#even though it is now weeks after I got tagged

[dsireland86]

Requesting Noah x reader where the reader experiences post partum depression after giving birth to their newborn baby girl.

Post partum depression is no joke and something so many women, including myself, have had to deal with. I wish it on no new mom. But, when you have a good partner who supports you entirely, it makes all the difference🥰

PostPartum

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

I held her in my arms like she was the most valuable thing in the world. To me she was. She was my daughter. She was the best part of me and her mother put together, a treasure created out of pure love.

I looked over at my wife, watching as she delivered the remaining proof of her pregnancy, feeling nothing but pride and respect for her. What I had just witnessed in the last thirteen hours was nothing short of an absolute miracle.

I had no idea how difficult it was for a woman to give birth until now. The strength and resilience I saw in her made me see her and all women in a whole new light. It was an indescribable yet incredible feeling.

She looked up at me, smiling her beautiful yet exhausted smile. She looked completely different now; she was a mother. I grinned back, offering her our daughter and gently laid her on her chest when she said yes.

"Noah, she has your nose and your eyes," my wife gushed, kissing our little girl's rosy forehead.

"She really does, doesn't she?" I marveled, unable to hide my grin. I kissed my wife's forehead, praising her over and over for what she went through for us. I had what I'd always wanted. I had my family.

Days after we came home were a struggle. The nights were sleepless, the days exhausting. The constant feeding and changing diapers was a lot of work I wasn't prepared for. But neither was my wife.

She started crying more than usual. At first, it was simple little tears, but then there were days where those tears lingered all day and sometimes into the night, too. They would lead into spurts of her doubting her ability to be a mother and caring for our baby the way she needed to be cared for.

That's when she would say things like, "Our daughter does better when I'm not around. Maybe it's for the best", or "I just want to disappear. All of this is too much."

I knew she was exhausted, not mentally prepared for any of this, so I did my best to help take the burden off her shoulders, hoping it would help. Sometimes it did, but most of the time I think it only made things worse.

A few weeks went by, and things began to mellow out some; with our daughter at least. We got into a routine and a schedule of sleep, making the nights more bearable.

But my wife would still have her spouts of irritability, sometimes waking up and starting things for no reason. It was usually over little things like dishes or clothes, but then it started to become bigger. She accused me of not being home enough and not helping out enough which would always end with her falling apart and crying again. It broke me.

I didn't know what to do, except hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though I wasn't so sure.

I would watch her during feedings and how she seemed distant from our baby, looking away, never making that mother to baby eye contact I read about in the "What to Expect When Your Wife is Expanding" book Jolly bought me for my first "father's day". She was physically there, but not mentally.

Days after our daughter turned a month old, I came home to find her sitting on the couch in the living room, staring into nothing. She had the most distant spaced out look on her face, her eyes completely void of anything.

"Baby, are you alright?" I gently shook her. She finally snapped out of whatever daze she was in, shaking her head.

"Noah," smiling weakly at me.

"Baby, I'm really worried about you. You're not looking or acting like yourself," I finally admitted to her.

"I feel okay," she said weakly.

"When was the last time you ate?" I brushed some loose hair out of her eyes, running my hand down her cheek.

She thought for a moment then shrugged.

"Come on, I sighed, taking her hand and pulling her towards the kitchen. That's when the baby monitor went off, signaling our little girl was awake.

"Why don't you go get her, and I'll make us something to eat." My wife shook her head.

"No, you get her. She wants her daddy."

Letting go of my hand she made her way into the kitchen, leaving me in a bit of shock. I thought this was the worst of it, but I didn't know how much worse it could get.

Sex was out of the question. Not just for the first six weeks of course, but even past that. She closed herself off to me, not wanting me to touch her or be around her. It got to the point that she was sleeping on the couch and whenever I came into the room she would leave. I didn't understand any of it.

I eventually had to stay home from the studio and recording with the guys, having everyone bring everything to my house because I was too scared to leave her and the baby alone. Something was off with my wife, and I couldn't figure it out. I was taking it personally, thinking that the end of us had come and what was meant to be the happiest time in our lives was now becoming the hardest and most hurtful. I was done. I couldn't go through with it anymore.

One night, after our little one fell asleep after her feeding, my wife laid her in her bassinet then turned to leave the room.

"Don't leave. Please. Just stay with me for a minute," I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

She turned and looked at me with tears in her eyes.

All the color was gone from her beautiful face, her complexion dull. Her hair, normally shiny and in her wavy ponytail, was unkept, piled high on the top of her head in a messy bun. Her sleep clothes were the same ones she'd worn for almost a week.

This was nothing but a shell of my wife and it killed me seeing her this way.

"Come sit with me, baby, please," patting the bed next to me. At first she hesitated, but then, surprisingly, she came and partially sat on the bed.

I tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at her when she looked at me so sadly. I leaned in to kiss her, slowly so as to not startle her, and felt relieved when she kissed me back. Her hands found the back of my neck, twisting the longer pieces of hair at the nape of it. Her touch sent shivers down my spine. I was longing for her in ways I didn't even realize.

"I miss you," I confessed, placing my forehead to hers and holding her head between my hands.

"I know," she sniffed and I wiped away the tears that slid down her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.

"I miss you, too, Noah."

"Then talk to me," I whispered, "tell me what you're feeling. Even if you can't make sense out of it. Just tell me anyway. I'll listen."

And she did.

I ran a hot bubble bath and for the first time in months I held my wife's beautiful naked body against mine, listening as she told me everything she had been going through.

I washed her hair, scrubbed her back, and helped her shave her legs, and in return, she gave me the best sex I'd had in a while.

Watching her face as she came on my cock buried up inside her made me cum, the feeling taking us both to a higher place we hadn't been in a while. It was euphoric.

Once out of the bath and fully dressed, she checked on our little angel still fast asleep, and for the first time since we brought her home, I watched the brightest, sweetest smile grace my wife's face as she looked down on her. It made my heart swell with joy.

We discovered that night, after some slight research that what she was experiencing was called postpartum depression.

It's something most new mother's get, some more extreme than others. We weren't throwing all our eggs into the basket of self diagnosis, but she promised to call her doctor the next morning and schedule an appointment.

Seven months old. Time flies when you're having fun. I watched my wife as she attempted to feed our angel sweet potatoes for the first time. Surprisingly, she liked them. A quarter of the jar later and we had a happy, sleepy little baby.

I cleaned her up and handed her to mama as she willingly and lovingly took her and cradled her just the way she liked it. With some warm milk, a soft blanket, and mama's arms, our little girl was out like a light.

My wife looked up at me, smiling brightly. She was herself again and there was no better feeling than to see her return. With a mild medication and a little therapy, postpartum depression slowly made its way out of our lives, restoring to me the woman I loved.

She apologized, over and over, time and time again, but I always reminded her there was nothing to apologize for. None of it was ever her fault.

"Thank you for sticking it out with me, Noah. Thank you for not running away."

I took her hand and kissed it, rubbing her growing belly carrying baby Davis number two. Now that we knew what to mostly expect, this little gem would be easier to handle.

"For better or for worse, Princess. You've got me and them, forever."

[deezee112]

The Worst Ending 1 : A Perfectionist's Regret

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | The worst ending 2

Yandere!riddle rosehearts x GN!Reader

A/N : I've been really motivated to do this lately. I've got 5 drafts left! I feel like this chapter is not well written. I will try harder in the next chapter :( And I'm sorry that I'm uploading this late. I had a really bad stomachache so I uploaded it a bit late.

Content Warning : This story contains themes of emotional strain , obsessive behavior , accidental death , guilt , and grief. It explores intense psychological dynamics and depicts a tragic ending involving a fatal accident. Reader discretion is advised.

Tags :

@iris-arcadia

“ I’ll Name You Riddle ”

The name slipped off you tongue almost effortlessly, as if it had been waiting there all along. You gazed at the doll's blank yet lifelike face and nodded to herself. “ Riddle. That’s what I’ll call you. ”

The doll blinked slowly, as though acknowledging its new identity.

You didn’t know why you had chosen that name it had simply felt right. It carried a certain weight, a sense of authority. You stood and stretched, glancing down at you peculiar charge. “ Well, Riddle, looks like it’s you and me now. Let’s see how far we can take this. ”

Teaching Riddle proved to be both an intriguing and frustrating experience. At first , he could barely do anything on his own. You had to guide him through every motion , every word, every action. You taught him how to speak , patiently repeating phrases until his soft , childlike voice mimicked your perfectly. You taught him how to walk , holding his hands and encouraging him to take one step at a time.

What surprised your most was his ability to learn. Once Riddle grasped the basics, he began picking up new skills at an astonishing rate. He could read within weeks , solve simple puzzles shortly after , and soon displayed an uncanny understanding of rules and structure.

“ I want things to be perfect. ” he said one evening, his voice calm yet insistent as he carefully folded his clothes. “ Everything should be just right. ”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him from the kitchen. “ Perfect, huh? Life’s rarely like that, kid. Sometimes things get messy. ”

Riddle turned to you, his expression thoughtful. “ Messy isn’t good. Messy means failure. ”

You sighed, walking over to ruffle his red hair. It was soft and fine, feeling more human with every passing day. “ Messy means you’re human. Nobody gets everything right all the time. ”

Riddle frowned at you, his crimson eyes sharp and intense. “ I’ll be perfect. You’ll see. ”

You chuckled. “ If you say so, Riddle. ”

As months turned into years, Riddle grew into a sharp and disciplined boy. He excelled at everything you taught him , whether it was academics , cooking ( It was actually quite bad but he tried 😔 ) , or even social etiquette. But his relentless pursuit of perfection came with a cost.

He was strict not just with himself , but with your as well. He insisted on rules for everything how meals should be prepared , how furniture should be arranged , even how conversations should flow.

“ You didn’t say ‘please’ ” Riddle pointed out one evening when You asked him to pass the salt.

You rolled you eyes. “ Riddle, I’m not going to follow rules for something as small as this. ”

“ But rules are important ” he argued , his voice rising slightly. “ They keep everything in order! ”

“ And sometimes, order isn’t what you need ” You countered , you tone firm. “ Relax, Riddle. Life isn’t all about rules. ”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, You thought he might argue further. But then he simply nodded, his expression unreadable.

“ You didn’t fold the napkins properly ” he pointed out one evening as you set the table.

You sighed, barely restraining you irritation. “ Riddle, it’s just dinner. No one’s grading us on napkin folding. ”

“ But it’s wrong ” he insisted, his voice sharp.

“ Riddle ” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “ It’s not a big deal. Let it go. ”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he nodded stiffly and returned to his task, his movements tense and mechanical.

Their your and him arguments grew more frequent as time went on. You tried to reason with him, to show him that life wasn’t about rigid rules and unattainable standards. But Riddle was unyielding, his belief in perfection as absolute as the laws he created for himself.

It was a stormy evening when everything fell apart. You had come home late, drenched from the rain and utterly exhausted. You kicked off your shoes and left them in the middle of the hallway, something you know Riddle would disapprove of.

“ y/n ” his voice called from the living room, calm but cold.

You sighed, running a hand through your wet hair. “ Not now, Riddle. I’m tired. ”

“ You left your shoes in the hallway ” he said, appearing in the doorway. His expression was as strict as ever, his eyes gleaming with disapproval.

“ I’ll move them later ” you muttered, brushing past him.

“ No ” he said, his voice rising slightly. “ You need to move them now. ”

You turned to face him, you patience snapping. “ Riddle, it’s just a pair of shoes! Why does everything have to be a big deal with you!? ”

“ Because rules matter!! ” he shouted, his small fists clenched at his sides.

“ Not all the time! ” you shot back. “ Sometimes, you have to let things go! ”

But Riddle didn’t listen. In his mind, you refusal to follow the rules was a betrayal of everything he believed in. He reached out to grab you arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

“ Riddle, let go ” you said, you voice low and warning.

“ You don’t understand ” he said, his voice trembling with frustration. “ You never understand! ”

He pushed you, and You stumbled backward. you foot caught on the edge of the coffee table, and you fell hard, you head striking the corner of the table.

Time seemed to freeze as you crumpled to the floor, motionless.

“ y-y/n..? ” Riddle’s voice was small, almost a whisper.

He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch her. “ y/n, get up. Please, get up! ”

But you didn’t move.

Riddle sat beside you lifeless body, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He had just wanted you to understand.

“ I-I didn’t mean to… ” he whispered, his voice cracking.

He cradled you head in his lap, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. For the first time in his short life, Riddle felt the weight of imperfection not in himself, but in the world around him. A world where mistakes had consequences he couldn’t undo.

“ I’m sorry.. ” he choked out, his tears falling onto her still face. “ I’m so sorry.... ”

Hours passed, and Riddle didn’t move. He stayed by you side, his small hands clutching your as though his touch could bring her back.

“ I’ll fix this ” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “ I’ll find a way. I’ll be better. I’ll be perfect, just like you wanted. ”

But deep down, he know there was no fixing this. you was gone, and it was his fault.

When the authorities arrived, they found Riddle sitting silently beside You body, his expression blank but his eyes haunted.

They asked him what had happened, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words caught in his throat, suffocating him with their weight.

Riddle was taken away, his fate uncertain. But no punishment the world could offer would compare to the torment he carried within himself.

Every night, he dreams of your voice. Your laughter Your unwavering patience, and every morning, he wakes up with the painful feeling that he may never hear your voice again.

He had sought perfection, but in the end, all he had found was loss.

“ I’m so sorry.... ”

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

out of my league | pedri gonzalez [part v]

🎓 synopsis: It’s like everyone’s decided for you – your friends are ready to meet Pedri, and his are curious about you. You’re both excited, but happy to take it slow. It’s a little nerve-wracking, but there’s something comforting about knowing you’re taking one step at a time. tags: nerd and jock trope, emotional vulnerability, overthinking. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 2.5k words)

you can read the first part here, or go to the masterlist.

The guys are already at their usual table by the time Pedri grabs his food. He slides in next to Ferran, who’s in the middle of a story, something about a fight breaking out at a party last weekend. Pedri half-listens, nodding at the right moments, but his focus keeps drifting. He sneaks a look at his phone. Nothing. No new messages. He’s already sent you a good morning text hours ago, and he keeps checking, almost out of habit now.

“Hey, earth to Pedri,” Pablo’s voice breaks through, and Pedri looks up to see all three of them staring at him, grinning. Ferran raises an eyebrow.

“You okay, man?” he asks, teasing in his voice. “You’ve been weird lately. Like, distracted.”

“Yeah, way distracted,” Hector chimes in, reaching across the table to nudge Pedri’s shoulder. “Ever since you started seeing that girl. What’s her name again?”

“Don’t even start,” Pedri cuts him off, but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He picks at his food, trying to ignore the way Pablo’s smirk gets even wider.

“See?” Ferran laughs. “Look at him! He’s gone soft, I’m telling you. That girl’s got him whipped. Never seen you like this, man. Not even when you were with Melanie.”

Pedri just rolls his eyes, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth to avoid saying anything. Mentioning Melanie stings a little, but he knows they don’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way they are. He’s used to it. They all go back to arguing about the latest club in town, which one has the best music. The conversation is loud, rapid-fire, overlapping voices.

“What about this weekend, huh? Who’s going out?”

They all start talking about who’s got a hookup for a VIP spot, who’s bringing which girl. Pedri zones out, half-listening while his hand drifts to his phone again. He taps the screen. Still nothing from you. He feels a small knot tighten in his chest. It’s stupid, he knows – he doesn’t need to hear from you every second of the day – but there’s something about the silence that makes him uneasy.

“Oh, come on!” Pablo laughs, leaning over to catch a look of Pedri’s screen. “You’re not even listening, are you? She hasn’t texted you back yet, huh?”

Hector snickers, Ferran shakes his head, and Pedri feels his face warm as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Shut up,” he mutters, though he can’t help but laugh, too. They’re right, after all.

“He’s got it bad,” Ferran says, “Seriously, man, what happened to you? I remember when you were one of us.”

“Hey, you should invite her to the next party,” Pablo says, Ferran’s head snaps up with interest, and Hector chuckles.

Pedri hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he says slowly, looking around the table. “With Mel around us like a hawk... it’s just –” He pauses, remembering the scene from the other week, his face twisting with annoyance. “You should’ve seen her the other day. She made a scene, called her ugly right in front of the whole campus, basically.”

“Is she?” Ferran cuts in.

Pedri blinks, confused. “What?”

“Is she ugly?” Ferran repeats, his expression too innocent, and Pablo nearly chokes on his drink.

“No!” Pedri says, his face flushing.

“It’s okay, Pepi,” Pablo says, slinging an arm around Pedri’s shoulder and giving him a mock-sympathetic pat. “You’re ugly too.”

“Shut up,” Pedri mutters, his cheeks burning as he glares at them, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. He ducks his head, a little embarrassed, but also smiling despite himself.

“No, but for real,” Ferran says, “Mel’s not gonna back off as long as she thinks she’s got a shot with you. Maybe if she sees you out there with someone else... it’ll make her chill.”

Pedri goes quiet, thinking about it. He knows Ferran’s right. Melanie’s always been possessive, always close enough to remind him of what they used to be. She’s not exactly subtle.

“I don’t want to make it a whole thing,” Pedri says, shaking his head, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Sometimes you have to make it a thing,” Pablo says, shrugging. “Show her you’ve moved on.”

“And,” Hector adds with a sly grin, “we wanna meet the new girl.”

Pedri rolls his eyes, but his mind’s already racing, thinking about you, about Melanie, about what it would mean to show up with you, to make things public. There’s a part of him that wants it so much, more than he’s willing to admit to them, to himself.

“Maybe,” he says, playing it off with a casual shrug, but his heart’s beating faster in his chest. “We’ll see.”

part 2

Ever since that first night together, it’s like a switch flipped. All that careful pacing, all that patience, is gone. Now it’s like you’re two magnets, completely incapable of staying apart. Your room, his room, your shower, his shower – it doesn’t matter. Every interaction, every conversation, somehow turns into a mess of lips and hands and whispered things that make your cheeks burn even thinking about them now. It’s insane.

And it makes sense, doesn’t it? The floodgates are open, and you’re not exactly in a hurry to close them. But it’s also... distracting. So distracting. You didn’t even answer his good morning text today, not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew the second you did, you’d spiral. Your brain would go there – straight to him and the way his hands feel on your waist, or how his voice drops when he’s close to you. And you just couldn’t let that happen because you really needed to study.

You told yourself a few hours apart would help, give you some distance to focus. But of course, it didn’t. 

You’re sitting at your usual table in the library, textbooks open, a half-empty coffee cup pushed to the side. Your head’s drifting between project deadlines and the endless string of chemical formulas you’re supposed to have memorized by now. It’s not going great, and honestly, your brain is two seconds away from a complete shutdown.

“Be honest, are you embarrassed of us?” Alexia’s voice cuts through your haze.

“What?” you ask, blinking at her, your mind still clinging to the last remnants of molecular structures.

“How come you haven’t introduced us to your boyfriend yet?” Ana chimes in.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say automatically, sitting up straighter. “Guys, we’re taking things slow. He just got out of a relationship.”

“So?” Alexia asks, raising an eyebrow.

“And you guys keep saying you hate him,” you add, pointing a finger at them accusingly.

“What? No, we don’t!” Ana says, looking genuinely scandalized.

“Yeah,” Alexia admits, “we don’t say it. We just drop hints.”

You groan, leaning back in your chair, ready to end this conversation before it spirals out of control.

“And for the record,” Alexia continues, “we don’t hate-hate him. We just think he and his friends are pretentious jerks who care too much about appearances and not enough about academic success. Sorry.”

“Not helping,” you mutter, but a small laugh that escapes, despite how defensive you’re feeling.

Arthur, who’s been oddly quiet this whole time, finally clears his throat. “I have to admit something,” he says, his voice unusually serious.

Everyone turns to him, sensing a shift in the room.

“I like football.”

The whole table freezes, staring at him like he’s just confessed to a crime. “What?” Alexia’s the first to break the silence. “Since when?”

“Since I was a kid,” Arthur says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, even though the confession is clearly costing him. “And I go to all of his games. And... I think he knows I’m friends with you. He waved at me once.”

There’s another beat of stunned silence before Ana gasps, her jaw dropping. “Arthur! You traitor!”

“I can’t believe this,” Alexia says, shaking her head. “You’ve been hiding this from us this whole time?”

“It’s not like I keep it a secret,” Arthur defends, though his cheeks are starting to turn pink. “I just... didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Maybe I can talk to him, then,” you say, your voice so soft it’s almost lost under the chatter of the library. The words feel heavy, awkward, and you regret even saying anything. But now, all three of your friends are staring at you.

“What?” Alexia asks, leaning forward like she didn’t quite catch it.

“Just... bring it up,” you mumble, scratching the back of your neck, your eyes fixed on the table. “Casually. See what he thinks. And... maybe we can think of something for you guys to meet.”

Ana gasps, practically vibrating with excitement. “Finally!” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. 

“Wait, hold up,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing as she looks at you skeptically. “Are you sure?"

“Of course. Well, I mean...” you start, still avoiding eye contact, “it is kind of not not a big deal.”, you say, busy thinking about how you’d even bring this up to him. Just casually? Like, “Hey, my friends want to meet you. No pressure, though.” It feels impossible.

“So,” Ana cuts in, “what’s the plan? Like, are we thinking a big group thing? Or a small hangout where we can all judge him quietly?”

“Please don’t do that,” you say, dragging your hands down your face as you sigh. “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to talk to him first.”

Arthur leans on the table. “You’re really overthinking this, you know. If he’s half as into you as I think, he’ll agree to whatever.”

“I’ll figure something out,” you say, trying to sound more confident than you feel. 

“Good,” Alexia says, leaning back with a small smile. “And remember, we don’t actually hate him. We just like to keep you on your toes.”

Ana grins. “Yeah. We’ll be nice. Probably.”

“Probably,” Arthur repeats.

part 3

You lean against the wall, your fingers tracing the rim of a coffee cup, lost in thought. It’s been a whirlwind, everything with Pedri, the way it’s evolved so quickly, so intensely. You didn't expect this – any of this. When you first met him, it was like a spark, like a connection you just couldn’t ignore, but now? Now it feels like something much deeper.

You take a sip of your coffee, but it’s lukewarm now, and you don’t really taste it. Your mind drifts back to the last few days, the way Pedri’s presence has become so constant, so consuming. It should feel overwhelming, but instead, you find yourself craving more. More of him, more of the way he makes you feel alive in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s scary, how fast it’s moving, but you don’t want to stop it.

Now, thanks to your friends and their constant teasing, your head isn’t just swimming with heated memories of him, now it’s anxiety. Like, full-blown, stomach-twisting anxiety about him meeting your friends. Which makes sense, every time you take a big step with him, it feels like there’s always a bigger one waiting just around the corner. It’s normal, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. 

Do I really want him to meet them? The thought makes your stomach turn a little, not because you don’t want him to, but because you’re not sure what will happen once they meet. You sigh, rubbing your temple. Then, you stand up, shaking off the thoughts, deciding that overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere.

So when you know your schedules match up, and you’re both going to be in the same building, you don’t even think twice. You find him, and just seeing him, you feel ridiculous about it, but it’s like your heart relaxes for the first time all day.

You just walk up and wrap your arms around him like you’ve been apart for weeks, not just a few hours. He doesn’t even hesitate, pulling you in just as tight.

“Sorry for not texting back,” you mumble, your cheek pressed against his chest. Your voice comes out weird, quieter than you meant it to, and there’s guilt sitting heavy in your stomach.

Pedri just holds you, his hand moving slow and steady down your back. “It’s okay,” he says, “You’re here now.”

And there’s that feeling again. Like everything else doesn’t matter for a minute. Just him, holding you, making everything in your world feel less... scary.

“My friends want to meet you,” you say, still pressed against him, your voice muffled against his shirt. You don’t even lift your head; it’s safer here.

“Sorry, what?” Pedri leans back, just enough to break the hug, one hand moving to your cheek, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushes your skin like he’s trying to soften whatever has you so tense. His eyes flicker between yours, then settle on your lips, focused, waiting for you to say it again.

“My friends want to meet you,” you repeat, even quieter this time, but clear enough.

He smiles, wide, surprised, almost laughing. “My friends want to meet you!” he echoes, like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world.

Then, softer, his hands find their way into your hair. “What do you think?” he asks, his hands slide into your hair, petting softly, his fingers careful like he’s trying to calm your nerves. He looks entertained by the idea, maybe even excited, but there’s a carefulness too, the way he’s always so careful with you.

“I don’t know,” you say after thinking for a moment, your voice small. “It’s just... they’re my friends. And they’re kind of –”

“Protective?” he offers.

“Judgmental,” you correct, half-laughing but mostly serious.

He chuckles, leaning closer, the warmth of his breath brushing your forehead. “They can’t be worse than Ferran and Pablo. And you don’t have to decide now,” he adds, his tone more serious. “I’ll meet them when you’re ready. Just say the word, okay?”

The way he’s looking at you makes your chest ache, all that patience and care. It’s overwhelming sometimes, how good he is at this – at making you feel like you can take all the time in the world.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice almost breaking, but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s relief. It’s gratitude.

“Now, come on, let’s get out of here,” he says, his hand sliding back to your waist, pulling you flush against him in one smooth motion. He leans in, his lips brushing just under your ear in a quick kiss before whispering, “I missed you.” Another kiss, softer this time. “I’m not mad you didn’t text. I know you’re a good girl.” And then he bites, just the faintest tug at your earlobe, all very fast.

“But now,” he murmurs, his voice casual, like he’s barely trying, “I think I deserve a reward.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re annoyed, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “You’re getting spoiled,” you tease. “I’ve been rewarding you so much, you’re starting to think it’s a given.”

He smirks, tilting his head like he’s considering that for a moment, but his grip on your waist tightens. “It is a given,” he says, completely confident. “Because I’m always going to deserve it.”

And with that, you’re already giving in, rolling your eyes but laughing anyway. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound exasperated, but it’s no use. “You do deserve it.”

[shimmershy]

Chara Week Day 5: Ghost

Every time I see that machine in the True Lab, I wonder if it could possibly be Chara's soul in there? Probably unlikely, but not impossible... It's interesting to think about what the implications of that would be.

A version with no text and then a version with just the machine, because I think it looks pretty cool and ominous alone as well.....

[swordmaid]

i am wide awake thinking about that post canon jb au again when I should be sleeping …!!! such is the nature of the jbrainrot…

[scopophobia-polaris]

first female loz director and the gerudo seem to be written fine enough? wow... there ain't no way I thought we were in the worst timeline after totk

Yeah got through the main quest with the gerudo, it wasn't painful! It wasn't even bad! Still got them outfits but for the most part it was like oh cool!

I would say a lot of that oh cool is from the fact they didn't do a lot to even fuck it up to begin with, I'm gonna be real with yall this game is NOT worth $60USD

Edit: lemme say one thing, you know when people were being like damn totk story wasn't dark or mature at all why was this compared to Majora's mask again? And then all the zeldatwt people came out and said zelda is just a kid series domt expect good writing uH

This one feels like a kid's game. That ain't to say it's terrible I would say, hell I'm not far in it if I get something crazy that's like OH FUCK I'll reblog this post and say something but uh.....game for babies I'm gonna be shocked if anyone struggles with any puzzles cuz you CAN CHEESE THEM EASY ITS 🫢🤭

EDIT EDIT: I SWEAR IM NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE A DOWNER..... @ezlo-x HAS BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME IVE BEEN PLAYING....THEY KNOW I HAVENT BEEN A PARTY POOPER.....

[front-facing-pokemon]

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneepy cozy....

[morningmask27]

Tonight, right now, not even ten minutes ago, might have been the closest I got to an outright hatecrime

[satari-raine]

My graduate thesis - after (somehow) successfully defending it last week to my committee team - just got officially accepted by my school. Time to become a blanket burrito and (try to) sleep forever out of relief that it's finally finished.

[sweetnessfollowsmp3]

genuinely want diet culture to die a violent and horrible death

[peridots-pixiwolf]

yknow I play a lot of hard games but usually not "took 73 days to beat" hard

[realboutfatalfury]

it might just be bc it's late and i get sad sometimes when it's late but i'm sad i like feeel soooo bad about several things and i feel like i want to cry but i can't ughh idk...

[mrburnsnuclearpussy]

Dude I can’t even.

[impossible-rat-babies]

eyrie voice I love babies I hate babies I understand babies very well I am terrified of babies I will simply carry around a baby if handed to me I am not at all traumatized by babies

[djarinova]

okay so I've got to make another appointment w the gp, it should only take what.. 3 weeks? 4?