#that reminds me I need to go there one of these days again

[my-castles-crumbling]

passion - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 260

“Mister Black,” Minerva McGonagall said sternly, resisting the urge to pinch at the bridge of her nose with her fingers as she gazed at the grinning sixth year, an entire class of students giggling behind their hands as she questioned all of her career choices, “I once again feel the need to remind you what a Passion Project is. The goal of this self-paced study is to choose a subject that is important to you and conduct independent research to grow your knowledge. It is to, quite possibly, begin to build an understanding of an area of study you might want to make a career out of or continue to pursue an education in after Hogwarts.”

“I know, Professor,” Sirius nodded, still grinning.

“So when you say you want to study Remus Lupin for your Passion Project, I must firmly decline,” Minerva said, internally counting the days until summer vacation.

Predictably, Sirius’s face fell. “But Professor, you said to pick the subject we’re most excited about. The thing we want to know more about than anything. The thing we could go on about for ages. There really is only one answer for me, and he’s right there,” he said, gesturing to Remus Lupin, who was shrinking in his chair, blushing and smiling a bit behind his hand.

But Minerva was quite done with this conversation. “Choose an appropriate subject, Sirius, or I will choose something for you,” she snapped.

“Are you saying my love for Remus is inappropriate? Professor, that’s a bit homophobic, you know…”

Godric, she needed a drink.

[cmdrfupa]

Lifetime

post shibuya!nanami x caregiver!reader

A series dedicated to healing and letting yourself have a second chance in this lifetime.

Inspired by this song that brings me to tears every single time.

content warning: shibuya arc, mentions of death, mental health awareness, angst(eventual comfort), burn victim so expect some detailed imagery.

wc: 4.9k

an: thank you for reading. I love you lots.

I.

Time seemed to trickle as Nanami waited for his physical therapist to arrive.

First at home session since being discharged.

4 days a week, 30 minutes a day.

“Individualized exercise program including rigorous activities as you progress to help you regain your independence.. Sure.” Nanami read from the pamphlet out loud and sighed as he looked over the stack of literature he left the rehab facility with.

He was thankful that he was deemed fit enough to continue his healing at home after 11 weeks in the best facility Gojo could find. While it accommodated every possible concern one could have, he was certain he wouldn’t feel confident in being self sufficient until he was able to put all he had learned into practice at home.

So there he was, sifting through paperwork and sipping his coffee as he awaited his new physical therapist and as Ino finished cleaning his kitchen.

“I think thats it! Lunch is in the black container on the top shelf in the fridge and I’ve prepped dinner for when Gojo comes to cook. Anything else before I’m off?” Takuma grabbed his keys, the jangle bringing Kento out of his reading trance as he looked up.

“Yes, that should be fine. I appreciate you coming over every morning Takuma. But it’s not necessary.”

Takuma scoffed, almost offended at the idea. “Nonsense. Its just a little breakfast and lunch. Its on my way to the school anyway. Consider it a small help.”

He could protest but Takuma would simply find another way to make himself useful. Whether it be taking him to his appointments or coming to slather his injuries: he was going to find a way to be of help.

As he adjusted his cast as best he could, a text popped up from an unsaved number.

>Hello, Mr. Nanami! Currently heading to you. ETA is ten minutes.

Signed with your name, Nanami simply reads the text and reacted to the message with thumbs up.

“Thank you, Takuma. Truly. But I think thats everything. My physical therapist is on their way so I’ll just hang out til then.”

“Alrighty! I’ll be working mostly on campus so just shoot me a text if you need me. Take it easy, Nanami.” with that, Ino grabbed his jacket and proceeded out the front door.

Nanami exhaled and got up to sit at the window. The mid morning sun was gentle but insistent, that soft golden hue brightening everything it touched.

It wasn’t harsh, just warm enough to remind Nanami of the outside world, a quiet promise that time was still moving. The warmth on his right side almost felt foreign as the dust mites danced lazily in the light. He closed his eyes, taking in the fragile sense of something stirring inside of him­— reposeful comfort in the way the sun didn’t have a sudden, overwhelming wave of joy but a soft declaration that he was still here.

Nanami hadn’t had many moments to really think about just how life changing the incident had been. Half of his body littered in 3rd degree burns, a third of that, 4th degree. Loss of hair on one side, an eye patch over his eye and a lack of feeling down his left arm.

He’d looked at himself in the mirror exactly once since the incident and didn’t do it again until he acquired his face prosthetic recently.

It was bulky and itchy, but it alleviated the deformities and more importantly, kept him from being too hard on his own appearance.

The moment felt necessary. Reminding him that the sun remained a constant while other things changed.

“I’ll need to see if I can sit outdoors for a few minutes a day. Would be good for me.” he noted outwardly before a light tapping at the front door had him shuffling towards the foyer.

One moment, please.” he paused a few paces before he reached the door to look down, remembering his shirt had a hole near the hem of it. He didn’t have time to change but only hoped the therapist wouldn’t see him as some undetermined slob with no real concern on how he looked.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Mr. Nanami?”

“That would be me.”

“Perfect! Hello! I was sent by the health and wellness agency as part of your transitioning to home health care. We have an appointment. May I come in?”

No scrubs, no accessories to signify you were a medical professional. Just a badge clip holding your ID with “HHA” boldly sitting under your name.

“Sure. Come on in.” He led you into the house, slowly walking into the living room and nodding towards the couch as you stood next to him.

You grin and sat on the far end of the couch, near the window, “Thank you.” you sat your tote littered in small pins on the coffee table and pulled out a somewhat thick file.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee?”

Shaking your head, you tapped the top of your bag. “No thank you. I have my tumbler. But I appreciate it!”

Nanami slightly bowed his head and sat in the solo chair next to the couch. “Alright so, how do we start this? I was told I’d see you four days a week with one more day possibly if I need to.”

You pursed your lips, looking down at your paperwork before looking back up to meet his neutral gaze.

“I believe that’s your physical therapist that you will be seeing four days out of the week.”

“Then pardon me for being so… impolite. But who are you exactly?”

The laugh that left your lips was a soft one but enough for Kento to lift his lips into a slight smile.

“I realize your discharge team didn’t give you names, faces, or titles. My apologies.”

“It happens.”

You continued. “I’m your Home Health Care Provider. While you were still in recovery, you met with your primary care provider and you spoke of your in home care, correct?”

Nanami nodded. “Yes.”

“Going over the team you’d have for your in housee rehabilitation, you were assigned a home health aide 5 days a week.”

His brow furrowed. “So you are that, I assume?”

“Yes. I will also be the one looking over the full team that provides you with your in-home care.”

“This feels very unnecessary.” The tone in his response was sharp. “I have people who come to help me with my daily needs. Having an entire team sounds like an exhausting back and forth to have coming to my house. A waste of resources.”

Your demeanor remained soft and understanding as you listened to his concerns. “Mr. Nanami. I understand that it sounds overwhelming. If I had to be in the predicament of needing a care team after an incident, I too would be a bit apprehensive.”

“But you aren’t. I am.”

The immediate smile that grew on your face wasn’t one that came from kindness. It was your defense, albeit an understandable one. “You are correct. I’m not. But I implore to at least hear me out on why its important to have us.”

A rush of emotions filled Kento’s chest. He wanted to pull his hair out from sheer frustration. But he remained calm.

His discomfort was obvious to you and you wanted to remedy the ache somehow.

“I want you to have an idea of what this could look like as you approach the first steps of gaining a sense of normalcy. Would you be willing to let me give you an example of what a week may look like for you? And if you don’t like it, we can adjust to a schedule that fits better for you.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Splendid.” You reached into your file and pulled out a thoroughly detailed schedule and turned it for Nanami to look along with you.

“So, this schedule is based loosely on the day to day you had while in the rehab facility. No matter who, anything involving someone from your team wouldn’t be arriving until 10am. This is unless you decide to utilize me. Then I would be here at 7 every morning to aide you with your morning routine.”

“What if I don’t want extensive help?”

“I would respect the boundary.”

Nanami took a closer look at the schedule, seeing the words ‘kitchen prep healing exercise’ highlighted for every Tuesday and Thursday. “What does this entail? Kitchen prep healing.”

“Your passions shouldn’t suffer because of changes. So I created a regimen that would help us get in the kitchen and get busy while making sure we help maintain your range of motion and fine motor skills.”

Nanami looked up at you for a moment, trying to assess just how serious you were about changing what he was uncomfortable with.

“So if I only need you for meal prep and assisting with chores around my house.”

“Then I will only help you with meal prep and assisting with your chores around the house.”

He handed the schedule back to you. “And if it isn’t something that I’ve mentioned?”

Trying to test you. Cute. “If you mention to me that would like me to assist you in going to the grocery store, fixing your bed, helping you get ready for your appointments, then I will. Because my goal is having you confident in yourself and your abilities.”

That nagging feeling of what if filled his chest and mind. Nanami knows he can’t do it alone. But to be a burden is the last thing he wants to ever become.

“I don’t want to become too dependent on you and your teams’ services.” He sat up as best he could, stretching out his legs and wincing at the unexpected intensity of his blood flowing through his left leg.”

Not wanting to lose the momentum, you sat on the edge of the couch alert of and aware of the pain he showed. “Your independence will not falter. We are merely an extension. We are the claw arm that’s in your reach if the jar of pickles are too high up, if you will.”

Nanami tried to stop the half smile on his face but faltered. “I understand.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” You smiled politely.

“A few,” Nanami cleared his throat. “When it comes to changing my dressings..”

“I will be the only one who sees them completely outside of your primary physician.” You answered, as if you were waiting for that specific question.

“Second question: can you properly fold a fitted sheet?”

You laughed, nodding. “The trick is in how you hold the corners. Line up the creases and you’ll always have a perfect fold.”

Nanami nodded. “Interesting.” The intense blood flow in his legs ceased and his body noticeably relaxed. He sat forward. “Final question, if you were to start tomorrow, could we have your start time for 8am? I like having the first hour of the day to myself.”

“If you want me here at 8 am, I will be at the door by 7:55 to knock at 7:59.”

The moment of silence was filled with hope as you realized you got to him. You let him see genuine concern and thats all he wanted. But this was only the beginning. And you were willing to be his guide to a sense of independence all the way through.

___________________________________________

The silence of the early morning was heavier than usual— a quit hum of of the refrigerator reached his room as he slept with his bedroom door open now, a new practice he’s since learned is a response to his trauma.

He sat on the side of his bed, staring down at his slippers that warmly held his feet as the barely visible morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and unrelenting.

“I embrace healing.” He spoke out loud, his voice still low, sleep riddened, as he slowly rose from the bed and grabbed his cane.

“We aren’t going to be hard on ourselves because this is still new to you, Kento. Its okay to not know what to do.”

Mornings were more of a drag than he would like for them to be.

His body was more stiff. More rigid. He needed 30 minutes minimum to sit on the side of the bed and stretch just to muster up enough internal energy to get up and grab his cane.

He sounded off, flipping the bathroom light on and adjusting the sink to run warm water. “Today will be a great day.” He washed his hands, meticulously washing between his fingers and flicking the excess off his fingers before he dried them, reaching for a clean towel and letting it soak under the faucet.

“You will be more than okay.” this time, he spoke as if someone would overhear him talking to his self.

Nanami shook his head, lowly chuckling at what he found himself doing.

Yuji began to send him various videos that initiated ‘positive self talk’ and ‘daily affirmations for healing the body.’ Yuji hoped to try and help expedite a process that Megumi told him more than fives times, would take awhile.

Slowly pulled away the dressing on his cheek, Nanami watched small bits of dead tissue peel away from his healing skin. He threw it in the trash hamper, then pumped a small dot of antimicrobial soap on the wet towel he’d soaked and gently began to wash his face.

He looked closely, inspecting every patch he wiped over to take notice of any changes in how his skin looked. He tried very, very hard to not look into his own eyes.

Rinsing and patting to dry, he washed his hands again then reached for the jar of salve, precisely swiping a thin layer over his left cheek and forehead before he placed his transparent face mask on.

Finishing up his morning bathroom routine went without a rush. Going to throw on yet another loose fitting t-shirt and casual pants before sliding his slippers back on.

Slow and steady. Nice and easy.

“I am going to have a great day today.” the rubber end of his walker softly thudded against the wooden floors as he made his was down the hall. “It is a new day. New chances.”

He wasn’t going to confirm or deny if these affirming exercises were doing anything. But he’d admit that saying them aloud was probably the silliest he’d felt ever doing anything.

The living room held a welcoming warmth as he drew the blinds open that faced the street.

The third floor apartment view was always the one thing that made the asking price of his condo worth it to him.

The patchwork of traditional rooftops and modern buildings met the edge of the cities outskirts. Bare branches stood against the pale early morning winter sky, hints of early plum blossoms added a hint of a spring that would soon come and wipe away the muted landscape.

Kento sat on the window seal, taking in the low mountains in the distance. That thin veil of mist hiding the peaks that were still dusted in snow. With a deep inhale, he looked down at the street to see a bundled up pedestrian loading his car with boxes as another, that looked only slightly familiar, was exiting their car in a slow jog to the front steps of his building.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

7:55 am.

“Timely.”

slowly, he went to open the rest of the blinds around the living room, a slow tango that made him a feel like he still had just enough control, timing the last curtain opening perfectly as your soft knock filled the foyer yet again.

He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on the frame, before opening the door and stepping aside in a half step to let you in. His expression was neutral — not unkind, but carefully composed, as if he were still deciding how much space to give you in his life.

“Good morning,” you spoke softly, offering a polite smile.

“Morning,” Nanami replied, his voice low and steady. “I was about to make myself a simple breakfast. Coffee too.”

It wasn’t quite an invitation, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was just a statement — a line drawn firmly down the middle.

You nodded. “That sounds good.”

You sat your bag down on the ottoman against the wall and followed his lead. The condo was quiet — too quiet, the kind that felt deliberate. Like he'd stripped the space of anything deemed unnecessary. A few trinkets here and there, clean lines, muted colors.. But the kitchen felt like the homeliest part of the space.

Black stainless steel appliances, cold press juicer and blender sitting on the counter. A top of the line built-in double electric convection wall oven, a display of every herb and spice on a dark mahogany shelf sitting high on the wall.

“You have a very beautiful kitchen.” Your eyes grazed over the quartz cabinets, taking in the light blue finishes until you landed on what you knew to be as the best stand mixer that only experts chefs and bakers would have.

“You have a Bosch… Its even more beautiful in person.” You inspected it as if it were a lost artifact seeing the light for the first time in 500 years.

Nanami cocked his head for a moment. “Are you that taken by a stand mixer?”

“Mr. Nanami, I’d have to work 3 weeks nonstop to not only get the mixer but to financially recover from it.”

Your half suppressed laugh had Kento smiling. “Understandable. It is a big purchase. I use to bake fresh bread for my weekly use.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration one day! Would love to see the Bosch in action.”

Nanami raised his brows. “You think I can get back to that one day?”

The small flick of something resembling hope flecked in the richest parts of his brown eyes.

“We can get you back to that. I’m sure of it.”

He nodded, a silent acceptance of an unspoken challenge. He opened the refrigerator, bearing his weight on the cane as he used his dominant hand to grab the butter, holding it out.

“Do you mind taking things as I pass them to you?”

You reached out, taking the butter and placing it on the counter. “Don’t mind at all.”

A pack of bacon, a jar of jam and an orange followed after and you awaited his next instruction.

“I’m going need your help with peeling orange. I believe I can manage the rest.”

With quiet acknowledgment, you grabbed the orange and began to peel as he placed 2 pieces of bacon in the skillet.

It took less than 10 minutes and Nanami moved to the dining table, a slice of toast placed next to his bacon on a plate and setting out a small dish of fruit with the addition of an apple now. You brought out 2 mugs of coffee, placing his in front of him and sitting across from him with yours.

A butter knife rested awkwardly beside the jar of jam he chose. It was clear he had intended to do more, but something had stopped him.

You didn’t move or say anything, you sipped your coffee and watched as he reached for the jar. His right hand gripped the jar while his left hovered over the lid. His fingers trembled — just slightly — but enough that the lid refused to budge.

You didn’t move at first. You’d quickly learned that Nanami wasn’t the type to appreciate overstepping, even if it came from a place of concern. So you waited, giving him the space to either push through the task or acknowledge the struggle.

After a long moment, his jaw tightened. The jar didn’t budge.

You opened your mouth — not to offer help, but simply to ask if he wanted you to hold the base of the jar steady when his voice cut through the silence.

“Can you…” He paused, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “Can you open this for me?”

It wasn’t a whisper, nor was it loud. Just a calm, measured request, but you could hear the effort behind it — the weight of a man who wasn’t used to asking for assistance.

You stood and went to his side of the table and gently placed your hand on the lid. “Turn when you’re ready.”

His hand dropped away, switching his left hand out for the right gripping the glass part and his left fingers curling into a loose fist at his side. The lid gave way with a soft pop, and you set it down in front of him without a word.

He didn’t thank you, but there was a small nod — barely noticeable, but it was there.

“Would you like me to slice the apple for you?” you asked, careful not to overstep.

Nanami shook his head. “No. I can manage.”

You sat back down, sipping your coffee as he asked you more questions about your fascination with his Bosch.

_______________________________________

The morning moved quickly. Breakfast cleanup was a breeze as Nanami continued his light reading and non rigorous solo exercises.

During breakfast, you’d been given what you called the key to the cupboard by Nanami. He uttered, with few words, that he didn’t want to prevent you from doing your job. While he limited what that might be, he was quick to say how appreciative he’d be if his bed could be made up, his laundry started and lunch done. He’d have a friend come by to do the rest.

You happily complied and began working on laundry the moment he sat down post breakfast. And by noon, his physical therapist had arrived to continue his exercise routine and mobility work.

Despite the pain he would occasionally feel from the intense stretches he felt near his ankles, this was Nanami’s favorite part of his rehabilitation. Feeling the tightness dissipate as he stretched his neck and chest together. He closed his eyes, allowing the PT to guide his body on top of the exercise ball.

“Now a slow exhale as you reach your arms over your head. Nice and easy.”

The short man moved the ball under Nanami and he grunted.

“Sorry Mr. Nanami, too much?”

Nanami wheezed a chuckle out, “Not enough. Can we do this one more often?”

The therapist exhaled and smiled. “We can. Your body is reacting as it needs to and it seems to be the best exercise to get a reaction out of you. Does it feel like your body is loosening up?”

He nodded, slowly sitting up with assistance. “Definitely. My skin feels less taut at my hips and chest when I open up my arms like that. It feels.. good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. We’re going to finish off with some hands exercises then your aide will be tagged back in to finish the day off with you.”

His session proceeded and came to an end before he knew it. He walked with a bit more confidence as he escorted his therapist to the door and went to find you in the kitchen finishing lunch.

Nanami watched you sliced the cucumber. He nodded at the precision of the knife movements, impressed with how perfect each little sliced green disc was as you added it to the salad bowl. He waited to speak once you sat the knife down.

“You have some really great knife skills.”

You looked up and smiled, wiping your hand on the dish towel nearby. “4 years of cooking for a group of broke college students as a college student. 2 of those years were spent dating a sous chef who taught me some of what I know.”

“I’m sure this sous chef would be happy to know you use these techniques so well.”

“We could only hope,” Expertly, you avoided giving that a full response that would push the topic of your ex. “Where did you learn to cook, Mr. Nanami? I’m sure you are amazing with a Bosch in your kitchen.”

Nanami walked behind you, reaching for two bowls out of the cabinets and placed them next to you. “My grandfather wanted me to be self sufficient once I moved out on my own.” He slowly opened the silverware drawer, pulling out a pair of forks and knives. “And cooking in itself is its own therapy for me.”

You finished placing the grilled chicken in the salad bowl and handed over the tongs to Nanami. “How does cooking make you feel?”

He looked down at the tongs, his heart fluttering with an anxiety he couldn’t place. His eyes found you. “Do you think I can?”

“I’m right here,” you slid one of the eating bowls directly next to him and smiled. “What does cooking do for you?”

Nanami put his eyes back onto the salad and took a deep breath. He grabbed the tongs, gripping them, feeling the cold stainless steel rest in the part of his palm that still had feeling. “Cooking requires me to pay attention. Smell, sounds, how my food is looking.”

He widened the tongs, lowering them into the salad and tossing it lightly, as if he’d harm the lettuce if he placed any pressure.

“What do you usually cook with?” You noticed his hesitance in squeezing the tong tips together, his grip faltering as he exhaled from frustration. “I’m going to hover my hand below yours. Claw extension. Only if you need it.”

Nanami closed his eyes, slowly breathing out as he tried to not lose his momentum. “Garlic. Fresh minced garlic.” He tried again, slowly working his hands closed until he had salad gripped between the flat tips. He carefully moved it over to the dish, hand shaking but making it with no spillage. “I prefer to mince it and store it in water. Taste great every time.”

You smiled as he looked at you for a hint of validation and gave a nod of acknowledgment.

He moved the tongs back to the serving bowl with a glimmer of determination in the way he rolled his shoulders back. He grabbed more and placed it into the bowl, releasing a with a bit of force before sitting the tongs down. “I think I want a bit more tomato.”

Fork in hand, trying to pin down a slice of tomato so he could cut it. His right hand hovered awkwardly, meant to steady the cutting board, but his left — the one gripping the fork — trembled just enough to betray him.

The fork slipped.

The tomato skidded to the side, smearing juice across the surface. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

You didn’t speak either. You knew better than to rush in with help he hadn’t asked for yet.

He reset the slice, pressing the fork down again. His grip was too tight — his knuckles pale from the strain — but the tremor in his fingers wouldn’t let up. The fork scraped against the board, missing the tomato entirely this time.

A sharp pain ran through his forefinger and he dropped the fork, cursing under his breath as he massaged his purlicue.

His gaze stayed locked on the tomato, his shoulders tense.

“You did good. You and the tongs are quite the dynamic duo.”

Nanami felt a heated tear well in his eye before he sucked it back in. “This. Its all so hard sometimes. A fork? I can’t hold a damn fork and its been months.”

He needed to let the frustrations out. It was going to be the only way he could get over those hurdles to feeling whole again.

You stood in silence for a moment, giving him space to process and feel. “Don’t give yourself a timeline but do give yourself grace.”

“Is this all worth it?” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself until he took a few steps back and leaned against the counter looking at you. “Will I be the same person I was before all this? Because I feel like even when I’m giving 200%, I’m failing with no progress.”

“This feels like it’s never going to get better,” Nanami said, his voice low — almost too calm, but there was an edge to it. A rare crack in the carefully composed man standing next to you.

The words hung between you both, heavier than the silence.

You gave him a moment before you spoke. “It’s frustrating,” you said softly. “I know.”

Nanami’s jaw shifted, his lips pressing into a firm line. He didn’t respond right away, as if letting the admission sit out in the open was already more than he was prepared for.

His hand flexed at his side — open, then closed — before, at last, he exhaled through his nose. “Can you help me?”

The question was quiet, but it felt like a victory in its own right.

You nodded, letting him take a few steps forward before stepping in slowly so he had the chance to pull back if he wanted. When he didn’t, you picked up the fork, steadying the tomato with your other hand. The prongs sank into the skin with a soft pop — a simple act, but weighted with everything unspoken.

Nanami’s hand hovered near yours for a moment, then dropped back to his side.

He didn’t thank you, but the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave was enough.

You didn’t push for more words. Instead, you handed him the knife, stepping back just far enough to let him reclaim some of the space —he had let you stand just a little closer, and it was a sign that he was willing to let you in to help.

[bu3ck3r]

wrapped in you

paige bueckers x reader

summary: you’re having an off day and paige is the sweetest and cheers you up

You weren’t sure when the heaviness settled in your chest, but it had been there all day—pressing down, making everything feel dull and overwhelming. It wasn’t one specific thing, but a mix of small disappointments, stress, and exhaustion stacking up until it felt like you were sinking.

And no matter how much you tried to hide it, Paige noticed.

She always did.

It started in the morning when she caught you staring off into space at breakfast, your spoon lazily stirring your cereal until it went soggy. Then at lunch, when you barely touched your food, only offering a half-hearted smile when she asked if you were okay.

By the time you were curled up on the couch in the afternoon, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, she had seen enough.

Paige plopped down next to you, resting her chin on your shoulder. “Alright, what’s up?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

Paige poked your side gently. “You’ve been in a funk all day. Talk to me.”

You sighed, shrugging. “It’s nothing.”

Paige wasn’t buying it. “Baby, you can’t fool me.”

You chewed your lip, debating whether to just brush it off again. But the way Paige was looking at you—soft but serious, like she wasn’t going to let this go—made it hard to keep up the act.

“I just feel… off,” you admitted finally. “Like everything is too much, and I don’t even know why.”

Paige was quiet for a moment before shifting closer, putting your legs on her thighs. She reached for your hand, running her thumb over your knuckles in slow, comforting strokes.

“That’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to explain it if you don’t know how. But you don’t have to deal with it alone either.”

Something in your chest loosened slightly. Paige always had a way of making you feel understood, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

But the heaviness was still there, lingering like a storm cloud.

Paige studied you for a beat before standing up abruptly.

“Okay, we’re fixing this,” she declared.

You frowned, confused. “Fixing what?”

“Your mood,” she said matter-of-factly. “Stay right there. I have a plan.”

Before you could protest, she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving you sitting there, bewildered. A few minutes later, she returned, her arms full—blankets, her hoodie, a bag of your favorite snacks, and even her laptop balanced precariously on top.

You couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you doing?”

“I want to cheer up my favorite person ,” she announced proudly. She draped the hoodie over your lap first. “Put this on.”

You rolled your eyes but slipped the oversized hoodie over your head anyway. It smelled like her—like fresh laundry and vanilla, warm and familiar.

Paige grinned when she saw you relax slightly. She threw a blanket over both of you, pulling you close so you were practically in her lap. “No escaping. You’re officially trapped.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good at making you feel better? Yeah, I know,” she said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but Paige caught the way your lips twitched into the tiniest smile.

She handed you a bag of your favorite chips before opening her laptop. “We can watch a movie, or I can show you funny TikToks, or we can talk about something completely random. Your choice.”

You hesitated before murmuring, “Can we just stay like this for a bit?”

Paige’s expression softened. “Of course.”

She wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as you rested your head against her shoulder. She didn’t try to force you to talk or pretend everything was fine. She just stayed there, warm and steady, letting you take whatever comfort you needed.

After a few minutes, she started absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair. “You know,” she mused, “whenever I have a bad day—like when my shots aren’t falling, or I feel like I’m not doing enough—I try to remind myself of the good things. The little things that make everything worth it.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “Like what?”

Paige smiled, her fingers still tracing soothing patterns in your hair. “Like how my dad always texts me before every game. Or how the team hypes each other up even on our worst days. Or…” She paused, her smile turning softer. “Or how you always wait up for me, even when you’re tired. And how you steal my hoodies but somehow make them look better than I do.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your chest feeling just a little lighter.

Paige nudged you playfully. “See? Smiling already. My plan is working.”

“You’re something else i swear” you murmured.

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” she said dramatically. Then, in a softer voice, “But seriously… I love you. And I’m always gonna be here, even when you’re feeling off.”

Your throat tightened—not with sadness this time, but with gratitude. Paige didn’t need grand gestures or fancy words to make you feel loved. She just knew you. Understood you. And that was enough.

You squeezed her hand. “I love you too.”

Paige grinned. “I know.”

You groaned, nudging her. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before turning her laptop screen toward you. “Alright, since you didn’t pick a distraction, I’m putting on a rom-com, and you have to deal with it.”

You shook your head but didn’t protest. Paige hit play, and soon enough, the movie was filling the room with cheesy dialogue and over-the-top romance.

But your focus wasn’t on the screen. It was on Paige—the way she absentmindedly played with your fingers, the way she laughed at all the dumb jokes, the way she kept sneaking glances at you like she was making sure you were okay.

And somehow, without you even realizing it, the heaviness that had weighed you down all day didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

It didn’t fix everything. But sitting there, wrapped up in Paige’s warmth, her heartbeat steady against your ear, you realized something important.

Even on the hardest days, you weren’t alone.

And that was enough.

@melpthatsme hope u like it!

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Aftersun Art Donaldson and Lily

Art didn't want things to be this awkward, the entire ordeal was tragic. 

He remembers the day she was born, the entire 9 months leading to her birth and dreams of what she would be like before Tashi ever got pregnant. He always wanted a girl he was made to raise, one being the only man in a predominantly woman centered family he adored the familiarity of it all.

The excitement of finding out she was a girl, his little girl. Nights preparing her nursery, reading and annotating parenting books, joining birthing classes and following daddy and me facebook pages for any help he could find. Reality kicked in when he was able to pick her name. Lily, his grandmother's favorite flowers.

Tashi had the choice for her middle name and allowed Art to decide her first, he wanted to do something in homage to his grandmother and she respected that. He treasured helping Tashi during those 9 months dropping tennis entirely focusing on her well being and the little life inside her was the happiest he'd been in years.

the best day of his life was the day she was born, 9AM her healthy wails ringing through the room after a torturous overnight stay at the hospital Tashi spitting curses that she wouldn't ever do this again crescent indents in the skin of his hand while he was on the verge of passing out barely able to breathe when he watched her come into the world

He’s so fond of the memory, whisking her from Tashi’s arms once she falls asleep. He sobbed silently, rocking her back and forth in his arms “I love you so much” he cried tears of joy slipping down his cheeks grazing his fingers through her curls "I'm always going to take care of you sweet heart” a watery laugh leaving his lips cooing as she sneezed. Tashi woke to his shirt unbuttoned Lily sound asleep against his bare chest 

“Art, why?” she squinted curiously

“I just want to be close.. Want her to know it’s me.” 

she smiled fondly “you’re both going to be perfect for one another.” 

He was on the court faster than he wanted to be, it led to missing dance recitals and spelling bee’s having to leave mid-day tea parties needing to make up hours practicing.

the idea popped up after looking through his old photos on the beach visiting Santa Barbara with his parents and Patrick, the memory bringing a smile to his face but sadness followed, could he make his daughter happy?

family trips weren’t out of the ordinary and she's seen most of the world majority of the time trapped in locked hotel rooms, or watching her dad on tv screens at home with babysitters sat beside her 

she always cringed at their statements and gossip through hushed phone calls when they thought she wasn’t listening, “her dad’s really fucking hot, wonder what it’d be like to fuck both of them” they’d snicker sifting through family photos and picture frames, it made her nauseous and angry. 

her meltdowns were bad at first gripping onto her fathers torso for dear life begging not to go, asking why he’s leaving her for so long, that this isn’t fair and insisting that he doesn’t love her 

“no” he replied sternly “this is my job baby.. I need to do this, it makes me happy,” he’d lie knowing Tashi was lingering nearby not wanting to disappoint her too. 

So she got used to always watching her parents from a distance, happily accepting nicknacks given to her from their trips but resenting them after a while, stuffing snow globes, key chains and stuffed animals in drawers going as far as breaking them. It was all a reminder of loss too much for her little heart to bare. She adored Art and Tashi but with time the loneliness got to her and he could tell, the notion killed him. 

Here they were now cruising the Bahamas both spread on lounge chairs sipping virgin pina coladas

"Lily, are you having fun?" He asks and she nods silently observing the perusing guests ice cream dripping down her cone coating her hand. 

“Can we go to the pool later?” She glanced over at her father “of course bug need to clean up though” he sits up wiping her vanilla coated cheeks she shooed him away avoiding his touch.

“I can do it” she grumbles, snatching the rest of the napkins out of his hand wiping herself down. Her obvious disdain stung. “Just wanna help you..” he frowns 

“I know dad you don’t need to for some stuff though” she huffs through clenched teeth the sticky residue not subsiding her frustration.

She could be so mean, her scorn towards him cut like a knife, he wanted to chastise her, spite her but he bit back any insult he came up with racking his brain through so many memories wondering where he went wrong hell maybe he made her this way. 

He bleakly sat back “We haven’t talked about school, I heard how well you did at your piano recital grandma said you got a standing ovation I believe it” He pried hoping some sort of fond reaction from her “didn’t you get an award too-?”

“you weren’t there so you wouldn’t know” she interrupts bitterly slightly shaking her head at his ignorance

Art shrinks, slumping his shoulders watching her shrug off his advances “well you know I love you bug” she nods rolling her eyes completely unconvinced.

“Sure” she sighs, staring off at the other kids her age. “I’m gonna go” she stomps off, dumping the custom made booklet he made about their trip in the trash.

He pursed his lips turning away unshed tears blurring his vision hidden behind shaded sunglasses.

The week passed and the hollowness slowly stripped away from her, he observed from a distance watching her flip through excursion magazines, snorkeling, swimming with dolphins, karaoke bars and hiking through jungles and coves all slowly amounting onto a little list she created late at night when he was asleep. He checked every box accomplishing everything just like she wanted. 

The last night of their holiday Don’t Dream It’s Over by Crowded House blared through the speakers after dinner 

“dad no..” she hissed embarrassed by all the prying eyes staring at them.

“Come on” he insisted on gripping her hands, shimming her body. She caved when he began singing the words as they swayed back and forths slowly shuffling into his open arms.  

“you’re so important to me Lily,” he whispers through trembling lips, voice cracking from her acceptance.

“I love you too” she grins, melting in his tender embrace.

@diyasgarden and the rest of chat during her watch party spoke about this theme with art and lily and I had to write something about it <3

[https-kittyx3]

pls pls pls could you write a poly!odypen x reader? I really loved your Telemachus story!!! :D

we will fall in love with you again

TEEHEE thank you very much, i wasnt so proud of that so i'm glad you loved it!!

also poly odypen request???!?!? YES. UESUESUEUSEUSYESUEYS i really really want more Epic requests aaahh i am obsessed with writing stuff about it. i have multiple hermes fics i started and never finished lmao

btw i swear i've seen you in the tags before, you should totally write epic the musical fics!! i'm curious about the one you said you have based on your self insert >:3

also this is kinda angsty i think? but it leads up to fluff!! i promise i won't break your heart <3

not proofread at all, excuse is in the tags lolol

lowercase intended || art cred

all throughout your life, you would have never expected what kind of relationship you'd have in your adulthood. younger you would imagine settling down with someone you fell in love with, living in a house together and spending the last of your days side by side.

the idea of having two lovers was the last thing you'd think about. it wasn't even something you knew you were capable of — loving two people at the same time? wouldn't it be unfair if you ended up loving one more than the other?

as much as that worry was understandable, it'd never end up becoming a problem; odysseus and penelope both earned your affections equally. they've both been your friends since what felt like the beginning of time - you never kept anything from each other, always made time for one another, and never had trouble speaking your minds... until things became complicated.

you tried so desperately to ignore it—the growing feelings you felt towards both of your best friends. it was anxiety inducing, especially since it was overly clear that the two were interested in each other. no matter the way it went, someone was going to be heartbroken. someone was going to be sad and the three of you could never be the same. it was agonizing to think about, to imagine the outcomes - you adore them both, to lose what you have would be your biggest regret.

ignoring your feelings seemed like the best bet for the longest time, but there was always that pang in your chest every time they'd talk about each other to you that reminded you of your own heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"it's endearing how awkward he gets," penelope airily chuckles as she folds strands of her hair over and over in a pattern to create a braid, "sometimes, it's like he can barely form words around me... i wonder if that means he feels the same."

you feel yourself biting the inside of your cheek, carefully braiding the other side of penelope's hair for her. it was a mindless action the two of you fell into as you chatted together. all you manage to give her is a hum, your heart growing a tad heavy once again. penelope shifts, almost as if she senses your hesitation.

"is something the matter?" she questions with concern, tying the ends of her hair together to keep the braid from coming undone. penelope's always been the one who can read your emotions — it's one of the many things that made you fall for her. she's gentle, earnest... there isn't a chance in the underworld that she'd ignore your sadness. as your friend, she's here for you. she always has been.

you gaze at her slowly, almost afraid to look her in the eye - you could break at any moment, admit everything you're feeling, and ruin all you're familiar with. you don't want that, even if it leads to an eternity of heartache.

"of course! i apologize, i'm just distracted..." you sheepishly admit, finishing the other part of her braid. you let your hands fall away and sit in the grass below, a few strands nestling between your fingers. you grip onto them, pulling blades from their roots.

penelope sighs, having heard this time and time again over the course of your friendship. it wasn't uncommon for you to dismiss her concern, just to pop up later needing to vent - she understands it, even. so, she picks at the grass with you, but instead grabbing a flower that grows in the grass beneath you both.

she leans over you, gently placing the flower's stem behind your ear with ease. penelope then places her palm against your cheek, directing your gaze towards her with a soft touch. you feel yourself flush under her eyes and touch, your cheeks warming against her palm — part of you wonders if she notices the way you react to these small touches, and if she knows how you feel underneath your veil.

"you know you can talk to me about anything," penelope whispers with softened eyes. behind that kindness lingers her own conflict, confusion, and fear - but it wasn't known to you in this moment. in hindsight, perhaps it would've been more obvious if you looked deeper. if only you had talked to her then and there, taking up that sincere offer, things would've been more simple.

instead, your lovesick-ridden mind came up with the silliest thing you could have said;

"penelope, you're so sweet i could kiss you." you speak before you're able to think about how that sounds. you mean it as a joke... mostly, but in the moment it was meant as a way to accentuate how kind she is. instead, and with the amount of passion you spoke those words, it came off as a genuine confession.

and it's clear that penelope took it that way, with how quickly her cheeks darken in red. you pull back immediately, throwing in an awkward laugh as you gently push her hand down.

"i'm kidding! you're just... so kind. i don't know what i'd do without you."

inwardly, you sigh in relief as you watch her relax. crisis averted, you think. penelope responds with a laugh — a genuine giggle, a jingle of joy — it warms your heart faster than your face.

"likewise." she speaks with a gorgeous smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"i just... i don't know what to say to her!" odysseus rambles on and on about penelope, occasionally asking for your thoughts on what he should do or say, all while swinging a stick at a tree as if he were fighting a massive creature. at the same time, he paces back and forth while looking up at you from where you sit on that same tree. your legs dangle from the lowest branch, hands gripping it tightly so you don't fall. it's a rather sturdy tree - an olive tree, specifically. the one where the three of you tend to spend your spare time together, though these days it's more often just two. becoming too busy is inevitable, after all.

this day was not one of those, however. penelope is to meet the two of you any minute now, though it's becoming apparent that she's been swept away by something or other - leaving you, odysseus, and the complicated feelings within.

even though you have feelings for both of them, having only one or the other around stresses you out. you're so unstable with your feelings and thoughts that you barely trusted yourself to stay quiet about them.

"what would you do?" odysseus tosses the stick to the side, plopping down against the trunk right under the branch you sit on.

"what would i do about what?" you question, not realizing that odysseus had been talking on and on as you zoned out from above. at this point in time, you were being no better than a certain goddess who was hopeless when it came to love advice. odysseus raises a brow up at you, "about... confessing your feelings?"

"oh!" you sit up straight, a panicked look on your face that is almost comical, "what feelings? i don't have any feelings for anyone!"

odysseus snorts, resting his head against the trunk, "i was talking about confessing my feelings for penelope, but... now it sounds like you might fancy someone." odysseus teases you, but it's not so clear in the moment — you feel caught, like all your thoughts had been read and exposed. your heart picks up in pace as you shift awkwardly, trying to think up any excuse to get out of this topic, before you realize that you're leaning on nothing but air.

you fail to catch yourself before you're falling backwards towards the ground, letting out a scream as you brace for impact. you're lucky you're only so far from the ground, because any further would've been death for you.

odysseus catches you swiftly, feeling lucky that he was right below you. he didn't even have to get up to snatch you from the air — all he had to do was lean forwards and pull you against his chest to cushion your fall.

and cushion, it did. your head falls against his collarbone, and your back lands right against his torso. his arms are wrapped securely around your chest, holding you up as you lean your head back to take a look at his face.

"looks like i fell for you, heheh..." what an awful joke for an awkward situation. odysseus does the same as penelope had done — he takes your joke as a poorly veiled confession, and as much as it may be, it's not something you want to admit right after he finished talking about his feelings for someone else. that 'someone else' being your mutual companion, your third member. your best friend.

ugh. what a situation to get yourself into.

odysseus' eyes are wide and cautious, but not for long as you sit yourself up with the dismissal wave of your hands, "no, no... that came out weird! i was doing a joke, but it was bad timing..!"

oddly enough, you see odysseus' face fall into a neutral expression for a faint moment, before glowing up and into a hearty laugh. similarly to penelope, again, it warms you to hear him laugh so sincerely. he finds you funny, and that brings you joy.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

despite all the signs of the mutual feelings between the three of you, it'd be a good while before things are finally shared. the next few years are spent pining after each other, battling that inner anxiety, and finally... admitting it to yourselves.

your heart is big enough for both of them, and it's something you have grown to come to terms with. all of that confusion and inner conflict subsided into an understanding, regardless of how anxiety-inducing it all still was. penelope and odysseus were simply just the most open about their feelings for each other at first. it took you a bit more time to finally open up, but once you did, you were surprised at how open the both of them were to you.

it was exciting to finally be able to express your feelings to them, to finally be able to tell them how in love with them you are without being afraid of losing them.

unbeknownst to you, it was an internal battle for the two of them as well. that feeling of loving two people at once, yet not knowing what to do about it for the fear of losing both of them.

the three of you, now together as one, share more love between you than anyone has ever seen. even athena, whose lifespan escapes the confines of time, has never witnessed such an incredible bond as yours. she's also heard endless stories about your romance from odysseus, who can't find it in him to stop talking about you and penelope — but who can blame him? he's blessed with two of the best partners he could have asked for.

even as you three grow older, take over more dire responsibilities, and marry one another, your love never wavers.

even after penelope bears a child, after the dread of a war looms ever closer, and odysseus is swept off to save the lives of many — your bond is true.

it's ever lasting.

he'll come back to his spouses and son, whether the gods want him to or not.

[archangeldyke-all]

hello sweet girl!! how was your day? 🫶🏽

i hope you know that you’re so deeply loved and appreciated by us all!! <33

how would you feel about writing more highschool sevika and reader!! i absolutely love them! maybe the two of them get roped into babysitting the neighbors kid or something and at first sevika is pissed because she doesn’t wanna spend her friday night changing diapers when she could be making out and causing mischief with her gf hehe!

But as the night goes on, she actually has so much fun and realizes how much she loves kids! And watching reader be so good with kids makes Sevika realize that this is exactly what she wants in the future. To be moms and raise kids with reader together. To have a family together! A sweet and sappy moment when Sevika falls in love even deeper with reader 🥹

oh my god i LOVE THIS AHHHHHHHHH

men and minors dni

"remind me again why we're doing this?" sevika whines.

"because we're broke and we need money for weed." you huff. this is the sixth time she's asked since you started your walk over.

your neighbor caught you and sevika goofing off in the front yard the other day, and she practically begged you for help watching her kids so she could go on a date. when she mentioned what she was willing to pay for just eight hours of work, you elbowed sevika to keep her from saying no, and happily accepted.

which is how you're here. "c'mon, sev, it could be fun."

"i don't see what could possibly be fun about changing diapers our entire saturday night."

"there's only one baby. the other two are three and six. we'll get to play with 'em!"

"play what? i don't think they know how to play poker, babe."

you snort and kiss sevika's cheek. "sevika. their bedtime is eight. their mom won't be home 'til midnight. it's four hours of dealing with the kids, then we can make out on the couch for the rest of the night. she's even leavin' us money for pizza."

sevika huffs and grumbles the rest of the walk. she's quiet as ms. haili leaves you instructions. and she's weirdly standoff-ish with the kids for the first thirty or so minutes.

you're all in the living room, the kids coloring and sevika glaring at them, when a horrible smell fills the room.

"uh-oh baby. looks like you made a poopy." you giggle as you scoop up the baby from it's play pen. "i'll change 'im. be right back."

"don't leave me!" sevika calls. you snort.

"you'll live."

when you come back to the living room, you're shocked to find sevika laying on her belly, coloring along with the two oldest kids.

"what's your favorite color, sevi?" the six year old asks. sevika shrugs.

"purple's cool. what about you?"

"i like purple too! and red. and also green."

"nice."

you lean against the wall and watch the scene, not wanting to embarrass your girlfriend.

"what about you, pipsqueak? what's your favorite color?" sevika asks, nudging the three year old.

"mmm... blue!" the boy declares. sevika nods.

"blue's pretty."

"like the sky!" he says, nodding with excitement. sevika giggles.

"yeah, like the--" she cuts herself off when she catches sight of you, a blush creeping up her cheeks. you grin at her.

throughout the night, sevika grows more and more comfortable with the kids.

during your game of tag, sevika lets the kids cling onto her as she runs around the yard.

during dinner, sevika takes great care of making sure the baby eats all her food, wiping her chin after each messy bite she takes.

at bathtime, sevika lets the kids pile bubbles up on her head, laughing along with them as they make various hairdos and hats for her out of bubbles.

by the time the kids are asleep, sevika's grinning like she's high.

"you want sausage on your half?" you ask as you look down at the pizza menu. sevika's curled up on the couch beside you. she doesn't respond. "sev?" you ask, looking up at her.

sevika blinks at you dreamily. "do you want kids?" she asks.

you choke on your own spit. "what!?" you scream. "we're still in high school!"

sevika giggles. "not now, dumbass. just... someday... would you ever want to have kids with me?" she asks.

you blink at your girlfriend, a small smile on your lips.

you've never really considered kids before --fuck you're still a kid-- but there's one thing that you've known for years now: you're gonna spend the rest of your life with sevika.

"with you, sure." you say. "how many do you want?"

sevika grins and tackles you to the couch. you burst into giggles. "like four? five?" she asks. you snort.

"and who's delivering all these babies!?"

sevika shrugs. "you. or me. or we'll just adopt, y'know?"

something warm inside you flutters, and you blink dreamily up at your best friend. "you're a sap." you whisper. sevika giggles.

"'s your fault. you're cute with a kiddo on your hip."

you pull her down for a kiss, humming against her lips. "we got a long way to go before we have any rugrats, y'know."

"i know. gotta marry you first." sevika says with a smile. you snort.

"i was thinking more like graduating high school and finding a place to live, but sure, you gotta marry me first too." you giggle.

"whatever. i know it'll be a while. but... it's exciting, isn't it?" she whispers. you smile.

"exciting?"

"to have something so nice to look forward to." she explains.

your heart melts and you pull sevika in for one more kiss. "so exciting. so... you gonna join me next weekend to watch mr. tannis' kids?" you ask.

sevika grins. "i guess so."

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[starrdream]

Unsatisfied apology

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Anakin wants to make up... includes: not really smut but it's talked about and implied, whiny Anakin, make up sex, fast finishing, no orgasm

Your ex has fucked just about any girl that would let him in hopes of getting over you. As if your friends reminding you constantly wasn’t enough, anyone passing by his room could hear clearly. News flash, it didn’t help him one bit.

Though, the rumor that he still wasn’t over you did feed your ego.

One night, you were mindlessly revising for some tests you had later that week when a knock disturbed you. 

“Baby, please open the door. I need to talk to you.” The whiny yet familiar voice still made your heart skip a beat. Or two.

He must be drunk. You thought.

“What?” You huff as you open the door. Not only were you met with a completely sober Anakin, you were met with a crying one too.

Tears streaked down his rosy cheeks, eyes puffy and red. Who knows how long he was crying for.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, voice laced with concern.

“Can we talk?” He sniffles.

“Yeah” You blurted out before you could even think twice.

Opening the door further, you let him in. Ankin takes a seat on your bed and waits for you to join him.

The second you sat down he started ranting about everything.

“Baby I missed you so much…”

“I fucked up really bad, I know.”

“You’re all I ever think about.”

“I’ll never be over you.”

“I’ve been awful since the day we broke up.”

“No other girl compares to you..”

“Please..Give me another chance, my love.”

He pleaded and whined, all while still sobbing. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t considering it. Just one look at those blue eyes was enough to tear down any kind of resistance you’ve built over time.

“Please baby.” He begged. “Nobody is as good to me as you are. I’m so sorry” He whined, staring at you through teary eyes.

“I don’t know Ani..” You sighed, shoulders slumping.

“But you’re thinking about it.” He straightened up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Please” He breaks off into a sob. “Let me make it up to you.”

With that, he pushes you down on the bed gently, climbing on top of you.

“Ani-” You try to protest, placing your hand on his upper arm. Unfortunately your voice comes out as a desperate whimper more than anything else, only urging him on.

“I’m so sorry for how I treated you baby” He mumbles, slipping your shirt off. He continues mumbling incoherent words that are interrupted by sobs and hiccups as he undresses you.

“Please say you forgive me..” He stares right into your eyes as he palms himself through his pants before slipping them down to free his rock hard cock.

God knows how long that was there.

“O-okay, I forgive you” You mumble, trying not to laugh at how childish he looks.

“You’re just saying that.” He pouts, sobbing again.

The next 5, 6 minutes of your life were the most confusing ones ever. 

Anakin is borderline desperate and his movements are jerky and uncoordinated. He's ground against your thigh like a puppy for at least 3 minutes before finally pushing his erection into your warmth.

He is good in bed, but this? If you didn’t know any better you could’ve easily brushed him off as a virgin.

He's whining and whimpering with every shallow thrust, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs.

Obviously, he did NOT make you finish before he did. He didn’t make you finish at all. The second he spilled inside of you, he collapsed on top of you while breathing heavily.

Upon realizing you were still very much unsatisfied he cried again.

"I'm sorry..I'm so sorry baby. I'm sorry.." He kept mumbling over and over for another 5 minutes through his soft cries.

Shoulders shaking, face going numb as he cuddled you. The tight hold he had on you while crying loosened overtime as he fell asleep.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.7

Chapter Seven: What Are You Doing To Me Now?

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, 

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: ISTG last chapter— ya’ll comments had me wheezing and dying of laughter PLEASE— MY BAD, I DIDN’T MEAN TO GIVE PEDRO A HEART ATTACK LMAOOOO. Anyways, enjoy this little filler of a chapter. That’s 8k words long LMAO…

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: The blue by Gracie Abrams

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

“You still need to change.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into a hole. Out of everything you could have said, that’s what your brain decided on?

Pedro blinks at you.

Then, as if just realizing it himself, he looks down at his suit—a bright, unmistakable blue, the bold insignia stretched across his chest.

Mr. Fantastic.

A literal superhero, walking through the lot, guiding you with steady hands like you were the fragile one. It’s so utterly absurd you almost laugh.

“Huh,” he says, eyebrows raising in mild amusement. “Guess I forgot.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-fond. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, leaving a dull ache in its place, and for the first time since the accident, the weight of everything presses in.

The stitches in your arm pull when you move too fast, a sharp reminder that this was real. That you’d actually shoved Pedro out of the way and taken the hit yourself.

He hasn’t let you forget it, either.

Not in the way his fingers still ghost over your wrist, as if testing to make sure you’re solid. Not in the way he keeps looking at you, his expression unreadable, like he’s trying to work through something in his head but hasn’t found the words yet.

And now, on top of it all, you still need to check in with Jess, confirm with Matt that you’re cleared for the day, and figure out if you need to file for medical leave.

So much for an easy afternoon.

You make your way across the lot, Pedro still at your side, his presence warm and steady. When you find Matt and Jess, they’re already deep in conversation with Rob Beggs, the safety manager. The area where the light rig fell is cordoned off now, crew members carefully maneuvering around it as they assess the situation.

The moment Jess spots you, her face crumples into something equal parts relief and guilt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward like she wants to hug you but stops herself at the last second, eyeing your injured arm. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Jess, no,” you interject quickly, shaking your head. “This wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen.”

“Still, I feel awful,” Matt adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should have double-checked the rigging before calling everyone in.”

“And we’re going to,” Rob says, tone firm but even. “I’m running a full investigation on this. We’ll figure out where the breakdown happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You nod, appreciating the sentiment but also not wanting to linger on it. The last thing you want is for everyone to start treating you like glass.

“I’m okay,” you say, offering them what you hope is a reassuring smile. “Just a few stitches. I’ll live.”

“Damn right you will,” a familiar voice cuts in.

Daisy.

She and Omar appear from the side, both of them looking equally relieved and exasperated.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Omar says, shaking his head. “One second everything was fine, and then—boom. We see you on the ground, bleeding.”

You wince. “Yeah. That part wasn’t fun.”

“No shit,” Daisy mutters. Then her eyes flick to Pedro, who still hasn’t strayed far from your side. Her gaze sharpens just slightly.

“You sticking to her like glue for the rest of the day or what?” she teases, but there’s an underlying note of curiosity there.

Pedro doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yep.”

You glance at him, surprised by how easily the answer leaves him. His expression is relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes, something quietly unwavering, that makes your stomach flip.

Daisy arches a brow, but she doesn’t push.

Instead, she just shakes her head, smirking slightly. “Figures.”

Omar huffs a laugh. “Well, at least she’s in good hands.”

You feel your face heat, and Pedro, the absolute menace, just looks utterly unbothered, like he was always meant to be standing here next to you. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” Jess sighs, rubbing her temples. “You’re cleared for the day. If you need extra time off, just let me know.”

You nod. “Thanks, Jess.”

“Now,” Matt adds, giving Pedro a once-over, “please tell me you’re not actually taking her back to the hotel like that.”

Pedro glances down at himself again.

Then he shrugs. “I dunno. Kinda think it adds character.”

You groan, covering your face with your good hand.

“Just go change, man,” Omar snorts.

Pedro grins, but then his attention shifts back to you, and the humor fades just slightly, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, voice low. “Stay here, okay?”

You nod, and the second he steps away, you exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle just a little heavier on your shoulders.

Daisy nudges you.

“So,” she drawls, a knowing glint in her eye. “Anything you wanna share?”

Your face burns.

“Nope.”

Omar snickers. “Yeah, sure.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you don’t say anything else. Because honestly?

You’re not sure how to explain what just happened.

Or how you’re supposed to go back to normal after it.

You don’t know how Pedro managed to convince Matt and Jess to call it an early day, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was the way he asked, firm yet gentle, leaving no room for argument, or maybe they saw the concern in his eyes—the kind that couldn’t be faked. Either way, production had been shut down for the day.

Besides, Rob had said they needed to check the cameras, review the footage, and determine exactly what went wrong.

Now, you were surrounded by Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph, their voices overlapping as they checked in on you.

“Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” Vanessa asked, wide-eyed, her hand hovering near your arm as if she was scared you’d break.

“Yeah, you took quite the hit,” Ebon added, shaking his head. “Looked bad from where we were standing.”

Joseph crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “They need to get that sorted out before we continue filming. It could’ve been worse.”

You nodded, offering them a small smile, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline and the way their concern made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine, really,” you reassured them. “Just a couple of stitches. No big deal.”

But your voice wavered slightly, betraying the truth. Your hands were still cold, your heart still hadn’t settled into its usual rhythm. You wanted to be strong—to be the girl who brushed things off with a laugh. You’d always been that girl.

Then Pedro emerged from his trailer.

He’d finally changed out of the Mr. Fantastic suit, trading in the blue spandex for a soft black sweater and dark jeans, but he still had that look—the same one he’d had since the moment the accident happened. Like he hadn’t been able to let out a full breath since.

His eyes found yours instantly.

“Hey.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “Hey.”

Pedro ignored everyone else, his focus entirely on you as he closed the distance between you. The warmth of his presence was immediate and grounding, and when he reached out—his fingers ghosting over the bandage on your forehead—you felt yourself sway slightly.

“You should be resting,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer, meant just for you.

“I’ll rest when I get home.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but something in your expression must’ve given you away, because Pedro exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face before he could think better of it.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You were very aware of the way the others had fallen silent, watching the moment unfold. But Pedro didn’t seem to care, and you... you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than you intended.

His brows knit together like he was about to say something else, but then Matt called out from the other side of the lot, breaking the moment.

Pedro sighed, dropping his hand, but not before giving your shoulder a small squeeze. “Let me take you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this right now.”

Your instinct was to protest, to insist that you were fine, that you could handle it. But the truth was, the idea of getting away from set, from all the eyes and whispers, sounded... nice.

So you swallowed your pride, glanced up at Pedro, and nodded.

“Okay.”

His shoulders loosened slightly, like he’d been waiting for you to agree. “Okay.”

And just like that, he was guiding you toward the parking lot, his hand ghosting over your lower back, protective, steady, like he was ready to catch you if you stumbled.

You exhaled, letting yourself lean into the warmth of him, just a little. Just for now.

The black van was already waiting at the curb, engine humming softly as the late afternoon light spilled golden streaks over the lot. Pedro kept a firm but gentle hand on the small of your back as he guided you inside, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.  

Albert, the driver, glanced back as you climbed in. “Miss,” he greeted with a polite nod, his eyes flickering briefly to Pedro as if silently assessing whether you were okay.  

You gave him a small smile. “Hey, Albert.”  

Once everyone was settled, the doors shut with a soft thud, sealing you into the familiar bubble of the ride back to the hotel.  

“I think after today, we deserve drinks.” Joseph stretched out his legs with a groan, his head thumping lightly against the headrest. “Preferably something strong. Maybe something that could wipe today from my memory entirely.”  

You let out a quiet laugh but shook your head. “Thanks, but no alcohol for me.” You scrunched your nose, pulling a face. “Kind of wanna keep all my blood inside me for now.”  

Pedro made a noise next to you—something between amusement and disapproval—as he shot you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, no tequila shots for you, querida. Not when you just got stitched up.”  

“Ugh, I was gonna say wine, but sure, make me sound like a total mess,” Joseph quipped.  

Vanessa smirked. “You are a mess.”  

Ebon chuckled. “At least you admit it.”  

The conversation carried on, the lighthearted teasing making the tension from earlier slowly fade. You felt yourself relax, your body sinking a little deeper into the seat. But even as the laughter filled the van, you remained acutely aware of the warmth beside you—the way Pedro’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, the way his arm rested along the back of the seat, close but not quite touching you.  

And when you glanced at him, you found his gaze already on you, something unreadable in those deep brown eyes.  

You looked away first.

The drive back to the hotel stretched longer than expected, traffic turning the usual route into a slow crawl. London streets, thick with impatient drivers and red taillights, blurred into a haze outside the window. Rain had started to drizzle, streaking the glass with soft, uneven patterns. The low hum of conversation filled the van, punctuated by the occasional groan from Joseph whenever the vehicle lurched forward, only to stop again moments later.  

You let your head rest against the window, watching the world pass in slow motion. The warmth of the van, the steady rhythm of the rain, and the quiet murmur of voices lulled you into something close to drowsiness. Your body ached—not unbearably, but enough that exhaustion tugged at you with each passing second.  

Pedro shifted beside you, the movement drawing your attention. His arm, which had been loosely draped along the back of the seat, dipped slightly, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder in a touch so light you almost imagined it.  

“You okay?” His voice was low, meant only for you.  

You hummed, turning your head slightly but keeping your gaze on the rain-slicked streets. “Yeah. Just tired.”  

His fingers flexed, the briefest hesitation before he let his hand settle—gentle and warm—on your arm. Not overbearing. Just there. Just enough.  

You should sit up straighter. You should move, make some joke, shake off the way his presence settled around you like something protective, something safe. But you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself relax, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavier against you.  

The next time the van jolted to another stop, your body leaned instinctively toward the nearest solid thing—Pedro.  

You felt it the moment your head made contact with his shoulder. The way he stiffened, just for a beat, before exhaling like he’d been holding his breath. You started to move away, an apology forming on your lips, but before you could, his hand found your knee—just the lightest touch, grounding, reassuring.  

“Stay,” he murmured.  

You weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it.  

But you did. And you stayed.  

The voices around you blended, fading into the background as your eyelids grew heavier. Pedro’s breathing was steady beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort. His scent—faint traces of cologne and whatever they used to take off the makeup from set—wrapped around you, familiar and warm.  

Outside, the rain kept falling. The city moved in slow motion.  

And in the middle of it all, you slept, tucked safely into the space Pedro had made for you.

Pedro stilled when he felt the full weight of you against him.  

At first, he thought you were just resting your eyes, letting exhaustion settle in after the long, chaotic day. But then your breathing slowed, deepened, the kind of rhythm that only came with sleep.  

Carefully, he glanced down at you. Your face was relaxed now, lips slightly parted, the tension that had clung to you all day finally melting away. A soft, barely-there snore slipped past your lips, and—fuck—his heart clenched.  

Then he felt it.  

A faint warmth against his shoulder.  

He shifted ever so slightly, and sure enough—yep. You were drooling.  

He should probably mind. He should probably shake you awake or shift you off of him. But the thought didn’t even cross his mind.  

Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and stayed perfectly still.  

Because if this was all he got—this fleeting moment of quiet, of you trusting him enough to let your guard down, to lean on him like this—he wasn’t about to ruin it.  

Still, guilt gnawed at him. The scene kept playing in his head. The accident. The way his stomach had dropped when he saw you hit the ground. The way you had looked up at him afterward, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though he knew better. Even though he knew you.  

He could have lost you today.  

The thought made his grip tighten ever so slightly against his knee, his other hand twitching with the urge to reach for you. To make sure you were really here.  

And then there was that look.  

The one you had given him. The one that sent something sharp and undeniable curling in his chest. The one that told him—without words—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t just in his head.  

He could have kissed you then.  

He should have.  

But it hadn’t been the right time. Not after what had happened. Not when you were still reeling from it, still patching yourself up.  

But fuck, it’s going to keep him up at night.  

He wants you.  

And he knows—knows—that you want him too.  

The van hit another bump, jostling you slightly, and instinctively, he shifted, tucking you closer so your head wouldn’t slip from his shoulder.  

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft sigh, curling the tiniest bit toward him. And Pedro?  

Pedro let himself enjoy it. Just for now. Just for tonight.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

A gentle voice coaxed you from sleep.  

“We’re here.”  

You stirred, warmth pressed against your cheek, the rhythmic hum of the van’s engine fading as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Your mind felt sluggish, still tangled in the remnants of sleep, but then—oh God.  

Your head had been resting on him.  

Panic flickered through you as you jerked upright, realizing with horror that you had not only slept on Pedro’s shoulder but also left a small damp patch on the fabric of his hoodie.  

“Oh my—shit.” You wiped hastily at your mouth, mortified. “I didn’t mean to—Jesus, I drooled all over you. I’m so—”  

Pedro chuckled, low and amused, shaking his head. “It’s fine.” His voice softened. “Just don’t move too much. Remember—your stitches.”  

The reminder stopped you in your tracks. Right. Your stitches. Your ribs ached dully, a reminder of the accident earlier on set. You swallowed, nodding.  

“Right,” you murmured.  

Across from you, Joseph twisted in his seat, smirking slightly. “You good?”  

“Yeah.” Your voice was still rough with sleep. You cleared your throat and tried again. “M’good.”  

Vanessa gave you a sympathetic look, her expression warm. “You should probably head up and rest.”  

You nodded again, still feeling a little disoriented. The van door slid open, letting in the cool London air. One by one, everyone filed out, stretching and murmuring about what to do next. Pedro moved to step out, then hesitated, glancing back at you.  

“You coming?” he asked, voice low, just for you.  

You blinked, forcing yourself to move. Your limbs felt heavy, your body still craving rest. As you started to climb out, your footing wavered slightly—maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the dull ache in your side.  

Pedro was there in an instant.  

His hand hovered near the small of your back, not quite touching, but close enough to steady you. Close enough to say, I’ve got you.  

You inhaled, just for a moment, letting yourself take comfort in his presence. 

The warmth of the hotel lobby wrapped around you as you stepped inside, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint scent of polished wood and expensive cologne filling the air. Pedro stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance, his hand hovering near your lower back again, never quite touching, but there.  

You made your way toward the elevators, pressing the call button. When the doors slid open, you stepped inside with a sigh, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You tapped your keycard, pressing the button for your floor before instinctively pressing Pedro’s as well.  

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.  

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”  

“You’re staying with me tonight.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. “Excuse me?”  

Pedro sighed, like he had already expected you to put up a fight. “Someone needs to look after you.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Pedro, I’ll be fine. They’re just stitches. I’m just gonna head to bed early—” You punctuated the statement with a yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro gave you that look. That firm, stubborn, no-room-for-argument look, the one you’d seen him use when he was absolutely set on something.  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“Just stay in the suite,” he said, softer this time. “Please. You can use your old room.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Pedro, my stuff is still in my room.”  

“Then I’ll stay with you.”  

Your breath hitched. “What?”  

Pedro shrugged, like it was the most casual suggestion in the world. “If you won’t stay in my suite, then I’ll stay in yours.”  

You stared at him, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your ears. The idea of sharing a space with Pedro for the night—of waking up knowing he was just a room away, of the quiet intimacy of existing in the same space—made your stomach flip.  

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, voice quieter now.  

He tilted his head, studying you. “I want to.”  

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor. The doors slid open, but neither of you moved. The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something there.  

You hesitated. He was giving you a choice.  

You exhaled, already knowing you were going to give in before the words even left your mouth.  

“Fine…” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If it makes you feel better.” You glanced up at him and sighed. “Now put away your puppy eyes.”  

Pedro grinned, all smug warmth and victory, but there was something softer in his eyes—relief, maybe. Like he was glad you weren’t pushing him away.  

“I’ll just grab some of my stuff. I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping back toward the elevator panel to press his floor again.  

You shot him a teasing look. “Better hurry, or I might just pass out before you get there.”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes playfully. “Seven minutes,” he said, like it was a challenge.  

You smirked as the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the hallway.  

By the time you got to your room, exhaustion was already creeping in. You barely had the energy to kick off your shoes before flopping onto the bed, sighing into the plush comforter. You told yourself you’d just close your eyes for a moment—just a second.  

Then, exactly seven minutes later, the sound of your doorbell rang through the room.

You rolled off the bed with a groggy sigh, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, Pedro was standing there, looking so effortlessly comfortable it made your stomach flip.  

A plain black tee stretched across his broad chest, the soft fabric hanging loosely over the curve of his arms. Grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, the kind that made your brain short-circuit for a second longer than you wanted to admit. He’d traded his usual contacts for his square-framed glasses, the ones that made him look just a little too good, like a university professor who knew exactly how to ruin you with a well-placed argument.  

In one hand, he held a small duffle bag, the strap slung over his shoulder like he belonged here, like this was routine. Like you’d done this before.  

Pedro’s gaze flicked over you, taking in your half-lidded eyes and the way you leaned against the doorframe, still fighting off the edges of sleep.  

“You didn’t pass out,” he noted, amused.  

“Almost did,” you mumbled, stepping back to let him in.  

Pedro walked past you, his familiar scent trailing after him—clean, warm, a mix of something woody and subtle, like cedar and spice. He moved easily around the space, setting his bag down by the chair, toeing off his sneakers before glancing back at you.  

“You should get some rest,” he said, softer now.  

You folded your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were still in the clothes you wore earlier, your sweater slightly rumpled from your half-nap. “I was resting until someone rang my doorbell exactly seven minutes after leaving.”  

Pedro just smiled, unapologetic. “I said I’d be quick.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips.  

Then, as if the weight of the day finally caught up to him, Pedro let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw before tilting his head at you. His gaze softened, the humor fading just a little.  

“How’s your side?”  

You hesitated, glancing down like you could see the stitches through your clothes. “Fine,” you said, but it wasn’t very convincing.  

Pedro’s brows pulled together. “Let me see.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“Just—let me check, make sure it’s not bleeding or anything.”  

You frowned, the shyness creeping back in. “Pedro, I can—”  

“You could,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “but you won’t.” His voice dipped into something quieter, something coaxing. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”  

Your breath hitched.  

You should’ve argued, should’ve batted away his concern with another stubborn insistence that you were fine. But he was looking at you like that—like you were something fragile and precious, something worth worrying over.  

And maybe a part of you wanted to be taken care of.  

You swallowed, nodding once.  

Pedro exhaled, something unspoken passing between you, before he gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”  

You did.  

He knelt in front of you, hands careful as he helped you lift the hem of your sweater, just enough to check the bandages covering your side. His fingers barely grazed your skin, but it was enough to send a shiver up your spine.  

Pedro stilled.  

His gaze flicked up to yours, like he’d felt it too.  

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room felt smaller, the air thicker.  

Then, finally, he spoke—voice rough, quiet.  

“You scared the shit out of me today.”

“So you’ve said…” You mumbled.

Pedro huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he carefully smoothed the fabric of your sweater back down. His hands lingered for half a second too long, fingertips brushing against your waist before he pulled away.  

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it—just exhaustion, something fond underneath.  

You swallowed past the warmth creeping up your neck and cleared your throat. “I, uh—I need to shower.”  

Pedro’s expression shifted instantly, concern knitting his brows together. “Careful with your stitches.”  

“I know,” you sighed, already pushing yourself up from the bed. “I just—” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how gross you felt. Your sweater was stiff in places, dried with sweat and blood, and your skin itched from the grime of the day. “I just need to wash this all off.”  

Pedro’s gaze softened, but his jaw ticked, like he was biting back a hundred different things he wanted to say.  

Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”  

You quickly gathered your pajamas and underwear, started toward the bathroom, then paused at the door, glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t—” You hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Don’t leave, okay?”  

Pedro blinked, something flickering behind his eyes before he nodded again. “I won’t.”  

That was all you needed.  

You closed the bathroom door behind you and exhaled, pressing your forehead against the cool wood for a second longer than necessary. Your heart was beating too fast.  

You shook it off, moving to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot—you didn’t want to irritate the stitches. The mirror caught your reflection, and you winced. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, dried blood streaked near your collar. No wonder Pedro had been hovering.  

Carefully, you peeled off your clothes, mindful of your injury as you stepped under the spray. Warm water cascaded over you, washing away the dirt and the tension, and you sighed in relief.  

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, warmth wrapped around you—not just from the plush hotel robe you’d thrown on, but from the scent of food lingering in the air. Something rich, comforting.  

Pedro sat on the edge of the couch, scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up the second he heard you. His eyes flickered over you, scanning for any signs of discomfort, lingering too long on the bandages at your side before he forced himself to meet your gaze.  

He offered you a small smile. “I ordered room service for dinner. Figured you needed something to eat before your next set of meds.”  

Your stomach answered before you could, a low grumble betraying just how little you’d eaten today.  

Pedro smirked. “Guess I made the right call.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were grateful. The thoughtfulness of it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your stitches.  

“What’d you get?” You padded over, tucking damp hair behind your ear as you settled onto the small couch beside him.  

“Chicken soup, because, you know—doctor’s orders.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, steam curling into the air. “And some pasta, just in case you wanted something more solid.”  

Your lips twitched. “You really thought this through, huh?”  

Pedro shrugged, too casual. “You’re my responsibility tonight.”  

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. He didn’t say it like it was an obligation. He said it like it was a fact. Like he wanted it to be.  

You looked away, focusing on the soup as you picked up a spoon. “Thanks,” you murmured.  

Pedro watched you for a beat before nodding. “Anytime.”

The silence between you was warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

You focused on your food, spooning up the broth, letting the heat soothe you from the inside out. The warmth of it settled deep in your chest, easing away the tightness that had been there since the accident. Pedro had been right—this was exactly what you needed.  

Across from you, Pedro twirled his fork through his pasta absentmindedly, but he wasn’t eating much. His eyes kept flicking toward you, like he was checking, making sure you were still here, still breathing.  

“You should eat,” you murmured, not looking up from your bowl.  

Pedro let out a small breath of amusement. “You sound like me.”  

You lifted a brow. “Guess it’s contagious.”  

He smirked but didn’t argue, finally taking a bite of his food. You kept eating, but the weight of his gaze never fully left you. It sat there, unspoken, lingering between the spaces of your breath and the scrape of silverware against ceramic.  

After a while, you set your spoon down and leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out. Pedro’s eyes flickered to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

Pedro’s gaze flickered down to your bandages again, his jaw tightening slightly.  

“You have no idea how much you worried me today,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges.  

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”  

“I mean it,” he said, setting his plate aside. He shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of you. “One second, you were fine, and the next…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “I keep thinking—if things had gone differently…”  

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm. You reached out without thinking, resting a hand over his. His fingers twitched under yours, like he was resisting the urge to hold on.  

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. “It was just an accident.”  

Pedro let out a humorless huff. “That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”  

You swallowed, your fingers curling slightly over his. “I know.”  

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The distant sounds of the city hummed beyond the hotel window, the murmur of footsteps passing by in the hallway. But here, in this quiet little bubble, it was just the two of you.  

Pedro’s fingers twitched again, then slowly, finally, curled around yours. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t hold too tightly. Just enough to tell you he was still here. That he wasn’t letting go.  

Your throat felt tight, emotions tangling up somewhere in your chest.  

“Pedro,” you started, but you didn’t know what to say.  

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time all night, you didn’t look away.  

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something real. It made your heart stumble in your chest.  

He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You need to drink your meds.”

“Right.” You nodded and reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and twisted the cap off with a sigh. Pedro, ever watchful, pushed the packet of pills closer to you with two fingers.  

“Go on,” he urged, tilting his head.  

You huffed but took the meds anyway, popping them into your mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. The whole time, Pedro watched you like a hawk, arms crossed over his chest, his face full of barely restrained concern.  

“There. Happy?” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

Pedro narrowed his eyes slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Very.”  

“You’re being a little much,” you teased, setting the bottle down.  

He arched a brow. “A little much?”  

“You’re hovering. You’re being—” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like a mother hen.”  

Pedro let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I am. Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not out here trying to tough it out on your own.”  

You looked away, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. He wasn’t wrong. You’d spent so much of your life trying to prove that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle things on your own. But having him here, fussing over you, making sure you took your meds, ordering you food—it was… nice.  

Really nice.  

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Well, thanks,” you muttered, voice softer this time.  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he saw right through you.  

You busied yourself adjusting the pillows, trying to ignore how much your heart was racing. But then you froze.  

There was only one bed.  

Your eyes darted to Pedro’s, and you saw the exact moment he noticed, too. His lips parted slightly, gaze flicking from you to the bed and back again.  

“Oh,” you said.  

Pedro exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can take the floor.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“The floor,” he repeated. “I’ll sleep there.”  

You frowned, looking between him and the thick, undoubtedly uncomfortable carpet. “Absolutely the fuck not.”  

Pedro smirked, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. “Wow. Strong words.”  

“I’m serious, Pedro.” You crossed your arms. “Your back will hate you forever.”  

His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you calling me old?”  

Your mouth opened, then closed. “No! I—I’m just saying, you’ll wake up sore as hell and—ugh.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples.  

Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”  

You glared at him, flustered beyond belief. “Not funny.”  

“Very funny.”  

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, still grinning like a damn idiot.  

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” you grumbled, trying to regain some of your dignity.  

Pedro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But if I wake up with an elbow to the ribs, I’m filing a complaint.”  

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

One bed. Pedro Pascal. You.  

You were doomed.

You climb into bed first, carefully maneuvering around your injury as you settle against the pillows. Pedro follows soon after, turning off the last of the lights, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft, golden glow over the room. The space between you is small—closer than what two people who are just friends probably should be—but neither of you move to fix it.  

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the hotel settling. Then, Pedro shifts slightly, resting his head on his hand as he looks at you.  

“Isn’t it weird?” he murmurs.  

You blink sleepily. “What?”  

“You changed rooms… and now we’re in the same bed.” His voice is thoughtful, like he’s only just realizing the weight of the situation.  

You snort. “Maybe I’m cursed.”  

Pedro chuckles, low and warm. “Nah, can’t be cursed if you end up spending more time with me.” His grin is downright smug.  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Okay, superstar, calm down.”  

Pedro huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying. If this is a curse, it’s not a bad one.”  

You open your mouth to argue—because really, who just casually says things like that?—but the words catch in your throat when you realize how close he really is. His face is relaxed in the dim light, his eyes dark and unreadable, his curls a little mussed from the day.  

Your heart stumbles.  

It should be weird, lying here with him like this, but somehow… it isn’t.  

Somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

The quiet hum of the night settles around you, the warmth of the sheets and the steady presence of Pedro beside you making it all too easy to forget the chaos of the day.  

You should be sleeping, but instead, you’re scrolling on your phone, the dim glow illuminating your face as you read. The soft, rhythmic sound of Pedro’s breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep—until his voice rumbles low in the quiet.  

“You always do that before bed?”  

You nearly jump, clutching your phone against your chest. “Do what?”  

Pedro’s lips twitch in amusement. “Read.”  

You swallow. Shit.  

“Yeah?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant.  

Pedro props himself up on one elbow, peering at your phone. “What are you reading?”  

Your body goes rigid. Oh god.  

You’re reading fanfiction. Specifically, his character’s fanfiction.  

Absolutely not. You cannot let this man know.  

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, locking your phone and placing it screen-down on the nightstand.  

Pedro raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”  

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you turn away, mumbling, “It’s nothing important.”  

Pedro hums, amused, but thankfully doesn’t push further. Instead, he settles back down, stretching one arm under the pillow.  

“Alright, secrets,” he teases, voice laced with sleep. “Guess I’ll just have to wonder.”  

You groan. “Go to sleep, Pedro.”  

He chuckles, the sound warm and deep. “Fine, fine.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavier. The warmth of Pedro beside you—solid, steady, real—only adds to it, pulling you deeper into rest.  

And before you know it, you’re asleep.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

The muffled chime of your alarm cuts through the quiet, dragging you from the depths of sleep. You groan, blindly reaching for your phone on the nightstand, smacking at the screen until the sound dies out.

As you settle back into the pillows, intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep, that's when you feel it.

Warmth. Solid and everywhere.

Your drowsy brain takes a second to catch up, to process the strong arm slung over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a broad chest against your back, the way his legs are tangled with yours, locking you in place.

And then—oh.

Something hard presses against the curve of your ass.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Heat floods your face instantly. The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train. Pedro is wrapped around you, his body flush against yours, and—yep, there’s no mistaking that.

You go completely still, hoping—praying—that maybe, maybe he’s still asleep, that he’s not aware of how intimately you’re pressed together.

A slow, deep inhale against your shoulder tells you otherwise.

Shit.

You can feel the moment he wakes up, the way his breathing shifts, the faintest tensing of his muscles. And then—

A sleepy, raspy groan vibrates against your skin.

Pedro shifts slightly behind you, his grip on your waist tightening for the briefest moment before his entire body goes rigid.

Silence.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his still half-asleep brain.

“…Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire.

His hand flexes against your stomach before he very, very slowly starts to pull away, but in doing so, he shifts again—and you feel everything for a split second longer than you should.

A tiny, humiliating sound escapes the back of your throat.

Pedro freezes.

Oh, god. Kill me now.

“…Did you just whimper?” His voice is still thick with sleep, rough and laced with amusement.

“No…” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He shifts slightly, just enough for you to feel him again, solid and unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

Pedro lets out a low, knowing chuckle, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmurs, “Mmm. I think you did.”

You want to die.

Or maybe kill him. Either option seems preferable to this moment.

“You’re imagining things,” you mutter, voice strained as you try to ignore the way heat licks up your spine.

“Am I?” His arm tightens slightly around your waist, his fingers splaying against your stomach in a way that makes your breath catch.

God, he’s so warm.

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs. “Pedro.”

Pedro hums in response, low and teasing, the sound vibrating against your skin.  

You shiver, heat pooling deep in your stomach. He’s still so close—his breath warm against your jaw, his fingers resting against your waist, firm and grounding.  

You don’t know who moves first.  

Maybe it’s you, tilting your head just slightly, your lips parting in anticipation. Or maybe it’s him, the way his nose grazes your cheek, the way he exhales shakily, like he’s been fighting this just as much as you have.  

And then his lips are on yours.  

Soft at first, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can spiral into something neither of you can take back.  

But you don’t pull away.  

Instead, you press into him, fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.  

Pedro groans low in his throat, something almost desperate unraveling between you. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, not pushing—just holding. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping against yours in a slow, intoxicating glide.  

You sigh into him, utterly lost in the way he tastes, the way he feels.  

Then he shifts, leaning more of his weight onto you, and a sharp twinge shoots through your side. You inhale sharply, wincing.  

Pedro immediately freezes.  

His lips break from yours, breath warm and uneven against your jaw. “Shit.” He pulls back, eyes scanning your face, concern flickering in the deep brown of his gaze. “Did I—did I hurt you?”  

You shake your head, blinking away the haze of want clouding your thoughts. “No, I’m okay. Just… a little sore.”  

His lips press into a thin line, and then he’s pulling away completely, his hands gentle as he brushes a thumb over your hip. “I shouldn’t have—”  

You cut him off with a soft laugh. “Pedro, you didn’t break me.”  

His brows pinch together, still looking unsure. But then his gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand, and he mutters a quiet fuck.  

You glance at the time. “What?”  

“I have to be on set in thirty minutes.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “I gotta get dressed.”  

Your heart sinks.  

You don’t even try to hide it, the disappointment settling deep in your bones. But it’s not just that he has to leave—it’s the way he pulls away so fast, the way his hands are gone from your skin, the way reality rushes back in like a cold slap to the face.  

What if that kiss was a mistake? 

What if he didn’t mean it, not really? What if it was just the heat of the moment, an impulse he already regrets?  

You swallow hard, trying to school your expression, trying not to let the spiral show on your face.  

But Pedro catches it anyway.  

He stops halfway through buttoning his shirt, his gaze snapping to yours. His brows furrow, that warm, knowing look settling into his features. “No.”  

You blink. “What?”  

He shakes his head, stepping closer, voice firm. “No. I know that face.”  

You press your lips together, looking away, but Pedro doesn’t let you retreat.  

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face back toward him. His eyes are soft, earnest, searching yours. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake.”  

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.  

Pedro exhales, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I like you.” His voice is rough, almost exasperated, like he can’t believe he even has to say it out loud. “Fuck, I like you.”  

Your stomach flips. “You do?”  

His lips twitch into a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, letting out a breathy chuckle. “And I really wish I didn’t have to leave right now.”  

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Me too.”  

Pedro lingers a second longer before groaning, pulling away. “Okay. I really do have to go.” He finishes buttoning his shirt in record time, shoving on his jacket, running a hand through his messy hair.  

And yet—before he reaches the door, he turns back, pointing at you. “Take your meds. We’ll talk more later when I get back.”  

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”  

“I’m serious,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “Rest, take your meds, don’t do anything stupid.”  

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’re really bossy, you know that?”  

Pedro smirks, walking backward toward the door. “Yeah? And you really like it.”  

You grab a pillow and launch it at him.  

He laughs, catching it before it can hit the floor, and then he’s gone—leaving behind the ghost of his touch, the lingering taste of his lips, and the undeniable truth that you are absolutely, utterly screwed.

The moment the door clicks shut, you stare at it for a solid five seconds.  

Then—  

You let out a muffled squeal, practically throwing yourself onto the bed, hugging your pillow close to your chest as you kick your feet.  

Oh my god.  

Oh. My. God.  

Did that really just happen? Did Pedro fucking Pascal just kiss you? Did he say—no, did he actually say he likes you? Out loud? Like, in real life?  

You bury your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. This has to be a dream. Some fever-induced hallucination from the painkillers, because there is no way this is actually happening to you.  

Your stomach flips as you replay every second of it—the warmth of his hands on your skin, the way his lips moved against yours, the way he groaned into your mouth. Jesus. Your body feels like it’s buzzing, and you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this.  

Then, like a bucket of cold water, a terrifying realization crashes over you.  

He doesn’t know. 

You push yourself up, staring blankly at the wall as the horror sinks in.  

He doesn’t know you’ve been reading fanfiction about him. About his characters. About him doing things that— 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  

Oh God.  

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  

What if he ever finds out? What if he ever catches you again, peeking at your phone, and this time you don’t have the composure to hide it? What if he sees the ungodly amount of saved bookmarks you have?  

You flop back onto the bed, groaning into your pillow.  

Oh. Oh no.  

The fanfiction was bad enough. But then—  

Your stomach drops.  

The TikTok edits.  

The candid photos.  

The folder.  

You physically sit up in bed, gripping the pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The folder on your phone—hidden in the depths of your camera roll, labeled something totally inconspicuous like Receipts or Taxes—is filled with candid pictures, behind-the-scenes clips, and so many thirst edits of Pedro Pascal set to unholy audio.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing so hard your whole body tenses.  

You can never let him near your phone.  

Ever.  

What if he finds the one edit with him as Jack Daniels? The one that made you short-circuit the first time you saw it? Or the compilation of him laughing, looking stupidly charming, set to some overly romantic Taylor Swift song?  

Jesus Christ.  

You groan, flopping back against the pillows, dragging your hands down your face.  

This is bad.  

Like, really bad.  

Because not only have you been a lowkey (very highkey) fangirl for years, but now you’ve kissed him. Now he likes you. Now there’s a very real possibility that this could actually go somewhere.  

And if he ever finds out just how deep your obsession goes?  

You’re changing your name and moving to a remote island.

End Notes:

Well… IT HAS BEEN HINTED AT. TIME AND TIME AGAIN. That you are a fan girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh God, what if he finds out 😃

Ya’ll they kissed! YAYYY!!

Awww you have a week off to rest and heal up girlieeee heuheuh

Look at Pedro being a mind reader. Love that for you!

We love a reassuring king. Gimme that shit. 

Yes, this is a little filler chapter before absolute chaos… oh hrm I meant… nothing what?

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi

[5targh0st]

NUMBER ONE GIRL

78. don’t kick his ass (written)

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Looking at the ceiling, still feeling something between numbed and overwhelmed, Yeonjun convinces himself that he did what he had to do. It’s just a little break until he manages to get Yuna to stop harassing him. Once she’s out of the picture, all those feelings will go away. Once she’s gone again, he can go back to the life he’s worked so hard for, right? He knows he’s hurting the person he loves most in the world, but it’s all for a good reason. Surely, you will understand. He will explain and you’ll understand. Just not right now. Not when his old wounds are wide open and you can see his pitiful soul covered in blood. He just needs a few days, maybe weeks, and everything will be okay again.

He really wants to believe that, because it’s been just a couple of days and he’s already dying to talk to you and go back to how things were; how they’re supposed to be.

“Can you please calm down?” Dahyun sighs yet again.

Joshua’s been angry and anxious ever since he saw those posts. Just what the fuck is Yeonjun doing.

“I can’t!” He’s beyond exasperated right now. “She literally said nothing’s going on and yet has gone radio silence ever since. I need to know she’s okay, and she won’t talk to anyone. And I can’t go to Seoul ‘cause we’re closing an important deal and those fuckers insist on seeing me.”

“Hansol says he’s going,” she tries to reassure him.

“That’s way worse!” He complains.

As if sensing they were talking about him, Halson walks into the living room. He looks like he’s ready to kill someone.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get there.” He announces while he makes sure he has his passport with him.

“Just don’t kick his ass right away,” Dahyun pleads.

“I’m not making any promises,” Hansol rolls his eyes.

“She’s gonna hate us if you do,” Josh reminds him. “Just make sure to get both sides of the story.”

“We’re literally meddling in her private life, she’s gonna hate us regardless.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. “So I have to at least land a good punch on that fucker.”

Joshua can’t help but sigh again. Contrary to popular belief, Hansol is way more prone to be a lot more overprotective than he is, and that already says a lot. Of, course, Joshua knows he’s intense and kind of abrasive, but he’s never one to resort to violence. Josh admits he’s the bark, and Hansol is the bite. That’s why they make such a good team. And that’s why he didn’t want him to go alone.

“I really hope you guys don’t regret this,” Dahyun says hugging his waist.

“I think we will.”

During the flight, Hansol tries to think about something else. He really, really tries to write a song and even read the book he always carries around which title he’s already forgotten. He can’t. His mind goes back to his little sister and, by extension, to Josh.

He still remembers the day they met, they were both five and trying not to die of boredom at one of the fancy dinners their parents used to host all the time. Joshua’s chubby cheeks and proud grin are still clear in his mind, “I’m gonna be a big brother soon,” he remembers Joshua bragging. That summer, they met every day and Joshua would say he’d be his big brother too. He was bossy, even more than now, but he was fun. Joshua would try to teach him stuff and care for him, he really enjoyed flexing those few months between their birthdays. Hansol has to admit that he was a little jealous of Joshua’s unborn sister, he liked the attention and felt that the little girl would steal Joshua from him.

And then he saw her. So tiny and fragile, she stole his heart. “Can I be a big brother too?” He remembers asking Joshua. And it’s been like that ever since. He was there as much as he could and tried to help here and there. He thought little Yn would interfere with his time with Joshua, but it was Joshua who’d always tried to cut short his time with the little girl. He loved attending her tea parties and letting her and Karina paint his nails. He’s loved her ever since he first saw her, he’d give up his life for his sister. Blood doesn’t matter, that’s his sister. And he’s gonna make sure Yeonjun understands.

That’s what made him lose his mind in the first place. He was the first to welcome Yeonjun to their little family and even encouraged him to finally ask Yn out. He was really grateful for his presence in his sister’s life. He never expected that he would do something like this, especially completely out of nowhere.

“What the hell is going on?” He mutters looking out the window. There’s nothing to see, though, not besides some dark clouds in the distance.

Three days. It’s been three days since Yeonjun said he needed some space. You still can’t make sense out of his words. You tried texting him, calling him. You haven’t shown up to his place, though, you don’t think you could handle such a direct rejection if he refuses to see you even then. Where did it all go wrong? Everything was going great, better than great even. Everything was perfect.

Were you too pushy? Too clingy? Just too much? Or maybe he got scared? This was his first relationship after a really long time, after all. Maybe everything got way too serious way too fast. He did say he wanted to take things slow, see where it goes. But you thought you were on the same page, you thought you both had the same goals and desires. What if he was just trying to please you? What if you were just a means to an end? What if he was just trying to prove that he could be in a relationship?

But he said he loved you? Loved? When did you start to think about him in past tense? Isn’t he your present and future? Fuck. Everything is a little too overwhelming.

“I need to get out,” you say before grabbing your keys and going out.

You walk around for a few hours but turns out that that’s not enough to ease your mind. Your thoughts are still driving you crazy. Your heart still aching. And Yeonjun’s still missing. When did you get so used to him being around? You miss his jokes, his laugh. His yapping, his random stories. Every single part of him became a part of you. How is it possible to love someone that much in such a short time? His little quirks are engraved in your mind. And you miss him.

And then you see the best way to forget about everything. Even if just for a little while. You just want to forget. Life would be easier if you could just disappear until everything is right again.

“Just one drink,” you say before making your way into the bar.

Very bad idea.

notes:

please tell me you get the modern family reference 😭

joshua trying to be reasonable is my favorite thing ever

han is a real one

if you don't hate my writing and storytelling, you can help me choose my next story here lol

taglist: open! (3/50)

@estella-novella @poetryforthesad @lisaswifey @angelzforu @ihrtlix @gloriousqueenking @domfikeluva @conwunder @miniature-tragedy @jeonginplsholdmyhand @sh0dor1 @yourenzoo @tkshairband @realrintaro @castingjinx @amara-mars @hwangrfrnd @nujeskz @jisungs-iced-americano @zeizeisjy @va1entinaa @beomgyusluver @to-toad @akindaflora @hoefororeo @mandydxndy @nyanamii @delulu4-life @thatonexcgirl @starsunoo @4lndr17 @nbjch05 @borahae-reads @mrsstayfox @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @mrsminseochoi @velvetmoonlght @night-storm7 @lilbrorufr @hyunjinstolemyheart @mangojellyyy @ihrtantn @lausnotverybright @hwangism143 @wa1kinggh0st @skz-ot8-stay @athens-09xx

[odileeclipse]

hii could you do a Pure Vanilla Cookie x anemic!gn!reader and reader never really experienced how it felt like when someone is caring for them so they just feel very weird inside whenever Pure Vanilla shows kindness to them and reader thinks they don’t deserve this and hates the feeling of being cared for and thinks pure vanilla just pities the them so reader just distances themselves from pv and doesn’t talk to him much anymore unless if it’s something important and whenever reader sees pv coming in their way they immediately just walk to another direction. Pv notices the sudden change of behavior and just lwk confronts them one day and reader of course tries to run away again but pv stops them

you can decide on what happens after

ty!!

A Kindness you can't grasp PVxReader oneshot

The Vanilla Kingdom was as peaceful as ever, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Stained-glass windows cast soft, pastel hues across the grand halls, and the scent of blooming flora from the royal gardens drifted through the air. It was beautiful—serene, even. But you found no comfort in it. Not when you felt so weak. You hadn’t thought much of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s kindness at first. He was benevolent to all, after all. A warm smile here, a gentle word there—it was simply who he was. But as time passed, his actions grew… personal. He would notice when you looked pale and usher you to sit, placing a hand on your forehead as if checking for a fever. He would remind you—urge you—to eat, sometimes even setting small plates of fruit or nourishing sweets near you with a quiet, expectant look. When dizziness struck, his hand was always there to steady you, his staff’s soft glow chasing away the worst of it.

It was unbearable.

The more he did, the more the feeling grew. That awful, gnawing sensation in your chest, whispering cruel things into your mind. Mockery. That’s what it was. Why else would someone like him—so revered, so gentle—go out of his way to treat you with such care? It had to be some kind of joke. He must’ve pitied you. Or worse—he wanted to prove something. How laughable you were. Weak. Frail. Someone to be looked after like a helpless child. You hated it. So you stopped talking to him unless it was absolutely necessary. You avoided his gaze, kept your distance. And when you saw him in the halls, you turned and walked the other way.

Pure Vanilla Cookie had noticed the change immediately. At first, he thought perhaps you were simply in need of space, so he respected it. But as days passed, concern bloomed within him like ivy, twisting tight around his heart. Every time he saw you, you were further away emotionally and physically. The worst part was the way you looked at him now like his kindness was something to be feared. He wouldn’t let this go on any longer. So when he caught sight of you today, he acted. You had just rounded the corner near the castle’s garden entrance when his voice reached you.

“(y/n) cookie.” You stiffened, your body moving before you could think—turning on your heel to leave. But he was faster. A hand—gentle yet firm—closed around your wrist, halting your escape. "Please," he said, his voice as soft as a prayer, "talk to me." Your heart pounded. “Let me go.” “Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Have I done something to hurt you?” You grit your teeth, refusing to meet his gaze. “No.” “Then why?” His grip loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go completely. “You’ve been isolating yourself, and I-” He sighed. “I worry for you, (Y/N). Your anemia is not something to be ignored. You’ve been looking even paler than before. And I know… I know you’re not caring after yourself properly, you look so pale today.” That made something snap inside you. “Why do you care?” The words came out sharp, venom-laced, and dripping with frustration. You yanked your wrist away. “Why do you keep acting like this? Like I’m some fragile thing you need to fix?” His expression faltered just for a moment. “I don’t think of you that way,” he said softly. “I only want to help.” “No,” you spat. “You pity me. Don’t you?” His eyes widened.

“That’s all this is, isn’t it?” Your voice wavered. “You see someone weak, and you have to extend your kindness because you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie, the merciful saint of the Vanilla Kingdom. It’s all just” you exhaled shakily, clenching your fists. “It’s just mockery.” Pure Vanilla Cookie remained silent for a long moment, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. Then, finally, he spoke. “…I would never mock you.” His voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it a depth of sincerity that made your breath hitch. “I don’t care for you out of pity, (y/n). And I don’t see you as weak.” He stepped closer, slow and cautious, as if approaching something delicate. “I care for you because… I care. Because you are someone who matters to me.” The way he said it the unwavering truth in his tone made your throat tighten. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, barely audible. “But I do,” he said simply. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to refute him, to push him away again, but… you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like this with warmth, with understanding, with something you couldn’t quite name. A breeze drifted in from the open garden, carrying the scent of lilies and sun-warmed earth. The golden light of the afternoon softened everything—the edges of your trembling hands, the weariness in Pure Vanilla’s eyes. “…I don’t know how to accept this,” you admitted finally, your voice raw. “That’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to. Not all at once.” A pause. Then, hesitantly, he reached for your hand slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he took it, his touch warm and grounding. “Let me care for you,” he said gently. “Not out of obligation. Not out of pity. But because you deserve it.”

The weight of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s words lingered in the air, settling deep within you like a whisper you weren’t sure you could trust. But you didn’t pull away. You should have—should have torn yourself from his grasp, should have shut yourself away again before his warmth could creep into the hollow spaces inside you. But you didn’t. And he noticed. Pure Vanilla Cookie’s fingers curled ever so slightly around your hand, not to trap you, but as if anchoring himself. A silent promise that he would not let you slip away again—not this time. His golden gaze, soft as the light filtering through the castle’s stained-glass windows, swept over you with quiet concern. “…You’re exhausted,” he murmured. You tensed instinctively. “I’m fine.” “You’re not.” He sighed, shifting slightly, and before you could react, he pressed the back of his hand gently against your cheek, then your forehead, a soft pulse of magic tingling against your skin. His brows furrowed. “You’re cold,” he said, barely above a whisper. Your breath caught in your throat. It was true. The ever-present chill that clung to your fingers, your arms, your very dough you had gotten used to it, accepted it as a part of you. But Pure Vanilla noticed. Of course he did. And you hated that he noticed. He exhaled softly, his hand falling away. “Come with me.” You blinked, startled. “What?” “I won’t force you,” he added, his voice as gentle as ever, “but… I worry, (Y/N). I worry about how you’ve been taking care of yourself about how much you’ve been pushing yourself. Let me at least try to help.” Something inside you twisted painfully. The way he spoke, the raw genuineness in it, made it so much harder to believe this was some elaborate act of pity.

And yet, your own insecurities clawed at your throat, fighting to make you refuse, to pull away, to disappear before this warmth could settle in your heart. But your body betrayed you. The dizziness suddenly hit like a crashing wave, and you stumbled before you could stop yourself. Pure Vanilla moved without hesitation, catching you with both hands before you could fall. “(Y/N)!” You grit your teeth, cursing your own weakness. “It’s just” “I’m taking you somewhere to rest.” His voice left no room for argument this time.

The castle’s infirmary was peaceful, tucked away in a quiet wing of the Vanilla Kingdom. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, and the scent of dried herbs hung in the air. The bed beneath you was too soft, too comfortable a stark contrast to how you were used to feeling. You stared at the ceiling, unsure of how you had let this happen. Pure Vanilla Cookie bustled nearby, preparing something at a small alchemy table. He had barely left your side since bringing you here, only stepping away long enough to gather whatever remedies he was concocting. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy. “…You should take better care of yourself.” You glanced at him, startled by the sudden words. He wasn’t looking at you, instead focused on stirring a steaming cup of something fragrant. “I know it’s not easy,” he continued, “but if you won’t do it for yourself… will you let me help?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t need-”

“You do.” His gaze finally met yours, warm and unwavering. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to do everything alone.” You turned your face away, unsure how to respond. You had spent so long convincing yourself that needing care,  needing someone was a weakness. That you had to be fine on your own. But Pure Vanilla Cookie was unraveling that belief with every gentle touch, every kind word, every genuine moment of concern. A quiet sound caught your attention. You turned back just in time for him to settle onto the bed beside you, pressing the warm cup into your hands. “It’s an herbal remedy,” he said. “It will help with the dizziness.”

You hesitated, staring at the tea, then at him. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you care so much?” He tilted his head slightly, as if the question confused him. “Because you matter,” he said simply. “Because I care about you, (Y/N).” Your hands trembled slightly around the cup. “…I don’t know how to accept that.” Pure Vanilla Cookie smiled softly, not in pity, but in understanding. “Then let’s start small,” he said. “For now, just drink.” And somehow, despite the uncertainty twisting inside you, you did.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 5

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,300ish

Summary: Your first day as the wife to Tony Stark.

Notes: If you haven’t seen it yet, linked here is the floor plan that I made for the mansion. Please send in reactions!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

It was common for you to lose track of time while you worked with clay, and it was no exception right now. It was almost five in the morning when you finally looked at a clock. You were caked in clay, paint, and glaze. You cleaned up as best as you were able to on low energy and fell asleep in your brand new bed.

Tony was up around the time you finally went to bed, tinkering in his workshop. Pepper woke up and slipped on a robe before creeping out into the living area. She looked around, scanning the room for any sign of you. Slowly, she creeped over to your side of the house. Having no shame, Pepper opened your studio and walked in.

“Interesting,” she mumbled to herself, looking at all the ceramic supplies. “And lame.”

After exploring your side of the house without disturbing your bedroom, Pepper found Tony in the garage that dueled as a workshop. She came over to where he was leaning over one of his cars. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his neck.

“Your wife is weird,” she commented.

“Yeah?” Tony muttered, keeping most of his focus on his work. “Why do you say that?”

“That studio of hers. She’s definitely a wannabe artist.”

“Whatever keeps her on her side of the house. Right?”

Pepper sighed. “I just wish it was my side of the house… Maybe a little accident could be fall your new wife and then we can—“

“Stop that, Pepper.” He pulled out of her grasp and walked over to the tool chest. “My father would have us both killed. Besides… my mother likes her.”

Pepper scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Your mother would deal with it.”

“Just drop it, Pepper. I can’t handle dealing with your drama right now.”

“You’re the one who invited me over, remember?”

“And you’re the one who came running.”

“If you don’t want me here, then I can leave.”

“It’s up to you. I have work to avoid.”

Pepper scowled as she huffed and stormed off. She went back to Tony’s room, gathered her things, and left out the side door. Steve watched as she drove away before he entered Tony’s garage.

“I saw that Pepper left,” he stated.

“Mhm,” Tony hummed, focused on his car.

“I haven’t seen Y/N yet or have had the chance to meet her.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“She is your wife, Tony, and while a bodyguard hasn’t been assigned to her, Howard has instructed me to watch out for her too.”

“Again, not my problem.”

“Tony—“

“Do you need something? Or are you just here to pester me about my wife?”

“Howard wants you on the video conference in ten minutes.”

“Great. I’ll be in my office in ten then. You can go.”

Steve sighed before making his way back into the large living space of the house. He walked over to the back windows and scanned the back yard. He knew that their were plenty of security measures and guards out there, but he had to check for himself.

“Oh,” you squeaked, stopping in the small hallway that led from your room to the living space. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know—“

“Please, don’t apologize. I’m Steve, Tony’s bodyguard. We haven’t met properly.”

“I’m Y/N.”

Steve gave you a kind smile, something you weren’t familiar with on a man. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll go but I’ll be around. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

You nodded before Steve turned around and left. You walked into the kitchen and began opening cabinets to see what you could find. Each cabinet was fully stocked with everything a kitchen could need, including the pantry. There was already put together food and snacks, but you chose to gather ingredients and make yourself a snack. Without a care in the world, you worked in the kitchen. You were about to put the tray in the oven when a door slammed, scaring you. The tray went clattering to the floor, making a large mess over the lower cabinets and floor.

“What the hell happened here?” Tony questioned, taking in the mess.

You quickly fell to the floor and began cleaning up the mess. “I’m sorry,” you said, a slight quiver to your voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. It won’t happen again.”

Tony’s brows furrowed as he watched you work frantically. “We have people who can cook and clean. I’m sure they’re on their way right now to clean up this mess. It’s not your job to clean up.”

“Of course.” You pulled back, resting your shaking hands in your lap. “I’m sorry.”

Tony couldn’t help but notice how you were keeping your head down and wouldn’t make eye contact. “I’m going to be working in my office. Don’t disturb me.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

Tony spared you another glance before disappearing into his office. You stood up as two women entered with cleaning supplies. Rushing off, you hid yourself away in your studio. You got to work on the projects you had started and on a few pieces you believed Maria would like in her office. 

~~~

“I sure hope that my son didn’t do anything stupid last night,” Maria said as her and Natasha made their way into your house.

“That depends on your definition of stupid,” Natasha responded. “Steve told me that Pepper was over last night.”

“Not surprising. At least he didn’t hurt Y/N. That poor girl needs a break.” They entered the home and glanced around. They could hear soft music coming from your studio down the hall. Maria smiled. “I was worried that she wouldn’t use it.” They walked over and Maria gently knocked. “Y/N? It’s Maria and Natasha.”

Your head snapped up from what you were working on, surprised to hear the knock and Maria’s voice on the other side. Under your father’s rule, everyone entered your spaces without permission. It would take a while to get use to being allowed a few boundaries. You wiped your hands clean as you walked over and opened the door.

“Hello, my dear,” Maria greeted with a large smile. “We’re sorry to disturb you, but we thought we’d come by to check on you.”

“Come in,” you mumbled, opening the door wider and letting the two women in. You shut the door behind them. 

“It looks like you’re already using this space well already. Do you like it? I know you just starting to use it, but anything can still be changed. Just say the word.”

You shook your head. “No. It’s all good.”

“Good. How did last night go? Are… are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I stayed in here most of the night working.”

“Tony didn’t do anything?”

“You can tell us,” Natasha added.

“No,” you replied. “We stuck to our own sides.”

Maria and Natasha nodded, sharing a look. They were both a bit disappointed that Tony didn’t try to get to know you but they were grateful that he didn’t push himself on you.

“Do you mind if we stay and chat?” Maria asked. “Maybe watch you work?”

You were taken back slightly. Most people just stayed because you had no say, but Maria was always making sure everything was okay with you.

“That’s fine,” you responded.

“What are you working on currently?” Natasha asked, walking around to see all the projects you already had drying. 

“Uh… I’m making a vase for the kitchen island.” You motioned to the large piece of unformed clay on the nearby wheel. “It’s nothing yet though.”

“Can you show us how this works?” Maria wondered, truly interested in your passion.

You nodded and sat down at the wheel. You began working nervously as you never had people watch you like this. Maria and Natasha pulled up stools and asked you questions as you worked. They watched you relax more and talk excitedly about what you were doing. They enjoyed hearing you excited about something.

~~~

Obadiah was led through the Stark home quietly. He didn’t care much as he was there for business, not pleasure. When he was let into Howard’s office, Obadiah found the man behind his desk, typing away. Bucky, Howard’s bodyguard, stood to the side of the room, carefully watching the entire exchange.

“Obadiah,” Howard greeted, pulling his attention way from his work. 

“Howard,” Obadiah said.

“You wanted to see me? Said you had something to talk about?”

“Yes. I know that our deal has only just started, but we never got to talk about my daughter’s protection.”

“Your daughter is now a Stark. She is under the same protection that the rest of my family is.”

“Yes, but she is my daughter and I don’t have full trust in your men. Or, I guess, the women you choose to hire. I have a man, Brock Rumlow, who has been her bodyguard for years. I trust him and so does Y/N. I was hoping that you would accept him as a member of your team. Of Y/N’s team.”

“No. I’m sure that this Brock is up to par, but we do not need him on our team. Your daughter is safe. We have the best security team. They are fully vetted and very trustworthy.”

“My daughter deserves the best and Brock Rumlow is the best.”

“Your daughter has the best now.”

“I demand—“

“You are in no position to make demands here, Obadiah. If there’s nothing else, I think this meeting is over. Barnes.” Bucky stepped forward. “Please guide our guest out of the house.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said.

Obadiah huffed as turned and headed out of the office. Bucky followed, making sure that he left the house. Brock was outside, leaning against the car as he waited for his boss.

“Let’s go,” Obadiah grunted as he got into the car.

Brock slipped into the driver’s seat. “What did Stark say?” He asked as he pulled away from the Stark’s house. 

“That bastard won’t let you on Y/N’s team. But the fight isn’t over. We will get you into their ranks, no matter what.”

~~~

Maria and Natasha stayed until well after lunch. The three of you had lunch together in your studio, chatting away and laughing. It was such a new feeling for you, happiness in this way. And friendship.

“Thank you for allowing us to derail your day,” Maria said as she helped clean up.

“You didn’t,” you shook your head. “Thank you both for coming.”

“Anytime.”

“I’ll walk you both out.”

“No need, my dear. I need to check in on my son. You can do what you need to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. We’ll reach out and do something again.”

You nodded, giving her a hopeful smile. “I’ll see you both later then. I’m going to go clean up.”

Then you left, heading to your room. Natasha and Maria headed into the main living area just as Tony was coming out of his office.

“Mom?” Tony questioned, confused.

“Hello, Anthony,” she said, coming up to hug him. 

Natasha saw Steve behind Tony and motioned over to the side. The two walked to the back of the house, going onto the back porch, giving the mother and son some space.

“What are you doing here?” Tony wondered. “Spying on me?”

“Just checking on your new bride,” Maria responded. “Thank you for not pressuring her into anything.”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t want to anyway. Pepper came over.”

Maria sighed. “You need to be careful with Pepper.”

“I know you don’t like her, mom, but she’s not going anywhere.”

“You will make your own choices no matter what I say, but Y/N deserves to have Pepper be kept in private.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, Anthony.”

“Oh, I know you are.”

“Anthony. Y/N deserves the respect of not having to know when you are bringing your mistress around.”

“Does dad give you that same respect?”

“Your father and I’s relationship is different than what you think it is, Anthony. Your father is loyal to me and loves me.”

Tony scoffed. “He has you brainwashed.”

Maria knew that this conversation was going nowhere. “Whatever you may believe, Tony, I had hoped that you were going to be better.”

“I am better.”

“You are the same as your father.”

Tony’s jaw clenched as his mother’s statement, trying to bury the anger that threatened to grow. “It was good to see you, mother. Please don’t stop by more often.” Then he spun on his heal and headed into his part of the house.

~~~

Out back, while Tony and Maria were talking, Steve and Natasha were having their own conversation.

“Pepper was over last night,” Steve told Natasha.

“Of course she was,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “You know, Tony could do a whole lot better. Hell, he has a wife who is a whole lot better already.”

“I know.”

“Did Y/N have a visitor at all last night?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

“The bodyguard her father had assigned to her, Brock Rumlow, he’s not good news. I don’t have a good feeling around him and he’s too touchy and possessive of Y/N.”

“Do you think he’s her version of Pepper?”

“I think it’s worse than that. Bucky texted me and told me that Obadiah tried to get Howard to put Brock on Y/N’s security team. Howard refused but I don’t put Brock or Obadiah against trying to get Brock close to Y/N.”

“I’ll keep an eye out and have the security team do it as well.”

“She’s too nice. Too good for this world.”

“I’ll make sure that she’s safe, Nat. But I do worry about the damage that Tony could do to her.”

“I know. Me too.”

next chapter >

[drdemonprince]

hi! i just wanted to say that as a very traumatised autistic person, your piece An Autistic Social Butterfly's Guide to Making Friends has brought me close to tears. i have faced ostracism my whole life, from early childhood, when my parents were physically abusive, to primary school age, where i was regularly bullied and isolated, to high school where i started dealing with heavy mental health issues as a result of continued ostracism, including suicidality, depression and anxiety. my whole life i’ve been told that whatever i was facing was something of my own creation, and despite my autism diagnosis at 13, my parents never ceased this mantra. when in high school i met a group of queer neurodivergent people at a very vulnerable time in my life (i had just been unceremoniously removed from my turbulent friend group and would spend days at a time at school not speaking to anyone) i immediately decided to shed my more outspoken personality that would complain if someone did something i didn’t like, and allowed these people to cross my boundaries again and again, because to have friends, even if they were awful to me and made me feel like a burden for struggling, was better than being alone again. very long story short, 5 years after meeting them, i completely cut them off in 2024, but as they were my only point of social connection, i found myself becoming far more of a hermit than i ever wanted. but because of my history of constantly being harmed by people i met, i decided that friendship wasn’t worth it and that i didn’t want to get to know people if this was how i was going to be treated over and over again. i’ve been ignoring my own social needs for over half a year, trying to heal from the immense amount of pain caused by being ignored by my ‘friends’ whenever i clearly stated that i needed attention, i needed help that wasn’t going to end with me in the psychiatric ward (i have been forcibly incarcerated in the psychiatric ward and drugged upwards of 10 times). but your article, and my own self exploration with being a trans ? who likes to wear dresses and also loves being hairy and giving head to men is slowly reminding me that i can find people i care about again and who care about me, and your article has given me practical steps to do so. the realisation that i don’t have to orgasm to enjoy sex, or receive mutual physical stimulation from my partner has taken a burden off of my shoulders that i didn’t know was there. from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

wow thank you Anon. I have been through the ringer too and I understand those waves of isolating to protect oneself after having been subsumed by friend groups in the past and how impossible it can feel at times that youll ever find people you can really be open and yourself with. but they are there. oh my god are all the freaks out there each one a unique baffling configuration and you can find them and connect to them and build something for yourself from all those relationships and do your own thing and it can be great.

[ineffablecabbage]

THE PITT, 3 PM

Not Spoilers: I don't care how many people on this show kiss Santos' ass: it's just gonna make me hate her more, actually!

SPOILERS

First of all, Robby's little speech about where to put your feelings definitely reminds me of "there are TWO KINDS OF DOCTORS." someone should make a gif set lmao

Secondly, Frank is a great mentor when his student isn't an asshole. Mel + Frank is my favorite team. "YES YOU DO." AWW.

showing Dana breaking up the fight is the reality of nurses' every fucking day lives. love that for this show.

DAMN IS SANTOS GOING TO QUESTION EVERY SINGLE TIME EVERY DOCTOR GIVES AN ORDER? HE'S YOUR FUCKING ATTENDING, YOU DUMBASS.

Look, I can't be mad at Langdon for being bitchy to Santos. .This dumb girl is trying to frame him for drugs, so she deserves what she gets! Anyway, she's been terrible all day. I DON'T CARE that he's mean to her, show. tHIS GIRL could not have survived Benton or Season 5 Carter. She'd crawl in a hole and cry about Dr. Bailey. She deserves all THREE.

THOSE RATS ARE PET RATS. I love them. Offer them a sandwhich, Whitaker.

Oh, does Robby have a bad back? Hmmmmmmm. DON'T COME FOR ME, LAWSUIT.

Oh, are they flirting over the patients again? LOL, Either that baby was his or that was an IVF baby. That woman is not with anoher man.

Okay, so yes, Langdon did too much here. But lmao. If you are yelling "Shut the fuck up" at your underlings.... maybe your advice is hypocritical here, Robby. AND ACTUALLY, getting Mel out of the game was a good thing.

I'm sure Santos' defenders will pretend that Robby was in the right there, but he needs a good smack. And so does Santos.

If belitting and humiliation or whatever aren't effective teachign tools, then maybe yelling in the hallway aren't either, Dr. Robby, buddy.

Oh, poor Victoria. Also, that was awkward as fuck.

"I wish you many Utahs." Awww, I love Dana.

OH JESUS H. CHRIST. NOW We have to hear Samira go on about how good Trinity is at this. lmao. Nah, she sucks, actually. If there is one bad writing issue in this show, it is how they are approaching Trinity. She is a complete shit doctor who occassionally gets lucky, and we have to hear the likes of Samira and Robby to go bad for the dumb girl while Trinity treats everyone else like shit.

I genuinely hope nothing good happens to Santos for the rest of this show. I haven't hated someone this strongly since Owen Hunt screamed at Cristina Yang.

Awww, Whitaker. Awww, the psych patient. Awwww warm fuzzies.

Oh, damn. Collins calling out fatphobia. NICE.

that fucking asshole punched DANA? what a fucking asshole.

[bobasbn]

a flame that ignited fire (2)

1.6k words again | Sylus achieved his goal and is finally having a daughter but now he must deal with his wife's pregnancy cravings. Read part one <- here

-

“Are you alright, my love? Is the pillow fluffed up to your liking? Should I get you some snacks? Do you want anything else?” Sylus asks you profusely. He’s been nothing but attentive and worrisome ever since you were confirmed to actually be pregnant. 

Sylus was driven to tears when you showed him a positive pregnancy test after all his effort to convince you that a baby is just what you two need. It’s been six months since then, you haven’t gotten the chance to even feel any discomfort without Sylus swooping in and pampering you with every available resource he has. 

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” you say with a smile. You hold onto Sylus’s hand, your thumb gently turning the wedding band on his finger. All you wanted to do was lounge on the couch and watch a movie but your husband refused to let you move without him preparing the couch for your maximum comfort. 

Sylus lowers himself to his knees in front of the couch, resting his elbows up right beside you. His eyes have been carrying a certain sparkle to them lately, an undeniable softness has been gracing his features, reminiscent of the way he looked at Riley when he realised that the baby wasn’t afraid of him. 

“I’ve been having the tendency to be… overbearing,” Sylus admits sheepishly. His hand raises to smooth your hair back in a soothing manner. “Just tell me if you need me to just shut up and leave you alone.” He reminds you. He’s more than aware of his new habit of pampering you to an almost overwhelming degree sometimes. It’s endearing for the most part except for the select few times where your mood was naturally sour due to the pregnancy and you had chided Sylus for not giving you space. 

“You know I will,” you joke, admiring the way Sylus has been stealing your pregnancy glow. You definitely envy it, the way his skin has been glowing and eyes glistening. You always thought it was the pregnant lady who was supposed to have that shine laid upon her skin, not her husband who is far too elated to be a father. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. He never fails to remind you of that either. “My precious girls.” Sylus gently rubs his hand over your pregnancy bump. Along with being driven to tears once he found out you were pregnant, his waterworks started up again when you found out you were going to have a daughter. You swear he’s been bearing the larger half of the emotional instability and moodiness between you two. 

A girl is exactly what you were wishing for. The idea of giving Sylus a daughter that will melt down his tough exterior and bring out this vulnerable side like this is heartwarming. 

Sylus stayed home because he was feeling worried after you had expressed your discomfort in your lower back. He prepared hot water bottles, fluffed up all your pillows and catered to your every request. 

“Aren’t you tired? You’ve been awake all day,” you ask Sylus as you climb back into bed. After an adventurous day of laying on the couch on this bright weekend, you’re back in bed. 

“Truthfully, I’m a little fatigued. But it’s nothing that I can’t handle,” Sylus says, but he’s already sitting up in bed with his hands folded in his lap. His eyes look like they’ll fall shut at any moment now. 

You fix the blanket over your body. You’re just about to say something back to Sylus but when you look back at him, he’s already snoozing away. You can’t help but chuckle. Of course he pretended as if staying up all day didn’t bother him at all. 

You relish in the moment of silence that lulls you to sleep in the peaceful atmosphere of the room. 

In the early hours of the morning, about 4am, you’re jolted awake by your own senses. 

You were feeling warmer even though the temperature of the room hasn’t changed. A sudden itch prickles around your abdomen and you feel some discomfort from the position you ended up in while sleeping. You lean over to turn the lamp on your bedside table on, feeling yourself involuntarily becoming more awake. To top it all off, you have a hunger for something cold. Cold, sweet and fruity, slightly floral. You smack your lips, noticing that your husband isn’t up and around like he usually would be at this time. 

Despite not abiding by his usual sleep schedule, he’s still an incredibly light sleeper and his scarlet eyes are soon open and adjusting to the dim lighting. 

“Sweetheart? Are you alright?” He husks, his deep voice almost inaudible from just waking up. He stretches his arms out, his muscles flexing as he props himself up. 

“I’m not feeling good,” you admit. Sylus immediately becomes alert. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I’m hot, I’m itchy, uncomfortable and I want blueberry lavender ice cream,” you list out your issues. Your husband’s fingers touch your cheeks, noting the slight warmth to them. 

“Blueberry lavender ice cream? Where would I find that at… 4 in the morning?” He inquires out loud, already planning on how he’ll fulfill your craving at this ungodly hour. 

You shrug your shoulders, your mind running a bit too rampant about all the negative things you’re experiencing and not caring at all for the new quandary you’ve imposed on your husband. He gently rubs your back as you stiffly sit up, your joints feeling as if there’s something jammed between the sockets. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sylus assures. His tiredness from just a moment ago disappears in a blink as he walks out of the room. Soon enough he comes back and props a hot water bottle behind your back and adjusts your pillow to make you more comfortable. 

“Ice cream…” You mutter, clutching to the fabric of his shirt. The more you were awake, the more you craved the cold, sugary treat. You felt as if you would die without the ice cream you desire, like your stomach will simply twist up and kill you. 

“Of course,” he responds and immediately nods his head. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple before heading out on his exploration for ice cream, specifically blueberry lavender ice cream which isn’t just found anywhere. Sylus has never run so fast in his life for something so trivial as ice cream. He knows he’s on limited time but the task isn’t an easy one, and every convenience store he stops by doesn’t have this specific flavour. 

You rest your head against the pillow supporting your neck, shifting a bit as you absentmindedly rub your hand over your pregnancy bump. This daughter of yours is already giving you such a hard time before she’s even been born. She already has her father running mindlessly through the streets to fulfill her every whim. 

Half an hour goes by and your cravings do not settle at all. If anything, they’re growing stronger. You try to distract yourself with your phone but everything is swirling into blue and purples hues, breaking into mosaics and forming the image of blueberry and lavender in your mind. It’s driving you insane. 

The door almost breaks down when Sylus makes his return and he immediately starts making a big clatter downstairs which catches your attention. You tried to ignore it for the first few minutes but your curiosity grew to know if he ended up getting the ice cream or not. You muster up all the strength you can to push yourself off the bed and you pad downstairs curiously to see what your husband is up to. 

To your surprise, when you enter the kitchen you’re met with the sight of Sylus handling an ice cream machine. A violet mixture churns in the machine, looking like the product of all your wishes right now. 

“You’re making ice cream?” You lean your head against his arm, earning a kiss on the head from him. 

“I couldn’t find it anywhere. But, fresh ingredients will taste much better,” Sylus says calmly. He had gone ahead and bought the raw ingredients just to make the ice cream you want at home. Despite being married to him for a significant amount of time, he still finds ways to make your heart melt. 

You watch the ice cream being mixed for a few more minutes before he opens the lid to get a peek of the creation inside. You couldn’t resist swiping a finger through the smooth cream, taking a taste and your body instantly rests as you do. All the senses in your mind that were screaming for blueberry lavender ice cream were silenced the moment you finally got access to the fruitful, floral treat. 

“Yes, this is it,” you nod. Even though the ice cream wasn’t set, it was calling your name. You served yourself a large bowl with every drop of the ice cream that Sylus made for you. You brought the bowl back to bed with you, your husband following behind closely like a puppy making sure that this was enough to satiate your craving. 

“Is it good, sweetheart?” He asks. You hold up a spoonful of the ice cream to his mouth, it’s more cream than ice. He takes a bite, eyebrows raising with delight. 

“I’ve been waiting my entire life for this,” you murmur. You hog the rest of the bowl, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into your mouth as your husband watches with a sense of admiration for you. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a small smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he gently taps his finger against your nose. His eyes flit down to your belly. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he whispers, his eyes full of wonder. He wouldn’t get annoyed even if he had to fly to the ends of the Earth to satisfy your cravings. It all didn’t matter as long as he was helping you feel better, and that he was getting closer everyday to meeting his daughter. 

He was already ready to give up everything to take care of you two, his girls, his entire world. You two were definitely going to be spoiled rotten by Sylus. 

-

[lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me]

hai bby! hru?

so idk if this is going to make sense but i've had this thought on my mind for a while and i wanted to request something if it's not too much to ask for.

so like, rich sunghoon who's very protective of y/n and is cold to everyone but y/n and their rich kid friend group. and rich y/n who even tho is rich, is still very kind and caring. they're both in school (college or high school) and they're like the "rich and popular" kids. so basically, y/n's super innocent and sweet and hoon is trynna figure out how to confess? can be angsty with fluff? and you can decide whether it's written or a smau.

i'm so sorry if this makes no sense 😓 and if you can't do it, that's totally fine too. hope you're well love!

-⭐

youre not for sale (request) ☘︎ park sunghoon

warnings: fluff, comfort, angst, mutual yearning, reader being a bit blind, i think thats all!! if there's anything else let me know!!

park sunghoon was in love with y/n l/n. that was a fact no one could deny. It was obvious to everyone. Well, everyone except one person. y/n. He was constantly buying them things, from flowers to expensive jewelry. but to y/n, he was just “being a really good friend”. to sunghoon, they were the kindest, sweetest, ad most attractive person he had ever met in his whole life. that brings us to now. sunghoon has been with jake all day, coming up with a speech to tell y/n he likes, scratch that, is in love with them. “what the actual fuck do i say to them man? ‘hey y/n i know were super close and all, oh by the way, i'm in love with you’? hell no. shes just- sweet, and, i dont wanna say fragile. but shes innocent. i dont wanna hurt her or confuse her.” so far, its going…not so great. “i really don't know what to tell you bro. you just need to grow a pair and tell her.” sunghoon gives him a glare, “easy for you to say, you got your girlfriend by just being pathetic and following her around like a puppy”. “OH FUCK YOU MAN” safe to say, jake didnt take too well to his jab. sunghoon felt like drowning in self-pity. his friends were no help, and with each passing day he fell for y/n more and more with no idea how he should confess to them. especially when everyone around them knew all of their business. y/n on the other hand, could not have been more oblivious. “i’m telling you noo, he does not like me like that”, they say. oh how wrong they were. sunoo looks at them as if they were insane, “are you serious right now y/n? that guy looks at you as if you created all things good in the world! i’m serious!”. in that moment, he thought they could never be more dense. 

a week went by of sunghoon helplessly wondering, crying for help to his friends, and buying flowers for y/n that reminded him of them. he sees y/n walking to their class and runs up to them. “y/n! Hey! um- do you wanna hang out later? Maybe like grab some lunch or get boba or something” he asks, desperately hoping that they say yes. “oh my god yes! i’ve been craving boba like crazy!” for a moment, sunghoon truly believed there was something in the universe on his side. he spent the next 3 hours trying to think up someway to confess. flowers? the ring they've been talking about wanting? unlimited trips to their favorite restaurant? he needed to come up with something, and fast.

the pair somehow end up back at y/n’s dorm, playing video games. sunghoon had just beat y/n at mario kart *again*, and y/n decided they needed a break. “god, how do you win every time?’ they grumble while walking to the kitchen. sunghoon replied before even giving a second

thought, “i’m just that good baby”. y/n had never turned around so fast in their life, “what?”. He froze, nothing coming out of his mouth, eventually, it all just started coming out before he could save himself. “i love you. you’re so amazing, and kind, and pretty. i don't even think i deserve you but i really hope you’ll give me a chance! i’ve been trying to figure out how to confess to you for so long and this really isn’t how i planned it but this is how its happening. you just make me so nervous but in a really good way and i just really hope you feel the same or you hear me out and at least let me take you out on one date.” he stops speaking abruptly as it all just happened so fast. silence filled the once loud room that was overflowing with their laughter. “sunghoon…” they trail off, “you really feel that way?” he doesn't respond and simply stares down at his feet in embarrassment and defeat. “i’m gonna go, i'll see you around.” he abruptly stands up and leaves with y/n protesting behind him and telling him to stay. he beat himself up the whole night, this isn't how he wanted it to go, not at all. he couldn't believe he let himself word vomit like that! he just blew it with the person of his dreams, he could never tell his friends about this. they’d definitely use it against him for life, and he can’t bear the thought of reliving his worst heartbreak.

y/n wasn’t completely sure what to do, or how to handle this. sunghoon liked them? there's no way. he’s handsome and kind, he's perfect. and he seriously likes them? as she runs through every possible scenario of how this situation ends in her head, she impulsively decides to go to his dorm. she hesitated before knocking on his door. sunghoon opened the door, to see, to his shock, y/n. “i really really like you too and i’ve never known how to tell you and when you just said everything to me i froze because i didn't know what to say! you're the most amazing guy sunghoon and i want this to work out. so please just tell me if you want to make this work too.” he stood in the doorway, his mouth parted in shock. he spoke quietly after a moment, “you really mean it?” y/n looks at him incredulously “are you kidding? of course i mean it!” sunghoon swore he felt his heart stop for a solid 5 seconds. “i thought i lost you for good, oh my god!” he sighs in relief. “you could never lose me don't be stupid.” he gives them a glare before wrapping his arms around them, not caring who in the hall saw. “does this mean i can take you on a date now?” he asked softly. “i mean obviously”

masterlist

luckys note!: guys lets pretend it didnt take me 6 months to write this... um anyways ENJOY!!!

© lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me, 2025. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📍) PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN!

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dm me or send an ask to be added to either!

[kyber-crystal]

the albatross || f.w.

summary: the albatross is the largest bird that can go years without landing; they spend their first 6 years of life flying over the ocean before coming to the land to mate. It is capable of traveling more than 10,000 miles in a single journey and circumnavigating the globe in 46 days. (he's been up in the air his whole life, but is finally able to land when he falls in love with you: alt, 4 times everyone noticed he loved you, 1 time you noticed he loved you too)

words: ~4.1k

warnings: TOOTH-ROOTTING FLUFF, CLICHE, your usual stuff yk 

a/n: i’ve had that snippet above stuck in my notes for a year now and never made anything of it and thought hey i should do something about it. so here were are. also i can’t resist doing the 3x1/4x1/5x1 trope. its so superior. ngl tho writers block hit me kinda hard with this one so i struggled to finish…sorry in advance for my writing, idk how i feel ab the way this turned out 

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

one 

You were looking forward to today’s Transfiguration lesson. 

Up until this point, McGonagall had you continue practicing nonverbal spells; having them carry over from sixth year because she wanted to emphasize their importance. In addition to that, you were set to start learning how to transfigure tortoises into trumpets. It was bound to be a loud but entertaining affair.

“I need you all to remember to focus,” she reminded at the start of class, “and please, refrain from playing your trumpets should you manage to successfully transform your tortoise—I’m looking at you, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.”

“Aw, darn it,” you heard the twins chorus in defeat. 

“Now, you will first review what you have in your notes, then practice individually. You may begin.”

A small, dusty green tortoise appeared on your desk, causing you to crack a tiny smile. You heard students muttering the incantation from all around you as they attempted the spell, one of them yelping in pain when their tortoise bit their finger. 

“Careful, Longbottom,” the Professor warned. 

You shook your head and smiled to yourself, patting your tortoise on the head. It seemed to just sigh in response.

Several minutes went by before someone broke your focus, poking your shoulder. 

“Psst! Y/N!” 

“What?” you hissed under your breath, looking over your left shoulder at Lee. “What do you want?”

He shrugged and passed you a slip of parchment. “For you.”

“Okay…”

You unfolded the paper and peered closer, examining the signature scrawl of none other than Fred. 

You look gorgeous today, darling. And it’s quite distracting, if I’m being honest.

Scowling, you glanced over to see that Fred was shamelessly staring at you and shot him a pointed glare. He simply gave you a cheeky grin then looked back down. Scribbling out a snarky reply—I look gorgeous every day, you daft dimbo—you crumpled up the parchment and decided to chuck itat his head. Without sparing another glance, he reached up and smoothly caught it with one hand. 

You muttered to yourself under your breath and refocused your gaze on your work. 

Not even a few moments later, Lee was poking your shoulder again to signal that Fred had tossed the note back.

Your name is pretty, but it’d look prettier next to my last. 

You know what else would look pretty? My fist in your face. -your reply

The exchange continued on, with him sending flirty notes, and you replying with half-flirty, half sarcastic remarks. But just as you were about to aim at Fred’s head for the nth time—

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Weasley, what in Godric’s name are you two doing?” 

You froze in your spot. Professor McGonagall was standing right by your desk, note in hand with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest. “Er, I—”

“Is there anything you two would like to share with the class?”

“No, it’s—”

“Actually, Professor, there is,” Fred declared, standing up and marching over to where you were, taking the paper out of McGonagall’s hands and opening it. “Since she hasn’t gotten to read it yet, I shall.”

He cleared his throat and began to read. 

“I’d face the storm, the darkest night,

With reckless heart and blazing light.

No cursed spell, no shadowed door,

Could shake the love I hold in store.

For you, I’d charge, both fierce and true—

My greatest courage lives in you.”

The classroom erupted into giggles as he finished with a bow, grinning proudly. It felt like your face was up in flames, if it wasn’t already burnt to a crisp. If Fred looked equally flustered you couldn’t tell at all, and he was masking it with that stupid cheeky look of his. 

You were too mortified and focused on the possibility of receiving detention to notice that McGonagall was trying to hide her smile; taking away House points now in the very back of her mind. 

Flitwick owed her 10 sickles. 

two

“Oi! Y/N, wake up!”

Something fluffy smacked you straight across the face and you hissed in annoyance, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to identify your attacker.

“Okay, I’m—what the hell are you three doing in here? It’s 3 in the morning,” you grumbled. “If you get caught—”

“T’was Fred’s idea,” Lee said innocently and dropped the pillow, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Why are you pinning all this on me? That’s not fair,” the older twin demanded. 

“Anyways, Y/N, the kitchens are empty.”

“No shit Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night. What do you all want?” you kept your voice down.

“We’re cooking up a storm tonight.”

“I hope you’re not referring to more Canary Creams?”

“No, we mean actual sweets,” Fred explained, taking your hand and pulling you out of bed. “Come on.”

The four of you crept down the staircase and through the halls as quietly as possible; George and Lee quietly talking to each other behind you while Fred remained by your side, hand still in yours. You were too tired and delirious to notice or care that he could’ve let go ages ago, but didn’t.

“Okay, we’re here,” George announced quietly and pushed open a grandiose, wooden door. 

The usually bustling kitchen was dead silent so that all you could hear were each other’s slow breaths. 

“Accio recipe,” Lee muttered quietly, and an old, worn maroon book came zooming towards him. He set it down onto the counter and propped it open, flipping through the pages and stopping on one particular recipe. “I hope you lot are up for some treacle tart.”

“I wish I could stay mad at you for smacking me in the face with that pillow, Lee,” you tried your hardest to suppress a laugh. “But you read my mind.”

“Okay then!” He clasped his hands, “let’s get to work.”

You picked one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room then got to work, quickly but efficiently rushing around the kitchen to collect what you needed. Fred rolled his sleeves up and leaned against the counter to watch you, in awe as you began measuring and pouring the ingredients with near-perfect accuracy.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” you finally looked up and noticed that he hadn’t been doing anything. 

“Sorry, you’re just distracting,” Fred sent you a wink, and you scoffed. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’ll help you.” 

You fell into a silent but comfortable routine afterwards, evenly splitting up the work to finish preparing the tarts in less time. Neither of you noticed how you gradually inched closer to one another as you did so, shoulders brushing together every time you reached over to grab something or continue mixing the batter. 

“Hold on a minute, there’s some flour right—” Fred paused, thumb grazing your cheekbone. You felt a jolt of electricity where his skin brushed over yours. “—there.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, face suddenly feeling too hot even though the kitchens were far from it. 

“Always my pleasure,” he smiled, oblivious to your flustered state. 

Lee was standing with George a few rows away, focus switching between you two and the first batches of treacle tart that were now in the ovens, slowly beginning to bake. The distinct scent of sweet syrup and berries soon began wafting through the air, filling the room with a sweet and tantalizing aroma. 

“They can’t keep their hands off each other,” he grinned knowingly. “They’re standing just inches apart…they have the entire table to themselves and yet they stand like that.”

“And they say they’re just friends. I call bullshit,” said George, watching as Fred said something to you and you rolled your eyes, whacking him with your wooden spoon. Fred tugged you forward in response, trapping you in his strong arms as you let out a faint giggle, protesting for him to let you go. It wasn’t until he tilted his head down and you begrudgingly pressed a kiss to his cheek that he finally released you from his hold, looking as smug as ever. 

“10 galleons says they’re getting married in the next two years.”

“15 galleons.”

“You’re on, mate.”

three

DA practices were now everyone’s sole source of motivation. They had finally started work on Patronuses, which they had been very keen to practice, though, as Harry kept reminding you all that producing one in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they weren’t under threat was quite different from producing one when under threat, like by a Dementor. 

You exchanged a soft smile with Cho, admiring her silvery swan-shaped Patronus before attempting to refocus on your own work; on the last several tries you hardly managed more than a cloudy, wispy form. 

Closing your eyes, you recalled the time you had Quidditch practice on a snow day. Oliver ended practice a bit early (Angelina did have to convince him a bit though) and you spent the rest of that time pelting one another with snowballs and zipping around in the air, laughter echoing across the space. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that carefree.

“Expecto Patronum!” Excitement began to build up in you but your shoulders slumped in defeat when again, just a thin wisp of silver smoke came out of your wand tip. “Damn it.”

“Y/N, you’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded you.

“But I did,” you exhaled, voice strained. “I don’t get it. I thought…”

“Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Try a new memory,” he suggested, “do you have anything else that might work?”

“Well, there is one…I don’t know if it’s my happiest, but it is one of them, and it is strong…”

“Then try that,” he said kindly. “You can do this.” You nodded and he walked away to help Neville, who was also struggling to cast his Patronus.

Readjusting your wand in your hand,  you closed your eyes once again and allowed the new memory to fill your mind. 

The first few weeks after the end of term and the start of the summer holidays were always the hardest. As badly as you missed home and your parents, you also missed constantly being around your friends and the Weasley family. At this point it had been three weeks since you’d seen Fred; you never went longer than that without seeing him. 

You and your parents had spent three blissful weeks traveling around France. From exploring the lavender fields in Provence, smelling the fresh sea air and seeing the breathtaking Mont-Saint-Michel castle in Normandy, to biting into pillowy soft pastries in Paris, you did it all. But you still felt that distinct ache to be back at Hogwarts with your close friends. 

“The Burrow!” you exclaimed, Floo powder in hand. Glowing green flames engulfed your body and then you were standing outside your third home in mere seconds, giddy with excitement. 

“THERE SHE IS!” you heard several voices shout with delight. Your best friends immediately came bursting through the door and stampeding towards you. Fred was the first to reach you, positively glowing with happiness as he swept you into a tight bear hug, spinning you around. He attacked you with repeated kisses to your temple then cheeks as he said how glad he was to finally see you. He was clutching you so tight that you almost lost your breath, but you were so happy to see him as well that you couldn’t care less. 

“Oi, we’re here too, lovebirds!” you heard Ron shout. You laughed and pulled away from Fred’s embrace to go greet everyone else. As you were hugging Ginny you made eye contact with Fred, that gleaming look still in his eyes. Your heart felt so full at that moment, you thought it would burst. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” you shouted. A flash of silvery-blue light emitted from your wand and a dainty squirrel burst forward. You smiled to yourself as Harry complimented your work. 

But what surprised you more was the small bird swooping in from above—it caught sight of your squirrel Patronus and started chasing it around the Room of Requirement, their forms glowing brightly. Several others stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle, confused but amazed. 

“Pretty cool, innit,” you heard a voice say from besides you. You turned to make eye contact with Fred, who was looking at you with amusement. 

“Yeah…is that a sparrow?” you pointed up at his Patronus, which was still chasing yours around the room and leaving a trail of glitter behind itself as it did so. 

“It’s a magpie,” said Fred. “Although I also thought it was a sparrow at first.”

“Well, it looks like they like each other…” 

“Art imitates life, right? Is that what they say?”

“Something like that, I guess,” you laughed softly, leaning into him. “It’s beautiful.”

“What did you think of?” he asked. “Beating Umbridge’s arse to a pulp? Just say the words and I’ll gladly help with that.”

You snorted. “No, I tried that last time but I guess it wasn’t strong enough. I don’t know how this one could’ve been happier than that.”

“Then whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty strong.”

“Definitely…” The scene flashed across your mind again, and you felt heat crawling up your cheeks. “it was.”

“His Patronus can’t seem to let go of hers,” Hermione whispered from the other side of the room; hers and Ginny’s otter and horse Patronuses were gracefully gliding around them. “You know what that means…”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ginny responded as she glanced over Fred, who now had an arm around you. “Why’s that so important?”

“Because, Gin!” she whisper-shouted. “Magpies hunt squirrels!”

“Okay…what’s the correlation there?” Ginny was now confused. 

“He’s in love with her, of course! I was reading up on Patronuses last week; when someone has feelings of deep affection for someone else, either their Patronuses change to match or they produce what’s like an opposite to the person they love. Hence the hunter and prey pairing.”

“You just figured out they love each other?”

“No, but this just confirms it,” the bushy-haired girl’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

four

It felt like hours since you had last seen the light of day. Right now you were waist-deep in assignments, preparing for your mind-numbing History of Magic project that was due the next morning. Sleep was threatening to pull you under and it took everything you had not to slump over and doze off on the spot. 

“Ange,” you yawned and cupped a hand over your mouth, “did you finish the revisions yet?” 

“Almost,” she returned your tired yawn and slid the parchment she was working on over to you. “Do you mind checking this over for me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, peering down at her tidy handwriting and picking up your quill. You rubbed your eyes and drew out a long breath. “Godric’s sake, what time is it?”

“Quarter to midnight,” Katie responded, jotting something down in her notepad, “I think we’re almost done…”

“...these damn revisions are taking bloody forever,” you groaned, placing your chin in your hand, “almost more than the time we took researching.”

“I despise history,” said Alicia.

“Hear, hear,” you and Angelina said tiredly.

All of a sudden you heard a rustle and the screech of someone pulling a chair out next to you. The comforting smell of broomsticks and cinnamon instantly hit your nose, which didn’t help with you already wanting to doze off. 

“There’s my Y/N,” Fred greeted warmly. His hand-knitted maroon Weasley jumper hung loosely off his toned frame, bringing out the color in his eyes and cheeks. He looked painfully attractive in everything, you realized.  

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Not when I know you aren’t,” he said plainly. “It’s late, but you’re here, right? So that’s why I’m here as well.”

You seemed to be completely oblivious to the way he kept staring at you as you continued to work. He couldn't help but stare; he found it rather endearing, the way you'd sigh every so often when stuck on a difficult problem and how you'd get this crease between your brows because you were deep in concentration. 

After several minutes you finally glanced up, a quizzical look on your face as you realized he was still watching you so intently. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he smiled softly, reaching over to briefly cup your cheek. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie exchanged knowing looks at this. “Just looking out for you, of course.”

The flickering lanterns overhead cast a warm golden light over the room, illuminating his features in a dim and hazy glow. There was an unmistakably soft and wistful sort of look in his eyes and you felt your heart race the longer his eyes stayed on you. Did he always look at you that way? You couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at you with anything other than admiration and delight but then again, Fred was known to be very open with those he cared for. 

Another hour went by and by this point you were fast asleep, head leaning against your arms on the table and parts of your hair spilling across your forehead. If he didn’t know any better, Fred would’ve thought you were an angel, part Veela, or something along those lines. Was there anything better? he thought to himself. If there was, that’s exactly what she is.

Fred slid his jumper off and as carefully as possible, slid it under your head so that you had something soft to rest on and wouldn’t wake up complaining that there were ink stains on your skin. He took the quill from your outstretched fist and set it by your side, and wordlessly began putting your things into your bag for you.

It was another two hours until you eventually stirred awake but he stayed, quietly waiting and watching; relishing in the peace and comfort that he knew only your company could bring. 

plus one

It probably would’ve been a wise idea to heed Katie’s advice and not overwork yourself; even Hermione had said you clearly looked exhausted and needed a break from studying. But being as stubborn as you were, you didn’t listen, and now you were starting to feel the consequences of your actions. 

So here you were now alone in the girls’ dormitory, curled up in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, pounding headache that felt like it would split your brain in two, along with crippling nausea. Despite your stomach grumbling after having skipped out on breakfast and lunch, the mere thought of eating made you feel even more sick. 

All you wanted to do in that moment was crawl into a hole and fall asleep for several centuries. 

Realizing that sitting there doing nothing wouldn’t help, you decided to at the very least, open your Charms textbook and get caught up on the past few reading assignments. You mentally reminded yourself to thank Angelina for standing in today and taking notes for you; the girl was saving you hours’ worth of work that likely would’ve had you collapsing all over again.

A loud CRASH from somewhere nearby caused you to jump slightly and almost slam the book closed on your fingers. Glancing around at the sudden noise, you were about to assume it was Peeves being chased by Filch after causing trouble (you definitely didn’t experience this from having helped him and the twins out with a prank in which you chucked a Dungbomb into his office). But then you remembered they never directly entered the girls’ dormitories and laughed to yourself.  

The door creaked open and Fred’s all-too-familiar figure stumbled through, breathing hard with his hands behind his back. He was shifting from foot to foot and he looked kind of…nervous?

“Fred?”

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you all day,” his face broke into a bashful grin, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…alright…”

“Well, I got you something,” said Fred, and quickly handed you a sweet-smelling bouquet of flowers. “I hope you like these, it took a while to grow them. Longbottom helped me out a bit.” 

“T-these are…” you stammered, pulse racing. The flowers shone brightly under the afternoon light; they were probably the prettiest things you’d seen in, well, forever. 

“—your favorite, I know,” he finished your sentence.

“But how did y—”

“It’s the same kind of flower as the dried ones that are in the bookmark you use for all your classes,” he explained, still slightly out of breath as he sat down at the edge of your bed, reaching for your hand. “It’s the color of your favorite wool hat. It’s the color of the jumper I bought, I told you it’s because I liked how my eyes went with it but really, it’s because it reminded me of you. It’s what I smelled in George and I’s Amortentia in Potions. It’s you, Y/N, it’s all you and it has always brought me back to you. It always will, every single time.”

Suddenly, the realization slammed into you with a force of a Bludger traveling a hundred miles an hour. 

Fred Weasley loved you. You loved Fred Weasley.

And it had taken you forever to notice. 

He sat by your side and reached for your hand, taking it in his and interlocking your fingers together like it was normal; like he had done so dozens of times before. Because he had, but something about this one made your heart skip an extra beat and all the words you wanted to say leave your brain instantly. 

“I look terrible,” you turned your face into his chest so that your cheek was now resting against the fabric of his jumper, “and you might get sick too. You should go…”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, sliding his arms around you, “I’ve got all day. Snape can take my delightfully dimwitted Potions essay and shove it up his a—”

You chuckled a bit at this and took that moment to glance up at him—he was still gazing at you longingly. You’d never seen him look at anyone or anything that way; unless you counted the excited look he got when Hogwarts had its annual holiday feast and piles of food appeared on the tables. Or that look he got after winning a Quidditch match. 

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” you asked, shaking your head. “For taking as long as I did to realize that I’m in love with you. Everyone was practically screaming at me about it and yet I still couldn’t put the pieces together and see.”

That signature grin was back on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Weasley—”

He grinned, stopping what you were going to say next by closing the gap and sealing his lips over yours. Now it wasn’t the nausea that had your head whirling around; it was the feeling of him kissing you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, and it was intoxicating. He was right there all along—your best friend for as long as you could remember—and suddenly you couldn’t seem to register anything else other than the fact that you wanted to stay in the moment until you completely lost your breath. 

“Fred, I told you, you’re going to get sick,” you exhaled as you pulled apart, “I know you don’t want that.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” He brought you back in and kissed you a second, then third time, “all the more excuse to spend time with you.”

(He did get sick the following day, leaving a disgruntled Hermione to take care of not just you, but him as well.) 

a/n pt 2: yes the poem was done by chatgpt. i’m horrible at writing normally, and even worse at writing poetry. sorry yall LOL. also can you tell i love writing cheesy monologues. yeah. and also i’m sorry for the cringe ending

tags: @miissasa @bittermileymilez @daisydark @brinachiii @foreverthemaraudersera @viharbinger @ladyclay @apileofschist @arkofblake @lizzyrose200 @4ngeltrumpettt