#(not at me just at the general lack of staff to help)

[lilbit-of-kizzy]

Literally every single person all year when they realize I don't work for the store but the product:

Oh! You're a vendor (neutral/fascinated/impressed)! My bad!

Lady today:

Oh, you're a vendor (derogatory) *walks away with no further context*

Like I'm not really upset or anything but I was just standing there like "???? Who hurt you????"

[witherby]

More mermaid please! Pretty please! With sprinkles on top!

With sprinkles? Can't say no to that, can I 😏🍦

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader, part 5

The previous part is Here!

The locks to the tank entrance have changed. When Damian tries his key, it doesn't turn, which nearly takes him to his knees. His fists clench, the flesh of his palms soon littered with crescent moon indentations, and he storms away from the gate to your enclosure.

He's been separated from you for two weeks and it's taken a toll on you both. You were sedated too heavily from your tank escape to perform the next day, so your exhibit was closed, but when you were aware enough you absolutely refused to come out from your castle spire.

Clark, the on-staff physician in charge of general animal welfare at the aquarium, is unable to treat your scrapes and other wounds from beaching yourself. Getting too close to you ended in him rushing out with gashes in his arm and cheek, bloodied from your razor-sharp talons. He promises Damian he doesn't hold it against you, knowing how much you adored the youngest Wayne and how big of an upset his absence caused.

Your new primary handler was trying his damndest to bond with you, but the first time you surfaced to the top of your tank and didn't see Damian, you shrieked and splashed him, then refused to come up again even for your feedings. They've had to resort to dumping the food into the water for you to fetch instead, and even still you barely pick at it.

Bruce can't get anywhere near you. When you catch sight of him, you bellow and try to breach the tank to hurt him. Damian doesn't feel particularly upset by this when he's told about it.

You only show yourself when Damian leads tours through your part of the Aquarium, pacing around the tunnels and dragging your claws against the glass, otherwise you are never seen. Concerned customers ask about your missing scales and why you seem so desperate to get to him, but he can't do anything except grit his teeth and give them the pre-approved answers per his script.

You're also starting to exhibit depressive symptoms: aimless spinning through the water when you leave your castle spire, discoloration in your tail and fins, lack of appetite, and large bouts of lethargy are the biggest signs.

To put it simply — you miss Damian so much the stress is hurting you. If there's no serious turnaround soon, it's going to turn into a medical crisis.

Damian waltzes into Bruce's office without fanfare. The older man doesn't look surprised to see him, just holds up a finger and continues speaking into the phone on his desk.

"Yes, that's fine. Let me know when you can send both down here to look at them. Alright. You too. Goodbye."

He puts the receiver down and heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, Damian?"

"I want to see them."

"No, Damian."

"They're suffering, father!" He snaps, arm cast wide. "Visitors aren't buying the excuse that they're getting over some bad Tail Rot. They won't play or engage with the new handler. They're not eating! Let me see them!"

"That's being taken care of." Bruce stands up from the desk and walks around it to address Damian face to face, arms crossed. "I just got off the phone with a veterinary clinic that specializes in Mer care. They're sending a behavioralist and doctor to come examine them properly in the morning, and help us make a care plan to get them healthy and properly readjusted."

He leans down a little to emphasize his point, gaze imploring.

"They're going to be okay, Damian. I need you to trust me when I say that this separation is what's best for you."

"It doesn't feel that way," Damian scowls. "It feels like we broke their trust by taking away someone that's supposed to care for them, and now they're justifiably lashing out. This was a reckless move, even for you, father, and now our mer has to suffer the consequences."

Bruce sighs. "Tadpole —"

"No!" The boy whirls around and jams a finger into his father's chest, relishing in the wince. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to talk about how wonderful Gotham Aquarium is to me, offer me a job here when I turn 18, let me finally do something that brings me joy and then rip it away while you give me useless platitudes and childish nicknames! I've had enough!"

"Damian —" Bruce tries again, a note of warning in his tone.

"Spare your breath. If you won't let me check up on the mer then we have no more business here." Damian turns, fists clenched, and marches out of the office and down the hall. His father calls out for him but doesn't chase after.

Good.

He only keeps up the angry act until he enters the employee locker rooms, then opens his fist to stare down at the key he swiped from Bruce's pocket during their confrontation, and smirks.

"Don't worry," he whispers, pulling out his wetsuit, "I'm coming."

[risestarkiss]

Strength

Rise Ramblings #565

While watching the show, I realized that we don’t really get to see the boys’ true strength very often. Yes, we see their Ninpo at work, especially towards the end of the series, but I believe that outside of their Ninpo there is so much more to these boys than meets the eye.  

When thinking about raw strength, it’s easy to say something like “Yeah, Raph is the strongest.” And for good reason...

He is the one that works out the most.

His build is the largest and the most intimidating.

Often times we see him picking up, carrying, or tossing his brothers around, no problem.

And that’s why this big guy gives the best hugs.

But the main reason why he's seen as the strongest is because he’s the one generally seen picking up the most impossibly heavy objects.

Although, he does have his limits.

Yes, Raph is the strongest, but that does not negate the strength of the rest of the bros.

The physical abilities of the other three are nothing to sneeze at, especially since they were all originally created to be weapons. (See “What Was Meant To Be” for more on that subject.)

Take Mikey for instance.

Of all of the boys, you wouldn’t think of Mikey as particularly strong, but here he is shoulder pressing one of his brothers for fun.

And flinging the boy in plum.

What about Leo? Sure, we never really see him exert himself, especially when it comes to weightlifting or exercise, but I can’t help but notice how much he tends to carry his little brother.

Furthermore, Leo doesn't just carry Mikey, but throws him around as well.

But I believe the one that low key shows off his strength the most is Purple.

(It might have something to do with his overall lack of restraint, but I digress.)

He easily carries his brother when he needs to.

And more impressively, he throws Mikey like nobody’s business using his bow staff and his own brawn.

Speaking of his staff, if this is true:

Then what do we make of this instance?

Yes, the staff was already semi-broken, but does he go on to completely demolish the titanium staff in frustration with his bare hands? (Kudos to @theaphaeon for pointing this out!)

You be the judge.

Nonetheless, for me, what really proves Donatello’s strength are these scenes:

Donnie doesn’t just carry out this feat once, but twice!

Not only does Donnie hold up the combined weight of ALL of his brothers, but he does it via one leg. For a normal person, if all of that weight was put on one leg they would be severely injured. But for Donnie, this is just a silly mode of travel with his beloved bros. Meanwhile, his jet pack is struggling under the combined weight of all four turtles...

All-in-all, I just wanted to really highlight the turtles' physical strength and remind myself that strength is not just a Raphie thing, but something that stems across all of the turtle teens.

Do you guys have any more examples of the boys being the powerful weapons they were created to be without using their Hamato Ninpo?

All comments and reblogs are welcome! 💜

[sabohime]

♡ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

multi x fem!reader

♡ . eek my first post!! some simple headcannons for you guys! enjoy :) nothing explicit (for now 😈) but! there are references to dicksucking!

♡ . includes: law, sabo, sanji

LAW

Law is constantly on edge. It hurts seeing your captain so stressed all the time.

So, being the dutiful crewmate you are, you decide to…provide him with a little ‘relaxant’. It’s not your fault he’ll have to work for it…

“Y/n-ya, what are you-�� “It’s hot, Captain!”

Law blushes at that. You can barely see it through the Tang’s dim lighting and his tanned skin, but from the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches, you can tell your plan is working.

Why is he harping about your wardrobe? Well, your typical Heart Pirates boiler suit had been traded in for a tight tank and skimpy shorts. How old were these? With the way your thighs were pinched by the elastic of your shorts, and the way your breasts practically fell out of your top, Law was certain you had dug deep in your closet to fish these clothes out.

“Y/n-ya. Seriously,” his tattooed hand rests on your shoulder now, dangerously close to the thin strap of your tank top. “We have uniforms for a reason.”

“Are you really gonna make me change, Captain?” you pout. You watch his brow furrow, and you know you’ve got him now.

“I think I’ll have fun ripping this off of you, Y/n-ya,” he grunts, hot breath now in your ear. His hands wander down to your shorts, palming your ass and taking notice of your lack of panties. “Even more dress code violations? I might just have to punish you tonight, Y/n-ya.”

You gulp. Law says Room and suddenly you’re in his bedroom.

“Regretting your decision, Y/n-ya?”

SABO

Once again, Dragon’s given him far too much paperwork.

As his secretary, it’s your job to provide him with some repose from his workload.

So…What better to let him take another load out on you? Maybe you should snag a pillow from your desk chair next time…

“Chief, I brought you the tea you asked for. A splash of milk and extra sugar,” you say, repeating his order sweetly and perfectly from years of practice. When you cross the threshold to his office, you find your chief of staff with his vest off, cravat undone and on the table, and his shirt partly unbuttoned.

The sight of his scarred, muscular chest makes you gulp. It’s okay Y/n, you can do this, you assure yourself.

“Thank you, Y/n-chan. You’re so kind, helping me out,” Sabo says, his cheeks rosy and smile innocent. You think him the perfect caricature of a schoolboy.

“It’s nothing, chief. I am your secretary after all. It’s my job,” you grin, placing the tea on his desk in front of him. You make sure to lean over and give him an eyeful of cleavage, just in case he might be interested.

“Is it your job to tease me as well?”

You freeze. You didn’t actually think he’d take the bait. Shit.

“Don’t be shy now, Y/n-chan. I’ve already gotten a nice view of your tits. And your skirt could be pulled down a tad, I suppose. You’re hardly professional these days,” you listen, face hot, sweat beginning to run down your back. At least he wasn’t scolding you— that was evident in the fact he said ‘tits’, and the generally teasing lilt in his usually silky smooth voice. It’s gotten deeper because he’s so tired, and it’s starting to make you clench your thighs.

“I-uh, I’m sorry, chief. I- I figured…” you scramble, trying to think of some excuse to remedy this situation. “I figured you might want a, uh, distraction. Right! A distraction from work!”

“Oh really?” the blond grins, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving his hands to unbutton his trousers. “Dragon-san has been giving me so much paperwork. It’s the least you could do, right Y/n-chan?”

You watch in awe as he takes himself out of his boxers.

“Now, Y/n-chan…How much of a distraction can you be?”

SANJI

Sanji gets hard just from smelling women’s perfume. So seducing him is easier than…really anything.

So, one night you can’t sleep. And the chef in the kitchen preparing recipes seems like a wonderful target for your affections.

“Sanji-kun, what’re you making?”

Sanji jumps from his place stirring on the counter, surprised at the sound of your beautiful voice.

“Oh my! Has an angel descended down on me to try my humble cooking?” the man swirls around you with hearts in his eyes, eventually bending down on one knee to kiss your knuckles. “It’s nothing special, my dear Y/n-swan. Simply practicing recipes for fruit tarts.”

You cup his cheek. A trickle of blood comes down his nose, but he pulls away from your touch to quickly wipe it away.

“Sounds yummy, Sanji. Could I try one?”

“Of course, mellorine!” Sanji keens. You smile at how cute he is. The blond grabs a fruit tart, which happens to be your favorite fruit, and brings it over to you.

He sits it on a plate in front of you, waiting like a lapdog as he anticipates praise for his cooking. However you don’t move to pick up the tart.

“Y/n…swan?”

“Feed it to me, Sanji-kun?” you say seductively, leaning over the kitchen island so your breasts pop over your crossed arms. Immediately Sanji is staring, but you don’t scold him this time. This was your goal.

“Of- of course, anything for my Y/n-swan,” Sanji stutters. He brings the small tart to your lips, and as you reach the last bite, you grab his wrist.

You decide to be extra bold, and lick a stripe up his finger. Your mouth detaches with a pop, and Sanji looks like he might pass out.

“That was good, Sanji-kun. Do you have any other special treats for me?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

something i noticed

A while back, I wrote this analysis reviewing how unfair the magic education system is in Twisted Wonderland. I would recommend reading that before this post, as it provides tons of context for what I’m about to talk about and add onto the discussion.

In 2-6 of the Tapis Rouge event, Vil has stylists from Luxe, a high end fashion brand, dress up Azul, Jamil, and Ace to be a part of his red carpet entourage. Once the boys come out in their new threads and makeup, Jamil and Azul, two individuals who are meticulous about details, provide some telling commentary.

According to those two, the team of stylists that helped them were mages. Azul further remarks that they were quite skilled mages and that having this kind of talent indicates a “first class brand store”. Their hair and makeup is also suggested to be done via magic, though this service is not normally performed for customers. Previously, we knew that skincare can be infused with magic (Vil does so with his own) and that magic can be used to style one’s hair (Jamil tells us in his Birthday Boy vignettes that he does his intricate hair with magic and used to take far longer with it when he lacked the precision). Idia states in book 6 that Jamil had no formal magic training before NRC, so that means Jamil was self-taught in his hair-handling magic.

… Okay but 😭 WHAT DOES THIS IMPLY ABOUT MAGIC AND CLASS??? Is it just a coincidence that the teams of stylists who staff a high class store are ALL mages? Surely not, given how uncommon mages are in the general population. The store (or maybe the brand itself?) must be going out of its way to hire them because I guess being dressed with magic is a more “luxurious” experience than the normal way. We can also guess from Azul and Jamil’s accounts that the degree of magic these staffers use requires significant skill and precision, which either means they need formal instruction or lots of practice on their own. Neither option is afforded to people with naturally low or no magic reserves at all 💀 meaning jobs like this are gated to mages only.

Now, this doesn’t inherently mean the rich and famous people who frequent these stores are also all mages (Kalim’s dad and Vil’s dad are two non-mages who are extremely wealthy and influential); the majority of them must still be regular people since humans seem to be the majority, and 90% of humans are non-mages. It also doesn’t guarantee that the Luxe stylists are paid more than a non-Luxe stylist (although I do think this is possible for a prestige brand, especially if we factor in commissions on sales).

What’s sticking out to me here is that there exists an association between magic and luxury. The reverse also appears to have some truth based on what little other lore we have; Ruggie states that there are not a lot of mages from his hometown, which could imply a history of non-mages being driven into poorer communities. It all fits together a little too well to seem coincidental… but obviously, Ruggie’s hometown is just one place and could be an outlier rather than the exemplar. We know that most non-mages must live an average lifestyle, not the extremes that Ruggie has experienced. Still, the claim that magic is typically associated with the upper class holds and it continues to be perpetuated in the lore.

Anyway, Fellow and Rollo were right—

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

okay hear me out…butch4butch Sevika where Sevika is a power bottom???👀 reader is taller and stronger than her but very shy and intimidated by her🙈

Pairing: Powerbottom!Sevika x gentle giant-service top! reader

Warnings: ns/fw, fingering, cunnilingus, grinding/dry humping, smoking, mentions of violence, and horny lesbian activityyyy

Word count: 3k

A/N: Love you. Love this. You have come to the right place for this one, my friend. The lack of butch4butch Sevika content is criminalll if that woman has a type it begins with D and ends in Y-K-E-S. Anyways, how appropriate is it that my first fic is butch4butch Sevika smut. Checks out. (that being said, it is my first fic so you freaks betta be NICE) Now without further ado…

You Have No Idea

By ButchVampireHeimerdinger

It was the slow ending to an eventful shift at the last drop. Customers were in good spirits all night, likely due to a sudden influx of Piltie goods some gang had rattled up through more or less honorable means and was making its way through town. In any case, the energy was contagious and it had you, the buff and generally even-tempered server/bouncer, doing things you didn’t normally do. Like drink on the job — just a beer you had been nursing for over forty minutes — and fraternize with patrons. Y’know, other than the obligatory how are you, do you wanna pay out now or open a tab. Real actual conversations -- which led you to number three on the list of Things You Don’t Normally Do; you were hunched over the bar playing Texas Hold ‘Em with three regulars. Two were men, you didn’t remember their names, but they always came to the bar at about this time. A package deal — they snickered in your direction as a nearby shady-looking customer walked out on his tab.

“Hey, isn’t that your cue, tough guy?” The man gave you a patronizing sort of eyebrow raise as he dealt the next round.

Technically, it was. You got hired pretty much on account of your physique — you were 6’3” and a tank, always had been. Broad shoulders, biggest girl on the playground growing up, you gained muscle at the drop of a hat. You didn’t even try. But it was all for show. You were more of a lover than a fighter. Sometime in the first few months of the job the staff discovered you were better equipped to work inside the bar. Customers liked you because you were polite, a breath of fresh air from the culture of animosity that permeated the undercity. Still, it didn’t help your ego in situations like this. ”Hey, you don’t know what she’s got under her sleeve.” The third voice at the table spoke up. The right hand of Zaun. Sevika.

She had been a regular since before you started and probably would be long after. You had heard some pretty nasty stories about her and the things she was capable of. But when she came up to your counter for a drink, she came without malintent, always respectful to the waitstaff. It was disarming. Tonight, especially, your eyes lingered over her toned shoulders and sharp collarbones.You wanted to run your hands over them, to see how her body would react. And maybe it was the house IPA you had been drinking, but probably not.

Sevika gestured toward your dwindling pile of poker chips with her chin as she looked down, analyzing her hand. “Clearly, she must be the type to play the long game.” This earned her another light fit of snickers from bar idiots one and two, but they were easily impressed. You rolled your eyes.

Sevika raised two chips. The table matched. She spoke again.

“So, tough guy, do those arms of yours get you any female attention? Since you’re obviously not using them for any other tactile purpose,” her eyes traveled to the empty seat where the tab-skipper had been sitting.

You shrugged, suddenly warm and very aware of your body and not sure where to rest your gaze. “I get around.”

For some reason, tweedles dum and dee found this hilarious, and howls of laughter followed. You slapped your hand over your heart and feigned a look of deep hurt, to mask the bit of real hurt you were feeling. Yeah, it had been a while, but surely not long enough to warrant that response.

“Is it that implausible?”

Sevika chuckled and shook her head, but her expression was good-natured.

“Just make your move, Casanova.”

You had a full house. Three aces. Two kings. You matched, and didn’t raise.

Sevika raised, the men matched, and you folded.

The table revealed their hands and Sevika won the pile with a straight. Not a bad hand, but the round would’ve been yours if you had taken the risk. Sevika clicked her tongue, scolding you, which made your palms sweat. You averted her gaze and became suddenly interested in wiping down the bar.

Following your pitiful defeat, the two guys payed out, leaving the bar empty save for you, Sevika, and a couple stragglers who always stayed until morning and probably didn’t have anywhere else to spend the night. To your surprise, the woman beckoned you over once more. Something in your heart lifted. Something in your pants dropped.

“Blackjack?” She pushed the cards toward you, and her dominant sort of gaze made you feel, once again, compelled to do what she asked.

You won the first few rounds. Sevika was risky to a fault. If it wasn’t 21 exactly, trust she would draw. And she always made you the dealer, watching your hands intently, hungrily, even, as you shuffled. The third round was a tie, but she didn’t have anything left to raise.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You win this round and I’ll spread it around that I walked out on my tab, and you chased me down and kicked my ass for it. Should prevent other situations like our friend earlier, at least for a while.”

“Are my bouncer abilities really that pathetic?” You picked at the side of your nails. Sevika’s gaze pierced through you and you found it difficult to meet her eyes. But you didn’t necessarily hate the way her eyes took you in. Slowly and deliberately, like you were a battle map and she was trying to parse out her strategy.

“And if you win?” You looked up, all innocent. Maybe you imagined it, but your doe eyes seemed to rile her up a little bit. Something in the way her jaw shifted, the way she rubbed her flesh palm on her pants.

“Already planning for defeat? See, this is exactly your problem. You’re talking through a universe where you lose before we’ve even started.” She shoved her pile towards you again.

“Deal ‘em.” She commanded, you obliged.

“I’m serious! I just wanna know what I’m agreeing to. Fools rush in, and all that.” Your voice made everything sound like a question. With her, it was. Sevika was hard to figure out.

“You’re cute. If I win, I want…” The woman took a hit of the blunt she was holding and used it to gesture, her movements creating little loops of smoke that rose and dissipated. Her eyes followed them, and not you. For once.

“I want an hour. With you. N’ those arms.” You jerked while shuffling, accidentally knocking over your beer in your surprise. You picked it up quickly, hoping she didn’t notice.

“You serious?”

“Deadly. Fuck me up, Casanova.”

She won. Wasn’t even close. Three sevens, if you could believe it. As soon as you slapped the last seven down, you both shot up from the counter at light speed and she followed you to the back.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” Her voice was low and husky, but with a little something else.

“Sore winner,” was all you could think to respond. You shoved her lightly. She shoved you harder with her prosthetic arm. The two of you kept at it, pushing and shoving back and forth as you practically raced to The Last Drop’s back office. Play-fighting, like you were “one of the boys,” but it had a bit of a bite to it. Like you wanted to eat each other alive.

The office was hardly used except for the rare moments when staff wanted to crunch numbers. Or, of course, engage in extra-professional affairs like this one. That couch had seen some things. You fiddled with the key for what was apparently a moment too long.

“I’m getting bored out here, Casanova.” You looked into Sevika’s eyes through her thick brows, a couple inches below yours. You slammed your shoulder into the door and it gave way immediately, with a satisfying bang as it swung open. Sevika followed, grabbing you by the shirt as she brought your lips down to hers, hard, and kicked the door shut behind her without looking.

She dragged you toward her, her back pressed against the peeling drywall. Her tongue dragged against your bottom lip and something deep in your pelvis vibrated in anticipation. One of your hands reached up to the wall, to keep you both steady. Sevika grabbed your other hand and guided it under her tank top. You squeezed her breast, tracing over her nipple with your thumb. Your bodies pressed together and you brought your knee in between hers, rolling your hips forward and pressing your leg into her crotch. She moaned into your mouth. Like her voice, it was deep and gravelly.

You set a pace. Her hips seemed to agree with it, bucking upwards to get that friction where she needed it most. Her hands gripped your waist and hips as she started to manhandle you, making you move faster against her. Your kissing was frantic and sloppy, like there was anger behind it. Your lips shined with her spit, and you moved to kiss up and down her neck. She reacted with a throaty panting noise when you got to a sensitive spot — a fleshy and soft area where her jaw met with her neck. You twisted your head to the side and downward to get better access, to fully exploit that weakness. Without fully thinking through your actions, your sucking collapsed into biting. You drove your teeth into her neck and Sevika’s jaw shot upward as her panting became gasping. She grabbed the back of your head and pushed it harder against her neck to say what she couldn’t; more, more, more.

Your hands fumbled with her belt and she noticeably did not help you with it. It was like she got a kick out of watching you struggle. You finally got them unzipped and you reached under to start palming her through her boyshorts. She had already soaked through. Good.

You pulled away to look down at her again while tugging lightly at her waistband. You raised your eyebrows to ask, May I? Chin still tilted upward, she nodded, huffed out a “yuh” sort of noise, and hooked her leg around the back of yours to bring your chests closer, all rough.

You pulled down the panties and your fingers dipped into her folds. Sevika’s eyebrows knitted even closer together, if that was possible. You continued sucking and working that spot on her neck. Her lips were against your ear and you heard her panting grow more desperate, more melodic; whines and vocalizations mixed with the gruff and grainy rhythmic in-and-out of her breaths.

Your middle and ring finger sort of skated all around her entrance, just barely avoiding her swollen clit. You took in the sight — Sevika’s heaving chest, her eyes closed as she chased the pleasure you were giving her. Her moans grew to something not exactly desperate, that wasn’t like her, but deranged and shameless. She panted like she was breathing fire. And like she didn’t care if all of The Last Drop could hear her, even though they probably couldn’t.

The pulse of her hips grew a little more erratic and she shifted her legs like she was ready to switch positions. You gestured subtly with your head toward the couch, and she dragged you toward it.

The woman collapsed on it and rested her arms outward, elbows relaxed on top like it was a throne. She leaned as far back as she could as you helped work her pants and boyshorts all the way down until they dropped to her ankles. She pulled her shirt off with both hands, pulling it up and over from the back of the neckline. She threw the tank top to the side and all of the air left your lungs, as you took in the sight of her upper body. Where you were buff, she was cut. Unlike you, Sevika didn’t have the type of figure that was imposing simply by nature — her physique came from blood, sweat, and tears. She had the body of a bruiser, of someone who spent their life fighting. The Sevika before you made you realize why some of the patrons kept their distance. But it somehow made you want to get closer. It made you want to please her, and to be good at it.

Sevika had a manspread going and you dropped to your knees in front of her. But she wasn’t having that — not yet. With her flesh hand she grabbed you by the throat and dragged you up to her lips for another messy kiss. Your teeth clashed together and when your tongues made contact, you felt those butterflies low in your pelvis. You moaned into her mouth instinctively, and it came out higher and breathier than you expected. You felt her lips form a slight smile against yours and she released her hold on your neck, making you drop down to your knees. You were certain the impact must have shook the entire city block.

Breathing heavy, you went to start kissing and sucking at her inner thigh, but she tilted your chin upward to look at her. Breathless, she commanded,

“Take your shirt off for me, Casanova. I wanna see those arms while you… Yeah.”

You fought the smile forming and stripped for her. You took off your tank top and sports bra the same way she had — in one fluid motion, from the back. You were caught between a sudden wave of self consciousness and the urge to draw it out, to put on a show for her. You settled at maintaining eye contact as you subtly flexed for her, and placed your broad hands on her knees. Sevika smiled, all smug as she reached over to a nearby discarded vest, brought out the rest of her blunt, and lit up as her eyes poured over your exposed upper body. She inhaled deep using her metal arm, and with her flesh hand she traced over your biceps, satisfied.

All confident, you started on her inner thighs, taking your time. When your lips finally connected with her wet cunt, you heard her make a sharp exhale through her teeth. You kept going, first going over it all with a flat tongue, drinking in the moment, then using your tongue to explore her folds. Sevika let out a satisfied hum as you started sucking at her swollen, neglected clit.

That was when you brought your fingers up to her entrance, casually tracing, nothing else. That pissed her off.

Sevika slapped the top of the couch to get your attention. Your eyes snapped up to hers as she leaned forward to get all up in your face, with her signature sneer on.

“Did someone pay you to waste my time?”

You froze.

“That wasn’t rhetorical, I’m seriously asking you if some outside party with an interest in distracting me paid you to bring me here and do absolutely nothing with me.” You raised your eyebrows, eyes all wide and innocent. That made her groan, and she covered her face with one hand, your puppy eyes making her feel horny and desperate and a little guilty about snapping at you.

“Just. Fuck. Me.” She collapsed backward and you didn’t respond, just immediately did what she asked. You pushed your two fingers inside her without warning — hard. Again she exhaled through her teeth.

With your mouth, you continued giving her clit attention, and you pushed in and out of her, fingertips maintaining contact with her front wall, the one closest to you.

The sounds she made were pornographic, and it made you aware of the pool of slick that had established itself in the crotch of your boxers. Listening to her body, you gradually picked up the pace and you found Sevikas hand weave through your hair, grabbing you roughly at the scalp and pressing you closer and closer still.

Her face was angled toward the sky as she whined, her metal hand gripping the cushion tight enough to create what was probably going to be permanent ripples in the fabric. You brought her closer and closer and her grip on your head tightened as she bucked her hips upward, essentially fucking herself on your tongue and fingers. She occasionally let out a depraved vocalization that a trained ear might recognize as “fuck,” “don’t stop,” and “faster-FUCK faster.”

Until the pulse inside her cunt became erratic, and you felt a familiar tremor in her legs. You didn’t let up. You started fucking her deeper, with more pressure, using your tongue to play with her clit faster. Sevika’s thighs involuntarily snapped up to trap your head and you brought your hands up to brace them. Your tongue still moving as she cried out, loud and animalistic as she rode out her orgasm. Her thighs held you so tight against her pussy that you couldn’t escape if you tried, and the strength would probably have suffocated someone more petite.

Eventually, Sevika’s cries retreated back into deep panting and her legs dropped back to the floor, still trembling and spasming. She looked down at you, eyes half lidded, and gave you what could have been interpreted as a smile. She spread her arms back out on the top edge of the couch cushions, somehow still holding the half-smoked blunt. You shook your hair and a bit of ash fell out, which made you giggle. You were so invested in fucking her, you hadn’t noticed the active fire hazard against your skin the whole time.

With her chin, the woman gestured to the spot on the couch next to her. You settled in, your sides touching and your head leaning back against where her bicep was resting. She wrapped that arm around to bring the blunt to your lips.

“You can finish it, I don’t like the roach,” she said, and you obliged. You took a deep hit from her fingers and the last fiery bits assaulted your lungs, but you liked it. Sevika ashed it out on the couch, as if you hadn’t already desecrated it enough. You settled into a comfortable silence and she allowed you to lean your head on her pec, still uncovered. Until she spoke up.

“Promise me something, Casanova.” Her voice hoarse and gravelly from the earlier activities.

“Mm?” you responded. She wrapped her arm around you to reach up and ruffle your hair.

“Promise me you’ll never get good at cards.” You sucked your teeth and sneered back at her, giving her a hefty shove, which she gladly returned with equal force.

[kaprisvn]

Hi!

I'm a little confused about what Y/N works as. To me, they look like a manager, kind of, but they have a staff hat, so I assume that means they're a lower/general employee. Do they work with Sun and Moon directly or do they just see the boys often when they're working?

Sorry if this was asked before!

-An interested anon :))

P.S. you're art style is beautiful <3

You have activated my trap card, dear @chor-reblogs >:)

So, this is something I'm INCREDIBLY glad I got an ask for, as Y/N's role is very plot relevant to the catalyst event of the fic. (In a way...)

To start off, you're actually half-right on the manager idea! In Chasing Stars, every Pizza-Plex employee is meant to have a 'supervisor' for the first month or so - the person they can go to for help or clarification instead of bothering upper management with their plebeian pleas. This supervisor is also meant to give the employee under them their welcoming tour, along with their uniform. The supervisor is always the most experienced (via time there worked) in the same position (ex. food staff, custodian, P&S) as the person they're supervising, and don't actually have much authority over them.

This is how things usually go, HOWEVER, when Y/N was accepted into their role as General Staff, there wasn't anyone else currently in that position (the previous ones 'left' rather quickly. Hm.) This resulted in them not receiving a supervisor, along with a stark lack of instructions. Sucks for them I guess!

But what sucks even more is that shortly after being hired, ANOTHER general staff member joins the team, and since Y/N is technically the most experienced General Staff member... They become her supervisor.

Who is this mysterious girl? Why, Vanessa A. of course!

Vanessa's nickname for the reader in the fic is 'Boss', and despite Y/N trying to correct her that: A. They have have literally no jurisdiction over her and B. That they're just as clueless as she is, she insists upon the name. Even after she gets put on Security duty due to [SPOILER], she keeps term for Y/N. (Interspersed with a more fond nickname that I shall not disclose yet).

Vanessa and the readers relationship is a significant and complicated one that's going to change a lot throughout the fic. In fact, I'd call it the second most important relationship in terms of plot/themes, after the DCA. But overall, I'd say they're... 'good friends'.

As for the last part of your question - which yeesh, sorry for the yap session - the role of General Staff is to do whatever odd jobs are left over after everyone is assigned their work, but more importantly, they can be called on by any animatronic or other staff member that happens to need help with their job. You can basically summon them like your personal butler. Of course, Sun and Moon abuse this ability to the extreme, which means that Y/N ends up working with them very often. (I mean, the daycare just gets so busy and we're so understaffed!! You understand, don't you? And- we finish the work so quick with YOUR help that you may as well stick around awhile longer, right? Management won't care about a few missing minutes... or hours. We won't tell if you don't :) )

(PS. CS! Vanessa's personality is very inspired by @/naffeclipse, because by god I love her interpretation of the character so much.)

EDIT: I don't consider any of this to be a spoiler btw! You learn all of this within the first 2-3 chapters :3

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Stone Heart AU: Scar pt I

As much as Yuu tried, she still ended up in trouble in trouble sometimes. Be it with Ace and Deuce, or just running late from acting as Crowley’s unofficial gopher, it was something. The punishments usually weren't that bad though, sometimes even relaxing.  

Like right now, it was a little bit of a trip down memory lane as she scrubbed the statues down on Main Street. It was odd, having the dreams that she did that painted the Great 7 in shadows instead of light, but it felt...right. Balanced.  

A story about a maid who would be going to a ball was the current dream cycle, though she didn’t get the feeling this one was going to relate to any upcoming overblots. While they didn’t happen as often, she occasionally just dreamt of things like this. While there was a lot to ruminate over, like the stepmother and Professor Trien, right now it was just a catchy little song sung by the fairy stuck in her head.  

“Put it together-” The King of Beasts statue wasn’t in bad shape at least, “and what do you got-” Just had to get the moss out of his eye, “Bippity Boppity Boo!” 

The eye blazed green, cracking open with a clap of thunder!  

Yuu fell, catching herself with her hands. Shit! Did she break it? Damnit, she couldn’t afford- 

Wait. It looked fine. Just a wet statue.  

“Maybe I just need to finish this up.” She muttered. “Lack of sleep must be getting to me.”  

The atmosphere had changed, the tension of a storm about to break open. As she finished the King of Beasts, she clocked her progress and ran, feeling like eyes followed her until she turned the corner.  

Malleus must be in a mood, she thinks, watching the dark clouds forming and the green smoke that seems to be spilling out the fence of Ramshackle. It isn’t the right shade of green though, more muted and not as...saturated? The gate creeks ominously and it doesn’t take her long to notice the figure sitting on the porch of Ramshackle.  

He is hunched over, a shawl tossed over his head that was once bright with color and design, now faded to grays, browns and darker reds like blood. His left eye is as green as the Diasomnia mage crystals, clear and unclouded, and the right faded as the green smoke around him. A gnarled staff is gripped in his hands, a gourd tied to the top with a handful of what might be rib bones along with some sort of dried fruit she thinks.  

This isn’t a harmless man, her instincts can say that much, but...he doesn’t feel like a threat. He could be. He’s choosing not to.  

“How can I help you?” Yuu asks, getting a bit closer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you a teacher here?”  

He chuckles, making the pointed beard shake, but it’s not cruel. “I suppose that depends on you. I think you are in need of a teacher. And I am in need of a place to stay.” 

“What do I need to learn?”  

“Magic.”  

“Ha!” Yuu can’t help it, barking a laugh. “You are mistaken. I have no magic of my own.” 

“No, cub, you have magic, just not Wonderland magic. You have the Old magic, older even than General Lilia, the same as I. These teachers cannot help you, but I can.”  

He removes the shawl’s hood from his face, revealing a pair of brown lion ears and a mane that puts Yuu’s hair to shame. Even braided in parts to keep it out of his face, the long black hair stretches all the way down to his curved spine. A tail thumps against the dusty steps,  

“Afterall, you freed me, didn’t you?”  

It takes some explaining, a quick meal shared on her dining room table that feels even more rundown than usual with actual royalty sitting down. Thank the Seven that Grim was asleep beforehand, his new Spelldrive practices tiring him out in the evenings.  

“So, are the others...the same? Petrified?”  

“Yes, though you aren’t ready to free us all just yet. I was an accident, correct?” 

She flinches, nodding. “I mean, I guess? Sometimes I have dreams. Alternate tellings of the stories around here it feels like, or added details? Most of the time they follow an Overblot, but this one just felt like a non-threatening one. I don’t have these as often.”  

“Precognition is a dangerous magic, especially with no guiding tools.” 

“I dont know if-” 

“You dreamt of mine, did you not? Leona Kingscholar? The Phantom still was a part of me, drawn from my form and magic.”  

Yuu blinked, shrugging. “I mean, it didn’t stop it.” 

“No, but you were more prepared. You were willing and ready to accept Leona’s trauma and show compassion because you witnessed me make the exact follies and look at how that ended.” he huffed, taking a sip from his water. 

She hadn’t considered that really. It just felt natural, to show them kindness after all of it. But they were alike. Really alike. And the actions Leona had taken paralleled his perfectly.  

“Do you think if somebody had done so with you, you would have listened?” 

“Oh cub!” He laughed, and this one felt harsher. “I would not have. I was far too hardened. But Leona...he will be better.”  

“Well, I better try and at least get a bed ready for you.” She said, taking both of their dishes. “What do I call you though? King of Beasts is a bit of a mouthful.”  

He tilts his head, as if considering. She gets the dishes loaded and leftovers put away before he finally answers.  

“Taka. My Mother’s Son.” he says. “That’s who I wish to be now.”  

Yuu smiles, sticking out her hand.  

“Nice to meet you, Professor Taka! I look forward to learning from you.”  

For just a moment, he sees Simba, and Nuka and Kovu and Vitani. He sees Shenzi, Banzai and Ed. He sees naive and friendly and believes in him, for as little he has to offer, and still finds him worthy.  

He shakes her hand and hangs his stone heart to air out.  

[gavisuntiedboot]

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 10

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Epilogue

Warnings: SMUT!! and also BAD WRITING!! TYPOS AS WELL PROBABLY!! BUT MAINLY THE SMUT!!!

Word Count: 21.5K (Fun Fact: If you have read all of JP, that's 159 pages single space of reading.)

A/N: Here it is. The finale of my heartfelt daydream, laid bare for you all to see. I hope you've enjoyed the ride: the road ends here.

GIF: @gavidaily (i've been waiting since part 1 to use this mf gif)

Previously on Just Pretend

"Scrubs? You look too young to be a doctor." "You don't look old enough to be let into the club, but everyone is full of surprises."

~

"You're late. It's 6:45." "Good morning to you too, Gavira."

~

Gavi found himself glancing at your ass as you leaned over, before swiftly looking away. He did not like you. He had a baseline of respect for you as a young successful professional. Nothing else.

~

"Are we not friends, y/n?"

"I'm not sure, Gavi. We could be if you stopped hating me."

"I don't hate you. I think."

~

Gavi stopped thinking. He acted on impulse only. He tugged the wrist that was in his hand, pulling you in. Your head met with his hard chest, and you felt one arm circle your shoulder. You remained like this for a long moment: up against Gavi, his arm pressing you into his chest, his shirt soaking up the wetness on your cheeks.

"'m sorry. I won't let him talk to you that way anymore."

~

"It's okay, Pablo. I can take care of myself." A tear finally rolled down your cheek.

"I know you can, Doctora. I know you could take on the world if you wanted to. But you shouldn't have to. You deserve to be loved and spoiled. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

~

"You saved me Pablo." You whispered out against him, needing to tell him someway, somehow, how much you appreciated him.

"Anyone would have interfered, doctora." He whispered back, being bold and caressing the skin of your arm that he encased with his.

"Not just today. In general. Since I met you, Pablo, you've made my life better. I just wanted to let you know. Good night."

~

"Because from the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt like I knew you. I don't know if I saw you on the street or in a dream, but a part of my brain recognized you, and since then I've been in pain. Pain that you can't even help me with. Nobody can. It's so hard to watch everyone take advantage of you all the fucking time. It tears me apart constantly. But it let me get closer to you. You let me get closer. And I tried so hard to keep it at bay, to be the friend that you need."

~

"My heart, doctora. When I give it to you, please keep it. Forever."

~

Now...

"Miss y/l/n, due to the... historic lack of women in the club, we do not have internal policies regarding relationships between players and employees. We just use the ones that La Liga as a whole have put in place. Those are quite forgiving, in my opinion. You can enter a romantic workplace relationship as long as it is appropriately disclosed, and you cannot be terminated as a result of that relationship ending. I saw the photo of you being pulled onto the field during the final of the Supercopa. Do you mean to tell me it was not with romantic intent?"

You had never experienced more severe whiplash in your life. First, you had been reprimanded for being too close to Pablo, for showing what Xavi classified as 'favoritism', as it hurt the team dynamic. Then you had been ridiculed by staff and players for allegedly sleeping with Pablo, and had been told you could be fire for doing so even if it was a bold faced lie. And now, months later, you were being told that it was not only okay for you to be in a relationship with Pablo, but you literally couldn't lose your job if you did? Someone in the family must have been praying for you. Or for Pablo. Was Pedri religious?

"Dr. Gonzalez, I think there has been some sort of misunderstanding. Gavi and I are just friends. Not even - we're just coworkers that get along well! There was no romance happening anywhere on the field."

And it was true. Well, sort of. You couldn't speak for Gavi's intention, but you would bet that he hadn't meant to do anything that could be perceived as romantic. Not only was he incredibly shy when it came to anything to do with his private life, but moreover, you had started to toy with the idea that maybe you were wrong about Pablo. Maybe you had misread the signs. Maybe Pedri's stylist, who you now also so lovingly referred to as naranja, had only fed into your delusions instead of delivering the hard truth to you.

"He's in love with you, stupid."

That's exactly what she had said to you when you answered the question 'so are you close to Pedri?', stating that the things Pablo did for you were far from the actions of a friend. And she was right. Friends didn't need to be physically touching in order to have a peaceful night of sleep. Friends don't feel the need to always be near the other, unable to focus if one wasn't near. Friends certainly didn't imagine each other in compromising situations: shirtless, panting, trying so hard to control his throbbing- no. Friends certainly didn't imagine such scenes. Most of all, friends didn't find themselves in these intimate moments, the air thick with anticipation, where lips were centimeters from meeting, and seconds away from saying something that would change the dynamic forever. Well, at least that's what you thought. Maybe Naranja would be your friend long enough to see if these were truly just normal hallmarks of friendship (although Pedri might be a tad upset if the two of you started sleeping together). You're glad she offered her cellphone number to you.

But this was not the only opinion that was presented to you. You had been sitting on your couch one night, a rare evening when Gavi had promised to accompany Ansu to one hangout or another, his absence felt greatly. It had been weeks since you had a moment that wasn't filled by Pablo's voice, his laughter, his breathing as you completed an assignment while he scrolled through TikTok. There was an eerie silence to the house now, and you needed something to take your thoughts off of your maladaptive daydreams of Pablo laying on your couch, looking up at you through long lashes with a tender gaze. It was almost as if you could run your hands through his messed up brown locks, watching his eyes close as you massaged his scalp, feeling him lean more into your touch.That's all you wanted. Not even for Pablo to come to you with a grand confession of love, but just to be with him with no boundaries, no fear, no awkwardness. Just love and safety and the freedom to exist as you were. Together.

But there was no idle chatter or TikTok sounds to fill the silence, and so you had to do so yourself. You made yourself a delectable cup of tea, favorite mug warming your palm as you tried to balance your plate of snacks in the other. The camp nutritionists had been testing recipes all week, and had sent you home with some of the best food you had ever had, including a tupperware of cookies that could give those little Nestle birds a run for their money. Comfortable on the couch in that same black hoodie with the embroidered '6', you qued, rather ironically, He's Just Not That Into You (a great romcom, but not for people doubting if they're deserving of being loved). Your phone had lit up with a familiar name that you hadn't seen in months now.

"Angelika! How are you? How was fashion week? I saw the collection on Instagram. It looked stunning!"

Since her announcement about moving to Paris, you hadn't heard a peep from your 'best friend'. A mutual friend you ran into at the market had told you her move had been delayed until after the collection had shown at fashion week since the creative director had surprisingly quit, so everything was on ice until he was replaced. You had seen her collection on Diet Prada, not questioning why you hadn't seen the posts that she had made celebrating her work.

"Oh it was fabulous, and Alessandro just got replaced so Paris must be coming soon. I would have invited you, but I only got 6 invitations, and you're always so busy. Didn't want to have an empty seat."

She knew she had made a mistake when she saw your face on the screen drop. You had been the main supporter of Ang's career since you met her, and yet she didn't even bother sending you an invitation or seeing if you might be able to attend.

"Anyway, how have you been? What's new with you?"

You spoke briefly about school and work, before taking a deep breath and opening up the gnarly can of worms that was you and Gavi's current situation. You had no other people with enough context or who you felt comfortable enough with to reveal all your thoughts on the matter. All your hopes and dreams that he would sweep you off your feet. All your insecurities and fears that you had created something unhealthy, something that would dissolve into worse than nothing. No matter how you spun it, it was nice to have a friend, even if you had to ignore that you were walking a mile to see an inch in return.

Angelika listened rather silently to the entire series of events, asking one or two clarifying questions, but for the most part allowing you to monologue. When you finished speaking, you sighed rather dreamily and fell back into your couch, pulling your (Gavi's) hoodie closer around you. Sometime you forgot how much he had bulked up, until you were drowning in the shirts he had donated to you. Maybe there was something there. Now that Dr. G had confessed he thought you two were already in a relationship, the only missing piece was Pablo. You had tried to hint to him that, if he felt even the slightest affection towards you, he should go for it. Make the shot. The goal was empty - hell, the goalie would even guide the ball in for him. Had you been too subtle with your affections? Or had he purposefully ignored the brush of your lips on his throat in order to preserve your pride?

“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit delusional?”

Angelika’s statement was like a splash of ice water on your warm and fuzzy form. You looked at the FaceTime call like the woman on the screen in front of you had grown horns from her head.

“I’m … what?”

“Delusional. I mean it seems like you’re reading too much into his actions. So he what? Used you as his driver and let you keep a hoodie he got from the staff for free? Nothing super special.”

“But… but it wasn’t just that. He-“ She hadn’t even let you finish your sentence, not so subtly rolling her eyes, like she was so utterly bored with your story.

“Yeah, yeah, he punched your ex boyfriend who cheated on you. But I mean, cmon, you like, refused to fuck him. This is the second guy to cheat on you. Maybe it’s you, ha. And Gavi is literally just a raging teenager who has been looking to hit someone. I don’t think you should fly into your princess fantasies because he he finally lost his shit. And now you’re sleeping next to him every night and he’s waiting for you to give him some pussy. Better melt up quick, ice princess, before he gets tired of waiting.”

There it was again. The nausea. The head pounding. The vision blurring and room spinning. The sinking feeling that you were being betrayed by someone you had let in again. If you squinted your eyes a little, she might have even slightly resembled Martin.

“You… think he’s only being nice to me so that I’ll sleep with him?” You asked, voice soft and slow to hide the shake desperately wanting to emerge.

“Oh, absolutely. It’s not like there’s much else there. Now you look upset, but don’t be. I’m just telling you the truth so you don’t get hurt.”

“No, you’re just being a bitch.”

Your response seemed to have caught the both of you off guard. Your face had gone red with frustration, hands trembling with rage that you were desperately trying to quell. What a funny thing, rage. Feminine rage to be exact. The rage of men is common place in society - sort of like bullets. Everyone has heard a gunshot or seen what a bullet can do, in their personal life or on a screen. Male rage and fury is a normal part of life that everyone expects and respects. People bite their tongues hard enough to draw blood before they dare lash out at a man, fearful of sharp words and blunt fists. But feminine rage wasn’t a real threat. Oh no, it was more of a concept. A black and red Pinterest aesthetic in red and black, with pinups and devil horns and swirling script. It was only a danger to the self; a threat of implosion with no shrapnel to hit anyone else. A star dying, a mind shattering, as entertainment to those around. There was never an expectation for her to lash out and defend herself against those who poked at her until she bled. But should a cornered lioness cower in fear rather than attacking?

“What… what the hell is wrong with you?”

“No, what the hell is wrong with you, Angelika? All I’ve done since the day I met you is try and be there for you. All I’ve done is support you through everything - relationships, family drama, you’re entire fucking career! You had professors tell you that you would be a generic designer for H&M, and I was there for you. I was the only person with you at three in the fucking morning telling you that you could do better, that you could be amazing. I was a pincushion, a mannequin, a personal chauffeur to the fabric store. And I didn’t ever do these things because I wanted something in return. I genuinely cared about you and just wanted to see my closest friend succeed! But you couldn’t even pretend to care about this obviously one-sided relationship. All I ever was to you was a person to use when you needed and thrown away when you didn’t. I was preparing for my dream interview, my biggest career goal since I was a fucking child, and not only did you ‘forget’ to give me one word of encouragement, you asked me to be your fucking ride home! And you know what? I made my peace with it. I came to terms with the fact that you thought I was incompetent at my job because everyone seems to think I’m a physio ditz. But for you to call me the nickname people called me in college to objectify me, and then say all I’m worthy of is sex?!”

Angelika was now teary eyed and red in the face. She was shaking her head, unable to respond, acting like the spitting image of a deer caught in the headlights. She was now stumbling over her words, unable to string a complete sentence together.

“That’s … thats not true I didn’t say that.”

“No, that’s exactly what you just said. Don’t be a liar on top of being a shit person. You just said it was my fault I got cheated on by my last two partners. And now I’ve still decided to give you the benefit of the doubt after you straight up admitted to me that you didn’t think of me as one of the top six people in your happy moments. I’ve poured my heart out to you and you don’t even have the decency to lie! You either said that to purposefully hurt me, or you never cared enough to listen when I spoke. Either way, you’re just the last in a long line of people who I have let walk all over me.”

Your expression was steeled and icy. You hadn’t even raised your voice once during the entire exchange, remaining calm and level headed despite the deep cuts you had made in Angelika’s self-confidence. Your lips were downturned and brows knitted together, looking at her with all the loathing she had caused you to feel for yourself. It was hard to be alone, but it was better than being surrounded with people who convinced you that you would never be enough if you didn’t fit their mold. The girl on the other side of the FaceTime call was clearly experiencing every stage of grief all at once, unsure how to respond. She had gotten through the denial, and was knee-deep in the anger. But anger did not spark eloquence, sparking the simple response of,

“Fuck you. You can go to hell.”

And you could swear you saw genuine fear in her eyes as a bright, beaming smile spread across your face. Maybe you had never seen love, but you had seen friendship. You had seen that there were people ready to carry your entire world on their shoulders. And no matter how slowly, you were working to believe that you could be loved, even by yourself. The rage had evaporated and recrystallized as content. So you smiled sickeningly sweetly at Angelika, and gave her a heartfelt response.

“I’ll see you there, darling.”

Pressing the bright red button to end the call was one of the most satisfying things you had ever done in your life. The headache and nausea and ‘I want to die’ feeling that you usually had after a confrontation was nowhere to be found. Quite the opposite, actually. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Your entire chest felt like it had more room for air. Was this what every day was like for people without anxiety? How glorious. Pressing play on Gennifer Goodwyne’s best work, you made a mental note to speak to a therapist the following morning. This felt amazing. You were genuinely smiling at… what exactly? The loss of a friend? No, no - liberation from someone’s foot on your neck. What new and exciting things could you do with this new found freedom, this fresh lease on life? Naturally, you did your favorite activity: picking up the phone and texting Gavi.

Gone were the days of Pablo wracking his brain for any excuse to email, text, or call you. It was almost funny how much he had to talk himself up, looking at his reflection and reiterating how much of a 'cool, suave guy' he was before typing out a very intelligent and eloquent 'hi'. Watching a series that he had no interest in initially just to have something to talk to you about that wasn't one of his leg muscles (no interest initially - now he was patiently waiting 4-6 weeks for his neon sign in the shape of the House Stark sigil). Now it was you who couldn't leave Gavi alone, using your messages to him as a pseudo journal, spewing your entire stream of consciousness into little blue bubbles.

[You]: PABLO

[You]: YOULL NEVER GUESS WHAT I JUST DID

Locking your phone and resting it on your chest, you refocused on the chick flick illuminating the darkness of your living room, the device vibrating against you less than 30 seconds later. As much as you would like to pretend it was surprising to receive a response so quickly, this was the normal routine the two of you had created. One needed merely call out, and the other would come running.

[Pablito]: whoever u killed they better be small

[Pablito]: bcs pedri doesnt have a lot of space fr bodies in his car

There it was again: the giggling, the lip bite, the stupid half smile that made you look less like Cindy Crawford and more like the Grinch after Christmas was destroyed. But it was the natural way your body reacted to Pablo - like a schoolgirl with a crush on a boyband member in a brightly-colored magazine. Lord, how were you supposed to be normal around him? Oh how wonderful it would be to have even one inkling that Pablo reacted this way when he heard from you. But in your head, he was still Pablo Gavi with capital letters, who was standing ever so coolly with a beer in hand as he laughed with his other hot rich young athlete friends. You could never picture him as he truly was, shy and puppy-like, beer not even touched as he held his phone in one hand and twirling his hoodie string in the other. He bit down on his lip as well, eyebrows together as he waited for a response. Despite the relationship that had grown for the last six months, he still held his breath slightly when he saw the three little 'typing' dots float on his screen.

[Doctora]: i don't think i can convey the full force over text

[Doctora]: i can come over and explain it to you in person tho

"Guys, I think I need to leave." Pablo said abruptly, looking up at the group of boys, causing a record-scratch moment that abruptly ended the conversation. The heated conversation over whether the Drake curse was real had screeched to a halt, and now all four of the young Barca players were staring in disbelief.

"You haven't even been here for an hour. Where the hell could you need to be right now?" It was Alejandro who spoke up, the only one of the four who was not acutely aware of the fact that Gavi was borderline prepared to give up his entire career for you. He only had a mild inkling.

"Um... one of my friends is coming to my house and I'm going to meet them.''

"Who? We know all your friends. Who is coming over?" Ale asked, draping an arm over fellow La Masia baby Ansu, who smirked at the Sevillano as well.

"Yes, Pablito. Who is it? Ilias?" Ansu asked, obviously enjoying the bright red that seeped into Gavi's face.

"Or maybe Alvaro?" Ale seemed to be enjoying this too much, smiling brightly as Pedri tried to sip his beer without suffocating due to laughter.

"If it's one of the boys, then maybe we should come with you! Beers from the convenience store are cheaper anyways."

Pablo was sweating bullets. How could he say that he wanted to run home to hear what might possibly be the most mundane story about keeping houseplants alive?

"No, no it's... someone from back home. You guys wouldn't know her-HIM! You wouldn't know him." That may have been the worst save Pablo had ever made in his life, including the time his friends made his 5'0 self play keeper in a pick up match. Pedri finally lost the battle and spit out his beer, laughing loudly with the rest of the boys.

"Bro, why can't you just admit your massive crush on the doctor already. It's honestly getting a little tiring at this point. You've been in love with her for like three months now-" Ansu started, moving towards Gavi and clapping him on the shoulder before being interrupted by Pedri, who corrected,

"More like six months actually."

"Ah! There is no way!" Now Pablo was being ping-ponged between his two school friends, trying to keep himself from imploding from embarrassment.

"Why haven't you told her yet? Seriously now." Ale asked, pulling up a chair for himself and Pablo, the group sitting back down, conversation topic having changed into something juicier.

"You forget that he like stopped hating her and then she directly got a boyfriend, right?" Pedri said, signalling for another round of stellas to be brought over to the table.

"I don't think we should order another round. I was going to-" Pablo started, trying to nervously get up. Would he be able to find a taxi? Or should he just order an Uber? Neither possibility was explored as Pedri stuck his arm out and pushed him back into his seat, where he was now firmly locked in.

"Spill your guts. The quicker you talk, the quicker you can tell her to come over. I'll drive you home."

"Should you really be driving if you're going to be drinking?" Pablo asked cautiously as the four beers were placed on the table.

"oh, no, I'm done for the night. Two are for Ale and Ansu, and the other two are for you. For, ya know, confidence."

[Pablito]: u wnna met me at my hosue in an hours

The six minute pause between the 'Read' notification and the response from Pablo had worried you slightly. It was just enough time for the anxiety to seep into your bones. Did he find your desire to see him overwhelming and (God-forbid) clingy? Was he showing the message to Pedri & Co., laughing at your desperation? The misspelling made you even more worried. The spiral of thoughts was taking a sharp turn in the downwards direction. Was he even looking at his phone while typing? You didn't want to be a burden to him during one of the rare nights he could enjoy himself.

[Doctora]: are you sure? i don't have to come over if you're busy

"See now she doesn't want to come." Pablo said, now two beers deep with one more to go so that Pedri would let him leave.

"You're so stupid, Pablo. She wants you to want her to come over." Ansu said frustratedly. Pablo was trying to say as quickly as possible in between gulps what was stopping him from confessing his feelings to you. It had gone along the lines of,

"Well, first I thought I hated her, then I realized I was attracted to her as soon as she got an awful boyfriend, then we became like friends, I guess? Then I just kind of never wanted to ever be away from her. I had a hard time picturing a future that she wasn't a part of. Like, it started to make me have this weird aching feeling in my chest. And now I want to tell her all of this but she like, sees me as a friend and has had a shit time with her male friends and I don't want to permanently traumatize someone I love."

There was definitely more beer spit into the air and on the floor than there was in anyone's mouth.

"What did you just say?!" His too schoolmates echoed loudly, while Pedri just stared at him in a shocked state.

Pablo's brain was swimming in beer bubbles, unable to connect any dots and make intelligent, let alone sit and explain the process and intricacies of figuring out that he was, in fact, in love with you. So he ignored the question, asking rather for advice as to how he could get you to come over to his house.

"I don't think she needs that much convincing, seeing as you guys literally sleep beside each other for the majority of the week."

"Pedri, please. Enough details. You're just going to sit here and casually tell us the doctor has been in Pablito's bed repeatedly and he has yet to ask her on a date? I might collapse if I hear another shocking piece of information." Ale exclaimed, one hand over his heart as he leaned over, Ansu above him in what appeared to be genuine distress for his cardiac health.

"Pablo," Pedri started, sitting up in his seat and placing his elbows on his shoulders, obviously meaning business. "Now it's time to exercise that one petite little romantic muscle in your body."

"Isn't every muscle in his body petite?" Ansu braced himself for the punch in the arm that he received, but it was softer than previous attacks. Maybe the alcohol was really hitting him.

"Does it bother you that she asked to come over?"

"No!" Pablo responded quicker than his teammates thought possible. "I always want her to come over. She doesn't even need to ask. I would give her a key to the place if she wanted. Hell, I would sign the house over in her name. Do you think I could ask her to move in with me as friends?" His foggy brain registered the laughter, but didn't quite understand it. He would love for you to be in his house, walking through the door with you every evening, eating on the couch, fighting over the comforter and cuddling in the cold.

"See now that's... kind of a lot for a girl who doesn't know you have feelings for her. Which is a whole separate issue of oblivion that we can address later. Let's edit it down. Hand me your phone."

[Pablito]: never too busy for you. see you in an hour ;)

You stared at the wink on your screen with wide eyes. Had Pablo's phone been hacked? He had sent emojis before, but usually when he was making a cheesy joke or mocking someone else. This was ... well you actually couldn't say. Calling this behavior 'weird' would really make everything you two did, like cuddling and sleeping over and trauma-dumping, seem 'weird' as well. The only time he had ever been so outwardly flirty with you was when...

[Doctora]: Pablo are you drunk?

[Doctora]: I'm coming over to kick ur ass

"I think I got you in trouble." Pedri said, sheepishly handing back the device. Pablo groaned, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol more strongly, head spinning and stomach churning at the thought of getting scolded by you. But something in him also burned at the idea of you getting worried about him when you weren't being paid for it.

"Alright boys, let's head out so Romeo can get back to the castle on time." Pedri ushered the three tipsy boys to the car, Ansu and Ale hunched over and giggling in the back, and Pablo slumped with a cheek pressed up against the passenger window.

"Wait! I just thought of something really important!" Ale practically yelled, leaning against the car in front of his place, Ansu waiting by the door to be let in for their own sleepover and gossip session (which may become a breakfast and gossip session given their current state).

"If the doctor tries to kiss him, will Pablo have to get on his tiptoes?"

The uproar of laughter was so loud it could be categorized as a public disturbance. Ale stood, mind foggy but genuine, watching Pedri clutch both the steering wheel and his ribs. Ansu was worse for wear, falling to his knees and gripping the sidewalk for dear life, all while Pablo gripped his head in pain and embarrassment.

"Ale, please, please open the door. I'm going to piss myself laughing from the mental image. Please, Ale."

"I'm actually taller than she is, just for everyone's information." The rebuttal was coupled with crossed arms and a pout.

"With or without shoes?" Ale's follow-up question set off another round of rambunctious laughter. Pablo was now properly tipsy and overly sensitive, and was ready to go home. Ale finally let go of the coop, preventing Ansu's public urination, and Pedri could finally make his way to Pablo's place. The green vehicle pulled into the driveway, and you followed just minutes later.

"Pedri, I'm worried."

The Canarian stared at the boy beside him. That's still what Pablo was. At his young age, he was bearing the back-breaking pressure of being the best right out of the gate, and soul-crushing weight of being in love. It was more than Pedri knew himself and many of his friends able to withstand. And though he understood the sentiment clearly, he asked anyways.

"What're you worried about?"

Pablo was many thing when he had a few drinks. He was noticeably louder, more vibrant and talkative. His usual shy self loosened up, and he was much more vulnerable. He did whatever he felt like: danced, flirted with women, made bets - anything he could imagine that would make him feel alive before the liquid courage wore off and he was back to silencing the bickering voices in his head.

"I'm worried that I'm going to say something stupid and scare her off."

"Ignore what people say online, hermano. You're not actually that scary." The giggle in return allowed Pedri to breathe a little easier. He tried to push away the twinge of guilt that reminded him he had been the one to pressure Pablo to drink, and he had been the one shoving this relationship forward at a faster pace than the participants may have liked.

"No I mean... even if the 1 in a million occurs and she gives me a chance, what if I come on too strong and kill it instantly? Can you come with me?" The request and the puppy-dog look both worked to catch Pedri off guard.

"Come with you to hang out with your girl?"

"You don't have to sit with us. You can fire up the PS5 and do whatever you want. But I won't tell her I want to grow old with her like the couple in The Notebook if you're in the house."

"You want to live out the plot of The Notebook with the doctora?"

"How did you know that?" Pablo asked with wide eyes, fully convinced that the older had read his mind.

"You just told me! How much alcohol did you actually have?" Pedri was now concerned. Could he not count? Pablo had only had three beers. He didn't remember him being such a lightweight, but it probably would explain a lot.

"Ugh, see! Pedri please, I need you. Just come with me!"

Before Pedri could protest again, a small knock was heard on Pablo's window, causing both the Barca boys to jump slightly.

"Ugh, fine. But only because your gameshock controller has never been thrown into a wall."

As the two stepped out of the car, your nose was instantly assaulted with the scent of alcohol and smoke. Pablo looked at you with a red face and slightly unfocused eyes.

"Doctora! Hey!" As he moved in to give you a hug, you stepped back from him, covering your nose with the sleeve of your (Gavi's) hoodie. You looked harshly at the boys, glare flipping between the two boys.

"I can't believe you asked me to come here while you're wasted. And you! What the hell do you think you're doing driving drunk?" You yelled, and Pedri ran forward to prevent the neighbors from hearing your misconception.

"I'm not drunk! I had one beer and waited more than an hour before driving. Pablo had three beers. We smell like shit because a waitress spilled a tray full of shots at the table. Let's continue arguing inside."

You looked at them skeptically, trying to find a smidge of deceit in either of their faces. Pablo approached you and draped an arm around your shoulder. Pressed up against you, it seemed like the smell of liquor dissipated, replaced by the last traces of his cologne and his own signature scent. Leaning down slightly, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending shockwaves throughout your nervous system.

"Come on, Doctora. You know I'd never lie to you. Come inside now. I need to get in the shower."

Speechless and wide-eyed, you were helpless to do anything but nod your head and be lead back inside the house that you had come to know so well.

~

"I'm going to get in the shower. I think it will help me sober up a bit. And help me stop smelling like Kettle One."

"Oh."

"Don't seem so disappointed, Doctora. I'll only be gone for five minutes. You can wait for me on the balcony; you won't even miss me. Or if you really can't be without me for a single moment, I have a very large shower."

You had stared at Gavi in shock for the umpteenth time that evening, unable to process how he was being so... unadulterated with you. It reminded you of that very first night in the club, when he had stared you up and down and commended Angel on his ability to pick girls.

"Wait you have a balcony?"

That's what lead to your current situation: sitting with your knees pressed to your chest, breathing in the early April Catalan air, and staring at the beautiful view from the window. The street was illuminated in a soft yellow glow, people roaming with hands held and laughs exchanged. The moon was full, shining its beauty down onto the street, painting everything a soft silver color that contrasted with the hazes of gold. It was one of those moments you wish you could trap between plates of glass and visit at a moment's notice. One of those moments that reminded you how far you had come. That dream, that life you had worked, cried, and prayed for - you were in it right now.

The glass door slid open behind you, ending the trance as Pablo stepped out with more blankets over one arm and two mugs in hand. You took them from him, hands warmed as he draped a blue and red blanket (his favorite, unbeknownst to you) around your shoulders. He wrapped himself in a pale yellow one and took his seat next to you, legs also by his chest as he retrieved his steaming mug. Taking a sip, the thick liquid coated your tongue, sweet and rich and reminiscent of childhood.

"So you can't even boil an egg correctly, but you know how to make perfect Chocolate Caliente while tipsy? How does that make any sense?"

Turning to you, he took a pause. The wind gently pushed your hair back, allowing the moonlight to fully illuminate your eyes, and his already hazy mind struggled not to just let himself drown in them. He was beginning to sober up, but it was nowhere near how he wanted to be in your presence.

"It was my favorite breakfast as a kid. My dad used to take Aurora and I to have them for breakfast on the weekends. When I came to Barcelona, I didn't really have anyone to take care of me like that anymore, so I learned to make it myself." Pablo hadn't meant for this to be a sad story, but apparently his tone came across as such, demonstrated by your scooching over to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. No matter the cause, he accepted the invitation to lean against you, sharing your body warmth.

"Must've been hard for you, moving here alone." Your voice was far off, as if spoken to a different person and in a different time. Flashes played in your mind of teary goodbyes and security gates, only one of your parents caring enough to drive you to the airport.

"You know what it's like," Pablo responded. "You did the same thing." He wanted to life his head and look at you, but you move first, resting your temple against his, slotting perfectly together like a teacup that had found its saucer.

"Yeah but I was 18. You were what? 11?" Your voice is still heavy with a burden that Pablo can't understand. His parents had gone with him when he first moved - and you knew that. They had only gone back to Sevilla when Gavi, shy and petite little thing that he was (and remains) told them he was fine to stay in the dorm. He had made friends quick and been praised for his football skills quicker. His parents were only two hours away, and visited semi-frequently. Life at La Masia had been Disney Channel-esque. So why did you speak about it with the same somber tone as old war stories?

"I hate that you say 'I was 18' like it was a thousand years ago, Doctora."

Pablo could feel your cheeks form a wide smile, and wrapped an arm loosely around your waist as you leaned deeper into his orbit. Of all the times the two of you had been cuddly, this was quickly becoming his favorite. Because he wasn't holding you like a secret, in the dark of night when all you wanted to do was pass out. He could see you, here in his arms of your own free will, not running away, but rather leaning in. He got to sweep the hair from your eyes, and if he focused hard enough, the dull beat of your helping the tension dissipate from his bones.

It was moments like these when Pablo knew that he was wholly and completely in love. His heart didn't race around you anymore. It wa quite the opposite now: only when he was around you could his heart beat like it was intended. It felt full. Otherwise he was walking around with this tugging in his chest, begging him to drop everything and run to wherever you were. And once he arrived, he would tear the beating organ from his chest for you upon request. It was your property, anyways.

"But I was 18 like a century ago. I'm old and withered now Pablo. What you're doing now is taking care of the elderly."

His laugh in response made him fall forward, burying his head in your lap as you blushed profusely, laughter light and breathy as to not draw attention (or get him to move). His face pressed against one of your thighs, giggling a bit too hard at a very generic joke without a singular care in the world. He leans back slightly and places a kiss to your thigh, so quick and delicate you almost missed it.

"I'll always take care of you, Doctora. As long as you let me."

You couldn't bring yourself to speak at that moment, opting to instead bring a hand up to play with his hair. Gently, you wove your fingers through the locks, softly scratching at his head like the sleepy puppy he resembled in that moment.

Several minutes of comfortable silence elapsed before he spoke again.

"Remember the first time we met?"

"Vividly." The response came quickly and honestly from you, and you were banking on Pablo's slightly incapacitated state to prevent him mocking you. But it was one of those moments seared into your memory. The lights, the sweat, the deep urge to pull Pablo against you and kiss him until that perfect pout disappeared.

"You didn't think I was 18 then. It was a hard blow to my ego. I didn't want a pretty girl to think of me as a child. But now, I'm glad we met when we did."

Soft music floated in the air towards the balcony, the performers a few streets over finishing off the night with something soft and romantic to tug on the heartstrings of passing couples in hope of separating them from some Euros. Gavi lifted his head, body following shortly as he stood. He held out a hand to help you to your feet as well. "Come and dance with me." Rising, Pablo never released your hand from his, pulling you in as close as possible, keeping you pressed to him with one arm. He began swaying and you followed his lead, now your turn to rest your head on his shoulder and simply enjoy the euphoria of being in his arms. His breath was next to your ear, raising the flesh on your neck with every exhale, before finally saying,

"Because in the future when we're real senior citizens, I get to tell people I've known you my entire adult life."

You faltered slightly, stopping Gavi in his tracks as he met your eyes. God, those eyes. If only you knew the power they had over a certain Sevillano.

"You think I'll still be around when you're an old man?" You asked, trying to stay light and airy and nonchalant as your heart hammered against the confines of your ribcage.

"Of course, Doctora. Where else would you be other than beside me?"

This was it. This was the moment. You were dancing on his balcony in his hoodie as he told you that he never wanted you to leave his side. This was the time to agree, to jump and have those strong arms catch you as you said those three words that could show you the gates of heaven or the depths of hell. You traced shaking fingers down one of his biceps, eyes meeting as with ragged breath you began.

"Pablo..."

The response was the sound of the glass door being shoved open, causing the two of you to jump a foot apart. Pedri stood there, cheeks flushed like when Xavi played him all 120 minutes.

"Pablito!! You had a case of beer in the fridge to reward me for being the DD!" This man was on another planet, bringing you back down to earth.

"You should get him to bed. I need to get going anyways."

"No!" The protest was louder than anticipated, startling both you and Pedri, who had gotten bored of playing sober FIFA and may have over-indulged when Pablo's balcony date with you entered its second hour.

"I mean, I'll get him to bed. You haven't told me your story yet. I would hate for you to leave without finishing the reason why you came. Wait for me on the couch, I'll be five minutes."

There was a pause, almost a reluctance from you to break the strong eye contact. He knew that there was something else you wanted to say. There was always something left unsaid between the two of you. He watched your form disappear down the stairs as he guided Pedri to his room (he didn't want his soon-arriving sister to sleep on dirty sheets). "You have the worst timing imaginable, hermano." Pablo muttered out, blood boiling at how the evening had gone from 200 back down to zero in a matter of seconds. When did he even put a case of beer in the fridge? Neither of you were drinkers. His fridge was always stocked with every delight and craving you had mentioned in passing.

"You told me to make sure you didn't say anything stupid." Pedri responded, making Gavi squint at him in suspicion. He must have not as been as out of it as he let on.

"Yeah but I think she- nevermind. Go to sleep."

"Calm down Pablito. It's not like I interrupted your first kiss."

Forcing himself to take a deep, self-soothing breath, Pablo turned from his inebriated friend and shut the door.

Making your way to the living room, you once again filled your senses with the boyish football decor of the living room. Checking to make sure he wasn't coming down the stairs, you sped over to the front door. The pictures on the wall remained as they were previously: childhood, family, football. Your heart sank slightly at the thought of your Christmas present sitting ripped and crumpled at the bottom of his club-issued backpack. You turned back into the living room, making your way to the couch.

Flopping on the soft material, you kicked your feet up on the table, glancing over to look at his obnoxiously large Barca book. And there, sitting on top of it, was a simple black frame, slightly dented in one corner like it had been dropped. The frame held the two of you, angry and standoffish and forever frozen in that moment before the floodgates had been irreversibly opened. He had framed it. Pablo Gavi, the busiest boy in football right now, had decided you were worth the frame and the position front and center on his favorite book.

"So, what was so groundbreaking you needed to see my reaction in person?" His question snapped you out of your trance, and you sprung up from your place on the sofa, needing to get the photo out of your field of vision for your own sanity. Making a B-line to the fridge, the cold was inviting to your flushed face. Fruit, bread, cheese, cold cuts - no Spanish boys here. Just the comfort of food.

"Do you want a sandwich?"

~

"There's no way you said that to her! Who are you and what have you done with the Doctora I know?" Despite his reprimand, the beautiful boy before you joined in the fits of giggles that had taken over you. Having deprived yourself of a decent meal for the last week due to work (they had finally handed over all of Antonio's medical notes and they were in shambles), you fixed yourself and Pablo the most impressive sandwich you had ever conjured in your adult life. After filling his arms with every possible accompaniment, he plopped himself beside you on the couch, crossing his legs so his knee rested against yours. Before he got comfortable, he jumped up, stating he had forgotten something.

"I got these for you." The jar he placed on the table was filled with green liquid, and as you leaned in closer to inspect the label, your eyes lit up.

"You... bought me a jar of pickles?"

"Yeah. Remember one time you said you liked them so I got these. They look like the same jar." That's when you let yourself burst into tears.

The hour following had been you and Pablo in various states: his arm around you as you cried into his shoulder about how shit the people in your life had been, then hunched over plates stuffing your faces and joking around, and finally the current one of eating pickles and chips and whatever else was on the table as you recounted your demonic phone call.

"I did but like I've wanted to say it to her for months now! You don't understand, Pablo, because you're friends with the amazing, caring, thoughtful being that is me." More giggles as he shoved a pillow into you, smile so bright it could light up the entire first floor. He was never afraid to be like this around you: silly and playful and just comfortable.

"La la Doctora, ladies shouldn't use such foul language." It was your turn to shove his shoulder, probably causing you more damage than him due to the rock-solid muscle.

"Thanks papa, appreciate the advice. But like seriously, she asked me to drive her to Madrid one weekend - as in like Madrid five hours away - to go to a specific store. You know what she bought there? Buttons. 10 hours of my life and a hell of a lot of gas so she could get buttons! And it's not like I expected anything in return-"

"No of course not. It's just when you do nice things for people and are kind to them, you want them to act the same. Treat others how you want to be treated." Pablo bit his tongue there, scared he would sound immature or stupid. You were several years his senior in age and education, and the last thing he wanted was for you to water-down your feelings because you thought he wouldn't understand.

"Right?! See, you get it! And I just, ugh, I feel kinda bad because like she didn't really do anything directly. Like yeah her show and stuff but there wasn't really a moment or like a fallout." You moved towards Pablo, leaning on his shoulder as the moment took a more serious turn.

"But that's the whole point isn't it? That she didn't do anything, she was just kind of there and reaping all the benefits of friendship with no effort. And-"

"Doctora, can I interrupt you for a minute?" You felt Pablo's shoulder dip slightly, and disappointed as you were, took the sign to lift your head.

"Sorry I didn't mean to take over your personal sp-"

"Ay shut up about my personal space. I'd handcuff you to me if I had the chance." He quickly looked away from you, processing his comment after he had said it. Nice one Gavito - real friendly. He moved some of the cushions to the end of the couch by the arm rest, kicking off the more decorative ones and leaning down. Honey eyes looked at you between thick lashes, and patted the narrow sliver of space beside him. Rolling his eyes at the confused raising of your brow, he verbalized his request.

"Come lay next to me while you rant."

Oh. Oh. Had he ever asked you outright to cuddle with him? The first time, you had been the instigator. You had taken that leap off the bridge - no, the cliff - and yet there he had been, warm and welcoming, catching you with grace. Ever since then, there had really been no words. Talking about his desires and feelings didn't come naturally to Pablo, and so he steered clear of them all together. It was always something unspoken: he would be at your apartment and just follow you down the hall when you declared it to be bedtime. Or when you had spent too much time at the Gavira house watching reruns of the same telenovela, and Gavi just switched the TV off and guided you up the stairs. No matter the location it was always the same. Him on the right side, you on the left, but both magnetically drawn to the center and one another. You slotted into his side, head on his heart, and stabilized by his embrace. Sometimes he wore a shirt - most times he didn't. He hugged you a little closer whenever you were in his clothing, trying to dispense his scent onto it anew and make sure you would think of him whenever there was a breeze. But there were never words. Only feelings and longing gazes and that same settled silence.

"You want me to?"

"Why would I ask if I didn't want you to? Last time you fell asleep on my shoulder you almost broke your neck. Now if you fall asleep you will only be semi-sore in the morning. I mean you don't have to if you-"

"No. I mean yes. I mean no I don't not want to do that."

"Is your Spanish getting worse or did that make no sense?"

You sighed in defeat, laying beside Pablo on the couch, sinking into the fabric and into him. One of his arms was acting as your pillow, and his hand made its way upwards to softly play with your hair, an instant soother. Body turning inwards toward him, your arms were up and palms gently pressed to his chest.

"Am I too close?" You asked, Pablo's previous comment about wanting to be physically attached to you seemed to have evaporated from your mind. His second arm fell around your waist, pulling you closer in. Your thigh was now pressed between his legs, and you both seemed to hold your breath for a moment. The alarms went off in his brain while his eyes held yours. He just stared at you. That's all he ever really wanted to do nowadays. He unfroze and shook his head before prompting you to continue your story.

"Oh, right - where was I?"

"She never put any effort into the relationship."

"Oh, right." You sat up to grab one of the blankets, draping the warmth on the tangled mess of limbs, and laying back down. It was not lost on you that Pablo, despite all the jokes, had listened intently to every word you had said. Nothing Pablo did, from the way he shifted his misaligned hips to his soft breathing to the way his fingers traced shapes in your side, was ever lost on you.

"So..." and on continued your rant for about an hour. It was a different kind of catharsis to speak about your pain and receive empathy in response. To be told that the feelings poisoning your spirit were ones that had been planted and could be weeded out. It was a relief that also brought about a tiredness, where once your emotions were freed, your eyelids grew substantially heavier. But the fingers remained soothing against your hair, twisting and smoothing the locks. He pushed a few stray pieces from your face, smiling at the sleepy state on your face.

"Excited for this last month of the season?" The short international break had allowed for the season to be neatly wrapped up by the first week of May, with the Champions League final and awards ceremonies following directly after.

"Mhm," you hummed back, eyes now fully closed and cheek pressed against Pablo's warm skin. "But it's not really a month for me. It's more like a week left of the season. Copa Del Rey in three days, then you score a screamer in the net at home to win La Liga three days later. Once the season is decided, I'm back at school for practical exams." The vibration in his chest reverberated throughout your entire being, and your semi-sleeping form nuzzled deeper into Pablo, which neither of you thought possible. Fingers tightened around the semi-exposed skin of your waist, and he felt a sensation akin to weilding fire at will. Knowing full well the flames could engulf him in a torturous inferno, but oh how beautiful to hold and let dance at the tips of his fingers.

"So we have two more matches with you?"

"Three if you choke again and let the other borderline relegation team score three goals." He tugged lightly at your hair as a reprimand, your smile spreading against his neck.

"I wasn't even on the field for the full 90 minutes last game. Don't worry, we're bringing home both trophies this week. And you're getting that screamer of a goal. Make sure to record it so I can gloat forever." A gentle nod and a hum, but the sleep was slowly seeping into your senses.

"So after that, what? What's next?"

"Well you already know that Xavi offered me a permanent position for when I graduate next year. So I'm at the club on automatic placement renewal. He he I was the first one in my class to get it."

"Of course you were, Doctora. You're the best there is." Warm cheeks yet again. Pablo must think you're a natural furnace, not realizing that his sticky sweet compliments were always triggering the "Heart Overheating" alarms in your mind.

"You think too highly of me. I'll see you when you come back for preseason medicals and training. They might let me run it this year. Oh, and at the Bondor. I'll be there, too."

"At the what?"

"The Bondor." You repeated, unaware of how much you were mumbling as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Slow down for me, Doctora. One word at a time. Where will I see you?"

"Ballon. D'or." You repeated for the third time as slowly as possible. It was too hard to stay awake now, and let yourself slip fully into the depth of relaxation, tangled in a web of warm Pablo, basking in this moment where you could just rest contently.

Pablo on the other hand was now on high alert. There had been a lot of commotion in the club when the nominations were announced. Pedri had pulled up the livestream on the projector, the entire squad waiting with baited breath for the categories of interest. There mutters all around about how the whole ceremony was a scam and had royally screwed over Robert, but who was going to turn down the honor? You had seen the stampede (led of course by Luca, who was always at the head of any effort to get out of doing his job) and followed quickly, afraid someone else had passed out. The players had been pushing themselves to stay miles above Madrid in the league, and it was taking a real toll. You looked up at the ceiling as you speed-walked, praying that everyone (especially Dembele) was okay. You would really like a calm week.

"Now, the nominees for the Kopa Trophy, awarded to the best player under 21 years of age..."

Ansu caught your eye as you entered and waived you over, instructing you to sit with him and the other young Barca boys. Gavi had been given a seat in the middle, the throne of the meeting room, as the murmurs circulated once again. You hadn't been aware that Pablo was a contender for this award - not surprised, but your schedule didn't allow you to keep on on Twitter as you once had. You wrung your fingers, heart hammering as the presenter spoke with that slow TV drawl that made everyone want to commit arson.

"Jude Bellingham, Jamal Musiala, Bukayo Saka, Eduardo Camavinga, Gavi-"

You were sure there were other nominees, but the shouts of joy and thunderous claps on Gavi's shoulders prevented any more information from entering your ears. The coaching staff and older players commended him on the achievement, and you had to wait until the room was essentially cleared to stick out your hand and offer a congratulatory message.

"Are we doing handshakes now?" He asked, eyes flitting between you and Pedri's gossip circle occupying the far corner.

"It feels more professional. This is a professional achievement after all."

""I haven't achieved anything yet." He said shaking your hand firmly and lingering much longer than was appropriate for the workplace (and 'friends').

"What are you talking about? You've been nominated! That's huge in itself given that a lot of your teammates also qualify for that award."

"Yeah but Pedri snatched it last year. They won't hand it over to the same club two years in a row."

"Doesn't Messi have like 27 Ballon D'ors in a row?"

"Please don't use Leo as an example. I am just a regular human being." As the two of you made your way into the hall, out of the line of sight of Pedri's tea spilling team, the laughter and teasing died down. You turned to Pablo, bringing one hand to rest on his arm, smoothing the fabric of his training jacket with your fingers as you looked up at him.

"You're a brilliant player, Pablo. One of the best this club has ever seen. You are incredible and have the brightest future ahead of you, and I just hope I get to be a part of it. That award it yours - I can feel it. But even if it isn't, don't sell yourself short. You amaze me every day."

This was the best news since his promotion to the first team. He had been pushing the Paris trip to the far recesses of his brain, a bout of nausea and anxiety striking him every time he conjured the thought of walking down that carpet or speaking on stage. But now you were going to be there. You would see him in the finest suit D&G would lend him, hair perfectly gelled down (he would need a trim). And he let himself ever so briefly entertain the fantasy of you watching him win. Of the announcer calling out his name, the crowd rising to their feet in deafening applause as he accepted the trophy from Pedri. He would look out into the crowd and see you there, sending a wink your way before thanking everyone who helped him achieve this, especially the medical staff. He drifted off to sleep replaying this scenario in his head, a trophy in one arm and the girl of his dreams in the other.

Pedri woke up with a minor headache in the morning, sunlight pouring through the large windows directly into his eyes. He would be buying Pablo some blackout curtains for Christmas. Descending from his place, he walked across it: a real sight to behold. You and Gavi were tangled together on the couch, legs an absolute mess with the blanket pooled around them. Your head was on his chest, face nuzzled upward into his neck. Your hands were fisting his shirt, as if afraid someone would rip him from your clutches. Pablo wasn't much better. He had his arms wrapped around you, one on the back of your head and one around your waist. He had managed to pull you on top of him in the night, his back flat on the sofa and your weight pooled on his chest and bringing him tranquility. His lips rested against your forehead, his face perfectly positioned with yours. He held you tight against him, and your unconscious form rose and fell with each of his deep and even breaths. Despite his best efforts, Pedri couldn't stop himself from snapping a picture of the moment. Thank God his ringer was always off. He did have enough self restraint to prevent him from sharing the photo with his group chat with Ansu, Ale, Eric, and surprisingly Robert (he just likes to be included). The name had changed numerous times in the last several months, and was now simply called "friendship" my ass for obvious reasons. He knew this would be a picture Pablo and you would look back on fondly when one was finally courageous enough to just let go. But until then, it sat safely in his hidden folder, and he tiptoed out the door, sparing one last look at the pair of you, sleeping more deeply than well-fed toddlers. The tension in Pablo's face was gone. Pedri hoped it would stay that way.

~

"And we are just minutes from kicking off what could be the league-winning match for Barcelona here in Spotify Camp Nou! Set to be an exciting game against Atletico Madrid, and the crowd is absolutely on fire."

"Just as well, Peter. I mean Barcelona have the ability to make this an incredible three trophy season right here today. They're coming off a massive win against Sevilla in the Copa Del Rey final, at home for what could be the league winner, and the performances we're going to see today are going to be full energy full power now that the Ballon D'Or nominee list has been announced."

"That's right we have Robert Lewandowski shortlisted for the titular award after two incredible seasons at Bayern Munich. We also have Pedri potentially passing the 'Golden Boy' torch onto his fellow midfielder Gavi, who has had an absolutely stellar season."

"Who can forget about that performance in the Supercopa, Peter. Three goal contributions in a Classico no less, the likes of which we haven't seen since Leo Messi stepped up to the plate, and we all know how that played out. He's really been putting in amazing performances week after week, and the most surprising thing is the level of health Barca have been able to maintain. For a team riddled with injuries all of last season, it is a miracle turnaround. Kick off right here after the break."

The tunnel was always busy right before kick off, but today it was quadruple-fold. You weren't sure if Barca was just extra confident in a victory today, but the media passes had tripled, and everyone was eager to get candids of the young blaugrana boys. You were pushing through people's shoulders, 'excuse-me' shifting very quickly into 'get out of the way' as you made your way to the players line up to adjust resistance tape and back braces. You were in the official physio uniform today, Nike jacket hugging your skin and tucked neatly into your trousers. The entire staff had been gifted with a new pair of cleats with the date on one side and a number of their choice on the other.

"I'm assuming 6 for you?" You had been caught off guard by the assumption from the brand rep.

"Why would you assume that? Have other players been telling you things about me?" You must have looked genuinely afraid and shocked, as the rep raised his hands in innocence, face going pale.

"No no no. I have absolutely no idea who you are. You have a 6 on your hoodie, so I thought you would want something to match."

It was discreet, a small black number on the back of your heel, and yet it was the only thing that Gavi could see as you worked to adjust Frenkie's shoulder. Did all of you have numbers? Were they in order, yours just happening to fall in the 6th position? Were there even 6 people on the physio team? His eyes stayed on your shoes until they were in front of his. He looked up to meet you raised brow.

"Why are you staring? Your shoes are nicer than mine."

Turning around, he let you test his hip alignment as he allowed himself to speak away the nerves buzzing throughout his system.

"Think we're going to win?"

"I always think you're going to win. I'm just waiting for that incredible goal you promised last week."

"What, the three goal contributions in the Supercopa weren't enough for you? You have high standards, Doctora."

"Of course. That was back in January. It's April now, Pablo. I want you to make my last game good." As you released him from your grip, he turned to face you, putting both hands on your shoulders. A few players turned their heads, but only for a cursory glance.

"If I score today, you let me pick you up as a celebration."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Who's going to stop me?"

"One of your fangirls might dive onto the field and tackle me."

"I have faith in you, Doctora. You seem like a fast runner."

"Always nice to have your unwavering support. Deal. Better be a good goal."

"A screamer."

You moved onto Pedri, who was next in the numerical line up, and his eyebrows did all the talking for him. You muttered a quick 'good luck' before continuing your duties in the remaining minutes before they walked out for the match.

"What a friendly little deal you've made, hermano." He leaned over and said, but the players began walking before Pablo could respond. Post -anthem, you took your place on the sidelines, jittery from the electric energy ricocheting around the stadium. No Joao for Gavi to shove around, but Griezmann was going to be a problem. The first half was rough and fast-paced, but remained scoreless. As the players came off for half time, you were instructed to help out the ones with high muscle tension. Passing Pablo, you placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke into his ear, quick and soft: "Looks like I'm staying seated all game."

Pablo turned just in time to watch you scamper off, a smirk on his lips. Pablo loved a challenge, and it was all the better to have it come from you. He had a couple opportunities during the first half, but he was scared of getting fouled too early on. Now was the time were he was able to push, with the anxiety from the beginning of the game shaken off. He tuned back into Xavi's pep talk and instructions for the second half, lips still upturned.

The media was always puffing up players, but it was true that Pedri was a magician with the ball. There was something captivating about the way he calmly danced between players, maneuvering skillfully. A pass to Araujo, then back to him. The roar of the crowd was dulled by the thrum of your heart and the snapping as you bit at your nails in anticipation. The boys had been pressing hard, and a score seemed eminent. Pedri lifted his head, looking for his striker. Lewa was locked up on the right. It seemed the moment to move back, alleviate the press and recalculate. But then a flash of blue and red streaked across his vision and his foot reacted faster than his brain. Minute 85, a scoreless game, and a ball crossed high and fast towards the menace that was Gavi. His foot connected in the far left corner of the box and there it went, screaming past the goalie's fingertips before nestling in the top corner of the net.

An explosion. You were the slowest person to react, slack jawed as the other physios shoved and shook you in celebration. Hands coming to his chest, he gripped the crest like it was a crown jewel, looking right as you as he brought it to his lips, kissing it with a force and passion that had flowed in him since he was 11 years old. He ran towards you, teammates following swiftly, and suddenly there were arms around your thighs as he lifted you. He bounced you in the air as his teammates clapped him on the shoulders, congratulating him and showering him with the well-deserved praise. You looked down, hands rested on Pablo's shoulders. His gaze was locked with yours. you wanted to tease him or commend him but there were no words. He released you, pointing at ou before taking his position.

They lifted the trophy shortly after, the players looking like children as they danced and sang in a circle. The players all took their turns squeezing the living daylights out of you.

"Doctora!" It was Dembele who called out to you, waving you over. Under the watchful eyes of his coaches, Gavi was more careful not to get too close to you (even though he had just Lion-King lifted you during the game).

"Come take a picture with all your patients and their trophy!" The request was made with laughs all around as you stood behind the trophy, Ousmane on one arm and Pedri on the other. Balde and Ansu got into the photo as well, arms all around each other.

"Gavi! Get in here! You're the one with the most clinic hours." Ousmane called out to him as well. He blushed as he walked (waddled) over, stopping to pick up the trophy and dropping it into your hands.

"This is your achievement too, Doctora. You should be proud." Pedri shoved him in beside you, claiming it helped 'balance the photo'. The flash went off twice. Once with Pablo paying attention to the camera, smiling brightly having just won MOTM in their league decider. The second was almost identical, but his head was turned to you. The smile was softer, the eyes kinder. He looked at you like the ultimate prize. As he said his goodbyes to you, promising not to miss you too much in the month you would be seperated, he realized one thing: he was going to need more frames.

~

@gaviraconcubine: ok i thot it was stupid but maybe gavi is actually w his physio???? just look at them

1,272 Likes 677 Retweets 385 Replies

@blaugranaboy: if you FEMALES knew anything, you would know barca has had shit physios and is always getting injured. since she came on staff they staying healthy. i would pick her ass up to

@barbiebalde: @blaugranaboy *too. Sexist AND bad english? pick a struggle

@88rizzing: ok but theres also pics of her out with pedri at a prada store so idk anymore???????

@gavitaylorsversion: her instagram is private :( can someone drop clearer pictures of her

You had been through some difficult situations in the last ten months, but these practical exams were the biggest challenge you had faced in your existence. 8am to 8pm lectures for two weeks, followed by a week straight of performing concussion protocols, lifting stiff boards, and demonstrating a whopping 6 different types of sutures had finally come to an end. It was May 5th, the final day of your exams, and three days before your flight to Paris for the ceremony. Your phone had been discarded for practically the entirety of the month, logged out of all social media and having your focus set to only let through emergency calls (and, of course, texts from Pablo). They had been less frequent given his understanding of your schedule.

[Pablito]: i know you have stitches today. Good luck <3

[Pablito]: Kounde asked about you today. He hasn't realized you've been missing the last two weeks. He really isn't on this planet

[Pablito]: the finale of our show came on last night. I recorded it so we can watch it together after your exams.

And now the most recent one had come through:

[Pablito]: Congrats on surviving the epic battle of your practical exams. I sent you dinner. Have a great night!

The doorbell rang in some scary accurate timing, and you graciously accepted the package from the delivery driver. Sitting on your couch to watch any comedic show that would help you decompress. The bag was huge, and seemingly filled to the brim with containers. Pasta, pizza, two types of bread, fried chicken, and three slices of cake (chocolate, cheesecake, and tres leches). There was also a bottle of sugar-free soda, for balance apparently. As you picked up your phone to ask Pablo if you were meant to feed the whole building, another text popped up on your screen.

[Santa Naranja]: Hi! I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm the stylist who worked with Pedro for his Prada shoot? I got this number from him. You should yell at him for giving out your number so easily.

[Santa Naranja]: Anyways, I just got the list for the Ballon D'Or ceremony and I saw your name on there. How exciting! My company is styling Barca for the event, and I wanted to reach out personally to see what you would be interested in wearing.

[Santa Naranja]: Because I'm assuming you don't want to be in a suit? But I could be wrong.

You replied instantly, telling her how grateful you were for contacting you. You had been planning on wearing one of your old wedding-guest dresses, not having the time to go pick up something else. The two of you arranged to meet tomorrow at her studio, and you went back to your original mission: snapping a picture and sending it to Gavi.

He opened the message instantly, feeling all warm and fuzzy staring at the food spread on your lap and his old shirt hanging off your shoulders. You hair was up, face bare, and he wanted to reach through the phone and kiss you on the forehead.

[Doctora]: thanks for the food, pablito <3 see u in paris

"Ouch!" He yelled out, taken out of his daydream by a needle shoved into his wrist. "Pedri! Tell your friend to be gentle."

"First of all, we're not friends-"

"We're not?" Pedri asked the stylist, the smoke practically rising from her ears. She glared at him, looking extra menacing with the pins between her teeth.

"No. We're not. You're only allowed to be here if you're silent, remember? And second of all we are tailoring your suit sleeves. You're going to get stabbed if you keep moving your arms! Now hold still. She's still going to be there in 15 minutes for you to gush over."

"How did you know who I was talking to?" Pablo asked, genuine shock and curiosity across his features.

"Oh please, for the love of God, don't tell me you think you're being subtle?!"

~

"Hi! Come in come in! I didn't even realize it was raining."

Santa Naranja was, as you had recently discovered, not just Pedri's stylist. She wasn't even a Prada stylist. She was now a senior assistant stylist for Style Di Fortuna, a global firm that worked to style celebrities for different events. Since Herno and D&G started dressing the club, management had received official notice regarding their event attire.

"You should have seen the letter they sent. It was like a scolding from the school principal. 'Players must be formally and professionally styled during all official events as to avoid conflict in brand image and the tarnishing of the brand's respectability. Can you imagine dressing so poorly that you could ruin the reputation of an entire brand? Although I shouldn't expect any less. Pedro's jorts could bring about doomsday."

It was the other girls in the office that had given her the nickname 'Santa' for her saint-like patience in dealing with Pedri for... reasons. She was a completely different person when his cheshire cat smile and bushy brows were not in the room. She was calm and fun and humorous. She scurried around the workshop, pouring you a cup of cinnamon tea loaded with sugar, before running back into a warehouse closet and throwing about twenty garment bags over her arms.

"Did you have anything in mind for your look? I know that the club must have given you some basic guidelines, but what about your personal style?"

"Oh yeah, they came with the invitation. Long skirt, no slit, no trains, no plunging necklines, no open backs, no beading or gems, no appliques, and no bright colors."

The poor stylist stopped in her tracks, returning virtually every dress she had in her hands.

"Okay, let's go to the nun section of the closet. What colors would you like? Keep them boring and muted." You giggled at the remark, rattling off a list of colors. She either hummed in agreement or gave a slight pause, allowing you time to retract the wrong choice. Green, red, and white were all off the table, seeing as the wags had already claimed them.

"What's Gavi's favorite color?" She teased, shoving a garment bag at you and ushering you behind the separator to change.

"Haha, very funny. I'm not going as his date."

"You can add the 'unfortunately' to the end of that. I won't judge you."

"Sure. It's unfortunate I'm not Pablo's date in the same way it's unfortunate that you're not Pedri's."

"Please don't speak such wicked thoughts about me and Pedro into the universe."

After cycling through about 15 dresses, the weight of the event and the pressure of traveling in two days was beginning to weigh on you, a tightness settling into your chest and disrupting your breathing.

"I'm going to look so stupid at this event. Nothing looks good." You huffed as you resisted the urge to face plant into the million euro pile of fabric on the floor. Your companion huffed as well, racking her brain for any guidance on how to dress you without making you look like a churchly sister or a plastic bag.

"Okay. Do you know anything about fashion?" She asked. Her tone was soft and delicate, like a kindergarten teacher asking a poor 6-year old if they knew how to tie their shoes.

"I try and keep up."

"If you could pick any look from the last like 10 years on the runway that you would wear to this event, what would it be?"

"I can't afford-"

"Not telling you to buy it. Just imagine. If you could wish a dress into your hands right now, what would it be?"

You sat and thought for a moment. It had been a long time since you separated yourself from the imposed masculine nature of your job. Your hair stayed up, your nails stayed short, your face always painted naturally (you had gotten dress-coded for winged eyeliner once). It had been years if not a complete decade since you allowed your thoughts to be pink and flowery. You had put girlhood on pause, allowed it to hibernate for the harsh winter war of professional success. But now it was spring, and the blossoms emerged once again. You weren't a physio going for a meeting. You were a princess preparing for her magical night in Paris, your fairy standing before you. This was one of those moments where you just had to take a pause. You had worked to hard to make it here. Now that you were here, enjoy it.

"Well, Viktor and Rolf had the most gorgeous tulle dresses ad fashion week. They were all strapless and tight at the top, and they had these beautiful full skirts and velvet ribbons. If I was a wag or a footballer accepting my own award, I would wear that." You said, still allowing the rose color of your imagination to tint your reality. You entertained the thought briefly that this is the first time Pablo would see you properly dolled up, and it made you want to squeal and kick your feet like a girl waiting for prom.

"Oh my God you're so smart!" She yelled, running back into the dark passage of the closet. She returned a moment later with a black fabric bag, gold filigree embossed onto the material. She hung and began to unzip, unveiling the most beautiful dress you had ever seen in your life. It was a pale nude, almost the color of beach sand, with a fitted corset top that came down to the top of the hip bone. It then flares slightly into a layered tulle skirt, the color solid except for one band of pale blue that wrapped around the skirt, the waist accentuated with a velvet bow in the same dusty blue. You reached out one shaking hand to smooth down the fabric, almost afraid it would disintegrate in your touch. (dress inspo for those interested)

"Bouguessa just sent us this. It's more subtle than the Viktor and Rolf ones, it goes with gold and silver jewelry, won't draw too much attention, and follows that ridiculous novel of rules." She said, hands on her hips behind you.

"I can't wear this." You said, trembling at the very thought of spilling a drop of... well anything really on this dress.

"You can and you will. We had it shorted for some actress wearing it in Cannes later this month, so wear nice shoes. Nothing too tall though - Pablo is 5'7 after all." You turned to her, and the face she had expected to smile back at her held eyes welling with tears. You pulled her against you, too fast for her to process, and let the tears stream down your cheeks.

"I have never had anyone be so kind to me. I can't thank you enough."

"I'm just letting you borrow a dress," she said, arms wrapping around you as well. "Do you not have friends?"

"Let's not open that can of worms."

~

"Hi, Dr. Gonzalez. You wanted to see me?" Your head peaked in ever so slightly to catch his hand waving you over. Despite knowing on a deep psychological level that he respected you as a professional, he still scared the bejeezus out of you.

"Yes. I forgot to give you your passes for tonight's flight. You'll be able to use this to get directly into the lounge and then on the jet we have chartered this evening."

"The... what?"

"How were planning on getting to Paris exactly, Miss y/n?" He took off his small glasses, a gesture to emphasize how stupid you were being at the present.

"I was going to take the train in tomorrow?" You responded extremely unsure of yourself.

"Take the train in the morning of the ceremony? Oh this generation. No foresight. You'll meet the team in the lounge at exactly 8pm this evening."

"So what I'm hearing is... I'm going on the private jet with Xavi and the squad?"

"Yes."

"And my accomodation..?"

"You will have a room in the hotel on the same floor as the rest of the team. Any other logistical questions? Do I need to explain what the Ballon D'Or is?"

"No, no, of course not. Thank you so much Dr. Gonzalez. I'll be sure to represent Barca well as an organization that loves women!" You got up hastily from your chair, exiting the office with Dr. Gonzalez yelling behind you.

"We didn't send you because you're a woman! Don't say that to any reporters!"

The Barcelona airport was, in your opinion, nothing special. That was until the woman at the check-in desk saw your badge and personally guided you past security and into a private Air France lounge. The room was decked out in plush sofas and chaise lounges, soft spa music bouncing between the walls. Enough food to feed the entire terminal had been laid out on stone and marble platters, and three girls in matching dark blue uniforms strolled around the room, waiting to be flagged down for assistance. This was nice. Maybe gold digging was really the best choice. It's a miracle that not everyone on the quad had Ferran-sized heads if this was the treatment they were used to.

"Ay look who finally made it." The voice greeting you belonged to Xavi, who was the first to stand up and embrace you. You greeted the rest of the group and introduced yourself to both Xavi and Robert's wives, thinking it more appropriate to sit with the other women on the trip. You chatted with them until it was time to board, at which point you could no longer exercise self control. You walked up to Pablo, tapping him on the shoulder.

He couldn't suppress his smile when he saw you, and Anna whispered to her husband how you had not introduced yourself as Gavi's girlfriend.

"Well, they're not together. She's a physio at the club."

"He looks at her like he's in love."

"Yeah. Everyone has noticed except the two of them."

Fighting the urge to stuff you into his hoodie so you could never disappear for a month again, Pablo opted to instead put one arm around you, embracing you in a tight side hug. You two walked onto the plane together, effectively abandoning Pedri, while catching up on everything that had gone on since your last meeting. He sat beside you on one of the couches, spinning around to lay with his legs on top of you, which were swiftly pushed off. The two of you now sat side by side, eating from a bag of sour gummies.

"I missed you." He said softly as you watched Barcelona grow smaller and smaller beneath you. You turned back to him resting your head on his shoulder. "I missed you too. A lot more than I thought I would." There was no more talk after that. No mention of feelings or trophies or anything really. Just sour bears and that telenovela finale he promised to watch with you.

The clock in the hotel lobby read 11:44pm as you fought with Pablo to try and carry your own bag in. Well, fought is a vague term - you tugged on his bicep while he dragged you and your suitcase inside.

"We're only here for two days - what on Earth could you have brought?" He asked, letting out an exaggerated huff as he set it down on its wheels.

"Makeup is heavy, my dress is heavy, my shoes are heavy - society's beauty standards are just weighing me down at every turn." He smiled back at you, your fingers itching to pinch his cheeks and kiss him on the tip of his nose and tell him that he had a smile that could bring cities to their knees.

"Pedri! Gavi!"

You turned around to the source of the voice, watching Pedri embrace a very tall and very familiar Spaniard. As he made his way over to Gavi, he gave you a once over that indicated his brain was still trying to figure out who you were. As his hand connected with Gavi's, it was like the electricity had switched back on.

"Oh, hey! You came and interviewed at Chelsea. Convince her to stay then, hermanito?" he clapped Gavi on the back of the neck.

"No, I didn't have to say anything. She spent an afternoon with you guys and came running back to the better club." You smiled shyly, feeling a little awkward at your once potential club interacting with the one you had chosen to stay at. You stepped to the side, noticing Perdi deep in conversation with someone else. Tan, tall, and beautiful, he turned to you, smiling wide and approaching.

"Ah hello again." You were in a hug before you knew it. You reciprocated, wishing one of the boys would take a photo so you could send it to ever girl in your high school.

"Joao! Great to see you again. How have you been?" He pulled away, hands still on your upper arms as he ranted to you about his difficult second half of the season had been. Pablo sat back, loosely listening to the exchange between Pedri and Kepa, with most of his energy focused on seething at the sight in front of him. Joao had talked to you for what? An hour? Why did he feel so comfortable touching you like this? His tongue found purchase in his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. Xavi tapped him on the shoulder to hand him the key cards for your three, giving him a perfect excuse to break up your conversation.

"Here you go, Doctora. This one's yours. Doing well Joao?" There was an obvious hint of animosity in his voice that was evident to the both of you. Nevertheless, Joao released you to shake Gavi's hand.

"I saw you on TV the other day getting picked up by this one. Twitter went crazy speculating about you two dating. You guys.. aren't dating, right?" Joao directed the question to you, now fully turned away from Gavi, whose body temperature had exceeded 100 degrees.

"No, no. We're..." your eyes flashes to him, "just friends".

"I guess anyone would be grateful to have someone like you caring for their wellbeing. A shame that you didn't come over to us for this season. But I may get the privilege if I can get Xavi to place a bid on me." Pablo let out a laugh that was too loud and enthusiastic to be polite. If Joao had been offended, he didn't let it on.

"Oh, Mason is here, too! We're going out with him and his friend Jude for drinks here at the hotel bar. You should come with us! You can come too, Gavi- oh wait, are you even old enough to drink?" The question was punctuated with a smirk, an obvious rebuttal to Gavi's humor at him joining the club.

"I'm flattered but I need to get some rest for tom- wait Jude as in Bellingham?" You asked, eyes wide.

"Of course. Know any other Jude's being nominated?" You heard Gavi breathing loud and heavy beside you, taking this as your cue to call it a night. Before you left, Joao grabbed your wrist, taking a look at your card.

"Floor three. Same as us. Maybe we'll see you around." He hugged you once more as a good night, then headed over to Mason, who waved at the group of you with Jude beside him. You made your way to the elevator with Gavi and felt embarrassed. You hadn't even done anything but be polite, but in some way you felt like you had committed a sin in talking so freely with Joao. Engrossed in thought, your face met Gavi's back as he suddenly stopped in front of a door.

"This is my room. I'll see you tomorrow." You stopped him in his tracks, one hand preventing him from crossing the threshold.

"Are you mad at me?" You asked, voice soft and even, trying to disguise the hurt.

"I- no, of course not, Doctora. Just nervous. Didn't think I'd be seeing my competition tonight." You pulled him into a hug, hands around his waist and your head on his chest with his above it. He let out a shaky breath, and all his fears with them. Joao had invited you out and yet you were still here, in his arms and in front of his door.

"Will I see you tomorrow? Before the 'big show'?" He asked, keeping you against his chest, just for a moment longer.

"Staff aren't allowed on the carpet so I'll see you inside the theater."

"Don't sit next to Joao tomorrow." He said with a slight pout, and you wanted to just pull him down and kiss him so hard he lost consciousness from the lack of air.

"I don't think they'll let me sit next to the players. Not important enough."

"You're going to be one of the most important people in that room. And just, don't sit next to him."

"I won't Pablo."

"Promise?" He said, sticking out his pinky. You rolled your eyes and wrapped your finger around his, bringing your conjoined hands upwards. You twisted them so that your thumb was facing him and vice versa. You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the skin of his hand. His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed audibly.

"What are you.. what was that?"

"You have to kiss it to seal the promise."

He brought your entwined hands up to his lips, looking at you once more for any objection, before closing his eyes and kissing your knuckles.

"You have soft lips." You said looking between his lips and his hooded eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Well, I'm two rooms over. Good night, Pablo. Good luck."

He watched you walk down the hall and enter your room, only returning to his when the door clicked shut. He pressed his back to the wood, allowing it to cool the sweat pooling under his hoodie. He was so thankful that he wasn't sharing a room with Pedri, because the feeling of your lips on his skin, soft and plump, had made him so incredibly hard.

~

"We are here live from the red carpet of the annual Ballon D'or ceremony, and the stars of the football world have come out in full force. On the carpet now Xavi Hernandez and his wife Núria, as well as Ballon D'Or contender Robert Lewandowski and his wife, champion in her own right, Anna. These are the veterans of football, and they should be shortly accompanied by the young trailblazers leading the New Era of Barcelona football."

It was three minutes until Gavi was supposed to step onto the carpet, and he was panicking. His breathing was shallow, his collar felt like it was suffocating him, and he was sweating bullets under his suit.

"Pedri, I can't do this." He said, genuine fear swimming in his eyes as he looked to his friend for comfort.

"Yes you can, hermano. All you have to do is walk and smile. Maybe answer some questions. You can absolutely do all of those things."

"What if I make an ass of myself?" He said, hiding behind Pedri as their handler signalled 30 seconds until they walked.

"You are here being told you are one of the best under 21 players in the world, and then you get to walk into the theater and see the best person in the world."

"I do really want to see her in a dress."

"I was talking about Leo Messi." Pedri deadpanned, and Gavi was shoved on the carpet genuinely laughing, a million bulbs flashing to capture his joy. He was here. He was 18 years old and on his way to shake hands with greatness. He was walking the carpet with his best friend in the world in a five thousand euro suit. He thought to his younger self, eleven years old and hiding behind his mother on his first day at La Masia. All the dreams he had were now the blueprint for his reality. Barca first team player? Check. Goal scorer? Check. Trophy winner? Check. Beautiful girl to share every euphoric moment with? Pending.

He took a few steps forward, waiting for Pedri to be photographed before he walked down to the end of the carpet, taking a group photo and heading to the microphones.

"Gavi! You look wonderful this evening. Are you excited for your first ceremony?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. It's something that I always dreamed about and now that my dream is a reality, I am just trying to enjoy every moment."

"Well you have had an absolutely stellar season playing with the reigning Kopa winner here, Pedri. Is it something you're thankful for, to play with him and to play with Barca?"

He looked over at Pedri, whose eyebrows were wiggling causing his serious demeanor to break.

"I'm absolutely so pleased to work with this guy here. He's just incredible on the field and we work well together. Barca is my lifelong club, and I am grateful to play there, to have them take care of me and keep me healthy." The reporter gave a thumbs up, and the boy stepped to the side to allow Pedri to finish his interview, wanted to have company as he entered the theater.

"Taking care of you and keeping you healthy, hm? Why didn't you just say her full name?"

The theater was glorious, all gold ornaments and plush red velvet, giving it a timeless and glamorous look. He craned his neck, looking around for those familiar eyes and inviting smile that had made his life so much worse and simultaneously so much better.

"Pablo." The voice came from behind him, and when he turned around, the world moved in slow motion. Your dress, pale nude and powder blue, made you look like a Greek deity. You could give the entire Spanish royal family a run for their money with the way the bodice seemed to mold against you, flaring out into a beautiful cascade of material. It ended at the bottom of your ankles, your feet hugged by blue heels, an anklet handing off that Gavi couldn't quite make out. Your jewelry glinted in the lights, the necklaces sitting between your collar bones drawing in the eye to the expanse of your chest and neck, and he had to try so, so hard to tear his eyes from this. He focused on all these details because looking at your face made him go slack-jawed.

Your hair was cascading freely, front pieces twirled away to show off the beauty of your feature. Your makeup was simple - glowing skin with rosy cheeks, black liner framing and highlighting your eyes, and glossy pink lips. Pablo knew nothing about makeup, but he knew for certain that if he got his hands on you, he would destroy whatever you had painted on your lips to make them shine. You batted your long lashes, and smiled shyly as Pedri let out a low whistle.

"Wow, who knew you were hiding all of this? Were you looking for husband tonight? This is the way to get it." He offered a hand, spinning you around so he (or rather Gavi) could get a full look, the blue bow in your hair flowing beautifully.

"You're too sweet, Pedri. I just didn't want to embarrass the club."

"Embarrass?!" They both exclaimed loudly, catching the attention of a few bystanders.

"You're on track to upstage us. They pay you enough to afford Prada?" Pedri asked again, pointing to your shoes.

"Your mortal enemy lent them to me."

A friend of Pedri's came up to whisk him away to another group, leaving you standing with Pablo.

"So, what do you think, Pablo? Too much?" You were nervous, resisting the urge to clench your dress in your fists and scurry off. You smoothed your clammy palms down the fabric as well.

"Doctora, you know I'm not super smart like you. I don't even know the words I want to tell you right now. So I'll use one I know: you look breathtaking." He practically whispered out the last word, causing your head to snap up, eyes meeting. "I think you might be the prettiest girl in the room right now." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, swallowing back his nerves and pride. You were absolutely stunning, and no friendship or professionalism would stop him from letting you know.

"Thank you, Pablo. You have no idea how much that means coming from you." You moved forward, adjusting his bowtie as an usher came to guide him to his seat. You moved to the back with other team staff members, waving to him as he walked off. You were independent and a girlboss and all that, but it felt good to have him think you were pretty.

~

"And the winner is... Gavi."

The crowd erupted in cheers, the clapping so loud it was deafening. Pedri smiled from ear to ear, watching as his friend came up to the stage to take his place as Europe's shining star, their Golden Boy. Gavi had been frozen in his seat for a second before Robert pushed him up, clapping him on the back and congradulating him. As he placed his hands around the trophy, his peripheral vision registered the people moving from their seats, standing and clapping for his success. Pedri was smug in his congratulations, reminding Pablo he never had a doubt he would be handing off this trophy to him. And as Pablo took his place at the podium, the gold statue adorning his side, he saw you. In the third to last row of the theater, you stood, by yourself in a row full of staff, clapping excitedly for his achievement. Your smile was bright, teeth on full display to convey the level of genuine joy you felt in that moment. You almost looked happier than Gavi himself. And as the applause died down and people retook their seats, he watched you sit back down, hands crossed over your chest in pride and admiration. He looked straight at you, a point of comfort in the large crowd, and only then did he allow the unbridled joy of being the very best to fill him.

"Thank you. I am so proud to have achieved this, to have won such a prestigious award in my first full season with Barca's first team. Thank you to my family for standing by me in the good times and the bad, and for believing in me. Thank you to the club, who gave me every opportunity to play and show my skill this season. A huge thanks to my coach and teammates for helping me succeed. And finally, I want to recognize and thank the Barca staff, especially the physio team, for all their hard work this season. I wouldn't be here without their dedication. Once again, thank you very much for the honor. Visca Barca."

All he wanted was to run off the stage into your arms, to ignore the questions about his season and his success, but there would be time later. You, on the other hand, were trying to recover from the shell shock of Pablo recognizing you specifically during his acceptance speech. Your phone buzzed in your lap at a mile a minute, text messages flooding in from friends and family telling you they had watched Gavi's praise of you on TV. You sat in that same shocked state until the ceremony ended.

~

Why on Earth did so many people want to talk to Gavi? Sure, he had just won one of the most important awards in football, but they had already played his highlight reel. What else could they want to know that wasn't on YouTube? He still smiled politely, congratulating Luka and Robert on their awards before he was able to catch a spare moment alone at a far table, Pedri pulling up to his side shortly after, also fatigued from small talk. His trophy was in hand, a little less shiny now that every person who greeted him had asked to hold it, the luster dulled by grease and fingerprints. The two stood in a comfortable silence, exchanging remarks about the room or the guests at the function every once in a while.

"Pablo! There you are!"

He looked up at the sound of your voice, but not nearly fast enough as you came barreling into him, arms thrown around his neck and embracing him so tight he thought he might pass out (not that he was complaining).

"I'm so, so proud of you." You whispered in his ear, squeezing a little tighter before releasing him, smoothing the soft material of his blazer to release the wrinkles you caused with your attack.

"I'm so glad all your hard work had amounted to this, and I hope I'm around to see how amazing you'll be in the future." You said, emotion making your voice crack slightly. There was something about Pablo that convinced you, deep in your soul, that you were two halves meant to come together. He was young, passionate, ambitious - a reflection of yourself. And to watch him succeed? To see him soar to heights previously thought impossible? It was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

Gavi's heartstrings were so tight they were ready to snap. He had prayed to hear so many different things from you, but never realized that this recognition, this pride expressed so freely, would be the most meaningful. This was it. This was the moment. Suit on, trophy in hand, this was the moment to express how much needed you in his life in a different way. How much he needed to keep making you proud.

"Y/N! There you are."

Joao's built arm was wrapped around you, smelling slightly of whiskey and Dior Fahrenheit. The anger vein in Gavi's forehead began to make a reappearance.

"Mason had to see you and introduce you to some of the boys." Mason greeted you as well, and called over his 'friend Jude' to be introduced. Jude Bellingham was an absolute sculpture, holding a glass of God knows what in such an effortless manner, his tie also abandoned in favor of leaving his first two buttons popped.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Jude. I've heard about you from this one - thinks you're a medical Godsend." He ended with a wink. Pedri could feel the heat radiating from Gavi's side, and apparently so could Jude, who looked up and offered a wave.

"Congrats, mate. Brilliant speech." He said, raising a glass to help bridge the language barrier. You turned your head, quickly translating the sentiment.

"Oh, you're with them? The super special physio that's gotten praised in his speech? I should've known I was in the presence of greatness." You laughed politely, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear.

"I'm really nothing special."

"Oh, well, that can't be true. I'll see for myself when I'm in SPain next year." A wink. Pedri grasped Pablo's arm to prevent blows. "Come with me, I want to introduce you to some of the boys and the staff from City."

You quickly turned around, finding Gavi and Pedri whispering to one another.

"Pablo! He wants to introduce me to some people. I'll come find you!"

Thirty minutes later, Pablo was at a table with his trophy and a scowl, moping on what should be a happy night. After his second turn around the room, Pedri joined him, hoping to alleviate the burden.

"Hermano, are you-"

"Why would she just go with him? Like, I understand not being able to turn someone away when they're in your face, but to go with him?! Why would she do that?" He asked, sounding more and more small and child-like as he continued.

"She was just networking, hermano. Trying to meet people and make connections."

"Connections. Look what her connections have got her. Other guys coming up to her, trying to flirt in the most obvious ways possible. None of them know her like I do. None of them will ever - can ever - care about her in the way that I do. She needs to realize that no one will ever want to treat her right the way that I long to."

"Maybe you need to realize that it's not always the best guy that will get the girl, but the boldest one."

"What?"

"How many opportunities have you had, hm? To tell her you wanted her, to profess your love, to kiss her in her car or under street lamps or in front of the whole world? But you just stay sitting on the sidelines waiting for her to come to you. You know what's happening during that time? A Joao or a Jude or a Martin is taking the risk of telling her she's amazing, and she's going to accept. She's going to accept love that's less than yours because someone else was willing to give it to her, proudly and confidently. And you'll be sitting next to me, twenty years from now when we're both retired, talking about how the love of your life slipped between your fingers. She's here, right now, and you are still waiting. Either take the shot or let someone else shoot."

A fear shot through Pablo that he had never felt before. The idea of you, right now, falling in love with someone else made the bile rise in his throat. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't watch you be with a man who thought you were anything less than the entire universe. It was him. Pablo Gavi was the one meant to have you, to hold you, to protect you from every evil and show you every joy. You were his soulmate, and he would move heaven and earth for his lover who was written for him in the stars.

He stood, scurrying to where Jude and the others had congregated. "Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen y/n?" He asked, trying to keep his voice steady and free from the terror threatening to consume him. He couldn't see your form anywhere in the ballroom.

"Oh," Kepa was the one to reply as the official Spanish speaker, "she went up to her room a few minutes ago. I think Joao took her up."

Pablo nodded before speed walking towards the door, breaking into a full sprint towards the elevators. Please. Please no. Please not Joao. Please not anyone. The ding when the elevator reached the third floor made his blood ripple, and he speed walked to your door, muttering under his breath.

"Please don't be in love with someone else."

He reached the door of your room, paralyzed with fear. He didn't know what he was about to do, but he knew he would implode and self-destruct if he didn't do something.

He lifted his fist, took a breath, and knocked firmly on the door. A moment later, you opened the door, still in the perfect shape he saw you before, but now barefoot on the plush carpet of the hotel.

"Pablo?"

He peered over your shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the room behind.

"Are you looking for something?"

"Please, tell me he's not in there."

"Who, Pablo?"

"Anyone. Please tell me that there is no one in there now waiting on you. Please tell me," he pleaded softly, moving toward you and placing his hands on your shoulder, moving one down to rest right above where your heart beat. "Please tell me there is no one else in here. I have never begged in my life, Doctora, but I'm here now to beg you: tell me who is the one you're reserving a place in your heart for. Because I know, more than I know anything else in this world, that my soul is yours. Everything I could possibly give, I am asking you to take it without a second thought. And I have pretended, for months now, that I don't need you like the very air I'm breathing. But the more I pretend, the more clear it becomes: I have never loved anything as strongly as I love you. It is overwhelming and all consuming the way every heartbeat and breath is just for you. So just tell me how long I will have to wait. Days, months, years - tell me how long it will be until I get to love you, wholly and completely. Until I get to love you as you deserve. Because there is no other choice. There is no moving on. Every angel in heaven knows that I would struggle in vain until my last dying breath trying to get over you."

There were no words. Hell, there was no air. There was only Pablo, breathless and shaking before you, his fragile heart in your hands. Your hands moved to cup his face, and the urge to cry didn't consume you. You pulled him in, lips finally connecting with his, and the electricity that jolted through you could have lit up all of Paris. His lips were slow to react, and as you pulled away he followed, reluctant to stop kissing you in fear he would never start again.

"You, Pablo. My heart is yours. I'm yours. I always have been."

This time it was Pablo who pulled you in, his arms around your waist lifting you into him. He basked in the plump flesh of your lips, the way it felt to hold you in his arms, a million times better than he could have imagined. It was as if your hearts were racing in sync, thumping the same beat that reverberated around the little bubble the two of you were in. You shifted hands from his face to his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You had craved this, to be so close and connected with Pablo. The kiss was slow, passionate, the kiss to say 'I have waited for you for so long' and the one in return to say 'I'm here to stay'.

Pedri had gone upstairs to look for Pablo, scared he had committed manslaughter, and found the two of you there, kissing in the hallway, arms enveloping each other and lips locked in a soft and tender embrace. He placed Pablo's trophy (his whole reason for finding him on the ground, turning to leave before stopping and performing his duties as a friend: taking a picture. Maybe he should buy Gavi a whole pack of frames.

You finally pulled away, face flushed and lips pinkish and swollen from the liplock. You kept your arms around Pablo, turning your face to hide in his shoulder. You spotted the golden statue on the floor and smiled as you moved to pick it up, stopped by his strong and unfaltering embrace.

"Your award, Pablo."

"You're my real prize of this evening."

"Ugh how corny." You laughed, finally freeing yourself to go and pick it up. You carried it before turning from Pablo to unlock your room door, timidly standing in the entryway.

"Do... you want to come inside?" You asked, cradling his trophy in your arms.

"Do you want me to come inside?" He asked, heart threatening to break his sternum. He had never thought of going so far so fast.

"I mean if you don't want to-"

"No I want to, preciosa. God I want- but I don't want to make you feel like you have to."

"You're not. I want you Pablo. All of you." You opened the door wider, inviting him in. "Dale, campeon."

~

You left Pablo on the bed while you went to slip out of your dress. As much as you wanted Pablo (in an immediate fashion), you couldn't risk stains or rips on such an expensive lended piece. You re-emerged from the bathroom in a black night gown, a satin slip that came just past your fingertips. Pablo had made himself comfortable, stripping his jacket and shoes, abandoning the bowtie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. You walked out slowly, standing in front of him shyly.

"What do you think?" You asked, giving a little spin. He reached out a hand, pulling you down to the bed and seating you on his lap.

"I lied before," he said softly. "You weren't 'maybe the prettiest girl tonight'. You're the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. In every room and on every night." His hands found your hips and his lips found yours, and the flames were fanned. He moved with a fervor you had never experienced, like he couldn't get enough of the feel of your lips or the taste of your tongue. He bit down softly on your bottom lip, desperate to illicit every pretty sound he could from you. He nibbled gently, pulling with his teeth and then soothing with his tongue before reuniting it with yours. He gripped the flesh of your hips, and your hands leg his lower, encouraging him to find stability on the flesh of your ass.

"You're perfect." He said breathlessly, moving to kiss and nibble at your neck. You shifted on his lap, desperate for any friction to help douse the flames between your legs. He shifted the two of you so that you were straddling one of his thighs, allowing you rock yourself back and forth as he continued worshipping and lapping at your skin.

"Pablo, it's so good." You whined as he moved down to kiss the exposed tops of your breasts. He looked up at you, asking for permission to remove your nightgown, which you gave with quick enthusiasm. He grabbed at the bottom hem, lifting it over your head in one fluid motion before stopping. He stared at you, moving across your bare chest and down to your nude lace thong.

"Oh this won't do." He muttered while gripping your waist and flipping your positions so that you were laying on the mattress with him above you.

"What?" You asked while your arms moved to cover your chest. He removed them swiftly, licking his lips and giving each breast a kiss, making your nipples harden.

"I need to have you spread out underneath me so I can take in every gorgeous inch of you." He said before he trailed his lips down your entire torso.

"Can't believe someone who looks like you is all mine. I've wanted you for so long." He finished his sentence with a searing kiss to your lips.

"Just wanted you to see how much someone could love you. And I would still love you, even if you want to stop right now and never do this again." He said, pulling back slightly before you threaded your fingers through his hair and brought his mouth to your chest.

"No, don't wanna stop. I want you. I need you Pablo please." You whine out, and hoped he knew that you meant it in every possible way. He allowed his tongue to drag across your nipples before sucking one into his mouth, playing with the other as he watched for your reactions. His cock was straining against his boxers and dress pants, and he rutted against the mattress for any sort of relief.

"Pablo it's too good."

"Always want to be good for you, Doctora. Wanna give you the best."

He moved his hands to the waistband of your panties, moving them down and watching the resistance, seeing how big the wet patch was and how your thighs clenched for some sort of pleasure.

"Open up, pretty girl."

"Pablo, want you. Want you please."

"I'm right here, baby. All yours."

You grabbed on of his hands sucking two of his fingers in his mouth while keeping your eyes locked, tongue circling and his cock now rubbing up on the flesh of your thigh.

"Want you inside me. Please, Pablo."

He rubbed his two wet fingers up and down your slit, teasing and just listening to the way you reacted. The cool air heightened everything, and you could do nothing but squirm in place.

"Love the way you say my name, preciosa. Let me take care of you." He slipped a finger inside, and you both moaned in sync. You at the feeling of finally having Pablo pleasing you, and him at the wetness he encountered. He quickly put in another, lips going back to yours as if they were addictive. He leaned back, slipping out of his trousers and boxers when you put a hand on his chest.

"Pablo. I..."

"We can stop if you want." He said, already making a move to get up and redress despite his cock leaking.

"No. I want this. I want you. I just... promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Please don't leave me after we have sex."

He looked at your hurting eyes and felt his chest squeeze. He cupped your face, kissing your forehead. "I could never leave you, Doctora." Another chaste kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "You don't have to worry. I'll always be with you. I promise." He brought you in and kissed you, lips slotting together and tongues dancing together as if they had years of practice.

"Always have to seal the promise with a kiss." He said playfully, and you looked away in embarrassment. He spread your legs and found a space between them, tilting your head with a finger under your chin.

"Look at me baby. I want to see that pretty face when I make you feel good. Wanna see how hot you are when you cum all over me. Make the cutest little mess." He said, spitting in his hand slightly and rubbing the length of his cock. You sat up on your forearms, watching the erotic sight as Pablo ran his tip up and down your slit.

"Pablo," you whined.

He lined himself up, lifting you by the back of the neck to kiss you as he pushed in, the stretch causing you to bite his bottom lip harder than expected (he kind of liked it). He stayed for a minute on his forearms above you, hoping that time would allow you to adjust and prevent him from busting on stroke three. He placed his arms beside your head, leaning down and resting his forehead on yours.

"I love you." He said, picking up his pace as he did so. Your whine was high pitched and loud, fueling Pablo's ego tremendously.

"I love you more." You retorted, moving your hips to spur him to go faster. He pulled out of your slowly once again, then re-sheathed himself with force. He was moving slow and taking his sweet time, savoring every delicious second of the evening.

"Not possible, angel." And then pulled all the way out before slamming back in. Pablo was forceful, shifting your body with every thrust. He kissed your lips and neck, purple springs blooming from each spot he touched. You loved the feeling. You belonged to him, body and soul, and you wanted everybody to know.

"Please, Pablo. Faster. I'm begging." You breathed out, and he could do nothing but oblige.

"That's my pretty girl, taking it so well. Feeling so fucking good wrapped around me. So wet and sucking me in. Fuck. You're so good for me."

You had decided to suck on Pablo's neck to prevent you from moaning your heart out to all of Paris. A large hickey was developing just above his collarbone with not one care towards its ability to be covered. You were feeling that familiar buildup in your stomach, and brought a hand down to play with your clit that was quickly swatted away.

"Gonna cum, baby? Let me spoil you. Let me take care of you." He said as he pressed his thumb to your clit and started rubbing circles into the sensitive bud. There was no more suppressing your moans as they emerged full force. It was perfect. Pablo was perfect, telling you how much he wanted and loved you while looking after your pleasure.

"Please don't stop Pablo I'm so so fucking close."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He said, and seconds later, his name was the only thing on your lips as you came, gripping onto his back and trailing your nails down, his toned back the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. He finished a minute after you, rolling over in exhaustion. You expected him to turn onto his side and ignore you like every other man you had slept with. Instead, he got you both under the comforter, laying down and bringing you to lay on his chest.

"You're so incredible, do you know that?" He asked, kissing your forehead gently.

"You're one to talk." There's giggles and comfort despite the lack of clothes. When the high dies down, you turn to his tired form, which is still smiling at you.

"What are you so smiley for?" You asked.

"I'm with the best person in the world. How can I not smile when I'm with you?"

You laid back on his chest, guilt and paranoia seeping in, obvious by the tension building in your form.

"I love you, Doctora. I love you, I love you, I love you. You are worth more than sex. And I don't love you just because you're hot. You complete me, in every possible way."

"I love you more, Pablo."

"As the medical professional, you should know that's not possible."

He released you from his grip to get shirts and underwear for the two of you to sleep in, still not used to Pablo + you + nudity. You laid back down, cuddled into Pablo's chest as you had for months now, and drifted off into the most relaxing sleep. You were in love with a boy. And he was hopelessly, desperately in love with you. And there was nothing else in the world that mattered in this moment except for the way you tangled together to feel safe. Before he could drift off, Pablo heard the ding of his phone. A photo from Pedri of the two of you in the hall.

[Pedri]: congrats on all your wins today hermano

~

The flight back to Barcelona was nerve-racking for you. You were anxious as to how your boss and peers would perceive your new relationship with Pablo, which he established right away.

"No 'what are we' bullshit'. You're my girlfriend, and that's only because I didn't have a ring on me to make you my fiancee."

His hand was laced through yours the entire walk through the terminal, so proud to show you off to the world as his. As you two boarded the flight, it was Anna who finally asked if something had happened in Paris.

"I asked her to be my girl and she said yes."

There was a round of cheering from those on the plane, and after a swift whatsapp message from Pedri, there were hundreds of messages in the groupchat, from congrats to jokes to utter disbelief. Neither of you looked at any of it. Pablo was too busy counting the stars he saw in your eyes, studying every feature on your face, sneaking in a kiss whenever he could. And you listened to him ramble, intoxicated by the sound of his voice, the melody bringing you tranquility. He was your peace. He was your everything.

"Ah, so you two will be needing these." Xavi said, placing the 'Relationship Disclosure' form and two pens in front of the both of you. "Gavi, don't distract her from her work."

"Hey! Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"No. You're the distraction." You teased, earning Pablo's full attention and wrath.

"I can tell by the way you've been staring at me for two days."

"Oh Pablo, I've been staring at you much longer than that."

"I hope you never stop."

~

A/N: and there it is folks. Almost 8 months later, here is Just Pretend. There will be an epilogue to this at some point to show what happens with their relationship (and it will have better smut), but this is it for the main story. Please share any feedback you have in replies, reblogs, or in the ask box. Thank you so so much to everyone who has stuck by this story for so long. I love you all.

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl @altgojo @urmomdotcom5678 @eliseline @invidia-of-alhambra @pixwls @stell4rrrs @80sloverry @car1no-xx @mrsgavira @888bear @kylianmbappee @ivyhrry @gaviypedrisbride @grlwithprblms @dessxoxsworld @user6373738 @sideeblogsstuff @halaxxx @berriesaren

[solussan]

The Guesthouse | Choi San

[ preview ]

Pairing: San x reader 

Genre: angst, suggestive, slight fluff but mostly slow burn

Warnings: mentions of violence, general lack of consent (from the ‘guests’)

Summary: Y/n works off a debt as a dancer at the Guesthouse, a rowdy gentleman’s club where San is the newest recruit to join their security detail. 

A/n: Not finished this yet so let me know what you think of this preview ...

// // //

‘You’re on in 5’ Yeosang clipped, ‘at least try to pretend you want to be here’. His forlorn smile lingered a moment, letting the acknowledgement of your pretence sit in the air longer than necessary. You brushed off your wrap, and headed past him to the stage, offering a small thank you, hoping it captures your gratitude not just for his tireless wrangling of all the dancers but for the gentle manner he shows all the girls at the Guesthouse. Like many others, you were not here by choice - a fact he understood minutely having witnessed your tumultuous arrival: dragged against your will through the back doors and thrust into a contract of effective servitude. 

You had found yourself on Hongjoong’s staff a year ago when your family’s debts fell to you after a turf war went south. The technical term would be ‘sold’ but that doesn’t bear thinking about it. New to the industry, you had been assigned as a dancer and bartender, avoiding the soft glint of the backrooms - that is, for now. The thought of attending to the inflated egos that go back there and the sweating bodies they were attached to was enough to bring you out in hives. This was certainly a kindness that did not go unnoticed and for the most part Hongjoong had made your time here comfortable. He could not help the type of clientele his gentlemen’s club - or, for the right price, brothel - attracted. The throng of repulsive executives that flocked to the Guesthouse was an occupational hazard. 

Dancing and bar work was enough of a slog, though. You would often feel the aches of back-to-back sets in your lower spine and have to soothe the frequent injuries you were graced with on nights where the stage would be slick with the slosh of some banker’s whiskey loosely poured on someone. This has been your lot for a whole year and suffice to say you have felt every damn minute. 

That is until recently. Time has since warped slightly, rippling in the wake of a certain individual. You do not remember quite when it happened but over the last few shifts you have felt the eyes of a new security guard trained on you, watching your sets and tracing your patterns throughout the night. Keeping the utmost security, of course. As he does for all the other dancers. But, you couldn’t help but think there was a layered intensity to his study of your movements.

Besides, there are only so many fights that erupt here, most take place behind closed doors where limits loosen. There were more pressing security concerns, you thought, than what was happening in the open lounge space he routinely surveyed. Maybe he was just finding his feet...

[good-beansdraws]

Massive Milgramsona art/info dump as a treat to myself!! Alas, my fatal flaw is being unable to shut up about anything even while simultaneously embarrassed/nervous to share, so here's literally all the info I have on her 😅

Profile:

Name: For the sake of posting online I’ll call her Rose!

Number: 012

Color: #E7355B

Age: She’d be 20 when Milgram started

Status: Milgram Staff, Machine Technician

Song genre: Pop/theater (a mix of Mahiru and Kazui's vibes)

Backstory: She is studying abroad in Japan to work on technology related to the mv machine when she stumbles into top secret info about the trials. Horrified at the lack of prior testing, she demands to be included in the experiment to make sure the brand new tech runs smoothly and doesn't harm anyone in the process. To prevent her leaking info to the public and deciding an extra participant wouldn't hurt, Milgram agrees.

Role: Rose performs routine maintenance and updates on the extraction machine, and checks in with prisoners' health to make sure it's not having any adverse effects. She listens in on the interrogations, ringing the bell to signal Es when the machine is ready for use (re: my theory on how it works >:3). She then watches the mvs after Es to make sure there are no glitches.

(Though she is a personal milgramsona, her role in the story is supposed to reflect the audience's experience overall when it comes to how much info we know, emotions we experiencing regarding guilt/responsibility, and how much power over events we actually have given the voting system and trial breaks.)

Trial 1

Jackalope's comments during trial commencement: Oh, I almost forgot participant 012, Rose. We've never had more than one staff member before, so we figured that sort of numbering would be fine. Hey, don't look at me, it's not like it was our idea to include her. She's not a prisoner -- the only crime she's committed is sticking her nose where it didn't belong... You can ask her for the details, but she's just here for maintenance on our extraction machine. It's not easy keeping that thing running smoothly, you know? As part of her duties, she'll be privy to all the same information as you, but don't let her be any more of a busybody than she already is -- she has absolutely no authority when it comes to your verdict decisions, got it?

MV: Mic Check - “Can anyone hear me?”

VD: Positive Feedback

Cover: Pathological Facade - Ghost

Her album would release last in line. The VDs aren't interrogations since there's been no crime -- Es asks about her duties and observations of the prison. In them, she admits her predictions that she and Es will eventually be on trial for their involvement in the prisoner's fates.

Thus, her mvs are focused on her emotions towards the prisoners, her pride in helping bring justice, and her guilt at providing Milgram a means to pass judgement on people she cared about. I'm going to Goncharov the actual mvs/songs, but Mic Check is generally an introduction to her job behind the scenes prepping the equipment that will allow the prisoners' songs to be heard, as well kick off symbolism of her as a performer herself. She'll make a comment about how the experiment is leading to tragedy, "as if someone said Macbeth" (then covers her mouth, as she's standing in a theater herself).

I kept getting tripped up looking for Deco*27 songs that worked and weren't already taken, so I decided to go with some favorites and vibe-matching songs from other artists!

Comments during trial closing: It's good to hear you weren't a pushover when Rose gave her thoughts on the verdicts -- you guys disagreed on quite a few of them, eh? Ah... so she's not the type to pick fights, is that it? I guess that explains how she's managed to get along with everyone. (sigh) Even you knew better than to get attached like that. Well, at least she's kept our machine up and running the whole time.

Trial 2

Commencement: Now I need to wake Rose. We're going to need some extra upgrades to our machine if we want to get the most out of this round of extractions. I've got a sneaking suspicion that she and her bleeding heart are going to try and sway you during this trial. Her duty is specifically to look out for the prisoners' safety, but yours is only to judge them. Don't forget that.

MV: Changement - “Don’t say ‘break a leg,’ if it might just break.”

VD: Control Variable

Cover: TOXY - Kujiragi

I did my best to write out the title pronunciation out in katakana since I wanted it as the name of the dance move, not a direct translation of meaning. I went with シャジェモ "sha-je-mo" as the closest I could get to the "shanj-mou" sound, but feel free to correct me if there's a better way to write it. The door is based off of various set designs for Clara's home in The Nutcracker. (There's no deep meaning that this is the only one not opening -- I realized too late all the others are cracked open and my art app doesn't have the tools to easily fix that so I'm sticking with it 😭)

A changement is a small jump in ballet -- I thought it was fun to combine that (which means "to change") with Control Variable (refering to the variable in an experiment that never changes). The video shows conflicting emotions as her decisions/inaction caused so much to happen between trials, yet at the same time she feels like there's so much she'll be unable to change even if she really wants to intervene. Her mvs show the prisoners pretty regularly (since they are her crime, she's realized), and the teaser line is paired with references to Mahiru's broken leg.

The thumbnail combines different areas of study -- mechanical, medical, musical, mathematical (theater spotlight, muscles, Weakness notes, motion formulas). I think it's super cool how many areas of expertise are passed around the fanbase when discussing the characters. I've picked up new facts about plants, food, anatomy, geography, music, animals language, (sigh. color theory.), hobbies, professions, mythology, etc from fans with different fields of knowledge. While that's one of my favorite aspects of the project from the outside, I think it would be super intimidating to someone on the inside trying to tackle so much information at once.

Closing: As for Rose... (laughs) I thought she was dooming herself before--! Not only has she gotten hopelessly attached to everyone over the course of this trial, she's even started a relationship with one of the prisoners! And of all the people she could have chosen... Eh? Oh no, we have no policies against that for our staff. I mean, the whole point of Milgram is to explore human nature, the power of emotions, the complexities of connections, all that crap. I'm just grateful she shows a bit more common sense when she's operating the machine...

Trial 3

MV: Showstopper - “There won’t be applause, but I’ll take a bow, okay?”

VD: Please Exit Left

Cover: Ironina - Nilfruits

I don't know the album theme yet, but this is the tentative sprite and thumbnail design. The T2 sprite was kind of an "innocent" one, since at the beginning she still has faith in her role in the prison, excited to work with everyone there. (Plus, I joined the fandom a little after t2 started so that's peak excitement time lol). The T3 sprite has much more of a "guitly" feel to it because, at the end of T2 and after this hiatus, she'd harbor a lot more guilt about her position and fear about the experiment's conclusion. As a fun little detail, her pencil has been replaced with a more permanent utensil as final verdicts are locked in.

Now listen. My artist brain was constantly fighting my science brain when doing sprite designs -- I know gloves like that and nothing else isn't proper PPE. I know none of those are safety shoes (god forbid wearing just socks??? to the lab???). There should be no jewellery at all. The whole point of a lab coat is that you don't roll up the sleeves and expose your bare skin. However. It's anime character design. There can be compromise.

Referencing Rose's personal life as a performance and comparing Milgram's trials to one, I wanted the mv to play on "showstopper" as both a great show and a literal attempt to stop the project before it reaches its finale. There would be creepy comparisons in the mv between operating stage equipment and prison executions: curtain/set ropes and nooses, heavy duty lightswitches and electric chairs, etc.

Misc.

And lightening things up again -- birthday art and minigrams :3

Birth flower: Camellias. Pink camellias symbolize love but also longing. The fact that they bloom in winter, and have a quick death (the entire flower wilts at once, instead of individual petals falling off), have inspired different meanings in different cultures -- overcoming hard times, facing death in battle, inseparable lovers, and so on

Three minigrams featuring my own annoyance that her design is a bit close to Shidou's coat/gloves look, a mandatory short joke, and a pun that works so perfectly for my Put-In-Situations guy

[zackxsnyder]

Hii! Okie dokie so I really need help! So I wanna attract a man like a manly man like someone strong and dominant and I dunno how! I’m still young (18) but I want something long term and I’m super feminine at least I think so? I dunno what to do maybe appearance wise or personality or just habits I should do cause I wanna have like such a cute little intimate and domestic relationship with proper gender roles in place ya know? It’s just like soooo hard! Please and thank you!!💕💕

Little Kitten, this Ask has no business being this cute, especially in front of a nasty controlling animal like Me.

Alright, I'll give a mellow answer. If anyone else wants an answer more aligned with the real Me (what's on My blog), ask away.

First of all, you're already doing well. You know what you want and are aiming at it, that's very important in romantic endeavors. I also bet you already have a cute, feminine bubbly little streak in you. Most girls your age don't have such a good grasp on themselves and their desires.

Attracting that kind of guy is a matter of leaning into your femininity. It's like complementary energies: the more feminine, demure and sweet you become, the more you'll attract a Man who's got a strong instinct to protect and a dominating leader streak.

The other important thing that I can't stress enough is to know how to distinguish between posture and substance. Women in general, and young girls especially, are susceptible to men who put up a front, who talk and portray themselves as confident and experienced, but lack a spine or maturity. Since you're emotional and lack rationality, a guy who can stir up your emotions in the right way (cocky banter, teasing and flirting then ignoring you, etc.) will get you to obsess over him and give more credit to his words than what would be wise. Here's a rule of thumb: pay attention to their actions, past and present, more than their words. It'll be hard for you at your age, especially while dealing with emotions, but it's necessary. If a man's actions and words don't match, it's a bad sign. It'll conversely be a good way to detect someone who's truly a Man of His word: strong, responsible, experienced, family-oriented, etc.

Practical advice for this little good girl:

A) Appearance:

Dress feminine (according to your budget of course): no baggy jeans, no "baggy-sweatpants-and-hoodies-and-walking-shoes-because-it's-sooo-practical-and-comfy", etc. Your style is feminine in its different declinations, cute-sexy-elegant-"slutty when He wants it". Dresses (sundresses, body fitting ones, etc), skirts, heels/girly shoes or boots, blouses, elegant knitwear, etc. Take inspiration from social media or tradwife Tumblrs.

Take care of yourself: diet, exercise, hair, skin, don't go too heavy on the make up and nails (keep it natural looking), etc.

B) Personality:

Sweet, kind, respectful: towards everybody (I often pay attention to how people treat staff at a restaurant or cashiers, etc. How you treat people you don't want anything from says a lot about you), don't trash talk or gossip others (of course, if you're in the right, you can confide in Him), be interested and engaged in the conversation, ask Him questions about what He seems to be passionate about or proud of in His life, don't talk endlessly or nag Him, don't question Him about where He goes and who He sees.

Smile and follow Him: a dominant Man will spontaneously lead, you just have to welcome it and show appreciation for His efforts and the thought He puts into them. It goes a long way.

Nurturing and soothing and agreeable: instead of needlessly confrontational and opinionated (no, that's not "having a personality" or being intelligent or being "your own person", that's just seeming insecure and rage-filled. You can discuss while being open and friendly. Moreover, you don't need to discuss complicated matters, it's a turn off and He'll value other Men's opinions if He needs input, keep it bubbly and listen).

Express your interest in old-fashioned/traditional gender role: it might be difficult for you to discuss it with other girls (I'd advise you not to if your environment is too brainwashed, until you can detect that one of them is also a good girl), but I mean that you can give hints to the Man: tell Him that you like how He takes charge and lead, that you like supporting and pleasing and relying on your Man, that you like a Masculine Man. He'll get the hint. If He seems like He shares your views, you will then be more upfront.

Communicate on sex: at your age, there's a lot of miscommunication happening and both sides walk on eggshells and end up frustrated. Despite your lack of experience, show that you consider it an important part of a relationship and that you want to work hard to satisfy Him and understand His needs.

C) Habits:

Learn to cook and clean: and get better at it. Learn how to meal-prep for the week (handy for you, and will be appreciated by a Man who works out [I can vouch]), try a recipe every week and invite a friend to share the meal, and serve them (according to your budget, of course. Being savvy with money and knowing how to grocery shop on a budget is a useful skill for a homemaker). Learn to iron a Man's shirt. In general, learn to serve, you'll find pleasure and purpose in it, it's hardwired into a woman's nature.

Follow some Tumblr Tradwife/Tradgirl/Stepford wife blogs: for ideas about behaviors ( welcoming Him back home/supporting Him emotionally, etc.), speech, aesthetic, etc.

Seek out that Man according to what you imagine Him to be: if you like a Man who's physically strong, hang out with your Male friends who work out and have a personality you like because they might have friends who are like them and who will charm you, apply this to any traits/habits you'd like Him to have (smart, outdoorsy, etc.)

Be patient: If you want something long term, be a good girl and wait and seek. It only needs to work once. It's hard to come by such natural relationships nowadays, but He'll come along.

Good girl.

You can reach out to Me through DMs if you have specific questions.

[yukithefruity]

Intentional (Re)Design

Writing Request! See my pinned post to make your own request!

Summary:

Bill has been sent to the solitary containment void yet again. As he is no longer responding to treatment, the Axolotl makes a surprise visit and takes him to see the stars.

Warnings: None

Audience: General

Relationships: Bill & Axolotl, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines (Past, implied)

Tags: Therapy, Crying

Words: 2,328

Bill’s lack of progress isn’t unexpected, but it is unprecedented. This was known, of course—the theraprism has never failed to rehabilitate a patient, but it’s also never taken on a patient quite like Bill Cipher, because there is no one quite like Bill Cipher; his existence was anomalous even within the confines of his own dimension, unparalleled in the nightmare dimension, and very nearly unrivaled within the third dimension. If allowed to continue unchecked, he would have destroyed himself and everything else. He is the definition of ‘danger to self and others,’ and thus voluntary-involuntary confinement and treatment post-defeat was the only course of action.

It all sounds so neat on paper.

The reality is much less neat, unfortunately, and after yet another prism riot, Bill was once again forced into the solitary confinement void—not as punishment, of course. Just to give himself and the staff a bit of a breather before resuming treatment.

“Welcome back, Bill.” An orb (or perhaps the orb) of healing light greets when Bill is unceremoniously popped back into his room after his stint in confinement.

“You know solitary confinement is against the Geneva convention.” Bill points out, brushing the wrinkles out of his orange uniform, trying his very best to look unbothered, even as his shaking hands make the wrinkles just a bit worse.

“I will note in your record your newfound appreciation for rules-based social order.” The Orb replies, and Bill genuinely can’t tell if it’s being serious or just a jerk. A common feeling he has in this place. He’s about to voice something to that effect when the orb shimmers and it projects something much more interesting. “You have a visitor.”

“I have a… visitor? Now?” Bill blinks rapidly, and then quickly rubs his eye to try and rid it of any lingering redness. “Seriously?! I look terrible. Don’t you orbs have partial omniscience? You couldn’t have popped me out sooner? Who is it?” He hopes it’s Pyronica, their powers are linked, perhaps she could restore some of his? Or maybe it’s 8-ball, come to mock him. He was always the worst.

It couldn’t be… it wouldn’t be…

No. He can’t even let himself hope---but now that he’s thought of it, of course he can’t help but consider the possibility that it’s Stanford, come to visit after reading his book, perhaps? But why? Maybe he finally got bored playing house and wanted to strike up a new deal? But then, he would just go to Bill’s statue and shake its hand; he wouldn’t bother coming here. If Ford came here, then it’s a lot more likely he’d be here for the same reason as 8-Ball, to laugh at the freak in a cage. The thought has his blood boiling, his vision going red, how dare he—

The white walls around him turn slightly pink as a familiar light engulfs the room.

Oh. Oh, this is much worse.

“No thank you.” Bill says, turning away before he can catch sight of his ‘visitor.’ “I’m really tired from doing nothing and seeing nobody, I’d like to go sleep it off in my room—hey, paws off!” Bill shouts, scrambling as he’s scooped up in an unyielding pink paw. The world around him shudders as he’s lifted up and out, an almost nostalgic feeling, reminds him of—“I’m gonna puke!”

The Axolotl just laughs, a gentle, almost matronly sound, but obligingly ends their ascent—or perhaps their journey was ending anyway. Bill unwinds his hands from Axolotl’s paw (and immediately deletes the memory of clinging to it in the first place) and takes in their surroundings.

He’d expected the big frilly beast to take him to some new prison, somewhere less concerned with pretending to be a mental healthcare facility and more equipped to contain and control him, but instead they appear to be… nowhere.

He’s free. He’s finally out of the fucking prison, he’s finally—he can see—he almost doesn’t want to acknowledge it, afraid that the moment he thinks the word, names them, they’ll be taken away again. But no matter how he stares, or blinks, they remain.

The stars. I can see the stars again. He panics as his vision blurs, thinking it’s an illusion, but the view clears as a large tear falls from his eye and onto his stupid orange uniform. He hasn’t felt self-conscious about his outfit in a long time, but he hates it right now. He shouldn’t be standing in front of the stars like this, looking so disheveled and filthy.

But even that feeling doesn’t last long as he looks, and looks, and looks at the stars. The stars that have never hated him, never abandoned him, never told him he needed to change into this or that; they don’t mind that he looks like he’s been dragged through the dimension where everyone looks like shit; they twinkle spectacularly, returning his singular gaze with their own.

He’s silent for a long time, unable to speak or move as he takes in the stars he’d been denied for so long.

Just like that.

After thousands of years of confinement, after countless attempts to escape, after all his scheming, this fucking Axolotl just shows up and—and—

“Are you giving up on me finally?” Bill finally asks, voice quiet. It’s nice, for an execution; he’d always hoped the last thing he’d be able to see was the stars. “How long do I have?”

Axolotl doesn’t answer. It doesn’t usually. Bill knows it can communicate, when they made their deal, it was plenty chatty. But since then, even when it intervened as promised, it hasn’t deigned to explain itself—not verbally at least.

“I prefer not knowing, actually. Just… since we’re here, let me…” Bill climbs up Axolotl’s arm, up onto its neck, and lies down. If he were to close his eyes, the gills and frills might almost seem like the grass he used to (pretend to) lie on with Stanford while stargazing and talking endlessly about nothing and everything. He reaches both hands up as high as he can, smiling at the illusion it creates, as though he could simply pluck a star from its place.

He’s surrounded on all sides by the stars; there is no up or down, not really. But to him, ‘up’ will always be like this; that thing he sees when he looks dead ahead.

“This means I win, you know.” Bill wiggles his fingers, enjoying the way different stars peak through the gaps between his fingers. “You all were so sure you could rehabilitate me, get me to reincarnate as a fucking plankton or something. Well. I sure showed you.”

Shit. His vision is blurring again; this is his last chance to see the stars, and it’s going to be wasted if he keeps crying.

“No one can change Bill Cipher. They all tried; my parents, the doctors, even my stupid lying traitorous so-called ‘friends.’” Stanford never tried to change me; some awful part of him is reminded. Stanford liked Bill’s weirdness… right up until he didn’t. But he never tried to change Bill. Other than trying to turn me from alive to dead. “Not even you, all-powerful Axolotl. How’s it feel, to be defeated by a lowly, powerless, two-dimensional triangle?”

It's not the way he wanted to win this, but hey, a win’s a win, right? If they’re giving up on him, then it proves they were wrong all along. He can’t be reformed; but more than that, he shouldn’t be reformed.

“Will you at least admit it?!” Bill shouts, balling up a fist and slamming it down impotently against the axolotl’s soft scales. “What you wanted to do is so fucked up. None of you will admit that asking me to be reincarnated as a fucking butterfly or whatever is just a nice way of asking me to kill myself. You want me to agree to ego death, and I’m not going to! You’re just mad that a lower being managed to obtain godhood and immortality, well I did it fair and square so fuck you for trying to take force me into becoming something I’m not just so I don’t upend your precious worldvi—whoa!” Bill sits up and grabs on to Axolotl’s fin as it suddenly starts moving, quickly.

There’s no wind, of course, so there’s no real risk of falling off—and in fact, maybe it would be nice to fall off, to just fall through space endlessly, maybe he’d land somewhere lucky, get a fresh start—but instincts are hard to fight, and Bill’s always been afraid of falling, so he holds on as the Axolotl moves through nothing, bounding through puddles of plasma and jumping off asteroids.

“Where are we going now?!” Bill yells, and once again gets no answer.

This is what he’s always hated about Axolotl. The damn thing never says what’s on his mind, never gives Bill anything to work with. He can only ever guess at its intentions, which makes it damn hard to manipulate. He was once convinced that everyone wants something, that everyone has a weakness or a desire that Bill could use to worm his way into their minds and hearts; but not Axolotl. It doesn’t even seem to dream; and Bill’s looked. It’s obtained some kind of perfect ‘presence,’ he thinks; it doesn’t dwell on the past, doesn’t fight for a future; it just is, always. An awful, all-consuming presence. Bill used to think he was like that; always living in the moment, enjoying each second to its fullest, not caring about the past or the future. Encounters with Axolotl make him think that was probably a cope.

Not that he’d ever admit it in therapy, but… he supposes he did spend a lot of time with humans he found otherwise annoying and grating because he was hopeful for a future; and, just maybe, some of his time spent raising hell with the henchmaniacs was less about enjoying the present and more about outrunning a painful past he’d rather not remember.

And maybe sometimes it all veered into some self-and-other-destructive tendencies.

But is the solution to that really to just die? Is his only option, his only way to change, the only way to fit into this more complicated dimension to let everything that makes him ‘him’ disappear and spend limited, meaningless time as a mortal, consuming and being consumed? Part of the stupid circle of life once more, accepting ‘order’ and small-minded conformity? Is that what it would take?

Is there truly no place for him?

Is it really impossible to love Bill Cipher?

Boop.

“What the fuck?” Bill sniffs, rubbing the wetness from his eye on his uniform as he sits up and watches as Axolotl, the all-powerful god, boops its great snoot against… something? “What—what is this?” He asks with a confused laugh. He climbs from Axolotl’s back down its head, stepping on its eye (it doesn’t even blink) and reaches out a hand.

He can’t see anything; it looks like any other part of space. There are stars, nebulae, meteors, other weird objects that haven’t been discovered and named. This spot seems no different than any other. And yet, when he reaches out his hand, he feels…

“A forcefield?” He tilts his head curiously, running his hand against the surface. He presses against it, but it doesn’t give even slightly. Axolotl presses against it as well, and moves in various directions, but there is no give.

Suddenly, Axolotl is moving again; bounding through space at lightspeed, despite how lazy and slow its actual movements. Bill is bewildered, he just holds on, sitting on its forehead.

And then… boop.

There it is again.

“What is this?!” Bill is so confused he can’t help but laugh (maybe a little manically) as he reaches out once more. “It feels almost like… glass?” He pounds his fist against it, but feels absolutely no give. “Have you tried breaking it? I bet if you restored my powers, I could…”

Could what? How stupid would a fish have to be, to break its aquarium and suffocate on the floor?

Bill blinks his big eye and looks down at Axolotl uncomprehendingly.

It smiles, remembering something Bill has never known; a pond from which it was once plucked; a sea without walls.

I am not like you. I was not born in captivity. It finally communicates. I do not know what you need to be healthy. I can only guess and hope not to hurt you more. The axolotl turns from the transparent barrier, back toward the rest of their enclosure. You were suffering. You are still suffering. I dislike this greatly. I thought I could guide you to a new life, help you fit within the cycles of this place with less suffering. Perhaps I was misguided by my own assumptions.

Axolotl lazily loops through solar systems, until it finds a cluster of meteors on which to rest in the warm light of an exploding star, all placed perfectly for its leisure.

To answer you… no, Bill; I am not giving up on you.

Axolotl carefully removes Bill from its face, and holds him in its paws lovingly, carefully.

You belong here, somewhere. We just have to find where, and how.

Bill is silent for a long moment. He’s been small much of his life; and now, he realizes, even at his biggest… he was still so, so very small. He can’t help but tremble at the revelation, knowledge too big for him to truly grasp.

“What if you’re wrong?” He asks, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he’s being too vulnerable, giving away what little power he has as he speaks his greatest fear. “What if there’s no place where I fit?”

Axolotl simply smiles and draws its precious Bill closer.

If there is no place… then I will make one for you; just as one was made for me.

Bill weeps.

[therightrighthand]

And Pt.2 of the Fallout-Delv-erse lore! Because honestly, I couldn't pick between soft lovable herbo, and murder hobo, so we're getting both.

D.31-A, rouge Courser jerk of the Commonwealth.

Follow on from Dee & Rolls

~

Lore:

[???] "Audio recording, date [REDACTED] between Doctor Langstrum, Senior Institute Bio Division, and myself [REDACTED] regarding project D.31-A"

[D] "Again, I am going on record to state that there was plenty of oversights on project D.31-A and-"

[???] "Please Doctor, let keep to the questions. How about we start with what D.31-A is, and it's history."

[D] "Hmmph ... Fine. -sigh-, well we may as well start at the beguining with the Synth Program. After the sucessful test run of our 3rd generation Synth in the Capital Wasteland passing undercover as human in 'Rivet City', full production of next gerneration syths were approved for masss production."

"And whilst the topic of Synths seemed focused on under-cover intigration, security was also a keen concern. Our second genration synths, though tough, were far from subtle, and a militerised third generation synth seemed nessasery. The goal was to create something with a bit more bite, a single agent, rather than dozens of gen-1's and 2's littering the commonwealth."

"D3.1-A was the answer to this, our first official prototype of the Courser's we know today."

[???] "Why was D.31's biodata used for the Courser program? And can you explain in detail why they were so well equipped for a prototype?"

[D] "Well, obviously, D.31's DNA proved to create a natural resistance to radiation, so it only made sense to base D.31-A on their genetic makeup and memories, as we had done with Gen-3 synths so far."

"As for their ... 'equipment', you must understand that in the early days of testing, D.31-A wasn't built like our truly synthetic Coursers. They were designed to combine the most physically powerful elements of our Gen-2s with the outer fleshy coating of a Gen-3. Machine, wrapped in flesh."

"At the time, we believed Courser's would be going toe-to-toe against Death Claws and super mutants, so we ... built them to durable, strong and-"

[???] "Exessivly costly?"

[D] "Effective. We built them to be effective. However, as time went by, we realised that less was more, and discreet agents worked more effectively than super-powered assassins."

[???] "Can you tell me what led to losing D.31-A in the field?"

[D] "... again, I want to stress the oversight wasn't just on myself or my team at the tim- ok ok, fine."

"After successfully activating D.31-A and testing them rigorously for months, we felt it was time for a field test in the Commonwealth. So we fitted her with an old raider outfit, had her infiltrate an encampment, and simply let her get to work."

"Needless to say, she was effective—almost ferocious, in fact, if you could call it that."

"But, unfortunately, during the fight, a nuclear device was launched, which knocked out our communication with the Synth handlers observing the experiment. After several hours, we deployed security teams and mercenaries to scout the location and report back. There was no sign of D.31-A ... or her handlers, whom we believed to have been killed by D.31-A"

[???] "What led you to believe it was D.31-A?"

[D] "The entire team had been torn apart and stapled to a concrete bunker with steal poles through their chests and their power systems removed. The working theory is that the blast may have ... damaged ... D.31-A's hardware and left them to go-"

[???] "On a five-year-long murderous rampage of Institute assets, including research centres, 23 mercenaries, 12 staff members on the field, and 18 Courses?"

[D] "... Look, it's been months since we've heard from her, and this speculation that she is helping the railroad is preposterous. It's more than likely that her power core has started to falter, and any information on the institute has been damaged in the process."

[???] "Which brings us to the point of this interview: to uncover the lack of oversight that led to a hostile agent that we cannot stop with information on our most sensitive security protocols. What makes you so sure that information has been destroyed?"

[D] "Because I built her [REDACTED] and if she still had access to our location, our relay, and our defences, we would have been dead a long time ago..."

[INTERVIEW END]

-- Find my Discord and other sites: linktr.ee/The_red_right_hand Do not use, repost or claim (rp) my art/character  Art © The-Red-Right-Hand

[it-was-funeral-grey]

Trust, where there shouldn't be (1/2) (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Masterlist Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8(wip!)

Summary: just when things were supposed to settle down, trouble stirs again- this time, with the fate of sumeru potentially hanging in the balance.

Warnings: mention of murder, crime, getting arrested, water,

Word count: < 3.3k

Inspired by: -

Author's note: this has been in my drafts for way too long! i'm back!! this chapter is a little more kaveh and cyno centric! i hope this chapter is ok :) its been so long since i wrote- had a lot going on! i'm going to have to recall the original plot i wanted to roll with, and check up on genshin lore!

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

Usually, offences unrelated to the Akademiya were handled by the Mahamata- Sumeru's civil administration branch. To be specific, the crime division- which consists of the Corps of Thirty and the Mahamata investigation department (which overlapped with the Matra on occasion).

However, this isn't the case anymore for places outside Sumeru City. The work of the Mahamata is extremely procedure-heavy, which often translates into heavy reliance on Akasha Terminals to help speed up and manage the workload. As such, when the Akasha Terminals were shut down, what followed was nothing short of a mess. Nobody could remember what to do when faced with certain situations, and even if they did, it often was after a lot of work had piled up. Tasks like recording, which had been done solely by the Akasha Terminals, now have to be done manually (so now there's also a labour shortage in the Mahamata)- and of course, to make everything worse, all records before this have been destroyed together with the Terminals.

No one could start anything, no one could finish anything, nothing was being done; and at least from a law enforcement perspective, the growing public dissatisfaction with the whole situation- the Akademiya scandal, the current state of the nation and its administration, and the now scarily apparent increasing crime rate- is a growing threat to public order. The Mahamata is failing- or perhaps more accurately, has failed everywhere except Sumeru City, which had only survived this ordeal because Al Haitham was there to sort it out before things got out of hand.

To manage this, Al Haitham had instructed the Matra to help in regions that had seen a complete administrative shutdown. Cyno didn't see an issue- after all, the Matra didn't have much to do due to the small number of ongoing research projects (fewer academic violations). As such, the General Mahamatra had sent some of his most capable and trusted Matra to take over Mahamata duties- and he's proud to say that they have been carrying out their new duties exceptionally. Every once in a while, he'll get a report back from his dispatched Matra about their current status- and it all seems to be going fine, for now.

Port Ormos, however, was a strange case. In other regions where Al Haitham's Matra-Mahamata system was applied, it had worked perfectly- things began to pick up again, and, for at least now, some sense of public order had been restored. However, due to the unique circumstances in Port Ormos, the Matra-Mahamata system didn't change anything. The Port Ormos Crash meant nothing was happening at the port- there was no one there. There is nothing to administrate or anything to do. The only notable thing in the reports sent back to Cyno was that the Corps of Thirty Division in Port Ormos was gone; according to Rashim (the Matra he had sent there to take over Port Ormos's lead Mahamata's duties), it was because the Wikala Funduq's trade supervisors had dismissed them due to the lack of business- no business meant no people in the port, which meant that policing staff weren't needed. When Cyno had escalated this to Al Haitham in the name of security concerns for the people living at and around the port, the man had let out the loudest sigh he had ever heard.

"Well, it certainly explains why the people around that area have been calling the Matra of all people for crime reports," Cyno informed, placing Rashim's report on Al Haitham's packed desk. "What is your instruction, Acting Grand Sage Al Haitham?"

"Could you spare any more of your Matra?" Al Haitham doesn't look up at him as he scans through a document. Cyno doesn't take it personally. "Send any that you can to Port Ormos. They'll take over the policing side of things until the Mahamata is stable enough to re-contract and manage the Corps of Thirty again."

"Very well," Cyno agrees as he watches Al Haitham quickly sign at the end of the page before picking up a new one. His new office above the House of Daena is dimly lit, but even so, Cyno can see the dark circles under his friend's eyes. "Al Hai-"

"Is that all?"

No. No, it wasn't. Cyno wants to ask if there's anything else he could do. If there is anything more that he could do. He has never felt so helpless before, watching his friend stress all alone while he watches.

The silence causes Al Haitham to look up at him, pen in hand, impatiently waiting for a response- and Cyno feels the question disappear from his lips.

"Yes- yes, that's all."

He couldn’t have done it. In hindsight, Al Haitham being the culprit makes zero sense.

Yes, he may have been the last person to see Mr Dilawar. And yes, the Matra did find bloody clothing in his overnight bag. But under scrutiny, several small details don’t add up.

For example, his movements on the day of the murder. No murderer would have stayed any longer in Vimara Village after killing someone there. Much less take time to wander around the village the next morning, buy groceries and chat about books for the next half a day. 

Next, the murder weapon. The Matra found a bloody kitchen knife next to Mr Dilawar and deemed it the murder weapon. The doctor that they brought along also agreed. But knowing Al Haitham and what he can do, it makes little sense- why use something that can be found when he could use his sword and then make it disappear? 

Nothing makes sense. Once you got over the initial shock and thought things through, Al Haitham being the killer makes no sense.

Or perhaps this is all just your wishful thinking- maybe you’re just trying to squeeze out any tiny, irrelevant inconsistency to convince yourself that the man is innocent.

You just don’t want him to be guilty, you scold yourself as you pace mindlessly outside your house. You don’t want to believe that a guy who would be so kind to you, chat with you about books, buy groceries for you when you were too scared to do so, would go and butcher a man and act so casual about it.

What do you even know about Al Haitham anyway? You’ve only known him for less than a week. Perhaps this is what he’s actually like, under all that kindness and gentleness and-

"It's you!"

The loud exclamation shocks you out of your ruminations. Where have you heard this voice before?

"It's me! Kaveh! Remember me?" You hear the loud sound of rushing footsteps before a hand grabs your shoulder and pulls. The force makes you spin on your heel, and you turn, finally seeing the man himself. His golden hair is in a mess- the feather on his head shoved haphazardly around his fringe- and he's drenched from head to toe. Did he run here? Or swim?   

"Kaveh? What are you doing here?" 

"I- it's a long story," Kaveh pants, removing his wet hand from your shoulder. "Do you know where the detention rooms are?"

"It's not too far from here," you point towards a dirt path leading away from your house, and Kaveh prepares to bolt in that direction. You quickly grab his arm before he does. "Kaveh, wait! Is this about Al Haitham?"

Through the warm, wet fabirc of his sleeve, you feel his arm tense up. So, it is about Al Haitham. 

"You've heard about it too," he sighs, turning to face you. He lowers his voice as you release his arm. "I thought that they were trying to keep it under wraps. If news got out that the Acting Grand Sage got arrested for killing somebody right after the whole Akademiya Sage saga..."

You shudder at the implication of his words. It would be chaos if word got out about Al Haitham's arrest. Regardless of innocence, nobody would be able to accept someone who was suspected of murder to lead the country. And in the state that Sumeru is in, she won't survive another political crisis.

"Let's speak somewhere quieter," you lead Kaveh towards your home. "Come on in."

The first thing Kaveh notices when he enters her house is how packed it is with books but not with anything else. 

"Do you want anything to drink?" She asks as she shuts her front door. "I'll go get you a towel. You look like you ran all the way here. Or swam all the way here. Or both?"

"I did," Kaveh groans, treading carefully so he doesn't wet her living room. Her sofa is a lovely shade of green; it matches her wallpaper perfectly. Now, if she moves that stack of books a little more to the left... "I snuck onto the boat Cyno and the Matra took here this morning and was kicked off about halfway when they caught me. I was worried about what Cyno was planning, so I ran all the way. The swimming was involuntary."

"Cyno is here?" Kaveh hears her step back into the living room. She hands him a glass of warm water and a towel, gesturing him to take a seat before sitting opposite him. "Wait, start from the beginning, how did you find out?"

"It's a long, long story," Kaveh sighs, sinking into the couch. "Basically..."

That arrogant, unbearable, stupid fungi took his keys again. Couldn't he at least have returned it before he left for Vimara Village?!

"I swear I'm going to kill him when he gets back," Kaveh complains from the couch. The General Mahamatra's office is comfortable, but not so much so that he would be happy to sleep on it for the night. A sigh comes from the table behind him, and Kaveh turns to face the shorter man. 

"And when I take my keys back from his corpse, I'm never leaving it in the key holder ever again!"

"I guess you've locked onto a solution," Cyno quips, and Kaveh responds with a groan. "Do you want me to call Ahangar to unlock the door for you? He does locksmithing services too. We could ask him to duplicate a spare key."

"That's beside the point. The point is-"

"General Mahamatra!" The door bursts open before Kaveh can finish, nearly shocking him off the couch. It's one of Cyno's Matra. She doesn't seem to see him- beelining over to Cyno's desk, holding a letter towards him. From where Kaveh lies, he spots a red wax seal keeping the envelope shut. "An urgent message from Rashim!"

"Rashim?" Cyno seems to have spotted the red seal and frowns. Kaveh hears Cyno's chair drag against the floor as he stands- and the mood in the room shifts. Something big has happened. Something bad? "Did you rush over here from Port Ormos, Shohre?"

Kaveh knows he shouldn't be listening to this conversation. Whatever is going on here is clearly important, confidential, and for Akademiya folk to deal with. He should excuse himself, let Cyno deal with the issue in peace, and head to the tavern to order all the wine and place it on Al Haitham's tab. 

But, whatever is going on here is clearly interesting, and Kaveh is bored (and for the record, this is all Al Haitham's fault- he wouldn't be so bored if he could go home and continue his architectural models). So, he decides to lie perfectly still on the couch; perhaps if he doesn't move, Cyno will forget that he's here and not chase him out. Let him hear the tea, please.

"Yes. This is a matter of utmost importance!" From where Kaveh lurks, he hears Shohre (who Kaveh slowly figures out is most likely a Matra stationed at Port Ormos) shift closer towards Cyno. "Rashim currently has the situation under control, so he sent me to deliver the message."

"But why send you? This letter would have sufficed."

"Due to the nature of the situation, Rashim felt that the matter had to be handled with confidentiality. The letter is for your eyes only- I was to ensure that," Shohre answers. "I was also to answer any questions regarding the incident at hand. Only the simplest details were included in the letter as a precaution."

There's a rustling of paper- an envelope opening, perhaps? Kaveh pictures Cyno tearing into the sealed paper as he holds his breath. What could have happened?

Silence. But just when Kaveh is about to lift his head and take a peek at the two-

SLAM!

"You can't be serious," Cyno's voice drops to a deadly whisper- a stark difference from the loud slam that reverberated through the room. Kaveh hears the crumpling of paper. "Is this a joke?"

"It isn't. Rashim is requesting your presence in Vimara Village at once."

"This is ridiculous," Cyno's voice takes an angry tone. Kaveh doesn't dare move. "How could this happen?"

If Shohre responds, Kaveh doesn't hear it. 

"How many people know about this?"

"Only the Matra who are involved in the investigation. And two villagers from Vimara Village; both have been sworn to secrecy," Shrohre blurts. "One of the villagers is a witness; the other was in the vicinity when the Acting Grand Sage was arrested-"

"I'm sorry, arrested?!" The sudden mention of Al Haitham is apparently enough for Kaveh to forget fear and jump off the couch. Shohre screams. Cyno whips out his polearm. Kaveh ignores both. "What happened to Al Haitham? Is he alright? Is-"

"You are not allowed here, what are you-"

"Cyno! What did Al Haitham do-"

SLAM!

"Enough!" The sound of Cyno's polearm hitting against the cool marble tiles shocks the two out of their squabbling. "Kaveh. I forgot you were here."

"That was kind of the point at first."

"Shohre. I'll handle this," Cyno turns to the Matra, dismissing her. "I'll meet you at the docks."

Kaveh doesn't miss the wary glance Shohre shoots at him- but decides to look at Cyno instead. When the door shuts, Cyno sighs, turning back towards Kaveh.

"I know you have questions-"

"Yeah, no sh-"

"But," Cyno interrupts with a heavy look. Kaveh feels a chill go down his spine. "You need to forget everything you've just heard."

What?

"I'm serious, Kaveh. No one can know what you just heard," Cyno folds his arms, staring Kaveh down. "You aren't even supposed to know." 

"You can't just tell me to forget after hearing that!" Kaveh scoffs. The audacity! "My fri- housemate just got arrested for Archons knows what, and you're telling me to just go on my merry way?!"

"Like I said, I'll call a locksmith to open your door-"

"That's not the point! I want answers! I want to know if he's okay!"

"He's fine!" Cyno raises his voice. Tempers are rising in the room. "As fine as someone who just butchered a man would be." He spits.

Silence. 

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing," Cyno flinches away, walking towards the door. "You should leave, Kaveh."

"Butchered someone? Al Haitham murdered someone?" Kaveh takes a step back. "Cyno, what?!"

"Kaveh, please go. Don't make me arrest you."

"... and so I left, kind of. I followed Cyno to the dock where his boat was waiting and snuck on," Kaveh recalls. "But halfway, I was betrayed by my rumbling stomach and was caught by the Matra onboard."

"And they dropped you off at the nearest shore?" she pokes, glancing at the water dripping onto her floor. 

"I wish. Cyno kicked me off the boat. Literally." Kaveh shivers at the memory, pulling at his wet clothes. "Seriously! He's acting like a Pyro Fungi! He's been acting like a prick ever since he heard the news!"

She doesn't say anything in response, only nodding at him to continue. And continue Kaveh will. He has a lot to say. But perhaps more to think about.

"I know Cyno is just doing his job," Kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Confidentiality I get, but he didn't have to dismiss me like that. I'm worried. The dude I live with just got arrested for murder. I think being disturbed since I live with said person is not overreacting."

"So you think he did it?" she queries softly. So softly that Kaveh would have missed it if he couldn't see her mouth move. "You think that Al Haitham is a murderer?"

"I- no, that's not it," Kaveh cups his hands around the warm mug. "I don't know. This is just- I don't know."

And that's the big question, isn't it? The question he's been avoiding. 

Al Haitham is a machine. He's logical to a fault. He takes a situation, analyses it, finds the best course of action and carries it out. He cuts out all the emotional aspects of a situation unless he can use it to his advantage- something Kaveh hates about him. He doesn't care about the feelings of others- something Kaveh hates even more about him.

With all this being said, is it that much of a stretch that Al Haitham may kill someone to accomplish a goal? Kaveh can see it- Al Haitham, taking his blade and piercing it into someone's chest. In Kaveh's mind, Al Haitham doesn't hesitate. He doesn't look back. He doesn't think about what he had just done, only what happens next.

"...aveh. Kaveh!" 

"Yes!" Kaveh jerks in his seat. "Sorry, what were you saying again?"

"No, I wasn't...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she fiddles with her fingers. She doesn't meet Kaveh's gaze. "I didn't mean to ask that. You must be exhausted."

"I am," Kaveh slumps back into his seat. The towel is doing wonders to absorb the water on him. He'll be dry in no time. "Conflicted and tired. And..."

Hurt. 

Kaveh is hurt. 

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, a part of him- a much younger, naive and carefree Kaveh who knew the stoic, pensive Al Haitham before the fall out- still believes that his friend (or at least, the friend he knew) is still somewhere in there. Past all the arguments, the passive-aggressive taunts, the lock-outs, Kaveh knows that Al Haitham isn't the machine that he makes him out to be.

But he can't take that leap of faith and trust that he's innocent. He and Al Haitham are too far gone for that. Well, not so far gone that they don't talk or are totally incapable of living together, but still not close enough. Not on the level they used to be, where Kaveh would have believed anything that came out of Al Haitham's mouth. Whatever semblance of friendship they have now is not enough for Kaveh to convince himself that Al Haitham won't go and kill a person. It's not enough. But it could have been. It should have been. And that's what hurts the most.

Call Kaveh a dreamer. A brightsider. A hopeless hoper, if you will. But this fool had believed that one day, in the not-so-distant future, they would somehow make amends and return to the two friends they used to be in the Akademiya. They would joke, share ideas, and not let a difference in ideals come between them. Kaveh had been waiting for a day like that. Kaveh had truly believed that a day like that would come. But now it won't. Al Haitham had gone and butchered someone for Archon knows what reason, and with that, slain whatever hope Kaveh had of getting his old friend back.

Join the Taglist!

@sh3wholiv3s @simpcreator @confusedparticle @quintessentialdreaming @icedlemontea03 @levisbebe @anxious-piece-of-bread @confused-red-head @yukina-otome @tigerpriestess @euniscorn @herbal-tea-and-manga @shikamiru @aira-needs-sleep @bubblydumpling @amiiboabeebo @ayanokomu @problematicthinker @dainsleif-when-playable @ophelia-ophelian @ecxhanadi

[heian-era-housewife]

Hello all!

Recovery, diagnosis, and continued health journey below the break.

TLDR: Stage 4 endometriosis, still waiting on results for the heart condition, tired, sore, overall am going to be okay 👍 I do, however, hate being the owner of a uterus.

Most importantly, thanks everyone for the love, support, and well wishes! Glad to be back! It will be slow. Don't expect too much, but I do still plan to play catch up on Kinktober, even if it goes into November a little bit.

Trigger warnings: blood, mental health, mention of sex, gender identity, generally just Yuri whining 😅

I'm not sure where to begin. When I imagined writing this comeback post, pre-surgery I thought it would be all smiles and sunshine. I knew there would be pain, but I thought the worst of it would be behind me. Currently, I feel like I'm sitting toward the bottom of what may be a very long uphill struggle.

While my surgery went smoothly, the care I received around the surgery was eye opening. We waited for hours on end both before and after the surgery to get answers, to get help, to use the bathroom or be offered water.

Sometime before I woke up I had apparently been given some disposable underwear and a pad because I was bleeding pretty heavily. When I was finally able to use the restroom, I discovered that the pad had been placed cotton-side down with the adhesive side facing my body. The sticky part was still covered with the backing (thankfully), but this had caused blood to run everywhere including down my legs where I could not reach, as I was unable to bend. The only person available to help me at the time was a man whose bedside manner was less than desirable, so I just lived with the blood stains.

This was just one of many instances where it felt like I was almost being punished for having the reproductive organs that I do. And frankly, that has been my experience my entire life as someone who menstruates, who has had difficulty with menstruation, and who has had near constant pain and problems in that area.

Ultimately, I was diagnosed with stage 4 endometriosis. I know very little about this condition and by the time I had woken up from surgery, the surgical staff had gone home. There was no one willing to answer questions and I have since been told I will need to wait two weeks until my follow up appointment to speak with the doctor and get details. Until then, I am left with my own research. From what it seems, there is no cure and very minimal that can be done for treatment of symptoms. My discharge notes make mention of heavy scarring on my ovaries from recurring cysts, which are sure to continue. The endometrial tissue can also appear on or effect other parts of the body as they had in this past instance where tissue was present around my intestines. It can grow on lungs and even the brain, though these cases are extremely rare.

It's hard not to feel discouraged right now. I thought this surgery would be a huge step forward toward feeling better, but it feels more like a tiny drop in a bucket of larger issues and possibly more surgeries and complications to come. Not only this, but I am enraged both by the absolutely abysmal healthcare system here in the U.S. but by the treatment of and complete lack of empathy for those who have vaginas, uteruses, who experience menstruation or pregnancy and any number of complications from these things. I've said it before and I'll say it again, "women's" healthcare is a JOKE, but this goes beyond women. If I, a cisgender female, am experiencing such a lack of care and empathy, I can only imagine how any person with these organs who doesn't fit the stereotypical image or definition gets treated. I hate it.

Anyhoo...

Recovery is expected to take about two weeks. No sex for six weeks (for real this time)

Still waiting on results from my heart monitor.

Wanting to tackle mental health after squaring away what I can of physical health.

Depression and anxiety is now worse than ever. Doing my best not to slither into my little hermit hole and hide from it all.

Writing helps. Drawing helps. The love and care from amazing people on this silly little site helps.

And of course, there is Hubs, who deserves a standing ovation for the incredible job he has done caring for me, advocating for me, and reminding me every day that truly good people do still exist 🩷

If you've read this far, please go get yourself a cookie or something 🍪 and thank you, truly, for being part of this little journey with me 💕