#i REALLY want this to be casual it is NOT a big deal

[gf2bellamy]

movie — spencer reid

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer accidentally uses the word "we" content warnings: secret relationship , rossi playfully getting mad at reader , mention of closed case a/n: me and emily share the same opinion

The weight of the case you had just wrapped up still lingered, but for once, it wasn’t suffocating. You had saved the victim—just in time. It was the kind of win that made the exhaustion a little easier to bear, the long hours and dark realities a little more worth it. 

You sat across from Spencer in the jet, your legs subtly interlocked with his beneath the table—not obvious but enough to feel content.

He held a book in his hands, fingers resting against the worn spine, but his eyes weren’t on the pages. Instead, he was listening as the team engaged in a heated debate over movies. 

"The Thing is a must-watch movie,” Rossi declared, leaning back in his seat with the confidence of a man who had lived long enough to know a classic when he saw one. “I mean, come on—it’s a masterpiece.” 

Emily scoffed, arms crossed. “It’s just a bunch of paranoid guys stuck in the snow. Half of them barely have personalities.” 

“That’s what makes it brilliant,” Spencer interjected, his voice slipping into the conversation as easily as he slipped into statistics. “The isolation, the uncertainty of who’s human and who’s not—it’s a perfect study of paranoia.The ambiguity of the ending only adds to the tension.” 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. That was Spencer—effortlessly brilliant, unknowingly endearing. 

Derek chuckled. “And here we go with the movie analytics.” 

Spencer smiled apologetically but didn’t say anything, instead he shifted slightly in his seat. His knee pressed a little more firmly against yours. You smiled softly at your boyfriend.

As the conversation continued, you watched Spencer’s fingers absently trace the edges of his book.

“What’s your opinion on it?” Derek asked, nodding at you. You had been quiet throughout the discussion, content to listen rather than participate. 

You shrugged, feeling everyone’s attention shifting to you. “Don’t have one,” you admitted casually. 

Derek raised a brow. “How do you not have an opinion?” 

“I’ve never watched it.” 

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt the entire mood in the jet shift. Rossi let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head in what could only be described as theatrical disappointment.

“This generation,” Rossi muttered under his breath, exasperated. 

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Is it really that big of a deal?” 

Spencer, who had been quiet until now, suddenly shifted his leg against yours—just a small movement, but enough to catch your attention. When you glanced at him, he met your gaze with a look of utter disbelief. 

“Yes,” he said simply, siding with the rest of the team without hesitation. 

Even Emily, who had just been trashing the movie moments ago, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you kind of have to watch it at least once. It’s a cultural milestone.” 

“I just don’t see the appeal,” you said, shrugging. 

Rossi let out another dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as if you had personally offended him. “Young lady, I expect you to watch this movie in the next three days—at the very least. And if you don’t—” He turned to Hotch, completely serious. “Aaron, I want you to fire her.” 

You laughed quietly, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, glancing around at your teammates, who still looked thoroughly scandalized. 

Before you could protest further, Spencer spoke up, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “We can watch it tomorrow if you want.” 

The second the words left his mouth, you felt your entire body freeze. Slowly, you turned to look at him, eyes wide. 

Spencer, who had seemed completely unaware of his slip-up, only realized what he had just said when he saw your expression. His lips parted slightly as if he was about to backtrack, but then he clamped his mouth shut, looking like he wanted to disappear into his chair. 

For a split second, there was silence—thick, heavy, and dangerous. 

And then— 

“What?” Derek’s voice cut through the air, loud and full of suspicion. 

Without thinking, you kicked Spencer lightly under the table, your foot making solid but harmless contact with his shin. He flinched slightly, but to his credit, he barely reacted otherwise, keeping his face neutral even as you shot him a look that screamed really? 

Morgan narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze between the two of you. “We?” he echoed, emphasizing the word.

Emily leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Yeah, Reid. We?” 

Spencer cleared his throat, clearly trying to recover. “I—I just meant—hypothetically, if she wanted someone to watch it with, I—” 

“You’d volunteer as tribute?” Emily teased, smirking. 

“I mean—statistically speaking, it’s more enjoyable to experience a film with someone rather than alone,” Spencer rushed out, his voice just a little too high, a little too fast. 

You resisted the urge to groan. He was not helping. 

Rossi, who had been watching the exchange like it was an unfolding plot twist in one of his own novels, suddenly smirked. “Interesting.” 

Hotch, the only one who hadn’t reacted much, simply raised an eyebrow before going back to his paperwork. Which, honestly, was more terrifying than if he had said something. 

You exhaled, shaking your head, trying to brush it off. “Alright, movie night it is,” you said, forcing a casual tone. 

The team was still watching the two of you suspiciously, but after a few moments, they slowly let it go—well, for now. 

Under the table, Spencer nudged your foot in silent apology. You sighed, nudging him back. 

This was not going to be the last you heard about it. 

[requiemforthepoets]

the proposal ⟢ FA14

⟢ part four of this time, i’ll love you much better

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part five ☽

PAIRINGS: fernando alonso x ex-wife!reader

SUMMARY: the twins thought that they have all the time in the world to devise a plan on how they would get you and fernando back together. that is until fernando had told the news to jullianna, prompting to put their plan in motion.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, named character (except for reader), parent trap inspired fic + plot, google translated spanish and french, single dad!nando and single mom!reader (for the time being), evil fiancé, twin switching, inaccuracies with information, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: part four of the series!! i have a lot of things going on, so that’s why it always takes a long time for me to update my series/post new parts to fics. as always, this series is open for taglist, so just comment or message me if you wanted to be tagged, and your comments/reblogs are highly appreciated, i hope you’ll enjoy this new part of the series! :)

The sunlight filtered through the curtains as Jullianna pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, already dressed in a crisp white tennis outfit. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the polo shirt she wore. Jullianna’s focus, however, was more on the bubbling frustration in her chest. It was not just about the day ahead or the tennis session with Fernando—it was about everything Sofia had dropped into her lap without any warning.

As if on cue, Jullianna’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. She picked it up and saw Sofia’s caller ID flashed on the screen. Narrowing her eyes, she swiped to answer, voice immediately sharp.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Jullianna began, tone clipped. “I’ve been waiting for you to call, and now you finally do.”

Sofia’s tone was light, almost too casual. “Why good morning to you too, Disney princess. How’s it going?”

“How’s it going? How’s it going?” Jullianna repeated incredulously. “Comment ça va? Vraiment? Tu es sérieusement en train de te moquer de moi?! Sofia, do you have any idea of what you’ve put me through?”

There was a pause on the other end. “What are you even talking about? You know how I can’t understand any of what you’re saying, right?”

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me,” Jullianna snapped. “Karting, Sofia. Karting! You didn’t even bother to tell me how to drive the freaking damn thing! I had to watch youtube videos just to figure out what I was supposed to do. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Sofia chuckled nervously. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would be a big deal, papá would’ve helped you.”

“He did,” Jullianna admitted begrudgingly. “But that’s not the point! You could’ve warned me!”

“Fine, I’ll make it up to you,” Sofia said, tone placating. “But seriously, Jules, it’s only karting. You survived, right?”

“Barely,” Jullianna muttered, crossing her arms. “And you’re lucky I did, because I would’ve switched back and made you deal with the mess.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Sofia’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t really mean to make things harder for you. I’ll give you all the details next time, okay?”

Jullianna exhaled, some of her frustration easing. “Fine. Alright. But that’s not all we need to talk about.”

“Oh?” Sofia sounded wary. “What now?”

“Stephanie.”

“Stepha-who now?”

“Exactly,” Jullianna said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “She’s some woman papá had apparently been seeing, and she keeps on coming over to the house like she owns the place. I had to deal with her the other day, and let me tell you, she’s awful.”

Sofia’s voice hardened. “I haven’t heard of her before. When did this start?”

“Eh, probably while we're at camp,” Jullianna said bitterly. “Alejandra told me this woman had been coming around, and from what I’ve seen, she’s trouble. Fake, loud, annoying—you name it, she got it. The worst part? Papá seems completely oblivious to it.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Sofia said. “Keep an eye on that woman. If she’s really as bad as you say, we’ll figure something out. But don’t let that woman get to you, okay? She’s not worth your energy.”

“Easier said than done,” Jullianna muttered.

The twins were so engrossed in their conversation that Jullianna barely registered Fernando calling out for her downstairs. “Sofia! ¡Vamos! It’s time to go!

Jullianna jumped up, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got to go, papá’s waiting for me. We’re going to play a few rounds of tennis.”

“Alrighty. Good luck, Sofia,” Sofia teased.

“Oh shut up.” Jullianna rolled her eyes.

“But seriously though, keep me updated about Stanley.”

“Fia, it’s Stephanie,” Jullianna replied, and Sofia just blew raspberries at her. “And will do. Talk to you later, ugly.”

“Hey! We look just th—” Jullianna ended the call before Sofia could even respond.

Jullianna stuffed her phone into the tennis bag and grabbed Sofia’s tennis racket from where it leaned against the wall, and headed downstairs. Fernando was waiting by the front door, dressed in an equally sporty outfit like Jullianna and holding his own tennis racket.

“Finally,” he said with a smile. “You ready?”

Jullianna nodded with a smile. “Ready.”

The sun was high overhead when Jullianna and Fernando stepped onto the private tennis court—air was warm but pleasant, with a light breeze that rustled the nearby trees. Jullianna adjusted the grip on the racket, movements fluid and confident. Playing tennis was her forté, and it was surely worlds away from the stress and confusion of karting or dealing with unwelcome houseguests like Stephanie.

Fernando took his place on the opposite side of the court, bouncing the tennis ball a couple of times before looking up at Jullianna with a grin. “You ready, chiquita?”

Jullianna smirked. “Yup!”

Fernando laughed, tossing the ball into the and served with precision. The ball zipped over the net, and Jullianna moved quickly, her racket connecting with a satisfying thwack! as she returned the shot.

The rally began, and for the first few minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic hits of the ball against the racket, quick and hurried footsteps against the clay surface, and the occasional grunt of effort. Jullianna found herself smiling as she played, thoughts drifting briefly to when her and Sofia had shared a match back at camp walden. It was an intense match, filled with playful trash-talking and endless determination to outdo each other.

But then, Fernando broke the silence, tone casual yet curious. “So,” he began, returning a particularly fast shot, “what do you think of Stephanie?”

Jullianna hesitated, her focus briefly faltering before she sent the ball back over the net. “Stephanie?” she repeated, trying to buy herself some time.

“Yes, Stephanie,” Fernando said, voice light but persistent. “You’ve spent some time with her now. I just want to know what you think of her.”

Jullianna tightened her grip on the racket, her mind racing. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth—that she finds Stephanie insufferable, fake, and most certainly not the right woman for Fernando. Instead, she decided to tread carefully, masking her irritation with forced politeness.

“Well,” she began, returning another shot, “she’s…very put-together. Always dressed nicely, very stylish.” she paused, muttering just loudly enough for herself, not my style, though. Mamá’s much better.

Fernando chuckled, clearly amused by Jullianna’s side comment. “So, you think she’s stylish. That’s good to hear, and it seems like you two are getting along.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jullianna murmured, keeping her tone neutral. She didn’t elaborate further, focusing instead on the ball.

Just when Jullianna thought that the conversation about Stephanie is done, turns out that it’s not. Fernando wasn’t done. As the rally continued, his tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

“Sofia,” Fernando said, eyes following the ball as it sailed over the net, “I’ve been thinking about the future, and you know that I’m not getting any younger. Sooner or later I’m about to retire soon from Formula 1, and I want to know what you think about Stephanie joining the family.”

Jullianna froze for a split second, the racket nearly slipping from her hands. The words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. She knew exactly what he meant, but she decided to play dumb, her voice laced with forced confusion.

“Joining the family? What do you mean, papá? Are you planning to adopt her or something?” Jullianna said jokingly.

Fernando let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Jullianna’s sarcasm. “No, chiquita. Not adoption.” he hesitated for a moment before continuing, tone filled with quiet excitement. “What I mean is that I proposed to her.”

The words hit Jullianna like a freight train. For a brief moment, she stood frozen in place, staring at her father as if she had not heard him correctly. Then, as the reality of his statement sank in, something inside her snapped. Jullianna’s next hit was ferocious, with the ball rocketing past Fernando so fast that he barely had time to react. He turned to watch it bounce out of bounds, a look of surprise on his face.

“Wow,” Fernando said with a laugh, jogging to retrieve the ball. “That was quite the shot, eh?”

But Jullianna was not done. Her hits became more aggressive, each one more powerful than the last. She was not just playing tennis anymore, she was channeling all of her anger and frustration into every swing. Fernando was struggling to keep up, missing shot after shot as the intensity of the game escalated.

“Sofia, mi vida,” he called out, tone now tinged with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jullianna didn’t answer, her jaw clenched, and eyes burning with a mix of anger and betrayal. Finally, after one last blistering shot that Fernando couldn’t even attempt to return, she threw the racket with force—destroying it in the process and turned on her heel.

“Sofia!” Fernando called after her, voice filled with confusion as to why his daughter was acting up. “Where are you going?”

But Jullianna didn’t look back. She walked briskly off the court, chest heaving with unspoken words, and tears of frustration stinging her eyes. When Jullianna reached the front door of the house—still angry and frustrated, she grabbed the handle and turned it open, but in her haste and anger, she twisted it the wrong way. The door didn’t budge.

“¡Por favor!” she hissed, shaking the handle violently.

When it still refused to open, Jullianna growled in frustration, yanking the door with all her strength. Finally, it gave way, and she stumbled inside, muttering to herself. She glanced at the door handle, relieved to see it hadn’t broken. Once inside, she marched into the living room, pacing back and forth, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor.

“Comment peut-il penser que c’est une bonne idée?” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. “Who even is she? Elle est insupportable!”

Jullianna’s rant alternated between languages—English, French, and Spanish, as her thoughts tumbled out uncontrollably. “He proposed? To her? ¡Dios mío, papá, estás loco!”

She stopped pacing momentarily, pressing her hands to her forehead. “This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I can’t handle this alone, I’m only one kid.”

Lost in her tirade, Alejandra peeks around the corner of the armchair she’s been sitting in with a cup of coffee in her hands. Alejandra initially assumed Sofia was in one of her usual moods, but the erratic pacing and the odd blend of languages caught Alejandra’s attention.

When Jullianna finally turned around, Alejandra cleared her throat gently. “¿Tienes algo que quieras compartir con la clase, mi chica?”

Jullianna froze mid-step, head snapping up—to which she immediately regretted because of the strain of her action. Her eyes widened in shock, the usually composed façade already slipping. Her heart was racing so fast, and quickly straightened her posture, smoothing her tennis skirt and forcing a smile.

“Alejandra! I didn’t see you there, you gave me a fright!” she said, tone overly bright.

Alejandra sat her coffee cup down at the side table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stood up from the armchair and slowly approached Jullianna.

“You didn’t see me? Gave you a fright? I’ve been sitting here the whole time, chica. You were so lost in your own thoughts, or rather, in frustration, that you didn’t notice.” Alejandra folded her arms, studying Jullianna closely. “¿Qué está pasando? En serio.”

“Nothing, I swear!” Jullianna replied too quickly, smile tightening. “Just…a lot on my mind lately.”

Alejandra tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “¿Seguro que no hay nada de lo que quieras hablarme?” she asked for the second time. “You’ve been acting strange, mi niña.”

“Strange?” Jullianna echoed nervously, the forced smile on her face faltering. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alejandra took a step closer, expression skeptical. “Sí, extraño. For one, you’re acting too proper—using expressions like you gave me a fright, the way you eat—you barely touch your food now, and even the way you speak sometimes, it’s different. I didn’t even know you speak French.”

Jullianna opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. She tried to come up with some silly excuse, anything to divert Alejandra’s growing suspicion, but her mind went completely blank.

“Alejandra,” she trailed off, “I changed a lot over the summer, that’s all.”

Alejandra’s gaze softened, though her tone remained firm. “Si no lo supiera, diría que es casi como si estuvieras…” she paused for a little bit, “Ay dios mío, no importa, eso es demasiado imposible.”

Jullianna hesitated, the weight of the secret she had been carrying threatening to crush her. “Almost as if I were who, Alejandra?”

“Nadie, nadie. Chica tonta, olvida que lo mencioné.” Alejandra chuckled. “Why don’t I make your favorite food, huh? I think that tennis session with your papá had made you hungry.”

Finally, Jullianna sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She couldn’t take it any longer, so she’ll take the chance now. “¿Casi como si fuera Jullianna?”

Alejandra’s eyes widened. “What?” her breath hitched. “You know about Jullianna?”

“I am Jullianna.” Jullianna breathed out.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Alejandra stared at her, mouth opening and closing as she’s trying to process what was happening. Then, tears welled up in Alejandra’s eyes.

“¿De verdad eres Jullianna?” Alejandra asked, voice trembling.

Jullianna nodded, her own eyes glistening. “Yes, it’s me.”

Alejandra’s hands flew to her mouth as a sob escaped her. “¡Mi niña!” she cried, rushing forward to embrace Jullianna.

The hug was tight, almost crushing, but Jullianna didn’t mind. She wrapped her arms around Alejandra, feeling an unexpected wave of comfort.

“No puedo creerlo!” Alejandra said through her tears. “The last time I saw and held you, you were just a baby—barely a year old. You and your mother left for France after the divorce. I thought that I would never see you again.”

Jullianna blinked back tears. “I’ve missed you too, Alejandra.”

Alejandra pulled back slightly, cupping Jullianna’s face in her hands. “¡Oh, mírate!” she said, voice filled with awe. “All grown up, but still the same little girl that I used to hold in my arms. But why are you here in Spain? Where is Sofí?”

Jullianna hesitated, unsure how much to more of her and Sofia’s plan she could reveal. “It’s…complicated,” she said finally.

Alejandra nodded, sensing that Jullianna wasn’t ready to share everything just yet. “Alright,” she said gently. “But you have to be careful, mi niña. If your papá finds out—”

“I know,” Jullianna interrupted, voice firm. “That’s why I need you to keep this between us. Please, Alejandra.”

“Of course,” Alejandra nodded. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Fernando stepped inside of the house, chest heaving as he called out, “Sofia! ¿Dónde estás?” his voice echoed through the house with urgency.

The sounds of Fernando’s footsteps grew louder as he entered the living room, and Jullianna stiffened, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. Alejandra had sensed the tension, so she placed a comforting hand on Jullianna’s shoulder.

“Está bien,” Alejandra whispered gently. “I’ll leave you two to talk, I’ll be at the kitchen and prepare you some snacks.”

Jullianna nodded, watching as Alejandra quietly exited the living room and headed towards the kitchen. She barely had a moment to collect her thoughts before Fernando appeared in the doorway of the living room, looking left and right for Jullianna. When he saw her, he paused, hands on his hips, exhaling deeply as though trying to steady himself.

“Sofí,” he said softly, tone coaxing. “Come, sit with me, princesa.” Fernando gestured to the couch.

She hesitated but eventually walked over and perched on the edge of the couch, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Jullianna’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her father’s eyes.

Fernando sat beside her, leaving a careful distance between them. “Why did you run off like that mi vida?” he asked, voice gentler now.

Jullianna did not respond, jaw tightening.

“Sofía,” Fernando pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I proposed to Stephanie the other night. It was a very special moment for us—”

“Stop. I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jullianna cut in sharply, standing abruptly. The words struck a huge nerve within her, and she could not hold back any longer. “Just stop, papá, please.”

Fernando blinked, surprised by her sudden outburst. “¿Qué te pasa? Why are you acting like this?”

Jullianna turned to face Fernando, eyes blazing with nothing but anger. “Because it is outrageous!” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re marrying her? That woman? Marrying Stephanie?”

He frowned. “And what is so outrageous about that?”

“Oh my god, papá! That woman’s practically young enough to be my sister!” Jullianna shot back, pacing back and forth as her emotions spilled over. “Do you not see how absurd this is? All of it!”

“I never knew you would be reacting like this,” Fernando stood, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Sofía, calm down, por favor. There’s no need to—”

“Je suis calme!” Jullianna shouted like a maniac, clearly not calm at all. She began to switch to French again without even realizing it, her words tumbling out in a torrent. “Comment peux-tu faire ça? As-tu même pensé à ce que cela signifierait pour nous? C’est insensé! Je ne peux pas croire que tu ferais ça. Elle n’est pas la bonne pour toi, papa. Pas du tout!”

Fernando furrowed his eyebrows, stepping in closer towards Jullianna. “What…French? Desde cuándo hablas francés?”

Jullianna stopped pacing, momentarily caught off guard. “I-I um, uh, learned it at camp,” she said quickly, brushing past the question. “But that’s not the point!”

She faced Fernando. Taking a deep breath, she began, voice softening slightly. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face. “But we need to talk about this rationally.”

Fernando nodded, motioning for her to sit again, but Jullianna preferred standing. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s talk. But in a language we can both understand, por favor mi vida.”

He sighed, patience already visibly thinning. “Sofía, I don’t understand why this is upsetting you so much. Stephanie has been kind to you, hasn’t she? She’s made every effort to—”

“Kind?” Jullianna scoffed, cutting him off. “That’s not the issue, papá. This isn’t about her being nice, this is about you thinking you can just bring someone into our lives and marry them without even considering how it affects everything!”

Feenando’s brows furrowed deeply. “I have considered it. Stephanie is someone I care about, and I thought you would—”

“Well you thought wrong!” Jullianna interrupted, voice rising again. She felt the heat of tears threatening to spill but blinked them back furiously. “You can’t do this, papa. You can’t marry her—or anyone else! It will ruin everything!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but before Fernando could even say a word, Jullianna already turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her tennis shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Sofía!” Fernando called after her, voice tinged with frustration and confusion. But she didn’t stop despite how many times Fernando called out for her.

Jullianna slumped into the St. Anthony’s face-to-face swing, letting her head fall back against the smooth wood. She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest, still reeling from what she had just learned. Fernando had proposed to Stephanie. Proposed. The word itself made her stomach churn.

This was worse than she and Sofia had imagined. They had time, or so they thought. But now, with a ring on Stephanie’s finger, the entire course of action had been changed—everything was moving too fast. Jullianna and Sofia had to quickly put their plan into motion if they even want to stop this wedding from happening, they need to act now. But there was only one viable solution: they had to get you and Fernando back together.

Jullianna was deep in thought, brainstorming ways to subtly, but not-so-subtly, bring you to Spain or maybe one of his races so that she and Sofia can just push you both back towards each other, when a sudden knock against the wooden frame of the swing had startled Jullianna. Her head snapped up, and saw Stephanie.

“Mind if I join you?” Stephanie asked, voice light and airy, as if she had just wandered into the garden without a care in the world.

Before Jullianna could even answer, Stephanie lowered herself onto the vacant seat of the swing, facing her directly. Jullianna barely stopped herself from grimacing, just looking at Stephanie made her want to barf.

Stephanie clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly. “I can imagine how surprised you must have been by the engagement news.”

Jullianna forced a tight-lipped smile, words laced with passive aggression. “Oh, shock doesn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.”

Stephanie just chuckled, completely oblivious to the sharp edge in Jullianna’s tone. She relaxed herself on the seat, movements elegant and poised, as if this were just another casual afternoon chat. Forcing herself not to groan, Jullianna braced herself for whatever nonsense Stephanie was about to spew.

“You know,” Stephanie began, leaning slightly forward, “eleven is such a very wonderful age.”

Jullianna arched an eyebrow. What in the actual world does that have to do with any of this?

Stephanie smiled wistfully, as if she was reminiscing about something so precious. “When I was eleven, I had my first beau.” She let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

“It was the first time I really started to feel like a woman.” she sighed dramatically. “That’s when I realized love was this fantastic, exhilarating mystery, one that takes a man and a woman on the most magical journey.”

Jullianna’s hand was tightly gripping the armrest of the swing, jaw now clenched, and resisting the great force of rolling her eyes. Oh, for the love of all things holy. She kept her expression neutral, pretending to listen, but internally, Jullianna was already pulling her hair out and screaming.

Stephanie continued, completely unaware of Jullianna’s growing irritation. “And believe it or not, you’ll understand that feeling soon,” she said with a knowing smile.

Jullianna just stared at Stephanie, fingers curled slightly now against her arms. She was not sure what was more annoying—Stephanie’s patronizing tone, or the fact that she spoke as if she had somehow unlocked the secrets of the universe. She certainly did not want to sit there, listening to this woman yap on about love like she was some kind of modern day Aristotle.

Before Stephanie could continue her sickly sweet monologue about love and magical journeys, Jullianna lifted a hand slightly, cutting Stephanie off.

“You know, I don’t want to sound all jerky or anything, because, from what I can tell, you’re trying really hard to be all mushy and sentimental.” she tilted her head slightly, letting her eyes linger on Stephanie’s with something close to amusement. “And I think I finally got it.”

Stephanie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Get what, exactly?”

Jullianna leaned forward slightly, lips curling into a knowing smile. “What my papá sees in you.” she continued, voice still laced with that same passive aggressiveness, but now there was something else woven into it—a challenge. “You’re a beautiful woman. Sexy, even, and my papá? Well, he’s only human, after all.”

Stephanie’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out just yet. Jullianna’s smile widened just a little, though her eyes were sharp.

“But if you ask me, marriage is supposed to be based on something more, don’t you agree?” Jullianna let the question hang in the air for a moment before her smile turned almost innocent. “Something more than just…fornication. If you don’t know what fornication is, it means sex.”

Stephanie’s entire expression shifted. Gone was the light, airy persona. Her posture stiffened just slightly, and the sweetness in her eyes dimmed, now replaced with something sharper, something calculated. Jullianna didn’t flinch though, in fact, she was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it.

She smiled, but it was a whole lot different now. “Oh boy, your papá really underestimates you, doesn’t he?”

Jullianna let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Oh?” she mused, cocking her head slightly, as if intrigued. “And you don’t?”

Stephanie studied her closely, lips still curved, but her eyes darkened. Jullianna could feel it now—she was starting to get on Stephanie’s nerves. It was a beautiful sight and symphony for Jullianna. Good. People always tend to overlook her, underestimated her. People would assume that she was just a kid who did not know any better. She liked it that way. Because nothing thrilled Jullianna more than a good challenge, and judging by the way Stephanie was staring her down, she had just found herself a new one.

She then let out a light laugh, though there was no real humor behind it. Stephanie tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied Jullianna with thinly veiled annoyance.

“So what if I’m young and beautiful?” Stephanie mused, voice airy but carrying an undertone of sharpness. “Last time I checked, being young and beautiful isn’t a crime.”

Jullianna simply raised an eyebrow, keeping her smirk firmly in place, which only seemed to annoy the hell out of Stephanie even more.

“And for the record, I know what fornication means, thank you very much. I love your father, I adore him. Your father is exactly the kind of man I’ve always envisioned myself marrying. This—” she gestured between herself and Jullianna as if making some kind of grand declaration, “is the real deal, honey. Nothing, and I say nothing, is going to come between us.”

Jullianna barely blinked at Stephanie’s words. She just leaned back against the wooden swing, one arm lazily draped over the armrest, completely unbothered, and yawning out of boredom to piss off Stephanie more.

While Stephanie, on the other hand, was growing impatient. She leaned forward slightly, gaze piercing as she said, “you need to understand something, sweetheart. This is the reality now, you have to accept the fact that you’re no longer the only girl in Fernando Alonso’s life. You need to get over it.”

That did it. Jullianna’s lips curled into an even bigger smirk, one that was almost too smug, too knowing. It made Stephanie’s fingers twitch slightly, as if she were resisting the urge to wipe the expression right off her face. She leaned in slightly as well, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared Stephanie down.

“Oh? That’s the reality, huh?” she drawled, voice dripping with amusement.

Jullianna continued, her smirk never wavering. “So, just to be clear that we’re on the same page here, papá’s money has nothing to do with any of this? No part of you thinks that marrying him just so happens to come with a very very comfortable lifestyle?”

Stephanie’s expressions had immediately tightened, but she quickly schooled her features back into something neutral. “Are you insinuating that I’m marrying your father for his money?” she asked, feigning offense, though her voice was just a little too even to be genuine.

Jullianna simply shrugged, the smirk on her face never fading. “I’m not insinuating anything, but if that’s what you think, then feel free to think of such things,” she said innocently, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen this in a film before. I mean, come on, I’ve watched cinderella more times than I can count.”

Stephanie’s brows furrowed slightly, unsure of where this was going. Jullianna sighed dramatically and shook her head. “And if this whole shazam isn’t about money, then great! But personally? I’d rather not end up scrubbing the floors and befriending the neighborhood birds while you have breakfast in bed, smiling down at me from your throne in papá’s house.”

Her entire face stiffened at what Jullianna just said, lips pressing together tightly as the words settled between them. For the first time in their entire conversation, Stephanie had no response at all, and that? That brought nothing but pure, unadulterated joy.

However, Stephanie’s entire demeanor changed the moment Jullianna’s words sank in. Her perfectly poised expression faltered, just for a second, before her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It was the exact reaction that Jullianna had been hoping for. She had successfully gotten under Stephanie’s skin, and now? Now she was really starting to see the cracks in the woman her father wanted to marry.

Stephanie inhaled sharply, composing herself before leaning forward again, but this time, her face was mere inches from Jullianna’s. She locked eyes with her, the intensity of her gaze enough to make most people shrink under the pressure. But not Jullianna.

“You are unbelievably out of line, jovencita,” Stephanie said in a low voice, tone dripping with controlled frustration.

Jullianna simply blinked up at her, her smirk never faltering. Stephanie exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to keep herself from snapping. Then, with slow precision, she spoke, enunciating each word carefully.

“Listen to me, and you listen good,” she began, voice dangerously soft. “I’m marrying your father whether you like it or not. So if I were you, I’d quit playing whatever little game you think you’re playing and stay out of my way.”

Jullianna raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating Stephanie’s words, but said nothing. Stephanie leaned more closer, voice dropping even more lower.

“You are way in over your head, sweetheart,” she continued, tone carrying a hint of condescension. “So I suggest you don’t tangle yourself up in things you clearly don’t understand.”

There was a heavy pause. Stephanie studied Jullianna’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction, for her to look intimidated, or at least acknowledge the warning, and Stephanie took Jullianna’s silence as an agreement, she leaned back on the swing, arm draping over the armrest.

Instead, Jullianna just smiled. Not a polite smile, not a nervous smile. But a slow, teasing, infuriating smirk. Then, she shrugged, Stephanie’s eye twitching. Before the woman could say another word, Jullianna stood up, stretching slightly as if this whole conversation had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience for her. Without a warning, she bent down so that she was now the one at Stephanie’s eye level.

“Je comprends parfaitement, Cruella.” she said smoothly. Stephanie blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Jullianna smiled again, that same mischievous, knowing grin that had been pushing all of Stephanie’s buttons. Then, because Jullianna was still eleven after all, and feeling particularly childish, she blew raspberries right in Stephanie’s face, wherein the woman recoiled, visibly appalled. Jullianna giggled, straightening up before giving her soon-to-be stepmother a playful wink.

“Au revoir, Stéphanie,” she said cheerfully.

Jullianna turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the woman completely dumbfounded.

taglist : @qghosty , @seonghwaexile , @linnygirl09 , @tallrock35 , @madnesstaking0ver , @akulici , @scopeiguess , @ferakillia , @exactlycoralfox , @iambored24601 , @mx13sworld , @tibadi , @chainsawangel

[lipstick-and-libraries]

Between the Lines

PT. 4

𓋜 Pairing: Minho (XO, Kitty) x fem! Reader

𓋜 Series: The Roommate Exchange

𓋜 Summary: When You and Minho are paired for a class project, unexpected moments of honesty and tension arise. Between late-night conversations and shared silences, you discover that some things are harder to hide than you thought.

𓋜 Notes:

Hello my loves!!

I know that I take a while to upload, however, i fully intend to finish this small series and still give you more than just 4 chapters, soo..what would you think about another chapter coming out directly after this as a thank you for everyone who so kindly supports my thoughts that I didnt expect anyone to see.

Anyhow, I hope you guys are fans of slowburn and heartbreak because from now on this rollercoaster will get a little more bumpy, love will do that to you, and especially to You and Minho <3

𓋜 Taglist:

@finnbbl

@literallysza

@knivesdoingcartwheels

@teaandbacon

@dragonwitchy

@formula1mount

@strayk1ds143

@uhsophiesblog

@iweirdthingsblog

@random-human02

@elizabethgracie

@verycoolmiyah

@mintydump

@shiiiii-okayyyy

@munsonsquinn

@tagakalat

@mirahyun

@cultish-corner

A special thank you to everyone on the taglist, i love you guys ꨄ

Please do let me know if i have forgotten you, i keep the names in my notes app so i shouldnt forget anyone but if it happens anyway i am deeply sorry

If you want to be added to the taglist, just put it in the comments, your reposts or in my asks, even if I havent answered I 100% have seen it and added you <33

Enough talking from my side though, enjoy you study date with Minho

The buzz from the creative showcase announcement still lingered around KISS like an unspoken challenge. Posters were plastered on every wall, reminding students of the looming event hosted by none other than Minho’s father—a showcase designed to highlight the best talents at the school. For most, it was an opportunity. For Minho, it was a reminder of everything he tried to avoid: expectations, vulnerability, and being seen beyond the carefully curated persona he presented to the world.

But none of that mattered right now.

Because Minho was staring at the name list posted outside his literature class, and there it was—bold and undeniable:

Group Project Partners: Minho & (Y/N)

He blinked, hoping his eyes were deceiving him. They weren’t.

“Wow,” Q’s voice broke through Minho’s silent panic, appearing over his shoulder with an amused grin. “Fate really isn’t subtle, huh?”

Dae chuckled beside him, leaning casually against the wall. “You’ll survive. Maybe.”

Minho shot them both a glare before shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s just a project. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Because every time he was around (Y/N), he turned into the version of himself he didn’t recognize—awkward, uncertain, and far too aware of every glance, every word, every silence. She had this way of looking at him, like she could see past the walls he’d built, and it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

The first meeting was scheduled for the library, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. Minho arrived early—an unfamiliar habit—but he told himself it was because he wanted to pick the best table. Definitely not because he was nervous.

He chose a spot near the back, where the shelves of books created a semi-private alcove. The table was sturdy, the chairs comfortable, and the lighting just bright enough to work without being harsh. He set his bag down, pulled out his notebook, and tried to focus on the assignment sheet. But his mind kept drifting, replaying every interaction he’d ever had with (Y/N), searching for clues on how to navigate this.

When she finally arrived, balancing her laptop and a stack of books, she gave him a polite nod. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Minho replied, sitting up straighter than necessary. He gestured to the chair across from him. “I figured this spot would be quiet enough.”

“Good call,” she said, sliding into the seat and setting her things down. She opened her laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating her face as she pulled up their assignment. “So, any ideas?”

Minho scrambled to focus. “Uh, yeah. Maybe we could… compare themes? Like, how the author explores identity or something.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her expression neutral. “That’s vague.”

“Well, it’s a start,” he muttered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sighed softly, but there was no malice in it. “Okay. Let’s break it down.”

They worked in relative silence, punctuated by occasional questions and the awkward brush of hands when they reached for the same notebook. Minho tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the brief contact, the way her proximity made it hard to think straight. He wasn’t used to feeling this off-balance, and it frustrated him.

But the real shift happened two hours in.

Minho leaned back in his chair, frustrated with a section they couldn’t seem to crack. “This is pointless.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her notes. “The project or your attitude?”

He shot her a look, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes that disarmed him. “Both,” he admitted grudgingly.

She set her pen down and tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you always act like nothing bothers you?”

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got this… façade,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Like you’ve got everything figured out. But clearly, you don’t.”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “And you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

She shrugged. “No. But you make it pretty easy to see through the act.”

The words stung more than he expected because they were true. He looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the table. Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it briefly, then stood. “I need a break. Coffee?”

Minho hesitated, then stood too. “Yeah. Sure.”

The café near campus was quiet. They sat by the glass, sipping their drinks, the tension from earlier lingering like static. Minho stirred his coffee absently, watching the steam rise in delicate swirls.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” (Y/N) said eventually, her voice soft. She stirred her own drink, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid.

Minho stared at his cup. “I’m just used to people assuming things about me, especially because my parents, well, mostly my father, aren't, well.."

He gets quieter with every word, his expression almost showing the hate he has for himself for even mentioning it, or hatred for his father, it was hard for (Y/N) to tell.

"I don’t usually care, but…”

She knew he wasn't going to continue on with the story about his parents, but (Y/N) let him, knowing that if he wanted to, he will bring it up again when he is ready to tell her.

“But?” she prompted gently, her eyes lifting to meet his.

“But you’re not ‘people,’” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended.

She blinked, clearly not expecting that. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Well, that’s vague.”

Minho laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“You’re not as complicated as you think, Minho,” she added, her gaze steady.

And just like that, the air shifted again.

That night, back in his dorm, Minho couldn’t shake the conversation. He sat at his desk, staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over the anonymous blog app.

Dae was scrolling on his phone, and Q was fiddling with his headphones, oblivious to Minho’s internal turmoil. Without overthinking, Minho typed:

“How do you stop caring about what someone thinks of you when they see through you so easily? Asking for a friend.”

He hit send before he could regret it, then tossed his phone aside, burying his face in his hands.

The next project meeting was different.

They worked in her dorm this time, Kitty buzzing around briefly before leaving with a sly, knowing grin. Minho tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the papers spread across the floor. For whatever reason, (Y/N), decided to dress up. Not that it mattered, in Minho's Eyes, she, for whatever reason, wasnt physically capable of ever looking bad anyway. She always looked… effortless.

“Do you ever write just for yourself?” Minho asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

She glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. Minho wondered what that look was about, but decided not to question it for now

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Just curious.”

She hesitated, then reached for a notebook tucked under a pile of papers. “I guess writing helps me make sense of things. Even if no one reads it.”

Minho nodded, understanding more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah. I get that.”

After a pause, she added softly, “It’s scary, though. Being honest on paper.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s scarier being honest out loud.”

Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the weight of their shared vulnerability hanging in the air.

"I..", Minho hesitated, his eyes flicking between hers and the wall behind her.

The Room was dim, light enough to see the papers, but dark enough to hide (Y/N)'s quick glance at the subtle twitch in Minho's jaw.

Which is exactly why her next movement caught him so off-guard.

She lifted her hand, placing it on his cheek and softly caressing his jawline with her thumb.

Minho was used to romantic affection and the touches that came with it, with this many people wanting to get atleast a part of you it was like a handshake at best, at least thats what he would usually think.

But this was...something else entirely.

His eyes went wide, looking at her without even attempting to hide it.

She chuckled, giving him a smile before leaning close to him, his eyes quickly switching from her eyes to her lips, only to repeat the same motion.

To his dissatisfaction, she only wrapped her arms around him tightly, rubbing small circles into his back. He hugged her back just as tight, without thinking about it at all

Minho was uncertain, but they almost felt heart shaped. Whether that was just his imagination, or reality, he didnt dare to ponder about it further.

She let go of him, resorting to only grabbing his hand and giving in three subtle squeezes.

Before either of them could break the moment by saying anything, Kitty burst through the door, dramatically complaining about Yuri, effectively shattering the tension.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the only thing he could think about, was how she didnt move her hand, not even by an inch, and to him, it felt like a promise.

[britcision]

Tbh I think the wildest thing about Trump is that he literally doesn’t understand soft power

And possibly cannot even perceive it

He’s going around bitching about trade deficits and defence spending…

But a trade deficit means that the country with the deficit is buying more of your stuff than you are buying of theirs

It’s a good thing for your market, especially if you want independence and to get money from people buying your stuff - it’s not people not paying for things, it’s people buying your products and you not buying theirs in return

You’re “trading” products for money. You still get the money. And you can do things like influence the market and sell shitty dvd players that break after a year so that people need to buy Even More dvd players from you, because they aren’t making their own and are used to buying yours

(Note: in this example, “you” are the party with a trade SURPLUS. That means someone else has a deficit in their trade with you

Being the person with the deficit is also not a bad thing, so long as you’re actively trading; it means rather than creating your own industries that may not do as well as another country’s for immutable reasons like being able to mine for specific minerals, you can buy a good product and skip all the construction costs and focus on the things you can do better

The general rule of trade is that if you keep trading, everyone wins)

But Trump is essentially saying that he wants to stop other countries from buying American goods; he wants our imports (us buying your stuff) to match our exports (you buying our stuff)

So

You get less money, because either you’re buying more of our stuff (our exports rise to match imports), or you can’t sell us anything (we lower imports to match exports)

And he wants to do this with tariffs, which mean it becomes more expensive for American retailers to import international goods - because they pay tariffs to the American government, and the exporter does not pay those

(So you can’t afford imports)

So the only way to do what he wants… is to stop buying American goods

This will do good things for the American economy I pinky swear 🙄

The defence spending thing is actually even worse, which is fucking wild to me

The main reason that America is a military world power is that you waste all that money on an army you’re not really using to anything but go around showing off and declaring how big your army is

Other countries spend less on defence because we’re spending on things like infrastructure and improving the well-fare of our citizens

So we don’t have a big strong army that can fight your army, because we don’t need one, but we do need things like food for children and healthcare

But Trump is demanding that everyone else make themselves a big strong army

Because the US being able to essentially run a protection racket and ever so casually say “oh gee Russia looks so big and strong. Let us put a military base in your country so we can keep you safe… oh, and I guess maybe some beneficial trade deals while we’re there 😉😉 keeping you safe 😉😉” is… America being exploited?

And listen, Trump doesn’t do subtle. He’d probably just blatantly say “do what we want or we will invade”, and start a war

But because he can’t do that, he seems convinced that there is no value in America spending more on defence, and insists that the very same people he is antagonizing and threatening the sovereignty of should be expanding their own military power

Frankly, they’d probably start spending a little more on defence anyway

Nothing he’s doing will increase American influence on the world stage, because he’s actively forcing the rest of the world to start acting like America has already left

“Stop buying our exports. Build your own army.”

And as a Canadian? I do think it’s about time we were a little less economically dependent on the US - because it gives them too much power

They’re our closest and most convenient trade partner, but not the only game in town

[airybcby]

for the more than a married couple event :3

nagi seishiro w/ 🍑 + 🎂

please and thank you, happy holidays!

hi! sorry for this taking a literal eternity! here it is!

a nagi seishiro citrus cake :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° skeletons, skeletons, what do we have here

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event! ( this event is now closed ) ( masterlist will be updated soon! )

♡ content — nagi seishiro x gn! reader, unrequited feelings (reader towards nagi) , nagi being a kind of lackluster husband, nagi still plays soccer, set in high school

♡ synopsis — All this time, you’d been picturing something more. Something bigger. A future where maybe, just maybe, nagi seishiro would choose you the way you had always chosen him. But while you'd always been looking at him—he was looking past you.

The moment you saw Nagi Seishiro’s name next to yours on the partner list, your heart stopped.

You were supposed to be excited. Supposed to laugh and tell him, Looks like we’re stuck together, huh? the way a best friend would.

But instead, you felt your stomach drop.

Because you knew—living with him, being this close to him every day, would make it harder to keep your feelings buried.

You had liked Nagi for a long time. Maybe too long. And now, you were going to live together, sleep under the same roof, share meals, and navigate life as a married couple—even if it was just pretend.

It was going to be the easiest and hardest thing you’d ever done.

At first, nothing really changed.

“Oh, you’re the one cooking, right?” Nagi asked, glancing at you from the couch as you placed bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.

You scoffed. “What happened to us cooking?”

He stretched, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Mm… sounds tiring.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

This was normal. This was fine.

But as the days passed, you started noticing the little things.

Like how Nagi waited for you to start eating before taking his first bite. Or how he always made sure you had a blanket on the couch, even if he wasn’t cold. Or how he never let you walk on the outside of the sidewalk, casually shifting so he was the one closest to the street.

It was nothing. It was everything.

And the more you noticed, the harder it became to pretend.

One night, after a long day, you both collapsed onto the couch.

Your legs were tucked under you, and Nagi sprawled across the cushions like he had no bones in his body.

“I dunno why people make a big deal about this marriage thing,” he mumbled, covering his face with a pillow.

You laughed, nudging him with your foot. “Because it is a big deal, Seishiro. You’re literally spending your life with someone.”

“Sounds exhausting,” he said, voice muffled.

You rolled your eyes. “You think everything is exhausting.”

He lifted the pillow slightly, just enough to peek at you. His gaze was half-lidded, but there was something unreadable in it.

“Not you,” he murmured.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You swallowed. Forced a laugh. “What, am I the exception?”

He let the pillow fall back over his face. “Dunno. Guess so.”

Your fingers curled into your sleeves.

You knew better than to read into things with Nagi. He wasn’t the type to say things with hidden meanings.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching anyway.

You woke up to warmth.

It took a moment for the haze of sleep to fade, for you to register the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, the familiar scent of Nagi surrounding you.

Your breath hitched.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, you had ended up wrapped around him—your arm draped over his torso, your leg tangled with his.

And worse? His arm was around you, too.

Panic swelled in your throat. You had to move before he woke up, before he realized just how badly you wanted this to be real.

But just as you began to shift, his grip tightened.

“Don’t,” he mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

You froze.

His eyes remained closed, his face relaxed. Maybe he wasn’t fully awake.

Maybe, just for a little longer, you could let yourself believe this meant something.

So you stayed.

And in the quiet of the morning, with his warmth seeping into your skin, you let yourself pretend.

It had been building for weeks. A question sitting on the tip of your tongue, an uncertainty lingering in your chest.

And finally, on a quiet evening, you asked.

“Nagi,” you said softly. “Do you ever think about the future?”

He was lying on the floor beside you, hands resting on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling.

He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Like… what comes next. After all of this.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, in a voice so simple it made your stomach sink, he said—

“Not really. As long as I can play soccer, I don’t really care about the rest.”

The air left your lungs.

Because you realized, in that moment, that while you were looking at him—he was looking past you.

All this time, you’d been picturing something more. Something bigger. A future where maybe, just maybe, he’d choose you the way you had always chosen him.

But Nagi had never once thought about it.

Never once thought about you in the way you had hoped.

You turned your head away before he could see the way your face fell.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing your voice to be light. “That sounds like you.”

He let out a small chuckle, closing his eyes. “Mm. Too much effort to think about anything else.”

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt.

You loved him. You always had.

But no matter how much it hurt, maybe… maybe you were better off as just friends.

Because Nagi was like the snow—beautiful, fleeting, impossible to hold onto without it slipping through your fingers.

And if you stayed, hoping for something more, you’d only be left out in the cold.

The end of the simulation came faster than you expected.

You packed your things, folded the blanket you had shared on the couch, took one last look at the space you had called home together.

It felt empty.

But maybe that was for the best.

Nagi stood by the door, watching as you zipped up your bag. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something almost hesitant.

But then he yawned, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess this is it, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you said, “I’m glad we did this.”

He blinked.

You smiled, even as your chest ached.

“I think we make better friends than anything else.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Nagi looked… confused.

But he only nodded. “Yeah. Duh.”

And just like that, it was over.

The first snowfall of the season came the next morning.

You stood outside, watching as the flakes drifted lazily from the sky, melting the moment they touched your skin.

Nagi would have loved this, you thought.

Then you shook the thought away.

Because no matter how much you loved him—

He was never yours to keep.

im sooooo sorry this took forever to put out i was literally in the worst writing slump ever :(

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

[phoenixblaze1412]

I love the child reader stuff you make a lot! how do you think the segments and dottore would react if child reader now a bit grown up into teen years came out as queer/trans?

Dottore (Prime/Zandik)

At first, Dottore’s reaction might seem detached. He’s not the type to outwardly emote much in any situation, but his mind would immediately start analyzing. Not in a dismissive way, he genuinely wants to understand.

“Interesting,” he might say, with his usual sharp tone, but he wouldn’t mean it mockingly. To him, it’s simply a matter of identity, and the mechanics of gender or orientation fascinate him from a scientific standpoint.

Beneath his cold demeanor, he respects you deeply, so he wouldn’t dismiss your experience.

If you needed reassurance, he would provide it in his own way: practical support. He would ensure you had whatever resources, clothes, or tools you needed to feel at ease.

He’s protective, so anyone who dared disrespect you over your identity would face his wrath in full force.

The Omega Segment

Omega is logical and pragmatic, so his response would be straightforward and nonchalant. “If that’s who you are, then so be it.”

He wouldn’t make a big deal out of it and would treat it like any other personal revelation, continuing to work or experiment while listening.

However, he has a soft spot for you. While he doesn’t show it often, he would adjust his behavior if it made you more comfortable, switching to new pronouns or offering affirmations subtly in his interactions.

He’d also offer guidance in a calm, steady tone if you seemed uncertain about yourself, always grounding you when emotions ran high.

The Iota Segment

Iota’s reaction would be more overt. He’s loud and proud of you, hyping you up immediately. “That’s my kid!” he’d exclaim with a wide grin, clapping you on the back.

He might be overbearing with his enthusiasm at first, insisting on helping you in ways that could verge on embarrassing, like marching off to intimidate anyone who might have ever been cruel to you.

“You tell me if anyone’s giving you trouble. I’ll take care of it.” His protective instincts go into overdrive.

Iota is a bit brash but very genuine. If you needed support, he’d jump into action without hesitation, even if he didn’t fully understand at first.

The Epsilon Segment

Epsilon would react much like Prime but with a more inquisitive, academic lens. He might bombard you with questions not to belittle, but because he’s fascinated and genuinely wants to learn how best to support you.

“So, how does this impact your perception of yourself? What can I do to accommodate your needs?” His tone would be clinical, but his intention kind.

He’d research queer or trans topics extensively, likely overwhelming you with resources and information. “I’ve compiled some data you might find helpful.”

He’s a bit socially awkward, so his attempts to express support might come across as stiff or overly formal, but his care is evident in his actions.

The Theta Segment

Theta is playful and teases everyone, but his reaction would surprise you with its sincerity. “Really? That’s awesome! Now, let’s mess with everyone else by confusing them about your pronouns for fun.”

He’d lighten the mood with jokes, but they’d never be at your expense. Instead, he’d use humor to make you feel at ease and ensure you knew he accepted you wholeheartedly.

Theta would also go out of his way to validate you, casually working affirming comments into conversations without making a big deal out of it.

“You’re already the coolest person here; this just cements it.”

The Zeta Segment

Zeta doesn’t say much, so his reaction would be subtle but deeply supportive. A nod of acknowledgment, a small smile, these gestures would say everything.

He’s not one for grand speeches, but his actions speak louder than words. He’d ensure you felt respected and cared for without making a fuss.

If anyone tried to disrespect you, Zeta would be the silent enforcer, using his presence to intimidate them into backing off.

As a collective, the segments might bicker over the best way to support you, each with their own approach. But the one thing they’d all agree on is that you’re their kid, and they’d defend you fiercely.

Prime would eventually step in to coordinate their efforts, ensuring that they didn’t overwhelm you with their differing reactions.

The lab might become a bit chaotic at first as they adjust to any changes you’ve shared, but their love for you is unwavering. Whether you’re queer, trans, or simply figuring yourself out, they’d all stand by your side.

[sirserpentine]

"Your judgement of my character is ever generous," Pentious whispered back. He did his hardest to not frightfully gawk at the large mouth that produced poison that in ways is even more dangerous than his own.

The serpent's dead heart pounded as Valentino leaned forward, gently locking him in place with those arms over his sides and a large hand right over that anxious pitter-patter in his chest. Pentious was afraid the other Sinner would be able to feel it even through the thick, ornate surface of his coat.

He didn't have much time. There was only so far this chase could go before something else happened. And that is not what Pentious wanted.

But... would that really be that bad, the serpent found himself pondering. It would be a casual little romp, done in just a bit. And it would give Angel a few more extra minutes to savour with his beloved feline. Not a big deal, and maybe-

No, Lucifer, no-! That was the wine talking. Or the surprising smoothness of this feigned encounter- or worst yet, the poison. Goodness, was it affecting him? Hadn't Angel told him to keep his mask on? Shit. Shit!

No, no, Pentious reasoned. Valentino was a dangerous Overlord. Getting ensnared any further within his grasp wouldn't be worth it. Angel was living... well, sort of, proof of that.

"...I wonder if I'm worth such a word," Pentious continued lowly, his words true despite the make-belief flirtation. He cupped the Overlord's face with his own hands. "You have been gentle to me, dear. Perhaps it fits you more."

Pentious' lidded eyes turned down towards Valentino's hands and the brooches and straps beneath his clawed hands. Engage. Distract.

"...Do you like it? I made the coat by myself."

Valentino straightened up after the head pat, huffing as he adjusted his hat. Yeah, yeah. He'd be fine. Maybe he just needed to work with more people who had gigantic tails-- he could build up a tolerance for whatever this was, make the next interaction go smoother. Surprisingly, though, snakes were not all that common. Neither were snails. Were there any merfolk in Hell?

A couple of his hands went to try snapping his back into place, teeth gritted at the sound of the question. At least Pentious seemed impressed by the whole thing. It could've gone worse.

"My type?" Val questioned, and hummed a little bit in focus.

His genuine answer had to be that he didn't know. Were they just talking about what he found sexually appealing, or did this extend to people he would actually want a partnership with? Those were two different things. They had to be a 'ten', but there were exceptions, like Vox. There were the pretty people he saw as no more than accessories to his extensive career, toys, arm candy... and then there were those who he looked at with more reverence.

"I like 'em hot," he started off, tongue sweeping across his teeth as he turned his eyes back to Pentious. "Powerful. I'm already influential, but I'd never say no to a status boost."

He stepped closer, set two hands on either side of Pentious, and one on the serpent's chest. Then he leaned in.

"... You're a new type," Val purred at him. "A gentleman."

[ssspringroll]

Apartment: 101 Sandy Run

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Status: VACANT

Make a sim for this space! General Real Estate Event Info

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[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

It is truly fascinating how the common tumblr narrative around John and Paul somehow makes the guy who literally got violent multiple times over people insinuating he was queer appear more "on board with the whole gay thing" than the guy who said some awkward/dated stuff in interviews a couple of times.

[karamazovposting]

I've briefly talked about it before (it's somewhere in my bipolar Ivan Karamazov agenda tag) but I genuinely love how Ivan's situation is treated through the story and I really relate to it because it's so realistic and well done.

I mean, Ivan himself openly and casually admits that yeah I might kill myself in less than ten years but it's not a big deal or anything mid conversation with his brother who he hasn't seen in almost a decade like it's a completely normal thing to say and think about (because to him it is) and the narrator is like oh Ivan sees dead people sometimes but it's alright and everyone else is just cool with it.

Yes, Ivan is struggling with his mental health, but it's not treated as an epic descent into madness for the drama or for shock value or a Jekyll and Hyde or extreme situation out of ignorance or, worse, mockery. He's just a mentally ill young man being treated like a person who needs help (I wish the people around me had been as concerned and caring as Alyosha and Katya were, to be honest) and even if it's a story written and set in the 19th century, no one's ever disrespectful towards him: no demeaning language (for the time period), no mockery, everyone takes him seriously and it's even highlighted that he's still capable of rationality (his defining character trait; he has not lost himself!); even after the whole trial fiasco, no one's angry at him, they just acknowledge that he's unwell. There is something particularly delicate about how his character is handled, a particular kind of sensitivity and softness paired with a lack of exaggeration and spectacularization that really positively surprised me when I first read the book because I wasn't expecting Ivan's condition to be an accurate portrayal of what I have been through and live with every day.

Even when Ivan is distressed by it, the story never gets too dramatic with that and it never drags it on for too long and that's what I love about his talk with the devil and the trial: it's all very neutral in the most respectful way possible given the context. I don't really know how to explain this, but (at this point everyone and their mother knows) I have bipolar disorder and that's exactly what living with it (or any mental health condition I guess) is like: it's casual, it's normal, it's not a big deal; that's just your life and you gotta live it. There is a lot of nuance that I didn't think I would find so accurately portrayed in a novel from almost two-hundred years ago.

Ivan is more or less neutral towards and comfortable in his own chaos because what else can he do, really?

[theokusgallery]

Actually. Thinking about it because of my last reblog, but to people who get into romantic relationships (including demiro people and such): why do people make it so awkward when an unrequited crush happens?

I've seen people end really strong friendships over the other person having feelings, but if that happened to me I feel like I'd just... be flattered? And take it as a sign that the person really likes me, and be glad? Crushes are just a form of affection, isn't it kind of the same thing as a friend telling you "I really like you as a person"?

If you wanted a relationship with them, it means you like them a lot, but just because they don't return it, you... leave?? Even though you felt that close to them?? Can people not just enjoy the feeling of having a crush and treat it as a casual thing that's just there? Why is it such a big deal. Having a crush is a pretty pleasant feeling from what people say. Just enjoy the feeling. What's the problem here

[anarchne]

i wish i could remove the word “adopt” from kept peoples’ vernacular lol

[astranauticus]

Do mechanites cry?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[bookshelfdreams]

friendly reminder that

"I love everything about you."

[pleasantgirl2000]

not the kind of girl to get starstruck but just met david byrne at work and almost had a heart attack