#*(Next a tree ... was painted over everything.)

[krismas-holiday]

[ Listening to: Dragon Blazers - Glaceir ]

[girlberrie]

hi. um. guys?????? i shifted???????????

its embarrassing. because i was literally in the toilet. and i thought to myself, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if i shifted right now?’. and i shifted. to my gamer//streamer//better reality. what the fuck .

(i know i made a post about how if i shifted i would never come back but…….. i have to share this. its the only reason why i shifted back here. next time i shift though? you guys are NOT hearing about it)

quick rundown : i was studying for my chemistry exam that will happen next week in this reality. i needed to use the bathroom. so i went. i started thinking about shifting because i was bored out of my mind. i said ‘fuck it let me try’, closed my eyes, and BOOM. i’m in a different bathroom. the bathroom i had scripted would be my bathroom in my small apartment. in my dr.

i freaked out a little bit because i am NOT nonchalant. i looked at myself in the mirror and I WAS SO BEAUTIFULLLLLLLLLLLLL i mean its my cr face but just improved to my liking BUT I WAS SO BEAUTIFULLL. and i said that aloud too, which freaked me out because my voice is a little different too (it was a bit smoother and soothing idk its my voice feels weird to describe it). my hair was tied up in a bun and i didn’t feel like letting it down, but my fringe was cut so nicely. it fit my face. and it wasn’t poking me in the eyes. i had some strands of hair that were also shorter that had fell out of the bun but it looked very pinterest-esque. very picture worthy. i looked picture worthy. the whole time i was like a movie character sat down at their vanity inspecting their face obsessively. if the mirror had a consciousness it would think i am deranged or something idk . moving onnnnnnn

my bathroom was so nicely decorated i was proud of myselffff. the colours????? the teal the magenta-ish purple the orange????? i had my chanel makeup products all over the sink counter too. it was so chic . guys i am so fucking cool . i feel great about myself now.

and you have to know. the apartment i scripted i owned has a wonderful view. its gorgeous. the galata tower AND the bosphorus?????? and it was a bright, cloudless day. a bit windy. the leaves on the trees were swaying and the sun was so bright it was making the bosphorus water twinkle . i opened the windows (which i didn’t even think about how) to let the breeze in. the air!!!! was clean!!!!!! no smell of petrol!!!!! air pollution is gone!!!!!! my lungs felt great sfkjhsekf IT WAS AMAZING

i didn’t spend much time there (in my dr) because i was a bit shell-shocked///flabbergasted///confuddled and like. i can shift back anytime and anywhere. i know that now, given the fact that i literally shifted… when i was in the toilet…. whilst doing my business.

but in the little time i spent there, i went into my bedroom (AGAIN, FLAWLESSLY DECORATED . I LOVE MYSELF) and just looked at everything. i had all of my perfumes on a silver platter on my bedside table. i had byredo’s mohave ghost. j’adore dior. nishane’s hundred silent ways. issey miyake’s l'eau d'issey (the blue one. i LOVE that one). orabella salted muse. twilly d’hermes. tom ford’s soleil neige. i had a sephora perfume section next to my bed at this point. i would’ve sprayed them all but i didn’t want to cause a sneezing hazard. i did spray soleil neige because i wanted to know if it would smell good on me. and it did, of course.

i had paintings hung up on the wall where my bed was situated. and the paintings were the art on my pinterest board. they were framed in fancy gold looking frames (they were painted gold. not actual gold). i had tears in my eyes,,,,,,, my bedroom was so gorgeous. it was great.

my bed?????????? silk bedsheets in light pink. i laid down on it for a minute. it was so so so soft. and so inviting i almost wanted to fall asleep but i resisted. i had a persian rug with purple-magenta, teal & dark blue and beige details it was so beautiful . it made my bare feet feel warm and the texture was smooth enough to not annoy me (i am sensitive about those things, i fear).

i had scripted that my closer is far bigger than it looks (barbie: dreamhouse style) and it was. i didn’t question the how. but it was a huge, gorgeous room, full of beautiful clothing. the lighting was not too dim but not too bright and so it didn’t hurt my eyes. and the CLOTHES AAAAAAAAA. zimmerman floral dresses. blumarine . archival miu miu. but also: rick owens. maison margiela (THE TABI COLLECTION I HAD. AAAAA). i had ann demeulemeester boots!!!! i had an archival dior dress (the black and lavender knit dress from fw1998). i had more than one archival dior dress. i had alexander mcqueen leather jackets. ugh it was so sexy . i felt the material, brushed my fingertips on all of those. i felt delirious. it seemed too good to be true, BUT IT WAS TRUE. it was REAL. moving on the closet was museum material . i was having the time of my life.

and then . i laid my eyes on the beautiful pc setup i had. and i couldn’t help it. i sat down and played some sims 4. i could use shaders!!!!!!! it was running smoothly!!!!!!! no glitches!!!!!!!!!!

basically: i spent an hour looking around my apartment and the rest was spent in create-a-sim on my computer. because i could literally shift realities and still be a sims girlie. it is embedded into my DNA.

i had the time of my life guys. i didn’t even look at my phone once. it was on my bed. but i didn’t want to look because i was too preoccupied crashing out about my pulitzer prize worthy closet and the view from my windows . but my computer had the date and it was may 6th 2022. which was the year i wanted to shift to. MY COMPUTER WAS ALSO SO AESTHETIC (i had apple’s dynamic wallpaper…. and some folders that i had edited to look like cat memes. i’m exaggerating . just a little bit) AAAAaaaaaaAAaaaaaa everything was so good i’m gonna cry. i felt so much relief!!!! so much happiness!!!! i didn’t know i could feel this way!!!!!!!!

anyway i finished making my sim and just sat there because i got a little bored. and then i thought that maybe sharing this joy with all of you would be nice of me to do. and i sort of wanted to. even though i am going to permashift and made a post saying that i wouldn’t be back. nevertheless, i decided to shift back here to make this post.

so, hey. the moral of the story is::::: SHIFTING IS REAL. ITS SO REAL. NEVER GIVE UP YOU CAN HAVE WHATEVER YOU WANTTTTTTTTTTT

..................................:

(ps. if there are any typos or any sentences that make no sense, it is because i am shaking out of excitement and joy whilst i type this)

[beloveds-embrace]

the fae animals ask made me kinda have some confidence of the fae boys being able to appreciate and care about even readers soft and more human qualities.

I hope the boys become desperately obsessed with both her strong more far likeness but also have a crisis realizing that they like her softness. I think some panicking is deserved on the boys part. I am still partial to our boys

also I think reader need some others in her corner and the fae animals are such lovely supports.

masterlist || cw: neglect and angst but it’s getting better trust me

It started, as most catastrophes do; with something terribly, innocently mortal.

A scarf, of all things.

It was nothing of note- no glamour woven into the threads, no whispering enchantments stitched along its hem. Just wool, soft and worn, hand-dyed in a shade of pale lavender that clashed horribly with the obsidian and ivy of your usual wardrobe. But you wore it regardless, looped twice around your neck as you wandered barefoot through the frost-touched gardens, your breath blooming into the mist.

Simon saw you first; he’d stepped from one of the doors, summoned by a courtier’s sniveling request, only to stop dead beneath the frostglass archway. The trees were alive with quiet, with fireflies and will-o-wisps watching from between the thorns- but none moved as you crumbled honeyed bread in your palm, scattering it over moss and stone.

He did not expect the birds that came for you.

Iridescent and shimmer-feathered, their glassy eyes gleamed like dew-wet gems. Birds that usually only sang for moonblood offerings or circled above dying kings- Simon remembers seeing them when Queen Mother publicly slaughtered the late King- came when you called, soothed by your voice as you hummed something heartbreakingly human.

And now, you scolded one when it snapped too eagerly at another. “Mind your manners! There’s enough for everyone!”

Simon nearly groaned aloud. Not from annoyance- but from the pressure building in his chest. Like a curse long slumbering. He needed to pull you close, squeeze your soft safe between his hands- ugh.

You were not cloaked in fae glamour. You did not drip moonlight from your lashes or speak in riddles.

And yet… all the old trees leaned subtly toward you; he didn’t tell the others of that, nor of this occasion, and instead cradled in the space between his ribs just for himself.

But things like you- tender, strange, human- don’t stay hidden long. Not when you were the Queen.

The next week, Johnny found you curled into the window seat of the great hall. Sunset painted molten gold across the high walls, catching in the floating motes of pollen-dust that always drifted lazily through the wings of the palace, especially in spring. You were barefoot again, your legs tucked beneath you like a child’s, nose buried in a battered mortal book whose cover had long since faded.

You were snorting with laughter- head tossed back, a hand slapping your knee like you couldn’t help it. The crown you’d worn that morning, spiked with garnets and bone, lay forgotten on a nearby table, half-buried under a folded shawl of spider-silk.

Johnny was halfway across the hall before he realized he was moving. He stopped only when your laughter faded and you turned, eyes crinkled and warm, still in the cozy world within your book.

He fled.

And sulked about it for the rest of the day. He was a creature of battle, of storms and songs sung in blood. A King’s advisor. He was not supposed to be enchanted by the softness of your laugh, the little crinkles in your eyes. Yet it was all he could see whenever he closed his eyes for the new hours.

It got worse when Kyle caught you in the kitchens; the palace’s heart at night was strange- lamplit with flame-flowers that opened only after sundown, their petals flickering like winking eyes. Everything pulsed with magic, every door could lead to a dream or a trap. Yet there you were, barefoot again (why were you always barefoot? Did you maids not ensure your comfort?) sneaking across tiled mosaics made from the bones of long-dead sea beasts, clutching a slice of chocolate cake like it was sacred.

Kyle froze. The moth that lived in your sleeve- the little beast could change its size- blinked sleepily at him. You looked up, wide-eyed, and your sheepish grin dimmed but you still held on and raised your chin.

“… You won’t tell?”

He gave you another piece.

Then sat outside your door later that night, staring up at the star-swallowed sky, and didn’t sleep a wink. Glowy and Thrain kept him company by glowing and growling at him, respectively.

John, then, watched you handle the court with a precision that could slice a man in half. You were everything they’d hoped a human queen wouldn’t be- poised, unreadable, willing to he adorned in thorns and black petals that whispered curses in dead languages, not making enough mistakes for them to consider throwing you back to the human kingdom. The fae bent for you, even when they didn’t want to. Because you were a good Queen- and you were slowly gathering supporters.

And then he found you, days later, curled in an oversized dress by the fireplace in your study.

You weren’t weeping. But your eyes were red, and Thrain, your antlered beast, had curled around you like a fortress, one massive antler tipped toward the fire. Your giant moth rested across your shoulders, wings twitching dreamily as it glowed soft golden light.

You looked up at him and said, in the voice of someone who had not spoken all day- who had no one to speak to all day:

“I didn’t think it would end that way.”

You said no more after that, but it was just enough to crack open the hollowed, ancient stone of his heart.

They all began to spiral after that, unsurprisingly. Curse you and your frustrating, beloved humanity.

Johnny wouldn’t wear anything you hadn’t touched, and even better if it held the scent of your soaps and perfumes. Kyle started leaving small gifts on your desk- tiny, enchanted things, but useful, and he smiled when he saw you using the little quill that liked to dance across parchment. Simon wouldn’t let anyone stand within a breath of you if they weren’t announced, glaring from behind like death incarnate- as if Thrain wasn’t enough.

And Price began to carry your scarf.

Not visibly, never that. But in the inside pocket of his coat, tucked like a relic he didn’t dare speak of. He’d raise it occasionally, when he was left alone-

And simply kiss its soft wool, and imagine to himself it was your forehead. It woukd suffice until he fixed this terrible mistake they’d made in their treatment and seclusion of you.

[moonstruckme]

Who's That Girl

summary: after Peter moves out due to unspecified reasons suddenly, the marauders have a room to fill. Luckily, you've just arrived in the UK and are happy to sign the lease

cw: modern au, reader has a mother/maternal figure

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Okay, mom.” You rub your eyes, arm still sore from lugging your suitcase around half of London. “No, I really don’t think so. It’d be a pretty elaborate scheme just to kill me. Our names are all together on the lease, there’d be a paper trail.” 

There’s a quiet snicker from the doorway. You look over to find James, one of your new roommates, standing in the threshold of your room. You grimace, miming waving your mother’s concerns away. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to worry, I—fine, here. Listen.” You put your hand over the speaker. “I’m so sorry about this,” you tell James. “Can you tell her you’re not going to murder me, please?” 

“Why would we murder you?” he asks in an easy, jovial voice. It’s the sort of voice moms love, which is perfect for what you need right now. “We need you alive to pay rent, and anyway we’ve nowhere to hide a body. They started being rather vigilant about the Thames some time ago.” 

“He’s joking,” you say quickly into the phone. “Yeah, I’m sure. They do that here, too. Now will you please go to sleep? I’m good, I promise. Okay, call you later. Love you.” 

You click the button to hang up with a sigh, dropping back onto your mattress. 

“Your mum?” James asks sympathetically. 

You hum. “Yeah, sorry. It’s four in the morning for her right now, and she’s all wound up. I appreciate the help.” 

Despite your best efforts, you can’t seem to convince your body it’s not four in the morning for you right now. You thought taking the red eye to London would help you adjust quickly to the time change, but a sleepless flight has only made you weary and disoriented. You screwed up the route from the airport to your new flat, realizing only around Richmond that you’d gone the complete wrong direction on the wrong tube line. It took you a solid hour longer to get to your flat than you planned. When you saw Sirius, who’d posted the flat in an online roommates group, waiting on the other side of the door you nearly collapsed into his arms in teary gratitude. 

With the haze of fatigue still clouding your thinking, it takes you a few moments to wonder why James has come to stand in your room. 

“Did you need something?” 

“I was just wondering if you might like breakfast,” he says. His big frame fills the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame like it’s a familiar stance. 

You try to hide your wariness, your mind filling with images of black pudding and beans smeared on toast. “What are you having?” 

“Omelets.” 

“Yes, please.” You hop out of bed. It’s less bouncy than lurching, but you’re trying to affect vivacity in the hopes you eventually start to feel it. 

James leads you towards the kitchen. Your room, you discovered when you arrived, is even duller than the pictures online. The previous tenant either hadn’t decorated at all or had moved out in a hurry, leaving only a bed and some trash on the floor. The room is small, with peeling white paint and a tiny window situated oddly in the corner, the scraggly tree outside eclipsing half of the view. 

The rest of the flat is a different thing entirely. The common spaces are mostly open; you can see the kitchen from the living room, with everything lit by two large windows looking out onto the street. There’s a funny mishmash of decorations, some pieces hinting at unity and others not so the way it all comes together seems almost like a happy accident. A nice, plush couch sits next to a chair that looks like it was dragged in off the street; there are books stacked against walls and album covers being used for coasters; a collection of vinyl records sits on the mantle next to a bluetooth speaker and above stockings seemingly left out since Christmas. It’s definitely a space decorated by boys, but you like it. It feels homey. 

“My mum would be in a right state if I up and moved continents,” says James, walking into the kitchen. He takes up position behind the stove, next to where Remus is making tea. “Is it the city she’s worried about?” 

“It’s everything,” you admit, lingering awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen. You don’t want to be in the way. “It’s the city, it’s the male roommates, it’s the Facebook post she saw about muggings…” 

“Flatmates,” Sirius corrects you from the kitchen table. “We’re not roommates, we don’t share a room. Maybe you ought to clarify that, might calm her down a bit.” 

“Flatmates,” you amend. “She does not like that I have guy flatmates. Can I help?” 

“Don’t,” says Sirius. “Remus is a control freak in the kitchen. Real finicky.” 

“I’m not finicky.” Somehow, you can tell Remus is rolling his eyes even without him turning it around. 

“You nearly took my head off over the way I cook chicken last week.” 

“The way you cook chicken nearly burned down the flat.” 

“Y/n,” Sirius says, seriously, “do as I do.” He pats the seat next to him at the table. 

You glance at James hesitantly, but he waves you off. When you join Sirius in sitting down, you forget to suppress the sigh that collapses out of you. 

Sirius tuts. “Jet lagged?” 

Lag feels too kind a word for what your body is doing to you. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna take a nap after this.” 

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says. “I’ve done the whole international travel thing—” 

“You’ve been to France,” says Remus drolly. “The time difference is an hour.” 

“—and it really is best to just push through,” Sirius finishes as though the interruption went unheard. “You’ll only make matters worse for yourself if you sleep now and then can’t tonight.” 

You hate how sound his logic seems. The idea of waiting at least ten hours to put your head to a pillow makes you want to cry. 

“So,” James says brightly, “what doesn’t your mum like about you having guys for flatmates?” 

Perhaps it can be chalked up to exhaustion that you have so little control over the expression that crosses your face. Luckily, James is too concentrated on his omelet to see it, but Remus isn’t; he grins at you. 

“She doesn’t really love the idea of me having roommates at all. Flatmates,” you correct yourself when Sirius gives you a look. “I think because you’re guys, she just sees it as even less safe. Don’t take it personally. Oh, thank you.” 

You accept the mug of tea Remus sets in front of you. Sirius has one already half drunk in front of him, and Remus sits down with his own, taking a long sip like it’s the most relished part of his morning. You look into the brown, half-opaque liquid skeptically. 

“Has she been this upset since you decided to live with us?” Remus asks. 

“Oh, um.” You bob your teabag aimlessly, twisting the string around your finger. “I…sort of assumed she would be. That’s why I didn’t tell her until now.” 

You don’t have to take your attention off your tea to feel the stares of all three boys snap to you. 

“You didn’t tell her?” James asks, incredulous. 

“I didn’t want to give her the chance to argue with me about it.” 

“Asking for forgiveness instead of permission.” Sirius nods approvingly, picking up his mug for a sip. “Knew I liked you.” 

James appears in distress. “Your mum’s gonna hate us!” 

“Don’t mind him,” says Remus. “He’s used to all mothers fawning over him.” 

“Not mine,” Sirius objects happily. 

“She’s across the ocean, if that helps,” you tell James. 

“I can feel her hatred crossing borders,” he says, expression growing increasingly fretful. 

“Well, all you have to do is not murder me,” you offer, “and she’ll see that she’s wrong.” 

Sirius gives an insouciant shrug. “Pay your rent on time, and we ought to be fine there. No promises, of course.”

[mossangelll]

what arcane characters would be like at christmas!

inspired by @cosmicporos whose work is here <3

i’m in the christmas spirit and wanted to do a sillier post on what some arcane characters are like at this time of the year! once christmas and exams are over, i’ll get back to working through requests ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Jinx:

jinx gifts you something homemade, maybe a scrapbook of all the things you did together throughout the year?

aw omg i bet she’s amazing at taking secret pics…there’s so many embarrassing pictures of you in there but you can’t even hate it when she doodles love hearts right next to them :’)

all the pictures inside would be meticulously dated with a corresponding memory to go underneath

she wants to show you how much she cares!

jinx would love anything you give her, but she would swoon if you got her materials to make more chomper bombs - she loves how accepting and enthusiastic you are of her hobbies

jinx’s favourite holiday activity is decorating!

she loves getting into a festive spirit where it’s seen as more acceptable to be goofy and childlike?

she’s very thrifty so i feel like most of the decor is stuff you guys make together in front of a warm fire while it snows outside hehe

makes cranberry and popcorn garlands which you guys end up eating by the end of the week

there’s just plain string all over the place 😭

obviously there will be christmas themed graffiti

instead of a star or angel on top of the tree, she makes miniature figurines of you two hugging to stick on top

she is incredibly down bad for you and loves the holidays because she gets to be extra sentimental

gets a stupidly skinny christmas tree that barely has enough branches to wrap decorations around but she wouldn’t have it any other way

jinx doesn’t want to take everything tooooo seriously

jinx’s favourite christmas song is i wish it could be christmas everyday

Vi:

vi gifts you your own leather jacket! it's second hand and a bit worn through but she tried her best

you always spoke about how much you loved her jacket and now you two can match

irons and pins on patches of your favourite bands all over the jacket

spends so much time into making sure it looks perfect for you

i can see you two wearing each other’s jackets a lot so you can smell like one another

best investment ever - now everyone knows you two are made for each other

she would love it if you gifted her boxing gloves in her signature colour!

vi’s favourite holiday activity is sledding!

she probably uses an old sled her and jinx made together when they were younger

it’s seen better days but she doesn’t want to give it up anytime soon

better wear a helmet in case the whole sled comes apart as you ride it 😭

she’s the kind of person to convince you to let her push the sled down a steep hill… she cheers as you scream in fear

when you asked her if it was safe she winked and told you to trust her 😐

big mistake but how can you say no to her???

you both land in a heap of snow at the bottom, laughing so hard you have to catch your breath as snowflakes melts into your hair

she rolls you around in the snow and kisses you for a loooooong time hehe

vi’s favourite christmas song is baby it’s cold outside

Ekko:

ekko gifts you a painting he made of you!

he’s very nervous when he does, watching for every little reaction on your face - he just wants to know that he did a good job and made you happy

how could you not like it? he captures your likeness so well it feels like looking in a very flattering mirror

you can tell how much love and thought he put into it

he would love it if you gifted him more face paint and hair dye - even better if you offer to do it for him!

ekko’s favourite holiday activity is playing in the snow!

snowball fights, building snowmen and igloos, making snow angels - all of it!

this guy LOCKS IN when it comes to snowball fights

honestly sometimes you want to say no bcs he gets a bit too committed and you feel like you’re getting hunted down 😭

but then he promises to make you hot chocolate when you get inside so it works out in the end

accidentally pelts you in the face with a solid snowball and his face drops

he runs over to where you got knocked over and is worriedly checking you all over to make sure you’re not hurt

that’s when you shove snow down his back and run away in a fit of giggles

he goes still before he starts to chase after you - you both launch snow at each other for house

yeah, you both get ill after that 😭

ekko’s favourite christmas song is santa clause is coming to town

Jayce: 

jayce gifts you jewellery he forged himself :3

i can see him dragging you along to the workshop, making you watch him be all sweaty and hot for hours (you’re not complaining)

if you ask what exactly he’s making there he brushes it off as a custom piece of equipment needed for his experiments - little do you know it’s actually gifts for you

when he does gift it to you he has the most smug look in his face

who else is doing gifts like him?? exactly 🙂‍↕️

he would love it if you gave him new tools he can use when he’s doing his forging!

jayce’s favourite holiday activity is making gingerbread houses!

mainly sneakily nibbling away at little pieces of you (you notice)

you two end up ditching the house and smear icing all over each other

he licks the icing off your cheek

you tell him how gross he is but he’s not fooled when you’re blushing and giggling at his antics

after you two finish your “break”, you get to work on finally completing the gingerbread house

doesn’t let you leave the kitchen until you’re done - he made BLUEPRINTS for the house

it ends up being more like a mansion when you’re done

he’s cheesing so hard when it’s done and he makes you pose with the house

he posts it on his instagram story with some dumb caption (“look at my sweet treat and the gingerbread house we made 😜”) and you only find out when your friends send it to you

jayce’s favourite christmas song is all i want for christmas is you

Viktor:

viktor gifts you customised skincare he made just for you!

he is more physics-minded but after hearing you complain about how all the products you tried just weren’t doing it for you, he decides to step up

spends so much time consulting chemists at the academy for help creating the products

“subtly” asks you questions about your skin so as not to give himself away

“your skin looks quite dry today, would you agree?”

says this in front of a bunch of people - you hate this man so much 😭

you’re so happy when he gifts it to you, you’ve never had someone listen so intently to what you talk about

you definitely cry into his arms and he’s a bit stunned but eventually holds onto you - you stay like that for a while

he would love it if you gave him fancy coffee to help him stay up in the lab!

viktor’s favourite holiday activity is going to the christmas markets!

loves the smell of cinnamon and cocoa in the air, loves how the cold air nips at his nose

the icy ground is a bit of a nuisance for his cane but he knows he always has you to help out, even if he hates asking ^^

makes you two look at all the lights so you can rate them

goes to basically every dessert stand and scarfs down an insane amount of sweet things in record time

likes to buy the weirdest snow globes he can find

viktor’s favourite christmas song is winter wonderland

Caitlyn:

cait gifts you a first-edition copy of you’re favourite classical novel! 

she had to pull a lot couple of strings to get it but she would do just about anything for you 

even though you’d be happy with anything she gives you, she places a lot of expectations on herself 

she stresses herself out over making sure you have the best christmas ever 

she would love it if you gave her clothes that she would actually wear, things she’s told her she likes - not just what she’s expected to wear 

cait’s favourite holiday activity is ice skating!

she’s honestly so good at ice skating you’re surprised it isn’t her job or something 

takes you skating on the frozen lake at her estate 

if you don’t know how to skate, she’s incredibly patient and teaches you the basics

she loves that you have to cling onto her so you don’t fall over 

if you know how to skate, she bashfully asks if you want to learn couple’s ice skating choreography with her 

has the time of her life doing lifts and jumps with you! 

wishes she could stay outside skating with you 

cait's favourite christmas song is underneath the tree 

Mel:

mel gifts you a holiday at your dream destination!

she has lots of money at her disposal and gifts you things all the time, so she really has to go above and beyond for this one

you complain about barely getting to see her due to her work on the council so she manages to get a week away with you!

has a whole itinerary planned out so all you have to do is sit back and relax

makes up for all the time she spent away from you by making sure you're both attached at the hip lol

she would love it if you gifted her one of those jars full of little notes with things you love and admire about that person!

mel’s favourite holiday activity is playing games by the fireplace!

at first, she’s off-put by the whole idea - she’s not a child

but deep down i feel like she’s quite lonely and yearns to feel like she really belongs somewhere, she’s just scared to be emotionally vulnerable

so when you come along she reluctantly agrees and finds that she really loves doing this at a time that reminds her of her estranged family

loosens up around you and feels like she can really be herself

she’s also very competitive so it adds more drama to it all

you guys definitely argue when you play charades or uno 😭

she makes it up to you by letting you win the next game even if it’s incredibly obvious

makes silly bets when you play - “if i win the next round you have to tell me what you got be for christmas”

she’s such a cutie

mel’s favourite christmas song is santa baby

Ambessa:

ambessa gifts you a spa day

honestly a bit of a self-indulgent present since her mind isn’t completely innocent with this gift

a spa day is a spa day however

she doesn’t celebrate christmas - it’s a useless frivolity that wastes precious time that could be used to train her army

she knows how much you enjoy it though so she makes an exception for you

you can tell her heart’s not in it but it’s sweet that she tries for you

she would love it if you made her an intricate meal with all her favourite noxian foods!

ambessa’s favourite holiday activity is making christmas cards!

well, she’s not the one making them

she just watches you make them

but she thinks the look of concentration on your face is quite endearing so she stays around to watch you make them

she’s surprised by how much effort goes into making them from scratch and she walks away with a new appreciation for your hobby

you could beg her to join but she’s just not gonna do it 😭

she likes you, but not that much

ambessa’s favourite christmas song is none of them unfortunately <\3 (she has a soft spot for feliz navidad)

Heimerdinger:

heimerdinger gifts you a jailbroken gaming console 😭

he spent precious time on that thing

doesn’t agree with doing things like that usually but it’s christmas

everyone deserves a treat every now and then!

hopes you’ll focus on your work at the academy more often if you have this

backfires in his face because you’re constantly on it now, oh well

at least you liked the present

he would love it if you you gifted him a song you wrote!

heimerdinger’s favourite holiday activity is secret santa!

he is SO bad at keeping his a secret 😭

he goes around the academy asking people about your hobbies, likes and dislikes

you know he has you by the end of the day lmao

he’s so cute you can’t even be mad

heimerdinger’s favourite christmas song is wonderful christmastime

AU!Claggor:

claggor gifts you one of his hybrid plants! 

this is a huge honour since they’re basically his children 

the one he gifts you was a seedling from the very first plant that managed to survive off the fissure gases 

gives you a whole speech on how to properly care for it (tells you the secret is to whisper positive affirmations to it every morning) 

he’s nervous gifting it you since it means so much to him, but he knows he can trust you to look after it 

it’s so sweet since he’s sharing such an important part of his life with you!

he would love it if you gave him cuttings from a rare plant you may or may not have taken from some rich piltie 

claggor’s favourite holiday activity is baking! 

he has his own apron and everything 

makes cookies and yule logs topped with marshmallows - he goes above and beyond 

makes enough to give out to family and friends 

he loves seeing people enjoy his labor of love, it makes him all fuzzy inside 

claggors’s favourite christmas song is it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas 

AU!Mylo:

mylo gifts you wool gloves!

you always complain about having cold hands so whenever you two are outside, your hands are always in your pockets

but he wants to hold your hand :(

so gloves it is!

two birds with one stone

he would love it if your gift was literally just a kiss under the mistletoe, he doesn’t ask for much!

mylo’s favourite holiday activity is scavenger hunts!

he’s another one who thinks certain activities are childish, but once he gets in the zone istg he’s shoving actual kids out of the way 😭

like i genuinely believe you would have to restrain him because he’s going feral over this

he needs to calm down tbh

probably loses to a five year old and sulks for the rest of the rest of the day

mylo’s favourite christmas song is a nonsense christmas

Silco:

silco gifts you expensive clothes and perfume/cologne

he’s got MONEY and i feel like he wants to make up for the fact that he’s never had much growing up, so he spoils you in all the ways you deserve

he rolls his eyes if you tell him you don’t want anything for christmas

as if he would let you celebrate the day empty handed

when you asked him for a big fir tree you got it, along with mountains of presents stacked underneath

way too many for one person

he watches you intently with a smirk on his face, loving the way your eyes light up with each present you unwrap

he likes having the satisfaction that only he can treat you like this

he would love it if you offered to inject his eye as a gift - he can’t really reject this, can he?

if you offered under any other circumstances, he would probably say no

silco’s favourite holiday activity is dressing up as santa!

ok hear me out

one day when jinx was younger she asked if she would see santa that year

and he just…dressed up as him?? and gave her presents??? and now it’s a tradition that’s stuck 😭

keep in mind jinx didn’t believe in santa at this point but he had no idea about this so he didn’t want her to be disappointed

his santa impression is just “ho, ho, ho” 😐 he’s so deadpan it’s hilarious

he has this tacky stiff beard and pillows stuffed under his costume

so when you find out about it, you beg to see it with your own eyes

it’s sooooo embarrassing for him but he loves making his favourite people happy no matter the cost

doesn’t let anyone else but you two and sevika see him like that

silco’s favourite christmas song is…the christmas song lol

Sevika:

sevika gifts you a custom-made gun, “to Y/N, from sev” inscribed on the handle 

she’s secretly whipped for you but can’t let anyone else know, how else is she meant to keep up her tough facade? 

teaches you how to use the gun - she doesn’t want you to be defenceless in the lanes, especially since you’re connected to someone like her 

her worst fear is someone hurting you to get to her 

she would love it if you got her a backup arm, god knows hers is always getting ruined considering all the fights she gets into 

sevika’s favourite holiday activity is watching christmas movies!

she rarely gets a moment to relax so when the holidays come around, she loves getting to chill with you on the couch 

you guys watch those awful hallmark movies and you spend the entire time complaining the the tv about how unrealistic and dumb the characters are 

she throws popcorn at the tv whenever her least favourite character shows up 

oooh i can picture you two sipping on mulled wine, sevika’s arm wrapped around your shoulders 

you’re basically snuggled into her lap and she lives for it 

would die if anyone saw her like that though 

makes it a yearly tradition to show you the picture she secretly took of silco dressed up as santa 

she basically glows inside when she hears your laughter ring out like bells 

sevika’s favourite christmas song is please come home for christmas 

Vander:

vander gifts you free hug vouchers lmao 

i see him as someone who values sentimental value over material possessions, so he came up with this genius idea >:)

you’re having a bad day? redeem a free bear hug!

you’re feeling sappy? redeem a free bear hug! 

you just want a hug? you don’t even need to ask! 

he was scared you would think he was just being lazy with this present but he’s elated when he sees you openly tearing up at it 

you both laugh at the christmas table over his present 

he would love it if you gave the kids a gift, it shows how much you care! 

vander’s favourite holiday activity is carol singing

except drunk (it’s for charity!)

drunk carol singing is good for the soul, or so he says 

i can imagine him and silco when they were younger wandering the streets, cheeks red with sappy grins straining their faces, belting out songs at the top of their lungs 

multiple people told them to shut up 

they just sang louder 

end up at the last drop where they have a karaoke session 

when he does get tips for his carolina, he uses it to help the most vulnerable people in zaun 

helping his people is his main priority  

vander’s favourite christmas song is let it snow

masterlist

[shushmal]

Eddie pauses, his fingers stilling against his guitar strings. Steve makes a questioning noise, but doesn't move from where he's sitting on the ground, back against the log and his head still resting against Eddie's knee. And for a long moment, Eddie does nothing, so caught up in it all this—this life they've managed to scrap together.

They're thirty-eight, and they own a house, one with a big back yard perfect for a fire pit, a fence and a dog. Last spring a storm had blown down their oak tree, and Steve had rolled the trunk of it over to make seating, the rest firewood. On clear nights, they light a fire and sit next to the flames, and Eddie will play his guitar. And they're far enough out of town that the stars stretch endless, beautiful in the night sky above them.

That's the kind of night they're having now. And it's not what Eddie used to dream of—bars and stages and stadiums of fans. It's not his uncle's trailer and dealing drugs that Eddie thought he'd have to resign himself to. It's not even orange jumpsuits and prison bars, like he was scared of.

Eddie sets his guitar down, resting it against his seat. Steve finally looks up, brown eyes a little sleepy, and a lot content.

It's the kind of night that Eddie never even thought to want.

"Dance with me?" Eddie asks. He watches a slow smile stretch Steve's face. He's gorgeous, painted in campfire light.

"Getting sappy in your old age, Munson?" Steve says, even as he takes Eddie's hand and lets him haul him to his feet.

They fall into each other easily, because they do it every day—arms around waists, shoulders. Cold noses against an ear. Lips kissing lips. They know exactly how to fit themselves together, where their pieces meet and the edges line up perfectly. They sway there in the darkness behind their home, fire-warmed and holding each other. There is nothing but the crackle of the burning logs, the wind in the trees, the crickets and the night birds calling.

"Perfect," Eddie murmurs.

"Hm?" Steve hums, his fingers playing with the ends of Eddie's hair. He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck as they turn a little circle, dancing. "What is?"

"You," Eddie says. "This. Everything. I love this."

He can feel Steve's smile against his skin, knows with out seeing all happy shine of Steve's eyes, his scrunch of his nose, the dimples and the shape of his teeth. He's perfect, and he'll always be perfect to Eddie.

"You, too," Steve whispers. "I love this, too."

[carnalcrows]

EVER EVER AFTER

summary: You were supposed to marry a prince, not fall into a city full of strangers, skyscrapers, and coffee machines. But getting cursed was never part of the plan—and neither was meeting a little girl whose tired, sharp-eyed father who looked at you like you were something real. Tokyo isn’t a fairytale. But maybe, if you’re lucky, it doesn’t have to be.

pairing: robert! nanami kento x giselle! male reader

content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + p in a), bottom male reader, transdimensional travel, poisoned fruit, found family, light swordplay, reader wears enchanted formalwear, dragon lady attack (brief) unreliable narrator (even the author is confused).

word count: 5.2k (the lack of motivation is CLEARLY visible lmao)

better viewed in dark mode

The sun rose over the hills of Andalasia—or what you had always called home. A forest made of dream-soft pastels and impossible light, where the air smelled faintly of honeysuckle and every morning began with birdsong, where deer peeked from behind trees and squirrels held sewing needles with practised grace. It was perfect. Which, to you, meant it was normal.

You twirled on the cottage balcony, robe fluttering behind you, humming a half-finished melody. Bluebirds circled your head in swooping arcs. A pair of chipmunks tugged ribbons between their teeth, and a badger attempted—unsuccessfully—to thread a button onto a coat with trembling paws.

"Almost done!" you said brightly, kneeling beside the dress form shaped from hollowed bark and stitched leaves. “Prince Gojo is going to love this. Well… maybe. I mean—I hope he loves it. It’s just our wedding, after all.”

You paused, blinking, suddenly dizzy with the thought—your wedding.

The forest rustled its approval.

Of course, you’d only just met yesterday. But he’d heard your song. You’d danced on the edge of a waterfall. And when you’d fallen into Gojo’s arms—gracefully, from a cliff, as one does—it had just felt right. That had to mean something. That had to be love.

“Right?” you asked a passing bird.

It chirped something vaguely affirming.

You sighed dreamily, collapsing onto a bed of moss as the birds fluffed the hem of your suit. “A fairytale beginning. A prince. A kiss. And a happily ever after. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

But the forest didn’t hum back the way it usually did.

There was a pause—a stillness.

Then, from the trees—

A rumble.

The birds scattered. The chipmunks dropped their thread. You sat up just in time to see a troll barrel through the glade, teeth bared, claws glinting, eyes wild.

“Okay—not part of the plan!”

You scrambled upright, tripping over a ribbon, only to be yanked backwards by the collar as vines snared your feet. “Seriously—why is it always vines—?!”

Just before the creature could swipe you in half, something silver flashed through the air. A sword. A scream. A blur of white and gold.

Prince Gojo.

He looked like he’d leapt out of a painting—shirt torn, hair somehow perfect, grinning like the chaos was part of the fun.

“Darling!” he called, catching you one-armed while slashing the troll with the other. “I missed you!”

“I saw you yesterday—”

“Too long!” Gojo laughed.

And just like that, the troll was gone.

Vanquished. Heroic. Timed perfectly to the end of a crescendoing song you didn’t realise had started.

Gojo dropped the sword, cupped your face in both hands, and beamed. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’re getting married.”

And you—still breathless, still dizzy—could only smile and nod.

Because why wouldn’t you?

You had everything you wanted.

Didn’t you?

The next morning bloomed golden and soft. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass leaves, casting patterns on the forest floor as woodland creatures bustled in preparation. Birds carried garlands of silk, chipmunks stitched last-minute adjustments on the embroidered sash, and even the badger from before had seemingly mastered buttoning techniques overnight.

You stood before the mirror, smoothing down the front of your ceremonial robes. Soft blue and ivory, lined with hand-stitched petals, every seam kissed by your own hands. It looked exactly like something you’d imagined as a child—what your future would look like. A storybook ending written in fabric.

Your reflection smiled back. But there was a weight behind it. No doubt. Just... static. A kind of quiet you hadn’t expected.

You shook it off. Today wasn’t for wondering. Today was for joy.

Outside, trumpets rang through the glade.

“Ready?” Gojo called, already astride a white horse, grinning like he was late to his own coronation. A dove landed on his shoulder. He winked at it.

You barely had time to laugh before someone stepped into your path—a stooped woman in a cloak, half-shadowed beneath a crooked hood. Her voice was like splintered wood wrapped in silk.

“Excuse me, dearie,” she said. “A moment, before your big day.”

You paused. The animals hesitated, feathers ruffling.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” you said politely, taking a half-step back.

She smiled—wide, too wide—and reached into her cloak. “Just a wedding gift.”

You didn’t see the hand until it was on your chest. You didn’t feel the ground until it was gone.

The sky twisted above you. The trees blurred, then bent, then shattered into light.

You were falling.

And falling.

And—

Your body slammed into something wet and hard. Your ears rang. Lights flashed—unnatural ones, bright and red and harsh. There were no birds. No singing. No flowers. Just the sting of pavement and a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

You groaned, rolling onto your side.

Towering buildings loomed above, steel and glass swallowing the sky.

And around you, a dozen strangers in suits and jackets walked past without even blinking.

You sat up, wide-eyed, soaked and shivering.

You weren’t in Andalasia anymore.

—

You stumbled to your feet, blinking hard against the lights. They came from everywhere—flashing boxes in the sky, windows that moved, towers made of cold silver and too much glass. The air stank of smoke and iron. The ground beneath you was not grass but something hard and grey, painted with stripes and humming faintly beneath your boots like it was alive.

A giant, glowing sign buzzed somewhere overhead in a language you couldn’t read. Another flashed to life with a jingle that made no musical sense. And still, not a single soul stopped.

People brushed past you without looking. Men in black coats talking into small glowing boxes. Girls with skirts that barely covered their knees, chewing gum and laughing too loudly. A man walked by holding a bag of something fried and orange, and no one said hello. Not even the dog he dragged behind him.

You blinked up at a traffic light.

A robot voice said something you didn’t understand.

“W-what is this place?” you breathed.

No one answered.

A car honked—an angry, blaring sound that made you spin around too fast and nearly fall again. It wasn’t a carriage. There were no horses. Just metal beasts that screamed without mouths, hurtling past in streaks of black and chrome.

“This isn’t right,” you murmured. “This isn’t real.”

You looked around wildly, hoping—praying—for a patch of trees, a trail of birdsong, anything that might lead you back. But there was only noise. Towers. People moving like they couldn’t see you.

Your throat tightened. You spun in place, chest heaving.

“Hello?” you called. “Can anyone hear me? I think—I think I’m lost!”

A businessman glanced at you briefly, eyes skimming your embroidered robes and curling shoes. He shook his head and kept walking.

You swallowed. Hard.

Your hands trembled.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to sing.

Then—

“Papa, look!” a voice cried. High-pitched. Excited.

You turned.

A little girl was tugging at a man’s sleeve, pointing directly at you. She looked about six or seven, dressed in a tiny school uniform and pink sneakers. Her pigtails bobbed as she dragged her father toward you.

Her father—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark coat and tie—stopped just short of you. His expression was… tired. Mistrustful. And unreadable.

“Please,” you said, stepping forward. “I don’t know where I am. Or how I got here. But I think I’ve been cursed.”

The girl beamed. “I told you, Papa, he’s a prince!”

The man blinked.

Then sighed.

And said, flatly, “Oh, hell no.”

The man turned as if to walk away—already fishing in his coat for what looked like a phone, his jaw tight, his whole posture radiating not my problem. You scrambled after him, nearly tripping over your own hem.

“Wait—please!” you said, voice cracking. “I don’t know where this is. I was on my way to my wedding and then a hag—well, a woman, but you know—she pushed me down a well, and now everything smells like metal and why is the sky flickering—?”

“Okay.” He stopped, hands raised. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” you said, not calm at all. “This is just my very composed panic voice!”

The little girl looked up at him. “Can we keep him?”

“We’re not keeping anyone,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He looked at you again—really looked this time. The dishevelled hair. The mud-spattered sash. The way you stood with your hands wringing in front of you, like you didn’t know what to do without a song to fill the air.

“You’re not from here,” he said slowly.

“No,” you breathed. “I’m from—” You paused. “Actually, I don’t think it exists here.”

“That makes two of us,” he muttered.

There was a long pause.

“Fine,” he said, and ran a hand down his face. “You can come with us. Just for now. Until we figure out who you are, or where you escaped from.”

You blinked. “I didn’t escape from anywhere.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

The little girl took your hand. Her fingers were warm. Grounding.

“I’m Nobara,” she said. “You’re gonna love our apartment. It has a couch. And juice.”

“That sounds…” You swallowed, trying to think of the right word. “...Comforting.”

The man sighed again, as if regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

“Kento Nanami,” he said.

You blinked up at him. “That’s a lovely name.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he replied flatly. Then turned, gesturing for you to follow.

So you did.

Because what else was there to do?

You were lost in a kingdom that didn’t believe in magic. Your prince was in another world. Your clothes were soaked. And nothing smelled like flowers anymore.

But for the first time since the fall, you felt just a little less alone.

The next morning, you tried your best to be helpful.

You folded the couch blanket into a perfect swan. You brewed tea using what you thought was a teapot—it was actually a rice cooker. You gave Nobara an elaborate forest-style braid, complete with twigs and a flower you found in the stairwell. She looked thrilled. Nanami looked... tired.

You were in the middle of sweeping the floor with a curtain rod when the doorbell rang.

Nanami opened the door and immediately tensed. The man on the other side stood tall, dressed in a tailored black coat, hair tied back with the kind of precision that said he’d never forgotten a single appointment in his life.

Suguru Geto.

He didn’t smile. “She ready?”

“She’s finishing her breakfast,” Nanami said, jaw tight.

Geto’s eyes slid past him—and landed on you.

He took in your embroidered cuffs. Your flower-pinned sash. The fact that you were still barefoot, holding a curtain rod like a staff.

There was a long pause.

“New roommate?” he asked.

“No.”

“Dating?”

“No.”

You stepped forward, cheerful. “Hello! I’m staying here until I figure out how to undo a terrible spell that may or may not have involved a cursed well and a power-hungry sorceress. Also, your daughter is delightful.”

Geto blinked.

“...Right.”

Nobara skipped into view, backpack in hand. “Dad, this is the guy who sings at the furniture.”

“Of course he is.”

Nanami handed her a lunchbox. “Back by six.”

“Don’t give me rules in front of the furniture guy,” she muttered.

Geto’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “Say goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, magic prince,” she chirped. “Don’t turn into a tree.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

Nanami stared at it for a long beat.

“Your co-parenting seems… tense,” you offered.

“I’m going to lie down on the floor.”

“That’s fair.”

⋆｡°✩

Down in the subway, Toji checked the note pinned to the inside of his jacket. A crude drawing of your face. A Tokyo address, scrawled in angry cursive.

He pulled out a polished apple, turning it slowly in his hand.

“Should’ve poisoned the horse,” he muttered.

But he took a bite instead—just to test—and promptly spat it out.

“Ugh,” he grimaced. “Too early for this.”

Then he tucked the apple away.

And followed the scent of magic through the city.

The next few days blurred.

You tried to adjust. Truly, you did.

But Tokyo wasn’t a fairytale kingdom—it was loud and messy and fast in ways you couldn’t quite understand. The birds didn’t sing back. The mice refused to sew. And your songs, no matter how sweetly sung, only earned you startled stares and someone in a bear costume handing you a flyer for a karaoke bar.

Nobara took it all in stride. She made you a “Do Not Pet the Pigeons” sign after you got pecked in Ueno Park. She showed you how to use a vending machine. She explained what an elevator was only after you had screamed.

Nanami… tolerated you.

Most of the time.

He scowled when you rearranged the bookshelf into colour-coded rainbow order. He gave you a deadpan look when you introduced him to your “talking shirt” (it wasn’t talking, you just liked it). But he never made you feel stupid. Or small. Or wrong.

And sometimes—only sometimes—you caught him watching you. Like he was trying to solve something he’d forgotten how to understand.

Those were your favourite moments.

⋆｡°✩

Toji arrived on day four.

You were at the apartment alone, dancing with a mop (named Gregory) to a tune you were humming. You twirled toward the door just as the bell rang and flung it open with a smile.

The man on the other side was all shadows and scar tissue.

“Oh!” you said. “Are you a delivery—”

The world tilted.

You hit the floor hard, dazed, a sharp smell filling your nose as something was shoved under it.

“Breathe deep,” the man said, crouching beside you, voice low. “Apple extract. You’ll be out in thirty seconds.”

You blinked. “Is that supposed to be threatening?”

“I mean…” He hesitated. “Yeah?”

“Oh.” You frowned. “It just smells like cinnamon.”

He blinked back at you.

You both stared.

“…Are you immune to poison?” he asked.

“No, just—very good at holding my breath.”

Toji groaned. “Of course you are.”

You scrambled backwards across the tatami mat, brandishing Gregory like a sword. “Are you a bandit? An assassin? A disgruntled pastry chef?”

“I’m your fate.”

“That’s very dramatic.”

Toji lunged—and was immediately tackled to the ground by an eleven-year-old with a bag full of textbooks.

“GET AWAY FROM MY GUEST!” Nobara screamed, absolutely feral.

Toji wheezed. “What the hell—”

Nanami arrived thirty seconds later, briefcase in one hand, tie askew.

He took one look at the scene—Toji pinned to the floor, Nobara biting his sleeve, you holding Gregory like a knight in training—and sighed so hard you could feel it in your bones.

“I don’t even want to know,” he muttered.

Then calmly tasered Toji.

You never loved anyone more.

Toji hit the floor with a grunt, the taser still humming in Nanami’s hand like the ending chord of a very satisfying song. Nobara stood over him triumphantly, arms crossed, one knee planted on his back like a gladiator claiming her kill.

“That’s what you get for sneaking up on a magical prince,” she said, breathless but proud.

“I’m not sneaking,” Toji groaned, dazed. “I rang the doorbell. I had manners.”

Nanami sighed and stepped over the fallen assassin, loosening his tie. “I told you,” he said, eyes on you, “don’t open the door for anyone.”

“I thought he was delivering something!” you said, indignant. “He looked vaguely gift-shaped!”

“He had a knife.”

“It was sheathed!”

Toji coughed. “You guys are the weirdest hostage situation I’ve ever seen.”

Nanami turned to him. “You’re going to explain everything. In detail. And if the words ‘poisoned apple’ come up again, I swear to god—”

Toji lifted his hands weakly. “Alright, alright. Let me sit up first. Your daughter’s kneecap is in my kidney.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Nanami muttered.

“Rude,” Nobara said.

⋆｡°✩

After Toji was zip-tied to a dining chair (you were very proud of that knot, by the way), he admitted to working for “a certain powerful woman”—which, with a little pressing, turned into “Queen Meimei,” which then quickly turned into “look, I just do what I’m paid for, alright?”

“She sent you to kill me,” you said, arms folded, standing like judgment incarnate in your mismatched pyjamas.

“I mean, she said gently assassinate, but yeah.”

Nanami looked at him, stone-faced. “That’s not a real phrase.”

Toji gave him a lopsided grin. “It is in my line of work.”

“And where did you even get these apples?” Nobara asked, sniffing one suspiciously. “They look like they’ve been dipped in nail polish.”

Toji groaned and leaned back in the chair. “Look, I just need the guy to go back through the magic well, and everything’s fine. No more apples. No more death. No more me being choked out by an eleven-year-old.”

“Ten and a half,” Nobara corrected.

“I stand corrected.”

You tilted your head. “So... you’re not evil. You’re just... working retail for witches?”

Toji blinked. “Honestly? Yeah.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is insane.”

You smiled widely. “But at least now we know I am cursed! Which means if we find the well again, I can return to Andalasia and marry Saturo—Gojo. Prince Gojo.”

And just like that, the room went silent.

You didn’t notice. You were already dreaming aloud again, pacing slowly, hands gesturing at nothing. “He must be worried sick. I hope he’s okay. He’s probably searching every corner of this strange kingdom for me as we speak—”

⋆｡°✩

Gojo sneezed into a Tokyo metro map, upside-down, perched on top of a garbage truck.

“Megumi,” he muttered, “I think we’re lost again.”

The chipmunk on his shoulder did not answer.

Nanami didn’t say anything.

He just turned, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge with slightly more force than necessary. The door creaked like it was used to this. Like it had seen one too many magical princes show up in silk pants, talking about true love.

You stood frozen in the centre of the room, suddenly aware of how quiet it had gotten.

Toji raised a brow from the dining chair. “So. That’s awkward.”

Nobara leaned against the wall, chewing her rice cracker. “He’s jealous.”

“What?” you blinked. “Jealous of Gojo?”

She nodded sagely. “Mmhmm.”

Toji chuckled. “Yeah, buddy. He is so in love with you.”

“I—he’s not—” You faltered. “He barely even likes me.”

“He let you reorganise his bookshelf,” Nobara said.

“He cooked for you,” Toji added.

“He let you stay on the good couch.”

You blinked. “There’s a bad couch?”

Toji pointed. “You’re sitting on it.”

“Oh.”

You turned slowly, looking toward the kitchen. Nanami was still there, still pretending not to listen, still staring into the fridge like he expected it to give him emotional clarity.

You bit your lip.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you said quietly.

Toji rolled his eyes. “You’re a singing forest prince. Things have been weird since you showed up.”

Nobara nodded solemnly. “He needs a push.”

“A gentle push,” you emphasised. “Not—”

She was already gone.

You heard her in the kitchen.

“Hey, Nanamin,” she said sweetly. “You still into emotionally repressed denial, or should I start calling him Dad?”

Nanami choked on his water.

You sank into the couch. “I’m going to die here.”

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, across the city, Gojo had decided that the best way to find you was to sing louder.

He stood on top of a moving float in a parade he was not invited to, throwing roses and belting ballads while Megumi tried to chew through his robe in protest.

“Where is my prince, so noble and kind—”

A child threw a soda at him.

“Rude,” he muttered. Somewhere above, a crow perched on a lamppost and cawed once, low and warning.

Back in her suite, Meimei tapped a finger to her wineglass and smiled slowly.

It was time for her to take matters into her own hands.

You stood by the window after dinner, watching the lights of the city flicker like stars fallen to earth. There was a moment, quiet and small, where it hit you all at once. The strangeness. The softness. The fact that you hadn’t sung in days and didn’t miss it like you thought you would.

Behind you, Nanami moved through the kitchen like a man on autopilot. Cleaning a plate. Drying a cup. Never looking directly at you.

“I didn’t mean to make things difficult,” you said, breaking the silence. “With Gojo. With everything.”

Nanami paused. His reflection met yours in the window, faint and ghostlike.

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me that... I used to believe in love, once.”

You turned. “You still do. You just don’t want to.”

He leaned against the counter. “Maybe.”

There was a beat.

Then—

“Are you going back to him?”

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was so sure, before. But now… there’s something about this world. It’s messy and loud and everything hurts more, but it’s also real. And honest. And—”

You looked at him.

He was already looking at you.

“I think I’d miss this,” you whispered. “You.”

The air thickened between you. You took a step forward. So did he.

And then—

“Formal invitation,” Nobara announced from the hallway, holding a sparkly gold envelope. “From Geto’s weird rich cousin. You’re all invited to a ball tomorrow night.”

You stared at her.

Nanami groaned.

“I already picked your outfits,” she added.

Of course she did.

⋆｡°✩

The next evening arrived faster than you expected.

The ballroom shimmered in warm gold and marble. The floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the chandeliers like upside-down constellations. You stepped inside in a suit that Nobara had helped tailor herself, complete with lace cuffs and a soft lavender ribbon at your collar. You hadn’t seen Kento yet, and your chest ached with how badly you wanted to.

Then he appeared.

Dark vest, gold trim, hair swept just slightly off his brow. He looked uncomfortable and perfectly composed. But when he saw you, really saw you, something softened around his eyes.

“Wow,” you breathed.

He stepped closer. “Likewise.”

There was music, low and elegant.

He offered you his hand.

And when you took it, the world fell away.

You danced like you’d known each other forever. Quiet steps. A shared rhythm. A warmth you didn’t know how to carry in words. His hand on your back. Yours at his shoulder. Eyes never leaving one another’s.

When the final note faded, he didn’t let go.

And when he walked you home through the quiet streets—through alleys lit by vending machines and the distant hum of traffic—you didn’t want to say goodbye.

So you didn’t.

You took his hand.

Led him upstairs.

And kissed him like it was the only magic you still believed in.

⋆｡°✩

He led you to the bedroom like he was afraid the spell might break. The city lights spilled in through the blinds in fractured gold, brushing along your skin when he pushed your jacket from your shoulders, slow and careful. When you reached for him, it was with both hands and everything you hadn’t said all evening.

He was warm beneath your touch. Real. No prince. No fantasy. Just him.

And you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted a fairy tale.

He kissed you as if he meant to remember every sound you made. His mouth moved slowly along your jaw, your collarbone, down the centre of your chest—each touch deliberate, tender. His hands never rushed. He made room for you to gasp, to pause, to smile between breaths. He only moved closer when you pulled him in.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

He touched your face like he wanted to say something back, but just couldn’t.

⋆｡°✩

Clothes slipped away quietly. The warmth between you built in slow waves—hands gliding over skin, mouths tracing every curve, breath curling soft and shaky in the quiet.

It was not hurried. It was not practised.

It just was.

Every sigh from you drew one from him. Every time you reached for him, he was already there. When he finally pressed against you fully, it wasn’t about lust—it was something deeper. A need to feel known. To be held in a way that felt like truth.

You trembled. He kissed you through it. Moved slowly. Anchored you.

The rhythm you found was soft. Gentle. Like music made without notes. It built in heat, not force. In need, not hunger. Until the world narrowed to just breath and skin and the steady echo of your name on his lips.

You let go with your head tilted back and your heart aching with how much you felt. He followed, arms wrapped around you like he didn’t want to let go. As if he were terrified you’d vanish if he blinked.

⋆｡°✩

Later, the two of you lay tangled in quiet.

His fingers trailed absent-minded patterns against your spine. You watched the light move across the ceiling and listened to the city outside. For the first time in your life, you didn’t wonder if this was a dream.

You knew it was real.

And that, somehow, was even better.

The morning came softly.

You woke with Nanami’s arm still draped across your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. The light through the curtains was a pale gold, gentle, hesitant. The kind of morning that didn’t rush you.

You didn’t move at first.

Not because you were afraid—but because you didn’t want to disturb what felt, impossibly, like peace.

When you did shift, just slightly, his grip tightened. A subtle, instinctive pull that made your chest ache in the best way.

You turned to face him.

He blinked once, slowly, then smiled the smallest, softest smile you’d ever seen on him. No walls. No filters. Just… him.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

He answered with a kiss, quiet and unhurried, like a secret passed between you.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the rustle of sheets, the hush of breath, and the way his hand never left yours.

Until the doorbell rang. You both froze.

Nanami groaned. “Tell me that’s not your enchanted raccoon again.”

You laughed. “Megumi is a chipmunk.”

“Not better.”

You pulled on your robe as Nanami padded to the door. He opened it—

And found Toji standing on the other side, holding out a glinting red apple in the palm of his hand.

“I come bearing brunch,” Toji said. “Very specific brunch.”

Nanami frowned. “You’re supposed to be in jail.”

“I was bored.”

You stepped into the hall, hair tousled, smile still warm from sleep. “Oh! Good morning—”

“Don’t eat that,” Nanami cut in, pointing at the apple. “That’s definitely cursed.”

Toji looked wounded. “What, just because it’s glossy and red and I’m a former assassin working for a magic sociopath? Wow. Judgmental.”

You squinted at it. “Is it poisoned?”

Toji hesitated. “Maybe just a little.”

Nanami reached for the taser.

Toji backed up. “I didn’t give it to him yet! Geez. No appreciation for dramatic timing.”

⋆｡°✩

But later that evening, after laughter, after tea, after something that felt dangerously close to happiness, you stepped into the kitchen alone.

The apartment was quiet. Nanami was brushing his teeth. Nobara had passed out face-first on the couch.

And there, sitting in the fruit bowl like it belonged, was the apple.

Red. Shiny. Smelling faintly of roses and honey.

You stared at it. A whisper trailed through your thoughts.

Forget him.

Forget all of this.

One bite—and it all goes back to the way it was. The ball. The prince. The perfect fairytale ending.

You reached out. Touched the apple’s skin.

And just as your fingertips curled around it, A voice behind you said, silk-smooth and evil:

“I knew you’d choose the story over the ending.”

You turned.

Meimei stood in the doorway, all dark velvet and cold eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t over.

You stepped back instinctively.

The apple clattered to the floor, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop, glinting under the overhead light like something out of a dream you no longer trusted.

Meimei smiled, slow and catlike. She looked impossibly at ease, standing in Nanami’s kitchen like she owned it. Not a wrinkle in her dress, not a hair out of place. Like she hadn’t crossed dimensions to murder you.

“Not quite the fairy tale you imagined, is it?” she said. “Too loud. Too grey. Too human.”

Your hand hovered behind you, searching for the counter. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her eyes gleamed. “Neither should you.”

Nanami’s voice rang from down the hall. “Everything okay?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Meimei was already moving.

Her hand struck with blinding speed, a push like wind and stone. The world lurched. You slammed back into the cabinet with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

“You should’ve stayed in the story,” she said. “Married your prince. Let me keep my crown.”

Your vision blurred. You tried to speak—call out, cry for Nanami—but the words got lost between your heartbeat and the copper taste in your mouth.

Meimei knelt beside you, lifted the fallen apple with two fingers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s painless. Mostly. And after midnight, no one will remember you anyway.”

You reached for her wrist.

She offered the apple.

You hesitated.

And that was all she needed.

She pressed it to your lips—gentle, deceptively so—and the moment your teeth sank in, the world tipped sideways.

The floor vanished.

Your limbs went cold.

And then everything went black.

⋆｡°✩

Nanami found you less than a minute later.

The apple was split open on the tile. Your body lay crumpled against the cabinets, motionless. Too still.

For a second—just one—he couldn’t move.

Then he was at your side. Kneeling. Shaking your shoulders. Repeating your name over and over like it was a prayer he was too late to make.

Your eyes didn’t open.

Your chest didn’t rise.

Nobara screamed from the living room. Toji cursed. Someone called Geto. But all Nanami could do was hold you—arms wrapped tight around your limp frame—while the clock on the wall ticked closer to midnight.

And nothing happened.

⋆｡°✩

They gathered at the ball.

Meimei, radiant and smug, stood on the highest balcony like a queen crowned by cruelty. Gojo arrived too late. Nobara cried so hard her nose bled.

And Nanami—quiet, steady, breaking in the worst way—pressed one final kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, broken.

And just as the clock struck twelve—

You breathed.

Your fingers curled in his lapel.

And your eyes opened.

⋆｡°✩

Meimei screamed.

She transformed—claws, wings, teeth. A dragon in heels. She lunged for Nanami. For you.

And you, in your borrowed suit and bare feet and messy hair, picked up the nearest decorative sword and ran.

You climbed, ducked, and dodged. She followed. Fire at your heels. Wind at your back.

On the rooftop, it ended.

One wrong step. One well-timed slip.

She fell.

And you watched as the last petal of the old story turned to ash on the breeze.

⋆｡°✩

The next morning was warm.

Gojo returned to Andalasia. Geto stayed behind, promising to stop being dramatic about joint custody. Toji left Tokyo with a train ticket and a new appreciation for tasers.

You opened a small fashion studio.

And Nanami?

He stood beside you, hand in yours, watching Nobara chase pigeons down the street.

“Are you really staying?” he asked.

You looked at him.

Smiled.

“I already am.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq @gaozorous-rex-blog @idkmissgurl @sooniebby @seomn

[woniedarlin]

HI I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR WRITING!! i’m obsessed

here me out a ex to lovers jungwon

like they were childhood family friends and they secretly dated, but due to jungwon getting distant they broke up. then yn’s family surprise her to a new house which is opposite jws! ˚✧₊⁎❝᷀ົཽ≀ˍ̮ ❝᷀ົཽ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Across the Street, Across the Years

Pairing: Ex! Jungwon x fem! reader

Synopsis: You were childhood friends. But even the closest bonds can break… especially when love gets involved.

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, drama

Author's note: Wow! Another ex-to-lovers story — I know, I know 😅 Thank you so much to the lovely anonie who requested this one. Not gonna lie, it was a bit of a struggle to piece together (angst always does this to me), but I really hope you all enjoy it. Happy reading! 💌

Warning: This story contains heartbreak, unresolved tension, crying scenes, cursing and emotional vulnerability. Reader discretion is advised.

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

Alternate universe of Shared Custody

You were lying on your bed staring at old pictures you should’ve deleted a long time ago. Jungwon was smiling at something off-camera. Another one where the two of you were sitting shoulder to shoulder. You looked stupidly happy. And then came the memory…

“Let’s break up,” you had said.

You were the one who said it, but he made it easy. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t fight it. He only agreed. And that was the last real conversation you had with him.

Since then, he has done everything he could to avoid you, and honestly, he did a great job. There were no texts, awkward run-ins, or anything else. He made disappearing look easy. The thing is, your families never drifted. The Yangs and your parents stayed close, though it was long since you saw them. However, whenever the Yangs were over, it was only ever his parents, sometimes his sister, and never him. And that worked.

Until now. It all happened so suddenly.

One minute, your parents were saying things like “fresh start” and “less traffic,” the next, your room was packed into boxes you didn’t remember sealing. Now, you were in the backseat of the car, your cheek resting against the window and watching the neighborhoods change. You weren’t paying attention until something started to feel… off.

You sat up a little straighter. That corner house with the blue shutters. The crooked basketball hoop is still hanging above a cracked driveway. The exact tree you once scraped your knee under when you were seven.

Your heart slowed as you looked around, really looked. This street wasn’t just familiar. It was his street. You didn’t say anything as the car pulled up to a cream-colored house directly across from the one you’d tried to forget. Your mom turned from the passenger seat, smiling as if this was the best surprise ever. “Well? Looks nice, right?”

No way.

You forced a nod. But your eyes never left the house across the street. The one you used to visit without knocking. The one you haven’t seen the inside of in years. The one that used to feel like a second home before it didn’t. And just like that, the past wasn’t behind you anymore.

It was right across the street.

👾

Boxes were everywhere. Half of them were still sealed, stacked in corners of rooms that didn’t feel like yours. Your shoes were missing, your charger was tangled, and the air smelled like fresh paint and wood. You sat on the edge of your new bed as if you could call it that. The house across the street was in full view. Of course, it was. You heard a knock on your door, followed by the soft creak of it opening. “Hey,” your mom said, poking her head in. “We’re ordering food. You want anything?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you asked, “When were you going to tell me it was this street?”

She was surprised. “What do you mean?”

You turned your head slightly. “That this house is across from their house.”

She stepped into the room and sat on the bed near you. “We didn’t know at first,” she said. “I mean, we knew it was the same area, but when we found out it was right across…” She then continued. “We didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

You looked at her while your eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“I thought you and Jungwon-” she stopped herself. “You never told us what happened.”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “There was nothing to tell.”

She studied your face for a moment. Then she nodded. “We didn’t mean to drop this on you,” she said gently. “But this place is good for us. Closer to work, and it’s safer.”

You didn’t argue. It wasn’t like you could stop the move now. But the knot in your stomach was still there. Your mom stood up, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Come down when you’re ready. I’ll order you your usual.” When she left, you sat there for a while longer. Eyes still on the house across the street.

You finally made your way downstairs with your hoodie on and your hair a little messy from unpacking and sitting too long. You can smell the take-out food while you are going. Then, there came the knock. Three soft raps on the front door. You froze halfway down the stairs. Your mom walked over, cheerful as ever. “That must be them.”

Them?

She opened the door with a warm smile. “Oh my gosh! You came already!”

There they were...

Mr. and Mrs. Yang.

Your dad joined her at the door, shaking hands and laughing. “You two look the same,” he said.

“And you’ve lost weight!” Mrs. Yang teased, then peeked past your parents into the house. “Where is she?”

You were at the bottom of the stairs, one foot still on the last step.

“Oh-” your mom turned and waved you over. “Come say hi.”

You managed a small smile as you walked toward them.

Mrs. Yang’s face lit up. “There you are. Look at you. You’ve gotten so beautiful.”

Mr. Yang nodded with a warm chuckle. “You have. I barely recognized you! You’re all grown up now.”

You smiled politely. “Hi, Mr. Yang. Mrs. Yang.”

Mrs. Yang stepped forward to give you a gentle hug. Oh, you missed them so much. “We’re so happy you’re here,” she said. “Really. It’s been too long.”

You nodded again, unsure what to say. They meant well. They always had. But being here, this close to him, made your chest feel tight. Your mom gestured toward the kitchen. “We were just about to eat. Do you want to join us? There’s plenty.”

Mrs. Yang laughed. “Don’t tempt me. We just came to welcome you and let you know we’re right across the street if you need anything.”

Right across the street.

You knew that already.

Just as Mrs. Yang was about to head out the door, she paused because she had just remembered something. “Oh, and Jungwon’s around,” she said casually. “He’s just been busy these days, but I’m sure he’ll be surprised when he finds out you’re living right across.”

Your mom gave a little laugh. “They haven’t seen each other in so long.”

“I know,” Mrs. Yang smiled, looking at you. “You two used to be inseparable.”

You forced another polite smile.

Mr. Yang chuckled. “He’s not a kid anymore either, you’ll see. Taller. Quieter. Always off somewhere.”

“Oh please,” Mrs. Yang rolled her eyes. “He’s still the same at home. He sleeps in too much. Leaves his laundry everywhere.”

They laughed again. Your parents laughed too.

You didn’t.

You were already back to staring at the floor.

“I’ll tell him you said hi,” Mrs. Yang said sweetly, touching your arm. “He’ll be happy to know you’re back.”

You nodded but said nothing.

Because no matter how easy she made it sound, you knew it wouldn’t be.

He had made sure of that.

👾

It was summer. You were in the backyard of the Yangs’ house. Jungwon had his phone angled up, trying to take a photo of the two of you, but your hand flew up and covered his face. “Stop,” you laughed, pulling away. You’re going to get us caught.”

“So what if we do?” he teased, trying again. “They’ll just think we’re cute.”

You gave him a look. “You say that now. Wait until my mom gives the talk.”

Jungwon cringed. “Okay, maybe not that cute.” You both laughed and then… quiet. He looked at you. “You know,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours, “I still can’t believe you asked me out first.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? Were you planning to?”

“I was scared,” he admitted. “People always surrounded you. I didn’t think I had a chance.”

You nudged his shoulder. “Idiot. You were the only one I noticed.”

He smiled. Then, as if the world had stopped rushing for a moment, he leaned in and kissed you like the hundred quiet kisses before it. And when you both pulled away, laughing again because his nose bumped into yours, it was obvious neither of you wanted to leave that little bubble.

Well, that was in the past. None of it mattered today.

👾

You weren’t sure why you stepped outside. Maybe you told yourself it was just for fresh air. Being around boxes and bubble wrap and your parents’ laughter was suffocating. Perhaps you just needed space. But deep down, you knew better. You walked out onto the porch while your arms wrapped loosely around you. The sky was dark now. The neighborhood was quiet. Still, you stepped down from the porch and wandered a little toward the street, eyes scanning the familiar silhouettes of the houses around you. And then, before you could stop yourself, they landed across the road.

His house. It's still the same paint. Still that light over the garage that flickered once before staying on. You weren’t expecting to see him and didn’t want to. But a strange part of you hoped… maybe. Then the front door creaked open. Your breath caught.

Jungwon? gasp

oh it wasn’t him lol. It was his sister stepping out to throw something into the bin. She didn’t see you; if she did, she would have greeted you after a long time. She disappeared back inside a second later. You exhaled slowly. No Jungwon. Yet. And still, your heart was racing. You turned back toward your house, not ready to admit what you hoped for.

👾

It was the next morning when it happened. You were barely awake with your phone in one hand, and your mom’s annoying “Can you grab the mail?” ringing in your ears as you stepped outside. The sunlight was not too bright yet, and the street felt sleepy. You walked to the mailbox, flipping through a few envelopes, and heard footsteps. You didn’t think much of it. Not until you looked up.

Jungwon.

Coming from the other direction with earbuds, he almost didn’t look at you.

Almost.

But then his eyes looked up briefly, and they met yours.

You froze.

So did he.

It felt like time stopped.

Though, his expression didn’t change, his lips parted slightly.

Neither of you said anything.

Just like that, he kept walking.

Past you.

Down the street.

As if you were a stranger.

But you weren’t.

And he knew it.

👾

You saw him more now. Too much, honestly. Every other weekend, it felt like your parents were throwing open the door for Mr. and Mrs. Yang. He didn’t avoid you anymore. But he didn’t look at you either. Not unless he thought you weren’t looking. He was civil. Effortlessly fine in how people are when they’ve had years to perfect pretending. But you saw the way his jaw clenched whenever someone mentioned your name. You caught how he paused before answering anything that had to do with you. And you hated that your heart still noticed.

That night, both families had dinner together. Again. You tried to stay upstairs with your door cracked just enough to hear the laughter below but not be part of it until your mom called you down with a warning tone. So you went.

He was already there when you entered the dining room. Your mom smiled. “There she is. Sit. We were about to start a round.”

You sat across from him. You didn’t look at him.

Mrs. Yang laughed. “You remember how these two used to team up and crush everyone, right?”

You forced a smile. “That was a long time ago.”

“Still could,” Jungwon said casually while eyes were on his cards. “If we actually spoke.”

You looked up. Straight at him. “That requires you to show up, though.”

His jaw tensed. “Guess I’m showing up now.”

“Yeah. Years late.”

The table went silent. Your dad chuckled awkwardly as he clears his throat. “Let’s just play, yeah?”

The game started. You focused on your hand. Avoided his gaze. But you felt his eyes watching. Waiting. What a bitch. You played a good round. Won it, even. Heh. When you laid your final card down, Jungwon spoke again. “Still good at pretending everything’s fine, hm?”

You looked at him. “You would know,” you said. “You wrote the manual.” Another silence. This one is heavier. You stood up, collecting your empty glass. “I’m done playing.” No one stopped you as you walked out. Not even him. But you knew he was watching.

You closed the door to your room with more force than you meant to. It wasn’t even a real fight. And still, your chest ached like he’d screamed at you. It was the first time you two had spoken in years. Actual words. Not glances, not awkward nods across a room. Words that meant something, even if neither admitted it out loud.

And ugh, it was awful. Worse than silence. At least in silence, you could pretend it didn’t hurt. You could tell yourself maybe he didn’t know what to say or that it didn’t matter anymore. But now? now you knew. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your hands. He used to hold them. Memorize the lines on your palm. You laughed bitterly under your breath. Pathetic.

Downstairs, you could still hear your parents talking. Glasses clinking. Laughter floated up the stairs like nothing had happened, as if you hadn’t just exchanged barbed history over a card game and called it small talk. You weren’t crying. You were holding it in. Because letting it out meant admitting something still lived under your skin. And you’d spent years trying to kill it.

👾

Jungwon leaned against the bathroom sink, gripping the edge to hold him together. The cold water didn’t help. He’d splashed his face twice, but his pulse still wouldn’t calm down. It was the first time you’d spoken to him in years. And you didn’t even raise your voice, which somehow made it worse. You never had to shout to make him feel like shit.

Your words had landed clean. You knew exactly where to hit, and he deserved that. And yet… he couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked when you said them. Same voice. Same mouth. Same eyes. It was so sharp when you were angry, but it was still impossible to look away from.

You still looked the same. You’re not the girl with messy braids and scraped knees from when you were eight. But you were still beautiful. So beautiful. And tonight? You stood across from him and made him feel like a stranger. No, worse. Like someone who didn’t deserve to be remembered.

He’d avoided you for so long. Thought he was doing the right thing and giving you space, staying out of your life. But standing across that dinner table, every part of him wanted to break the distance. To touch your hand. To ask if you were as okay as you looked.

But you weren’t.

He knew you.

You were mad.

Still hurt.

Still beautiful.

And maybe he was still yours, in some twisted, broken timeline where things hadn’t gone so wrong.

He looked up at his reflection.

His face didn’t show it.

But inside?

He was seventeen again.

And he was losing you all over again.

👾

Flashback

It didn’t happen all at once. It was subtle. It was like a thread being pulled loose, stitch by stitch until the fabric didn’t hold the same. He started canceling plans more often. First, it was because of exams. Then, his sister needed help. Then he was just tired. And when you’d text him things like “Are we okay?” He’d reply hours later with, “Yeah, just busy. Don’t overthink.”

You told yourself not to. But how could you not when even his kisses felt distracted? You remember one night. You were sitting beside the old shed between your yards, where you used to meet as kids. “I missed you,” you’d said softly. He was looking at his phone. You waited.

He glanced up. “Huh?”

You repeated it. Slower this time. “I missed you.”

He smiled. A weak one. It didn’t even reached his eyes. “I’m right here.”

But he wasn’t. Not the boy who used to write little notes and leave them under your window. Not the one who memorized your class schedule so he could “accidentally” bump into you. You stared at him for a long time that night. And he didn’t ask why.

A week later, you ended it. In your room. On the phone. Because he didn’t even come over anymore.

“Let’s break up.”

Three words.

He was quiet for a second. Then: “If that’s what you want.”

That was it. No fight. No protest. No, wait, please. Only silence. And for some reason, that hurt more than if he’d screamed. Because now you knew: he let go long before you did.

👾

You didn’t sleep much. You stared at the ceiling for a long time after the sun rose. There was something about being here where everything had started. Where it also fell apart. And now that you’d spoken to Jungwon again, the silence you’d grown used to suddenly felt worse than the noise. Your phone buzzed with a message from your mom: “Mrs. Yang invited us over for brunch. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

You stared at the text. It was almost funny how no one else felt the weight of things but you. Like you hadn’t once memorized the way her son kissed you. Like you hadn’t once cried into your pillow every time she smiled at you, asking how school was, while never knowing her boy was ignoring your texts.

You got up anyway. Slipped on something decent. Washed your face until you didn’t look like you’d barely slept. When you came downstairs, your mom smiled like nothing was strange. “Perfect timing! they’re already outside setting the table.”

Well, You could turn back. Say you weren’t feeling well. Lie, like he did. But a reckless voice inside you whispered: Face him. So you stepped out. The Yangs were laughing. He looked up. You locked eyes. And just like that, the atmosphere changed.

The table was set with cut fruit, eggs, warm bread, and that familiar floral tablecloth the Yangs always brought out when guests came. Your mom was laughing with Mrs. Yang about something that had to do with old PTA meetings. Mr. Yang had already offered your dad his second cup of coffee. It should’ve felt like home. It didn’t.

Jungwon sat diagonally across from you. He was far enough not to be obvious but close enough that every movement he made was loud in your mind. You decided not to look at him. But you glanced up, and he was already looking. You both looked away at the same time. “Did you say hi to Jungwon?” your mom asked lightly. It was obvious that your parents and his were trying to get you two close despite not knowing what happened.

You forcedly smiled. “Yeah, last night.”

“Oh right,” Mrs. Yang chimed in. “It’s been years since you two caught up. You’re both so grown now. Jungwon, doesn’t she look beautiful?”

He coughed into his cup. You pressed your lips into a smile and stared at your plate. Jungwon cleared his throat. “She does.” The table went quiet for a second. Then your dad said something about the weather, and the adults kept talking. You picked at your food. Jungwon didn’t say another word.

👾

You didn’t volunteer to help clean up. Your mom made you. You agreed only because you needed the silence. But the silence didn’t come alone. The screen door creaked open behind you. Then footsteps. Then him. You didn’t turn. You said, “I’ve got it.”

“I know,” Jungwon said. “Still.” He reached past you for a dish towel. Now, it was the two of you. Standing too close to the sink. Water ran over your hands. You passed him a plate. Neither of you flinched with the sudden hand contact. It was just the sound of rinsing, drying, and stacking. Then he spoke. “So… this wasn’t planned?”

You kept your eyes on the plate. “No. Surprise.”

Jungwon gave a dry laugh. “Right.”

You handed him another plate. “Why? Would you have warned me?”

He paused. “Would you have stayed away?”

You didn’t answer that.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said. “Not like this.”

“Me neither,” you replied. “But you did a good job avoiding me all these years.”

He didn’t deny it. You looked at him then. He was older. Sharper jaw, broader shoulders. Same eyes. The same mouth you used to know too well. Still handsome. “You look tired,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He huffed a soft breath. “You look the same.”

“No, I don’t.”

He nodded. “You’re right. You’re-” His voice caught. “You’re more. Still beautiful.”

You turned back to the sink. “Don’t.”

“I mean it.”

“That’s worse.”

Jungwon set the plate down.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said.

You hated how much you wanted to believe that.

You didn’t reply.

He didn’t push.

And for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any fight you ever had.

You turned off the faucet harshly. You faced him. Your voice came out barely. But it hurt more than shouting ever could. “You don’t get to say that.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m beautiful. That you never stopped thinking about me.” He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak. “You don’t get to look at me like that when you were the one who left me behind.”

“I didn’t leave-”

“You did,” you breathed. “You just didn’t have the guts to say it.” You continued, “I was seventeen, Jungwon,” your voice cracked, “and I kept making excuses for you. ‘He’s just stressed. He’s tired. He still cares.’ But you were already pulling away and pretending you weren’t.” And still, you kept your voice down. For the parents outside. For the dignity you barely held onto. “I went to sleep every night wondering what I did wrong,” you said. “And you were just out there, acting like we never happened. Smiling at my family. Hugging my mom. Texting less. Showing up late. Not showing up at all.”

He swallowed hard. Said nothing. You almost laughed. “I used to wait for you. Even after we broke up, I’d still look for you in crowds. Pathetic, right?”

“No,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” you warned. “Don’t say sorry. Don’t pretend now.” You stared at the boy you once knew. At the stranger he became. “I loved you,” you said, quieter than ever. “And you loved me in the beginning. I know that. But near the end… I was just convenient.”

“That’s not true.”

“Maybe not to you,” you murmured. “But it was to me.”

You stepped back. He looked like he wanted to reach for you. Like something in him ached. But you shook your head. And your final words were soft. “You don’t get to say those things just because you regret it now.”

Then you left him there alone with the truth you carried for years.

👾

He remembered the day it started. Not the day he stopped loving you because he never did. But the day it all began to slip. He was seventeen, phone buzzing with your name lighting up the screen. A simple message: “Call me when you’re free?”

He wasn’t. He stared at the text as it asked him to be someone he didn’t know how to be anymore. Because lately… you saw him like he was made of gold. And he felt like none of those things. That was the problem. You looked at him like he could carry the world. But he was already struggling to carry himself.

Between school, expectations, quiet family problems he didn’t talk about, and the creeping fear of growing up too fast. He started to pull away. Slowly. He didn’t want you to see the cracks, not because he wanted distance. He couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing you. You were always so sure. So bright. And he was… drowning in the quiet.

He thought you might get tired first if he pulled back gently. Perhaps you'd move on if he made himself a little less available. You wouldn’t have to watch him become this…this version of him that wasn’t enough. He didn’t expect you to hold on so tightly. And by the time he realized he wanted to reach back… it was too late. You weren’t looking anymore. You had stopped waiting. He remembered the last time you kissed. It was raining. You had laughed against his mouth. And even then, he already knew he didn’t deserve it. He loved you.

He didn’t know how to be loved by you without falling apart.

👾

You hadn’t planned on being here long. Something to get your mom off your back. When you entered the next aisle and stopped, you were half-distracted, scrolling your list. Jungwon stood a few feet away, back half-turned, reading the label on a bottle of sesame oil. Him again?

He hadn’t seen you yet. You should’ve turned around and walked to another aisle. But you didn’t. He looked up. Eyes catching yours. He did a polite nod. You gave one back. Just two people standing in front of a shelf of condiments with too much history between them. He was the one who broke it

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You shop here now?”

“Guess so.”

He nodded. You could tell he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They shifted between his jacket pockets and the bottle he’d been holding. You reached for a bag of rice to have something to do. He glanced down at your basket. “You still drink oat milk?”

Oh? He remembered that.

“I didn’t realize you were keeping notes.”

“I wasn’t.”

He hesitated. “About the other day…”

“Don’t,” you said quietly.

His eyes met yours again.

“I’m just saying- I heard you. That’s all.”

You nodded. Once. Not because it fixed anything. But because you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

“Alright,” he said. “Well. I’ll let you finish up.”

You stepped to the side to let him pass.

👾

The knock came at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your parents were out. So, you opened the door and froze. Jungwon. Soaked in the rain. Hair dripping. Clothes clinging to him. His chest was rising and falling that seemed like he’d been running or crying. He looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost. And then he broke. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking instantly. You barely processed the words before he stumbled forward a step, then dropped. Right there on your porch.

He fell to his knees. “I’m sorry-” he gasped. “I’m sorry. please. I’m so sorry-” You stood frozen. “I should’ve never let go of you,” he cried. “I was stupid and scared, and I thought being distant was the right thing, but it killed me-”

“Jungwon..get up- come inside, you’re freezing-”

“No!” he sobbed. “No- let me say this. Just let me say it- please-”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said while crying. “For years- I’d wake up thinking I could text you. That maybe you’d still remember my favorite coffee or the way I held your hand too tight when I was nervous-” He clutched his shirt because he couldn’t breathe. “I dreamed of marrying you. Of having a stupid little house with you and waking up next to you. I dreamed of our kids,” his voice cracked. “You and me on a porch swing. A dog. A life.”

“And then I’d wake up.” He looked up at you, and you could barely recognize the boy in front of you. His eyes were red. His voice was ruined. “And you weren’t there.” The rain wouldn’t stop. Neither did he. “I’m sorry I let us go. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to love you out loud. I was young and selfish, and I ruined it all. But not a single day has passed that I didn’t want to return.”

You were shaking now, too. Tears gathered in your eyes, even as you tried to hold them back.

“I loved you,” he whispered. “I never stopped. I loved you in the silence. In the years we didn’t speak. I loved you when I walked past your street and didn’t knock. I loved you when I saw your mother and had to act like you didn’t still live in my head.”

“I still love you now.”

Every bone in your body wanted to collapse beside him.

Though, you didn’t move.

Because he needed to say it. All of it.

And oh, he was saying it.

He was still crying. Bent forward. Hands trembling against the wet floor. So, you knelt. Now you were face to face again. Closer than you had been in years. He didn’t look up at first. Couldn’t.

You reached out, and you whispered, “…Tell me.”

“Tell me why,” you said again. “You owe me that.”

His lips trembled. He nodded. “I was seventeen,” he began. “And I was terrified.” You said nothing. “I kept thinking I wasn’t enough. Not for you. Not for the life you deserved. You were brilliant. You were going somewhere. And me… I didn’t even know who I was.” His voice cracked again. “And the more I loved you, the more I panicked. Because what if I held you back? What if someday you woke up and realized you could do better?”

Your tears are beginning to sting. But still, you listened. “So I started pulling away,” he whispered. “Bit by bit. Hoping you’d let go before I ruined you. But you didn’t,” he said, tears streaming again. “You stayed. You kept trying. You loved me so hard it made it worse.”

“Because you were everything,” he choked. “And I was scared to become your mistake.”

“You should’ve told me,” you whispered.

“I know,” he breathed. “Oh, I know.”

“I thought about you every day,” he murmured. “Even when I tried not to. Even when I saw you across the street and had to pretend I didn’t feel like throwing up.”

“I wanted to be the one,” he said. “But I didn’t know how.”

And for a second, you saw it all. The scared boy he was. The hurting man he became. And the part of him that never stopped loving you. “You idiot,” you say low and cupped his cheeks. “You think I didn’t want to be there for you? That I didn’t want to help carry whatever was crushing you? But you shut me out. You pushed me away.”

Your thumb grazes a tear going down his face. “Do you have any idea how much I cried? How much I needed you to trust me?” He swallows hard and struggles to meet your gaze. “You never gave me a chance. And I-” your voice cracks, “I still love you despite lying to myself that I don’t anymore.”

You pull him closer in a fierce hug. You needed him. “I’m here,” you whisper fiercely. “But you have to stop running. Because I’m not letting go.” He clings to you, sobbing into your shoulder, the weight of years and pain pressing down between you but now was beginning to lift.

👾

The rain had stopped. Your arms around your knees while Jungwon sat beside you with a towel draped over his shoulders. You didn’t speak for a long time. He didn’t, either. Finally, you broke the silence. “You should’ve told me,” you said. “Whatever it was. Whatever made you disappear like that.”

He didn’t look at you when he answered. “I didn’t know how. I thought pushing you away would make it easier.”

“Easier for who?” You turned your head, looking at him sharply. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t easy for me. I hated you for it. And I hated myself for still loving you.”

You saw his eyes with guilt and shame. “I wanted to be the kind of person you could lean on,” he said. “But I wasn’t. I was scared, and everything felt like too much. So I ran.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to fix it,” you murmured. “But if you’re here, you don’t get to run again.”

He nodded. It was a promise to you.

👾

You were at the Yangs’ dining room along with your parents. You sat quietly at the table. It had been days since that night. Nothing had been declared. You were still learning how to be near each other again. You felt his eyes looking at you. And when he stood and murmured something about getting fresh air, you followed without a word. The soft murmur of your parents’ conversation inside faded as you stepped out onto the Yangs’ back porch. You spotted Jungwon already there. You thought he’d ignore you. But he didn’t. “You still hate the cold, don’t you?” he said, not looking at you.

You crossed your arms. “And you still remember.”

That made him glance your way. “Some things don’t go away.”

You walked over, leaving some space between you. The backyard had the same old trees. Same broken swing. “You used to push me on that,” you said. “Before everything turned complicated.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You always made me push you. Said you’d get higher if I did it.”

“I just liked hearing you complain.”

“That summer,” he said softly. “When we got together. I think about it most of the time.”

You looked away. “Do you also think about how it ended?”

“I do,” he said.

you asked, “Do you remember the night I asked you out?”

His voice was quiet. “You made me swear not to laugh.”

“And you swore.”

“And I didn’t laugh,” he said. “I was stunned. Because I loved you already and couldn’t believe you loved me back.”

You remembered that summer. That first kiss behind the garden shed. All of it lived somewhere in your mind until now.

“I never stopped,” he said. “Even when I disappeared. Even when I made you hate me, I still don’t know if I deserve a second chance, but…” He hesitated, then, “I don’t want to keep pretending that chapter’s closed.”

“I’m not promising anything,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I’m here.”

you reached for him. You cupped his face. You were still angry. But he leaned into it because he was starving for any piece of you. “You’re an idiot,” you said while tears welling up. “You could’ve just come back.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“I would’ve helped you.”

“I know that now.”

And then you kissed him. It was desperate. His hands gripped your waist, and you pulled him closer. When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours. “I missed you,” he whispered. You closed your eyes.

“I never left,” you said.

👾

The Yangs had invited your family again, but for brunch this time. You and Jungwon sat side by side, speaking only when necessary. Your mom, ever observant, glanced between the two of you. “You two seem… close again,” she said gently, more curious than probing.

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “That’s great. You two were always good friends.”

That was when Jungwon sat up straighter, his posture suddenly too formal for a casual meal. You felt his hand hold yours under the table, not to keep it, but to ask silently: Can I?

You gave a slow nod. Jungwon cleared his throat. “I need to say something.”

The room quieted. “I was with your daughter,” he said carefully. “We started dating when we were seventeen. We kept it between us, maybe because it felt too important. But I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” He looked at your parents directly. “I owe you both an apology for hiding it and for how I treated her when things got hard. I pulled away when I should’ve shown up. I didn’t explain. I let her carry the pain I caused. I was young, confused, and selfish. But those aren’t excuses.”

You saw your mother’s hand slowly reach for her glass. Your father listened. Jungwon continued. “These past years, even when we didn’t speak… I never stopped thinking about her. I didn’t stop loving her.” He paused. “And now that we’re talking again, I want to be honest. I love her. I always have. And if she’ll let me… I want to try again. Properly, this time.”

He took a breath. “I came here today to confess and ask for your blessing. I want to be with her openly and respectfully. And I want you to know that.” The room was quiet for a moment that felt like an eternity.

Then, your mom spoke first. “That’s not easy to say, son. And it’s not easy to earn trust back.”

Your dad finally nodded. “But the love that survives years of silence… that’s not small.”

Mrs. Yang smiled warmly. “He’s grown, hasn’t he?”

And then, Jungwon’s sister chimed in from the other side of the room, sipping her tea with a smirk. “I knew you two were a thing. Ya’ll ain’t slick.”

You let out a small laugh. Jungwon looked at you with a small smile, his eyes with relief. He had said it in front of everyone. No hiding. No running.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

[babydoll372]

Creeper

Pairings: stalker!wanda maximoff x reader

Word count: 1945

Warnings: wanda is really creepy, filming without permission, photo taking without permission, masturbation (r), nude videos, degradation, slight humiliation kink, stalking, obsessive behavior

Some may call Wanda a stalker, some may call her absurd and obsessive, but all she did was embrace her passions. She adored photography, she loved sketching too, but most importantly, she worshiped the very idea of you, and what better way to spend her days than to combine all three? You didn’t know her well, Wanda liked to believe you did but truthfully you barely even knew her first name. The two of you shared an art class at your college, but that was it. What did you know about Wanda? Nothing. What did she know about you? Everything from your name to your home layout.

While at a community college, you lived with your parents in the home that you grew up in, just like Wanda did. Except you two lived five towns away from each other, but she didn’t care, she drove out every single evening to ensure she caught sight of you. When you were sleeping, she’d either ascend into your bedroom and take photos, or she’d linger outside your window and do the same. She had a box beneath her bed at home complete with captivating love notes she wrote to you without ever sending. Photos, artwork, envisions for your future, and so on filled this box. There was no distrust in Wanda’s mind, she had to have you.

She planned her arrival to class that next day, following you from a distance so she could get to class at precisely the correct time to sit next to you. That way she could finally talk to you or simply look at you closer up. Today you were wearing jeans and a cardigan, she couldn’t blame you considering the more frigid fall weather. At one point you removed the cardigan to reveal a plain white t-shirt that was tucked into your pants, making her bite her lip as she obscured her phone by her leg to take a picture and then feigned to use the device to text someone when in reality she was staring shamelessly at you. She had to ask to use the restroom merely to get a breather, and once she returned she vowed to herself that in the next forty-three minutes left, she would muster up the courage to at least emit a word to you. And twelve minutes later, she did.

“That looks really good.” She shyly confessed, peeking at your artwork. If anyone else saw it they’d think it was mundane, but it came from you; it was a jewel to Wanda. You looked over and beamed at her, and the woman swore she nearly fell over in her stool at the way your teeth were just barely detectable, your lips flawlessly plump, and your eyes ostensibly gleaming in line with hers.

“Thank you! What are you making?” There was now a flow of dialogue, just what Wanda needed. She tinkered with her paintbrush as you leaned over a bit to look, and she could get the remotest whiff of your perfume. She didn’t know how to describe what she was making without sounding insane, without telling you the entangled bodies she was painting were meant to resemble what her mind pictured most periods out of the day with you.

“Oh, uh, it- it’s..it’s meant to be a symbol of love between two, uhm..two women..” She tested the waters, wanting to see how you reacted to that information.

“Wow, I would’ve never thought of something like that…can I take a photo once you’re done?” She blushed, quickly bobbing her head in a form of agreement as she truly presumed she saw you look her up and down out of the corner of her eye. You must have, she knew there was a connection between you two.

That night Wanda again left with her camera, setting up in the bushes near your bedroom very uncomfortably, but none of that matters when she witnesses your body via your window. Your room faced layers of woods, trees were the only things that could be found for miles, you thought you didn’t have anything to worry about besides possibly an animal seeing you, which you couldn’t care less about. Little did you know the girl you just spoke to for the first time today was what you had to look out for. She snapped hundreds - thousands of photos as you undressed and got into pajamas. She then watched as you reached into your drawer, grabbing an item you held close to your palm. She furrowed her brows in confusion, observing you set up your laptop as you lay comfortably on your bed and lowered your shorts, displaying a bullet vibrator to be the culprit. She quickly turned the camera on record and didn’t move for the next half an hour as she watched you grow frustrated from a lack of orgasm, and ultimately give up. She was a bit disappointed to not see you reach that stage, yet it only fueled her desire to assist you in getting there.

Her drive was full, all of these photos being transported into the printer for her to store in her secretive box, and the videotape for her to keep in an album in her computer software. She had an entire album dedicated to videos of you - photos too, nothing could be put past her.

On the coming Monday in her art class, she had never been more elated to see you. The prior week the Professor informed the class that the next project would be paired, involving a sketched design between two people, and she had been preparing herself to ask you. She went out and bought some of the perfumes she saw on your nightstand in hopes you’d identify the scent and be lured to her, and she brushed her teeth four times this morning to ensure you weren’t turned off by a foul breath.

“Hey, Y/N!” She internally cursed herself, remembering last class she didn’t ask for your name. She hoped you’d pass it off and, surprisingly, you did. “Do you have a partner yet for the assignment? T-the paired one?”

“Oh, no, I don’t. Do you want to be mine?” You asked with a lifted brow and a slight grin, and for a moment she felt like you could read her every thought; she felt skittish but yet thankful.

“I’d love to! Uhm, maybe we could work on it outside of school? You know, to make sure we don’t fall behind..” She heard a tiny chuckle from you and feared the worst, clasping her lips together as she was ready for rejection.

“Yeah, whatever you think will help us pass. Any day works for me, we’ll go to my place, okay?” She didn’t challenge you for one second, and that proved to be the right move when a few days later she was actually walking into your house in broad daylight for the first time. This time, you were awake, fully conscious, and aware of her presence. She met your parents briefly, ate the food they made, and even went into your room with you - the same room she watched you masturbate in a few nights ago. She couldn’t help but glance at the bed and wonder what else you had done before. Wanda rested her laptop on the soft mattress as she sat alongside you, the two of you pondering between different concepts for the design.

"Can we use your laptop? Mine's dead and charging it will take forever." You groaned at just the reminder alone of the lack of battery you had, and Wanda agreed, although uncertain as she opened the screen and quickly closed all tabs beside one. She held her tightening bladder while you sat next to her, simply just to feel your arm barely grazing against hers, long enough for you two to find the ideal reference. She finally asked to use your restroom and instructed you on how to save the photo. As she left the room you skimmed the 'recent' section of her files to find it, only to click on the wrong PDF. Your eyes widened as you found a photo of you taken from outside of your room, your breasts on display as you were stretching a shirt over your arms. You glanced up to ensure Wanda was still in the bathroom directly across from your bedroom before clicking to the next image, and the next, and the next. Then came a video. You remembered the exact moment recorded, it came from just the other night. When your project partner came back in, her small voice sounded out as she closed the door behind her.

"Did you figure out how to save it?" She sat back down with a small plop, glimpsing over to eye the screen only to quickly haul it away when she recognized what was on it. She was standing again, holding her laptop close to her as her pupils were blown in shock behind her glasses, her face reddened. "I- I can explain, I swear!" She proclaimed, yet nothing followed it. She heard your scoff and lowered her head, ready to be scolded and forced to leave, reasonably so.

"You dirty little perv...I would've never suspected such a sweet girl to be so nasty." She swallowed shakily, slowly peeking back up at you when she saw your body move to be mere inches away from her.

"I really am sorry, you were never meant to find this." She mewled, wiping one of her eyes quickly as you cooed mockingly.

"Oh, I know, I know. You just planned to get off while being a little creep, stalking me while I was naked- while I was fucking masturbating. Were you hoping I was thinking of you, hm?" She slowly nodded in mortification, biting her lip as her mind reeled with the reminder. She could visualize the day you'd lie in front of her, purposely and knowingly, reciting the acts as you moaned her name.

"I just want you to like me too, Y/N..." She couldn't justify her filming, her photography, her deep obsession - all she could do was beg for you to allow her to stay, to move past what she did.

"...You're lucky you're cute, Wanda."

That night she went home with a kiss on her cheek and a large, mindless grin on her face, your lipstick print just barely evident. She didn't dare erase it, even after her twin brother teasingly pointed it out so that her parents would ask hundreds of questions. She ignored them, going to her room and sighing happily as she tucked herself into bed - pausing when she received a notification from an unknown number.

'For your little collection ;)' The text read, and she opened the video attachment with furrowed brows, her volume button instantly being attacked so no one could hear the loud moaning from your end, the whimpers, the groans. She heard her name multiple times, and her eyes couldn't decide between focusing on your pulsing clit vibrating against your toy, your tight hole greedily accepting two fingers, or your plump breasts slightly squished together by your arms. Previously, you couldn't reach your needed orgasm. However, Wanda felt drool pooling around her bottom lip as your legs shook violently, your body twitching as a result of the overbearing pleasure you were feeling. You slowly eased your fingers away from your hole after the vibrator came to a stop, and the woman on the other end let out a small moan as you licked the digits clean, wishing her a goodnight in your raspy, cultivating voice.

She was going to have a good night indeed.

[krismas-holiday]

[ ROMBhack ]

[ More info/closeup of the sprites under the cut. ]

// Conceptually, this version of Ramb/Romb would join you in castle town after playing chapter 3...

As Ramb, he would offer you the ability to practice off-brand versions of ALL of the secret bosses; including his own where he would be wearing a funny version of his Romb form while attacking you with paper cut-out versions of his attacks. Future fights would be retroactively added so that you could return to your save with him in castle town and practice. The bullet patterns would be exactly the same, but the sprites would be changed to more accurately reflect the hitboxes.

If you were to unlock his secret boss fight, he would join castle town as Romb and offer the ability to play various (slightly modified) versions of the sword_hero games on the boards. Including modified versions of the secret ones... which would include the current mantle fight. Some would also contain extra fun secrets, or an endless mode board where you could get a high score.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #32

It all began when Dr. Jasmine Fenton—Jazz, to the brave and traumatized—walked into the Avengers Compound in five-inch block heels, a blood-red blazer, and a clipboard with everyone’s most damning psychological profiles printed in 12-point Times New Roman. She had been hired because, quote, “the last six therapists either quit, cried, or developed their own hero complexes.” SHIELD had gone through the best and brightest the world had to offer. They even tried a Wakandan empathy AI once. It cried. The AI cried.

So when Jazz Fenton walked in, armed with a dual PhD in clinical psychology and trauma therapy, the last thing they expected was that she’d personally know what hero trauma looked like. But she did. Her baby brother was a half-ghost interdimensional guardian who once got hit by a nuke and walked it off. Her parents were mad scientists who tried to dissect him. And her godfather was an immortal corporate vampire with a crown kink and a habit of kidnapping. She had seen things. She understood. And more importantly, she didn’t care. She wasn’t here to coddle them.

“Dr. Fenton,” Steve Rogers greeted politely that first morning.

“Please, call me Jazz,” she said with a smile that made even Natasha lower her coffee. “Or Doctor Fenton if you’re about to lie to me.”

Tony Stark made the mistake of raising an eyebrow. “Oh? What are you gonna do, psychoanalyze me into submission?”

She flipped to his file. “‘Severe abandonment issues, destructive self-worth tendencies, martyr complex buried under layers of narcissistic deflection, sleeps three hours a night, probably cries in the shower—’”

“I don’t cry in the shower!”

“That is because you don’t shower, Mr. Stark.”

That shut him up.

From that day onward, fear fell over the Avengers Compound like a thick, fragrant fog of anxiety. Jazz was everywhere. One moment she was on the roof with Clint discussing his grief over Budapest, the next she was in the lab with Bruce making him cry, and the moment after that she had Loki in handcuffs—not because he was arrested, but because he asked for them.

“I just think maybe I’m too attached to the idea of being hated,” Loki muttered, slouched on the therapy couch.

“You are,” Jazz replied, checking her notes. “You’re addicted to conflict because you’ve built your identity on being an outsider. Every time you’re offered genuine affection, you self-sabotage. You’re not a villain, you’re just a lonely youngest child.”

“I—” Loki blinked. “That is horrifically accurate. And incredibly offensive.”

“Cry harder, Sparklehorn.”

Thor, meanwhile, loved her. Adored her. Followed her around like an emotional support golden retriever with lightning powers. He kept trying to give her things—golden goblets, fur cloaks, an entire goat—until one day she casually picked up Mjolnir while fixing a crooked painting and everyone screamed.

“How the fuck—” Sam Wilson shouted.

“Why can she do that?” Peter Parker asked from the ceiling.

“Therapists shouldn’t be worthy!” Tony wailed. “It’s not natural!”

Jazz shrugged and handed the hammer back to Thor. “I was forged in the fires of Midwestern neglect and ghost radiation. You think Odin can break me? Try surviving your brother getting publicly disemboweled by a government robot while your parents take notes.”

She had no chill. None. She was the only person who called Wanda out on her grief projection, made Bucky talk about his repressed ballet skills, and forced Steve to draw a family tree so she could scream “YOUR ENTIRE FRIEND GROUP IS CODEPENDENT.”

“Group therapy!” she declared one Tuesday.

“No,” said literally everyone.

“Too bad. Show up or I will personally guilt you in front of the media using your own trauma receipts.”

And they did. They came. They came because they were afraid.

Tony sat with arms crossed. “This is stupid.”

“Tell that to your inner child.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Exactly.”

Clint sighed. “This is worse than Budapest.”

“Everything is worse than Budapest,” Natasha replied.

Wanda blinked slowly. “I think I just astrally projected my own anxiety. It’s hovering above me like a raincloud.”

Jazz didn’t even blink. “Let it hover. Let it watch you cry. Maybe it’ll finally grow up.”

Civil War? Canceled.

No one dared fight each other under Jazz’s watch. When tensions began rising between Tony and Steve over the Sokovia Accords, she locked them in a soundproof room with juice boxes and didn’t let them out until they hugged it out like the emotionally repressed golden retrievers they were.

“I will tranquilize you both,” she warned through the door. “I have the darts and the upper body strength. Don’t tempt me.”

They made up within the hour.

At one point, Nick Fury tried to get involved. He barged into one of Jazz’s sessions like he still ran SHIELD.

“What the hell kind of therapy involves throwing knives at a target while crying?” he demanded.

Jazz, unfazed, handed him a stress knife. “Want to try?”

He did. And then immediately rebooked weekly appointments.

By week four, the compound was transformed. Hulk was journaling. Peter was actually doing his homework. Wanda was learning healthy coping mechanisms that didn’t involve mind-controlling entire suburbs. Clint and Natasha were having pillow talks about emotional vulnerability. Even Loki was crocheting.

“Do you know what I’ve done?” he whispered as he stitched a duck.

“I’ve read your file,” Jazz said. “And your Tumblr tag. You’re not special.”

“I am special—”

“You’re traumatized, sweetie.”

Meanwhile, Tony—still deeply suspicious—began following her around trying to find proof she was a Hydra sleeper agent. What he found instead was her absolutely unhinged family.

“You’re related to who?” he asked over coffee one morning.

Jazz sighed. “My little brother is Danny Phantom, ghost-powered superhero and part-time physics major. My godfather is Vlad Masters, ex-billionaire and full-time supervillain with a complex. My parents are Jack and Maddie Fenton.”

Tony blinked. “The guys who duct-taped a rocket to a lawnmower and called it science?”

“The very same.”

“No wonder you’re like this.”

Jazz nodded. “Exactly. I was forged in chaos and trauma. Now I’m here to fix you.”

“I don’t want to be fixed.”

“Too bad. I’ve already started rebuilding your psyche.”

“What does that mean—”

“Check your inner monologue. Notice how it’s stopped calling you a worthless meat puppet?”

Tony screamed.

Even Doctor Strange, who allegedly had the answers to the universe, found himself in a corner drinking tea and rethinking the way he suppressed his emotions with sarcasm and facial hair.

“You’re not mystical, Stephen,” Jazz told him. “You’re just emotionally constipated.”

“I literally astral project.”

“Cool. Now try emotional projection. Maybe apologize to Wong.”

“…Wong is asleep.”

“Wake him up.”

By month two, even the press noticed. The Avengers were glowing. Smiling. Making eye contact during press conferences instead of brooding like middle school theater kids.

“What changed?” a reporter asked.

Tony grabbed the mic. “Her name is Jazz Fenton and she scares the hell out of us.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “She made me cry six times in one session. I told her about my dad.”

“She made me draw my feelings,” Clint added.

“I finally cried about Pietro,” Wanda whispered. “In public. It felt amazing. I think I vomited emotions.”

“Dr. Fenton helped me write a song about my grief,” Thor said proudly. “It’s a power ballad. With goats.”

And then came the incident.

The one time the Avengers tried to disobey her. Sam and Bucky had been arguing again. Loudly. And somewhere in the chaos, someone dared say, “It’s not like Jazz can stop us.”

Wrong.

So, so wrong.

Jazz calmly walked into the sparring room, confiscated Bucky’s knife mid-twirl, took Sam’s wings with one hand, and sat both men down with the force of divine intervention.

“You two,” she said in a voice that made the walls tremble, “are not enemies. You are trauma-bonded enemies-to-friends-to-exes-to-besties. You are a trope. You are a fanfiction tag. You are not about to regress into kindergarten slap fights because one of you forgot the others’ favorite breakfast order.”

“…He forgot my birthday,” Sam muttered.

“Because he has memory trauma! You have it too! You both need to go on a spa day and cry it out in a hot tub like normal people.”

And they did.

They actually did.

The day Jazz left for a conference—just one day—the entire compound fell into shambles. Loki started monologuing again, Peter accidentally built a sentient AI who wrote poetry about death, Wanda started glowing red again, and Tony tried to weaponize emotional damage via sarcastic limericks.

The moment she came back, they all lined up like chastised children.

“What did I say about emotionally projecting without supervision?” she asked.

“Don’t do it,” they chorused.

“And?”

Peter sniffled. “We missed you.”

“Damn right you did.”

Jazz smiled, terrifying and fond, and flipped her clipboard. “Now. Who wants to talk about their mother?”

And the Avengers, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, sat down.

Because nothing—not Chitauri, not Ultron, not even Thanos—was scarier than the therapist who could lift Mjolnir and your deepest childhood wound in the same breath.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton was the real hero. And everyone knew it.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ You didn’t escape

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/���𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ yandere, gaslighting, confinement, stalking, emotional dependency, infantilisation, drugging in zaynes part, ill post some fluffy mama’s princess after this :D

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ He simply let you run

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You’d been perfect.

Dressed in pretty pastels every day, lounging on the velvet daybeds he picked out just for you, reading those soft, dull housewife novels in the golden sun. You smiled when he kissed your forehead. You let him brush your hair after baths. You wore the tiaras he bought, the soft slippers embroidered with your initials. You even stopped flinching when he locked the estate doors behind you each night.

That’s why he let his guard down. Just a little.

Maybe it was the way he’d been skipping out on estate check-ins, coming home later, more distracted, fiddling with new pigment samples and murmuring about some ocean bloom only visible at dusk. Maybe it was because he hadn’t chained the gate from the inside this time. You weren’t sure. But you saw it. An opening. A sliver of chance.

And so, one stupid breathless night, you ran.

Through halls too familiar, past the pond where he collected shells with you, where he painted your name in pearl dust. You didn’t look back. You didn’t dare. Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you could feel the blood pounding in your ears louder than your slippered feet on the stone.

You made it.

Past the greenhouse.

Past the twisted trees.

Past the gate.

You were outside.

Free.

You collapsed on your knees in the dewy grass, lungs burning.

You did it.

You really—

Headlights.

Cool and calm. A car rolled up through the misty evening like it had all the time in the world.

The door clicked open.

And there he was.

Rafayel.

Leaning lazily against the open door, sleeves rolled, white shirt glowing against the dark sky. His blue and pink eyes shimmered under the headlights. He tilted his head, smiling in that half-lidded, sweetly mocking way he always did when he was about to say something awful.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Did you get it out of your system?”

You took a step back, but he was already walking toward you, slowly. Casually. Like he had all night. Like this was a game you both had planned.

“I almost believed you, you know,” he mused, voice soft, dragging fingers through his violet hair.

“The soft little housewife act. The smiles. The bathtime kisses.”

“But then again…”

“You’ve always been a little liar, haven’t you?”

You tried to scream when he touched you, but it came out strangled, cut off by the sharp pressure of his hand closing around your wrist. His touch wasn’t angry. No, Rafayel never got angry. He got disappointed. He got creative.

⸻

Back in the estate.

The house looked the same. But it felt different.

Colder. Brighter.

You weren’t even allowed to walk anymore. He carried you from room to room like a doll, even when you kicked, even when you screamed. He smiled through all of it.

“You want freedom, pearlie? I’ll take away everything until you forget what that even means.”

Your slippers were gone. Replaced with anklets, ones that chime when you walk, so he always knows where you are. Your books? Gone. Your soft pastels? Replaced with white. Nothing but white. White nightgowns. White bedding. A sterile, silent domestic paradise.

The windows were painted over in thick swirling pigments, his own blend. You weren’t allowed to know what time it was anymore.

He fed you by hand. Bathed you himself. Re-did your hair six times a day just to keep you near him. And the worst part?

He was sweeter now.

Clingier.

Cooing against your cheek as he tucked you into the pink canopy bed like a child.

“No more pretending, okay? No more tricks. Gege forgives you this time. But next time?”

His voice was a whisper behind your ear.

“I’ll clip your little wings myself, my pearl.”

And that night, as he slept curled around you like a serpent in satin sheets, you realized,

You never escaped.

He let you run.

And now he’s going to make sure you never even dream of it again.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

He had taken everything from you, but in the kindest way possible.

No shouting. No fights. Just a long, quiet evening at the estate months ago, the tension thick with sterile calm as he folded your resignation letter and slid it into an envelope. You’d been crumbling for weeks under his cool gaze, under the weight of his soft-spoken logic. “You’re overworked.” “You’re exhausted.” “I know your symptoms better than you do.” “I’ll take care of you now.”

And he had.

You lived in silk now. You slept in late. You didn’t even look at your hunter gear anymore, Zayne had donated them himself. All you had to do was wake up, look pretty, and let your husband handle everything. He made it easy. So easy you nearly forgot how it started.

You played the role.

Perfect little housewife.

You even looked to him at restaurants to order for you. “He knows what I like,” you’d say sweetly.

He’d smile. Quiet. Touched.

But something had changed lately.

He had surgeries piling up. Reports. Committee meetings.

He still scheduled your spa appointments and laid out your gowns, of course. But he was tired. His guard was thinning.

You thought you could time it.

While he was in surgery. While the estate was quiet.

Just a jog to the outer perimeter. You used to be a hunter, damn it. You knew how to move quietly. You could taste the wind. Freedom.

And then—

The soft crunch of tires behind you.

You turned, heart dropping to your stomach.

A black luxury sedan pulled up with deliberate, elegant precision. Not even a screech.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Zayne.

Impeccably dressed despite the late hour, his three-piece suit still buttoned, tie still perfect. No coat today. Just his sleeves rolled up slightly. Surgical gloves off. Glasses perched low on his nose.

His hazel-green eyes fixed on you from behind those silver wire frames.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

He just looked at you. Head tilted. Assessing.

Then he walked forward, each step echoing soft and clean across the stone. No rush. Not a hint of rage.

You tried to back away.

“That was irresponsible,” he said softly. “You’re not dressed for the cold. You didn’t bring your medication.”

He looked you up and down, gaze slow, clinical.

“Did you think I wouldn’t catch you?”

You whispered his name, panicked. He didn’t flinch.

“Get in the car.”

⸻

Back at the estate.

The silence was worse than shouting.

He sat you down at the edge of the medical wing he had built just for you. Not the bedroom. Not the bath. The medical wing.

Sterile. Cold. Bright.

He unbuttoned his sleeves slowly. Rolled them up. Sanitized his hands. Not a hair out of place. Not a single word.

You couldn’t stop shaking.

“You’ve been showing signs of agitation. Poor appetite. Elevated heart rate. Hallucinations of freedom.”

He leaned in closer, lifting your chin with two fingers.

“We’ll fix that.”

You cried when he put the medical cuffs around your wrists.

You begged when he filled the syringe.

He kissed your forehead.

“You’re not being punished,” he murmured, voice low and calm as your vision blurred.

“You’re being corrected.”

⸻

From that point forward, the estate changed.

The doors weren’t just locked, they were magnetically sealed.

You weren’t just supervised, you were monitored.

Vitals. Pulse. Emotional stability. Zayne printed out charts of your mood. He studied you.

He no longer let you dress yourself, he said it was for your safety. You wore medical silk now. Always white. Always soft.

And he doted on you with terrifying tenderness.

Feeding you himself.

Checking your vitals every few hours.

Administering “mood stabilizers” and “rest agents” when you cried too much.

He spoke to you in a voice so calm, so heartbreakingly gentle, it made your head spin.

“You don’t need to run, my darling.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m going to cure you of this hope once and for all.”

And when you finally stopped fighting, when you just lay there, blinking up at him, your lashes wet and heavy, he sighed with quiet pride. Brushed your hair back. Kissed your temple.

“See? You’re learning.”

You didn’t escape.

He just let you run.

So he could medically prove that you’re better off in his care.

And now?

Now he’ll make sure you never even dream of freedom again.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

It started so quietly, you almost didn’t realize you were losing yourself.

Your days were gentle. Xavier didn’t force you into housewifedom, he simply blinked those soft blue eyes at you and asked:

“Would you rather go to work… or stay here with me today?”

You’d laugh. Then, of course, you’d stay.

That turned into every day.

You wore lace. He poured your tea. You sat beside him on the floor, building castles out of stray cat cards while he nodded off mid-game. You thought the estate was safe, soft, dreamlike. His voice barely ever raised. His touch was featherlight.

But something changed when you started wanting more.

More space. More control.

More freedom.

He noticed before you even said a word.

⸻

You thought he was asleep again when you left.

He always fell asleep randomly, on the couch, in the greenhouse, once in the closet while organizing plushies. So when you tiptoed past the east wing, saw him slumped on the armchair, breathing slow, you didn’t think twice.

You made it past the atrium.

Past the tall, yawning hedges.

The gate was open—ajar.

He hadn’t locked it.

You made it to the tree line.

Your chest ached with hope. With belief. You were going to make it.

Then—

The air shifted.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

And when you turned around, the road was empty.

But the shadows rippled.

And then, a voice behind you.

“You’re so bad at hiding, starlight.”

You spun.

Xavier was standing a few feet away. Still wearing his soft white sweater and gloves, but his blue eyes… were open now. Unblinking. Moonlit.

He didn’t even sound angry. He sounded, curious.

“Was it fun?” he asked, cocking his head. “Pretending you could leave?”

“I wanted to see how far you’d get this time.”

You took a step back, and his eyes narrowed, not unkindly, just like he was watching something flutter. A bird with clipped wings trying to take flight again.

⸻

Back in the penthouse.

The atmosphere was wrong.

The soft lamps? Gone.

The plush throw blankets? Gone.

The floor was cold now. The walls too quiet. Too hollow. Like the dream had been pulled out from under your feet.

He didn’t carry you. Didn’t speak at first.

He just followed you, eerily calm, gloved fingers brushing the walls like he was reacquainting himself with the space.

You curled up in the corner of the room he left you in.

He finally spoke hours later, sitting beside you on the bed, setting something down with a soft clink.

A delicate collar. White leather. Your name engraved in silver.

“I used to think I didn’t need to keep you.”

“I thought if I was gentle enough, you’d stay.”

“But I forgot—”

“You were a hunter. You don’t know how to rest.”

He leaned forward, tilting your face up with a single gloved finger.

“So now,” he whispered, eyes lidded, “I’m going to teach you how.”*

⸻

Your new “life” starts slowly.

He no longer leaves you unattended.

He no longer lets you make small choices, what you wear, what you eat, when you sleep.

Xavier is still calm. Still quiet. Still smiles gently as he brushes your hair or feeds you cake. But the soft boy you once knew has been replaced by something colder. Something… too still.

“Try to run again,” he says one night, lacing your fingers in his as you lie in bed, “and I’ll bring back Lumiere.”

“He’s not as nice as I am.”

And that’s the thing.

You know he’s not bluffing.

And you remember the silver-eyed boy who’d once curled up at your side and fallen asleep mid-sentence, now watching you sleep like you’re a fragile experiment.

⸻

You didn’t escape.

He let you run.

So you’d understand something crucial:

“Even outside this place… you’ll always belong to me.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

Sylus had warned you, playfully, smugly, over champagne one evening in the west wing of the estate:

“This life I’ve gifted you… isn’t a cage, sweetheart.”

“It’s a throne.”

“But a queen that forgets she’s mine… needs reminding.”

You had laughed then, thinking it was just another of his twisted metaphors. But Sylus never said anything without purpose. Every word dripped in double meaning. And every luxury he gave you, the palace, the gowns, the glittering crow brooch on your throat, was another link in a collar too pretty to notice until it was too tight to remove.

He wanted you dependent.

He wanted you pampered until you forgot how to think for yourself.

And for a time, you let him do it.

Your hunter days faded behind lipstick and silk. He spoiled you until you purred in his lap, let him choose your jewelry, your meals, your very thoughts. You wore red and black because he liked the way it echoed his aesthetic. You sat beside him during war room briefings, glazed over with boredom while he ruffled your hair.

But then, he got comfortable.

He stopped monitoring your comms.

He stopped checking the east wing cameras.

And you remembered the taste of adrenaline again.

⸻

You ran during a banquet.

The whole estate was full of diplomats, officials, his inner circle. Sylus had his arm draped lazily over your chair as you sipped from his wineglass. He was distracted. And just as the string quartet started playing his favorite overture,

—you slipped out.

Barefoot. No time for shoes. No time for hesitation.

You made it through the corridors he’d designed like a labyrinth. Past the obsidian sculptures. Past the garden where he once taught you how to tame that winged beast. You made it to the gates.

They were open.

He never leaves them open.

And that was your first mistake.

⸻

The car pulled up before you even stepped onto the road.

A sleek, all-black vehicle with no headlights. Silent. Elegant. It stopped just beside you, and you didn’t have to guess who stepped out.

Sylus.

Wearing that same smug half-buttoned dress shirt, the red feather-like streaks fluttering in the wind. His blazer hung over one shoulder. His red eyes glowed faintly in the dark, like a predator toying with prey.

“That was fast,” he said with an indulgent little laugh, as if you were a puppy who’d bolted from his heel.

“You didn’t even make it to the decoy perimeter.”

You froze. He stepped forward slowly, hands in his pockets, head tilted.

“You really thought I’d leave the gates open by accident?”

“No, no, love. I wanted to see if you’d bite.”

He grinned as your face crumbled.

“You did. Beautifully.”

⸻

Back in the estate.

He didn’t drag you. Didn’t yell.

He just looked at you with something close to pity.

“You were doing so well. All those soft little routines. So docile. So pretty.”

“And then you remembered who you used to be.”

He threw a switch.

Your entire room, once decked in chiffon and gold, was now replaced with harsh black steel. Velvet replaced with restraint-grade silk. Your vanity? Gone. Your gowns? Locked away.

He only let you wear white.

No more makeup.

No mirrors.

And every time you looked at him, he smiled.

“If I wanted a queen with fangs, I’d let you rule again.”

“But you look better curled up in my lap, darling. All docile. All mine.”

You tried to scream once.

He just laughed, slow and lazy.

“That’s the sound I’ve been missing. Makes me feel like I own the whole world again.”

⸻

The new training begins.

Sylus doesn’t punish you with pain, he punishes you with indulgence. Suffocation. Claustrophobic pampering.

He hand-feeds you every meal.

You’re not allowed to touch cutlery.

He recites your schedule for you each morning in a smug whisper while brushing your hair out.

“You’ll bathe at ten. Nap at noon. Wear red today. Red suits you when you cry.”

He still calls you “my empress.”

Still kisses your temple like a prince from a dark fairytale.

But now?

He makes you say please before every touch.

And thank you after every breath.

⸻

You didn’t escape.

He let you run.

So you’d remember exactly how much of your “freedom” was always his game.

And now?

“Next time you want to feel powerful, sweetheart…”

“Ask me for permission.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

No one knew you better than Caleb.

He raised you. Protected you. Fed you.

Even when you didn’t know what you needed, he did.

From the moment he took you into his arms in that lab all those years ago, barely older than a child himself, Caleb memorized every single signal.

The way your fingers twitch when you’re anxious.

The way your eyes avoid his when you’re scheming.

The way you go quiet when you’re planning to disobey.

So you really thought you could get away from him?

After all this time?

After everything he gave up just to keep you safe, no, to keep you his?

⸻

The estate in Skyhaven was beautiful, glassed walls, endless sky, and a room tailored for every comfort you once never had. Caleb made sure of that. You were given everything you could dream of. Luxuries, affection, him.

He kissed your forehead each morning. Helped you into your fluffy slippers, letting him tuck you into the silk cocoon he crafted just for you.

You had no job anymore. No title.

Just his pretty housewife now.

His darling, helpless girl.

But… some part of you still itched beneath the sweetness.

You remembered how capable you once were. How strong.

And slowly, the ache for freedom began to fester.

It was the middle of a transport window. Caleb was away at a command meeting in Skyhaven’s central tower, gone just long enough for your delusion to take root.

You crept out of the estate barefoot, your pulse hammering, your body guided by muscle memory. Through the polished corridors, past the floating docks, the restricted lifts,

And you made it outside.

The air was cold. The sky stretched forever.

You were almost at the outbound port.

Just a few more meters, and you’d be—

“Pips.”

Your body froze.

That voice.

Warm. Familiar.

But behind it, a thread of cold steel.

You turned.

Standing just beyond the shuttle gates, still in his full Farspace uniform, was Caleb.

Cap tilted back. Gloves still on. Purple eyes glowing faintly under the atmospheric lights. He had followed you without making a sound.

No boots echoing. No shouted threats.

Just him.

Caleb.

Your gege.

Smiling at you like you were a naughty child who broke curfew.

“I told them the meeting could wait.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t know the moment you started packing your things?”

⸻

Back in the Skyhaven Penthouse.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t strike you.

He just took your hand. Held it tightly in his gloved one. Walked you back like it was nothing.

You sobbed the whole way, and he kissed your knuckles with every step.

“I’m not angry, baby.”

“Just disappointed. Do you know what could’ve happened to you out there?”

“You don’t even know how to navigate the lift panels without me anymore.”

He carried you the rest of the way up.

And when he laid you on the bed, your body trembling, he stroked your cheek with aching fondness.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“You’ve belonged to me since you were four years old.”

“I’m not just your husband.”

“I’m your world.”

⸻

The conditioning resets.

This time, he doubles down.

No comms.

No access to the outer levels.

Your biometric ID? Reset. The retinal scanner now only opens to his gaze.

You’re escorted room to room in his arms—“just in case you try anything.”

He starts feeding you again, like when you were small.

Bathing you himself.

Kissing your forehead after every meal.

And when you whimper and try to explain that you just wanted air, he presses your head into his chest and whispers:

“You don’t need air.”

“You need me.”

“Always have. Always will.”

⸻

You didn’t escape.

He let you run.

Because Caleb wanted you to try.

So you’d finally understand something he’s been trying to teach you since you were little:

“There’s nowhere in the universe you could go that I wouldn’t follow.”

“Even if you hate me for it… I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you mine.”

[strnilolover]

Cabin On The Mountain

in which . . . matt and reader decide to go to a cabin for a get away up on the mountains, secluded from everyone and everything else. what happens when they get snowed in their first night and matt decides on how to keep them busy?

content warnings : this is a short little mini series that will explicitly contain smut and mature themes. this whole thing will basically be smut with zero to very little plot whatsoever. this also skips a lot, so they are all different days and things they do each day. length also may very (they will mostly be short, but can be longer).

additional warnings : none for this part!

intro , one , two , three

INTRO

day one and two…

going to a cabin up on the mountains was something you and matt had been wanting to do for a while. going to a place that was away from everyone—secluded and quiet. it wasn’t often that you both got time for just yourselves, so when the opportunity came, you snatched it.

the drive up the mountain had been long, winding roads twisting through towering trees dusted with snow, but it was exactly what you and matt needed—a break from everything.

the cabin was nestled in the quiet solitude of the woods, it was small but cozy, with a stone fireplace and windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling. they framed the snow-covered trees like a painting, making them look absolutely gorgeous.

“look at how beautiful it is matt.” you said once he parked the car, quickly unbuckling yourself and slipping out the passenger door. your head tipped back to look at the building, already feeling the comfort it would bring to your tense mind.

“it’s very beautiful. but not as beautiful as you.” matt said, a smirk tugging at his lips as you just glared at him—heat crawling up your neck. you never could take a compliment from him even after all this time.

by the time you got everything inside—your bags, the groceries, the thick blankets you insisted on bringing—night had fallen, casting a peaceful hush over the mountain. the two of you had settled in quickly, lighting the fireplace and curling up on the couch side by side. your head resting against matt’s shoulder as he scrolled through his phone absentmindedly. the air smelt of pine and firewood—the smell bringing you comfort.

it kind of reminded you of matt in a way—this was all matt.

“y’know,” matt started, turning his head slightly to look at you. “I could get used to this. just us being out here with no loud noises. no one to disturb us.” he smiled at the thought, leaning down to press a kiss to your head. “would live here with you.”

you hummed in agreement, closing your eyes as his arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you in just a little closer. the two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the comfort of the moment, before eventually dragging yourselves to bed.

outside, the snow had started falling, light at first but quickly picking up, swirling through the air like something out of a movie. you hadn’t noticed—you were too warm, too comfortable, too wrapped up in the feeling of matt beside you as you both drifted off to sleep.

⸻

the next morning came quicker than you would have liked and you woke to an eerie sort of quiet. no birds, no wind, just… silence. slowly you stretched your arms above your head, rubbing your eyes before turning over on your side to glance over at matt, who was still buried beneath the blankets, face pressed into the pillow.

you giggled softly, reaching a hand out to brush his hair away from his face before you sat up, stretching once more. swinging your legs over the side of the bed you slipped out of the warmth and padded over to the window to pull back the curtains—only to be met with pure white staring back at you.

you squinted, temporarily blinded as the brightness hurt your eyes. you couldn’t believe it—the snow had doubled, even tripled over night and now..you couldn’t even see where things ended and where they began.

your stomach dropped slightly—you weren’t necessarily scared, just nervous at what to do. considering you and matt both had plans that were now going to have to be put on hold.

“matt.” you said, turning back towards the bed as you saw his body shift against the sheets. no response, so you tried again.

“matt baby, wake up.” finally a groggy, muffled sound came from the bed. “hmm?” you rolled your eyes at his response, and you couldn’t help but to smile—but that was quickly wiped away once you remembered what you were trying to tell him.

“we’re snowed in.” and that got his attention. he groaned, turning himself over and dragging himself up before stumbling over to stand beside you, eyes narrowing at the wall of snow blocking the view. “holy shit.” he breathed.

you turned to him. “what do we do? i mean we had plans that we had for the day.” you asked, worry laced through your voice.

he ran a hand through his messy hair, sighing. “well… we could panic, or…” he turned to you with a smirk, “we could take advantage of it.” you narrowed your eyes. “take advantage of being trapped?”

and he nodded. “think about it,” he said, reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his bare chest before he peered down at you.

“now we have an excuse to do absolutely nothing. no expectations, no interruptions—just us.” and now his mind was racing with just exactly what they could do.

a/n : i came up with this on a whim, props to me for sticking it out and already having the next few parts of this either done or being written.

[owiil]

Stiles wanting Derek. Falling in love with him. Over and over. So hard and deep, but asking for nothing. Just letting it be quiet.

Having bonded during high school, and then falling in love with him during his college years, after Derek eventually makes his way back to Beacon Hills one year to finally knock down the burnt shell of the old family home. Derek didn’t have the intention of staying, but after the house was gone, the plot was just… so painfully empty. So he asked Cora to come back, to so they could make a design that honors their family and stands as a testament to the Hale family, a memory to their loved ones–even though neither of them have any intention of living in the place.

It’s just better than leaving the land blank, like they’re trying to erase the memories.

So it’s then, during the two years of construction, that Stiles starts to fall in love–with what Derek is doing, the way he laughs with his sister and they share new stories, the way he tips at the coffee shop even though there isn’t a tip jar and he does it so much that the coffee shop finally puts a tip jar out because of Derek. He falls in love with the way Derek buys 25 different sample paints at the hardware store, gets frustrated when Cora narrows the options down to all of 11, and then finally, after nearly having a breakdown in the paint section, staring at all 11 swatches, goes with the suggestion of a 9 year old girl who passes with her dad, glimpses at his swatches, and casually says, “That one.”

Stiles falls in love with the fact that Derek never tells anyone outwardly that he prefers lemonade made from fresh lemons, just always insists on making it himself until Stiles finally starts making it fresh as well. Falls in love with how well Derek gets to know Frank at the Yarlo’s family owned hardware shop, where Derek gets everything possible as long as it’s available. Falls in love with the fact that he only goes to Home Depot when he absolutely has to. Falls in love with how Derek and Frank somehow become friends and, every time Derek goes in, it takes him at least forty-five minutes because they get caught up in conversation.

Stiles just, falls in a lot of fucking love with Derek.

But he knows Derek. He knows Derek’s history, knows what’s happened when Derek’s let people into his heart before, and he’s not going to be that person. He’s not going to push. He’s not going to force Derek to make that choice, to risk it all, to feel like he has to say yes to make Stiles happy, or risk their friendship or, hell, just feel uncomfortable because maybe he’s just not ready. Maybe Derek doesn’t want a relationship anymore.

And Stiles is so utterly relieved when Derek doesn’t leave after the house is finished, because he’s gotten used to going to dinner with Derek, and making fresh lemonade, and making fun of movies, and having brunch with Derek and his dad, and going to the arcade with Derek and Scott, and running through the forest up to the house, taking a shower in the second bathroom downstairs, the one between the two lower guest bedrooms, and then having Derek drive him home–but stopping for frozen yogurt first.

It’s some ridiculous amount of time later–something like four years since Derek showed up to tear down the old house–when the whole crew go on a camping trip. Kira’s a fierce wonder-mom, just gave birth not too long ago and the moment baby Mia’s ready for the world they’re going camping, christening the woods with a giggles and bubbly laughter of a new baby.

They’re three days into the trip, it’s night and everybody’s asleep except for Stiles, who’s poking at the fire, letting it die slow because he’s really waiting to make sure Derek gets back from his run—the not-so-secret full wolf transformation one that he likes to go on at night, just himself and the trees and the wild. Derek walks into the dying orange glow wearing a pair of faded sweats he left himself just on the edge of camp, takes a seat next to Stiles, and they watch the last embers fade together.

Stiles never expects Derek to ask, “What do you want?” He doesn’t really expect anybody to ever ask him what he wants. Things are calmer in Beacon Hills, but their life has never been normal, not since high school, and Stiles has been careful to never truly dare to wish for anything. But they’re there, in the middle of the night with a dying fire and the chill that bites in the budding summer. The words are soft and imploring, and in the corner of his eye, in his peripheral vision, Stiles notices that Derek isn’t even looking at him, he’s looking into the fire, like maybe looking at Stiles will be all the pressure necessary to make the question too real, make him not answer it.

He doesn’t look at Derek when he says, “For you to be happy. For everybody to just be happy,” and he’s not expecting that either. But it’s raw honesty, which isn’t hard to give Derek. He’s been in love with Derek for years now. He’ll give the man anything, everything. He’d try that spell in that book Deaton told him never to open again, and make the moon whole every night of the year, even if it cost his heart, if Derek wanted to feel the rush.

In the corner of his eye, Derek nods, places a warm hand on Stiles’ knee, and says, “Thank you.” When they stand, almost hot fingers curl around the back of his neck, and Derek murmurs, “Let’s go to bed.” With a soft tug that’s really more like a pressure, a presence, he directs Stiles to walk with him, to his tent, to his sleeping bag, to lay in his space, and curl a place in his heart.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I’ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

[universefcb]

NIGHT IN PARIS, PEDRI GONZÁLEZ.

→ Summary: It's a week off for the team, so Pedri decides to take you on a trip to Paris. To celebrate your anniversary.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff. Spanish phrases.

→ Author's note: I'm thinking about opening up my requests again because I've been missing you guys sending me ideas.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

Paris looked like it had been hand-painted that morning. A soft blue, with scattered clouds, contrasted with the golden tones of the trees in early autumn. The leaves danced on the sidewalk as she walked beside Pedri, their fingers intertwined as if time had not managed to undo the intimacy built over five years of history. And he, as always, disguised himself so as not to be recognized.

It was rare for them to spend a whole week together. The intense season, the exhausting training sessions, the team trips — all of this made these moments precious. But when Barcelona announced the short break, Pedri didn't think twice. He booked the flights, planned every detail and, smiling from the corner of his eye, hid at the bottom of his suitcase the things that would make their anniversary unforgettable.

“Is it the most cliché city to celebrate five years in?” he asked playfully as they crossed the Pont Alexandre III, the Seine sparkling in the sunlight.

“Totalmente. Y absolutamente perfecto.” she replied, with a smile that made his chest warm. (Totally. And absolutely perfect,)

In the following days, they walked slowly through Montmartre, lost themselves in old bookshops, tasted sweets in bakeries that looked like they had come out of a movie, and took photos on every corner as if they were living in a dream. Pedri never took his eyes off her—not when she laughed with a crepe in her hands, nor when she was moved by the immensity of Notre-Dame.

The sixth night arrived colder, but with a typical Parisian charm. Pedri appeared in the hotel room wearing a well-cut suit, black shirt and discreet perfume. She, wrapped in a long dress made of light fabric, carried in her eyes the same emotion of someone who knew that that night would be different.

Without revealing the destination, he drove her through the city's bright streets to a discreet restaurant hidden on one of the rooftops of an elegant building. The maître d’ led them down a glass-enclosed corridor to an exclusive balcony, where a round table awaited them—candles lit, glasses sparkling, and a view that took their breath away: the entire Eiffel Tower, shining against the dark sky, as if it had been decorated just for them.

She put her hand to her mouth in surprise.

“Pedro…”

“Felices cinco años,” he whispered, pulling out the chair for her to sit in. (Happy five years)

Dinner was spent with quiet laughter, long glances, and memories of the past. They talked about their first awkward kiss, their silly fights, the nights when he would come home from a game exhausted but would still call to hear her voice. They talked about love—without having to use the word.

At the end of dessert, Pedri stood up, adjusted his shirt cuffs and excused himself. He returned shortly after with his hands hidden behind his back and a nervous look in his eyes. He stopped next to her chair.

“I thought of a thousand ways to do this. At home, at the beach, in the countryside... but none of them seemed right. Until I imagined this moment” with you, in Paris, celebrating everything we have built.

She looked at him with growing curiosity, her heart racing.

“Do you remember on our first anniversary you gave me a letter saying that you hoped that one day I would be more than your boyfriend?”

She nodded, laughing. She remembered perfectly. He had written in handwriting that he wanted to be “your best friend, your life partner, and if possible, your fiancé… someday.”

Pedri then took a small blue box from behind his back. She put one hand to her chest, frozen. But before she could react, he knelt down—and, upon opening the box, he revealed not a ring, but two delicate, simple, and elegant gold bands.

“I want to ask you something, but not what you are thinking right now.”

She frowned in surprise.

“We’ve chosen each other every day for the past five years. But we’ve never put it into words, or even a symbolic commitment. So…” he held out his hand, “will you marry me?”

She looked at him, between tears and laughter. He smiled back, with a sparkle in his eyes that revealed the seriousness behind the gesture.

“Marry me, I wouldn’t live without you by my side for even a second,” he added, still kneeling.

She got down from her chair without thinking twice and threw herself into his arms, making the waiters discreetly applaud in the background. In the middle of the tight hug, she whispered a "yes" so sincere that it made the whole world seem lighter.

Then he placed the ring on her finger and she did the same. When their eyes met again, everything that was left unsaid was imprinted there—in the silence filled with love, in the delicate touch of their fingers, in the tender kiss that sealed that new phase.

Paris witnessed the most beautiful beginning of a story that two hearts could live. And the Eiffel Tower, behind them, continued to shine — as if it knew exactly what was happening.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789