#obviously I don’t know any of these people

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

(genuine question sorry if it comes across as spam or trolling) is porn addiction not actually a thing? and how is it connected to terf stuff (again genuinely want to know so I don’t repeat the retoric)

No worries anon, I do not get enough asks for things to come across as spam or trolling.

But yeah no, porn addiction is not a thing. Over two decades of research has not proven a goddamn thing; rather, it's proven that it doesn't exist. [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] *note, some of these are more accessible than others and some are more specific

While those who believe in it will present what seems to be a mountain of evidence for it, their evidence is often unscientific or unreliable or uses flawed measures or uses incredibly small sample sizes, including a sample of 1 in some cases.

The actual scientific consensus is that while excessive watching of porn can be a bad habit and can negatively impact your life, you can't become addicted to it the way that you can with things like alcohol. Things like alcohol addiction or tobacco addiction are related to a significant change in the neuronal transmission in your brain. Like certain drugs mimic certain neurotransmitters and impact the neuro-receptors on either side of a synapse.

Porn doesn't do that. Or moreso, porn is not unique in how it can change your brain chemistry. Someone who spends twelve hours a day seven days a week watching reality TV doesn't have a habit inherently different to someone who spends the same amount of time watching porn.

Often excessive watching of porn is a symptom of a larger issue such as depression. Many of those who self-report as porn addicts match the primary diagnosis of depression.

Also, within research, it is often found that those who self-report a porn addiction watch the same amount of or less of porn as someone who doesn't report it, mostly because a lot of it is related to shame and guilt and not addictive behaviour.

Porn addiction as an idea is most often rooted in religiosity and not science.

It can also be rooted in terfism. Because terfs hate porn.

Their arguments against porn boil down to the idea that women cannot and should not have sexual autonomy. They dress it up obviously, but if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a misogynist.

Almost any argument against porn they make can be easily countered by the fact that all their criticisms occur in every industry that exists currently, especially so in creative industries.

The porn industry is not uniquely exploitative. If people's labour is involved, it's probably being exploited or it has the potential to be exploited. Not knowing if the person on screen was treated well on set is not unique to porn, you know how many movies I can list that included actors being treated like shit? The porn industry does not have an issue with human trafficking that is unique to any other industry; it's a massive issue in industries with manual labour. etc.

Point is, it is not inherently evil. Terfs want you to think it is though because A) they hate women and B)

To them, porn equals predatory men (they include trans women in this) exploiting poor innocent women who cannot possibly consent.

The idea of women who actively partake in sex work and enjoy doing so is mind breaking for them; they often rationalise it as the women being mentally ill and being indoctrinated by porn. The idea of porn addiction suits them well because they believe porn is inherently evil like men are.

Terfs can't perceive any situation where women are not being actively victimised by men. They are always the victims and they always need protection from men who are inherently evil and inherently predatory.

They're misogynists and idiots (and very often very racist though that's not currently relevant).

I don't know how coherent this is. It is approaching the time I go to sleep so it might be very rambly. I hope it was helpful anyway. Feel free to ask for clarification that I'll reply to in the morning.

[shiranuieditorial]

Professional editor here 🙋🏽 piping in to say that that sentence is 100% grammatically correct, but it could use a pair of em dashes (if following U.S. English standards) or en dashes (if following U.K. English standards) to break up that interior monologue or emphasised exclamation (whichever one you intended it to be) as an interjection/interruption inserted within the main sentence. It would help your readers’ clarity and understanding, and therefore, boost their enjoyment levels too!

So, yeah, it still stands that English’s grammar sphere is extremely flexible, twistable, stretchable, flammable, combustible, slice-and-diceable, and however the fuck else you wanna abuse it to your selfish satisfaction! You just gotta make sure your overall creation is still readable, parseable, legible, decipherable, understandable, and therefore, enjoyable—you know?

Unique author voices are completely different from grammatical errors and linguistic inaccuracies. The former is to be cherished! Treasured! Praised! Uplifted! Celebrated until the end of time! Meanwhile, the latter is to be reduced to a minimum, because we don’t need them if they don’t serve a very intentional purpose. A trained eye will be able to distinguish this without problem, which is indeed why human editors like me and my friends aren’t that easily replaced by AI—thank you very much!—but this elephantine task certainly takes on a differently flavoured toll when an author self-edits their own writing, especially if they don’t have years of specialised knowledge and training in the art of editing. (And trust me, it is a wholly different and just as serious of a skillset as the writing part itself.)

Now, whether or not you plan to work with a trusted professional editor later on is up to you to decide (I mean, it’s obviously recommended, but the choice is still in your hands; and even if you do hire editors, the final choice to accept or reject their suggestions is also still in your hands), but here are a few things to keep in mind during your self-editing rounds:

Trust yourself, first and foremost! You’re the one who understands your story best. If something strongly resonates with you, keep it in. At the very least, it’d add a touch of you and your humanity to your creation, if nothing else.

Having your own unique voice is a good thing. You should want more of it, and no one should ever try to kill it off of you—not even yourself. Stay authentic to yourself, explore whatever interests you, and keep honing your storytelling voice(s) through practice, practice, practice—no matter how you think it “stands out against” or “blends in with” or “doesn’t hold a candle to” or “bastardises” other people’s creations you’ve interacted with. Your voice is solely yours, and that is so, so valuable.

If you heavily suspect something contains a technical error, check with reputable sources, like some bigwig dictionary’s example sentences section, or whichever style guide you’ve chosen as your patron saint, or various editor(ial)s’ blog posts and articles, or Q&A/AMA sessions with editors or linguists, or you could try your luck and slide into their DMs if you have a particular someone you admire, or whatever combination of those options you fancy the most.

If you’ve heard or read someone irl (including yourself) say those words or that phrase/sentence/monologue before, then it’s probably fine, dude.

For hearing folks: Say it aloud. Use various text-to-speech settings to read it aloud to you. Have your friend or relative read it aloud. Does anything feel wonky, somehow? Does anything need a sprinkle of pizzazz to liven up the dead air? Do these words fit the mood you’re currently feeling during this scene? Did your companion stutter at any point?

Let your writs marinate alone for as long as you can afford to. Forget about it. Then, come back to it with a fresh perspective—not one of an author’s nor an editor’s, but pretend you are a reader who is reading some anonymous writer’s work with the intention of simply sinking into the read and enjoying whatever is served.

The world isn’t divided into “grammatically correct” and “grammatically incorrect”. There are many other variables to composing, writing, editing, proofreading, and speaking. If you have the time and headspace to learn about them, do so. Finding the proper terminologies to describe your ideas and experiences will benefit you with great satisfaction.

Punctuation marks, symbols, spacings, margins, line breaks, paragraph breaks, scene breaks, chapter breaks, placements, pacing, etc. are difficult and time-consuming for us copy editors too. Don’t beat yourself up for struggling with these technical details, but also, don’t be so afraid of them that you omit them entirely from your writs. Instead, shift your energy and attention to creating and maintaining your very own author’s style sheet, which you can then pass on to your editor to upgrade and tidy up for you as you kick back and relax, but it can certainly help ease your own writing process if you’ve sketched up your own guide for yourself.

Editing any piece of work—fiction or non-fiction or any hybrid of them—should always prioritise the author’s original vision and goals above all else. Don’t treat it like grading schoolwork with checks and crosses and /100 scores. There is no right and wrong to the art of writing. Why did you start writing in the first place? What do you want to explore and express in your crafts? What do you want your readers to get from your story? How do you want them to feel about your characters? What message are you trying to tell, and why is it important? Do you want to impress people more with your substance or your style? Linguistic unorthodoxy be damned; if your quirky choice gets the point across with all the right vibes and nuances ticked off, then go for it!

Remember that language is constantly evolving… as it should! What was once regarded as “incorrect” a century ago could easily be the norm nowadays. If you’ve decided to become the progenitor of a new trend, then you better own up to it! Be unapologetically compelling.

Remember that there is always a solution/answer to your confusion/curiosity. Even if you don’t find what you’re looking for right now, there’s still hope. Either you’ll find clarity when you least expect it, or you’ll create homemade organic closure for yourself, one way or another. The possibilities are endless. What matters most is to trust the process and never give up on yourself!

one of my worst writing sins is abusing my power to create compound words. i cannot write the sentence "The sun shone as bright as honey that afternoon." no. that's boring. "The sun was honey-bright that afternoon" however? yes. that sentence is dope as fuck. i do not care if "honey-bright" is a word in the english dictionary. i do not care if the sentence is grammatically correct. i will not change. i will not correct my erred ways. the laws of the english language are mine.

[cherryxbooo]

Helloooo hehe 🍒

Could you write a pedri fic where perdito and reader are both in college but he’s the popular kind and reader is quiet and almost invisible.

How at first she doesn’t wanna get involved but slowly warms up to him and start dating and her getting welcomed by his family.

Make it angst to fluff like real angst tho.

Whether you write this or not im grateful 💚

You make sense to me

Summary: Being introverted and choosing the background over the spotlight is already hard enough, let alone when the popular guy suddenly takes an interest in you.

Note: Thank you so much for your request! I decided to switch it up a bit and go from fluff to angst and obviously ending in fluff. Hope you like it! 🫶

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

University is a strange place.

It’s a world where people reinvent themselves, the loud get louder, and the quiet, like me, learn to live in the spaces between.

That’s how I’ve survived my first year at university, blending into the background.

I’m not a recluse, but I keep to myself.

I study, I go to class, I read in the corner of the library, and I go home.

No unnecessary interactions. No unnecessary attention.

That is, until he noticed me.

Pedri.

Everyone in our uni knows who he is. He’s that guy, the one with effortless charm, always surrounded by people.

Popular, not just because he’s good at football, but because he’s him. He moves through life with a kind of ease I can’t even imagine.

And yet, for some reason, he keeps looking at me.

I don’t get it. I don’t know what he sees.

At first, I ignore it. I convince myself I’m imagining things. But then, it happens again.

And again.

Until one day, he does more than just look.

It started off small.

"Hey," a voice says, casual but confident.

My highlighter sits on the page.

A thick streak of neon yellow bleeds over a sentence I was trying to mark, but my brain suddenly forgets how to function because someone is talking to me.

Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head.

He’s already sitting beside me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A dark hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a grin that’s just a little too amused.

His presence feels loud, even though he’s not making any actual noise.

My first instinct? Escape.

My second? Stare.

I do both in rapid succession, my eyes flicking toward the exit, then warily back at him, as if assessing how much of a threat he poses.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care.

"...Hi?" I say, but it comes out more like a question than a greeting.

His grin widens, like this is completely normal.

Like we talk all the time.

“You’re in my psychology class, right?”

I blink at him. That’s what this is about?

I nod once, not trusting my voice, because I don’t know why he’s here, or what he wants, and I hate not knowing things.

He leans back in his chair, completely at ease.

His dark eyes scan the open book in front of me, then flick back up to my face.

“You’re quiet.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. No shit.

I don’t reply.

I just wait. People like him, people who talk first and think later, usually get bored when they don’t get the response they want.

Any second now, he’ll lose interest. Any second now—

"Like, really quiet," he continues, undeterred.

His chin rests on his palm, elbow propped on the table, as if he’s studying me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a full sentence.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Or groan. Or bang my head against the table.

Instead, I press my lips together and attempt to salvage my poor, over-highlighted page.

"Maybe because I don’t have anything to say."

He chuckles, low and warm, like I’ve just told some inside joke we both share.

Except we don’t.

“I don’t buy that,” he says.

I glance at him again, this time with actual irritation.

"Why do you care?"

His shoulders lift in an easy shrug, like he hasn’t even considered the question before.

“I don’t know. You’re interesting.”

I actually laugh. A small, startled sound that slips out before I can stop it.

Not because he’s right, but because that has to be the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

"I’m not interesting," I say, shaking my head.

"You just don’t know me well enough to be bored yet."

His smirk deepens. "See? That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile."

I roll my eyes and refocus on my book.

"Congratulations. You’ve unlocked a new achievement."

He leans forward slightly, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. "So you can be sarcastic. Good to know."

I bite back another sigh. He’s not leaving. He’s settling in.

For a moment, I consider my options.

I could:

A) Ignore him until he gets the hint. B) Pack up my stuff and relocate to another part of the library. C) Say something so cold and blunt that he’ll regret ever sitting here.

I’m still debating when he speaks again.

"You always sit here," he muses.

I glance at him. "What?"

"In the library. Right here. This exact table." He tilts his head, thinking.

"You come in, you pull out your books, you highlight the hell out of your pages, and you don’t talk to anyone."

I stare at him, my pulse kicking up a notch.

"Have you been watching me?"

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. "More like... noticing."

"That’s the same thing."

"Not really," he counters, that lazy smirk still in place.

"Watching is weird. Noticing is just, paying attention."

I frown, my grip tightening on my highlighter.

"Why are you paying attention to me?"

He tilts his head, considering. "I don’t know. Maybe I like mysteries."

I scoff. "I’m not a mystery."

"Debatable."

I shake my head and focus very intently on my book.

But the problem is, I can still feel him there, his gaze lingering, his presence impossible to ignore.

And for the first time in forever, I feel seen.

I hate it.

Pedri doesn’t leave me alone after that.

At first, I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

A fluke.

That first conversation in the library? A one-time thing.

A moment of fleeting curiosity on his part.

But then it happens again. And again. And again.

It starts small.

A casual wave when he spots me across campus.

At first, I ignore it, assuming he’s greeting someone behind me.

But when I glance over my shoulder and see no one there, I realize, he’s waving at me.

I don’t wave back.

But that doesn’t stop him.

The next time, he adds a grin to it. The time after that, he calls my name, loud enough that people turn to look.

(Which, obviously, mortifies me.)

Then, there’s class.

He used to sit on the other side of the room.

I know this because I used to specifically sit where I wouldn’t have to be around too many people.

But one day, Pedri is suddenly there, dropping into the seat next to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s always been there.

I glance at him, suspicious. He just shrugs, pulling out his notebook.

"Better view from here."

I don’t buy that for a second, but I also don’t argue.

And then there are the conversations.

Or, more accurately, the ones he forces me into.

"So, what’s your verdict on our professor? Secretly a vampire, or just really hates sunlight?"

"If you had to survive on only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? And if you say something boring like ‘salad,’ I might actually cry."

"I bet you secretly have a list of people you’d commit crimes for. I respect it."

Some days, I ignore him completely.

Other days, his persistence wears me down, and I give in with a sigh.

"Pasta," I mumble one afternoon.

He blinks. "Huh?"

"If I had to survive on one food. Pasta."

His entire face lights up like I’ve just gifted him something.

"Yes! Solid answer. Now, important follow-up question: are we talking plain pasta, or are you a sauce person?"

I sigh again, but this time, it’s less annoying. Maybe even a little amused.

Just a little.

And that’s how it starts.

I don’t even realize it’s happening at first.

How, little by little, I stop avoiding him.

How my replies stretch from one-word answers to full sentences.

How my body relaxes when he shows up, instead of tensing like I used to.

How I catch myself looking for him in class before he even arrives.

I try to convince myself that it means nothing.

That it’s just habit. That he’s just there, and I’ve gotten used to it.

But habits don’t make my heart skip when I see him across the quad.

Habits don’t make me bite back a smile when he says something stupid.

Habits don’t make my chest ache in ways I don’t know how to handle.

And somehow—without me fully understanding how or when or why, we become friends.

Or something dangerously close to it.

And it terrifies me.

Because Pedri is warmth, and I am used to distance.

Because he is effortless, and I have spent my whole life trying to be untouchable.

Because the more time I spend with him, the more I feel.

And feelings?

Feelings are dangerous.

Then it started with an invitation,

A casual one. Like it’s no big deal.

"Hey, wanna grab lunch with me?"

I glance up from my book, blinking at Pedri like he just asked me to rob a bank with him.

"What?"

"Lunch," he repeats, standing beside my table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"You know, that thing people eat in the middle of the day?"

I roll my eyes. "I know what lunch is."

"Great. Then let’s go." He gestures toward the door like this is already decided.

I hesitate. "Why?"

"Because we both have to eat, and food is better with company," he says simply.

"And don’t say you weren’t planning to eat, because that would be tragic."

I chew on my bottom lip, searching for an excuse, any excuse, but nothing comes to mind.

Pedri doesn’t give me time to think too hard about it.

He reaches for my bag, lifting it from the table before I can protest.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "I promise not to bite."

I sigh, knowing I’ve already lost.

"Fine," I mumble. "But if this place is loud and crowded, I’m leaving."

He smirks. "Noted."

The restaurant he takes me to is small and tucked away, a quiet little place that somehow doesn’t feel overwhelming.

It’s warm inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh bread and spices.

There’s soft music playing in the background, and to my relief, no overwhelming crowd.

"See?" Pedri says as we step in. "Not too bad, right?"

I nod slowly. "It’s... nice."

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I’d pick a good place."

We find a booth by the window, and for the first time, I feel oddly at ease.

We order our food, and somehow, Pedri keeps me engaged in conversation the entire time.

It’s easy. Effortless.

He talks about everything, his classes, his teammates, a hilarious story about how he once fell asleep in the middle of a Zoom lecture and got called out for it.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

He looks ridiculously proud of this accomplishment.

"You like my suffering," he accuses, eyes gleaming.

"I’m just impressed by your ability to sleep through an entire class," I tease.

Pedri gasps dramatically. "So she can joke. This is a breakthrough moment."

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

We eat slowly, the conversation flowing without effort.

And it’s nice. Too nice.

Because for the first time in a long time, I feel something dangerously close to happy.

After lunch, Pedri suggests a walk.

I should say no. I should go back to my dorm, back to my safe space.

But instead, I find myself walking beside him, our steps slow and unhurried.

The campus is quieter now, the afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the trees. It feels peaceful.

We eventually find an empty bench near the park and sit down.

I exhale, tilting my head back slightly to feel the breeze on my skin.

Pedri watches me for a moment before speaking.

"You don’t let a lot of people in, do you?"

I glance at him. "That obvious?"

He shrugs. "I just notice things."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Why?" he asks softly.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t usually talk about this. I don’t talk about myself at all.

But with Pedri, it feels... safe.

"I like peace," I admit finally. "I like being quiet. Being unnoticed. It’s easier."

Pedri stays silent, waiting. Letting me talk.

I take a breath.

"People... they take up space. They expect things. They need things. And I—" I pause, searching for the right words.

"I don’t know how to be what people need. So I just don’t try. So I won't end up getting hurt."

Pedri listens carefully, nodding like he understands.

I look down at my hands.

"I spent so long blending into the background that I guess I forgot how to be anything else."

Pedri exhales softly. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.

"I get that," he says.

I glance at him, surprised.

He leans back against the bench, gazing up at the sky.

"You know, people always assume I like attention just because I’m popular. Because I’m always around people, always talking."

I nod slightly. He’s right. I did assume that.

"But the truth is," he continues, "I don’t care about any of that."

I frown. "Then why—"

"Why you?" He turns his head to look at me. "Why did I notice you?"

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

Pedri smiles, but it’s softer this time. "Because you’re real."

I blink. "What?"

"Everyone else is so... loud," he says.

"Always trying to be something, trying to impress, trying to fit into whatever image they think they need to be."

He shifts slightly, his knee brushing against mine.

"But you? You’re just you," he murmurs. "And that’s rare."

My heart does something weird in my chest. I don’t like it.

Pedri studies my face for a moment, then sighs.

"Look, I know you like being on your own. I know you don’t trust people easily. And I get that. But..." He hesitates, then turns fully toward me.

"Give me a chance," he says.

I inhale sharply. "Pedri—"

"Just a chance," he insists.

"Let me prove to you that I’m not like everyone else. That I don’t just want something from you."

I bite my lip, staring at the ground.

"You scare me," I whisper.

He blinks. "Me?"

I nod. "Not in a bad way. Just... you make me feel things. And I don’t know how to handle that."

Pedri’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, hesitating for a second before lightly brushing his fingers against mine.

"You don’t have to handle it alone," he says gently.

"Let me in. Just a little."

I look at our hands, barely touching, then back at him.

His expression is so open, so earnest, that something in me cracks just a little.

Maybe just a little wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

I take a deep breath. Then, slowly, hesitantly, I nod.

Pedri smiles, squeezing my fingers lightly before pulling away, giving me space.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel terrifying.

It happens gradually.

One moment, he’s just there, the way he always is, persistent, warm, impossible to ignore.

The next, he’s everywhere.

And suddenly, Pedri is mine.

Which is strange...

If you would've told me I would end up with the most popular guy of my uni, I would've straight up laughed in your face.

But, here we're... I guess.

It’s funny how quickly I get used to him.

To his presence, his warmth, the way he seamlessly fits into my life like he’s always been there.

And maybe it should scare me.

Maybe I should keep my distance, hold onto the walls I spent so long building.

But with Pedri, distance feels... impossible.

Because he refuses to be anything less than close.

It doesn’t take long for people to notice.

Because Pedri isn’t subtle. At all.

If anything, he seems to take genuine delight in shocking people.

Like the time we’re walking across campus, and he suddenly grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I freeze.

"Pedri—" I start, eyes darting around, but he just squeezes my hand.

"Relax," he murmurs, glancing down at me with a small smile.

"It’s just me."

I exhale slowly. It’s just him.

I tell myself to pull away, but I don’t.

And then I really regret it when I hear a group of students whispering nearby.

"Wait—are they holding hands?"

"No way. Pedri and y/n?"

"How did that even happen?"

I feel my entire face heat up, but Pedri? He doesn’t care at all.

If anything, he likes it.

Because the next day, when we’re sitting together in class, he casually reaches over and plays with my fingers under the desk.

Like it’s a habit.

Like he just wants to touch me.

"Pedri," I hiss quietly, trying to pull my hand away.

He smirks but tightens his grip. "You’re cute when you’re flustered."

I glare at him. "You’re annoying."

"And yet," he hums, "you still let me hold your hand."

Damn it.

Outside of school, it’s even worse.

Because Pedri doesn’t just want to see me in class, he wants to see me all the time.

"Are you free later?" he asks one afternoon.

I glance up from my notes. "Why?"

"Because I wanna see you," he says easily.

I blink. "You see me every day."

He grins. "Yeah, and?"

I sigh but don’t argue. Because, honestly?

I want to see him too.

Some nights, he comes over with zero warning.

Like when I’m sitting on my bed, fully prepared to spend my evening reading, and suddenly—

Knock, knock.

I groan, already knowing who it is.

When I open the door, Pedri is standing there with two cups of hot chocolate and a ridiculously pleased expression.

"You didn’t text me," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn’t think I needed to," he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

I sigh. "What if I was busy?"

He flops onto my bed, looking completely at home. "Then I’d just sit here and wait for you to be un-busy."

I shake my head, but my lips twitch. I hate how much I like this.

One day, we’re supposed to grab lunch, but it starts pouring out of nowhere.

Pedri and I sprint across campus, completely drenched by the time we duck into the nearest café.

I groan, wringing out my hoodie. "Well, this sucks."

Pedri grins, shaking water from his hair like a golden retriever.

"Nah. I kinda like it."

"You like being soaked?" I deadpan.

"No," he chuckles. "I like that it means I get to stay here with you longer."

And damn it, he means it.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches.

We sit by the window, watching the rain while sharing a plate of fries.

Pedri drapes his hoodie over my shoulders because I’m still shivering, and when I glance at him, he just shrugs.

"What’s mine is yours, princesa."

I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest doesn’t go away.

One night, we’re lying on my bed, facing each other in the soft glow of my bedside lamp.

It’s quiet, comfortable.

Pedri reaches out, tracing lazy patterns on my wrist.

"You ever think about what would’ve happened if I never sat next to you that day?" he murmurs.

I blink. "What?"

"In the library," he says. "If I never sat down. If I never talked to you or approached you. What do you think would’ve happened?"

I think about it for a second. "I guess... nothing."

Pedri frowns slightly.

"You wouldn’t have noticed me," I explain. "And I would’ve kept living my life the way I always have."

His grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "That’s a terrible answer."

I laugh softly. "It’s the truth."

"Well, I hate it," he says.

I tilt my head. "Why?"

Pedri exhales.

"Because I can’t imagine my life without you now," he murmurs. "And I don’t want to."

My breath catches.

He’s staring at me with so much emotion, like I’m the most important thing in his universe.

"I meant what I said," he continues softly.

"I don’t care that you’re quiet. I don’t care that you like being in the background. I don’t care that people think we don’t make sense."

His fingers brush against my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You make sense to me," he whispers.

I don’t know what to say.

Pedri smiles slightly like he can hear all the things I’m too scared to say.

"You don’t have to say anything," he murmurs.

"Just, promise me you won’t push me away."

I swallow. "Pedri..."

"Please," he breathes. "Just let me love you."

My chest tightens, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

But instead of answering, I reach for him, fingers threading through his hair as I pull him closer.

His lips meet mine, slow, soft, certain, and in that moment, I know.

I know that Pedri is different.

I know that I’ve already fallen for him.

And for the first time in a long time,

I don’t want to run.

It’s a normal day at school.

Or at least, it should be.

Except nothing is ever normal when you’re dating Pedri.

We’re sitting outside on one of the campus benches, a rare moment of peace in between classes.

I’m trying to eat my lunch, but Pedri, ever the distraction, is making that very difficult.

"You’re not even paying attention to me," he pouts, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Because I’m eating," I say, taking another bite of my sandwich.

"But I’m right here."

"And?"

"And I require attention."

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my smile.

Pedri grins, clearly pleased with himself.

He reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his fingers trail down my arm before entwining our hands together.

"Better," he hums, like this was the missing piece of his day.

I shake my head but squeeze his hand anyway.

For a moment, it’s quiet, and comfortable, like it always is with him.

And then he drops a bombshell.

"So, I was thinking... you should come to my parents’ house this weekend."

I nearly choke on my drink. "Wait—what?"

"To my parents’ house," he repeats easily as if he’s asking me to grab a coffee, not meet his entire family.

"For dinner. Just something casual."

Casual?

Meeting his parents is casual?!

My brain short-circuits.

"Pedri, I—" I pause, exhaling. "That’s... a big step."

He tilts his head, studying me. "Is it?"

"Yes," I say, nodding vigorously.

"I mean, it’s your family. What if they don’t like me?"

Pedri immediately frowns, turning his entire body towards me.

"First of all, there’s literally no way they won’t like you."

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands. "You don’t know that."

"Yes, I do," he says firmly.

"You’re smart, and kind, and funny, and—" He pauses, squeezing my hand.

"And you make me happy. That’s all they need to know."

I feel my heart clench.

Damn him. Damn him and his words that make me weak.

I hesitate for a few more seconds before exhaling. "Okay... I’ll go."

His face lights up, and suddenly, I know I made the right choice.

"Good," he says smugly.

"Because if you said no, I was gonna beg."

I snort. "I would’ve made you suffer a little first."

"That’s mean."

"That’s justice."

Pedri grins, tugging me closer. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

That weekend, I stood in front of my mirror, stressing out.

What do you wear to meet your boyfriend’s parents?

I don’t want to be too formal and look like I’m trying too hard, but I also don’t want to look like I just threw on the first thing I found.

After way too much debating, I settle on something simple yet cute, just enough effort to look put-together.

And right on cue, my phone buzzes.

Pedri: I’m outside <3

I grab my bag, take a deep breath, and head out.

As soon as I open the door, I see him leaning against his car, arms crossed, a lazy grin spreading across his face the moment he sees me.

"Wow," he whistles, giving me an obvious once-over.

I shift on my feet, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"You look—" He pauses, stepping closer. "Beautiful."

My face heats up. "Shut up."

"I’m serious," he murmurs, eyes shining.

"My mom’s gonna love you even more now."

I roll my eyes but smile as he opens the car door for me.

As we drive, I feel the nerves creeping in again.

My hands rest stiffly on my lap, and I stare out the window, chewing on my lip.

Pedri notices immediately.

Without a word, he reaches over and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Breathe, princesa," he murmurs.

I exhale shakily. "I just don’t want to mess this up."

"You won’t."

"How do you know?"

Pedri lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

"Because you’re you," he says simply.

And just like that, some of the nerves fade.

As soon as we arrive, Pedri barely has time to knock before the door swings open, revealing his mother.

"Hola, cariño!" she exclaims, pulling Pedri into a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

He laughs, hugging her back. "Hola, mamá."

Then, her eyes land on me.

And suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

"And this must be y/n, the girl I’ve heard so much about," she says warmly, her gaze kind and curious.

I hesitate for a moment before stepping forward, offering a polite smile. "Hi, it’s really nice to meet you."

To my surprise, her face softens even more before she pulls me into a gentle hug.

"Oh, you’re adorable," she murmurs before pulling away.

"Come in, come in."

As we step inside, I glance at Pedri, who is smirking at me like he knew this would happen.

He leans down, whispering, "Told you she’d love you."

I glare at him, nudging him with my elbow, but the warmth in my chest doesn’t fade.

The house is warm and inviting, decorated with framed pictures of Pedri and his family.

Some are from his childhood, others more recent, like his love for football evident in every corner.

I take a moment to glance at one of the shelves, where several of his trophies and awards sit proudly.

"You’re staring, princesa," Pedri teases, nudging my shoulder.

"It’s just weird seeing your entire life displayed like this," I murmur.

Before he can reply, a deep voice cuts through the room.

"So this is the famous girl?"

I turn to see Fernando, Pedri’s older brother, leaning against the doorway with an amused expression.

"The one and only," Pedri says smugly, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I shoot him a look but manage a polite smile. "It’s nice to meet you."

Fernando nods, eyeing Pedri. "Well, I have to say, I’m impressed. I thought you were just making her up."

I snort, while Pedri glares. "I hate you."

"Love you too, hermano."

His mother shakes her head, laughing. "Boys, enough. Let’s eat."

Dinner is incredible, and not just the food (which is honestly some of the best I’ve ever had).

Pedri’s mom made a full spread, and every bite tastes like it was cooked with love.

"This is amazing," I say, genuinely in awe.

His mom beams. "Thank you, cariño. Eat as much as you want."

"Careful," Fernando jokes. "She’ll try to adopt you if you say that too many times."

Pedri smirks. "Too late. She’s already mine."

I nearly choke on my drink.

His mother laughs while Fernando groans.

"God, you’re embarrassing."

Pedri shrugs, completely unfazed, squeezing my knee under the table.

Throughout the meal, his parents ask me questions, not in an overwhelming way, but enough to show that they’re genuinely interested in getting to know me.

His dad is quieter but still warm, occasionally chiming in with a question or a story about Pedri as a kid.

"Did he tell you he used to cry when he lost board games?" his dad asks, smirking.

I light up. "No, but I love that."

Pedri groans, slumping in his chair. "Why are we exposing me?"

"Because it’s fun," Fernando says, grinning.

I giggle, and Pedri shoots me a betrayed look.

"You’re supposed to be on my side," he mutters.

"I am," I say sweetly. "Just... not right now."

After dinner, I insist on helping with the dishes.

"Oh, no, cariño, you’re a guest," his mother says, waving me off.

"Please," I say, offering a small smile. "I want to help."

She eyes me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. But only because you asked so nicely."

As we stand by the sink, washing plates, she suddenly speaks up.

"You know," she starts, her tone thoughtful, "I wasn’t a fan of the other girls Pedri has dated."

I blink, glancing at her. "Oh?"

She nods, rinsing a dish.

"They only wanted him for his name and popularity. But you... you seem different."

I swallow. "I just like him for who he is."

She smiles softly. "I know. And that’s why I like you."

Something warm blooms in my chest.

"You’re good for him," she continues.

"He’s always been surrounded by people who want something from him. But with you? I see the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you."

She pauses, drying her hands before turning to face me.

"I can tell you care about him."

I nod, my throat feeling tight. "I do. A lot."

She smiles, patting my hand. "Then that’s all I need to know."

As we drive back, Pedri is grinning like an idiot.

"That went amazing," he says, eyes flickering to me.

"It did," I admit.

"See? You worried for nothing."

I sigh. "Yeah, yeah. You were right."

He gasps dramatically. "Wait, say that again?"

"I will never repeat it."

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. "I’m proud of you, princesa."

I glance at him. "Why?"

"Because I know this wasn’t easy for you," he says softly.

"But you did it. And my mom loves you. My dad and Fernando too."

I bite my lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "But more importantly, I love you."

My heart stops.

Pedri, realizing what he just said, suddenly tenses.

"Wait—" His eyes widen. "I mean—"

I laugh softly. "It’s okay, Pedri."

He swallows. "I just... I love you, okay? And I don’t care if that scares you. I’m not going anywhere."

I look at him, really look at him, and feel something inside me settle.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach over, lacing my fingers with his.

"Drive, Pedri," I whisper.

He exhales, squeezing my hand. "I’ll wait for you, princesa. However long it takes."

And as we head home, I realize—

I don’t think it’ll take very long at all.

It was another boring uni day. A day full of back-to-back classes.

I’m in the library, stacking my books neatly into my arms, already mentally preparing for my next class.

My mind is quiet, calm, focused on anything but him.

Pedri had texted me this morning, telling me he had early practice and would see me later.

"Have a good day, princesa ❤️ Miss you."

I had smiled when I read it.

I shouldn’t have.

I adjust my grip on the books and turn toward the exit. Then I hear it.

Laughter. Loud voices.

At first, I don’t think anything of it. Until I hear my name.

I stop. My heart stutters.

I tell myself it’s nothing, that maybe I misheard, that maybe it’s just some random conversation.

But then a voice cuts through the noise, A voice I know better than anyone else’s.

His voice.

Pedri.

My stomach twists, my fingers tightening around the books as I take a cautious step forward.

The voices are coming from the hallway just ahead, around the corner.

I shouldn’t listen. I shouldn’t. But I do.

"Bro, you’re actually still with her?" one of his friends cackles.

"I swear I thought this was just a bet or some shit."

Pedri laughs.

That’s the first stab.

"Nah, man. No bet."

"Then what the fuck is it?" someone else scoffs. "There’s no way you’re actually into her."

Pedri lets out a low chuckle. "Come on, man. You really think I’d go for a girl like that?"

A girl like that.

"Exactly," another voice chimes in.

"She’s fucking boring, bro. Always sitting in the back, never talking, just reading like she’s in some old-ass novel or something. You could have literally anyone, why waste time on her?"

"It’s not like that," Pedri says easily. "She’s just… convenient."

The air leaves my lungs.

"Convenient?" one of his friends laughs. "What, like a little charity case?"

Pedri doesn’t deny it.

He fucking laughs.

"Nah, it’s just easy, you know?" he shrugs.

"She doesn’t ask for much. Doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a big deal out of shit. I don’t have to try too hard."

"So you’re with her because she’s easy?"

Pedri snickers.

"More like… low maintenance. She’s quiet, doesn’t bother me when I’m busy, doesn’t start drama. It’s just chill. I don’t have to worry about her blowing up my phone or expecting too much."

I feel sick.

"Damn, so you’re basically keeping her around for convenience?"

"I mean, yeah," Pedri mutters. "She’s just... there. It’s not that deep."

The laughter erupts around him.

I think I might throw up.

"Fucking knew it," one of them howls. "You had us thinking you were actually in love with her or some shit."

Pedri laughs harder.

"Come on, man. You really think I’d fall for her?"

My heart shatters.

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t.

The pain is too much, the walls around me caving in, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

I need to get out of here.

I don’t know how long I stand there.

Seconds? Minutes?

Everything is a blur.

Their laughter rings in my ears, mocking me, haunting me.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I won’t let them have that power over me. My body moves on its own. One step.

Then another.

Then I’m walking away.

I don’t care where I’m going.

I just need to get the hell out of there.

I don’t go to my next class. I don’t care about my next class. I walk. Fast.

Away from the library, away from the voices, away from the truth clawing at my chest.

I feel numb.

Like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and I’m just walking around with a hollow, empty space inside me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I don’t check it. I don’t need to. It’s him. It has to be. I ignore it.

I ignore the ache in my chest, the sting behind my eyes, the lump in my throat that makes it hard to breathe.

I just keep walking.

By the time I finally return to my dorm, the sky is a deep shade of blue, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.

I close the door behind me, my body exhausted, drained.

And then there’s a knock. I hesitate, my pulse spiking.

I already know who it is.

I take a slow, shaky breath, gripping the door handle before pulling it open.

Pedri stands there.

His brows are furrowed, concern laced into every inch of his face.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he asks immediately. "Why haven’t you been answering me all day?"

I stare at him.

He looks so… confused. Like he has no idea what he did.

That makes me angrier.

"Go away, Pedri."

His eyes widen slightly. "What? No. What’s going on? Did something happen?"

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your friends?"

He freezes. And I see it.

I see the exact moment realization hits.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

"Yeah," I say, voice shaking. "I heard you. I heard everything."

"Princesa—"

"Don’t." I take a step back. "Just don’t."

His jaw clenches. "I didn’t mean it."

I laugh again, but it hurts.

"Right," I nod. "Because saying I’m just some joke? Saying you’re pretending to like me? That just… accidentally came out of your mouth?"

"It’s not like that," he says quickly, stepping forward. "Please, Y/n. Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" I snap. "That I’m just some quiet, boring idiot who actually believed you cared about me?"

He flinches.

"That’s not true," he says, his voice softer now.

"It doesn’t matter," I whisper.

"It does."

"No, Pedri. It really doesn’t."

I exhale shakily, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze one last time.

"I can’t do this anymore."

His breath catches. "What?"

"We’re done."

I step back, my hands shaking as I close the door in his face.

For a few seconds, I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

And then I hear it—

A soft, desperate whisper from the other side of the door.

"Please don’t leave me."

Tears stream down my face.

But I don’t open the door.

And I don’t look back.

The days blur together, a mess of sleepless nights and suffocating thoughts.

I barely eat, barely leave my dorm, barely exist outside of my own mind.

Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice.

Every time I let my thoughts wander, I remember the way his words sliced through me like a blade.

My phone buzzes constantly, but I ignore it.

At first, I let it ring, let the messages pile up, let his name flash across my screen like a cruel reminder of what happened.

But he doesn’t stop.

"Y/n, please." "At least talk to me." "I need to explain." "I miss you."

Every day, every hour, his messages come in, desperate and persistent.

And every time, I stare at them with tears burning in my eyes, fingers hovering over the screen before I lock my phone and shove it under my pillow.

Then, after a few days, I finally block him.

I expect that to be the end of it.

But Pedri doesn’t give up so easily.

It starts with soft knocks on my door, hesitant at first, then firmer when I don’t answer.+

I stay curled up in bed, biting my lip to keep from crying out in frustration.

Then, when I wake up one morning and open my door, I see flowers.

A bouquet of my favorite ones, left neatly against the doorframe.

The first time, I hesitate.

The second time, I stare at them for a long time before stepping over them.

The third time, I pick them up, hold them in my hands for a moment, and then drop them in the trash.

And yet, the next day, there’s another bouquet.

Every single day, without fail, there’s a new one waiting for me. And every time, I feel my resolve cracking a little bit more.

But I’m not ready.

I don’t even know if I ever will be.

One week later, I finally force myself to go back to school.

I can’t hide forever.

I tell myself I’ve had time to heal, that I’ve built up enough strength to walk these halls without feeling like I’m suffocating under the weight of my own emotions.

That I can handle seeing him again.

But the second I step onto campus, my chest tightens, and my heart pounds against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

I keep my head down, moving quickly, avoiding eye contact, avoiding him.

But I can feel it. His presence. His eyes.

I know he’s seen me. I don’t look.

I don’t want to see the desperation in his expression, don’t want to acknowledge the way my stomach twists painfully at the thought of him standing somewhere nearby, watching me, waiting.

I force myself through class, focus on my notes, pretend everything is normal even though nothing is normal anymore.

But later, as I leave my last lecture, I barely take two steps before I feel it—

A hand gently grabbing my wrist, pulling me back.

I freeze.

His touch is familiar, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll run.

"Y/n."

His voice is quiet, raw, holding a plea that makes my throat tighten.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before finally turning around, my expression carefully blank.

Pedri stands there, looking at me like I’m the most important thing in the world and he’s terrified he’s already lost me.

"Please," he says softly, his fingers still around my wrist. "Just let me explain."

I exhale slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "There’s nothing to explain, Pedri."

"Yes, there is," he insists, stepping closer.

His hold on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t let go completely, like he’s afraid that if he does, I’ll disappear.

"Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."

I hesitate, my mind screaming at me to walk away. But something in his eyes, something so painfully real, holds me in place.

I sigh, crossing my arms. "Fine. Five minutes."

He pulls me aside to a quieter part of campus, away from the crowd, away from prying eyes.

I stand stiffly, my arms still crossed, my body tense like I’m ready to run at any second.

"I never meant what I said," he starts immediately. "I swear to you, Y/n. I didn’t mean a single fucking word of it."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Right. You just happened to say all those things for fun? Just to impress your asshole friends?"

"No," he says quickly, shaking his head. "It wasn’t for fun. It was to protect you."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"Those guys? They’re not my friends. They never were. But they have a way of making people’s lives hell. I knew that if I admitted how much I cared about you, they’d go after you. Mock you. Make your life miserable. I thought if I played it off, if I made it seem like I didn’t care, they’d lose interest and leave you alone. Trust me Y/n iy happened before and it had gotten really ugly. I didn't want that to happen to the person I love."

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "You really think that justifies what you said?"

"No," he admits, his voice softer. "It doesn’t. I was an idiot. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you to understand. But I swear to you, Y/n, I would never actually think those things about you."

"Be a fucking man Pedri and instead of doing this shit stand up for the person you supposedly love. You're nothing but a pussy."

I swallow, my emotions warring inside me. I don’t know what to feel.

So I leave. Again.

Later that day,

It all happens too quickly.

One moment, I’m walking across campus, lost in my own thoughts, and the next, there’s chaos.

A crowd gathers around a scene near the student quad. Loud shouts and yells fill the air.

My heart skips a beat as I push through the mass of students, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on.

I’m not expecting to see what I do.

There’s Pedri.

His fists are flying, and the guy he’s fighting, the asshole, is holding his jaw, clearly stunned.

But Pedri doesn’t stop. He throws another punch, fury in his eyes. I see the red in his face, the anger, and it’s not just at the guy. It’s everything. The hurt. The frustration.

The last few weeks have been hell for both of us, but in this moment, it’s all coming out.

His fists are like his words, punching through everything that’s built up, everything that’s been left unsaid.

But I can’t watch it anymore. I’ve seen enough violence in my life to know when things are about to spiral.

“Pedri! Stop!” I shout, pushing through the crowd to grab his arm, pulling him back.

He jerks his head towards me, his expression wild, eyes wide with a mix of rage and confusion.

I hold onto his arm tightly, trying to calm him down.

I don’t know why I’m even doing this for him, but it’s like I’m drawn to him, like I can’t just walk away.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but slowly, the fight drains out of him as he looks into my eyes.

His breath is ragged, and his hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles covered in blood.

“Are you stupid?” I mutter, my hands trembling slightly as I grab his arm and pull him away from the scene.

The crowd disperses, some murmuring, others filming with their phones.

Pedri doesn't fight me.

He lets me drag him away, and somehow, I find myself leading him into the first-aid room, a small quiet space where the tension in my chest can finally loosen, even if just a little.

I shove him onto the chair and kneel down, rummaging through the first aid kit.

“Why do you do this?” I ask, my voice shaking. I try to stay calm, but my hands are shaking as I pull out the bandages.

I clean his bloody knuckles carefully, avoiding looking at him too much. I can’t let myself soften. Not yet.

He sighs deeply, his voice low, raw. “He was talking shit about you again. That guy, he just won’t leave you alone. I had to make it stop.”

My heart sinks, and I bite my lip hard. I don’t know how to feel. My stomach churns.

Why did he feel the need to fight again? Why did he let it get this far?

“But why do you keep doing this?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"I... I don’t understand, Pedri. You say you care, but you keep pushing me away in the worst ways possible."

Pedri doesn’t answer right away. He stares at me for a long moment, his brow furrowed as though he’s considering every word carefully.

I can see the guilt in his eyes, the regret, the desperation. He wants me to understand. He needs me to.

“I—” He hesitates, his voice cracking slightly.

“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you were a joke. I thought... I thought I was protecting you, Y/n. From people who wouldn’t appreciate you the way I do. Those guys... They’ll never understand how much you mean to me. But they will hurt you if they think you matter to me."

I’m speechless, blinking at him. There’s a part of me that wants to scream, to tell him he’s full of shit, but the truth in his eyes catches me off guard.

He’s being real, and it’s so hard for me to reconcile that with the image of the guy I heard talking shit about me, degrading me, the guy I’ve been blocking out of my life for a week.

“You should’ve told me that before, Pedri.” I swallow hard.

My voice trembles with the weight of everything.

“Instead of... doing that. I don’t understand why you had to hurt me first.”

He doesn’t look away. He looks... guilty.

“I didn’t know how to explain. I didn’t want you to think I was using you as some kind of... shield or something. But I wasn’t. I swear, I wasn’t.”

His eyes soften as he gently reaches for my hand, his touch so careful now, like I might shatter at any second.

I pull away, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into me.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, Pedri,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.

“You hurt me too much. And... I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.”

He nods, his lips pressing together in frustration. “I’ll do anything to make it right. I don’t care what it takes.”

I turn away, my heart heavy, my thoughts too tangled to untangle.

It’s not so simple anymore. I don’t know if it ever will be.

I walk away, feeling like a piece of me is being pulled in two different directions.

The days that follow are both long and quiet. The silence between Pedri and me feels deafening, like an invisible wall built higher with every moment.

He’s not giving up on me, though. Not even close.

It’s hard for me to stay distant. Hard for me to ignore him.

But it feels like I have no other choice. Every time I open my phone, I see his name.

Every time I hear a knock on my dorm door, I know it’s him. But I don’t answer. I won’t.

Still, something is different now. I notice his absence more than I expect.

The void he left in my life isn’t easy to fill. His quiet persistence is eating at me, but I won’t let it show. Not yet.

Pedri, however, doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up.

At first, it’s small gestures. One morning, I find a handwritten note slipped under my door.

Just his name at the bottom, a few simple words.

“I’m sorry. Please give me a chance to prove I’m worth it.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him so vulnerable. He’s always been confident, cocky even.

But this? This is different. I can feel the weight of his apology in the paper, and I fold it carefully, slipping it into my pocket.

Then, the flowers start.

He leaves them outside my dorm door every evening, sometimes daisies, sometimes sunflowers, always with a small note attached that says the same thing, “I’m sorry. Let me make it right.”

I feel the pull to just let him back in, but I resist. I’m not ready. I’m still broken.

Days go by, and I finally decide to leave my dorm to go to class. I walk through campus, trying to focus on the routine, trying to shut out everything else.

But I can’t. Pedri’s presence is everywhere.

I see him talking to the guys he used to hang out with, but now he’s different. He’s distant. Not laughing. Not joking around.

I can see it in the way he avoids eye contact, the way he doesn’t engage with them anymore.

His posture is closed off, like he’s shutting something down. I don’t know what it means, but something stirs in me.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s hope.

That’s when I notice it, his transformation.

Pedri has made a point to distance himself from the very people who encouraged him to hurt me.

He doesn’t hang out with those friends anymore. The ones who always made fun of me, belittled me, and tried to convince him I wasn’t “good enough.”

The ones who laughed at my expense and pushed him to do the same.

He’s even going out of his way to take different routes on campus, avoiding his old crew altogether.

It’s subtle at first, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s proving to me, in the smallest ways, that he’s changing.

That he’s fighting for something that matters more than his pride.

One day, I’m walking to class when I hear footsteps behind me. A familiar voice calls my name.

“Y/n.”

I don’t turn around, pretending like I didn’t hear him.

He’s been trying to talk to me for days, but every time I shut him down. It’s easier that way.

It’s safer.

But then, he’s right beside me, his presence undeniable.

“Please, just let me explain,” Pedri says, his voice low. There’s a softness in it now, no trace of arrogance. Just sincerity.

I finally stop, reluctantly meeting his eyes. He’s standing there, his expression full of regret, but something else, too, determination.

“I’m listening,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I... I’ve been thinking about everything,” he starts, hesitating, as if searching for the right words.

“I was an idiot, Y/n. I should’ve never listened to them, and I should’ve never pushed you away like I did. I wasn’t protecting you. I was just being selfish. And I never should’ve treated you like you were second best. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

His words hit me hard, and I want to yell at him. To tell him that his apology doesn’t fix anything.

But the truth is, he’s right. He was selfish. And I was hurt.

But there’s something about him, something in the way he’s looking at me now, that makes me wonder if he really means it.

“I don’t know, Pedri,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You say you’re sorry, but it doesn’t undo everything. It doesn’t fix what you said or what you did.”

“I know,” he replies quickly.

“And I’m not asking for you to forgive me right away. I’m asking for a chance to show you that I can do better. That I can be the person you deserve. But I need you to trust me. I need you to let me prove it.”

For a moment, we stand there in silence, my mind racing with all the things I’m still unsure about.

But then I notice it, the genuine effort in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice. He’s not just saying the right things.

He’s living it.

“I’ll prove it to you every day,” he says, his voice firm.

“I’ve already cut ties with the guys who put you down. I don’t need people like that in my life. They can think whatever they want, but you? You matter. You always have. I’ll prove that to you, Y/n. I swear.”

I swallow hard, his words breaking through my walls. I want to stay angry.

I want to stay hurt. But everything in me is telling me that maybe, just maybe, he’s worth another chance.

“I don’t know if I can trust you yet,” I whisper.

“But... I’ll try. Slowly.”

Pedri’s eyes light up, and for the first time in weeks, I see a glimpse of the boy I used to know.

“That’s all I need. Just a chance.”

From that day on, I watch him like a hawk.

Pedri is relentless. He’s not just sending flowers or leaving notes anymore, he’s putting in real effort.

He spends his free time sitting with me in the library, helping me with schoolwork, never pushing for anything more.

Every time I see him talking to his old friends, he’s distant, his back turned, never engaging with the people who once made him feel like he was better than me.

He’s proving to me, with every small action, that he’s serious.

One day, as we sit in the park near campus, he looks at me quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“I know it’s not enough,” he says softly,

“but I hope one day you’ll look at me and see someone who actually cares. Someone who will fight for you, no matter what.”

I look at him then, really look at him, and for the first time in a long while, I believe it.

He’s not perfect. He might have messed up. But he’s doing everything he can to make it right.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart beating faster. “I’ll let you try.”

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

A few months later,

the tension between Pedri and me starts to ease. He’s patient, more so than I’ve ever seen him.

And with every day that passes, he seems to be putting more and more effort into proving that he’s not just saying the words.

He’s showing it.

But there’s something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Pedri hasn’t stopped trying to make things right, and it’s clear he’s not giving up on us.

It’s not just the grand gestures anymore, but the small, thoughtful ones, like leaving me my favorite coffee in the library, or texting me random jokes in the middle of the day to make me smile. (bare minimum fr)

And when I finally start to look at him again, I can see it. There’s real change in him.

And so, when he asks if I’ll go out with him on a date, I don’t say no.

But I don’t expect what happens next.

It’s a Saturday evening, and Pedri messages me earlier in the day, asking me to meet him at 6 PM sharp.

When I arrive at the spot he texted me, the park near campus, I’m greeted with something that takes my breath away.

There, in front of me, is a blanket spread out on the grass. The soft glow of fairy lights surrounds the area, strung between trees, creating a romantic little nook in the middle of the park.

On the blanket, there’s a picnic basket, candles, and even my favorite flowers, lilies, pink and white, arranged in a vase.

It’s not what I expected from him. At all.

Pedri stands beside it all, hands in his pockets, looking nervous as hell.

His eyes light up when he sees me, and for the first time in ages, I see a boy who’s trying harder than anyone ever has to make me feel special.

“Y/n,” he says, his voice shaky but hopeful.

“I know I’ve messed up. But I wanted to show you... that I’m serious about this. About us.”

I stand there for a moment, blinking at the effort he’s put into this.

The last time we were together like this, things were so different.

It feels like we’ve both come a long way.

“Are you serious?” I ask, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“I’ve never seen you do anything like this before.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But you deserve something better than what I gave you. You deserve to feel appreciated. And not just with words, but with actions. I know this isn’t enough, but... I hope it’s a start.”

I can’t help but smile, my heart beating a little faster as I walk over to him.

“I think it’s a perfect start, Pedri.”

He grins, relief flooding his features.

“I’m glad. I thought I might’ve messed it up with the flowers and all that.”

“Honestly? It’s the most effort anyone’s ever put into a date for me,”

I admit, my voice soft, but sincere.

Pedri chuckles, and his eyes soften.

“Well, then I guess I’m doing something right.”

We sit down on the blanket, and the evening goes from awkward to comfortable, and then, as the conversation flows, it becomes something even more.

We talk about everything, the past, the mistakes, the ways we’ve grown.

We laugh about stupid stuff, and he even admits to being terrible at making dinner (something I’d suspected from the start, but now it’s confirmed).

He makes a joke about how he can barely toast bread without burning it, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll cook for you sometime,” he says with a playful grin. “And you can judge my terrible cooking skills.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow. “But sure. I’ll take you up on that.”

We settle into a comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

It feels... nice. Simple. And yet, it’s everything I’ve been wanting. I can feel the trust building again, piece by piece.

“Y/n,” he says quietly after a long pause, turning to face me.

“I know I messed up. But I need you to know that I would do anything to make things right. I’ll spend every day proving to you that you’re the one I want, the one I need.”

I look into his eyes, eyes full of sincerity, full of hope, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart thudding in my chest. “I’ll give you that chance.”

Pedri’s eyes widen, and a grin spreads across his face so fast it takes me by surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say with a playful smile. “But only if you promise to keep the flowers coming.”

He laughs, his face lighting up like I’ve just given him the biggest gift in the world.

“Done. I’ll keep the flowers and the dates coming. Just don’t leave me again, okay?”

I laugh softly, nudging him again. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m good at dates,” he grins, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“Otherwise, I’d be in serious trouble.”

“Oh, you’re already in serious trouble,” I tease back, rolling my eyes.

“But I guess I’ll give you another chance. For now.”

Pedri leans back, throwing his arms around me in a mock dramatic fashion.

“I’ll make the most of it, I promise! I’ll win you over... one bad joke at a time.”

I can’t help but laugh as I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

It’s easy now. It’s natural.

“I’ll hold you to that, Pedri,” I say softly, closing my eyes for a moment.

And for the first time in months, everything feels right again.

The end

[anxiouslypretty5]

My thoughts on a certain topic..

** this might reach targeted audience and i might receive backlash but if you’re defensive about this topic then CLEARLY you’re part of the weird “problem” **

nowadays when i’m reading success stories or watching a bit of videos i always ODDLY see the weird obsession with japan. now im not gonna gatekeep a damn country because i obviously don’t care but why is it always on TIKTOK specifically. and sometimes i always see “oh to be a japanese student in japan” or “if i lived in japan i would never want to miss a day of school” NEWS FLASH YES YOU WILL. this isn’t anime?? like you’re not gonna have your anime moment where your “senpai” is gonna bow to you with a letter in his hand asking you to be his “cherry blossom neko kawaii anime boo🥺🥺” some of yall obsess with japan too much to the point where i honestly think you have thoughts of “ugh i wish i was born japanese so i wouldn’t have to be in america” well jasmine sorry to burst your dreams but a’lot of japanese citizens WANT to leave japan. its not always sunshines and rainbows here, the pedophiles go crazy here, cheaters go crazy here, you might accidentally stumble on someone committing ykw.. because of the PROBLEMS in japan. i have japanese in my bloodline since im mixed with a lot but you don’t see me going around “ughh its so fun being a kawaii japanese girl😙😙” that just sounds weird. and again JAPANESE SCHOOLS ARE NOT ANY BETTER THAN AMERICA!! sure the education rates are high and people are smart there but you think you’re gonna have your “o..o..oops sorry ii-i-iku-kun!!” moment? no. the bullying goes crazy. (i haven’t been bullied but thats just from what i’ve seen) stop letting social media fool you with “japan is awesome!!” or “japan is living in 2057” HELLLOOOOOO japanese people are human? so stop treating them like they’re anime characters. same thing when i see a random video of just some japanese girls doing a random trend and suddenly i have to take the heaviest sigh when opening the comments because i know damn well i WILL see “what anime is this..” or “i smell 7 seasons” oh my god shut the fuck up.. its so damn corny..

now i don’t care about the aesthetic pages or whatever but japan isn’t an aesthetic💀 its a damn country and i don’t wanna see “o..oh i just like japan” “but i’ve dreamed of going to japan” honestly i don’t give a shit, go to japan nobody’s stopping you. 100% you will get weird stares after randomly moving to japan and starting the conversation off with “こんにちわ”

WE DONT ALWAYS USE THAT!!! 😭 yall did this shit with china too AND korea and this is insane. now im not saying if you like asia then you’re automatically a weirdo. no. i’m talking about the ones who say; “my type is asian men after watching squid games” “welcome to my vlog in JAPAN with my JAPANESE boyfriend as we eat in JAPAN” .. the fact i’ve seen “become japanese” subliminals is even WEIRDER (watch they come in my comments “oh! mind your business on what people do!”) clearly it’s everyone’s business if it’s publicly posted. now theres no way in hell we’re the same race in every parallel universe out there (uh oh get your hopes up!! you’re japanese in some other reality!! are you happy you weirdo?)

anyways some of yall are weird as hell.

[just4replyingbasically]

interesting! i won’t lie, i’m not huge on the idea of nebulous eternal punishment for the specific niche of people who turned away from god in a sons-of-perdition-y way either, but i can see how it would be quite an ambiguous topic. personally i would’ve thought that the parts in the doctrines & covenants and scriptures that mention “never-ending torment” and the like would mean its certain, but then again i don’t *really* know how things work in regards to how ‘real’ things are considered to be based off of where they’re written and stuff.

it’s good that mormonism doesn’t utilise the threat of hell and endless punishment in the same way a lot of christian denominations do though, i admit. that’s a positive. but also i find it interesting that you said the closest thing to hell in mormon theology is earth and after death things will be better — obviously that’s a subjective thing not doctrinal fact or anything, but it seems a bit odd to me? idk, it reminds me of the whole persecution -> final days -> paradise narrative that the jehovah’s witnesses preach. i could just be seeing similarities where there aren’t any though…

anyways, thank you for taking the time to respond! much appreciated :)

seeing people discussing the concept of hell and how cruel the idea of eternal punishment is like, wow! i know this belief system you would love if not for your knee-jerk reaction against its name

[rose-in-blue]

Taste of You

Alastor x reader

Warnings/tags: pretty suggestive, cursing, Alastor being clever aka a bitch, sassy!reader, afab reader, an aggressive amount of parenthesis and commas, apparently I don't know how to write Alastor x reader where Charlie doesn't interrupt at the end

Summary: Alastor left a bunch of hickeys and bite marks on you, and you're not happy about them being visible. His solution? Leave a few more.

1191 words

A/n: for refrence, I was inspired by this youtube short

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

You descended down the stairs to the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, all eyes on you. They might have been looking at your intricate updo, or perhaps your elegant makeup, or maybe even your stunning red dress. 

You doubt that, though. More likely, they were all staring at the purple-and-red hickeys and bite marks that peeked out from behind your hair and lay on full display on the exposed part of your neck and chest. Courtesy of Alastor, of course.

Though he stared at you, you didn’t look at him— instead, taking in the dancers and partiers of Charlie’s classy ball. You’d been keeping your relationship with the Radio Demon a secret (though, after tonight, it wouldn’t be a surprise if everyone knew).

At the bottom of the stairs, you look around, bashfully taking in everyone’s reactions— Angel, smirking; Husk, concerned; Charlie and Vaggie, nowhere to be seen; and Nifty, who didn’t seem to notice. You ignored Angel (now making suggestive hand gestures from across the room), and took your place standing next to Alastor, who was watching the dancing. He glanced down at you, grin growing wider.

“Evening, dear.”

“Alastor.” You refused to give him any more than that.

“You look nice,” he commented.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“Oh, you did, sweetheart, and such an excellent job, too!” Alastor was clearly in a good mood, happy to irk you. “If I recall, that was how you got such… gorgeous marks.” His voice, now sultry, had lowered an octave.

You blushed, then scoffed. “I’d hardly call them gorgeous.”

Alastor, apparently, took that as a challenge to his vocabulary. “No? How about… tantalizing, then?” When he wasn’t rewarded with a smile from you, he continued. “Ravishing? Stunning? Enticing?”

You just rolled your eyes, not in the mood.

Alastor almost frowned. “Remarkable? Marvelous? Breathtaking? Thrilling?”

Obviously, Alastor didn’t seem to get the fact that you were irritated by the marks, not looking for the perfect word to describe them. He continued, “Attractive? Comely? Pe—” 

At that, you cut him off. “No! Just dark marks that will bruise and stay here for weeks that I can’t cover with makeup that will embarrass me every time I see another person. Is there a word for that, Alastor?! Hmm?!”

Surprised at your outburst, he chuckled. “Well, well! Someone’s pissy!”

You were so done with him. “Well, maybe I’m pissy because someone left giant hickeys and bite marks on my neck the night before Charlie’s big dance!” you not-so-subtly hinted, eyes never leaving the dance floor.

You could see Alastor grinning out of the corner of your eye. The fucker is proud of himself! you thought.

Alastor was, indeed, proud of himself. Again (but louder this time), he remarked, “Don’t blame me, darling. You seemed to enjoy getting them.”

You blushed. People had definitely heard that, and they knew it was aimed at you even though you still hadn’t looked him in his eyes. Quietly, some sinners began remarking among each other things that you couldn’t really make out.

“Alastor!” you hissed.

“Mhm, yes, dear?”

You finally looked at him. A large smirk played across his face, obviously not caring what the low-lifes around him thought. In fact, he seemed to like the fact that they made you uncomfortable. “Honestly, sweetheart, I’m surprised at you! You seem to have no shame whatsoever in my bedroom last night, yet now…”

You let out a small squeak, face crimson, as you smacked his arm. “Alastor! Seriously!” you reprimand under your breath.

He glanced around, as if just now noticing the people staring. Voice lowered, he queried, “Ashamed, darling? Would you perhaps prefer to continue… in private?” 

Subtly nodding, you agreed. “Very much so.”

Alastor's smile widened. “But of course!” Grabbing your arm in one hand and his staff in the other, he waltzed you up the stairs to the first floor hallway, making his way to your room. After you were long out of sight of the guests, he turned on you, pinning you to the wall. Head lowered, he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. “Oh, ma chérie, ma vie, mon cœur. Tu es, à toi seule, la plus belle femme sur laquelle j'ai jamais posé les yeux. Je ne veux rien d'autre que t'aimer, te serrer dans mes bras, ne jamais te lâcher…” he murmured.

You had no fucking idea what he was saying, but it seemed romantic (and probably something too sappy for him to say in Engish).

His hands trailed up and down your body, head buried in your neck. You whined as his mouth locked onto the skin just below your ear. Pressing himself into you, Alastor let out a small growl as his kissing grew more fervent. You gasped, arching your back so that your torso crashed into his. One of his arms came to rest on the wall near your face, cageing you in, while the other drifted down— past the lumps of your breasts, past your stomach, past everything until it reached the hem of your skirt.

“It’s a real shame you wore such… revealing clothing tonight,” Alastor whispered, lips still on your neck, surely having left another hickey.

You rolled your eyes at that— you didn’t really think that a neckline that barely showed your collarbones and a skirt hem that almost reached your knees was revealing, but Alastor apparently did. “Oh, really, Al? And why is that?” you wondered.

He chuckled, hand sliding farther up under your skirt, reaching your midthigh. “We’re in Hell, dear. Don’t you think that some…h̸͓͙̟͆̀u̶̧̦̫͕̍̾͐̎n̶̘͍͇̏g̵̨̯̦͘r̵͚͉̼̈́y̷͇̅́̀...sinner might want a taste for what you have to offer?” At the word hungry, his eyes flashed into radio dials as his hand reached your inner thigh.

Satan, you sure hoped he was that horny hungry sinner. “I don’t know, Alastor. Maybe I wanted that hungry sinner to take a taste of me.”

“Mhmmm… maybe he will.” Alastor bit down on your neck as his hand finally, finally reached its destination. You gasped at the mix of pain and pleasure, until it all started to fade into the second one. 

“‘Maybe’?” you quoted.

He chuckled, mouth still against your neck, fingers slowly moving under your skirt. “Maybe…” he repeated, “maybe if you’re a good girl and you promise not to be upset about the marks I leave. Can you do that, dear? Can you be a good little slut and enjoy them?”

You never took Alastor for one who was into dirty talk, but you weren’t complaining.

“Yes, Alastor,” you breathed. “Anything for you.”

“Good girl,” he grinned, fingers starting to push your panties aside. 

Before he could get any farther, though, Charlie came running up the stairs and into the hall. 

“Hey guys I saw you left the party and OHMYFUCKIMSOSORRYIMGOINGNOW—” she screamed, retreating. 

Alastor looked back at you, still grinning. “Shall we continue this up in my room?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you smiled.

“But only if…?” he leaned closer, hand coming out from under your skirt.

Desperate for the contact you had lost, you murmured, “Only if I don’t make a fuss about the marks, yes, I promise, Alastor!”

He smiled impossibly wider. “Lovely.”

[markleessodalite]

They Can Hear Us...: n.jm

content: bf!jaemin drags you to an event you don't really want to attend, so you try to devise an escape plan... but he's not one to be fooled.

warnings: fem!reader, lots and lots of kisses, maybe a tiny bit suggestive(?) but mostly just fluff, nothing else to warn about afaik

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i had a mini hoard of drabbles that i was saving to post later, but i've read over them so much to the point where now i hate every single one :/ but n e waiz i got some extra days off work this upcoming week and i'm hoping to do NOTHING but write the whole time :3 (also if you're one of the anons who sent in requests i promise i'm gonna get to those asap!!!)

“Jaemin! Stop. I mean it!” you half-heartedly scold your boyfriend, although your soft tone and light giggles clearly indicate a message that’s opposite to the words leaving your lips.

Jaemin plants another teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, are you sure?” He kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheek, making his way down your jaw and to your exposed shoulder as he laces his fingers with yours. “Seems like you kinda like it, huh? Love this dress, by the way.” His free hand rubs gentle lines along your back, with only just enough restraint to not mess up the delicate fabric of your one-shoulder gown.

You knew he loved this dress, particularly how you look in this dress, which is exactly why you wore it to this gala. You weren’t especially excited to be here, but Jaemin was over the moon eager to take you, show you off to everyone else there, his girlfriend who looks like an absolute princess under ballroom lights with her arm linked in his. Of course, you knew that after about 5 minutes of you in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever charity event is going on around you two– which is how you’ve found yourself hidden in an offshoot hallway, Jaemin cornering you against the wall, planting light and playful (but very obviously needy) kisses anywhere his lips can reach.

Hey, it got you out of sitting at that boring table with those boring people listening to that boring speaker, right? All part of your coy little plan.

The only sound filling your ears now is your own soft giggles against Jaemin’s low chuckles and whispers, with him now developing a game to entertain himself with: trying to find that one particular spot that will drive you crazy.

“Here?” He plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Nope.” You bite down on your lip to stifle any noise that could possibly slip through. You may be vaguely hidden, but you’re definitely still within earshot of the rest of the gala.

“Mmm. Then… here?” He hovers around the middle of your neck before leaving another kiss.

“No…” You can’t help the giggle that slips through your teeth.

“Okay… what about… here?” He leaves a kiss in the nook between the bottom of your neck and your collarbone, before biting down teasingly, drawing a squeal from you before you can catch it.

“Jaemin!” You can’t help but laugh, amused at Jaemin’s quick victory in his own game.

“Shh! Y/n, you know they can hear us…” Jaemin buries his face further in your neck, and you look over him to see the silhouettes of the other guests, turning their attention from the monotone speaker to figure out what direction the hushed giggles are coming from.

Here it is. Exactly the opportunity you need to convince him to go home.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere they can’t hear us, Jaem?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder to look in your eyes, and you know right away he sees through your little escape plan. And he’s not falling for it.

“No. I kinda like this little game. Round two? Let’s see if you can keep quiet, babe.” He smirks proudly at your shocked face before his lips crash into your neck again, and you realize he’ll play this game he’s made up for as long as this gala lasts. Can you handle Jaemin teasing you for several more hours without making a sound?

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.4

Chapter Four: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Bullying, Physicological Bullying, Mean Girls,

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Heads up, there’s a bully in this chapter but dw, you got Pedro on your side hehe. Again, this is all fictional. To any Cecilia’s out there in irl, no hate to you girl, I don’t even know you LOL.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: gold rush by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING  

The hum of set life surrounded you like a familiar melody—the rhythmic chatter of crew members, the distant clatter of equipment being adjusted, the occasional burst of laughter from someone off-camera. You moved through it all with ease, exchanging quick words with a fellow PA as you double-checked the last-minute details before call time.  

You didn’t notice him watching you.  

Pedro sat in the makeup chair, already in costume, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as Coco worked her hands through his hair. His body was still, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather—on someone else.  

It was the way you tilted your head as someone from production rattled off instructions, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nodding once before offering a soft, assured smile. You weren’t just hearing what they were saying—you were listening, absorbing every detail like you belonged here. Like you had always belonged.  

He felt something tighten in his chest.  

God, you made him feel strange.  

It was the words that stuck in his throat when you were near, the way his pulse stuttered for no damn reason. The way his thoughts—usually so steady, so controlled—felt unruly around you. It was dizzying. Unsettling.  

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Since he’d been caught so completely off guard by someone.  

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for you.  

In the crowd. In the moments between takes. In the quiet spaces where he thought maybe—just maybe—you were looking for him, too.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

Lunch break rolled around, bringing a much-needed lull in the day’s chaos. The crew scattered—some retreating to their trailers, others grabbing quick bites from catering, the energy shifting into something looser, more relaxed.  

Your phone buzzed just as you were sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, the screen lighting up with a message.  

Pedro: Wanna grab a bite later?  

You smiled to yourself, thumbs already moving across the screen.  

You: I do, but I kinda wanna hang with my friends for a bit too.  

His response came almost immediately.  

Pedro: Oh yeah, of course. Mind if I tag along?

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want him there—but because you weren’t sure if he really wanted to be there.  

You: Are you sure? 

Pedro: Obviously.  

So that’s how Pedro Pascal ended up at lunch with you and your friends, settling into the group like he had always belonged there.  

He was easy to talk to, of course. He charmed his way through introductions, seamlessly jumping into conversations, laughing in all the right places, making everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. But his attention always had a way of drifting back to you.  

The way you scrunched your nose as you tried to pick apart a joke someone had made. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about some old inside story with your friends. The way you were currently demolishing a cookie like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.  

Pedro noticed.  

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.  

His lips twitched as you took another enthusiastic bite, completely unaware of his amusement.  

There were other things, too—subtle things. The brush of his knee against yours under the table, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way his fingers would graze your wrist when he leaned in to say something, as if testing the waters. The way his eyes would flick to your lips when you spoke before quickly darting away, as if he hadn’t meant to.  

And then, of course, there was the teasing.  

"Did you even taste that cookie, or did you just inhale it?" Pedro mused, finally breaking his silence, amusement lacing his voice.  

You swallowed the last bite, leveling him with a mock glare. "It’s really good."  

He smirked. "Clearly."  

"Don’t judge me."  

"Never." The word came softer than expected, a little too sincere for just teasing. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

Your heart stuttered.  

He looked away first, but not before you caught the slightest hint of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. It was such a small thing—barely there, really—but you noticed. And it made something warm unfurl in your chest.  

The conversation around the table carried on, your friends swapping stories and teasing each other between bites of food. Pedro chimed in here and there, laughing along, but every now and then, you felt his gaze flick back to you.  

You were hyper-aware of him now. The way his arm rested casually on the back of your chair, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. The way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the table, his other hand occasionally brushing against yours as he reached for his drink.  

Then, he sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning slightly at the screen.  

"Ugh, my phone’s about to die."  

Without hesitation, you reached into your bag, pulling out your power bank and a charging cord. "Oh, no worries, here—use this."  

Pedro blinked, momentarily caught off guard.  

You handed it over without a second thought, already turning back to your food. But he didn’t move to plug his phone in right away. Instead, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression.  

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the charger, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.  

“You just carry this around with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, something softer beneath the teasing edge.  

You shrugged, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “Yeah, of course. Never know when you might need it.”  

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything right away.  

Instead, he plugged in his phone, then glanced back at you, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe you.  

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Pedro exhaled a small laugh, tucking the power bank into his lap like it was something precious. "Nothing. You’re just—" He paused, searching for the right word, before finally settling on, "—thoughtful."  

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "It’s just a charger, Pedro."  

"Yeah," he murmured, still watching you. "I know."  

But his expression said something else entirely.

You weren’t sure what to do with that look—the quiet weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to be memorizing you like you were something worth studying. So, instead of dwelling on it, you reached into your bag and pulled out your notepad and pen.

Doodling had always been second nature to you. Something to keep your hands busy while your mind wandered. While your friends continued chatting, their voices washing over you in waves, you let your pen glide over the paper in absentminded strokes.

Pedro, however, wasn’t nearly as distracted.

From the corner of his eye, he watched, his attention flicking between you and the small spirals and shapes forming beneath your fingers. It was mesmerizing in a way he didn’t expect. The way your brow furrowed ever so slightly when you concentrated. The way your pen tapped softly against the pad before committing to a new line.

He shifted in his seat, subtly angling himself so he could get a better look.

It wasn’t just mindless scribbles.

You were sketching. Really sketching.

A rough outline of the restaurant table, the glasses, the crumpled napkins. And just beside that, the faint beginnings of a face—strong jaw, slightly furrowed brows, lips curved at the edges as if they were on the verge of a smirk.

His lips.

Pedro’s throat tightened.

"That me?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear.

Your pen paused mid-stroke, and you glanced up at him, caught. He wasn’t teasing, not really. If anything, there was something almost—fond—about the way he was looking at you.

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Pedro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you could draw."

"It’s just something I do when I’m listening," you admitted, flipping the page like it was nothing.

But he didn’t think it was nothing.

He wanted to say something else, something lighthearted to keep you from looking so shy about it, but before he could, one of your friends called your name, pulling your attention away.

Pedro exhaled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Thoughtful. Talented.

Yeah. He was absolutely in trouble.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The shift in the air was subtle at first, almost imperceptible.

But you felt it.

It was the way certain conversations would quiet just as you approached. The way people who had once been warm and welcoming now exchanged knowing glances when they thought you weren’t looking. The way whispers followed in your wake, hushed giggles that felt anything but good-natured.

And at the center of it all was Cecilia.

She was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room—stunning, sharp-witted, and utterly ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

And for whatever reason, she had decided that you were a problem.

At first, it was small things. A pointed look. A lingering smirk. A brush of her shoulder against yours as she passed by.

But then, it escalated.

"Did you hear?" one of her friends whispered just loud enough as you walked by. "She totally forced her way onto this project. Some kind of nepotism thing, I bet."

"Ugh, so cringe," another voice giggled. "She acts all sweet, but like, we know the truth."

You gritted your teeth, kept your head down, and moved along.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. Psychological warfare disguised as petty gossip. You’d seen it before, and you'd see it again.

The worst part?

You refused to let it get to you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Pedro noticed.

It started with the way you brushed things off too quickly, like you were trying not to care. The way your usual smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your laugh—one of his new favorite sounds—had dulled just a fraction, too forced, too polite.

And Pedro wasn’t an idiot.

He saw the way Cecilia and her group slinked around set like vipers, the way their eyes always seemed to flick toward you before whispering behind manicured hands.

It pissed him off.

But when he asked about it, you just waved it away.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, reaching for a prop clipboard. “Just tired. Long day.”

Pedro arched a brow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He studied you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That made you scoff. “I am fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re totally cool with the whole… weird vibe around here lately?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

It was enough.

“Pedro,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care what they think, okay? It’s just… you know how some people are. They get bored.”

“They get mean,” he corrected.

You frowned, looking away.

He softened, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

“It doesn’t suck,” you insisted. “Because I don’t care.”

Pedro’s stare was unwavering, but you held your ground.

Because if you admitted it did hurt—if you let yourself feel it—you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

And you weren’t going to let them win.

Pedro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. You don’t care," he murmured. "But if you ever do care… you’ll tell me, right?"

Something in your chest tightened at that.

You forced a small, teasing smile. “Wow, Pedro. That almost sounded like a serious conversation.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

And just like that, the tension cracked, relief flickering behind his gaze.

For now, he’d let you pretend you were fine.

But he’d also be watching.

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEEKEND…

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The next two days were a slow, grating kind of miserable.

It started with small things—so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have convinced yourself they were nothing. The way conversations would quiet just as you walked past, the barely-concealed laughter from across the room, the occasional, suspiciously misplaced item that had definitely been right where you left it.

It was the kind of thing that chipped away at you in small, insidious ways.

Like the way Cecilia and her friends would conveniently stand right where you needed to go, their backs turned but their voices just loud enough.

“I swear, some people just don’t belong here.”

You’d walk past without reacting, even as the words burrowed under your skin.

Or the way your neatly organized stack of call sheets had been mysteriously scattered all over the breakroom counter when you came back from a coffee run. No one claimed responsibility, but Cecilia had walked by, tossing you a slow, syrupy-sweet, “Oops, was that important?” before sauntering off.

You clenched your jaw. Breathed through it.

Not worth it.

But then there were the more deliberate moments.

Like the wardrobe rack incident.

You had been helping move costumes between trailers when Cecilia and one of her friends conveniently brushed past, sending a precariously hung dress tumbling to the ground.

“Oh no,” Cecilia pouted, pressing a hand to her chest with mock concern. “You should really be more careful.”

You bent to pick it up, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The last thing you needed was to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you smoothed out the fabric and rehung it.

Then, there was lunch.

You had been balancing a plate of food in one hand, your phone in the other, when one of Cecilia’s friends accidentally knocked your elbow in passing.

It was a tiny movement. Just enough to send your fork clattering to the floor, just enough to make you hesitate—because was it intentional? Or were you just being paranoid?

“Careful,” the girl sing-songed over her shoulder, giggling as she caught up with Cecilia.

You let out a slow breath. Swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Not worth it.

So you kept your head up, kept moving, kept going. You told yourself that if you didn’t acknowledge it, if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it couldn’t touch you.

Right?

But it did.

Because by the time you got back to your trailer that night, you had to sit on the edge of your bed and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, breathing slow, measured breaths to keep yourself from crying.

Because it was working.

Because no matter how much you told yourself you were fine, no matter how much you smiled and laughed and acted unbothered, the cracks were starting to show.

You barely had a moment to yourself.  

Between running last-minute errands for production, keeping up with the crew’s rapid-fire instructions, and dodging the subtle but constant hostility radiating from Cecilia and her group, you were stretched thin.  

The exhaustion was creeping in—settling in the space between your ribs, behind your eyes, in the way your shoulders sat just a little tighter than usual.  

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  

So you pushed through, past the carefully calculated inconveniences. The way they always seemed to cut in front of you when you were in a hurry, the stolen side-eyes and smirks exchanged whenever you spoke in a group, the way your things somehow always ended up in different places than you’d left them.  

You pretended not to notice when Cecilia’s voice turned just a little too loud whenever she spoke to someone near you.  

"Oh my god, you know what I hate? When people think just anyone can belong in this industry. Like… babe, you’re only here because they needed extra hands. It’s cute, though."  

You told yourself not to react.  

Even when Daisy—who had been standing beside you, her grip tightening on her clipboard—made a noise that sounded a lot like she was about to launch herself across the room.  

“It’s whatever,” you had muttered, tugging her back before she could make a scene.  

Daisy had narrowed her eyes. “It’s not whatever. She’s being a bitch.”  

You had only sighed. “I know.”  

Omar wasn’t as easily convinced.  

The next morning, when you found him loitering near Cecilia’s usual coffee spot, arms crossed and expression unreadable, you had to physically drag him away before he did something stupid.  

“Do not get yourself in trouble over this.”  

“She’s messing with you,” he seethed. “I hate people like her.”  

“She’s not worth it,” you said, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too thin, too tight.  

Omar wasn’t buying it. “Okay, but are you okay?”  

You hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.  

The worst part wasn’t the pettiness or the whispered insults—it was the fact that it was working. That somehow, in all the noise and nonsense, they had managed to make you feel small.  

But admitting that felt too much like defeat.  

So you forced a smile. “I’m fine.”  

Omar gave you a long, knowing look before muttering something under his breath and stalking off.  

That afternoon, as you sat on a bench outside the studio, your notebook balanced on your lap, you felt a shadow fall over you.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice was soft.  

You glanced up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”  

His brows knit together. “You okay?”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“You’ve been… different.” His voice was measured, careful. “Quieter.”  

You tried to play it off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “I’m just tired. Long shoot days, you know how it is.”  

Pedro didn’t look convinced.  

For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. Like he was sifting through the words you weren’t saying, trying to make sense of them.  

Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.  

Close enough that his arm brushed against yours.  

You tensed, just slightly, before exhaling.  

Neither of you spoke for a moment.  

Then—  

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook.  

You hesitated.  

It was just mindless doodles—tiny flowers curling around the corners of the pages, half-finished sketches of set pieces, a rough outline of something that might have been Pedro’s profile if you hadn’t abandoned it halfway through.  

You felt a little embarrassed, but you handed it to him anyway.  

Pedro flipped through the pages, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “These are really good.”  

You rolled your eyes. “They’re just sketches.”  

“Still,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the paper. “They’re yours.”  

There was something about the way he said it—soft, sincere—that made your stomach tighten.  

For the first time in two days, something in you eased.  

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

And when Pedro leaned in, just slightly, warmth radiating from his shoulder where it rested against yours, you didn’t move away.

Pedro was still flipping through your sketches when a sharp, saccharine voice cut through the air.  

“Oh wow, there you are, Pedro. I was wondering when you’d finally come up for air.”  

Cecilia.  

You felt your whole body go rigid.  

Pedro barely glanced up, his fingers still tracing one of your sketches absentmindedly. “Hey.” His voice was flat, distracted.  

She took a step closer, her presence invasive in a way that made your skin prickle. “I was just telling the others how dedicated you are to your work. You know, always finding ways to get into character.” Her gaze flicked toward you, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Even off set.”  

You swallowed hard.  

Your chest felt tight, exhaustion pressing against your ribs, making it harder to keep your expression neutral. You were already hanging by a thread, stretched too thin over the last two days, and Cecilia knew it.  

Pedro, still looking down at your notebook, gave a vague hum of acknowledgment, barely engaging. It wasn’t the reaction Cecilia had been hoping for, and you could see it. The way her expression twitched for half a second before smoothing over again.  

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “It’s sweet, though. That you take the time to entertain people. I mean, it’s not like everyone gets that kind of attention from you.” She let out a light, airy laugh that made your stomach turn. “Guess it pays to be in the right place at the right time, huh?”  

The implication was clear.  

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react.  

But then—  

“Cecilia,” Pedro’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. His fingers tapped against the notebook, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”  

Cecilia blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean?”  

Pedro finally lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, something in his expression shifted—something sharp, something distinctly unimpressed.  

“I mean, what are you doing?” His voice was just as smooth as before, but there was weight behind it now. “Because if you’re here to talk about the shoot, you should probably be talking to the crew.”  

Cecilia’s smile faltered.  

It was subtle, but you caught it.  

She opened her mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Pedro was already looking back at you, tilting the notebook toward you slightly, as if she weren’t even standing there.  

“You should finish this one,” he murmured, tapping his finger against the half-finished sketch of his profile. “It’s really good.”  

You could feel Cecilia’s eyes burning into you, but Pedro wasn’t giving her anything to work with.  

Her lips parted, like she might try again, but then she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she let out a small, sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel and stalked off.  

The moment she was gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your hands gripping your notebook a little tighter.  

Pedro glanced over, brow furrowed. “You okay?”  

You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “I just…” A deep inhale. “I think I need a break.”  

Pedro studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, resting his hand over yours where it lay against the bench.  

Warm. Steady.  

Grounding.  

“Let’s take one, then,” he murmured.  

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain on the pavement as the last of the crew wrapped up for the day. You were exhausted, your body aching from hours on set, but when Pedro leaned in—voice low and warm—you felt something in you unwind.  

“Wanna grab dinner before heading back?”  

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Like… out-out?”  

His lips quirked into a small smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Out-out.”  

You hesitated, glancing around as crew members bustled past, some already heading toward the shuttle van waiting to take everyone back to the hotel. “But, like… what if people see me with you?”  

Pedro gave you a look. “So?”  

“So… you’re you,” you gestured vaguely at him, “and I’m just—”  

He cut you off with a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re not doing that again. You’re you. And I wanna have dinner with you. End of discussion.”  

The finality in his tone made your stomach flip.  

You bit your lip, then nodded. “…Okay.”  

Pedro’s face softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumped your shoulder lightly. “Good.”  

By the time you both made it to the shuttle van, most of the cast and crew were already piling in.  

Vanessa was the first to notice. She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Ohhh, where are you two off to?”  

Before you could answer, Joseph leaned forward from his seat. “Are we witnessing a secret rendezvous?”  

Ebon chuckled, shaking his head. “A little late-night dinner date?”  

Coco, already buckled in, smirked knowingly. “Have funnnn,” she teased, dragging out the last syllable.  

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. Pedro, for his part, was completely unfazed, flashing them an easy smile as he opened the door for you. “Don’t wait up,” he called, earning a chorus of laughter and whistles from the others as he shut it behind you.  

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet little spot tucked away from the main streets. The walk there was peaceful, the city buzzing around you but never pressing in too close.  

Pedro, dressed down in a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and his glasses, was trying his best to blend in. But even like this, effortlessly casual, he still had a presence. He still walked like he took up space, like the world had to move around him.  

The height difference was almost comical. You felt it every time he turned his head down to look at you, every time his arm brushed against yours.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.  

You glanced up at him, caught off guard. “What?”  

Pedro gave you a look, one that made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever act you thought you were pulling. “Cecilia.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal.”  

Pedro stopped walking.  

You took two more steps before realizing, turning back to find him standing there, arms crossed, brows drawn together in frustration.  

He looked at you, really looked at you. “Of course, it’s a big deal,” he said, voice quieter now but firm. “If it’s hurting you, it’s a big deal.”  

You swallowed.  

The weight of his concern settled over you, warm and heavy. No one had ever really said that before. That what you were feeling mattered. That you weren’t just overreacting.  

Something in your chest cracked open, just a little.  

“…I just don’t want to make a thing out of it,” you admitted, voice small.  

Pedro’s features softened. He stepped closer, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, either.”  

A lump formed in your throat.  

And then, just as easily as he had turned serious, he pulled back, tilting his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon. Food first, then we plot Cecilia’s demise.”  

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.  

Pedro grinned, pleased with himself, before nudging your shoulder with his own.  

And as you walked the rest of the way, some of the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm and intimate in a way that made the rest of the world feel far away. Soft jazz hummed through the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile, barely sparing a glance at Pedro—either because she didn’t recognize him or, more likely, was being professional about it.  

Pedro let you choose the table, and you picked one near the window, a cozy little booth that felt tucked away from the rest of the diners. As you slid into your seat, Pedro pulled off his cap, running a hand through his messy curls before setting it down on the table.  

He looked… comfortable. Relaxed. And yet, there was still something unreadable in his expression as he watched you settle in.  

“You know,” he started, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’m kind of mad at you.”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”  

“Because,” he huffed, “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days, and the first time it actually happens, it’s because some Mean Girls knockoff has been making your life miserable.”  

You snorted. “So dramatic.”  

“I am dramatic,” he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But seriously. I don’t like that it took this for me to get to steal you away.”  

There was something in the way he said it—lighthearted, sure, but laced with something else. Something quieter. More honest.  

Your stomach flipped.  

Before you could figure out how to respond, the waiter appeared, handing over menus. Pedro thanked him with a charming smile before glancing back at you. “What are you in the mood for?”  

You shrugged, scanning the options. “Something warm.”  

Pedro hummed. “Soup?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Or,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “we get a huge plate of pasta and reenact Lady and the Tramp.”  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not.”  

Pedro placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. That was a little too fast. Like you’ve thought about rejecting me before.”  

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile threatening to break free. He made it so easy to forget the exhaustion pressing down on you, the weight of the last few days.  

The waiter came back, and you both placed your orders—him getting some kind of hearty stew, you settling on a creamy pasta dish. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as ever, touching on everything and nothing all at once.  

At some point, Pedro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His knee brushed against yours, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.  

“So.” His voice was softer now, less teasing. “Cecilia.”  

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Can we not?”  

“We can,” Pedro allowed. “But I still hate it.”  

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, tracing the fabric between your fingers. “It’s not like she’s saying anything outright cruel. Just little things. Looks. Comments. Stuff that doesn’t sound like much but still…”  

Pedro’s jaw ticked. His fingers drummed absently against the table. “That’s how people like her work. They know how to make you feel like you’re imagining it.”  

You swallowed, looking down. “Yeah.”  

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then—  

“Do you want me to talk to her?”  

Your head snapped up. “What? No.”  

Pedro tilted his head, eyeing you. “Why not?”  

“Because,” you exhaled sharply, “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”  

His gaze softened, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But I also know that you’re tired. And I hate seeing you like this.”  

Something in you wavered.  

Pedro sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—God, I don’t get it. How could anyone not adore you?”  

Your breath hitched.  

The words were so sincere, so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying to be charming—just saying what was in his heart.  

Heat crept up your neck. You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “You’re biased.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”  

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”  

Pedro grinned. “And yet, here you are. Having dinner with me.”  

“Unfortunately.”  

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”  

The waiter arrived with your food, and Pedro’s dramatic antics were temporarily forgotten as the delicious aroma filled the air. As you picked up your fork, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand—just for a second, just long enough to send a small shiver up your spine.  

“Hey,” he murmured.  

You glanced up, and for the first time all day, you felt seen.  

“Don’t let her get to you,” Pedro said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re worth so much more than whatever bullshit she’s trying to pull.”  

Something tightened in your chest.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Good.”  

The weight on your shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, melted into something manageable under the glow of candlelight and Pedro’s unwavering attention. You let yourself relax, let yourself exist in this small, intimate moment where it was just the two of you, where the laughter was easy and the warmth between you was something real, something steady.  

Pedro caught your gaze mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in just slightly. “There she is.”  

You blinked, tilting your head. “What?”  

“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”  

Heat bloomed in your chest, warm and unfamiliar, something delicate but deep. You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” Pedro teased, mirroring your words from earlier, “here you are.”  

You shook your head, lips twitching. “Unfortunate, really.”  

Pedro pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Wow. First, I get turned down for Lady and the Tramp, and now this? My ego is in shambles.”  

You laughed, a real, unguarded sound, and he grinned like that was exactly what he was hoping for.  

The conversation stretched long into the night, ebbing and flowing between playful teasing and quiet sincerity. The kind of talk that felt effortless, that felt safe.  

Somewhere between the last bites of food and the soft hum of the restaurant around you, Pedro reached across the table, his fingers skimming yours. The touch was featherlight, a quiet question rather than a demand. You could have pulled away.  

But you didn’t.  

Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, grounding, steady.  

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just squeezed your hand, a silent promise, and you squeezed back.  

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. The restaurant door shut softly behind you, leaving you and Pedro standing beneath the glow of streetlights, his cap pulled low, his glasses perched on his nose.  

It should have felt different—stepping back into reality after the small bubble of warmth inside the restaurant. But somehow, it didn’t.  

Pedro rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets. “Still okay?”  

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the night air. “Yeah,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “I think I am.”  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied.

It turns out Vanessa, Coco, Joseph and Ebon got dinner somewhere else in town away from the two of you and they were waiting already in the shuttle and as soon as you both stepped inside, the teasing started. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Vanessa sang, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joseph smirked from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “How romantic was it, really? Scale of one to ten?”

Coco grinned. “I’m betting solid eight.” Ebon scoffed. “Nah, Pedro’s smooth—at least a nine.” Pedro sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Vanessa waved a hand. “Nope. Now spill.” You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt as the van pulled away from the curb. “We ate dinner. Like normal people. And then we walked outside. Like normal people.” Coco squinted. “That’s exactly what someone who did kiss would say.” Pedro groaned, leaning his head back against the seat, while you fought the smile tugging at your lips. Joseph held out his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s be serious for a second. Was it cute at least?” You blinked at him. “Was what cute?” “The date—” “It wasn’t a date,” you and Pedro said at the same time. A pause.

Then Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “You’re already finishing each other’s sentences?” “Oh my God,” Pedro mumbled under his breath. The laughter rolled through the van, easy and infectious, and despite the relentless teasing, despite the way your face burned under their knowing looks, you couldn’t help but feel… good.

The knot in your chest—the one that had been coiled so tight these past few days—had loosened. Maybe not completely, but enough that breathing didn’t feel so hard. Pedro shifted beside you, turning his head so only you could hear him. “They’re never gonna let this go.” You sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” His shoulder brushed yours, a quiet reassurance, and when he spoke again, there was something soft in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” You hesitated. Because truthfully, the weight of the past few days still sat heavy on your shoulders. Cecilia had made sure of that. The quiet digs, the passive-aggressive comments, the knowing smirks—it was a kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. But right now, in the warmth of this moment, with Pedro looking at you like he actually cared about the answer, you found yourself saying— “I think I will be.” Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied. It was a small thing—just a simple gesture, barely more than a shift of his head. But somehow, it carried more weight than it should have, like he was silently saying I see you. I hear you. You swallowed. It was nice to have a friend. But then—was that all this was? You glanced at him again, at the way he was sat with you so easily, like he’d always been meant to be there. At the way he felt beside you, like a quiet anchor in the storm of the last few days.

End Notes:

I told you there would be drama O_O

Again, no hate to any girlie named Cecilia, everyone calm.

Don’t worry girlies… it will turn out fine, mostly… I think… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

YA'LL SEEN THE TEASER TRAILER!?!?!? IM UNWELL AND DYING AND SO EXCITED AND I WANT TO MELT AND DIE VANESSA KIRBY YOU LUCKY WOMAN I WANNA KISS HIM TOO T^T

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[creature-wizard]

you can ignore this if you feel it’s something you don’t feel is worth putting on your blog, but something particular frustrating about non/3rd party voters this time around is how so many of them say “don’t blame us! Blame trump voters!” Which like yeah obviously, trump voters are also to blame for what happened and will happen…but also, you lot don’t get to try and act like you didn’t have a part to play in all this.

maybe harris would’ve lost even if you guys actually voted for her. I don’t know. But it’s really disappointing to see how many of you guys didn’t even bother to try and are now shifting the blame now that the leopards are starting to eat you and your friends’ and your families’ faces.

(sorry for ranting, this whole thing is just so frustrating)

Yup, they don't get to pretend they didn't play a role in this when they didn't even bother to try and stop it from happening in any meaningful way. And let's be real here - Nazis have been downplaying Republicans' intentions and gaslighting people who called it out for years, which means that these anti-voters and third party voters were functionally no different from actual Nazis in their actions here. They might try to pretend their noses are clean, but they can't expect the rest of us to go along with their bullshit.

[takendruid]

Okok so, requesting some help from StephCass shippers, and maybe also TimSteph shippers/people who know decent amount of information about TimSteph’s relationship

Can you guys, StephCass shippers, explain to me the reasons why you ship them?

I don’t know nearly enough about Steph or Cass, or their relationship to each other, to make a proper judgement of the ship.

It always kind of felt weird to me, because it just felt like Batcest even though Steph isn’t actually Bruce’s kid. And then I actually started to think about why the ship makes me uncomfortable in a batcest way, before having the realisation that I simply don’t know enough about either girl or the relationship they have with each other (nor Steph’s relationship with Tim) to justify feeling that way.

I’m relatively new to the Batman fandom, so I’m still learning a lot. And this is something I feel like I need to be educated on before I can actually make a judgement of the ship.

Because I only found out today that the reason Tim and Steph broke up was apparently because Tim is bisexual?? I already knew he’s bi, I didn’t)t know that apparently that was the reason they broke up (but don’t quote me on that, and feel free to correct me).

I have started to read the comics, but there are so many comics that I just… need that shit explained to me. Tim and Steph’s relationship kind of also made me uncomfortable because Batcest, but to a bit of a lesser degree, before I had the same realisation about TimSteph that I did with StephCass; that I know basically fuck all about their relationship to each other because I’m a newbie, and very uneducated.

The way I have always perceived Steph and Cass has just been as sisters, and Steph and Tim as exes who are still close and have a very sibling-like relationship. Before realising, obviously, that I just know fuck all.

This post, and request for an explanation comes from a place of genuine confusion and curiosity, not any hate. I do just need the StephCass ship explaining to me because I genuinely don’t know very much about either girl, or their relationship to each other.

Sorry I keep repeating myself ✌️ (under the cut isn’t anything really relevant to what I’ve talked about here, it’s just an explanation of what I have seen comics-wise)

Idk if anyone is going to ask, but when it comes to the comics, I have started actively reading some currently releasing ones like Batman & Robin: Year One, and Absolute Batman. I have also bought Absolute Superman and Absolute Wonder Woman, but haven’t gotten around to reading them yet. I’m perfectly aware that the Absolute comics are basically AUs/is an AU (idk if they carry into one another), and that B&R:Y1 is of a retelling of Dick’s origins as Robin???

I have actively read the two issues of Red Hood Gotham War, and the surrounding issues in Batman and Catwoman that take place at the same time (Bruce… what the fuck… writers, what kind of mischaract-). I wouldn’t say I have “read” either RHATO, but I have skimmed through the one with Artemis and Bizarro; from when Jason is kind of… disowned-ish by Batman as a Bat, up to about when the group of kids were introduced (because I wasn’t reading it properly, I got super confused and just stopped looking). But I have read more closely the Prince of Gotham issues when looking at it a second time for a quick moment. I have also skimmed through the early issues of both RHATO comics. Jason is my favourite character, so I have kind of tended to look at official stuff more aimed around him. That is why I know pretty much fuck all about Steph and Cass.

I briefly know their backstories, I know that Steph became Robin for like 2 weeks after Tim was fired, I know that Tim and Steph were dating. But I haven’t actually read anything official with them in besides RHGW, which includes like a panel or so of Steph as Spoiler.

And yes, I have read most of WFA (I need to catch up) but I’m perfectly aware of the context it existsin; it’s not official, it’s slice of life, it’s a webtoon, and it does not properly represent the characters… even though (some of the) said characters have been so disgracefully mischaracterised by the official comics that WFA doesn’t deserve the amount of shit it gets for doing the same thing, or so I have heard.

I’m not claiming to know my shit, I think that’s pretty obvious. I trust the people on Tumblr to not treat me like shit because the community here is lovely. But I know there are going to be the odd people that might pull me up if I don’t clarify what comics I have actually read and seen. Or maybe not pull me up? More just be curious to actually know my level of knowledge from the official sources, instead of people on the internet talking about it.

[cherry-romper]

Hi! Hope you have a nice day. Can I request Mk man with a fem/reader who have a hard time being vulnerable both physically and emotionally especially sexually due of the past traumas and mk man helps them by taking things slower for sake of the reader comfort. Thanks in advance (o^^o)

Comfort Headcannons

+ Lui Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung.

Warnings; TW: the trauma is not mentioned by name but sexual assault is alluded to.

Contains; GN!reader, Comfort, Fluff.

Liu Kang;

The most understanding and patient person to ever exist. 

Will absolutely never pressure you into anything and will reassure you when you ask or when he feels like you need it.

Will always ask if what he’s doing is okay, if you’re comfortable and if you are sure. 

You have a wordless understanding, if you’re not feeling it or if you need some time alone, you don’t really have to say anything, he always knows and gives you the space you need.

Kung Lao;

He’s a monk, he’s not big into sexual intimacy anyways. Obviously he’d love to, but it's forbidden, so he’s also fine with just the basics.

Honestly, he thinks you being with him is like a reward. So, he doesn’t feel the need to push things because you’re already with THE Kung Lao. Do you need more than that?

Can be difficult at time to communicate with. Sometimes he only hears the sound of his own heart beating and he can’t see past it but when it comes to really serious conversations his attention is all yours. 

He’s no stranger to trauma, he’s understanding in his own way. 

Raiden;

Incredibly patient, he doesn’t push it at all. You only told him once that you wanted to take things slow because of a dark past and he understood immediately. 

Feels a lot of anger for the people who hurt you, though he won’t seek revenge, he thinks about it. He hates seeing you flinch away from intimacy. 

You can talk freely to him about everything. If you need to vent or a shoulder to cry on or even if you need space for prolonged periods of time, he won’t question it.

Checks up on you throughout the day, when he can. Will being you things too, to make sure you’ve eaten and drank enough. 

Bi-han; 

Took some time coming to terms with the fact that you just don’t want to do certain things. 

Initially, he didn’t understand. He’s mostly just angry that someone hurt you so bad that you can’t trust him, but he also knows what it’s like having to hide things, so he came around. 

Honestly, he doesn’t care about sex. He care more about loyalty and power. So, sex isn’t something on his mind. Prefers pure devotion to him and his cause. 

Doesn’t bring the subject up again. It’s like you never even mentioned it. He just avoids it the best he can. 

Kuai Liang;

Patient and understanding, but pushes you to get professional help.

He prefers having someone who can calm his fire AND match it. A perfect balance. For you to not be able to achieve your full potential because of past events, it makes him upset.

Encourages you to push your comfort zones and face your fears, but will never EVER force you. If you’re uncomfortable and feel overwhelmed or afraid, he’ll stop everything and comfort you. 

Gives the best hugs and pep talks, but is also amazing at giving you your space.

Tomas Vrbada;

Was so upset when you told him about your past. He hates that people are capable of such things. Comforted you immediately and set the ground rules there and then.

Always asks if you’re okay, if you need help, if you need space, if there’s anything he can do to make you feel better. 

Doesn’t baby you, but worries about you a lot. If you’re training, he’ll be watching you like a hawk, not even critiquing you but watching for any signs that you might want to stop, or if you’re uncomfortable with the people around you. 

Same goes for when it’s just the two of you. He’s patient and not going anywhere. He’s fine if you have moments of vulnerability, and deals with them as best he can.

Johnny Cage; 

Takes time to adjust. He forgets himself sometimes. Gets so upset if you flinch away from him and apologies like his life depends on it. 

He loves being around you, so when you ask for your own space he can find it hard because you’re the only thing on his mind. He can help think about how hard of a time you’re having and wants to help take that away. Hates that he can't help.

Has some trouble when it comes to communicating. He never means to make you feel unheard or inadequate, but seems to do it without noticing. He’ll realise after and apologies again.

You both work out a good middle ground, and find a way to make it work without anyone feeling unsatisfied or unhappy. 

Kenshi Takahashi;

Patient but needs to know the details of what he can and can’t do immediately. 

The last thing he wants to do is make you feel bad, so the quicker he knows the details, the better he’ll be able to treat you. 

Takes everything into consideration, and because of his heightened senses, you don’t really need to tell him when you’re not okay, he already knows. 

The whole thing is really easy, and you never need to explain yourself, he just accepts it and helps you the best he can. 

Syzoth;

He knows what it’s like having things taken from him. You don’t need to explain yourself, he knows. 

Is often away on business but writes to you as often as he can, he’ll send you things he think will help cope with the trauma. 

Is so sweet with intimacy and take it at whatever pace you set, he’s also fine with not at all. 

He communicates so well and is also an incredible listener, he’ll always be there for you. Even if he’s on official duty, he’ll take a portal to you if you ask him to, no questions asked. 

Shang Tsung; 

Is shocked to learn about your past and isn’t sure how to react.

He’s not going to make you uncomfortable or belittle you, but he takes time coming to terms with it.

Tries his best with being respectful with your wishes, and communicates his wants and needs well too. 

Can be difficult at times, since sometimes his work ends up coming first and he forgets the things you’ve been through, but once he comes down from his power trip he’s incredibly remorseful and tries his best to make it up to you. 

[halowishes]

haikyuu players in other sports

this has been sitting in my drafts for months but here’s my random headcannons i have after seeing suncelia_art on tiktok & haazuli’s kuroo

featuring: karasuno, fukurodani, inarizaki, nekoma, shiratorizawa, seijoh (+ sakusa, my love)

hinata shoyo

swim (breaststroke). sport climbing (speed climbing). it’s hard imagining him not playing vb but i did my best.

kageyama tobio

you cannot tell me this mf does not look like a pole vaulter. sport climbing (bouldering). these are technique/ practice driven sports that i just KNOW he would eat up.

sawamura daichi

he’s giving cheerleader because he has a loud voice and is supportive. also cycling because… well. he’s caked.

sugawara koushi

ice skating. he’s graceful and would look pretty ok? BADMINTON. it just makes sense.

tsukishima kei

ROWING. with long limbs like that he barely has to try. fencing also because he’s tall and maybe alpine skiing?

yamaguchi tadashi

skateboarding. he has the face of someone who’s willing to scrape his knees. or diving. you spend a lot of time on one skill/ technique.

bokuto koutarou

cheerleader. he’s loud, strong, and gets along with most people if he’s in a good mood. WATER POLO. he’s beefy. that is my only reason.

akaashi keiji

track and field. i could see him being a medium distance runner. baseball. he seems like he has the brain for it (i do not). ballroom dancing. that one was random but i think it works. and he’d look good in a suit.

miya atsumu

AMERICAN FOOTBALL, rugby, wrestling. literally any contact sport because you can tell he spent his whole life wrestling around with samu and his friends. & if anyone has fic recs of football or rugby player atsumu… you know where to find me.

miya osamu

yes all the sports i said for atsumu but ALSO snowboarding. i need snowboarder osamu biblically.

kita shinsuke

kyudo/ long bow archery. there’s a strict routine, it’s traditional, and he has sharp eyes idk.

suna rintaro

soccer. majority of a soccer game is defense. or swim (butterfly) since he has a flexible torso.

kuroo tetsuro

lacrosse. something about kuroo is so lax bro to me. or hip hop. he has the aura of a really chill and loose guy which, apparently, to me means they’d be good at dancing.

kozume kenna

esports (obviously).

ushijima wakatoshi

shooting. he has sharp eyes. shot put bc he has the body for it. KARATE (specifically kata). he’s built like a wall i just know he would have nice angles. (also bc he’s too proper to be a boxer.)

tendou satori

f1/ racing. according to my boyfriend it’s the one that requires the best instinct! i had no idea what to put for him!

sakusa kiyoomi

shooting since it’s a solo sport. TENNIS. you barely have to touch anything, you don’t even need a team, and he already looks like a tennis ball. and fencing because it’s a rich sport and no contact!

oikawa tooru

equestrian. if he can tame any team, then he can tame a horse. DANCE SPORT! he is so charismatic and flashy it would be perfect.

iwaizumi hajime

he also really exudes volleyball to me but i could also see him playing american football or rugby.

[owlwithanapple]

Life is change

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Y/N 🥰

♥️♥️♥️ I love the character Ghost very much. I want him to be happy and have a different life. A happy marriage, family and love. If you like it, please reblog my fanfiction. You are also welcome to give me comments to motivate me to write more and more exciting works. 🖤🖤🖤

Ghost and you have been married for over few years and have always had a very harmonious relationship. Unexpectedly, had a quarrel. Because had a fight about work and he acted rashly to save Gaz. You ran away from home in a rage and went back to your brother Soap Mactavish's house. “Soap! I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

Soap was sitting down on his couch reading a newspaper when he suddenly heard the loud banging on the front door. He quickly placed the paper down on his coffee table then got up off the couch and approached the front door before opening it. Standing there was you in an obviously annoyed state. Soap chuckled slightly before looking at you with a small smirk. “Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes. What's wrong? You look pissed.”

“Your fucking teammate Lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley has pissed me. Last operation with Gaz, he acted rashly to saved Gaz.”

Soap sighed heavily as he listened to your explanation, not being surprised to heard that Ghost acted rashly and was being an idiot. Soap said as he shook his head and then placed a hand on his forehead before looking back at you. “Of course he did...that idiot. So that's why you’re here? Because of some argument between you and Ghost?”

“Yup. I’m angry, that’s why I’m here.”

Soap chuckled softly then stepped to the side, allowing you to come in. He said with a smirk, which caused you to give him a look. He shrugged it off and began to walk over to the couch, sat down and then gestured for you to sit down to. “Well you’re welcome to stay for as long as you want. Just don't let me hear any complaining while you’re here. So how angry are you at Ghost then? On a scale of 1 to 10.”

“Hmph! He doesn’t care about me and my feelings. Keep doing rashly things. He’s saving Gaz and hit by bullet. I was angry and about to explode.”

Soap chuckled softly as he listened to your complaints. He knew that Ghost's tendency to act rashly would inevitably cause a reaction out of you. Soap could practically hear Ghost's voice in his head saying I can take care of myself. Soap shaking his head as he leaned back onto the couch. “I can only imagine how hard it must be to hold yourself back from blowing up every time he does something stupid. But you still love him though, right?”

“Hmph! But…He doesn’t even call me or find me! That’s shitty skull mask husband!”

Soap chuckled softly at your insult toward Ghost, finding the nickname that shitty skull mask husband to be an amusing as he let out a sigh. He said before taking a pause then looking at you again. “Yeah I don't think Ghost is smart enough to do that. He's not really one to apologize for anything either. That man is dense as hell. But I still think you love him, don't you? I know you do.”

“Hmph! Of course I do. I just don’t want him reckless.”

Soap smiled slightly as he heard your words before letting out a deep sigh and leaning his head back onto the couch. “Ghost doesn't know any other way to work. He's the type to throw himself into life-threatening situations and come out of them uninjured. I'm surprised he hasn't suffered any major injury all these years of service.”

Soap said before looking at you again, his expression becoming more serious. “Just try to remember that he's doing all of it to keep other people safe. That includes yourself.”

“I don’t care others, I care my fucking husband. I’m a medic, you know how hurt my heart especially I patching my skull husband?”

Soap let out a heavy sigh and nodded his head, understanding how you felt. “I know how you feel. I feel like Ghost is gonna give me a heart attack everytime he risks his life. But I've known him for many years, so I know he'll always be able to get out of trouble.”

He paused for a few moments before looking you in the eyes. “But Ghost isn't just your husband, he's a soldier first. He has to prioritize his duties over his personal life.”

“Tch, don’t remind me that. I just want to complaint about my skull face husband.”

Soap smiled slightly at your response before letting out another sigh, realizing that nothing he said was really gonna make any difference. “Trust me, I know you're worried about Ghost. I am too, everytime he goes out on a mission, I sit by the phone wondering if he's coming back this time. But I know he will.”

He looked at you then patted you on the shoulder. “Ghost probably is feeling bad right now you know, even if he'll never admit it.”

“Hmph! I watched the tv first. Bye, Soap.”

Soap chuckled as he heard you before waving you off. “Alright, I'm gonna make some lunch later if you want any. Just hollar.”

He said before you began to walk away, his expression turning slightly more serious again as he muttered to himself. “That idiot Ghost better not have gotten himself in trouble this time.”

Soap was busy cooking lunch in the kitchen, suddenly heard the sound of the front door being opened. He paused for a moment listened to the sound of footsteps entering the house. “That must be-"

His thoughts were cut off when he saw Ghost enter the kitchen, still wearing his black tactical gear. Soap's expression hardened slightly at the sight of him. “Speak of the devil.”

Ghost didn't say anything at first, his expression as blank and unreadable as always underneath the mask. He took a few more steps into the kitchen before finally speaking in his familiar raspy voice. “Soap.”

Soap nodded his head in acknowledgment before taking a closer look at him, noticing the various injuries he had sustained. “You really did it this time, didn't you? Looks like you took a beating.”

Ghost shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as if the injuries he had received were nothing serious, and replied with a dry tone. “I've had worse.”

Soap rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, knowing that Ghost had a tendency to downplay the severity of his injuries. “Of course you have. But this time you've done a good job pissing off her. I don't think I've ever seen her so angry before.”

Ghost's body stiffened at the mention of you, and for a moment, Soap could see a hint of guilt in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual emotionless mask. “She's angry with me?”

Soap raised an eyebrow at his response, surprised that he was even asking that question. “Yeah, she's beyond angry. She came over here earlier, ranting and raving about how you're not caring about her feelings and how you always act rashly during missions.”

Ghost's expression remained unreadable, but Soap could tell that the words were getting to him. He let out a heavy sigh and spoke, his voice slightly strained. “She doesn't understand the work we do.”

Soap shook his head and let out a snort of derision. “She's a medic, dumbass. She understands better than you think. She's just worried about you.”

Ghost let out a scoff of disbelief, feeling insulted by Soap's words. He crossed his arms over his chest and spoke in a defiant tone. “She worries too much.”

Soap rolled his eyes and shook his head once again, not surprised by Ghost's lack of insight. “You know that's what happens when you marry someone. They worry about you because they care about you.”

You heard their conversation, you cleared your throat and clenched the fist then approached to interrupt them. “No need to persuade him, Soap. He doesn't need to know, and he doesn't want to know.”

Soap and Ghost both turned to look at you as you interrupted them, Soap looked slightly surprised while Ghost's expression remained as blank and unreadable as ever. Soap took a step back and raised his hands slightly in a placating gesture. “Y/N, I was just-“

Ghost interrupted him and took a step forward, his voice still lacking in any emotion. “You're here.”

“Of course I’m here. My brother’s home. A home that I stayed before I married.”

Soap nodded his head and looked between the pair of you, sensing the tension in the air. He took a step back and leaned against the counter. Ghost's expression remained blank, but Soap could see a hint of guilt flickering in his eyes as he spoke. “You're angry with me.”

It wasn't a question, more of a statement. You rolled your eyes and responded with a sharp tone. “Of course I'm angry with you. You're always acting rashly and putting yourself in danger without even thinking about how it affects me.”

Ghost's jaw clenched at your words, his expression still blank but you could see the frustration building within him. He let out a scoff and spoke in a defiant tone. “You don't understand. My job is dangerous. It's what I do.”

Soap shook his head and spoke up once again, trying to diffuse the situation. “She knows that, Ghost. She's just worried about you.”

Ghost turned to Soap and snapped back, his voice rising in volume. “I don't need anyone worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I just don’t understand why my husband wants to push me away? I’m a medic and I know the risks. But…it’s my fault that I worry my husband more? Tell me, Simon. I beg you.”

Ghost let out another heavy sigh and shook his head, his expression still conflicted. “It's not your fault for worrying. That's the natural response someone has when they care about someone else.”

He took a step forward and reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder gently. “But I don't want to be the reason you're worried all the time. I don't want you to constantly be worrying about me getting hurt or killed on the field.”

“Simon. Listen carefully, I’m your fucking wife. I’m the person who says I do when you proposal to me. So I fucking definitely will worrying about you, even you just accidentally cut your finger!”

Ghost chuckled softly at your words, his usual blank expression softening into a small smirk under his mask. “You're a stubborn one, aren't you?”

He took a step forward until he was standing directly in front of you. He placed both his hands on your shoulders and spoke in a quieter voice. “I know you'll worry about me. I can't stop you from doing that. And I know you'll be there to patch me up if I get hurt.”

“That’s right, because I’m a fucking medic.”

Ghost chuckled softly again and nodded his head in agreement. He paused for a moment and then spoke again, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “Yeah, you're a damn good medic. You've saved my life more times than I can count. But you're also a damn good wife.”

“Hmph. So you know I’m not just a medic, also your wife. I thought I’m just a statue.”

Ghost nodded his head and a small smirk appeared on his face. “Yeah, I know you're more than just a medic. You're my wife. My partner. The one person who's always there for me, no matter what.”

He took a step closer to you and spoke in a quieter voice, the tone of his voice changing to a more serious one. “And I know that I don't deserve you, but I'm thankful to have you. I'm still grateful for the day you said I do.”

You could feel your heart rate increasing as he spoke, his words making you feel slightly flustered. Soap cleared his throat from the side, reminding you of their presence. You blushed slightly and turned to look at Soap, who was watching the two of you with a sly smile on his face. Soap chuckled and spoke up, his tone teasing. “Looks like the lovebirds are getting all cozy over here.”

You rolled your eyes ignoring your brother then stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his masked cheek, feeling the rough material brush against your palm. Took a deep breath, still feeling the anger and worry in heart. “I married you because I love you, Simon. But it's because I love you that I worry about you all the time. I can't help it. You're my fucking husband.”

Ghost's expression softened even more as you placed your hand on his cheek, the rough fabric of his mask against your palm. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a soft sigh before opening them again, looking into your eyes.

He placed a hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him. He paused for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you worry about me. And I know it's because you love me. But I can't help worrying about you too.”

You could feel his breath on your face as he spoke, the closeness between you both causing a mixture of emotions to swirl within you. On one hand, you were still angry and upset with him for his reckless behavior. But on the other hand, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and security in his presence.

Soap cleared his throat once again, interrupting the intimate moment between you and Ghost. “Alright, lovebirds. I get the feeling I'm the third wheel over here.”

“Tch. Fine. Alright alright. Can’t let my lovely brother ignore by us.”

Soap chuckled softly at your words, shaking his head in amusement. “Don't worry about me. I'm used to being the third wheel around here.”

Ghost rolled his eyes under his mask at Soap's comment, but didn't say anything. He was too focused and concerned about you. Soap leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, a small smirk on his face. “So, you two lovebirds figure things out yet?”

“Um…I think so. I’m not angry anymore..”

Soap nodded his head and looked between the two of you, noticing the change in the atmosphere between you and Ghost. “Good, I'm glad you're not angry anymore.”

Ghost remained silent and let out a soft sigh, relieved that you weren't angry anymore. He kept his hand on your waist, holding you close. Soap spoke up again, his tone somewhat amused. “So, lovebirds, you gonna make out in front of me or what?”

Ghost's grip on your waist tightened slightly and he let out a scoff under his mask, clearly amused by Soap's words as well. “You wish, Soap.”

Soap chuckled and held his hands up playfully in mock surrender. “Hey, can you blame a guy for asking? It's not every day you see a cute couple like you two getting all romantic.”

You rolled your eyes at Soap's comment and swat him playfully, trying to hide the slight flush on your cheeks. “Jeez, come on, Simon. Let’s go home.”

Ghost nodded his head in agreement, seemingly grateful for an excuse to get out of the situation with Soap. “Yeah, let's get out of here.”

He kept his hand on your waist and guided you toward the door, giving a dismissive wave to Soap. “See you later, Soap.”

Soap chuckled and watched the two of you head out the door, a smirk on his face. “Later, lovebirds.”

As Ghost and you stepped outside, the cool evening air hit your face, providing a sense of relaxation. Ghost's hand remained on your waist, guiding you toward a black SUV parked nearby. He opened the passenger door and gestured for you to get in, his voice still gruff but with a hint of tenderness. “Get in. I'll drive.”

“Tch, isn't it me who's driving? Alright, I don't want to scratch your car again.”

Ghost let out a soft chuckle, his tone slightly amused as he remembered the time you accidentally scratched his car. “Right, I remember that. You're lucky I didn't make you pay for the repairs.”

He closed the passenger door once you had settled in, then made his way to the driver's seat. As he was about to get in, he paused for a moment and looked at you. “Remember, no loud music this time. I don't need my eardrums blown out again.”

“Tch. Fine. Hm…ocean background music. Satisfied?”

Ghost nodded his head in acknowledgment as he started the car, the engine purring to life. “Sure, ocean background music is fine. As long as it's not too loud.”

He began to drive, maneuvering the car through the streets with practiced ease. The streetlights cast a warm glow on his face, illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw and the slight tilt of his head. “You know, you're the only person I let touch this car.”

“Good. That’s my privilege I want.”

He continued to drive, his focus mostly on the road ahead. The tension from earlier in the day had faded, replaced by a comfortable silence between the two of you. Ghost chuckled softly at your words, his expression still mostly hidden under his mask but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. “Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. You've already scratched it once.”

“Hey, that’s was an accident. I was too panicked at reverse parking then boom. You scold me that time. And I feel like, oh ~ my lovely husband is not loving me anymore ~ I’m so sad.”

Ghost rolled his eyes under his mask, knowing you were only teasing him, and played along with your little game. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You're a terrible driver and you should never be allowed behind the wheel of a car again.”

He paused for a moment and then continued in a more playful tone. “And don't act so dramatic. I scolded you because you scratched my car, not because I don't love you anymore. Idiot.”

“Hmph! Now I’m idiot, not lovely wife anymore.”

Ghost let out a soft sigh and shook his head in mock irritation. “You know I was just messing with you. You're still my lovely wife, even if you're a terrible driver and an idiot sometimes.”

He glanced over at you and saw the teasing glint in your eyes, knowing that you were just having fun. “But seriously, don't scratch my car again. I'll make you walk everywhere if you do.”

“Suddenly I felt I had reason to file for divorce.”

Ghost feigned a look of shock, his eyes going wide under his mask. He was clearly playing along with your teasing, enjoying your playful banter. He reached over and poked you gently in the side, his touch playful. “You wouldn't dare. Don't even think about it. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

“Then let me drive, I want to scratch it.”

Ghost let out a scoff and shook his head, his tone still playful but slightly incredulous. “Absolutely not. You are not touching the wheel. I don't want to end up in a ditch somewhere because of your crappy driving.”

He continued to drive, his eyes focused on the road, but a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Nice try, though. I know how much you enjoy pushing my buttons.”

“Oops, you found me.” You chuckled playfully.

Ghost chuckled softly, his amusement clear in his voice. He paused for a moment and then continued in a more serious tone. “Oh, I know you well enough by now to know when you're trying to stir trouble. But seriously, no driving for you. Stick to being a passenger princess.”

“Alright alright. Please call me Princess Mactavish. Hm~if you huh, Knight Riley.”

Ghost chuckled at your request, his tone somewhat amused. “Princess Mactavish and Knight Riley, huh? Sounds like a fairy tale.”

He reached over and gently patted your head, playing along with your little game. “And what requests does the princess have for her knight?”

“Hm~kiss me a lot and love me forever.” You blurted out happily.

Ghost chuckled softly at your request, the sound warm and affectionate. “Ah, the easiest request to fulfill.”

He took his hand off the steering wheel for a moment and reached over, gently taking your hand in his. He brought it up to his mask and planted a soft kiss on the top of your hand, his eyes meeting yours through the mask. “I promise to love you forever, Princess Mactavish.”

You felt a wave of happiness wash over you at his words, your heart swelling with love and affection. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grateful for his promise. “And I promise to love you forever, too, Knight Riley."

Ghost felt a warm feeling spread through his chest at your words, his heart filling with a deep sense of comfort and contentment. He tightened his grip on your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze in return. “Good. Because I don't plan on letting you go anywhere.”

He paused for a moment and then continued in a more playful tone. “And if any pesky princes try to steal you away, I may have to fight them off.”

“Oh wow~ such a great knight.”

Ghost chuckled softly and shrugged his shoulders slightly, his tone playful. He turned his attention back to the road for a moment before continuing. “What can I say? I'm a man of many talents. Protecting my lovely wife from pesky princes is just another one of them. Besides, you're mine, and I'm not planning on sharing you with anyone.”

“Thanks, my lovely husband.”

Ghost chuckled softly at your words and smiled gently under his mask. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze again, his touch gentle and affectionate. “You're welcome, my lovely wife. And I won't let anyone take you away from me.”

You nodded your head in acknowledgment, knowing that he was possessive but also feeling a shiver went down your spine. The tone in his voice was always a mix of affection and command. It was like he was making sure I knew exactly where you belong. And the last sentence was almost a warning. “Yeah, I know you don't.”

You could hear the finality in his voice, no room for argument. And you couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and comfort from his possessive yet caring demeanor.

The drive continued in silence for a moment, the only noise being the hum of the engine and the occasional passing cars. Then, Ghost spoke again, his tone shifting slightly. “You know, there's one thing I've been meaning to ask you.”

“What is it?” You curious about what he said.

Ghost paused for a moment, his expression remaining mostly hidden under his mask. However, his eyes gave away a hint of anticipation. “We've been married for quite some time now. And... there's something we haven't done.”

“Hm? Like what?” You kinda nervous. Wonder he’s thinking the same thing like you.

Ghost took a deep breath before speaking, his tone carefully neutral, though you could sense a hint of anticipation in his words. He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “I've been thinking about it for a while, and I feel like it's something we should talk about as a couple. Have you ever thought about... having children?”

“Huh?! Really?! You sure?! I thought you’re not interested in this kind of thing.”

Ghost chuckled softly at your shocked response, his mask not showing any other expression. “Yeah, I mean it. I've been thinking about it lately. And I know I may not have ever shown much interest in the idea, but lately, I've been feeling different.”

He paused for a moment, his tone growing serious. “I want to be honest with you. I used to think that having a family wasn't really in the cards for me, given my job and the dangerous lifestyle I lead. But now, I've been reconsidering.”

He took a deep breath and continued, his voice quieter this time. “I've realized that maybe I want something more than just endless missions and bloodshed. And the thought of having a family, of being a father...it's something new to me.”

He reached over and placed a hand on your knee, his touch gentle and careful. “What do you think, love?”

Suddenly you realized that he had this idea. You always thought he didn't want children. Both of you knew how dangerous each other's duties was, but lives took a big turn after you two fell in love and got married. At this moment you realized that you two would face new challenges. You took out phone from pocket to check some of your private data such as ovulation and menstrual period. “Do you busy tonight? We can try this week….no condom….”

Ghost's eyes widened under his mask at your words, his expression a mix of surprise and arousal. He hadn't expected you to bring up the idea so quickly. He nodded his head, his grip on your knee tightening slightly. “Yeah, tonight, I'm all yours.”

He couldn't help the slight huskiness in his voice, the thought of starting a family with you now more tantalizing than ever. “You've checked your cycle?”

“Yup. I am. I think this week will hit the jackpot.”

Ghost's eyes darkened with desire at your words, his mind racing with thoughts of starting a family with you. He took a deep breath to steady himself, his body already reacting to your words. He aid gruffly, his tone a mix of excitement and anticipation. “Alright then. Let's do it.”

His hand on your knee gripped you just a little harder, his touch possessive and needy. “And I promise to be very thorough tonight.”

The rest of the car ride was full of tension, both of you unable to hide your excitement about what was to come. It was as if the air around you was charged with electricity, building up the anticipation exponentially. As the car pulled into the driveway of your house, Ghost shut off the engine, the sudden silence in the cabin making the tension even more palpable. He turned to look at you, his eyes burning with desire. “Come on, love. Let's take this inside.”

Ghost got out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you. He took your hand and helped you out, his grip firm and possessive. As you walked towards the house, he couldn't help but steal glances at you, the mere thought of the night to come making his heart race with excitement and anticipation. Once you were both inside, he closed the door behind you with a quiet click and immediately pushed you up against the wall, his body pressing against yours.

“Take off your mask, I’m not gonna fuck with you while looking at that skull mask tonight.”

Ghost chuckled softly at your request, his tone teasing. He pulled the mask off, revealing his sharp jawline and rugged handsome face. His eyes were dark with desire, and his lips curved into a small smirk. “Is that more to your taste, love?”

“Yup. No more Lieutenant Ghost, only Simon Riley and my lovely husband.”

Ghost's expression softened slightly at your words, his tone a little more affectionate. He said, his fingers tracing gently along your cheek. “Only Simon for you, love. Your lovely husband, Simon.”

He leaned in closer, his body pressing even tighter against yours, his proximity making your heart race. “I plan to show you just how much I love you tonight.”

The heat between you was palpable as he continued to kiss your neck, his touch growing more urgent with each passing moment. His hands roamed your body, one resting on your hip and the other gently caressing the sensitive skin of your stomach. It was a teasing touch, one that both aroused you and drove you insane with anticipation. He leaned in closer and whispered huskily in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “Are you ready, love?”

“Ha—yes. I’m ready.” You moan softly.

Ghost chuckled softly at your readiness, his tone thick with desire. His hands gripping your hips as he began to guide you towards the bedroom. The air was electric with anticipation as he led you into the room, his eyes never leaving your body. Once you were inside, he closed the door behind you, shutting out the outside world. The bedroom was lit by soft, flickering candlelight, creating a sensual atmosphere.

Ghost walked you over to the bed and gently pushed you down, guiding you to lie on your back. He stood over you, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He began to undress, his moves slow and deliberate, giving you a full view of his toned, muscular body. As he pulled off his shirt, baring his chest, he noticed your gaze lingering on him. A cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like what you see?”

“Oh my fucking Simon, that’s definitely awesome.” You teased him.

Ghost chuckled at your reaction, his smirk growing even cockier. He could see the desire in your eyes, and he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you. He climbed onto the bed, straddling you and pinning you beneath him. His hands traced over your body, his touch both gentle and possessive at the same time.

Ghost's smirk grew wider as he continued to touch your body, his hands mapping out every curve and contour. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, his voice a low, sinful rumble. His lips grazed your neck, his teeth nipping gently at your sensitive skin before moving down to your collarbone. “Good. Because I plan on using every inch of it to pleasure you tonight.”

“You better do it. My lovely husband.”

Ghost let out a soft growl at your words, and his hand gripped your hip a bit tighter, the possessive gesture making your heart race. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his proximity making your body ache with desire. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yup. I’m ready.” You pressed a kiss on his lips.

He claimed your mouth with a kiss, his tongue delving inside, tasting and exploring every inch of you. It was a kiss that was both demanding and possessive, a reminder of just who you belonged to. Ghost's hands roamed your body, his touch both gentle and possessive as he explored, his fingers tracing a path of fire across your skin. He broke the kiss, his lips moving down to your neck, leaving a trail of biting kisses along your sensitive skin.

He continued to kiss and bite your neck, hands gripping your hips, his touch both possessive and gentle. He moved down to your shoulder, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along the way. His body was pressed against yours, the feel of his muscular chest and stomach against your skin making your body ache with desire. He lifted his head again, his eyes dark and burning with lust.

“I love you, Simon.” You moan softly and said.

Ghost's expression softened slightly at your words, his tone becoming more affectionate. He leaned in and captured your lips in a slow, tender kiss, his mouth worshipping yours. His hands caressed your body, his touch both gentle and possessive. “I love you too, love. My lovely wife.”

The times flew away and the sun was setting on the sky. Ghost stirred from sleep, his eyes heavy as he slowly awoke. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the soft light of the early morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. He shifted his weight on the bed, his body still feeling the aftereffects of a long, passionate night with you. He turned his head to look at you, a contented smile on his lips at the sight of you still asleep beside him.

“Mm…mhm. Morning….” You mumbling softly.

Ghost chuckled softly at your groggy response, his smile growing. He stroked your hair again, his hand gentle as he caressed your scalp. “Good morning, love. How'd you sleep?”

“Good, it’s so fucking wonderful.” You yawned and leaned forward to press a kiss on his lips.

Ghost smiled again at your response, his heart warming at the sight of you still half-asleep and rumpled from the night before. He reached out and ran a hand down your bare back, his touch both possessive and gentle. “Did I wear you out last night?”

“A little. But it’s a great moment.” You nuzzled him.

Ghost chuckled softly at your words, his touch growing firmer as he continued to run his hand down your back. His voice dropping an octave lower. “You were pretty spectacular yourself last night, love.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin. “Ready for a shower, my lovely wife?”

“Do you mind carrying me? My legs are sore. Yesterday night ride you, my muscles are numb.”

Ghost chuckled at your request, his expression both amused and affectionate. “Of course I don’t mind.”

He slid out of bed and picked you up in one easy motion, supporting you in his arms as he carried you towards the bathroom. He teased lightly, his arms holding you securely. “You really wore yourself out last night, oh my lovely wife.”

“You’re a soldier, I’m a medic. Don’t expect a medic’s stamina can win over you. Oh! So tell me, my lovely husband. Our first baby you wish it’s a boy or girl?” You pecking his cheek and asking him.

Ghost paused for a moment, his expression growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “I don’t really care. I know this might sound cheesy, but all I really want is a healthy baby – a chance to start a family with you.”

He looked at you, his eyes warm and affectionate. “But if you’re asking my preference, then I guess I wouldn’t mind a little girl with your eyes and your stubbornness.”

“Holy shit. A skull mask lieutenant with a baby girl. Little princess’s daddy huh.”

Ghost chuckled at your words, the image you painted obviously amusing to him. He stepped closer to you, his hands coming to rest on your hips again. He said with a hint of sarcasm. “Yeah, the Lieutenant, the big bad boogeyman of the 141, reduced to being a daddy of a cute little princess.”

You chuckled then pressed his lips with a kiss. Ghost responded to your kiss, his arms tightening around you as he deepened it. His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was both possessive and demanding, his tongue exploring and tasting you with a hunger that betrayed his need for you. One of his hands moved to the back of your head, holding you in place as he angled your head for better access, his other hand pressing firmly against the small of your back, holding your body flush against his.

The next few month, you were as busy as usual at the Task 141 base. At lunchtime, you took the tray and went to pick out the food. Suddenly felt unwell had the urge to vomit. You immediately threw away the tray, covered mouth and ran into the toilet to vomit.

Ghost was in the commissary when he noticed your sudden change in demeanor. He saw the expression on your face, the way you suddenly went pale, and knew something was wrong. Without a second thought, he was on his feet and moving in your direction, following as you rushed towards the bathroom. He was there waiting by the time you reached the toilet, concern written all over his face. “Love. Are you alright?”

“Fucking hell…today is already third time.” You washed your face and wiped it with handkerchiefs.

Then realization dawned on him. He remembered the signs, the sudden nausea, your paler than usual complexion. He knelt down beside you, his hand moving to gently brush the hair back from your face. He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is it…is it possible that you’re…?”

“Eh? You mean that thing?” You tilted your head pointed your stomach.

Ghost nodded silently, his gaze locked on your face. The thought had crossed his mind before, but he had pushed it aside, not wanting to get his hopes up. But now, seeing you in this condition, it seemed like more than just a possibility. He reached out and took one of your hands in his, his touch gentle and possessive. “Have you... Have you taken a test?”

“Not yet…I'll go to the infirmary to get tested. You go to training first, I'll let you know if there's any news.”

Ghost was reluctant to let you go, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. He had a protective streak in him a mile wide, and the idea of you being unwell and him not being there for you made him uneasy. But he knew you were strong, capable, the badass medic he knew and loved. He nodded reluctantly. “Alright. But you promise to let me know as soon as you know something, alright? Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Roger, Lieutenant Ghost.” You salute playfully.

You went back to the infirmary and dug out a few pregnancy test sticks that you had prepared earlier. You held them tightly and began to doubt yourself. Could it really work this time? You ran into the toilet and started testing, waiting for the results of the pregnancy test sticks.

Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the test sticks, your heart thudding in your chest. This was it. The moment you had been hoping for, praying for, for so long. The minutes ticked by, each agonizingly slow second feeling like an eternity. Finally, you couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t bear the anticipation any longer. With trembling fingers, you picked up the first test stick and waited for the result.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you watched the test stick, the wait excruciating. And then, almost as if in slow motion, the results started to appear. Positive. Your eyes widened, your heart nearly stopped. A wave of emotions washed over you, relief, joy, disbelief, excitement. Tears welled up in your eyes as you grabbed the second test stick with trembling hands.

And again, positive. The same result. No mistaking it, no denying it. You were pregnant. You clutched the test sticks to your chest, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment. You were filled with a fierce sense of protectiveness, a fierce love for the tiny life growing inside you. You had to find Ghost. You had to tell him. “Fucking hell…finally. God damn it. Took us so long. Finally Ghost can be a father…”

You could barely control your emotions as you raced through the base, your thoughts racing just as fast as your legs. You couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and disbelief, your heart swelling with joy. You had waited for this moment for so long, and now that it was here, it felt surreal. You finally reached the training ground, scanning the area for Ghost. And then you spotted him, his broad shoulders and strong presence immediately catching your eye.

You also saw Price standing next to him talking about something. You walked forward holding the pregnancy test stick hidden behind you , and you cleared your throat to attract their attention.

Ghost's head whipped around as soon as he heard the sound of your cough, his face immediately lighting up when he saw you approaching. But the way you were holding your hand behind your back, the secretive expression on your face, made him curious. And he could tell something was up. He turned towards you, his expression a mix of curiosity and something that looked an awful lot like hope. “What’s that you’ve got there, love?”

Price turned, too, his eyebrows furrowing as he noticed the same secretiveness that Ghost did. A faint smirk played on his lips, as if he was already guessing what was going on. “What are you hiding, medic?”

“Something happened. I’m pregnant. We really did succeed this time, Ghost.” You blurted out.

Ghost’s expression immediately softened, a look of almost disbelieving joy spreading across his face. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed speechless. He took a step towards you, his arms reaching out to pull you into a tight embrace. “You’re pregnant? Really? My lovely wife pregnant?”

Price, standing nearby, let out a loud whoop, a huge grin on his face. He teased, poking Ghost in the shoulder. “Finally, eh, Ghost?”

Ghost pulled back slightly, his gaze fixated on the test sticks you held out to him. His fingers trembled as he gently took them from your hand, his expression filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He turned them over in his hands, his eyes scanning the results, as if he was afraid he was dreaming.

Price stepped closer, peering over Ghost’s shoulder at the test sticks. His voice filled with both doubt but more of excitement. “Damn, you’re not pulling my leg, are you?"

“Fucking hell. We really succeeded this time! Ghost!”

Ghost set the test sticks down and pulled you into his arms, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around in a tight, overjoyed embrace. He held you against him, his body trembling with emotion. He rasped, his voice filled with wonder and awe. “We did it! We did it, love. You're carrying our child."

Price chuckled, watching the two of you with a grin on his face. “Looks like the 141 is getting a new recruit.”

“Seriously? Captain, a baby you want to recruit too?!”

Price chuckled heartily, his eyes shining with amusement at your words. He paused, then gave a wink. His voice playful. “Imagine the possibilities. Tiny recruits, following orders in their little uniform...”

“Sounds like chaos. But…I guess 141 will have headaches, don’t mind my pregnancy symptoms.”

Ghost chuckled, his arms still around you, holding you close. “Don't worry, love. I'll handle any headaches, and I'll take care of you and the little one.”

Price joined in again, his tone still teasing. He said, nodding sagely. “Us seasoned 141 members can handle anything. Including pregnant medics.”

“Hahahaha. Thanks. So, my lovely husband Ghost. New adventures are coming soon.”

Ghost's expression softened even more, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity. He held you tight, his arms encircling you protectively as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Indeed. New adventures, new challenges. But we'll face them together. You and me, and our little one.”

Price, standing nearby, couldn’t help but add his own two cents. “Hahahah. Better start getting used to less sleep, Ghost.”

Ghost rolled his eyes at Price's words, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. He said sarcastically. “Thanks for the reminder, Captain. As if I wasn't already preparing for a lifetime of sleepless nights.”

Price chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. He said, his tone mock-serious. “Just warning you, son. Babies are noisy. And they never sleep when you do.”

“Hahaha. Alright alright, guys. Don’t say anything negative that will make me regret having a baby.” Ghost and Price exchanged glances after your words, their expressions immediately sobering.

Ghost shook his head vehemently. He said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “No regrets. Not a single one. This is a blessing, love. Our little miracle.”

Price nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “Ghost is right. This is a wonderful thing you're doing. Bringing life into the world...it's the most important job there is.”

“Hahaha. Guess my responsibility increased when I had a baby. Oh! Soap definitely will happy! His nephew or niece is coming.”

Soap appeared as if on cue, sauntering into the conversation with a cocky grin on his face. He drawled, his Scottish accent thick and unapologetic. “Did I hear my name?”

Price chuckled, turning to Soap. He said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Your ears are still sharp, son. Speaking of which, you have some news to hear.”

“Hwah! Jeez! Oh, since my lovely brother is here. Ghost and I have something to tell you.”

Price couldn't help but chuckle at Soap's eagerness. Soap's ears perked up at Ghost's words, his expression going from cocky to curious. He asked, his voice tinged with excitement. “Oh yeah? What’s this important news you’re sharing with me, Ghost?”

Ghost took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Soap's. His voice filled with a mix of awe and wonder. “We’re having a baby.”

Soap's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open. He stood there speechless for a moment, as if trying to process the news. And then, his face broke out into a huge grin, his eyes sparkling with joy and excitement. He exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine happiness. “Are you serious? That’s amazing news!”

“Yup. We have a baby, you will be uncle soon.” You pointed at your stomach and laughed.

Soap's grin widened even more, his face lighting up with happiness. He exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. “I'm going to be an uncle? Bloody hell, that's brilliant!”

He turned to Ghost and clasped him on the shoulder, his grip tight. He said, his tone filled with genuine enthusiasm. “Congratulations, mate! You’re gonna be a dad!”

Ghost nodded, his expression softened by a genuine smile. His voice filled with gratitude. “Thanks, Soap. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself.”

Price, standing nearby, chuckled at the reaction from Soap, his eyes filled with amusement. He said, his tone lighthearted. “Looks like this 141 family is expanding. I wonder how the little one will handle all the excitement around here.”

Nine months later, your voice of pain and crying could be heard in the delivery room because the baby was being born. Ghost paced back and forth outside the delivery room, his heart pounding with anticipation and a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He could hear your voice, filled with pain and exertion, and he wanted nothing more than to be by your side, to hold your hand and offer whatever comfort he could.

Soap stood nearby, his expression a mix of anxiety and excitement. He clasped Ghost on the shoulder, trying to offer some reassurance. “It’ll be fine, mate. Just a few more hours, and you’ll be holding your little one in your arms.”

Ghost nodded, trying to take deep breaths to steady himself. The wait was excruciating, and he couldn't help but worry about you and the baby. He knew childbirth was difficult, knew it was painful, and he wanted to do anything he could to ease your suffering.

Price standing nearby, couldn't help but chime in as well, his tone filled with his usual sarcasm. He said, a smirk on his face. “Hang in there, Ghost. You're in for a world of chaos now.”

Finally, your voice had quieted down a lot, and a baby girl's cry came from the delivery room. You collapsed on the hospital bed, holding your newborn baby girl in your arms. You were very tired and at a loss as to how to comfort her. You felt so helpless that couldn't help crying with her. “Nonono…Freya…what should I do..?”

Ghost rushed into the room, his heart pounding with worry and excitement. He saw you, exhausted and overwhelmed, holding your newborn baby girl in your arms, tears streaming down your face.

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside you. He reached out a trembling hand, gently stroking your hair, trying to soothe you. He whispered, his voice soft and comforting. “Shhh...it’s okay. Don’t cry, love. You’re doing great.”

“I don’t know how to do? Freya kept crying…”

Ghost's expression softened, his heart swelling with love and concern for you. He gently took the baby from your arms, cradling her against his chest. He said, his voice soft and soothing. “It's alright. Babies cry. It's the only way they can communicate.”

He slowly rocked the baby back and forth, gently shushing her, his touch tender and caring. He repeated, rocking her gently. “Shhh...it’s okay. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here…”

The baby gradually calmed, her crying diminishing to soft hiccups and gurgles. Ghost smiled, his expression filled with a mixture of wonder and amazement. “See? It just takes a bit of patience and some gentle shushing.”

Price and Soap stood nearby, their own expressions filled with a mix of amusement and affection. Soap teased, a cheeky grin on his face. “Who knew the mighty Ghost would be a natural at this dad thing.”

You’re still crying after you feel the pain and loss. After the baby girl stopped crying, you wiped away your tears and catch the breath again. Ghost’s attention shifted back to you, his expression filled with concern and love. He could see the tears streaming down your face, the exhaustion and pain you were experiencing.

He carefully handed the baby to Soap, who held her with a look of wonder on his face, and turned back to you. He sat back down beside you, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did great, love. You brought a beautiful little girl into this world. You were amazing.”

You couldn't bear it anymore, you threw yourself into his arms and cried. The pain of pregnancy and the helplessness of the baby's cry almost made you despair. Ghost wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his touch gentle and comforting.

He could feel your body trembling, the tears soaking his shirt, and his heart ached with sympathy and understanding. He held you tight, rocking you slowly from side to side, his voice soft in your ear. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You did great, love. You did great.”

“Thanks…Simon. I’m scared when Freya crying.”

Ghost's expression softened, understanding your fear and helplessness. He held you tighter, his grip strong and reassuring. His voice tender. “It’s alright to be scared, love. Being a parent is frightening. But you don’t have to be scared alone. I’m here for you, and so is Soap and Price. We’re family. We’ll figure this parenting thing out together.”

“I know…but I’m still panicked when she cried.”

Ghost caressed your cheek gently, his touch gentle and soothing. He could see the worry and exhaustion in your eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to ease your mind. “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. You brought a beautiful baby girl into the world. And we’ll figure everything out together.”

He pulled you closer, holding you tight against him, his warmth enveloping you like a comforting blanket. “We’re in this together, love. Me and you.”

Price and Soap watched the exchange between you and Ghost with knowing grins. They could see the love and affection between you, and they were both happy to see their comrades finding such contentment and happiness. Price, in his gruff way, chimed in with a sly comment. “Alright, you two lovebirds. Get a room.”

“Oh come on! I’m just finished, give me a break.”

Price chuckled, his expression filled with devilish amusement. He teased. “Ah, come on. You can't blame me for being envious. Ghost gets to be a dad now, and I'm still stuck as the old, grumpy Captain.”

Soap chuckled at Price's comment, unable to resist joining in the banter. Soap chimed in, his tono mock serious. “Don't worry, Captain. You can be the fun uncle. Spoil the kid rotten and give them sweets before bedtime.”

“My lovely brother, hand over my daughter.”

Soap grinned, his expression filled with mock indignation. He protested, his tone light and playful. “Ah, little sister, I thought I could hold my niece for a bit longer?”

Price chuckled, shaking his head at Soap's antics. He said, patting Soap on the shoulder. “Alright, alright, give the girl her daughter back.”

Soap reluctantly handed the baby back to you, his expression filled with a mixture of reluctance and affection. You stroked her cheek and smiled. “Hey, Freya. Mommy’s here…”

Your baby girl looked up at you with wide eyes, her expression curious and innocent. She gurgled softly, her little hands reaching out towards you. Ghost watched the scene with a heart filled with love and affection. Seeing you holding your baby girl, the bond between mother and child so strong and immediate, made his heart swell with pride and joy.

He stood by your side, his hand resting gently on your shoulder, watching as you cooed to your baby girl, your voice filled with love and tenderness. Soap and Price stood nearby, their expressions softened by the scene unfolding in front of them. Soap had a warm smile on his face, and even Price had a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Soap couldn't help but chime in, his tone filled with affectionate teasing. “Look at you, little sis. Already a natural at this mom thing.”

Six years later, late one night, at Ghost's home. Ghost hasn't come back from the base yet, Freya and you are the only ones left at home. You are sleeping in the upstairs bedroom, and Freya suddenly woke up in the downstairs bedroom. Ghost quietly entered the house, closing the front door behind him with a soft click. He was just returning from the base, still clad in his tactical gear and balaclava.

As he walked towards the living room, he heard the sound of soft footsteps coming down the stairs. He looked up and saw his little girl, Freya, standing at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide with surprise as she saw him in his balaclava for the first time.

Ghost froze, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the fear and confusion etched on his little girl's face. He hadn't expected her to wake up at this late hour. He quickly realized that he must have looked intimidating to her, with his face covered and his body in tactical gear. He took a slow step towards her, his voice soft and gentle. “Hey, sweetie. It's just me, daddy.”

But Freya backed away, her eyes still wide with fear, her little body trembling. She had never seen her dad looking like this before, and the sight of him was clearly unsettling her. Ghost felt a pang of worry and concern in his chest. He knew he had to find a way to reassure her, to show her that he was still her dad, despite his appearance. He crouched down, making himself smaller and less intimidating.

You are sleeping soundly when suddenly heard a loud cry and scream. It was Freya. You opened the drawer, took out a gun and loaded it, then ran to downstairs. As soon as you got downstairs, Freya ran to hide behind you, hugged your legs and cried. You pointed your gun forward without hesitation. “You son of bitch—eh?! Simon?!”

Ghost held up his hands in surprise, his balaclava still covering his face. He looked at the gun in your hand, then at Freya hiding behind you, her little arms wrapped tightly around your legs. He said, his voice low and urgent. “Love, put the gun down. It's just me. I just came back from the base.”

“Shit. Oh, sorry. I thought someone kidnapped Freya. Jeez, I’m glad that I didn’t pulled the trigger or else your head would be hurt. I’ll put down the gun.”

Ghost watched as you slowly lowered the gun, your hand trembling slightly. He could see the realization and relief washing over your face, as you finally recognized him. He took another step closer, his expression gentle and reassuring. “It's alright. There was no need to shoot me.”

He looked down at Freya, who was still hiding behind you, her little arms wrapped tightly around your legs. You coaxed your daughter gently. “Freya, he’s not gonna hurt you. Daddy is here, he’s just covering his face because his work.”

Freya peaked her head out from behind you, her eyes locked on Ghost's masked face. She looked scared and uncertain, her little body still trembling.

Ghost crouched down to her level, trying to make himself smaller and less intimidating. He slowly reached up and pulled the balaclava off his face, revealing his familiar features. “See? It's just me, sweetie. It's just daddy.”

Freya's eyes widened as she saw her dad's face, her confusion giving way to recognition. The fear slowly faded from her expression, replaced by relief and comfort. She hesitated for a moment, still clinging to your leg, before slowly letting go and taking a tentative step towards Ghost.

Ghost held out his hand to her, his expression warm and encouraging. “Come here, sweetie.”

Freya hesitantly stepped forward, her little hand reaching out towards Ghost's hand. He took her hand in his, his grip gentle and reassuring. He guided her towards him, sitting down on the floor as he pulled her into his lap. “Daddy's here. There's no need to be scared.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his chest. Freya buried her face in his chest, her little body trembling with lingering fear and surprise. Ghost held her close, rubbing her back gently, trying to soothe her. He could feel her heartbeat slowly returning to normal, the tension in her body easing as she felt the safety and warmth of his embrace.

“Well, first experience Freya with your mask on.” You couldn’t help it and teasing him playfully.

Ghost chuckled softly, his expression filled with fondness. He said, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “Yeah, I suppose it was a bit of a shocker for her.”

He looked down at his daughter, who was still clinging to him tightly, her face buried in his chest. He joked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It seems like maybe I should start wearing my mask around the house more often.”

“Jeez. Fucking nononono. No, I can’t kiss your sexy lips, and Freya can’t clinging you.” You pinched his cheek, your voice tone like warning.

Ghost chuckled again, amused by your reaction. He said, his voice teasing. “Well, I wouldn't want to sacrifice the kissing or the cuddling.”

He looked down at his daughter, who was still clinging to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. “And I suppose this little one wouldn't appreciate it if daddy was always covered up either. She needs to see my handsome face sometimes.”

You couldn't help but chuckle at his words, your own expression softening at the sight of Ghost holding his daughter so gently in his arms. “Yeah, I don't think she'd like it very much if she couldn't see her daddy's face all the time either.”

Ghost looked up at you, his expression warm and affectionate. He asked, his voice low and playful. “And you, love? Would you miss my handsome face if I kept the balaclava on more often?”

“Hahaha. I’m not gonna asked you to take it off. I’m just gonna kick your ass and ripped the balaclava out. Oh! Freya, you okay now?”

Freya had finally stopped crying, her little sobs turning into hiccups as she slowly calmed down. She lifted her head from her dad's chest, her tears still staining her cheeks. She looked up at you, her expression a mix of fear and confusion, before looking back at Ghost. She said in a small voice. “Daddy?”

Ghost smiled gently at her, his expression softening. He replied, his voice gentle and warm. “Yes, sweetie?”

Freya's little hand reached up to touch his face, her expression filled with awe and curiosity. She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “You're not a bad guy?”

Ghost's expression turned solemn, his heart filling with sadness at her words. He knew she had been scared of him when she saw him in his balaclava, and he understood why. He shook his head softly, his voice tender. “No, sweetie. I'm not a bad guy. I'm your daddy.”

“Freya, it’s your daddy, truly.” You continue coaxing her, you pressed a kiss on Freya’s forehead then Simon’s cheek.

Freya looked up at you, her little hand still touching Ghost's cheek. She seemed to be processing what you had said, trying to make sense of the situation.

Ghost looked at her, his expression filled with tenderness and love. He reached up to gently grab her little hand, holding it in his much larger one. He placed a gentle kiss on her small fingers. “It's true, sweetie. I am your daddy, and I would never hurt you.”

Freya looked at him, her expression still etched with a hint of fear and confusion. But slowly, she seemed to be softening, her little body relaxing in his arms.

She looked down at their hands, her small fingers clutching his tightly. She asked, her voice a small whisper. “Promise?”

Ghost's expression turned gentle and reassuring. He took her little chin in his hand, tilting her face up towards his. He said, his voice filled with conviction. “I promise, sweetie. I will always protect you and keep you safe. I will never, ever hurt you.”

“Ahem. Sorry for interrupting this moment. By the way, Little Freya Riley. I thought you’re sleeping? Why did you suddenly wake up?”

Ghost looked at his daughter, his expression filled with curiosity. Freya looked sheepish, her little face blushing as she looked down at her feet. She fidgeted with the hem of her pajama top, her voice small and hesitant. She mumbled, her words barely audible. “I had a bad dream.”

“Hm. Understood. Well…daddy is back today. Do you want to sleep together with us?”

Freya looked up at you, her eyes lighting up at the suggestion. She nodded eagerly, her little body still clinging to Ghost's. She replied, her voice filled with anticipation. “Yes, I want.”

Ghost chuckled, his expression softening as he looked at his little girl. He stood up, holding her close to his chest. He said, his tone affectionate. “Alright, sweetie. Let's go get you settled in bed.”

“Uh huh. Love. You shower first, take off your gear. This is home, not the war zone.” You mentioned.

Ghost chuckled at your words, his expression amused. “Aye, love. I'll go take a shower, and then I'll join you both in bed.”

He looked down at his daughter, who was still clinging to him. He could feel her little body trembling slightly, the remnants of fear from earlier still lingering. “You gonna be okay with mom for a bit, sweetie?”

“Of course she’s okay with me. She’s my daughter.”

Ghost chuckled at your response, his expression filled with affection. He said, his voice soft and warm. “I know, love. I just wanted to make sure she was alright.”

He looked down at Freya, who was looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes. He kissed the top of her head, his expression filled with love and tenderness. he asked, his voice gentle. “Be a good girl for mommy, okay?”

Freya nodded, her expression serious and determined. She replied, her voice firm. “I will, daddy.”

Ghost smiled at her, his expression filled with pride. He knew his little girl was strong and brave, just like her mother. “That's my girl. Alright, love. I'll be back soon.”

You picked up Freya, kissed her on the forehead. Then you approached Simon, you covered Freya’s eyes to shield her sight. You leaned closer to him and pressed a deep kiss lingering for a moment. After, you took her upstairs to your bedroom.

Ghost watched as you picked up their daughter, his expression amused and touched by your gesture. He chuckled softly as you covered her eyes before you leaned in and kissed him. He felt a warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sensation of your lips against his, the taste of you still as sweet as he remembered.

He watched as you took Freya upstairs, his expression softening as he saw his little girl clinging to you. He knew she was in good hands, and he would be with you shortly. Ghost stood there for a moment, his heart full and his thoughts swirling with affection for you and his daughter. He could hear your voices coming from upstairs, your soothing tone as you spoke to Freya, and her little giggles in response.

He took a deep breath, letting the tension and adrenaline from his mission release from his body. He knew he could finally relax, knowing that he was home with his family. He finally turned and walked towards the bathroom, ready to take a long and much-needed shower.

“Since daddy is showering, my little Freya come give mommy a good night kiss kiss?” Your cheeks nuzzling her cheeks as you want your daughter little kiss.

Freya's eyes lit up at your request, her little face breaking into a wide smile. She exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. “Kiss kiss!”

She wriggled out of your arms, her little legs wobbling slightly as she stood on her own. She took a few steps towards you, her expression filled with anticipation. She leaned forward, her little hands bracing on your shoulders for support, and planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

You pressed a kiss on her forehead. Then opened the bedroom door and settled Freya on the bed. You’re laying down beside her and covered you two with the blanket. You gently patted her to coax her sleeping.

Freya snuggled up against you, her little body tucked firmly under the covers. She closed her eyes, her expression finally relaxed and content. She wrapped her little arms around your waist, her grip loose and comfortable. She nuzzled her face against your chest, her breathing soft and steady.

As you continued to gently pat her back, you could feel her body growing heavier with each passing moment, a sure sign that she was falling into a peaceful slumber. You continued to hum the lullaby, the soft sound filling the room and creating a peaceful atmosphere. You could feel your own eyelids growing heavy, your body relaxing as you watched over your sleeping daughter.

Her little face was so peaceful and content, her expression soft and free of worry. Her little chest rose and fell with each breath, her soft, golden locks framing her delicate features. You couldn't help but smile, feeling so much love and protectiveness for this little girl who was now almost sound asleep in your arms. “Good night, my little girl.” You kiss her cheeks.

You laid there for a moment, just holding her, not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber. Every now and then, a tiny sigh would escape her lips, and her little limbs would twitch slightly, but otherwise she remained completely still. You could hear the faint sound of water running in the bathroom, signifying that Ghost was still in the shower.

You gently poked Freya's cheek. She was completely asleep. You quietly left the bed and went to the bathroom. You opened the door and saw your naked husband drying himself after taking a shower. You take off your clothes completely naked. You wrapped your arms around him. Slowly your left hand slipped down to his down part jerking off his hot dick and whispered. “Do you want it before bed?”

Ghost's eyes widen in surprise as you suddenly appeared behind him, completely naked. His body shivered as your arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He felt your hand slowly traveling down his body, and he couldn't help but let out a small gasp as you begin to touch him, your touch soft and teasing. He looked back at you, his expression a mix of surprise and excitement. “Oh, love. You're insatiable.”

Ghost turned around, his expression intense as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, his body pressed against yours. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and it only served to heighten his desire. “We have a little one asleep in the next room.”

“You were out on a mission with 141 for two weeks, and we didn't do it during that time. I had my needs. Don't you want to do it now?”

Ghost couldn't deny the truth in your words. It had been two long weeks since he had been away on a mission with Task Force 141. The absence of any intimate physical affection had left him feeling desperate and needy. He looked at you, his expression a mix of desire and tenderness. “Of course I want it. I craved your touch every moment I was away.”

He pulled you even closer, his body pressed tightly against yours. He could feel the heat of your skin against his, and the way your breath hitched as he touched you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered again. “But we have to be quiet, love. We don't want to disturb little Freya in the next room.”

“Then shut my mouth, Lieutenant Ghost.” You kissed his bare skin and touched it to tease him.

Ghost's eyes darkened at your request, a thrill of excitement running down his spine as he looked down at you. He didn't need to be told twice. He cupped your face in his hand, tilting your head back as his lips descended upon yours in a deep, passionate kiss. His other hand pressed itself against your back, pulling you flush against his body as he let his tongue invade your mouth.

He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with eagerness and desire. He could feel the heat of your body against his, the way your breath hitched with every touch he gave you, and it drove him wild. He pushes you up against the wall, pinning you in place, his body pressed intimately against yours. And his lips never leave yours as he continues to kiss you, his lips moving forcefully and eagerly against yours, his need for you overwhelming.

He pressed his body against yours, his hardness pressing against your stomach. He groaned into your mouth, the sound filled with need and desire. His hands roam over your body, touching you anywhere and everywhere he could reach, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of your body. He breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, nipping and biting at your skin as he whispers huskily in your ear. “I missed you so much, love.”

“Oh—fuck—I missed you more—“

Ghost's lips move along the line of your neck, his tongue tracing a path to your collarbone, where he nips at the sensitive skin with his teeth. He whispers hoarsely, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touch. “I don't think that's possible, love. I was counting the hours until I could be with you again.”

You feel he’s sucks hard on a patch of skin at the base of your neck, his intent on marking you as his own. “Fuck—ah—you—still want to compete—with me—”

Ghost chuckles against your skin, his lips moving to another spot, where he repeats the same action, leaving another mark on your body. “Always, love. I always want to compete with you, and I always want to win.”

He starts to move down your body, his lips leaving a trail of biting kisses along your collarbone, his hands reaching up to cup your breasts. “Damn—ah—you—“

Ghost chuckles again at your curse, the sound muffled against your skin as he continues his exploration of your body. He teases, his mouth moving lower still, his lips brushing over the swell of your breasts. “Language, love.”

His hands grip your sides, holding you in place as he continues to kiss and nibble at your flesh, his touch growing more urgent and possessive. Ghost's hands move down to your thighs, his fingers spreading them apart, as his kisses move lower. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, as he slowly trails his lips along your inner thigh, his mouth hovering just above where you want him most.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, as he slowly trails his lips along your inner thigh, his mouth hovering just above where you want him most. His breath is hot against your skin, and you can feel the tension coiled in his body like a tightly wound spring. He whispers, his voice low and rough. “I've been thinking about this since I left. I can't wait to taste you, love.”

Ghost grins, his lips ghosting over your sensitive flesh. His tongue flicking out to taste your skin. He can feel the way you shiver, how your body responds to his touch, and it only encourages him to tease you further. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping you tightly as he moves closer to your core. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

“Fuck—ah—Fuck me now, I can't wait—“

Ghost's eyes darken with desire at your plea, his body responding to your neediness. He looks up at you, his expression hungry, before he rises to his feet. He grabs your hips, turning you around to face the wall. He pushes your body against the wall, pinning you in place as he presses himself tightly against your back. His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts, and his mouth moves to your ear. “Are you ready for me, oh my lovely wife?”

“Yes—ah—“ You moan softly.

Ghost's hands move down your body, his fingers trailing over your skin, as he positions himself behind you. He leans over your body, his chest and stomach pressed firmly against your back. He presses his hardness against your core, his body quivering with anticipation, as he grips your hips tightly. Ghost's breath catches in his throat at your words, his body responding to your eagerness. He lines himself up with your entrance, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

His words send a shiver down your spine, your anticipation growing even more intense. You take a deep breath, feeling his hands on your hips, as he starts to push into you slowly and gently. You breathe out, unable to stop the words from escaping your lips. “Ah—Ghost—“

Ghost shudders at the sound of his name on your lips, his body trembling with desire. His mouth leaving a trail of kisses along your shoulder blade. He begins to move, his hips rocking gently against yours as he pushes further into you. He whispers, his voice ragged and rough. “You feel so good, love.”

Ghost's body presses against your back, his movements growing more urgent and desperate. His words almost lost in the sound of your combined gasps and moans. He pushes into you harder, his fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to control himself. His movements become rougher, more demanding, as if he's trying to make up for the time he was gone.

Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your breath coming in short gasps as you cling onto him for support. He leans in, his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes—yes!—“ You gasp out, your body trembling with pleasure. You manage to say, barely coherent as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You plead, your words half-gasps and half-whimpers.

“I won't stop—not until you come apart for me—“ He whispers and his hot breath on your bare skins.

You gasp, your words a desperate plea. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alive and buzzing with pleasure. You manage to say. “Don't hold back—I want all of you, Ghost.”

“I—I can't—“ He gasps again, his body on the edge.

“You make me-I-“ His words are lost as he finally comes undone, his body shuddering as Waves of pleasure washes over him. He holds onto you tightly, his breath ragged and uneven as he tries to catch his breath. His body is covered in a sheen of sweat, his muscles quivering with exertion.

He breathes, his voice soft and tender. “Ha—Damn it—I love you, love. So fucking love you.”

“Ha—I love you too—“ You feel Ghost collapses against you, his body spent and boneless, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against him, as he tries to catch his breath.

He whispers, his voice filled with affection and admiration. “You're incredible, love. I don't know how I survived two weeks without you.”

“Hahaha. Let's clean it up. Today Freya sleeps with us, I don't want she wake up and not find us.”

Ghost chuckles, his breath still a little ragged. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment, before he pulls away reluctantly. “Fair enough. Let's go take a quick shower, then we can check on Freya.”

As you and Ghost make your way to the shower, you can't help but feel a deep sense of contentment and peace settling over you. The water cascading over your bodies is warm and soothing. You wash each other off, your touch tender and gentle. Ghost's hands roam over your body, his touch possessive and caring. He washes your hair, massaging your scalp with his fingers, as he presses soft kisses to your neck.

You return the favor, your own hands gliding over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, and the scars that mar his body. You wash away the stress and tension that had been building up for the past two weeks, replaced by a deep sense of comfort and intimacy. Ghost pulls you close, his body pressed against yours, as he whispers words of love and reassurance into your ear.

By the time you finish washing up, the steam in the bathroom is thick and hazy. You and Ghost step out of the shower, wrapping yourselves in towels, as you make your way to the bedroom.

As you enter the room, you can see that Freya is still asleep, her small body curled up under the covers. “Huff. Lucky our noises didn’t wake her up.”

Ghost smiles, his gaze shifting to the sleeping child. He crosses the room and sits down on the edge of the bed, his knees touching the mattress. “Yeah, she's a heavy sleeper. You go get dressed, love. I'll keep an eye on her.”

“Alright. You can sleep first. You haven't slept with her for two weeks. Both of you must be miss each other.”

Ghost's expression softens at your words. He looks down at the sleeping child beside him, a mixture of affection and guilt crossing his face. He admits, his voice low. “I missed her so much.”

He reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead, his touch tender and gentle. he adds, looking up at you with a soft smile. “But I missed you too. More than I thought I would.”

“Hehehe. Get your sexy body lying down and stay with her. I'll get dressed and come join with you two.”

Ghost nods, giving you a small smile. He crawls into the bed, pulling the covers over him as he settles in beside Freya. She shifts a little in her sleep, her small body seeking the warmth and comfort of her father. Ghost wraps his arm around her, his hand resting gently on her back as he watches her sleep.

You head into the bathroom, quickly drying off and getting dressed. When you return to the bedroom, you find Ghost and Freya asleep. Ghost is on his back, his arm still draped over Freya, who is snuggled up against his side. They look peaceful and content, their faces relaxed in sleep. “Hehehe. This father and daughter are so cute.”

Ghost's head is turned towards Freya, his face softened in sleep. You can hear the steady sound of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest as he keeps his arm wrapped protectively around her. Freya is cuddled up against him, her small body pressed against his side.

You walk over and stand beside the bed, a soft smile on your face as you watch the sleeping pair. “Guess tonight my little girl sleeps in the middle huh. What a cutie pie.”

You climb into bed, slipping in carefully on the other side of Ghost, trying not to disturb the sleeping pair. Ghost stirs a little at your movement, but he doesn't wake up. Instead, he shifts a little, pulling you closer to him, his arm draping over your body as he settles back into his sleep. Freya is sandwiched between you and Ghost, her small body nestled in the middle, as she continues to sleep peacefully.

You smile as you feel the weight of Ghost's arm around you, his touch a familiar and comforting presence even in sleep. As you lie there, watching the sleeping pair, you realize that this moment of peace and contentment is exactly what you need. The stress and tension of the past few weeks fade away, replaced by a sense of safety and contentment. You close your eyes, feeling the warm presence of Ghost behind you, and the sweet breath of Freya against your chest.

“Good night. My love, my little Freya.”

The End 🖤♥️

[kittenlovebird]

Chat Obviously I truly hate being the one person tooting this horn again, but I also know that I really have enjoyed this team and its players for a while now. Championship winning teams have been invited to the White House for years and it is considered a huge honor - no matter who’s in term. I am in no way a Trump supporter, and a lot of his decisions right now are hurting my family in very personal ways, but at the same time I know that this is - at its core - something that is common in the sporting world, and something that is very important to a team’s franchise.

This is a team from South Florida with an owner who’s been buddy-buddy with Trump for a while now. No matter the stance of a team owner or its players, no team would decline a chance to be honored at the White House and give a speech in front of the president. This does not excuse the fact that all of this is happening right now, when it easily could have happened months ago, but I wanted to share my perspective on why I am still planning on watching their games and cheering them on. Sorry for the long post ✌️

(also pls don’t go around harassing ppl about this kinda stuff and calling ppl fascist or the embodiment of evil or smth. No matter what we think their beliefs are, they aren’t preaching anything or pushing any agendas that could genuinely harm someone. These are still people, and they still have families.)

[more-sonorous]

Uh I love going through your channel and reading all of the stories you come up with and I’m amazed and love them. It brings me joy to read them. I don’t know if you take requests I was wondering if you could do one where race has some problems and Jack is the only one who can get him to talk. Thank you!!!

i loved this ask! played around with it a bit and created a piece full of brotherly love that i'm truly hoping is what you were looking for!

have this little slice of life :)

.....

little ray of sun-- racetrack and jack

By all accounts, Jack Kelly had a decent day. He’d spent the morning pissing Pulitzer off by drawing egregious comics all of the other artists found funny, flinging droplets of ink onto the man’s shoes every time he strolled up to his desk, and using the most horrible grammar he could muster. By five, Pulitzer’s jaw was twitching but he had three spectacular political comics staring him down, so he couldn’t complain. Instead he glared up at Jack and a snarl formed beneath his perfectly groomed mustache as he dismissed him for the day.

Pushing old Joe’s buttons was Jack’s favorite work pastime when he worked at The World on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. It always put him in a chipper mood to know that he was one of the most popular artists on Pulitzer’s team, so the old bastard couldn’t really fire him even if he wanted to since people were raving about his comics. He couldn't fire him over little things anyways, like Jack putting his feet up on his desk or wearing a bandana ‘round his neck instead of a tie. He’d gotten good at subtly irking the man without breaking any office rules, and it added a bit of life to his boring office work. When he earned that little jaw twitch? Well, Jack considered the day a win. 

He carefully shelled out a few cents on a pretzel for dinner and finished it on his way back to the Lodgings, brushing the coarse salt off on his trousers and whistling to himself as he walked. At his core, Jack Kelly was a little shit. He enjoyed his little shit moments when he could.

As he dreamed up ways to dramatically retell his office antics for the littlest newsies, he rounded the corner to find Albert’s head of gleamingly red hair perched on the steps leading up to the familiar lodging house. The moment the sarcastic ginger laid eyes on him found him shooting to his feet and practically speedwalking to Jack. 

“Kelly!”

“Yo, Albert.” Jack greeted cheerfully, removing his own hat and pushing a hand through his hair as he took a glance at the distressed expression on the freckled face in front of him. His cheer seemed to slip into nothingness. “Everythin’ okay?”

Half of Albert’s thin mouth curled into a snarl. “No. Obviously it ain’t. It’s fuckin’ Racer, Jack, he’s– he’s doing that thing he does and I dunno what the fuck to do.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack sighed, glancing up at the doors as a spike of worry for his almost-little-brother shot through his chest. Tension coiled through his limbs. “Okay, I’ll handle it–”

“You better, man, because I couldn’t. I even got Crutch and Davey to try. He wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t say a goddamn word to us. Davey’s out collecting bits from the guys to pay for Race’s bunk tonight, and I’m sure he’s gonna get enough, but this can’t happen tomorrow. Racer’s already short on cash–” Despite Albert’s harsh, biting tone, Jack knew the kid well enough to see deeply rooted concern in the furrow of his brow and the tight shrug of his shoulders. He was tense right up to his ears.

“I got it, Albert. Anyone tried getting him to eat yet?” He started a quick jog up the stairs and into the building. Though Jack knew what to do, that didn’t make him any less jittery when things like this happened.

He found himself despising his ‘real job’ because it meant he couldn’t spend mornings here with the boys. If he’d’ve known about Race’s situation sooner, maybe his brother wouldn’t’ve missed out on a day of selling. Jack barely checked in with Kloppman as he thundered up the stairs, Albert trailing behind and talking a mile a minute through a lopsided, thickly accented mouth. His speech might’ve sounded like another language to someone that didn’t know him well.

“Yeah, Crutch’s up there workin’ on dinner. I just dunno what coulda caused this one, Jack, he seemed fine yesterday and he was playin’ poker last night before bed– he seemed fuckin’ normal and now he ain’t even speakin’ to anyone–”

“Well, sometimes there ain’t a reason.” Jack toed open the door to the bunkroom and Albert stumbled to a halt behind him, both of them gazing at the sight of Crutchie murmuring softly to a despondent lump of Racetrack. Other newsies lingered silently around, awkwardly pretending like they weren’t nosy-ly watching the scene in the corner unfold. Jack’s chest squeezed tightly and a soft exhale escaped him, worry and exasperation all in one. “Sometimes he just gets like this. But I’ll figure it out, Al, don’t go all batshit on me.”

The redhead practically growled, proving every stereotype of fiery gingers more than true at that moment. Race would be delighted to know that he had an angry guard dog as a best friend. “I ain’t even close to batshit, Kelly.”

“Well, if that's the case, why don’t’cha help Dave collect donations? Scare the kids into puttin’ a penny in your hat or somethin'.” He swiped Albert’s backwards cap right off his head and held it out with a well-practiced cheeky grin, earning him another sneer. 

Albert snatched his cap back and stormed out of the room, each movement tight and tense with worry. Jack crossed the room in a few strong strides, gently tapping Crutchie on the shoulder. He held a glass of water and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, both entirely untouched. When Crutch met his eyes, a silent understanding passed between them and like the well oiled machine of brotherhood they were, the boys switched places. Crutchie ruffled Jack’s hair and tucked his crutch beneath his arm, immediately limping off to go clear the stragglers out of the room.

Jack pushed a hand through Race’s head of fair hair and glanced over his expression– tight with sadness, blue eyes staring straight ahead. “Mornin’, buddy.”

Racer closed his eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, which he took to be a good sign as he ran his fingers through his brother’s tangled hair. Jack's skin seemed darker than usual against the light coils of Race’s dirty hair, matted and tangled. “Rough day today?”

As expected, Jack didn’t receive a response. He carefully set the sandwich and water aside and tugged his fingers through Race’s hair. It wasn’t very intimate or sweet as it might’ve been with someone like Dave or Kath, because Race was a proper mess and his hair was beyond tangled. Jack worked the kinks out and watched his nose wrinkle and twitch, upper lip curling every so often as a reminder that he was cognitive and alive and feeling something, still. 

“Everybody’s worried about you.” Jack started, trying not to betray just how deep that worry was. This wasn’t the first time– far from it– but that didn’t make it any less scary. “I am too, a’course. Wish I woulda been there for you this morning, buddy, but Bastard Old Joe would fire me if I was any more than a minute late to his shitty office. Still, ‘m here now. Want’cha to talk to me, if that’s appealing at all. You gotta talk to someone, after all, or Albert’s gonna get so mad his head’ll turn as red as his hair. Then he’ll explode or some shit, I dunno.”

Jack knew this side of Race like the back of his hand. He remembered countless days in their shared past when Race would wake up just the same as he was now, glued to the sheets and subdued and silent, remaining still and motionless for as long as possible. The impossibly impish trickster he normally was would disappear beneath lumps of thin quilt and stony silence would take over in its wake, turning Racer into someone unresponsive and lethargic. Jack had a hunch that it was because of the constant motion Racetrack was in. Always with a smirk or a stinging quip, running betting circles and poker games and puffing cigars. Full of biting sarcasm, mind racing a mile a minute, bright as a star with nowhere to shine. An engine constantly chugging along, overheating until the point of exhaustion. Breakdown. That was whatever this was– the point where he chugged to a sudden halt and collapsed, withdrawn and almost unreachable. 

It happened once or twice a year, almost always in the bleak, dark, wintry months. Sometimes Race would spring out of bed the next morning, chipper like nothing ever happened. One time, when they were around ten and twelve, he was stuck in bed for a week. Jack wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“You don’t want Alfred to explode, do you? We’ll hafta find another token ginger…”

“No.” Race croaked, finally responding to the subtle joking that always drew him out of his shell. 

That’s what Jack had figured out– gentle touches, lighthearted mood, quips and teases. It took that. He didn’t respond well to Crutchie’s optimistic mothering or Albert’s intense pushing. Jack could picture Davey in all of his awkward loveliness trying to sternly coach Race out of the bed with false logical positives, like he was waking Les up and trying to get him dressed for the day. No, Jack knew Race, and he knew that Race responded to the feeling that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That things were normal.

“That’s what I thought.” Jack responded, with the same calm cheer coloring his tone. “Now c’mon, you can’t let me have better hair than you for a whole day. You wanna get up? Have a bite of dinner? Looks like someone got you somethin' from Jacobi’s…”

After a moment of silence, Racetrack weakly shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “Can’t.”

“Can’t get up, that’s okay. I ain’t gonna make you.” He parroted, gently pulling his fingers through Race’s separated curls. “I would like it if you’d talk to me, though. So’s I can get a good night’s sleep, knowin’ what’s on your mind. I know you like torturin’ me but I sorta need my rest…”

The blonde let out a quiet snort, the motion jerking the blankets he held clutched to his chest. Jack couldn’t help his own smile at the transformation in the younger boy’s expression. He seemed to soften around the edges, with a little exhale that spelled progress. “Can’t deprive the great President of his beauty sleep… How’s he gonna sell papes without his pretty boy face?”

“That’s the problem– I need my pretty boy face. It’s the only thing I got goin’ for me.” Jack joked back with practiced ease, like everything was fine and Race wasn’t having one of his bad days. It was good, and it worked, because Racer snorted again.

In one shift of obviously difficult motion, Racetrack rolled onto his back and stared up at the wood holding up the bunk above them. Jack placed a careful hand on his shoulder and went still, waiting patiently. He could see Race’s mind moving behind intelligent blue eyes, the dart of his irises and the wrinkle of his nose as he thought. Sorting through his thoughts. Analyzing. A mathematician's brain, not at all like Jack’s artist brain or Davey’s literature brain or Kath’s journalist brain. Solving a problem. Race was a skeleton of problems and solutions wrapped in skin with a trickster’s smile. He was missing one of his pieces in that bed, because half of his face was occupied by an uncharacteristic frown. 

Finally, he spoke. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about what the fuck I’m gonna do after this.”

“After what?” Jack tried to put the pieces together, but he’d never been good at solving Race’s cryptic riddles. “When you get outta bed?”

“No. After all’a this.” He muttered, throwing one hand up as if gesturing to the entire bunkroom. “I got nothin’ planned. Once I’m eighteen and Klop gives me the boot, I’m done.”

Oh. Jack knew this rabbit hole of thought all too well. The cause of Race’s spiral was one that had caused him many spirals of his own, and it probably did the same for almost every newsboy that came before them. “You ain’t done. You basically got two years to figure shit out, man. Plus, you’se smart as a whip. Anybody would kill to have you workin’ for them if they knew how your brain worked.”

“Yeah, but they don’t, and since my Ma had to go and fuckin’ die on me, I ain’t got no schoolin’ to show for it. No proof.” He muttered, dragging his hands over his face. “I hit eighteen and boom, I’m on the streets. My Pa’s gonna want me to join his fuckin’ gang and I can’t do that, Jack, I swear to God–”

“You don’t hafta join any gang, Race, we’ll find you some other job. Stuff comes up when you least expect it. You gotta look at the good and the bad.” Jack reassured, carefully squeezing Race’s shoulder.

He sighed, hard and long. “Well sometimes it don’t feel like there’s any good.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Jack responded, even though he knew the feeling far too well. Before Pulitzer miraculously offered that job, he’d been thinking the same thoughts. Now he was staring down the barrel of a secure future where he worked full time as an artist for the paper. It had all been pure luck. Chance. How was he supposed to explain that sorta thing? “I hear you, but you might not be lookin’ in the right places. Listen– we’ll get Davey on the job hunt with us. I’m sure he knows a couple places that are hiring. You can get in early, start up part time like me, work your way up. By the time you’se eighteen, you’se set.”

“Okay.” Race breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay, that… that sounds okay.”

“Yeah?”

A tiny nod, a jostling of blonde curls. Jack let out a sigh of relief as Race finally pushed himself to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face. Every movement seemed like he was pushing through a sea of syrupy fatigue, fighting his own body to get things working again. Jack rubbed his back through it all– though he’d never experienced this sort of thing, Race had been through it more times than he could count, and it looked the same every time. Painful, difficult, but a surefire show of Racetrack’s incredible determination.

After a moment, he twisted awkwardly and lurched into Jack’s arms, wrapping him in a messy embrace. “Thanks, Jackie.”

“Don’t call me that, bud.” Jack responded simply, swinging his arms around Race and embracing him happily as the little shit exhaled a harsh laugh into his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and stale bed linens but he was talking and awake and moving, and that was more than enough to make Jack grin. “You want dinner? Water? You’re prob’ly fuckin’ parched.”

“Huh. Guess I am.” He said almost absently, like he was just then remembering his own humanity. Race reached across Jack and downed the glass of water in one go, before Jack offered him the sandwich and he slowly tucked in.

Moments like this made Jack remember why he’d stayed in this position for so long, leading these boys. They made him dread the day he had to leave, too. He slung an arm around Race’s shoulders and leaned back against the headboard of the bunk as the door creaked open, revealing a green-eyed boy with his cap held carefully in his hands. Jack motioned Davey in, tugging Race closer up against his side. The younger boy curled up beneath his arm, seeming to melt into the embrace.

“Hi, Racer. Feeling better?” Davey asked politely, coming to a halt beside the bed and tucking freckled hands into his pockets.

Race nodded wordlessly, without making eye contact as he bit his sandwich. He’d probably only be talking to Jack for a few hours, but that was how things always went. Jack had a remarkable knack for weaseling into people’s cracks and gently breaking them open. Davey rocked back on his feet, wearing a pleasant little smile. “That’s good. Your bunk is all paid for tonight, so no need to worry about that.”

“Great. Thanks, Dave.” Jack briefly grabbed his hand and squeezed, and like clockwork, Davey squeezed back. He trailed up to hold onto the taller boy's wrist as an idea struck him. “Hey, Davey, you think you could help Racer here start up a job search? Like, a post-newsie career?”

“Well, sure. I can think of a couple things that suit you, Race.” He smiled the type of smile that appeared when he had an idea. Jack felt confident for Racer that Davey was going to take good care of this little issue. Things would be okay, even if it was slow going. Even if Race was burrowing further into his arm, looking stony and miserable. “I’ll get back to you on that as soon as possible. Is it alright if I go tell the guys you’re alive and well up here?”

“Go inform the masses.” Jack responded easily, shooting Davey a lazy grin.

Davey returned the bright smile, crinkling his wide eyes into crescent moons. “Yessir. Oh, and Jackie?”

“Yeah, Dave?”

“Les gave me a couple of taffies for Race.” He briefly dug into his pocket and carefully deposited the candies in Jack’s palm, just a simple brush of pale skin against tan. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to, but if you do, I promise they’re safe for consumption.”

Jack thanked him and he disappeared as quickly as he came. Only once Jack had set the taffies aside, did he notice Race’s shit-eating smirk. A little bit of bright mischief was returning to his eyes as he trained them on Jack, brows curling downwards into a ghost of his usual impish expression. That was both a good and bad sign. Jack felt his own eyebrows raising. “What? What are you making that face for?”

Race’s teeth flashed in a little grin as he did a remarkable impression of Dave: “Jackie…”

And that earned him a smack upside the head. Jack’s face prickled with heat as he adamantly shook his head, rolling his eyes to the soundtrack of Race snickering beneath his arm. “Shaddap, ya’ bastard.”

Then he started fucking cackling, and Jack didn’t even have the energy to be pissed off at being the butt of the joke, because Race was gonna be okay. Rough patches were tough, but he could see a bit of sunlight through the clouds. Jack held him a little bit tighter and thanked the higher powers for small breakthroughs. 

....

thank you for the ask, darling! <3

[luna-rainbow]

Hi!

What do you think Bucky would have done if he were in Steve's shoes in the grenade scene? (I have a thought about it, but obviously it's my take on the character and it changes from person to person, which made me a little curious about other people's perspectives)

Thanks for the ask!

I know that scene is often mentioned as a mark of Steve’s bravery and selflessness — which, mind you, they are indeed qualities he possesses — but I think there’s also something tragic about Steve’s split second reaction, and something insidious about Phillips and Peggy choosing him for the serum.

Wanting to live is human instinct, and everyone diving away from the grenade is the natural reaction. Steve’s first reaction though is to use his body as a human shield. I think it says a couple of things: 1) yes he’s selfless and brave but also 2) he doesn’t have anything that makes him, in that moment, see living as an absolute must, and also likely 3) he felt he didn’t have enough time to run away from the grenade because of his physical limitations, and because that’s the baseline he’s lived with, he assumed other people wouldn’t have the time to get away either.

The act of shielding the grenade with his body is always an interesting character moment. Remember, he’s at an army range; he’s not surrounded by children who might need his protection, he’s surrounded by grown men fully capable of taking care of themselves. So in that moment, Steve saw himself as more disposable than everyone else. Is it low self-worth or a fatalistic sense of pragmatism? I guess you could take either reading.

Sorry, that was a lot of Steve meta 😅 As for Bucky…I like to think of him as someone who has a strong will to live, whether that’s because of his parents, his sisters, Steve or simply his love of living, someone who keeps surviving even when he’s been made to forget what that reason was. I think he wouldn’t hesitate to throw himself in front of his fellow soldiers on the field and we’ve seen him do that for Steve, but on the training ground? I think he’d have enough confidence and self-preservation to know it’s a test but also to get to a safe distance (and drag Steve with him 😂)

I don’t think that means Bucky fails the test by any means. The test itself was flawed and artificial. It was never a test of bravery. It was a test of self preservation - or lack thereof. As much as Erskine tells Steve (and the audience) that he’s chosen for being a good man, it’s likely that Philips chose Steve because he’s a guy with no family or connections who won’t be missed if anything went wrong…and he has a death wish.