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randombush3 · 2 months

Text

dies irae

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three

words: 12425 (sorry not sorry)

summary: part four, the part that made me realise another part was necessary

warnings: drugs, alcohol, cheating, (a lot of???) vomiting, general angst tbh

notes: in all honesty, i started this with the intention of finishing the series, but it hit 12k and i thought maybe not x

weird little comment, but the last section was originally written in spanish (hear me out: i was on the plane and i didn’t want the people beside me to read it over my shoulder) and i’m still feeling a little iffy about my translation of my og version but oh well!

i hope you enjoy this and are content w waiting another five years for me to churn out the new FINAL part

The sand is warm beneath your feet, each grain rubbing against your bare soles as you sprint. The ground under such surfaces often hardens, proven by the sweat trickling past the thin string of fabric that holds your bikini together. If the beach were not so private, you would be worried about wandering camera lenses.

However, there is no one else here but your favourite people. Well, maybe Nico has dropped to the bottom of the list now that your energy has been worn down while his does not seem to waver.

“I give up,” you pant as he continues to tumble down the shoreline, changing his tactics and swerving into the water, comfortable in his sea. The same sea he looks at each morning from your bedroom window. The one he learnt to swim in. (That and a variety of hotel pools.) “You win, you win!”

The small figure, around twenty metres away, comes to an abrupt halt, wobbling on little legs for a moment. Then he begins to run again, but this time towards the towels and constructed shade you had set up earlier. Unwillingly, you race him back to base camp.

“He ganado,” he declares as he taps Alexia’s shining back as though she is the signpost signifying the finish line. Your hand caresses the divots of muscle soon after, brushing sand across smooth, tanned skin. Nico peers at you strangely, but understands, thanks to Tia Alba, that the beach outfits are special to his mothers.

“Mi ganador,” comes a tired murmur of praise.

“Did you see, Mami? I was so far ahead.” She nods, craning her neck upwards to talk to him. You gladly sprawl out on the vacant towel, passing on the baton to your wife, fortunate that Elena has been asleep in her buggy for the past twenty minutes. “Can I play with Lela now? Is nap time over?”

“No, sweetheart, naptime has just begun.” He looks up at you with pleading, bored eyes. The one unfortunate consequence of going to a private beach is that, unless you bring along your babysitter, there is no one else for Nico to play with. Alexia and you are both exhausted, and today is supposed to be about relaxation. Three-year-olds don’t understand that concept. “If you don’t want to sleep, how about burying Mami?”

“In the sand?”

“Sí, in the sand.”

He leans close to your ear. “Mami says I’m not allowed to do that,” he whispers, though he has not quite mastered the volume of such a tone yet. Alexia pretends not to be listening, but you can feel her foot prodding your shin in protest.

“Rules are sometimes made to be broken,” you tell him. “And if you do bury her, the only way to make her happy again is to get ice-cream. Which means you can also get ice-cream.”

“You are so annoying,” grumbles Alexia.

“This morning, I believe the word you used was ‘sexy’,” you retort. With the Euros on the horizon, it seems that the two of you are using up what little time you have to spend together. Though Alexia sometimes feels like there are hands wrapped around her neck after she failed to win the Champions League once more, she is more than happy to take advantage of the time off before she tries to make amends internationally.

“Mm. You are magically both.”

You tug your sunglasses – Prada, brand-new from a modelling campaign – down slightly, so that they sit lower on your nose. The sun is warm and doing its best to wear Nico down as he finds his discarded spade and begins to dig, and Elena is still fast asleep.

A mischievous grin forms on your lips, one that Alexia knows well. Topless, she flips over onto her back, excusing herself with a muttered comment about an ‘even tan’, and that is invitation enough for you to cup her cheek, your touch as fiery as the surface of the sun that blankets the beach. The gentle breeze ruffles your hair as you lower yourself down to her level.

“The phrase is ‘annoyingly sexy’ in English, darling,” you murmur, your eyes locked onto hers. Even now, after six years, the proximity ignites desire over every inch of your skin, and you cannot wait to kiss. Alexia’s initial grumble turns into a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more. Impatiently, you kiss her, aware that the moment will soon be ruined by a spray of sand as Nico pursues his mission.

She is just as eager to kiss you back, craving the way you seem to hold the solution to every problem. Part of Alexia’s mind has not yet been able to comprehend the way in which you love her. It is hidden by the other, much larger compartment: the one that reminds her every day that she should never, ever tell you, because it would break your heart. To you, Alexia is making up for lost time. To her, she is secretly begging for forgiveness that you don’t even know she is due.

She knows the minute your phone rings that everything is about to go wrong. No one is supposed to call you today; you have been emphatic about it. You blindly reach for the ringing device, ready to lob it into the ocean, but Alexia grabs your wrist. “It must be something important,” she says, and it feels like she is telling you she understands; you are busy, and she understands.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” With a quick jog up the steps and onto the concrete of the promenade, you perch on the stone wall separating the beach from the carpark, bare feet swinging over the edge. The rough surface of the wall presses uncomfortably into the exposed flesh of your bum, but you remind yourself that you will soon be lying back down on the beach towels. “Hi? I thought we agreed that pretty much everything could wait until tomorrow. I don’t care about any photos taken of me, and you know that my automatic position is simply to ensure that the children’s faces are blurred out before they get spread around.”

“Y/n!” Your publicist sounds nervous. It’s a stressful job, you guess. Between organising interviews and brand deals and the like, she has to stamp down on unwanted rumours and be on the look-out for any perceived cracks in your very public person. Naturally, you are not perfect.

“Yeah, I’m here. Hi.”

“I’m afraid that it’s not a picture of you this time.” Alexia is now famous in her own right, as she always should have been. With a Ballon d’Or under her belt, you have been promoted to a ‘celebrity couple’.

“She has her own team, you know.”

“I’m sure she will be firing them soon.” The joke fails to land, instead crashing and burning and… You freeze.

“Why?”

“I am sure that you are aware we have feelers out for anything that could potentially harm your reputation.” You nod foolishly, caught up in the undisclosed severity of the phone call, forgetting that she cannot see you. “An hour ago, we were contacted by a photographer; one of the usual ones we get in when you’re in need of a bit of a press-boost. He’s based in Barcelona, has lots of friends in the area and such. I have the terrible job of telling you.”

Your heart quickens as the confession hangs in the air, leaving a heavy silence on the other end of the line. The anticipation builds, and you can almost feel the impending storm swirling just off the coast, waves beginning to thrash against rocks, nature beginning to tear the world down.

“He claims to have some photos, ones that could potentially damage your image,” she says, tone measured and professional. “I haven’t seen them yet, but he described them as… intimate, to say the least.”

“Of Alexia?” you question carefully, forcing the words onto your tongue. “Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Well, they are of her and someone else. Someone who isn’t you.”

“Who?” Dread sets in, and the wall is suddenly not the most uncomfortable thing about your position. You feel too exposed, unsafe in what you are wearing. Taken advantage of, perhaps.

Cheated.

“I have not seen the photos yet, babe. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He would have attached them in his email. Paparazzos don’t have time to harass you digitally as well as in real-life. She must have avoided opening them. Or. Or she is lying.

“I need to see those pictures,” you assert, your need for clarity driving the sentence forwards.

“Are you sure?” You nod again, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, knowing that she cannot see you but feeling helpless to do anything else. She takes your silence as confirmation. There is a brief click of a mouse, and the animated swoosh of an email. “They should come through in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you… alright?”

She quickly takes the hint from the lack of response and hangs up.

You rest your phone on your thigh as your arms grip onto the ledge of the wall, pulling yourself backwards so that you do not fling yourself off it. You shake as you reach safety, and your fingers feel numb as they tap the screen, accessing your emails robotically until a pinwheel is all that separates you from the photos.

Intimate, huh.

They are practically snogging.

There are eleven images, and each one delivers a blow more painful than the last.

The beach feels confined, like an elaborate cage that you cannot escape. The shoreline creeps towards you, and you seem to be pressed against the hot metal of the car in the carpark. You struggle to recognise the scenes captured as ones where you were present, and the unfortunate date in the bottom right-hand corner evidences the photos as a time when you were not in Barcelona at all: 2021.

The realisation hits hard and you find that everything you have ever believed to be true has simply been a cruel joke that you were excluded from.

What you have been sent is more than just proof; it is a betrayal etched in pixels, an undeniable record of a moment that shatters the foundation of your relationship. Your heart races as your scroll through the images, cruelly reminded of a reality you desperately wish were not true. One you had no idea existed. One that had been kept secret from you.

The lump in your throat grows, and your eyes blur with unshed tears. You are overwhelmed by sharp pain coursing through your veins, and it is as if you have been injected with a poison that burns through your cell tissue, disintegrating every block of your body. It scorches the things you know to be true.

Love goes up in flames before your eyes.

And then a voice that you really do not want to hear speaks, and, just like that, the ashes of what has disappeared are suddenly ablaze once more.

“Nico y yo vamos a tomar helado. ¿Quieres algo?” Sandals, sunglasses, a loose linen shirt. Nico holds her hand, proud of himself. You cannot bear to look at either of them, so you stare at the towels a few metres beneath you.

“Where is Lena?”

“Dormida, aún.”

Shaking, you stand up, enjoying the sharp rocks that pierce into your skin, reminding you that you are yet to die. “Take Nico. I’ll go back down and sit with her.”

“Vale. Te quiero.”

You don’t reply. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

Every step feels as though the world is cracking open and you are going to fall to your death, yet, in the midst of the impending doom, you feel as calm as can be. Numb, perhaps.

Elena stirs as you adjust the parasol providing her the necessary shade. A hand reaches out, prepared to grab onto you, searching for your body like you are her lifeline. You are her lifeline; you are her mother. And so is Alexia.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you let her pull your fingers to her mouth, nails brushing her lips as she whines with the headache of waking up from a nap. “What are we going to do?”

…

The car journey home is silent on your part. You stew in your nothingness, unwilling to engage in the light conversation Alexia creates to keep Nico awake before his sleep schedule is ruined. Barcelona flashes past you, and the city that you once admired feels like the scene of a crime. Looking out the window is almost as sickening as if your eyes were to land on the woman beside you. Almost.

You withhold your grief for the evening, going through the motions of nightly chores; putting the kids to bed, finishing the remainder of your packing, drying the dishes without throwing them at the blonde hair that sails past as she sorts her own suitcases out. A few texts are exchanged between you and your publicist, in which you graciously decide that those pictures will not come from you. Though if her team fails to catch them before they reach Twitter, that is not your problem.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the comforting blanket of darkness, you clear your throat.

It has been six hours since you found out.

Every second that has passed has done so with excruciating pain, yet you cannot determine whether it has sunk in at all yet. You wonder if, given the chance, you would crumple into yourself and weep as though she has died.

When you look at Alexia, readying herself for bed, you decide that the whole situation is laughable.

You are so stupid. You thought she loved you more than that, and you were embarrassingly incorrect.

“I want you to leave now,” you say firmly, only the bed between you. Alexia pauses, pyjama shorts halfway up her muscular legs as she peers at you curiously. Her confusion is infuriating. “I want you to… go to your mother’s or something. You’re not sleeping here.”

“Why? What have I done?”

She speaks as though this is a normal argument, or as though you are hormonal and unreasonable. You clench your fists and remind yourself not to wake the children up. “I am surprised you didn’t follow her to Mexico.”

It is then that Alexia Putellas realises three things. The first: she hasn’t spoken about Jenni since she left for Pachuca, and she barely pays attention when Nico persuades her to find the stream for the striker’s matches. The second: it has been six months since Jenni called whatever they were doing quits. And the third… the third is how well and truly fucked she is.

She should have confessed her crime the minute she first slept with her; the night after they were knocked out of the World Cup. Elena wasn’t even a concept, then. You took her back though you were unaware you had ever lost her.

Last year, when it was Alexia all alone, she should have confessed her second betrayal. A longer, more hurtful betrayal. Something fuelled by meaningfulness, not passion and heightened adrenaline. If she were in your position, the physicality would not be what obliterated her heart; the emotion behind the entire affair would.

She wipes her eyes, aware that she has started to cry. It is all the confirmation you need. “I’m so sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say, but ‘sorry’ does not amount to the pain she knows she has caused. ‘Sorry’ won’t heal a wound that has cut deep, cut through years of love and happiness and supposed loyalty. ‘Sorry’ does not change the fact that Alexia lent herself to Jenni, let Jenni take her in any capacity she wished, and then returned to you as though it had never even happened.

In all honesty, part of Alexia is very curious about how you have found her out. Mapi would not risk being caught up in such a storm, and Jenni would gain only suffering from telling you because she knows that Alexia would never choose her. Though she has spent night after night with her finger hovering over her sister’s contact, she resolved never to tell Alba either, for fear that her sister would see her for the monster she is and side with you. Selfishly, Alexia does not want anyone to side with you, but even she finds it easy to hate herself.

“Is that all you can offer me?” you croak, and it is clear to Alexia that you are this calm because you are putting your children before yourself. They do not need to hear their parents’ marriage implode; not tonight, not ever. She cannot bear to meet your eyes as you pierce through her bowed head. “Alexia.” She pulls her shorts up fully, forehead parallel to the floor. “Alexia!” you snap.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

Alexia Putellas is regarded by most as intimidating, yet, here, she is anything but. She is meek. Pathetic.

She is a woman who continued to make a stupid mistake although she was given so many opportunities to fix it.

And, when Alexia finally grows the balls to look into your piercing eyes, she sees, reflected in your hardened, dark pupils, weakness and idiocy, rimmed with the most stinging of betrayals. It kills her to see you fight your own tears, and it is worse when you have to break eye contact because you are afraid you will vomit if it goes on any longer.

“You are packed, so you can leave tonight. Sort yourself out while I get the children up.”

Everything is ruined because of her.

It is the last night Alexia lives under the same roof as you. It is a horrible way to end a golden age, and the worst possible confirmation of the fleetingness of all things that exist. You hate the world, you hate Jennifer Hermoso, and you hate that you can’t bring yourself to hate your wife.

Alexia says goodbye to a sleepy Nico and a clingy Elena. Your daughter refuses to let her mother go the minute she is passed to her, and all four of you try your best not to cry, whether it be from confusion, regret, or heartbreak.

Nico, inquisitive as one is at his age, does not let the door open without questions. ‘Why now?’ is what causes Alexia to freeze, searching on your face for permission to have one more second with him. You cup the back of Elena’s head, fingers splaying out against her soft hair, soothing her back to sleep. And you nod.

She crouches to his level, dwarfed by her suitcases. In her pocket, her phone buzzes; her taxi has arrived. “¿Te acuerdas cuando te hablé sobre la responsabilidad? Soy la capitana, cariño, y tengo que cuidar a mi equipo, así que ‘ahora’ es lo mejor para ellas.” You are grateful for the lie.

“¿Ahora yo mando? ¿Como me dijiste?”

“Sí. Tienes que cuidar a Mama y Lela, y protegerlas como yo os protejo a vosotros. Y nos veremos prontito, petit. Te lo prometo.”

He is fighting his tears, stiff like a toy soldier marching off to an imaginary battle. You half expect Nico to salute with his chubby, unpractised fingers, but he simply stands there, between Alexia and you. Though Elena is safe in your arms, Nico is caught in the crossfire, two feet innocently leading him into no man’s land.

You take a deep breath as Alexia closes the door behind her. She has been driven out – her own doing – and she knows, because she knows you, that there will be no space in your life for her until your gaping wound dulls in pain. The journey to her mother’s house is the second time she ever considers killing herself, with the first being the night her father died.

But this is how it goes.

You fly to England the next day, holding it together until Elena and Nico are safely in the hands of Anya, but you do not give her a reason for her much-needed babysitting abilities.

It is a small secret. You keep it because on top of being in agony, you are so fucking embarrassed. You. You got cheated on. You weren’t enough for her. (And Jenni was?) It’s really easy to pretend you’re stressed for Alexia, knowing she is heading into a tournament that Spain could win but won’t.

The first official step you take – the very first – is with a nanny. You meet her the day after landing at London Stansted, and she seems to be the perfect choice for the interim period of your life that you have unexpectedly entered; she speaks Spanish, she is discreet, and she reassures you that she is there to enhance family life, not destroy it. And possibly another alluring factor: she is quick to sign an NDA and promise that no photos of your children will make it into any dogshit magazine.

Her first interaction with your children is two hours before your lunch with your publicist, manager, producer, and lawyer. They have agreed to congregate – they have seen the pictures (an exclusive peek, as the deliciously world-destroying surprise photoshoot has not yet been picked up by anyone with ganas to publish it). Each one has a purpose, each one wants to profit off your heartbreak, and, though they’d never admit it for fear of breaking their hard exteriors, each invitee would also like to see if you’re okay.

“Do you… like her?” you sheepishly ask your son while Isabela, the nanny, supervises Elena’s lunch. You’re not entirely sure your daughter understands that the hummus is supposed to go into her mouth, not redecorate the highchair table from white to beige, but Isabela does her best to instruct her, the familiar tinkle of Alexia’s language making your daughter’s eyes light up.

He looks a little puzzled. “Is she a babysitter?”

“Sort of.” You sigh, “it’s just that I have a lot to do, and Mami is playing football now. Isabela is going to help us, but I want to make sure that you want that.”

Nico shrugs. “Don’t care.”

“And she’s going to speak in Spanish, just like Mami does.” In anticipation of a worse reaction, you wince at the slight insinuation that you’re replacing Alexia. He doesn’t pick up on it.

“She sounds funny.”

“That’s because she’s from Colombia,” you answer him, and he nods, storing that information for later. Probably for when Alexia calls to speak to him (a moment you are dreading).

“Is Colombia near Mexico?” He perks up; you know what’s coming next. “Does Isabela know Jenni?”

You have to remind yourself that Nico has not done anything wrong. The fault of the mother is not the son’s, and, briefly, you pray he has inherited your fidelity for the sake of his future partners.

You pretend that the name that just fell from his lips does not fill you with the overwhelming urge to strangle someone. And, calmly, you reply, “probably not, but you can always ask her.”

…

Alexia does not know what to do.

She wishes, she really does, that someone would pass her a clock… and she knows she has trained and worked hard enough to wrestle the hands of time back a year and change her decisions in every situation. Alas, that is impossible.

She tells Mapi, as the team touches down in England, what has happened. The defender is unimpressed – angry, even, at her best friend – but nothing warrants what is to come.

The morning feels eerily normal. Breakfast is difficult, especially when all Alexia can think while she eats is that every morsel in her mouth fuels the monster she has become. Every bite, every sip of coffee, leads her to live another day. She is not particularly certain that she deserves that.

Mapi does not look at her, swerves her request to be partners when training begins. Head down, eyes slowly filling with tears, Alexia takes the punishment. She says nothing when Pina pinches her side, “Patri’s being annoying”, and drags her into the drill.

She runs, she passes the ball, Pina turns and shoots it into the mini-net.

Pina runs, she passes the ball, Alexia turns.

Something goes wrong.

Maybe it is that the pitch is uneven, cut up from whoever had trained before. Maybe it’s the pass, slightly off-target. Maybe she is at that point in her menstrual cycle where the risk of injury is higher – that’s being looked into, isn’t it?

Maybe it’s that her body can no longer stay so robust when everything else in her life is hurtling towards the ground in the most epic downhill slope possible.

Maybe.

The pop is unmistakable, and the pain searing. She can’t help the scream she lets out, barely registering whoever has rushed to her side while she presses her face into the dirt, tears watering the grass.

“I’ve done my ACL,” Alexia gasps, lifting her head up slightly. She catches sight of the blue sky, the green grass. The bright sun shining down on her, hot against her neck but nothing in comparison to the agony in her knee.

She blinks, thinking her eyes are blurring from her tears.

A second later, she is unconscious.

When Alexia wakes up, she is glad to have passed out. She has no memory of being hauled off the pitch or brought into the medical room. Her head aches and her knee throbs, but she knows that there is someone beside her so she does her best to hold in the immediate wave of sobs that seem to take over her.

A calloused hand reaches for hers, unclenching her fist, urging her to squeeze the pain away, pass off some of it to her companion. They have given her pain medication. She can tell because the white walls dance around her and the only word she can manage to get out is your name.

She whispers it over and over again.

“I know,” comes a soothing voice, poorly concealing the worry that cracks the tone. “Shh, I know, I know. You’re okay, Ale. She’s… she’s on her way.”

…

The call is unexpected.

Mapi never has much reason to talk to you on your own, unless you share a concern for your wife’s wellbeing. You suppose that’s a bit of a redundant commonality now. Your lawyers have drawn up a custody agreement and, upon meek request, divorce papers: a gift for after the Euros.

“Dime, Mapi. Estoy trabajando,” you say curtly, signalling from inside the booth that the phone call is nothing to worry about and you can resume the recording session in a moment.

Mapi’s news makes you even more resentful than you were already feeling, because you can’t help but sprint to your car the minute the address is given.

…

Pain becomes part of everyday life.

Crutches, too.

Alba and Eli already existed as frequent visitors, but the former increases her appearances so that she has moved in the day before Alexia’s surgery.

It spills out, the night of the surgery, that Alexia and you are no longer together. That you left her, with good reason. It’s a surprise, considering you had stayed by her side during the twelve hours in England between the medical room, the hospital, and the airport.

When Alexia reluctantly tells Alba why, Alba decides that you are a saint and her sister, a sinner. She holds her hands behind her back to keep herself from slapping Alexia across the face, but little does she know, Alexia longs for the anger, wishing she wasn’t being pitied for her injury. She wishes there was no injury to be pitied for, but, then again, she tells herself that she deserves it and accepts the agony as one would hold a blade to their wrists and slit them.

This behaviour, this quiet ideology that she has been punished for her mistake, is what leads Alba to ensure the keys to the balcony are hidden and the kitchen knives are tucked away in a cupboard, out of sight. Or perhaps it is what she hears her sister telling herself in the mirror. Worthless. Degenerate. Evil, cruel, horrible. Selfish!

She has two children with you, for God’s sake!

“I have ruined my own life.” Her words burn, the intensity of her anger enough to make Alba flinch, hands gripping the steering wheel harder, forcing her way forwards. The hospital comes into view and Alexia cries out in anguish. “I have ruined it, Alba! I have ruined everything!”

Alexia, The Ruiner.

She bears the new name with something more than disappointment. She lets the nurses examine her knee, compliment Alba for her care-taking, and reassure her about the surgery. She lets them talk her through possible complications, secretly hoping one will occur and she will wither away; no longer a footballer, no longer a mother, no longer your wife. Just Alexia, The Ruiner.

Alba and her argue, Alexia lying back in the cot, hospital gown patterned against clinically white sheets, light fabric against her paling skin. “You wanting to die is not you wanting to kill yourself. It’s your regret, and it’s your cowardice at not being able to face the consequences of your actions.” Alexia had been hot-headed enough to voice how she did not want to make it through the surgery. She is in excruciating pain, and is convinced they need to investigate it. “It’s your knee, not your heart. Your heart hurts because you cheated on her and she rightfully left you! Don’t you ever say something so fucking stupid again.”

“Alba!” Eli’s entrance is neither good nor bad. “Alba, leave her.” Alexia’s tears run down the sides of her face, hitting the sheets like little bullets. The soft caress of her mother’s hand across her cheek is no comfort, and Alexia only sobs harder. “You are going to be fine, mi cielo. The surgery is going to go well and you will come back even stronger.”

Alexia knows that, once you have torn your ACL, you are more likely to tear it again, so she mentally disputes her mother’s claim. She has no energy to voice the thought, however.

“Mamá, she’s convinced she’s going to have a heart attack.” Alba points to her sister’s chest, as if to disagree by showing their mother that nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. They begin to argue, and Alexia watches her family implode, deeming herself once more, Alexia, The Ruiner.

It’s not a heart attack, it turns out. She falls victim to a severe panic attack just as they begin to wheel her away. They increase her dosage of anaesthetic.

Unfortunately, the next morning Alexia comes to after a successful surgery and remembers nothing. That is until she looks to her bedside and finds only her mother there (Alba having gone to the big, empty apartment to adjust it to her sister’s newly-disabled lifestyle).

She relives the kisses Jenni used to press to her neck, the marks sucked into her skin though Jenni knew she was not hers to brand. She relives your expression when you told her you knew, the grimace you had worn, the way your eyes flicked to the ensuite as though you were going to throw up at any point.

She hears her knee pop again, sees the trophy slip from her grasp, sees it float into the realm of possibility along with the Champions League cup.

“You’re awake,” Eli says with surprise, offering a warm but sympathetic smile. She reaches out to touch Alexia, but Alexia jerks her body backwards, instantly regretting it when her knee begins to ache unbearably. “They said you’ll be in a lot of pain at first, but it will subside and, soon, you can start recovery. Your physiotherapist is going to visit in an hour or so, and I cannot count how many well-wishes you have received.” Weirdly, Eli thinks to herself, Jenni has said nothing.

Alexia shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog in her mind. “Do the… Do the children know I am hurt?”

“I believe so,” Eli replies with a nod. “Y/n broke the news to them, but we haven’t heard from her since you went into the operating theatre. I have no idea whether she’s going to come here. I assume she will.”

“She won’t,” mutters Alexia, refusing to look at her mother.

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy. She’s your wife, of course she is going to come.” A dark storm brews in the cagey hospital room, but Eli remains an oblivious ray of sunshine. “I know you don’t want Nico and Lela to see you like this, but they miss you. They must have been so excited for the Euros!”

All of it is the wrong thing to say. If Eli had known, she would have approached the uncertainty differently.

If Alexia were not so angry at herself, so guilty, so destructive, she would have calmly explained that your absence is both warranted and understandable.

Instead.

Well, instead, this comes out of her: “She is not going to come because I had a fucking affair and she has left me and taken the children to fucking England where they are probably never going to be allowed to see me ever, and I will live out the rest of my days as a fucking coach because I am useless and I am never going to play football again!”

Eli sits back in her chair, shocked.

“What have you done?”

Neither knows if it is a question or a damnation, but Alexia chooses to answer her mother regardless; “I have ruined everything, and now I am paying the price for it.”

…

Your friends gloat a little bit, calling it Karma. Anya and Gio are first in disbelief, but they soon progress onto the stage of hatred – something you have not yet been able to access.

For now, life feels as though it is on auto-pilot. Your children are happy and safe, your country is going to do well in the Euros, and time does not stop ticking no matter how hard you wish it would.

Alexia’s surgery is successful. You see the update on Twitter, not wanting to contact Alba or Eli in case Alexia thinks you have forgiven her. You haven’t. Perhaps you never will.

“There are two ways you can go about this,” Gio says with a smirk, holding out a thong to you as you stand in your bedroom in just a towel. “You’re hot and rich and famous… and now single, too.” You are not completely sure of that, but you nod, following along. You slip into the lace and then point to the England shirt folded on top of your pillow. It gets thrown at your face. “You can wallow in it and weep like a damsel in distress, giving her the satisfaction of breaking your heart…”

“I don’t think she wanted to–”

“She cheated on you,” Gio cuts you off bluntly. After a moment, your shoulders drop and you resign to hearing her plan. “As said earlier, hot, rich, famous… Babe, just get with someone else. Get with everyone else! Your babies are looked after 24/7 and this is London, my dear. The pond is really an ocean and you are a catch. As your bestest friend, I know what’s best for you. You’ve got an album coming out in September, a tour to hop on in November, and about three thousand dildos you can hop on after that!”

You cringe. “Don’t be crass.”

“Don’t be a prude.” She gestures to herself. “Look at me; Mia’s fine and healthy, doesn’t legally have to see her arsehole of a father, and I get a good shag every fortnight.”

“No, I’ve drawn up the custody agreement already. I’ll go back to Barcelona when the school year starts, and we can swap every two weekends. But I’m keeping our home – she can find somewhere else to live, seeing as all of this is her fault.”

“And the tour?” Gio asks as you pull on your England jersey and a pair of shorts. Good weather has blessed the start of the tournament, and you have been invited to the first match at Old Trafford by Manchester United themselves. Gio and Anya are coming, and you think they have put you in with a few of their players and executives. Your father has his own ticket, planning to meet you there and convince you to pay your grandmother a visit (she doesn’t like that you are lesbian and therefore you don’t like her).

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “because I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to make the children’s lives even more unstable. Maybe it’s best to give them a few months to adjust to the idea of us not being together.”

Gio hums in agreement, knowing she had it easy with her own co-parenting adjustment because her daughter was a baby with no recollection of her parents being a couple, much less in-love. “You’re a good mum.” She kisses your cheek and wraps you in a very needed hug. “You’ll get through this because you are stronger than a pathetic affair.”

You swear.

“What time’s our train leaving?!”

The match is a good one, and the atmosphere is enough to make you feel the slightest bit alive. Spain plays in two days, and though you have good reason to believe Alexia is going to be there, you are booking a family trip to Legoland to delay the first hand-off of many.

England win with one goal to nil, courtesy of Beth Mead’s chip. You are on your feet, cheering the entire match. One of the United executives tells you that he loves your passion and asks you if you’d take his ticket to the post-match drinks as he wants to head home for a nap. You laugh, the old Mancunian reminding you of your father, and accept. It’s just the one ticket, so you bid Gio and Anya goodbye, book a hotel for the night (comfortable with the idea that Isabela has safe hands to care for your children), and give your father a valid reason to pass up on the visit to Didsbury.

The only person at this event that you really know is Alessia Russo, after exchanging a few DMs last Christmas to wrangle a signed Manchester United jersey for Nico’s Christmas present (a gift Alexia had refused to say was from her as well).

“No kids today?” she asks with a grin, pulling you into a friendly hug.

“Didn’t manage to get them tickets,” you reply. “But now I get to drink, and you get to watch me and wish you weren’t on a nutrition plan.”

She shakes her head. “We’ve actually been instructed to celebrate the wins. Sarina Wiegman says it’s a key part of tournament success.” You look around the room, noticing every Lioness here, hair still wet from the showers and donning team-issued tracksuits, has a can of beer in their hands. Jorge Vilda could never. “Glad to see you haven’t yet become a Spain and Barcelona fan. Feeling patriotic enough to be introduced to our captain?”

Leah Williamson bears the same concentrated eyes gifted to Alexia; determination, victory, leadership.

You’re unsure if you have ever formally met her, perhaps at the Brits once. “I go with Alex? Alex Scott,” she says, as though she is trying to impress you. She takes the briefest of looks down to your hands that hang near your waist with no glass to hold (the bar has cut you off for half an hour).

You wear one ring. It is not the one with which Alexia promised you her total devotion, but it is from her all the same. An old gift – maybe from your first anniversary?

Leah doesn’t ask whether you are still married.

“I heard your son loves football?” He is obsessed with his mother, he wishes to follow her in every single thing she does. “You should bring him to our next match. I’ll get him one of those passes, and– Hey, you know what? I bet there’s a way I can get him a place as a mascot for one of the matches! Both our next ones are down south.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, course. He might be a bit young but I’m always glad to help out our little fans, and it might throw Spain off their game.” She winks, offering no further explanation, and is suddenly called away before you can request more information.

You have to admit, the idea of Nico walking (toddling) out with England makes you feel both proud and satisfied. It will be a tiny jab towards Alexia, which, honestly, is a privilege considering how she has stabbed you in the back repeatedly with a machete.

When your son’s first time on a proper football pitch is with Alessia Russo, holding her hand with wide eyes and a wider smile, you are sure Alexia has smashed the screen of whatever TV she has been studying her opponents with.

…

Spain playing England in the quarter-final feels intensely political within your family.

Alexia is in Brighton for the first time in her life, and she hates more than anything that she is not preparing herself for a match. She won’t be going through her pre-game rituals for another seven months, at least.

You tell Isabela to take the children to Alexia’s hotel, unable to put yourself in front of the wheel. Your hands have not stopped shaking since your manager texted you a screenshot of their conversation (seeing as you refuse to talk to her, not for pettiness but for fear of breaking yourself in two), and Isabela poured you a glass of wine before she left to calm your nerves.

You feel sick, and the toilet water turns red as your body rejects the rioja. Once you have wiped your mouth, you laugh at the notion that even Spanish wine is unwelcome inside of you.

“Who are you?” Alexia demands as the revolving doors of the lobby reveal her two babies with a stranger. She is quick to remove Elena from the arms of this new woman, although she is disgruntled by how comfortable her daughter seems. One of her crutches falls to the ground, Alexia not having been able to master childcare and post-surgery impairments because she has not seen the children she is supposed to care for, but she does not find it in herself to care.

“Hola, Sra. Putellas. Encantada.” Isabela holds out her hand but Alexia does not shake it, jaw clenched at the way you have gotten a Spanish-speaking nanny as though to completely erase her babies’ Catalan accents and memory of their other mother! “Me contrataron para ayudar a Y/n con los niños. Me dijeron que usted se encargaría de ellos hoy.”

“Sí, lo estoy haciendo, porque son MIS hijos.” She looks at Nico, who has been hiding shyly behind his nanny’s leg, afraid of his mother’s fierceness. Alexia softens, hoping to welcome him into her embrace, but her stupid knee won’t bend and she can’t get onto his level. Isabela reaches out to help her, or to at least steady her so that she doesn’t drop the squirming toddler she is holding, but the help is unwanted and, quite frankly, embarrassing.

Alexia’s frustration brings tears to her eyes.

She quickly blinks them back.

“¿Le gustaría que la ayudara, Sra. Putellas? Me han pagado por trabajar hoy, así que no es un proble–”

“¡No!” Alexia snaps. Silently, she curses how condescending and petty you have become. Paying the nanny in advance to taunt her for her injuries! “No. Estaré bien. Soy su madre.”

“Por supuesto, pero también está herida.” Isabela looks around the lobby for a moment. “¿Está sola?”

Alexia knows that Mapi’s parents are going to be arriving any minute now, kindly offering to help out with Nico and Elena. “Oh, we do not mind! We’d love for María to have children of her own,” they had said.

“Soy perfectamente capaz de manejarlo–”

“Isabela,” Isabela supplies.

“Isabela,” Alexia repeats. “Ahora, si ha terminado, vaya a disfrutar su día libre.”

She waits on the sofa just left of the door for Mapi’s parents, silently begging them to arrive as soon as possible. Nico is bored and would like to run around, upset that Alexia denies him his fun whenever he whines to play. Elena is tired, grumpily napping in Alexia’s lap, but that means she can’t position her knee the way the surgeons had asked her to. Isabela hadn’t meant to, but she had dumped two rucksacks of toys, snacks, and clothes onto Alexia, who still hasn’t been able to retrieve her crutch from the floor.

Close to tears and very overwhelmed, the arrival of the couple comes as a great relief. “Oh, you poor thing,” coos Mapi’s mother, a caring woman from whom her friend inherited the same quality. She kisses Alexia’s forehead and instantly takes the weight from her lap, hushing the soft whimpers Elena lets out. “Let us look after the babies. You make sure you have the tickets sorted. Have you taken your pain medication? Oh, let me take care of it for you.”

The fuss is something she has had to get used to, but she is thankful for the assistance. They wrestle Nico into his red Spain jersey, something he was not delivered in, and they ensure all three of their wards are comfortable before the stadium appears in the windshield of the taxi.

Alexia begins to get nervous.

Spain has more talent than England – always has – but they don’t have the same funding nor support. Their manager is a dickhead and the federation corrupt, and Alexia’s teammates suffer daily in a way no Lioness would be able to comprehend. She fears for their reputation, for their progression.

Her nerves increase when she sees you in the stands, in your own box of course. It seems that you see her too, but your only acknowledgement of her presence is the wave you give to your children. Alexia has to remind them sharply in Catalan that they are Spanish.

Afterwards, when Spain lost and Alexia is blaming herself for the defeat, you walk through the tunnel, following Leah’s directions that she had sent over text. You’d added her to your contacts yesterday, growing tired of Instagram DMs.

The odd thing about this area is that to your left, nothing is heard and the air hangs its head in shame, but to your right, a nation celebrates its victory. Sadly, you know you have to fetch your children from the Spain changing room before you say goodbye to the English heroines.

You knock on the door, politely. You have never been more glad that a player has not been selected for a squad. Jenni has missed the Euros due to injury, much like her partner-in-crime.

A solemn Ona Batlle, a Manchester United player who serves as a bridge between worlds in your household, opens the door, making no attempt to force a smile when she sees that it is you. You are (were) their captain’s wife; you are like family.

“Hi,” you breathe, not wanting to be the one to pierce through the silence.

Ona stands to one side and you pass.

Most of the girls are tearful, sniffling into their jerseys, heads in their hands, but no one is as distraught as Mapi. Her sobs take the fun out of winning, her devastation crushing and contagious and impossibly hard to ignore. She buries her face into Alexia’s shoulder, but it does nothing to muffle her cries.

You gulp, catching hazel eyes, understanding the plea to not make this feel worse.

You are heartbroken, and so is Mapi. For different reasons, yes, but both organs are shattered in the same way.

Alexia mutters something very quietly, secretly wishing Mapi does not let her go because this is the first time the defender has actually spoken to her since Alexia did what she did, but the blonde hair stops itching her face soon enough.

Rooted to the spot, you search the room for two smaller Spaniards, finding them both taking after Alexia, comforting the players.

“Nico, Lela, come on,” you croak, finding tears in your own eyes. “Say bye-bye to Mami.”

Their hugs and kisses are missed the moment Alexia leaves the country, and the absence of them makes Alexia crumble completely when she finds the letter from your lawyer that Alba has been hiding from her.

…

September rolls around with school, the start of your custody agreement, and the release of your new album.

Judgement Day.

For many, it confirms the split from your wife. Those pictures were never picked up by a magazine, so you have had them deleted with a baseless threat to sue for defamation.

Alexia no longer has to communicate with you through one of your employees, but any texts exchanged are few and far between. She tells you that she is renting a flat near the training centre. It has three bedrooms, but Nico and Elena share one because her mother is living with her while she recovers from her ACL. She also partially tore her meniscus, though she had hesitated to pass that news on, but everything seems to be in order and she is ahead of schedule.

You reluctantly text her whenever you leave the country, whether that is because you are flying to London for work (and to visit Leah, who you are now good friends with) or because a club opening has called and you have answered. It’s not as messy as the media makes it seem, but you agree with the articles that say you seem to drink as though it is what keeps you alive. The word ‘addict’ gets thrown around, but you are sitting in an armchair in front of your therapist before that escalates, if not for yourself then for the sake of your children.

They themselves do not understand. Nico frequently asks when Alexia will come home, though he has usually just visited her when this question pops out, and Elena throws big tantrums during the swaps. Those are done at a neutral location: the park near you. You hope the playground takes the edge off the palpable tension between you and Alexia as you sit on opposite sides of the same bench, exchanging brief updates about your shared duty until whoever is a mother for the next two weekends makes up an excuse to go.

Just before Christmas, once you have calculated that it’s technically Alexia’s turn with their children until January, you go on your biggest night-out since the days when all you were was a 2010s pop star in a girl-group. With no one to go home to and an empty house in Highgate awaiting your return, you get the closest to sleeping with someone else since before meeting Alexia. Her lips trail down your neck, the white powder on her nose rubbing onto your skin as she presses herself into you. You grope her body desperately, painfully dissatisfied by the bones and creamy skin your hands find. You are used to muscle, to strength, to power.

Not some anorexic model who calls you a MILF and hasn’t had a sober day in years.

In the end, you don’t end up sleeping with her, but it makes the headlines nonetheless. Your publicist lets them. “The world needs to see you move on, even if you aren’t,” she says. Your slight disagreement is not voiced, and social media explodes with further confirmation that you are single. A group of football fans are quick to attack you, calling you cruel for leaving Alexia when she is injured, but the thousand-person army doesn’t particularly bother you. You are doing your ex a favour by not opening up about the reason for the split, and you are both aware of that.

You spend Christmas with your parents, who are not pleased to have you moping about their house. Your father tells you that success is the best revenge. You tell him that your album has topped the charts in December, winning its battle against Christmas music.

“But that hasn’t mended a broken heart,” he is unkind enough to point out. “And neither will models, drugs, or alcohol.”

At this point in the day, you have made it through a bottle and a half of wine and a pack of Marlboro Golds. Voice hoarse from smoking and sobbing the entirety of Christmas Eve, you tell him to “fuck off” and call a taxi for yourself.

You don’t remember the destination you had typed in, but you end up at Leah Williamson’s house.

Leah is home, having returned from Milton Keynes half an hour ago, and is not really surprised by the state you are in. She supposes that she has gotten to know you well enough to realise that you are far from stable. This is the first time the English captain has seen you heartbroken, but she is unsure whether it will be the last.

…

Your tour commences the following month, with January being a fresh start to a new year. You tell Leah, who invites you out with her on NYE, that this year you won't be cheated on. It is not the comment that makes her laugh, but rather the way it slurs out of your mouth.

Barcelona feels suffocating when you arrive at the park to say goodbye to Nico and Elena. You’ll be in the States for the entire month and maybe some of February. Alexia is sure it will be fine, especially since the team has taken it upon themselves to look after the two children and help where they can. Additionally, Alexia is growing closer to one of her friends, Olga, who loves children and wanted to be a teacher before she decided on something much cooler.

Alexia has the courtesy to send Mapi and Ingrid in her place, knowing that you do not want to talk to her. You haven’t yet heard her explanation, but that does not matter. Nothing excuses what she did, and nothing will. (And with Jenni, who is no longer the godmother to Elena, the title being revoked instantly.)

“Will you miss us?” Nico asks as you kiss his soft hair, hugging him tightly. “Mami said that we have to swap every three findes so why no now?”

“Why not now?” you gently correct him. “Because I have to work. I’m going to sing in front of lots and lots of people and, maybe, write some new songs!” Your attempt to excite him crashes and burns, but you are not going to give up. “This is a secret so you can’t tell anyone, but some really, really special people want to make songs with me.”

“Who?” he pouts.

“Well, one of Mami’s favourites, Karol G. She is very nice, and she told me she has an idea for a collaboration.” Petty, yes, but also a career move. Nico’s innocence and lack of understanding about the meaning of separation means that he sees your plans as a very nice gift for Alexia. “And, let me think. Ooh, Bad Bunny – you know him, don’t you? I’m sure Pina or Patri or–”

He pulls away from your embrace, taking a step back. “Sí,” he says, sounding exactly like Alexia, “but to Mami, she no like because he says rude things.”

“Adults are allowed to say rude things,” you reply with a cheeky smile, winking at him. “Your mami says rude things all the time, but not in front of you.”

“Really?”

“Yep, but you’ll have to ask her about that.”

Alexia has hobbled through the nighttime routines, aided by Olga, who has halved the job by picking Elena and Nico up from nursery and school and watching them until Alexia’s day at the training ground had ended. Her and Olga haven’t kissed yet, but Alba has advised her sister to be quick about it if she ever intends to. Alexia is not sure she does want that, because your absence has only made how much she loves you (and how much she fucked up) even more obvious.

Their beds are on opposite sides of the room, which is technically the master bedroom – only fair, Alexia thinks, because they are having to share here but not when staying with you – and Elena is fast asleep by the time Nico is tired of the bedtime stories he has relentlessly requested. She brushes off the slight sting of his dismissal of her acting and helps him settle underneath the covers.

As usual, she presses a kiss to both cheeks and the tip of his nose, and tells him to have nice dreams and a good rest. The weekend starts tomorrow, which means he gets to join Alexia at the training centre and sit in on the sessions. Alexia is slightly jealous because she is still stuck in the gym, but as long as he is entertained, she will get over it.

“Mami, how long is a month?” asks Nico, voice small and groggy and… is that a hint of an accent? Maybe the two and a half months of Isabela’s Spanish has affected him. She will look into it.

He tugs on her jumper when she spaces out. “Sorry,” Alexia whispers. “A month is thirty days. Maybe you need to pay attention at school.” She pokes his cheek playfully, and he giggles.

“I do pay attention, I do. Thirty days is long.”

Alexia dreams of the football pitch, of the grass she has been promised she will play on before April. “It can be very long,” comes her agreement, picturing where in her recovery she will be come February. “It can also be very short.”

“I miss Mama.”

His statement, unbeknownst to him, is uncomfortably relatable.

“Thirty days will be very short. You’ll see her again soon, and, you know what? She made me promise to give you goodnight kisses from her every night! She is going to send them to me from America, and I’ll pass them onto you.”

“Really?”

“Sí,” says Alexia with pursed lips, raising her eyebrows to invite him to doubt her. He looks up at her with adoration, as if her word is law. She can only be thankful that you are merciful enough to have not turned her own children against her. You have expressed your wish to keep them from being collateral damage, and Alexia respects you for that.

“Mama said that she makes songs in LA with Karol G!”

Then again, there are other ways to be petty.

…

Touring has always exhausted you. Eat, sleep, travel, sing, in varying orders; the schedule grows repetitive and tight after the first week.

After the first show in LA, you bring a blurry face to your hotel room. You kiss her, you can’t bear to do anything more, and you let her sleep off her drugs in your bed while you take the sofa in your suite.

High on adrenaline half the time and utterly knocked-out when not, you zombie your way through the travelling, grouchily rehearsing new songs on the road, signing merchandise for your screaming fans. You get asked about your private life in a few interviews initially, but the journalists soon learn that the topic is to be avoided if they wish for you to talk to them at all.

The headlines continue to tear apart images captured of you at clubs, and magazines never seem to find the pictures of you with your children when you visit them while you make your way around Europe.

There comes a point where you look at a woman and she becomes, in the eyes of the media, your latest plaything.

Alexia is seething by the time your two-night show in Barcelona rolls around.

One day, when Nico and Elena understand the concepts of affairs and heartbreak, they will see the articles written about their mothers; the hate Alexia gets, the times she has been called a whore by fans of the same sport she devotes her life to, the stark inequality between her and her male counterparts. With these horrors of the world, they’ll see the pictures of you, pupils blown out, eyes red. Women clinging onto you that perhaps faintly resemble Alexia.

Because Alexia knows you, because she loves you, she can see that what has been labelled your ‘slay’ era is really fuelled by devastation. A disaster that she caused. It riddles her with guilt, but she doesn't know how to expel that emotion from her head without reverting to the early days of her loneliness where she ate nothing and made her sister seriously worry whether she was going to find her bleeding out in the bathtub one day. And so, with a lack of command over such a strong feeling, she decides to rage. She is furious with your irresponsibility.

“Where should we eat?” your guitarist asks with a grin as you touchdown in Barcelona. The soft murmur of Spanish and Catalan is unexpectedly comforting, the familiarity grounding. Maybe Barcelona has become your home. Maybe it never stopped being that, because home is where the heart is and, frustratingly, yours still belongs to the woman who tore it out of your chest and didn’t even have the guts to tell you about it.

“I can’t,” you reply quickly, wiping the sweat from travel off your brow with the sleeve of your turtleneck. “I promised my son I’d tuck him in while I’m in the country, and my daughter has been drawing at nursery so I’d like to collect some of the pictures and see if I can get them blown up onto canvases.”

Laughing, your crew make their way off the jet. “You know, most celebrities would pay thousands for abstract art but you get yours from a toddler.”

“She’s talented.” Mapi draws with her, you’ve been told. Elena is what makes Ingrid yearn for a ring to appear in their relationship sooner rather than later. “And take the piss all you want, but if you had had to put my kids through what I have, you’d feel the same.”

The sofa in the Putellas household (the apartment no longer inhabited by Eli, who was very glad to escape the intense atmosphere as soon as Alexia was cleared to live by herself) houses three unsettled humans of varying sizes. The biggest, Alexia, shifts on the soft, new cushions, awaiting your arrival with gulps of brewing tears and the latest set of paparazzi photos of you fresh in her mind. The boy, Nico, practically vibrates with excitement, promising himself that he will drag out this bedtime as long as possible to make up for all the others you have missed. The smallest is upset because she hasn’t fallen asleep yet, kept awake by her older brother who shakes her whenever she starts to drift off, hastily scolding her with a ‘no, Lela! Mama is coming home’.

With no key to this flat, you are forced to be buzzed up.

The anticipation builds. Nico and Alexia try to remember what you smell like, testing themselves to see if they can recall it scent for scent. Have you changed your shampoo? Alexia wonders, Do you still use the same moisturiser?

“Hi, my darlings!” you squeal as the door flies open and Nico comes hurtling into your crouched form, closely followed by his unsteady little sister. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” You squeeze them as though you are never going to let go, and only release them from the hug when Elena begins to whine, adrenaline rush dying and tiredness overcoming her once more.

“Mama, home,” Nico says with an inaccurate finality. You spare Alexia a glance as he pulls you through the bare walls and grey decor until you reach a door with stickers up and down the white-washed wood. “Mami made me change, but you can read! Lela wants this one.” He rumages through the box of books near the children’s whiteboard (on it, the odd x’s and o’s of football tactics), pulling out a few to stack into his own pile before thrusting something you recognise very well.

“Mami reads to us in English sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly, though Alexia silently curses him from where she is standing in the doorway. “Important to know.”

You chuckle. “Mm, very important. How else would you talk to me?” Elena quietly crawls into your lap, happy to take over Nico’s bed, where you are sitting. You stroke her hair, holding her close. “Mami reads you ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’?”

He is too young to know what scepticism looks like.

“Es que hay ‘La Pequeña Oruga Glotona’.”

You refuse to look at the voice which speaks, but you nod.

“Alright, why don’t you get into bed, and then I’ll start to make my way through the mountain of books. I am absolutely all yours for tonight, my loves.”

…

Alexia’s hands slam down on the dining table, slapping against the wood with a loud bang. “Enough!” she exclaims, her voice slicing through the tense air like a knife. Her eyes blaze in fury and you shrivel, not quite sure what you have done to her. You grant her the silence she needs to continue, though her shout echoes through the shattered tranquillity like a bomb that continues to explode. “It is enough.”

“What, Alexia?”

You sound kind of… bored once you have regained your composure. Your shock is now replaced with a blank expression, and you run your eyes over your nails, examining your cuticles so that you don’t risk making eye contact with her.

“You think you can just waltz in here as if you haven’t offered yourself to the entire world and expect everything to be okay?” Her voice trembles with indignation, venom dripping from each word she spits out. “You can’t go from common slut to mother in one day!”

Nails forgotten, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. “I hadn’t realised you were the jealous type, Ale.” The nickname slips out like a poisonous dart, taunting her, wounding her. It rattles her, and you intend to shake her more. “It’s none of your business, not anymore. Deal with it – or don’t, I don’t care.”

“What kind of example are you setting for our children?” she continues, lips curling into a scornful sneer. “Kissing anything with a mouth! Like some, some hormonal teenager. And to have it all over the papers? It’s trashy! It’s embarrassing for me, because my wife has her hands down the pants of every woman she meets, pumped full of alcohol and drugs and… You, you go to these events, paid to get yourself on the front pages so that they can be mentioned in the location of the incident, and… and that’s like prostitution! Making money from your body, from sex!”

Her fists clench and she storms towards you, footsteps harsher than her bad knee can probably take, but you make no move to back down. You lift your chin up; “I don’t have to resort to prostitution for money. I have more than enough.”

“Then you do it for attention,” Alexia reasons with herself, albeit very loudly. “That is what you are, aren’t you? A slut for the cameras and the glitz and glamour of it all. So quick to jet off on tour, leaving me with our children–”

“I may be a ‘slut’ for attention, but at least I am not a whore for a woman who is not my fucking wife!” You press your hand to her chest roughly, pushing her away from you. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who ruined everything!”

Alexia recoils at your words, freeing herself from your searing touch before she melts. She forces her fury to its boiling point. “How dare you,” she seethes, voice cracking at the ferocity in which she forces the sentence out. “You think you can just throw my mistakes in my face?” You hold your ground. She will not intimidate you. “You think you’re so righteous, but you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

It is a baseless accusation. You both know it.

“The only fact we have here is that you fucked Jenni. Our daughter’s godmother. Your ‘best friend’, my friend too! I trusted her, and I trusted you, and you took that trust and obliterated it by sleeping with her!”

Alexia wants to cut you deep, wants to give you the gory details of it all, but she hears the croak of your voice and knows you will not make it to your hotel if she tells you.

“I slept with Jenni, sure, but you have passed yourself around enough to make us even.”

“Nothing will make us ‘even’, Alexia,” you cry, meaning to sound scarier than you do. You can’t help the tears from streaming down your face, nor the hoarseness of your throat. “And I would never ever do to you what you did to me!”

You have to go on vocal rest the next day, otherwise the concert would be called off.

Alexia refuses to attend, even though most of her teammates will, instead pawning Nico and Elena off to your backstage staff and dangerously driving herself to Alba’s place.

It is one of those nights where Alba cannot leave her side for fear Alexia will choke herself to death on her tears. When the elder of the two can longer hold it all in, Alba ties her hair back with an old hair bobble so that the blonde strands don’t get in the way of her sister’s vomit.

("I don't want to live like this," Alexia says, her eyes wide and alert. Her little sister looks at her with empathy, searching, with a broken heart, for a version of a woman from the past she's not sure she knows. This Alexia is not the same.

"Of course you don’t." It's obvious. Obvious by the way she forces her existence without happiness, without company, without a smile. It's like there is no sun in Alexia's world, nor a blue sky, nor an end.

It never ends.

So, she says, "I don't want to live like this, without her, without the family I dream of every night, every waking moment. I don’t want to live, Alba. I didn’t want to live in August, and I haven’t since, and I… I do it because people rely on me." She takes in a deep, acidic breath, grimacing at the taste of bile on her tongue. “If it were just me, just Alexia”--The Ruiner, she silently adds–“I wouldn’t be here. Alba, Alba, I don’t want to live like this.”

She carries on repeating it because Alba has to understand. There can't be a possibility that Alba thinks her sister is insincere. What a lie that would be! To Alexia, she prefers death over continuing like this, with her head in the toilet and vomiting, vomiting, vomiting.

"If I had the chance, I would go back to August 2021 and never sleep with Jenni. I’d not let her kiss me, not give into it. I'm exhausted from it; from my loneliness, from the kids' questions, asking when their mother will come back home. Do you know that Nico asked me if we still loved him? If she still loves him? And why his friends have two parents and he seems to have a shell of a woman for one, and a vacant space in the king-sized bed for the other?"

"She might not want you again, however, and your imagined future may be false – it is the opposite of reality, no? If I were her, I wouldn't. You cheated on her when she only gave you love and patience and… Well, Alexia, I swear I really want to see you happy, but I just don't think she'll forgive you."

"And why not?"

Alba sighs. She places her hand on Alexia's back, moving it in circles to calm her sister down. When they were little, it was always Alexia who helped Alba. With school, with her problems, with new lovers or ones from the past. It was her responsibility to take care of her little sister, and when their father died and there were only three of them, Alexia felt that responsibility even more.

Here, roles reversed, Alba can only apply that which she has learnt from the heaving lump of flesh slumped on the chequered tiles.

"Alba," repeats Alexia, lowering her voice, relenting. "She loves me."

The younger of the two can’t help the tears that brim in her eyes, distressed in her own right. "She loves you despite your other girlfriend because she's a saint. She's a saint but, if you want her to be happy, you cannot take advantage of her," Alba warns gravely, sincerely, and correctly. Alexia lifts her head and looks at the clock on the bathroom wall. Alba's apartment is clean and trendy, just like the woman, and she has dirtied it with her presence. She remains, for the foreseeable future, Alexia, The Ruiner.

"Smartass."

"It's just the truth."

"Well, if that's the truth, I'd rather you be a liar."

Alba sighs again, more heavily, and asks Alexia to get up from the floor. If Alexia's knee hurts, she says nothing and jumps up and down. "Ay, your knee," Alba grumbles but Alexia keeps going. She keeps going and going until she can't breathe and her lungs hurt. She keeps going because she believes it will rid her of her sadness, or at least hopes so. She hasn't stopped when Alba asks her to. A loud voice breaks the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Destroying everything. If I can't be with her, I don't want to play football. I don't want to walk, or see, or talk. I just don't want to live."

To Alba, this tells her two things. One is that her sister has gone batshit crazy. The other? Well, that is the solution. It's simple, really; one sentence, and Alexia will know what she has to do.

"You need to fix this.")

Heartbreak is ugly, but Alexia’s guilt is uglier.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #fc barcelona #mapi leon #ona batlle #alexia #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #randombush3

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wonijinjin · 4 months

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seventeen members when their introverted s/o feels socially exhausted

author’s note: i am a very extroverted person so it was a bit difficult to write this but i hope i could still make it comforting for my introvert darlings. enjoy!

synopsis: what the title says

word count: 1.0k | genre: fluff, comfort | pairings: seventeen x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of food, mental health

seungcheol would be a little bit taken aback at first since his nature makes him an absolute worrier; he would be asking you if you were feeling okay. if you were out in the city he would definitely suggest going home so you could recharge your energy in peace, next to his comforting presence. you could also expect him to be extra clingy after you gave him the green light of being in your more extroverted mood again.

now jeonghan is known to get drained eventually in social situations aswell, so he would be no stranger to helping you feel comfortable. he would make sure you had a little bit of quiet, leaving you for a bit with your thoughts to really think about what you wanted, and whatever that might be he would be sure to give it to you; cuddles or alone time, sleeping or just the two of you talking mindlessly about various topics.

joshua is very observant so he would notice the signs of you getting pretty tired, that is why he would make an excuse to get the pair of you home from the friendly gathering you were attending at that time, since he wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking directly. after stepping inside your bedroom he would surely ask if you wanted to talk about it with him, and do as you decide to proceed.

jun is one of the more silent lovers, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be the most attentive partner to ever exist. he is quick witted so he would always have advice for you if you needed it regarding getting through a difficult time, guiding you through the ways he had solved this problem in the past. you could also expect him to buy you your comfort foods aswell, because he wants you to take care of yourself.

hoshi is a very extroverted person so he may have trouble with helping you if you got socially exhausted, but he would do everything in his power to be a fast learner. he would want you tell him whenever you needed a break from him and his friends since you hung out a lot on a daily basis, and he would gladly bomb you with long voice messages saying during you recharge period so you wouldn’t feel alone even then.

wonwoo has a very quiet way of caring for you, usually many silent acts of service included in it; the moment he saw your energy levels drop he would absolutely ask if you wanted to spend some time away from people, whispering into your ear lowly as he stroked your hair in an encouraging and comforting manner to let him know what you wanted to do next to which he would happily adjust his schedule too.

woozi doesn’t go out often so he might be a little bit confused about your feelings, but he would be desperate to understand what you mean. he would just take you to his studio where the two of you could easily lay on the couch, calming muic playing in the background while he patiently listened to your worries, cooing at how exhausted you probably looked and felt, trying to get you to sleep beside him to get the rest you deserved.

dk can be a very loud person sometimes so it would probably take some time for him to notice your change in behaviour, after you constantly going to social events, having to surround yourself with people frequently. he would be all over you (actually kind of making the situation even worse lmao) trying to figure out a way to help, to which you would gladly accept the cuddles offered by him, needing his touch only.

mingyu is also a very hyped man so he would definitely be sulking upon hearing you say that you were very drained and wanted some peace and quiet since this puppy cannot shut up. poor boy would be so careful around you, being afraid of upsetting you by making noise every minute, and you would have to tell him that he was always welcomed in your space, to which he would happily smother you in kisses.

minghao can be very understanding about your feelings, he himself likes to spend some time to take care of his mental health and well-being, this is why when you confided in him and talked about how you felt he would suggest trying meditation with him. he would also encourage you to openly say no to people when you don’t feel like letting them into your personal space or not wanting to hang out with them.

your mental health may be one of the most important things for seungkwan, since he knows how badly it can affect your mood if you are not feeling comfortable. he would baby you a lot, letting you come to him with your worries and thoughts so he won’t overwhelm you with his constant questions. he would also make sure you eat and drink enough since he no how you tend to neglect your own needs from time to time.

vernon is the perfect example of a person who can be left alone and enjoy his time without others’ presence so if you ever felt burnt out from people but still wanted to be active in some kind of way he would have many ideas offered to you about how to get that much needed recharge from the world; trying a new hobby which doesn’t include other individuals and can make you relax while doing it.

dino knew something was up with you the moment he looked into you direction, he knew you exceeded your limits and wished to rest a bit, to turn your mind off. he would take you dancing with him (even if you were just watching) to make you focus on the beatsof the music and move to it, shaking the stres away off your tired form and to physically exhaust yourself to then get into bed and sleep easily like a baby.

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elzdaizy · 1 year

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Trouble After Paradise (Part 1)

Warnings: lots of angst, conflict, explicit language.

Summary of short story: Reader and Harry have returned from their honeymoon to a harsh reality and their first huge hurdle as a married couple.

A/N: This is 1 of 3 parts. Enjoy! Just a little short story idea i had and wanted to share with you all.

It’s been four weeks since you returned home from your honeymoon in Costa Rica and you’ve found yourself reminiscing constantly on that magical holiday.

To say the least, things have took a turn for the worst since you and Harry got home.

You were bombarded with mountains of piles of work to get through because there was no one to fill your position whilst you’d taken the month off leading up to your wedding, including the honeymoon.

Harry had started filming his next movie, one that was mentally draining due to his character being a very unwell mental patient at a psychiatric hospital.

You worked from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon in the office but always brought home some work to do which kept you busy until about eight at night when you’d get into bed.

Weekends were exhausting as well, you were catching up with friends and family after basically being off the grid throughout the week.

Harry’s shooting location, thankfully, was only a few hours away up north in Manchester so he managed to be home often between breaks but unfortunately meant that he wasn’t home with you for periods of times.

He tries his best to be at home with you on the weekends but his schedule doesn’t work that way all the time. On average you probably see each other a total of two days out of the week and it’s been this way the past four weeks.

You’ve both been so busy, you’ve barely had the time to live life together as a married couple. There’s a tension building full of stress and exhaustion on both ends of your marriage. You find yourselves bickering when you’re together and getting on each other’s nerves more than ever before.

You know it’s because you’re equally annoyed with yourselves and each other with the current situation.

It’s 8pm on a Friday night and Harry called you earlier that morning to let you know he’s coming home today at around 6:30pm and will be able to stay the full week until he’s off again. He asked for you to pick him up from the station because he had booked a meal at The Ivy for 8pm. You of course said yes. You were so excited to hear the news, you felt tears well up in your eyes. “I really can’t wait, I miss you so much.” You replied before you both said your goodbyes and I love you’s before hanging up.

What you didn’t know was that working would be busier than ever that Friday and now you’re still in the office trying to hurry up and finish off one last piece of paper work to be sent off to your client before the weekend. Your phone had died two hours ago and Harry hadn’t contacted you before it died so you weren’t too concerned that he would’ve tried to since then.

You could cry out of frustration. You purposely stayed back to get all this extra work done so you could book off Monday and Tuesday to extend your weekend to spend some time with your husband.

Half an hour later, you finally send the email and pack up your stuff. You race to your car and make your way home. The door is unlocked when you go to turn the key and your heart skips a beat when you realise that Harry must be home.

The lights are all off downstairs which is odd so you make your way upstairs to your bedroom to find Harry sat on the edge of the bed in just his underwear and his phone in his hands.

“Hi, baby.” You softly speak up as you walk through the door and put your bag and coat over the chair in the corner of the room.

Harry glances at you over his shoulder briefly without so much as a tiny acknowledgment of your presence before looking back to his phone.

You frown, thinking his behaviour seems a bit off. The energy in the room seems low and you can sense he’s not in a good mood.

You walk over to him, a hand on his shoulder and the other hand reaching to lift his head by tilting his chin in your direction for him to look up at you. As soon as you try to lean forward to place a kiss to his lips he yanks his head away from your touch and rolls his eyes, letting out a huff.

You step back, very offended and extremely hurt by his cold actions.

“Fuck you, then.” You throw your hands up and storm away to head downstairs to the kitchen. You’re literally trying so hard not to break down and cry right now so you’re pacing around your kitchen, breathing heavily for a few moments then deciding to pour yourself a large glass of wine.

You almost down the first glass. The second one being poured less than five minutes later. You’re just stood by your kitchen island with a glass of wine in one hand and thoughts racing around your mind as you try to figure out why your husband seems to despise you at the moment.

You soon realise it could possibly be the fact that your phone was dead and maybe he was trying to get ahold of you.

You start to feel a pit of guilt in your stomach when you take your phone from your pocket and plug it into the charger point next to your toaster.

You finish your second glass of wine once your phone switches on and your eyes widen when you notice the ten missed calls and five unread messages from Harry.

You read the texts carefully one at a time.

From Harry:

6:09pm - l’m fifteen minutes away from the station if you want to set off now. Love you. Xx

6:30pm - Where are you? I’m waiting near the security box until you’re here. Xx

6:53pm - I’ve rung you five times and you’re not answering so I’m making my own way home now.

7:26pm - Why aren’t you answering and why aren’t you at home? You do realise we have to be at The Ivy in half an hour.

8:03pm - cancelled the booking. If you read this before you come home - don’t bother me when you get in, I can’t be arsed with this tonight.

You heart feels like it’s going to stop. You have never felt more terrible in your life. You feel like a punch to the gut is what you deserve right now and nothing less. And to think, you literally just spat in his face and said fuck you to him, still not realising what you’d done.

You were so fixated on wanting to spend the week with Harry that you’d completely forgotten about picking him up and going out for dinner tonight.

You were a little drunk and very upset with yourself so of course the only thing currently you did was start to cry. You sat on a stool at your island, lent your elbows on the countertop, put your face in your hands and sobbed. Sobbed for your husband and how upset he must be feeling. Sobbed at the realisation of how much you hurt him and let him down. You felt like a failure.

After about thirty minutes of letting your feelings flow out of your system uncontrollably, you composed yourself and prepared yourself to go and apologise profusely. You’d gone over what to say in your head a million times and nothing sounded good enough but you know the least he deserves is an apology rather than an explanation or excuse right now.

Your face is puffy and red from the crying as you shakily walk up the stairs to your room and find Harry is now laying under the covers with the tv on, watching a movie with a deep frown on his face. As if he’s in deep thought rather than paying attention to the screen.

You push the door open gently and let yourself in. Basically walking with your tail between your legs, you can barely look at him as you sit on the bottom corner of the bed on your side. You couldn’t be further away from him on the bed if you tried.

“Harry, I’m so sorry.” You croak. Lips quivering as you fight the urge to break down crying again. You finally look at him after your first attempt at the beginning of a long apology. He’s ignoring you. Keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and his arms crossed over his chest.

You decide to keep speaking, “I completely understand why you’re angry and I don’t want to give myself any excuses for-.”

He reaches for the remote and turns up the volume to drown out your voice.

You let out a shaky sigh. A tear slipping down your cheek. “I didn’t ignore you on purpose- look, can you please just say something?” You beg pathetically and Harry’s head turns as his eyes look at you with anger.

“Told you I can’t be fucked with this tonight just leave me alone, please.” He sighs in annoyance before completely turning his back to you as he lays on his side.

You really don’t know what to say now. You didn’t expect this reaction from him. He’s never been this angry with you before and it’s terrifying you slightly because you really can’t cope with it. You don’t even care if he shouts at this point, you just want more of a reaction from him.

He has every right to feel the way he does, you know that. You hate going to sleep on bad terms though. You both agreed to always resolve conflicts before getting into bed because you never wanted to be that couple that gets into fights and makes one or the other sleep on the sofa.

It seems like it’s going to be that way tonight though. You don’t want to say another word because you don’t want to make it worse. Even though you know you won’t get much sleep, you decide to go sleep downstairs on the couch. You could go sleep in the spare room but you need a tv to distract you from your racing thoughts so the living room it is.

You get up from the bed, go take a quick shower and change into your pyjamas before grabbing your pillow from your side of the bed and walking towards the door.

“Goodnight, Harry. I love you.” You say to him softly before closing the door behind yourself and making your way downstairs.

You turn on a shitty reality show to fall asleep too. It takes a few hours but eventually you drift off.

The next morning you’re awoken by the sound of the blender rattling off in the kitchen. You feel at peace for a split second as your groggy memory clears up as your consciousness comes back, along with the awful events of last night. You grimace start yourself as you sit up on the couch and turn around to see Harry standing in the kitchen, making himself a smoothie, dressed in his running gear.

It mustn’t be any later than 6am because he only likes going running at the crack of dawn. He hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet but you know he’s still fuming by the look on his face.

Now that you’re not intoxicated and knowing it’s a new day, you’re determined to resolve this issue very soon. You don’t want to waste any more of the short time you two have together for the next four days being bitter.

You get up from the couch and stretch before walking over to the kitchen island and taking a seat on the stool you were sobbing on last night.

“Morning.” You say with a tired voice as Harry still hasn’t acknowledged you whilst he’s cleaning up some dishes. You’re both facing each other on opposite sides of the island.

Harry looks up at you frowning and doesn’t reply so you take it as your queue to go in strong with all guns blazing.

“Can we please talk about this now?” You plead. Harry just deadpans and looks at you with a look that tells you no as he picks up his AirPods and puts them in as he makes his way to the door to go on his run.

“What the actual fuck! This is an actual fucking nightmare.” You frustratingly shout to no one but yourself after Harry closes the door on his way out.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles and y/n #harry styles angst #part 1

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goldsainz · 9 months

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FLOWERS FOR YOU — one shot.

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

2K CELEBRATION. MASTERLIST.

taglist: @lorarri @lpab @whatthefuckerr @noncannonships @lunnix

summary: you miss your boyfriend, and he misses you.

request: “You got me flowers and aw did you miss me for Oscar Piastri please?”

warnings: this is very short… but other than that, none

NOTE: first writing for my 2k celly! actually feels unreal that there are 2k of you here…

[ word count: 627 ]

Oscar was often away from your shared flat. His job was demanding, and you understood why. But sometimes the bed felt too cold, or the kitchen too empty.

In every sense your boyfriend was essential to your home, which was why you were very excited for the summer break. It was almost a whole month with Oscar for yourself (of course, his family and friends too).

You didn’t want to be selfish with his attention, but the urge to have him all for yourself was very strong. Nonetheless, you waited up for him to arrive to your shared flat.

It was around one in the morning, his flight had landed a while ago but it wasn’t a quick drive from the airport to where you lived. So, you did your best to remain awake for his arrival despite having an exhausting day yourself. You couldn’t wait to see him.

The minutes ticked by, but finally the lock on your door clicked, and you knew. You knew Oscar was back to you, back in Australia.

You fought the urge to run to him. Too tired to even really muster the thought, but also, he was probably exhausted from the long flight and would not be able to deal with your over excited attitude. And frankly, you didn’t have that much energy left in you.

“Y/N?” His voice was quiet, almost as if he was wary of whether you were awake or not.

“Oscar!” You exclaim, pulling yourself up from the couch to properly greet him.

You went to hug him, but was stopped by the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“You got me flowers?” You asked, grabbing the beautiful set of flowers he had gotten you. The smell made you smile, as you watched his cheeks tint the lightest shade of pink.

“Figured I’d bring something nice,” He says while scratching the back of his neck, “I wasn’t really sure which ones to bring so I—”

“They’re perfect.” You cut him off, placing the flowers on the table closest to you.

Oscar relaxes at your words. He puts down some of his bags, and now that his hands are truly free of anything, he takes a moment to properly hug you.

The moment he hugs you, you momentarily forget how much you missed him. You fit perfectly in his arms, his hoodie is soft against your skin and it makes you snuggle further into him. You don’t want to let him go, but neither does he.

A moment goes by, and while you know your boyfriend must be exhausted from the long flight, you don’t let go of him. You cannot bring yourself to pull away, not even when Oscar makes a move to separate himself.

“Aw, did you miss me?” His voice is a melody to your ears, one that you had been deprived of. Video calls and regular calls don’t do justice to the beauty that his voice is, the utter softness his words have when he speaks to you.

“You bet I did.”

“Yeah? Well, I missed you too.” He whispers, like it’s a secret only meant for you to ever hear, “A lot.”

“A lot lot?”

“So much. You have no idea.”

“In that case, you’re not allowed to leave me for a very long time.” You declare, pushing yourself a little bit off him to look him in the eyes. Your words no longer muffled by his hoodie and the way your pressed against him.

“How long?”

“Until you tire of me.”

Oscar smiles fondly at your words, “I don’t think I ever will.”

“Then you’re not ever leaving.” He huffs out a laugh, and you slightly shake from the rumble in his chest.

“And I’ll be happy not to, darling.”

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luciddownloading · 1 month

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Tarot Reading (Pick A Card): Messages From Your Inner Child 🧸

Hello and welcome to or welcome back for another Tarot reading. I felt very inspired to do this one today, possibly because of my own recent inner child work. It's pretty self-explanatory. We will first see what traits your inner child has; how you were as a child and how you still carry that around. Then, we'll see what messages your inner child has for you. Being in touch with the child within can make you more in touch with your emotions and needs, which can, therefore, bring you clarity on emotional problems or external conflicts you may be avoiding or struggling with.

I don't know what kind of messages will come out but I have a feeling that some of what I will be channeling will be on the heavier side. The inner child can, of course, carry so much of any trauma or abuse a person may have experienced growing up. So, keep that in mind.

And I am taking reversals again, btw. I just felt called to. So, see which image or images you feel most drawn to and then see what you need to know about or hear from your inner child. As always, use your intuition to know what resonates and if it's your pile or not. This reading may not be for everyone because of the messages being channeled.

PILE 1

PILE 2

PILE 3

PILE 4

PILE 1

YOUR INNER CHILD'S TRAITS

The Hermit (reversed)

Knight of Pentacles (reversed)

The Tower (reversed)

Ten of Cups (back of the deck)

Aw, Pile 1. I want to give the little version of you a hug. This is some really emotionally charged energy here. I feel like there are a lot of feelings about your childhood that you have yet to process. Maybe you're on the younger side still, like your early to mid 20's, and you haven't dealt with that yet. Or you could have just begun your healing journey or you're just about to. Either way, your inner child feels very, very close to your adult self, as if you are still that child that you were then. This could be in positive ways or in ways that held you back.

I definitely feel like you were very introverted or spent a lot of time alone. You might have been shamed a lot for that. Adults around you, in particular, could have thought your introversion was odd or tried to push you out of it. Not realizing that you can't really change that about a person! However, although there's nothing wrong with being an introvert, some of your behavior was a reaction to your environment. You often felt unsafe and judged and overwhelmed and you would totally retreat within your own little world in order to cope. You could play with your toys, read books or watch movies all day with little interaction with others.

You were constantly wishing you were somewhere else. You definitely could have hates your home life and even your hometown. You had a lot of fantasies about moving away or running away. You might have even tried to run away from home, when things got too crazy. But, I also feel like you were the rock in the family. You didn't need to be and shouldn't have been. You were just a kid. But, your home atmosphere was very turbulent and your family members could have been very unstable or thrived on drama. You might have felt like it was your role to be the sane one in the house or else everything would truly crumble. I can see you being a mini adult and being the one to listen or give advice or calm things down. If you had younger siblings, that's different. But, if you were doing this with older siblings or your parent(s), that could be a big source of trauma. Who was taking care of you?

You were either a huge overachiever or major underachiever in school, as a response to this parentified role. Either you felt like getting straight A's and being the model child was your key to survival and receiving love or you were so exhausted, neglected and even depressed at home that you couldn't be bothered with school. You might have even underperformed academically as your way of rebelling. People might not have understood the extent of your issues at home. One or both of your parents were all about appearances and making people think you had a perfect family.

I do think that you developed a deep-seated dream of the perfect family, as a child. You could have looked at your friends' families with envy or longing, wondering why couldn't have a family as nice or caring or stable as that. You might have even spent a lot of time at certain friends' homes, to the point where you became an honorary member of their family. It was a nice escape from your home. Again, I also think you became a major caregiver as a result of your upbringing. You were especially gentle with younger kids and very aware of how you treated them. You also couldn't wait to grow up and become a parent yourself. You could have personal placements in Scorpio or the Earth signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) especially Virgo. Your Moon, in particular, may be in one of those signs. Your inner child is a real sweetheart and determined to give others the love that he/she/they didn't feel. That even extended to your relatives, even if they weren't always acting right. And this affected them very deeply. They may not have said so or treated you well but you were truly the warm, loving nucleus of your family. A light in the midst of the dark.

WHAT YOUR INNER CHILD WANTS TO SAY

The Empress

Three of Swords (reversed)

The Chariot

Judgement

The Fool (back of the deck)

Okay, this is interesting. So, what I said earlier about your healing journey just beginning could definitely apply to a lot of you. But, for a minority of you, this is describing the healing that you have already done and how far you have gotten. Either way, your inner child is coming through to say how absolutely proud they are of you! They are either proud because of all the progress you have made or the changes you are on track to make in order to heal.

You have or will become the kind of adult that your little self always needed. It is okay if you are crying right now because I am tearing up, too! Lol but you are fully capable of giving your inner child all the love and safety and support they were missing while growing up. You have spent so much of your life just giving, giving, giving that love away. That's what you learned to do. You learned to survive your daily life by giving love to people who couldn't receive it and/or couldn't give that love back. And that has carried over into your friendships and your love life. You are SUCH a loving person but you actually have a very hard time receiving love. This is why you are so drawn to unavailable people in love, for instance. It's what you know and because they can't truly be there for you, it keeps you feeling safe. That's a subconscious thing but attention is being drawn to this pattern (and many of you already know this).

You have had your heart broken very badly before in love because of this pattern. But, you know what? You refuse to give up on love or life. You refuse to shut your heart down. And if you're feeling tempted to harden or go cold, this is your warning to not give into that. That is not you! However, it is going to be important for you to incorporate a little bit more of your head. You lead with your heart and have a huge heart. Your heart chakra is one of your most powerful chakras. But, you will need to remember the power of discernment and boundaries. Don't just give your love to anyone! And align yourself with friends or love interests who can pour into you. It's not your duty or obligation to pour into them! Let yourself receive and attract good love.

I am getting that those of you who chose this pile have a very strong feminine energy (and, of course, you could identify with any gender). A message from your inner child is coming through about that. In some way, you weren't allowed to fully own your feminine energy as a child. Your family could have shamed or mocked you for it. You could have been pushed to be more masculine in a way that felt inauthentic to you. Something about a mother figure is also coming through. She could have been the main one shaming your femininity and possibly because of her struggles with her own. She could have been more on the controlling or suppressive side, not that nurturing or understanding.

However, you have the power to be a great mother figure to yourself. So much of your adult life will be about stepping into your Divine Feminine essence and healing the shaming you received for it as a child. And many of you will find other mother figures to connect to and feel truly nurtured by, whether it's surrogate mothers in the physical, feminine ancestors and spirit guides or even goddesses who have that motherly energy. Take what resonates.

All in all, your inner child either wants to prepare you for or congratulate you on creating a completely different life as an adult than the one given to you as a child. This could even mean cutting certain relatives off or your immediate family as a whole. Whatever feels right to you! You are in charge now. But, I can see you, throughout your healing, having huge and sudden realizations about your upbringing or your behavioral patterns as a result of your upbringing. These breakthroughs will lead to sweeping changes. But, also, don't push yourself too hard. A big part of your healing will depend on being gentle with yourself, especially since you didn't get that at home.

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PILE 2

YOUR INNER CHILD'S TRAITS

King of Pentacles

The Emperor (reversed)

Ten of Cups

Eight of Pentacles (back of the deck)

Pile 2, it seems like you grew up in a home/family that was very patriarchal. I am picking up a father figure with a very strong presence or personality. It could have been a grandfather, too. Maybe you were raised by your grandparents. I am also seeing a beard. Either your father or grandfather could have been known for their beard. But, whatever paternal figure you looked up to, I think they were very solid, consistent and grounded in an impressive way. They shaped a lot of your values, especially your work ethic.

Interestingly, I feel like there is the influence of two father figures here. It could even be a dad and a stepdad. Or two dads! Whatever the case. But, I feel like you were much closer to one than the other. For a lot of you, I do think this is the case of a grandpa that you were very connected to and a dad who you had a lot of issues with. Possibly the reverse! Take it how it resonates. Regardless, one of these father figures made you feel very restricted and invalidated and even controlled. He was very strict and rigid in ways that deeply impacted you.

It's also interesting because not a lot is coming through about you. I don't think, as a child, you were given much space to have an identity of your own. Some of you come from very big families or there was just a lot going on at home. You might have felt unseen and neglected. I think the financial part of your home life was fine. It was a case of emotional neglect. And you had a very deep need for your father's approval and recognition. It was something you just couldn't get but you tried your hardest (and that may still be continuing into adulthood).

The one way you were able to get attention was by achieving things. So, you put a lot of effort and energy into being the best. You also might have had a very competitive relationship with your siblings, for this reason. You could have birth chart placements in Aries or the Earth signs: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn. Your Moon could be in one of those signs, especially Aries or Capricorn. In many ways, you were a very masculine child. You may have been sporty and athletic, tomboyish, or just very assertive and direct. I do feel like your inner child has anger issues. Even though you could be sensible and level-headed, that inability to feel heard or validated could really, really frustrate you. But, that would just get you into trouble, especially with the aforementioned father figure. Maybe, at times, you would act out because that was a surefire way to get noticed by him.

WHAT YOUR INNER CHILD WANTS TO SAY

The Moon (reversed)

Page of Wands

Queen of Cups (reversed)

Five of Swords

Three of Cups (back of the deck)

Okay, I feel like the message here from your inner child is actually about your family. You have spent your life remaining oblivious to many of the dynamics in your family. If you do recognize some toxic patterns, you will just brush it off as not that big of a deal. But, you are underestimating the importance of these issues. They will catch up to you sooner or later. I am honestly feeling like your inner child is having a kind of That's So Raven vision of something bad happening soon. Except that's a sitcom and this won't be so funny. (You might actually have clairvoyance, too, and not realize it yet) But, you KNOW trouble is brewing. The tension keeps building on something and that'll keep happening until it boils over.

That sounds ominous, I know lol. This is not to scare you. If anything, it's to wake you up because you know what's going on and what's not right. You're just ignoring it. I hate to say it but certain family members might be hating behind your back or hoping you fail. That might not even be entirely conscious. But, when people are really struggling with their own insecurities, they take it out on people who are doing well. Are you embarking on some sort of project or new venture? If so, there are relatives who may be doubting you, criticizing you, even working against you.

There could be a betrayal from someone in your family that you don't see coming, even though anyone else could from a mile off. You just blind yourself, at times, and give them the benefit of the doubt too much. They want to keep you small. You are good at outdoing a lot of your competition, whether you realize it or not. But, you aren't given enough credit. It's that toxic thing that some people do of choosing to not praise you, even though you absolutely ATE without a crumb left on the plate, because praising you, in their mind, would make them smaller. But, that means that they were already small to begin with!

I am getting that this reversed Queen of Cups could be a draining mother figure in your family. If your father was emotionally unavailable, then she was emotionally exhausting. And an emotional vampire can feel very threatened by your success because that means they can't feed on your energy anymore. This could also be a sister, aunt, grandma or even a male relative with a lot of feminine energy. But, they can make you feel very manipulated. And, in the end, they could still love you. This could be so unconscious they don't even know they're doing it.

The little version of you is coming through to tell you to not be deceived by this kind of behavior. This relative may even try to talk you out of your dreams and goals or instill fear. For some of you, I feel like you are pursuing something very creative; a talent you have had since childhood but may not have fully maximized yet. For others, you are already doing it and it's about to take off. Whatever your abilities (and they don't necessarily have to be artistic), I think it's something this Queen of Cups may envy, especially if it's something they always wanted to do.

In terms of your hard father figure, there is a message here to stop trying to impress him. At what point do you decide that you're an adult who doesn't need their parent's approval to thrive? Your inner child is quite exhausted with jumping through those hoops. Just live your life! Liberate yourself. And that liberation may involve taking a break from your family or getting some distance, even if it's for a little while. Maybe longer! It will depend on the type of shit that goes down. I have the feeling that you grew up in a very "close-knit" family. But, close-knit in the sense of codependency and doing things together more so out of habit. If you are still living at home or in your hometown for whatever reason, now would be the time to go elsewhere. As I said, there's not a lot in this reading about your separate identity. I think you need to spend some more time totally on your own to figure out who you are as an individual.

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PILE 3

Two of Pentacles

Five of Swords (reversed)

Eight of Wands (reversed)

King of Swords (reversed) (back of the deck)

Pile 3, I get the feeling that, wphile growing up, you might have taken on quite a bit just to make your family happy. Your inner child can be quite a people pleaser. I think you have always hated arguments and drama and conflict. So, you would do and say whatever was necessary to diffuse things or ease the tension. You might have personal placements, particularly the Moon, in Air: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius. You were a more laid-back child, agreeable and easy to get along with. But, you also struggled with intense inner conflict because you were so busy trying to alleviate any external conflicts and this had a way of eventually spilling out.

Your inner child is very fearful and anxious. I definitely get the vibe of "walking on eggshells". Again, you never wanted to do or say anything wrong. I think the consequences when you messed up could have been especially harsh or even cruel. So, this made you feel very self-conscious and insecure. Many of you could have had a father figure who was pretty much verbally abusive. His words could be extremely harsh and destructive and he might have given you his worst. The ways in which he tore you down may have stuck with you for life and you still haven't healed from it, in some way, is what I am getting.

Your inner child definitely needs a big hug! I don't feel like you got the emotional nourishment that you needed while growing up. That was kind of a foreign concept in your house. You were tended to on practical and intellectual levels. As a result, your inner child can be incredibly needy in ways you don't truly understand. Because of that insistence on the practical, you still focus heavily on the practical now, at the neglect of everything else. I am getting the message that if you are putting too much energy into work, it's because you have some sort of emotional problem you're not dealing with. I think you are simultaneously very close to your inner child but very detached from them. You have many emotional wounds that you feel like you can just ignore or suppress. But, it will come out, in some way or another.

I think that exploring and confronting your inner child can be very scary for you. You would rather not deal with those issues. But, you have to deal with them or else they will deal with you! You're also a little too comfortable in the old patterns of childhood. Not much has changed in terms of the dysfunctional way you deal with things. You get terribly afraid of disappointing people and causing conflict, which inevitably creates conflict. And you can be so, SO hard on yourself. You have a very mean inner dialogue that is just an echo of all the mean things your father figure planted in your head. It's really intense. Your inner child is just crying out for help and comfort because it's like they keep getting beat up again and again.

WHAT YOUR INNER CHILD WANTS TO SAY

King of Swords (reversed)

Seven of Cups (reversed)

Death (reversed)

The Magician (reversed)

Two of Wands (reversed)

Wow, well, this is really heavy. I don't know if you approached this reading expecting to hear what I am about to tell you . But, on some level, you know you need to hear it. First off, what is so striking is that the King of Swords in reverse immediately popped out again. You know that meme of Jasmine Masters, the drag queen, where she's like, "Well, just as I thought. Trash!" That's what just came to mind because I feel that way about this father figure represented by the reverse King of Swords. They are so mean and nasty and so miserable. Always has been and might always will be. Yes, I am dragging them lol. Maybe I should be impartial but fuck it. I feel like you need that because them showing up again here confirms how much they have wrecked your self-image and self-esteem since childhood. They made you believe that YOU are trash but you weren't the problem. They are still so deep in your head and under your skin and that's the first thing you need to heal.

You have spent your whole life afraid of turning into them, too, and you don't see how wonderful you actually are. We do NOT have to be our parents. We are not automatic clones of our parents. So many people just become a lot like their parents out of conditioning and an inability to shape their personalities in a different mold or break the cycle. Maybe you too have tendencies toward being harsh or cold but some of this is just a defense mechanism. You're not perfect but that doesn't make you the worst person alive. And that doesn't make you your father. Again, I really don't think you see how kind and lovely your heart really is because no one consistently made your little self feel good and lovable.

Another message I am getting is that I feel like you get sucked into super-dysfunctional situations that mirror your childhood issues. You might easily fall into either very toxic or very unfulfilling relationships. You felt trapped and mistreated as a child and you now fall into situations where you feel trapped and mistreated. Certain partners may even have made you feel like it's not possible to leave or survive without them. If you're in such a relationship now, PLEASE seek help and know that it is possible to get out. You also don't have to hide what you're going through out of shame.

Yeah, the relationship thing is a major message here. You can settle for terrible partners because you don't feel you deserve something better. You may feel like you have no other option. You can also just settle for being alone and pushing good things away because the prospect of losing something good is too scary for you. I feel like these are actually not messages from your inner child but real guidance from Spirit and your Guides. They want you to heed this advice so you can actually begin the process of healing and nurturing your inner child.

It feels like you have been extremely resistant to change, in the past, and developed a sort of learned helplessness. I think it's the vulnerability of your hurt inner child that wants someone else to gallop in and save you. But, no, you can save yourself. You can be your own hero. You can prove to yourself, your family, and anyone else that you are so, so much more than your trauma or all the horrible and inaccurate things you were told about yourself. But, you have choose that path of healing. You have to make the conscious effort. The reward of it all will be reconnecting with your child self and recognizing that they were and are so much more lovable and special than they were told they were.

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PILE 4

YOUR INNER CHILD'S TRAITS

The Hierophant

Ace of Wands

Three of Swords (reversed)

King of Cups (back of the deck)

Pile 4, I definitely feel like your inner child is an old soul. You had a maturity and wisdom to you beyond your years as a kid. So much of that just had to do with the strength and frequency of your soul. You lived many, many lifetimes before you incarnated. You're a highly spiritual being and I really get the feeling that many of you were incarnated in order to heal some sort of generational trauma in your family. You have a very strong bond with at least one or two of your ancestors, who either passed on before you arrived or when you were very little, to the point where you may barely remember them. But, they serve as a Guide to you and they're actually hijacking the reading a bit just to tell you how proud they are of you and how much they love you.

You were a very compassionate, very loving child. I actually wouldn't be surprised if you were also drawn to Pile 1 because this feels like an extension of that pile. You are a born empath and healer, a light-worker, but you, of course, didn't know that as a child. You just knew you felt everything deeply and cried when others were in pain, that you could feel the pain of the adults around you without them even telling you. And you didn't understand why you didn't quite feel like a child. There was a heaviness and seriousness to you, an intense emotional depth. Yes, you could still be silly and playful. But, you were like some ancient 2000 year old creature stuck in a child's body.

Yet, you were also very enthusiastic, passionate and spirited. You might have had a big personality that felt often stifled by the adults around you. I am sensing that many of you grew up in a very traditional or very conservative family that you just could not fit into. You could have been made to feel bad about your free spirit, your fiery side or colorful nature. For some of you, being so sensitive, this stifled you and made you turn inward. You could have experienced a personality shift where you became shy, quiet or reserved. However, you found your escape in creativity. You displayed a lot of creative talent, at an early age, and this became an outlet for all your self-expression and strong emotions.

Many of you could have had a very religious upbringing, too. While it may have been very restrictive, I feel like a lot of you enjoyed going to church and what not because of your high spiritual vibration. It wasn't about the religion itself but the communion with God/Spirit/Source. That created a very solid foundation of faith that you have carried with you throughout life, even if you left the church and moved away from religion, which a lot of you did. But, you remained connected to Source and developed a very powerful spiritual life as an adult.

Yeah, I do have a hard time exactly feeling like your inner child is a child. Of course, there can be trauma associated with that feeling. Maybe you did have to grow up too fast. But, people online nowadays think so much in terms of therapy language that some of them fail to realize that being an "old soul" or "miniature adult" is not entirely the result of trauma. That's also just who you naturally were as a kid. You could have birth chart placements - the Moon sign, in particular - in the sign of Taurus or the Water signs: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces. Your inner child is very perceptive and insightful. You saw the wounds in your family members, especially adults, and somehow "knew better", on an emotional level, than them.

Many of you had turbulent upbringings and suffered a lot of hurt yourself. A result of cycles being repeated. But, you never let it break you. I also think you were highly protected on a spiritual level. Very powerful Spirit Guides of yours acted as parental figures on the other side. They're the ones who raised you, emotionally and spiritually. There is a caring father figure in Spirit form who was especially present. It could have been your actual father who passed, a late grandfather or uncle, or even just a Spirit Guide who plays the role of father in your life. But, this is a masculine being who has always provided you with both strength and comfort, who has been there every time you shed tears. They love you so, so much and are so proud of how far you've come. Such a beautiful message! Again, that's a bit of a side note but they are very integral in the character, integrity, and depth you've developed since childhood because your 3d family could not give that to you.

WHAT YOUR INNER CHILD WANTS TO SAY

Queen of Swords (represented)

Ten of Pentacles

Four of Cups (reversed)

The Empress (reversed)

Two of Wands (back of the deck)

This is so interesting because every single pile has had major messages about a parental figure. But, this is about your inner child so that makes total sense. Your inner child is drawing attention to your mother figure here. She may not have been easy to deal with as a kid or even now as an adult. She could have controlling, abusive or narcissistic traits. And I don't easily throw the "narcissist" word around but that's what I am feeling called to say. You know if that resonates.

But, you are being asked to look at your mother's lineage and side of the family as a whole, which I feel is probably very female dominated. I think they were the source of a lot of your childhood trauma. Examine the family history and ask yourself how patterns have repeated or been passed down. Ask yourself how your mom was treated by her mom. Are there parallels? Can you see how that shaped her? And I think you're already good at processing those things but your inner child kind of wants you to not just see your mom as your mom. Really think about when she was just a child and how she probably felt the same way about her mom as you felt toward her. Whether or not you forgive is your choice. But, having more perspective on her could be healing.

Your inner child also wants you to examine your relationship with women, as a whole. Depending on your gender or sexual orientation, this could differ. But, I feel like you have recently been betrayed or heartbroken by a woman who you were very close to, either a good friend or a romantic partner. She could have displayed the same narcissistic or malignant traits as your mom or other women in your family. And that could be a haunting realization - that you are somehow attracted to that dynamic - but this recognition also leads to healing. If you're a woman, you also may have a horrible fear of becoming these women. But, no need to fear. You are the cycle breaker, honey! It ran through your family until it ran into you!

Regardless of your gender, I think you were meant to be a beautiful example of the Divine Feminine. But, you need to be aware of what kind of feminine energies you're drawing into your life. Whether male or female, you could really attract close connections with women who want to control you or make you feel small, who are jealous of your beauty or abundance or confidence. This is an echo of things with your mom and shows you where you need to heal that inner child wound. You are not doomed to be near feminine narcissists but these relationships need to serve as a lesson. So, you can avoid them in the further and attract truly supportive, genuine feminines into your life. You deserve to be your fullest self and not shrink for someone who supposedly loves you.

There is so much that you could have become, in a negative way, but you didn't! Your mother or that toxic feminine serve as a sort of inverse mirror image of you. Your Guides are congratulating you for not becoming that and moving down the right path. Also, a big part of your destiny will be having a family. I think the majority of you will want kids but, for a few of you, this could also mean fur-babies. I also feel compelled to say you're quite close to establishing that family of your own.

I am not saying you'll get married in a few months! But, I think a lot of you either will meet/reunite with the person you'll marry very soon (this year is what I am getting) or you are already with them. And this will lead to a family. Again, don't worry. You have already done all the healing work you have needed to do, including possibly cutting toxic relatives out. If this is your mom and you are struggling with that decision or missing her, it's okay to feel that way. But, you did the right thing! Think of how unhappy your life would be if you didn't make the decision to heal or distance yourself. You are setting yourself, your future spouse and future children up for the kind of fulfillment you didn't have.

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Thanks for stopping by! You can check out my other readings and posts here:

MASTER LIST

#tarot #tarot reading #channeled message #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #inner child #inner child work #inner child healing #spirit guides

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bellarkeex · 9 months

Text

Let Someone, Let Me. [Jude x Cardan]

Jude's exhausted from her Queenly duties, Cardan takes care of her

☾ warnings: don’t think there is any, mention of the Undersea, soft Cardan, fluff

☾ read on ao3: here

☾ wc: 745

Exhaustion had seeped into my bones many hours ago. The last few days had seemed like non-stop revels, living council meetings, and running around so often I'm surprised the soles of my shoes are still intact. In my strained attempt to conjure up any final bit of energy I had left, some may say my behaviour had begun to border on 'unseemly'. More so than usual.

Cardan had also been his usual, oh so helpful, self as he'd decided to fill his days with lounging on his half of the throne and entertaining our subjects. I mean, I suppose he's listened to the occasional request.

I reach where Fand stands outside our room. I barely manage to greet her before I'm pushing my way into the room, making a beeline for the bed.

I don't register Cardan laying there until he's pulling me into his side, tucking an arm around me to stroke lazy patterns into my back. His tail coming to rest atop my thigh.

"Well, I've had a very long day of entertaining our lovely folk, what about you my wretched wife?" He sighs with dramatised fatigue into the top of my forehead.

"Is that why the ongoing revel is missing your wonderful presence?"

"Would you stab me if I said maybe I've missed you these last couple days?"

"Not right now." I sign into his chest, letting my hand slide under his lowly buttoned shirt. "It seems like a lot of work."

At that he gives me a small chuckle, before he's sitting up to take my feet into his hands. Fingers carefully untying the laces of the shoes I hadn't managed to take off, then reaching for my stockings to pull them off my aching legs.

Then he's leaving me. Disappearing into the bathroom. I hear faint water begin to fill the tub and when Cardan returns his clothes have been discarded, moonlight illuminating the skin of his chest.

Despite my exhaustion, I can't help but notice the skip of my heartbeat at his sudden nudity. But if Cardan notices the flush of my cheeks, he doesn't mention it.

I don't have the energy to resist as he picks me off the bed to haul me into his arms. Not that I would.

"What are you doing?" I breathe against his neck.

"Jude." he gently shushes me. "Just let someone take care of you for once. Let me."

I'm placed before the filled bath, cool stone beneath my feet sending a chill through my spine. Flickering candlelight reflects in the steaming water below me, creating shadowed waves which dance along the bottom of the tub. I push away any thought of the Undersea, forcing myself to breathe deeper, and narrow my focus on Cardans hands skilfully unlacing the back of my dress to help me step out of it.

"Should I be worried?" I raise my eyebrows in question, gesturing in the direction of the candle. "You seem to have an awful habit of setting your rooms on fire."

He only smiles and begins to lure me into the tub with a soft hand, guiding me to sit in front of him.

I allow myself to rest against my husband as he holds me to his chest, grounding myself in his presence. I'm thankful for the window that has been cracked open, the occasional breeze reminding me I'm above water. Only then do I let myself become conscious of the warm water that's beginning to sooth my sore skin.

Neither of us speak for a while, basking in each other's company trying to make up for lost time. Simply breathing in one another.

Cardan takes his sweet time in gracing his hands over my aching joints, as though he's trying to relieve my body from the tension it holds, before reaching up to gently release my hair from the pins letting it flow over my shoulders. Under his touch I slip deeper into the warmth of his chest, eyes heavy lidded I try to focus on the steady thump of his heart and the light touch of his fingertips.

I must fail in my attempt to resist sleep because I wake beneath the embroidered covers of our bed, washed, and my hair loosely braided.

It doesn't take long for me to fall back into a peaceful sleep, head leaning against the slow rise and fall of Cardans chest.

But not before managing to mumble a barely audible, "I've missed you too."

☾ i like the idea that Cardan knows how to braid hair even though no one's ever taught him. i imagine he has it memorised from all the times he’s watched Jude do it, so he tried to recreate it when she was asleep.

#jurdan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #tfota #the folk of the air #jude and cardan #the queen of nothing #tcp #twk #tqon #jurdan fanfic #jude x cardan #jude x cardan fluff #jurdan fluff #holly black #htkoelths

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normal-thoughts-official · 4 months

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i need mal to have a mental breakdown so bad it makes me look stupid

this is the part where i beg you to hear me out. listen. mal's been a bit more like himself these last few chapters but his route still feels stilted. i know you know what i'm talking about. every time there is one of those "one of the LIs reacts to you getting hurt or something of the surt" things, mal's is always the most lukewarm, if not outright cold. the passion and personality only really comes out when we kiss. and like, listen, i romance almost exclusively women and POC (usually Black or brown POC) in this app (I'm pretty sure Aerin is the only white male LI I've ever had anything with? lol), so i'm very very used to my LIs of choice having obviously had a lot less thought when their routes were written. but this is different. it feels almost intentional. and his book 1 route wasn't like this, either

and what calls my attention the most is that mal almost never smiles lately. in book 1 smiling was pretty much mal's default sprite. i think mal was smiling, like, 50% of the time he was on screen, if not more, and the other expressions had to share the rest among each other. but in book 2 we go entire chapters without mal smiling once. and if you pay attention he almost never looks angry or sad, either (he never looked sad a lot but he did look angry often enough, i know because i always laugh at his angry face. rip king ily but calm down). he is in his neutral expression sprite 90% of the fucking time. he looks neutral more often than tyril does (although tyril obviously smiles a lot more in book 2 than he did in book 1, it's noticeable. still, though, he's tyril)

and we know that mal used humor and an untouchable persona as a defense mechanism in book 1, it's been said. so it makes sense that mal was smiling all the time; i remember mal felt more real when his face turned neutral, at least to me. and mal keeps making the same jokes as before, so - why is he not smiling?

and like we know that mal is not okay. it's been shown. the self sacrificial tendencies, the overworking himself, the self doubt. it's been said in text. but i think the neutral sprite is the biggest clue here. because a lot of the time, mal is being objectively funny, but his neutral sprite makes his jokes feel flat. mal feels flat. and i think it's because he's trying to cling to his old coping mechanisms - charming, funny personality - but he doesn't have the energy to anymore, because he's changed, because he's exhausted. and he's said that he felt like he was trying to keep the group together on his own, and we know that mal, for all his damn posturing, takes his responsibilities seriously when he accepts them. he learned how to patch a roof at age 6 so wren could sleep better. he paid off her debt before he paid his. he built a fucking orphanage, for fuck's sake. when mal decides that he's gonna do something, he gives it his all, and he refuses to be stopped. he's going to the goddamn thieves guild to help MC. he's been on the run from the guild for fucking years and they never found him despite him being in whitetower. this mf is dedicated

all of that is to say: during this last year, mal wouldn't stop. he refused to stop. going to the garden every day. building the orphanage. keeping tabs on imtura (i'll never shut up about it HE KEPT TABS ON IMTURA). trying to keep the friend group together. taking care of and feeding a bunch of fucking orphans. the only way to keep yourself going with this much responsibility at once is by repressing every fucking feeling hard and not thinking about anything else. which explains the constant neutral face. mal can't feel anything, because he barricaded everything inside himself so he could keep going. the only way he can ever express himself is physically, when he kisses MC, and that's about it. and so he never quite expresses any feeling, even concern for MC, or smiling, or anything, because he's too busy not stopping, because if he stops he'll crumble

so like. for this to have any closure at all. mal has to crumble. i think he's past the point where he can talk about this healthily and avoid a major breakdown. there's too much threatening to burst, and he's too tired. i genuinely cannot see any way for this to be resolved that doesn't involve mal fucking breaking down, and finally acknowledging how much he's hurting. he's gonna have to stop and look at this, and clearly this will only happen once it comes bursting out of him

and i want it, god damn it! i want mal to fucking lose it. i want that catharsis and i want the angst and i want the drama. fuck!!!!

but if there was ever a time for mal to lose his shit, it was chapter 13. i even wrote about it at the time. i mean, he had just been talking with MC about how much he was hurting when they were gone. fixing the roof and talking about how he feels like he's dragging the group down and he's the least important one. and then MC disappeared. again. in the shadow realm. with valax. and he had no idea where they were. and... nothing. nada. "don't do that to me again 😐". so i struggle to imagine what could possibly be worse than that to trigger a breakdown. MC full on dying and ressurrecting nia style? i mean, seriously

and so i'm climbing the walls because if mal has a breakdown? then everything up to this point will have been good writing. the way every scene felt stilted, most jokes fell flat, everyone felt that distance between mal and MC, that shitass "reunion", it will all have been part of his arc and i'll love it and hold it dearly because oh yeah, i fucking love emotional repression for the sake of self sacrifice, sign me the fuck up. but if not then i don't see how any of this can be part of a coherent arc, and so it'll just have. sucked. after his route in book 1 being so good and satisfying they just, what, gave up? lost their groove the first few chapters and then regained it later but never really addressed it? i don't know, man. i really hope whatever's coming is good but i'm used to choices letting me down, so

this post doesn't have a beautiful conclusion or anything i'm just kinda anxious and frustrated. this is why i hate reading things that aren't finished. god damn it

#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #playchoices #blades of light and shadow #bolas #bolas2 spoilers #mal volari #choices book club #meta #of sorts. idk im tired #i shouldn't even be writing this i should be finishing my assignments but i'm proscratinating by writing something else instead #overflowing trashcan

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cinnamonest · 1 year

Text

Yandere twst - Kalim Al-Asim

Taking this as an opportunity to talk about my BOY my LOVE my ANGEL

I'm making not quite a profile but more of a general HCs post? This is similar to the one I did for Floyd, will probably make more in the future

Also Prefect!Darling because it just makes sense here I suppose, but prior to book 5, and pretend Grim is just... off doing his own thing

For once I'm doing a dubcon/consensual/semi consensual up until a point because I like the dynamic of "I liked you initially and agreed to a consensual relationship at first but now you're going too far and freaking me out" which I feel is a dynamic I don't touch on often enough so I'm changing that >:3

//dubcon, yandere, alcohol consumption/one-sided drunk sex, dark content, fem darling, impreg mentions

Also go follow @inkblot22 !!

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You can't really go a long time on campus without knowing of Kalim. Not necessarily knowing him personally, but knowing of him, seeing him, hearing people mention him, being generally aware of him. Even if it weren't for his housewarden status, his personality and outgoingness tends to make him a well-known individual. Not to mention the degree to which he goes out of his way to meet people. Every time he sees a person he doesn't know, he usually takes the time to engage with them, and will at least know their name and face by the time the conversation ends.

Said encounter can be jarring; after all, you'll just be minding your business when some stranger comes bounding over with a startlingly loud voice and bright eyes and more energy than a wind turbine. If you're not the sort to be inclined to conversation with people you barely know, it's that much worse, although he can really tire out even the most extroverted of people anyway.

But that's the sort of person he is, that's what everyone else says, that's what you witness early on, so, you wouldn't think much of it, give it no real thought.

Not that he's a particularly self-aware person himself. He's prone to following whims and impulses, not stopping to think about the implications and meanings nor the consequences nor the way his actions and words will be perceived.

Your reaction to his presence is like that of most people -- a little bit overwhelmed by his energy, but the fact that he's so sincere and warm-hearted makes it impossible to really dislike him.

However, very early on, you do end up having to deal with his energy quite a bit, after you manage to get assigned some sort of project together, one random day during class. But still, it's not something you think much of. If anything, you're mostly just glad that it's someone you've already met, and that you got put with a rather genial person, when it could have been an unpleasant person. He's already talking rapidly about his vision for said project by the time you leave that day, so you exchange numbers, agree to meet the next day, and return to your own dorm.

It's a small project. Doesn't take too long, you just meet after class two days in a row, but each time, you leave totally exhausted. He's just so loud and so high-energy, it drains you. Still, who are you to complain? He's too sweet to be upset about it. Besides, it's just for a few days. Although he's quite talkative in general, you seem to really trigger a positive reaction in him when you casually inquire about something he's wearing, which then turns into a few questions about his homeland, out of pure curiosity. His eyes seem to light up, and he gets very enthusiastic talking all about it, seemingly pleased that you would want to know. A fairly normal interaction, and you're glad it seemed to make him so happy.

He seems to bond with you over that event, even though you didn't think you really got to know each other that well or anything. Regardless, he now comes to sit beside you in that class each day. Not that you mind. Even if he has so much energy, he's forced to be fairly quiet and still during the class itself (although he still does try to talk to you, which has resulted in the professors having to tell him to be quiet on multiple occasions).

You don't mind, either, when he begins to seek you out for lunches, and after class. In fact, he quickly endears himself to you. It just happens naturally, he's good at doing so without intending to. How could you not like him, really? Sure, he can be loud and a bit overbearing, but he's so sweet and friendly and genial. He makes for a good friend, and you're rather grateful to have another familiar face and someone to rely on in the enigma of a situation you've found yourself in with this whole place. He gets along well with pretty much anyone he talks to as well, so you don't have to worry about him not mingling well with whoever else you might have with you or be talking to.

All in all, you think very little of his presence. He doesn't stand out to you or hold any greater significance to you than any of the other people you've become acquainted with.

...But that gradually begins to change. Not by any will of your own, but rather, because he essentially forces his way into omnipresence in your life.

He nearly gives you a heart attack the first morning you groggily make your way out the front door of Ramshackle just to be met with him standing right there. Yawning and sleepy, but still smiling. His walk to class takes him right by here anyway, figured he should start waiting for you!

It's a bit too much for your comfort, but such a thing aligns with the person you've come to know him to be, and really, it's a very considerate and kind gesture, isn't it? It may be a bit overbearing, but he has such good intentions, and what kind of person would be ungrateful for someone's kindness like that? In fact, you're rather pleasantly surprised he would consider you to be on such a level of friendship despite not having known each other all that long. Thus, you do your best to smile back and thank him for the gesture. It's not like it's a long walk to class anyway.

It becomes a fast routine. He's there in the mornings. He's there when classes let out for the lunch period, he manages to find you in the halls and get a few minutes of conversation in during the time between classes whenever possible. He's there at the end of the day, usually he keeps inviting you to the pop music club (or rather, the chatting and hangout spot that takes place in what's supposed to be the pop music club). But once more, you're grateful for the company and opportunity to become acquainted with others, and it's not like it takes that much time. He always bids you farewell at the end of the club's designated time, so, you get to then go home to your more tranquil dorm environment. Tiring, yes, but you don't dislike the time you spend with them at all, they're very pleasant to be around.

Likewise, although you might have had a nice relaxing evening at home planned, you gladly accept the extension of hospitality and gesture of kindness by saying yes to the invitation to come by the Scarabia dorm. Apparently they all have big dorm-wide social events on Friday nights and Saturday nights where everyone sits around and eats and drinks and talks. It's very pleasant. Again, another very tiring ordeal, but everyone is so upbeat and friendly with you, and you do have fun each time you go. Which starts off being every now and then, and quickly becomes each week. Not that he keeps asking, but rather, he seems to start assuming you'll come, mentioning later tonight or when you get there in conversation and the like.

It's nice. It's a kind gesture. It's something you should be thankful for. But... it's just getting to be more than you can handle.

One Friday in particular, as you walk out of class and back towards the dorms, serves as a bit of a breaking point. You hate to hurt his feelings or anything, but you're utterly exhausted from a rather rough week. You feel a twinge of frustration when he starts talking about the upcoming night as per usual, which would now be in just a matter of a few hours.

You take a deep breath.

Actually, Kalim...

You tell him in the nicest way you can, that you're very, very tired, and don't think you have the energy to be interacting with a bunch of people, in those exact words. You brace yourself to feel a little guilty at his disappointment.

But no, he just smiles. That's fine! Don't worry. You go on ahead and go back to your dorm, and he'll be back in just a little while.

You nod. Oh, thank y--

Wait.

You pause, start to question, but when you tilt your head up, he's already run off, rushing back to his own dorm.

...'be back'?

You don't like the implications of that wording. Still, you groggily shuffle your way back to your dorm, not bothering to undress for the day, seeing as you have a feeling you won't be left alone... at least you get about half an hour of rest in before he comes barging into Ramshackle without so much as a warning knock.

Carrying what appears to be containers of food. Can't let you go hungry! Besides, you're tired, so you probably wouldn't have the energy to make any for yourself, so he just picked up some of the food that was being made for the event.

You stand quiet and still for a few moments, taking it all in, but manage to stutter out some thanks as you take it out of of his hands. Was he just coming to drop that off, or...?

Apparently not. As he wanders over and plops down on your couch (still talking, although you're too tired to even really process what he's saying), it becomes clear he's not going anywhere.

At first, you feel a bit of frustration, but then again, you do like him, he's fun to be around, and he went out of his way to be so helpful to you... when you think about it like that, you feel a bit guilty for even being frustrated in the first place. Besides, he's more calm and less loud when it's just the two of you, and not a full crowd, so it should be easier. You end up talking a while about nothing in particular, and at the end of the night (when after quite a few attempts to hint that you're very tired, he finally seems to get it and heads home), you find that you were glad he did that for you.

Yes, you're very grateful for the companionship. You become more and more used to him and his ways with time, anyway, as the days go on, as you spend more and more time together, and as he starts sitting next to you with each class.

He tends to invade your personal space a bit, but as with everything else, it's well-intentioned and you can't be too upset about it. He tends to forget his textbook as a regular occurrence, and so you end up sharing one, moving the chairs closer to meet in the middle so you can both look over it better. He's very upbeat and lively as always throughout the classes, especially at the 8 a.m. class, when you're really, really not quite mentally ready to deal with his energy just yet... but you manage.

He becomes more affectionate over time, too. Some of his affectionate intentions tend to backfire, though. Namely, gifts. It's a default way of his to try and earn people's favor, although that end is more subconscious -- he mostly just likes giving gifts because he likes getting praise and thanks and seeing people in awe and happy.

Kalim has very little concept of monetary value besides "more expensive = better = more affection points from recipient," so predictably, he just tends to think of gifts and then purchase the most expensive version of that thing that he can. Bonus points if it's truly a one-of-a-kind sort of thing -- no, this isn't just "a" gemstone, it's the only one specifically worn by this person or present at this historical event, and he just so happened to call home and convince his parents to have it extracted from the museum and turned into something for you instead! Neat, right?

He fails to realize that this might be more unpleasant for some people who might feel overwhelmed or guilty or pressured by such an act, as you quickly become. You can't even wear it all every day, seeing as you soon have three, four, five, and so on of the pieces he gives you, and you can only wear one at a time. And just the thought of having it makes you nervous... what are you supposed to do with a piece of jewelry that costs as much as a house? Obviously you wear it, but it almost feels wrong to just set it on the nightstand when you take it off... and what happens if you lose it? Ugh.

He's very touchy, too. The closer you get to him socially, the touchier he gets. It starts off as grabbing you by the wrist or an arm over your shoulder, but quickly progresses to leaning on you, wrapping arms around you, and so on, the more you get to know him. You grind your teeth and put up with it for a while, telling yourself it's not bad enough that it's worth the awkwardness of asking him to stop. Besides, he means well, you know that... and on top of that, maybe it's a cultural difference? You're not really familiar with Scalding Sands social and interpersonal norms or anything. Yeah, that's probably it.

All of it gradually manifests into a more pressing matter. The more attentive to you he becomes, the closer to you he gets, the more time you spend together -- it becomes more and more clear that he has feelings and intentions that venture beyond the platonic.

You suppose you should have prepared for that possibility, but still, you don't want to rush to conclusions or make assumptions, so at first, you take the small indicators into account, but give the benefit of the doubt. It becomes more difficult to do so, though, the more affectionate he becomes. You're pretty sure it's not very normal to give so many gifts, to spend so much time together, to be so touchy, if not for some deeper intention, conscious or not.

But that would be alright, wouldn't it? Maybe you should give it a chance. You can't see why not, can't think of any reason in particular it would be a bad idea or anything, other than maybe his high energy, which you're sure you could work with.

You never initiate or say anything about it, you decide to sort of leave the matter up in the air so to speak, but you don't resist or discourage him. You decide that the approach you'll take is that if something develops, that's fine, and if not, that's fine too. You just leave any initiative matters up to him.

As for him, despite his tendencies to be rather dense, he actually has no trouble recognizing the feeling he has for what it is, doesn't go through that stage that some equally dense individuals go through where they don't understand what they feel or why. Probably because his parents keep hounding him about getting married. People of his class standing tend to get married exceptionally young, you see. So he's been more or less raised to have that on his mind. Not to mention, he's not really easily embarrassed, so the natural shyness most people have on matters of that nature just doesn't come to him.

However, there's a distinct lack of a critical element found in virtually and literally anyone else: Kalim has no fear of rejection.

Not because he's overly-confident or has thought it through, but because the very concept does not occur to him.

It's one part of a much, much bigger, more significant issue, one that you haven't quite realized the severity of just yet. In fact, it's a major part of the reason he's always so good-natured, the reason you never see him mad. It's because, for most of his life, he has almost never, ever, been told one specific word.

'No.'

The thought of something not going the way he wants it to just... doesn't really cross his mind.

He's never really been told no on something he truly wants. Minor details have to be changed? Sure. Being made to compromise on insignificant things? Yeah, plenty of times. But there is a simple set of rules his parents and servants have always abided by. If he really wants something unrealistic, try and present alternatives or persuade him against it, sure, that's fine. But if he rejects both of those things, if he insists a third time that he wants something and will not take an alternative, it's easier to just let him have whatever he wants.

And if it is something one of its kind, an obtainable thing that can be had by only one, then he will be the one to have it. Simple as. And when it comes to being friends or people being around him or just being able to spend time with someone, he has almost never been told he can't have what he wants.

Consequently, on the rare occasion he's told "no," it just... goes in one ear and out the other. He doesn't get mad, no, it's like his brain simply refuses to process the word, the idea that he truly, absolutely cannot have what he wants. It's like a computer going to an error screen. His smile doesn't break for a second. He'll usually just misinterpret what the other party means, or assume it's due to a certain condition that must be met. Rarely does he ever have to hear a steadfast, resounding, firm "no."

Besides, as far as he's aware, you've shown no negative reactions towards anything he does, so he has no reason to think about that anyway.

It just all sort of lines up perfectly in his head. In fact, in his mind, he would already consider you to be "together" in an "official" sense, even if you've never actually spoken of it. After all, you've never turned him away, right? That's basically the same thing. Still, there's supposed to be like, steps to these sorts of things, you escalate various stages of relationships and all.

And that is about to open a world of problems.

One of the major issues you encounter with Kalim is a lack of emotional, social maturity. He's not particularly considerate. Well, rather, he bounces back and forth. He'll be very considerate in the sense that he's always thinking of you, always getting things for you and trying to make you happy in various ways. However, when he wants something, he has a tendency to think of no one besides himself. He's not so much intentionally inconsiderate or anything, so much as he just... doesn't think. He wasn't raised to really ever consider other people. All those basic life lessons about sharing, compromising, doing what someone else wants to do even if you don't really want to because they're your friend, to consider what the other person might want or feel before acting, and so on that most people learn from their parents as kids? He never got any of that.

Similarly, he's never really been taught that sometimes, one must supress their own whims and feelings and desires in the moment, that sometimes it's best to do what someone else wants. Again, this isn't malicious; if anything it's done with good intentions and a happy heart. He just doesn't stop to consider anything other than what he wants, when he wants it, however inconvenient it may be for anyone or everyone else.

And most importantly, he's never been taught to stop and consider that just because he wants to do something with someone, the other person might not want to.

There's another issue, then, regarding that. See, he's also rarely been scolded or reprimanded for how he chooses to do things, how he goes about his decisions and actions. He's never really stopped to consider how things he does might harm other people. This all amounts to an issue, one that would perhaps shock people. His moral compass isn't... fully intact.

Not to be misunderstood -- he's naturally benevolent and sweet, yes, but he's also never really been in a position where he even wanted to do anything really bad. That is to say, he's naturally inclined to doing good, but people might be shocked to learn that if he wants something, he might -- without really even being aware of it -- take jarringly unethical measures to do so.

He just doesn't perceive it as selfish. Doesn't realize it might hurt someone. Again, he has the best of intentions, and he would hate to have learned he's done something that hurt someone, but he doesn't stop for a second to contemplate whether or not he should be acting on his impulses and urges and desires beforehand, he has no foresight.

He thinks about it very logically, though, on his end. Usually, people are hesitant to do things that might be embarrassing or that they may not be comfortable with yet. But he doesn't consider that roundabout ways of coercion to get someone to do something out of their current realm of comfort might be wrong -- no, he just sees it in a practical way.

So it's easy. He has a very helpful tool at his disposal.

You're well aware by now that every time the dorm gets together, they tend to drink. He's not a true alcoholic or anything, no, more like just the kind of kid that likes to party hard and black out on weekends. Scalding Sands has its own variants of strong liquors, and as with any country, there are certain regions of the nation known for being home to heavy drinkers. Yes, it's true you're not technically supposed to have alcohol on campus, but exceptions can be made for uh... cultural traditions. The administration just doesn't need to know about how those weekend night social events are also home to drinking competitions, and it'll be fine.

Alcohol is a very practical tool, in a social setting. It helps people loosen up, makes them less nervous. Lowers their inhibitions. Their "true" self often comes out. And most importantly, they're easily persuaded. This is frequently used, thus, to ensure transparency in gatherings between high-status individuals.

You've normally declined in the past, instead choosing to sit back and watch everyone else get wasted... but you just need encouragement. You notice, the next time you go over, just how heavily he's pushing it on you. You have to try this, it's the something-something or another, only available from this one particular small town in the middle of nowhere and takes a hundred years before it's served, etc etc, that sort of thing.

If you're too resistant, eventually he just ends up more or less forcing it on you, pushing it into your hands so you instinctively grasp so it won't fall and moving away before you can try and get him to take it back. And if that doesn't work, he can just get you other drinks that have alcohol very well-masked by other strong flavors and either hot or frozen to somewhat mask the burn, getting you to drink a large amount in a very short time. If all else fails, feeding you incredibly spicy food and ensuring the nearest available drink is high-content always works.

Even without inebriating substances involved, he's loud and sociable and bubbly and pushy — the former traits help him to exercise the last without consequence. When you're mean, of course, people will react negatively to being pushy, but when you're nice, when you're a sweet energetic person? They oblige more often. So when it's forced upon you, you eventually reluctantly agree. You're a bit confused by the sudden pushiness, but it will be alright... you imagine. You end up saying something about how you don't feel great, that your head hurts. You keep leaning over on him, resting your head on his shoulder. The other students are so loud and rambunctious. Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head as you ask if you can go find a quieter spot.

Oh, that works perfectly then. Don't even have to convince you to go.

Intentionally getting you intoxicated might sound bad, might seem like the sort of thing a scummy person would do... to a normal person. To him, though, it's just a very logical means to a well-thought-out plan. Even if, for a split second, the notion did strike him that it might not be the most ethical choice, he still won't think of it as that bad. If he really wants something, any means to obtain it will be rationalized as okay one way or another.

And if he can't justify it? He just ignores it. He is entirely capable of simply shutting his brain down and completely blocking out the realization of something being wrong. In fact, he essentially just does so automatically, so it's not really shutting his brain down, so much as just acting without taking into account any ethics in the first place, essentially never turning his brain on. It's not really even so much convincing himself, nor feigning ignorance, it's that he can quite literally close his mind to any thoughts of the deeper consequences and significance of anything he's doing. Not to mention, he's not entirely sober himself, so it's basically mutual inebriation.

Besides, you're really cute like this! Stumbling around and all, you keep asking where you're going. Thankfully it's easy to slip away unnoticed, and his room isn't that far either. You mumble some thanks for letting you lay down.

You curse yourself in your head for allowing yourself to get so bad. Your limbs feel all loosened up, you feel warm and somewhat tired. There's still perhaps some faint alarm bells going off in your head, that you probably shouldn't be doing this, and should probably ask to be taken back to Ramshackle instead, but that seems so far away, you don't want to take the effort.

You're jolted out of your spacey thoughts by the mattress shifting. When did you sit on the bed? Eh... no big deal.

But you're aware of the tension, even in your current state. Yeah, when you think about it, although it doesn't carry the sense of offense and disbelief you might have felt if in a clearer state of mind, you can put two and two together, you know exactly what he wants.

It does strike you as an immediate poor decision. You do like him, but you'd normally not rush into something like that, nor would doing it like this be the best idea.

But hey, maybe it will help? Or so says your compromised mind. He's a teenage boy and all, maybe if he gets what he wants he'll actually calm down a little. Maybe he'll lose part of his infatuation too. That's normal, isn't it? People really want to obtain some sort of "prize," but after obtaining it they stop being so pushy and obsessive to get it. He could stand to calm down a bit with how intense he is towards you.

And besides, maybe it's just the mood, maybe you did drink a bit too much, but it can't make things worse, right...?

Your mind seems to suspend the thought. You're not sure what conclusion you would come to, because the next thing you know, you're grimacing as the sunlight hits your eyes through the window quite unpleasantly.

Wait.

You piece things together. The arm looped around your body, pulling you close, the heavy, slow breathing in your ear. And the soreness speaks for itself.

You do remember things, as you start to try to recall. It was kind of like a puppy that's been made to sit and wait for a treat, finally getting the go-ahead to gobble it up. You don't remember too much of the event, but you do remember the entire bedframe rocking back and forth from the sheer force you were being jackhammered with.

You don't remember anything he might have said. You don't remember anything you might have said.

You spend a while laying in bed, contemplating your life choices... but you can smell alcohol on him too, so it's not like it was intentionally planned or anything. The very notion is immediately dismissed -- you're certain he wouldn't do that. Still, you'll have to just try and deal with the initial awkwardness and embarrassment that inherently comes when people sleep together and then have to acknowledge and address it the next morning, and move on from here. Not the best way to start a relationship, but not the worst. And you're certain it will work out alright.

It is awkward, at least for you. You get the sense he's quite happy, though, doesn't seem to have any negative reaction or even surprise when you nudge him awake. There is that sort of inherent embarrassing nature to the matter, some awkward chuckles and sheepishness from him, but you can tell he's content. You manage to muster out the uncomfortable question that you feel does need to be confirmed -- so... you're okay with this... continuing, right?

He seems almost perplexed by it, smile dropping to a look of mild confusion. Mm? Aren't you?

You just shake your head, smile, dismiss any concerns with something about how you just wanted to be sure. Yeah... this turned out to not be so bad. He'll probably calm down a lot now. And if it doesn't work out, you're sure you'll stay friends.

...

He does not, in fact, calm down.

If anything, he gets more intense. He still wants you to stay over the next night. You contemplate for a second maybe telling him that it was a bit rushed, maybe you're moving too fast and that maybe you should hold off before you do it again, but... ah, he's so eager, you'd feel bad for disappointing him... and thus, within a while, you find yourself with your thighs and arms wrapped around him again, trying to let go of any discomfort and just enjoy the moment. It's a bit more intimate and vulnerable and all when you have full mental clarity, but you suppose that makes it more endearing, too. Besides, he's so sweet and cuddly afterwards, which helps to alleviate your nerves.

And then, when the next class day rolls around, he wants to walk to class together, as usual... but this time, he grabs your hand, interlaces your fingers. Which is normal. You don't mind at all. Sitting next to each other, talking... all things you were doing already.

You can't help but feel, though, that the intensity has been turned up to some extent. Before, you would at least have a few moments to yourself, he would occasionally give you some semblance of space, would sometimes talk to other people on his own, would sometimes need to take care of something else before coming to talk to you... unlike now.

Now, rather than each of you heading back to your own dorms at the end of the day, he takes the turn to head back to Scarabia... still holding your hand, chattering away. You clear your throat, mention that your dorm is the other way.

Oh, did you need to grab something first?

...Well, spending another night in Scarabia won't hurt, even if it is a night you have school the next day. You just end up grabbing some clothes for the next day.

And then the next day, he does the same. You try to off-handedly mention again, that all your things are in the dorm.

Oh! Right, that. He's been meaning to ask about that! Good thing you brought it up. Your dorm is, you know, a bit dilapidated and all. There's plenty of spare rooms in Scarabia, though, you could just talk to the headmage and he'd probably let you do it!

Oh, aha... maybe....

You manage to change the subject. You're certainly not quite ready for that much just yet. At first, you figure it was just something he was saying as a vague notion, the sort of thing one might say would be nice but have no real intention of following through, or just said as a courtesy. He brings it up more and more often, though, and it soon becomes clear that he's serious, and actually quite adamant about it.

You keep coming up with excuses to get out of the matter. Oh, I went by his office and he wasn't there... Well, I'll have to ask Grim and see how he feels... so on and so on.

Most people might take the hint that you don't really want to and are just being polite... but not Kalim.

No, instead, he figures he might as well just take care of it for you! He has some free time while you're occupied, so, he'll just go to the headmage himself and get it worked out. It's not like he's going to tell him 'no,' right? Some people say the headmage can be a bit particular or stubborn on his decisions, but for him, he'd say that hasn't been his experience. That does tend to happen to him quite a bit, actually, he's pretty sure he just has a talent for making stubborn people more agreeable, for some reason. It's pretty rare for anyone to deny him a request.

You're caught quite off-guard, then, when you come slowly trudging back after a particularly exhausting day and --why are there people in my dorm.

A handful of scarlet-clad students, carrying boxes of your belongings out of the dorm. One very recognizable one in particular standing off to the side, seemingly directing the tasks. You slowly make your way over, slack-jawed and struck silent in bewilderment.

Oh, you're already here! Well, guess what? Crowley said it was fine! He got a quick moving crew together, thankfully didn't need too many people, since you don't have a whole lot of stuff. Wasn't it nice of them to volunteer? Anyway--

You stand there utterly flabbergasted, blinking, sputtering, stammering as you try to think of something to say. You weren't actually expecting him to be so bold as to do it himself... and it's all happening so fast, you end up more or less stiffly standing still and watching it all happen. They're already pretty much done, and carrying all your things back with them. These guys put in the effort to do this, and they're already walking off as you're trying to get out of your stupor, and your exhaustion isn't helping you form the right words.

You just get grabbed by the wrist as per usual before you even can say anything. Anything you might have started to say would be drowned out anyway, as you're now told in rapid speech about how there's already a spare room for you, it's actually next to his own, it's supposed to be for guests and stuff but they'll make a different room the designated guest room so that you can have the one close to him! Nice, right?

He keeps talking. You sputter and try to start speaking a few times, but words fail you. They've already taken everything out, it's too late to ask them to take it back... so, it seems you're stuck.

Well that's... that's....

Okay. That's alright. Maybe it's a bit too much, but... like always, he meant well, right? And this is normal, yeah, you're supposed to learn to tolerate and accept that your partner will sometimes create hassles and issues. So... you can accept this. It's such a nice gesture, it's only polite to accept, isn't it? Besides, you've already been spending most nights there anyway... you can get used to it, yeah.

There are a lot of perks. No ceiling leaks or drafts in the middle of the night. The furniture doesn't have years worth of layers of dust, there's other people around. In truth, it actually helps your mental state to have other people nearby in the evenings, so it's not always just the two of you for hours on end... not that you mind, of course, but sometimes it can get a little... suffocating, without other people.

Now, you can come by the public lounge of the dorm more often too, mingle with the other students in their lounge area. You often take the opportunity to sit and talk with them in the evenings. You start to find that you're somewhat glad you made the transition, as the whole spirit of camaraderie thing, having a small community to live with, is actually rather pleasant.

He thinks it's nice to see you get to interact with all the students in the dorm, too.

...It is nice, isn't it?

It should be. You enjoying yourself and meeting people who are nice to you naturally should induce a good feeling, he should be happy for you.

For some reason, though, it doesn't feel that way.

Instead, he starts to feel kind of sick, nauseous. And some sort of tight, constricting feeling to his chest. Like he can't breathe.

When he's irritated or frustrated, he might get whiny, but it's very easy to tell when he's deeply, truly upset by something: he gets quiet. It's so uncharacteristic that it's immediately noticeable, the lack of his voice and laughter, instead he just sits there, arms folded, eyebrows just barely furrowed as he looks towards the ground, as if perplexed. Still, he wouldn't want to ruin the mood. So even when you turn your head towards him, eyebrows raised as you ask if something is wrong, saying he's not saying much, he manages to smile anyway, say he's tired. Maybe that's true, too, maybe he needs to sleep the feeling off.

Well, if he could sleep in the first place. But instead, that night, he ends up flat on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Barely sleeps the whole night. Keeps looking over at you as you sleep, shifting and wrapping his arms around you tighter and tighter. The burning, gnawing, tight feeling persists. Maybe he ate too much.

But it continues to persist. Well into the next day. He's visibly tired, keeps nodding off in class, eyes slowly closing and head slowly drooping down until he snaps back awake, jerking his head back up, and repeat, over and over. You ask if something is wrong again. He just says he couldn't sleep for some reason, but still gives you a smile. And, of course, immediately takes the opportunity to ask what you want to do later today. No question of if you're free or if you're even up to it.

From that night you first noticed he was oddly quiet and onward, he seems to become more prone to wanting to spend time alone with you. Doesn't spend as much time in the club room, doesn't spend as much time in the lounge with the other students. Instead, you end up just in his room quite often... you get the sense that he's more at ease that way, seems less fidgety.

Besides, it's not as if he has too many moments where he doesn't have the reassurance of your presence. Outside of a few specific classes, you're with him pretty much all day, every day. His lack of consideration resurfaces. He'll drag you around to wherever he feels like going, often not asking before just grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you along. But you're fairly easygoing, and it's not like you don't usually end up enjoying however you spend your time, even if it is dictated to you without any consideration.

You don't have any excuse to go home in the evenings now though, since in his mind, apparently, you should now be spending your nights together. Every waking second. You didn't really think that having spent the night together once really meant you had to start it as a routine, but you don't want to hurt his feelings and all. He does tend to detract from the quality of your studying, though, seeing as he likes to talk quite a bit. Sure, you say you're studying, and he agrees to be quiet... for a few minutes. Then he seems to forget.

Or he might just get a little upset about it. It's rare to see him unhappy, but when he does get sort of frustrated, it manifests as being whiny, demanding your attention. He sighs and hangs his head, pouts if you continue to fail to give him attention.

Hey, come on... you've been going at that forever, I'm right here...

He drags his speech out and raises the pitch of his voice in a rather annoying whine. Not that "forever" is a very long time in reality, it usually only takes about five minutes of your attention not being focused on him that he gets visibly fidgety, and he'll start voicing his feelings regarding your cruel neglect after about ten minutes.

But he's very easy to placate. The moment you turn your attention back to him, give him some pats on the head or sit in his lap and hold him close, he goes back to content smiles and cheerfulness, like a child who finally got his way after being a brat until the parent gives in. At least that makes it easy to manage, so you tell yourself. A lot of your study sessions are now spent with your book on the bed, neck craned to read it as you let him keep a tight embrace around you, nuzzling you throughout the night. Your grades do decrease nonetheless.

In fact, at this point, he practically never takes his hands off of you. Constantly has his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to him. That same lack of concept of personal space he has, and general social obtuseness, also ties into another issue he has in which he has no shame over excessive PDA. That touchiness and physical clinginess has gotten bad enough that the teachers have had to tell him it's inappropriate for the school environment more than once now. He won't hesitate to hold his arms around you or lean up against you even while talking to others. It's a bit embarrassing, but it's also quite sweet, really. You don't mind, although you do have to tell him to hold back a little bit, if people are looking, or if he's at risk of getting reprimanded by a nearby faculty member again.

That being said... it's nothing compared to the touchiness whenever you're alone.

Kalim has all the sexual eagerness and energy you'd expect from a teenage boy and then some. It can be a bit overwhelming, even.

Granted, you did have to teach him quite a bit, he was rather clueless in the beginning, but he quickly gets over that learning curve.

You're convinced it's all the boy thinks about. Every single opportunity. Even with how physically affectionate he is, even if it starts in a wholesome way, you can always feel his hands wander across your body, just barely resting on the border of what would be completely socially inappropriate in front of others, and the moment everyone else clears out or you leave whatever public space you were in, he takes it like a green light to grope you further. And the moment you get to be truly alone and behind closed doors, you're practically pounced on... not that it's limited to being in the dorms. The club room also works just fine, every now and then when Cater and Lilia just so happen to both be busy with something else. There's still a risk of someone walking by, but he insists it's not that big of a deal.

Even at lunch, in any spare time, whenever they have some form of event or announcement requiring all students to congregate in one room, he's always pressed up to you, always tilts his gaze up and down your figure, always lets his hands brush against your sides or your thighs, like he's about to burst with the extent of urges and excitement he's just barely holding back -- all of which gets unleashed on you at once whenever you do get back to your room for the day. Several times in a row. You're always left sore and spent, gasping for breath, lying flat on your back, drenched in sweat, staring up at the ceiling wondering how on earth it is humanly possible for one boy to be that horny. Even if there's the slightest sliver of opportunity, he'll take it. Truly a one-track mind.

One particular occurrence that quickly becomes habit is how he'll pull you into his lap while sitting cross-legged on the floor and rut into you like that — of course, there's not really a lot of thrusting or in-and-out movement that way, it's more grinding than anything, but it's still good, far more than you'd admit, with the way it grinds the most sensitive spots of your body against his. Besides, having you just perfectly elevated above his own position like that gives the opportunity to suckle on your tits the whole time, too.

And none of it is with asking you, or waiting for any signal of approval or anything. You imagine that, as with everything else, he doesn't consider that. He always seems happy though, always smiling and hugging you tight and talking about something or another while you lay in bed.

The daily cycle repeats and repeats. You do feel a bit more stressed than you used to, sort of... overwhelmed. Suffocated. You try to swallow it down.

Ultimately, this means that while your time is completely consumed by him, the inverse is true as well.

On that note, you do get the sense that Jamil quite appreciates you occupying so much of Kalim's time. The poor man hasn't had this much peace and tranquility in his life from the moment he was born. He certainly seems to encourage it from the beginning, even before you moved in, he would often not so subtly suggest you come by the dorm (please), Kalim really likes having you around, so you could occupy his time for a while (please), and, you know, keep him out of any antics (PLEASE). He seems to mention it virtually every time you see him, like you're some kind of fallback system he's come to depend on, or how someone might keep a certain toy to give to a kid to keep it distracted and entertained for a while. He doesn't even seem to mind picking up some of the tasks Kalim would otherwise do himself -- you imagine that he can get it done faster and more efficiently on his own, whereas involving the often airheaded housewarden might just cause problems in and of itself. For the most part, he seems to stay out of your way... you imagine he's off enjoying his free time.

However, this does also mean that some of the housewarden duties that Kalim has to be the one to do are getting neglected. Jamil has to occasionally come knocking and tell him to do this or that, because he's been putting it off for days now and the headmage is going to find out and no one wants to have to sort through whatever mess will result if he doesn't get it done. You, of course, usually get dragged into helping with whatever the task at hand is. You've written more than one speech for him now. Admittedly, trying to get any actual work done with Kalim can be incredibly frustrating, as he's so easily distracted. You have to essentially corral him back into getting things done. Okay, we can look at that later, but we have to get this done first, remember? It feels like tutoring a rambunctious kid. Tasks that should reasonably take half an hour take several hours.

But still, with everything you two do together, it's getting more and more isolated, increasingly so. You can't help but notice. Even on the weekends, he often now brings food back to his room and eats with you, rather than going back out to where everyone else is. When you ask, he just says he's kind of tired tonight. Every now and then, he'll have turned his back on you because he was grabbing something or working with something, just for a few seconds, and when he turns around, you're talking to someone... he always comes walking up. Gets very close to you, tries to butt in on the conversation. He's cheery as always, but there's still some unnerving aura to it... or maybe you're just imagining it, so you tell yourself.

On and on it goes.

It's one of those situations that you're consciously aware of, that you know is increasing in intensity, but it does so in just a perfectly gradual way, so that you don't fully realize just how bad it's gotten or how abnormal it really is until it one day just suddenly dawns on you. Where you know you ought to do something, that you can't let this go on and that it can't last forever, but you keep pushing it away by telling yourself it's not that big of a deal and you can ignore it for now -- until you eventually realize that it now is that big of a deal and you can't keep ignoring it.

You're forced to realize it, after one particular occurrence. It's no big deal. Nothing of consequence. You forget to hand in a paper during class, and it thankfully occurs to you just as you're leaving and walking down the halls. Normally, for the very last class, Kalim just heads to the club room and waits for you to get there, since it's the room right next to where he is when classes end (the walk itself is a three-minute period you're quite grateful to have to yourself). So, you're still by yourself when you realize it, almost halfway down the stairs. You turn back, quickly make your way back to the classroom to catch the teacher before he leaves. You exchange a few brief words, just one of those small casual conversations where the teacher asks you if you need anything else, congratulates you on doing well on the last exam, briefly mentions something about an upcoming event day and asks about your plans for it. Small talk. Maybe ten minutes. You bid him farewell. Exit the room.

And are nearly tackled just a few steps out of the room.

There you are!

You lose your balance, would have fallen over if not for Kalim's arms clinging to your body.

Where were you? You didn't show up for a while, he was getting really concerned, and did you not check your phone because he sent you like ten texts the past few minutes and what were you busy with anyway and Lilia kept trying to tell him to stay and wait for you but he couldn't just do that so he came looking for you and found you and now here you are! Ah... don't worry him like that, okay?

You stand there, blinking, slackjawed. O-Okay... Sorry, I--I didn't...

Nah, don't worry, it's all good! He's back to smiling now. He was just super worried, but it's okay, you just forgot to tell him. He forgets stuff all the time, so he gets it. Anyway...

He changes the subject as he turns back to walk back to the club room -- but you can't help but notice the iron grip on your wrist is far tighter than normal, practically dragging you away. You don't really pay much attention to what he's saying. You feel a twisting, heavy sensation in your gut. That in and of itself wasn't particularly bad, but somehow, it seems to make it all come together, it all seems to sort of click with you all at once. Perhaps you were just giving him the benefit of the doubt because he's so sweet, or just ignoring it for the same reason, but you come to the unnerving realization of just how truly abnormal this is. You know it's not normal, and really, not acceptable, not healthy. You start thinking back to things in the past you've just let slide, realizing it probably wasn't the best idea.

You're so overwhelmed, it feels like you're going crazy. He's so nice, he really is, but you just can't take it. You even try saying something about how you need "space," but it goes in one ear and out the other -- he interprets that as not being quite as physically clingy for a few days before going right back to it.

It's from that resolution that, after one long night of sleeplessly mulling it over, you make a mistake: you start to try and avoid him.

Just a little. You figure it can't hurt, he won't notice. You just... try to get a bit of time to yourself. When you don't have a class with him, you rush out the door as soon as the class lets out rather than taking your time when packing up, to ensure he doesn't have time to get there before you exit the room. That way, you can take a few minutes to yourself, walk around campus or sit on a bench and enjoy not having someone breathing down your neck and looking over your shoulder the whole time.

Using the previous event that he got so worked up over as inspiration, you'll say you forgot to turn something in for a teacher and use the excuse to go run off and take a few minutes to sit in a room by yourself, sometimes intentionally "forgetting" to drop it off or turn it in so you can hold out the assignment in question to validate the excuse by him seeing it with his own eyes, avoiding suspicion. Whenever you get a spare moment where he's busy, you'll wander off somewhere he can't find you. Ignore his texts for a few minutes, claim you didn't see it because your phone was on silent for class earlier. Wait for him to come looking for you. Sometimes when the dorm students are all hanging out, you make some excuse to leave -- ah, my head hurts. Or I'm really exhausted. Or I'm not feeling so good. Soon followed, of course, with insistence on him staying. No, no, don't worry about me, I'm just going to lay down, I don't want to keep you from having fun... you can just come check on me later, right...? And he'll usually oblige after you insist a few times.

Not everyday, so as to not make it obvious, just every few days or so, you take the opportunities you get to catch some time to yourself. So on and so on. Surely he won't really notice. It's just a few minutes here and there. You're still spending the vast majority of every waking moment with him.

And at first, you're pretty sure he doesn't. Seems to accept the excuses, goes right back to his usual cheerfulness and cuddliness.

And then once becomes a few times, then ten, and so on. Something gradually begins to change. You sense an aura of worry from him, a nervous edge to his otherwise pleasant expression and tone of voice.

He's very well aware something is wrong. He's noticed your sudden aversions and seeming avoidance, even though he's normally too dense to pick up on such things, you've made it too obvious.

Did he do something wrong? Are you mad? You're not gonna break up with him, are you? You wouldn't do that to him, right? The very thought makes him feel sick. But... no, you wouldn't do that. You have no reason to. You're probably just being kind of moody or something. He remembers plenty of times how Jamil's sister would get upset at her brother for seemingly no reason, how he would occasionally sigh and make comments about how she's in one of her bad moods, can't be helped... maybe you have something like that too. That makes sense to him. But just in case, he's sure to buy you a bunch of extra expensive stuff over the course of the next week. Maybe it will cheer you up, too.

Yeah, you have no reason to be actually mad. Unless, of course, someone was influencing you somehow. Maybe someone else is saying things to you and making you so upset, or maybe someone might try and convince you to leave him or something. That happens, doesn't it? It happens in movies and stuff at least. That makes him feel sick all over again. But how would you be interacting with someone...?

Oh... well, you do have those weird gaps of time these days... a few minutes here or there where he can't find you. Maybe that's it. This is one of those "read between the lines" situations where what you say isn't really what you mean, even if you don't realize it. If he gives you "space," you'll just get attached to someone else.

While you're never aware of the thought process he has that day, you notice things getting worse. You pack up and run out of the classroom as fast as you can, but somehow he's already there. You say you need to drop something off, but he insists on going with you this time. Even if you keep saying you just want to go lay down and he should stay and keep talking with the other students, he just shakes his head, says something about how he can't just leave you alone.

His tone is sweet as always, but there's something to it that wasn't there before. Almost a sort of nervousness, an intensity, a forcefulness out of paranoia. You're not sure it's intentional, in fact, you're pretty certain he isn't at all self-aware of how pushy he is nor how he seems to be getting increasingly... anxious, really. Like there's a sort of worry in the back of his mind, that he's only aware of subconsciously, but acting upon nonetheless.

Even when you're walking around campus, his grip is tighter, and never lets up for even a second, like you're some dog on a leash that's going to bolt away the moment he relaxes his grip. You can't open your phone for a single second without him immediately peering over your shoulder to look.

He never says anything. He doesn't really act out of the ordinary. But there are those subtle, small signs. His grip is tighter, he sits closer than ever, he seems to keep his eyes on you more than he ever has. In particular, one blatantly noticeable change is that one night at random, he switches spots with you on the bed -- you used to be on the open side and him on the side against the wall, but now, without saying a word, he switches. Now you're against the wall side... you couldn't get up and out of bed and out the door without having to crawl over him, and inevitably wake him up. You try to tell yourself it wasn't intentional.

Apparently, though, whenever he can't find you, he doesn't hesitate to go to get others to help him. More than once, you've been stopped by Scarabia students in the halls -- oh, it's you, we all got a message saying you were lost or something... you try to avoid them when you see them.

Jamil doesn't exactly help, either. In fact, you tried to go to him once, mustered up the courage to try and ask him if he could help you maybe talk to Kalim or give you advice on how to handle it. But to your bewilderment, you're more or less gaslighted.

Really? It doesn't seem like you spend that much time together. You're probably just stressed from something else, and it's making you uneasy. Happens to everyone, don't worry.

You still try and reason with him, but he seems to shut you down, keeps repeating the same thing. Eventually you have to give up on trying to get any help from him. Although his words do make you feel rather neurotic for some time. That's not right, right? You're not making it up, it's not all in your head. You know what you've been experiencing... right? You have to shake the paranoia off. You're not sure why he would say such a thing though... none of it makes sense.

Jamil doesn't make things any easier for you either. Don't expect him not to very readily tell Kalim, whenever he's searching all around for you, that yes, you did come by here, you went in that direction, and you were probably headed for that specific location, so he should definitely go search there and spend time with you and not do literally anything else. Unlike the other Scarabia students, with Jamil it's not a matter of running into them directly -- you've had times where, after being found, Kalim makes some remark about oh, Jamil told me he saw you out the window, or otherwise vaguely made it clear who was the one to rat you out on your location, even though you never ran into him or even saw him. You begin to feel paranoid that you're being watched, any time you move around campus.

And each time, you get found faster and faster. Sometimes he finds you in minutes, before you can even try to find somewhere to rest. It's like he's developing some sixth sense, like he can somehow sense where you are.

...In fact, after a while, it reaches a level that it's unnatural. There's no way he's coincidentally finding you, or even relying on others.

One thought comes to mind. At first, you tell yourself you're being paranoid, that there's no way... but eventually you give into the paranoia, one day when you have just a few spare minutes in your room while he's right outside talking to some students, and you go searching through your bag. You're not hopeful, it's just a slight chance, but... yeah, no, there seems to be nothing there. You start to feel dumb for even considering--

Wait. There is something there. At the very, very bottom, underneath all the books. Some tiny, flat square shaped piece of hard plastic... barely the size of a bottlecap. You don't recognize it. There's nothing written on it. You start to feel a bit queasy.

You're still staring at it in your shaky hands when the door opens again. You swallow. Your voice comes out wavering. Hey, Kalim...?

Mm? He tilts his head, turning his attention towards you. You hold the object out.

What is this thing?

You were hoping for confusion, that he would have no idea, and even if not, you would expect some sheepishness, some sense of panic. But no. His expression doesn't even change.

Oh, that! I got that so I don't have to worry about losing track of you. Neat, isn't it?

Not even a hint of guilt or self-awareness. No, he just starts talking about how cool it is, it's technically military technology because it's so indestructible and will bypass metal detectors and wavelength sensors and stuff, it can track to any location in the world and it's technically not available to civilians, but his father has connections and all so he asked him to get one, and -- hey, is something wrong?

He finally seems to notice the wide-eyed look of distress on your face. You swallow.

O-oh... no, I just... you didn't... say any...

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. You say the first thing that comes to your impulse.

Hey, do you mind if I go take a walk? I just... need to clear my head a bit.

You start to move towards the door. You're stopped when he side-steps to block your path.

Eh? What's wrong?

You insist it's nothing. You say you just feel pent up. For once, you wish he was more dense than he is, because he certainly catches on to the wavering in your quiet, nervous voice.

Hey, you can tell me whatever it is. You look like you're really worried about something.

No, I just...

You take a few steps back. You find yourself stammering. You feel sick. Your heart is beating too fast. You try to make your way to the door slowly, casually, like you're relaxed, like you're not desperately trying to get away. You take a step to the side, start to walk in a circle as you try to distract him by saying something about how you've just been cooped up in the room for too long, and you'll only be gone a minute or so, and--

This time, in one swift movement, his hand lashes out and latches onto your arm. A grip so tight it's painful.

Hey, you're not going to go talk to someone else, right?

The words take you aback. Your eyes widen. You take a few moments to respond, it's such a random, unexpected question. It's so out of nowhere, the very notion seems like such a bizarre conclusion to draw. He doesn't say it angrily or anything, no, more like he's genuinely curious... but there's a clear note of worry to his voice.

Why did he come to that conclusion? You shake your head. No, I... I don't know why you'd think that, I...

He seems to notice the confusion and unease on your face. His own returns to that same smile as always. Ah, good. You had me worried. Haha...

Anyway... you should lay down. That will help you clear your head more than walking will. Besides, how is he supposed to know where you are if you're not carrying your bag? It's not like you get a choice -- it's not presented as a suggestion, he says it whilst simultaneously grabbing you by the waist and carrying you over to bed. He's pretty tired too! You can both rest for a while... you notice him grab the tracking chip off the bed where you set it down and loosely toss it back into your bag, before setting you down. Promptly jumping into bed as well. And his arms lock like a constrictor around your body, pulling your back up against his chest.

You can still feel your heart beating in your chest. The wrongness of the situation is setting in, every part of your brain is sounding alarm bells. That, with absolute certainty, you know is not normal, and more importantly, it's almost frightening. It feels like a weight compressing your chest as you realize just how deep of a hole you've dug yourself into, and you don't know how to safely get out. You can't even go talk to someone else, because he'll be right there. The more you think, the more nauseous you feel.

One other thing bothers you. He usually can fall asleep within a minute or two of laying down, and yet, you can still feel his hand stroking up and down your stomach. There's a heavy, silent tension. You keep trying to think of how to word what you want to say. After a few moments, though, he speaks before you can even summon the right words. His voice is unusually quiet.

Hey, you're not mad at me, right?

You stiffen.

I... no, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... come across that way....

Oh, good. You can feel him sigh. You seem kinda upset or something.

You stay quiet. Your mouth feels dry. You swallow. But you're given the opportunity, you can't just let it pass without finally getting out what you've been thinking.

...Listen.

He doesn't say anything, but you feel him shift his head. You're not sure if that's a good sign or not. Not being able to see his face makes it a bit easier, though, to get the words out.

I think... I think maybe we should, ah.... t-take... take a break.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you finish, clenching your jaw. Waiting for some kind of negative reaction. He sits upright.

But when you cautiously open your eyes, he looks... elated?

Oh! Like a vacation? That would be great! You should come back home with him! He's actually been thinking a lot about something like that. It's a good thing you mention it. He's mentioned you to his parents like ten times now, and they say they want to meet you, and you know there's that week you're all out of class coming up, and that would be a really good time to do it.

He keeps going on and on about it. It feels like some cruel joke from a higher power. You just sit there, staring forward with glazed-over eyes. Up until, that is, he says something about how he'll go call them, and be right back, and then leaps out of bed to go right outside for better service.

Hey, wait--Kalim--

You stumble over to the door in a panic, intending to try and stop him before he can. You reach out, grasp the handle, turn the knob.

It's... locked. From the outside.

...When did that get installed? You're certain no such mechanism was there before... when did...?

It's too much. You start to feel nauseous again. You're overwhelmed. You find yourself not even making it to the bed, instead laying flat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. It's not like you can leave... you'll just... well, you'll just have to wait for him to come back. As much as that thought makes you uneasy, as much as everything is setting off your panic, you have no other choice. You drape your forearm over your eyes.

God, what have I gotten myself into...

...

On the other end, though, he's actually really glad you expressed interest in coming home with him. Well, you didn't explicitly say that, but basically the same thing. In fact, he's been thinking about taking you home for quite some time!

His parents have always been very persuasive people, especially considering the money and power involved that they have at their disposal... he sort of associates them with things working out for him. The few times he's ever had any issues, usually one phone call home is all it takes, and his parents will resolve the issue. Maybe they can sort of push you along the right direction too... after all, they do want him to get married as soon as he graduates.

And even if they don't approve, which would be the worst case scenario, he's already been thinking about how to deal with that, too! He's actually pretty proud of himself for really planning ahead for once.

It's just like how he initially got you into his room. Doing something underhanded to ensure things work out for him doesn't strike him as wrong.

What was it his parents used to say, whenever he was first getting ready to go out into the world and all that? That he should enjoy himself and have fun and meet people, but to avoid one specific thing.

Have all the fun you want, but don't you dare get...

The reasoning was... ah, something something scandal and disgrace to the family and all that... he wasn't really listening. But he knows that whenever there's some big scandal in the world of high-power people, they rush to cover it up. So they would help him, right? They'd help ensure things worked out in his favor.

In fact, he's already been trying a little bit. Got one of those pins they use for the classroom corkboards and keeps poking holes in those condoms... and takes them off a lot when you're not looking... but nothing has come of that yet, he's sure, because you would have said something. Ah, well, it'll probably just take some time. Sure, his parents will be SO mad... but he can accept that, so long as they then help him work things out the way he's hoping for. It seems like a good plan... or rather, an impulsive idea he had that he just sort of went with. He's not really the type to think things through, you know.

#i love my baby boy he is dense as a brick wall #jamil the whole time is like that meme of squidward sunbathing and pulling the sunglasses down to squint but then just lays right back down #jamil 🤝 jade 'immediate willingness to compromise ethics for some peace and quiet'#kalim showing up to his parents home with visibly pregnant darling in tow like '👉👈 :3333'#yandere twst

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roeroe-world · 5 months

Text

her.

starring: ryan destiny as juno, method man as himself

set in the memorable summer of ‘95 in Atlanta.

warning: detailed smut warning , use of profanity and drugs, very long scene ahead

Sweat beads drips amongst his caramel coated skin as he tosses a close by dry towel on top of his slightly nappy braids. Exhaustion yet adrenaline pouring over his 6 foot 3 frame, returning backstage. Mef had just finished a show and more than ready to return to his hotel room, hearing the bed calling—screaming his name. Although the crowd still going wild knocked the calling out of the park by a long shot.

“Yo! We killed that shit!” His friend and fellow artist, Redman, shouts while breathing intensely before the two would dap one another up.

Not only did Mef perform but a few artists performed beside him as well. Wu-Tang Clan members joined to perform a couple tracks together. Redman wasn’t exactly scheduled to perform though Mef decided to bring him out anyway. As a result, the fans loved it.

Mef was sweating bullets, breathing as heavy as ever, and physically tired. He desired to give his fans a great show— no fuck ‘great’ — he wanted his set to be amazing. Mef crowd surfed, brought out his group members and Redman whom was making a ton of noise on the streets, gave the audience his 110 percent of energy… now he needed to chill.

“Tryna hit up a club?” Redman’s inquiry earns a chuckle from the rapper as he takes a hit of the blunt he’s passed. “Nigga, I ain’t tryna hit nothin’.” Seriousness within his raspy, deep tone while observing his crowded surroundings with a head shake. Backstage was heavily crowded tonight.

“Shit…” The fellow rapper kisses his teeth, the two walking alongside each other. “I don’t know ‘bout you but I’m definitely tryna hit something before I leave tomorrow morning. I saw some fly ass bitches in the crowd.” He caught himself staring at a plethora of women passing by. Atlanta was filled with beautiful women. Not only were they gorgeous but their bodies were out of this world.

Maybe it was the Southern meals. However, whatever, they were stacked. Ranging from big to small, nonetheless, the women were captivating.

The women flocked at Mef’s every direction. It was no secret that he’s a chick magnet. Women loved him and he loved them too. Though he’s surrounded by a fish of captivating beauties with perfect bodies. The only chick on his mind is his current on and off girlfriend, Tamika. No matter how many women threw themselves at him, she’s all he ever thinks about often.

His love life was no-one’s business so therefore he hardly ever spoke about her publicly. She isn’t involved in his lifestyle, doesn’t want a damn thing to do with it. Currently, they’re having issues and not exactly on speaking terms at the moment. But as far as he’s concerned that’s still his.

Self-medicating himself with drugs and alcohol kept him afloat as he did his shows, although it didn’t help much. He didn’t really want to express his girl problems to his homies because their issues were absolutely none of their business. But he knows bottling his emotions weren’t healthy.

Between the pressure of maintaining his booming rap career and remaining in a committed relationship, it was growing a bit overwhelming. He has a lot of pent up frustration built that he possesses no clue of what to do with it so until then… he would continue to self-medicate.

After turning down yet another girl, an unopened bottle of Cristal found its way into his masculine large right hand— the moment it’s open he engulfs the alcoholic beverage as he welcomed himself near a table which was seated backstage.

“Damn, you good?” A sultry feminine southern accent meets his eardrums though he continues to drink not ready to meet eyes with the random voice just yet. “The only time a person drinks like that is when they going through somethin’.”

Suddenly, he drops the bottle from his lips and averts his low gaze into the woman’s direction before being immediately taken off guard by her beauty; Her skin coated a beautiful clear shade of brown. Dark irises shaped like an almond, similar to a siren. Her round face fit her perfectly as well as the short pixie cut she’s sporting.

The woman’s lips began moving though he wasn’t exactly paying attention to what was exiting them. He just knew the pair appeared very plump and juicy, adorned by red lipstick with a little gloss coat. It wasn’t long before he snaps out of his daze, catching, “The name’s Juno. I noticed you over here by yourself and decided to bless you with my company.” Redman had left awhile ago to tend to his needs for the night.

She wasn’t nervous, afraid, nor inappropriate. Her almond shaped eyes peered into his as she spoke clear enough for him to hear.

Confidence. He loved that shit.

A friendly grin forms across his lips, sneaking a quick glance of her outfit. Which happened to be a lace choker surrounding her neck, a crop top showcasing her belly button ring, a pair of short denim shorts as well as a pair of Air Max ‘95’s. She had a few tattoos too.

“I’m straight. ‘Preciate you for your concern.” Not to be cocky but he didn’t really feel the need to introduce himself if she came out to his show.

“If you don’t mind me asking… how you get back here?”

Chuckling to herself, “Backstage pass.” She motions to the pass in her hand and he nods, lifting the bottle near his lips. This time his eyes closely but slowly eyeing her frame. He definitely liked what he saw. “I don’t mean to talk your ear off but I really enjoyed your show tonight. You did your thing especially with your album.”

“Preciate it, shorty. What’s your favorite joint on the album?” More than likely, he was expecting it be the All I Need Remix with Mary J. Blige. The track was a huge success.

“Tical. That’s my shit.” Genuine smiles etched across both of their lips, finding themselves staring at each other.

“You smoke?” His inquiry earns a playful scoff, giving him a look, “Nigga, I’m the blazing queen. I bet my rolling skills better than yours.”

“Yo, what? Hell nah…” Mef laughs aloud, “You know what? We just might have to see ‘cause that ain’t possible. What you finna get into?”

————

A limousine ride and several drinks later, the two arrived to the Four Seasons. Mef would be residing there for the night. Underneath his long eyelashes, his squinted dark irises analyzes the rolled blunt closely. As much as he wanted to find a flaw… he couldn’t. Damn. He thought to himself, slightly impressed.

“Shit, you cool with me.” He places the perfectly rolled blunt between his lips, throwing his hands up in defense. “Told you.” The woman sticks out her tongue teasingly, grabbing her lighter out of her purse and sparking up the blunt for him.

Juno watches as the smoke blows smoothly between his lips, his gaze low and slightly dead. The side of his canvas showcasing red lipstick stains due to her kissing on the cheek multiple times during the limo ride. She couldn’t help but to run her hair over his nappy cornrows, a slight grin etched upon her mouth as the smell of marijuana engulfed the spacious hotel room.

Her exposed left leg rests on top of his thigh while he caresses her soft skin gently. The pair sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the peacefulness of the atmosphere and one another’s company.

“You should let me rebraid your hair.”

“Unh, unh, I’m tender headed, shorty.” He passes the blunt to the young woman, eyeing her once more. “You can massage my head though.” Neither of the two broke eye contact as she took a hit, exhaling slowly, blowing out o’s.

“Which head?” She quizzes boldly and Mef immediately catches on to her sexual innuendo.

“Which ever you feel comfortable with.” Mef’s low intense gaze immediately makes her nervous so she glances away, very intoxicated though shocked herself that she’s in Method Man’s hotel room with Method Man.

Juno loved the fact that he didn’t push himself on her or made any sexual advances. She’d heard a lot of rumors about rappers but Mef doesn’t appear to be that way. He was chill, nonchalant, hilarious and quite charismatic. And to mention… very fine. She always believed he was handsome from the moment she laid eyes on him upon seeing a photograph of him in the Source Magazine.

His roughneck look fit him perfectly. Now that she’s up close and personal, she could definitely see why the women went crazy. He was a pretty boy with a raspy, deep New York accent that could make you melt.

The moment Juno breaks their eye contact to avert her gaze downward, he finds himself looking away as well. Silence falling between the pair. Tamika’s face racing through his brain yet again. It was an ongoing thing the entire night though he’s in the company of a striking beauty.

“You hungry?” Her inquiry began to remind him, he’s starving. Not only that but he had the munchies. Of course, he’s hungry. He hadn’t ate much after the show and that was hours ago. Now it’s peeking on two in the morning. “Yeah, room service doesn’t sound too bad, huh?”

“Yeah, no…” She stops him from reaching for the phone with a laugh. “I know a place way better.” His eyeballs fell upon her plump backside as she crawls across the bed, sitting on her knees while the satisfying sound of her mid-length French tip acrylics meets the dialing pad. Her vanilla scent danced in and out of his nostrils the entire night, though, he couldn’t lie; a woman with good hygiene turns him on.

Mef finds himself traveling from the edge of the bed to plop his head on a nearby pillow, continuing to smoke the blunt Juno rolled moments before. Feeling a dip on the bed as she places their order, she turns to see him lying on his back comfortably. More importantly, in the bed wearing shoes.

Raising a brow at the sight, the call ended and the young woman sends a light smack to his bottom leg. “Boy, if you don’t take them damn shoes off.” Laying closely beside his being, snatching the blunt from between his lips and planting between hers instead.

He kisses his teeth playfully, “This my fuckin’ bed but since you told me to take my shoes off, I will.” The rapper sits up to do as told. “Happy?”

“You had a show tonight too so don’t take this wrong… you should freshen up— I’m not saying that you stink ‘cause you don’t. I’m just saying.” She shrugs, blowing the smoke through her nostrils.

The slight annoyance of her demands quickly subsided due to her looks.

“Coming in my hotel room and telling me what to do… you lucky you fine.” He speaks truthfully with a head shake, heading for the bathroom for a much needed shower.

————

“Taste this.” She scoops a good amount of sweet potato pie onto the plastic spoon, bringing it to Mef’s lips. He hums as the sweetness enters his taste buds. “Good ain’t it?” A wide grin falls upon her captivating face as he sends her a nod as a response.

Awhile after Mef’s shower, their food arrived. It was a nearby Soul Food restaurant. The food was delicious and he couldn’t deny it. The next time he would come to the A, he would definitely be eating there again.

“I got a question.”

Putting their plastic containers to the side, she retorts, “Ask away.”

“You ain’t got a man?” A chuckle passes her lips at the question. “As good as you look I know some nigga wanna lock you down or got you locked down.”

His statement made her mentally scoff. “If a nigga had me locked down, I wouldn’t be in this hotel room with you.” Her love life isn’t a topic she’s too enthralled in discussing. She didn’t completely answer the question because she doesn’t feel obligated to.

“Word.” He nods.

“You got a girl?” Almost in an instant, he stops nodding but tries to play it off. Juno is really good at reading body language so she knew instantly. “You love her?” Mef doesn’t bother to meet eye contact, telling the young woman everything she needs to know.

Silence falls amongst the pair until the rapper breaks it, “…just some issues going on right now.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. Juno could hear it in his tone.

“We don’t gotta talk about it. I ain’t tryna pressure you.”

There was sudden mood shift. Both of them could feel it. Juno instantly regretted asking the question because it seemed as if he was still in his feelings over the woman.

“If that’s a dealbreaker for you then… you can leave if you want. I’ll be aight. I enjoyed your company.” With a sigh, he stands to his feet and prepares to walk off to another direction of the hotel room.

Silently, the young woman mentally contemplated whether to leave or not. He had a whole woman at home which whom he’s in love with. Sure, they were having their problems, but what relationship didn’t? She just knew that if she was in the other woman’s shoes, she would be crushed to find out her man is in a hotel room with an another woman being fed.

Though, if she would leave then Mef would still be upset, drinking away his sorrows like how she saw him prior. Deep inside, something made her want to help him feel better. She wasn’t sure how it felt to date him and doesn’t want to know. She couldn’t make him forget about her.

But just for the night, she wanted to make him feel something. She wanted to make him feel good.

She doesn’t owe his girlfriend or whatever she is to him any absolute loyalty. Juno had one of her man crushes in the same room as her so she’s going to take her chance.

Standing to her feet, Juno struts behind his chair, her hips swaying side to side seductively. Mef feels a presence behind him but stays put, thinking nothing of it. Her dainty hands meets the top of both of his shoulders, caressing the pair softly before sliding them along his clothed chest and between his legs.

His attire consisted of a plain baggy white beater and a pair of basketball shorts. Juno didn’t understand why he didn’t settle with the hotel bathrobe because it would’ve been easier access.

Removing her touch, her smooth glowing legs leads her in front of his frame. Mef’s legs were stretched wide, his arms resting on the arms of the chair while his low seductive gaze peered upward in her direction before traveling downward with her sudden movements. Juno was on her knees, pulling his shorts to his ankles to reveal what she’d been aching to lay eyes on for so long.

Mef remained silent, observing her actions closely. It was crystal clear what she wanted and he was going to give it to her.

It was exactly what she imagined. Long, thick, veiny, very well-endowed. He was ecstatic to see her just as much as she was. Without a hesitation, Juno devours him into her mouth and the minute she does, his head tosses backward with a low groan.

His groans would transition into small moans and the moans eventually grew louder. Juno was ravishing him like he was her last meal. Sucking, licking, finding herself kissing it as if it was a trophy. Her right hand wrapped around his phallus, stroking him to perfection. The other down her shorts, playing with herself.

The strapless crop top slid below her perky breasts, revealing the pair due to her hard work. Mef averts his attention onto the beauty giving him the best head he’s ever received. Though, he couldn’t help to notice a name tatted on her left breast that read ‘Dante’ in cursive. He ignores the observation and focuses on her Oscar-winning mouth instead. His hand found itself onto her head, not giving a single fuck about her hair or the fact that she has another man’s name tatted on her.

Her head bobbed up and down, creating beautiful music to their ears. Juno’s mouth reminded him of a vacuum, a beautiful and very skilled vacuum as she sucked like no tomorrow. This wasn’t her first time. She was much too skilled and he had no absolute complaints. He was in bliss. So deep in bliss that he grew close, an orgasm he isn’t ready for just yet. Too quick.

He found himself slightly trying to push her head back, lifting his waist off the chair a bit. She notices before saying, “Don’t run, papa.” Upon quickly going back to work, his toes began curling at the intense pleasure. A plethora of curse words exiting his mouth, “Fuck…”

Moments later after attempting to hold back, he finally let go while she sucked him dry, swallowing every drop. His body shook slightly, a low groan passing his throat. Pools of brown peering into one another’s as Juno took her time to undress, peeling off every piece of clothing one by one teasingly. Initially she was planning to leave after giving him the best head of his life but he was still up at attention, intensely staring in her direction hungrily. Apparently, there was still a job needed to be completed. Who was she to back out of a challenge?

Mef was growing impatient.

No longer seated in the chair, he towers the young woman before lifting her small frame into his arms by her legs while forcing himself inside. His lips crashing into hers. “Oh, fuck…” Her jaw drops at the sudden sensation of him inside her love. Not giving her much time to adjust. Her back was pressed against the wall as he sent the woman powerhouse strokes, arms pinned above her head. His hips circling round and round much to her pleasure.

Her constant wetness and tightness around his phallus kept his top row of pearly whites embedded into his bottom lip. Juno’s eyebrows furrowing together from the pleasure and the pain. The more he had his way with her, the louder she would become. The pair found themselves all over the room, making their mark as well as pushing a few things out of their path, items in which broke. They couldn’t care less about the complaints.

Bent over on the edge of the bed, Juno glances backward at the rapper behind her frame underneath her low gaze. Loud moans exiting her throat. “F-Fuck me like that..” Mef’s head was thrown back, gripping her waist while he gave her his all. He was fucking her so good that she was speechless and she’s usually vocal during sex.

“Mef, oh Mef, oh papa…” Her juices coating his phallus was a hell of a sight. He loved the fact that she was making such a mess because of him. He had her screaming, scratching his back, cursing him out, squirting everywhere, fucking up the sheets, legs wide open as if it wasn’t almost four o’clock. Mef had a flight in three hours yet that hadn’t seem to cross his mind.

Nothing seemed to cross his mind when he had a beautiful woman screaming his name and squeezing around him.

“What, baby?” He quizzes, dragging his tongue across his lips for the millionth time. “Fuck…” Mef couldn’t get over how incredibly wet she was. The sounds were driving him insane. “This pussy so fuckin’ wet for me, mama.” Sending a smack to her backside, she began to throw it back.

His mouth falls agape slightly as he watches her, “Juno, shit.” He couldn’t let her get the best of him again so he flips her over onto her back, pressing her wide legs upon her shoulders, pounding into the woman mercilessly. At this point, she was screaming to the top of her lungs. “Just like that, papa!” Her dainty manicured hands resting on the bottom of her thighs, no matter the pain, she loved it. Not once did she tap out nor push him back. She loved that rough shit.

Juno liked to be fucked like a slut and she was sure that Mef had a lot of pent up anger which she desired for him to take out on her.

Dark brown irises peering down in her direction and suddenly he decided to deepen his strokes before leaning in closer to her face. Both of them admiring one another’s canvas. Her top row of pearly whites embedded into her bottom lip, their eyes meeting instantly. They made a lot of eye contact during their activities but not like this… not in this position.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” He compliments the young woman below his being before bringing their lips into a passionate union. “You so perfect.” His dick continuously jabbing at her spot and it wasn’t as rough anymore, it was long and passionate strokes.

Juno wanted to fuck. Not make love nor fall in love.

The dick already had her willing to die for it. The consistent compliments, the dirty talk, the choking, his skillful strokes. Mef knew exactly what he was doing in bed. They were going at it for sometime now and his energy amazed her.

The way he stared at her as if he wanted to do any and everything for her as if he actually loved her. But she knows he doesn’t. He’d only met her a few hours prior. She could never be the woman he was drowning himself in sorrows about. She could never be her. This feeling of his love is temporary. She knew she would never see him again after tonight.

The thought hurt.

Mef’s love brought her to tears, caressing his shoulders and beautiful face to pretend as if she was his girl. As if he was hers. He belonged to someone else. But for right now, Mef belonged to her and she was going to fuck him like no tomorrow.

Regaining her strength, Juno flips the two over to gain control. Bouncing on top of the rapper energetically earning a plethora of groans as he sends several smacks to her backside. Suddenly, his firm right hand grips her neck, thumb sliding between her lips and she sucks on it. “Tell me you love this dick.” He demands, scanning her bare frame and the sight of their bodies colliding together for the millionth time.

“I love this dick.” She does as demanded and though it was a demand, it was the absolute truth. His dick fit her perfectly. “Papa… are you gonna cum for me?” Sucking his thumb seductively, her hips moved in a circular motion, desiring to feel him breed her again. No, she isn’t having his baby. She didn’t want to have his baby. There was no absolute use of protection but she does happen to be on the pill.

Without another word, he nods, completely speechless. She was really putting it on him from her mouth to her everything. For her final move, she leans forward to plant a few sensual kisses along his neck before whispering, “Come inside your pussy,” into his ear. It drove him wild when she called her pussy his. Over the years, she learned that men loved that.

Mef began to fuck her back from underneath the woman, palming her plump backside as his orgasm approaches. His mouth slightly agape in amazement, watching her breasts bounce in his face.

The moment the tip of his dick started to jab at her spot, her orgasm was quickly approaching as well. “Fuck, papa, I’m gonna cum!” His thrusts grew rougher and moreover, the pair found themselves releasing in unison. Their eyes meeting while riding their high, mouths wide open.

For some reason, Mef made sure she felt every drop of his semen. She guessed that it was because he knows it intensifies her orgasms.

“Damn.” Breathing heavily, Mef eyes the woman hopping off of his frame as slow as she could due to her body being sore and slightly limping to the bathroom. A light proud smirk creeps amongst his lips, eyelids shutting to get some sleep.

Light footsteps meets his eardrums yet again so his low tired gaze falls upon a naked Juno whom is getting dressed to his dismay. He wasn’t ready for her to go.

“Leaving me already?”

A giggle passing her throat, she slides on her underwear then came her denim shorts. “You and I both know what this was, Mef.” Her statement results in the rapper’s head to tilt backward in offense, immediately getting out of bed to throw on a pair of the basketball shorts that was laying sloppily on the floor to make his way towards the woman.

“Yeah…” He began. “It was two people who got together and enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Don’t you got a flight to catch in like what two hours?” She found his reaction to her getting ready to leave quite comical. They didn’t really know one another from a can of paint.

“So. That don’t mean you gotta leave yet, shorty.”

Sighing heavily, a captivating smile gracing her lips, “It doesn’t. But after you leave… you have someone to go home to. Never take that for granted.” Sliding her crop top through her head and adjusting it onto her chest. “Not many people have that.” Soon came her socks and shoes.

Juno was unlike any other woman he’d been with sexually. Maybe he was blinded by lust or her looks or the fact that she’s the epitome of cool. He wanted to keep in contact with her, at least. He definitely wanted to link up again.

“Can I at least get your number?”

“Go home to your girlfriend, nigga.” She replies humorously, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “I enjoyed you, Method Man.” Planting emphasis on his stage name, she pauses through the open door before waltzing in front of his tall frame. Her tattooed arms wrapping around his neck and he leans downward mindlessly, connecting their lips passionately.

One last taste.

Their tongues fight for dominance. Enjoying the taste of one another. Eventually, Mef wins. His hands falling just above her covered backside. Nibbling softly on her bottom lip as she pulls away, sliding her hand down his chest. His intense low gaze peering down at the young woman whom was admiring his half-naked silhouette.

His girl would be dumb to let him slip out of her hands.

Finally, she walks away and he watches her until she’s no longer in his peripheral. The moment she steps outside of the hotel room, her back presses against the wall before tossing her head backward in disbelief.

“Did I just do that?” She mouths to herself.

Moments after squealing softly to herself, Juno saunters for the elevator, feeling like a whole other woman.

#method man #90s #ryan destiny #smut #wu tang clan #redman #black men #black women #black beauty #black fiction #fiction

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