#this is actually how I see her inside my head

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[fawnhart]

drew begs bambi to forgive him ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.

He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment

Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.

How dare he show up?!

It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.

she had every right to be

“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.

She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.

“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”

“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”

Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”

He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.

“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.

“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”

“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used

He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”

Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.

“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.

Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”

He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.

Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”

Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”

Drew blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.

Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.

He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”

Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile

Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times

He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[shuaasumii]

“Baby Sissy”

ʚ pairing: dad!woozi x mom!reader

ʚ genre: so much fluff, parent au

ʚ tags: parent au, softie woozi

ʚ warnings: none :)

ʚ summary: when bringing your newborn daughter home, you didn’t expect your son to be so delighted by her presence.

ʚ a/n: i’m still trying to figure out how to put my return of superman fics together, so it’ll be a while until the actual series is released. but hopefully this will keep you entertained for now! and ofc the pics are from pinterest.

ꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀꕀ

you cooed at the infant in front of you as your car pulled into the driveway of your home. after two long nights at the hospital, you were finally able to bring your sweet newborn home. you and your husband were so obsessed. she was so tiny and so perfect, you couldn’t help but be so in love. but the thing you were looking forward to the most these past few days (besides the birth of your daughter), was the moment where your three year old minjun, would meet his baby sister.

“alright eunsoo, let’s get you inside yeah?” jihoon said, pulling out the baby carrier. he held out his empty hand, gesturing for you to take it. and you did, you held his hand tight as you carefully got out of the car.

you could hear minjun’s eager giggles as he ran towards the door, “mama! hi mama!”

you swooped him into your arms, peppering a suffocating amount of kisses on his cheeky face. “hi my sweet boy, did you miss mommy? i missed you so so so much!”

his laughs faded as he finally focused on what the baby carrier was holding. his eyes flickered back and forth from his father to his new sister. you and woozi had told him about his sister, or “baby sissy” as he calls her, but it seemed like he didn’t realize what was going to happen until now.

“minjun-ah, do you know who this is?” jihoon asked, kneeling down to the three year old’s height. minjun nodded shyly to the question, “baby sissy.”

“would you like to hold eunsoo?” you prayed in your head that minjun would want to hold his sister. he nodded again, this time showing more excitement. seeing that minjun agreed to hold eunsoo, woozi swept him off the ground, giving him some kisses here and there, and settled minjun on the couch.

“hold out your hands baby,” you glanced over at him, still unbuckling eunsoo from her carrier. you stood up and walked over to minjun, who was staring eagerly at the newborn in your arms. you gently placed her into his arms, still cradling her head and her butt so that he wasn’t holding eunsoo entirely by himself. minjun immediately wrapped his arms around his sister, lightly resting his head on hers.

your heart soared at the sight in front of you, woozi as well was admiring the scene. though that peaceful moment was interrupted by eunsoo’s wailing. you hurriedly brought her back to lay on your chest, but minjun stopped you, “it’s okay baby sissy, oppa is here.”

the baby immediately stopped crying, you were completely stunned. you looked to jihoon to see if he had the same reaction, and surely enough he was just as shocked.

“i think she likes me,” minjun giggled, giving little eunsoo a kiss on her forehead.

“yea baby, i think she does.”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Teacher's Pet Baby

First Time

Cg!Professor!Wanda Maximoff x little!student!reader

Summary: You slip during class for the first time and it doesn't go unnoticed

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: Age regression, mild anxiety, emotional vulnerability, fluff and comfort

Authors notes: After writing the first part this had started to come to mind so it was nice to get it all written out~

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

The first few weeks of class were nothing out of the ordinary—except for the way you found yourself drawn to Professor Maximoff. There was something about the way she spoke, how her voice carried both authority and warmth, that made you want to listen more intently. You were eager to impress her, to ask every question that popped into your head, just to see that soft smile she reserved for students who showed genuine curiosity.

You didn’t know what it was that made you crave her attention so badly, but you knew that every time she praised you, something deep inside you warmed, a feeling of safety and validation that you couldn’t quite explain.

Then, one day, as you flipped the page in your textbook, your eyes landed on the title printed in bold letters at the top:

Coping Mechanisms: Age Regression

Your stomach twisted immediately.

Two whole pages on the subject, defining it, explaining how it functioned as a response to stress or trauma. You barely heard Wanda begin her lecture, your mind spiraling as you felt yourself slipping, your fingers tightening around the edge of the book.

It wasn’t until you heard the soft laughter—quiet, but unmistakable—that the dread fully set in.

"People actually do this?" one student muttered under their breath.

"That’s so weird." Another scoffed, shaking their head.

Your breath hitched, and you had to blink rapidly to stop the tears from forming. They didn’t know. They had no idea that right here, in the same room, was someone who did—who couldn’t help it, whose mind sometimes reverted without warning. You wanted to shrink, to disappear, but before the panic could settle in further, Wanda’s voice cut through the murmurs, firm and unwavering.

"That’s enough," she said sharply, silencing the room in an instant.

All eyes snapped toward her, and you dared to look up. Her expression was serious, her usual soft demeanor replaced by something strict and protective.

"I expect professionalism in my class," she continued, her gaze sweeping over the students. "We are here to learn, not to ridicule others for coping mechanisms that are valid and often necessary for mental health." She let her words settle before adding, "If anyone here finds it difficult to show respect for psychological concepts that people actually experience, then perhaps this is not the right field for you."

Silence.

Your hands trembled slightly in your lap, but for an entirely different reason now. No one had ever defended you like that before. No one had ever made you feel like what you did—what you were—was okay.

Wanda’s gaze flickered to you for just a moment, softer now, like she knew. Like she had already pieced something together but wouldn’t call attention to it. Instead, she resumed her lecture, effortlessly guiding the class back on track, leaving you sitting there with a heart racing for a whole new reason.

From that moment on, you weren’t just drawn to Wanda Maximoff. You needed her.

As the lecture came to an end and you were trying to pack up Wanda called you over, "Have a good night everyone and remember to do the reading and get your assignment done for Monday's class! Oh and y/n please stay a moment. I'd like to discuss something with you." 

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure Wanda could hear it. You weren’t in trouble—at least, she didn’t sound upset—but you still couldn’t shake the nerves twisting inside you.

She had never asked you to stay after class before.

You stayed frozen, hands gripping the edge of your desk as you watched her move. But instead of standing over you like a professor scolding a student, she did something entirely unexpected—she walked to the door, locked it with a soft click, and then made her way over to you.

Wanda crouched down in front of your desk, leaning against it with an easy, open posture. Her smile was gentle, and when her warm eyes met yours, something inside you softened, though your body still trembled slightly.

"Hi, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice filled with nothing but kindness. "You're feeling pretty small right now, aren’t you?"

You swallowed thickly. It was impossible to hide, not when she knew, when she could see right through you. Words felt too hard, too big, so you just nodded, blinking rapidly as emotion threatened to well up in your chest.

"That’s okay, sweetie," she assured, her tone soothing as she reached out, resting a hand over yours for just a moment. "This was your last class, right?"

You nodded again.

"I have papers to grade," she continued. "You and I can stay right here, okay?"

Another nod. This time, accompanied by a tiny, shy smile.

Wanda’s expression softened even further. She stood up, her fingers reaching out to gently comb through your hair, the touch grounding in a way you didn’t even know you needed.

"You’re safe with me, Malyshka," she whispered.

✎✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

While Wanda graded her papers you decided to draw, pulling out your crayons and drawing pad. Wanda let her eyes flick up every so often to watch you. Her expression softened as she saw you so concentrated, your tongue just poking out past your lips. 

She wanted to giggle, but worried it might upset you so she held back, turning her attention back to her papers until she heard you get up, feet padding over to her. She looked up past her glasses. 

"Yes sweetheart?" She asked softly, "Do you have something to show me?" You nodded eagerly and turned the page around.

Wanda let a warm smile tug at her lips as she examined the drawing, her heart melting at the sight of it. You had drawn yourself much smaller, hand held securely in hers, your features simple but unmistakably you. Wanda’s own figure was a little more detailed—her hair a mess of crayon strokes, her glasses perched delicately on her nose—but the most touching detail was the way your hands were clasped together.

Wanda ran her fingers over the crayon lines, her chest tightening in the best way as she admired your drawing. It was simple, childlike, but so full of love that it made her heart ache.

"You did such a good job, sweetheart," she murmured, looking up at you with a soft smile. "I love it, Malyshka."

Your lips curled up, eyes sparkling at her praise. You rocked on your heels, waiting, hopeful, and Wanda knew exactly what you needed. She set her papers aside, focusing entirely on you.

"Come here, baby," she said gently, opening her arms. "Come sit with Mama."

The second the word left her lips, she felt it—the way you froze. Your happy sway stopped, your hands clenched slightly at your sides. You blinked at her, uncertainty flickering in your expression as you searched her face.

"Mama?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda stayed perfectly still, giving you space to process. She hadn’t called herself that before, at least not out loud, though she had thought about it more times than she could count.

"Only if you want me to be, sweetheart," she assured softly, her voice steady, warm. "I would never make you do something you’re not comfortable with."

You shifted on your feet, fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeves. "But... do you want to be?"

Wanda’s breath caught for just a moment before she exhaled, nodding. "I do," she admitted, her hand resting gently on her knee, not reaching for you, just waiting. "I’d love to take care of you in whatever way you need."

You stared at her, the hesitation clear in your expression. But beneath it, Wanda could see something else—longing, hope, the deep desire for safety and care.

She kept her voice soft. "You don’t have to decide right now, Malyshka."

You bit your lip, shifting your weight from foot to foot before, slowly, you stepped closer. Wanda didn’t move, letting you take the lead, and after a brief pause, you finally climbed onto her lap, settling hesitantly against her.

Wanda wrapped her arms around you carefully, rubbing soothing circles along your back.

You stayed stiff for a moment before you melted into her, resting your head against her shoulder. A soft sigh left you as your fingers grasped at her sweater, holding onto her like you were afraid she might disappear.

Wanda pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, her lips brushing against your warm skin. "I've got you, sweetheart. Always."

And this time, you didn’t hesitate to believe her.

[gottencents]

Melting - Giselle

pairing. idol!giselle x girlfriend!reader

synopsis. On a snowy winter night, Y/n and Giselle spend the evening wandering through festive streets, sharing hot chocolate, and braving the ice skating rink—where a few stumbles lead to warm hands, stolen glances, and a heart-fluttering confession under the twinkling lights.

The city was alive with the glow of twinkling fairy lights, festive decorations adorning every shop window, and the sound of soft holiday music playing in the distance. It was the kind of evening that felt almost magical—the crisp winter air carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh snow.

You pulled your scarf up a little higher, trying to shield your face from the cold as you walked beside Giselle. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, her dark hair tucked neatly beneath a beanie. Every few seconds, she’d glance at you with a teasing smile, like she was up to something.

“You sure you’re warm enough?” Giselle asked, her voice laced with concern.

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the air. “I’m fine. But I think my fingers are turning into icicles.”

Giselle hummed, stopping in her tracks. Before you could ask why, she reached out and grabbed your hands, bringing them up to her lips. She blew warm air onto them, her eyes meeting yours as she did.

“Better?” she murmured, her breath warm against your fingertips.

Your heart did a backflip. “Y-Yeah,” you stammered, trying not to focus on how soft her hands felt against yours.

She grinned, clearly satisfied with your reaction. “Good. Because I don’t need you freezing on me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I think you’re just using this as an excuse to hold my hands.”

Giselle tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm, maybe. But if it works, who am I to complain?”

Laughing, you gently tugged her along. “Come on, let’s go get some hot chocolate before I actually turn into an icicle.”

The two of you made your way to a cozy little café on the corner, the windows fogged up from the warmth inside. The scent of cinnamon and cocoa filled the air as you both stepped in, shaking off the cold.

After ordering two cups of hot chocolate, you found a seat by the window, watching as snowflakes danced under the streetlights outside. Giselle sat across from you, her hands wrapped around her mug as she took a sip, humming in satisfaction.

“You have a little—” you started, but Giselle beat you to it, swiping a finger across her upper lip where whipped cream had stuck.

She licked it off without a second thought, completely oblivious to the way your brain short-circuited at how cute she looked.

“You were saying?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “You’re staring, Y/n.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I was not staring.”

“You totally were.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, only to see that she was already watching you with that teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted.

Giselle smirked. “I knew it. But don’t worry—I think it’s cute.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly changed the subject. “Are we still going to the skating rink after this?”

Giselle’s eyes lit up. “Of course! I have to see if you’re actually as bad at skating as you claim.”

You groaned dramatically. “It’s not a claim. It’s a fact. I will fall, and I will take you down with me.”

She laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “Then I guess I’ll just have to hold on to you the whole time.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, but you only nodded, hoping she couldn’t see how flustered you were.

After finishing your drinks, you headed to the outdoor skating rink. It was beautifully lit, with a large Christmas tree in the center, people gliding across the ice effortlessly. You, however, clung to the railing for dear life the moment you stepped on.

Giselle giggled, skating up beside you with ease. “Okay, you weren’t kidding. You really can’t skate.”

“I told you,” you huffed, gripping the railing as if your life depended on it. “I don’t know how people make this look so easy.”

She reached for your hands. “Come here, I got you.”

Hesitantly, you let go of the railing, immediately wobbling. Giselle’s grip tightened, keeping you steady. “See? I won’t let you fall.”

You looked up at her, heart pounding. “Promise?”

She smiled, soft and sincere. “Promise.”

Slowly, she guided you across the ice, her hands never letting go of yours. At one point, you stumbled, but she caught you, pulling you flush against her.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you blurred, the only thing you could focus on was how close she was—her warm breath against your cheek, her arms steadying you, the way her lips curled into a fond smile.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

She laughed gently, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I told you—I won’t let you fall.”

Your gaze flickered to her lips for just a second before you met her eyes again. “What if I fall for you instead?”

Giselle blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Then I guess I’ll just have to catch you again.”

With that, she leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to your lips. It was warm, sweet, and just long enough to make your heart race.

When she pulled away, she grinned. “I think that was the easiest fall yet.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around her. “Yeah. And the best one, too.”

As the snow continued to fall around you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, you knew this night would be one you’d never forget.

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART THIRTEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: in a weird turn of events, sae-byeok tries to comfort those around her.

wc. 2.1k

warnings: angst followed by comfort

(nowhere girl masterlist)

Sae-byeok feels delirious. After everyone in the apartment fell asleep, only she remained awake trying to recollect the memories the events that occurred from only a couple hours ago. But they came in fragments. She mostly recalls seeing red when you and her went to Daejeon. She is aware how rigid her words can shift when she is angry or stressed and she regrets yelling at you. This is something she can’t find the pride to admit but, you’re the reason Ji-yeong was found. Not her.

She is losing her way of life. Her currently lifestyle is making her go soft and she’s still nowhere near her monetary goal to rescue her mom. And because Ji-yeong hasn’t been at work for three days now, it’s up to her to cough up a little extra money on the streets in order to pay rent next week. The money you gave her ran out, so instead of going to sleep she waits until everyone else is, throws on her jacket and heads out the door.

This time Sae-byeok made sure to pickpocket out of town.

By the time she arrives back to her apartment it was already the afternoon meaning she spent her entire morning pickpocketing. Her foot is aching and the only thing she had for lunch was a bulgogi onigiri she bought at the convenience store. She was ready to collapse in bed but she had responsibilities to take care of.

The lights in the apartment where still shut off and all the curtains are shut with little light escaping though them. You were long gone by the time she arrived back with her clothes and blanket neatly folded on the couch. You sent her a message when you departed at seven in the morning so she asked that you let her know when you made it home safe. But have yet to reply, it’s starting to concern her now.

Cheol was also sound asleep on his side of the bed, to her surprise. He also tends to wake up early like Sae-byeok, but perhaps he didn’t get a restful sleep last night because she wasn’t here.

She quietly counts the crumpled up balls of money and coins she was able to collect and stuffed majority of the money inside her drawer.

Her next stop is Ji-yeong’s room.

“How long have you been awake?” Sae-byeok asks after Ji-yeong unlocked her bedroom door and let her in. Her roommate jumps back into bed as she sits on the edge.

“I think like three hours ago but I lost track.” she mumbles, her tone more melancholic than usual.

She notices how puffy and lifeless her eyes are, clearly she was crying all night. Sae-byeok sighs, she wishes she could know the words to use to make Ji-yeong feel better. But maybe words aren’t enough in her case.

“So, what happened with your dad?” she asks cautiously and observes her facial expression to check if there’s a flicker of change in them.

Ji-yeong lets out an exasperated sigh and struggles to speak momentarily. “At first, he refused to see me so I had to wait for an hour until he finally changed his mind. Then he kept apologizing and apologizing and was like ‘I ask God for forgiveness everyday’ but when I told him it was all bullshit he went…I saw the dark look in his eyes again.” she looks at Sae-byeok in the eyes. “It was the same look he had when he killed mom. I had chills up my spine seeing him like that I seriously thought I was next.”

Sae-byeok felt a pang in her chest. A part of her feels like she pushed Ji-yeong into this mess.

“What’s with that look?” Ji-yeong asks. She doesn’t respond. “Don’t feel bad for telling me to visit him. I actually feel better—less guilty about his current state. I still need time I think.”

“Time to think?”

“Yeah, to process everything. But unfortunately, I only have today to do that because I picked up a twelve hour shift at work to make up for the days I missed.”

“Is that your way of telling me to get out of your room?”

Ji-yeong reaches to pat her back. “Look at you being emotionally intelligent!”

With a roll of her eyes she gets off the mattress and towards the door.

“Wait before you go,” Ji-yeong speaks up. “have you seen ‘her’ yet?” she wriggles her eyebrows when Sae-byeok turns around.

“What’s with that face and why did you say her like that?” Sae-byeok scoffs, feeling defensive suddenly.

“I take back my emotionally intelligent comment then.” she grumbles, shaking her head. “I saw her get ready this morning so I was wondering if you dropped her off or something.”

“No, I didn’t drop her off. I left before any of you woke up.” Sae-byeok says flatly and takes a hold of the door knob. She doesn’t like where this conversation is taking.

“She seemed off though.” she points out when Sae-byeok opens the door.

“Did she? Didn’t notice.”

When Sae-byeok is fully out the door it didn’t prevent her from hearing Ji-yeong say, “I can see right through you, Kang Sae-byeok!”

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

Later in the day, once Cheol woke up and had lunch, Sae-byeok casually mentioned the idea of seeing you. This elated the boy, who asked if it was possible to drop by your place as early as today. And because you haven’t been replying to Sae-byeok’s text, she agreed.

So, this lead the Kang siblings to stand outside your apartment door.

When you open it, Sae-byeok did notice you seem off. Your eyes were slightly swollen and tired almost like Ji-yeong’s crying ones. Maybe she came at a bad time—or bad day.

“Hi. Did something happen?” you softly, adverting your gaze down to Cheol.

“Cheol, wanted to see you.” she says plainly. “And you weren’t replying to my texts.”

“Hi, Noona.” Cheol greets you bashfully.

Sae-byeok can readily tell that you were forcing your face muscles to smile at Cheol. You bend down your knees to meet at his level.“Hey! I’m glad you wanted to stop by to see me I have some things for you.”

“Seriously?” he blinks.

You nod and tell them to enter the apartment before rushing up the stairs. Minutes later, you come back with a wooden crate full of supplies and plop it down in front of the boy.

Cheol sends you a skeptical glance. You encourage him to look inside the basket. There were full marker sets, graphite pencils of different grades, paint brushes with dried up paint, acrylic paint, and small empty canvases. Maybe there was more in the basket he missed.

“Is this all for me?” he mutters in disbelief.

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Noona.” he says, contemplating whether to reach over to embrace you but held back the urge in fear. You could sense his hesitation so you outstretch your arms and engulf him in a hug.

When you still embrace him, you look up at Sae-byeok, a flicker of sadness was in your eyes. She’s sure of it. She has a hard time grasping your kindness and selflessness during rough times like this. Your gesture made her chest get this achy feeling again.

After the hug, you encourage him to practice on your old sketchpad that had only two of your past drawings on them from high school.

Once he gets busy unloading everything you got him on the floor, you pull Sae-byeok aside. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply that is a bad move on my end knowing what we went through last night. But I also have something for you and Ji-yeong too by the way.”

“What?”

Before she could process it, you usher her up the stairs to your small bed space. Due to the space being so small she had to duck her head and sit on the mattress, watching you rummage through your piles of knickknacks you haven’t yet organized.

You plop down next to her. Right next to her. Sae-byeok wasn’t used to feeling someone’s leg brush up right against hers. You uncurl your fingers to reveal a black woven rope bracelet on your palm and reach your hand out to her.

Sae-byeok bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t know if she can handle so much of your tender hearted acts when she doesn’t think she deserves even an ounce of it. However, it would be cruel to turn down this gesture so she reaches to take it.

“And can you give this to, Ji-yeong?” you ask and pull out a thin necklace with a small firefly pendant. Sae-byeok sighs, but nods and takes that too.

“Thank you.” Sae-byeok says, lowly.

“I just got one favor to ask.” you say with rapid fire speed, fiddling with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Can I paint you for my last project?”

Sae-byeok whips her head to look at you. She forgot the lack of personal space there was in between you two. “What?”

“Can…I paint you—“

“I heard you. But why me?” she asks, frowning.

“You have a unique face.” you answer simply but her face morphs into bewilderment.

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes are sharp and cool but your face shape is soft and delicate. You have great features for a standout portrait.” you explain with ease. Sae-byeok’s lip part slightly. No one ever talks about her looks, especially not so carefully thought out. “It’s the type of unique face that’s almost—hm…mythical.”

She scoffs at the sheer disbelief she’s feeling. “You’re just bluffing.”

“There’s no reason for me to do that. I had other people as options but you stood out the most.” you say, genuinely. “So, do I have permission?”

Sae-byeok blinks at you. The idea of you having to stare at her face and think about her features for hours is an unfathomable thought. But you appear to be dead set on this decision, you didn’t laugh or mock her to convince her.

“Okay.”

She stares down at the bracelet and fiddles with it, her eyes soften up.

Sae-byeok has a hard time understanding that there is beauty in this world. Growing up in the North only taught her how to fear, and once her managed to flee South she had to became a shell of a person. Cheol, for a long time, was her only light in this new isolated world. She remembers briefly being like her little brother when she was his age, timid and quiet but showed her love. But as the people in her life either died or failed to escape the North, she forgot what it was like to feel and give love.

She never had time to figure out who she was as a person. To her, it was a waste of time. It was better to guard herself from the outside world that was so cruel and unusual.

“Ji-yeong said you looked off this morning.” Sae-byeok says out of the blue, feeling courageous to let her guard down ever so slightly.

“Oh.” is all you said to her surprise.

With another pang of courage hitting her system, she tilts her head to look at you.

You’ve proved Sae-byeok wrong time and time again. She used to be so sure you weren’t this selfless person you presented yourself to be when you came to live in their apartment back in March. But she’s ashamed to admit that she was wrong about your character. Very wrong.

“You did a lot for me last night. I won’t forget it.” she says after more and more momentary silence.

“It’s not—“

“Quit being so selfless for once.” she says in annoyance. She straightens up her posture and exhales trying to gather her words. “Can—Can you look at me?”

Hesitantly, you do as she says. Your face screams of worry and fear.

“What’s wrong?” Sae-byeok barely manages to say while looking into your eyes. “Tell me.”

She feels vulnerable under your tender gaze, noticing that you were studying her facial features carefully. It takes everything in her not to break away.

“I feel sad.” you say, shakily. “I still can’t believe my parents let me go so easily...” your chest visibly heaving. Before your lips start trembling you glance away.

Sae-byeok gulps. Before her brain could start figuring out what to do next she hears Cheol’s footsteps. You both instinctively scoot farther away from each other and compose yourselves.

“Is everything okay?” you ask the boy when he appears from the top of the stairs. Sae-byeok heard the glumness you tried terribly to mask.

“I don’t know how to work this, Noona.” he pouts, holding out a set of watercolor paint.

“Here, I will show you.” you say and hurry to get off of your bed to lead Cheol back downstairs. “This is watercolor paint. It’s dried up right now because you need to activate it with water.”

When Sae-byeok knows you’ve made your way to the kitchen she lets out a set of groans and palms her face. She doesn’t know why she is so bad at this. Comforting—a complete mystery to her.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts

[cherryxbooo]

Helloooo hehe 🍒

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

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

Make it angst to fluff like real angst tho.

Whether you write this or not im grateful 💚

You make sense to me

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

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

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

University is a strange place.

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

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

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

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

No unnecessary interactions. No unnecessary attention.

That is, until he noticed me.

Pedri.

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

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

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

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

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

And again.

Until one day, he does more than just look.

It started off small.

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

My highlighter sits on the page.

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

Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head.

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

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

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

My first instinct? Escape.

My second? Stare.

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

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

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

His grin widens, like this is completely normal.

Like we talk all the time.

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

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

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

He leans back in his chair, completely at ease.

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

“You’re quiet.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. No shit.

I don’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except we don’t.

“I don’t buy that,” he says.

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

"Why do you care?"

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

“I don’t know. You’re interesting.”

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

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

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

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

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

I roll my eyes and refocus on my book.

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

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

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

For a moment, I consider my options.

I could:

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

I’m still debating when he speaks again.

"You always sit here," he muses.

I glance at him. "What?"

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

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

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

"Have you been watching me?"

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

"That’s the same thing."

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

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

I frown, my grip tightening on my highlighter.

"Why are you paying attention to me?"

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

I scoff. "I’m not a mystery."

"Debatable."

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

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

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

I hate it.

Pedri doesn’t leave me alone after that.

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

A fluke.

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

A moment of fleeting curiosity on his part.

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

It starts small.

A casual wave when he spots me across campus.

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

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

I don’t wave back.

But that doesn’t stop him.

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

(Which, obviously, mortifies me.)

Then, there’s class.

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

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

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

Like he’s always been there.

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

"Better view from here."

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

And then there are the conversations.

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

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

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

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

Some days, I ignore him completely.

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

"Pasta," I mumble one afternoon.

He blinks. "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

Just a little.

And that’s how it starts.

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

How, little by little, I stop avoiding him.

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

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

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

I try to convince myself that it means nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

Or something dangerously close to it.

And it terrifies me.

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

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

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

And feelings?

Feelings are dangerous.

Then it started with an invitation,

A casual one. Like it’s no big deal.

"Hey, wanna grab lunch with me?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

I hesitate. "Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sigh, knowing I’ve already lost.

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

He smirks. "Noted."

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

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

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

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

I nod slowly. "It’s... nice."

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

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

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

It’s easy. Effortless.

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

I laugh before I can stop myself.

He looks ridiculously proud of this accomplishment.

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

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

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

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

We eat slowly, the conversation flowing without effort.

And it’s nice. Too nice.

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

After lunch, Pedri suggests a walk.

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri watches me for a moment before speaking.

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

I glance at him. "That obvious?"

He shrugs. "I just notice things."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Why?" he asks softly.

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

But with Pedri, it feels... safe.

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

Pedri stays silent, waiting. Letting me talk.

I take a breath.

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

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

Pedri listens carefully, nodding like he understands.

I look down at my hands.

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

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

"I get that," he says.

I glance at him, surprised.

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

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

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

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

I frown. "Then why—"

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

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

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

I blink. "What?"

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

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

He shifts slightly, his knee brushing against mine.

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

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

Pedri studies my face for a moment, then sighs.

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

"Give me a chance," he says.

I inhale sharply. "Pedri—"

"Just a chance," he insists.

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

I bite my lip, staring at the ground.

"You scare me," I whisper.

He blinks. "Me?"

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

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

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

"Let me in. Just a little."

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

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

Maybe just a little wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

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

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

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

It happens gradually.

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

The next, he’s everywhere.

And suddenly, Pedri is mine.

Which is strange...

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

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

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

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

And maybe it should scare me.

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

But with Pedri, distance feels... impossible.

Because he refuses to be anything less than close.

It doesn’t take long for people to notice.

Because Pedri isn’t subtle. At all.

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

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

I freeze.

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

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

"It’s just me."

I exhale slowly. It’s just him.

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

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

"Wait—are they holding hands?"

"No way. Pedri and y/n?"

"How did that even happen?"

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

If anything, he likes it.

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

Like it’s a habit.

Like he just wants to touch me.

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

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

I glare at him. "You’re annoying."

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

Damn it.

Outside of school, it’s even worse.

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

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

I glance up from my notes. "Why?"

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

I blink. "You see me every day."

He grins. "Yeah, and?"

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

I want to see him too.

Some nights, he comes over with zero warning.

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

Knock, knock.

I groan, already knowing who it is.

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

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

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

I sigh. "What if I was busy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nah. I kinda like it."

"You like being soaked?" I deadpan.

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

And damn it, he means it.

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

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

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

"What’s mine is yours, princesa."

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

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

It’s quiet, comfortable.

Pedri reaches out, tracing lazy patterns on my wrist.

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

I blink. "What?"

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

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

Pedri frowns slightly.

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

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

I laugh softly. "It’s the truth."

"Well, I hate it," he says.

I tilt my head. "Why?"

Pedri exhales.

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

My breath catches.

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

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

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

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

"You make sense to me," he whispers.

I don’t know what to say.

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

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

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

I swallow. "Pedri..."

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

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

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

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

I know that Pedri is different.

I know that I’ve already fallen for him.

And for the first time in a long time,

I don’t want to run.

It’s a normal day at school.

Or at least, it should be.

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

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

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

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

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

"But I’m right here."

"And?"

"And I require attention."

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

Pedri grins, clearly pleased with himself.

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

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

I shake my head but squeeze his hand anyway.

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

And then he drops a bombshell.

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

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

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

"For dinner. Just something casual."

Casual?

Meeting his parents is casual?!

My brain short-circuits.

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

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

"Yes," I say, nodding vigorously.

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

Pedri immediately frowns, turning his entire body towards me.

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

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

"Yes, I do," he says firmly.

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

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

I feel my heart clench.

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

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

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

"Good," he says smugly.

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

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

"That’s mean."

"That’s justice."

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

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

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

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

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

And right on cue, my phone buzzes.

Pedri: I’m outside <3

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

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

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

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

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

My face heats up. "Shut up."

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri notices immediately.

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

"Breathe, princesa," he murmurs.

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

"You won’t."

"How do you know?"

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

"Because you’re you," he says simply.

And just like that, some of the nerves fade.

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

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

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

Then, her eyes land on me.

And suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

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

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

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

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

"Come in, come in."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So this is the famous girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Love you too, hermano."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nearly choke on my drink.

His mother laughs while Fernando groans.

"God, you’re embarrassing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I giggle, and Pedri shoots me a betrayed look.

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

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

After dinner, I insist on helping with the dishes.

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

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

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

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

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

I blink, glancing at her. "Oh?"

She nods, rinsing a dish.

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

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

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

Something warm blooms in my chest.

"You’re good for him," she continues.

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

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

"I can tell you care about him."

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

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

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

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

"It did," I admit.

"See? You worried for nothing."

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

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

"I will never repeat it."

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

I glance at him. "Why?"

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

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

I bite my lip. "Yeah?"

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

My heart stops.

Pedri, realizing what he just said, suddenly tenses.

"Wait—" His eyes widen. "I mean—"

I laugh softly. "It’s okay, Pedri."

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

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

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

"Drive, Pedri," I whisper.

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

And as we head home, I realize—

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had smiled when I read it.

I shouldn’t have.

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

Laughter. Loud voices.

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

I stop. My heart stutters.

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

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

His voice.

Pedri.

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri laughs.

That’s the first stab.

"Nah, man. No bet."

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

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

A girl like that.

"Exactly," another voice chimes in.

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

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

The air leaves my lungs.

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

Pedri doesn’t deny it.

He fucking laughs.

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

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

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

Pedri snickers.

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

I feel sick.

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

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

The laughter erupts around him.

I think I might throw up.

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

Pedri laughs harder.

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

My heart shatters.

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t.

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

I need to get out of here.

I don’t know how long I stand there.

Seconds? Minutes?

Everything is a blur.

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

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

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

Then another.

Then I’m walking away.

I don’t care where I’m going.

I just need to get the hell out of there.

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

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

I feel numb.

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

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

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

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

I just keep walking.

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

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

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

I already know who it is.

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

Pedri stands there.

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

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

I stare at him.

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

That makes me angrier.

"Go away, Pedri."

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

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

He freezes. And I see it.

I see the exact moment realization hits.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

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

"Princesa—"

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

His jaw clenches. "I didn’t mean it."

I laugh again, but it hurts.

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

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

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

He flinches.

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

"It doesn’t matter," I whisper.

"It does."

"No, Pedri. It really doesn’t."

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

"I can’t do this anymore."

His breath catches. "What?"

"We’re done."

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

For a few seconds, I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

And then I hear it—

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

"Please don’t leave me."

Tears stream down my face.

But I don’t open the door.

And I don’t look back.

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

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

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

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

My phone buzzes constantly, but I ignore it.

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

But he doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

I expect that to be the end of it.

But Pedri doesn’t give up so easily.

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

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

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

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

The first time, I hesitate.

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

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

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

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

But I’m not ready.

I don’t even know if I ever will be.

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

I can’t hide forever.

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

That I can handle seeing him again.

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

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

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

I know he’s seen me. I don’t look.

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

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

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

A hand gently grabbing my wrist, pulling me back.

I freeze.

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

"Y/n."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

So I leave. Again.

Later that day,

It all happens too quickly.

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

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

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

I’m not expecting to see what I do.

There’s Pedri.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri doesn't fight me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My voice trembles with the weight of everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the flowers start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s hope.

That’s when I notice it, his transformation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

It’s safer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he replies quickly.

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

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

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

He’s living it.

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

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

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

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

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

“But... I’ll try. Slowly.”

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

“That’s all I need. Just a chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few months later,

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

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

He’s showing it.

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t expect what happens next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins, relief flooding his features.

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

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

I admit, my voice soft, but sincere.

Pedri chuckles, and his eyes soften.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s easy now. It’s natural.

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

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

The end

[i-dared-myself]

Sick Day

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: can u do a ninth member one where she’s feeling sick but is forced to go on stage but is like coughing and not giving it her all or something like that? I don’t know just I love your writing and I would really love if u could do that :)

You throw your legs over the side of your bed and pad over to the door. You push it open and sniffle as you go down the stairs, throat aching.

“You look pale,” Changbin remarks once you throw yourself onto the couch with a groan.

“Don’t feel good,” you mumble back. You toss an arm over your face. “I feel so gross.”

“Who’s ready for this?” Jisung screams as he rushes into the living room. You cover your face and bite back a whine at the headache he causes. “Big performance today!” 

Changbin hushes him, motioning to you. “She’s sick.”

Jisung freezes, eyes widening. “That’s not good. We’re supposed to have that-“

You cut him off. “I know! You think I wanted to be sick?”

He throws his hands up and slowly backs out of the room. “I’ll go find some medicine.”

Changbin presses his hand to your forehead. “You feel warm.”

Felix walks by, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Does she feel warm to you?” Changbin asks.

“Is this a trick?” Felix suspiciously questions. He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re… smoking hot. Sexy.”

“No!” Changbin snaps. “Does she have a fever?”

Felix’s mouth forms an ‘O’ as he approaches. He puts the back of his hand to your forehead before nodding. “Yeah, kinda.”

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning on the doorframe. “You just have cold hands. Let me see.” Hyunjin checks, before recoiling. “That’s a fever! Someone put a mask on her!”

“Has anyone used an actual thermometer yet?” Seungmin demands, hovering in the doorway. “Idiots.”

“Do we even have one?” Changbin asks. “Is it in the cabinet or…?”

Seungmin holds it up. “I heard you all shouting and grabbed it.”

Hyunjin winces. “Is it… an ass one?”

You duck behind Changbin. “It better not be!”

“It’s not! It goes under the tongue!” Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You reluctantly walk over, opening your mouth. He sticks it under your tongue, eyebrows pulling together when it beeps and flashes red.

“Fever,” Seungmin confirms.

Jisung sprints inside, juggling bottles of medicine. “What are your symptoms? We need to find the one that matches exactly with it.”

Felix peers at the bottles before taking one and inspecting the label. “This one is just vodka.”

Minho shuffles in, rubbing at his eyes. He yawns before noticing everyone. “Whats going on?”

“She’s sick,” Changbin announces. “Don’t tell Chan.”

You perk up. “Why not?”

“He’ll worry the whole time,” Hyunjin chimes in. “If you take some medicine you’ll be fine. Okay, maybe not fine, but he’ll worry himself sick if he hears.”

“And we don’t need two sick members,” you agree. “Okay, no one tell him.”

Minho clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Nonsense,” Jisung says as he pours some medicine for you. “Now take these drugs.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s so- Just don’t do that.”

Jeongin wanders into the living room. “Who’s making breakfast? We leave in an hour and I’m hungry. I could eat a horse. Or Hyunjin would work. Pretty much the same thing.”

Hyunjin smacks the back of Jeongin’s head. “Careful. I haven’t had my coffee yet and am not in a good mood.”

Chan tugs at the strings of his hoodie. “What’s going on?”

You force a smile and push away the pounding headache. “Nothing.” You turn around and take the cup of medicine from Jisung, downing it like a shot. 

Chan scratches the back of his neck. “Okay then… Is everyone ready for today?”

You nod confidently, although it’s definitely not how you feel inside. “Yes. Very.”

Chan smiles softly. “Good. You’ll be great.”

Your stomach tumbles at his words. You really don’t need another reminder. This is your first time taking such a main spot. You’ll be in the front for the majority, being main vocalist.

And you’re sick.

Chan rolls up his sleeves. “I guess I’ll cook breakfast, then. You all be ready to go when it’s time.”

Felix grins, freckles scrunching up. “Sir yes sir.”

Chan points a finger at him. “You. You’ll be my kitchen helper for that.”

Felix sighs and his shoulders slump, but he obediently trails after Chan into the kitchen. “Sir yes sir.”

“Stay strong,” Jeongin whispers to you. He clenches a fist. “Fight the patriarchy!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Jeongin… No…”

Changbin grins, seemingly intent on making you suffer. “Down with the patriarchy!”

Seungmin pumps his fists, eyes glinting with mischief. “Up with the matriarchy!”

Jisung eagerly joins in. “Mommies rise up!”

Everyone stared at him.

Minho breaks the silence. “What?”

Jisung laughs nervously. “I was just… doing what everyone else was.”

“You really weren’t.” Hyunjin shakes his head.

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

You grip your microphone tightly. You’re fairly certain that the medicine has worn off by now. You keep flashing between too hot, and too cold. Your head is pounding and your throat burns.

You adjust your belt before stepping out onto stage. The rest of your group follows shortly behind, waving enthusiastically to the crowd.

You take your place at the front, listening to the introductions. When they come to an end and the music begins, you raise your microphone to your lips.

And your voice rasps.

You quickly push it aside, continuing with the song. Your voice thankfully clears, but your head is growing light.

Chan shoots you a worried look a you stumble over a step. You ignore him and push through the movements.

Felix and Hyunjin rush past you, using dramatic hand gestures. Hyunjin had designed that part of the dance and was very proud of it and you’re so tired and-

You twirl in the wrong direction and Jeongin barely manages to slide around you. He plays it off with an extra movement that’s honestly impressive.

You hold off a cough long enough for Jisung’s lines to come up. You dart behind Changbin to cough, grimacing when it tastes like mucus.

Seungmin’s upper lip curls and he offers you a sympathetic look.

The rest of the group parts so you can make your way to the front. You sashay as the choreography expects, only to crumple as soon as you reach the front.

Minho falls to his knees next to you and loops his arms under yours. He drags you off the stage as the others continue with what little remains. You distantly hear Seungmin take over for you, too busy blinking to really pay attention.

Minho props you up, stroking your face gently. “Come on. Deep breaths and I’ll get you some water.”

You take a sip from your bottle when it’s offered to you. “I don’t feel good. I wanna go home.”

Minho hums and presses the heel of his hand to your forehead. “I think you have a fever.”

Chan springs backstage, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? Are you okay? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

You cough into your elbow. “I’m fine. Just sick.” Your voice is nasally and you can’t possibly imagine how bad you just sounded on stage.

Chan’s expression shifts. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Told you,” Minho whispers as he glides away.

“It was their idea!” Your voice is gesture to the others. “They made me! I’m just sick and you should take pity on me!”

Chan crosses his arms. “That’s no excuse. You need to tell me these things so stuff like this doesn’t happen again. Got it?”

You nod. “I got it. Totally understand.”

Chan sighs and holds out his arms. “Come here.”

You bound towards him and bury yourself in his arms. He squeezes you once before releasing you.

“Now let’s go home.” Chan takes your hand in his and guides you out the doors. “The public and press are being dealt with now. You have nothing to worry about.”

You can barely keep your eyes open by the time you reach the company van. You fall asleep on Changbin, and he carries you inside the dorms.

“Wake up,” Chan softly says. “You need medicine.”

“Drugs,” Seungmin pipes up to make you laugh. “She needs drugs.”

“Mm,” Jisung wiggles his eyebrows, “I love drugs.”

Felix spins around and marches off. “I’ll go get some juice boxes.”

Jisung cheers and runs after him. You sit up to take the medicine you’re given. It’s disgusting and you gag.

Hyunjin jumps away. “Don’t vomit on me!”

You shoot him a dirty look. “Thanks, Hyunjin.”

Jeongin pats the top of your head. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t think about how no one thinks they’re going to die because of a cold, then bam they’re dead.”

“Let’s not talk like that.” Chan swoops in to place a hand on the small of your back. “Go up to bed and get some rest. When you come down we’ll have your juice boxes and maybe even some takeout.”

You cough into the crook of your arm. “I don’t wanna sleep by myself.”

“Ew.” Hyunjin curls away from you. “Don’t infect the rest of us! You’re a walking biohazard!”

“Here.” Changbin hands you a Dwaekki. “Just throw it in the wash when you’re done covering it in disease.”

Minho clears his throat. “Or we could just burn it.”

“Did someone say bonfire?” Jisung pokes his head into the room, a crazed look in his eyes.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

[mommyslittlebird]

A Room of Your Own

Married!WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After getting kicked out of your college dorm, you find yourself living with two older strangers. It was never meant to be anything more than a temporary arrangement born out of necessity, but as the semester continues, something new starts to grow.

CW: Homophobia, Getting Kicked Out, Slow Burn (No sex or romance in this chapter), Age Gap

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m back from the dead, though probably not in the way you wanted or expected. I had to take a (not so) little break from one-shots and smut for the time being for some personal reasons. But I’m still finding ways to write and enjoy myself. Some of you probably have already seen this. It’s been up on AO3 for a while now. But I figured I’d post it here too.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing any sort of slow burn, so we'll see if I can resist having them all fall into bed together in the first few chapters. I also don't know how to write an introductory chapter without making it boring as shit, so I at least made it short to spare you all. I promise it gets better.

Chapter 1 of A Room of Your Own

You sat, knees curled to your chest, on the curb in front of what used to be your dorm. It was late, a little after midnight, and absolutely pouring rain.

Three days. You had been in the dorms for three days and you had already been kicked out. You’d expect some pushback, going to a religious college and being queer, but nothing like this. Nothing like getting kicked out of your dorm in the middle of the night because you were making your roommates uncomfortable. You’d tried so hard to get them to like you. They seemed sweet. Not your type of people, sure, but you thought the three of you could get along just fine.

As it turns out, they were actually so repulsed by your presence they couldn’t even wait until classes started to kick you to the curb. Literally.

“Hey!” Somebody shouted from the doorway, holding a large umbrella. You turned to see her approaching and shrunk back in on yourself. You didn’t think you could handle anymore ridicule that evening.

When you didn’t respond or turn to face her, she sat down next to you, sure to cover you with the umbrella as well. She spoke softer now. “Hey. I’m sorry for what happened back there.”

You still didn’t speak, but you looked at her now, partially soaked from where she was sitting next to you on the wet concrete. “I’m Yelena.” She reached her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You recognized her from your dorm floor, though you’d only ever seen her in passing.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she smiled softly. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the raining night.

“Do you have anywhere to go? For tonight I mean. I would offer you to stay in my room, but…” she turned back to the door of the building. You both knew you couldn’t go back in there.

You shook your head. You hadn’t even thought where you would stay tonight. You could always stay in your car. It wouldn’t be the first night you’ve slept in the backseat. Still, the sopping wet clothes would surely make for a morning full of rashes and blistered skin.

Yelena sighed, looking at the ground. She was silent for a moment before she came up with an idea. “Let me call my sister. She and her wife have a massive place not so far from here. They’ll have a bedroom or two to spare.”

Before you could form a rebuttal of any sort, Yelena pushed the umbrella into your hands and dashed back inside. You tucked the umbrella between your leg and the crook of your arm, resting your head on your knees.

It wasn’t very long before Yelena was by your side again. “Okay she’s on her way. She’ll be here in about 10 minutes.”

You didn’t look at her, facing intentionally in the other direction. You felt so horrible. You just wanted to curl up and disappear. And now you were going to be picked and taken to the home of some random classmate’s sister? You try to formulate a response, a reason that you will be fine on your own, but there was nothing. It was either this or the back seat of your 1993 Toyota Corolla. Somehow, you bet Yelena wasn’t going to take that as a reasonable explanation as to why she should call off her sister.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked weakly.

She sighed and put her hand on your back. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will if you really want me to.”

You finally turned to face her. She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of leaving. She was probably a freshman. It was her first couple days in the dorm too and everything was so new and exciting. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home with her sister.

“No it’s okay,” you responded. The last thing you wanted was to inconvenience someone else tonight, and it’s not like a freshman you hardly knew was going to bring you much solace anyway.

She patted your back. “They’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Before too much longer, Yelena stood up at the sight of headlights. She waved her arms in an “over here” motion. The car approached Yelena, stopping hard in front of the curb you were sitting on. The tires splashed you in rainwater and mud. Yelena winched, walking back towards you to usher you into the car.

She led you to the passenger door, popping it open and peeking her head in. “This is your girl,” she said, pointing back towards your soaked, mud covered figure. She motioned for you to sit.

You hesitated. The car looked nicer than any you’d ever been in before. The idea of ruining the nice leather seats made you want to shrink further into your ball of shame.

The woman in the driver's seat noticed your hesitation, but didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with her seat. “Come on in,” she ushered. “Get out of that rain.”

You handed the umbrella back to Yelena, reluctantly taking a seat in the car. Yelena peaked her head back in to say “take care of her,” before closing the door and scurrying back into the dorms.

The woman looked at you, reaching up to pop on the overhead light. The sight of her in the light nearly took your breath away. She looked oddly familiar. Maybe you’d seen her around town. You sharply inhaled as the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen leaned over the console towards you. She frowned. “Oh you poor thing!” She reached out to wipe off your face. You cringed when you saw the mud smear across the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded and she turned the light off before pulling out of the parking lot. You fought the urge to curl up in her passenger seat, fearing further ruining her seats with the dirty bottoms of your shoes. When you didn’t speak, she offered up an introduction of her own. “My name is Natasha. I don’t know what Yelena’s told you, but I’m her sister. My wife and I have a place not so far from here.”

“I’m Y/N” you managed.

“A friend of Yelena’s?” She asked.

You chuckled a little. “I suppose you could say that. We met about 20 minutes ago.”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to Yelena to seek you out after such an injustice.”

You bit the inside of your lip. You wished you had heard the phone conversation so you could gauge just how much she knew.

It was as if Natasha could read your mind when she started next with the details of the phone call. “Yelena told me you got kicked out of the dorm by the other girls. They were uncomfortable because you were gay? I never expected to hear anything like that happening in 2024, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Well, that was one way of telling the story. At least Yelena had left out the peeping Tom allegations that got you chased off the floor by everyone who had to share a bathroom with you. They weren’t true, of course, but the fact that you’d made people so uncomfortable they were willing to name you a pervert without second thought made your skin crawl.

After a short, largely silent car ride, Natasha pulled the car into a garage. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the house, both because of the dark and getting lost in your own thoughts, but even by the state of the garage you could tell it was nice.

Natasha got out of the car, unlocking the door and leading you into the kitchen. You took your shoes off by the door, then decided to take your socks off too to avoid tracking muddy water through the house. The woman took your hand and guided you to the stairwell, then to a bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened up a cabinet, pulling out fresh towels and washcloths.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes and sheets. The bedroom is through here.” She opened a door that revealed a sizable bedroom connected to the bathroom. You could hardly believe this wasn’t the master suite she’d led you too.

She turned to face you, exhaling as she once again took in your disheveled state. She picked some errant pebbles from your tangled hair and wiped it out of your face. “Now,” she started, “do you need anything else before I let you get cleaned up and off to bed?”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough already. Thank you, Miss Natasha, for letting me stay here. It means a lot. Truly.”

“Of course.” She smiled. You didn’t notice the blush that crept onto her face at the formality. She swiped away the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes again. “We wouldn’t want a sweet girl like you sleeping out in the rain.” She booped the tip of your nose. “Now promise you’ll wake me or Wanda up if you need anything at all. We’re just in the room across the hall. Can’t miss it, it’s the only door on that side.”

You nodded slowly. There was no way in hell you were going to wake her or Wanda, who you assumed was her wife, for any reason. But you nodded anyway.

She smiled and rubbed your chin. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and try to get some rest.”

As she set off to her room, you hoped the mud had covered how pink your cheeks had gotten. You headed to the shower, sliding open the glass door and turning on the water. You decided to hop in with your clothes at first, hoping to get enough of the mud off that you could wear them again tomorrow. Then you wrang the clothes out and threw them over the door to dry. You took your time in the shower, letting the hot water warm you up from the cold rain. By the time you were finally clean, you grabbed the fresh towel Natasha had left for you.

Your clothes were, obviously, still soaked save for your underwear. You were thankful for the little time it had taken the thin silky material to dry. You put them back on and wrapped yourself in a towel before entering into the bedroom.

There was a maroon hoodie at the end of the bed. It had been there since Natasha first showed you the room, so it clearly wasn’t laid out for you. However, in lieu of other clothes, you decided the owner probably wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for the night. You slipped the soft fabric over your head. It was much too big for you, going down to almost your mid thighs while the sleeves dangled over your hands. But it was, quite possibly, the softest material that you’d ever felt. It felt simultaneously brand new and freshly washed.

You crawled up into the queen sized bed, slipping under the covers. You held the fabric of the hoodie close to your face. It smelled nothing like the musky bergamot of Natasha, which had been equally as entrancing in its own way. This was distinctly different. It smelled soft and comforting like lying in a meadow on a spring day. The comforting smell and warmth, along with your own exhaustion, quickly had you asleep.

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 1/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Series Summary: Months of loveless married life would be taxing on any soul, especially when confined to the secluded country estate of your new family. But a blossoming connection with you reclusive father-in-law offers you comfort where there should be none, bringing respite to your otherwise dreadful nights. After months of disinterest, how will your husband react to such a development?

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Infidelity, Degradative Language

A/N: Whoo another series! Been a while since I did one of these, though this one is a bit shorter than others. As you can probably tell from the warnings this series is going to be a darker tone, nevertheless I hope y'all enjoy!

The night time on the estate is cool, even with the sun having just tucked under the horizon. The winds move quicker over the rolling hills, no trees to catch and rustle before it’s billowing across your dress, sending goosebumps across your skin. It’s enough to send anyone scurrying inside at the hint of darkness, but not you. Yes, you dread the cold and the way it pinches at your nose and fingertips, but anything is better than being stuck inside the house, alone with your thoughts. Not again.

“Ahh, yes. It should be ready now dear.”

And especially not when your father-in-law has promised a special treat this particular evening. One that he assured would make the cold worth it.

You tentatively walk toward the telescope, still nervous to touch its magnificence. The craftsmanship alone betrays an elegance far beyond your understanding, even after joining this house nearly a season ago. But your father-in-law is kind, gentle as he guides your eye to the glass, not as reprimanding as your former tutors or even governess’ were.

You peek into the glass, perfectly centered on the main event of tonight; The bright ‘evening star’, whose path perfectly crosses the night sky tonight.

“Is that-”

“It’s Venus, my dear.” A gloved hand settles on your shoulder, your father-in-law’s dulcet voice dancing across your inner ear. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

If he was anyone else, even your husband, the familiar touch would have shocked you out of your reverence. But after weeks of stargazing, nights spent in gentle conversation, you’ve learned that The Earl was just the affectionate type. Nothing untoward, of course, but the sort of casual touches and grazes one would expect of an exuberant father. You have a feeling he’d always wanted someone out here with him, and is simply too unpracticed to restrain himself.

“It is.” You gasp, still reeling on the fact you’re seeing a planet. An actual planet, other than Earth, rendered in such detail. “Oh, Sir, it’s incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” The Earl chuckles. “I remember the first time I saw her in such splendor. I was speechless.” The hand on your shoulder rubs its thumb across the planes of your back, never leaving the fabric. “And dear, you know you can call me Edric.”

His voice rings in your ears, an imperceptible shiver running down your spine as the Earl’s, Edric’s, voice grows subtly darker. You swallow a deep breath and convince yourself it’s from the excitement of seeing Venus herself. Pulling back from the telescope, you give him a small smile, unable to meet his deep, black eyes.

“O-of course, Sir-I mean, Edric.” Your head bobs, some emotion caught in your throat.

He is family now. It is sensible.

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, almost wishing there were some servants darting around, something to distract yourself with. But the staff always seems to disappear at the hint of night time. It was rather shocking to you at first, but after a while you assumed maybe the Earl was just diligent in making sure they have proper rest. It did make the house quite…eerie at night. Wandering the long halls, peering out at the endless darkness that was the rolling hills, it was what drew you to the night’s sky in the first place. What drew you and Edric together.

—

“Dear?”

Already on edge by the quiet and the dark, your father-in-law’s voice nearly scares you out of your skin. Jumping from your bench, you turn to him, ashamedly unprepared and ghoulish-looking.

“Earl Gulliver!” You drop into a deep curtsy, hoping your father-in-law doesn’t notice your frazzled appearance. “I w-was not expecting anyone. It is quite late.”

That is an understatement, to say the least. The last person you had expected to see this night was your reclusive father-in-law, a man you hadn’t exchanged a single word with since your wedding two months ago. It could’ve been the size of your newfound home, but you hadn’t seen him once since moving in. Not at meal times, not in the fabulously large library, and certainly not wandering the grounds. You assumed he kept odd hours, working hard on whatever it is that Earls do. Or maybe he enjoyed the lifestyle of your husband, was sleeping all day and then spending his nights out on the town, either at a tavern or a brothel or both.

“It is. I must admit, I was not expecting you either.” The Earl tightens the sides of his jacket, although the cold seems to be not affecting him at all. His face grows no flush; His fine, ivory cheekbones as brilliantly white as they are in the daytime. “If I may, what are you doing in the garden?”

You swallow your saliva, realizing that this is now a full conversation. Darn, your governess was right in saying you should have practiced the art a bit more. 

“I was looking at the stars, sir.” You fight off the urge to curtsy at the end of each sentence, something about The Earl’s regality instilling a need to appease. He was every bit the nobility that your husband wasn’t, his thick black hair combed neatly, even at this late of night. “I used to do it when I was younger, but this estate has a much b-better view.” Your fingers knot in your dress, a frustrating habit you never grew out of. “I quite like…the constellations.”

The Earl stands there, and for a second you wonder if you’re about to be scolded for such a girlish inclination. But the smile that curls up his face is kind, The Earl stepping into the garden with a sweep of his waistcoat. In no time he is by your side, and pointing up at the sky.

“My favorite is the Pleiades.” The Earls’ gloved fingers draw across the sky, expertly pointing out the star cluster. “It’s also known as the Seven-”

“-Sisters! Yes, it’s one of my favorites too!” The excitement bursts out of you before you think better, the first positive interaction in months getting to you. Like a child having sugar after rationing. But the shame is just as quick, the realization of another girlish outburst, causing you to curl in and a heat to spread across your cheeks. The only thing that bats it away is your father-in-laws smile, even wider than ebfore.

“Do you know the story of the sisters?” The Earl moves in closer, leaning down to meet your eye. Your father-in-law is of an impressive height, just like his son, and the way your neck cranes to look at him has a way of making you feel child-like. 

“My nursemaid used to tell me a version of it, though I am not sure how accurate it maye be.” You giggle, now drawing shapes in the fabric of your skirt. “I believed she liked to embellish.”

“Well, there are quite a many versions of it, from all over the globe. Perhaps there isn’t one true version, but many concurrent ones.” The Earl says with a gentle nod of his head. “Humanity has always had a way of crafting myths, of telling stories that make something as big as the world, make a little more sense.” 

“That's beautiful.” You say, looking back up at the constellation, the wonder apparent in your eyes. “Isn’t it strange to think that so many people, even centuries ago, were doing the same thing as us? Looking up at the stars and telling stories?” Your eyes stay locked on the great abyss, dancing from star to star, wondering of all the people before you.

The Earl, however, keeps his eyes on you.

“Indeed, it is beautiful.”

—

That was the start of your connection with your father-in-law, an unlikely friendship which has made me these past weeks bearable. You never knew you could look forward to night time like this, but sitting down and stargazing was the last bastion of comfort and companionship you had here. The Earl would point out different bodies, telling you myths and stories, some versions you had never even heard of. You would tell him your own tales, the ones your maids would make up, or your sisters dramatized, but he enjoyed them all the same. 

To think such a stoic and quiet man was hiding such a laugh, such a loving personality, was astonishing. In a way it baffles you how his son turned out as he did, although you admit you do not know your husband that well. Your wedding had been short and formal, your husband as eager to get it over with as he was to down another cup of foul-smelling wine. Your interaction with him so far had been just as short, your husband rather displeased in every iteration you saw him. Nothing like the gentle, attentive man you now know Edric to be.

“It is getting late now, dear.” The hand on your shoulder moves up, nearly pressing on the hem of your dress. Darn, this is your least favorite time of the night. “I think it is best you go to bed now.”

Just the thought puts a yawn into your mouth, has your eyes drooping. Edric must have a way of sensing these things, you think to yourself.

“You are right. Though I would love to keep watching.”

Edric chuckles, and brushes a stray hair behind your ear.

“The stars will be there tomorrow night too, dearest.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you lock eyes with Edric. Those deep, dark pools are as unfathomable as ever, the same abyss you could get lost in, just like the sky. 

He had never called you dearest before, only dear.

“Y-yes, you’re right.” You swallow another bout of troubling emotion, tearing your eyes away from The Earl’s carved visage. “Have a good night, Edric.”

“You as well, my dear.”

It takes everything in you to depart, to leave the little bubble of you two and head to your bedroom. With him, you are happy. With him, you are safe, and heading to your empty bed is just another reminder.

Of what, exactly?

That thought has you scurrying along. Perhaps you are more tired than you thought. It is the lack of sleep, surely.

The Earl watches as you leave, standing still.

Your night has ended, yet his has just begun.

—

Edric fears he is making a mistake.

Since this immortal life was thrust upon him, he’s always been deigned sentimental. Too sentimental, many others would chide, especially for a beast of the night. This longing he had was so human, so mortal, so unbecoming of a vampire of his station and age. He knew it well, aware of this irritating tendency of his to grow so attached.

He had done much to keep it down. When it had first come to a head, becoming unbearable for his immortal soul, he had compromised and found Caleb. It was the perfect middleground: Siring a fledgling was a perfectly natural, vampiric thing to do. He had made himself a companion, a young vampire to explore the world with, to help guide, he had made himself a son. That had been enough the past couple of decades.

But the boy had become such a brat.

Edric thought the conditions were perfectly tolerable; In order to live the lavish life they do, Caleb and him had to compromise. Rather than sink to the level of so many others, living in alleys and shadows with only the stolen goods on their back, to live like nobility one must have to act like nobility. If it meant marrying every once in a while, so be it. They could find a quiet girl with a proper name, whisk her away from her family with promises of wealth and titles, and enjoy a couple years of peaceful solitude before she died of a mysterious illness. Just a couple years of playing the part and they could have decades of a lavish country life, all with the veil of grief to cover up any of their eccentricities.

But that boy just couldn’t handle it, could he?

Edric thought he raised him better than this, raised him smarter than this. But no, Caleb couldn’t content himself with even one second of his immortal life not being rambunctious. He married the girl Edric selected, all right, yet spat in the name of matrimony at every chance. While Edric stayed at home, managing the estate and growing their profits, Caleb was in town acting every bit a rake: Whores, booze, gambling. Like a petulant child he was throwing a tantrum, appalled that his father would “dare” take away any of his new toys, the utter debauchery of this immortal life.

The worst part of it all is that…it didn’t seem to matter.

Edric honors himself in keeping up with the times, of seamlessly blending with the ever shifting ways of human society. But this new found apathey to men's behavior had thrown him off. It’s a known secret that his son is an adulterous, drink-crazed partier, and yet no one seems to care! All they do is cast the occasionally disapproving gaze and talk amongst themselves, but it hasn’t seemed to affect his son’s social standing at all. In fact, most of the gentlemen of the town seemed to like him even more, embracing his wild ways and straying from their own confinements of proper morality.

Edirc hated to say it, but back in his day, marriage meant something. Men had affairs sure, but either they were secretive or properly shamed once found out. None such flagrant displays were respected, they were spat upon, they were easy weaknesses to exploit. Back in his day, men were either honorable, or good enough at pretending to be honorable.

The real problem now is his new daughter-in-law. His sweet, kind daughter in law. Who loves his library, who loves the stars and the all encompassing universe of which you are only a small speck. Who loves romance and tragedy loves to talk to him, The Earl, of all people. A droll, ancient vampire with nothing better to do but haunt this old house in the countryside. It’s pathetic, just how besotten he has become in such a short time, with this miniscule thing that should be nothing more than a cog in the machine.

Everyone always said he was too sentimental, that he got attached too easily. More in love with the fruits of humanity than with endless possibilities of his own immortality. They all called him weak, and yet he was still here, and many of them were not. His son, for all his problems, was still here, ever indulgent in the base sins which clung to his old mortal life. 

Maybe it was time for him to indulge too.

Maybe it's time for the plan to change.

—

Caleb is lost.

He knows he’s on the property, for sure. But this new estate his master so gracefully bought for them was a goddamn labyrinth. Too many large halls that all look the same, the decorations so methodically similar to match current mortal’s tastes. It's confusing as is when he’s sober, even more so with a full belly of wine and whore’s blood.

It doesn’t help Caleb’s headache, an unfortunate side effect of his unexpected glutton. He had been sloppy tonight, shifting while caught in the raptures with the lady of the night, forced to drain her dry and ditch her in a river. No one would miss her, another forgettable face in a sea of brothels and wenches.

No, they aren’t called wenches anymore. At least, he doesn’t think. Devils, humans could be so confusing.

He stumbled into the first available room he sees, the door big and opulent enough to befit a fine bedchamber. It's probably a guest room, but whatever, he can crash for the day and-

Oh, this is not a guest room.

The sickly sweet smell of your blood alerts him immediately to your presence. If it hadn’t, then the site of you curled up on your bed, the moonlight shining down romantically on your sleeping self, would have. You look like a proper fairy tale princess, chest slowly rising up and down, your soft, long neck bare for all the terrible creatures that go bump in the night.

He lingers, he doesn’t know why. Walking along the side of your bed, pupils roving over your collarbone. His claws trace over the fine velvet of your bedding, luckily licked clean of the filthy blood of the whore and leaving no stains. Your head tosses in your sleep, but your face remains peaceful, completely unaware of your intruder.

You are a pretty thing, Caleb supposes. His creator could’ve done far worse in that department. You had a soft voice too, from what he remembered of the wedding. You had asked what he liked to do in his free time, gentle as a whisper amongst the bustling party going on around you. In another decade, Caleb myself might have pursued you, drawn in by your sweet face and even sweeter blood. He’d have seduced you, ravished you, and savored you like a fine wine.

But Caleb is older now, he isn’t the bumbling fool he was when first risen from the grave. He didn’t need you, didn’t need to have his prey fetched and prepared, like his creator insisted. It was an insult to his charm, to his prowess, that his master somehow couldn't understand.

He thought about killing you, the night of the wedding. Insisting on a witness for your consummation, then defiling you like an animal and ripping your throat out. That would show him that he wasn't a weak-willed child, who needs to play pretend. Who needs some perfectly demure debutante to flout about on his arm, who needs to shackle himself to the ridiculous norms of the bugs beneath them. Why would he crave any of that, when he had finally tasted true freedom?

You have no survival instinct, Caleb thinks as he draws a finger down your jaw. You barely even twitch, no fear from the cool nail that could slit your throat in a second. Just a pretty face, meant to be bought and sold. A warm hearted maiden that only exists in fairy tales.

You turn your head, unintentionally nuzzling into Caleb’s touch. Goosebumps pepper across the line of your jaw, but still you do not stir.

Utterly hopeless.

That's what you were. Hopeless. Useless. A pretty doll to decorate the hallways. It’s why Caleb didn’t even bother consummating your “union”, if one could even call it that. That would imply that he cared, that he wanted you.

Caleb stands at the foot at the bed, and watches the covers rise and fall with each slow breath. Watches your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, your toes curling when the covers pull up and reveal the bitter cold. Even in sleep, you’re just so human.

If he still was one, Caleb’s sure he would have fallen for you. Such a beautiful noble girl, the soft-hearted kind that would have been kind to a peasant farm boy like himself, saw past his poor station. You would've forced him to become this poor, besotted, love struck fool. He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged for even a scrap of your attention. He would’ve desired you like an addict does his drugs, like a prisoner does the sun.

He isn’t that anymore. That weak, romantic idiot dreaming of a noble life. Now he’s just….

Caleb's claws dig into the bedframe.

He takes what he wants now, no matter what anyone else says.

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Ch. 111: Anya's Mama

So many things for such a little chapter, don't you think?

We saw baby Anya and we finally caught a glimpse of Anya's biological mother.

Something to notice is that they're both wearing hospital gowns, which makes me think they were in the lab and, because of that, we can solidify the theory about Anya being born there. It could be that her mom was pregnant when captured or that they experimented on her and she got pregnant while in that lab. A secret third option is that Anya's mom actually volunteered for the experiments (maybe she was a scientist herself or a family member coaxed her into doing it), although I find this unlikely due to her comment about the butterfly. Either way, I have a feeling we won't know for a very long time.

Mindreading or no mindreading?

Endo chose not to let us know about that explicitly. However, look at this panel:

I don't think Anya's mom is talking here. I think she's thinking this. Because of that, I do suspect Anya can read her mama's mind. She doesn't fully understand it but those words are inside her memory.

However, as you can see in the panel below, we don't see her classic mindreading sparkles. So, it' could also be that she saw her mom getting sad or nostalgic and she wanted to hug her. Kids are very perceptive of their parent's emotions.

If you ask me, I think she was born with that ability. Either her mom was also a telepath who was being studied during her pregnancy or she was experimented while pregnant and gained and passed her abilities to her daughter.

All this makes me consider that maybe Anya wasn't experimented on like many of us believed for a long time. Maybe those scientists were just studying her/observing her in order to understand and try to replicate her abilities. I'm really hoping Endo will go this route, it's less cruel. In any case, keeping someone so young as a case study is still wrong and I don't think Twilight and Yor will like this.

Anya's Mama

I'm talking about Yor, of course.

First of all, I think Endo summed up what motherhood is about in this panel:

It's not exactly that a mom can read their kid's mind, but it's something close. As a mom you get to know your child inside and out. When you take care of them, see them grow and love them with all your heart, you simply learn to "read every part of them."

That's how we know that Yor loves Anya and that she is her mom.

I don't know what happened to Anya's biological mom; she could be gone or still be alive. I'm sure we'll find out eventually. However, no matter what happens, I think Anya will always have that unconditional love from Yor.

There's a prevalent theme about motherhood in sxf: a mother as a safe place. Yor has mentioned it several times; she knows her job is to protect Anya and Anya feels safe when her mama is around (even Twilight notices this.)

I think the bond between them will get stronger as the story moves forward. Come on, it's pretty obvious Anya is Yor's baby, she's already head over heels and she decided she wanted to be a good mother since day 1. Also, a big theme in the story are bonds that are forged, and chosen family. In the story, blood ties sometimes are complicated (look at the Desmonds, for example.)

I'm not fluent in Japanese, but I am aware that Anya calls Yor and Twilight, Haha and Chichi, which is an English equivalent of "my mom and my dad", instead of just "mom and dad." In case you are wondering, Anya did call her biological mom, the right way: "mama."

At some point in the story, I think we will see Anya call Yor and Twilight, mama and papa the right way. I suspect this will be the moment when they will realize they're no longer a pretend family, but a real one. And it'll be simply beautiful 💖

A Few Questions

Whenever we learn something about one of the Forger's past, we are usually left with even more questions like:

Where's Anya's mom now?: I think either she's still a prisoner somewhere or she's dead. And if she's alive, does she know Anya lives?

How did Anya escape? She was so little! She must have had help from someone.

Who is Anya's dad? Maybe a scientist? A prisoner of war? Or was artificial insemination possible back then?

Is Anya her real name? I'm wondering if her mom called her differently. Here are some theories about her name. I suspect this will be important and I wouldn't be surprised if Anya is not her real name, almost as a foil of Twilight's name and story.

And also, there's a gap between that scene/memory and when Anya gets adopted by Twilight. We know thanks to Franky that in the year before Twilight adopted her, she was previously adopted by four different families, however, there's still a chunk of time missing.

I estimate she's probably 2 years old in that memory, she was 4 when she was adopted by those other families, and 5 years old when Twilight became her dad. That leaves 2 full years blank. Where was she during that time?

[toto-the-cactus]

Thoughts about Guilimans daughter (who I have named Olyssia Guiliman) being the little baby sister to the ultramarine. Adorable. Now picture adult Olyssia, the Lady of Macragge being the elder sister. Olyssia seeing Ultramarines, so long lives to the baselines, but still so quickly gone to she who has lived millenia.

I'll be frank here, I pulled this short thing out of my ass at 3am so hope this actually gives you some fun when comparing old astartes regarding Roboute's daughter vs 40k astartes regarding Roboute's daughter. Not a lot, but I had fun writing it.

-°-

Titus had heard about the Lady of Macragge during his years as a Neophyte.

Most astartes do after undergoing the gene-seed implantation, but it was usually mentioned in reverence the same way one did with a Primarch’s name during the preachings. Before any of that, the primaris had never even seen a sculpture or portrait of the Lady.

To see her in person alongside her father, their Father, was quite an experience he had yet to express properly; mind still unable to believe that he is in their presence while inside the one place in the Macragge’s Honour that just a handful of firstborn astartes were allowed into: The Resting Home of the Legion Mother.

The fact that he had been brought here by Calgar himself was the one thing that kept Titus in check to not kneel rushedly in front of his Primarch and trueborn like just some initiated marine; this was a place of peace and quiet that needed to be respected and more specially when both husband and daughter mourned the prone body of the woman inside the stasis field that kept her life in a limbo.

“My Lord” saluted Calgar but once his eye strayed to the Lady, his expression softened in a way that caught Demetrius by surprise. “Hello, little one” he said this time with a tender influx. Nothing like the hardened Chapter Master that the primaris had come to know.

“Hi, Calgar” answered the young woman with obvious strain in her tone and a few traces of tears on her face.

It had been said in the past that when the Lady of Macragge always visited her mother’s sleeping form, crying could be heard from the outside. One thing was hearing the serfs mentioning such a fact but another abysmal thing to see it become true. He had heard the fates this woman, the granddaughter of the Emperor, had achieved during her years leading the Ultramarines after the Heresy.

To see her reduced like this by the grief was… humbling and strange.

“To what I own this interruption, Calgar?” asked the Primarch impatiently. Eyes never leaving the face of his wife as if he hoped to see a change in her peaceful expression.

With that question, both Guilliman and Marneus went a bit far to speak privately from them. Leaving Titus and the Lady alone.

This couldn’t be more awkward.

Demetrian still had to wrap his head around how the Chapter Master simply greeted the young woman with a familiarity that floored him. As if her status as trueborn was merely a decoration extending from her.

“You’re Demetrian Titus, right?”

At her soft voice, the primaris finally dared to look at the Lady to her eyes. She was practically a carbon copy of the Primarch, but her baseline genetics did a good job to smooth the rough edges.

“That is correct, my Lady” he answered the same he would when regarded by a superior. “It’s an honor to even be let inside this sacred room, my Lady. I feel humbled that you know my name too”

“It’s the minimum I can do as my father’s daughter… I always try to remember the names of the astartes that Big Brother Calgar always mentions more than once”

Titus, again, has to do a double take at the familiarity the Lady refers to someone like the Chapter Master.

Where he looks up at her in both reverence and curiosity, those that have lived before the Heresy had known the Lady of Macragge when still a child of bright eyes.

-°-

Titus when Olyssia knew his name the very first time they met:

[irazai]

─▸ ONE LAST TIME ; osamu dazai x fem!reader

masterlist. prev. next.

03 ❝ MY HEART BEATS AGAIN ❞

"don't say that silly," dazai whispers as he tries to keep his carefree expression on his face, trying not to show how sad he feels. "don't say you won't take my name ever."

he smiles as he looks down to pick on the fabric of his pants, trying to keep himself grounded to reality. to not do something in the high of his emotions which he will regret later.

he has good control over his emotions. he really does.

but once in a while even he can't control how he feels when life drags him by his neck and tells him, look, all the people around you are moving on just fine. why can't you? why are you still so ugly inside?

today this statement came in the form of you and your daughter, he thinks she is no older then four because he left when you were pregnant. actually, on the day you told him you were.

he was doing something with atsushi, probably some small errands regarding documents because lord, there are alot. especially since they caught dostoyvesky.

the younger boy was telling him how fascinating their jobs are — the government unit handling the paperwork — when dazai's eyes averted to a point of the bustling street ahead to see you.

it is you. he didn't need to second guess because your face is engrained in his veins, your features flow through his spinal fluid every night to make sure he doesn't forget you. his support system. he thinks he might love you. or maybe it was the teenage romance which was so thrilling for a while?

you two aren't teenagers anymore. one glance down to see who you were looking at and dazai feels as if someone jerked him roughly. the little baby (she may not be a baby anymore but to dazai who missed her baby years, she is) is definitely his. that shade of brown hair is one he is familiar with after all. it belongs to him.

you were listening to something she was saying, the baby was excited, jumping lightly on her feet as she exclaimed whatever caught her interest. dazai nearly smiled at the sight.

he walked past you two, without you knowing he was there. at all. because people like him don't get to stay in your presence for long, he is afraid he will taint your light.

there was a small 'oh, i left them' kind of feeling at first. mostly he was giddy at seeing you, he wanted to laugh and dance.

then the way you slowly took over his mind happened very slowly, really.

he remembers coming back to the agency and stretching his arms over his head while atsushi told kunikida their task is done. as they talked (and between comments from kunikida who looks annoyed like usual), it suddenly occurred to dazai if you still liked dates on the beach.

oh well, who knows? maybe you moved on.

then as he sat on his chair or laid his head on his desk, he began to wonder more and more. his thoughts drifted to the baby. how would she sound like? is she like him or more like you? what's her favorite colour?

he's in a daze, as if his body is being controlled by someone else when he stands up all too suddenly. startling atsushi who was infront of him.

what excuse did he mutter to kunikida? he doesn't remember as he leaves the building in a hurry. he walks over to the street he saw you and your daughter on but you two aren't there anymore obviously.

this is where it dawns on him that he isn't a part of your or her life. he should not be so happy upon seeing you, you will definitely not be happy to see him.

it is now that he actually realises you aren't chuuya or the mafia or anyone else in his life. you are an average citizen. him leaving isn't something you will treat lightly. you aren't fucked up like them.

like him.

he blinks as a kid runs past him, to think his own might do it someday. unaware that who she passed is her own father.

this is a very uncomfortable realisation. he forgot about the kid and now when he remembers her, he is aware she might forget him.

this cluster of emotions leads him to bar lupin. not because it was close to where he is or anything. but because here is the comforting lingering presence of oda.

he drinks and drinks, orders drinks upon drinks to drown and float under the influence of alcohol.

laying his head on the bar table, dazai drunkly mumbles to himself, "what if she forgot me too? but why can't she? never gave her a reason to remember me."

dazai sighs, "but still. she loves me right? she won't forget me right?" he asks to no one in particular. "what if she does?"

dazai doesn't really have regrets, he is made up of them but he knows how to ignore them well (the smaller ones, he is really attending to the bigger ones) and you weren't a big regret or that's what he used to think.

while he has no desire of meeting you again for your sake (he thinks it's better if you move on from a piece of shit like him, he doesn't want you to hurt more because of him), something in him changed when he saw you and his daughter.

the sudden urge to meet you, the sudden craving to hold his daughter, to tell you how he feels as if he isn't real sometimes, to ask you how you have been till now is strong.

it's so strong, so unbearable. not even alcohol is able to suppress this urge. so he sits straight to think of a plan, an ideal situation which he can play off as coincidence while also pondering if this is actually a good idea or not.

he is selfish. he wishes you to move forwards but he doesn't at the same time.

this man, as a lover, is a walking contradiction.

what if you aren't happy when you two finally meet? if you are angry, he can handle it but what if you pretend to forget him? (pretend because he knows you can't forget him like he can't forget you.)

what if you do anyway?

he doesn't want you to forget him, the way you softly say his name, how your eyes soften when you looked at him, how you smiled when you saw him. he doesn't want you to forget him.

drunk mind weaves his memories of you into a person, a hallucination of you. a you who refuses to call him 'osamu' or even dazai. calling him, 'detective' instead.

"don't say that silly," dazai whispers as he tries to keep his carefree expression on his face, trying not to show how sad he feels. "don't say you won't take my name ever."

he can feel eyes on him from the nearby customers, they should not be judging a drunk guy who is drowning in his misery. alas they are, so he has no choice but hold his sanity and composure in shaky hands.

he smiles as he looks down to pick on the fabric of his pants, trying to keep himself grounded to reality. to not do something in the high of his emotions which he will regret later.

dazai makes a decision.

[diamjem]

mastermind

pairing: sebastian sallow x f!mc

summary: sebastian’s attempt to bend the situation to his favor backfires as he realizes he’s been expertly played by the one person he thought he could outsmart.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: manipulator x manipulator, possessive!sebastian, sebastian has questionable morals, garreth weasley is a menace, some swearing, no use of y/n

a/n: this is far from my best work buttt i’ve been sick for the past few days and honestly i think just putting something out there will make me feel better no matter how dogshit it is :pp i was planning on making something romantic for valentines but… everytime i write sebastian he just fully takes over so idk have some slightly unhinged seb!!

[ao3] [wattpad]

they say all’s fair in love and war.

sebastian lived by that adage—bled by it, burned for it. for him, there’s no price too steep, no means too outrageous to attain his ends. he has never been above a desperate measure or two when it came to those he held close.

and most especially, when it came to her.

the vial felt cold between his fingers, condensation beading against the glass as he turned it in the candlelight. the liquid inside shimmered faintly—murky as mud, but somehow heavier, clinging to the glass in slow, syrupy waves. it looked like poison. probably tasted like it, too. to be honest, he didn’t trust it. hell, he didn’t even trust himself right now. and trusting garreth weasley? that was its own brand of lunacy.

he could still turn around, hand it back to garreth, pretend he’d never even considered it. walk away, save whatever was left of his dignity. it wasn’t a horrible idea—actually, part of him knew it was the smart one, but before he could think twice, the vial was snatched from his fingers.

“oi—give that back!” sebastian snapped, lunging for it.

garreth held it just out of reach, smirking. "not so fast, sallow. before i hand this over, i need some confirmation that this is for a harmless cause. i refuse to be implicated in whatever questionable scheme you’ve cooked up this time."

sebastian cursed under his breath. his patience—what little he had—was wearing thin, and garreth knew it. the redhead had always been insufferably good at needling people, and tonight, it seemed, sebastian was his latest amusement.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to unclench his fists. he hated this. hated being on the back foot, hated that garreth was right to be wary, hated that he didn’t even have a decent excuse to offer.

because it wasn’t harmless. and he damn well knew it.

“i don't see how that's any of your business.” sebastian argued. “you don't see me asking why you have a polyjuice potion of the head boy, do you?"

garreth arched a brow. "see, that’s the thing. when i’m the one providing the suspiciously illicit potion, i’d say it is my business." he made a show of shaking the potion mere inches from sebastian’s nose. "take it or leave it, mate."

sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached. he didn’t want to explain himself—didn’t want to lay his cards bare—but he wanted that damned vial more.

"fine," he bit out. "let’s just say fawley’s got something of mine and i intend to get it back."

garreth's smirk sharpened, green eyes gleaming with intrigue. "oh? now that’s interesting. do tell, sallow."

sebastian crossed his arms. "no, i think that's plenty information.”

"right, well. seems you don’t need my services that badly.” garreth twirled the vial between his fingers and turned on his heel with an exaggerated sigh. “goodnight, then.”

"wait—alright, fine!" sebastian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “he started courting her." his throat tightened around the words, and he hated how they tasted. "i need to put a stop to it. get them to break up by pretending to be him.”

garreth froze mid-step, then turned back slowly, his grin widening like a cat who’d just caught the scent of something truly entertaining. sebastian cursed himself, knowing there's no going back anymore. "merlin’s bloody beard, this is brilliant. so let me get this straight—you're out here spiraling because some poor unsuspecting sod caught her eye instead of you?”

sebastian's glare darkened. "say it again, and i swear i’ll knock your teeth in."

garreth, the bastard, just laughed. "and here i was wondering when you’d step in and do something about it.” he then leaned in, feigning concern. "but, say, have you considered simply talking to her instead of, y'know, committing identity fraud?"

sebastian rolled his eyes. "are you giving me the potion or not?"

garreth hummed, weighing the vial in his palm like he was actually considering it. "hm… i don't know. this has the makings of a true masterpiece, and i do love a good bit of drama… so tell me, sallow, what’s the plan? break her heart, then swoop in to comfort her?”

sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing the heel of his palm against his temple. "something like that."

garreth barked out a laugh. "merlin’s sake, mate, you’re actually insane. your possessiveness truly knows no bounds, huh?”

sebastian shot him a withering glare but didn't rise to the bait. it wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone who cared to notice that he’d staked his claim on her—not in the sense that she was some prize to be won, but in the way the sun belonged to the sky, in the way the tide belonged to the moon. some things were simply meant to be; unspoken but undeniable. and merlin help the poor bastard who thought he could rewrite the stars.

see, sebastian’s jealousy wasn’t just a petty thing. it was greedy. cunning. dangerous. a monster that curled in his chest, waiting to sink its teeth into anyone who got too close. whispers behind his back called him reckless, obsessive, unhinged—as if he didn't already know. but he would let them talk. let them sneer. none of it changed the fact that he belonged there, belonged to her. and if some git had the audacity to threaten his place… that was a subliminal declaration of war if there ever was one. talk about putting a big, glowing target on your back.

and unlike hector fawley, garreth knew better than to stand in sebastian’s way. he shook his head before tossing the vial back to sebastian. "that will last you about fifteen minutes.”

sebastian caught it, rolling the cool glass between his fingers. "and you’re sure this will work?"

"as sure as i am that this is a terrible idea," garreth quipped. "love really makes one batshit crazy.”

sebastian scoffed, the edge of irritation sharp in his voice. “for your sake, i’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” he paused, his gaze hardening. “now, what do i owe you?”

garreth only grinned wider. "believe it or not? nothing, mate. i just can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face."

that sounded ominous, but honestly, sebastian didn’t care anymore.

a man does what he must when faced with war. he strategizes, he sacrifices, he does the unthinkable, and most of all, he doesn't hesitate. and love—well. that was just another battlefield. one he’s willing to fight dirty to win. one that wasn’t waged with swords or spells, but with glances that lingered too long, with stolen moments and whispered promises, with the slow, agonizing realization that someone else might take what should have been yours.

and in matters of love and war, you played to win, or you didn’t play at all. best believe, sebastian wasn’t about to lose.

—

the plan was perfect—at least, on parchment.

owl her, pretending to be fawley. keep it short, keep it cold—we need to talk, something vague enough to plant the first seed of doubt in her mind. ask her to meet somewhere public. specifically, central hall, right in the thick of a bustling school day. and then? under the effects of polyjuice, break her heart. loudly. cruelly. make sure it hurts.

she’d run. bolt before anyone saw her break, before she let a single tear fall where someone could see. and that was where he—as sebastian—came in like a knight in shining armor. he would be would find her, offer comfort. a steady hand. a soft voice. because unlike fawley, he wouldn’t leave her shattered and alone.

and then, as a final, satisfying touch—he’d defend her honor by beating fawley into a bloody pulp on the ground. though that last part wasn’t strictly necessary in the grand scheme of things, but let’s be honest—he already had it coming just for even entertaining the thought of taking her from him.

to anyone else, he probably sounded insane. and maybe they were right. but to sebastian? this was restraint. the merciful option. honestly, they should be grateful because he could have done worse. salazar, he'd thought about worse. if he fired on all cylinders, this castle would be ash by sundown.

he’d let anyone be collateral damage—even her own feelings—as long as it meant she’d be right back where she was meant to be. in his arms. he hated how easy it was to justify. hated that he could twist his own cruelty into something almost noble if he looked at it the right way. but guilt? it was a small price to pay compared to the fear of losing her.

sebastian is machiavellian, sure—but borne out of devotion. not out of some cold, detached ambition. and if he has to play the villain to keep her, then he’ll sharpen his claws and bear his teeth with pride. he would ruin everything—everyone, if that’s what it took, and he would call it love.

because, really, how many people in the world were willing to own that? to strip themselves bare and confess, i will ruin and be ruined for you?

only sebastian ever could.

so he stood there, hidden beneath fawley’s face, his heart a twisted knot of triumph and disgust. the polyjuice had done its work—on the outside, he was hector fawley. his voice, his posture, even the sharp, self-righteous smirk he wore like a second skin.

"think about it. a head boy like me and a delinquent like you?” he let the words sink in, each syllable weighted with contempt. "embarrassing."

he could almost feel the sting as the words landed, could see the hurt in her eyes. he wanted to shed the mask and pull her in now, but no—he needed to stick to his guns. this was war, and he was here to win.

"hector, i don't understand—"

he cut her off, leaning in close as if to inject every syllable with poison. “you don’t understand?” he repeated, the words coated in mockery, dripping from his borrowed lips like a death sentence. “let me say it again, then. perhaps louder so it can get through your thick skull?”

that seemed to pique not only her attention but the crowd’s as well. some slowed their steps, others outright stopped, drawn in like vultures circling something wounded. they knew something was happening, felt the tension thickening in the air like storm clouds. her eyes flicked around nervously, panic flickering behind them like candlelight in a draft. they were waiting. watching. the perfect audience for the spectacle he was about to create.

and still, he didn’t let her off easy. instead, he raised his voice. “you're beneath me,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, sinking deep like a dagger. “and i don't know what i was thinking getting involved with the likes of you.”

the words hung in the air, a brutal weight pressing down on her. he could hear the gasps from the crowd, the hushed murmurs of disbelief. he was doing it. he was winning.

but then, just as the polyjuice potion surged through his veins, he hiccupped—just a small stutter, barely noticeable, but enough to pull his thoughts back into focus. he steadied himself, fighting the sudden wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. his borrowed skin prickled, the shift just barely beginning. his time was slipping now.

“are you telling me you want to end this?” she asked, her voice fragile, shaking.

“exactly,” sebastian shot back, flat, emotionless. a perfect performance that almost made him want to clap himself on the back for. “from now on, stay away from me.”

he could see her lips tremble as she processed the words, and something inside him cracked—a bitter satisfaction. she looked as if the ground had been ripped from under her, just as he’d intended. now, all he needed to do was land the final blow.

it was going all according to plan, until—

“is this some sort of joke?” a voice echoed from the crowd, rising in confusion, breaking the tension. “what’s going on here? everyone, move along now!”

sebastian's stomach plummeted straight to his shoes as he saw hector fawley—the real one—materialized from the crowd like some kind of divine punishment, pushing past onlookers who parted with hesitant confusion. the towering figure of the other fawley loomed in the middle of the chaos, his face a portrait of bewilderment. blimey, even in confusion, he still held the same arrogance that made sebastian’s teeth grind. but this time, his presence wasn’t just an irritation—it was a fatal flaw in a not-so-carefully laid-out plans. merlin’s mercy, he hadn't accounted for this. he’d been so wrapped up in his own mind that he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of fawley actually being here.

her gaze flicked between the two fawleys, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and growing fury.

this was spiraling. fast. what was supposed to be a game of control—of careful manipulation—was quickly turning into a losing battle.

"what in the great gods’—" hector’s voice broke through the spell of silence. he turned to her now, suspicion darkening his face. "care to explain?"

"i… honestly, i’m just as confused as you are!" she blurted, voice strained with frustration.

sebastian risked a glance at her, and his stomach twisted. her eyes darted between him and the real fawley. hurt had given way to shock, then confusion, then something worse—recognition, as if the pieces started sliding into place at an alarming speed.

then the hiccup came again, more pronounced this time. a brutal, humiliating reminder that it was all falling apart. by now, a rational person would have seen this as the sign to wave the white flag and accept defeat. but sebastian didn’t feel rational (and let’s face it, he never really was). in fact, he didn’t feel anything but the burning, anxious thrum of his own heart as it pounded in his chest, each beat a countdown to the inevitable.

so he did what any desperate man with nothing left to lose would do.

he turned on his heel and bolted.

his legs moved of their own accord. he could hear fawley losing it behind him—hysterics bubbling up in a strange mix of confusion and anger. even the crowd was erupting into louder murmurs, the whispers now carrying an edge of amusement. the spectacle had officially crossed the line into absurdity.

as he shoved past the crowd, garreth’s voice rose, mimicking the sound of an explosion. the bastard was standing off to the side, his eyes twinkling with an amused, knowing look. garreth's chuckle grated against sebastian’s nerves, his blood boiling in a wave of hot frustration.

sebastian didn’t waste a single moment looking back at him, but he could feel the presence trailing behind him, like a shadow, reveling in the disastrous unraveling of his grand design. the worst part of this whole thing? garreth had been right—this had blown up in his face. and garreth weasley was never right.

“damn, sallow, you almost had me rooting for you there,” garreth teased with a grin, his voice dripping with amusement. “bit of a letdown, really.”

the words landed like a slap, sharp and stinging, but sebastian refused to give garreth the satisfaction of a reaction. his pride was already bleeding out on the floor—he wouldn’t let weasley dance on its grave. instead, he found the first door that promised escape, his hand closing around the handle with the desperation of a drowning man grasping for a lifeline. he yanked it open and slipped inside, the door slamming shut behind him with enough force to send dust swirling in the dim light.

sebastian leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes for a moment, a brief flicker of relief coursing through him. he could still feel the heat of the polyjuice potion lingering in his veins, its effects starting to wear off, but he didn’t have time to savor the victory. he could already feel his form shifting back, the muscles and bones rearranging as his true self began to resurface.

okay, so the plan wasn't perfect. there were a few hiccups—literally and figuratively. it was pathetic, really, how quickly he went from meticulous mastermind to panic-stricken fugitive in the span of a few seconds—no. he knew better than to get lost in the failure of the moment. he’d played his cards, but sometimes the hand you were dealt didn’t lead to victory.

this battle might’ve been lost, but the war? that was still his to win. he would just have to think of another plan...

sebastian exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to settle. he needed to think—to sort through the wreckage and figure out his next move. but before he could, a voice—her voice—filtered through the wooden door, muffled but unmistakable.

“sweet merlin. please don't tell me you had something to do with this, garreth."

sebastian’s fingers curled into his robes. he could hear the suspicion in her tone, the way it sharpened at the edges. he didn’t have to see her face to know she was still trying to make sense of the mess he’d left behind, piecing together what had just unfolded like a puzzle with missing parts.

and of course, the absolute menace that is garreth weasley was enjoying every second of it.

“what ever do you mean by that?" came his feigned innocence, all honeyed amusement, the bastard’s grin practically audible.

"that was sebastian, wasn’t it? polyjuice potion?"

sebastian’s stomach lurched.

"where is he? i saw you follow him out of central hall, so don’t try to lie."

garreth hummed. “ah, well, it seems i’ve forgotten which door he went in… perhaps a few galleons ought to help me remember?”

sebastian’s jaw clenched. of course garreth was milking this for all it was worth. he should have known that little gremlin would still find a way to yield return, because why waste a perfectly good scandal when he could wring some profit out of it? and gods help sebastian—if weasley had ratted him out, sebastian might have to start planning out his murder.

then came a groan followed by the distinct clink of coins. sebastian barely had time to brace himself before he heard hurried footsteps, the sound of someone moving with purpose, closing in on his door.

"best of luck, sallow!" garreth called, his laughter trailing off as he strolled away, no doubt relishing the chaos he’d helped unleash.

sebastian had half a second to curse garreth’s name before the door rattled against his back, the force of it jolting him out of his thoughts.

"sebastian, open the door right now or so help me, i will blast this down to bits. you along with it!" her voice was sharp, a warning laced with frustration and fury.

sebastian knew one thing with cold certainty—whatever came out of her mouth was never an empty threat. she spoke in absolutes, in promises etched with fire and steel, just as he himself did.

he sighed, the sound laced with reluctant resignation, his hand hovering over the door handle as if it burned to the touch. each second he hesitated only fed the inferno building on the other side. he had run out of moved to pull from his playbook—no clever wordplay or sidelong smile that could disarm her now.

he opened the door to the very picture of anger, standing before him like a tempest barely held in check. her posture was rigid, her shoulders squared, and her eyes… merlin, her eyes burned with a fire that nearly matched his own—only hers was a righteous inferno, ready to consume him whole. before he could draw a breath, her wand was at his chest, the tip of it pressing against the fabric of his robes, steady and unyielding. it was a silent declaration that she wasn’t here for excuses or half-truths. she wanted answers, and she wanted them now—understandably so.

sebastian might have been playing war, but now he’s face to face with an opponent who plays to win just as much as he does. it would have been almost admirable if it hadn’t been so damnably terrifying.

"explain yourself," she demanded, her voice thick with an edge that told him this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

“where do you want me to start?" he muttered, his voice a touch more strained than he intended.

“oh, i don’t know, maybe start by explaining why you were trying to humiliate me in front of the whole student body?"

he opened his mouth, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “that wasn’t my intention—well, okay, maybe it was, but that wasn’t the point—"

she cut him off with a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something close to disbelief and fury. "oh, really? what, then, was the point, sebastian?"

there was no easy way to say it, but the truth, raw and unpolished, slipped out. "i wanted to break you up."

the silence that followed was suffocating. she dropped her hand to her side, her brows basically shooting up to her hairline. and then—merlin, he couldn’t have prepared for it—she laughed, a sharp, ringing sound that echoed off the walls, and for a moment, sebastian couldn’t tell if it was the laughter of someone in disbelief or the kind that hid mockery.

“that’s what this was about?” she said through gasps, her voice laced with incredulity. “and here i thought i was a victim of another one of your horrendous pranks.”

“congratulations, sebastian. you’ve set a new record—what, a week? a week before you chased another suitor off. ominis bet me five hundred galleons you wouldn’t last a month… of course i had faith in you—" she smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "but i should’ve known better.”

sebastian stood there, his breath stuck somewhere between a laugh and a curse. his stomach twisted itself into knots, a sick, tangled mess of emotions he couldn’t quite name. embarrassment? anger? hell, maybe both. maybe neither. it was all bleeding together, one big, ugly blur of what the fuck just happened?

and she wasn’t done yet.

“with such an elaborate scheme too. but did you really have to do it in front of everyone?” she tsked, her voice laced with mock disapproval, like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “honestly, sebastian. i’ve half a mind to hex you into next week for that.”

he swallowed hard, struggling to keep up. “alright—now i’m confused. you bet on me with ominis?”

“hey, mind you, i bet for you,” she corrected, lips curving into a knowing little smirk. “ominis was the one betting against you.” a lazy shrug, as if that somehow made this less insane. “and honestly? i’m glad i lost. i was starting to miss you.”

“oh, please. like you weren't having a grand old time with fawley.” sebastian argued, trying to grasp back any semblance of control.

her lips quirked into that small, almost pitying smile, the one that always made him feel like the punchline of some joke he hadn’t even realized was being told. “oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she said breezily, as if the words themselves were nothing more than idle chatter, a passing thought. “he ended it with me right after you ran away.”

“and when you think about it, it’s actually kind of sad for me, isn’t it? being broken up with twice in a single day. in front of a whole crowd, no less. thanks for that, by the way.” she added sardonically.

sebastian blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and something dangerously close to amusement. this wasn’t how he’d envisioned things unfolding—hell, he hadn’t imagined much at all, other than his own selfish drive to drive her to him—but the end result? not too far off. the pieces were shifting in ways he hadn't planned, and yet, he found the outcome strangely satisfying.

his lips quirked, eyes glinting as he tilted his head ever so slightly. “i would say sorry,” he murmured, voice smooth but edged with something sharper, something smug. “but i’m really not.”

“oh, my sweet seb,” she drawled, her voice dripping with that mixture of affection and mockery he was far too familiar with. “i was only with him to make you jealous anyways, just like with any other suitor before him. and let me tell you, it works every time. every time.”

“oh, really?” he shot back, arching a brow, words dripping with challenge. “and what about all those times you came to me, crying your heart out over broken suitors?”

she sighed then, the sound almost condescending, like he was the one who’d missed the most obvious thing in the world. it was as if she pitied him, this strange, delicate sympathy for someone too blind to see the game.

she took a step forward, slow and deliberate, each movement like the winding of a thread pulling him closer. her voice dropped, turning into a low whisper that slid down his spine with the unmistakable chill of danger. "all part of the plan."

a shiver ran through him, and despite himself, he held her gaze. the words hit him with a weight he wasn’t prepared for.

"you’re not the only one who can play this game, sebastian. " she murmured, her voice a honeyed poison that wound its way into his chest, each syllable curling around his heart in a grip he couldn’t escape. "i’ve always been yours, you know that. i just can’t help it if i like to remind you in my own twisted, unconventional ways."

a sick realization crawled up his spine, leaving a cold trail in its wake. he’d been a pawn in her game, manipulated without even realizing it. all this time, thinking he was orchestrating some grand masterplan, when in reality, he was just playing right into her hands.

he should be furious. should be embarrassed. but there was something about the twisted symmetry of it all that made him want to laugh. he’d spent so much time plotting and scheming around her, trying to control the narrative, to bend her to his will. but here she was, doing the exact same thing to him, and what could he do but admire the audacity of it? she had played him just as expertly as he’d tried to play her.

of course this was how it had always been. of course, this whole time, they had been at war all along, caught in a game of endless, tangled power plays, one neither of them had ever truly been willing to admit. a battle of wills and emotions, and somewhere along the way, they'd both fallen in too deep to pull back.

sebastian's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a sly smirk. "you didn’t need to remind me," he said, his voice rough with something between annoyance and reluctant admiration.

she cocked her head, the edge in her voice sharp, but playful. "oh, i think i did. after all, you’ve been so busy pretending you’re the one in control. i thought it was time to remind you who really holds the power here."

sebastian chuckled darkly, rubbing his jaw. "alright, alright, you win.” he sighed, conceding—though only because he was enjoying this too much to end it. “how about a truce?”

she raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "a truce?”

the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he leaned in, his gaze locking with hers. “no? how about a date, then?”

for a moment, her eyes flared with that unmistakable challenge—the same look he’d seen so many times before, the one that made him feel both like a moth to the flame and the one wielding the match, but it was quickly masked by that teasing, almost predatory smile she always wore when she knew she had the upper hand. when she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

the war was far from over. they both knew that. but, honestly? neither of them would have it any other way.

[enemiestolovershoe]

20 Moments bf!Matt Made Your Heart Swell

bf!Matt x fem!reader

Words: 840

bf!Matt who always pulls you to his side when you’re walking together. Sidewalks, parking lots, grocery store aisles—his hand naturally finds your waist or wrist, guiding you closer like it’s second nature. "Just making sure no one bumps into you," he mumbles, but you know he just likes having you near.

bf!Matt who lets you warm your cold hands on his stomach. You do it as a joke, pressing your freezing fingers against his bare skin, and he yelps every time. "You’re actually evil," he grumbles, but he never pushes you away—he just glares while you giggle.

bf!Matt who keeps extra things at his place just for you. Your favorite snacks in his pantry, an extra toothbrush in his bathroom, a pair of sweats in his dresser—he never makes a big deal out of it, but it’s his quiet way of saying, "You belong here."

bf!Matt who refuses to let you pay for anything when you’re out together. Your card doesn’t even make it out of your wallet before he’s handing his to the cashier. "Nice try," he smirks.

bf!Matt who texts you random thoughts throughout the day. You’ll get messages like: -why do we call them buildings if they’re already built? -i just saw a dog that looked like you idk how to explain it. -miss u btw.

bf!Matt who plays with your fingers absentmindedly. Whether you’re sitting on the couch or lying in bed, his hand always finds yours, lazily intertwining your fingers, tracing over your knuckles as it calms him down.

bf!Matt who gets protective when you’re feeling sick. The second you say you’re not feeling well, he’s already making tea, grabbing medicine, and tucking you under a million blankets. "You’re not moving until you feel better," he says firmly, crossing his arms.

bf!Matt who steals your chapstick just to put it on for you. He swipes it across his lips first, then tilts your chin up."C’mere," he murmurs before kissing you, pressing the flavor against your lips. "See? Shared now."

bf!Matt who gives you his hat when it’s sunny out. Even if he was wearing it first, if you’re squinting in the sun, he justpulls it off and settles it on your head. "Looks better on you anyway," he shrugs.

bf!Matt who pulls you onto his lap without thinking. When you’re standing in front of him talking, he just tugs you down effortlessly. "Why are you all the way over there?" Like he physically can’t sit still unless you’re close.

bf!Matt who lets you warm your feet under his legs. You always do it when you’re lying on the couch, and he flinches at first, groaning dramatically. "Why are your feet literally made of ice?" But he never moves away—he just sighs and lets them stay.

bf!Matt who sends you voice notes instead of texting when he misses you. Sometimes they’re just sleepy mumbles, other times it’s him ranting about his day, but your favorite are the ones where he just sighs and says, "I wish you were here."

bf!Matt who always insists on carrying your bags. It doesn’t matter if it’s groceries, shopping bags, or even your purse—he just takes them without a word, shooting you a look if you try to argue. "What, you think I’m gonna let my girl carry all this?"

bf!Matt who keeps a photo of you as his lock screen. And when people ask about it, he just shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Why wouldn’t it be her?"

bf!Matt who pulls you into his hoodie when he hugs you. He lifts the hood over your head and wraps you up inside it with him, tucking his chin over your head like he’s trying to block out the rest of the world.

bf!Matt who always tucks you in when you fall asleep first. Even if you crash on the couch, he makes sure you’recomfortable, pulling a blanket over you, fixing your pillow, and pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning the lights down.

bf!Matt who randomly whispers “I love you” even in the most casual moments. Like when you’re brushing your teeth together, tying your shoes, or scrolling through your phone. No big speech, just a soft, honest reminder.

bf!Matt who lets you win arguments just because he likes seeing you smug. You’ll be going back and forth over something dumb, and he just sighs, shaking his head. "You know what? You’re right." He smirks when you light up.

bf!Matt who instinctively holds out his arm when he brakes too hard. Even when you’re wearing a seatbelt, his arm shoots out in front of you. "Force of habit," he mutters, but the way his hand lingers on your shoulder gives him away.

bf!Matt who looks at you like you’re his entire world. No matter where you are or who you’re with, whenever you catch him staring, he just gives you that soft, almost shy smile—like he still can’t believe you’re his.

Taglist: @sophand4n4 @courta13

[loquaciousquark]

you have been my #1 favorite fanfic author of all time for like 7-8 years now for your fenhawke and ive always thought "god i would give anything for quark to write solavellan" but i respected that it wasnt your thing. so imagine the pure unbridled euphoria of checking in on your blog this week to see that he finally got to you. i actually screamed. whatever you come up with i know it is going to absolutely change my life and i am so excited <3

i’m so. sad. i'm SO sad. i was so happy for a decade just being mildly annoyed every time he crossed my dash and now i am having feelings and opinions and i don’t WANT THEM and the only way to get rid of them is to write them out of me, this is why i don’t love fenris or astarion at all anymore obviously

and like, I still don’t love Solas! I still think some things he does and some goals he has are really, really stupid! but this character I created to love him really loves him, and I really love her and want her to be happy even though she lives only inside my head, and that means I need to lay down some structure around her romance to get the shape of it, to build something I can make sense of. I may not love him, but I like him much more than I did, and I certainly understand him better than I did the first time around.

And to be honest, there’s a part of me glad I’m coming to it as late as I have. I don’t think I’ve ever read a single Solavellan fic in my life (I actually had to pause here to check the spelling). I have NO idea what tropes are popular with him or what interpretations are the biggest. I have a lot of opinions on how his personality and identity work in a romance with this particular character I’ve created, but because I’ve been so siloed I have no idea if I’m bucking the grain or not, which is fine by me.

Plus, it helps I’m not going to have ten years to build up a lot of personal headcanons and jossable thoughts before playing the new game. I’m not someone who easily ignores canon when it clashes with my imagination for the major things, so I think this will (hopefully) keep me from major disappointments.

It's kinda funny; earlier today I was going back through my DAI tag and reminding myself of all my impressions from the first time I played the game. Some of them I definitely still stand by; others have completely changed. I even said twice that a Lavellan/Solas romance would be my next playthrough, which was true if ten years late.

But it's things like: apparently the first time through I loved Solas and Sera, both of which certainly were not true going into this replay. (I barely even have a memory of Solas and Priory ever being in the party together, though the historical records say I took him to Adamant.) I apparently had a lot of hopes Gideon Emery would be voicing Fenris. I originally thought Priory was going to romance Bull, which is very ?????? after all this time. (I did still, even then, know Here Lies the Abyss completely broke her as a character, and ten years on I never could fix her for good.)

I really did not expect to change my mind on Solas going into this replay, I guess is the point. I replayed because knowing the story of DAI and Solas, I felt it was a story most personalized to elves and specifically a Solas-romancing Lavellan, and that was the worldstate I wanted to take into the new game. I played it out because that's the kind of person I am (I can't just invent characters wholesale in my head) but I really thought it was going to be a perfunctory playthrough as a stepping stone to a different game and a different PC and (presumably) a different romance. I didn't expect to love this character as much as I do, and even if I don't have ten years to write her out the way I did Hawke, I feel like I still owe it to her & her doomed romance to give her a little time in the spotlight. Lucky girl!