowing you’d see his face again after so long.

You should’ve just stayed home, should’ve just blocked his number as you did all those months ago.

“Hey,” a gentle voice calls out, interrupting your negative thoughts. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s actually you.”

You look up from your lap, Guanheng staring at you with the brightest smile on his face. He takes the seat across from you hesitantly as if he still wasn’t sure he came to the right table. No one recognized him here in this reclusive cafe, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to relax. Especially with you in front of him.

“It’s been a while,” you smile sadly. Your voice was shaky and Guanheng noticed. He noticed everything.

“Did you order yet?” he asks, equally nervous, but with a large grin on his face. His hand reached out to grab a piece of paper on the table thinking it was the menu. Sadly, it was not. You giggle slightly at his awkward expressions as he slid it back to where he got it from.

“That’s the placemat,” you inform him. “They were planning to give us the menu when you came.”

He cringes at himself. ‘Why do I always find a way to fuck things up?’ he cries in his mind. Guanheng thought he could’ve introduced himself more smoothly.

“Y-yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “I probably should’ve known that.”

You two sat in silence even as the waitress planted the menu on the table. You let Guanheng order for you, surprised he still remembers your favorite drink. You wonder if his stayed the same too.

“...and I’d like a black coffee,” he smiles widely, bidding the waitress goodbye. He sees the small scowl etched on your face, but doesn’t quite know why. He used to never drink black coffee. It was too bitter for him and he always overreacted when the liquid would touch his tongue. You couldn’t believe that had changed in just a year- just like him.

You inspect his face blankly as he chatters about something nonsensical, trying to fill in the silence that you had left him with. Guanghen’s hair is shorter now, trimmed in a way that highlighted his boyish features perfectly. He wore a dress shirt, cuffed at the elbow. He wouldn't have been caught dead looking so suave in the past, opting for comfortable hoodies and beanies so ill-fitted that they hid his eyes. You were looking at Hendery, a version of him that existed on magazine covers and photo cards. You clutch the ends of your dress. See [Y/N]? He’s fine without you.

He stops his talking when he notices your lack of enthusiasm. You used to love hearing him talk, but you looked at him with such emptiness that he wondered if his voice was grating in your ear. He stares at you too, a sad glint in his eyes. Your face, although beautiful, was tired and sunken. You had a dullness in your complexion. You no longer glowed as you used to when he was yours- or to put it in terms that he liked better- when you were his. You shake him out of his own wallowing thoughts.

“How’s Korea?” you ask, knowing he had been promoting there recently. You hear from his friends that he loves it there, that the European-esque streets of Macau got too boring for him. He liked the hustle and bustle of Seoul, the capital of entertainment and fast-paced living. “Your new album doing well?”

Guanheng is happy that you asked, afraid you had lost interest in his work after the breakup. He was so afraid you had lost interest in him.

“It’s been great!” he nods thoughtfully. “We’re planning something soon, so I only have a week here before I go back. It’s been hectic...”

You purse your lips. It must be rough on him, only getting to stay with his family for such a short period of time. Guanghen must miss it- all of this. The city, the humidity, the people... maybe not you, but maybe the memories that came with the relationship. You sure miss it too.

“How about you?” he breaks the silence, noticing that your glances were drifting off somewhere else. “Anything interesting going on in your life?”

You shake your head and give a fake smile. He hates seeing it. Guanheng would prefer for you to curse him out than for you to act fake towards him. It’s like you couldn’t let your guard down with him... and he used to be the only person you let your guard down with. This wasn’t how usually were, but then again, he hasn’t seen you in a year. Could you have changed so drastically that the sight of his face made you that uncomfortable?

“Nothing notable,” you sigh, staring past him rather than right at him. “I’ve been thinking of moving out of Macau for a fresh start, you know? Somewhere new...”

‘Somewhere that doesn’t remind me of you,’ you say silently to yourself. You see a flicker of a pained expression, but you get distracted when the waitress delivers water to the both of you. You stir the water with the straw, glad you found another distraction to keep yourself from making eye contact with Guanheng.

“I wouldn’t have an excuse to visit,” he says teasingly, but you could feel grit in his tone. “if you weren’t here.”

You blink rapidly, not quite registering his words. What was he saying?

“What about your family? Your friends?” you question. There were a lot of things that came with this city, it’s not like you were the only one living here. You figured you’d be the last thing on his mind these days. Guanheng just shrugs.

“They visit me often,” he sighs. “But you don’t. You never visit.”

He gives a sad chuckle, sipping from his cup lowly. Your mouth opens, but not a sound comes out and so you close it again. How were you supposed to respond? Guanghen sighs at your silence.

“You blocked my number.”

Your heart cracks at the sound of his voice. He played around with the straw, refusing to look at you. He sounded... sad and you wondered if the reason for his sadness was you. Weren’t you usually the reason?

“Guanheng-” “You don’t have to say anything,” he stands up straight, a panicked look on his face. He realized then that he made the atmosphere even tenser than it already was. “I’m not here with any other intentions except to talk to you. I know... I know that...”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know how to without sounding desperate. ‘[Y/N] I know that it’s been a year, but would you like to start over even though you might not have feelings for me anymore?’ Yeah, no way he would be caught dead saying that out loud- not when you looked at him with such emptiness.

“What’s wrong Hendery?”

You wonder why the person with the brightest smile in the world had such furrowed brows as he looked into your eyes. And maybe that was your first mistake. Calling him by his stage name.

“Hendery?” he scoffs.

“I’m sorry,” you say a little shocked at his angry expression. “Did I overstep-”

“Why would you call me that?” he asks with sad eyes. “Why are you treating me like I’m a stranger?”

Your last chance at getting closure and you had said something wrong that made him uncomfortable. You blew it, didn’t you? Of course, how could you be such an idiot?

“I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

“Hendery,” he repeats, still shocked at your words. “You never call me that. Not even when we dated.”

Dated. Past tense. He wasn’t yours anymore and you needed to accept that. Guanheng was right there telling you to. You were out of your mind for thinking this was going to turn out like you expected, that he would walk back into your arms without hesitation.

“I can’t do this,” you say abruptly, standing up from your seat. “Guanheng I’m sorry it was a mistake even meeting up with you.”

“[Y/N]-”

You walk past the table, feeling bad for the cafe workers that were oblivious to your sudden outburst. You took out your wallet from your shoulder bag, setting down cash to make up for the food that hadn’t arrived at your table. The worker stared at you with large eyes.

“Ma’am-”

You were already out the door, tears threatening to spill over. Guanheng came to talk, came to have a chat with an old friend that happened to be his ex-girlfriend and all he got was an awkward conversation that showed how broken you were without him. You walk and walk, missing the bus stop that you were supposed to wait at until you hear rapid footsteps behind you.

“[Y/N] wait-”

Guanheng wraps his fingers around your elbow and pulls you to face him. You couldn’t bear to look at him, staring at your feet rather than his face.

“Just let me walk you to the bus stop. It’s dangerous for you to walk alone,” he says, the hand that was on your elbow was shaking. “I’m sorry for acting weird back there. It wasn’t even something serious and I freaked out over nothing-” “No,” you say shaking your head, pulling his hand away from you. He felt empty now that you were out of his reach. “I was the one that overreacted.”

“Don’t,” he says sadly. “Don’t apologize to me.”

You finally gather the guts to look up at him directly, but you regret it almost immediately. You notice up close that he’s still the scared kid who couldn’t believe he was called in for an audition by a massive foreign company. It makes you want to embrace him, comfort him from all his worries, and tell him that it’ll be okay. Except it isn’t. It hasn’t been for a while.

—

Under a flickering streetlight, you sit at the bus stop’s bench with tense shoulders. He sits farther away from you, careful of the watchful gazes from the public and any sneaky cameras around patiently waiting for him to mess up.

“I miss taking bus rides late at night,” he admits, not looking at you in fear of people watching. “It feels different somehow.”

You smile sadly.

“Yeah. We used to ride one from school together.”

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. Words used to flow naturally when he was with you, but he had to go and mess it up at the cafe by feeling offended over something that was trivial. So what if you called him by his stage name? It's been a year since he’s last seen you- of course, you’d have been more cautious about what to call him. He was stupid, so hopelessly stupid.

“I miss the rivers too,” he mutters. “I miss those overpriced boat rides tourists would pay for.”

He chuckles sadly, reminiscing of a time when you had gone with him. When you were his and he was yours.

‘Most importantly I miss you,’ he thinks to himself, but he balls his hand into a fist before he could say anything else. You hated this, hated that he always held back before saying the most important thing.

“Guanheng,” you start, heart beating rapidly from your chest. “Why did you want to see me?”

His eyes waiver and you could see it glisten in this light. Did you say something that made him uncomfortable yet again?

“I just,” he swallows, not finding the right words, “wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he replies, “I feel like you’re doing fine.”

‘Without me,’ he screams in his head. Guanheng doesn’t notice you bowing your head or the tears that had started to form in your eyes. He was too caught up in his own tears that threatened to spill over, but he convinced himself to hold it in.

“Well, I’m not,” you broke out with a cry, already knowing you were past looking pathetic. You let the tears fall onto your lap. He doesn’t notice at first, but Guanheng snaps his head to you, no longer caring about his surroundings. He slides closer, patting you on the back.

“What's wrong?” he asks worriedly. “Did I say something again?”

“No,” you say, looking up at him and he swore his heart sunk at that moment. Even when you broke up with him your eyes never looked this hurt. Guanheng didn’t even know he had that effect on you anymore. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well obviously I did if you look like this right now,” he says angrily, more at himself than at you. He wipes away the tears from your eyes, but it only made you wail harder. He was still so good at comforting people, still so gentle. You wished that he wouldn’t stare at you with such caring eyes and give you false hope- hope that he wanted you back just as much as you wanted him. It wasn’t right to be feeling this way when you were the one that broke up with him. You had no right.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry out, holding onto his arms to steady yourself.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks worriedly. His eyes, too, were turning red.

“For ignoring you when you needed me most.”

A silence falls between you two and his grip on you tightens. This was a conversation you two should’ve had a year ago. He didn’t quite know why it was being brought up now, but at least now he can ask what he’s been dying to figure out.

“Why did you block me?” he questions solemnly. “Why did you agree to be friends and then just cut me off like that?”

You purse your lips.

“I’m sorry for-”

“Please,” he begs, hands letting go of you. “Answer me just this once.”

You try to gather yourself but fail miserably. How could you when this was potentially the last time you’d ever see Guanheng again?

“I was scared,” you answer truthfully.

“Of what?”

You take a deep breath and sigh.

“That you might hate me.”

Guanheng tips your head to face him, a serious look on his face.

“I’d never hate you.”

He looked at you with such softness- the kind you haven’t felt in so long. At that moment you could trust him, at that moment you felt like everything would be okay.

‘It’s alright if he does,’ you think to yourself. If he hates you then fine, but you needed to tell him one last time. Then there’d be no regrets. Maybe then you’d have the guts to finally leave, start anew in a place that didn’t remind you so much of him, but that’s probably impossible to do because Hendery was the sun itself, and you were just you.

“I still love you,” you whisper solemnly, “and I hated that you let me go so easily when it was so hard for me to let go of you.”

His mouth falls open and you swear you see hurt in his eyes, so you turn away. Regret always came after your worst decisions.

“You thought I let you go easily?”

A stray tear had fallen down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry I-”

“Stop being sorry,” he pleads. “I hate hearing you apologize when it was my fault too.”

You look up at him, confused.

“I should’ve fought harder for us,” he continues. “I should have told you that I loved you back then and that I could’ve made it work. I can’t believe you thought I was okay with breaking up. I said we should stay friends just so I could have an excuse to talk to you again and you kept ignoring my texts and I thought I was being annoying and-”

He always used to ramble a lot when he was anxious. Guanheng takes a deep breath and puts your hands in his. The bus was not coming anytime soon.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he mutters. “I still love you too.”

You shake your head, refusing to believe his words. He just felt sorry for you, he didn’t mean-

“I tried dating other people,” he says matter-of-factly, breaking your heart a tiny bit because you hadn’t. You never tried to venture past him because it had always been him, always.

“Guanheng, why-”

“But it just didn’t work out,” he cuts you off, swallowing his saliva nervously, “because they weren’t you.”

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off again.

“I sent you text after text asking you to take me back,” he sighed sadly. “But I never sent them because I knew you wouldn’t even see them anyway. I told the guys about you and they said it was a lost cause, that I should move on.”

“But you didn’t,” you whisper, touched by his words. Guanheng shakes his head.

“I didn’t,” he smiles as he intertwines his fingers within yours. “And maybe it’s messed up to say this, but I’m glad you didn’t either.”

You laugh with him, the tears dried by now. You look at him, his eyes crinkling so beautifully as he smiles.

The bus came seconds after under the flickering street light where you two share a chaste kiss. His lips tasted the same and you can’t help but grin.

It was still him. It was still Guanheng.

—

He walks with you, his hand bumping into yours one too many times that he just held yours in his. It didn’t feel real, being so close to him again. Maybe you had gone through hurdles to get to where you two were now, but at least he was back where he wanted to be- by your side. You two talk about anything and everything and let a comfortable silence fall in between you two when there wasn’t a need for conversation.

Guanheng asks you what you watch recently. Netflix documentaries. You ask him what songs he listens to nowadays? You cringe when he says Justin Bieber. He laughs when you laugh, walks at the same pace as you, calls you pet names. It’s like he never left, but you knew that in a week from now, he will leave. And maybe you’ll go back to wallowing in your own sadness again.

You’re already at the steps leading to your house, but he refuses to let you go, so you let him inside. He smiles at the lack of change.

“My stuff’s still here,” he says in awe, picking up the small robot figurine that was propped up on your coffee table. You fluster at his words.

“I didn’t have the heart to throw them away,” you mutter. He smiles at you.

“Do you still have my clothes here?” he asks. You panic.

“Oh, do you want them? I can go-”

“So I can stay the night then, right?” he asks seriously. You wonder if he thinks himself a comedian. You punch him in the arm with a puff of your breath.

“We haven’t even seen each other for more than a day and you-”

“Not like that,” he chuckles, realizing what he had implied with his statement. “I just want to sleep here. With you. Innocently.

You stare up at him, unconvinced.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get kidnapped?” he whines, giving you those puppy dog eyes that you missed so much. You miss him so much.

You click your tongue at him, walking to your bedroom as he follows right behind. You scathe through your closet, pulling out the comfy clothes he always wore. You could never admit to him that you’ve been sleeping in them for the past year since he was gone. He takes them from you.

“Then I’ll go change,” he says with a cheeky smile. You roll your eyes, getting dressed for bed as well. Guanheng takes a seat on your bed and lays down next to you. He watches you silently for a while before he starts stroking your hair.

“Move to Seoul with me,” Guanheng jokes casually. You take him seriously for a second, but notice the Cheshire grin on his face and decide to play along.

“I don’t know anyone there,” you pout, squeezing his hand lightly.

“You know me.”

You roll your eyes.

“You know that’s not enough,” you scoff. “I need a job, I’ll miss my family and-”

Why were you taking this so seriously? Your face heats up with embarrassment. How could you let yourself be carried away by his simple teasing?

He smiles at you, patting your head softly.

“Then, I’ll just keep coming back to visit, I guess,” he replies. “Unless you’re still planning to leave?”

You pondered for a bit. You did need a change of view, a change of pace. You had spent a year in this apartment wallowing in self-pity. It wouldn't be so bad to move somewhere new, would it?

“If I go to Seoul,” you start off hesitantly, “What does that mean for us?”

He looks at you, confused. The atmosphere had turned somber without him noticing.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitate to ask, still confused as to where he stands. Dating an idol was hard, you knew that. Did he?

“Will I be your girlfriend again?”

He scoffs.

“I thought that was a given.”

You smile, but there was a hint of sadness in your eyes.

“I’m not good at being there for you, Guanheng,” you admit. “I have so many flaws and you have to put up with so many of them-”

“You put up with mine,” he says, inching closer to you. You shake your head.

“I’m not a good girlfriend.”

He shoots you a glare, pulling you into his arms and burying his face into your hair. Guanheng hated in when you talked about yourself like this.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “I want you to be [Y/N], not just my girlfriend. You just have to be okay. I want you to be okay.”

You feel the prick of tears in your eye and nod into his chest. You need to trust him. You have to.

“I’ll try,” you say, drifting off into sleep. “This time I’ll try.”

And this time he won’t let go.

—

A/N: Super hard writing this because it’s been like uhhhh more than a year, but I’m glad I got to do it. Thank you @iron-lix for commissioning this and being so sweet and patient. I hope this was up to your expectation! Check out her blog for cute WayV fics!

I’ll be starting on my drabble game after I finish my last two commissions. Writers block is starting to get to me guys, so I’ll try to pace myself better in these next few days. Again thank you to everyone for being so kind in your messages and asks to me. I really feed off the positive vibes, you guys really know how to make me feel special T^T

give me a coffee?

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voidselfshipp · 3 years

Text

Double The Gambit, Double The Fun.

Cw: food ment, Eye contact, ask to tag.

Ok to rb

Summary: by some reason gambit finds his version from another dimention, and jerico has to deal with the consequences.

A/n: heres the second gambit aka ettiene.

Jerico was too distracted on her phone, there wasnt much to do other than wait for her laundry to be done, wich she asked Jean who was also in the laundry room to let her know that it was finished.

Ignoring the footsteps as she sunk in the sofá shes suddenly startled by a voice she knew all too well.

--wasnt expectin you here Cherie-- remy said, leaning on his Cane.

She raises a brow looking at the man-- ah mira quien vino (ah look who decided to come by), nice to see you again gambit, thought youd be too busy gambling and scamming people

-- I dont scam thats filthy work-- he added leaning slightly foward.

Theres a silence that lasts a few seconds before they both laugh.

She stands up, greeting Him properly.

-- so whats up?

He sighed, tipping his hat-- we May have a situation,follow me

-- that doesnt sound misterious or anything...--quipped the woman walking.

When they got to the courtyard, there he was, a Man,leaning on a beautiful coupe Nova,too distracted playing with a coin he doesnt notice them both walking.

--i was walkin to see the professor-- started gambit-- and I fell to the floor, when I stood up I found him there

-- a New student?

-- no sweetheart, thats me, but from other dimention, at least thats what the professor told us

Jerico raises a brow--uh, Sir?-- she asked as the other gambit looked at him.

-- well well well, the southern belle herself, jerico nice to meet you, im--

--remy, i know-- she snorted thinking he'd shake her hand, but of course he grabbed her hand and kisses her knuckles,winking.

Not only she had to bear her remys flirt but now a second one? She was sure she might pass out if the two of them teamed up to mess with her.

-- and you brought me here because?

-- the professor told me to ask you to read his emotions to see if hes up to something

Jer scoffed and smiles--if its you, then he might be-- the men laugh and she looks at the second remy.

--Dont worry If it feels weird, im not going to hurt you

-- even if you did sweetheart I wouldnt mind-- the second remy winked.

--callate vos-- she answered in a fit of giggles.

She knew how to shut him up, she took his forearm and traced her fingers across the soft fabric of his coat, thumb caressing his wrist up to holding his hand.

Her free hand pressed itself against his cheek holding it softly, and she closes her eyes.

Her remy, the one from her dimention was snickering as his copy was starting to blush by the tenderness of jericos hands.

Who, as soon as she finished readind his emotions she let go, he almost whines but for his pride he shuts up Real quick.

-- hes fine, dont worry, id assume you two are gonna share a dorm?

Remys dorm was just Next to hers,she tries to play it cool but she was freaking out.

--yeah-- the two remys answered at the same time.

--Now that I think of it, we should reffer to him--she pointed at the second remy-- a different name,...god ,what was your middle name, ...ettiene?

Remy nodds, and the now ettiene tilts His head raising his shoulders.

Jerico heard jeans voice in her head telling her that the laundry was done, so she said her goodbyes and Walked back into the mansion.

As she shoves her clothes into a basket she looks at Jean-- your boyfriends texting during class?

The telepath smiles laughing-- he wants me to help him with his test

--what if the professor finds out?

Both women look at eachother to then laughs-- well he May think its clever!-- added Jean-- speaking about boys, heard about the second remy, youre gonna have it rough huh?

Jer giggled-- well, double the fun I guess,anyway, bye Jean!

--bye jerico!

The empath Walked back to her room upstairs and left the basket on a corner going to her bed to collapse.

The rest of the day was calm as both gambits settled down in their room.

They were talking when they heard Jers voice singing from the other room.

Its a song in spanish, they cant place what shes saying.

-- southern belles singing-- said ettiene sitting on his bed.

-- shes always singing,I always listen-- added remy leaving his staff against the wall-- I wish I could hear her speak spanish more often, she has such a beautiful accent

--That she does

At night the students all went to get their food, jubilee and Jean went out for the night, leaving jerico all alone in the mansion.

As she grabs her food, she hears the footsteps she learnt how to identify, she turns around meeting with both of the gambits.

Remy, not missing a beat in teasing her he goes-- whats a pretty Lady like you, doing in a place like this?

-- in the kitchen? Getting food-- he looks at her with his brows furrowed--...fine-- she sighs fighting back a smile-- fella done me wrong, Im distracting myself from the thought of him

Ettiene also jumped in, they were like brothers teaming up to annoy someone.

--well-- said the second gambit-- hes a fool for leaving such a pretty Lady behind

-- oh hes not that bad-- added jerico-- hes a very flirty Man with a nice sense of fashion, one day I might even give him a chance...

-- lucky fella-- added remy.

-- yeah, but I know theres more to him that a secure, cheeky exterior, one could even say afraid-- she leaned in both of them taking their hand.

They both were nervous-- afraid of hearbreak-- she leaned closer.

She then snatches her Plate and her bottle of soda and leans back-- but then again, arent we all?

She left the kitchen with a huge smile on her face as a very flustered remy shouted-- how come you always turn it around?!

--i know you remy!-- she shouted back.

While she Ate, the two men went upstairs back to their dorms,having ate early, they went to bed early.

--i see what you see in her-- ettiene said taking off his shoes.

-- shes the best isnt she?...I never had problem facing a Lady but with her is different

--guess no Point in hiding your feelings from her?

Remy nodded-- she already knows, but I dont know if ya noticed, but when she reads emotions you can feel a bit of hers,she wont do the first move

-- shes scared?

-- yep, cant blame her tho, as she said, arent we all scared of rejection

Jerico finished eating her food, and left the Plate on the kitchen.

When she got to her room she sat in bed,seeing what jubilee and Jean sent her.

They seem to be having fun.

Looking at the time she sighed.

Going to knock on remys door.

If her Friends were having fun, why shouldnt she?

--Ah, look who came by ettiene

-- salty for todays lose LeBeau?

--maybe, but its late what are you--

Jerico kissed him, he kissed back, taken off guard as his arms slipped around her waist pulling her in his room closing the door with his foot.

When they pull away, ettiene comes behind remy and smiles.

-- theres one for you to ettie-- said jerico kissing ettiene softly, he hugs her smiling like a kid in love.

-- well, im assumin you didnt come by just to kiss us good night

She shakes her head pulling both men in for a hug, it felt nice.

-- no, I came by to hang out with you two, I was all alone in my room, figured id come by and spend time with my two favorite men -- said jer.

Both smile cupping her cheeks one each.

-- look at you getting us all in love with you-- said ettiene pressing his forehead against hers-- god, youre beautiful...

Remy pressed a kiss to her jaw and her neck pulling her closer-- im just glad I can finally hold you

Jerico smiles-- guys I feel like im about to melt, stop--

Both chuckle hugging her tighter.

-- well-- said ettiene-- me and...me, were going to watch a movie, fancy staying for a while?

She nodds and the three slip in bed, cuddling as they watch said movie.

The first one to fall asleep was ettiene, then remy who had his face on the crook of her neck.

Jerico was the last one to fall asleep, in the arms of both her lovers, safe from the outside world.

#cw food #tw food #food ment #cw eye contact #gif tw eye contact #tw eye contact #ask to tag #f/o fic #♣️dont go gambling with my heart♣️#♥️play to keep♥️

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all-hail-the-witcher · 5 years

Text

you make me feel like I'm loved

well well well

I finished my writing homework and decided to write a little something of my own. its based off a song buts its Fairly Obvious so I'm not saying which one hehe

____

ship: ralbert

genre: hurt comfort

warnings: anxiety attack, talk about death/death trigger, ummm, like half a sentence of potentially suicidal thoughts, loud music, race is a good boyfriend okay

words: 1196

editing: nahhh

____

Well, this was not how Albert had been expecting to spend his 19th birthday. Mush had decided to throw him a huge party at the diner his aunt owned, closing early and everything just for the occasion, despite the fact that Albert had insisted many times that he did not like his birthday and he especially did not like parties. Mush clearly had not listened. His boyfriend Blink was DJing some trashy pop crap that Albert had also insisted (many times) that he did not like. Blink and Mush could be horrendously stubborn when they wanted to be.

So, in hindsight, Albert really should have really expected the fact that he was going to spend his 19th birthday in the bubblegum pink bathroom at Mush’s Aunt’s diner. By himself. Having an anxiety attack.

What a way to ring in his last year of teenagerdom.

“C’mon DaSilva,” he muttered as he gripped the sink as if that would be able to reestablish his grip on reality. “Get a fuckin grip.” However, his dumb mind decided to process this as grip the sink tighter and not reality. Fuckin figures.

With a frustrated sigh he let go of the sink, opting instead to play with the increasingly uncomfortable bowtie that Race had made him put on. He hated bow ties. He never wore them. The only one that he owned was from his 10th grade play when he had to play the hostess at a very fancy restaurant. And it was Chartreuse green.

He tugged at the bowtie uncomfortably, his rough movements greatly contrasting Race’s earlier gentle ones. At the sudden thought of his boyfriend Albert slammed his hands back down onto the sink to avoid collapsing onto the floor.

He was older now. Being older meant being closer to death. He was going to die sooner. And leave everyone behind. Leave Race behind. How could Race even be with him, how could he look at him much less kiss him when he knew that one day he would just cease to exist and leave him behind, especially since it was bound to be sooner rather than later because if he was just going to die anyway than why not just do it-

“Stop” he said through gritted teeth, forcing himself to try to take a few deep breaths. At some point during his concentration, his hands became unclenched from the sink and his knees gave out as he plopped onto the floor as he began tapping on his upper thighs. It helped, but still the very thought of having to go back out to the party made him want to curl up into a ball and cry.

Eventually he came to the conclusion that he was going to have to sneak out the back. That was alright. He didn’t fit in with his friends here anyway and they wouldn’t miss him, probably wouldn’t even notice that he was gone to be honest. He was just the forgettable, disposable friend. So much so that no one would notice if he deserted his own damn birthday party.

Slowly, Albert worked at dragging himself up off of the floor, willing his numb legs to cooperate with him. The back exit was just down the hall from the bathroom, he could make it, probably. He put his hand on the wall to steady himself and was about to walk toward the exit when he remembered that he had left his phone at the table. Groaning loudly, he turned around to make his way back to the table.

He braced himself for the loud music as he entered the diner once again, fully planning to make a beeline for first his phone and then the backdoor, but his plan was foiled by an overenthusiastic Romeo thrusting a glass of something - maybe chocolate milk - into his hand and screaming loudly about something. Albert’s whole body froze in shock, concentrating on nothing except not dropping the glass in his hands.

He must have been concentrating really, really hard because the next thing he knew Race was taking the glass from his hand and downing it, Romeo nowhere to be found.

Albert jumped a little bit, both at the shock of Race taking the glass and Race himself. Shouldn't Race hate him now that he was older? Why was he still here? Why-

But before Albert’s thoughts could take over again, he felt Race’s hand take his own shaking one. When had his hand started shaking? Race had his trademark smirk on his face, although Albert could see in his eyes that he knew something was off. However, that didn't stop him from mouthing Shall we dance? and quirking one eyebrow in question.

Albert found himself nodding despite his numb legs, something about his boyfriend’s presence calming him, and Race led him to the center of the diner where Mush had pushed back all of the tables to form a makeshift dance floor. Head still clouded with unwanted thoughts, Albert found it slightly difficult to focus on his surroundings, but he was able to discern that Blink must have out on a slow song due to the swaying couples he was just able to make out around him.

He allowed Race to place his floppy limbs around his neck, trusting his instinct that was telling him Race wouldn’t do anything he wasn't comfortable with. In a matter of a few short seconds, his head was pressed against the crook of Race’s neck and they were swaying back and forth to music that Albert could hardly hear.

Slowly, Albert’s insecurities melted away as he focused on simple things such as the texture of Race’s button down shirt, the scent of his cologne, and the lyrics of the song Blink was playing which seemed to consist exclusively of the words “I got you, it’s alright.”

It took Albert several moments to realize that that was not actually the song, but his boyfriend whispering in his ear.

Sighing contentedly, Albert let the last of his negative thoughts slip away as he lifted his head to gently kiss Race’s lips.

He felt Race smile against him. “Hey, there’s my handsome boyfriend,” he murmured, just loud enough for Albert to hear above the music.

“Sorry,” Albert muttered. “I don't know what happened.”

Race seemed entirely unbothered. “It’s okay. I’m glad I was able to help you though. I didn't want you to leave before you got to eat your cake.”

Albert exhaled against Race’s shoulder, a knowing silence passing between the two of them.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

He felt Race pull away slightly. “For what?”

“For making me feel like I’m loved.”

“Oh, Albie,” Race sighed. “I do love you. And so does everyone else here, no matter what that silly head of yours tells you alright? I love you, and I’ll love you no matter what age you are.”

Of course his boyfriend had figured out what had caused his earlier breakdown. Albert couldn't help but feel like a small child as he pulled back to look up at Race. “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” Race said, kissing his forehead.

Suddenly, being 19 didn't sound too terrible after all.

____

aww my boys

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@well-the-kids-do-too

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

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IF YOUR USERNAME HAS CHANGED LMK PLEASE

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #Albert dasilva #theyre cute okay #race is a good boyfriend #I want a race

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brownskinsugarplum76 · 5 years

Text

Third Shift, Part 1

I'm still plugging away on the story I started for Robert's birthday, but here's everything up to the smut, which is halfway written. Please excuse any errors. ☺️ More tonight, I hope! It takes place on Robert's 21st birthday, in 1969, a day during which Zeppelin performed 2 shows virtually back to back.

Shout out to Robert, as always, for being the best muse I could've asked for. Happy birthday, sir. 🙌🏽🎁🎂❤️❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good evening, Schenectady! The birthday boy is here!" Robert proclaimed loudly to no one in particular as he entered. The locals, rough-looking men who could appreciate what amounted to a truck stop stripper bar, suspiciously eyed the willowy hippie dandy with the British accent who bounded through the sea of wooden tables. Before the blue-collar men could return to their drinks they noticed the rest of the boy's long-haired entourage, and a chorus of grumbles and groans filled the room.

"He needs those birthday punches sooner than later," muttered Bonzo, watching his friend, in his birthday oblivion, blissfully ignorant to the bar's shifting mood. "I know I can give 'im as good as that American roadie tosser did me for my 21st."

As the rest of the band and Cole found an open table, Robert breezed his way to the bar between two men who were nursing large mugs of beer and lost in a heated conversation about the year's prospects for the New York Jets.

"Look at this long-haired freak," said the man wearing a Jets hat. "Kids got no respect for themselves today, I tell ya. No respect for themselves or this fine country."

Robert almost pointed out that he was from England, but thought better of it. A bar brawl and physical damage to his angel face would not help him win the hearts of any local girls.

The thought vanished quickly from his mind. He was too high to care after successful back to back shows that night, his revelry for his milestone 21st birthday, and a long swallow of whiskey in the car. Besides, he'd heard every negative comment about his hair and his clothes before.

"Oi love," he called loudly at the back of the bartender, who was restocking bottles of vodka and whiskey. No top-shelf brands, Robert noticed disdainfully, having acquired taste in this area under the tutelage of Cole. "A pint for the birthday boy, please?" He'd never met a beer or a cider he didn't like and figured it would be a safe bet.

"A pint of what?" she said without turning around.

"Ah, fuck," he said, quickly flashing an apologetic smile when the men at his sides whipped their heads toward him to deliver severe scowls. "America... Right. A beer, love, please? And it really is my birthday."

"Happy birthday, Mr. Out of Town," she said with sarcasm, moody from the high of catching Zeppelin's early show that night followed by the lows of the regulars' crude come-ons. "We've only got domestic," she continued. "I hope that's good enough for you."

She finally turned around and gasped. "You're the guy from Led Zeppelin, aren't you?"

"Robert Plant's the name." His smile, with its luminous, hypnotic quality, dissolved her shock and revved her desire. He liked the reaction he usually got from his smile, but he hoped that people would remember his name soon.

"Hey, you were at the first show, yeah? Front row, jean shorts, tight little T-shirt?" Somehow his smile became more intense, magnetic enough to make her face flush and her breath catch.

"You saw me?" She filled the mug with beer, higher to the top than usual, in direct defiance to her uncle's strict instructions.

Robert thanked her and sipped the beer she sat before him. He sighed. "Fine American lager, this is."

"Don't tell my uncle, but it's our best, and it's on the house for you, birthday boy."

Robert grinned broadly. "To answer your question," he said, then took another sip, "I would've been blind to not have noticed you. I couldn't resist your stare and you're, uh, rather lovely… Even now, in your work outfit."

She knew her work t-shirt was stained from a beer mug she had knocked over earlier. There was nothing she could do about that, so she toyed with her hair instead, finding a stray lock to tuck behind her ear. "Well, then, please tell me you're the prince who has come to whisk me away from all this." She waved her hands at the backs of men who might have been star high school football players in their heyday but were now graying or balding men, or both, with expanding waistlines and protracted bad moods. She rolled her eyes.

"I, uh, could be, if you want… For tonight, anyway."

"I don't get off until 2, though. Are you really going to stick around here until then?"

Robert looked around sheepishly. He knew Cole's skin must've been crawling, and he'd also heard whispers about more strippers visiting the hotel for him. "I…"

"Fucking hell, Robert, did you forget about us at the table, matey? Too busy chatting up a bird? We've eaten all the peanuts we can stand, you wanker. Get us some bloody beers, too!"

"Sorry, Bonzo," Robert said, without turning around. "Four more beers for the band and our road mom, please."

"I think you're right… We won't be closing your bar down, sweet. I think they have another surprise for me at the hotel." He gave her a puppy dog frown while she poured more beers. His wide-eyed stare went overcast in a way that he surely knew would be irresistible.

The more she stared into the depths of his stormy blue eyes, the more his gaze seemed to issue a dare. A barely perceptible upturn of his lips was the only clue that she wasn't imagining things.

She batted her eyelids and offered a similar sliver of a smile. His challenge had been accepted. "What a shame… But, you know, I have another idea…" She grabbed the strings that weighed down the corners of his shirt's V-neck opening and pulled him closer.

Robert didn't need another hint. He purred as the softness of her lips met his. Then he smirked inwardly as his tongue effortlessly teased her lips apart and swirled in her mouth with a tantalizing churn. He witnessed her bravado buckling under the heat of his kiss.

Her hands migrated to his mop of large curls as he gently grasped her shoulders. The two men seated in front of her groused and said it was time to get better seats for the show anyway. She knew they were the only ones who would care about her spectacle with Robert after having their space invaded; everyone else was too drunk or lost in conversation to care.

She eventually pulled away. She was fearful that her uncle would see her, as he was due in at any minute.

Her breathing went shallow and her heart began to race, but she found her voice somehow. "The show will be starting soon. When it does, meet me outside. I'll be on my break. You came in a car, right?"

"That I did, darlin'. A car that no one will be using during the show… Ah! An angel's face and a devil's mind. A combination I love."

She smiled. "Oh, Robert? One more thing…"

"Sure," he said without a clue of what she was going to say.

"Let's see your bartending skills… Don't forget the beers," she said, gesturing to the full tray before her.

"Barkeep! I thought you'd never come!" Cole clapped Robert on the back as he sat the tray down. Robert breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that all the drinks made it to the table without one drop spilled.

"Lovely new friend you have there…" Jimmy offered before trailing off. He eyed the beer suspiciously before pushing it away from him. "I'm going to pass."

"Now, now, Pagey, you'll need it for a tick while we toast Robert," Bonzo chided. "And then you can give it to me."

Robert had finished his drink but raised his empty mug for the toast, as did Jonesy and the rest.

"Right. Percy, my mate, you wiggled your ass into something great for both of us. I am forever grateful that you thought of me for the New Yardbirds, as it were. There's a matter of a petrol bill to settle still, but let's forget about that for now, yeah? I'm glad we're on this ride together. Before we all say cheers, just know that I plan to dole out your birthday punches when you least expect it. Twenty-one of 'em. Jonesy will count to keep us honest."

"Anyway," he said, looking over at Robert, "Happy 21st birthday, Robert. Chin chin."

Everyone touched glasses. Everyone with beer took a sip, Jimmy included. Robert took a healthy swallow of Jimmy's beer before passing it over to Bonzo. As much as Robert wanted another pint, he knew he wanted to be as alert as he could for the bartender and their rendezvous.

***

The entertainment was announced, and Robert rose from the table.

"And just where the fuck are you going?" Cole glared as Robert pushed his chair under the table. "You're the only reason we're here right now."

"I'd say it's safe to wager that Robert has made plans for private entertainment," Jimmy commented.

"The bartender," echoed Jonesy.

"You mean you don't want to witness the finest strippers that upstate New York has to offer?" On with you, then." Cole waved a dismissive hand and lit a cigarette.

"May I borrow the car keys?" Robert asked Cole, while his eyes pleaded even more.

"Here."

Robert caught the keys as they hurtled through the air in the general direction of his head.

"And don't drink all the whiskey with your lady friend!"

Robert bowed, tipped an invisible hat to Cole, and then walked briskly to the door.

"Hmmm… I may have spoken too soon about the quality of Schenectady's strippers…" Cole exchanged glances with the rest of the band as a voluptuous blonde took center stage and waited, with her hands on her hips, for the music to start. "My sincerest apologies, greater New York." Cole whistled loudly and turned his chair completely toward the stage.

#Robert plant #classic rock #fan fiction #Writing #wip

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joonslushii · 5 years

Text

BTS Reacting to:

You Breaking Down

Sorry, I know that the intro is a bit long but I try to make my writings pretty vivid and end up getting carried away! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :)

_______________________

You are in college and have recently been having a rough couple of weeks dealing with all of the homework and on top of that, a job. At first you were handling it all fine, but the harsh reality of all the work you had to get finished was finally taking its toll on you. You knew that staying up till almost 4am almost every night and getting up at around 7 for your college classes was unhealthy but you had, unknowingly, made a habit of replacing your need to sleep with Caffiene. The exhaustion was finally catching up to you. All day you had been trying not to cry as you watched more homework and work being loaded onto your “To-Do” list.

As the day finally came to its end, you went straight home in hopes to cuddle with your sweet boyfriend, knowing that as soon as he pulled you into his embrace, the stressful feeling would melt away. But what you didn’t expect was for yourself to break down as soon as you reached his arms.

Jin:

When you had walked in, as expected, Jin had been in the kitchen cooking dinner so that you wouldn’t be starving when you got home. He noticed something was off when he noticed your bottom lip trembling. He quickly turned off whatever kitchen appliances he had been using. He was about to ask you what was wrong when you suddenly power walked across the kitchen and into his arms. At this point, you were sobbing into his chest and he could feel your body shake with every sob. Still wrapped tight in his arms, he waddled you over to the couch and sat down. You were now in his lap as he tried to calm you down with his words.

“Shhh, princess you’re okay now. Let me help you, okay?”

“Hey princess..Will you tell me what’s wrong? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but it would help me make you feel better if you did!”

“I’m making food, would you want to eat a bit?”

Namjoon:

Namjoon, being the observant and caring person he is, probably already had a feeling that it was coming. He remembered sometime earlier in the week you had told him how stressed you were and he had told you that you needed to take a break or it’d get worse. As he predicted, you didn’t listen. So he constantly sent you cute little texts that read things like:

“I hope your having a good day babygirl! I love you!”

and

“Be ready for lots of kisses when you get homeee”.

When you had come into the door, Namjoon was sitting on the couch with his computer in his lap, headphones covering his ears, probably working on music. He hadn’t seen you yet so you went over to the couch and sat down next to him, so close that your legs were touching. You then proceeded to lean over and wrap your arms around his torso while your face was buried into his side. He thought you were being adorable and was about to ask you how your day went but was met with the feeling of wet tears on his shirt. As your body shaked from the force of your sobs Namjoon furrowed his eyebrows and grabbed the sides of your face gently, bringing it up to where he could see it. He glided his thumbs across your cheeks, wiping your tears.

“I’m sorry I got your shirt wet, Joonie.” You whispered, barely audible.

“Don’t apologize baby, are you okay? Are you over-working yourself again? I thought I told you to give yourself a break? I don’t like seeing you cry.” He said with a pout. You giggled quietly at how he caringly scolded you and kissed his cheek, thanking him.

Hoseok:

Instead of going home Hobi had asked you if you wanted to come watch him dance at the studio. Wanting to just be with your boyfriend after a long day, you went. You arrived at the building and found the studio he was in. Loud music pounded in your ears as you walked in. As soon as he saw you he rushed to turn the music off.

“Hey babe! I’m glad you came, you look bea-“ he wasn’t even able to finish his sentence as the force of your body crashed into his. For Hobi, everything went still as he heard your loud, broken sounding sobs. You were now on the floor in between Hoseok’s legs as he rocked you side to side and you cried into his arms.

“It’s just been s-so hard lately, there’s so much going o-on and I don’t know if I c-can handle i-it” you choked out, tears clouding your vision.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. I believe in you baby, you’ve already come so far, give yourself a break, me and everyone around you can see how hard your working. I know you can do it baby.” He said as he planted kisses on the top of your head, one after the other.

Yoongi:

You stumbled into the door of your shared apartment, and saw Yoongi nowhere to be seen. You looked in the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and still couldn’t find him. The only other place he could be was in the guest room, which was now his studio. You knocked on the door and he didn’t answer. You assumed he had headphones on so you decided to just go in. You went in and there he was.

Yoongi was sitting at a giant desk with headphones over his ears, papers scattered, clicking violently around the screen. You had always hated disturbing him while he was so concentrated but this time you really needed him. You tapped the side of his headphones and he turned around and took them off. He smiled his gummy smile but that soon disappeared as he sensed your upset mood and stood up to greet you.

“Babe? Are you okay?” He asked, and it was as if those 4 words had set off a bomb inside you and 2 seconds later you were on the couch in his studio sobbing into his lap.

He sat up straight while you laid your head on his lap, sobbing as he plays with your hair. He decides that he’ll ask you about it when you calm down, but for now he decided to whisper comforting things into your ear.

“We all need a good cry once in a while, baby, don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m here Babygirl. Let it out, let it out.”

Jimin:

As soon as you reached your apartment you unlocked the door and immediately went to find Jimin. After looking in the living room, you found him in your shared bedroom watching TV. He was about to greet you when he recognized the familiar look in your eyes. To him, the look in your eyes was a call for comfort; for help.

“Jiminie, I-I” you tried to talk but you felt yourself getting choked up. He saw your eyes glaze over with tears and he knew he needed to do something. You blinked and suddenly he was right in front of you pulling you up into his embrace as he carried you to the bed. He laid you both down and placed you on his chest. He felt your hands curl tightly around the material of his shirt as you sobbed. Hard.

No words needed to be exchanged at that moment. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone who understands you like jimin does. He caresses your tear covered cheeks as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

“It’s okay, I got you now. Shhhh baby.”

“Hey, I love you, okay?”

“Jiminie’s here, im here.”

Taehyung:

You walked into your apartment to find Taehyung sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, looking through the pictures he took on his camera. He looked up with a blank look on his face and when he saw you, almost instantly, his boxy smile appeared.

“Welcome home angel, how-“ he was interrupted by the sound of a small whimper and he looked at you and noticed things he hadn’t noticed before. He noticed the way your eyes were clouded with tears, one threathing to slip out. He noticed the way your legs trembled as if you could collapse any minute. He noticed your bottom lip forming into a pout, he noticed the way you weren’t responding to him with a smile on your face like you usually do. He noticed it all.

Before he knew it, you had collapsed onto your knees and were know sobbing. The best thing he could do right now was be there for you; so that’s what he did.

He rushed to your side, dropping his camera on the couch in the process. He got down to your level and held you as you cried. He lifted you into his lap as you cried into his chest. He sat there with you in his lap as your hands clenched onto the thin material of his shirt and he whispered sweet things into your ear to try and get you to calm down. He knew exactly what was happening. He knew your condition had to have been caused by months of bottling up stress. He thought about trying to tell jokes or be funny but he knew that now wasn’t the time. Right now you just needed to be comforted and feel loved.

“I love you so so so much babygirl.” he whispered as he kissed away all the tears streaming down your face.

“I need you to know how amazing you are, love. You’re doing your best and that’s more than enough.”

“shhhh, shhhh, shhhh, it’ll be okay, angel.” he whispered, giving you forehead kisses and rocking you back in forth in his arms.

Jungkook:

You opened the door and walked into the living room to find an overly-focused Jungkook playing video games on the TV. You sat your purse down and other belongings down and immediately made your way to the couch.

Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the couch so you slid right behind him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso while laying your head against his back. He finally noticed your presence and paused his game. He turned around to give you a sweet kiss on the lips but noticed the salty taste of your tears as he pulled back.

Without hesitation he had turned you both around so that you were now straddling his lap while your arms were around shoulders, and were crying into his neck. You were sobbing harder now that you had finally been getting the comfort you needed after holding in all your stress for so long. He was holding you tight against him as your body shook from sobbing. All he could do at the moment was hold you and try to make you feel better with his words.

“I’m so proud of you, my gorgeous girl”

“Just know that I love you, okay? I love you so fucking much.” He whispers in your ear as he rubs your back.

“You gotta open up to me more, okay? I care.” He whispers, his voice on the verge of breaking.

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

Text

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn’t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.

#Jason Todd #Sheila Haywood #Harley Quinn #you knew this was coming #oh Jason I'm so sorry honey #one day you can have nice things #but not today #Roots and Leaves

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ratretro · 6 years

Text

Under The Light Of The Full Moon - NaLu FanFiction

Title: Under The Light Of The Full Moon

Pairing: NaLu

Prompt: NaLu Week Day 6 - Sensation

Rating: T;

None of these characters are owned by me, they are all owned by the wonderful Hiro Mashima!

A/N:

Honestly im just using this as an excuse to write werewolf lucy because goddamnit ive wanted to for an eternity also I forgot I wrote this so here y’all go im hella late to the party lmao

FF.net

The air was thick with the scent of dragon, and against Lucy's better judgement, she decided to follow it to the end of its trail. Tonight, she was at the peak of her strength, and every sense was on fire as she followed her curiosity. Dragons were secretive creatures, and very rarely caught doing who-knows-what in the forest. Personally, she'd never met one. She only knew the scent from descriptions her favorite pack member gave her. For all she knew it may not even be a dragon she was hunting.

Well, if it wasn't a dragon she could worry about that later. Instead, she followed the enticing scent of smoky firewood, and an underlying sweet smell she couldn't quite place. If she could, Lucy would be humming right now as she vibrated with excitement. This was the perfect time after all. With the full moon hung high in the sky; vibrant and clear with no signs of clouds. As a werewolf, she was in peak performance which meant if needed she could make her escape without fear. She was intelligent and quick, only second to her packmate, Jet.

A clearing appeared up ahead on the very edge of her territory. If she tread too far it could incite a large-scale war, and she wasn't about to be the cause of another dispute. Her father was the pack leader after all, and that meant she had to be the perfect lady. What a load of bullshit. What was the point of having wolf blood if you couldn't truly be free?

The bushes rustled as she pushed through them to enter the opening where the large creature no doubt was hiding. She shook her entire body to get the leaves from her fur, and as soon as she was absolutely certain they were gone, she gave an aggravated huff. It was then that she lifted her head to look at what she considered to be her prey since she'd been stalking it for 30 minutes now.

Surprised. That was the emotion Lucy Heartfilia felt as she looked upon what could not possibly be a dragon. His hair was a shade of pink she'd only ever seen when passing the flower shop next to her favorite bookstore. His skin was sun-kissed even in the shade of silver that came from the pearl in the sky above her. Truly the scene was breathtaking, and yet the scent that radiated from his body was the same one she'd followed all the way here.

Now, it could be that he was a drake. She'd heard stories from the elder pack members of dragons who'd taken human mates, and given birth to half-breeds. How did that work? She had absolutely no idea. Who was she to question another species' mating rituals anyway?

Perhaps, he was a half-breed. He did hold attributes similar to a dragon. Sharp, curved black horns protruding from his skull, bright red scales moving across his cheeks and up to his temples, the claws where hands should be. Everything screamed dragon, except, that he wasn't a giant lizard like she had expected. Perhaps, she should be grateful she hadn't run into the fully formed dragon that her packmates had been so scared of.

"What are ya doin' here?" it was a simple question, soft and barely heard above the gust of wind that tore through the clearing. Of course, Natsu wasn't expecting an answer from a wolf. He'd never attracted wildlife before so he would consider this one to be rare. He took a moment longer to stare the creature down in hopes it would run off, and leave him to his own thoughts.

Although, a deeply buried part of him yearned for the company, and hoped the female wolf would stay. She was gorgeous after all. Her fur was long and seemed to be painted by the starlight above as tones of blue and silver drenched her smooth coat.

Though, it was the eyes that pulled him in. Dark chocolate. Normally, wolves of the color white had eyes in shades of blue, yellow, and even on occasion brown and blue at the same time. She had solid brown. It was unique, and he found himself smiling before raking his claws through his hair.

"Ya know, I'm kinda glad you're here. I didn't really want to be alone tonight." Lucy couldn't respond to him, but he seemed to recognize and accept that. He seemed deep in some kind of thought. Obviously, a sad one. She hoped her presence would help him in some way, besides she didn't want to hunt or run around just to get dirty and have to scrub the mud off her skin in the morning.

It was a slow, graceful trot as she met him in the center of the clearing, and sat beside him to share his company. Maybe he'd even speak more, she liked the sound of his voice. It had a soothing calm to it even if it was rough around the edges.

Natsu let himself fall to the grass with an aggravated sigh as he looked for the words to say. He was talking to a woodland creature who couldn't even talk back, in the middle of the night no less. To say he felt a little crazy would be an understatement. Hey, maybe he needed this. Maybe he needed to let out his emotions. Even if it was only to a lone wolf in the middle of the forest.

He was startled as the creature curled into his side and laid her head on his chest. There was some blinking, a crinkle where eyebrows would normally be, and then an annoyed huff. Was she telling him to continue? He supposed it wouldn't hurt to do so.

"I don't want to be king, ya know?" King was much higher than Pack Leader, but she could understand the sentiment.

"I love Igneel, and being his son is great. But I love the wind through my wings, and fighting with the younger members, visiting the towns as I please. Ya can't do that as a king. Ya gotta be responsible." She longed for the freedom he spoke of. They were different in that regard. He had the freedom she sought. To have that ripped away would certainly make her aggravated as well. She gave a small whine to try and signal her agreement, and sympathy. Not being able to speak made this troublesome.

"Trying to make me feel better?" it sounded to him like she'd understood his plight in some way. He was glad for that much.

"Thank you." Soft, but serious. He meant it, and even if the wolf didn't understand him he appreciated her willingness to listen to him. A noise went off in the distance: a howl. It was obviously the call of a wolf. Maybe one from her pack. White ears twitched, and then a small noise from her. It sounded like a ‘no' if he'd ever heard one.

The next howl was louder, and when she finally picked up her head, all she did was bark. Like a kid saying ‘I'm coming!' when their parent calls. The wolf eased up from her position and stretched; first backward and then forward.

"Will ya visit again?" Lucy's head tilted at the idea. She'd seen a dragon, thus her curiosity was quenched, but she hadn't thought about seeing him again. Her head tilted to one side, and then the other. Yes, she decided. She'd come again the next full moon.

The dragon sat up slowly, and as soon as his cheek was high enough she gave a soft nuzzle before turning and disappearing into the night. If she didn't get to the hideout soon her father would give her an earful. That much was certain.

Natsu, however, remained in the clearing till sun up, claw resting upon his cheek, and a soft smile on his lips.

---------------------

Lucy was practically vibrating with excitement even as her packmate Levy stared at her from behind a book.

"Lu? Are you okay? You normally hate the full moon." A correct statement. The blonde nodded in agreement, but still, the feeling did not fade. She'd see him again tonight, surely he'd be in the clearing. She was betting on it, and Lucy was not one to lose a bet. They didn't call her ‘Lucky' Lucy Heartfilia for nothing after all.

Currently, she had her chin resting on her hands as she took in the strong smell of roasted coffee beans and whipped cream. Both of these, however, was second to an old book. The wonderful thing about this shop wasn't the café, although it's a nice bonus, it was really the fact that it was attached to a used bookstore.

Levy had already chosen a classic from the fiction section depicting a war between werewolves and vampires, where Lucy had opted for a more classic romance set in a world of wizards bonded together by loyalty and friendship in a place where they'd built a new family. She was excited to start and finish the book in the next few days.

"I do. Tonight is different though. It's special." The blonde was certain Levy would understand. Levy was the one who'd told her about how dragons smell. Though she'd thought there might be some fibbed details but she wouldn't question her on that.

"Oh. Meeting a boy are we?" she flinched which was all Levy needed. The blunette smirked.

"Hmm-hm. Who's this mystery man?" Levy was personally excited to see her friend intrigued by a male. She'd always talk about boyfriends but never seemed to have an interest in anyone.

"It's just… a man I met in the woods on my last run." The blonde averted her eyes from Levy's and waited for her friend to stop gawking.

"You just. Met a man? In the woods? As a wolf?" Levy recognized that Lucy had already explained that, but damnit she wanted elaboration.

"Between you and me, I followed the scent of a dragon like you said. And I found one!" her grin went from ear-to-ear. Levy swallowed, but her mouth was as dry as cotton. Her best friend had found a dragon in the woods, and subsequently gained interest in said dragon. There was no way Levy had heard right.

"A dragon. In the woods." She repeated, but as a statement instead of a question as if willing her friend to continue.

"Yes. His scales were bright red, and he smelled of smoke. But the kind you bbq meat in, not a forest fire." Lucy finally gave Levy the information she needed to understand what had happened.

"You met the Fire Dragon King's son?" Levy was dumbfounded by her friend's unique ability to fall into troublesome situations.

"He mentioned something like that. How'd you know?"

"I'm dating the Iron Dragon King's son, Gajeel. It was easy to draw the conclusion." Lucy buzzed at the information. She'd known Levy was dating someone but didn't know who until now.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me that!" was all the blonde could manage.

"You know how our pack is Lu. You know interspecies isn't allowed." A rule decided by her father when he first took over as leader. Lucy made a pfft noise and shook her hand in the air.

"We all know that's a rule for me, and no one else. He's just disguising it to keep pack control." While the blunette agreed with Lucy she wasn't going to test that theory.

"Regardless, I'm glad for you. You always hated the full moon until now."

"It's not the full moon I hate. It's the forced transformation." She corrected. Lucy loved the stars more than anything, and each forced transformation was spent staring into the sky. Until now.

"I know that. I'm just surprised. Dragons have keen noses, he should've been able to smell the magic on you. That's how Gajeel found out what I was." Speaking on keen noses. Werewolves definitely didn't match up to dragons, but they still had a hell of a sense of smell. And right now, all Lucy could smell was smoke.

She froze on the spot as a familiar voice chatted outside the window with a large man covered in piercings. Pink, but this wasn't from the flower shop next door. Her breath hitched in her throat, and with a small whimper, she faced away from the pinkette. Their eyes hadn't met, and she was fairly certain he didn't know she was there. It needed to stay that way.

"What are you doing?" Levy's voice broke through her inner monologue with a chiding tone.

"That's him." She whispered. Surely, they could still hear the conversation so Lucy held up a hand, and shook her head before Levy could manage her next question.

"All right. But you better have an explanation in the morning." The blunette was awarded a mock salute from her incredibly nervous blonde friend.

"Wait, are you leaving already?" the question startled Lucy, but she nodded in response.

"Yes, I wanted to get ready for the change. I know it's still early, but…" Levy understood completely. While most of the pack had a seamless transformation, herself included, Lucy did not. Many believed that it was because of her human mother's blood that she had what was regarded as the most painful transition. It was why she never willingly shifted forms.

"I'll see you in the morning, Lu." A small wave from the blunette was Lucy's signal that she was good to head out. With the doors of the café opened all she could hear was what sounded like the end of a conversation that had left the fire drake irritated. Maybe that was usual for him? She didn't know, but a part of her wanted to find out.

"Are you okay?" the words slipped out before she'd even realized it. Her mouth, and her brain, were clearly working against her.

"Huh? Who are you?" gruff. Not at all like the voice from the clearing. Put in perspective she could see where she went wrong. She'd approached an irritated drake and then tried to question him as though she was his friend. She held up her hands in a surrendering fashion which calmed his features ever so slightly.

Features that she found insanely different. He was definitely able to pass as a human if you ignored the fangs. His claws, the scales that adorned his face, and the horns that curved from his temples were all gone. She nearly frowned but caught herself quickly. She missed the man from the clearing, she realized.

"Sorry." His voice was closer to the tone she'd remembered.

"For? It was my fault. I shouldn't have intruded on a personal issue."

"No. I shouldn't have been rude about it." His tone hadn't really bothered her, but this conversation had already gone on too long. Any longer, and he might realize who she was.

"Don't worry about it. Whatever it is, I hope it gets better." She turned with a wave, leaving him to watch her go. And he did. She'd smelled familiar, like the scent of pine, and vanilla. Which he hadn't recalled smelling before, but still his senses were screaming as though he knew her. Which was impossible. There's no way he could. He would've known if he'd met a girl like her.

Still, she smelled of magic which meant she was, at the very least, not human. Never the less, he didn't want to worry about that. His only worry was the wolf. He hadn't seen her in nearly a month, and with fur as white as snow she couldn't possibly be able to camouflage in the dense greenery that surrounded Magnolia. Though, he bet she thrived in the winter. He worried that she had possibly been killed by a hunter. Those were common after all. Especially with the possibility of the wolf being a werewolf. The only difference between a were, and its counterpart was size.

This was especially true with wolves. Werewolves are abnormally large, and barely look anything like a natural-born wolf. Come to think of it, the wolf in the woods that night was rather large. At least larger than normal, but most of the ones he'd seen were much bigger. Though, she could have been a runt.

If she was a runt that was even worse. His anxiety skyrocketed as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He needed to move. He gave a grunt and trudged back toward the nest. He'd just check again tonight. Like he did every night.

----------------

Lucy's hands dug into the hard concrete of the dungeon she was currently locked in. It had to be this way after all. She didn't want to ruin her home like she had the first time she'd transformed. That had been an experience she didn't want to relive a second time. Below her, the solid foundation of the building began to crack, and a yowl ripped from her throat. It sounded like a mix between human agony and raging wolf.

It was several minutes of her bones cracking to break down her human form into something dangerous, and far more primal. When it was finally over, and her senses began to return to normal, she cautiously moved her limbs. Hind legs, front paws, neck, jaw. It was all in working order, and the blonde almost wanted to spend the rest of her evening laying on the cold concrete that had already begun to soothe her sore body.

However, she forced herself to her paws and began to bounce up and down to test the boundaries of her body. She wouldn't be running any time soon, but if she kept hidden it wouldn't be too risky to keep a slow trot to the clearing where she hoped he'd be waiting. Who knew at this point.

He could have stopped going by now. She also could have visited, but shifting took a lot out of her, and she normally spent a few days recovering in bed after. Pack work had to be done, but she also had a job at the library downtown.

A doctor's note easily allowed her to get the few days after the full moon off each month, but anything after that would be testing her luck. While she was ‘Lucky' Lucy Heartfilia she'd rather not test how far that went.

Claws raked on the metal door, causing a rather annoying screeching noise on the iron as it protested to the unfair treatment. Creeeeeeak. The door moved open at a steady, slow rate to reveal Michelle. Her cousin was also a hybrid like herself, but the human genes had won out in the end, and she'd yet to show any signs of being a werewolf. Although, from what Lucy had seen, Michelle had no problems with it.

Michelle bent down to a crouch to rub Lucy between the ears and make soft cooing noises. She was giggling with joy at the motion, and Lucy didn't put up a fight. Not that she wanted to, she quite liked the feel of hands in her fur and she even gave a low rumble of appreciation.

"Well, get along now. He won't be happy if you stay here for too long." Her voice echoed in Lucy's mind, and the wolf gave an angry snort before dipping her head and making her exit. Michelle wasn't wrong (which only infuriated Lucy more), but she was hoping that someday her father would lighten up a bit, and allow himself the opportunity to move past her mother's death. She knew for a fact that her mom wouldn't have wanted to see him become this… monster.

The grass was scratchy beneath her paws and even grazed her underbelly. She had to keep low to the ground that way she wouldn't draw attention, though it was easier said than done. She may be a runt, but she had the physique to match her werewolf genes, plus she was bigger than the average mutt.

She wasn't concerned, though she should be, considering this was her turf and she knew these woods like the back of her paw. Though, there was a small problem: the section without shrub to hide in. This was one she had to pass through to make it to the clearing that he would theoretically be waiting in. She hadn't been paying attention the first time she'd traveled to him, but now in her weakened state, she had to be careful.

The first time they'd met she'd already had time to brush off the transformation aches but having left immediately after she was still sore. Sure, she could escape if she needed to, but honestly, she didn't want to. If at all possible. Her ears twitched as a rustling came from her right. Hunters. She cursed internally because of course there would be hunters. Why the hell not. Every lean muscle in her body tensed as she pressed as far as she could into the ground.

This was dangerous, and she needed to be careful.

--------------------

Again. He waited under the cover of night. His form warped by the darkness to the point that if you looked he would appear to be a human by any other standard. His chin rest in his palm and his brows were scrunched in irritation. He'd waited for the wolf to grace him with her presence again, but it was day 30 and there was no sign of pale white fur. Feet tapped anxiously as he stared into the bark of the tree in front of him. His eyes glazed over as his mind wandered leaving his body an empty shell.

He would have stayed in that mindless trance had he not been snapped out of it. Bang! The metallic scent of blood crashed his senses making him think distinctly of pennies. That was neither here nor there. His mind switched immediately to defense as the crashing sound of footsteps echoed around him.

Branches breaking, leaves crunching, the collision of bodies. Whatever was bleeding was frantic, and whatever was chasing it had a partner. A partner it couldn't stop running into. Boy, was their teamwork bad.

He stood still as he waited to see exactly what was causing this kind of commotion in HIS woods. A flash of white caught his eye which caused a flutter of panic in his chest. That was impossible. Another shot fired, and the sound of a yelp! had him ready to run to the rescue.

She crashed to the ground, her breath labored, and a soft whimper leaving her body. They'd gotten her good, and if she managed to live her father would not be pleased. She urged her body to move, and somehow it complied. The calm didn't last as the sound of a small branch snapped beneath a heavy boot. A noise rose above the rest: growling. She wondered when exactly she'd began growling and it took her a moment to realize that she hadn't. That's when she realized exactly where she was. The Clearing.

Which meant to her left was the one person she'd never been happier to see. He'd waited for her. With the hunters distracted she leapt into the clearing and booked it to his side. She ignored screams of protest and the sound of cocking guns. She just needed to reach him. She slid to a stop behind him, her breath leaving her body in heavy spurts. Warmth spread through her entire body as his hand laid upon her head. It was urging her to rest. It was like he was saying, ‘Leave it to me.' And she did.

He never thought he'd be so MAD. Her beautiful fur was matted with blood from an injury on her backside, and her body shook with exhaustion. Wings extended from his back, and the original growl turned into a loud snarl which evolved until a roar was echoing for miles.

"Leave." He bellowed his command into the air. He was every bit Igneel's son, and damnit he was the Fire Dragon King's heir. They'd leave if they wanted to live. Guns clattered to the ground and with wild scrambling, the hunting pair took their abrupt departure. He huffed, blowing out a puff of smoke. These were his woods, his territory, and he'd be damn if someone attacked a friend in his presence.

Her body quivered next to his, and when he crouched down to check on her she shoved her muzzle against his face and rubbed furiously.

"Hey! Cut that out!" she didn't take him seriously as she watched him light up with laughter, and his mouth contorted into the same grin she'd seen the first time they'd met. She'd been worried. The expression he'd made when he'd ran off the hunters had made him look like a demon. It was someone she'd never seen, but also someone she knew he'd be unhappy to become. He'd looked like a king protecting his people.

Her whiskers tickled his cheek as she nuzzled him. She must've felt scared, which wasn't surprising all things considered. Then, he caught it. A soft scent just past the smell of pennies: Vanilla. His eyes widened, his mind flitting to her. The blonde who'd been a stranger. The one who checked to see if he was okay after his fight with Gajeel.

"You…?" he whispered. A howl sounded off in the night, the call to beckon her home. Just like before. A nod and the wolf was gone. A roar sounded off in the distance, his own call home, and he knew he'd have explaining to do.

--------------------

She stood, slowly, from her chair at the library. She'd been adamant about returning to her job even through her father's distress. It seemed like his only daughter almost dying had lit some kind of fire in him. He'd been more caring, and dare she think it, tender. Still, she wouldn't just sit, and wait for her wound to heal.

That'd be boring. Plus, she couldn't stop thinking about that night. The pink-haired man waiting under the moonlight, and how he'd saved her life. They wouldn't have killed her. No, they would have sold her.

She shuddered and gripped the book in her hand even tighter. Lately, she'd been having trouble controlling her strength so when it snapped in half she wasn't surprised. Even so, it would surely be docked from her pay.

"It seems weird for a librarian to be destroying a book. Aren't ya supposed to like those?" she recognized his voice easily. It was the same tone he used when they spoke in the woods the first night.

"You thought so too, huh?" she sighed, but set the destroyed book down on the cart beside her.

"Interested in anything?" she meant a book, obviously. The pinkette had something a little different in mind.

"You." He watched her body stop on a dime, and her cheeks exploded in the color red. A part of him wanted to chuckle and stroke her hair to calm her. The other part told him not to. Even if she was the wolf in the woods (he still wasn't sure) it wasn't likely she'd care for being treated like an animal.

"W-What do you mean?" her voice sputtered, but then evened out. Did he know? It was entirely possible, though she wasn't in the mindset to be playing this game. Fake it ‘till you make it. That was her motto.

"Nothing. I just saw ya from the window. We met a few days ago so I wanted to say ‘Hi'." It wasn't a lie, not entirely, but he wasn't prepared to try and out a werewolf even if it was an empty bookstore.

"Oh. Well then, hello, stranger." She teased, shelving another book into its rightful place. This was the tricky part, having to walk forward to the next section of literature without him noticing her wound.

"Stranger." He said it with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, "What's your name?" if they exchanged names they would be acquaintances. Then, maybe the anger creeping into his chest might subside. She knew him and she'd heard his inner-most concerns. He'd saved her life. They were hardly strangers.

"Lucy. Lucy Heartfilia." She held out her hand to him, a soft gesture, hoping he'd take it. Then, perhaps they could be more than just the wolf and the dragon who met under the light of the full moon.

"My name is Natsu Dragneel." There. Acquaintances. Next step: friends. "Can I help?"

She considered his offer, maybe if he was elsewhere in the store she could maneuver with ease. Or at the very least she'd be able to keep her secret.

"Yes. That would be great." She smiled, soft and sweet. "The system is alphabetical." It was nothing special like the Dewey Decimal system.

"Got it." He grabbed a few hardcovers and stared at their titles before wandering off. She'd heard him whisper the letter ‘P' and that was at least two rows over. Now, she just needed to place the book she currently held in her hand. ‘Starlight', it was a children's book that her mother had read to her when she was a child. It detailed the story of a young girl with the power to control call upon the stars. It was her favorite. It was also, unfortunately, on the top shelf.

She grimaced but still pushed to the tip of her toes to push the book into its rightful place. The wound where the bullet had lodged deep into her hip was screaming in agony. She should have had him put it up. He was tall, probably? Her mind pictured him as she confirmed his height. She hadn't really been paying attention to his physical features due to her internal panic.

Move on, her mind urged. She agreed and switched to the next title. ‘Roses Be Damned'. This was supposed to be some classic, cheesy romcom and she couldn't wait to purchase it and let it consume her life for the next month. If it was good anyway. It was here, that Lucy made her mistake.

She shifted to the right accidentally bumping right into the heavy cart full of books. She let out a scream of pain as she toppled to the ground, holding her hip tightly as though that would help. As if the tighter she squeezed the less pain she would feel.

Natsu, two rows over, stared at the book in his hand. It was an informational guide on Werewolves. Now, while werewolves had outed themselves – for the most part – that didn't mean all of the packs had. It was more a pre-emptive strike than anything else. He should probably buy this book. He was making his way around the corner when the scream and clatter of books had him rushing.

There she was, lying sprawled across the floor with small whimpers leaving her lips. He cursed. He'd gotten complacent. Of course, there's no way she would have healed by now. Werewolves and Dragons were fundamentally different after all. While he wouldn't be slowed down by a bullet, she wasn't built as sturdy.

"Are you all right?" his voice sounded like it was miles away as her mind seemed shrouded by the pain her body was experiencing. Fuck. Maybe she should have stayed home. This was shaping up to be a great day already.

"Nnn." Her grunt seemed to be an affirmative but she still hadn't moved from her spot on the floor so he decided to take it with a grain of salt.

"Why are you pretending?" her entire body froze from its position on the ground.

"What do you mean?" she feigned ignorance for a moment. She couldn't allow him to figure her out so easily, though it would just be easier to come clean.

"Actin' like you're okay, but clearly you're not." She'd been scared when he asked the question. He wasn't entirely sure why she would be. Either she was scared of him, or someone else. It had to be a someone, not a something. He hoped so anyway.

She stared into the carpet as though it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. It wasn't. Lucy couldn't just avoid him forever but maybe she could feign passing out and deal with it later. No, that was a bad idea too. She cursed under her breath and gathered all of her courage to face him.

"I'd say you're right. I was in a sticky situation and got injured a few days ago." He knew that already. He was there. He saved her. It had taken a bit of time to find her though, in fact, he probably wouldn't have without Gajeel's girlfriend to help him out. Apparently, the girls were in the same pack. Now, that was a plot twist.

"I know. I saved ya didn't I." there wasn't a question; it was another statement. Yep, he knew. Would he be mad? First, he shares his secrets with her in the woods under the guise that she was a regular woodland creature. And then, she hides her identity and pretends they never met. Lucy regretted her train of thought because of course, he'd be mad. She'd be mad too if he had done the same thing. Ah, but he hadn't done it. She had.

"I should start with an ‘I'm sorry.'" She mumbled. His heightened hearing caught her words whereas a normal human would have experienced some difficulty. That was not helping him understand why she was sorry. There wasn't really anything to be sorry about, right?

"Why are ya apologizin'?" Theoretically, there shouldn't be a reason to apologize. Not unless she'd run rampant and telling the story of the dragon who didn't want to be king. That sounded like a shitty romance-drama movie waiting to happen.

"Well, you confided in me, and I didn't bother to tell you that I wasn't human." she felt bad about it. Rationally speaking, how could she have told him anything. Speaking was NOT a skill that wolves had. Mostly, it was that she never went back to that clearing – as a human – to explain herself.

"Ya realize wolves don't talk right?" he wasn't quite sure what she was feeling so guilty about. He wasn't mad. He'd shared a secret with a wolf on the night of the full moon. It wouldn't have surprised him in the least if it'd been a werewolf.

"Well, yes, but--" she sputtered to a stop as he interrupted her.

"No harm, no foul. I'm not mad about it. As long as ya didn't run around tellin' every damn person on the street about it, then who cares?" she cared. Obviously.

"It was still a betrayal of your trust! Let me make it up to you." she silently pleaded that he'd agree and just let her take him to lunch or something. The pinkette was uncomfortable. Again. His fingers raked through his hair, displacing the messy locks, and then he gave a groan of annoyance before nodding.

"Fine." he didn't elaborate, instead he placed his hands on his hips and waited. Lucy found herself drawn into his gaze. When they met she could've sworn they were the color of midnight, but in the day with the sun high in the sky, they were a dazzling green. To her, they equated to the vibrant journal decorated in white daisies that lived in her desk at home. It had reminded her of spring, and the same was true of his eyes.

"Hello?" he waved a hand in her face. She'd suddenly gone blank on him and while she could've been thinking of what to do to ‘make it up to him' – he got a distinct feeling that wasn't the case. He was caught in his own trance as well. She was definitely the wolf in the woods.

The second he looked into her eyes he knew. It was the same dark gold that he'd seen then, only this time the face staring back at him was a human's. The human was blonde, beautiful, and admittedly a little weird.

"What about lunch?" she blurted, as though she'd finally came back to reality.

"What about it?"

"Let me take you to lunch. To make it up to you." she elaborated for him, and honestly, he buzzed with excitement. He could eat any day, any time.

"Absolutely." no hesitation. Lucy's brow quirked in response.

"Well, then. Would now be a good time? I'm due for a break."

"I'm ready when you are." he held his hand out to her and she gladly took it. She'd need the support if she wanted to make it anywhere in the next millennia.

#fairy tail #nalu #nalu ff #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu x lucy #ft #dorkneel #queen #my writing #otp: welcome home #ever since i switched to linux #it wont let me copy paste my text with the indents #in any case have this #naluweek

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