#i sleep without socks on spring/summer

[gavisuntiedboot]

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Warnings: SMUT!! MDNI or if you're uncomfortable! Profanity!! Swearing!! Ferran and Martin (based on the reactions I think they deserve their own warning)!!

Word Count: 11.2K (fun fact! If you've read the whole story, you've read 46 pages!)

A/N: I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, BUT THERE'S A LOT I WANTED TO INCLUDE IN THIS PART (AS YOU CAN TELL BY THE WORD COUNT)

[Incoming Facetime call from: Gavi]

"Gavi, you're going to have to learn to live without seeing my face 24/7. I don't want you experiencing withdrawal symptoms while I sleep."

"I just had a question about- is that a jar of pickles?"

"Yes. I felt like having a snack."

"You're disgusting."

"Listen, I brought several things back from university life in America, and a pickle addiction was one of them. Let me have little joys in life. What did you call me for? Besides to shame me for my midnight guilty pleasures?"

This was the 7th time in two weeks that Gavi had Facetimed you at odd hours. After your little heart-to-heart while drunk in the club, and him covering for you at work the next morning, he caved into the impulsive thoughts and called you, wanting to make sure you were okay.

"Gavi it's 10pm. If you want me to help you hide a body, call me during working hours."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding at the sound of your voice. You were okay. Like actually okay. All of the distress in your voice, the shakiness, the panic - it had all disappeared. You were back to your cool self, and it filled him with a warm and gooey sense of relief. He kept you on the phone for about 10 minutes before his internal monologue told him it was enough, and he went to bed with a strange tightness in his chest.

For the first three weeks, it had been strictly texts and phone calls. Gavi was still sending you his daily little updates, some relevant, most not.

[Gavi]: Compression socks are really tight on my shins. Feels like they're cutting off my blood flow.

[Gavi]: pedri keeps telling me to eat bananas to help with my back cramps. Fact or cap?

[Gavi]: saw someone on tiktok make a Joao Felix thirst trap. Anything you want to confess?

This texting remained constant, and then he supplemented with phone calls. After the check-up call, he had to find new excuses to call you. He started scheduling his early-morning sessions over the phone instead of over text, asking about your life in the meantime. He started "forgetting" things in your office, calling to tell you he would be there before practice to pick them up. It hadn't annoyed you, per se, but confused you. Why was Gavi so comfortable calling you and just talking about random things on the phone? Initially, you had joked with him to stop calling you so frequently.

"Gavi, personal number. Personal. You should keep all work related stuff to emails only. I don't get paid to listen to you ramble about Game of Thrones."

"I know you well enough by now to know that if you didn't want to hear my voice, you would hang up."

He wasn't exactly wrong. You were not one to shy away from hanging up in someone's face if you were irritated (you had done it to Ferran the one time he called you from Gavi's phone). You also didn't really have anyone else to talk to. Angelika, despite acting unemployed, worked for a design house in the city, and her designs had been approved as part of the new line. She now spent every waking moment working on the spring/summer collection that needed to be shown in February. She had even stopped bugging you to go to the club. The only times you heard from her were when she sent "Hey I'm alive just busy" texts, or on the weekends when she begged you to drive her to the far fabric stores. There weren't many other people that you wanted to talk to. Your friends in the US were several hours behind. Your friends in Barcelona were kind of exhausting, and not who you wanted to hear from after a long day of work. And Martin?

Martin was ... interesting. You definitely liked being with him in person. Your dinners were romantic. Martin always picked you up and took you to the nicest restaurant, allowing you to order the expensive plates that would actually make you full. He always complimented your dress and your eyes and the way you looked despite having a long day at work. He was a theoretical great boyfriend. You liked going out with him every 3-4 days. You liked getting good morning and good night texts and the hot pre-game selfies whenever you checked your phone between shifts at work. But in those late nights when you were bored and lonely, and your TV shows were all boring you, Martin was not the first person you thought of calling.

While he was great over dinner, he wasn't the most entertaining or comforting presence. He had a habit of downplaying a lot of the things you were feeling or going through.

"Baby, people make sexual comments all the time. Just look at how people on Twitter talk about the players. You should be more flattered than anything that he complimented your ass."

That was the last time you ever called him after a long and tiring day of work. Your text messages were filled with only pleasant conversations. A good goal he scored in practice. Praise you received from the rest of the medical staff for your progress. Never your frustration with your job or your life or the sad boring things that regular, not famous not football players went through.

"It's like 7pm this is not a midnight snack."

The sound of Gavi's voice brought you back from your abstract thoughts. You looked at his face lit up on the screen. His hair was a little wild and still slightly damp from his shower. He was in a white t-shirt that hugged his shoulders. He placed his phone down so that he could show you his complaint.

"Remember how we were talking about my knee and thigh tightness? I've been trying to work out the muscle for a while but it's not helping."

He moved back from the camera, letting his black gym shorts and legs come in to the frame. He lifted his left short leg, showing off the pronounced muscles in his thigh. You brought the phone a little closer to your face, focusing on his leg. He flexed the muscle, and you swallowed hard. You had seen some of the best legs in football laying in front of you - so why was Gavi's slightly blurry form on FaceTime overwhelming you?

"Have you been doing the routine I gave you to improve blood flow? It looks like you haven't."

"It's hard to do! I tried multiple times and I'm just in pain every time. We just have a match tomorrow and like it's kind of uncomfortable. It's fine I can just play through it if you don't have any other recommendations."

This made you sit up. If there was one thing that would get both of you in deep shit, it was Gavi playing through a known and documented discomfort.

"You're not going to do that. If you get injured during the match then I-"

"Awe doctora, you're concerned about me getting injured?"

He got up close to the camera, smiling cheekily and feigning shyness. You rolled your eyes.

"If you get injured in the match I will get in trouble because your muscle tightness is in your file. So you have two options: do the blood flow massage I told you to, or I need to email Xavi now and tell him you should be playing a maximum of 60 minutes in tomorrow's match."

This statement made Gavi sober up, looking instantly more serious.

"We're not telling Mister Xavi anything. I actually don't know how to do the blood flow stuff without feeling like I'm peeling off my own skin."

"Would it kill you not to play all 90 minutes tomorrow?"

"Yes." There was not one indication, neither in his tone or on his face, that he was kidding. Gavi's love for football was evident, but it was deeper than most people saw. Barca wasn't just his club - it was the air he breathed, the blood in his veins. It was his family, his brotherhood since he was a child. It was the greatest love he had ever experienced, and he was honestly willing to lay his life down if it meant making Mister and the boys proud. He would die for this club.

"You know what doctora? You can just do it for me tomorrow morning before the match."

"You can't play right after we literally batter your muscles to increase blood flow. You have to do it within the next few hours to have enough time to rest. I wish you told me this morning, I could have..." Your sentence trailed as you looked at your front door. Your car keys were sitting in the dish. You had been thinking about going out to get some dinner, too tired to wait for chicken to defrost.

"Hello? Can you focus on the crisis at hand instead of daydreaming?"

"What if I came over and did it for you now?"

Gavi's eyes got wide and he stared at his screen. He was trying to process the information that had just slithered into his brain. You? At his house? At night? Alone???

"Wait." He said, and then hung up the call. You looked at your screen in confusion.

He stabilized his hands enough to find the contact.

*Calling: ~banana king pepi~ *

"Pick up pick up pick up pick up-"

"Hello?"

"Help. Me."

Pedri paused his game, much to the dismay of his brother, who was about to score a virtual goal.

"Pablo I know you didn't go to regular school, but you should know that in an emergency you should call the police."

"Y/n asked to come to my house."

Pedri bit back a laugh, removing the controller from his lap and putting the call on speaker so Fernando could be a part of the drama.

"You finally confessed that you're in love with her and want to kick her boyfriend's teeth in?"

"I'm not in love with her, we're just friends. That second part you might be right about." Gavi summarized your reasons for coming over quickly, asking Pedri for some sage advice while he and Fer raised their eyebrows at each other in amusement.

"As long as you have condoms, invite her over Hermano."

"I don't like her like that."

"Then why are you nervous about her coming to your place?" That was a good question. He didn't know why the idea of seeing you outside of work put all his internal systems on high alert, but it did. His hands were sweating at the prospect of opening the door and seeing you standing there in something other than scrubs.

"I'm not. I'm just going to tell her to come over. No need to make a big deal about it."

"Have fun Pablito." Fernando chimed in. Gavi scoffed and hung up. He called you once again.

"Where did you go?"

"Pedri called me to make sure we were going to the stadium together tomorrow. So, are you going to come here?"

"You never gave me an address. Or a yes for that matter." You laughed out. Your heart beat began to pick up. Did Gavi not want you at his place? Did he have another girl there? 'Why would he be calling you if another girl was there?' I don't know, brain, men are weird.

"Oh. Yeah. Yes. To coming over. I want you to. I'll text you the address right now." Something in your chest tightened at this statement. Your phone dinged, and you looked at the address Gavi had sent you.

"Cool. I'll be there in 20."

The drive to Gavi's place was calm. Old One Direction played over your car's aging speakers. The chilly night air came through the rolled down windows, winter finally making its first appearances in the middle of November. As you got closer to your destination, the surroundings started to look familiar.

Gavi was looking at the street from the window of his bedroom. In his La Masia shirt and black shorts, he had perched for all 18 minutes that it took you to drive over, right after he tidied the house. He didn't want you to think he was a teenage slob. If Gavi really thought about it, he would have admitted: all he wanted was for you to respect him - see him as a man. Someone put together and capable.

You parked at the bottom of his building, texting that you had arrived. He tried not to, but he ran down the whole staircase, swinging the door open before you had gotten out of the car.

"Hey. You know you live like walking distance from Martin?" You said, approaching the front door. Gavi's face soured at this news. He was never subtle about his distaste for Martin. After that night at the club, he had made it very obvious that he thought you should break up with Martin, or at least give him a stern talking to for leaving you to stumble around drunk and alone - especially since he was the one forcing drinks on you.

"Wonderful. I'll make sure to go and give him a nice neighborly gift."

"Like what? A black eye?"

"I was just thinking of pissing in his bushes but now that you mention it I really do think "bruised" is a good look on him..." He lifted his hand to his chin to look like he was thinking. You shoved him off balance, walking towards the door.

"Lets go, Gavi. I get cranky if I don't get all my beauty sleep."

He walked into the house first, holding the door open for you. You were honestly impressed: the place did not look like a teenager's house. The bottom floor was a spacious living room and dining room, with the kitchen connected by a low wall. The tan walls had vintage Barca and Spain National Team posters hung on them. There was a large TV mounted on the wall, a PS5 placed on the shelf beneath it, a pile of games stacked high. His couch was a long L shape. black leather wrapping around a black coffee table.

"You have a Barca coffee table book?" You asked, giggling slightly as you picked up the massive picture book.

"I've been with the club since I was like 11. Everything I own I have it in Barca colors."

You looked over at the stairs and the soft glow from the top of them. Something in you was dying to know what Gavi's bedroom looked like. How many hoodies he owned, what color his sheets were, how many pillows he slept on...

You shook yourself from this line of thinking. Despite the two of you getting closer and friendlier, Gavi was still technically just your coworker. You shouldn't want to know all these things about him.

"Ok where is the stone I gave you?" You put your hand out expectantly, and he dropped the black massage gua sha in it. Gavi moved to lay on the couch, mimicking what he would do in your office.

"Before you sit down, what have you been using as lubricant?"

He snapped his head at you, cheeks and the tips of his ears turning pink.

"I, I, um, lub- why do you need to know what kind of lubricant I use? That's a really personal question?"

You stared at him in confusion, wondering why he had gotten shy and stuttery at the question.

"So I can use that lubricant on you now?" He stood up, swallowing hard. He took several deep breaths before saying:

"y/n, I didn't invite you here to do anything sexual. If this is a joke that Pedri asked you to play it's-"

"Pablo you brainless bitch. I meant what have you been using as massage lubricant, because you're not supposed to scrape the stone across your dry skin."

You both stared at each other for a long moment. You had one brow raised, smirk playing on your lips. You were holding back a laugh at the thought: Gavi was thinking you wanted to know what he used to jerk off. Or sleep with someone. That second thought made you slightly nauseous. Gavi's eyes were wide, his mouth still open in shock. You had the courage to speak first.

"I see that the reason you have been feeling pain is because you have been giving yourself microabruises. Go get some oil or lotion so I can do this for you, and I expect my gas money in full tomorrow on my desk."

"Can you, uh, turn around?"

"Why?"

"I don't... I don't want you seeing where I got the lotion from."

"See now Pablo, if you had just gone upstairs, I would have thought it was from the cabinet or the bathroom. But since you've made it weird, you've confirmed that it's from your bedside table. Just go before you make this situation more sexually awkward."

“No but I-“

You held up one finger to your lips to silence him, then pointed in the direction of the stairs. He shuffled past you awkwardly and then took off, taking the stairs two at a time. You laughed to yourself. It was always funny seeing glimpses of innocence and youth in Gavi, especially since he was always pushing himself to act older and more mature.

Pablo was not having a good time. He ran to his bathroom to splash cold water on his now violently blushing face. He thought you would be able to see the mess of clothes in his bedroom if he opened the door. Now the conversation had shifted into an oddly sexual realm, and he didn’t know how to deal. The idea of sex didn’t usually embarrass him - it bothered him when the guys would talk about nothing else, but he thought he had finally reached a level of maturity where he could say “pussy” and not giggle. So why was he so damn shy right now? Why was he embarrassed to his core that you had mentioned him jerking off?

Pablo would describe his masturbatory habits as efficient. Once he and his teammates at La Masía turned 14, the medical staff had all sat them down for “the talk”. Obviously there was the parental stuff about safe sex and all that, but from a sports aspect he knew: sexual frustration is bad for performance. So a couple nights a week he would rub one out hoping to ensure optimal performance. Lately, however, he has lessened his “alone time” significantly. Since Ferran had shown him that picture of you, since he started daydreaming about holding your hand, the feel of your skin, he was borderline afraid to jerk off. He didn’t want to see your face. Coming to terms with the fact that he liked your company was already too overwhelming. Pablo was convinced this was a waiting game: you were just new and exciting. Eventually he would see another picture of another girl, and you would go back to “that one girl physio”, and he could jerk in peace.

He came back downstairs, sheepishly handing you a tube of lotion, and then quickly laying on the couch, hoping to avoid your line of sight.

“Lotion for Men? Gavi, you know that your skin won’t melt off it the product doesn’t say ‘for men’ right?”

“We had a media intern last year that saw a tube of strawberry chapstick in my bag, and she sent the picture to 3 or 4 gossip instagram pages, saying ‘look! Stuff for women! Gavi has a girlfriend!’ So now I only use stuff that can’t be mistaken as something for my nonexistent girlfriend.”

“What if they think you have a boyfriend instead?”

“That might be ideal actually. Then maybe I could go home without being mobbed.”

You smiled at Gavi, who was now more relaxed and far less red. His arms were crossed behind his head, legs stretched out and shorts rolled up slightly so you could access the upper parts of his thighs. You placed some lotion on his legs and began rubbing it in.

“Wow. Does the rest of the team know you offer private massage services?” He asked, resting his head and looking up at the ceiling.

“Obviously not. You think Ferran would ever leave me alone if he knew this was an option?”

Gavi laughed loudly at this. Watching you reject and diss Ferran on an almost daily basis was the highlight of training. Sometimes your responses were so creative that he would run to write them down before the end of the break. His personal favorite was when Ferran asked when you two were finally going to go on a date, and you replied with ‘After my lobotomy next week so my brain is immune to mind numbing conversation with you’.

But as he looked down at you, Pablo noticed that your face was twisted in distain. You began moving the stone around his thighs, working in sweeping downward motions. The frown lines etched hard into your skin, eyes narrowed in concentration and slight disgust.

“Does Ferran make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“So the answer is yes he does.” Gavi’s voice was lowering with genuine concern. He and the team, the coaches, and even the rest of the physical staff only really laughed at or brushed off your daily interactions with the player. He hadn’t realized how deeply the comments were bothering you. But now it was evident as you swallowed and started working his thigh a little harder.

“I don’t want to speak ill of your friend.”

“If he’s bothering you, you should have told me. Or someone else on the team. We could have made him stop.”

“But why wasn’t me telling him I didn’t like it enough to make him stop?”

You pressed harder into Gavi now, stone running alone the muscles in his calf. You should have been using a lighter hand, but emotion you had been suppressing for months was all bubbling to the surface.

“You’re going kind of hard on my leg…”

“Why does it have to be you or Xavi or Dr. Gonzalez? Why do my words hold so little weight? So little value?”

“Okay this is painful now-“

“Why does it have to be one of you to say ‘hey, you shouldn’t make sexual remarks to someone on staff’? You think he tells anyone else their ass looks good in scrubs? Or that he’s glad their office has a door with a lock? No. It’s just me. Because I’m a girl he can talk about fucking me in broad daylight around the whole squad, and I have to shut up and keep him happy or I lose my job. It’s just so-“

“Ay fuck y/n!” Gavi yelled out, grabbing your wrist and tugging it forcefully to get you to stop your abuse on his leg. You grabbed his other thigh with your free hand, digging your fingers into the flesh. He looked you in the eyes, and finally noticed the tears starting to form.

“I know how you feel.”

"No you fucking don't, Pablo!" You yelled back, hand digging into his thigh, the other still in his grasp. This is when the first tear finally fell. I had been weighing on you for weeks - the slow realization that you were never going to respected in the way you deserved. A part of you knew that Martin was contributing to this burden as well. The arch of his brow when you talked about sports medicine terms, the mocking smile that played on his lips. The way he had adopted Ferran's disgusting little pet name of 'nurse'. You were disintegrating from the inside, and knowing that the others thought it was a joke, that Pablo thought it was a joke, was the final straw.

Gavi could do nothing but stare. His eyes softened, taking in your slumped form. It was like watching Hercules fall to his knees. Like watch the stars were falling from the sky and hitting the Earth in a fiery blaze. Watching you, who was normally so cool, so confident, so self assured, shake with silent tears was breaking something in Gavi. The way you said his name made his heart physically ache. You rarely diverted from his nickname to use his first name. 'When you did, it usually indicated a serious tone 'Pablo' meant there was something serious, something heavy. Now that heaviness was against your throat, suffocating you, and you were tired of carrying it.

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

"'m sorry. I wont let him talk to you that way anymore."

You composed yourself, pushing yourself off Gavi and wiping your eyes. You looked away, embarrassed that you'd made him comfort you - that you'd broken down in front of him.

"It's okay. I can deal with Ferran."

"But you shouldn't have to."

"It's not your job to protect me, Pablo."

You finished the rest of your job in silence. Your fingers moved expertly around his skin, working out the muscle and pressing into his flesh, a soft gasp or hiss from Gavi being the only sound to fill the room. Your anger was irrational, but you couldn't quell it. You had gotten this far in life without the protection or defense of anyone, and you weren't prepared to be coddled now. You finished quickly, wiping your hands on your pant legs and moving to grab your bag.

"I'm going to go now. Get some sleep for tomorrow's match against Betis. Good night." You tried to walk past Gavi without looking up, but he blocked your path.

"You're in my way."

"You're not leaving while you're upset."

"You want me to stop being upset? Stop pretending you give a shit about my feelings. You want to look like a man? Telling off Ferran so people think you're a good person?" You shoved past Gavi once again, and once again he moved in front of you, blocking the door completely.

"Just because you're older than me doesn't mean I'll let you disrespect me in my own house. I'm not pretending to give a shit. I do give about your comfort and your feelings because last I check, we're friends. I've been waiting to break Ferran's shins for weeks, I've just been waiting for you to say so."

"You think it would make me feel better for you to hurt a teammate? Could you be any more juvenile?"

Gavi took a step towards you, arms crossed over his chest, breathing more heavy. He looked you straight in the eye, not allowing you to break from the gaze.

"You can yell at me all you want. You can be angry at the fact that I care about you. You can punch me," he hit on his chest, "right here if you want to. But I am not a child. Don't refer to me as one. So you can go an be upset and pretend that everything I do is selfish, but you know deep down that no matter how much you push me away, I'm looking out for your best interest." He opened the door and stepped aside.

"Drive safely, doctora."

You walked to your car, turning to gaze at Gavi, who leaned against the door frame, watching you intently. You were the most confusing person he had ever met. You were stubborn and easily irritated. You refused to accept help. You were fucking frustrating. But as he watched you walk to your car, something warm filled his body. He didn't want you to leave. He wanted to rush after you, pull you into his chest again, and take you upstairs. He wanted you to see the mess in his bedroom. He wanted you to lay on the couch. And the drive didn't feel like you were going home. It felt like you had left something important behind.

~

The next morning you were up before your alarm. You couldn't find sleep or peace. Your words to Gavi had eaten you alive all through the night. You knew you had been too harsh, projected too far onto him, but you hadn't been thinking straight. It hurt differently to think that he was laughing at your expense. The guilt followed you around all morning as you prepared yourself for the match. You slicked back your hair, pulling it away from your face, and dressed in the slacks and pullover that all the field medics were regulated to wear. But as you sipped your lukewarm coffee, the guilt still sat in your stomach, swirling and festering and making you nauseous. So you swallowed your pride with your last sip of coffee and pressed the call button.

"Uh, hello? Am I late?" Gavi's voice asked, raspy and dripping with the remnants of sleep. He sounded like a child who was woken up for school.

"Oh no, you're not late. I'm up early... couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" Gavi was now fully awake after processing that you had called him. His heartrate elevated slowly, the sound of your voice helping the tiredness slip away from his very being.

"I... I feel guilty about yesterday. I shouldn't have taken out all my anger on you and your thigh tissue. I really appreciate you looking out for me. I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Gavi was leaning against his sink, swaying back and forth and smiling stupidly. You were thinking about him. You appreciated him. It made him swell with pride. He listened intently to the rest of your apology, hypnotized by the sound of your voice.

"There's no need to apologize doctora. I understand that you were upset."

"But I still feel bad. I was.. pretty mean to you yesterday. I want to make sure that you're not still upset with me."

Gavi looked into the mirror, smiling and dancing at your response.

"If you really want to make it up to me, I would like to cash in my favor."

You were in the process of grabbing your keys when you paused, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Favor? I don't remember owing you any favors."

"La doctora, you don't remember? Let me refresh your memory. You go home drunk and don't set an alarm. I come up with a wonderful and convincing excuse for Dr. G so that you don't get in trouble. You owe me, and I quote, anything I want. Ring any bells?"

You scrunched your face and groaned in distain. You remembered rather vividly now the promise you had made.

"Alright Gavi, hit me with it. I can take it. How am I repaying you saving my job?" You heard a low chuckle from the other side of the line.

"You'll be driving me home from the stadium starting today until we break for Christmas."

"What?!"

"You'll be driving me home. Pedri is working with Adidas for several campaigns over the next month, and it'll be a pain getting home after practice. Since you know the way now, you can get there easily. And hey, you can even visit Martin afterwards."

You started your car, thinking about the ask. It was on your way home anyways to drive by Gavi's neighborhood. And it would probably make you both even after your missteps.

"Fine. We will discuss further in the stadium when I see you. Go go, prep for the match. I want us to win today."

"We are going to win for sure. Give us a harder goal."

"Don't be arrogant Gavi. See you at noon."

~

Matchday at the camp was always extremely hectic, but especially for the medical staff. Meetings started at 9am despite the game not beginning until 3pm. All the equipment had to be approved by La Liga through inspection. Your wardrobe was inspected as well, and once again you were told off for not removing your rings. You pulled them off your fingers begrudgingly, hearing once again the lecture about rings tearing gloves. You were already over the match by the time the players started to arrive.

You made your way to the locker room to do some checks on players with pre-listed discomforts, making suggestions to prevent injury during the game. You were greeted warmly by the players as you pulled out your clipboard and pen. You made your way around, telling certain players to wear compression socks, and instructing others to stretch in certain ways. You made your way over to Pedri and Gavi, pulling out your notes.

"Pedri, how is that right thigh?"

"Amazing, y/n. I've been using resistance bands nightly like you instructed. I feel as flexible as playdoh."

"Always great to hear. Also congrats about the expanded Adidas contract." Pedri lifted his shirt over his head and looked at you somewhat confused.

"Ah thank you but... which contract specifically?"

Gavi's eyes were wide in panic. He had forgotten to fill in Pedri about his little white lie. It was true that Pedri had some filming with Adidas, but it would take about 3 days max. There was no reason that Gavi could pinpoint that would make him lie to get you to drive him home for 4 weeks. But he did it anyways, and now he needed to make sure it didn't collapse because of a lapse in communication.

"Gavi told me you'd be filming with Adidas, so I'll be driving him home until the Christmas break."

Pedri shot a look to the younger boy, one eyebrow arched, and found the expression of desperation on his face. The smile crept onto Pedri's face, proud of his friend for finally making some sort of move with you, even if he was yet to admit it was made because of the crush he was harboring.

"Oh that's right! They have us filming a lot of content at night to show off the color of these new boots, so it's really helpful that you'll be taking little Gavi home."

The sigh of relief was almost a little too loud. Gavi would fill Pedri in later, but for now, he was glad that he hadn't been caught in the lie.

"Anytime. Now onto little Gavi himself - how is the thigh tension?" You worked on Gavi, evaluating his physical form.

"I didn't know the nurse was making house visits today!"

Your jaw clenched and eye twitched at the sound of Ferran's voice. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, and continued to check for signs of bruising and distress, crouched close to the ground to inspect Gavi's thighs.

"Wow Pablito, got her on her knees for you? You'll have to tell me the secret."

"Ferran, you couldn't get a dog to love you if you were covered in bacon. Be quiet and get changed so you can sit on the bench for 90 minutes."

You looked up at Gavi, shocked at his response. You squeezed his thigh, causing him to meet your concerned gaze.

"Gavi, tell me to shut up again and you'll be preparing for a prolonged hospital stay."

"I'd like to see you fucking try, Torres." Gavi moved from his place, approaching Ferran, before a hand from Pedri gripped his shoulder. One of the assistant coaches noticed the argument and rushed over, eager to prevent his players from killing each other.

"What the hell is going on?"

Ferran looked at Gavi with disgust, and then turned his eyes to rest on your chest.

"I think y/n is creating an uncomfortable environment in the locker room. I'd prefer if she wasn't here." He said, smirk playing on his lips. Your face paled, the colors draining and nausea bubbling. The last thing you needed was a complaint from a player.

"She wasn't doing anything except looking at my leg. She didn't even speak." Gavi responded, voice high and a touch too loud to be respectful.

"y/n, it may be better if you leave for field inspection. Send in Antonio to continue current problem rounds."

You nodded and walked out of the locker room, feeling utterly embarrassed. All you ever wanted was to make a good impression and be respected, and it seemed that no one paid your wellbeing any mind. You bit back your feelings and went to find Antonio. Gavi was not as merciful.

"What mental deficiencies do you suffer from that would make you say that? What if she loses her job?"

"She won't lose her job. She'll get a warning because of player complaints, and then she'll come to me and do whatever I ask to get the complaint removed. Just want to watch her bend over that desk just once before they realize she's incompetent."

"Say nasty shit about y/n in front of me again and I'll kick your fucking teeth in."

Ferran wanted to laugh, but the sound died in his throat when he saw the look in Gavi's eyes. His eyes were angry, cold-blooded, and murderous.

"You wouldn't dare." He retorted, trying to regain some confidence by calling the bluff.

"We play football for a living. I can make it look like a fucking accident." With that, Gavi left the locker room, ready to be away from Ferran and his punchable face.

~

Normally, you loved being on the sidelines for matches. You got to watch all the action as it occurred, and you got hands-on experience with the Barca players and the visiting teams (maybe it was bad, but you prayed Joao would need medical attention when Atletico was at Camp Nou). You got to enjoy every aspect of your job, and feel like you had come a significant way in your journey. Normally. Today, you wish you were at home or in your office or anywhere but the sidelines. Word had gotten back to both the coaching staff and the rest of the team about the little disagreement in the locker room, and now all eyes were on you. Xavi gave you the normal courtesy head nod, but gave you specific instructions to stay away from the bench and the players. It was a mortifying experience, and you prayed this game would end quickly and painlessly.

Your wish was granted in the first half. The team was playing cohesively and relatively safely, with a couple fouls here and there but no injuries requiring any attention. Lewandowsky scored a goal in the 34th minute, putting the team in the lead 1-0 at the half (during which, you were asked not to be in the locker room or the tunnel). This only made you feel worse. Player complaint were the kiss of death for any aspiring professionals in sports. You get into a disagreement with a player? You're gone. Why? Because there are thousands of physios and photographers and water boys, but only onw left forward worth 48 million Euros.

In the second half, however, you did not get your wish. Areal collisions came one after the other, requiring you to rapidly check players for any sort of head trauma. In the 67th minute, Gavi assisted Pedri with an amazing goal from deep in the box. You jumped when you saw the ball hit the back of the net. Pedri did his signature goal celebrations, and after he pulled away, your eyes locked with Gavi. He raised his eyebrows at you and you returned the gesture, and then he resumed the aggressive attacking. At minute 70, you were contemplating packing your things. The intensity of the match had died down significantly. Barca were passively looking for a third goal, and were not as prone to injury. This all changed in minute 72, when the midfielder decided he hated Gavi. Dribbling with the ball, Gavi was trying to turn to give him more options to pass or dribble, but he was surrounded by three people. As he tried to break free, the Betis player's knee collided with Gavi's groin. Hard.

The sound of the collision and then the fall to the ground sounded like it was heard in the entirety of the stadium. Your jaw went slack and eyes went wide. Gavi was on the floor, unmoving. You didn't even think, using enough brain power to grab the medical bag at your side, and then sprinted across the field to Gavi. There was a crowd of players surrounding him now, creating a tight ring of people. You approached the group, placing your hands on the nearest person, and then shoving.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY! MEDIC! MOVE!"

You finally go the bodies to disperse, and laying there was Gavi, tears in his eyes and whimpering from pain. He had one arm slung over his face, and the other gripped his shirt in immense pain. When he saw you approach, he looked at you with pleading eyes, begging for anything that would stop the throbbing pain he was experiencing.

"Gavi, where did you get kneed exactly? Where is the most intense pain?" You asked, kneeling to the ground and pulling on your gloved.

"My... my dick. I got kneed in the dick and it feels like hell." He replied. He was in too much pain to be shy. His dick fucking hurt, and he wanted anything to soothe the pain as quickly as possible.

"Gavi, I'm going to touch you now, okay?" You asked, hand hovering over the area. He nodded, not fully processing what you were saying or what was happening. You placed your hand over his dick and his eyes shot open. You began to massage the area slightly, moving your hand around, trying to prevent receptors of pain from activating and working to increase blood flow to the area.

And increase blood flow you did. Gavi felt the blood begin to pool in his shorts, and now that the pain was subsiding the embarrassment was returning, he took in what was actually happening. You had one hand on his cock and balls, moving them around slowly, and one on his hip, making sure the area wasn't sensitive. You looked up at Gavi, who was still in somewhat intense pain.

"Here, give me your hand." You placed your hand atop his, guiding it to his injury.

"Keep moving your hand around where you got kneed, and we'll get you on the bench. I would give you ice but I don't think that's idea here. Can you walk alone?" Gavi nodded, and you and the medical staff cleared the field. Gavi walked to the bench himself, earning cheers and love from all the fans in the stadium. He sat on the bench, continuing to massage his bruised genitals, and trying to make his blush subside by the end of the match.

~

After a stunning 3-0 win, you were ready to go to bed and never wake up again. Your whole body ached, and you had gotten dizzy from the sun exposure mixed with the biting chill of late November. You were barely able to drag your body to the players area - which you still could not enter. You received an email on your phone saying that Dr. Gonzalez would speak to you personally regarding the player complaint. Just as you were ready to burst into tears, Gavi emerged from the locker room, Pedri trailing close behind.

"Enjoy the game today?" Pedri asked, pulling you out of your trance.

"Loved it. I just wish Gavi could stop running into people so I could have a better viewing experience."

Gavi took this as an opportunity to enter the discussion, groaning on about how the other teams bullied him and were extra tough on him as the three of you walked to the garage.

"See you tomorrow, Pedri." You waved, unlocking your car and climbing into the driver's seat. He waived at you, and approached Gavi to hug him goodbye. As he pulled the younger boy in he whispered in his ear.

"I don't know how you thought of this little lie, but now you're going to be alone with her every day for four weeks. Ready to admit that you like her?" Gavi let out a fake laugh, playfully slapping Pedri on the shoulder.

"I don't like her like that. I just want to relieve some burden off of you, Hermano."

"Mhm yeah I'm sure. Just try not to get hard watching her drive on your first ride home. Wait until day 4 or 5." With that, Pedri walked to his own car, getting ready to call Fernando and update him about the circus that was Pablo's love life, and enjoying only being mobbed by 1/2 the normal amount of fans.

Gavi walked to your car quickly, climbing in and tossing his bag in the back. He tried not to think about Pedri's words. He was perfectly capable of sitting next to you, his friend, without being aroused just because you were a girl. At least he hoped he was. He was not hunched over and thinking deeply. Why did he decide that this was the best way for you to repay him? It's not like Pedri had ever complained about chauffeuring him around. And it's not like he didn't enjoy rides home with Pedri, listening to Quevedo and making idle conversation. But lately he just wanted to be around you - make sure you were okay.

The ring of your phone broke Gavi's train of thought. You answered on your car's speaker.

"Hola Martin. How are you doing?"

The sound of Martin's voice twisted Gavi's intestines, making him nauseous and fatigued. He hated the sound of his voice, the thought of his face, the words that he strung together and decided to say to you.

"Hola sexy. How are you doing this evening?"

You rolled your eyes. You knew exactly why Martin had chosen to call at this time. You had texted him earlier in the day, asking if he would be home that evening so you could drop by. This had led to a brief inquisition, with Martin wondering why you wanted to see him suddenly, and why you would be in his neighborhood. Once he found out it was because you would be in a car with Gavi alone, something in his behavior switched. He suddenly wanted to be a doting boyfriend who called and checked up on you.

"I'm doing well. You're on speaker in the car. I'm driving Gavi home right now."

"Are you still coming over afterwards? I've missed you so bad." Martin whined out that last part in such an animated way that it made you want to laugh. You knew what he was doing. He wanted to assert his dominance over Gavi, and make it think that you were going to swiftly go get railed by Martin right after you delivered Gavi at his doorstep. the truth was, despite dating Martin for several months now, you two had yet to go all the way. There had of course been kissing and some heavy petting, but no articles of clothing had never his the floor.

"I'll see how I'm feeling after Gavi leaves and call you then. Bye Martin." You said quickly, hanging up the call once you took a quick look at the disgusted look Gavi had plastered on.

"I'd mock you if I didn't think I would throw up." He said, trying to be lighthearted but failing. You didn't reply, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had to listen to your boyfriend's weak attempts to prove his manliness.

"No it's okay, go ahead and mock my boyfriend who moans on the phone when other people can hear." Your laugh was also stiff and forced. The call had made the air thicker and the mood more tense. You handed Gavi the phone, instructing him to play some music so that you weren't sat in the awkward silence that Martin seemed to always create between the two of you.

"This is a lot of pressure now on me. I'm never on AUX." He says, scrolling through his music. He pressed the song, and the sound poured from the speakers.

"Enrique Iglesias? Isn't he before your time?" You asked, smiling from ear to ear. You loved Cuando Me Enamoro, and the familiarity helped release the tension from your shoulders. As the song played, you started softly singing along. You opened the cover of the moon roof, allowing more of the street light to enter the car.

Gavi turned to look at you, examining your features. Your eyes were soft, focused on the road ahead of you. Your fingers drummed against the steering wheel to the beat. You had one leg up as you drove, leaning into the door slightly. Your lips moved along with the lyrics, singing contently. Gavi could not move his eyes from the sight. Your lips forming every letter were drawing in his focus, hypnotizing him. He never wanted to look away from the soft pink flesh. His thoughts began escaping his control. He wanted to hear you sing louder. He wanted to hear you speak, watching those lips talk about anything your heart held a passion for. He wondered what they would feel like against the pads of his fingers. He imagined what it would be like to kiss them - softly at first, just to feel their warmth and softness. Then harder, to interlock with his own, to bite them, pull them, have them stretched around him, make them cry out his name.

"Pablo?"

He snapped up, giving himself whiplash. Gavi had not noticed that he had rested himself on the center console, leaning against his palm and daydreaming so deeply it drowned out the sound of your voice calling his name.

"Sorry to disturb your deep pondering, but we're here." He looked up at you, vision still rose tinted from the deep dive he had conducted on your lips. His mouth hung open, wanting to say something, but the words would not form in his head. He wanted to touch you. He wanted you to be closer. But he couldn't say it. So instead he extended his hand for a fist bump, coupled with a quick mutter of 'goodnight'. He grabbed his bag, quickly closing the door and digging for his keys.

"Gavi?"

He looked back at you. Your eyes locked for a moment. His hazel eyes conveyed an emotion that you couldn't understand. You didn't want to look away from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" There was a plead in the question that didn't escape either of you. It was a request. You wanted to see him. His eyes softened, crinkling at the sides as a smile spread across his space.

"Of course, doctora. Drive safe, and let me know when you get home."

Your eyes remained locked until Gavi shut his front door. He leaned against it breathing deeply, as you leaned your head against your steering wheel. You both felt a deep longing for the other, the feeling of "I miss you" sinking in as soon as the door clicked. But he got off the door, and you turned your engine back on, and you both ignored the feeling that something was missing.

~

Gavi was proud of himself. He was only half hard after leaving the car, despite the most sinful and inappropriate thoughts about your lips festering in his mind. He tried to eat, but he had no appetite. All he wanted to do was call you, text you, read your old messages. He threw his phone on his bed. He didn't understand why you now took up so much of his headspace and thought. He went to shower for the third time that day, hoping to relieve the tension permanently etched into his limbs.

You knocked on Martin's door for a third time. You had called him from Gavi's to let him know you were coming. He answered the phone out of breath and rushed, telling you to just come over, and hanging up quickly. It was night and day from the concerned lover that had called earlier. On the drive over you rationalized his behavior. Did you really have time for a boyfriend that wanted to talk to you often and be with you and have sex and sleepovers? No. You were busy and focused on advancing your career. So maybe Martin and his distance and indifference was actually perfect.

He finally opened the door after three rounds of knocking and two phone calls.

"You're here sooner than I expected." He said, cheeks slightly pink and breathing fast.

"Yeah Gavi lives really close by. Can I come in?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at his form, which blocked the entryway entirely.

"Uh," he looked over his shoulder before responding, "yeah sure. Come in." You entered his house, removing your shoes at the door. Martin had called you "backwards" the first time you did this at his house. As a person in medicine, you couldn't comprehend tracking the entire bacteria ecosystem onto the floor of his house, but it was one of those things you just agreed to disagree on.

"Making sure the other girlfriend left before letting me in?" You laughed, and he spun around quickly, grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning down to look at you.

"I know you make a lot of jokes, but this can't be one of them," he said, his tone somber and serious. "Don't ever joke about me being a cheater. It's not who I am and I am a better person than that." You were shocked by his sudden change in mood, putting your hands up in surrender and apologizing.

Gavi laid awake in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, moving from one side to the other, unable to find a single moment of rest. He checked the phone on his nightstand every couple of minutes, waiting to see your name light up the screen. Why weren't you home? It had been over an hour since you had left his house. Martin was definitely not interesting enough to keep you at his place for so long, especially after a match day. The longer he thought about it, the more the sweat pooled on his brow and the dread seeped into him. Maybe you two were having sex. Maybe you would be spending the night at his house, and Gavi would never get the "I'm home" text. He tried to calm himself, but everything irritated him. Why did you have to leave him to go to your stupid boyfriend's house? Why did he want you to tell Martin to fuck off and lay on the couch with him? Why did he want to know so badly if you two were having sex?

As with most news he got about your relationship, he heard the tip from Ansu who obviously heard it from Ferran: after three months together, you and Martin had still not had sex. After the initial 'why the hell are you guys talking about this', Gavi started to listen to Ansu's gossip as he packed his things after practice. He heard about Martin's complaints.

"Apparently, he told Ferran that she will kiss him and touch him and make him hard, then she will pull away and go home. He said first it was like exciting - ya know, being teased, playing hard to get. But now he's kind of getting impatient ya know. Ferran told him to get another girl."

"To break up with y/n?" Gavi asked a little more enthusiastically than he intended. Pedri looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow at Gavi, but refrained from making a comment. He wanted to go home, and he knew the longer this conversation continued, the longer it would be till he could sit in front of his TV and play FIFA.

"No not to break up with her. Ferran was like 'oh you know she's wife material like she is good in front of cameras and will look nice for your Wikipedia page. But if you want to have sex just go to a girl in a club and sleep with her and then do the couple shit with y/n when you feel like it. You already set her expectations low."

Pedri swears to this day he saw the smoke rise from Gavi's ears at the suggestion that Martin cheat on you. In football and in life, Gavi hated cheats. He wanted to tell you, but was advised against it.

"Unless we hear that he is actually cheating on her, there's no need to hurt her feelings or add stress to her life."

So now he sat in bed, frustrated in more than one way, as he thought about you and Martin having sex. He closed his eyes, hoping to conjure up a new mental image, but all he saw was you. You were in the same sweatshirt and leggings that you had come over in the other day. Martin was nowhere to be seen. You were in the living room, laying on the soft leather of the couch, beckoning Gavi over.

He felt the blood begin to pool and his cock start to harden. He threw one arm over his eyes, groaning loudly. It had become a common occurrence for him to get horny when thinking about you, but usually he could will the image away by reminding himself that you two were friends and would not be anything more. Usually. Today it wasn't working. The image of you on his couch, licking your lips and calling him over refused to disappear. The tighter he closed his eyes the stronger it got.

He moved his hand to palm his aching erection through the fabric of the boxers he had worn to sleep. The you in his head was standing now, playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. The sight of skin (imaginary as it was), encouraged him further, and set his very skin ablaze. He pushed down his boxers, stroking himself slowly now. In his head now, you had slowly stripped away your sweatshirt, leaving you in a bra and tight leggings that cupped your ass in the most sensual ways. He was panting now, breathing heavily, switching between stroking his cock and playing with the head. In his mind you stripped off your leggings, leaving you in just your bra and panties for him to stare at, taking in the sight of your body. Beads of precum formed at the head, which he spread around, teasing his most sensitive nerves. He knew once he came you would disappear, and he didn't want to be without you.

The real you was in a similar position: seductive and shirtless. You were currently under Martin, shirt having been discarded somewhere in the living room as he pressed you into the couch. He broke from you to pull off his shirt, then captured your lips once again. You move fervently to match his pace. He kneaded your breasts between his hands. Rough. Everything Martin did was fast and rough. And you tried to keep up, but the only sounds leaving you were heavy breaths from exertion, not arousal.

The scene in Gavi's head switched perspectives. He was now on the couch, legs spread open, inviting you in. You walked towards him slowly, and he drank in the sight of you. You crawled onto his lap, straddling him, and rested your forehead against his. Your eyes, your lips, your breasts - the image of all three sent shock waves through his body and straight to his cock. He gripped it now. He wanted to turn to his nightstand, grab something to lubricate with and stroke in earnest, but he was afraid he would lose the vision of you.

In Martin's house, the real you was searching for an escape. Martin was kissing your neck, grinding into you like a dog in heat. After a few minutes he noticed that you had gone silent, even your breathing relaxing now. He came up to look at you. What kind of girl didn't get turned on from activities like this? He decided to switch positions so that you were laying on top of him, and he dug his fingers into your hips and ass pressing your clothed core against him. He was unmistakably hard, but you felt nothing. There was no pool in your panties or heat in your loins. You were kissing him hard but felt, well, indifferent. Like you might rather be doing laundry.

In Gavi's head, you were a puddle. He had captured your lips between his own, kissing you deeply as you rocked against him, the kiss only breaking when he hit your sweet spot, causing you to moan out. He let his hands roam your bare skin, and he could almost feel the warmth. Fingers resting on your waist, he moved with you, rutting against each other and chasing your release. He looked down at the two of you, watching the wet spot on your panties grow as you ground your clit into his hard-on. He moved to your neck, kissing and suckling until little marks bloomed on the skin. You whimpered out, and now Gavi wanted to do everything in his power to make you moan in earnest. You were looking at him with those gorgeous eyes, begging, pleading, imploring Gavi to do more. And he wanted to do so much more.

The action ended for the real you rather quickly. Martin was pushing you against him, bruising your pelvic bone as he chased his own orgasm, almost forgetting that you weren't a sex doll. You decided to help finish him off quickly and go back to your place. Maybe you would still have time for that laundry. You placed your hands on either side of his head, his face basically buried in your breasts, and you started to grind into him earnestly, rocking your hips in a way that you knew drive men crazy. Within 45 seconds he was cumming in his pants, moaning loudly, and pressing into you so hard you were worried it would leave marks. You gave him a quick kiss and tugged your shirt back on. You both exchanged words about seeing each other soon, and you walked out of his house to your car alone and unsatisfied.

Gavi was almost in pain. His cock was angry and throbbing, begging for him to stroke himself in earnest. But he couldn't do it dry, and he would rather remove his cock entirely than lose this dream of you. You were now in front of him, on your knees, touching his upper thighs. He felt the ghostly sensation on his skin as he remembered every time you pressed your fingers into the muscular flesh in your office (or on his couch). You pulled down his boxers, and his cock sprung free. You leaned over and let your tongue hang from your mouth, your drool flowing on to his cock. Gavi brought his hand up and spit in his palm, pretending it was you. He brought it back down and began stroking, long fluid motions from base to tip. You were also stroking him, looking up at him with those big innocent "fuck me" eyes, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning out.

He wanted you. He wanted you to be on your knees for him, on his lap, under him in bed. He wanted you. He had never been harder in his life. And then he got to those lips. Those pink perfect lips that spoke to him so gently, teased him, called out his name - in his mind he watched them stretch over his cock. His self restraint snapped. He brought his hand up again, spitting into his palm multiple times, and beginning to stroke his cock rapidly. He wished it was you. He wished it was your smaller hand wrapped around him, so he could guide you to stroke it in just the way he liked. He was playing with the head of his cock now, imagining your lips sinking deeper and deeper over him, looking up at him with tears in your pretty eyes.

There was no more pretending and no more care. The sheets were thrown off, the room filled with heavy breaths, groans, and the squelching sound of Gavi pumping his cock. His dream you had pulled of and was now leaving gently kisses on his cock, licking the head shyly. Your lips were red and swollen, a product of his passionate kisses and his member. Gavi was almost there. He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, trying to see you, imagine you more clearly. You were alternating licking at his slit and sucking on his head. He was gone. Moans of your name mixed with "please" filled his room. He wished you were there. He wanted to feel your skin, the smooth warmth under his finger tips. He wanted to hear your voice, soft and silky and telling him how good he was going. He was so, so close. He had never edged himself this much in his life, but he wanted to keep watching you.

The dream you pulled off of the head of Gavi's cock, placing a kiss on it, before crawling back up his body. He tried to capture your lips in yet another kiss, but he couldn't. He felt you drape yourself over his thigh, grinding into the muscle there as you pumped his cock for him. He fisted his own cock at a bruising pace. He would deal with the consequences afterwards. Now he was ready to cum to you, for you. You leaned into his ear, still riding his thigh, one hand wrapped around him, and you moaned out,

"Pablo."

His orgasm washed over him in a tidal wave, knocking the air out of him. He moaned your name out loudly, filling the whole house with his sounds of pleasure. Cum landed on his chest, and he continued to pump himself through the orgasm, thinking of you and riding out his high. When it was over, he calmed himself and worked to slow his breathing. His eyes were still screwed shut, but you weren't there anymore. He was alone and covered in his own load, and he was still thinking about you.

Once he had composed himself (and his legs were stable enough for him to walk, he went to the bathroom and cleaned himself, donning a new pair of boxers to actually sleep in. Once he returned to his bed, he saw his phone light up.

[Doctora]: I just got home. Have a good night Pablo

His chest got tight again as he laid in bed, staring at your words to him. You hadn't forgotten. He set his alarm and laid down, the exhaustion from his orgasm settling in now and making his eyelids heavy. When he closed his eyes, he saw you again. This time you were fully clothes - in one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats. You were in bed next to him, arm stretched out, beckoning him to come closer to you. Gavi hugged one of his pillows close to his chest, imagining it was you sleeping in his arms, and drifted off.

[Gavi]: Have a good night, doctora. Dream of me

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

A/N: not proofread because I don't feel like it. I hope you al enjoy this part! I think this is the last part of 'exposition'/ setting up their dynamic, so relationship building will start in the next chapter, so I hope you all stick with me for the rest of the story! I love hearing all your reactions in the comments, so please don't be shy to comment! Or if you're a little shy, feel free to send me an anon ask!

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9

[ramcharantitties]

Can i get some reassurance from RRR Ram? Your other women fic broke me. Please 🙏😭

HAGSHSJS My late night thoughts are heartbreaking sorry.

Other Woman part 2

You couldn't sleep. It was freezing. The blanket provided no warmth, no matter how many times you wrapped it around your body and cuddled in. It was about to be six, the sunlight gone two hours ago. You wished winter to go away. Why does winter have to come anyways? You wished it would be summer or fall or spring the whole time, the golden Sun always evident and the clouds white and fuzzy. The green trees or brown leaves swaying, and you didn't have to huddle under heaps of clothes to feel a tad bit warm. You sniffled and coughed, feeling dizzy. A flu in winters, it gives you enough body pain. But there was no more pain in your heart. It has been four months since that... incident. You sneezed, blowing in your small towel. There was no one around to get you any tea or soup, to give warmth.

You won't stop shivering, your teeth clattering. You knew you would settle down in a while, but still it was too cold to even peak your finger out.

Neighbours asked when Ram didn't come home for days. It was easy to lie, "it's something confidential, I don't understand his job" and a fake laugh. For the first few weeks, all you did was cry. You'd fall crying when making lunch, you slept late and woke up later, dark circles prominent. You'd start crying as you bathed, warm tears settling on wet lips. You lost your appetite. You haven't opened your gates, or went out in days, only when the milkman arrived. You went out to the market, once, but you didn't want to be there. You felt uneasy and since then, you secluded yourself to your room. How could your own husband do that? But then the fog settled and the cold mist formed around the leaves. It happened because you weren't enough. Because Ram might be an ideal husband, but your selfishness drove him away. It was better to be alone.

There was a numbness in your heart and the cold brought that numbness in your fingers. Ram knew that cold was your biggest enemy. He'd pamper you by getting you all sorts of hot dishes and never let you out of blankets without proper sweaters and socks on. You never, ever had a flu or cold when Ram was here. There was a special blanket he kept above the cupboard that instantly warmed you, but Ram wasn't here anymore. You pulled your blanket up, your only source of warmth.

You weren't sure if you heard the gate creaking. It was locked from inside, so anyone with a key can open it. Since there were only two keys, one with Ram, it must be the cold wind. Even thinking about it made you shiver.

The cold wouldn't go away, but there was nothing you could do. Losing the battle, you surrendered to the only blankets you had over. Until you hear the plastic and zipping noises in the room. You shot straight up, only to see him, opening the plastic cover that held his special blanket.

All the shivering left your body, as you zoomed out of your blankets. You pulled the sweater closer. "What are you doing here?" You kept your distance, hugging yourself closer. Ram left the packet on the bed, his fingers ghosting the cover. He stared at you, up and down. "You've gotten thinner."

Your jaw dropped at his statement. There are things more important right now. "Ramaraju, what are you doing here?" You asked again. Ram physically winced at his full name being taken, especially by you. Ram continued unzipping the blanket, and pulled the heavy cloth out. You stared at him in disbelief. A cheater can't come home and act like nothing happened.

"Y/n I came to get you back. It took me two months to realise that I made a mistake. That the woman I loved will always be the one for me and I should have been there, fighting those wrong feelings and protecting you like a good husband instead of giving in to the immoral desires."

Ram's voice was heavier, and it broke. He was trying hard to not cry. Ram opened the blanket up and spread it over the blankets on the bed. "I know you are upset and want me to leave, but you seem sick and weak. So I'm not leaving until you get better" Ram finally looked in your eyes.

They were, aloof of any emotions. Your face showed confusion and disappointment, but your eyes, they didn't have anything. Absolutely blank. It was a new sight for Ram. Even when he left, those teary eyes had an emotion of betrayal and hatred. That was still better than, this. He firmly believed that eyes are the soul of the window, and this looked like the house that used to be lit by candles was now burnt and left in a handful of ashes. Ram wasn't considerable when he committed the sin but even if it costs him his own happiness, he will make sure to not let you lose yours. He knew you had a fragile heart, no matter how strong you were. He had to do something.

"I don't need you anymore" you spat it. It was a plain statement with, again, no emotions. "I know" he said. He packed the empty cover and put it on top of the cupboard. "And I know I don't deserve a chance, after cheating in a marriage. But this is still my house and you're still my wife-" "what?"

You couldn't fathom what he said.

"Still your wife? Ram you cheated on me! You lied to me about everything then you suddenly showed up and said you want to take care of me and I'm your wife? By what sense? I should have given you divorce by now!" You breathed heavily, the scratchiness in your throat audible in your voice.

Ram stared in your eyes. Still nothing.

"Why would you divorce me? I finally came to apologise and you want to divorce me? I know I made a mistake but that doesn't change the fact that we are married and we are going to be together now. You are my wife. How is that not making sense?" There was a change in your eyes. Ram breathed, whatever works.

"Stop, just stop talking." You put your hand up, sitting on the bed. Ram moved closer to you. "Are you doing a favour apologising? I have all the rights to leave you for what you did and you ask me why I divorce you? We are lawfully wedded, and that's it. And who are you to say that we are going to be together or not? You leave by your choice and you randomly saunter in one day saying you're my husband? I have no feelings or any connections towards you or that word!" You coughed heavily, bending over, in the pallu of your saree. You could see Ram staring from the corner of your eyes.

Letting it all out was difficult, especially when you said the last line out loud. You thought you didn't, but there was still a hope and betrayal growing in your heart since he came back. He's asserting his place in your life, which is wrong, but if he actually decides to have common sense and apologize, maybe you'll give it a chance. The Ram you remembered was smarter than this, this Ram looks like he's forcing you to say things you don't even want to.

Ram saw a wave of emotions in your eyes when they glossed over. And the fact that this was his first time seeing you so sick, even if it was just a flu. But when you said the last line, his heart broke. He accepted his fate, but that didn't mean he will leave you hurt. He wanted you to feel something, anything against him, so you're not left with such a clean slate, even if he has to leave.

Ram bent down in front of you, his hands, hesitantly on your shins. There were dark circles under your eyes and your body hair stood in the cold. He wished to wrap the blanket around you but he hadn't reached there yet. You looked at him, finally. His beard grew and his hair was tied. He was not wearing his own kurta pajama, you could tell. But you looked away before you could melt. Ram had to make you realise it wasn't your fault, and he is the reason for all your devoid of emotions.

"Y/n, I don't think what I did is enough for you to forgive. I don't ask you to either, and I don't mean to force myself here and make you uncomfortable." You looked at him, "but just let me take care of you. I don't force you to talk to me or take me back. I'll be quiet. I'll do everything you wish, and I'll leave if you want me to. I thought that woman was infutiating, but it was all just a lie. I don't understand why I fell, but I blame it on me. That I was a feeble man. Because it was never you, y/n, and I know that, when I realised that you were the only one I ever loved and wanted to take care of. When I saw you in the market it was three months ago and you looked so weak, then I never saw you again. I left her two months ago and I didn't know if I should even come here or not, I stayed with a friend till now. I was scared of coming here to you, where I was once happy and excited to be. That's when I realised I needed to mend things up. It was unsettling that I was scared everyday after I saw you in the market that something had happened to you." Ram licked his lips. You sighed. Your head hurts and you don't want to listen or think about anything. Ram saw the slump in your shoulders, the tired, drained eyes. He has done that to you.

"Do you want some soup?" You looked at him expectantly. You loved when Ram made soup, it was tasty, but soothing that it didn't hurt your throat. The flavours rushed in on your tongue. "Does that mean I'd forgive you?" The question caught Ram off guard. Would it? He shook his head in no. She shook hers in yes.

Ram carefully tucked you in the spread of blankets, despite your attempts to do it yourself. You knew not to settle back in habits. On the other hand, Ram was astonished by the pantry in the kitchen. It was as if nobody lived there now. A few eggs, milk, bread and just some old vegetables. There were missing spices and condiments. Ram remembered that you wanted all sorts of fancy ingredients, so this was a surprise. It was about 15 minutes later when Ram came with a bowl and spoon. You were finally warm and toasty in the blanket and with your favourite soup, when he placed it on your lap, and grabbed the spoon to feed you. You wordlessly stopped him, taking the spoon back from him. Ram sat in silence as you quietly ate your soup, sniffling.

"Are you taking any medicine?" Ram asked, getting up from the bed and heading to the drawer before you could answer. He pulled the box out to see that there was no paracetamol in there, but the box with pain killers was empty. He knew better not to ask anything. Ram came back to see the soup halfway finished. "Why was the first thing you did when you came here was to get the blanket?" You didn't want an answer, even you were not sure why you asked that.

"I knocked and called out your name but you didn't respond. I thought I was too late so I came in, I was panicking. You were under the blankets, you were shivering, and that blanket is the only one that helps. I'm sorry if I scared you." Ram looked down, you didn't say anything.

He left to get a packet of paracetamol and cough syrup for you. After a long time, Ram felt good. He missed doing things for you, getting scolded by you. The love that seeped from your anger and when you ask him to do something. When you ask him things randomly and he replies gently, when you make him do chores you could have done and when he gets to take care of you or make you happy and content. Ram missed it. He returned with a smile on his face, carefully opening the gate and coming to the warmth of that house.

You were fast asleep, slightly snoring under the comfortable blankets. Your hair was a mess, but you were taking a rest so carelessly after a long time, that you didn't care if Ram came back or not, but you were sure that he would. That he finally returned. It was to be decided later that you would forgive him, or pester him like he did to you.

___________________________________

S/n: I'm. I literally PUKED all the fantasies I've had of after break up scenarios like. This was so fun to write thank you so much anon.

Tagging: @chaanv @ramayantika @vijayasena @phoenix666stuff @yehsahihai @nerdreader

[roosterbruiser]

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲) ✯ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The second tornado of the summer happens upon Silverkeep. ✯ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.5k ✯ 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✯ 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐓𝐗 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖

It doesn’t often storm in Silverkeep, especially during the summer season. But when it does--when those moody clouds roll in from the west in ominous waves of endless black, heavy with rain and thick with thunder--it rains hard. It starts sometime during the night, long after you and Jake have gone to sleep in your own bedrooms. 

He’s a heavy sleeper and doesn’t stir when the first flash of lightning breaks the sky open. He doesn’t stir when thunder shakes the trailer or when rain starts pattering against the naked screen of his window. 

You’ve always woken up to storms, ever since you were little. You used to be afraid of them, nosediving into your parents bed and clinging to your daddy at the very first sign of rain. But now that you’re older, and maybe a bit wiser, you don’t run into your parents room. You just blink yourself away and watch it roll in, the sleepy town alight with electricity each time lightning cracks. 

Jake only wakes up when Fran knocks on his bedroom door at four in the morning. It’s not a frantic knock, but it’s enough to jolt Jake right out of his slumber. He’s swiping drool off his mouth and sitting up, his comforter tangled around his legs and his hair standing up in every direction. 

“It ain’t lookin’ good out there,” Fran says through the door, her voice thick with purpose. “I told Filly and them to come on over. I don’t got a good feelin’ about them clouds.”

Jake is out of it. There’s a sheen of sweat over his skin and his eyelids are crusted over and his breathing is still deep and even. He has no idea what his mama is talking about. 

“Mama, what’re you--?”

But then he hears it: the sirens. Tornado sirens. So, then he’s detangling himself from the bedding he’s laying in, springing himself out of bed and pulling on whatever pajama shorts he kicked off in the night. He’s still trying to wake up, tired aching his bones, but he’s moving rapidly. 

Fran opens her only son’s door and beholds him in his dark room for a moment--his chest is rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks paled and his feet bare. She can tell he only just woke up--he’s a heavy sleeper just like his daddy. 

“Jake,” she says softly, sternly. He looks up at her, his teeth sunk into his lower lip. “You go on and grab Callie. Brandy and Harper are in the cellar. I’m gonna grab some flashlights and wait on Filly and her folks. Alright?” 

Jake nods. His ears are ringing. The wail of the sirens is loud--so loud that he can feel it in his bones. He can hear the thunder and lightning now that he’s awake and standing upright, too.

Fran looks as bewildered as she always does, but Jake feels like she’s anchoring everyone here now. She knows what she’s talking about and everyone here knows better than to not listen to her. 

“Yes, mama,” he mutters. 

He jams his feet into old tennis shoes, socks be damned, and hurries himself to Callie’s bedroom across the hall. It’s less of a bedroom and more of a linen closet, but it’s quiet in there without any windows so Callie is sleeping soundlessly. 

“Cal,” Jake says, his voice thin. She doesn’t stir. “Callie-girl, c’mon. We gotta go.” 

She shows no signs of moving, sprawled across her mattress with her mouth wide open and her eyes shut tight. 

Jake’s belly is starting to turn--especially when another crack of thunder shakes the trailer. So, he just leans down and scoops Callie up in his arms. Really, she’s too big for him to be doing this. He should wake her up and have her walk. But there’s a sense of urgency charging the air now, one that’s tingling his fingers. 

“What are you doin’?” Callie asks as she comes to. She’s vaguely aware that she’s being carried by her brother and that he blanket is dragging behind them as he hurries both of them down the hall. “Jake, what the Hell?” 

“Would you just listen?” Jake snaps, nudging the backdoor open. 

It wails and groans, just like it always does, and then they’re outside. It’s green, just like it always is when there’s a tornado. An uneasy haze settling over the disjunct swingset and flooded sandbox. The rain is pelting the patchy grass and slicing into Jake’s skin. Callie covers her face and Jake tugs her closer to him despite himself. 

The sirens are louder out here, loud enough that it’s making Callie’s ears pulse. She gives in to Jake carrying her, wrapping her arms around his chest, forgetting all about her blanket dragging in the mud behind them. 

“C’mon!” Harper calls from the cellar doors, waving Jake over. “Get in!” 

He lets Callie go in first, setting her on the concrete stairs. And then he nudges Harper. 

“Y’go on,” he tells her. “I’m gonna wait for mama and Filly.” 

Harper doesn’t need to be told twice--she’s soaked to the bone and her perm is going to fall out, she just knows it. She tried to wrap it up with plastic grocery bags, but the wind knocked them askew and now that’s two hundred dollars Curtis is never gonna see again. 

The air feels perfect--he knows that’s trouble. It ain’t too hot and it ain’t too cold and that’s when tornadoes like to touch down. He can see lights coming on and off in the house as his mama flounders around for rations and blankets and towels, but his belly is turning waiting for you and your folks. 

“Just come in, Jake,” Brandy says from the cellar, throwing her hair up in a ponytail. “C’mon. They’ll be fine!” 

He glances down at the cellar, which is lit by a measly lantern. It’s an ugly and dirty thing, but it’s spacious. There’s jars of fruit preserves and Christmas decorations stuffed down there, lining the dirt walls, but there’s still enough room for everyone. 

“I’ll close the doors, alright? Get back so you don’t get wet now,” Jake says. It isn’t often that he gives his sister’s this kind of grace and humility and it isn’t often that they accept it. But they do, shuffling back. He grabs the big doors and nods once. “You’ll be alright.” 

Just as they fall closed, he hears it. Footsteps slapping the mud, hollering. 

He squints through the green haze of rain and sees you, your mama, and your daddy sprinting across the side yard. You’re all soaked to the bone, hurrying across the mud and holding each other’s hands. 

“C’mon,” Jake calls, waving y’all over. “Almost there!” 

Fran appears at the backdoor, carrying heaps of towels and food and flashlights. And before Jake registers what’s happening, your daddy is hurrying over to her and taking a load of her items as you and your mama hurry to the cellar. 

Jake pries the doors open, his heart in his throat, and lets your mama down first while she tries to wipe her face dry in vain. You pause before Jake, your hair flat and clinging to your head, and give him a grin. 

“It’s the end of the world,” you tell him, mockingly holding your hands up and ooo’ing. Jake scoffs, nudging your shoulder. “At least we’re together!”

“Get in the damn cellar,” Jake tells you, biting a grin. 

You salute. 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Jake, you go on and get in now!” Your daddy calls, his voice booming across the yard. He’s helping Fran cross the mud, squinting. “S’alright!”

Jake climbs into the cellar, then, leaving the doors open. It smells like cinnamon and dirt down here, a scent he is not very fond of. He doesn’t like being in the cellar, especially during tornadoes, and he wishes he was back in bed. 

“My hair,” Harper cries, ripping the grocery bag off her head. Her curls are wet. “Damn rain! Dammit!” 

“Oh, honey,” your mama tells her, moving to hold her shoulders. “It’s okay, we can fix it!” 

“You ain’t supposed to get a perm wet,” Brandy tells your mama. She’s already rolling her eyes at Harper’s antics. “Dummy.” 

Your mama tuts. 

“Hush now,” she tells Brandy. She grew up with sisters--she remembers what it’s like. “We’ll take care of it, alright? Don’t go worryin’ yourself about it. It’ll be just fine in time for the weddin’, okay?” 

You’re watching your mama silently. It’s dark in here, but you can still see the softness etched onto her pretty features. She understands the Seresin girls much better than you do--all that crying and whining about makeup and hair and nails. It’s something you don’t have an interest in, something you can’t get yourself to fret about. When your mama pulls Harper onto her shoulder, tutting and sighing as she cries, something in your chest suddenly feels hollow.

“Jesus,” Fran says as she steps down the stairs, dropping the towels and flashlights on the floor. “Wetter than a mad hen out there!”

“Mama,” Callie sighs. “You got it all turned around. 

“It’s called making it applicable, girly.”

Your daddy pulls the cellar doors shut and everything grows quieter and darker. Everything’s okay now--everyone is here, everyone is safe. 

“We all alright?” Your daddy asks, looking around at everyone’s flaxen faces. “Filly?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. You won’t look at your mama and Harper. 

“I’m okay, daddy,” you say. 

“Good,” he says. He sighs. “Christ, we might be in here for a minute.”

Jake settles in beside you, sinking onto the cold floor. You don’t move, still watching Harper and your mama. But then Jake is tugging on your arm and you give in, blinking yourself out of a daze and joining him on the dirt. 

“You’re cold,” Jake says when he feels your chilled skin against his. He wraps an arm around you and pulls until you’re tucked up against his side. He grabs a towel, pulls it to the two of you, then throws it in your lap. “Dry off, Filly. You’ll freeze.” 

You pat your arms dry but don’t try and dry your hair or clothes. Your tank top is thin and your shorts are even thinner. Your hair is dripping down your back and your bottom lip is starting to quiver. 

Everyone is chatting amongst themselves now, your mama and the Seresin girls all trying to comfort Harper as she weeps openly. Your daddy and Franny are leaning against the dirt walls, cataloging all they were able to carry from the house. Jake is fiddling with a portable radio, trying to find a news channel. And you’re just sitting there--cold. 

“Bet you didn’t wake up ‘til the sirens went off, mustang,” you tease. Your laugh is a thin one, one that is coated in ice. “Sleepin’ like you’re dead.” 

Jake flushes. He’s glad it’s dark in here. 

“I actually woke up before the sirens! Thank you very much,” Jake lips, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. Was it when your mama knocked your door down?”

Jake doesn’t say anything. You laugh again, covering your shoulders with the ratty, sun-bleached towel. It smells like the Seresin household--like nutmeg, dust, lemon.

“So funny,” Jake mutters, elbowing you. He finally flicks it to the right station and turns the volume up, settling the little radio between everyone. “Here we go.”

“--Strong winds pushing in towards the west. As you can probably hear, the sirens are going off, which means to take cover immediately. There’s been a funnel spotting in North Silverkeep and a touchdown just down yonder, near the spring.”  

The storm rages on overhead, the clouds swirling and swollen with rain. Thunder rolls past and lightning strikes as the funnel clouds search the town of Silverkeep for a flat place to touch down. Everyone can feel the charge in the air--it’s a familiar feeling. This is the second tornado of the summer. 

“Damn,” Jake mutters. “Gonna be stuck here for a while, huh?” 

“Well, I grabbed food,” Fran says hurriedly. “So, we’ll be alright.” 

“Yeah, if we get too hungry then we can just eat the dried oranges we string around the tree every year,” Brandy says, grinning. 

“Don’t forget the popcorn and cranberries,” Callie follows. 

“I oughta thump you girls for teasin’ your mama like that,” your mama says, her lips pursed. “Hush now.” 

By the second hour, you’re leaning all your weight on Jake. He’s shirtless, but somehow he’s warmer than you are tenfold. He’s got his arm around you and your cheek is squished against his chest, your hair still heavy with rain and your eyes growing dry. He can smell the oranges on your skin and you can smell the thick scent of his bedroom on his pajama bottoms. 

Everyone is nodding off now, tucked away in their little corners of the cellar. Your mama has the Seresin girls around her, each of them cuddling into her body. Just as she fell asleep, she smiled: rarely does she ever get to hold girls in her arms. You haven’t tried to cuddle with her since before kindergarten. Fran and your daddy are sitting closest to the stairs, leaning opposite ways and turning the lantern off to preserve the battery. 

“You awake?” Jake whispers. His voice is hardly audible above the rain, even with is lips attached to your ear. 

Through the pitch black of the room, you let your hand wander until it grasps his calf, which you squeeze to signal that yes, you’re awake. 

“You okay?” Jake asks. 

You haven’t said a whole lot since coming to the cellar. He knows that it’s past two in the morning and that you probably haven’t slept much--you always wake up when it storms. He knows that you have an early shift at the ice cream shop later that you’re probably dreading, too. But he feels like the kind of silent you are is indicative of something else. He saw you looking at your mama, all cuddled up with his sister’s, leaning into them and combing their hair with her fingers. 

“Fine,” you whisper. Your nose is cold as you press it into the middle of his chest. “You?”

“I’m always alright when I’m holdin’ you,” he whispers to you. 

Both of you swallow hard. 

You reach out--pinch him. He barely even jolts at the pain now, not when you've been doing that since toddlerhood.  

It’s quiet for a moment. 

Because it’s so dark and because he misses you and because you smell so good and because he knows you’re upset and because it’s storming, he decides to pull you onto his lap. No one will see--and if someone reaches for the lantern, he’ll hear it. And the radio is playing too loud for anyone to hear shuffling anyway. 

Your body is malleable under his palms. You allow him to gather your limbs and pull, heave until you’re settled on his lap. He’s holding you like a baby, the back of your head resting on his bicep and your cheek pressed against his chest. He even covers you both up with one of the blankets his mama brought down, and you hum when the feeling comes back into your toes. 

“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re still freezin’.” 

“Tell me about it,” you mumble back. 

A beat passes. Thunder groans distantly and the wind cries. 

“Why’re you upset?” He whispers finally. 

There’s no use in lying to Jake. Even if you tried to, he’d see right through you. Even in the dark. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not what people want,” you whisper. 

It’s something you’ve been thinking about for a while. Maybe if you were less brash and more attentive, Ruth would’ve told you what had her in a good mood. Maybe if you were politer and cared about your hair more, your mama would hold you. Maybe if you were quieter and nicer, Hyde would let you sit in the front seat sometimes. Maybe if you were cleaner and prettier like Emmaline Odette, Jake wouldn’t leave. 

Jake swallows. 

“Like how?” 

You bite your lip. 

“I dunno,” you lie. He pinches your hip. You sigh. “Like, maybe people would like me better if I was girlier?” 

Jake wants to laugh. The image of you acting any differently than you do now is about as funny to him as an ape wearing a dress and heels. It simply ain’t natural. 

“Since when do you care about people likin’ you?” He asks. 

“Since all my friends are leavin’,” you tell him. 

His chest grows tight. 

Oh. He’d forgotten about that. He’d forgotten that you’re going to be the only one left here, the rest of them away at college. It’s easy to forget that when this summer feels so infinite, so exciting. He’s so caught up with you and your mouth and your love. 

“I’m only gonna be an hour away,” he says softly. He doesn’t know if he’s saying it for you or for him. 

“That’s a lifetime for us,” you whisper. 

He knows you’re right. 

“That don’t matter to me,” he whispers. It’s true--it doesn’t matter to him. “Lifetimes, hours, minutes, seconds. S’all the same, isn’t it?” 

“No,” you answer quietly. But your heart is swollen with affection now. “You like me how I am, don’t you? You’re gonna miss me when you’re gone, right? And you’ll think of me?” 

If he was braver, he’d say: no. I don’t like you the way you are. I love you the way you are. And I miss you right now, even, and I’m holding you. I think about you every minute of everyday. But he isn’t. So, instead, he just lightly kisses your forehead.  

“Of course,” he answers. He wants to tell you how badly he’s going to ache for you, but he feels like right now isn’t the time. Not when everyone else is sleeping, not when there’s tornado sirens wailing. “You’re gonna hitchhike down there, huh?”

You laugh quietly.

“Yeah,” you answer. “I’m sure that’ll end well for me.” 

He presses his nose into your hair. It’s fluffy now, frizzy. 

“I hope you don’t go changin’ anythin’ about yourself,” Jake says quietly. “Cause then I’ll have to get my shit together, too.” 

“You’ve got your shit together,” you tell him. “College boy.” 

He scoffs. 

“No, I don’t,” he answers. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’.” 

That makes you feel better--you don’t know what you’re doing either. 

“Well,” you whisper. “We can just not know anythin’ together.” 

Until August. 

“You tired?” He asks. 

Your eyes are heavy. 

“No,” you answer, though. “Wide awake.” 

He laughs quietly. 

“What should we talk about then?” 

“Hmmm. The end,” you answer. 

He laughs--unsure if you’re serious. 

“The end of what? The world?” 

“The end of everythin’,” you answer softly. 

He hums. 

“So, like, death?” He asks. You nod. “You’ve got some dark thoughts in that little head,” he tells you.

You’ve been thinking about ends for a while now. Everything ends, really. This summer will end. Your growing has ended, at least in terms of your height. The year will end. Your job will end. It’s all around you, really; all that finishing. 

“What happens when you die?” You ask. 

Jake hums. 

“Well, in the good book it says you go to heaven,” he answers. “You believe that?”

You shake your head. 

“Nah,” you answer. “I don’t think so.” 

Jake nods in agreement. 

“Me either.” 

“So, what do you think then?” You ask. “You die--then what?” 

Jake swallows hard. He doesn’t really have an issue talking about death. It’s just that it feels a bit like tempting fate to be talking about it during the storm of the summer, sitting in a dirt-floor cellar. 

“I think you become worm food,” Jake answers with a shrug. “You die, they put you in the ground, then that’s that. Your body decomposes and stinks and the worms eat you. Fin.” 

You wrinkle your nose. 

“Well, that’s what does happen,” you tell him. “But what happens?” You ask. You let your finger drift to his chest, pointing to his heart. You think that if there are souls, that must be where they rest: just around the heart, above the lungs. 

“So, like, souls?” He asks. You nod. “Nothin’ happens. The lights are on one day and off the next. Poof. No one’s home anymore.”

Maybe if you were someone else--someone like Emmaline, who clings to her religion with those manicured nails, or someone like Hyde that thoroughly believes in souls and reincarnation--you would accuse Jake of being morbid. But you understand him better than anyone else in the world ever has or ever will, probably.

You nod. Okay. That’s what he thinks. It’s okay. 

 “So, like, when your body dies--you just don’t exist anymore?” You ask. 

He nods. 

“That’s about right,” he says. “What do you think happens?” 

You think for a moment, meditating on your answer. 

“I guess when I imagine what happens after, I think about sittin’ up in a tree. Like, a really tall one. You know the one on Locust Street--the one we used to climb? And those grumpy old neighbors would come holler at us to get down?” You ask. 

Jake laughs softly. He remembers. The tree is an ancient thing, one that predates every single house in Silverkeep. When you two were younger, it felt like the tallest thing in the world. Taller than a skyscraper. Taller than the sky. 

“Uh huh,” he answers. He’s twirling your hair around his finger now, blinking at the dark. “I remember.” 

“Well, I like to think it’s like that kinda. Like, you die, right? And then you go up in the tree and sit on the highest branch,” you say. You’re imagining it now, your feet dangling above the crabgrass and the buckeyes. “You can feel the sun on your face and you can hear the music playing from the truck down the street. You can see everyone, too, but you can’t get down. And they can’t get up.” 

Jake’s fingers are numb. 

He’s gone to church every single Sunday since the day he was born, but that feels like the most religious thing he’s ever heard in his life. That is the kind of idea he can subscribe to. 

“You ever considered preachin’?” Jake whispers. He holds your cheek, feel that smile growing on your lips. “Cause I’d be in your congregation.” 

“Well, you don’t believe in what I do,” you answer. “So, that wouldn’t work.” 

“I could believe it,” he tells you. “You could make me believe just about anythin’.” 

Another beat passes. Thunder shakes the cellar. 

“Wouldn’t it be lonesome? Sittin’ up there by yourself? Watchin’ everyone else on the ground?” 

“Yeah,” Jake agrees. “It would.” 

He sniffles, sinks his nose into your hair and pulls you closer to him.

“Filly?” He whispers. 

“Yeah?” 

He swallows hard. You tangle your fingers in his hair. 

“I don’t wanna sit in a tree and watch you down below.” 

He thinks about it: hearing your laugh echo up the branches, watching you swell with life, seeing you stretch into a woman, smelling those oranges so distantly. It makes him sick to his stomach to think about. 

“Yeah, me either,” you tell him.

“You can’t die before me,” Jake tells you. He’s being serious. “I won’t have it, Filly.”  

“We can just die on the same day.”

That seems to lull the both of you into a content state. Okay. You will die on the same day and sit in a tree and feel the sun on your cheeks and watch your feet dangle above the world of the living forever. And it will be okay. 

You find his cheeks in the darkness and hold them in your palms, raising your face to his. It’s so dark that you can’t even see his silhouette. Your daddy is snoring. The radio is crackling. The sirens are still calling. You press your nose against Jake’s and hold yourself there as his grip tightens around your body. 

“I don’t ever wanna be without you,” Jake whispers. He’s choked up just thinking about it, just thinking about leaving. Because as endless as this summer feels, it’s already almost July. “I don’t think I’ll survive.” 

“We’ll be alright,” you tell him, but your voice is quivering. “We’ve survived worse.”

Jake kisses you--closes that little gap between your mouths. It’s not about sex and it’s not about feeling anything other than close to each other. It’s you, it’s him, it’s your lips, his lips, your sleeping families, a tornado, and a scratchy blanket. The kiss is soft and quiet, one that just lingers and keeps on lingering. You don’t let go of his cheeks and he doesn’t loosen his grip on you. 

“You’re my best friend,” Jake tells you. 

“I better be,” you whisper back. “‘Cause you’re mine, too.” 

Later that evening, when the storm clouds have thinned and the funnels have dissipated and the storm damage has been assessed, you lie in Jake’s bed. You’re both naked, chests flushed and heaving, and your hair is matted to your neck with sweat. 

“Jesus,” Jake whispers, his vision still spotted with technicolor from the orgasm he just had when he was still seated in your mouth. “We’re gettin’ good at that.” 

You smile, biting your lip. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “Real good.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes. The house is empty--which doesn’t happen often. Fran picked up a night shift. Harper is at Curtis’. Callie is away at their meemaw and pappy’s house for the weekend. Brandy is with a friend. So it is just you and Jake. And boy, did you two take advantage of the empty house. 

“I like it when you use your tongue on me,” you tell him. You squeeze your thighs together at the very mention of it. “S’real good. Too good, even.” 

Jake’s chest swells with pride. He pulls you close to him, presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Yeah?” He asks. “Good. I like doin’ it.” 

Your belly is warm at the thought. 

You’re just about to say something else, just about to tell him about your day at the ice cream shop and to ask him about his day off from the farm, when the phone rings down the hall. 

“I got it,” Jake says, heaving himself up. 

He walks out of his room naked, leaves you in his bed. 

He’s humming the whole way to the phone, not bothering to turn any lights on. He’s in a good mood--how could he not be after the last few hours he’s had? A day off and an empty house with you. He doesn’t think it gets much better than that. 

“Howdy!” Jake says gleefully, pushing the home phone against his cheek. “You’ve got Jake.” 

“Jake,” Emmaline says. She sounds like she’s been crying--her voice nasally and thick with upset. “It’s Emma.” 

At the very sound of her voice, his tongue grows thick with anger. If anyone can dissipate a mood, it’s Emmaline Odette. He’s thinking about those nasty things they said to each other, how badly he wanted to shake her silly. 

“What?” He asks. 

She sighs, sniffling. 

“I’m late,” she says. She’s speaking quietly so her mama won’t hear from the kitchen. “Jake, I’m late.”

“For what?” Jake asks. “What’s this gotta do with me?” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Jake, my period is late. A month late.”  

✯ 𝐚/𝐧: the plot thickens.......

✯ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

✯ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

✯ 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✯ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬:

@violetta-ximena

@hazyretina

@illicithallways

@callsign-cacti

@chicomonks

@royalpurplehuskies

@widemiffyhappy

@djs8891

@shari_berri

@dempy

@ofxinnocence

@jmitxhieo

@jstarr86

@myfaveficrecs

@princess76179

@roosters-girl

@thedroneranger

@blahblechblah

@aemondssiut

@twsssmlmaa

@shawnsblue

@wolfiealina

@hangmanscoming

@whoeverineedtobe

@fragile-heartt

@averyhotchner

@jjlevin

@bradshawseresinbabe

@unhinged-btch

@bradshawbabe

@lt-spork

@maddievevo

@linkpk88

@eli2447

@cosmic-psychickitty

@shanimallina87

@flrboyd

@greatszu

✯ 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝/𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬, 𝐃𝐌 𝐦𝐞!

[kc-the-writer]

🧚‍♀️ 🍲 🧚‍♂️

Pick a character.

Answer these questions without thinking, like you would on a personality/strengths test. Make their choices as fast as you can.

For bedtime: Pajamas or nekked?

In the grass: Barefoot or shoed?

Coffee or tea?

Salty or sweet?

At a party: Tipsy or teetotaler?

Hydrated or chronically dehydrated?

Crunchy or creamy?

An adventure for fun: solo or with a buddy?

Favorite parent: mom or dad?

Who do they take after most: mom or dad?

Talktative or quiet?

Internal or external processor?

For sleeping: starfish or corpse?

Sparkling or still water?

Sunshine or rain?

Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall?

Formalwear: white or black?

Habitual or spontaneous?

Planner or pantser?

Theist or atheist?

Christmas or New Years?

Campfire or fireplace?

Dawn or dusk?

Desert or rainforest?

Which of the 5 Chinese elements: wood, metal, fire, earth, water?

Breakfast or fast (no breakfast)?

Flowers at their funeral: yes or no?

Lazy day: pants or pantsless?

Which is prettiest on partner: long or short hair?

Sunscreen or let nature do its thing?

Just the pajama bottoms. I’ll not subject myself to sleeping in anything with a collar.

Neither- Fun socks.

Coffee, cold.

Sweet if it is candy, savory if it is baked. Cheesy if I’m baked.

Tipsy.

I seem to have washed my paintbrush in my drinking glass. Dehydration for me.

Crunchy.

Traveling solo sounds dreadful.

Favorite parent? I like… my maid?

Who do I take after most? How dare you suggest I should take after… oh, I just heard that, too. I guess I take after my father.

They say I’m quiet, but once I open up, you’ll find I’m really quite chatty if the timing is right and the weather isn’t gloomy and the topic is both interesting and challenging and… where are you going?

Internal processing

Starfish

Sparkling water but never sparkling wine

Sunshine

Pantser

Atheist

New Year’s

Campfire

It’s a wonderful thing to see a sunrise, as long as I’m still up from the previous night.

Rainforest

Water and metal

Everything bagel with smoked salmon and a very large coffee, if you’re offering.

In lieu of flowers, I ask my friends and family to celebrate my legacy by purchasing a piece of art from a local artist.

Pants. Who isn’t wearing pants? Is this something that— pants.

Long hair.

I was born with a lifetime supply of Pendleton Apothecary’s coconut sandalwood SPF— but I’ll be damned. I favor The Pendleton Apothecary’s aloe vera gel.

[namusthetic]

The Four Seasons

Color guide for the characters' comments:

Winter; Spring; Summer; Autumn;

_______

Winter

Jittery because had way too much sugar

Started buying presents and wrapping them in September

Has a special mug for every occasion

Likes to relax by the fire while reading or scrolling through their phone

Gives Christmas-themed socks to everyone

Sits in weird positions

Loud and affectionate with people they feel close with (even too affectionate... )

Cold and unforgiving when pissed

Has a reading list and is gonna finish it before the year ends (hopefully)

Struggles with anger management

Smiles at strangers on the street

Starts stuttering and their lisp comes out when too nervous or excited (I heard Autumn saying it was cute - oh really? - S-spring!!!!!!)

Loves surprises

Prideful, gets offended easily, but also forgives and forgets easily (it took us a whole afternoon to get them to open the door just because the three of us hung out without them - still don't know why we bothered. - HEY!!! )

Calls instead of texting

Ready to throw hands if any of their friends gets bullied or insulted

Aesthetics:

Hot chocolate and a crackling fireplace, Christmas songs and mulled wine, snow and cold wind, warm scarves and knitted gloves, snow angles and snowball fights, smirks and fistbumps, warm sweaters and tight hugs, doodles on frosty window panes, dad jokes and uncoordinated dance moves

Playlist:

Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra

Everybody Talks by Neon Trees

Don't Stop Me Now by Queen

Tongue Tied by Grouplove

(I Can Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones

This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory

Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery

Eleanor Rigby by Cody Fry

Somebody To Love by Queen

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas by Michael Bublé

Snowman by Sia

Winter Wonderland by Michael Bublé

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen

_______

Spring

Has various nervous tics because of anxiety

Always sitting on the floor

Often with their head in the clouds (AM NOT! - darling, I've literally seen you walk into door frames more times than I can count - ... )

Almost never raises their voice

Starts reading a book, then forgets about it and starts another one

Gets lost in daydreaming and dissociates from reality

Defends strongly what they believe in

"If I were a frog you'd be welcome on my lily pad"

Starts projects but never finishes them

Sensitive, cries easily when animals and environment is involved

In touch with their emotions and nature (and also with summer apparently - if you don't shut up, I swear. - Autumn, help me!! - oh, hell nah)

Spends long afternoons having pic-nics in the park, reading, sleeping and sunbathing

Walks in the woods looking for fae traps and playing hide and seek with foxes

Aesthetics:

Flower crowns, pic-nics and apricot jam, sunshine filtering through the leaves, birds chirping and bubbly laughter, bumblebees and bees flying from flower to flower, soft singing, flower crowns and daisy chains, curious eyes and pastel colors, small frogs and lilly pads, strawberry toasts and herbal teas, sweet smiles and paint-stained hands

Playlist:

Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Cool Kids by Echosmith

Ophelia by The Lumineers

Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's

Swing Lynn by Harmless

My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco

girls by girl in red

Coffee by beabadoobee

Juliet by Cavetown

rises the moon by Liana Flores

Where'd All the Time Go? By Dr. Dog

cardigan by Taylor Swift

No Plan by Hozier

_______

Summer

Sleeps with the windows open

Goes to the beach at sunrise to walk along the shore

Parties until late at night and comes home in the early morning

Afraid of never being good enough

Plans their day to the second, has a set goal in life

Chatty, makes friends easily but sometimes tries too hard

Just plain gorgeous (agreed!! - *blushes*)

Constantly doing something so they doesn't have any time to wallow in their thoughts

Sees the best in people (even Autumn? - Would you knock it off!?!!)

Doesn't need anyone's approval but cares about their found family's opinion

Has always something urgent to do

Done with everyone's whining (e- even me? - no, not you - pffft, simp. - *proceeds to throw a shoe at Winter* - You asked for it.)

Always tries to be strong by repressing their emotions (yeah, you shouldn't do that - sigh, I'll try not to)

Aesthetics:

Sunshine and linen sheets, freckles and dimples, gold and sand, warm laughter and cold cocktails, strawberry lemonade, pizza and a can of soda, tan lines and stretch marks, afternoon naps on the porch and late night rides, roller skating with their headphones on the promenade, thrift-shopping, a light breeze in the summer heat

Playlist:

Juicy by Doja Cat

Chicken Noodle Soup by J-Hope (ft. Becky G)

Cool for the Summer by Demi Lovato

WANNABE by ITZY

Need to Know by Doja Cat

I'm Legit by Nicki Minaj ft. Ciara

About Damn Time by Lizzo

Levitating (ft. DaBaby) by Dua Lipa

Egoistic by Mamamoo

Next Level by aespa

Truth Hurts by Lizzo

Gashina by SUNMI

Dirty Harry by Gorillaz

_______

Autumn

Lovely and deep, like the woods they like to wander

Started planning their Halloween costume since summer

Chooses their afternoon tea depending on their mood

Likes to sit by the window and read when starts raining

Often misunderstood

Looks dark and broody but is just a cinnamon roll (a cute, little, squishy cinnamon roll!!! - sometimes I struggle to repress the urge to push you off a cliff - nah, you know you love me - who's gonna tell them? - Not me.)

Starts reading several books at the same time and switches between them

Spends long afternoons reading in coffee shops

Struggles with depression and anxiety

Cannot function without coffee in the morning

Gets startled easily if they are focused on something else

Judges everyone silently, that's just what they do (Except Spring, she can do whatever she wants. - is it the cuteness? - It is.)

Waits for the call to end and then texts "What do you want?!?"

Aesthetics:

Eye-rolls, tired eyes, old books and fallen leaves as bookmarks, sentences underlined with shaky lines, large cardigans and knitted sweaters, dark coffee with splashes of milk, Earl Grey tea and butter biscuits, soft sighs and sweater paws, leather messenger bags and worn-out notebooks, the pitter-patter of rain on the sidewalk, fog and drizzle, the distant rumble of an incoming storm

Playlist:

The Less I Know the Better by Tame Impala

Tired by beabadoobee

Devil Town by Cavetown

Coffee by Jack Stauber's Micropop

Blondie by Current Joys

Alien Blues by Vundabar

Little Dark Age by MGMT

Hey Kids by Molina ft. Late Verlane

Take a Slice by Glass Animals

Vide Noir by Lord Huron

Mary On a Cross by Ghost

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

Zombie by The Cranberries

----------------------🍏

Helloo!!! ✨

Sorry it's been a while since I've posted anything (again, sob) but I'm back!

I chose seasons this time, and I've also added comments from each one, I thought it would be a cute thing to add, I had fun doing it.

For the character's comments I used different colors to recognize them, I hope it's not too chaotic.

Hope you enjoy, and please take care of yourselves,

lots of love 💜

[new-berry]

Pep / KDB

NSFW-ish but nothing to warn for, just the world fuck really. NSFW in a church. Infidelity. Is Pep/KDB it’s own warning? Am I a warning?

Gretna Green

Not set last year? Set a couple of years ago. I literally haven’t even read this through. Spelling is an evil, but is it a necessary one?

It’s another Thursday. Even If they had set alarms they would have slept through them. Their phones on the coffee table, the screens flicking on and off. It’s nearly stopped raining. Spring is almost over, summer hasn’t quite started.

He’d like to blame drinking he’d like to pretend it was in the aftermath of a victory, that he was overcome.

On the chair next to Kevin’s bed, this temporary place, they have layered trousers and socks and underwear. Pep’s hands are efficient, and Kevin’s are practised at stripping clothes off in the dark. The sleeve of Kevin’s sweater is lying across the waistband of Pep’s jeans. Last night they twisted together. Pep hasn’t slept-in for years.

He wakes up first. The insistent nag of water has finally become impossible to incorporate into his dream. The window is cracked open and Pep watches the drops that hit the window ledge. He watches the carpet under the window slowly get darker with water. Someone else will clean it up eventually. The paint chipped at the corner. Careless streaks from a half assed cleaning service.

Kevin’s behind him and he shifts slightly, aligns their bodies more completely, even his elbow feels hot against Pep’s ribcage.

Pep holds his breath; he’s not ready for it to be over. For last night to melt away, evaporate off his skin like rainwater on concrete. Wants it to be cars he can hear passing by.

Soon Kevin is going to grab for his watch or look up and squint at the window. He’s going to realise that they could have nearly slept in. It’s not that either of them has anywhere to be, so much as there is somewhere they should not be. Here, together, it’s not Pep’s bed. He is the one who should have slunk away last night.

Kevin is going to wake up, is going to recognise the body under his arm.

“This is not a punishment.” Pep had said. Kevin on top of him, half wild, with glittering eyes and guilt. Under-prepared and stubborn.

Two weeks ago they accidentally ran away to Scotland. There isn’t any reason they couldn’t. Kevin’s latest meeting with the lawyer. The therapist. The family counsellor. The dangled chance of reconciliation.

Six hours of traffic barely speaking. Falling into a bed booked online.

Sleeping apart in the small bed. Small high windows with curtains they hadn’t closed properly. Small desk, small tv. Kevin rolling over away from the telephone. Half assed job vacuuming. Small towels in the bathroom. Kevin barely fitting under the shower head. Too awake. The line of his back too rigid, flotsam adrift. They didn’t fuck that night. They didn’t that morning. Barely touched. The points of their elbows, the bend of their knees. Pinned to the edges of the bed, a valley of sheets between them.

Pep had run his hand down the hard line of Kevin’s back. “Come have breakfast.” He said. They walked to the tourist part of town. Under baseball caps and blue surgical masks. Toothbrushes from Spar left in the bin. They won’t stay another night.

From 7.14 when Pep sent a text to his wife, Kevin buried in the steam of the shower, until Midnight, Kevin slipping out of the car without saying goodbye, they were tourists and lovers.

Eating breakfast with fresh juice and eggs. They walked slowly and Pep was not his boss. Kevin was not his player. The short holiday that Kevin would take with his family undiscussed. Pep’s family phantoms. Their jobs a ghost. They would probably reconcile. You can feel like a single parent married to a football player or a football manager. But maybe better to have him there than to admit something was wrong.

Pep’s phone twisted in his pocket. They both politely looked away from calls that could not go unanswered. Consumed with the quality of the scarves that fell out in piles of every open shop door, not the hushed conversations.

They didn’t stand out in the crowd’s meandering up the Royal mile.They kissed twice, they touched more. Hand draped over arm, fingers on a shoulder pointing something out. Backs turned for the whisper of privacy.

But now, two weeks later, Pep wants to roll over and kiss Kevin awake. He wants to know he could slip back into the bed, pressing his hands - warm from holding two cups of tea - against Kevin’s ribs while Kevin groped across the bedside table for his own drink.

Wants to kiss without brushing their teeth. Without tasting alcohol or even a victory. Pep wants to turn over and nudge his knee between Kevin’s. Wants to rock Kevin awake like he fucked him asleep.

Pep wants to say: that’s just traffic, that’s just the tv. Your wife is waiting for you to call her and will believe your lie this time. Let’s kiss. The battery on your phone is dead, there is no where to be and nothing to do except for you to tell me what you dreamed of.

Instead he shrugs out from under Kevin’s arm over his waist and feels the morning-rainy air strip away the touch of Kevin’s warmth. He lets the hallway pull the pressure of Kevin’s fingerprints off his shoulders and tugs on a sweater when he reaches the kitchen. It’s Kevin’s, thrown over the back of another chair.

Messy bachelor pad. She will take him back. A few weeks Time enough make her point. To stop doing it. To get better at hiding it.

It’s not even that it is particularly cold, standing shifting from foot to foot waiting for the kettle to boil. But in comparison it’s winter. Kevin too hot, right from his bones that feel too close to the surface of his skin. He curls in too close, too near, and he has always pulled away too quickly when he realises.

It wouldn’t be traffic he heard, this high up. It might have been rain that Pep heard, that woke him up. But he always wakes up early. In his life he’s that man who shrugs out of bed early to beat the kids and his wife up. Who makes appointments that start early in the day.

It’s Wednesday, or Friday, or Sunday. It’s morning, it’s raining probably pouring, it’s not cold enough for sweaters, or tea, or curling together in bed, the old man is snoring, and the water is boiling. Hot clear tears jump out of the spout of the kettle and dance on the hood of the oven like the rain on the roof five stories above them.

It’s morning, and Pep briefly pretends to hear the traffic through the open kitchen window, even from an apartment this high up. Even though it’s too early for the morning rush. He leaves Kevin’s sweater folded neatly in the couch. Grabs his phone, it’s morning and he has meetings.

[lcrk]

THINGS YOUR MUSE WILL NOTICE ABOUT MINE repost , do not reblog

WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE . she's on the smaller side of average at 5'4", and depending on how she's chosen to present herself she can be very unassuming. most often she's noticed with 'girl next door' vibes, and typically it's only on red carpets that she glams up to look 'movie star.' she smiles often, even when trying to fly under the radar, and has a magnetic, yet understated, way of drawing eyes towards her without necessarily intending to. her style is often fairly simple and casual when she's not on set, and she rarely has her hair done when she's out and about on her own. even on red carpets though she's a big fan of sneakers with her formalwear.

WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE . this depends entirely whether she's on set or not. she's a big perfume girlie, and picks scents for each of her characters and wears that scent while filming, always, and on the press tour for that project. when not on set, she still almost always wears perfume because she really loves it. off set she tends to be seasonal with her perfume as opposed to having a signature scent: light floral with sandalwood for spring, citrus and beachy for summer, amber and woody for autumn, and musky clove or subtle evergreen for winter.

WHAT THEY TASTE LIKE . kissing her on the mouth typically tastes a little minty, a little like strawberry. a habit picked up from kissing coworkers, she often chews gum or pops a breath mint melt before kissing, even in her personal life (unless the kissing is spontaneous, which is fine) and she likes wearing flavored lipgloss when she knows (or thinks) she'll be kissing someone, because she thinks that's cute and fun; her favorite lipgloss tastes like strawberry, but she'll switch it up from time to time if she wants to, especially if she's been kissing the same person a lot, mostly to see if they'll comment on her lipgloss flavor.

WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE . she has a very slight southern accent; she took vocal classes starting in her preteens to get and keep her accent neutral, and then filming in new york city for years also impacted her accent. her southern accent is very mild, and more of a lilt than a twang, and some words sound very new york from her time there (like 'bagel'). her voice isn't overly loud, but isn't particularly quiet, either, and her laugh is pretty infectious.

WHAT THEY FEEL LIKE . she has very soft skin; she's obsessed with skincare and has an entire cabinet in her apartment dedicated to skincare products, masks, lotions, bath products, etc. and yes sometimes she does sleep with fluffy gloves and socks after she's slathered her hands and feet with a thick moisturizer. a costar once told her that her skin feels like butter, and she took great pride in that.

tagged by: @proditeur tagging: the dash! there are so many new people on the dash and i want to know everything about what's noticeable about your muses.

[mack-montresor]

TASK 001: THE REAPING (PT. 1 | BLIND CORNER)

It was the heat of summer. The air was sticky with sweat, even with the fan creaking in the corner of the room. Still, Nettle woke up with her head on Bramble’s chest. They should get up. There were things to do this morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to move, taking a few minutes to just listen to the steady creak of the fan, the sturdy beat of her heart.

The walkie paging was what made her sit up.

She paged in, reaching blindly with one hand over her shoulder. Sleepily, she groaned out a “Nnnnettle.”

Joe’s voice crinkled on the other end of the line. “Morning to you too. Both up?”

“No.”

“Work on it.”

“Copy.” And with that, she sat up, hoping the motion would wake Bramble up on its own. “Bram.” It was soft, but semi-firm. Today was a big day.

The combo seemed to work, at least enough that Bramble stirred, rolling into her stomach with a huff, burying her face. Hearing Joe’s voice in the morning was like smelling black coffee: effective, but not quite satisfying when you preferred something sweet. 

“Five more minutes,” she whined, voice muffled by the pillow. “Please?”

Nettle laughed, picking up the walkie and presenting it so as to tell Bramble she could bargain herself. “It’s’a big day, he’s gonna say no.” and with that, she stood up, wandering around their room and grabbing her clothes out of the closet and tossing Bramble’s clothes at her. “Come on. Aren’t you ready to age out of this bullshit? Y’know, I bet tomorrow we can sleep in as late as we want. hear Joe's making pie.”

This, of course, only solicited a groan. Bramble pushed herself up, flopping back on the bed, writhing about until she’d mussed all the sheets — wishing to be burrowed beneath them. “Better be the best fuckin’ pie of our lives,” she grumbled, sighing. Blindly, she felt over the mattress for her clothes, trying to change without getting up at all. She managed fine on her undergarments, but there was too much fabric on her dress (a stupid thing to wear), so she had to get up. 

It was Joe. The pie would not be good. It would likely taste of gasoline and be half-burnt. But Nettle didn’t point that out, because the fact that he’d bought berries for them was good enough.

“Are we drivin’?” Bramble mumbled, sticking a toothbrush in her mouth. Even with her mouth full, words warped, she trusted she could be heard. “Joe’s meeting us there, right?” 

Nettle, amused, responded quickly to the question.“Oh yeah.” At this point, she was already in her own dress and halfway through brushing her hair. “Parkin’s gonna be a fiasco, but we’re drivin’. Joe’s got…” it took her a second to remember which responsibility it was today. “Schedules to drop at the station before? Whatever it was, we’re busy this afternoon, so it’s splitsies.” there were deliveries to be made, even on national holidays. They only had the morning off. 

“Another gorgeous day in Panem,” she spread an arm out wide and high, feeling the drama of it. Then she leaned over and spit her toothpaste out in the sink. Bramble tied her hair back and began to wash her face. “Grab us somethin’ to eat in the truck? I’m almost done.” 

“You look great.” Nettle said, although she hadn’t been asked. “Gimme a minute. I haven’t put on socks.” another five minutes and she’d finished her hair, grabbed a bag, shoved some quick food into it from their bin of a ‘pantry’ in the closet. She checked under the bed, grabbing a jar of moonshine she’d been saving and shoving it in too.

And with that, they headed out, locking the door behind them.  Bramble made a note that their raspberry bushes needed pruning, and that the heavy Spring rainfall had washed loose berries down onto the cement of the truck depot. Years ago, Joe had been pissed they’d planted the seeds, and even more upset when it had started spreading rapidly. How were they supposed to know? She weaved around the loose berries, but it was impossible not to smush a few, staining the cement red beneath. Things they’d worry about this weekend, when they had some downtime. Or maybe they’d fix it tonight when they got home. However long she could get away with it, she would.

“Can I drive?” Nettle asked, once the car was within view.

 Bramble pulled the keys out of her pocket, dangling them off her middle finger, teasing in her palm. “Absolutely not. Get on your side.” 

Nettle laughed freely. She went through the usual checks as she made her way around to the passenger side, waving to a pair in their forties who were giving their truck a wash down.

“Good luck today!” one called over.

“Hey, with your route? You too!” Nettle laughed again, closing the hood and pulling open the door. She climbed up, climbed in, and offered a hand, sideways, to Bramble, initiating their handshake. Today was going to be a good day.

Bramble oscillated through radio stations: twangy folk music on one, soft jazz on another, trying to fine tune it to just the right signal. There, music still played, but between the songs, sporadically, another voice shone through. Well, two: Pascal and Delphi. Nettle let her fiddle, didn’t even complain about listening to the news on their way to the reaping. It was always good to hear what their oracles had to say. Instead, they focused on the voices as they pulled out onto the road.

“You’re listening to Vox Machina, this is your Oracle, Delphi speaking,” The voice rang nicely from the radio, something almost familiar, pitched up an octave, any twang cut out, brought to a neutral Panem accent. “In an attack to the north, Peackeepers take casualties, eight are dead and reportedly, dozens more are injured. Rebel forces have lost three in the scuffle.” 

A shuffle of paper created a pause, and in it, Nettle spoke up. “Heard they got Huck. You know, Ulberry?” Bramble swore under her breath. Tragic, but the fight goes on. 

And then Delphi’s voice crackled to life again, “Fortunately, the Vox managed to maintain control of the zone and pushed back all Capitol-aided forces. In the south, the Vox Populi lost control of Checkpoint C after burning the fields there. Check back again after the Reapings for any and all updates, signing off, this is Delphi.”

The radio began to churn out old Dark Days music, the gravel of the singer’s voice a soothing balm. Edda? Or Etta? Bramble couldn’t remember, but she loved this song. “Well, we’ll see if there are updates on the way home, I guess.” She turned it up, reaching over to take Nettle’s hand, to interlace their fingers as they turned out onto the main road.

A winding drive through the countryside, the tall plains and crop fields — it was a gorgeous day. Warm, with a breeze. They rolled the windows down. And with the wind, Bramble had to crank the volume up again to maintain the sound. Then she sang. Joyous, lighthearted, proud. 

And when she looked over, Nettle was singing too.

[sansxfuckyou]

Fluttering sounds

Summary: During insomnia riddled nights, Karkat drinks tea, it doesn't help, but at least it helps him avoid his thoughts about Eridan, whomst he shares an apartment with.

Warnings: Insomnia, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: First step for my every ship challenge, starting off with some fluff, I got this, once again, I take reblogs as a form of currency over likes

Eridan was asleep, Karkat was not.

Ever since moving onto earth insomnia has had him caught in its grips tightly. And nothing has helped him move into the worlds sleep schedule, no drugs, no tea, nothing. He was always a tired kind of guy, this made it even worse than before. And the apartment floor every Troll lived in was quiet, and he liked quiet when sleeping.

It didn't make sense.

Eridan slept like a log every single night, falling asleep the second he hit the floor bound mattress, they still hadn't gotten a frame. He was just out cold leaving Karkat to his thoughts pressed between a wall and a sleeping seadweller, it was uncomfortable in the best way. Eridan would usually wake up to the sound of Karkat brewing tea, the whistle of the kettle waking him up each time, that was when he agreed to try and help find a way for Karkat to sleep.

After that started though, it was becoming summer, the hot season, and that had Eridan annoyed.

He normally fell asleep wearing his striped scarf, and because of how hot it was becoming, he couldn't. Tonight is the first night he's went without it, it didn't bother his sleep schedule though, he was laying silent in seconds. Karkat wasn't sure why he was apprehensive to the idea of sleeping with a scarf, Karkat usually slept without a shirt even in winter, how Eridan managed all those layers was beyond the mutant blood.

Karkat lay on their bed, trapped between the wall again, but unlike previous times, where there was just a bit of wiggle room, Eridan was pressed against him skin to skin. Now, Karkat didn't consider Eridan anything more than a friend, not even a Moirail, but being so damn close to someone, anyone had him burning up. He was struck by insomnia, but this dulled the naturally occurring insomnia just a little bit, and then Eridan turned away from Karkat who released a small breath of relief before sitting up.

He slowly pulled himself off their bed, the blanket they shared as thrown to the ground, again, despite Eridans freezing tendencies. What a fucking fish, can't even drop into negative temperature for a second without wimping out and heading inside again.

Karkat makes his way to the fridge carefully, socks on his feet so he doesn't wake up Eridan with the faint noise, learning he was a very, very light sleeper after midnight tea. Karkat slid his blunted claws between the sealing plastic on the fridge door before cracking it open, light bright on his face. He grabbed a small cup of tea, it was cold, but he didn't like dealing with sleep deprived Eridan in the morning.

He stood there, fridge door wide open, a cold cup of tea in one hand and his eyes unblinking. He brought it to his lips and shuddered, it was far to cold for him to drink, so he would just have to sleep without his sleepy time tea. He sighed as he returned it to the fridge before closing it, he yawned, one hand absently trailing across the scars on his sides, they were vibrant red.

He trudged back to his bed, finding Eridan in the exact same position as before, his chest barely rose and his shirt was riding up his torso a bit. Karkat moved swiftly as he gently lied on the bed, wiggling his way up to the pillow, springs creaked and Eridan gave a snort, normally a sign he was waking up. Karkat froze up completely as Eridans breathing started to even out with another soft snort, he was so waking up.

This time he didn't though, instead a weak fluttering sound was what he started to emit.

It had Karkat paralyzed, it sounded just like his old Lusus, where did, how did he even make that noise?

Karkat didn't really care, it was just comforting, he missed his Lusus a lot. He curled up to Eridan, that fluttering sound started to get a little bit stronger, it was almost a whistle sound. He had his head nuzzled up against the crook of Eridans neck, his gills fluttering and pulsating was where the sound came from.

Karkat released a small chitter, damn, how could such a sleepy and comforting sound come from Eridan. He didn't know, he was just getting pulled closer and closer to sleep as the sound droned on and on in his ears. Eventually he fell asleep, resting on Eridan, an arm across his chest and both legs wrapped around one of the violet bloods legs.

No more than an hour later Eridan woke up with a snort, the sound from his gills inching him closer and closer to waking up until he finally did. He gave a soft groan, ready to go and grab his scarf and say sorry to Karkat for keeping him up.

But he couldn't move.

He found Karkat pinning him down in his sleep, that was new, Karkat was never asleep when it was night. It took him a few moments of pondering what could've changed that until it factored in that his gills were exposed. Must've been the noise, that was what Karkat needed for his insomnia, some white noise to lull him into sleep.

Eridan sighed.

Guess it was his turn to go without sleep.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Heat Waves

Well, we’re into another heat wave - it hit 29C yesterday, and the only reason it hasn’t come up that hot today is because of a very brief thundershower. I would have liked more, even if sun is good for my plants. Partly because while the sun is good for my plants, too much heat isn’t, particularly. I’m finding that the soil dries really fast in this kind of weather, so I’m giving them just a bit of water multiple times a day. I don’t want them wilting in the heat, especially not when my marigolds just came into bloom and it looks like my asters are going to follow pretty soon.

Of course, the other thing I’m having in this weather is the aphids. It’s not a huge problem yet, and I can keep it to a minimum with the essential oil repellent I learned about last year, but it’s still about checking the leaves and brushing off aphids so they don’t decide to take a munch out of my marigold leaves.

It’d be easier if I wasn’t still coming down off a fairly unfortunate pain spike. But I am, and the heat’s not helping. It’s weird - I don’t sleep well when I’m too hot, and yet I also don’t sleep well when I don’t have myself in all but a duvet burrito. I guess I want the warmth on my own terms?

It’s honestly ridiculous. I’m more or less over how many people think that these kinds of temperatures aren’t a big deal (I mean, they aren’t to people who have far hotter summers than England usually does, but no one here is used to these temperatures and the architecture here was designed to keep as much heat as possible, and air conditioning is not exactly standard in homes - and frankly would be too expensive to run even if it was, given what the cost of living is like here these days), but it’s the personal level that’s getting to me. Winter’s too cold if you’re struggling with the heating (and, I mean, in my case, there’s the whole thing where the central heating just isn’t happening so I have to use the energy-intensive space heaters, and don’t like doing it because of the expense, so I end up made of fleece and heavy socks for a few months), spring brings the pollen, and summer continues the pollen and gives unseasonably warm weather. Though given climate change, I guess we won’t be able to call it ‘unseasonable’ for long, since I guess this is the new normal now.

Point is that there’s only a couple of months of the year where the weather’s not out to get me, and that’s autumn. Blegh.

Well, at least I don’t have to commute anymore. Commuting in and of itself is bad enough; cramming one’s self onto a bus full of people in the sweltering heat is worse, with or without a chronic pain thing.

[sinterblackwell]

I posted 5,696 times in 2022

205 posts created (4%)

5,491 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@howlscastle

@fairycosmos

@hungwy

@lostlovepunk

@dilfmas

I tagged 5,696 of my posts in 2022

#🤍 - 1,422 posts

#🖤 - 1,292 posts

#❣️ - 1,261 posts

#text - 758 posts

#💗 - 645 posts

#art - 516 posts

#🧡 - 460 posts

#t: fanart - 389 posts

#katten - 367 posts

#words - 361 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#garfield’s words really make me think of my last read with ‘fool of death’ and how the author explored not just feyi’s grief but alim’s too

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

thank you @birthdaysentiment for tagging me 🤍

plants or gardens / cloud-watching or star-gazing / water or fire / paperback or hardcover / running or hiking / sleeping with socks or without socks / fruits or vegetables / hanging plants or succulents / dark wood or light wood / handwritten or typed / instagram or pinterest / dc or marvel / books or movies / oceans or meadows / forests or fields / sweet or salty / ice cream or chocolate / hoodies or sweaters / piercings or tattoos / summer or winter / spring or fall / boots or sneakers / house or apartment / cars or motorcycles / curls or straight hair / castles or cottages / sunny days or storms / reptiles or birds / strawberries or watermelon / essays or posters / phone or laptop or desktop / glass or stone / photos or paintings / circus or theater / reading or writing / dogs or cats / poetry or novels / monsters or ghosts or vampires / thrift shops or libraries / fiction or nonfiction / dark or light

i tag: @dreamingoftinystars @kritiquer and @mirroroferisedx (if you’d like)

11 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

#4

i don’t think i can ever emphasize enough how much kevin day means to me, like i’ve read over 200 books in the last two years and of all of them, kevin’s the character that has stuck with me the most and he wasn’t even the main character so it just gets to me even more

13 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

#3

thank you @birthdaysentiment for tagging me 🤍

rules: so shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first 10 tracks and list 10 songs you really like, each by different artist, and then tag 10 people to do the same thing

from my “on repeat” playlist”:

summertime sadness - lana del rey

freaks - surf curse (ethan winters 🫶🏽)

despechá - rosalía (thanks, mom)

secret love song, pt. II - little mix

about damn time - lizzo

mary on a cross - ghost

falling apart - michael schulte

beat it - michael jackson (obsessed)

kiss goodnight - tyler shaw (my tal bauer era)

pirate - everglow (the only kpop song??)

songs i really like:

angel by the wings - sia

haide - helena paparizou

medusa - dirty heads

pporappippam - sunmi

dreams - the cranberries (this is a recent fav)

mi corazoncito - aventura

starlight - taylor swift

je me casse - destiny

perfume - lovejoy (an aro anthem)

for the first time in forever - frozen cast

i tag: @tawmlinsun @butternaan @dreamingoftinystars @kritiquer @milfmas @flying-elliska + four more people who might possibly want to do this?? who? i have no idea :’)

20 notes - Posted December 4, 2022

#2

hi @kritiquer , remember that music tag you tagged me in where you post your top five on repeat songs at the moment? that was back in june and here i am doing it…three months later. i’m really sorry about that but thank you for the tag 💜

listed: brave by twice, alien superstar by beyoncé, spillways by ghost, babydoll (speed) by ari abdul, and summertime sadness by lana del ray

i tag: @butternaan @dreamingoftinystars and @andrewjosephminyard

and again…very sorry.

27 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

sometimes you just know right away what your rating for a book would be. like if not by reading the first chapter alone, it’s the next chapter after, there’s just this immediate feeling in your gut that you know how the story might end up holding up for you

42 notes - Posted July 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sillyinternetgf]

Letters to my inner child: A Plea (2023)

Does anyone know that I love the sound of birds tweeting in the morning? Or the crisp, early spring air? Does anyone know that I am drawn to water? the way it calls to me. Does anyone know that I sleep with the blankets muffling sounds to not awake my hyper vigilant self? I can tell the difference between everyone's footsteps, that I can walk into a room with no sound and I can feel the presence of others? I can feel their energy. Does anyone know that I like my pancakes soggy? Does anyone know I wanted to be an artist when I grew up? I'd spent countless hours perfecting my drawings.

When did I grow up?

Does anyone know that I love the feeling of being held? Arms holding me tight. Never letting me go.Does anyone know that my favorite flowers are crysanthemums and amaryllis? The prettiest of flowers. Does anyone know that I lost all my baby teeth by the time I was 8? I pulled the last one out myself.Does anyone know that i love tigers blood and cream snow cones? My mom and I would get one every week in the summer at the corner store near our house. Does anyone know that I wore my socks inside out until I was 11 because the seams would bother me?

Does anyone even know the real me? Who is the real me? Is she gone? Did I lose her? Is she still within me?

I miss her. Please come back.I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't even know if any of these things are true. I feel guilty for losing her. I let her be beaten down until there was nothing left. I tried to lock her away inside but I let them inside of me and they beat her into a further impenetrable box.

I don't have the key to it. I don't even know if there is a keyhole. Does she have a window? Can she see the life I live now? Is she even alive in there? I'm sorry I left you alone. I'm sorry I didn't protect you. I try so hard to reconnect with you. I watch our favorite childhood movies. I play our favorite childhood games. I think up all of the good memories of childhood. But does she remember them? Did she lose her innocence too quickly? Did she forget too? Is she lost?

Please come back. I won't let anyone hurt you again. I'll take care of you this time. You won't have to grow up like that. I'll fuel you with all the love I should have. I'm sorry I was too concerned with outside forces to take the time to learn to love you. Maybe you'd be here today.

If you're inside me somewhere, I just want you to know that I love you. I may not love who I am today. But I love YOU. I'm sorry I ruined our life. I hurt your body. I hurt your soul. I was one of the ones who locked you into that mind place box you're in now. I just wish I could know if you're happy in there. Are you happy? Did you get locked away and protected before everything happened? Were your eyes shielded at least?

I know you had so many dreams. So many aspirations. You were talented and bright. Your future would have been so successful. You'd be happy right now if I didn't ruin it for you. You'd have so many friends. You were destined to do great things. I'm so so sorry I couldn't help you. If you were shielded before everything bad happened, then I am elated. I wouldn't want you to be in this pain. I'm glad I saved you from a life of misery. I know you are living in a small bubble, but maybe it is for the best. The world is ruthless and cruel. You deserved better. I would take the abuse again if it meant you could be okay in there. Wherever you are. I love you. Please come back. I will keep you safe this time. I won't hurt you. I will show you what life is meant to be like. Are you in there? I can't let you out myself. Please. Come back to me when you are ready. I miss you. I miss who we used to be. I don't know who I am anymore without you.

[its-chelisey-stuff]

This or That: Tag

I’m so late, but this was fun, thank you @eclectifylady !

indoor plants or gardens // cloud-watching or star-gazing // water or fire // paperback or hardcover // running or hiking // sleeping with socks or without socks // fruit or vegetables // hanging plants or succulents // dark wood or light wood // handwritten or typed // Instagram or Pinterest // braids or pigtails // dc or marvel // books or movies // oceans or meadows // forests or fields // sweet or salty // ice cream or chocolate // hoodies or sweaters // long hair or short hair // piercings or tattoos // summer or winter // boots or sneakers // cars or motorcycles // curls or straight hair // castles or cottages // sunny days or storms // reptiles or birds // Disney or nickelodeon // strawberries or watermelon // essays or posters // phones or laptops // glass or stone // dark or light // photos or paintings // circuses or theaters // reading or writing // dogs or cats // poetry or novels // monsters or ghosts // thrift shops or libraries // fiction or non-fiction

tagging: @liveasbutterflies  @what-breaks-my-heart @dangermousie @crappysandals @starfire-s @have-yet-to-decide @mj220991 @obsessedkuroi

[efyra]

Bubble Bath • Fred Weasley

pairing: dad!fred weasley x mom!reader

summary: after an exhausting day at work, fred comes back home to his wonderful family.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: fluff (?); mentions of sex.

author’s note: i had a dream about having kids with fred and this idea came into my mind - so i just had to write it?

like always, i’m sorry for any grammar mistake 🥺

reblogs are always welcome

you can check my other works here

The first time Fred Weasley thought "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life" - which he could remember - was in a summer of 1985 when Bill and Charlie taught him and George how to play Exploding Snap. The second was when he started his studies at Hogwarts in September 1989. The third was the following year when he and George were accepted into the Gryffindor’s Quidditch team as beaters. The fourth time was on a winter's afternoon in 1993 when he had his first kiss. The fifth was when the dream of opening a joke shop with his twin had become even closer to reality after Harry gave them the Triwizard Tournament prize. The sixth was in a 1995 night when he lost his virginity. The seventh time was the day Weasley's Wizard Wheezes opened at Diagon Alley in 1996. The eighth was in May 1998 with the defeat of Lord Voldemort. The ninth was when he met you on a spring morning in 2001. The tenth time was when you agreed to go on a date with him a few days later. And since then, Fred Weasley had lost the count. 

But he remembered the most special days. 

The day you kissed. The first night you spent together. The lunch his mother prepared at the Burrow so that you could be introduced to the Weasley family. When you finally said "I love you" to each other. That afternoon you agreed to have a picnic, but you didn't check if it would rain and came home soaked. The next morning that Fred woke up sick and you made him some soup. The time you two couldn't sleep then you stayed up all night talking while drinking hot chocolate. When Fred asked you to marry him on the first day of a new year. That summer day in 2004 when you and Fred said "I do" and made a vow to love each other for all eternity. The dinner where you revealed that you were pregnant with your first child together. The day Maeve Weasley was born and your world had changed completely. And since then, Fred Weasley went to sleep every day thinking, "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life." 

He was enchanted with every little moment. 

Fred was thrilled the moment he hold Maeve for the first time and nested her in his arms; he pressed a delicate kiss on her forehead, feeling that newborn baby smell and watching her sleep peacefully, finally realizing that she was his baby - his baby to care for, to protect, to love; his daughter. 

He remembered the first time Maeve opened a toothless smile, that she babbled something in the baby’s language, when she ate solid food when she was six-months-old and ended up with banana puree - made by mommy - all over her face, the way she clapped her hands when she heard Hermione singing muggle’s nursery rhymes, when she took her first steps two weeks after her one-year birthday. Fred was not ashamed to admit that he cried when Maeve first called him "Daddy", that he got emotional every time she lay on his chest and fell asleep there as if it was the most comfortable place in the world, of how he couldn't stop smiling silly while watching her dance "head, shoulders, knees and toes". Since Maeve was born, Fred Weasley thought he couldn't be happier. 

But you got pregnant again; and in 2008, Alexander Weasley was born - better known as "lil’ Alex". 

And Fred was, once again, in heaven. 

Just like happened with Maeve, he was enchanted by his son from the moment he heard that little weeping for the first time; he couldn't help but be amazed to see that the e/c color of your irises were reflected in Alex's eyes, that his nose was very similar to his father's and that he had much more hair than his sister when she was born - and once again, he had fallen in love with that newborn baby smell. 

Fred's heart melted completely when he saw the scene of you in bed holding Alex in your arms while Maeve was sitting next to you, her neck stretching so she could see her little brother more closely; he opened a broad smile with that vision, the vision of his family - his to care for, to protect, to love, his family.

That day, Fred sat next to you on the bed, taking Maeve on his lap and placing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body; he remembered the way you looked at him with a tender smile decorating your face and said: "you and I make beautiful babies," but before he could answer, Maeve exclaimed: "but Alex looks like smashed potato!”.  Fred used his free hand to tickle his daughter briefly, who let out an angelic laugh and squirmed in his arms, saying: "not the tickle monster, Daddy!", he laughed once again, kissing Maeve's fluffy cheek; his heart seemed to barely fit inside his chest of how much love he felt at that moment. Then, your head rested on his shoulder, Fred turned his head to give you a long kiss on the temple; you, in turn, lifted your face towards your husband, sealing your lips in a very short but passionate kiss - passion for the beautiful family you built together, for the life full of joys that awaited you and without forgetting, of course, the overwhelming passion you still felt for each other. 

It wasn't always easy. 

Despite the joys that fatherhood brought in your lives, conciliating raising your children with your jobs and the marital relationship was something that sometimes you failed at. Sometimes you fought for silly reasons, other times for more serious issues, but you never forgot that in the first place you loved each other. 

The worst fight you and Fred had was when the two of you were facing difficulties at work, and without even noticing it, you started to take your frustrations out on each other; you both spent a whole day not talking - just talking about your children - but in the late afternoon, when you and the redhead were distracted with work matters while Maeve and Alex were playing in the middle of the  living room, your daughter shouted cheerfully: "Mom, Dad, look! Alex likes when I dance!", the two of you immediately dropped the papers you were reading and watched the scene before your eyes: Maeve - with 3 years-old - was making extravagant ballet moves and Alex - who had just completed 8 months - was sitting on the fuzzy carpet, applauding his sister with a smile of few teeth decorating his face. At that moment, your eyes met with Fred's, and as if you were having a mental conversation, you two agreed: "No work in this world was more important than this: Maeve dancing ballet while Alex applauded". When the children slept, you had a long talk and made up in the best possible way: in bed. 

And you were fine. Better than just fine; you and Fred were happy with the life you built together. And even if some days weren't so good, the redhead would still sleep thinking that he had lived the happiest day of his life because it was one more day by your side while raising your children together, because it was one more day with his family. 

Today, Fred felt exhausted; he and George stayed until later at the shop because they needed to make an inventory of their products, and even though they had several employees so they didn't need to overload themselves with work, that task was something they didn't trust anyone else to do but each other. 

As soon as he arrived at his home through Floo Network, Fred was surprised that there was nobody in the living room and that no three-years-old girl jumped on his arms saying: "Daddy, Daddy, you're home!", but he heard laughter coming from the upper floor. He took off his shoes and socks, leaving them in the corner, and went upstairs; Fred followed that familiar sound and stopped in front of the bathroom suite you two shared, which was with the door ajar. 

For a moment, he allowed himself to watch the scene: inside of a huge white ceramic bathtub, were his wonderful children and sitting on a stool right next to it while holding Alex - who had already completed one year old - with both hands, you were wearing only a simple t-shirt and cotton shorts, your hair was in a tight bun on the top of your head; you were laughing while looking at Maeve, who was pretending to be a fish and imitating Dory's line in "Finding Nemo" when was speaking whale - you two really thanked Hermione for all the childish entertainment she introduced to you over the years -; the little girl was talking to Alex - who was supposed to be the whale.

"Ah, so you’re there" Fred said with a broad smile on his face; Maeve exclaimed an excited "daddy", splashing drops of water on all directions when she jumped. "I thought I was abandoned" he joked, walking towards the bathtub, and squatting close to where you were. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, love" you answered, smiling sweetly and leaning slightly towards your husband so you can greet him with a peck on the lips. 

Fred also greeted his children, saying tenderly: "Hi, little princess. Hi, little prince"; you two chatted distractedly while watching your children play in the bathtub - Maeve still pretended to be a fish and Alex played with a rubber duck. 

"How was your day?" he asked. 

"Normal" you shrugged. "Nothing new, which is a relief." 

"That's good. And how are our little angels?" 

"They've had dinner, played a lot and now they're taking a bath to go to bed. Did you have dinner?" 

"Yes, I ate something at the shop with George." Fred placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry for staying..."

"Don't apologize" you interrupted him. Your husband had never helped you to take care of the children; he had never helped you because that was his job too - he wasn’t “helping” you; he was taking care of his kids. Fred never expected compliments or medals for putting his children on bed, for giving them food, for waking up in the middle of the night when they were crying or for changing diapers; he knew that those were his responsibilities as much as they were yours. "I know" you sent him a reassuring smile. Days like this when you and Fred didn't do those things together were very rare - after all, you were partners for life. 

"Thank you" your husband smiled.

"And what about your day? Could you finish the inventory?" you asked. 

He let out a tired sigh, watching Alex chewing on the rubber duck. "Well... yes, but not everything. I still need..." 

"Daddy!" Maeve demanded his attention, interrupting him. "Look what I can do!" she said before immersing her head in the water for a short second before pulling it up again, her hair sticking to her cheeks as she wiped the water off her face. "See?" she opened her eyes and looked at her father, waiting for his answer. 

The redhead didn't take long to react, quickly applauding enthusiastically. "Wow, princess! You truly are a little fish! Did you see her, Mommy?" he looked at you. 

"I did, Daddy!" you smiled. "Our little Maeve already is a big girl!" 

Fred got rid of his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves to his elbow and sat on the bathroom floor, standing next to the bathtub as he listened intently to his daughter tell him about her fun day with Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur; Maeve said that Uncle Harry and Ginny showed up for a visit, so she played with her cousins all afternoon - she was asleep when you arrived at the Burrow right after work, but Alex was very agitated. 

You both took the opportunity that the little girl was very distracted and started to give your children a bath; you were soaping Alex's body while Fred washed Maeve's hair. He took the handheld shower and used it to rinse the shampoo, being careful to not let the foam fall in her eyes or ear. So, you two changed; now, you washed Maeve's body while Fred poured the baby shampoo on Alex's hair. Your husband stayed on his knees, leaning over the bathtub to hold his son firmly with one arm while using the other to give him a bath; the one-year-old was still very focused on chewing the rubber duck. 

Fred laughed. "You really like this toy, don't you, big boy?" he said to his son, who looked at his direction with his big e/c eyes. "This lil' duck is tasty, isn't it?" he said in a higher pitch and musical tone. Alex pushed the rubber toy away from his mouth just to laugh at his father, bouncing in his arms. "Yeah, you like it," the redhead smiled. "Maybe you can tell Grandpa Arthur what is the function of these rubber ducks, huh?"

You were washing Maeve's armpits when you heard the sound of your son laughing; you looked at that direction and a broad smile appeared on your face as you watched Fred talking to Alex about his toy. Then, your daughter also laughed. 

"Mommy!" she said between laughs. "You're tickling me!" 

"I'm sorry, honey," you said with a smile, pulling the little girl close so you could give her a kiss on the cheek. 

Minutes later, the children were properly dressed in their pajamas and Fred went to take a bath. And the scene he found when he returned to his room was even more adorable than the one in the bathroom: you were with your back against the headboard and, on each arm, you nested Maeve and Alex while singing them a lullaby as they were drinking hot milk from their bottle. 

His daughter was the one who saw him leaning against the door, she demanded that he come to bed with you, and as soon as Fred did, Maeve left her position to lay her head on her father's chest - now you and Fred were lying on the edge of the bed and your children in the middle of you two. 

"Daddy, can you tell us a story?" the little girl asked. 

"I don't know, honey," he said. "Mommy was singing."

"But the song's over, isn't it, Mommy?" your daughter looked at you. 

"Yes, dear" you nodded, opening a little smile. 

"Will you, Daddy? Please?" Maeve made a pout. "Alex also wants you to tell us a story," she looked at her little brother, who was almost asleep on his mother's arms. "Yes, Daddy, tell us a story," she said in a soft tone - as if it was the little boy talking - "see? He wants it too!" 

You both laughed at your daughter's little trick. "Well, Daddy, it seems they want you to tell us a story," you shrugged, still with a smile on your face. 

"How can I deny a request from the three loves of my life, huh?" Fred smiled, squeezing Maeve in his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. 

You listened carefully as your husband told the story of two fire-haired brothers who fought against a terrible one-eyed monster and managed to obtain a precious magical item: a map that led them to various adventures around the world. And when the two brothers discovered how to get to the Candy Land, you and Fred noticed that your children were already deeply asleep in your arms. 

You both shared a look and a smile. A passionate look at the love that existed in your family. A proud smile for the life you had together. 

"I love you" your husband whispered at you.

"I love you too" you whispered back. 

And before Fred fell asleep, he thought, "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life."

taglist: @eunoia-kth

[ofpd]

i was tagged by @sheger-peger & @sokka-theartist ty!

plants or gardens / cloud-watching or star-gazing / water or fire / paperback or hardcover / running or hiking / sleeping with socks or without socks / fruits or vegetables / hanging plants or succulents / dark wood or light wood / handwritten or typed / instagram or pinterest / dc or marvel / books or movies / oceans or meadows / forests or fields / sweet or salty / ice cream or chocolate / hoodies or sweaters / piercings or tattoos / summer or winter / spring or fall / boots or sneakers / house or apartment / cars or motorcycles / curls or straight hair / castles or cottages / sunny days or storms / reptiles or birds / strawberries or watermelon / essays or posters / phone or laptop or desktop / glass or stone / photos or paintings / circus or theater / reading or writing / dogs or cats / poetry or novels / monsters or ghosts or vampires / thrift shops or libraries / fiction or nonfiction / dark or light

tagging (with no obligation of course) @comradegiulia @sokkayue @jewblog @mashkaroom @sch-uwu-lchen @jewretch

[the-girl-who-didnt-make-anysense]

 @scribblesandsorcery​ tagged me to answer the following:

indoor plants or gardens // cloud-watching or star-gazing // water or fire // paperback or hardcover // running or hiking (is this even a choice? can I go with swimming?) // sleeping with socks or without socks // fruit or vegetables // hanging plants or succulents // dark wood or light wood // handwritten or typed // instagram or pinterest // braids or pigtails // dc or marvel // books or movies // oceans or meadows // forests or fields // sweet or salty // ice cream or chocolate // hoodies or sweaters // long hair or short hair // piercings or tattoos // summer or winter (spring) // boots or sneakers // cars or motorcycles // curls or straight hair // castles or cottages  // sunny days or storms // reptiles or birds  // disney or nickelodeon // strawberries or watermelon // essay or posters // phones or laptops // glass or stone // dark or light // photos or painting // circuses or theaters // reading or writing // dogs or cats // poetry or novels // monsters or ghosts // thrift shops or libraries // fiction or non-fiction

Thank you @scribblesandsorcery for the tag

If you’d like to join I’m tagging: @bedeliainwonderland @mjamcc @gipsydanger17 @phoenixshine