#i have to pretend i'm something i'm not for several hours today just to make my mom happy and jared's family happy

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Guess who has to talk to their GM today because yesterday they screamed at the guys who own the bar they work for/told the guy who took their job that they'd likely get in a fistfight with him if he didn't leave them alone?

[roosterforme]

Some Things Take Time | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob is a man well known for his patience. He never rushes things in the air, and he tries to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. You and he are both on the same page about welcoming a child into your home through foster care, but it's hard for him to watch you try to bond with her unsuccessfully. He soon realizes that Avery is a lot like him, and that some things are worth the extra time.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of infertility, mentions of foster care and adoption, Bob making all other men look like trash

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x wife!reader

Happy birthday @wkndwlff! Check my masterlist for more!

You were laying on the couch with your head resting on your husband's lap, spinning his wedding band around on his finger while you tried to put your thoughts into words. You could tell he knew you were on the verge of speaking, sending you several expectant glances as you and he both pretended to watch the movie he started an hour ago. But Bob would never rush you, and you were thankful for that, because you wanted to make sure you got this right. 

"We've been trying for a long time," you whispered, and Bob's blue eyes met yours as you looked up at him. "Almost two years."

He nodded once and smiled softly. "We have," he murmured, squeezing your hand in his larger one. You pressed your lips together as tears stung your eyes. Bob never seemed upset that he was pushing forty years old and in spite of trying and trying, you'd never gotten pregnant. He never put pressure on you to keep trying or to stop. You were convinced he never would, but you wanted to know what he was really thinking.

"What if we... stopped. Stopped trying. And just went with an alternative?"

"Honey, I already told you I'm happy with things how they are. We can stop trying if you want to, or we can talk about alternatives if you want to do that. But there's nothing wrong with just you and me. In fact, I'm really quite enjoying myself."

You closed your eyes as his fingers drifted along the curves of your side. It would be delicious to get back into the habit of having sex when you wanted to instead of when your cycle demanded it. You and Bob sharing your undivided attention with each other was something you were craving, but you still wanted something else, too.

"What if I said I wanted to look into fostering and adoption again?" you asked softly as you started to sit up.

He pulled you closer so you were straddling his thigh. "Then I would say we can call our lawyer on Monday and get some answers."

You smiled as you nudged his glasses with your nose and kissed his cheek. "And what if I said I'm not fertile today, but I want you anyway?"

Bob reached for the remote and turned the movie off as a soft blush rose in his cheeks. "Then I would say it's time we got in bed, Honey."

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

Bob was a man who was well known for his patience. He never rushed things in the air, and he tried to live by a similar philosophy on the ground. He knew he wanted to marry you about halfway through the first date. He also knew you would have looked at him like he was insane if he admitted that to you halfway through the first date. So instead of rushing things, he took the time to make sure you were on the same page he was and that you were comfortable. He always tried to do that.

When a baby just didn't seem to be happening, he was more than willing to keep trying, but he was also completely content with the idea of no kids at all. It wasn't worth rushing anything as long as he had you in his life. But you had recently convinced him of a third option, and his lawyer helped the two of you smooth out the details. 

And this is how Avery ended up at Bob's house on a random Monday evening. She was eight years old and in need of a foster family, and you were adamant when you answered the phone call that you and Bob were more than ready for her to be dropped off even on such short notice. 

"I'm so nervous," you whispered as you held Bob's hand and watched through the front window as a van pulled up. 

"I'm excited," he told you with a soft laugh. When he thought about having kids, he always pictured a little girl. For some reason, the idea of reading princess stories and painting a bedroom a putrid shade of purple really appealed to him. As he watched Avery being led up the walkway, he realized she didn't look one bit like you or him. He also realized that having a child who resembled him was actually never part of his dreams. 

As the doorbell rang, you bounced in place and whispered, "She's here. She's really here." 

Bob pulled you in for a kiss as his heart thudded. He realized he needed to tamp down his excitement a little bit. The two of you were merely fostering Avery. Nothing was set in stone even though you told the lawyer you wanted to eventually adopt a child. But right now your eyes were glittering with hope and anticipation, and Bob couldn't take that away from you. 

"Let's make her feel welcome," he said as you both headed for the door. 

Avery stood there with an unreadable expression on her adorable face, and Bob noticed right away how the case worker seemed to rush through everything. There were papers to sign and a schedule to keep, and even though all of it pertained to Avery, she ended up sitting quietly at the kitchen table while everyone else talked about her.

It was late by the time you and Bob were alone with her, and now her unreadable expression looked something like sadness. "Avery," Bob said softly. "Do you want to see your bedroom?"

She looked up at him and nodded without saying a word, and then you helped her down from the chair. You had taken the time to freshen up the extra bedroom and buy a pink glitter toothbrush and a pair of pajamas in her size. But Avery just sat down on the edge of the bed with her bag and asked, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bob replied with a smile. "I'll drop you off on my way to work, and then I'll pick you up in the afternoon."

When she didn't respond, you asked, "Is there anything you want? A bedtime snack or something to drink? I could make you some hot chocolate or get you a cookie. Bob makes the best oatmeal cookies, and there are a few left from the weekend. Maybe you can help Bob make the next batch." You were rambling now, and Bob reached out to squeeze your hand as you said, "We're just excited that you're here."

But Avery shook her head and told you, "I'll just read my book. Thanks." Then she untied her shoes and took a well worn copy of The Secret Garden from her bag, but she sat on the bed with rigid posture, not looking at either of you.

Bob wasn't quite sure what to do. You'd already shown the child where the bathroom was, and she seemed to have all of her essentials. He swallowed hard, deciding not to rush Avery even though he could feel your disappointment radiating off of you. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll leave our bedroom door open in case you need anything. And we'll get you up around seven for school. Good night, Avery."

She just nodded and squinted down at the tattered book cover like she was going to cry. Bob led you down the hallway, through your room and into the en suite bathroom where he gathered you in his arms as tears filled your eyes. "I don't think she likes us," you gasped before you buried your face against his neck.

Bob kissed the top of your head and whispered, "I just think she needs some time. Let's not rush anything." 

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

You cried yourself to sleep the first night. You knew that your response wasn't fair to Bob or Avery or even to yourself, but you'd imagined meeting a little girl who was at least a little bit more talkative if not upbeat. You had your hopes set on fostering a child who at least gave the impression that your home was better than another alternative. You'd been given a vague picture of where Avery had come from, and you wanted her to be comfortable here, but now you felt stupid for buying the glitter toothbrush and the Minnie Mouse pajamas. 

Bob's hand drew lazy circles on your back as you turned away from him and cried softly. "It's just the first night," he reminded you in that sweet, even tone that you loved so much.

"I know. I just wanted this so desperately," you admitted between shaky breaths. His hand on your body helped you eventually fall asleep, and the next morning, Bob was up before you, making breakfast. When you tapped on Avery's door which was ajar, you poked your head in to find her once again sitting on the bed reading.

"Did you sleep okay?" you asked, and she nodded in response. "That's great!" you said in a tone of forced excitement. "Do you need help getting ready for school?"

"No," she said softly, setting the book aside.

You took a deep breath and said, "Bob's making breakfast. Do you want to come downstairs and eat?"

"Yes."

That was the last word you heard her speak before Bob led her out to his car in his uniform. He smiled at you over his shoulder as he told you to have a good day working on your true crime novel, but you knew you weren't going to. You spend two hours trying to write, but you ended up with three and a half new sentences. Instead, you spent most of the day thinking you'd made a huge mistake and hating your own body. Avery would probably last two weeks tops with you and Bob before she was begging to go somewhere else. You didn't even know if you could stand to see her melancholy little expression when your husband brought her home from school today, but you didn't want to call her case worker for help yet.

In the afternoon, you bought everything you needed to make oatmeal cookies along with the rest of your usual groceries. You paused next to the checkout line where there was a display of children's books and grabbed a few of them. Avery appeared to like her book more than anything else, so maybe she would appreciate these ones, too.

But when Bob brought Avery home with him after school, she barely spoke. She didn't want to help make any cookies, and after dinner, she went back to her bedroom. Bob tried to help her with her homework, but she told him it was easy and she already finished it. When you dropped off the new books, she told you she already had a favorite. 

"Oh," you said, standing in the doorway with your hands full of the unwanted books. "That's good... that you have a favorite. I have a favorite book, too."

She looked up at you and nodded, but soon you were backing out of the room and trying to hide your tears from Bob. "It takes time," he reassured you as you balled your hands into fists and cried on him again.

You knew you needed to be as patient as he always was, but you just weren't like him. And you started talking before you could stop yourself. "If we could have gotten pregnant, we'd have our own child," you sobbed. "One that we raised from day one who would love us and bake cookies and read new books."

Bob kissed your ear and whispered, "Nothing is easy, Honey. But sometimes the harder something is at first, the more rewarding it is later on."

You cried yourself to sleep again.

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

Bob tried his best for that first week. He watched you start to pull away and retreat into yourself the more Avery kept to her bedroom. Every day when he dropped her off and picked her up, she thanked him for the ride. When he asked if she would rather start taking the bus, she told him it didn't matter. When he asked if there was something special she wanted to eat for dinner, she said she wasn't picky. 

And all the while she just squinted down at her book. Just The Secret Garden even though you brought home some others. When he pulled up to the curb in front of her school one morning, he said, "Avery, would you like me to take you to the library one day? Or maybe a bookstore where you can pick out what you want?"

She looked at him as she grabbed her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "Maybe." Then she climbed out of the car, and he waited to pull away until she was inside the school building. That was the most promising answer he'd received yet. He drove to work thinking about signing her up for a library card, and when he got there, he was in a much better mood.

Natasha was the only one who knew that Avery was under his care. He didn't want to give anyone too many details, but she sweetly asked him the same question every morning after they got to work. "How are you and the Mrs. making out with your houseguest?"

And this morning, he said, "Maybe a little better today, Nat. I'm just trying not to rush it."

She patted him on the chest and smiled. "You never do, Bob. You're a man of details."

She was right. He spent the day thinking about all of the details that he knew about Avery. She was eight years old and very quiet. She only wanted to read one book even though you offered her more. She seemed to find the most comfort when she was alone. She was honestly a lot like Bob.

When he picked Avery up from school, he watched as one of the teachers patted the top of her backpack and sent her on her way. She squinted toward his car before trudging over in his direction with a frown on her face. Bob sighed as she climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in. "How was your day, Avery?" he asked as he shifted into drive. But today he got no verbal response at all. Instead he heard her crying.

Without another word, Bob pulled his car around and into an empty parking spot before killing the engine. He opened his door and closed it before taking a few deep breaths, and then he climbed in the back door and settled in next to the crying child. He let one hand gently rest on her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze before asking, "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

She just shook her head as tears flowed down her cheeks, and she stared at her feet. "It's stupid."

Bob smiled slightly. "You might think so, but I'd probably find what you have to say fascinating."

She turned her head to look at him, examining his face to see if he was being honest. But of course he was. He just wanted her to tell him what was on her mind. It took a few minutes before she started to settle down, but eventually she said, "I failed my eye exam with the nurse today." She unzipped her bag and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper and handed it to him. "She told me my eyesight is terrible and that I need to get glasses."

Bob looked at the page and had to hide his alarm from her. Avery failed her eye exam spectacularly. It was a wonder to Bob that she was even able to see in her classroom. But now her squinting and her preference for one, well worn book were starting to make sense. As he filled in the blanks in his mind, he said, "Glasses aren't so bad," while he tapped his own silver frames. "They certainly make my day a lot easier."

She kind of rolled her eyes and said, "But you're an adult. People aren't going to make fun of you for wearing glasses."

"You think you'll get made fun of?" Bob asked softly, folding the yellow paper in half.

"Yes," she replied immediately as she wiped at her tears. "I already do. Glasses will make it so much worse."

Bob wanted to press her for more details, but he didn't think this was the right moment. Instead he asked, "Is that why you only like to read The Secret Garden? Because you already know most of the words by heart?"

Avery looked at him like she couldn't believe he solved a very complex riddle. "Yes."

He nodded and asked, "Would you like to be able to read other books, too? Because glasses would definitely help with that."

She shrugged and sniffed as she said, "I like books about gardens and flowers and fairies. I don't know of any other ones I would like anyway."

Bob patted her on the shoulder one more time and said, "I like those kinds of books, too. And I think I can help you get glasses that look cool and help you pick out more books. If you'll let me."

Another partial shrug was his only answer, but at least she wasn't telling him no. As he climbed back into the driver's seat, he sent you a quick text telling you that he and Avery were fine and to go ahead and have dinner on your own. Then he drove along to his optometrist's office, hoping they would squeeze an extra appointment into their schedule.

"You're in luck," the receptionist told him when they arrived. "There was a last minute cancellation. Have a seat, and we can take you back shortly."

The rack hanging on the wall was filled with books and magazines for people of all ages, but Bob watched Avery squint as she took a seat empty handed. He skimmed a magazine and offered to read an article to her, but she said no. When ten minutes had passed, Bob asked her, "Are the kids at school mean to you?" 

He was already considering other options that might make her feel more comfortable when she said, "I just don't fit in. Everyone else has parents or grandparents. Everyone else is loud, and I like it better when it's quiet. Everyone else already made friends."

Bob nodded his head. It was like she was living his own childhood in many ways. "I like it better when it's quiet, too. So does my wife. And making friends can be hard at any age. I still struggle with it."

"You do?" she asked him, eyes wide and interested.

"Absolutely. Sometimes I still get nervous and stumble over what I want to say, and I'm thirty-nine. And you know what?"

"What?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

He watched Avery take a deep breath and look down at her hands before both of their names were called. Once they were in the exam room, Bob got to witness her fail the test for the second time in one day, and then her tears started up again. The crying was only made worse when the receptionist popped in and tried to quietly tell Bob that Avery wasn't approved for any vision insurance. 

The child was clearly smart as a whip, and if she was having a hard time fitting in at school, he didn't want to make it worse by making her feel like she didn't fit in with you and him either. "I was planning on paying out of pocket today," he told the receptionist who just nodded in response. Then he turned to Avery and said, "Looks like the nurse was right. How about we pick out some glasses?"

She looked at the displays while she wiped at her eyes with a tissue, but she wouldn't tell Bob which ones she wanted to try on. "Which ones are the cheapest?" she asked softly.

"I have no idea," Bob replied easily. "What's your favorite color?"

"Purple," she whispered, and Bob followed her squinting gaze to a purple frame sitting on a shelf above her head. 

"I like purple, too," he said as he reached them down and handed them to her. She held them for a couple minutes, and Bob decided not to rush her. She finally slipped them on and looked in the mirror, and he told her, "I think they look cool."

She nodded a little bit. "They're pretty good. But nobody else at school has purple glasses." 

As she removed them and tried to hand them back to him, Bob quickly looked at the adult sized frames. There was one pair that came in a deep purple, and he kind of liked them. "Just hang onto those for a minute. I need help picking out new glasses for myself, okay? What do you think about these?" 

When he removed his wire frames and replaced them with the purple plastic, it seemed like Avery couldn't help but smile. "I like them."

He nodded once. "Then I'll get them. That way we can match since we both like purple. Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, looking at the glasses she was still holding before handing them to Bob.

He took both pairs in his hand before nodding toward the door. "I'm feeling like it's a good day to get ice cream for dinner and look around the bookstore. I can think of at least two more books that you might like to read once your glasses are ready for you to wear. Sound good?"

"Yes."

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

You didn't know what to expect when Bob brought Avery home after seven o'clock on a school night, but you definitely weren't prepared to hear her laughter for the first time. You'd barely made any progress on your novel since Avery arrived a few weeks ago, merely existing in your own funk all day long. But the sound of Bob's voice followed by her light giggle as they walked inside left you feeling better than you had in ages.

"Hi," you said, your voice dripping with optimism as Bob headed your way with a shopping bag in his hand. 

"Hi, Honey," he replied, kissing your cheek while Avery took her shoes off.

"How was school?" you asked her. 

"Terrible," she told you with a smile aimed up at Bob. "I failed my eye exam."

"Oh," you gasped, already making a mental note to call the eye doctor first thing in the morning so she could get some glasses. "We can take care of it for you."

"Already did," Bob said as he squeezed your hand. "Stopped on the way home and picked them out. Should be ready next week."

"Really?" you asked in surprise as he pulled two books out of the bag. Both were covered in vines and flowers, but one was clearly a novel for an adult while the other was much slimmer and looked like it was for Avery's reading level.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Now, on the drive home, I told Avery that you're a writer, but that you're also really good at reading books out loud." When you nodded and looked at her, she was squinting up at you. Bob handed you the smaller book and said, "I didn't get to take a shower before I left work, so I need to go do that now. But I promised Avery that you'd read a chapter to her after she gets ready for bed." He patted her on the shoulder and then made his way upstairs.

Your head was swimming with information. New glasses and new books and a child who was looking up at you with hope in her eyes. A husband who set up some time for you to spend alone with her. Tears stung your eyes as you said, "I love reading books out loud. Do you want to change for bed and brush your teeth now?"

Ten minutes later, you were sitting next to Avery on the spare bed, reading to her about a magical garden filled with flowers that turned the characters into superheroes. You read all sixteen pages of the first chapter, and then she asked you to read more. 

It was a little bit past bedtime when you finished the third chapter, and she was yawning. "How about I go get you one of my bookmarks from my office? And we can read more tomorrow night?"

"Okay," she replied easily, and when you returned a minute later with a bookmark that had a purple tassel, she smiled. "I like this book so far, but I think I'd like it a lot better if there were fairies, too. Thank you for reading to me."

"You're very welcome," you told her, barely shutting off the light in time for a tear to slide down your cheek. "Goodnight, Avery."

When you rushed into your own bedroom, Bob was in bed reading the other new book. "How did you do it?" you asked him, quickly climbing under the covers with him. "How did you get her to open up a little bit?"

He set the book down with a soft smile. "She just needed some time, Honey. She's a lot like me. She can't be rushed."

"No," you said, pushing your fingers through his hair as you cried a little bit. "That's not it. I think you're actually magical."

"Maybe," he agreed. "But her vision is so bad. That's why I think she kept reading The Secret Garden. She probably has it memorized and didn't want to tell anyone she couldn't see."

"Poor thing," you whispered, realizing that most of Bob's magic came from his patience as you fell asleep in his arms.

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

A week later, Bob noticed you were exhausted, but you seemed a lot happier, because Avery seemed a lot happier. You had successfully read two books to her, and she was starting to become more vocal around the house. He was hoping she was having an easier time making friends at school now, too. But he was a little bit concerned with how late into the night you'd been working.

When he got a message around lunchtime letting him know both pairs of glasses were ready, he smiled. Pretty soon Avery would be able to attempt reading a new book on her own. He sent you a text letting you know that he'd be home with Avery after a quick stop back at the optometrist's office. And when he picked her up from school, she squinted at his car before climbing in the backseat. 

"Ready to go get our new glasses?" he asked before pulling out onto the road.

"Yes," she replied softly. "I've decided that wearing glasses is a better alternative than not being able to read new books. At least until I can get contacts."

Bob chuckled. "A wise choice."

A few seconds later, she asked, "Will you take me to the library this weekend? There have to be more books there that I'd like."

"Of course I'll take you to the library. We can ask the librarian to help you find you as many books as you want to read."

He hoped that would make the new glasses an even easier decision for her. He parked and led her inside where the eye doctor got them both fitted correctly before handing them a mirror. "What do you think?" Bob asked as he smiled at Avery. "I think they look cool on you."

She shrugged. "They're okay."

"Can you see better?"

"Yes," she whispered. On the way outside, she said, "Thanks for getting new glasses with me. I like yours, too."

Bob checked himself in the mirror before he backed out of the parking spot. "I think it's kind of my color."

You were waiting in the living room for them when Bob opened the front door. The house smelled like dinner cooking, and you had a stack of bound pages on the couch next to you. When you jumped to your feet, you said, "You both look great!" as you bounced in place a little bit.

"Purple is kind of our color," Avery said, making Bob laugh as you covered your massive smile with your fingertips. 

"It really is," you replied, wrapping Bob in a quick hug before cautiously placing your hand on Avery's shoulder for a beat. "I have something I wanted to show you. I was hoping to get your opinion."

"Me?" she asked, looking up at you, eyes wide behind her purple frames.

"Yes," you told her softly. "I've been working on a new story for the past week, and I really think you'll be able to help me with the ending."

"What kind of story?" she asked you, and Bob slowly made his way into the kitchen where he could still hear the two of you talking. 

"Well," you told her as she joined you on the couch, "it's about a fairy who gets invited to live in a magic garden. And she starts to learn how to use magic herself while a friendly witch and a kind wizard supervise her. And the garden is really pretty, and she loves it there and starts to make friends with the other creatures. Do you want to take a look at it?"

"Okay."

Bob hovered in the doorway and watched you hand the bound manuscript to the little girl next to you while you chewed nervously on your lip. He knew you wanted this to work out; he did too. He was also very surprised that you'd been working on this for the past week without sharing your secret even with him. But it truthfully wasn't really for him. It was for her. And you.

The child looked up at you and whispered, "You named the fairy Avery."

You just nodded and smiled. "Your name is so pretty, and you remind me of the kind of little girl who would have magic inside her."

Avery turned back to the page in front of her and snuggled in a little bit closer to you. She started reading out loud, and after a few pages, handed it over to you for a little bit. The two of you went back and forth like this for an hour before Bob carried in two plates of dinner and set them on the coffee table. 

"Even magic fairies get hungry," he said softly before leaving both of you to the story.

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

When you woke up a few weeks later on Avery's ninth birthday, you were beyond exhausted. The past few nights had been late ones for you as you tried to finish up and edit the story you'd been working on. The title that the two of you came up with was The Littlest Fairy in the Garden, and you were just as proud of this as your true crime releases. 

Then you realized that there was actually a reason why you woke up. You could hear Bob talking. It sounded like he was on the phone even though it was barely eight o'clock. You climbed out of bed and stretched before finding him sitting on the floor in the walk-in closet talking softly on the phone in his pajama pants, undershirt and purple glasses.

"I'm sure she's going to agree with me. We want to move forward if that's what Avery wants, but I'll call you back in an hour or two. Thank you so much."

He ended the call right when you asked, "Who was that?"

Bob jumped a bit as he looked up at you with a tentative smile. "Our lawyer," he whispered. 

"What did they say?" you whispered back as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around you. 

When Bob's lips found your ear, you shivered at his words. "It was just a preliminary conversation, but they asked if we would be interested in pursuing adoption."

"With Avery?" you gasped, and he nodded against you. 

"Yes. With Avery."

Tears filled your eyes as you clung to him. You thought about all the books she'd been reading with you and the birthday cake waiting in the kitchen. You could practically still smell the oatmeal cookies she and Bob made a few days ago. You could picture her smile and imagine her laughter, both of which were coming more easily with each passing day. "I want to adopt her. She belongs here. With us."

"I think so, too," he replied immediately, and you could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "I think we should have a conversation with her about it today. The process could take a little time, but I want to be sure it's what she wants as well."

You nodded, a jerky motion against him as your heart pounded faster and faster. "Let's talk about it when she wakes up."

Bob led you downstairs to the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours, and he started to crack some eggs while you made coffee and fresh orange juice. Avery had picked the menu for each meal today for her birthday, and the plan was to take her to the zoo after lunch. There was currently a purple banner with flowers and fairies on it stretched across the kitchen along with a large assortment of balloons. You couldn't remember being this excited about something in such a long time.

"Good morning," came a soft voice from the bottom of the stairs, and you nearly dropped a mug on the floor as you turned to look at her.

"Happy birthday!" you and Bob replied in unison, and then all three of you started laughing. 

Without another word, Avery made her way into the kitchen in her Minnie Mouse pajamas and gave you a hug around the waist. You gasped softly as you hugged her back, her purple glasses pressing against you. Then she tucked herself against Bob's side and hugged him right after that. "Thanks for all the birthday stuff. And thanks for being so nice to me and getting me glasses and everything."

You and Bob shared a look over her head as he rubbed his hand along her shoulder. "It makes us happy that you're here, Avery," he said softly, and you had to swipe at your tears. "Let's have your breakfast, and maybe we can talk about making this permanent."

"Permanent? Like me staying here for a while?" she asked softly as she looked up at him.

"Like you staying here forever."

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

This is a little birthday treat for @wkndwlff! I hope you have a great day, Taylor! I set out to write a nice little story based on this mood board, but somehow it turned into this angsty thing instead. Thanks to @sylviebell @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[wosofutbolfan]

When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

A story of a lifetime spent growing together. To what end?

Songfic

WC: 17k. Check TW inside.

TW: Bullying based on disability. Death of a parent. Angst. Grief.

Hi Guys.

This has sat in my drafts for months and inside my head for even longer. There is no part 2 planned. This is angsty with fluffy moments. Be warned.

I think we can all agree the most heart wrenching media moment of all time is Toy Story 2 and the below song.

If you don't agree. Move along this is not for you.

Reader calls Alexia, Alex throughout this fic. That's based on this video. Cause I have never heard someone refer to that and I thought it was cute. Alexia refers to R as 'Conejito' as a literal translation of bunny - I have since realised there's a more vulgar translation of this which I'm ignoring. Ha.

Spoiler Alert - This story deals with the death of a parent. Which I went back and forth on writing. Something about it still feels ick to me because these are real people. I may delete. Everything within is based on my own experience of parental loss. And it comes from no place of malace or weirdness.

This also deals with a severe speech impediment - which again, I do not suffer from myself but have experience with and hope I have done the struggle justice for anyone who may suffer.

My spanish is google translate because I am an ignorant English speaker. Apologies.

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart

It was raining on the day that you met her.

That was strange. For Barcelona. The rain.

You found yourself where you usually could be found, to anyone who would take notice. Which wasn’t anyone to your knowledge except for a few observant teachers. In the art room, in the back corner, working relentlessly at an easel that your favourite teacher would set up for you.

You had transferred into the school part way through term, and for the first few days as with most schools you were the new and shiny thing. At 12 a lot of the kids in school had known each other since birth and you were new fresh blood to entertain them.

That didn’t last too long though when they realised you weren’t actually that interesting.

Shy and quiet as you always had been, you kept yourself to yourself. Its not that you didn’t want to make friends. You did. You so desperately did. But you just didn’t know how.

You had a stutter. That never helped. Kids could be cruel. And with the move from your hometown to Mollet for your mum's job it had only gotten worse. 

Words felt like lead in your mouth, your jaw felt tight and you struggled to get your words out. They stuck in your throat and refused to move from there. 

The teachers were kind. Your peers were not. Your speech therapist was helping. You spent more time than any 12 year old should thinking about sentence structure and breathing techniques.

You knew your parents worried about you. Waiting for you to get home from school every day with worried glances and eager smiles; “Did you make any friends today niña?” your dad would ask, pretending to be casual, flicking through some book or another. “Not today Papi.” You would reply, never wanting to lie to your family, before happily jumping the couch next to him and starting to scribble in your notebook.

“Maybe tomorrow niña. There is always tomorrow”.

Well. Turns out dads are clever.

Because there was always tomorrow. And on an unusually rainy day for Mollet tomorrow came.

“Putellas!! Get back here! Pute-...”

The door to the art room quickly opened and slammed closed. The noise jolts you out of your peaceful reverie. A tall brunette girl smashed her back against the door and a hand quickly flicked out to turn the lights off to the room.

She clearly hadn’t noticed you huddled in the corner as she slid down the door onto her butt. Closing her eyes she let out a deep sigh and rested her forehead on her knees.

You didn't know what to do.

You knew who she was. Of course you did. She was Alexia Putellas.

The Alexia Putellas. Futbol superstar. Well… the 12 year old playground version of that. The coolest girl in school. She oozes confidence. Was always surrounded by a gaggle of your peers. Never without a ball at her feet or in her hands. But she hadn’t noticed you. Arm still raised working on the canvas in front of you, vision now impeded by the dark she had forced onto the room by turning the light off. You froze. Mouth slightly agape and hand starting to sweat. You watched as she rocked her forehead side to side on her knees. Your arm became tired in its upright position and the noise of you plopping the brush back into the water jar seemed to jolt her out of her stupor. Her neck snapped up and you met her wide, hazel eyes that bore into you. “Oh! Lo siento, I didn’t… I didn’t know anyone else was in here.” She was met with silence. Your stutter affected you terribly on a good day. Nevermind your safehaven suddenly being invaded by the coolest girl in school. Who you had idolised from afar since arriving in Mollet. Her head tilted curiously as she took you in. You felt her eyes drift to the canvas behind you. “Did you paint that?” She stands to her full height, still keeping her distance from you. “Why are you painting in the dark…?” She asks curiously. Head still tilted. Faced with a direct question you couldn’t put it off any longer. You couldn’t delay the inevitable. “Y..y…you, tu…tu….switched off….” Changing the words you intended to use halfway through was a coping mechanism that your therapist had tried to get you to work out of your system. She called it masking. You called it getting by. You raise your hand and point to the lightswitch that she had flicked when she entered the room. She looks at you harder now. You feel her eyes boring into you and wait for the inevitable laughter. The pity. Maybe even the cruelty that you are used to when people hear you speak. You cast your eyes down, waiting for the blow. But you just hear a flick of a switch, and the darkness behind your eyelids lifting. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have switched it off if I had known. I was just trying to get away. I kicked a football at Senorita Lopez by accident in the gym. They won’t let me play outside in the rain. Idiotas” You lift your eyes at her gentle, lilting tone as a smile teases your lips. She's moved closer to you now. “You didn’t answer. Did you paint this?” Her hand comes out to hover over the lines of your still-wet painting. Carefully. Again, you’ve been asked a direct question. “Si.” you reply, quietly. You don’t struggle so much with single words. “By yourself?” she asked, aghast, wonder taking over her features. You nod in reply. “This is so cool! Show me!” A grin overtakes your features as you nod more enthusiastically. Glasses slipping down your nose. Pulling out a fresh canvas for your new friend. “Lo siento, I haven’t told you my name. My Papa says it's rude not to introduce myself…” she stands tall and thrusts out her hand. Very formally. Very practised. “I am Alexia Putellas Segura.” You pause for a moment, looking at her outstretched hand. You wipe your clammy hands on your jeans. And shake her hand. “A…A…” you grow frustrated with yourself, the words getting stuck in your throat. You pull your hand away but Alexia keeps her grip firm and nods at you encouragingly. “Al…Alex… Alex.” you give up. Eyes downcast. Maybe you can tell your papa you nearly made a friend today. “Alex! Cool! I’ve never had that nickname! Most people call me Ale. But it can be our thing. I know you, you are y/n I remember Senora Perez making you stand at the front of class. Show me how to paint! Please? ”  Alexia was not a good painter. She quickly got bored and distracted by the newspaper on the desk intended for a paper mache project which she screwed up together, fashioned into a football and then spent the rest of the wet lunchtime kicking around the art room aiming for various targets that she would shout out to you. 

You dutifully cheered at every successful hit of the target. That night as you climbed onto the couch next to your papa and he asked; “Did you make any friends today niña?”. You couldn’t wait to reply; “Si! Alex.” You missed the way his newspaper dropped ever so slightly, and he caught the eye of your mami who was in the kitchen. “Ah, Si? Alex should come for dinner! We would love to welcome him!” He replied, his delight even obvious to you. “No tonta… Alex is a girl!” you let out. In that hilariously moody way only 12 year olds can. You became inseparable. Alexia was your best friend. Complete and total opposites. She would spend wet lunches in the art room with you. She would drag you to the playing fields after school and on break and you would be a goalie for her. Which was really just you standing complaining about where you found yourself and you dived away from balls as she cackled out a laugh. She came round for dinner with your family most nights. You spent every weekend at the Putellas household, travelling to her football games, strapped up next to Alba in the back of the Putellas family car, scribbling away in a notebook as you drew landscapes that you passed. On the way home you would sketch and sketch, only slightly hindered by the weight of your gangly best friend as she slept on your shoulder.  Your art would sit on both family fridges. Alex’s football boots would litter both entrance ways. Your mami would pick Alba up from the junior school if Eli got stuck at work. Joint family dinners were the norm.

Your relationship evolved through the years. Easily. Blissfully. You grew together. You became taller, however still paling in height compared to your best friend. You got braces and had them removed, You wore contacts most days now instead of your thick rimmed glasses. Though you still could usually be found in the art rooms.

Alexia filled out, she became less gangly and more strong, after years dedicated to football and training. 

Your speech improved. Your stammer only comes out rarely and you know your triggers. You worked hard every week with your speech therapist but you always credited Alexia. She gave you confidence. 

No one at school would roll their eyes or laugh at you when Alexia was by your side. She didn’t rush you. She didn’t finish your sentences. Nothing was more formidable within your school walls than if Alexia had found out someone had made fun of you, or not been patient with you. She got in trouble countless times defending your honor. Even if the teachers hated punishing her for it. 

You maybe realised on some level that you were as important to Alexia as she was to you the day that caused her to miss the U15 School Championship final. 

One of the more idiotic older basketball boys had caught you in the hallway. Trying to impress his gaggle of followers he had tripped you up as you were on your way scurrying into the art rooms to finish the sign you had made for Jaume to wave at the upcoming championship final. You had fallen flat on your face, quickly moving onto your back and pressing yourself against the wall. It had been a while due to Alexia's influence but you had dealt with bullies your entire life and you knew you had to just make yourself small and wait it out. “Oh s-s-s-s-s–s-s-oooorry it w-w-w-as an a-a-a-a-accident!!” the boy taunted you, leaning over you and exaggerating your stutter. 

His spittle hitting your face and making you wince. He brought himself to his full height, which was impressive for a 16 year old and turned to his friends. “Honestly, how is she even in this school, she is so estupida!” His guffaw was matched by his followers however their faces quickly dropped as they looked behind their ringleader. “What did you just say to her?” a cold, terse voice entered the conversation. You didn’t see his face drop but you could imagine it. 

He quickly turned and looked at Alexia standing in the doorway. Sunshine behind her darkening your view. As she stepped into the halfway you took in the thunderous look on her face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her as angry. 

You barely recognised her. “I-i-i sai…” This time he wasn’t impersonating you. 

He knew he was fucked. She moved quicker than you had ever seen her move on the football pitch. The tall boys friends quickly scattered as she grabbed him by his shoulders. He may have had at least two foot of height difference on her but that quickly diminished to nothing as she kneed him squarely between the legs. He doubled over in pain as she landed blow after blow to his stomach. “Alex… stop.” you instructed, gathering yourself to your feet. 

Your voice cut through her rage and she immediately stopped her punches. He scurried off as soon as he was able to, no serious damage done apart from to his ego… and maybe his balls. She turned to face you after shouting some choice expletives to his back, face immediately morphing into one of concern, eyebrows furrowed as her hands cupped your face. “¿Estás bien?” She asked, seriously. Hands moving to check you over. 

“Si, Si, estoy bien.” you replied. “You shouldn’t have done that Alex.” you regarded her with sceptical eyes. 

Her brow furrowed further, “What should I have done then? He’s un maton, he hurt you. I taught him a lesson. I would do it again. I would. I am not sorry.” she said firmly as she moved your head beneath her chin and wrapped her strong arms around you. 

You tried to pretend that the butterflies in your stomach erupting at her protectiveness were a normal reaction to a friend. 

Right? She repeated the same platitudes the next day, but this time with Jaumes hand on her shoulder as she sat in the headmaster's office. The boy she had humiliated so happened to be the son of one of the school governors. The headmaster told the footballer and her father that if Alexia apologised to the boy then she would go unpunished, otherwise, he would be forced to stop any of her extra-curricular activities, including the interschool championship final. Which, as headmaster, he really didn't want to do when his school had their first chance of winning in over a decade. She refused. 

She was banned from playing.

The team lost. 

Badly. The guilt ate away at you as you both watched from the sidelines as the 5th goal against your team went in. 

She grasped your knee, and still watched the game. “Stop feeling guilty. I am still not sorry. There are more important things than football conejita.” 

You took a breath and placed your hand on top of hers. You turned to look at her incredulously. “I mean, very few. Football is still in the top 2. Food is 3.” she continued, deadpan. Forcing a laugh out of you. You asked her once, years after first meeting, one sleepover when you were both lying side by side on the Putellas trampoline looking up at the stars. Why was she so patient with you? When no one else was? She looked at you, dumbfounded, genuinely confused by the question. “You have a voice y/n. You deserve to be heard.” she replied. Moving into her favourite position which was pulling all of your weight completely on top of her. Your head rested over her heart. You could hear the thump thump thump against your ear. You hoped she couldn’t feel the fluttering of yours.  

It was that simple to her. “Plus you looked like a rabbit in the headlights when I barged in, you were too cute. Mi pequeña coneja”.

Your Alex. 

You transitioned from best friends into girlfriends at 16 with no fanfare. A shy kiss after a win at Alexia's latest championship sealed it. Her grin splitting her face. Yours matching when you realised your dreams could become a reality. Hands held tentatively in the backseat of Jaumes car as he smiled at the scene through his rear view mirror.  Days later, as you both stood in front of your mami and papi shyly holding hands you realised, squeezing the trembling hand in yours, that it was the first time you had seen Alex nervous. In all of your years of friendship.

Alexia still had her weirdly formal streak, the same as the day you met her, so you let her do what she felt she needed to.

“Senor y Senora y/l/n… “ she started, taking a breath. “Mi and y/f/n…”

Your parents caught your eye, dumbfounded. She never used their titles. They rarely heard her use your name. You were always conejito.

“Alexia… estimada…” your mami started, with kind eyes. You could tell she knew what was coming. You shook your head at her slightly, Alexia too caught up in her own moment to notice. Your mami let her speak.

“Mi and y/f/n…”

Your papi, however, was not as emotionally in tune as your mami, “Monito, what is going on? Why are you being muy loca? Have you got mi mija pregnant? I know you're an overachiever bu…” “Papi!” you screeched out, interrupting him. 

Alex stood mouth agape, face flushed as she looked to you for help. “Papi, Mami, Alex is tr…try…tryi… telling you that we’re together together.” you let out, raising your joined hands. Your mami let out a laugh behind her hands, your papi however stood and exclaimed, “Was that some sort of secret!? Dios Mio of course you are! We thought you had been for years!  You made me change your bedtime story from princesses to football-playing princesses on the day you met!  Why do you think your Mami makes you keep your door open when this one stays, Mija?” 

Now it's your turn to blush as your mouth drops open. As he passes Alexia he gently smacks her upside the head, ruffling her long brunette hair. “Now come on cabeza de bola, me and the guys from work are starting a 5 a side. I need your help on penalties…” You huff out a laugh as your girlfriend is dragged away, confused look stuck on her face - eyebrows adorably drawn and mouth furrowed and clinging to your hand until distance forces her to let go. 

Your mami settles her arm across your shoulders. “I’m happy for you Mija” she mutters, in her gentle tone as you fall into her embrace. “You’re going to marry that girl one day.” Even after everything that would happen and the hell you would feel, you thank God for the unseasonal rain in Barcelona that day in junior school.

And when she was sadI was there to dry her tearsAnd when she was happy, so was IWhen she loved me It wasn’t long after you made your relationship official that you had your first real test.

You knew something was wrong with your girlfriend probably before she did. You knew her like the back of your hand. Though it finally came to a head one early evening at the Putellas household.

You had both picked Alba up from school, and you had set out to making dinner in the Putellas kitchen whilst Alexia's parents were both stuck at work.

It was standard practice, occurring at least once a week. You moved through the kitchen with ease. The ease is what alerted you.

Usually, on nights like these, Alba would huff off to her room like any other pubescent teenager, head stuck in her phone and earphones firmly in place. Alexia however, would usually be found attached to your back, arms wrapped around you as you cooked, or sat at the breakfast bar, swiping chopped veggies til you hit her with a spoon to make her stop, rolling your eyes as she insisted she was a growing girl and she needed the extra.

No, this was too easy, you thought, as you moved around, you missed your big inconvenience in the kitchen and you made sure your pasta sauce was bubbling nicely and went to search for her. 

You find her in the living room, her large frame draped over the sofa, eyes mindlessly watching the TV. But you can tell she isn’t watching whatever is on. Ale isn’t a big TV-watcher. She's very rarely sitting still for long enough to concentrate. The exception being if you're in her lap, where she entertains herself by playing with your hair or tracing the lines on your palm. “Hey, amor, estás bien?” your voice brings her out of her thoughts, “Ey? Ah sí conejito, lo siento, is dinner ready?” she asks, making to stand, but being stopped by your hand on her shoulder.  “Ay, when did I become the hired help, ey?” you ask, trying to tease a smile out of your girlfriend. “Dinner will be ready soon. Tell me what's on your mind.” The thing about Alex is she’s an open book. People may think she is stern and serious but she wears her heart on her sleeve. You can always see her thoughts plainly on her face, so you know something troubling her. She knows she can’t hide it from you, so she doesn’t try. “I’ve been offered a professional contract.” She states, plainley. Your heart lifts for her. Your whole life Alexia has bled football. For many years she believed, and you did too though you would never admit it, that it wouldn't be possible to make a career from the sport. You don’t think you have ever seen Alexia as sad as when she aged out of the Barcelona FC teams. She was devastated. It was a harsh reminder that Spain wasn't the USA. The opportunities are not always available. But the thing you loved most about Alexia was her dogged determinedness. She would train in the morning, in the afternoon, between classes. You are overjoyed that all of that hard work has paid off. Something wasn’t adding up with her reaction, however. “Alex, that's amazing news!” you exclaimed, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “Why are you not more excited? Is it a bad deal?” “No, amor, it is a fair deal.” she sighs. You just look into her eyes, waiting for her to tell you what she wants to share. She takes a deep breath. “It’s Levante, I would have to move to Valencia.” Ah, you see. Your heart breaks at the sad frown painted on the usually stern face of your girlfriend. Your hand moves up to trace her eyebrow, forcing them to unfrown and moving down to cup her cheek. She leans heavily into the warmth of your hand, and damp eyes open, fixing to yours. “Oh Alex, it’s okay” you whisper. The truth is you had always known that with the career your girlfriend was destined to follow, that you would have to spend time away from each other. You already did. Alexia has often been away throughout your friendship and now your relationship for national camps. 

You had a very mature relationship for 17 year olds. Having been woven into each other's lives for so many years. You were part of each other's DNA. You knew how to manage the time without your girlfriend. You were both grade A communicators. You accepted that this would be different, and no doubt unimaginably hard for the footballer, her family was her life. But so was football. And you know you needed to encourage her to take this step. “It’s not okay!” she stated, firmly, sitting up straight on the couch. “It’s not fair! Finally I get what I have dreamed of but it comes at the expense of everything I love. Mi familia, Barcelona, you! Why can’t I have both? I don’t know what to do” “You go to Levante, Alexia.” you say, seriously, “This is a huge opportunity for you.” She looks at you incredulously and you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong. “Oh, so it is that easy for you? Si? You just let me go like it doesn’t even bother you!” You aren’t used to Alexia's stern frown being sent your way, usually it's aimed at someone in defence of you. Or at a goalkeeper.  You, however, know the brunette is feeling vulnerable, she has waves of insecurity at times, she puts so much pressure on herself it's inevitable, but you are always there to assure her of her worth, and your love. “You know that's not true, amor.” you say, tenderly, hand reaching into her brunette locks to sooth her. “I agree, it’s not fair that Barca don’t have a women's team but I have always known your talent would take you away from me, “ she opens her mouth to interject, “but I love you. And I know you love me. We are tethered. Forever. When, not if, you go to Valencia, we will make it work. You know we will amor, you can have both” “But I will miss you.” she whimpers, pathetically. “I will miss you every second. But it will get better, it’ll pass Alex.” Her head finds your neck as she settles in there. Her larger frame is quite comically draped over you. “Do you promise?” she lets out, weakly. And you don’t let a moment pass, “I promise.” and seal your promise with a kiss to the crown of her head. She moves her chin up and faces you, “Beso, por favour” she asks, who are you to refuse? You kiss softly, you don’t know how many minutes you are tasting her sweet lips pass before you are interrupted by a sulky 14 year old.  “Ewwww!”

Alba appeared, making the two of you split apart, her disgust at the scene she's found making you laugh as Alexia peels herself from you, rolling her eyes.

“I’m gonna tell Mami that you two were making out instead of feeding m…ahh!” Albas accusations getting lost as Alexia chases her around the living room, ready to fight in a way only sisters can.

A strange smelling odour fills your nose. Oh… Oh no. You rush into the kitchen to find your dinner smoking on the hob.

“Oi, Putellas diablos!” You stick your head into the living room where you find Alexia sat on her younger sister whilst she tries to battle off the huge weight she finds on herself. They both pause and look at you guiltily. “C’mon, shoes on, we’re going out to eat, on me, we’re celebrating!”

Both of them unite in cheers as they childishly jump up and run to the front door in glee, shoving each other out of the way to try to get their shoes on first as you watch, affectionately shaking your head.

It will be months later, after a summer filled with memories made with your girlfriend, days at the beach, trips to the market, lazy days at home and soft moments made in the streets of Barna, that you would find yourself alone in bed.

That was weird.

You had spent the day packing with Alexia, the sadness of moving away had started to be replaced with excitement from the tall girl. Her dreams were coming true, okay, it may not be perfect, she finally understands, but it's a step in the right direction.

She can’t believe that she's going to get paid to play football.

Paid. The evening after a long day of packing was spent having a family meal at the Putellas household. Your family is also in attendance. It was a loud and joyous affair and it helped to keep the sadness out of your girlfriend's eyes. After a long evening of sombremesa Alexia had insisted on coming back with you to your parents to your house.

She didn’t want to spend her last evening in Barcelona in her empty bedroom, instead finding solace in yours. You had both talked into the early hours, in the arms of each other, trading soft touches and exchanging breaths until sleep took you. You pretended for her sake that you couldn’t hear her rattling breaths or feel the dampness of her cheeks on your fingers.

Now, however, you were alone, and unsure at what woke you up. Until a tapping comes to your attention. You sit up in bed and hear it again. What is that? You get out of bed and go towards your window, yep, there it is again, coming from outside. You throw open the curtains and peer out into the moonlit garden.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you can’t take that moment because you suddenly are hit squarely in the face by a pebble. 

“Ouch.. what the he…” you stand suddenly and bang your head on the window frame “Ow, Fuck!” “Ay Dios Mío, lo siento amor! I didn’t see you had opened the window!” Alexia's panicked voice reached your ears, why was she in the garden? What the hell was going on? “Are you okay conejito?” You take a moment to steady yourself and your mind into your new and abrupt situation. “Conejito?” “Yes, Alex, I am fine. What are you doing out there?” You’re met with silence. “Al?” The tall brunette is scuffing her foot against the pebbles of the garden that she had previously been launching at the window. “I don’t want to say. I feel stupid now.” You arch your eyebrow in her direction. You don't think that she can even see it but she knows what's aimed in her direction. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. And also sad. And muddled. And I will miss you so much so I was just imagining how good it will feel when you visit, or I visit. Or when I score a goal and you’re watching. Which I know you’ve seen but now it's my job.” she rambles, pausing momentarily to take a breath. 

“Anyway, I thought about how cool it would be if I came to visit and woke you up by throwing stones at your window like in a film! You’d love that! Then I just couldn’t wait to do it. So here’s me, doing it. I’m being romantic.” She throws a crooked grin up at the window and your heart literally melts. “I..I….” and you promptly burst into tears. “Oh no mi amor no! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to throw a pebble at your face! I’m sorry!” she gestures towards you with her hands frantically. “It’s not that Alex, you’re just such an idiot. And I love you so much. I am going to miss you so much. Get up here.” needing her arms wrapped around you. She nods vigorously and makes to climb the trellis that goes to your window. “No you idiot! Use the door! You have a key!” “Oh yeah.” you hear her mutter to herself before she scurried back inside. As you’re settled back into her warm arms, her huge hands palming through your hair. “That was very romantic Alex.” you mumble and you practically hear her purr with pride at herself. “Next time though bebe, use your key, I would much rather you be here in bed with me.” “Noted.” she mumbles into your skin, wiping away the tears that you can’t stop from rolling down your cheeks. Alexia got settled into her professional team quickly and efficiently, she was one of the youngest but easily the most talented on the pitch. You would travel up with Jaume religiously at the weekends wherever you could, your time in the week spent busy with the Art College you had enrolled in. Alba sometimes tagging along when you bribed her with snacks.

As promised you were there when she scored her first professional goal, her beaming smile sent directly to you and Jaume in the stands, stood cheering for her. You witnessed her wide eyes, after the game, as you stood waiting for your celebratory hug and maybe a cheeky kiss, when she was stopped by a little hand. “Hola.” the small girl had to crane her neck to look up at your girlfriend. She was shaking with excitement. “Hola?” she replied, confused. “Can I have your autograph por favour?” she asked, sweetly. Alexia just stood there, like a sim. 

You stepped forward with your notepad and drawing pencil that you carry everywhere, you had more drawings of inside a football stadium than anyone would need. You ripped out a page and handed Ale the pencil. “Of…of course?” She scribbled down her autograph for the young girl who beamed and ran away holding it above her head to show her mami who picked her up in glee. Alexia's wide eyes stared at you. “Did you see that?” “I saw that bebe, I handed you the pencil. I also saw your goal, superstar!” You couldn’t control your grin, which was mirrored by your girlfriend. “You played so well! Alex!” You're interrupted as she drags you over the fencing and pulls you into a bear hug. Her face nuzzled into your neck, her body vibrating with excitement. “I scored for you conejito!” she says “Well, hija, I won’t be offended, I have only been to every game you’ve played for 10 years” Jaume appears above you both still in the stands, smiling teasing his lips. “And you papa!” she releases you and pulls her papa into a hug. Dragging you back in after a moment before declaring that her first goal means that she deserves pizza and ice cream courtesy of her papa. 

Through the summer and the fall We had each other, that was all Just she and I together Like it was meant to be

You finished your college course and your love for art had never died. You made the trip to Valencia wherever possible to see Alex and she came back to Barna at least once a month to see her family and you on an off weekend. You would spend those weekends living at Alexias house, soaking up every moment together as much as possible. 

She would bring her clothes home for Eli to wash as she was useless at anything practical. You would make sure that you would always snag a sweater of hers before it was washed and keep hold of it, soaking in her scent before you could swap it out again. Alexia, used to pretend she hated it, they would always be returned with paint stains around the cuffs which would harden and she said irritated her skin.  You tried to be more careful but you didn’t stop stealing them.

You saw the same amount of her family as before she moved away, your lives had been so intrinsically linked that you had become an honorary Putellas, and she was a part of your family. You hung around with Alba and you helped Eli with her shopping when her car broke down. You were family.

Weirdly enough, it was you that met Alexia's future best friend first. After college, you started to make money from your art by being a live artist at weddings.

You knew your parents were worried about what you would do with your art. Teaching was the obvious choice but with your speech issues, it was your idea of hell.

This was perfect.

It was a niche business but you got paid well and you loved it. You got to go to weddings for a job. You got to capture people's joy on the most important day of their lives.  You would sit in the corner with an easel set up, sketching and painting guests, the dance floor, the top table. And you could immediately give your paintings to the couple and their guests, the validation was enormous, you were good at what you did. Discreet and professional.

You soon get a client list for miles and the money starts to pour in.

It was at one of these weddings that you met Mapi. She caught your eye during the speeches and you started to draw her outline. She was clearly very very gay at a very straight wedding. But it wasn’t just that that caught your eye, her tattoos intrigued you. And you loved sketching them and adding hints of colour here and there.

She looked up at you and caught you sketching, as guests often would, you were able to not let it distract you, ever the professional you offered a gentle smile.

“You like football?” a heavily accented voice reached your ears as you were adding the finishing touches to the dancefloor scene that was set out before you.

“Que?” It wasn’t often that guests interacted with you, but sometimes it happened.

“Your bag, FC Barcelona? That's not usual for a pretty girl like you, to like football.”

“Ah, Si.” You reply, your eyes not moving from your painting. “It’s my girlfriends.” you reply, emphasising your relationship status, not wanting a moment of confusion.

“Ah, boo, you have ruined my fun.” She replies, “Maria Leon '' She introduces herself, hand out for you to shake, you don’t take her hand, handing your paint-y hands up. She holds her hands up in surrender. “I see, I see. FC Barcelona though. Good team. No women's team though.”

“No, but there will be, and my girlfriend will be their top scorer when it happens”  you reply confidently. “You seem so sure?” “I am.” She lets out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that, then I will be their best defender” she offers a huge smile. Mapis smile is magic and makes you smile.

You and Mapi become firm friends. She talks. And talks and talks and talks. You don’t know how she has so much to say. But she is fun and she is kind. Your stutter makes an appearance as it sometimes does but it is perfectly offset by her inability to stop yapping. You don’t feel a pressure to fill the silence because you know she will. 

Years later, at a supercup final, you will both laugh about your first conversation. About how both of your statements came true. Turns out, people paid well for authentic paintings of their favourite moments. And as a young adult you found yourself with enough money to get yourself a small apartment in Mollet. You loved it. And you loved the independence it brought you. You think that was the happiest time of your life. You would spend days on your sun drenched terracotta tiled balcony. Painting watercolour and sketching the scenes both in your mind and your view over the square that your apartment was on. You had quite the online following and would get some commissions for your art which brought you a sense of purpose and joy. The absolute best time was when Alexia had a free weekend, or a break, she would stay with you and you would live in domestic bliss. It was an unspoken agreement. No question that she would make her base for her time back at your apartment. Even when she wasn’t there you wouldn’t sleep on her side of the bed. More of her clothes made their way into your closet. More of her sweaters would get paint marks on them. You would cook together, sing together, dance together in your small kitchenette. Feeling happy and in love as only young people can. Nothing gets between you. Training had been kind to your girlfriend, and you struggled to keep your eyes off her as she would do basic tasks. She was thick. For want of a better word. Her gangly limbs had become pure muscle, her back would ripple when putting on a t-shirt, you would find yourself staring at her forearms as she would cut vegetables. She knew what she did to you and she loved it. Often sending a wink your was and sending you into more of a stuttering mess then usual, heat climbing to your face. You felt your heart grow as you would go shopping for groceries together. Take strolls in the square, you sitting on a bench and sketching as she inevitably got herself involved in a football game with the local kids. Her favourite time of day would be Friday nights. Often, if she was lucky, she would be scheduled an early kick off on fridays. You would travel back from the game together with her papi. You took the backseat as you knew you would monopolise her time back all weekend. Giving her a chance to catch up with her family. You would get home, she would shower whilst you made a light dinner, both taking it in on the balcony before moving inside and settling on the couch. She would put on some illegally screened recordings of the game she had played in. But she would mute it as she pulled you into her chest. You would have a sketchbook in hand and continue working on your art, or a piece from a wedding that needed finishing up. You always told her the commentary wouldn’t distract you. But she insisted. Once finally saying, “I like the sound of your pencil, it soothes me, and sometimes you trace the sketch on my leg with your free hand. It gives me goosebumps. I like it.” you never asked again. You argued, of course, like any couple did. But it never lasted long. Alex would get angry when she would find paint in the sink, and you would struggle to share your space at first. But you never went to bed in a fight. Even if you tried to be stubborn your body would fail you and you would gravitate towards her in the moments before sleep, muttering your apologies or forgiveness. In those early days of young adulthood it would be the only time in your relationship where you had more money than Alex. 

Football did not pay well. It did not pay a living wage. 

You didn’t care. 

You felt privileged every time you scanned your card for the groceries, or paid for dinner on a date. You knew she hated it though. “One day conejito, I will give you everything life can offer, I promise” she would whisper into your skin whilst she tried to make it up to you in other ways. You would always tell her you had everything you needed right there with you. It was perfect. Life was perfect. You had friends, a stable job, the love of your life. Yes, distance was hard, yes, each time she left you would cry and hold her tighter to you, but you knew it wasn’t forever, and you never felt that distance in your relationship. You grew together, like a plant, your love was carefully cultivated in experiences and shared memories.

And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her And I knew that she loved me

You had never felt sadness like it. It was all encompassing. You couldn’t get away from it. You were sad for your chosen family. You were sad for your own family. You were sad for yourself. But you were devastated for your girlfriend. You didn’t know what to do with so much sadness. You couldn’t hold it in, but you couldn’t let it out. You needed to be strong for your girlfriend. Who was walking around as a shell of the person that you knew her to be. Well, that was when she was walking, she would throw herself into her childhood bedroom and stay there silently for hours. You would be okay with it if she was sleeping, but she just stared at the wall aimlessly. Her Papa was her inspiration. The reason she got into football. She would look up to him even as she towered over him. And it was so so cruel that he had been taken away from her in such a manner. A week after Jamues passing you found yourself next to Alexia at his funeral. It was a beautiful affair, a celebration of the life of a man who loved hard and was loved hard. The morning had been difficult, you had ironed Alexia's dress and set it out for her. She took your instruction like a small child, you brushed her hair straight and pulled it out from her face. You struggled to speak. Such immense grief you felt the words became garbled in your mouth, rendering you mute. But you didn’t want any pressure on Alexia. 

You knew when your stutter made an appearance she would drop everything, concentrate on doing your exercises with you, hand automatically cupping your jaw and massaging the soft area beneath your ear because she knew that relaxed your facial muscles. So you both moved around silently. That morning. As you guided her around what needed to be done. As you packed her bag with tissues you hoped that you needed to use them. You hadn’t seen her cry since she rushed home from Valencia to the news. So no, you didn’t know what to do with your grief. You loved him too. He was the first person you had loved and lost. You had your own special relationship built from long car journeys and shared snacks. He would put your art on his fridge like you were one of his own. He was kind and he was half of the person who you loved to your core. God. If you felt like this. You don’t know how Alexia was still breathing. You had been spending all week as the Putellas household. Not leaving Alex's side. But also not leaving Alba, who would lean heavily into you of an evening, seemingly crying all of the tears that her sister couldn’t. It felt healthy though, through the tears you could share memories and make her laugh. You would go to bed with Alex and the silence would continue. When you were sure she was asleep you would sneak out of bed and grab your sketch pad, settle into the corner of the room and just let it out. Her dad told you once at a game how his father worked as a coal miner. He said it proudly, he adored hard work. That's where Alexia got her devotion from. It was a passing moment, a memory that you didn't even know you had. But it stuck with you as you went into the Putellas garden and took a lump of coal from the barbeque and settled yourself into the dewey grass. Hand not stopping over your sketchpad and tears rolling down your cheeks.

The night after the funeral you stayed at your own parents house. You couldn’t handle the loneliness of your own apartment. You didn’t want to intrude at the Putellas residence, and you hoped that maybe some time with her family would be what Alexia needed to open up. You were right, but not in the way you imagined. A soft clink, clink, clink, woke you up, This time you were not frightened. You had heard this noise before. You immediately jumped out of bed and ran to your window, showing it open and shoving your head out. “Alex! What are you doing here, why didn’t you use your key?” The brunette looked up at you with sad eyes, you saw she was in her pyjamas, eyes sideways showing no car, she had walked here. “I forgot it.” she let out, morosely. “Oh mi amor, no p..p..problem, hold on I will come down and let you in.” before you had a chance to bring your body back into the house you heard her again, “You left me.” your heart cracked into two. You didn’t reply but instead hurried downstairs into the moonlit garden. She stood there, with all her muscle and height, looking everything like a toddler who was lost in a supermarket. You took her hand in yours and used your other to cup her cheek. “Oh, mi amor I didn’t leave you, I thought you wanted some space.” Maybe you expected her to agree, maybe you expected her to disagree and shout at you for getting it so wrong. You didnt realise that you were to her, like an umbrella in the rain, protecting her from the downpour. With you gone she drowned in the grief. You didn’t expect her lip to tremble and her to burst into tears. “I want my papa.”  Those 4 words broke your heart as you huddled her into your arms, rocking lightly to bring her confort. There was nothing you could say, you just brought her into your bed and held her as she cried, painting her skin with whispers of your love “I know, bebe, I know, I promise it’ll pass, I promise, and I will be here. The pain will go. It will pass Alex and I will be here.” It became a mantra that you whispered into her skin.

As she calmed down you took a moment to think. As you got out of bed and she groaned in annoyance you hushed her with your lips to her skin. “Un momento, mi amor, I have something for you.”

You presented it nervously, unsure of the reaction you would get.

It was a framed picture that you had created. Not like your usual artwork as it was made from coal. Coal from the Putellas barbecue to be exact. It was a sketch of a man in the stands of a football stadium, somehow, eyes beaming with pride, laugh lines visible on his face. A footballer with a long ponytail and similar features jumping into his arms.

It was a scene you had witnessed hundreds of times throughout the years. You didn’t need to see it again to create it. The coal added a haunting and beautiful dimension to it. When you explained your reasoning Alexia looked deeply into your eyes. Holding onto the frame with white knuckles like her life depended on it.

“I love you.” 

And when Alexia scored and helped her team to win the U19 Championship for her country not 3 weeks later. Celebrating with eyes to the sky, fingers pointed. You knew that, eventually, she would be okay. 

So the years went by I stayed the same But she began to drift away I was left alone Still, I waited for the day When she'd say, "I will always love you"

It was as though it had been destined for years but finally finally the news came that Barcelona FC would have a women's team. Mapi had texted you with glee when the news broke out, she knew that she was stuck in her own contract but the fact it existed made it a possibility for her dreams to come true. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, was a free agent. You thought, privately, that even if she wasn't a free agent that she would break every law on planet earth to play for her childhood club. She was offered a contract and signed without any hesitation. A mist in her eyes at the missing presence in her signing photos. You drove with Alba to collect her and all her things from a year in Valencia directly to your apartment. As you unpacked her stuff, Alba on a food run with money you had shoved into her hand, your small flat suddenly felt full. “Alex,” You called, from the living room, you heard her shuffle around and pop her head into the bedroom where you stood, surrounded by boxes. “Si, conejito?” she asked, breathlessly. You took in her smile, that you had missed over the months, the light in her eyes, the ease of her movements. “I am just asking, I don’t actually remember asking you to move in?” You say, teasingly, gesturing to her boxes surrounding you. It was true, you hadn’t, it had just been assumed by both of you, as well as both of your families. A blush rose up her neck, “I mean… I-i-..”. You burst out laughing. “I am just teasing you”. A glint in her eyes took over and you had half a second to brace yourself before you were tackled by an almost 6ft wall of muscle. You landed gently on the bed with a thump. “Well, light of my life. I think it’s too late for that. Maybe I can make up for my rudeness.” Her voice takes on a sultry tone, attacking your neck with kisses, making you groan. “No, No, No, No, stop it you two! Why is this my life!” Well. Alba was back, You groaned as Alexias full body weight fell onto you as she heard her sister. You had a feeling you both had plenty of time to make up for it. Living with Alexia full time was natural. You had obviously had practice from the year she spent in Valencia but you didn’t realise how easy it would be. You knew where to step to not fall over her boots in the hallway without looking. 

You amended your grocery show to include all her weird protein-packed foods. She would help you get ready for work in your evening gowns that you had to wear to fit in at the weddings, and she would stay up to make sure you got home safe and listened as you babbled on about your favourite parts, all the while taking it in for ideas for your own wedding. You continued to make money at weddings, Alexia rose through the ranks at the new Barcelona Femini team. Quickly establishing herself as a calm and serious captain. 

She took her role seriously,  she would study games religiously at home as you would paint or sketch. Your easel set up in the living room or on the balcony. She would rub your shoulders as you painted, eyes set on the TV at the game. The shared time doing your own activities matched you both perfectly. And just like that, years passed. Years in domestic bliss. Spent together and with your families. Vacations in Ibiza and even a pet cat called Pablo Petcatso, or Pabs for short, entered your little family unit. He was a ginger cat who loved a cuddle and loved getting into Alexia's kit bag, he even made it to the training once or twice, and you had to drive over there to pick him back up. Dragging him away from 22 cooing footballers. 

Women's football grew, as did Alexia's paycheck. And with that, you think, looking back, as did the cracks in your relationship.

“We're here!” Alexias excited voice explained, you had pulled up outside a tall apartment building in the centre of Barcelona. She hadn’t shared with you where you were going. Insisting it needed to be a surprise.

“And where is here?” you looked up at the towering glass building above you, you didn’t come into the city much, you preferred the quiet of your suburb.

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” Her excitement was catching, and you found yourself giddy as the elevator took you further into the skies of the city.

“Ta-da!” She presents a huge open plan space before you, the glass fronted living room has views over the city to the sea. You could count at least 3 bedrooms from where you stood in the hallway. The kitchen was sleek, straight lines and clean granite. 

“What is this place?” you ask, confused, taking in your surroundings. “It's our new apartment!” What? “What?” you breathe out. “Don’t you love it?!” Alexia remains giddy, her excitement not fading and she fails to notice your unenthused reaction. Your mind whirred. “Come look, come look!” she grabbed your hand, and pulled you further into the apartment. Proudly presenting each room to you. “And this room. I thought you could have it as your art studio!” “Art studio?” you whisper. “Yeah! Isn’t it so cool, and so much space. Now I wont get cross at you for getting paint all over the kitchen! Pabs will have so much room to explore!” She turns around and pulls you into her embrace, you are still shellshocked at everything presented to you. “I promised you, didn’t I? I would give you the world conejito.” Her eyes are so bright with joy, the smile so wide on her face, you couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the sleek lines, the large space, and the modern kitchen were beautiful. You didn’t see it for yourself, you preferred your terracotta tiled balcony and your plants overtaking your kitchenette. You loved painting in your living room when Alexia would watch a match. Pabs crawling over your shoulders, your little bubble with your family. But you could see how proud Alex was of herself, of what she had achieved. You must have taken a moment too long, as her eyebrows furrow. “You don’t like it.” you said, plainly, “No… No Alex, I do! I was just so surprised. I love it, and I love you.” “Yeah?” her eyes brighten again. You kiss her lips softly, “Yeah.” “Good! And think conejito, maybe one day there would be room for a bigger family?” she asks, shyly. Your heart melted as you nodded frantically and threw yourself into her embrace. As Alexia's career grew, so did the pressure on her. She was often away, it was something your whole relationship had survived, but now, being away with both club and country, as well as in an apartment that had never truly felt like home. You felt lonely. You would come home from weddings with only Pabs to greet you, you would create art in your studio without the background noise of Alexia watching a game, or preparing a smoothie. She would do that in the living area. Nights together were rarer. Your love never dimmed. Alexia showed you in her every movement that she adored you. Date nights, whilst few and far between, were the highlight of your week. Though that soon became the highlight of your month. The one saving grace during this time was that Mapi had finally joined Barcelona Femini and you took it on yourself to be her personal Barcelona guide. As Alexia's fame grew, you shied more into the background. You weren't an extrovert. You would never hide your relationship and you never asked Alexia to but the only social media that you had was that to promote your artwork. Meanwhile, Alexia's followers grew and grew. A few crazed fans had deep dived into her archives and knew of you but that was only a portion of the fanbase. She hated the delving into her private life, and that caused her to stop posting anything of you onto her public accounts. Any trace of you, gone. Before being a footballer, in Alex’ mind, she was your protector, that hadn’t changed from 15 years ago. With 2021 came great change. All of the years of dreams and hard work had paid off and Barca had reached the champions league final. You travelled to Gothenburg with Eli and Alba, a nervousness in your stomach more than usual. For both your girlfriend and your best friend. You celebrated the win with a euphoria you had rarely felt. Everything felt worth it. The lonely nights, the travel around the country, the sacrifices you had to make as the partner of La Reina.

And as she pulled you into her arms after the final whistle, and pulled you over the barricade the same way she did when she scored her first professional goal your heart couldn’t swell more with pride. You don’t want to say that Alexia changed after the Ballon D’or. Because she didn’t. Well, maybe she did, she suddenly sported bright blonde locks which, you admit was sexy, but you missed the softness her natural hair gave her face. By the second Ballon D’or you thought maybe it was you that changed. Maybe it was you that put up a barrier. One that couldn’t be identified easily. But with study it could be noticed. The problem was that Alex wasn’t there to notice. Yeah, you were together, you did things together, you made love and you made memories. You went back to Mollet regularly and ate with your families and you went to games with Alba.  But Alexia was busy. She had brand deals, she had interviews, she had achieved her dream of being the best footballer in the world. You knew she was since you were 12. But now the world knew too. And the world wanted her attention. 

Oftentimes she was exhausted when she got home. She didn’t want to cuddle on the couch. She didn't want to walk around the plaza. She didn’t want to hear about your day. She would ask, but you could tell her mind was elsewhere, in some contract somewhere, so you started to lie. To give answers which would satisfy her without arousing suspicion. Always trying to put her ease first. 

You would decline for nights out with her teammates, you even lied once or twice and said you had a wedding to paint, just to avoid suspicion. Alexia would take your answer as the truth, and kiss your cheek lightly as she left the apartment which quickly felt like it had become your prison. Mapi could see through you. She would try to get you to talk, but she was Alexia's team mate. Alex was her captain. It didn’t feel right to discuss your relationship issues with her. Not when you wouldn’t even talk to the woman in question about it. You found yourself in the familiar seats of the Johan Cryuff stadium taking in the first home game of the new season. Alba and Eli by your side. The first game was always a family affair. With the Putellas cousins in attendance, a restaurant booked for this evening for you all. It was an easy win for the Champions of Europe. And as you stood with Mapi and her new girlfriend Ingrid at the end of the match chatting, Patri bounded over, sweat on her brow and joy in her eyes. “Hola Senora La Reina” she teased you, kissing your cheek, you had been around the team so much that they all knew you well. “Ay, Idiota, hands off” and large, familiar hands wrapped around your middle, a kiss planted to your other cheek as you melted into her embrace. “Congrats bebe” you muttered, craning you neck you see her looking down at you with a smile. “Senora Reina, you’ll come out for drinks with us to celebrate the win, won’t you?” Parti asked, full of joy. 

The attention of the 4 footballers on you suddenly unsettled you. Maybe it was the busy environment. Maybe it was being with Ingrid who you’d only met a few times. Maybe it was Alexias hands around you for the first time in what felt like months. But you struggled to get your words out. “Ah, gra…grac…gracias  for the invite diablo, but m…m…me…” “She’s coming out with mi familia Patri, it’s tradition! You know that! Vamos, I will come out quickly for a drink then join you all, conejito” Alexia interrupted you, planted a final kiss on your cheek and headed to the changing rooms. She didn’t feel you freeze in her embrace. She didn’t see Patri and Mapis expressions change. She didn’t see Ingrid's look of confusion. You felt sick. You felt like you were about to burst into tears. Your throat burned and you struggled to swallow. 

You felt small. You shuffled your feet on the ground and looked up to see Mapis' face had grown furious, her girlfriend's arm had come to rest over her shoulders, trying to settle her but unsure why. You went straight into damage control. Alexia has protected you your entire life. She had never interrupted you, she knew you couldn’t stand when people would finish your sentences. It was the worst thing you could do to someone with a stutter. She knew that. You don’t know why Alexia's endless patience ran out that day. But you knew you wanted to protect her from your best friend's rage. You knew it would happen one day, you just wish it had happened without any witnesses. For both of your sakes. “Mapi, it's fine.” “It is not fine!” Patri backs away from the situation with a kiss to your cheek and an apologetic look. “I don’t know what's wrong with her lately. I am going to kill her…” she moves towards the changing rooms but you pause her with a soft hand. “Maps, please don’t. It’s f…f…okay. I am okay. Ju…just go get changed and go on your night out. I will t..text you tomorrow. Please.” You look to Ingrid for help, you don’t know her well but she has the power over Mapi seemingly, and as she guides her to the changing rooms the small Spaniard seems to settle down. 

Not enough though, apparently, because as soon as she sees her captain again, a flicker of that rage comes back to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Mapi hisses to her captain, “Maria, stop” Ingrid tugged her by the elbow, trying to take her away. Alexia looked up from her phone with a look of indignation, yes she was Mapis friend but she was still her captain, and they were in front of the whole team. Her defensive wall immediately came up. “Discuple?” Her eyes cast across the changing room, their team mates continued to get changed and pretended they weren’t eaves dropping into the mini argument that had developed.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mapi spat out. “Why did you interrupt her?” Something in Alexia's stomach dropped. Her hands become clammy, her body reacting to the accusation before her mind could. “What? I didn’t. I would never.” she whispers in reply, but more to herself. “No, No I didn't.” she said more surely, somewhat desperately. 

Mapi takes in her best friend's demeanour, the usually stoic and strong captain looked devastated, maybe even petrified? Mapi knew what she had done, but could see that Alexia would punish herself more than Mapi ever could. She stepped away, guided by Ingrid. Leaving Alexia to replay the last 10 minutes, desperately. Mapi saw the moment that realisation came to the Catalan Captain, as she bolted out of the changing room, hair damp, throwing her shirt on as she sprinted back into the stadium. Which is where she found you, moments later. You were sitting in the friends and family section, Alexias new baby cousin settled onto your knee, playing with your hands and babbling to himself. You made cooing noises and spoke softly to him and all her Tias and Tios got rounded up for your meal out. You felt her presence behind you, you could practically feel her anxiety coming off her in waves. You looked back quickly and confirmed your suspicions, her blonde hair damp and wetting her shoulders, her foot twisting against the concrete floor, hands knotted together and bottom lip drawn into her lip, chewing anxiously. “It’s fine Alex.” you said, as you turned, attention back on the baby in your lap. She must have seen this acknowledgement as her body surged towards you, she loudly collapsed into the seat next to you, the anxiety coming off her in waves. “Conej…” she started. “No Alex, I pr…pr… I swear. It’s okay. But I’m currently holding the ba…bab…ba… child.” you take a sigh. “I am holding the child and I don’t want to cry so p…please. It’s okay.” If it's possible. She looked even more devastated. Her whole face collapsed. She hated when you would revert to old techniques to speak, by changing up your words mid sentence. Alexia was your protector. It was her proudest badge. Before she was a footballer, in her mind, she was your partner. And she had let you down. She had done the worst thing she could have done. To an outsider Alexia's moment of impatience may have been a minor indiscretion at most. But to you? To Alex? It was the basis of your whole relationship. You felt safe with her. You had a voice, she said, all those years ago when you fell in love, and you deserved to be heard. And now she has brought that into question. “Can I touch you?” she asked, gently. This brought tears to your eyes and you nodded, whilst still entertaining the baby in your lap with coo’s and a false smile. She touched your knee, the heat of her hand bleeding into your skin. “You don’t need to mask in front of me y/f/n.” Alexia never used your name. “Please. Use the words you want to use. I am here to listen. Always.” You are interrupted as Alexias Tia comes to claim her baby, who you hand back with a last pat on the stomach and raspberry to the cheek. You are trying to avoid the next 5 minutes you know will happen. Alexia is somewhat rude when her Tia offers her congratulations, eyes boreing into your head. You sweep your hair back as you face her, having had a moment to think you get your words out easier. “Alex, it’s okay. It was bound to happen one day. Don’t worry about it. Please. Go out with your friends. I will go to the meal as planned. I promise. Alba will drive me home later.” “No.” Alexia says desperately, clutching your hand in hers, “Let’s just go home, amor. Please.” “Ale I made a promise to your mami. I am going to eat. I will see you later.” you press a kiss to her cheek and wander off towards her family.  As she stands, watching you interact with her sister and her mami, her teammates call her over. She feels torn. She just wants to go home with you. She just wants to wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you in her arms. Safe. But you don’t want that right now, so she turns to do as instructed. Throwing one more glance your way, missing Albas worried face as she wipes a tear from your cheek.

Lonely and forgotten Never thought she'd look my way And she smiled at me and held me Just like she used to do Like she loved me When she loved me

You came home early. You asked if Alba could drop you off as soon as you had finished your meal. She was happy to oblige, worried about your silence the entire meal. You were looking down at your phone as you entered your apartment. Assuring Mapi again that you were fine and she should enjoy her drinks. You go to flick on the light in the living area when a stream of light below the door of your studio distracts you. You push the door open cautiously and see Alexia standing there, looking at your work in progress. It was different to your usual work. A close up sketch of a hand, wrapped around a flower, tenderly, it was in the early stages, you could see the lines of the palm and the blades of grass in the field behind. It was mounted onto canvas on your easel and the splashes of colour you had started to add contrasted against the paleness of the room. She hadn’t heard you enter, too lost in the image before her, but Pabs making a run for the door as it opened brought her attention to you. As you stand there, under her gaze, you struggle to remember the last time you saw Alexia in your studio. Yeah she would bob in to let you know dinner was ready, or that she was heading out, but she didn’t come in often enough to take in your work anymore. Now it wasn’t forced on her in the living space. It seemed Alexia had the same realisation as she broke her gaze with you and gestured towards your painting, and then further, to your desk overlooking the window, where more of your work lay. “You’re amazing. I didn’t… I.” a deep breath. “I hadn’t forgotten but I think I… Got lost? Somewhere along the way?” you tilt your head curiously. You don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have been a bad partner to you.” 

“Alex…” “No. I have. And I’m not interrupting you but I won’t let you lie to protect me.” her eyes go again to your easel. “You’re amazing. You are so talented. You are filled with so much kindness. You deserve so much more than this.” her eyes fill with tears and she looks at you. “I tried. You know? I promise I did. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought this,” she gestures towards you and around you “was what you deserved. And it is. But more than that you deserve everything.” She takes a step towards you and grasps your hands with hers, her hands are cold, you note. As you take her in you see dried tear tracks down her cheeks, and… damp hair. “Alexia, did you not go out with the team?” “How do you think that I could go out with the team after what I did?” she asks, aghast. The reminder of the way the evening went washes over you. Alexia panics when she sees your eyes fill with tears. And she pulls you into her chest. “I am so, so sorry mi amor. I am so sorry” she whispers into your hair. “I have broken something sacred between us. And I will never forgive myself.” she swears to you. Though that doesnt bring you any joy. “I forgive you Alex.” she shakes her head in despair, joining you in tears. “You said it was bound to happen someday,” she starts, “Do not think like that amor. It was not. This is not your fault. In any way. It is mine. Please don’t think that, you deserve to be heard. I am so so sorry. So sorry. I will never do it again, promesa.”  All you can do is nod into her chest.

She pulls you from the room and settles you both into the sofa, keeping the light off, only the skyline of the city illuminating your living room through the large, glassed wall. 

She lets you cry into her t-shirt, soaking it more than her damp hair, and through the darkness you pull away and take in her face, she looks youthful. Gone, the professional make up, the expensive jewellery, and hair darkened by the dampness from her shower. You take in a large choked breath. “We need to talk.” you let out. Fear takes over her features and she starts to shake her head. “No, Mi Conejito please no, don’t do this.” she wails. It is a heart wrenching sound. She thinks she's going to be sick. “Woah, woah, woah” you place your hands on her cheeks and pull her panicked eyes to yours; “Mi amor I am not breaking up with you.” you state, clearly. “I am not. Now breathe with me.” Her eyes steady from their darting around the room in fear, and you place your hand on her chest, making her breathe with you. “Okay, okay… okay. Yes, please. Talk to me.” she begs, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.  “I feel alone. I feel… sa…sad. A lot of the time. And I know… you y…you aren’t doing it on pur…purpose.” Your girlfriend looks heartbroken. Like she had just found out her entire family had died. But refuses to interrupt you as you speak. But you have needed this conversation for so long, that the words start to tumble out of you. Getting lodged in your throat. Har large hand comes up to that familiar place, and massages the soft tissue behind your jaw. Trying to help you without interrupting. “You aren’t doing it on purpose.” you repeat. She pauses for a moment and doesn't ask what you thought she would. “Why am I making you anxious?” she asks, cutting through your thoughts. You move away from her and settle your elbows to your knees. Rubbing your face as you feel a large hand settle onto your back. You hated your stutter. You hated that it ruled your life, but most of all you hated how it exposed you. You were like a child who can’t hide a blush in front of their crush. “You aren’t, Alexia.” “Alex.” she corrects, “I am Alex to you” she insists, “your Alex. It’s just me, mi amor.” she looks at you desperately. “I feel alone, you are never here, and when you are here physically, you aren’t here in your head. Your head is in the clouds, it is with your agent, with your coach, it is not with me.” you’ve started now, so you won’t be able to stop yourself “it is me and Pabs and, even though you're dumb as bricks bebe, you're a better conversationalist than him” you try to joke, a half smile on your face. Which she matches, hand not stopping her ministrations on your back. 

“I cannot remember the last time we just sat together, the last time that we cooked together. Can you Alex?” you don’t receive a reply, 

“I haven’t had your eyes, look at me, really look at me for months. You give your time so easily to those around you, your team mates, people I see you out with at events. I can’t blame you, this is what you always dreamed of. But… I miss you.” Your speech is strong now; “and I love you. That will never change. But you need to know how I am feeling. So it's fair to you. I feel as though you are bigger than the world. And I am just the girl you saved in the art room.” She is openly crying now. “Don’t say that, you are everything” she mumbled, through tears. 

She knew that she had been busy. But she didn’t realise the damage that she had done. She had been to events, you had been at her side. But. When was the last time she asked about a wedding you’d worked? God, you used to sit for hours describing the beautiful scenes, and she’d store away ideas for your own wedding.  The last gallery you had shown at? When had she last visited your mami and papi, who had been there for her her entire life? She kept you off social media for your protection, but she didn’t mean to erase you. When had she become so god damn selfish. “Amor, I think that somewhere along the way, I had forgotten, and forgotten to remind you. There are more important things than football. Well. Football is second”.

You are thrown back to a memory, a school championship 15 years ago, sat on the bleachers watching your school get destroyed. The lanky football captain sat by your side. You can’t help it but tears fill your eyes. You missed her. That girl. The one you were and the one she was. “But.. you told me once, that I could have both.” she whispered, into your neck, “and you can, Alex. Of course you can. But you have to want both. And at the moment. It feels. It feels like you don’t want me.” “No! Mi Amor, Mi Vida, Mi Conejito. You are everything. Eres mi mundo. I am nothing without you.” she takes a breath, deep and shuddering. “I will fix this. Thank you for telling me how you feel. I have a chance to fix this. Si?” she asks, desperately. You nod, “Of course Alex, and it's for both of us to fix, I should have said something sooner.” She refuses your admittance of guilt and drags you into bed. She sticks to you like a second skin. Moves with you to brush your teeth. Standing waiting whilst you use the toilet. She places a fresh glass of water on your bedside table.You want to tell her to give you a bit of space, but the fear in her eyes prevents you from doing so. As soon as you crawl into your side of the bed she has pulled you into her embrace and the warmth that fills you goes beyond the shared body heat. For the first time in a long time, you wake up in the strong arms of Alexia. She hasn’t moved in the night an inch, and you take a moment to take her in. This is what you missed. Just breathing the same air as her. Just existing in the same space. As though she can feel you looking at her she begins to stir. Taking a moment to come to her senses, her arms grip you tighter around your waist. “Hola, Mi amor” she whispers into the air. Your response is a kiss to her lips, which she steals, hungrily. As you deepen the kiss you feel her begin to pull away. “Lo siento, mi amor, we cannot get carried away. Things to do.” your heart hurts again. You roll off the taller girl and reach for your phone as a distraction. 

You thought, maybe, just maybe, for today at least. You would spend the day together. “Things to do!” she repeats, jumping out of bed with glee. “Where’s your passport”. That grabs your attention. “Que?” you ask, confusingly. “Your passport amor, Vamos!” She had long ago left the bed, and had started moving around the room, picking up various bags which had definitely not been there when you went to bed and moving them into the hallway. She was like a ball of energy, she stripped off her oversized t-shirt she had worn to bed, leaving her standing in just her boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight. Well, you think, at least all the time not spent with you was doing something good. You find yourself in a trance, practically salivating at your view.

A change of clothes being thrown at your head brings you out of your stupor. “Dressed. Go.” Alexia teases you, definitely having caught you starting. This makes you finally start to move as you shrug on the jogging bottoms and hoodie she threw at you. Happily, you note, it's one of hers that you’ve already destroyed with paint marks on the cuffs. “Why do you need my passport Alex? What's with the bags?” “We’re going on vacation!” That stops you, half in, and half out of your hoodie. Getting yourself stuck. “Vacation?” you ask, voice muffled by the fabric. You hear Alexia make her way over to you, then feel her gently pull you free from your fabric prison. “Si…” she gently tells you. A look overcomes her face which you can’t distinguish, then she kisses your nose, softly. “Vacation. Just me and you amor.”

“But what about work?” you ask, still catching up. “You don’t have anything booked for 6 days, I checked your calendar. And where we are going, you can bring all your art things if you need them. I’ve packed the basics in my carry-on already.” “Not my work. Alex, your work. You have a busy week.” at this point you seem to have lost her attention as she turns to your question dismissively. “I cancelled it.” she replies, simply. “You cancelled it.” you repeat. “Si.” “Alexia! Have you lost your mind! You have training, you have that meeting with Oakley - you have the pre-euros media to do! You have a game in 3 days”  you reel off her calendar, watching as she continues to dress and pack her toiletries. She heaves out a sigh and turns back to you.

“Conejito, I know what I had, you don’t need to tell me I have just spent all night cancelling all of them. I spoke to Jona and he’s happy for me to miss the game. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” she moves closer to you again, “So no, I have not lost my mind. But, I did almost lose you, so please. Please tell me where your passport is so we can get on the plane I booked. Mapi will be here in a moment to take Pabs for the week.”  You find yourself standing there, stunned. She seemingly had thought of everything. You look into the hall at the bags packed there ready to go. Pabs sniffed them curiously. She’s looking at you with wide, expecting eyes. There's nothing else for you to do you suppose. As you turn from her and open your bedside table,  a smile can’t be kept off your face, you turn triumphantly with your passport held high. “Voila!” you present it to her; “What are you waiting for then Alex! We've got a plane to catch!” as you scurry out of the room and you hear the front door knock. Alexias cackle behind you. Alexia was always full of surprises when she wanted to be and she remained tight lipped all the way to the airport, refusing to tell you your destination. 

You assumed it would be one of the islands somewhere, with the size of her luggage maybe somewhere farther afield, sun, sea and a pool somewhere promised. But she shocked you. When you got to the check in desk and realised you were flying to Switzerland you could have been knocked down with a feather. Your Alex, who was upset when she even had to wear a bikini top in the month of August, has booked for you to go to Switzerland? 

She ignored your curious stare and just continued to sweet talk the check in lady, upgrading you to business class. As you descended hours later, between the snow peaked mountains against a stunning orange sun you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your hands itched to claim the sketch book from Alexias carry on. Soon, after collecting your luggage and Alexia picking up a hire car that has also been pre booked (seriously did this girl sleep at all the night before?), you found yourself being driven through a mountain forest, as a lodge that seemed to cling to the mountainside came into view, isolated and beautiful. You stood on the wooden balcony, hands gripping a warm drink as you took in the view of the sun setting behind the mountains. “Look at that, Amor.” you felt, more than heard, whispered against your ear. Lips planting a kiss at your jaw as strong hands settle over your stomach. 

You fell back into her embrace. “It’s so beautiful.” you replied, eyes focused on the scene before you. “I saw this advert. Months ago.” she continued. “Just in the back of a catalogue at work. They will have the Euros near here, you know, 2025?” That made you snort with laughter. “Ah, I see Putellas, now it makes sense how you’ve been dragged from the beach, scoping out the environment are we? Anything for that competitive edge.” your teasing is clear in your voice. 

You feel a pinch on your stomach, “No, idiota,” though the laugh is clear in her voice. “I saw that advert and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It is so beautiful here.” you hum in agreement, “But what I could not get out of my head was that I wanted you to see it. I love seeing the world through your eyes.” 

She turns you in her embrace and she places a gentle kiss to your forehead as you feel her breathe you in. “You see things so beautifully, Amor, and then you paint them for the world to see. You are so special.” Your heart melts at the blonde, and you feel some of the despair that had settled into your stomach over the last months shrink. Here Alexia was, at work, flicking through some promotional material between interviews and training, and her thoughts are with you. “And I will not let you forget how special you are, ever. Never again”. You spent those days in pure bliss. You spend the days hiking - her pretending to be as tired as you at the peak of a mountain, she was a terrible actress but you appreciate the sentiment non the less - having picnics, exploring the mountain villages, and on one particularly spicy day, skinny dipping in an isolated mountain lake that a swiss teammate had told Alexia about. Evenings were spent looking up at the stars together, you firmly in alexias lap on the balcony, sharing a glass of wine which you held. She pointed out stars that her Papa had shown her and given silly names to, and you were there to catch her tears. She would complain only minimally that she was cold, and you would offer to warm her up and she would lead you gently into the bedroom. Nights spent in each other's embrace, sighs shared and no alarms to wake you. You would dance around the kitchen, play cards at the table, share wine and stories and just catch up. 

The pit in your stomach mended with each kiss, each peel of laughter and each stroke of the skin. 

One evening, after the skinny dipping adventure in which the footballer insisted that she must have hypothermia and had taken herself off over an hour ago telling you she wasn’t coming out of the warm shower until she had become a prune. You had started to add the finishing touches to a sketch of the scene beyond your lodges window when you felt the blonde return into the room, You eyed her quickly, flannel tartan pyjamas covering her tall frame, hanging over her wrists, matching shorts which are despicably short. Fuzzy socks on her feet. She looked absolutely adorable. 

You didn’t know why she was staring at you though, She moved towards you and you made space for her on the couch.  “You have your glasses on, Conejita.” she mumbled, and you reached up, as though to confirm they were on your face, “I didn’t know you still wore them.” You didn’t, too be honest, but with the long day of fresh air and a strong sun on the mountainside your eyes had grown tired. You shrugged at her, as she placed a soft kiss on your lips. Lovesick look in her eyes. “You’re so hot.” She mumbled, more to herself. You hear though, and the blush runs up your neck. 

You moved to get your work off your lap but she stopped you, pulling you back into her embrace and you automatically moved your knees up to rest your sketchbook there. “Carry on, please.” her chin rested on your shoulder. You hesitated, you didn’t come all this way to not spend time with the blonde, you wanted to soak in every minute. You wouldn’t be happy if she started to kick a ball around in the kitchen. She could sense your hesitation, “please. Remember, I like the sound of your pencil.” she moves your free hand to her bare thigh, “and it gives me goosebumps.” You fell in love again over those 6 days. You never fell out of it. But maybe you both just needed reminding. You felt whole, your communication about how you were feeling had worked, Alexia had listened. You just had one worry though, as the plane landed back in Barna you couldn’t hold it in. “Alex.” you said, before the seatbelt sign came on, gripping her arm lightly. “This was the best trip of my life. Thank you.” Her smile cracked her face, and she looked immensely proud of herself. “Mine too, Amor.” she agreed, easily, her face was peaceful . “But. I can’t go back to how things were again, si? I don’t think I could survive it, not after this week.” she's already shaking her head. “It won’t, I promise. I will not let that happen. Me and you, Si? That is all that is important” you take a moment, “And Pabs.” you amend for her, breaking the tension. “Si, of course” she rolls her eyes, “and Pablo Petcatso.” 

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart When she loved me

“Hey, Al?” you shout, into the living room as you enter your flat. It's been a few weeks since you returned from your impromptu get away. A busy few weeks. You have been booked up and Alex had to make up for the time she had lost, Barca were still in 4 competitions so the match load was heavy. You could see she was trying though, so that made the darkness that had started to creep back in more bearable. She wasn’t home from training yet. Which disappointed you more than usual. You were giddy. 

You had just found out that your art had been selected to be shown at a huge gallery opening in the centre of the city. An established and high-end gallery. It was a big deal, and it was potentially your big break. You got flutters in your stomach even thinking about the commissions it could make you. Pabs popped his head around the door and you picked him up giddily and span him around, his meow in response you took as a congratulations as you danced and laughed. You didn’t hear the door behind you open but you heard your favourite voice in the world, “And what have I walked into here, hey, a party with my favourite two? Without me?” Alexia laughed.  “Alex, we're celebrating!” you let Pabs free from your grip as he scurried away from his crazy mama. Her arms loop around you as you move into a slow dance, grinning up at her; “Ah, Si? And what are we celebrating?” “I got chosen! For the gallery!” Your feet leave the floor as the taller girl fully brings you into her arms, lifting you and spinning you around in glee, the squeal she lets out is full of childlike joy. “Of course you did! You are amazing!” she plops you back down and attacks your face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you Mi Amor and I am so excited to see your gallery. Oh I can get all dressed up and be your arm piece!” The thought brings you pure joy, the image of Alexia standing by your side, proudly, champagne in hand. Your Mami and Papi and Eli and Alba all present. Pabs in a little bow tie. “Si?” you ask, shyly, much more used to being by her side, “You’ll come? It is in 4 weeks. The 16th. You should be just starting on break.” A shadow of sadness passes her face at your insecurity, “Amor even if I was not on break I would not miss this for the world. If I had the world cup final I would call in sick. I will be there.  I will be the girl with the biggest bouquet of flowers in all of Barna with the lovesick look on her face.” It had been a whirlwind of a month, you had to put the finishing touches on your pieces. 

You have chosen to showcase your best landscapes. 

Scenes from the road to Valencia, The Square in Mollett, Beach Scenes in Barca, Snow capped mountains of Switzerland.

It was the story of your love for Alexia. Told through scenes only the two of you could understand the significance of. 

In the week leading up to the opening, you would spend late nights at the gallery, setting up lighting with Mapi and your Papi. Eli would walk around straightening frames on the walls. As you settled into bed each night, Alexia would open her arms and bring you into her warn embrace. 

You couldn’t wait to share your love story with the world. Alexia was having a bad day. It started bad. And continued to be bad. First, she woke up alone, which she hated. 

She recalled a kiss to the forehead and a whispered ‘I'll see you later’ before she'd dozed back off.  Then she realised that she had forgotten to charge her phone and was therefore late to training. Well. Not late for normal people. But late for Alexia. Then she forgot her socks and had to steal some of Irenes. She had a bad training session and Patri beat her in all their 1v1’s. And then the icing on the cake. She was dragged out from her gym session to do media which she hated. By the time she had finished the changing rooms were mostly empty, with only Pina and Patri left, scheming together in a corner.

“Ah now, Capi! Turn that frown upside down!” Pina teased her, “Ay, come out for a drink with me and Patri, the girls are all coming later, a bonding session before the break!”

And Alexia would usually say no, she wasn’t one for massive social events. But a drink sounded good. And it was the last day of training before the break.

Which is how she found herself 4 drinks in, deep in a booth in Patris favourite bar downtown. Most of the girls had joined them and laughter and chatter filled the roped off space. Something was missing and it took Alexia a moment to realise that there wasn’t a yapping in her ear.

“Ay, Pina, where are Mapi and Ingrid?” 

“They text the group, they had something on but they’re going to join us after. Ah… here they are!” Pina turned as Patri dragged her to the dance floor. Alexia turned to where Pina had pointed and saw Ingrid and Mapi walking towards her. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave, as they got closer she took in their state of dress; “Ay, sexy mamas, it’s only a night out with the team. Why are you dressed so nice? Have you just come from your wedding?” Mapi looked at Alexia. But really, really looked at her. “What?” nothing. “Maria, what? Why are you looking at me like that? Ingrid?” she faced the usually kind woman but she wasn’t met with her usual smile, “What’s happening? Wh-ohmygod.” It hit Alexia like a freight train. Like 10 freight trains. She physically had to hold onto the chair to her side to remain standing.  “No, no, no, I didn’t, I couldn’t have done.” She starts to pat herself down and pulls her phone out, dead, still uncharged from the night before. She holds it up to Mapi, as evidence, evidence of what she doesn’t know. As though it gives her a lifeline. She knows it doesn’t. “Ingrid? Ingrid please tell me I didn’t miss it.” she asks, desperately. The tall girl looks away, as though she can’t even face what the captain had done. “Alexia.” The rage is barely contained in Mapis' voice. “I can’t even look at you.” Mapi turns to leave, but it's as though her anger wont let her; she turns again and spits out; “Do you think she needed a reminder on her phone to know when the Champions League final was? Do you think… I can’t… I have just come from her gallery opening. Her life's work. A life shared with you. And here you are. At a bar. Celebrating, what?  A game of football? A half season well done? Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck. Off” Ingrid grips her hand and tries to pull her away. All Alexia can do is stand there and take it, it's not a hundredth of what she deserves. “No Ingrid.” She pulls her hand free and pushes her finger into Alexia's chest. “You are a selfish monster. She thought you must be hurt. That's what she thought. She thought you were in a ditch somewhere. She almost cancelled the whole thing to run around hospitals to find you. But then Alba saw you on Patris instagram. And here you are. La Reina.” Mapi looks her up and down, pure disgust on her face. “Your Mamis held her as she sobbed. Alba redid her makeup. I would steer clear of her Papi for months if I were you. She is strong, and she gave a speech.” Alexia couldn’t breathe. You gave a speech? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.  “Please, Maria, stop. I can’t listen.” Alexia couldn’t take it. She moved Mapis' hand off her chest and ran to the door of the club. One thought in her mind. Get to you. Get to you. “It's too late Alexia.” Mapi shouts to her back. She ignores her. It can’t be. No It can't be. She jumps out of the uber onto the unfamiliar street. The lights to the gallery are off but she desperately tries the door regardless. Banging on it with her fist in frustration. She lets out a scream into the empty street. Peering through the windows she sees wall after wall of your work. Scenes she recognises from her life. Football pitches. Beaches, Mountains. The scene from your balcony in Mollet. It was all so beautiful. So carefully curated. And she wasn’t there. She takes off at a run. It’s not too late. Mapi is wrong. It’s not too late. She will die if it is too late. “Y/N!” she barged into the apartment. She must have ran 10 miles. “Y/N are you here?” She runs from room to room. But there is no one there. When that's established she plugs her phone into the charger on the breakfast bar and makes her way back through the apartment. She goes into the bedroom. No, please no. The wardrobe is open, your side is empty. She looks around. Your things are gone.

The kitchen remains largely unaffected. Though the picture of you and your parents no longer sits on the shelf. Your trainers are gone from the hall. Your favourite blanket from the couch. She looks at the walls. Anything you had painted. Gone. Alexia always insisted that your art be on the walls, in each home you shared together. “Why would I want strangers work on the walls, Mi Amor? When I have the best artist in the world here?” she would say, making you blush. She was addicted to that blush. She walks back into the hallway. One picture remains in pride of place. The picture you presented to her in her darkest moment. You would never take that away from her. It was a gift of pure adoration. All it does is make the stabbing pain in Alexia's heart worsen. She pushes open the door to your art studio. All that remains are paints and blank canvases. Except. In the middle of the room. The easel. A picture she had seen before, in its early stages. A hand. A hand holding a beautiful flower. But it had changed somehow. Pressure lines had appeared. The flower beginning to wilt under the force. It wasn’t your usual work. Alexia stood closer. Entranced. As she inspected the image she saw the light tease off still wet paint. You had touched this up recently. Her eyes search, frantically for anything of your last moments in the apartment when she catches it. Too light for anyone not searching for it. 11. Blended into skin at the wrist of the image. A tattoo. So lightly painted but it etched itself fiercely into Alexia's soul. This was her hand. This hand that was silently destructive, was hers.  She saw a post it note stuck to the leg of the easel and in your looping handwriting: ‘Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they won't use it.’

She brought her hand up to her mouth and let out an audible gasp. She runs into the kitchen and dry heaves over the sink. There, she watches as her tears splash into the marble. And as she watches. She takes note of a single paint droplet. Her tears joined it, creating the most heart crushing piece of work she had ever seen.

God. She used to get so angry at that paint in the sink.

It's been years, she thought, years since she found paint in the sink. How much did you have to lessen yourself in order to be with her?

She collapsed into a seated position. Back against the kitchen cabinet. And brought her knees to her chest. She sobbed. And sobbed. She was joined at one point by Pabs. She thought you’d taken him with you. But no, in a typical act of kindness you wouldn’t leave her alone in her despair.

His little bow tie still sat around his neck, skew-whiff, as he looked at his mama curiously. He licked her nose and she sobbed harder.

Weeks passed.

She doesn’t know how she got through those weeks. Thousands of missed calls. Hundreds of messages. Went unanswered.

Alexia didn’t hear from you. Her Mami and Alba had forgiven her after Alba had found her in a state and unable to look after herself but they made it clear they were on your side. Mapi wouldnt look at her. They wouldn't tell her where you were, they wouldn’t pass on any message.

She was too frightened to go to your Mami and Papa.

She hadn’t trained well for weeks, She arrived at training exhausted. Sleep would never find her. She was barely clinging on. Jona still insisted she play. She was La Reina.

And then she broke. And that's where Irene found her, after another match of lacklustre performance. In a back corridor of the stadium. Broken and staring at the wall in front of her.

A ghost of the woman she was. 

Her phone lay next to her. A message from you. A response to her apologies, her thoughts, the pain she had told you she felt for your failed relationship. 

Finally, Word you were alive. 

3 words in fact. “It’ll pass Alexia.”

[a-casual-kpopfan]

It's a Date. - Karina

Shoutout to @capslocked for the little beta read. <3

I'm starting to get back into the writing groove, dropping small fics here and there. This was fairly short and sweet, I hope you all enjoy as usual. :)

~~~~~

You were one of the hosts to take Aespa around New York while they’re on tour; today was an off day and you were with the group and their managers going out to several shopping districts and trying desserts throughout the day. 

“Oppa, how come you’re not looking around for things?” Little Winter walking along next to you like a puppy, if a puppy can carry like 5 shopping bags with their paws.

“I live in the city Winter; this is my lifestyle.” You look around the shopping centre, it’s bustling and hustling as NYC would be normally. “Oh, come on oppa, there’s got to be something for you to do too, what about a girlfriend?” You had to think about it, it’s been a while since you were out with someone, let alone had a long-term relationship. “Ah, the last time I dated someone was back in college.” You gave a little smile to Winter as the two of you walked just behind the main group of members and managers.

Karina who’s walking along the main group takes a glance behind, seeing you and Winter laughing through your conversation. She excuses herself from the main group and slows down to the pace of you and Winter. “Ahh, what’s so funny?” Karina may be one of the most visually appealing idols and one of the most captivating people to ever walk this planet. But her looks don’t define who she is; Karina is actually a walking toddler.

Her cheeks are puffed up and lips in a pout. “Winter here is calling me a fossil, calling me old because I haven’t dated since college!” You were playing along with the act, acting a little whiny and childish which was alright, you’ve been with the girls a couple days already, they’re really playful and outgoing which is something you really appreciate seeing in Korean idols compared to a lot of Western stars you’ve hosted around every once in awhile.

Winter laughs uncontrollably on your left side, and is holding onto your arm, Karina is happy to see that there’s someone to trust outside of their group. “How old are you then oppa?” Karina tilts her head like a puppy, it really seems like Aespa as a group is a bunch of little puppies. “I’m 26 years old.” Winter pretends to be super shocked, exaggerating a dropped jaw. “Oh, my goodness, you’re a grandpa!”

“Yah, I’m only 3 years older than Karina.” Trying to defend yourself from Winter, but on the other side Karina is laughing at Winter’s reaction. “Oh, you’re not that old oppa, I just see the little white hairs appearing on your head.” Karina jokes around but catches you off guard making your jaw genuinely drop. “Ms. Karina!” Your jaw stays open but with a smile, you are putting your hand over your heart as if you got shot, but what really shot you is Karina’s smile and laughter.

Your walk through the mall was fun, it was all smooth going until…

“Oppa! Let’s go get you some clothes!” Giselle, the most fluent in English, pulls you into a local clothing shop. “Giselle!” The idol continued pulling your arm, you really didn’t have a choice. “Please, just call me Aeri.” With a reassuring smile that it’s okay to be on a first name basis at this point. “I feel like we’ll know each other a lot more after today.” Aeri with an excited smile, confuses you but you just go with the vibe.

“Oo, you'd be good with this… And this… We should try this too…” Aeri is picking out several pieces of clothing, going through different kinds of pants, looking at the blazers and some tops. “Giselle.” Aeri looks at you with a glare. “Aeri…” The glare changed to a smile, relieving you of possible stress. “Oppa, just try these on, okay?” Dumping a small pile of clothes into your arms, all you could do is sigh and accept it.

You went through multiple variations of outfits from all the clothes that Aeri has chosen for you. After spending about a half hour trying on clothes, there was a set that both you and Aeri found fond of. “Wah, oppa! You look so handsome!” You were wearing a short sleeve dark blue blazer, though worn open and on the inside, a nice grey, almost a salt & pepper style t-shirt, a black jean, complemented with a very dark brown leather shoe. “Wow, I have to hand it to you; you have great style Aeri.”

“Perks of being an idol~” You look through the mirror and watch Aeri pose with a V sign, making you laugh.

“That decides it, let’s go buy them!” You shook your head and looked at Aeri through the mirror. “I may be making decent money but buying all this is too expensive for me.” Your little shopping companion comes up to the mirror and looks you in the eye. “Oppa, who said you were going to pay?” And out of her pocket is her credit card from the company. “Yah, wouldn’t they be mad if you bought something not for you with this card?”

“This is the least that I can do being such a great host for us the last couple days.” You turn around to see a sincere smile and it doesn’t seem like she would take ‘No’ as an answer. “Okay, you win this round.” Aeri clapping her hands and you shrug in defeat as you make yourself to a change room with your original clothing.

Aeri kept to her word, now you’re walking along with Ningning and holding quite a lot of clothing. “Are you having fun with us, oppa?” It’s almost like each member is having their turn with you throughout the day. “Sure, I am Ningning, I get to spend time with very famous idols.” Ningning wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “What do you really like to do for fun?” You were confused as to why the idols are being really personal with you lately.

“Hmm, I’m originally from South Korea, but after moving here I really grew into North American culture. Watching basketball games, going out for bar food like wings and burgers with friends late at night. I do enjoy playing billiards, I’m always open to trying new activities.” Ningning now seems to be happy with that answer. “It seems that you’re very active.” You and Ningning kept the conversation going with each other, more and more you’re finding out the girls like to drink and eat a lot in the dorm, yet they seem so fit for the amount of food they consume and more Ningning is finding out your habits here in New York.

Once finding a restaurant to have a late lunch, you and the group were seated but you offered to sit separately as you would like to give the girls and managers their privacy.

“Nonsense! You’re sitting with us!” Karina was not happy with your suggestion. “You’re a part of us and you’re sitting with us.” The leader was standing firm, and wouldn't budge for anything. “Because you’re trying to bail on us, I’m making you sit next to me to keep an eye on you.” Karina poking your chest with her finger, you were given no choice. You couldn’t help but smile about it and shrugged. “Good, let’s go.” Karina grabbed your hand and dragged you in.

You were led to a large table fitting for 8 near the back of the restaurant, not completely private but obscure enough to eat comfortably. Karina sat on a bench with Winter and a manager beside her, one seat was left, and you were going to offer it to Ningning or Giselle, but you watch them already sit on the other side of the table with their other managers. “Nope, with me oppa.” Karina was sitting down, looking up to you with a smile.

“I really can’t get away from you, can I?” You finally gave up and sat down to the group’s leader. “Looks like someone has a liking for him.” Winter nudges Karina, shortly getting a slap to the leg to deny the teasing. “Yah…” You couldn’t hear the little whispers, you tried to ignore everything so the members can have a sense of comfortability and privacy, but then Karina can easily notice that you’re feeling uncomfortable.

“Hey… It’s okay.” Karina lays her palm on top of your hand and pats it. “Just be yourself, that’s all I ask for.” Her head is on a tilt, her smile, sincere. You nod your head and try your best to follow Karina’s asking. She’s always tried to make sure that her members were comfortable, that her manager was okay, but you being an outsider only have been with them for a short amount of time, Karina had always made sure that everyone was alright, she’s a great leader.

Lunch went smoothly, you and the managers had some good laughs, the members were having a good time, but alas all things must come to an end. The shopping is done, lunch is over, now you’re walking the girls and managers back to the hotel.

You bid your farewells, but Karina comes running back to you before you have the chance to leave the premises. “Oppa, I have a favour to ask you.” Karina's demeanour is off, hands behind her back, one foot balance on her toes, her eyes facing the ground, avoiding your gaze. “What is it, Karina?” You were curious, it’s not everyday you have a beautiful woman in front of you acting like a fool.

“I... Uh… Have this friend who’s coming to the city later tonight… I was hoping you could tour her around, like you did with us?”

“Oh… What could I have hoped for?”

“Sure, what time should I meet her?” You accepted without an issue, you wanted to be a good guy, you just spent a few days with the group and why should you decline? It’s not like you have a date to attend to.

“Yay! Thank you oppa, here’s her number, meet her here at 8pm!” Karina hands you a paper with an unusual phone number, not an area code you’re familiar with but you took in anyways. “Thank you oppa.” Karina bowed in respect before running back inside the hotel.

You would be a little disappointed, but this is a favour.

~~~~~

You make it back to the hotel at the time Karina told you to be there by, you texted the phone number that you arrived in the front. Good thing Aeri took you to go shopping for new clothes, you must dress up a little for the New York nightlife.

You: Hey, I’m in front of the lobby.

Unknown: I’ll be right there!

That reply came quickly, you were on a look out for someone outside the hotel, but the results would surprise you.

“Good evening oppa.”

You spin around to Karina, a different outfit from this afternoon. Instead of a white sweater and a long skirt, the Aespa leader is changed into a thin back long sleeve, mesh-like material being near fully see-through, a black bandeau underneath, complimenting her large bust and curves, paired with blue jeans and to finish with black boots.

“K-Karina?!”

Shocked to see the leader alone, no supervision, not even anyone watching from the entrance. “I hope you don’t mind me taking off my extensions, I felt like the short hair for our date.” Karina plays with her hair then smiles at you, she has somewhat of a gummy smile.

“Wait, I’m sorry, our date?” You were extremely caught off guard, Karina? Aespa’s leader? A kpop idol? A date? With you? “You could have better options than this old man.” The idol slowly walked towards you, grabbing your hand with both of hers, it’s now you really took the time to see, Karina has baby hands. “Why not? You treated us well, made sure we were comfortable, this is the least I could do… And I want to get to know you more.”

“But I live here, you need to go back to South Korea soon.” The idol was only giggling, she probably has already thought about it, otherwise you wouldn’t think she would go through the trouble of setting up a date with you. “We can cross that bridge when we get to it. There is a lot of tour guides in South Korea that would like a bilingual tour guide.”

With Karina’s amazing smile looking at you the way it is, how could you deny her?

“Okay Karina.”

“Please, my name is Yu Jimin.”

You smile and chuckle.

“Okay Jimin, what would you like to do tonight?”

She pulled away one hand, but still held yours with one. “Hmmm…” Her facial expression turned to a pout, playfully laying a finger on her chin, exaggerating the fact she’s thinking. “How about we go to a bar, get some wings and maybe watch a basketball game if there’s any?” Your jaw was left open, how could she have known?

“Ningning?”

“Mhmm.” With a cute nod.

How would you survive spending the night with Kar- Jimin?

The two of you walked off in a direction where you heard was a good restaurant that had some of the best wings and flavours, Jimin couldn’t let go of your hand, she was basically latched on your arm at this point.

“Oppa, are the New York Knicks any good?”

“Oh man… Don’t get me started…”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I broke up with my girlfriend for not taking her meds?

My (24M) girlfriend (28F) has bipolar and BPD. We've been together coming up on 3 years now. For the last half a year we were together it was pretty rough and turbulent, she was unmedicated and was having suicidal breakdowns almost every day, ended up in hospital several times, threatened and got into physical altercations with other girls who spoke to me or she thought were flirting with me, and I was spending almost every single day of my life having to take hours to talk her down from suicide or self-harm. It was emotionally exhausting and as someone who's also had suicide attempts in the past it was also incredibly triggering and damaging to my own mental health.

For additional context as to why I feel the way I do, my last girlfriend also had diagnosed BPD and NPD and when she stopped taking her medication she became fully abusive both physically and verbally and it took me a year of being absolutely beaten down to finally snap and leave her.

(Obvious note: I'm not saying everyone with bipolar, BPD, or NPD is abusive or that these illnesses inherently make you abusive. They were an abuser who just happened to have those things, and that played into how they acted and thought/felt.)

Current girlfriend eventually got medication and has been doing much better for most of the time since then. When she's on her meds she's a wonderful and generally pretty healthy partner - she's supportive, understanding of my boundaries, checks in with me, she's a year clean from self-harm, hasn't displayed any kind of self-destructive behaviour. She's gotten a job and managed to hold it down (got fired from several jobs in the past because of her daily meltdowns meaning she wasn't attending work), she's started exercising and going to the gym, she's picked up new hobbies, made new friends, she's just been doing great in general.

For about the past month though, she started going days without taking her medication and when I reminded her she would say she didn't want to, that she hated taking it, that she doesn't like the way it makes her feel etc. This is something my last girlfriend said too, and I know it's really common for people with BPD (and maybe bipolar too?) to stop taking their medication because they feel emotionally flat in comparison to how they feel off of the meds. I pretty much said that I couldn't handle going back to how she acts when she's off of the medication again and that if she was going to stop taking them then I didn't think our relationship would last through that kind of period again because last time it completely destroyed my mental health, my sleep, my life and several of my relationships due to how much energy and time I was having to put into her vs. myself and everything else. I suggested asking her doctor/psychiatrist/etc. for another dosage change or meds switch again to see if that would work better (though up until recently they have seemed to be working great so I'm not sure how good of an idea switching it up again would be).

She agreed at the time but I was kind of concerned about whether she'd been keeping up with it or not because over the last few weeks I've already noticed things devolving again - her screaming at me out of nowhere and having mood swings, intense jealousy and possessiveness, impulsive behaviour, even a couple of breakdowns again and having to talk her out of self-harm for the first time in over a year. True enough, today I found out she's been pretending to take her medication and throwing them out. When I confronted her about it she admitted she hasn't taken her medication for weeks.

I pretty much withdrew after that and didn't say anything at that moment but after a while she asked me why I was being so quiet and I basically repeated what I'd said to her in the last conversation, that I was honestly rethinking whether or not the relationship would work because I can't handle that kind of emotional exhaustion and constant sacrifice all over again. I don't mind some emotional support and some labour of love in a relationship because of course I'm going to need to look out for her mental health and reassure and comfort sometimes, that's the reality of loving someone who struggles, but I can't do it 24/7 again. I can't once again put talking her down for hours every day and weathering screaming and violent lashing out all the time at the expense of even my own basic needs and my own mental health struggles (for example my c-PTSD from my last relationship).

When I said that she got very very upset and basically said I was forcing her to choose between me and freedom or being able to live a normal/unmedicated life (which I mean, I guess I can't argue with because in a way I am making her choose between me and stopping her meds), and that I couldn't control her like that. I told her I wasn't doing it to control her and that if she's really determined to go off of them she could, but that I would have to make my own personal choice to walk away as a result of it for my own sake.

She said she'd think about it but ever since that conversation I've been going back and forth in my head on how much of a dick move it would be to flat out just do a black-and-white "Either you stay on your meds and regulate your behaviour or I leave"

TL;DR Girlfriend wants to go off of her medication, but when she's off her meds she has almost daily suicidal breakdowns and lashes out at me physically and verbally. WIBTA if I broke up with her if she goes ahead with stopping?

What are these acronyms?

[captain-mj]

The Journal

I don't know. Cw: Ghost's backstory

Soap found the unassuming book on his desk. The edges of the paper had turned slightly yellow and they were clearly flipped through quite often. He frowned at it, wondering who went into his room and set this there. It felt... almost threatening.

Soap gently opened the book to look at the first page.

I'm writing this journal as a "therapy" exercise. Frankly I think it's fucking bollocks. I'm fine. I dream about nothing.

Well. That wasn't very helpful. The handwriting was odd. Almost scrawling, like the person who was writing had shaky hands but also couldn't be bothered to hold the pen properly.

Soap frowned. This seemed a rather personal thing to give to a person. But it was in his room.

Just one more page.

Apparently I'm supposed to introduce myself. Fine. My name is Simon Riley. I belong to the SAS. I was a POW for a couple of months. I keep hearing numbers but none of them feel right. I think parts of me are still down there.

I hurt. Everywhere. Especially when people touch me. I can't sleep. Can barely eat. My mum is worried. So does Tommy. I want to tell them to fuck off. I have. But they keep worrying. I wonder if this is how Beth felt.

On the page was a polaroid. A baby faced Simon with nasty scars on his face, still fresh and angry. He looked half dead. Dark circles under his eyes and an expression nothing like his usual. Someone had their hand on his shoulder, but he could only see their arm.

Soap sucked in a breath. There was no way Ghost gave this to him. No fucking way.

He got up and grabbed the book, going straight for Ghost's quarters, planning on returning it immediately and pretending he had found it and couldn't find Price to turn it in.

Ghost's quarters were empty. His knives were missing, but his clothes were still there, meaning he was on a mission.

Fuck.

Soap paused and tapped his foot. He wasn't sure if Price was around. How did someone get this? If he left it in his room, he was worried someone would find it. He'd have to keep it. Just to be sure.

Soap set it back on his desk. When he saw Price, he'd talk to him.

After a minute of staring at it, Soap shoved the book into a drawer and closed it tight. He left to talk to Gaz to distract himself for a few hours.

Gaz was nice enough to tell him that Ghost and Price were on a mission together and that they wouldn't be back for a few days.

No big deal.

A few days with a book that potentially had a lot of answers to some questions he had about Ghost.

Soap didn't make it the night before he was reading more pages. He never claimed to have great self control.

Good morning. I feel like a teen, writing in a diary. I've been put on new medication today. Supposed to help. It makes me dizzy for some reason.

My mum keeps making me tea. She wants to make sure I'm real. I see her hands hovering around me. If I wasn't such a shit son, I'd tell her she can hug me. The thought makes my skin crawl. I see her dead body in my dreams. I see the skull they said was hers. I want to tell her I'm okay, but I don't want to lie.

Soap felt sick. There was a drawing. It was crude, clearly done out of boredom and with no real care behind it. Soap was pretty sure it was a skull that was dripping something. Maybe blood. The ink was all black so there was no way to tell. "Mum" was written several times around it.

I dreamed about her again.

That caught Soap's attention. Her? Was Ghost into women? That seemed unlikely.

She used to speak so soothingly in spanish to me. I wonder if she was like me. Did Roba rape her too?

Soap shut the book and shoved it under his pillow. Enough of that. Nope. He didn't want to think of those words and what they meant.

Fucking too.

No.

No...

No!

The idea of something like that happening to his Lieutenant was... It just... didn't happen.

Soap pulled the book out and kept reading. Just... to prove it wasn't real.

I don't know. It's not a nice thought. Maybe I want someone else to hurt too. I tried to jack off the other day and ended up scrubbing myself raw afterward from how it made me feel. How pathetic right?

Not sure what this is doing. What benefit this has. I'm writing my thoughts. Trying to feel better. Tommy joked about me buying a hooker. I had a panic attack. it was like i was back in high school again. fucking baby.

There was a picture of someone, presumably Tommy, and Simon hanging out. They were both smoking and Tommy was making a sign with his hands. He had a giant grin on his face. Simon had a carved out Glasgow smile that looked like it hurt. Raw. it looked to be after the earlier polaroid. The dark circles hadn't gotten better, but there was more color and flesh in his face.

My mum wants me to talk to my dad. I don't know why. I don't know want to see him. Can't let him see me right now. Maybe when I'm recovered. Last time I saw him, I beat his ass. Doubt he's going to forgive me.

Bastard is pure evil. He gets off on hurting people. Got off on hurting me. I think he's trying to use the cancer as an excuse to get close to my mum again. I'll beat his ass again. I'm putting on more weight. I'll fucking do it.

There was a little stick man drawing labeled 'Simon' and 'Bitch' with Simon beating him to death. Soap thought the blood was rather well drawn, even if the stick figures wasn't.

As the week went on, he kept reading a few pages at a time. He learned... things.

Ghost liked Vanilla tea.

Ghost had been assaulted by more than one person.

Ghost's father had beaten him. A lot.

Ghost was scared of snakes.

Ghost loved his Mum.

Ghost hated most mystery movies.

Tommy was Ghost's brother and was the second most important in his life.

And that they were all dead. All of them.

He wrote an explanation of everything there. In a clinical, harsh detail.

I wish I had died down there in Mexico. I wish I had laid down in that grave and died. It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

It kept repeating and then he had just started over and wrote over the first layer.

Soap was crying. He couldn't help it. Tommy was so... young. Not to mention the descriptions Ghost gave of his family in general. The pages after that were mostly drawings or scribbles, all made with heavy hands.

Simon knocked. He could tell by the sound he made when he knocked. "Johnny?"

"When did you get back?"

"...Just now. Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Soap wiped his face so he'd look... normal. "Yeah come in."

Ghost stepped inside and saw the book. "Enjoy it?"

"What?"

"I left it for you."

"Why?"

Ghost hummed. "Thought it would be the easiest way to let you in."

Soap swallowed. "You don't do anything half assed do you?"

Ghost's eyes stared at him. Answer enough right there.

[ciaomarie]

Part 2: What Then?

I promise I have a life, but I couldn't help writing part 2 today! This takes place the same day as the "Development Day" when Syd and Carmy are thrown off by each other's answers during an ice breaker activity. Post-season 2. Feel-good fluff.

Photo Credit @drrav3nb /  drrav3nb.tumblr.com

"So those are the menu changes for Chicago Restaurant Week. If you have questions, feel free to ask me or Chef Sydney. You should also have an email from Natalie by later today. Okay, let's prep for night service!"

Carmy closed the meeting, grateful that it was finally over. He was no longer afraid of public speaking after rising in the ranks of various kitchens, but his mind was not in this ever since the ice breaker. He, Carmen Berzatto, had made Sydney's favorite meal ever? The last time he prepared the pork confit and the Milk and Honey dishes she mentioned was several years ago. Back then he was at Eleven Madison Park, a rising star on the culinary scene, who chain-smoked, slept 3 hours a night, and was berated by the EC daily. It was a nightmare peppered with flashes of genius. He was dying to ask her about it, but before he could get her attention Sydney had slipped into the kitchen.

He stared disappointed at the window that separated the dining area and kitchen.

"Hey Bear, what's up with you?" Richie said sidling up to him trying to follow his gaze.

"Nothing cousin."

"Yeah, right. I missed when it happened, but it seems like you crashed and had to reboot during the meeting. Then you were lost in Sydney-land. Want to talk about it?"

Carmy rubbed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair. When he used both hands, Richie knew without a doubt he had hit on something.

"First, cool it about Syd. That handout you gave us was really cute. And yes, there's something on my mind, but it's not for me to say."

Richie grinned and rubbed Carmy's shoulder.

"Fine, just get your head together because tonight is going to be loaded and it includes three anniversaries and a birthday. And second, you need to cool it about her or do something. It's like I'm living in The Wonder Years with Kevin and Winnie."

"What?"

"Oh, right. That's probably before your time. Kids!"

With that Richie sauntered over to the host stands to strategize with the wait staff and hosts.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sydney who had a thousand things to do, was adding at least a hundred more onto her plate. She didn't want to appear like she had a moment to spare. She and Carmy could talk at the end of the night as usual, without any eavesdropping. This would also give her time to think of an explanation as to why she never mentioned eating at Eleven Madison Park and that she wasn't a stalker who followed him to The Beef. To top off this awkward sundae, Carmy casually admitted his favorite part of the day was closing, the only time they are alone every day. She hoped no one else had connected the dots on that last part.

The afternoon and the night never went quicker to her chagrin. Even when one of the line cooks was sent home due to illness and a large group put in an order for 7 Fishes two minutes before tickets closed, she thought the night couldn't last long enough. Fortunately, Carmy seemed resigned to waiting and didn't look at her more than usual. In a flash service was over and no one was in the mood to hang around. By 11:00pm Sydney had cleaned her station for the third time and forced herself to go to Carm's office. He sat there pretending to do busy work, patiently waiting like a child who consoled himself that his parents wouldn't make him wait too long to open his Christmas presents.

"Hey Syd...it was a good night," he said softly not wanting to scare her away.

Sydney nodded and took a seat. Might as well get it over with it.

"Okay, yes. You made the best meal I've ever had. During a break at the CIA, I went to NYC and ate everywhere on my list, including Eleven Madison Park. It was a Wednesday night and I ordered several things including pork confit and Milk and Honey."

Sydney couldn't help closing her eyes and smiling at the memory. Her guard began to slip.

"Carm, it was like tasting my future and the best part of my past at the same time. I asked the waiter who made those dishes and he said Carmen Berzatto."

Carmen leaned forward on the desk. Whenever Sydney praised him, he felt like a cactus in an unexpected downpour. He wouldn't waste a single word. Her sunny existence and her belief in him sustained him during his dry seasons. He reached for her whenever he looked at the debt they still owed Uncle Cicero, when his mother finally visited The Bear and cried saying that he had erased Mikey, and even when their success seemed too good to be true. 

Sydney opened her eyes to find him looking at her in the way he had. It was terrifying because she had a very specific plan for her career. It also thrilled her, knowing the power she had over him. Five months ago, she had been begging for his focus and now she knew every her mood, glance, and word she spoke impacted him. Once for the fun of it during a slow night she stared at him until she drew his attention and smiled. He blushed, smiled back, came towards her without saying "corner", and crashed into one of the servers, sending three Michael cannoli to the floor. That was three months ago when she first realized something was going on with him. She'd refused to abuse her power since, going so far as to convince herself that she was overestimating his feelings. Then he said the best part of his day was closing. She hoped, well sort of hoped, that they could maintain this close, but not too close partnership and friendship without complications.

After a long pause Carmen sighed and sat back in his chair.

"So, how did you find me?"

"Well, like I said when we met, it was the job posting. I recognized your name and also The Beef from my dad taking me here."

She shrugged thoughtfully.

"It felt like it was meant to be. It gave me hope for the first time since Sheridan went under."

He nodded.

"It's really strange. You came here because I inspired you and the only reason, I felt capable of attempting something this big was because of you" he said gesturing to the ceiling.

"Yeah?" Sydney whispered.

"Yeah."

He stood up and walked around to sit on the desk facing her. Now, Sydney felt vulnerable looking up at him. It was so easy for him to unnerve her when he spoke this way, like under the table.

Carmy took one her hands and after a moment brought it to his lips.

"Thank you for telling me, Syd. It means a lot."

Sydney was unable to speak. Her throat had closed.

"Soon, is your one year work anniversary and I think we should celebrate."

She nodded.

Carmy set her hand down.

"It's late. I'll drive you home."

With that they left the office, gathered their stuff, and walked to his car in silence.

As they drove, Sydney attempted to talk herself down. Was that hand kiss, an Italian thing? Possibly. It also seemed like Carmy decided to do...something, but what? Worse, she was feeling like they had traded positions in mere seconds. She'd enjoyed having the upper hand. Oh, well. With a goodnight's rest she'd be back in form tomorrow. Maybe "accidentally" brush past him, or ask him to lift something heavy for her and comment on his strength. Then it would be game over for poor Carmy bear. For now, she wouldn't worry about the work anniversary. It was probably just going to be a cake Carm commissioned Marcus to bake.

Probably.    

[magicaloneandmystery]

easy to love. (p.p. x reader)

pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x reader

summary: Peter is relentlessly there to help pick you up when you are too tired to do the same.

warnings: heavy negative self-talk, allusions to depression, please don't read this if you are not comfortable with either of these. additionally, my inbox and messages are always open if you ever want to vent about anything

word count: about 850 words

a/n: if you are suffering or even slightly down today, take this as your reminder that you are loved, cared for, and you matter. sending so many hugs to all of your way <3

(gif not mine, credits to the owner/creator)

you had been in bed since morning and it was 2 pm now. 

suffice it to say, it was a bad day.

you were drowning in your thoughts, unable to distinguish the light on the surface from the darkness of the depths. you were not sure if there was any surface, to be honest.

you had forgotten to call in from your work in the haze that surrounded you but left a message about an hour earlier, a simple text to your boss that read apologies for not coming in today, feeling a bit sick. 

bless her heart, you were only met with a text saying are you okay? that was left on read.

you should answer that soon.

there were several other texts you were yet to reply to, the most glaring ones being from Peter.

good morning sweetheart was the first one.

you okay? after a few hours of no reply.

y/n talk to me, please? was the last one.

you wanted to talk to him so bad, but it was much easier staying there and pretending the world didn’t exist for as long as you could, as long as it was viable. 

you didn’t realise it was way later than 2 pm when you suddenly turned in your bed to see the darkened skies. you supposed time flies when all you do is lie beneath your covers thinking about all the reasons you couldn’t get up. (more often than not coming up with none.)

you jumped when a knock sounded on your window but didn’t remove the blanket from your face to see who it was. you knew who it was, you were just hoping he left you alone.

alas, that hope went out the window (no pun intended) when he stepped into your room. you wished you had turned the lock on them but in your state last night it didn’t matter whether they were on or not. no amount of locks could ensure that you felt safe.

“you should not leave your windows unlocked like that, sweetheart,” he said, noticing the piles of clothes in two places. apart from that, though, your room was organised like it usually was. not a lot of people could’ve said something was wrong by looking at your room.

“I know you’re awake, it’s fine if you don’t wanna talk to me,” he sighed. he was disappointed in you. you should get up and talk to him. greet him, at least. he came all this way just for you. and here you are, lying there like you don’t want it, want him. ungrateful brat. “did you have something to eat?"

you wondered why he bothered trying.

“y/n,” he sat down next to you. his ungloved hand came into your view as he tucked away the blanket a bit. you realised he wasn’t wearing his suit. did he not come here after his patrol?

you’re disrupting spider-man too. selfish selfish selfish.

“babe,” he started, stroking your cheek. “just give me a simple nod if you want me here. I’ll be gone if you don’t.”

tears were pooling in your eyes. you wanted him gone but more than that, you knew you needed him here. it was unfair to still need him for anything.

gathering all your strength, you nodded once.

his fingers gently wiped away the tears that managed to spill over. 

"I love you," he said, before leaning down and kissing your forehead. your eyes shut tightly, undeserving of his love, his beauty, his warmth. "I'm gonna clean this room a little, okay? I must say, you've managed it quite well already."

you knew he was lying but it made the pressure holding you down lift a little. maybe you were not a complete failure.

a few minutes of his cleaning had put some life back into your body, making it easier to breathe in and out. you moved into a sitting position by your bed, legs hanging off its side.

"hey, bug," Peter grinned, triumph swimming in his eyes. "wanna eat something?"

you nodded after some time, contemplating.

"something light? I was thinking of some soup."

you nodded again.

"be right back!" he skipped out of the room, already familiar with your apartment enough to know where all the ingredients were kept.

you listened to the clanging of the utensils for some time, head bent in the doorway’s direction. slowly, you stretched your legs and decided to join him. walking seemed to take tremendous effort but when you saw Peter, his back to you, stirring the pot on your stove, making food for you. the realisation felt heavy but it seemed to make your steps lighter all the same. maybe you could be loved.

“hello there,” he called out to you. his senses were already attuned to you, and his heart fluttered wildly when he realised you were joining him in the kitchen. he stretched his hand out to you, sighing when your body slotted itself to his side as you both stared at the boiling soup.

as your head rested on his shoulder, eyes fixated forward, you realised it’s very easy to love Peter Parker. sometimes, that was all you needed. a reminder you could love.

phew, thanks for reading if you did!! comments and reblogs are much appreciated :) please do remember to check in with your closed ones and to never be afraid to ask for help.

[httpiastri]

my little race winner – cn21

clement is there to cheer you on after your first f3 win.

genre: fluff

pairing: gender neutral f3 driver!reader x boyfriend!clement novalak

warnings: none

requested: yes!

author’s note: clement makes me weak in my knees… anyways let’s pretend there isn’t only like 40 minutes between the f3 and f2 feature on sunday hehe. and also, the use of “little” doesn’t necessarily have to describe the reader being small. i would cry (happy tears) if clement called me little even though i’m almost his height 🤭

f2/f3 masterlist

few feelings beat the feeling of winning a race.

especially when the race has been long, competitive, and more strategic than usual. especially when it's your first ever win in formula 3, in your first year of competing in the series.

today in silverstone, where formula 1 first started some 70 years ago, you've taken the win in the feature race of the weekend. starting from p8, you didn't have any big expectations, but you hoped for a good race and some points for the championship. despite losing positions in the first few laps, you worked your way up and – with some help from perfectly timed safety cars – you were able to overtake the leader with just a few laps to go.

and the feelings exploding in your chest as you went past the finish line before anyone else were unlike anything you’d witnessed before.

standing up on the front of your car, you raise your arms in the air as the cheers grow louder. your teammate gabriel bortoleto finished just behind you in second place, and he comes up right next to you and helps you down before patting your back. "great race, congrats!" he says, his smile visible even through the open visor of his helmet.

"you too!" you tell him, returning the smile before you both make your way over to your team members waiting for you at the fence.

you pull off your helmet as you watch gabriel go along the crowd first. he is lucky to have kept his helmet on, because not only does he get hugs and back rubs; several of the mechanics insist on slapping the top of his helmet as he passes. you hoped they would go easier on you, but being the winner of the race, they all celebrate you even louder and harder. you hug them all tightly, thanking them for their great work, before stopping a few seconds extra with your trainer who has a full-on speech prepared for you.

you assumed your trained would be the last person in line to congratulate you, but just as you part from hugging him again, you feel a new hand on your shoulder. there is something about the touch, something that feels familiar – you'd felt this hand on you thousands of times. you know instantly who it belongs to.

your mouth drops in surprise once you turn your head to the side, watching as your boyfriend flashes you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. you throw yourself onto him, your arms draping around his neck. "hey," he starts, pulling away just a little bit to look into your eyes. "great race!"

"did you see it all?" you ask, followed by a squeal when he nods. you pull him back into your embrace. "i'm so happy! so so so so so happy!"

as he holds you close, clement starts to place chaste kisses on your cheek and down your neck, the combination of his lips and the feeling of his stubble against your skin making you squirm in his hold. "you should be, you’re amazing." you lean back a little, taking his face into your hands. "i mean, i'm not sure what you did in turn fifteen in the first lap, you could've just taken the inside and- ouch!"

you pinch his cheeks jokingly when he starts tormenting you, wanting to stop the strings of critique flowing from his mouth. "you suck," you tease, sticking your tongue out at him.

"oh, please, you love me."

his eyes twinkle with his smile, the white long-sleeve trident shirt hugs his muscles in just the right places while his racing suit hangs at his hips, and he looks far too good for someone who's just about to go sweat down an entire car for the next hour or so. how could you possibly stay upset with him?

you nod, reaching forward to place a quick kiss to his lips. "i do. and you love me too, i hope? despite my failures in lap one?"

a laugh bubbles from his chest. "most definitely." he gives you one more kiss before he looks at something right behind you. "i think they're calling for you. the podium awaits, and so on..."

you look back to see a worker waving for you to hurry up, so you turn back to your boyfriend. "oh. i'll see you after your race, then?"

he pulls you in for one last hug, pressing yet another kiss to your cheek. "my little race winner. i'm so proud," he whispers, and a slight blush spreads across your face at his words. once you part, he playfully pushes your shoulders towards the worker, not wanting you to hold up the ceremony anymore.

even more people congratulate you as you make your way through the building and towards the podium, but your mind is still stuck on something, and someone, else. you’ve managed to win your first ever race in f3, and to have clement by your side as you did it? how did you ever get so lucky?

few feelings beat the feeling of winning a race. but the feeling of standing on the podium, looking down at the crowd and making eye contact with clement, who's smiling like an idiot and cheering loudest of them all? that feeling's got to be in the top 3, at the very least.

[silvercap]

if you’re taking prompt requests 👀 leon and either shaky from starvation or staggering from exhaustion? dealer’s choice hehe

Sure ☺️ (Prompts)

He's almost to the Evac point when his knees give out, spilling Leon limply across the dirt as a strangled, pathetic noise squeaks out from his throat and his gun falls somewhere at his side. His legs tremble and cramp from days of running and crouching, muscles spent and pushed even further past their limits by the limping, staggering steps he's been forced to rely on for the past several hours. His injured ankle screams at him in the absence of stimulation, a ragged seed of pain blossoming into something excruciating now that Leon isn't pushing through it to make himself move. He groans, a pitiful sound. So this is what's become of the great Leon S. Kennedy---sprawled in the dirt half a mile from the rendezvous point, and too weak to even pull himself upright again.

There's blood still soaking his chest and thigh where BOW claws and shrapnel, respectively, had dug into the soft, unprotected flesh with violent force. Leon coughs, feeling the pang of smaller wounds across his body that only seem amplified by the hollowness in his gut, days without food or supplies only making the sluggish exhaustion more insistent to drag him down to the dirt and never let him go. He'd lost his pack on the very first day. Typical. He'd make a joke if laughing didn't feel impossible.

Something buzzes in his ear, short and sharp, and Leon stifles a whine.

"Come in, Kennedy," an unfamiliar voice says, the man he knows is meant to pick him up. They've never met before today, but Hunnigan had sent him once Leon finally got his comms working again, so Leon's pretty sure he'd be able to trust the man. He makes a sound halfway between an angry cry and a sob. He'll never make it to the evacuation point to see if it's true. "Kennedy, we are landing now, do you copy? We don't see you anywhere; over."

Trembling fingers trip clumsily up to his ear, the little button clicking as Leon lets his eyes fall closed. The cool dirt is nice on his cheek. " 's 'cause I'm not there," he slurs with an empty laugh, dampness forming under his eyelids. "Promise I tried. I really did."

There's a brief silence.

"Kennedy, what's your status? I don't understand; over."

Leon laughs, the sound closer to whimpering. Maybe he did have the energy after all. "I'm not gonna make it. Jus' go home, see your family," he rasps, hating the dullness of his own voice. He always knew he'd go out this way. It shouldn't be as much of a shock as it is, but he can't help but admit how frustratingly close he'd been to surviving another impossible mission. At least he made a good run of it.

"Kennedy, what's your status?" the voice repeats. "Are you in need of medical assistance?"

"Yes. No." Leon sighs. "I don't know. Why do you care?"

The DSO never supports him on missions, he knows that. It's cruel of them to pretend that they would, dangling medical intervention in front of him like a carrot on a stick.

"Where are you?"

"Half a mile out." Leon swallows. "I won't make it."

There's more buzzing, a voice in his ear, but Leon doesn't pay it any mind. He lets his hand slump to the ground, fingers curling weakly in the dirt. Maybe if he...

He pulls himself forward by his nails, then again, and again. It hurts. Everything hurts, but he can't... he won't just die here alone. The thought puts a lump in his throat and he sobs explosively, dragging himself forward inch by inch. He knows he won't make it; it's stupid to try.

He keeps moving.

Time blurs, blood mixing with dirt where his broken fingernails claw at rocky ground, until a sudden shadow falls over him. Leon whimpers on a particularly rough patch, and two sets of hands slide under his body, lifting him upright. The world swims, and Leon blinks. The face of a young woman hovers over him, her strong body hauling him upright despite the fact that his legs are too weak to support his weight.

"We've got you, Agent Kennedy," she says softly. "We're going to get you out of here, okay?"

Another person pushes into his right side, careful of the wounds over his chest as they take the rest of his weight in strong arms. Leon doesn't understand. "I don't understand."

"Hunnigan sent us. We're getting you out of here, okay? Damn standard procedure---we know how much you've done for all of us."

"Let's get you some help," the other person says, voice husky. Leon doesn't recognize it either, tired brain still confused by their support. He didn't know he'd done anything for anyone at all. "Just a little bit farther, man."

Leon laughs deliriously, unable to do anything else.

[akariarda]

Father's love

Llod has just received his golden powers and is pushing himself by training. Sensie Garmadon tries to help him, but Lloyd don't really like it first. Fulff and angst.

"Just a little bit more, and I got it."Lloyd grunted as he tried to perform a backflip trick.

It had only been a few weeks since he obtained his golden powers, and he still hadn't moved from square one.

"I have to…" he groaned as he struggled to achieve something. "I have to…" His voice grew weaker with exhaustion.

"No, you don't have to," Sensei Garmadon said as he approached him. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week..."

"I don't understand!" Exhausted, Lloyd shouted angrily. "You talk about how I've barely scratched the surface, yet you keep preventing me from training!"

"Calm down, son," Sensei Garmadon gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not against you training, just…"

"But you are!" Lloyd shrugged off his hand and walked away.

"Come back here and talk to me like this," Sensei Garmadon almost yelled as Lloyd walked away.

"Where have you been when we needed to talk? And what nonsense is this about fighting without fighting?!"

Lloyd impulsively shouted and immediately regretted it when he saw the expression on his father's face.

"I…" Sensei Garmadon was angry and hurt. He wanted to yell at Lloyd, but he knew he was to blame for everything.

"I'm sorry," Lloyd told him and approached him. "I didn't mean it."

"Are you sure?" Sensei Garmadon raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Absolutely," Lloyd assured him and hugged him. "I'm just really tired…" he whispered as he pressed his head against his chest.

"You're burning up!" Sensei Garmadon exclaimed, stepping back from Lloyd to look him in the eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm just a little exhausted…" Lloyd mumbled, but Sensei Garmadon didn't take it seriously.

"We're going home right away, okay?"

"Okay," Lloyd mumbled softly. They somehow managed to make it home with several stumbles.

"I'll make you some tea," Sensei Garmadon said when they arrived. "And now you have to go to bed."

"I don't want to…" Lloyd protested, but Sensei Garmadon gave him a stern look.

"Don't mess with your health, Lloyd. Listen to your father. I know what it's like to push yourself too hard."

"We're not the same," Lloyd huffed as he walked to the bed. "You and I are not the same."

Sensei Garmadon bit his lip, preventing the urge to yell at Lloyd.

He pretended not to hear him; his heart couldn't bear it.

"I brought you some tea," he said when he entered Lloyd's room and saw him pacing around.

"Lloyd…" He sat down gently next to him and moved the covers off his head.

"I've had better days," Lloyd muttered quietly.

"I know," Sensei Garmadon soothed him as he brushed strands of hair away from his face.

"You just need to rest."

"I'm sorry for everything…" Lloyd started, but Garmadon silenced him.

"Let's not talk about it now."

"You don't blame me for anything?"

"Never," Sensei Garmadon told him and kissed his forehead. "Now drink your tea and get some sleep. You'll see, you'll feel better..."

"But it hurts…" Lloyd complained.

"You pushed yourself too hard," Sensei Garmadon said.

"That's normal when you train too much." Garmadon gently covered him with blankets.

"Now sleep."

When he returned after some time, Lloyd was already burning with fever.

"Lloyd, can you hear me?" he asked as he pressed cool compresses to his forehead to help him cool down.

"Lloyd..." He leaned his head close to his mouth, but couldn't make out anything from his mumbling.

"Hang in there, son…" he spoke softly as he continued to place cold compresses on his body to help him recover quickly.

He stayed with him for hours, checking his condition, which thankfully improved.

"Dad?" Lloyd asked when he woke up.

"How do you feel?" Garmadon rubbed his back.

"Sweaty," Lloyd replied weakly. "But much better."

"It's good that you're sweating," Garmadon reassured him. "You had a fever, and it all needs to come out."

"I know," Lloyd stretched. "I've been thunkimg about everything..."

"It doesn't matter," Sensei Garmadon shook his head. "You weren't well, and we really need to work on our relationship. You weren't lying."

"I want you to know that I love you, no matter what..." Lloyd looked at him.

"And I love you too." Sensei Garmadon hugged him.

"From now until the end of the world, I will protect you. Even if I ever die and come back to life, I will still protect you."

it fells so good to post something again.

[wheels-of-despair]

Worth It | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

{<-Previous} [Do You Think He's Still Alive?] {Next->}

Summary: Ralph meets your father, and you make a decision about your future together. Words: 2.3k

The next morning, you woke up to the realization that there would be no visit from Donald this Saturday, next Saturday, or any Saturday ever again. He was history. You were elated.

Breakfast was a tense affair. You'd planned to skip it altogether, but your father sent Nancy to fetch you. You reluctantly followed her down the stairs and took your place at the table. Your mother pretended you weren't there, which was fine with you.

Your father attempted to engage you both in conversation, but neither of you would speak directly to each other. He soon gave up and focused on his newspaper as you ate.

"Darling," he began after his third coffee refill, "why don't you ring Ralph and ask him to come by for tea this afternoon?"

Your mother gets up and leaves the table with a huff. Your father rolls his eyes and puts down his newspaper.

"Are you sure?" you ask nervously. A door slams in the distance, and you flinch.

"Don't mind her. If she can't be civil, she won't be invited." Your jaw drops, and he chuckles. "Invite him. I need to meet the boy who won my girl's heart."

You blush furiously.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Are you receiving guests today?"

"Hadn't planned on it," Ralph grumbles. After Victoria had gone to bed, he'd spent the next several hours worrying. He'd finally fallen asleep just after sunrise, to be met with horrible dreams of trying to find his beloved. He searched and searched in the most awful places, but you were always just out of his grasp, begging him to help you. But he couldn't. No matter how he tried, he couldn't reach you.

Sensing Langley's lingering presence, Ralph heaves a sigh and removes the open book he'd placed on his face to block out the sunlight. He'd been too tired to get up and close the curtains.

"What, Langley?"

"The young lady is here to see you, sir." Ralph tosses the book into the air and scrambles out of the library, reaching the banister overlooking the first floor before the discarded book even hits the ground. Seeing you smiling up at him from the hallway below, he thunders down the stairs and launches himself at his fiancée.

"Are you alright? I'm so sorry, I knew I shouldn't have left you alone, I'm an awf--" You cut him off with a kiss.

"It's alright, I'm alright," you assure him in a soothing tone, arms wrapped around him tightly. He never wants to let you go again. "My father knows everything. Well… almost everything." You bite your lip and look up at Ralph with a twinkle in your eye. "He wants you to come for tea today. But we need to go over a few things first."

"Alright?" Ralph would do or say anything you wanted him to. He reaches for your hand and leads you to the sitting room, curious to hear what you have to say.

"What is it, love?" he asks once you're both settled in.

"He doesn't know we're engaged."

"Oh," Ralph says, visibly disappointed. You told him everything, but not that?

"He says he already likes you better than Donald the Dull," you say quickly, "but he wants to get to know you. I didn't tell him that we're engaged… because I think it would mean a lot to him if you asked for his permission."

Asking for your father's permission had never crossed Ralph's mind. He suddenly felt like an idiot. Of course he should have asked. How many times had you told Ralph that he and your father were your two favorite people in the world? That he was always there to save you from your mother's wrath? That you were glad you'd taken after your easy-going father instead of your cantankerous mother?

"Is that alright?" you asked quietly.

"Of course it is," he assures you. "I'm sorry it hadn't occurred to me before. Of course I should have asked. I know how important he is to you."

Your face lights up.

"And maybe don't mention me ever having been inside your house before? Something tells me that the thought of his daughter bathing a grown man and reading him fairy tales in bed may not sit well."

Ralph laughs. "Of course, my love."

Ralph rings the bell at the specified time, having lingered behind the bushes out front for a few minutes, just like the morning he'd asked you to the Valentine's Day dance. He didn't want to arrive too early.

Nancy opened the door to welcome him inside, and you came to greet him… but not like you had a few hours ago. You were on your best behavior now, much more reserved in your own home, with your parents nearby. He thought it was adorable.

You escort Ralph into the sitting room he'd seen you dragged toward last time he was here, but the atmosphere is much happier this time. Your father gets up from an armchair to shake his hand, and gestures for Ralph to sit on the sofa.

"Not you," he says as you move to sit next to Ralph. "Just the men-folk for a moment, please." You don't move, and suddenly Ralph is filled with fear. "Go on, I promise I won't hurt him," he laughs, waving you away. You and your father stare at each other for a few seconds, until half a smile appears on your face.

"I'm going to hold you to that," you warn. You give Ralph a wink and head toward the door, closing it on your way out. Ralph gulps.

You sat on the stairs and watched the door for what felt like an hour.

"Do you think he's still alive?" Nancy whispered from below with a grin, waiting for your father to signal for her to bring in the tea tray.

"Oh, hush," you shot her a mock glare, and she giggled.

At least your mother had been "unwell" and unable to attend. You wouldn't have left poor Ralph alone with her. You lean back and rest your head against the wall, waiting for a sign of life from the room where your favorite people sat.

At long last, you heard your father's booming laugh, and the door opened. Ralph happily beckoned you forward, and Nancy went to ready the tea tray. You entered the room cautiously, unsure of what you were walking into.

"Why didn't you tell me that Ralph was this funny?" your father asked. You looked from him to Ralph, both red-cheeked and grinning, and couldn't help but feel like you'd missed out on a great conversation.

"Alright, you young things get out of this stuffy house and go enjoy the sunshine, let an old man get some work done."

Ralph stood up to shake the man's hand once more, and turned to walk you out. He helped you put on your coat, and escorted you out the front door. Arm in arm. In public. Ralph was ecstatic.

As soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk, you nudged his side. "Alright, spill it."

"Spill what?" he asks innocently.

"You know darn well what, Ralph Penbury. What did you and my father talk about?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy."

"Ralph."

"I am a man of my word." You huff, and he laughs at you. The subject of discussion had been you, and his feelings for you, and how he'd do anything for you, and how he would never, ever hurt you. But your father, a kind and caring man, had asked him not to mention it. Ralph was desperate to earn, and keep, the man's trust. Even if it meant keeping you in the dark. Until you gave him a glare that made his insides churn.

"You!" he blurts out.

"Me?"

"We talked about you."

"And what did you say about me?"

"Only good things."

"You are terrible at this. Are you sure you're related to Victoria? She'd be desperate to fill me in. And everyone else in earshot, actually."

Ralph laughs and quickly changes the subject.

"Shall we venture around the park, now that we're official, or retreat to our bench?"

You look up at him with amusement.

"That was a very smooth transition, Ralph. I've completely forgotten about the secrets you're keeping from me." He ducks his head in defeat. "Bench, always. But perhaps we'll take the long way around?" He perks up again when he realizes you're not going to press him further. For now.

You wind your way through the park, taking a more public route this time. It seems exceptionally sunny out today, and you don't think it's just because of the weather.

"Darn it, I've forgotten the letters I wrote you when I was away."

"It's alright, I've forgotten mine too. Shall we exchange our Official Records of Pining tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'd hate for all that misery and longing to go unappreciated."

"Darling, I solemnly vow to always appreciate your misery, even when I'm not the one who caused it." You both laugh at yourselves.

The bridge comes into sight, and Ralph chuckles. You look up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he asks, "Do you remember when we met here, the day after the dance?"

"You're not going to give me another nosebleed, are you?" you tease.

"I knew you were going to bring that up," he mumbles, rolling his eyes skyward.

"It did make for a very memorable first date. To hell with expensive gifts and grand romantic gestures, go for the man who's not afraid to discipline you for being late."

"That is not at all how it happened, and you know it," Ralph admonishes. You laugh and lean up to peck him on his blushing cheek.

You reach the middle of the bridge, and Ralph stops to look over the railing at the ducks swimming in the pond below. He pulls you closer, wanting you to look too. They were awfully cute; two happily quacking ducks and a pile of ducklings that wouldn't stay still long enough for you to count them.

"I waited right here for half an hour, wondering if you'd ever appear. It was the most nervous I'd ever been… before today."

You look over, and then down, to see Ralph kneeling beside you. He was holding the ring you'd already accepted, presenting it to you once more.

"Will you marry me?"

"Ralphie, we've been through this," you tease with a smirk. "I told you yes. You even gave me a ring. That ring, in fact. Remember?"

"Yes, and you gave it back. Remember?" Ouch.

"Ralph, you know wh--"

"I have permission this time."

"You do?" A smile blooms across your face, your frantic apology forgotten.

"Yes. So…?" He shakes the ring, to urge you along.

"Of course I will," you say for the second time. Ralph grins, slides the ring onto your finger again, and gets up to wrap you in a hug. He lifts you and spins, and the people nearby who'd been watching begin to cheer. When he lets you down, both of your faces are flushed.

"Would you think me mad if I told you that I almost brought the ring with me the day after the dance?"

"I think you mad for wanting to marry me in the first place."

"Stop that. I was going to propose right then and there..."

"It was probably for the best. I like to know a man at least a full day before accepting a proposal."

"You've known me for years."

"Not like this, I haven't."

"I bought it the day after we met."

Whatever teasing remark had been waiting to roll from your lips is forgotten. The day after? He can't be serious.

"I assure you, I am very serious. I have the receipt at home if you doubt the date."

"Why, Ralph?" you breathe.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"What am I supposed to be remembering?"

"Our first kiss."

You look at him in complete confusion.

"The Christmas Ball. You kissed me under the mistletoe."

You racked your brain for any memory of a Christmas Ball… This year's had been cancelled, as most of the people meant to attend had been down with the flu, but you had vague memories of the year before. Your mother had just joined a new social club, and was desperate for you to make a good first impression. You remember meeting a bunch of people, and dancing, and lots of red, and gold, and silver… a silver flask, to be exact. And a fight with Wilfred Carmichael, the well-bred nitwit your mother had arranged a date with. He'd been difficult all night, and then angry… because you'd dumped him, and immediately kissed someone else under the mistletoe. You'd had a screaming match outside, slapped him, and walked home in the snow without a coat. You were sick for the next two weeks, and hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since.

You hadn't given much thought to that night after it happened, because it wasn't something you wanted to remember. In fact, you actively tried to forget it. But this information changed everything.

"That was you?" you whisper breathlessly. Ralph nods. You bury your face in your hands. "Ralph, why didn't you say anything before?"

He shrugs.

"Oh, my love," you rush forward and wrap yourself around him. "I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot. All this time, we could've been together."

"We're together now," he mumbles into your neck.

"Now and forever."

"Now and forever," he repeats and leans down for a soft kiss.

"But if you think you're getting this ring off my finger for a third proposal, you've got another thing coming."

Ralph laughs, and you walk to the other side of the bridge and toward your secret spot, ready to spend the rest of your day together in the privacy you'd grown accustomed to.

[leonawriter]

First off: this guy's surprised because the first heist notice was made up. By him. And Kid's given him a real one - because he's done two cardinal sins.

One - faked a Kid notice.

Two - killed someone at a Kid heist.

(The grammar is odd because the natural localised flow would be "I've come here to uncover the truth!" but... the next thing the guy does is cut the notice in half, to just say "I've come! -Kaitou Kid" and pretend it's not a warning for him, which doesn't work if the word/phrase "I've come" isn't at the bottom.)

Shinichi knows this! Which is a cool thing because it shows that for all he and Kid are at loggerheads, Shinichi can tell what's up, and he's on the same wavelength as Kaito.

"Takagi" pointing out things about Kid and magic and in ways that Conan can use is, of course, because he's Kid in disguise. Which is easy to predict (it has to be him, Chiba, or Sato, and after a few interactions with him it's kinda clear which one Kaito chose).

The big and important thing here to me, is that Kaito actually did impersonate a police officer while trying to investigate a murder.

He wasn't just disguising as someone - he was literally taking on Takagi's role!

Even and in spite of the clear and present threat that Conan presents to him.

This... right here, Conan has already figured out that "Takagi" is actually Kid. But he isn't just telling the police "yeah, it's that one." Because the murder case takes precedence, and has not yet been solved. If he outed Takagi as Kid now, Kid would be hunted as a suspect of the murder, not as the thief he is.

Aside from that, Kid is also the only one who is most likely to be able to find the actual Seiran painting that had been hidden. He even says as much - that Kid, with his knowledge of how to break into places and steal, could retrieve something easily, as shown below.

Just like in the Magic Lovers Murder Case (F192-196), they're acknowledging how they needed each other in order to solve the case - and yet here, there's the added quantity of "Conan was also manipulating events so that he could try and make true his promise in past cases (esp. at the end of the Samizu Kichiemon Trap House (F475-578) where he vowed to catch Kid next time.

Thing is...

I admit I've got conflicting thoughts on how this ends, because on the one hand, there's this - Kaito begins by asking nicely and politely, "I 'd like you to let me off the hook today. I've only come to prove my innocence."

Which, like... that's the truth! He only came because he was summoned (uh, kinda like "be careful when summoning demons" but he's a magician in white, not a demon). His crimes here? Impersonation of a police officer on duty. That's... basically it. Because he couldn't just ask nicely "can I join an investigation to clear my name of murder, pretty please?" - of course not. He had to use underhanded methods.

And yet, two things then happen:

First, he threatens to use his card gun to remove Ran's clothes and have her show off her underwear - which turns out to be a trick purely so that he can distract Conan. He aims for Mori instead.

Second, Conan kicks a ball in his direction anyway, regardless of anything that's been said or done the past several hours, which actually hits (and must have hurt, we know those balls damn well hurt).

The reason I have mixed feelings is because...

On the one hand, Kaito asks nicely "can you just let me off, I didn't do anything" and Conan goes "No! Super-kicked ball to the stomach! Out into the trees with you!" and that. Seems kind of rude??? Kid just helped catch a murderer! He was on your side!!

But on the other hand? Kid finishes off his "I only came here to prove my innocence" with "I'm white as snow... just like her panties~" which is sure to piss Conan off. He was already anticipating that a polite "will you be nice and let me go since I've helped this time?" wouldn't work. Accurately anticipating.

So. On one side we have Conan's dogged pursuit of a non-murderous and non-suicidal criminal, who he can hound and hunt as much as he likes, and on the other side we have Kaito's Gomera-sized trust issues where literally everyone who knows about his double life other than Jii? They ALL want him in jail. His closest friends and those who feel like family.

And yes, I did just piece together why Conan hunts Kid so mercilessly; unlike a murderer or someone with a suicidally guilty conscience, he has nothing holding him back from doing what he did at the start of the series, before his character development - hunt until cornered.

I'm curious to see if, in the later cases with Kid, Shinichi eases off at all after getting to "know" him better, and if/how recent revelations (however that's handled in the manga) will change his attitude about things like this.

Would he still chase the fox into the den, if he knows that he, too, is a fox? Would he end up with a crisis (even a minor one) over having potentially endangered the life of someone he's related to, many times over? Because, while he still thinks they're complete strangers, he seems to think that this is acceptable... and I'm honestly curious how that's going to change.

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 4

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: Arriving in Novigrad proves to be another adventure as you meet Geralt's friends and family and investigate leads on another djinn.

Warnings: Mentions of previous burnings at the stake, blood and corpses, lots of pining, sexual innuendos and references, graphic descriptions of injuries.

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: It's finally here, and only took... several months 😬 Seriously, though, I'm so sorry for the wait. I've been dealing with so many things it would take an essay to list them out. I hope the content makes up for it! Thank you all so much for your patience and comments, they've kept me so incredibly inspired, and I can't wait for you all to see the rest of the story. Without further ado, enjoy chapter four!

A glimmering light against the darkness you’ve known of late, the Free City of Novigrad has undoubtedly come back to life.

The sight of it takes you aback; the flourishing businesses, open gates, large crowds chattering about this and that. Even with Temeria reinstated, Velen still suffers greatly from the price of the war, still carries the burden of it all. You’d expected it to be the same here. Why should it be any different?

But with Radovid gone, there are no pyres. No burning books or flocks of witch hunters stalking the streets, nothing but minor conflicts as you and Geralt pass by: a business spat, drunk soldiers wandering the street, a brief argument between lovers. Had you not been explicitly told of it, you’d never have known that mages and nonhumans once burned here. 

Something about that puts you at unease; a complete return to normalcy. It’s as if it never happened, as if that level of suffering and hatred could simply be washed away. But you know better. 

People might pretend that all is normal once more, but beneath the blood and bodies that have been clumsily disposed of, those roots still grow. And if they’re ignored, they’ll take hold once more. Maybe not today, maybe not even ten years from now, but they will. 

It’s a knowledge that fills you with an unshakeable sense of dread.

As the two of you roam the city with Roach and Mead on foot, merchants sing out their various spiels and various taverns rumble with conversation. 

You don’t know this place, but lingering in the back of your mind is the strange sensation that you’ve been here before. And perhaps, in a way, you do know it - through Oxenfurt. 

They smell the same: mud, the reek of piss, the stink of the sea. The stench of beer that hangs on the patrol’s breath. But, just like Oxenfurt, if you walk through the right spot you get the honeyed scent of flowers growing on the vine, the heavenly aroma of baking bread, fragrant meat roasting on the fire. 

The sweetness of fresh air that seems to slip through your fingers.

You really do miss it - Oxenfurt, that is. The memories are muddled and tarnished with pain, but somewhere between them, you still ache.

The lectures, poring over the pages in fascination. Hours spent taking in how every internal system works together, creating movement and balance and life. So complex. So involuntary.

Most of all, though, even more than the lectures, you miss the hope you’d had then: hope that things would all fall into place one day. That it would all turn out right in the end. 

You don’t think that way anymore. That optimism has been washed away now, so strange and foreign you barely recognize it. All you can seem to think now is how everything is bound to go wrong. Even now, you’re anxiously mulling over upcoming situations. 

With every step closer to The Chameleon, that unease continues to grow. Whoever is in there - will they hate you? Will they see what you’ve been expecting Geralt to see all this time, what he’s refused to accept despite your insistence?

You close your eyes for a brief moment and shake your head. It won’t help. But every second here feels like a lifetime. Five minutes and you already want to leave this place. 

When Geralt finally stalls in front of a building, your heart skips a beat. This must be The Chameleon, then. Even just standing outside, it’s obvious that this place is nicer than The Swift Oak. 

It’s well maintained, newly painted, and - by the number of people filtering in and out - it must also be popular. Whether that’s from Dandelion’s reputation or earned through fair business, you don’t know. It could be either way. 

You feel sick to your stomach.

When you and Geralt are done hitching your horses to the posts in front of the tavern, he turns to you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Gotta warn you…” he says, expression apologetic. “Dandelion can be-”

“Geralt!” booms a nearby voice, cutting off his words. “That really you, ye bugger?”

The two of you turn to see a dwarf with a neatly trimmed beard and mohawk standing at the tavern’s entrance. There’s a grin on his face, an axe slung across his back, and - with a start, you realize you know exactly who he is: even though you’ve only seen him in Gwent cards.

“Greetings, Zoltan,” Geralt replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is Dandelion here?”

“Right inside, the rascal,” Zoltan replies, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning. “He’ll be delighted to see you.” He pauses, giving you a brief look over. “And… who’s this?” 

You quickly introduce yourself, and Zoltan chuckles.

“Ah, Geralt. Always getting around.”

Your cheeks immediately burn, and you pointedly turn your gaze away from him.

Geralt, suddenly looking incredibly awkward, simply glances at you and nods to the door. “We should head in before it gets dark,” he says. 

He isn’t going to correct Zoltan? 

“Ah - before ye go,” Zoltan says quickly, “ought to tell ye that your sorceress was here.”

Your entire body goes stiff, and Geralt straightens a little. He’s never talked very much about Yennefer, and - well, your curiosity has been piqued. 

“Yen was here?” Geralt asks.

“Aye, a few days back,” Zoltan confirms, shifting uneasily. “Askin’ about your whereabouts, whether or not we’d seen you of late. Told her, ‘no, havenae seen our pal Geralt in ages,’ and she argued a right amount with Dandelion. Set off in a storm, told us she’d be back later.”

Oh, Gods. 

“They argued, huh?” Geralt asks dryly, not looking surprised in the least. “What about?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Zoltan replies, scratching at his beard. “Wasnae truly interested, and, well… you know what she’s like, Geralt. Somethin’ about magic, some sort o’ danger, can’t tell you all the details... Dandelion pried, she cursed him, left in a storm. Said she’d be back later.”

“She say how soon?” Geralt asks.

“Nah. Course not.”

“Great,” Geralt says dully. “Knowing Yen, that could mean either a few days or a few months. Thanks, Zoltan. Better get inside.”

“Aye, good to see you again, old pal,” Zoltan grins, shaking Geralt’s hand. “And it’s nice to meet you,” he adds, giving you a nod. “I expect I’ll see you two around.”

He heads off into the crowd, and Geralt makes for the door.

The minute the two of you step inside, you’re overwhelmed. The tavern is warm and lively, flowing with music and mead and chatter. The aroma of cooking food wafts through the door, and your stomach growls hungrily. 

Geralt gives you an amused look, raising a brow. The two of you had eaten not long back, but it seems it hadn’t been enough to tide you over. Before you can respond, the sound of another voice cuts through the noise.

“Geralt! I knew you’d come!”

A man with brown hair, a neatly-trimmed beard, and bright blue eyes has woven through the crowd, beaming as he looks at Geralt. His clothing is finely-made, purple fabric with detailed embroidery that glistens under the light, and a hat with a egret feather on top. The finery makes you feel incredibly out of place in your wrinkled, dirty clothes.

“Dandelion!” Geralt fondly squeezes the bard’s shoulder. “Good to see you.”

This is Dandelion? This well-dressed, bright-eyed, charming man? You’d pictured him older, nothing but tawdry. A senile old man well past his peak with a predatory glint in his eyes and a beer-filled gut. You’d been very wrong - after all, how could a man like that ever be friends with Geralt?

“How are you, old friend?” Dandelion asks with a warm smile. “It’s been ages, truly! You must be hungry - ah, Rosa! A bowl of soup for the witcher, if you please!”

“Make it two,” Geralt corrects, and Rosa, a young woman with thick black hair and rosy cheeks, gives a nod. Then Geralt turns back to Dandelion. “How’d you know I would come?”

“Oh, you know Yennefer,” Dandelion replies, dismissively batting the question away with his hand. “Shows up one day asking where you are, then comes back a week or so later with you in tow.” 

He stops, seeming to finally see you, and a brief quizzicality crosses his face. “Hold on. You aren’t here with Yennefer, are you?”

As he’s speaking, Rosa returns, handing you and Geralt each a bowl of soup. You start scarfing it down like it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten, and - it honestly might be.

“Nope,” Geralt responds, starting on his soup too. “Was hoping you knew where she’s gone off to.”

“I haven’t a clue,” Dandelion says. “She burst into the inn, asking where you were, and when we told her we hadn’t seen you in ages, she went pale. Kept muttering something about a curse, but wouldn’t tell me anything else. When I asked her what she needed you for, she called me a pest, Geralt, a pest! Can you believe that? Then she stormed off, claiming she’d be back later.”

Geralt’s brows pinch, and he shifts, setting down his now-empty bowl. “Can’t be good if she’s worried.”

“Like I said, she wouldn’t tell me a thing about it,” Dandelion says, rather petulantly. Then he looks over at you. “Oh, where are my manners! Who’s this?”

Once again you introduce yourself, and Dandelion heartily shakes your hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” he says. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Long story,” Geralt says exhaustedly.

“A long story?” Dandelion’s brows rise, and a sly smile paints his lips. “What sort? Action-riddled? Romantic? Oh, I know - a long, twisting contract that led the two of you together!”

Your cheeks go hot, and you set your spoon down next to your empty bowl. This must have been what Geralt was trying to warn you about earlier.

“Dandelion,” Geralt chides. “Anything else I should know?”

“Alright, alright,” Dandelion acquiesces. “And no, that’s all - if you don’t count The Chameleon’s booming business, and Oxenfurt University’s recent reopening.”

“Oxenfurt’s open again?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Geralt and Dandelion both look at you with varying levels of curiosity.

“It is, yes!” Dandelion says proudly, puffing out his chest a little. “Students and lecturers have been flooding back into the city. They’ve even asked me to give a guest lecture! Why do you ask? Are you interested in attending the classes?” 

You don’t know what to say. “I…”

“Ex-student,” Geralt fills in for you, and you give him a tight smile.

“Really?” Dandelion asks. “Well, in that case, you’d better register quickly. The classes are filling up faster than lecturers could ever hope to teach.”

“Thank you, but I’m not interested in returning,” you inform him.

“Is that so?” he asks. You can tell you’ve piqued his interest, and you wince with regret as he continues on. “Oxenfurt is where I got my master’s degree in the seven liberal arts, did you know that?”

You didn’t know he had a master’s in the seven liberal arts. “Well, I-”

“Oh, what am I saying?” He props his hands on his hips. “I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove - though most know me as Dandelion. You may have heard my ballads?” He gazes at you expectantly.

“I have,” you confirm, pointedly avoiding Geralt’s gaze.

“Splendid! Tell me, which is your favorite?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt cuts in, “stop the bragging.”

“But-”

“We’ve had a long day. Need a room.”

Dandelion hesitates, and his smile falters. “Oh, alright,” he relents. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the gritty details from you later,” he adds quietly. “Two rooms, coming right up!”

You let out a small noise. Geralt clears his throat.

Dandelion pauses, looking between the two of you with widening eyes. “Oh, I see,” he says, grinning coyly. “One room.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt says warningly.

“Alright, alright,” Dandelion sighs, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. “Here. Take the first room upstairs on the left, it’s open. And, Geralt? Try not to make too much noise. We’ve been trying to get the walls soundproofed, but it’s costing a small fortune, and guests are still complaining from the last time you and Yennefer were here.”

Your face feels like it’s caught on fire. You bite your lip until it stings and pretend you’re admiring the decorations on the walls.

“Uh-huh,” Geralt says, tone flat. “Be sure to do just that.”

He places a warm hand on the small of your back to guide you away from the conversation, and you shiver a little under his touch.

“Much appreciated,” Dandelion says with a wink. “Do enjoy yourselves, though - oh, and let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you!”

Geralt moves his hand from your back and heads toward the stairs, and you give a polite nod to the troubadour. “It was nice to meet you, Dandelion,” you tell him.

“Likewise!” he says brightly. Then he lowers his voice. “And tomorrow, I’ll get all those details from you, alright?”

“Heard that,” Geralt calls. 

Dandelion pulls a face. “You won’t let me have anything,” he whines.

You let out a soft laugh and follow after Geralt, legs getting heavier and heavier as the two of you head up the stairs. When he unlocks the room, your heart sinks in disappointment. One bed again. You’d been hoping to sleep on a mattress tonight.

Geralt sets his things down on the bed and sighs, taking a seat.

“Listen… sorry about all of that,” he says, pinching his nose. “Once Dandelion finds out why we’re here, we’ll get stuck answering questions. For hours, most like. Figured it was better to wait.”

“It’s fine.” You set your things on the floor and start unpacking, and Geralt watches you as you pull out the bedroll you’d purchased earlier. His brows immediately pinch.

“Plenty of room on the bed,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly. “Just…” 

You hesitate for a moment. Explaining this means you’re going to have to confess that you’d spied on him when he was asleep, and you don’t want him to paint you as some sort of creep.

Geralt patiently waits for you to continue, and you let out a frustrated puff of breath.

“I know you slept on the floor last time,” you say quickly, “and I know this whole thing must be extremely uncomfortable for you, especially sleeping in the same bed as me. You’re with Yennefer, and it’s only fair that this time I’m-”

“Hey. Hang on,” Geralt cuts in, sending your rambling to a crashing halt. There’s a pause before he shakes his head, then pats the bed next to him. “Come up here.”

You stare at him for confirmation, and he raises his brows expectantly. Turning your eyes toward the floor, you get up and take a seat.

“Slept on the floor last time because the mattress was too soft,” Geralt says gently. “This one’s a lot harder. That one? Felt like I was sinking into a cloud. Been on the path so long, couldn’t sleep. Didn’t have anything to do with you. As for Yen…” He trails off, shaking his head again. “We... Shit. Don’t know how to say this. Didn’t leave off on the best of terms.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Listen, don’t worry about any of that,” Geralt says quickly. “Won’t have you sleeping on the floor.”

He has a sternness in his tone like he’s expecting you to argue, but you don’t have any desire to.

“If you insist, master witcher,” you reply.

“Mhm. I insist,” he responds, and you move your things off the floor. He seems to relax as you sit next to him. Then he grabs his things and starts getting ready for bed. 

Right, sleep. The thing you’ve been avoiding since last night. In the partial silence that’s disturbed only by Geralt’s breathing, you’re keenly aware of the door at your back, and your heart starts racing like a drum. As you try to get settled in, your hands start shaking. 

Geralt immediately turns toward you, fixing you with that piercing look he commonly wears. “You okay?” he asks. “Pulse just shot up.”

Your mouth is dry when you speak, and your words come out as a hoarse stammer. “Could we… switch sides?” You look pointedly at the bed, and his gaze softens with understanding.

“Sure. Happen to like that side better anyway.”

Despite your fear, his words still pull a weak smile from you. Then you quickly trade sides with him, heart slowing as you settle in and tug off your boots. 

This room has a privacy sheet, which makes things so much easier with your situation. You change into your nightclothes behind it, clean your teeth, then tuck yourself under the sheets, too tired to do anything else.

As you lay down, you realize Geralt is lost in thought, watching you. Still sitting up, hands propped loosely over his thighs. You give him a questioning look, and he stirs and blinks hard, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“The … man you killed,” he murmurs - very hesitantly. “Did-”

“Geralt, I can’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I can’t talk about it.”

He nods. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have pried.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You aren’t angry that he did - you’re angry you can’t seem to tell him.

“You don’t have to be,” you reply after a moment. “I’m not upset.” Then, when he’s silent, you add, “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight,” he says.

You turn over and close your eyes.

Oxenfurt is so very warm in the summer. 

Granted, Velen hadn’t been much better, but it was wet heat, and you’d been used to it - swampy and muggy, boiling you alive. Redania, even along the coast of the sea, is dry.

Too dry. The hot air sears your lungs as you run, legs aching and feet burning like mad. Your shoes have been falling apart for months now, but you haven’t had the coin to replace them. In the midst of everything, your foot hits a stone, and you trip. 

The books you’d been carrying go flying. Your hands throw themselves out to brace your fall, scraping raw against the stone, but they’re still too late. 

The impact knocks the wind straight out of you. 

Your right knee jams into the ground in a blinding flash of pain, and you gasp airlessly, wondering if you’re going to die here until, finally, you can breathe again.

Not without pain. 

Gingerly, you push yourself up into an upright position and look around, trying to compose your rattled mind. Your body aches like the Abyss. 

Shit. 

The notes in your books are scattered everywhere, and you’re already late to class. Your hands are stinging and bleeding, and your knee shoots with pain every time you move it.

But you can’t miss this lecture.

Shakily, you get to your feet, limping around to gather your notes, wincing with pain every time you move. Damned campus. Damned shoes, now broken worse than ever.

As you gather everything into your arms again, a lark flies overhead singing a sweet, cheerful song. You stare at her wistfully for a moment, wishing you shared her freedom, then painfully limp along.

The university always smells of dust and old books, and your footsteps echo in the hall. Somewhere in the distance, there’s the smell of smoke. When you finally make it to class, everyone’s eyes turn to you. 

“Late once again,” Professor von Gratz remarks. “Do not make it a habit.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, ducking your head and hobbling to your seat. If he notices your injuries, he says nothing.

You don’t bother telling him that work held you back, or that someone’s cart toppled over and forced you to take a longer path on your route, or that you tripped. You don’t bother, because you’ve learned they simply don’t care.

Instead, with hands shaking in pain, you sit and organize your books. Just as you’re opening up your notes, the lark from earlier flies in from the open window and lands directly on your desk. 

Her song, which had been so sweet not long ago, is shrill and piercing, deafening this close to you - and no doubt interrupting the lecture. You cast your eyes to the front of the room, worried that you’ll be scolded again, but you find that the professor isn’t there. 

No one is. The room around you is empty. 

Your gaze must sweep the room twenty times before you can finally accept it, because that’s impossible, this isn’t possible. But your eyes don’t lie. The room is empty.

Perhaps you’d somehow injured your head in the fall? Perhaps you’re in the wrong classroom? Surely they couldn’t have all left without you noticing. Could they?

Whatever the answer is, you’ve got to get out of this place.

Gods, your hands are burning. Not stinging like earlier, not even throbbing, but burning. They’d been scraped in the fall but, this… this is not right. 

Blisters are swelling on your palms and fingers, blisters oozing with blood that grow and grow and burn like nothing you’ve ever felt and finally burst, splattering blood on your face. 

Your eyes snap closed and hot bile rushes to your mouth. Gods. You firmly swallow it down, taking a moment to compose yourself. You’ve had worse than this.

With a shaky inhale, you open your eyes again. Breathe. Just breathe.

Still, the bleeding won’t stop. Blood is everywhere - all over your clothes, your skin. When you reach for your things, it gets all over them too. Your books, notes, the desk. All covered in blood. The brooch your parents sent you, a gift for your hard work, is soon doused in it.

Oh, gods, you have to get out of here. Get someone to help you. Where is everyone?

As you helplessly try to gather everything, the lark flies over and firmly pecks at your hand. You hiss in pain but refuse to let go of your books. She pecks again.

“But I need these!” you say. 

Giving a chirp, she hops closer and pecks at your hand, over and over this time until it draws more blood. You’re forced to leave everything but the brooch, which you store safely in your pocket.

Then you follow her out the door.

On the other side, the air is biting. Wind howls in your ears, swirls in your hair, numbs your cheeks. Rain beats down against your scalp and shoulders, and you can’t stop shivering.

Your knee doesn’t hurt anymore. Neither do your hands. The lark perches on your shoulder. The bleeding has stopped. You can’t make sense of any of this.

In front of you lies the mouth of a cave. A deep, dark opening that seems to swallow you even now, where you stand. Your knees seem ready to give out at any moment.

In a flutter of feathers, the lark takes flight again, resuming her song as she circles around the cave’s entrance. 

She wants you to follow, you realize.

But there’s something here, something in the ground that threatens to sink you, something in your gut so dark you can’t stomach it. Evil. Evil that bleeds into your bones, makes your hair stand up, fills your mouth with the taste of metal.

“I won’t go in there,” you say. Your voice is shaky, but your resolve is firm. “I won’t.”

The lark lets out a dejected chirp and swoops inside. You realize something, then. You realize that if you don’t follow her in, you’ll be all alone. And even at the mouth of this horrific place, you can’t stand to be alone.

So you follow.

As soon as you step inside, you find a torch in your hand. The warm, glowing light offers solace, and so does the lark’s song - echoing all around. Still, the evil remains underneath, coating the walls, coating the mud on your feet. The lark is so much faster than you are.

“Wait, slow down,” you plead, trying to keep up. Gnarled roots and broken stones threaten to trip you, and you find yourself stumbling more than walking. The lark’s song is still present, but you’re falling more and more behind.

Then, all at once, the singing stops. It’s just… gone. No echoes. No more feathers fluttering with the beat of her wings. Nothing. You stand there, holding your breath, waiting, praying that you’ll hear her again. But after a terrible moment of silence, your torch goes out.

You’re left in complete darkness. 

Ice floods your veins. Pure, chilling terror that sinks into your chest, your stomach, your legs. Your heart thunders against your ribs, and your breathing is deafening in your ears. The hair on the back of your neck and arms stands up.

Trying your best not to panic - panicking won’t help - you turn around, blindly stretch your hands out in front of you, and start moving. Slow, careful steps. No light to guide you, no sound aside from your heart and your breath. Shaking with fear.

Then something warm closes around your arm. 

Your body reacts in pure, unadulterated instinct, jolting and shoving, trying to get away from the pinned grip that’s now pressing on you, out, out, out. 

For a moment, you’re lashing out in fear, and then… then you finally see a warm pair of honey-gold eyes above you and white hair and-

“Easy,” comes Geralt’s gravelly, sleep-touched voice. “Easy. It’s me.”

You freeze for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief, going limp. It’s him, you’re safe, just another dream. You’ve never had that dream before.

Trembling, you bury your face in your hands. “Geralt,” you say shakily. 

He hesitantly touches you again, soothingly running his hand over your arm, and you have to fight back a sob at the gentle act of comfort. 

“I - I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Pretty fierce claws you’ve got there, though.”

Despite the humor lacing his tone, horror washes over you. Did you scratch him? You pull your hands from your eyes and look him over, searching for evidence of an injury, and it presents in a scratch against his right arm. There’s a clear imprint of long pink lines dug into the skin, even drawing blood in places.

“It’ll be gone in five minutes,” Geralt says calmly. “My fault. You were having a nightmare - tried to wake you up without thinking. Should’ve gone about it differently.”

“I hurt you.”

The words are raw and pained. After everything you’ve already put him through, you’d not only woken him up but also scratched him. Drew blood.

“Doesn’t hurt at all, actually,” he says. “Remind me to tell you later about how Dandelion and I once had to share a bed. Snored like a log, kicked the shit out of me all night long. Pretty sure I broke a rib.”

The words are clearly meant for comfort, but they don’t make you feel any better. You gently run your fingers over the wound and Geralt doesn’t even wince. It doesn’t change the fact that you still feel awful. 

“I should bandage it up.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it’ll be gone in five minutes. Maybe even less. Witchers heal fast.”

“I know, but I-” 

You stop mid-sentence, freezing in place.

As you’re only realizing now, Geralt is shirtless. Shirtless and scarred everywhere. Your eyes trail over his torso, taking all of it in - the raised pink lines, rosy strokes against his porcelain skin. You’ve never seen this many scars in your life.

Most are long claw marks, scattered along his torso. There’s a deep imprint of a bite mark where his shoulder meets his neck. His chest has a star-shaped wound on the right side, and there are three diagonal, round imprints stretching across his ribs.

He’s lean, too, lean and broad and just as muscular as you’d imagined, if not more, and - oh, gods, you’re staring again.

“You - you’re shirtless,” you say dumbly. You wince at your own words. Why? Why had you just said that? Why does this man make every ounce of intelligence bleed out of you? 

Geralt looks faintly smug at your shock; a cat-like smile paints itself on his lips, but only for a moment. 

“Yeah,” he finally replies, eyes fixed on you. “Shirtless. You asking me to put a shirt on?”

“A shirt?” you say faintly. “No - I mean… I…” 

He smiles again. It’s quickly replaced by something with more intensity, something still laced with humor and curiosity, but.. different. There’s something suggestive, something warm about his gaze that makes you feel like the floor’s going to fall out from under you. 

You shoot him a glare. “Be quiet and sit still,” you snap. “I need to bandage your arm.” Your cheeks scald from within, and you fiercely ignore his eyes on you.

Geralt lets out an amused hum from deep in his chest but doesn’t protest further. 

You grab some bandages from your pack and return to him, then carefully dab on the celandine salve he’d insisted you take with you this morning. You still despise doing any healing, but this is small enough that it doesn’t do more than lightly tug at your heartstrings.

“There,” you proclaim when it’s done. “I’m sorry. Again.”

He takes two fingers and places them under your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking him in the eyes. Or at least, you would be - were you not stubbornly keeping your gaze down toward the bed. 

“Told you, you’ve got to stop saying that,” he says, voice low. His tone is soothing but it only makes you restless, drives you insane.

You finally look at him and narrow your eyes, heart pounding like mad, and you know he can hear it. “You’re too patient with me.”

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Think so?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re wrong. Too harsh on yourself.”

He’s so close to you now that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, the warmth that his hands share: rough, callused hands that so gently cradle your chin. He still smells of grass and oud and the sweet earthiness of the outdoors, and his lips look so very soft and inviting and… gods, you’ve wanted him since you first saw him. You can’t pretend anything else anymore. 

Geralt must notice the way you’re looking at him, because something in his gaze shifts - sharpens. His eyes go even warmer than before, and his lips part, and are… are you imagining that he’s leaning toward you? On pure instinct, you tilt your chin up a little further and -

Suddenly wide-eyed, Geralt tenses and looks at the door, clearly hearing something you can’t. Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash from downstairs.

“Shit,” Geralt remarks under his breath and, to your dismay, he quickly drops his hand from your chin. Then he gets up to pull on a shirt - which is also much to your dismay.

“If that’s who I think it is…” he says, not bothering to finish the phrase.

Yennefer, you think glumly. Without another word, you follow him down the stairs. Clearly, there’s some kind of argument happening; voices are flowing up from the first floor.

“Look, I’m sorry about the fuckin’ glass, alright?” comes a voice that is most certainly not Yennefer. “I’ll pay for it, blah blah blah. Whatever you want.”

“Lambert?” Geralt calls, moving partway down the stairs. “Huh. Can’t go anywhere without getting into an argument.”

His words are teasing, and the fondness in them doesn’t pass you by. Another friend? But Lambert turns, and you’re immediately stricken - because he’s clearly another witcher. 

Two swords, thick armor, and, as your wish forces you to follow Geralt further down the stairs, you see the tell-tale glowing yellow of the stranger’s eyes. Just like Geralt’s, only not as warm. 

Something in this Lambert’s gaze makes you wary, and you find yourself shadowing Geralt, hiding yourself behind his frame as much as you can. Luckily, you seem to escape unnoticed, because Lambert just crosses his arms over his chest and grins at the sight of Geralt. 

“Look who it is,” he drawls. “Wondered if I’d see you here, pretty boy.”

“What brings you here?” Geralt asks, lightly clapping him on the shoulder. “Keira with you?”

“No,” Lambert answers tightly. Something pulls at his face before it vanishes, melting into a scowl as he looks around. “Eskel is, though,” he adds. “He’ll be here soon.” 

Geralt’s brows raise. “Eskel’s here, too?”

“Ran into each other on a contract,” Lambert says. “Sort of like me and you with that ekimmara, only this time it was a noonwraith and - well, long story. He’s hitching up his horse. I needed a fuckin’ drink.”

“Geralt, he just broke my best glass!” Dandelion fusses, in the midst of sweeping up the mess a few feet away. You hadn’t noticed him there with Geralt in front of your view.

“And I told you I’d pay for it,” Lambert replies. “Fuck’s sake.”

Dandelion’s eyes narrow. “How many times must I repeat that it was priceless? If you hadn’t waltzed in and served yourself at an ungodly hour, this all could have been avoided. That glass was my prize from last year’s poetry tourney - I can’t simply go and replace it!”

“Boo fuckin’ hoo,” Lambert mutters under his breath.

Dandelion’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth, but anything he’s about to say is swiftly interrupted.

“Geralt, is that you?” chimes another voice. This one is lighter, and with an accent you don’t quite recognize. “Welcome back!”

The source of the sound is a blonde trobairitz with sparkling blue eyes. She gives Geralt a warm smile and pulls him into a brief hug.

How many friends does Geralt have? How many of them are here? 

You don’t like to be envious, but seeing him surrounded by people who clearly know and care for him - and knowing that there must be many, many more out there - it makes your chest ache with a fierce longing. You’ve never had this many friends, not in your whole life.

“Priscilla!” Dandelion exclaims, immediately abandoning his sweeping and leaping to his feet. He gently grips her shoulder, and his gaze clings to her every feature as he beams at her. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you! But… what happened? You weren’t due to be back for another week!” 

“The competition was canceled, love,” Priscilla says, giving a small frown. “No one would tell me why, but - if the rumors are to be believed - someone gambled away the prize money. All of us were sent away before it started.”

Outrage crosses Dandelion’s features. “They had you go all that way only to send you back? And over some gambling fiasco, at that? That’s… that’s entirely unacceptable!”

“And I’m sure you’ll be writing a very strongly-worded letter of protest,” Priscilla replies brightly. You find yourself immediately endeared to her. 

“Of course I will, my dear!” Dandelion says, hopping over the seemingly forgotten pile of glass on the floor. “This world has no respect for artists, I tell you!” 

He scurries away, presumably to grab some paper. Priscilla just shakes her head with a fond smile and takes a seat at the bar.

“So,” she says calmly, framing her hands on the sides of her chair. “Tell me, what have I missed?”

Geralt, in his usual laconic manner, begins to brief Priscilla on what he knows about Dandelion and Yennefer - omitting you and the djinn, of course . You still haven’t been noticed, and the discomfort of the situation is growing more and more. You and Geralt can only delay telling them for so long.

As your mind starts to drift, you take notice of the fact that Lambert has skulked away to the other side of the bar and poured himself a drink. He nurses his Redanian lager with a distant gaze, and you can’t help but think that he looks the way you feel: awkward, out of place, and incredibly lonely. 

He must sense your gaze on him, because he looks up at you and narrows his eyes. You immediately look away.

“…got in some kind of fight with Yen,” Geralt is saying. “Haven’t seen her, though.”

“And why are you here?” Priscilla asks. “I imagine you’ve not come just to visit me and Dandelion?”

Guilt pulls at Geralt’s expression. “Yeah. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Long story.”

Priscilla raises her brows and perks up - just the way Dandelion had last night - and you want to laugh at the clear similarities between the two. You wonder if Dandelion will remember to ask you about the ‘gritty details,’ as he’d put it.

“Not you, too,” Geralt sighs. 

Priscilla lets out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t write about anything you don’t want me to. Unless, of course, it’s terribly exciting.”

It isn’t, you think. Not the way that the other ballads about Geralt are exciting.

Before Geralt can answer, the door opens, and all of you turn. Another witcher, you realize in excitement. This must be Eskel.

He’s tall, broad, and stocky, with scars that run down the right side of his face and a leathery red jacket rolled up to his elbows. Two swords. Yellow eyes. He grins when he sees Geralt, and the expression melts any initial intimidation he might have given off.

“Hey, Wolf,” he greets, coming closer and shaking Geralt’s hand. His voice is warm, deep, and assuasive. “Good to see you.” 

“You too, Eskel,” Geralt replies. “Nasty wound you’ve got there. That from the noonwraith?”

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but there’s a deep cut in Eskel’s neck, trickling partially-dried blood down onto his shirt.

“Yeah,” Eskel says, leaning against a table. “It’ll heal. Got some Swallow with me. What brings you here?”

“Long story,” Geralt replies. “Listen - I know it’s unlikely, but… either of you happen to hear anything about a djinn lately?”

Lambert snorts. “What the hell is the deal with you and djinns?” he asks. “Oh, wait! Let me guess: you finally got tired of being Yennefer’s lapdog, and now you want to beg another djinn to please take back your wish.”

“Cut it out, Lambert, ” Eskel says. “Besides - they already undid that wish.” 

Your chest wrenches. Geralt and Yennefer undid the djinn’s wish?

“Mhm,” Geralt says tightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Remember telling you that pretty explicitly, in fact. You drunk already?”

Lambert rolls his eyes. “I forgot, alright? Forgive me if I don’t remember every intimate little detail of your life. Shit, don’t tell me you’re here to redo it?”

“Got nothing to do with Yen,” Geralt insists. “Just need a djinn.”

“A djinn?” Dandelion has returned, paper in hand, and both he and Priscilla are gazing at Geralt with newfound interest - as if they’re already drafting up titles for a ballad in their minds. The bard grins widely and takes a seat on a nearby chair. “What’s this about a djinn?”

Geralt sighs, and you immediately feel awful for him. You know that it’ll be embarrassing for him to tell them the truth, and, well, he shouldn’t have to. You’re the one who made that idiotic wish - it’s only fair that you're the one who has to tell them.

Without thinking, you step out from behind Geralt and, despite trembling, speak as clearly as you can. “I’ll explain. It’s my fault, anyway.”

Poorly chosen words, because Geralt gives you a chiding look, and you can hear his voice in your mind: Gotta stop blaming yourself. 

Too late. At the sound of your voice, everyone’s gaze immediately shifts to you, and all the blood quickly drains from your face.

“There you are!” Dandelion exclaims. “I wondered when you’d be joining us!”

“Been here the whole fuckin’ time,” Lambert points out, pouring himself another drink. “Hiding behind Geralt.”

You ignore them both, swallowing hard and taking collected, even breaths as you try to ground yourself. 

“Geralt is asking about a djinn for… well - because of me,” you continue. Gods, this isn’t coming out right, but you have no choice but to go on. “Not long ago, I came across a djinn, and for my third wish, I asked for protection to be with me always. It… sent him.” 

You pause for a moment, taking in the various combinations of expressions on people’s faces, which generally seems to be a mix of shock and delight - aside from Eskel, who simply looks shocked. 

In their stunned silence, you hesitantly continue on. “It took the always part literally, so… now we can’t be more than a few steps apart, and we need another djinn to undo it.”

There are about ten seconds of sheer, ear-ringing silence before Lambert slams his mug down on the bar. “You’re shitting me,” he says.

The room explodes. 

Dandelion starts firing off questions like his life depends on it, trailing off mid-sentence to jot down ideas. Eskel shakes his head with a grin and takes a seat, pouring himself a drink. Lambert snorts out a joke about ‘Geralt, always having shit like this happen.’ 

Priscilla lets out a shocked laugh before clapping her hand over her mouth - then reaches over to borrow some paper from Dandelion. Geralt, meanwhile, crosses his arms and sighs loudly, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, Geralt.”

His expression softens as he drops his hand and looks at you. “Hey. Not your fault. Gonna drill that into you sooner or later.”

You give him a weak smile, still shaking.

“Geralt, Geralt,” Dandelion croons, waltzing up to the two of you. “I’ve been searching for an idea for my next ballad for months now, and the day after you show up-”

“You’re not gonna write about this, Dandelion,” Geralt says. “Promise me.”

“You must be joking!” Dandelion exclaims. “This will be my best ballad yet! Two unsuspecting citizens, bound by fate-”

“Fate?” you exclaim. “What does fate have to do with it?”

Dandelion raises a brow. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m assuming you didn’t specify Geralt for your wish?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I didn’t picture anyone at all. If anything, I just thought I’d have some kind of invisible protection.”

“Then that settles it!” he replies brightly. “The djinn decided - out of every being, every number of things in this vast universe that could apply to your wish - he would send none other than Geralt of Rivia as your protection. Not only that, but he entwined the two of you closely together, unable to be apart. What is that, if not fate?”

“A djinn having a bit of fun,” you reply bitterly. “You can’t think I was destined to find that djinn?”

“Of course!”

You don’t respond. You can’t, because your throat locks up. 

If you were destined to find that djinn, then all of the horrible things that have happened to you over the course of your life were destined as well. It’s an awful thought. 

Were your parents doomed to die a terrible death from the moment they first took a breath? It’s ridiculous to think so. Your parents were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the crossfire of a newly emerging disease. 

But the more you think about it, the more doubt slowly starts to trickle into your mind. 

Your parents were born poor and died poor, and no amount of work they did ever could have changed that. As is common for the poor, they were financially trapped, stuck in the place they were born - a place that would soon become riddled with disease.

If their circumstances guaranteed that they were in that godforsaken town when the plague hit, then… is that destiny? Was fate setting up a long string of events, using the price of their blood to drag you back to Velen? Velen, where you’d built a shitty little life for yourself that got ripped apart again and again? Velen, where you’d finally come across that djinn?

Was it fate that put the words of that wish in your mouth, or was it your own stupidity? 

“You see?” Dandelion says, seeing the expression on your face. “It’s fate, through and through. And, it will be making an excellent ballad. Tell me-”

“Dandelion,” Geralt interjects. “No ballads. Not happening.”

Dandelion sets his paper down with a scowl, crossing his arms. “Geralt, you are a cruel, obdurate man. You’re denying me the best ballad I’ll ever write.”

“That hurts, Dandelion,” comes Geralt’s response. “No more ballads? Don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Dandelion sighs, fixing his gaze on you. “Please, try to talk some sense into him. He’ll have to see the light sooner or later.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Sorry, but something tells me that if anyone was going to change his mind, it’d be you.”

Dandelion grips your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he says, a bit slyly. “I see the way he looks at you.”

Your heart skips a beat. Surely Geralt must have heard that? When you turn to look at him for confirmation, he meets your eyes head-on, but… the look on his face is something new. Discomfort, you realize. 

Your stomach faintly sinks, but Geralt simply clears his throat and speaks. 

“Now that that’s dealt with,” he says, “Any of you happen to know where I might find a djinn?”

There’s a long beat. Then Priscilla speaks.

“I can’t say whether it’s true for certain,” she starts, “but during my recent travels, I heard many talk of a djinn in the Blue Mountains, left by a mage who wished to tame it. He was killed before he could manage it.” 

The Blue Mountains. A journey like that would take… you don’t even know how long. Weeks, at the very least.

“Know anything else?” Geralt asks. “Got any specific locations, the name of the mage?”

“They said it was held in a cave near the borders of Kaedwen and Aedirn,” she answers. “But I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Geralt’s brows pinch. “That border goes on for miles. Lots of caves near there. Long way to travel for a rumor, too.”

“It is. And I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she replies. “Unfortunately, most of this information came from a plastered troubadour on the street who was using it to compose a ballad. Though, there were others who all said the same thing, and the details were consistent enough that it just might be true. Not that anyone seemed in much of a rush to go get the djinn, mind you.”

Geralt’s shoulders slump a little, and you ache with sympathy for him. None of what she’d just said is exactly reassuring.

“Gotta see if I can find out anything else about that,” he says. “Appreciate you telling me.”

She nods and gives a weak smile, and Geralt’s gaze briefly skims over the rest of the crowd.

Eskel shakes his head. “Sorry, Wolf,” he says. “Haven’t heard anything.”

Geralt shrugs. “Knew it wasn’t likely. Got something to go on, at least.”

“Yeah, good luck,” Lambert snorts, working on his second lager. “Wouldn’t want to be you.”

“Fuck off, Lambert,” Geralt replies, sighing deeply. “C’mon, better see if there are any books about that djinn,” he tells you.

You follow him without a word.

“Nice to, er, meet you!” Priscilla calls. 

You give her a smile and wave before you leave, but your stomach coils with fear. What if you two don’t find another djinn? What if you’re stuck like this forever? How long will it take for Geralt to lose his seemingly endless patience with you?

“Don’t mind Lambert,” Geralt says, interrupting your thoughts. “He can be a prick. Nothing personal.”

“It’s fine.” You don’t particularly feel like talking at the moment. 

His pace slows into a halt. “Don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it,” he tells you.

“I know. It’s really fine, Geralt. I wasn’t thinking about him.”

He gives a nod and starts walking again, and you follow alongside him. “Gonna tell me what you were thinking about?” he asks.

You consider it for a long, vulnerable moment. “Alright, Witcher. But only if you tell me what you were thinking just now, too.”

His brows rise. “Huh. Guess that’s fair.” He rolls his shoulders, hesitating before he answers. “Was wondering about Yen - where she is. That curse she mentioned.”

“You’re worried about her,” you say.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Pretty powerful on her own. Can’t think of why she’d need my help. Doesn’t sound good.”

“Maybe she just wanted an outside perspective,” you offer. “Another pair of eyes to catch something she hadn’t seen.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced. “Your turn.”

You let out a puff of air, digging your nails into the skin. “I was worrying about the djinn,”you confess. “About what would happen if we don’t find another one.”

He doesn’t seem at all phased by this. “Wouldn’t worry about that just yet,” he says. “Haven’t even started looking, really.”

“How many djinns have you come across?”

“Two,” he answers. “Think you already know about the first. Helped Yen find the other one.”

“Was it hard to find?”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t say it was easy, exactly. Yen had me searching shipwrecks at the bottom of the ocean for clues. Turned out, the owner died before the djinn fulfilled his three wishes. Ended up having to fight it, make a deal. Wasn’t impossible, though.”

You resist the urge to point out that Yennefer is an extremely powerful sorceress and you aren’t, and instead ask the question you’ve really been wanting to know the answer to. “And you used that djinn to undo the first djinn’s wish?”

He huffs. “Thought you might have caught that. Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, and his expression sombers. “Yen… she was never sure if what we were feeling was real. Could never trust it. Wanted to know for sure.”

 A lost emotion pulls at your chest; grief, perhaps. 

“It wasn’t real, then?”

There’s a long pause before he answers. 

“It was.” 

You understand instantly. 

Your heart squeezes painfully at the memory of Hanna, an old friend. No longer, but that’s not what’s important. She’d been in love with the farmer’s boy, and you’d bet Antoni down the road that they’d marry before spring. 

You’d lost that bet. 

They’d quarreled most days. Rarely was there a day of stillness between them. Still, the look in their eyes had been love, real love - and you’d known that look anywhere, and you’d thought…

“Explain it to me,” you’d asked her one night. “Don’t you love him?”

“Of course!” she’d said, wringing her hands. “But love doesn’t make it right.”

“No? Then what does?”

She’d gone all starry-eyed then, suddenly looking as if she was a thousand years away. “I think… I think it’s peace,” she’d finally answered. “I couldn’t come home to him like that, spend hours arguing, because all it did was drive me insane. I wanted us to be happy, but we weren’t. And love doesn’t change that.”

And just like that, you understood.

There’s no mention of Priscilla’s djinn in any of the Novigrad bookshops - or anywhere else, as a matter of fact.

Geralt spends hours trekking through places, perusing titles and chasing down leads. Each time he sets a book down or a trail goes cold, his expression is nothing short of grim.

You browse through a book or two, but nothing pulls at your interest enough to keep you from your thoughts, which return again and again to that dream - and what happened after. You’re restless in this city, hoping for and dreading an end to all this searching. 

Eventually, when the sun has gone low in the sky, Geralt gives up and takes you back to The Chameleon, where Eskel and Lambert have headed off on another contract, but Dandelion, Priscilla, and Zoltan are chatting at a table.

“There you two are!” Dandelion exclaims. “Come now, have a seat! We were just discussing the new Gwent faction.”

“Never understood it, myself,” Zoltan remarks, leaning back in his seat. “The faction’s shite.”

Geralt pulls a chair out for you, and you take a seat - cheeks going hot.

“Gonna grab us some dinner,” he says. “Want anything specific?”

You shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He gives a nod and walks away, and you hear him ordering - just close enough to be in bounds of the wish.

You shift in your seat, suddenly very uncomfortable at the attention directed on you.

“Do you play Gwent?” Priscilla asks. 

“A little,” you reply.

Dandelion grins. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it?”

Priscilla shoots him a stern look. “Ignore him. What do you think about the Skellige deck?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never played with it or against it.”

“Geralt has a deck,” Dandelion exclaims. “Surely he can pull it out, play a few rounds with you.”

Your heart drops. “Oh, I don’t-”

“Don’t worry,” Priscilla says. “It’s a difficult deck to play against - no one will blame you for losing a round.”

“I don’t have a deck anymore,” you explain. “I can’t play.”

Dandelion leans forward, eyes gleaming. “That wouldn’t have to do with the djinn, would it?”

“Ah, shut your trap, bard,” Zoltan says. 

“I’m only asking!” Dandelion retorts. “Anyway, I’m sure you could borrow the Skellige deck, and play against one of us! I doubt Geralt would mind.”

“Would mind what?” Geralt asks behind you, having returned with your dinner. He sets the two plates on the table and takes a seat next to you.

With the lacking space between the seating, his thigh presses against yours, and you quickly stuff a bite of food into your mouth - an attempt to distract yourself from the heat radiating off of him. Heat that’s slowly transferring to you.

“Oh good, you’re back!” Dandelion says. “You wouldn’t mind lending your companion here your Skellige deck, would you? Just for a few rounds, of course.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t mind.” Geralt starts on his food, brows pinching as he observes you. “Who’re you playing against?” 

“No one,” you say quickly. “I’m alright, really, I don’t need to play-”

“Why?” Dandelion interjects, giving you a sly smile. “Afraid you’ll lose?” 

Unfortunately, if there’s one thing you happen to be competitive about, it’s Gwent.

“Not by skill, no,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I have no idea if the deck is any good.”

“Aye, but a shitty deck doesnae matter when the whole faction is shite,” Zoltan says.

“Hey,” Geralt says, sounding a little wounded. “Happened to win the Toussaint Gwent championship with that deck.”

You let out a deep sigh from your nose and shake your head, setting down your fork. “Fine. I’ll play.”

Dandelion beams and pulls out his deck, and Zoltan snorts in amusement, crossing his arms.

“Hang on. Gotta go get the deck first,” Geralt says. “Might as well finish your food.”

You never get the chance.

Just as he’s spoken, Geralt goes wide-eyed and stares at the door, the way a cat does when it’s heard something you haven’t. The way he had earlier, when Lambert breaking the glass had interrupted the kiss.

A cold wind blows through the room. It chills you deep and down to the very bone, as if ice is seeping through your veins and freezing every inch of you from the inside out. A sharp, deep floral scent accompanies it, fuzzing your mind over with intoxication. 

The door bursts open and silence washes over the room as two women enter rather gracefully - one with ashen hair and a scar on her left cheek, and the other, well… you know who the other is. You’ve read Dandelion’s ballads. 

Raven hair and violet eyes - this can be none other than Yennefer of Vengerberg.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 8

HIIII, I did have some troubles with the story but I'm here now!

MASTERLIST (parts 1 - 7)

8. The Interview

*gif not mine*

You wake up sweaty and crying. 

A murderer, you are a murderer, you are a killer, you are a monster. 

«Haymitch!» You scream, panic in your voice. He comes close and hugs you tight, allowing you to kiss him through the tears. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t cuddle you like you are a kid, but he stays there.

«I’m sorry I woke you up.» You whisper, when you are calmed down a bit. Gosh he had the roughest night and he has to console you.

«Nonsense.» He replies, but you know he is tired, his eyes are baggy and puffed and his hands are trembling. 

«You were having a rough night and I…» He stops you with a kiss. 

«And you cleaned up my mess and stayed with me. Stop. This. Nonsense.» 

You shut up and kiss him again. You feel guilty because you get to kiss this amazing guy and that man is dead, but most of all you feel guilty because you don’t. You tighten his embrace and pepper kisses on his face. It’s weird how different he can be at night. 

You are not feeling guilty because the man you killed was a violent rapist. One less in the world. You murdered him and now he won’t assault other victors. And you were protecting the people you loved. You were protecting them. You repeat that to yourself like a mantra.  

«Are you feeling better?» You ask him with a concerned look on your face.

«Yes, sweetheart, I feel better. Sleep, we have a rough day ahead of us.» 

You would really want him to know you understand. You may not get completely what he experienced, but you get what an addiction is. He is severely traumatised. 

You are in love with him. You may be dead in two days and you are in love with someone for the first time, and you know Holly wouldn’t be pleased - a grumpy man fifteen years older than you. But if a miracle happens and you win the games (the only chances are whatever happened to Annie Cresta, maybe), you are sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him.

He doesn’t get to say a word about it.

Today is the day of the interview. Today is the last day you have to pretend to be a perfect princess to survive. 

You just decided.

The preparation team comes in the morning, so you make sure you are in your room and not Haymitch’s and you wait for them to arrive. Everybody is still sleeping, Katniss and Peeta included. 

«Girl, hi! You were so good, a TEN? We may have a winner this year!» You hear Portia’s voice and go to hug her. You don’t think Twelve will have a winner this year, you are probably dead already and you can’t even mention Clark winning it, but what could you say? “No, I’m gonna die”? No, you have to play pretend. 

«I’ve thought of something pretty special for you.» She can’t contain the excitement from her face. 

«I’m in your hands.» You assure her. 

The next two hours are fully dedicated to preparation and when you get to look yourself in the mirror you remember how happy you were the first time someone made you this cute. Sure, you hate the Capitol, but you can’t help it, you love fashion, dresses and make up. Just not as much as you love, you know, staying alive.

Your raven hair is silky smooth, your eyes are painted with silver glitter but the dress is what is really stunning. Blue and silver, with diamonds on the shoulders and the neckline, long lace sleeves and a massive gown. You look like an ancient goddess of nature, not a twenty-four year old tribute.

«You are a princess!» Portia is behind you, looking at her masterpiece. You don’t know who the interview will be, but there is no doubt the dress will be remembered.

«You think so?»

«Are you ready? We have to go or Effie will blame it on…» Haymitch appears in the room but soon his words fade. «Me.»  

«Do I look good?» 

He just nods until you are in the elevator, for Portia’s sake probably. Still, you are selfish and you really would want him just to scoop you up and kiss you in front of everybody. This is impossible, you know that. 

«Do I look good?» You repeat, even if your friends at home would say against it. This is not a great technique, being utterly in love - in lust - with someone who can clearly notice it. You should play hard to get, maybe? But then again most of the people don’t die in two days, so you feel no shame in saying that you really like him. 

«If only this elevator wasn’t transparent.» He winks at you and then, probably after a few words in his mind, he places a hand on your back.

«What would you do, mentor?» You grin, you can’t help it but flirt with him, especially on something that you like so much like the dresses.

«Teach you a few things, sweetheart.» 

«Don’t call me sweetheart if you don’t want to kiss me!» 

He stops you before you could go for a cuddle, because he knows you too much. «After, in the penthouse. I will be in the audience and Effie and Portia will be with you on the sofa.»

You bright up at the mention of your escort. «Do you think Effie will like the dress?»

«You are gorgeous, it’s impossible not to love it.» He says, clearly annoyed. 

«Good. But to be fair she is gorgeous-gorgeous, like naturally a goddess so I don’t think it counts.» 

He rolls his eyes. «I don’t even want to know if I need to be jealous.» 

«You should just keep an eye on us.» You joke. 

Turns out you are not that ready for an interview.

«That I don’t mind.» He kisses you on the cheek, and in a moment you are ready for the interview.  

You are a little ashamed of yourself for being scared. You love people, you love talking, and you actually like being Panem Sweetheart when they don’t talk about puking to eat more or bullshit like that. You wanted to be a teacher, you are not exactly an introvert. 

Then why are you so nervous? 

You want Effie or Portia, they would bring you up. In situations like these you always want your friends. 

You really, really tried not to think about your friends at home, because if you think about them you wonder if they watch you, if they have food for the month, how are the kids at school and the one you babysit. You miss Madge, the major’s daughter. She is a little younger than you, Katniss’s age, but you two bonded while you cleaned the major’s house. 

Now is not the time to think about it, Daisy.

«So, District 12. Do you miss home?» Caesar asks. This year he has a purple wig, less beautiful than last year’s one. He is in front of you and he still manages to look like he's on television. No wrinkles, no flaws, very Capitol. It’s kinda scary.

«Of course I miss home, I miss the children. I wanted to be a teacher, and I’m a babysitter. I was.» You correct yourself with a bright smile. «But I discovered I like dresses and fashion.»

«Really? Not many tributes say thay!» Yeah, maybe because we are dragged here to slaughter each other. 

«Oh well, Caesar, I have to say that Capitol City surprised me, but the people are very nice!» Liar liar. The only nice people in the Capitol are Effie and Portia, and from what you saw, Cinna. But of course you can’t tell that to Caesar Flickerman, Panem's most beloved showman. «And thanks to my escort, Effie Trinket, I now know what it feels to be pretty.»

If President Snow got to threaten Effie because of you he is aware you love her so much, so for what it’s worth you want her to have the recognition she deserves.

«You seem very fond of your escort.»

«Yeah, I mean, Effie is a genius, and so is my mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. I wouldn’t have been able to have a ten without them, I have a chance thanks to them. And to Portia, who designed this beautiful dress!» You really want Effie to be happy, but you feel like you have to mention your entire team. You can see Haymitch in the audience, nodding at you. 

«Oh, and this beautiful dress is for someone in particular? Like a suitor?» 

«Not exactly. No, mom, I don't have a boyfriend!» You look directly at the camera, and you hear that the people in the audience are laughing. Good. «But I do like someone.»

«A boy from your district?» Caesar leans towards you, like you are gossiping in the market. You play along. 

«A man from my district. The most awesome and handsome and intelligent man I know.» 

«So you have to win for him.» He takes your hand. As much as you despise Capitol City, you don’t think Caesar Flickerman is a bad person. He is really trying to make you look good, maybe he is like Effie, simply livin’ in luxury, not aware of what happens in the districts. 

«I will win for me. But yeah, I think he will be a good bonus!»

You are quickly dismissed with a lot of claps. It went well. 

You want to go to the penthouse, but Clark is there and truth to be told you don’t even want to listen to him, your interview went well and you just want to go back to relax for the last time, but of course your mentor and escort are not only yours, so you have to wait on the sofa with Effie and Portia.

«You are a talent, girl! When you will be out of the arena I will make you a star!» Effie is not delusional, so she must be a real hopeful woman to say when and not if. Or maybe she really loves you. You hug her tight, just in case, and she gives you a kiss on the cheek like Haymitch did before.

«If I win for a miracle I want to become a dressmaker.» You decide. Not a fancy one, just for the district. You like clothes too much. 

«I expect nothing less, darling girl.»

«Will you be my first model?» 

«I will be honoured.» 

She smiles at you. You made the right decision earlier, you couldn't risk her. Not Effie.

«Let’s watch Clark, then you have to tell me about this man of yours.» 

You roll your eyes - everybody knows you and the other tribute don’t get along, there’s no point in deny it - but stay there to be with them.

«So, Clark, tell us about you. You are from District 12.» Caesar tries really hard to make the guy shine, but all the answers Clarke gives him are dry, laconic and terse. You know he doesn’t want to be there, not shit, you are not really fond of interviews on your last day on earth either, but sponsors could be watching. Doesn’t he want food, supplies and medicines too?

You don’t listen to what he says until he tells Caesar something which catches your attention.

«I don’t think I will win, if I have to be honest.» Liar. He is arrogant and you can see it in his eyes, maybe that’s the strategy he decided with Haymitch. To be… you don’t know what’s the word, pathetic?

«Oh c’mon don’t say that! You are strong, you have a fit body, don’t be humble!» 

You know before he could open his mouth that he has an asset. It’s written all over his bloody disgusting face. 

«Well, it would be easier if my fellow tribute didn’t sleep with our mentor. Really helps with the sponsors.» 

Fuck. You are gonna kill him.

[houseofbreadpakoda]

Naatpu - 2

Ponniyin Selvan X Bahubali Crossover

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The sun had set a while ago. Vandiyathevan was left in his chambers to rest before dinner. He'd tried hard to find the man who'd made Devasena herself fumble, but to no avail. What was his name again....ah Shivudu! He'd been hit by a bull, oh no to be precise he'd been stood infront of a bull to fight. Yuvarani had assumed that the man was walking around masquerading. And well, then he got hit and was now resting in his chambers. It was absolutely necessary to let Aditha know about his dear friend's new *ahem* interest, thus he had sent him a pigeon post hours ago. Devasena had left to prepare for a Krishna Pooja, leaving behind a daasi to serve to Vandiyathevan's needs. Oh and was he served.

"Yuvarani is not the kind to fall in love and bleh bleh, but something has happened to her in the past week."

"Oh I heard that too."

"She refused a proposal from a massive empire and-"

"Let me guess. And people assume it's because of Shivudu....?"

"Exactly!" The daasi exclaimed immediately shushing herself being aware of her surroundings.

Vandiyathevan smiled at her. Wasn't this all he needed after weeks of spying around? A friend to spill some tea with. Vindhya had been Devasena's Sakhi since they were children.

"And what does the yuvarani have to say about that?"

"Of course she denied it." Vindhya said huffing and stretching her hands towards her knees. "But of course the blush across her face betrayed her."

Vandiyathevan remembered how Devasena had teased him about Kundavai that very evening.

"But I agree with the yuvarani, Shivudu definitely looks like he's playing around. Especially his uncle. His antics give everything away."

She was interrupted by the blow of a conch. Vandiyathevan immediately drew his sword close. "No no, that's alright. It's just the Krishna Pooja. It must be starting now." The sound of the conch was immediately replaced by the sound of a flute and then a melodious voice. He moved towards the balcony to hear the melody better. He suddenly turned back. "That's....the yuvarani singing?" He asked, receiving a small nod from a grinning Vindhya.

Vandiyathevan looked back to grab a glimpse at Devasena but instead caught someone else trying to catch a glimpse. Shivudu and his mama were out resting against the pillars grinning at each other from time to time. Oho so the attraction was mutual. Of course it was, how can one not fall for the yuvarani. The man looked familiar. His uncle not so much. He informed Vindhya and scurried downstairs towards the men. Shivudu wouldn't stay put for a second. He'd sprint all around the palace, wherever the melody flowed. The Pooja finally came to an end and so did the song. Shivudu had now dozed on a branch under the moonlight. Vandiyathevan waited for the surroundings to clear up. After a while, he slowly tiptoed to the branch, whispering "Shivudu....heyy Shivudu.....".

Amarendra opened his eyes to see Vandiyathevan up close, and almost drew out his dagger. But soon remembered the act he had put on. He pretended to roll off the branch before Vandiyathevan caught him. "Heyyy!!! Arasan. Arasan. Don't be afraid." Vandiyathevan whispered looking around to make sure he hadn't alerted anybody else. He rested on the branch signalling at Shivudu to relax as well. "I heard you hurt your hand today morning, how are you now?"

" I- I'm well s-sire" Shivudu replied. Vandiyathevan sighed. This was so obviously a play. The man fumbled his words, but didn't have an ounce of fear in his eyes. He shook his head down repeatedly, but his shoulders remained stiff and sturdy. Even when he was woken up suddenly, there was no fear rather he was in a posture of defence. And to top it all, Shivudu hadn't shown any signs of an injury until he brought the topic up. Even now he was only slightly cradling his "injured" arm.

"Good" Vandiyathevan muttered after several moments, "Why don't you go to your chambers and rest. First of all you've injured one of your arms. Now if you'd fallen off the branch and hurt the other? No no that shall not happen. Come let me help you to your chambers." He now looked at Shivudu to see him gazing up. He looked up to see Devasena finishing the final Aarti to the moon. "It was a beautiful lullaby wasn't it?" Vandiyathevan asked suppressing a giggle. "Absolutely" Shivudu answered still under Devasena's spell, which was broken by a giggle soon after.

Shivudu tried to return back to his character, but was so speechless by his view that he just stood there trying to speak while still staring at the yuvarani. Vandiyathevan had had the time off his life seeing all this. "That's no problem, I absolutely understand how much you loveeedd the lullaby, so let's get you to your chambers now shall we?"

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