#Reinventing your Exit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherryxbooo · 5 months ago

Note

Helloooo hehe 🍒

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

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

Make it angst to fluff like real angst tho.

Whether you write this or not im grateful 💚

You make sense to me

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

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

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

University is a strange place.

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

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

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

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

No unnecessary interactions. No unnecessary attention.

That is, until he noticed me.

Pedri.

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

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

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

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

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

And again.

Until one day, he does more than just look.

It started off small.

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

My highlighter sits on the page.

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

Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head.

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

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

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

My first instinct? Escape.

My second? Stare.

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

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

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

His grin widens, like this is completely normal.

Like we talk all the time.

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

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

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

He leans back in his chair, completely at ease.

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

“You’re quiet.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. No shit.

I don’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except we don’t.

“I don’t buy that,” he says.

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

"Why do you care?"

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

“I don’t know. You’re interesting.”

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

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

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

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

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

I roll my eyes and refocus on my book.

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

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

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

For a moment, I consider my options.

I could:

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

I’m still debating when he speaks again.

"You always sit here," he muses.

I glance at him. "What?"

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

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

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

"Have you been watching me?"

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

"That’s the same thing."

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

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

I frown, my grip tightening on my highlighter.

"Why are you paying attention to me?"

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

I scoff. "I’m not a mystery."

"Debatable."

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

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

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

I hate it.

Pedri doesn’t leave me alone after that.

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

A fluke.

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

A moment of fleeting curiosity on his part.

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

It starts small.

A casual wave when he spots me across campus.

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

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

I don’t wave back.

But that doesn’t stop him.

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

(Which, obviously, mortifies me.)

Then, there’s class.

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

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

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

Like he’s always been there.

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

"Better view from here."

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

And then there are the conversations.

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

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

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

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

Some days, I ignore him completely.

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

"Pasta," I mumble one afternoon.

He blinks. "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

Just a little.

And that’s how it starts.

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

How, little by little, I stop avoiding him.

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

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

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

I try to convince myself that it means nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

Or something dangerously close to it.

And it terrifies me.

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

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

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

And feelings?

Feelings are dangerous.

Then it started with an invitation,

A casual one. Like it’s no big deal.

"Hey, wanna grab lunch with me?"

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

I hesitate. "Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sigh, knowing I’ve already lost.

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

He smirks. "Noted."

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

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

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

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

I nod slowly. "It’s... nice."

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

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

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

It’s easy. Effortless.

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

I laugh before I can stop myself.

He looks ridiculously proud of this accomplishment.

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

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

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

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

We eat slowly, the conversation flowing without effort.

And it’s nice. Too nice.

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

After lunch, Pedri suggests a walk.

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri watches me for a moment before speaking.

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

I glance at him. "That obvious?"

He shrugs. "I just notice things."

A beat of silence. Then…

"Why?" he asks softly.

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

But with Pedri, it feels... safe.

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

Pedri stays silent, waiting. Letting me talk.

I take a breath.

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

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

Pedri listens carefully, nodding like he understands.

I look down at my hands.

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

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

"I get that," he says.

I glance at him, surprised.

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

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

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

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

I frown. "Then why"

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

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

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

I blink. "What?"

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

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

He shifts slightly, his knee brushing against mine.

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

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

Pedri studies my face for a moment, then sighs.

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

"Give me a chance," he says.

I inhale sharply. "Pedri"

"Just a chance," he insists.

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

I bite my lip, staring at the ground.

"You scare me," I whisper.

He blinks. "Me?"

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

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

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

"Let me in. Just a little."

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

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

Maybe just a little wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

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

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

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

It happens gradually.

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

The next, he’s everywhere.

And suddenly, Pedri is mine.

Which is strange...

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

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

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

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

And maybe it should scare me.

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

But with Pedri, distance feels... impossible.

Because he refuses to be anything less than close.

It doesn’t take long for people to notice.

Because Pedri isn’t subtle. At all.

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

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

I freeze.

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

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

"It’s just me."

I exhale slowly. It’s just him.

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

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

"Wait, are they holding hands?"

"No way. Pedri and y/n?"

"How did that even happen?"

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

If anything, he likes it.

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

Like it’s a habit.

Like he just wants to touch me.

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

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

I glare at him. "You’re annoying."

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

Damn it.

Outside of school, it’s even worse.

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

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

I glance up from my notes. "Why?"

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

I blink. "You see me every day."

He grins. "Yeah, and?"

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

I want to see him too.

Some nights, he comes over with zero warning.

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

Knock, knock.

I groan, already knowing who it is.

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

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

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

I sigh. "What if I was busy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nah. I kinda like it."

"You like being soaked?" I deadpan.

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

And damn it, he means it.

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

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

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

"What’s mine is yours, princesa."

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

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

It’s quiet, comfortable.

Pedri reaches out, tracing lazy patterns on my wrist.

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

I blink. "What?"

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

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

Pedri frowns slightly.

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

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

I laugh softly. "It’s the truth."

"Well, I hate it," he says.

I tilt my head. "Why?"

Pedri exhales.

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

My breath catches.

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

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

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

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

"You make sense to me," he whispers.

I don’t know what to say.

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

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

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

I swallow. "Pedri..."

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

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

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

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

I know that Pedri is different.

I know that I’ve already fallen for him.

And for the first time in a long time,

I don’t want to run.

It’s a normal day at school.

Or at least, it should be.

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

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

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

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

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

"But I’m right here."

"And?"

"And I require attention."

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

Pedri grins, clearly pleased with himself.

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

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

I shake my head but squeeze his hand anyway.

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

And then he drops a bombshell.

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

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

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

"For dinner. Just something casual."

Casual?

Meeting his parents is casual?!

My brain short-circuits.

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

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

"Yes," I say, nodding vigorously.

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

Pedri immediately frowns, turning his entire body towards me.

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

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

"Yes, I do," he says firmly.

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

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

I feel my heart clench.

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

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

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

"Good," he says smugly.

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

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

"That’s mean."

"That’s justice."

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

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

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

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

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

And right on cue, my phone buzzes.

Pedri: I’m outside <3

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

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

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

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

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

My face heats up. "Shut up."

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri notices immediately.

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

"Breathe, princesa," he murmurs.

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

"You won’t."

"How do you know?"

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

"Because you’re you," he says simply.

And just like that, some of the nerves fade.

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

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

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

Then, her eyes land on me.

And suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

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

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

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

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

"Come in, come in."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So this is the famous girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Love you too, hermano."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nearly choke on my drink.

His mother laughs while Fernando groans.

"God, you’re embarrassing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I giggle, and Pedri shoots me a betrayed look.

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

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

After dinner, I insist on helping with the dishes.

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

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

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

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

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

I blink, glancing at her. "Oh?"

She nods, rinsing a dish.

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

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

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

Something warm blooms in my chest.

"You’re good for him," she continues.

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

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

"I can tell you care about him."

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

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

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

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

"It did," I admit.

"See? You worried for nothing."

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

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

"I will never repeat it."

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

I glance at him. "Why?"

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

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

I bite my lip. "Yeah?"

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

My heart stops.

Pedri, realizing what he just said, suddenly tenses.

"Wait" His eyes widen. "I mean"

I laugh softly. "It’s okay, Pedri."

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

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

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

"Drive, Pedri," I whisper.

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

And as we head home, I realize… I don’t think it’ll take very long at all.

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

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

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

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

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

I had smiled when I read it.

I shouldn’t have.

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

Laughter. Loud voices.

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

I stop. My heart stutters.

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

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

His voice.

Pedri.

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri laughs.

That’s the first stab.

"Nah, man. No bet."

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

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

A girl like that.

"Exactly," another voice chimes in.

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

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

The air leaves my lungs.

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

Pedri doesn’t deny it.

He fucking laughs.

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

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

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

Pedri snickers.

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

I feel sick.

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

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

The laughter erupts around him.

I think I might throw up.

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

Pedri laughs harder.

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

My heart shatters.

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t.

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

I need to get out of here.

I don’t know how long I stand there.

Seconds? Minutes?

Everything is a blur.

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

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

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

Then another.

Then I’m walking away.

I don’t care where I’m going.

I just need to get the hell out of there.

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

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

I feel numb.

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

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

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

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

I just keep walking.

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

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

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

I already know who it is.

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

Pedri stands there.

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

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

I stare at him.

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

That makes me angrier.

"Go away, Pedri."

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

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

He freezes. And I see it.

I see the exact moment realization hits.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

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

"Princesa-"

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

His jaw clenches. "I didn’t mean it."

I laugh again, but it hurts.

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

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

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

He flinches.

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

"It doesn’t matter," I whisper.

"It does."

"No, Pedri. It really doesn’t."

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

"I can’t do this anymore."

His breath catches. "What?"

"We’re done."

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

For a few seconds, I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

And then I hear it.

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

"Please don’t leave me."

Tears stream down my face.

But I don’t open the door.

And I don’t look back.

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

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

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

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

My phone buzzes constantly, but I ignore it.

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

But he doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

I expect that to be the end of it.

But Pedri doesn’t give up so easily.

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

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

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

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

The first time, I hesitate.

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

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

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

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

But I’m not ready.

I don’t even know if I ever will be.

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

I can’t hide forever.

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

That I can handle seeing him again.

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

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

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

I know he’s seen me. I don’t look.

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

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

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

A hand gently grabbing my wrist, pulling me back.

I freeze.

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

"Y/n."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

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

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

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

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

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

So I leave. Again.

Later that day,

It all happens too quickly.

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

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

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

I’m not expecting to see what I do.

There’s Pedri.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pedri doesn't fight me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My voice trembles with the weight of everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the flowers start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s hope.

That’s when I notice it, his transformation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.”

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

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

It’s safer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he replies quickly.

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

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

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

He’s living it.

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

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

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

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

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

“But... I’ll try. Slowly.”

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

“That’s all I need. Just a chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few months later,

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

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

He’s showing it.

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

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

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

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

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

But I don’t expect what happens next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins, relief flooding his features.

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

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

I admit, my voice soft, but sincere.

Pedri chuckles, and his eyes soften.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s easy now. It’s natural.

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

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

The end

#football imagine #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri fluff #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri x y/n #pedri x you #pedri angst #pedri gonzalez #football x reader #football fanfic #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader

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dimlylittorch · 6 months ago

Text

soooo this is my first like REAL writing for Ghost :3 idk how but this is my longest writing so far.. 6K+ so yall be warned

My Masterlist🌱

18+ drabble MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x virgin!chubby!pre-op!transmasc!reader

he’s big and mean but i feel like he would be really soft with sex :((

warnings: slight daddy kink at the end, maybe some insensitive language (fat) it’s good tho i promise, female parts are referred to with said names (i’m pre-op so saying like t-dick is weird for me lol)

tbh this is my first ever like in depth smut so forgive me if it’s bad🙏

You had only recently moved away from your home town, deciding to shack up in a big city with more opportunities. Back home it was hard to make friends- let alone date. Being trans wasn’t easy, let alone being chubby on top of that. You’d never even come close to having a boyfriend.. or a hook up for that matter. But why not go to a big city? You didn’t need to reinvent yourself. You knew you were likeable.. maybe you were just fishing in the wrong pond.

Settling into a small studio apartment wasn’t ideal, but it was home. After moving in and getting into the groove of a new city and a new job.. you decided it was time to try and make friends. Or maybe even a boyfriend. But- we couldn’t set our hopes too high, right? Don’t settle, but don’t expect too much. Something you found yourself repeating constantly.

You’d never gone ‘clubbing’ before. Your home town was small, and the only bars had a lot of old drunkards in them. So you didn’t exactly know what to wear. It was chilly outside- you could work with that. You knew you wanted to look cute. Picking out a fitted turtle neck, you adding a pair of nice pants to wear with a belt. And boots! That made the whole look.

Well. You thought that would make the look. It turns out people don’t really.. wear clothes like that to clubs. Girls in short dresses, guys in plain shirts.. you definitely stood out. Thank god it was a little dark in there as you walked through the crowded club, drink in hand. You could try to dance.. but you knew you wouldn’t be a huge fan of getting shoved around or groped. What did people even do at clubs? I guess it’s not very interesting if you’re not with people.

With a sigh you walk along the back, eventually settling against the brick wall that led into the back hallways of the club. You stood near one of the back doors, sipping on your drink as you people watched. It was something you’d gotten used to- seeing other people live. Be human. Be real. There wasn’t anything as humbling as that.

When you hear the slam of a door, you look off to your left down the hallway. A large man lumbered out of the door, pushing a smaller man against the wall before practically tossing him aside. The larger man had a man or two behind him.. bodyguards? It’s dark and hard to make out much, but you see a flicker of light for a split second.

As the large man walks to exit the hallway, that’s when you see really how tall he is. Definitely over six feet, large muscles with a lit cigar in hand. As he glances around the club, his eyes eventually fall on your small form, shrunk back against the wall. His eyes trailed over your unusual outfit. What was a little thing like you doing in a place like this? When your eyes met his you quickly looked downcast, taking a sip of your drink. God, he was tall.

Stalking over to you, he stops only a foot or so in front of you. “Ya look lost” he says lowly as he stares down at you.

Looking up at him with slightly wide eyes, you chuckle awkwardly. “Well.. looks like someone found me”

He huffs at your words, crouching down every so slightly to be more on your level. “We ‘ave a dress code here, yknow” he says gruffly.

Your eyes narrow and you quickly look down at your outfit. “What?” You question. “I’m dressed nice-“ you start to say.

“Tha’s the problem, love” he mutters. “Ya gotta look slutty in a joint like this. Or like a bum.”

You stare up at him with disbelief. “This- this is the tightest shirt I have!” You scoff as you put your hands on your hips. “You want people to look trashy?”

He chuckles as he looks down at your turtle neck with an amused look. “Tha’ trashier they look tha’ more money they spend.” He muses. “You ain’t spending a pretty penny at a place like this, eh?”

“You talk like you own the place” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Tha’ I do” he smirks. “Now- get outta my club. Pretty bird like you ‘ill get roughed up.” He murmurs as he opens the back door, waiting for you to leave.

You look up at him with a glare. “Are you kidding me? What if I want to enjoy myself?”

He sighs, letting the door close and leaning down. “Lovie.. yer standin’ against tha’ wall. You havin’ fun?”

You open your mouth to speak, but slowly close it again. He was right. You weren’t having fun. Looking downcast, you cross your arms over your chest again. “What do people here even do for fun?” You mutter. “Other than getting drunk.”

He hums, standing up and glancing around the club. “My.. patrons” he mutters. “Come ‘ere for booze, drugs or sex.” Leaning down again, his eyes meet your own. “Which one will it be?”

And that.. was how you found yourself following the large man who you later learned’s name was Simon upstairs to the second floor of the club. Of those three, you figured you’d go with the last. Something you’d like to experience, at least. What you didn’t expect, was for him to invite you on up. As the two of you reach the top of the stairs, he unlocks a door and when you step inside you realize- he lived on the second floor.

“Now” he says plainly as he locks the door behind the two of you. “Which team ya’ play for?” He asks as he gestures for you to relax.

“Um.. guys. Men.” You murmur softly as you set your bag on the couch, looking around gently at the neatly furnished apartment.

“Well” he huffs as he walks into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and pouring a drink for himself. “I could use a good fuck. But if ya want someone else we got options” he murmurs with a shrug as he leans over the counter.

Tentatively walking over, you stop on the other side of the counter, eyes downcast. “Can I be honest?”

He chuckles faintly, nodding. “Never lie to a man as big as me, birdie” he smirks.

Leaning over the counter, mirroring his position you gently look up, eyes meeting his own. “I’m a virgin.” You say softly. “And.. um.. female. Technically. But I’m a guy. If that makes sense.”

He pauses at your words, looking down at you silently for a few moments. “Transvestite? Is tha’ what they call ‘em?” He questions.

Pulling a soft laugh from you, you shake your head with amusement. “Transgender. But- good try” you smile softly up at him. “You.. think you got someone for me?” You ask shyly.

He sighs softly, setting his glass down and looking at you. “Ya got me. I wouldn’t trust any other man ta’ take yer virginity” he says quietly. “Men get impatient. They’ll hurt a soft thing like you. But me? Been in the forces. Patience is all I know.”

Looking up at him for a few moments, your eyes soften as they take in his features. You can tell he’s seen combat.. the scars are there to prove it. “Thank you for your service” you say softly as you look downcast, cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of being with him. Sure, he looked rough.. but opposites attract, right?

He snorts at your words, setting his glass down. “Haven’ heard tha’ in a while” he muses. “Look.. yer nervous, I get it. But we ain’t gonna do this if ya aren’t ready.”

Sighing softly, you run your fingers through your hair. “I want to do this.” You say quietly. “I.. I’ve been waiting for a long time, you know? I’m tired of waiting.” You murmur as you push off of the counter, walking around to where he stood and looking up at him. “You don’t have to.. be with me. If I’m not your type.” You clarify as your eyes meet his own. “I’m not exactly the beauty standard or anything” you snort slightly. “But if you want to- I’d like to.”

His eyebrows quirk at your words, a smirk crossing his lips. “I’ve been with jus’ about everyone” he muses. “Yer nothin’ new f’me.. if that brings ya some peace of mind.”

A small sigh of relief leaves you, and you feel yourself relax slightly. “I appreciate that” you sigh. “So.. sex.” You murmur faintly. “Right. We- um.. how do you want to..” you trail off.

Before you can say anything else you feel a heavy hand land on your hip, gently pulling you forward into his chest. Looking up you find him gazing down at you, eyes flitting over your soft form as his fingers gently hook into the hem of your pants, tugging them down ever so slightly to feel the fat of your hip. As you suck in a sharp breath, he reaches with his other hand and grabs your own, pulling yours to rest on his hip. His neck cranes down to brush against your ear, deep words hitting your skin. “Yer allowed ta’ touch me little thing.”

Letting out a shaky breath, your eyes shift downcast to his hip where your hand was frozen. After a faint moment you gently start to feel the hard muscle of his hip, a contrast to your own body. Little did you know how the contrast drove him crazy. Staring down at your soft form made his heart beat faster than it had in weeks. Little birds like you hardly ever came into his club.. soft things that need protecting. He’d quickly grown tired of the usual quick fuck he’d find for himself on a random Tuesday night. You seemed real. And you made him feel real.

“I like your belt.” You whisper faintly, brain growing slightly fuzzy from the entire interaction. You’d grown so touch starved that it was almost overwhelming being able to touch someone freely- even if it was just a clothed hip. “Looks nice with your outfit..” you murmur. A black leather belt that matched the shade of everything else he wore.

He chuckles faintly, breath heavy against your ear. “Could say the same f’r you.” He breathes. “Cute little thing.. overdressed an’ all.”

A small smile crosses your lips when you recognize his teasing tone, your hand tentatively pulling his shirt out of where it was tucked on his left side. Slipping your fingers under his shirt, you gently graze against his toned skin, hard with a nice layer of fat over his stomach. You hear him suck in a breath at your touch, and you look up at him with soft eyes. “This okay?” You whisper.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done things slow. Usually he’d rip off a persons clothes within minutes, eager to get a quick fuck.. that sense of release that lasted for only a few sweet moments. But with you it was different. He didn’t want to push you over the counter. He didn’t want to shove you onto the couch cushions. He wanted to explore. Take his time. Watching you explore his body.. christ, it did something to him. When was the last time he truly enjoyed sex?

“Mhm” he hums lowly. “Ya ain’t even gotta ask.. ya could peg me for all I care” he smirks softly. His heart warms when he hears the laugh that slips past your lips, and he can’t help but place a faint kiss to the skin of your neck, drawing a gasp from you. “Tha’ feel good?” He questions.

Leaning into his touch, you nod slightly. “More than good.” You confess. “Would you do it again?” You whisper after a small moment. “Please?”

He audibly groans when he hears your plea, placing another kiss against your neck, this time with more passion. “Yer like a bunny.. all soft and sweet” he murmurs against your skin.

Feeling your face flush from his lips on your skin, you gently reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. He couldn’t remember the last time he held someone like this.. he’d usually put them on their knees and take them from behind. But he liked how soft you felt in his palms as he pulled you closer, your body melting in his hands.

You shyly bury your face in his neck, placing a small kiss to his skin, earning another groan from him. “Anything in particular you’ve been wantin’ ta’ try?” He hums against your skin as his kisses grow deeper to your skin. “Any positions yer pretty little self thinks abou’ all tha’ time?” He smirks.

Feeling your face flush more you bury yourself against him as much as you can. Letting out a shaky breath, he grins when he hears your words. “Doggy.. looks nice.”

“Tha’ it is” he muses. “You’ll feel me real deep, love.. that what ya’ want? Wanna feel full?” He smirks against your skin.

Whining softly, you can’t help but nod. “Mhm.”

“Alrigh’ then. I’ll get tha’ job done.” He grumbles, making you squeak as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he brings you into his bedroom. “Bet ya ain’t never been carried like ya deserve” he huffs as he kicks the bedroom door closed, setting you down gently on the soft blankets and sheets, a nice dark gray color.

Shaking your head no, you can’t help but gaze up at him. “You’re really strong” you whisper softly.

He gently reaches forward, his hand cupping your chin as he stands over you. “Tha’ I am. But yer not heavy either.. nothin’ wrong with bein’ soft. Ya still deserve someone ta carry ya every now and then.” He murmurs as he leans down, his lips meeting your own.

Before you can stop yourself you moan against his lips, your face flushing heavily. He smiles, pulling away and looking at you. “Didn’t know ya could make those pretty sounds, hm?” He muses.

Shaking your head slightly, he reaches down to undo his belt, watching how you swallow slightly, your eyes moving to his crotch. “Ever had a cock in front of ya?” He asks as he pulls his belt off, tossing it aside and unzipping his fly.

When he sees you shake your head no, he sighs. “I’m a little bigger than tha’ average man.” He warns. “Ya ain’t gotta do nothin’ ya don’t want, alrigh’?”

“Okay.” You whisper softly, eyes glued to his crotch. Before he can pull his cock out of his briefs, you gently lean forward to palm him through the fabric. He moans out of surprise at the feeling, hunching over slightly.

“Fuckin’ christ-“ he groans. Before he can say anything else, you lean forward more, pressing your lips to his clothed cock, kissing along the fabric sweetly. He looks down at you with wide eyes, chest already heaving slightly. No one had ever done that before. “Tha hell?” He questions before you look up at him with adoring eyes.

His heart skips a beat when he sees your gaze, completely wide eyed and full of emotion. “Does that feel nice?” You whisper softly. “You feel pretty hard..” you say faintly before you look back down, starting to place open mouthed kisses along his clothed bulge. He curses to himself, placing a hand on your shoulder to keep himself steady. He can feel the heat of your mouth soaking through the fabric onto his cock which was already as hard as it could get. You were practically worshipping him and he had no idea how to handle it.

“Yer driving me wild” he chokes out. “Where tha fuck did ya learn to do tha’?” He asks quickly.

Sighing contentedly against his bulge, you look up at him innocently. “I read a lot” you say softly. “Am I doing it right?”

He laughs breathlessly, slipping one of his heavy hands into your hair. “I think yer doing it better than anyone else has..”

When you feel his hand in your hair you whine weakly, leaning into his touch as your eyes flutter closed. He feels his chest burn when he sees how soft you are- a pretty little thing that just wants to be touched. “C’mere lovie” he says softly as he bends down, picking you up slightly to scoot you further up the bed. “Can tell yer just a cuddle bug.. want ya within an arms reach, hm?”

Nodding quickly at his words, you let him move you up to the headboard, resting your head on the pile of soft silk covered pillows he had. He moves on top of you, knees on either side of your legs as he looks down at you. “Gonna give ya doggy just like ya wanted, alright?” He questions as he pulls his shirt off, tossing it across the room.

Copying his movements, you sit up gently so you can pull your turtle neck off, setting it aside on the edge of the bed, leaving you in your binder. Your face flushes as his eyes trail over your torso, licking his lips slightly. When he sees your embarrassment, he moves his hands to your thighs. “Tell me somethin’ ya like about yourself” he says gruffly.

Your eyes look up to meet his own, a look of confusion on your face. But you don’t question him. “My.. my hair is soft.” You say quietly. He hums, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair once again.

“Tha’ it is. Something else?”

Humming softly, you look down at your body to think. “I.. I like my shoulders.” You whisper faintly. “They’re broad.. for a female. They make me feel more manly.” His head tilts slightly as he moves to look at your shoulders with a soft hum.

“They’ve got little lighting bolts an’ everything” he murmurs, glancing at the stretch marks that lined your body.

“Yeah” you smile softly, your gaze shifting to his torso. “I like your scars.” You add. “I.. I think they’re pretty.”

He can’t help but smile at that. He’d grown to be content with his scars- no longer hating them like he used to. “I think you’re pretty.” He replies with a small smile before leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. Grinning shyly, you can’t help but kiss his cheek.

He lets out a soft breath against your skin, looking up to meet your eyes. “Something ya don’t like?” He whispers. Your smile falters slightly, looking downcast. He can see something pop into your head, but you try to think of something else. “No, no- tell me. Tha’ first thing ya thought of.” He orders.

“It’s embarrassing” you murmur faintly.

“I’ve seen combat” he snorts. “Nothing is embarrassing to me anymore. Be honest.”

Looking away from his gaze, your cheeks felt hot as you tried to put it into words. “I.. well- obviously I don’t look like.. other people in porn.” You murmur as quietly as you can. “I know it’s unrealistic. But.. still.” You sigh. “I’ve never really.. seen anyone with a.. chubbier..” you confess, gesturing down to your crotch.

When he realizes what you mean, he hums, leaning back slightly as he looks down at you. “Ya got a fat cunt, ya mean?” He smirks.

You quickly feel your cheeks flare, reaching up and playfully slapping his chest. “Shut up!” You hiss.

He laughs lowly, smirking as he looks down at you. “Cmon lovie- those are tha’ best kind. Gives a big guy like me more room to work with, eh?”

Laughing shyly at his stupid smirk, you relax some. “I guess that makes sense.” You smile.

“Alrigh’ now- back to business” he chuckles as he grabs the base of your binder, pulling it over your head. His breath hitches when he sees your chest, tossing the binder across the room.

You scoff playfully when he throws your binder. “Hey! Those are expensive-“ you start to say but your words are cut off when his lips touch your chest. You instantly arch into his touch when he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around the middle of your back as he pulls you up into his face, leaning down and placing kisses all along your chest. Blushing heavily you let out shaky breaths, slipping your fingers into his hair. “Si-Simon” you say weakly.

He groans as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing at the bud with his tongue while his eyes flutter closed. He pulls off with a faint pop, grabbing your now slick breast with his hand and kneading it. “Christ in heaven” he breathes out as he starts to suck on your other breast.

Whining faintly, you can’t help but tug on his hair slightly. When he feels the tug he lets out a low moan, the vibrations hitting your nipple just right to make your thighs clench around his waist.

Before he can catch himself his hips start to grind against the mattress, making his arms tighten around your body. He hears a moan slip past your lips and he looks up, his clouded eyes meeting your own. “Ya like that?” He murmurs. When you look at him slightly confused, brain clearly fuzzy, he squeezes his arms around you again. When he sees that same look of pleasure he smirks, moving his arms and crawling up on top of you. “is tha’ right.. little thing wants ta’ be held.” He teases as he presses his lips against your own.

Whining at his words you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. “Mhm” you whimper against his lips.

He kisses you deeply, his tongue slipping past your lips for a moment before he pulls away. “Fuck..” he breathes out. “Yer so touch starved even a hug turns you on, eh?” He muses. “Pathetic little thing.”

When he feels how you tense at his last words, he already knows he’s said something wrong. He quickly pulls back, looking down at you. As his eyes search your own, he leans forward to place a small kiss to your forehead. “Sorry love” he says softly. “Only praise for you, yeah? We can work with that” he murmurs.

When you let out a small sigh of relief, his hands shift down to get his pants off the rest of the way. As you move to undo your own belt, he growls softly and takes over, pulling your belt off and tossing it aside before pulling your pants down to your thighs. “Ya know wha’ you are don’t ya?” He murmurs softly as he pulls your pants off the rest of the way. Setting your pants aside, he starts to tug at your briefs as he leans up to whisper against your ear. “Yer a good boy” he smirks against your skin.

You swear your heart stopped for a second when you heard those words. You felt yourself squirm under his touch, and your face felt like it was burning hot. It was one thing reading words like that- but hearing them? Christ.

He chuckles when he sees your reaction, shucking your briefs off as quick as he can. Your legs snap shut, turning your head away with embarrassment. “Ah, ah pretty boy” he muses as he pulls your hips down closer to his own, pulling your thighs open. “Don’t ya wanna show off f’me?”

Whimpering slightly when the cold air hits your cunt, you bury your face into the silk covered pillows. Your body was already on fire, just from the way he touched you. Being exposed like this was awful- but amazing at the same time. You’d finally done it.. let someone see you like this.

“Fuck me” he groans when his eyes lock on your cunt. “Let me eat him, yeah? Treat him real nice, promise lovie” he says almost pleadingly as he gets onto his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs so he can hold you in place. “An’ would ya look at that” he smirks. “Not even a little wet..” he teases, his hot breath fanning over your skin, making your thighs tighten around his head. “An’ why is that? Sweet boy like you.. thought you would’a been leaking for me” he smirks.

Breathing heavily as you hide your face away, you can only whine in reply. You shiver when you feel two large calloused fingers rub against the lips of your cunt, spreading them open as wide as they can go. “f-fuck” you gasp out weakly when you feel your slick start to spill out slightly, shaking in his hold.

“There he is” he muses. “Ya weren’t lying about havin’ a soft cunt, were ya? Little pussy is so tight it keeps all those juices inside, yeah?” He chuckles, slipping a finger into your tight hole. “God almighty yer tight.. squeezing my finger like a vice sweet boy” he sighs. When he hears you whimper at the intrusion, he coos softly. “Be a big boy f’me.. I promise ya can take it baby. Just a little finger.. it’s my cock ya gotta worry about.”

“too b-big” you whine softly.

With a sigh, he withdraws his finger, slipping it into his mouth and sucking it clean. “Ya really are a sweet boy.. cunt’s made of honey” he hums. “I know what I want.. flip over love” he orders.

With a shaky breath you follow his command, moving onto your knees. You look back for instruction, eyes hazy. Before you can say anything Simon has moved onto his back, scooting himself under your legs. He’s also gotten rid of his briefs, his hard cock now hanging heavy in his hand. “Gonna ride my face, alrigh’ baby boy? Want ya to soak me” he says gruffly as he’s face to face with your pussy.

You stare down at him for a moment, clearly hesitant. He rolls his eyes, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down before you can protest. A sharp gasp leaves your lips as his tongue laps at your tight hole for a few moments, the feeling making you grab the headboard. As much as you don’t want to crush him, he makes your legs give out almost instantly, pussy pressed right against his face. You sit there for a moment trying to gather yourself, but you feel a slap to your ass, making you flinch. When you do so your hips buck, and his nose hits your clit.

“Holy fuck” you choke out, quickly repeating the action, chasing that same pleasure. As his crooked nose bumps against your clit over and over you repeatedly cry out, quickly covering your mouth. With another spank to your ass, your hand falls away and he pulls away for a moment.

“The second ya stay quiet the second I stop.. means m’doing somethin’ wrong” he says plainly before returning to your now soaked cunt. Looking over your shoulder you get a glimpse of how his hips are bucking up into his hand, pumping his cock eagerly. The sight makes a wave of slick pour out of you, greeted by and groan and a quick tongue. “Simon” you whine when his tongue slips over your clit, circling the bud before sucking it into his mouth making you moan out sharply.

You can barely make out what he says into your cunt, but you can tell he’s enjoying himself. “fucking christ- suffocate me love” he groans as he laps at your clit. “Yeah- yeah fuck- can’t wait to get my cock in this hole.. gonna suck me in so good, can already tell” he rambles through huffs of trying to catch his breath.

After a few more moments you find yourself leaning over, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. “f-feels funny” you whimper, your hips slowly down but he grabs onto them, forcing them over his face as hard as he can. “Simon! it feels weird” you say quickly, voice slightly frantic.

He groans against you, slapping your ass again. “gonna feel so good baby” he promises as he sucks at your clit. “gonna make you lose yourself, I swear” he promises. Before you can say anything else you feel a large rush of slick pour out of you, crying out as your face feels a rush of heat. You try to speak, but no words can form, only weak moans of pleasure. “Fucking hell- yeah sweetheart, let me drink ya dry” he sighs as you cum on his face. He keeps your hips going, making sure to drag out your orgasm for as long as he can. “good boy- good fucking boy”

Breathing heavily, you can’t help but whine at his words, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “simon” you plead, your pussy sensitive to his tongue.

He sighs softly, a faint air of disappointment in his tone as he pulls you off of him, sitting himself up and moving you into his lap. “I got ya” he says softly as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Ya did so well.. never woulda’ thought ya were a first timer. Yer cunt loves attention, hm?” He muses against your ear. You whine faintly in reply, curling up in his arms as you try to slow your breathing. His heavy hand rubs along your back, holding you as close as he can. “Perfect, you are” he murmurs against your ear. “God, that cunt feels good. Ya realize that yeah? Felt good getting my tongue sucked like that, hm? Fat lips returning the favor.. bet they were disappointed it wasn’t my cock” he breaths against your skin.

As you rest against him, he can’t help but reach down to rub your clit a little more. “Simon..” you warn tiredly, your eyes looking up to meet his own. “Need a minute”

He sighs softly as he looks down at you. “My cock disagrees” he chuckles faintly, moving his hand to his hard dick and slapping his upwards against your cunt making you gasp. “C’mere- gonna fuck ya in doggy like ya wanted” he murmurs as he turns you onto your knees once more. Not having the energy to keep yourself up on your hands, you let your face rest against the pillows. “Good boy.. head down ass up, right? Ya already know the drill” he smirks as he gently taps the tip of his cock at your entrance.

Your voice has become hoarse from moaning, so how your noises were weak and gravelly. A groan slipped past your lips as your hands grasped at the blankets, back arching your ass into the air. He smirks at the sight, letting his tip rub up against your clit. “Silly boy.. say yer not ready but then ya put yer ass up begging for it”

“fuck- fuck si” you choke out when he rubs his fat cock against your slit, the tip bumping against your clit repeatedly. “please-“ you whimper.

“Oh? Now ya want it in? Fickle little thing you are..” he muses, but before you can reply the head of his dick prods at your tight entrance making you gasp. “Oh fucking hell.. i was right baby- yer fat cunt makes it ten times better, i swear” he groans.

You practically squeal at the initial little stretch, slapping your hand onto the mattress as you try not to cry out. Simon quickly leans over you, resting his head next to yours as he whispers against your ear.

“Cmon lovie- yer alright.. promise baby boy- you’re doin’ so good for daddy. ya wanna call me that? ya can if it helps” he says sweetly against your skin.

You let out a weak sob at his words, tears spilling from your eyes as he puts the tip in completely. “daddy” you choke out faintly. You knew you had a bit of a daddy kink- but you didn’t think it would come out for your first fuck.. turns out it helped with it all. Made you feel safer.. more cared for. “daddy- b-burns” you plead.

Simon groans as he slips in a little further, his chest heaving from how tight you are. “I know baby- fuck, i know.. burns for daddy too” he chokes out. “fuck, your little hole is tight. gotta work ya open a little more, okay lovie? half way there”

Whining sharply as he presses further in, you’re gasping for breath from the sensation. You suddenly feel his fingers on your clit, swirling quickly to relieve some of the burning sensation. “That feel nice?” He whispers against your skin. “i bet it does.. makes ya all wet f’me. yer doin’ such a good job.. such a good boy for daddy” he murmurs against your skin as he places soft kisses along your shoulder.

With his large body encompassing yours, you’d never felt so safe. He was all you could feel, completely surrounding you and your senses. The entire world faded away except for him. “fuck- feels good” you whisper pleadingly.

“there we go.. that’s it” he says softly as he bottoms out, fingers still circling your clit. “you did it baby.. daddy’s gonna make you feel good, alright? promise ya- promise it’ll feel good.”

With a weak nod, you let your face fall back against the mattress. You hiss as he starts to pull back out, but when he pushes back in it’s not nearly as bad as the first time. And what definitely helps is hearing him right in your ear. Heaving grunts and groans as his hips buck up into you, getting faster as you open up more.

“God- your fat pussy is sucking me in so good” he chokes out against your skin. “Ya hear that?” He moans, referring to the loud smack of his hips against your wet cunt. “Ya hear how good this cunt is? Holy fuck baby- gonna keep this all for myself- how’s tha’ sound? Letting me suck on this cunt every day? Promise I’ll pound ya this good every time” he pleads against your ear.

Moaning sharply as his balls smack up to meet your clit, you tilt your ass up more so he can get even deeper. “fuck!” You cry out.

As he pumps faster into you, he holds you tighter against him as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “please cum baby” he chokes out pleadingly, his resolve slipping away. “oh fuck- please cum for daddy- wanna feel ya squeeze my cock so good- i know it’ll feel so so good, please” he rambles breathlessly as your cunt clenches tightly around him.

Whining at his words you reach down to grab his hand and press his fingers against your clit a little harder, making you gasp out loudly. He feels a flush of slick rush around his cock, your walls tightening around him so hard it almost hurts. “ah! Fuck- fuck, lovie- yer so fucking tight, gonna pull my cock off” he grunts against your ear as he tries to buck against you more, whimpering slightly when he feels the resistance. Before he can move again he moans against your ear, his thick seed streaming into your cunt.

With a weak sob of pleasure you collapse onto the mattress completely, Simon pulling you as close as he can while still on top of you. His hips buck up slightly as he cums, gasping every time he feels your walls flutter around him. “ohhh fuck yeah, take it” he grunts. “taking it so well” he murmurs against your skin as he empties himself inside of you.

After a few long moments he opens his eyes to look down at you, seeing the tear soaked pillow under your face. “You okay sweetheart?” He says softly, his voice hoarse. When you nod weakly he sighs, pulling you close as he moves to lay on his side. “Can’t believe no one fucked ya before that” he murmurs against your ear. “Fucking incredible you are.. honored you let me break ya in.” He chuckles faintly.

When you didn’t respond, he looked down at you and that’s when he saw you with your eyes closed, breathing softly. You were snuggled up against his chest.. and you’d already fallen asleep. He sighed, grabbing the blankets and pulling them over the both of you, still staying inside of you. “I’ll clean ya up after a nap” he whispers against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Perfect boy.” He whispered before he fell asleep with his body holding yours tightly.

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theboyonthebluemoon · 3 months ago

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I kept silent, and it rained for days.

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lura-valentine · 2 months ago

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Choose Your Own Adventure!

MHA / BNHA Writing event

Part 3: The Anime-Manga-Con

This will be an interactive writing event where you decide what happens next!

How does it work❓️

🐵 Character choice - completed 📖 First part of the story Post - concluded 🗳️ At the end of the story there is a survey on how it should continue 🌐 The majority decides what happens next 🔄 The cycle repeats itself until the story ends

Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who liked ❤️ and shared 🔄 the latest part.

There were a surprising number of votes and I really didn't expect such a high turnout. I hope you enjoy this project as much as I do and participate diligently, because the event lives from your votes‼️

To make things more interesting, feel free to give me some suggestions as to what else could happen.

If the suggestions are good, they will be included in the next survey! You can do this anonymously or simply write in the comments😊

–> To Kaji's Profile #kaji black character profil

Overview

Vote start

Part 1 ● Part 2 ● Part 3 ● Part 4 ● Part 5 ● Part 6

The first light of early morning crept shyly through the half-open curtains, fell upon the dust-dancing particles in the air as if it was trying to slip gently through the silence, careful not to disturb the fragile balance of this small, chaotic world.

Dabi lay stretched out along the long side of the corner sofa, a blanket only half-draped over him, one arm slung over the backrest, the other resting heavily on his chest. His face was soft, calmer than usual, as if–for once – his body didn’t have to fight anymore, neither against enemies nor memories.

On the shorter side of the sofa, Kaji lay on his stomach, as always, wings slightly spread so they wouldn’t get squashed. Around him: Kaji’s chaos – empty cans, crumpled manga pages, a blanket discarded on the floor, and everywhere feathers. Long and short ones. It looked like a phoenix had reinvented itself.

The night had been good. A deep, restful sleep had settled over them after the long fights in the ring.

BOOM

A dull, heavy sound tore through the silence like a discordant chord.

Dabi jolted upright, eyes glassy, hair a tousled mess, like he’d dreamed of war and woken in its midst. His gaze swept the room, searching, scanning and found Kaji… on the floor.

Between a crushed energy can and a pillow lay his son, half on his back, half tangled in his own wings, his expression somewhere between confusion, pain, and offended pride.

“Nice exit,” Dabi grumbled, rubbing his eyes and slumping back again.

Kaji blinked, tried to sit up, failed – one wing trapped beneath his own leg.

“Damn… why did this sofa get so damn narrow?”

“Maybe because you’re about as tall as me now, with wings twice the size of your mother’s.”

Kaji snorted, finally managing to sit up. His hair stuck out in every direction, and a feather clung stubbornly to his forehead.

“I dreamt I was flying… and then got shot down.”

Dabi slowly shook his head, a tired smile playing on his lips. “Welcome back to reality, Captain.”

A moment of silence hung between them, broken only by the soft creak of the heating cutting through the morning stillness.

Dabi sank back down, pulled the blanket higher, and closed his eyes.

“Next time, we sleep separately. You’re dangerous.”

Kaji stretched, rubbed his neck, and glanced at the ceiling, where one of his feathers drifted gently toward the floor.

“Sounds boring.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“Sounds like something Mom would insist on.”

Dabi cracked an eye open. “How much time do you think we’ve got before she’s back?”

Kaji thought for a moment. “Hm… if we’re lucky? Three days.”

“And if we’re not?”

“She’s already standing in the doorway.”

They both paused and looked at the door.

Silence.

Then they exhaled at the same time.

“Three days then,” Dabi muttered.

Kaji grinned. “Plenty of time to destroy the couch and eat the fridge empty.”

Dabi sighed. “We’re going to die.”

“But at least in a good mood.”

Dabi turned his head to the side, the pillow flattened beneath his cheek, a shadow of sarcasm lacing his voice – rough and still heavy with sleep. “How the hell can anyone be in a good mood when they’ve been yanked straight out of their sleep? Seriously. This is against human rights.”

Kaji mumbled something incomprehensible, somewhere between a yawn and a curse, shoved his tousled hair out of his face with a flat hand, and then muttered, as if trying to defend himself – even though he knew it was utterly hopeless: “It was gravity’s fault. Without it, I’d still be up there.”

“Sure. Go sue Newton. I’ll even write you a letter to the universe.”

Kaji only grumbled and blinked lazily at the digital clock on the sideboard. He squinted, paused, then his eyes widened in alarm.

“Shit!”

Dabi pushed himself halfway up, his eyes narrowing. “What now?”

“It’s eleven! I wanted to be at the con by one! I haven’t even showered!”

“I thought you were staying here today,” Dabi said, a touch disappointed, as if he had hoped that the day would continue in exactly this slow, calm rhythm. Full of laziness and maybe one or two stupid sayings. “At least I can be sure that you don't mess up here.”

Kaji gave a lopsided grin, stood up, scratched his head, and stepped over a crumpled chip bag. “You can come with me if you’re scared. My plus-one’s never alone. She never comes alone.”

Dabi raised an eyebrow, now sitting up fully and stretching his tired limbs. “She?” he asked, his tone sharp with implication. “A girl? Is that your girlfriend, Kaji?”

A dry, throaty laugh escaped Kaji. “What? No. It’s just Haru. Haruki Shigaraki.” He bent down for an open can, only to find it empty. “My best friend. And you know her old man. He won’t let her breathe three feet away from him if she’s going to something like this.”

Dabi paused, then a grin spread across his lips, that rare glint of pure, malicious anticipation lighting his eyes.

“Shigaraki... Tomura. You mean he goes there?”

Kaji nodded with a shrug, already moving toward the bathroom. “Yes, and he follows Haru like a shadow. She said he once stuck his head into one of those cardboard cutouts because she wanted him to.”

Dabi let out a low laugh – the kind that was rough, almost scratchy, and left one unsure whether he was genuinely amused or just acknowledging the sheer insanity of it all.

“Okay,” he murmured, leaning back against the backrest and clasping his hands behind his head. “That I need to see. Tomura Shigaraki stumbling over tote bags full of merch while his daughter in cosplay drags him through a hall packed with nerds… that’s a divine sight I’d actually wake up early for.”

From the bathroom came nothing but a dry “You’re insane, man.” – followed by the sound of running water and an overdramatized yawn.

Dabi kept grinning. “Say that again when I give him a Hello Kitty backpack.”

The air was warm and shimmering, filled with the hum of people and the occasional hiss of automatic doors that opened and closed tirelessly, as if they were applauding the crowd pouring toward the entrance. The hall rose like a gleaming colossus of steel and glass into the daylight, in front of it a small square with scattered trees, whose sparse shadows stretched like protective arms over cosplayers and those waiting. Voices mingled – shrill laughter, excited exclamations, the rustle of fabric, the clicking of cameras, the muffled bass thudding from inside the hall – all of it forming a backdrop that, for Dabi, unfamiliar as it was, felt strangely alive.

“You know,” he murmured, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, his gaze sweeping across the colorful flood of people, “demons, heroes, robots, fluffy cat creatures, half-naked elves with plastic weapons… this place does have one good thing.”

Kaji glanced at him, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Yeah? And that would be?”

“I don’t have to hide,” Dabi replied dryly, tapping his temple with a finger. “No mask, no sunglasses. Half of these people probably think I'm dressing up as a fucked-up villain. And the other half probably wants a picture with me.”

“Technically, you are a fucked-up villain,” Kaji laughed.

Dabi only grunted softly, his gaze drifting into the distance – over there, at the edge of the hall, beneath one of the trees standing almost shyly among the sea of people, he spotted two figures. Haru, with flowing, snow-white hair that floated like fine silk in the breeze, her deep red eyes alert, curious, a little shy, but not without that sparkle that always lit up when she looked at Kaji. Her outfit was an almost affectionate parody. The same top, the same hands on the clothes, only... more feminine. And somehow more stylish.

“Almost looks better than the original,” Dabi muttered under his breath.

Kaji grinned. “I know. You should’ve seen his face when she told him who she was cosplaying.”

Next to her stood Tomura Shigaraki – the real one, tired, annoyed, with that sharp gaze beneath half-lidded eyes. He hadn’t even bothered to change anything. No disguise, no attempt to blend in. Just himself, in all his fractured presence, as if it were his god-given right to drag himself through a manga-anime-con. Hands in his pockets, back slightly hunched, his whole face one vibrating Why am I here? mantra.

Haru raised her hand in greeting, hesitant but happy. “Kaji.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but full of warm sincerity.

Kaji stepped toward her, arms opening a little as if to embrace her, only to let them fall again at the last moment, knowing how quickly she blushed. “You look cool,” he said simply.

“You too,” she replied softly, fidgeting with the hem of her coat between her fingers.

Dabi and Shigaraki exchanged a glance. It was a silent alliance between fathers, both equally clueless about what to do with these oversized teenage feelings popping like soap bubbles around them.

“You look like you’re about to run,” Dabi remarked, half mocking.

Shigaraki snorted. “If I thought she’d be fine on her own, I’d be home already.” He looked at his daughter, then back at Dabi. “But now that you’re here, at least I don’t have to suffer alone.”

Dabi grinned, clapped a hand on his shoulder like they’d just taken the first step together onto a battlefield made of glitter, plush, and too-loud music. “Can’t be that bad.”

Shigaraki blinked lazily. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And then the hall door slammed open again, and a man in a full-body Pikachu costume jumped by with a giant plush hammer in his hand.

Dabi stared.

“…I take it all back.”

Kaji was barely containable, his steps light and springy, a crooked grin playing on his lips, full of youthful excitement as he threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Dabi. “That was nothing. Just wait till we get inside – it only gets better, trust me.” And before another word could fall, he had already grabbed Haru’s hand. She laughed softly, letting herself be pulled along, her long white hair trailing behind her like veils made of mist and light.

The hall itself was a living, breathing kaleidoscope, a crowded dream of colors, shapes, and voices. The air hung heavy with the scent of popcorn, artificial strawberry sweetness, and the faint metallic chill of air conditioning units desperately trying to tame the heat radiating from so many bodies. Screens blinked on every corner, looping anime intros endlessly, while oversized character banners hung from the ceiling and merchandise stalls lined narrow aisles like carnival booths squeezed too tightly together. Shelves bent under the weight of countless manga volumes, neatly arranged by genre and publisher. Keychains clinked, and T-shirts printed with wild, chaotic panels fluttered in the breeze of passing fans.

Haru, eyes glowing, had already dragged Kaji further on – past cosplayers, past kitschy plushies, past a booth selling katana replicas where Kaji briefly hesitated, only to be tugged forward with a resigned look. Their voices were swallowed by the flood of noise, while Dabi and Shigaraki followed at a slow pace, like two shadows trailing the edges of the scene.

“Is she always like this?” Dabi asked, hands buried deep in his pockets, his eyes drifting across a few posters full of glittering eyes and dramatic poses.

Shigaraki didn’t hesitate. His shoulders dipped slightly as he replied, “Yeah... And when Kaji or Himiko aren't there, she drags me from stall to stall. Without mercy, until my shoulders ache and I know what a shopping cart must feel like.” He didn’t even sound annoyed – more like someone who had long since surrendered.

Dabi gave a quiet snort, his gaze flicking toward Haru, who was now excitedly chatting with an artist at a fanart booth, her eyes shining. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Almost, huh?” Shigaraki shot him a sideways glance. “Just wait. I give you an hour. You’ll wish you never left the house.”

Dabi was about to retort when he felt a slight tug on his jacket. He looked down, and there stood a little girl, maybe six years old, with huge eyes peeking over the rim of a fluffy fox mask. Her voice was barely a whisper, nearly lost in the roar of the crowd. “Excuse me… can I take a picture with you two?”

Her mother stood a few steps back, smiling crookedly with a camera ready in her hand. Dabi blinked, caught off guard – his eyes met Shigaraki’s, who had frozen just the same, now eyeing the child like some brave creature from another realm.

Then, almost at the same time, they crouched down – Dabi with a lopsided smile, Shigaraki letting out a sigh that seemed meant more for himself than for the girl.

“Sure, little one,” Dabi finally said.

The little girl beamed, stood proudly between the two, threw her arms in the air as the camera shutter clicked, and time paused for a blink of an eye.

Dabi gave Shigaraki a sidelong glance. “Maybe this place isn’t hell after all.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Just wait.”

A few seconds later, Haru called out to them. Her voice like a tender echo in the seething crowd. Kaji waved from behind a booth, a plush toy in hand that was absolutely not his style.

Dabi drew in a sharp breath, releasing a sigh that lingered somewhere between resignation and amusement, while Shigaraki chuckled softly beside him, his shoulders twitching. The little girl who had just stood between them so reverently bowed shyly and darted back to her mother, eyes shining, as the woman gently stroked her hair like she had just returned from a fairy tale.

Together, Dabi and Shigaraki made their way back to their kids, who were already lurking in front of a new booth like hunters eyeing a rich prize.

Dabi crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Kaji. “Tell me... what the hell is that? A plush unicorn? Are you serious?”

Kaji didn’t even bother to turn all the way around, just lifted the unicorn with a hint of pride. “Not just any unicorn. That’s a damn Spectrier. Pokémon number 897, Ghost-type. Besides, it’s for Mom – she likes the creature. And you can say whatever you want, it’s got style.”

Dabi was just about to respond with something between a mocking and a fatherly warning when he suddenly felt a tug on his sleeve. Haru – small, energetic, with that determined gleam in his eyes – had taken hold of him and was pulling him along with a tenacity that not even he could really resist.

“Come. You have to see this.”

“I hate it when kids boss me around…” he muttered, but let himself be dragged along, half stumbling through a narrow corridor of fabric and color until they stood before a booth overflowing with T-shirts. Dabi froze, as if caught in a fever dream – his own face, printed in all kinds of variations. Sometimes alone, surrounded by flames, sometimes side by side with Rain, and in one particularly absurd, cheesy version, even Shigaraki was included, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder in a dramatic pose under the oversized slogan Legends of Villains.

“Oh my god…” Dabi stared at the selection like a man who’d suddenly found himself in a hall of mirrors with no way out.

Kaji grinned broadly, stepped up to the stand, and grabbed a shirt without hesitation – the one showing Rain in a fiery pose, while Dabi stood beside her, arms crossed in his typical I-hate-everything posture. “I’ll take this one. Perfect for casual wear.”

Dabi rolled his eyes, about to say something, but then a flicker of movement caught the edge of his vision. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted cosplayers locked in an improvised duel – with plastic weapons, foam swords, and exaggerated battle cries. The crowd around them clapped and filmed. And in the middle of it all, he recognized a cosplay as a spinner, with painted green skin, while another had slipped into Shigaraki's skin, complete with messy hair and fake hands.

Shigaraki beside him raised a brow slightly. “Don’t say it… I know what you’re thinking.”

Dabi snorted quietly, his gaze fixed on the strange scene. “I’m not thinking anything. I’m... still processing.”

At that very moment, Haru whirled past him – a small whirlwind of unwavering eagerness that pushed through the sluggish mass and unintentionally rammed him with his shoulder, just hard enough that Dabi stumbled half a step backwards and was swept back into the present with a muffled “Tch”

“Oh, sorry!” she called out without turning around, already heading straight for Shigaraki, who stood barely a meter away.

“Here, Papa.” Haru came to an abrupt stop, pressing bag after bag into his hands – each one filled with posters, trading cards, keychains, and plushies of the others from the League. “Hold these for a sec.”

“What… wait, what?” Shigaraki blurted, as the plastic bags wrapped around his fingers like strange parasites. “Haru, that’s five bags. We’ve only been here twenty minutes!”

“I know.” She was already half-turned away again, her gaze flitting from booth to booth like a bird of prey on the hunt. “And I haven’t even bought anything I really want yet.”

Shigaraki blinked, lifting one of the bags with two fingers as if it were contaminated. “And why do I have to carry all this?”

“Because I can’t look at everything at once if my hands are full.”

Dabi had to stifle a laugh that threatened to become a cough.Kaji stepped next to him, put a Pocky in the corner of his mouth and murmured out of the corner of his eye: “She has a theory: the one who carries the most bags wins the most hearts in the end.”

“Or herniated discs,” Shigaraki grumbled as he struggled to balance the handles into something vaguely manageable. “God, I hate this con.”

Haru turned around again, a smile crossing her lips, almost too fleeting to be seen. “You say that every time. And yet you keep coming with me.”

“because otherwise I would be afraid that you would buy everything here.”

“Then stop me.”

Dabi shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. It felt like a strange play, somewhere between social satire and domestic bliss.

A few booths down, someone had just begun singing karaoke on a small stage – an off-key, overly passionate rendition of an anime opening. Haru tugged Kaji toward the stage, and Shigaraki groaned softly as a few of the bags slapped against his shin. Dabi followed at a slow pace, hands in his pockets, his thoughts scattered between cosplayers, the scent of cotton candy, and that odd, flickering warmth threading through the hallways of this fantasy world like the echo of a dream.

After seemingly endless hours, the four finally found themselves in a small, somewhat secluded snack bar.

Shigaraki dropped onto the bench like a man who had just survived a war, letting the bags fall beside him like corpses. “Finally,” he muttered, resting his elbows on the table. “I think my spine just developed three new curvatures.”

“If I were you, I’d avoid looking in the mirror,” Dabi murmured, sitting down across from him and running his fingers through his sweat-tousled hair. “But yeah. I second that. Never again. Never.”

“Until next time, you mean.”

“Well,” Dabi shrugged and stretched out his legs beneath the table. “I am resistant to learning.”

Beside them, Kaji and Haru were sitting on the same side of the bench, so close their knees kept brushing. Their voices moved in their own rhythm, quiet, familiar, threaded with laughter. Haru was holding up a keychain – some over-stylized anime villain with oversized eyes – and Kaji grinned and nodded, said something Dabi didn’t catch because he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he watched. Watched as Haru’s hand lightly touched Kaji’s while she laughed. Saw how Kaji didn’t pull away like he usually did, how his words came a little slower, how his eyes softened, as if something was moving through him that he hadn’t quite figured out himself yet.

Slowly, as if it were a secret that could only be passed on with the right amount of conspiracy, Dabi leaned toward Tomura, elbows on the table, chin slightly tipped forward.

“Tell me… did you notice that too?” His narrow gaze slid over to the two teens. “What they’re doing… those looks. Those touches… You wanna tell me that’s still ‘just friendship’?”

Shigaraki took a sip of his drink, which tasted more like soap than tea, and didn’t even look. “Yeah.” Then, with a dry sigh laced with exhaustion: “And yeah, for girls that’s normal. Pretty much. The closeness, the touches, the emotions. That kind of stuff…”

Dabi snorted softly, about to say something, when Shigaraki’s gaze drifted from his cup and slightly to the left. “Besides,” he murmured, nodding almost imperceptibly in that direction, “the more interesting thing is happening over there.”

Dabi followed his gaze – and cursed inwardly that he had even done it. Because over there, at two tables pushed together, a group of cosplayers had just sat down. All of them were him – Dabi.

One with precisely glued scars, his hair tousled to the exact length, his jacket tailored down to the last detail. Next to him was a Dabi, whose eyes were way too green and who had spread the scars like makeup all over half his face, as if he had deviated from a makeup tutorial. Another wore a purple coat, had purple hair and silver contacts, looking like Dabi had fused with a fanfiction.

Dabi blinked, slowly, then rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “Oh. My. God.”

Shigaraki grinned narrowly, his voice dry as desert dust. “And that’s the real insanity. Cosplayer of yours”

“Think I could sell them autographs and live off that?” whispered Dabi, eyeing the good cosplayer. “That guy over there almost looks like me. Just in a better mood.”

“Well then,” Shigaraki said tonelessly, “better start signing – being famous is like a curse that puts you in a tutu while you’re trying to act serious.”

A tired, throaty laugh rumbled from Dabi’s chest, half sigh, half reluctant agreement. “Was a dumb idea anyway. Who wants to make money off their face when teenagers with neon wigs wear it better than you ever could?”

He took a sip of his drink, and as his gaze drifted back toward the cosplayers, he noticed how their attention had shifted – subtle glances at first, then whispers spreading like wildfire through the colorfully dressed crowd.

The well-dressed ‘Dabi’ with scars so polished they almost looked professional hesitated for only a moment before parting his lips with exaggerated nonchalance, releasing a small, orange-red flame. It flickered no larger than a candle’s flame and hovered in the air for a few seconds before fading.

Dabi’s lips twisted into a crooked smile, calm to the point of danger. He raised his hand slowly, almost with pleasure, and when his fingers opened, a deep blue shimmer danced across his skin, thickening into flame – hot, silent, so intense that the air around it began to shimmer. Real, merciless hellfire. His personal signature.

The cosplayer's eyes immediately widened, while the other Dabis slowly fell silent and one by one realized that this was not a fan in disguise – They sat face to face with the original.

Dabi closed his hand again, the flame vanishing with a barely audible hiss. “Well,” he said softly, not breaking eye contact, “I guess that’s what you’d call game over.”

Shigaraki, who had watched the whole spectacle in silence, now tilted his head and had to suppress a laugh.

“Well, great. Now they want a selfie with the real Dabi. And heaven forbid you don't look gloomy enough. Your image is at stake.”

Last Part <– | –> Next Part

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godmadeaterribleerror · 11 months ago

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Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we exit the “enemies” phase, think of the enemies to friends as the match being lit and think of the friends to lovers as the candle taking thousands of words to burn. Chapter title from Homemade Dynamite by Lorde

Word Count: 6.9k (nice)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Things start to change in the safe house. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Somehow, after the mission, you slept. Not well, but you did. You didn’t see Soldier Boy for almost fourteen hours after that odd moment in your room, only for him to suddenly drop on the couch next to you, watching the newly-fixed TV, holding a bowl and spoon.

“What the fuck is this,” he gestured to show playing on the screen, his mouth half-full with cereal. Crumbs fell into his beard, and he looked at the TV as if it had personally offended him.

You answered slowly, glancing between his loud, sloppy chews and the milk in his bowl, sloshing up to the sides as he settled into his seat. “Netflix.”

“That’s a stupid name for a show,” he snorted. “What does that even fucking mean?”

You shook your head. “No, the show is called Santa Clarita Diet. I’m watching it on Netflix.” He gave you a glance with a frown but remained silent, raising his eyebrows as you stared blankly.

His voice was clipped when he spoke. “What the fuck is Netflix?”

“Oh, um, it’s like a network. Like a modern TV station. It has a bunch of movies and shows, but you don’t have to wait for a certain time to watch them.”

“Huh,” he looked back to the TV. “Cocksucker mentioned something like that. I thought he was making shit up.”

“No, on demand is a pretty common thing now.” You shrugged.

“So all TV is on Newflux?”

“Netflix,” you corrected, growing more and more bemused by the conversation. “And no. We kind of just reinvented cable in a different format. There’s like a million of these websites, Vought even has their own. From what I can tell, the CIA gave us Netflix, Max, Disney, and Prime.”

“They’ll do that, but they won’t buy me weed,” he grumbled. “Fucking uptight pussies.”

“Yeah, well. They didn’t get us ad-free Disney or Prime, so I wouldn’t hold your breath about them giving you drug money.”

Soldier Boy only grunted, attention fixated on the TV. The silence between you stretched as you tried to figure out a perfect, organic way to bring up the whole “I told you what Homelander did to me and you put away groceries without me asking, what the fuck is happening” thing. Just as you were about to say something, hoping that the words would find you in the moment, you were cut off.

“What the fuck is this even about?” Soldier Boy asked with a sullen voice, still not looking away from the show.

“Uh, suburban zombies. I can change it if you want.” Anything, you thought, to keep this lack of antagonistic conversation going.

“No.” You waited for more elaboration but realized he wasn’t going to offer any, having fully turned away from you. You both remained on the couch, his eyes locked to screen as you remained in your seat, afraid to move and ruin whatever was happening.

The episode ended without any outbursts from either you or Soldier Boy, and you reached for the remote, only to be hit in the head by a soggy cheerio.

“What the hell?” You picked the cereal from your hair, turning to see Soldier Boy’s frustratingly casual expression. “What was that?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked, nodding his head to where your hand had been on the remote.

“Why did you throw cereal at me?!” You snapped, holding the now mushy projectile to his face.

“To get your attention,” he answered, giving you an odd look. “You always get all bitchy when I touch you.”

“Oh.” You hesitated, your confusion only growing. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I can’t read your fucking mind. If it’s because of the Homelander thing, though, then you should remember-“

“No,” you rubbed your face in frustration. “Why did you need my attention?”

He rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious. “We’re going to keep watching this shit. It’s the least stupid thing I’ve seen so far. But you should fucking remember-“

“You could’ve just said that instead of throwing shit at me-“

“Would you fucking listen?” His familiar angry glare was beginning to form, so you closed your mouth. “If the touch thing is because of that Star-spangled pussyfuck Homelander, I meant what I fucking said last night.”

Your body tensed, trying to recall what he might be referencing. Last night, along with the previous twenty-four hours, had been replayed so much in your head it had become a simple blur of bad. "What you said?”

“I’m no rapist. I’m not an ugly pussy asshat who needs to.”

You look at him with an incredulous gape. “Needs to?”

“No part of sex is fun if she doesn’t want it. I like my woman begging me to keep going, and I only bite if they ask.” He gave you a brash grin. “I’ll show you whenever you want, Sunshine.”

“Charming,” you said under your breath, employing your now expert skills at ignoring his advances. “Would you like a trophy for the bare minimum?”

“I’m fucking serious.” He hissed, smile dropping, catching you off guard with the intensity and firmness of his expression. “If that’s why you’re so fucking annoying about me touching you, get over it.”

“Get over it?” You give a laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking serious? First off, it has nothing to do with Homelander. Second off, if it did, I’m not going to just ‘get over it’ because this is 'annoying' for you.”

“Well then, what will make you get over it?” His question, though impatient, was said with a face of biting sincerity. At least, the closest thing to sincerity you deemed him capable of.

You tilted your head at him. “It’s not something I can get over.” Before he could respond, his mouth opening with a frown and squinted eyes, you continued. “It’s one of my powers. I can feel people’s emotions when I touch them, even if I don’t want to. I can’t turn it off, or ‘get over it’.”

His mouth remained open for another second, and you could almost see his brain slowly turning in his head. You waited, your own mind spinning with possible reactions he might meet you with. Wrathful shouting, angered distrust, cold disgust, forceful words and distance.

“Do you not like what you feel from me?” He asked, no twisted fury on his face, eyes filled with that analytical, intrusive look.

“No, that doesn’t matter to me. It's intrusive, and usually people don’t like when I do it, so I just avoid touching anyone.”

“But you can’t fucking control it.” His words didn’t seem to be directed at you, but his glare made it feel like they were. “It’s not your fucking fault all those pussies have so many fucking secrets.”

You give him a passive shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still against their will.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” he mutters. “For fucks sake.”

You tilt your head at him, unable to place where his disbelief and frustration was coming from, even more unsure who was facing the brunt end of it. “I mean, it can’t be that insane that people don’t like it. It’s not like you’d want someone poking around inside your feelings.”

“Sunshine, of all the things to care about, that is one of the most fucking stupid things I’ve ever fucking heard. No, I don’t care about you ‘poking around inside my feelings’, because I’m not a fucking pussy with something to hide.” He gives you another odd look, accompanied by a pause before he spoke again. “Is that where your name comes from?”

“My, my name?” You feel yourself pale, still trying to fully grasp his previous declaration.

He watches you through narrowed eyes. “Your supe name. The Anomaly.”

Your blood might have evaporated, a petrifying cold running through you. “Don’t call me that.”

“I heard MM and the French Prick using it.” He looked slightly thrown by your response, but didn’t stop pushing. “Is it a fucking secret?”

“No,” you answer, trying to keep your voice level, your words acquiring a rambling quality. “It’s completely accurate. I couldn’t think of better one if I tried. Having fou-“ you cut off your slip. “Three completely unique powers on top of the usual supe-sauce is… anomalous. But I fucking hate it. I- I really hate it.” You trailed off, rubbing your arms uneasily.

“Why? It’s just a fucking name.” His voice was casual, almost bored, but he’d leaned forward with feet firmly on the ground, waiting for your answer with an impatient frown.

You’d frozen though, as white walls and straps, cold needles and cuts, and expressionless, masked people above you flashed in your head. Ghosts of fear the first time, devastation the second, emptiness the third, and fury the fourth echoed through your body. Moments of violating change and feelings of uncontrollable, off-balance infestation in your body that would haunt you for the rest of your life. You turned to Soldier Boy, who was still watching with a deep crease in his brow as the TV show played in white noise, and forced words from your chest, to your throat, and out of your mouth.

“If the Russians gave you a name, would you want people to use it?” You said carefully, and watched his first clench at your question, the bowl almost cracking under his grip.

He kept your gaze as he responded, a cool, rough brutality in his words. “I would fucking kill the pussy who was stupid enough to mention it.” You give him a pointed look, and watch the understanding slowly fall into place in his head. All that left him was a grunt, and he turned his body and focused back on the TV, the conversation abruptly over.

The afternoon slipped into evening, the evening into night, and hardly any more words were exchanged. You said good night as you stood to retreat to your room, and he gave a muttered acknowledgment in response. Your sleep was poor but long, and when you walked out into the hall the following morning, you found Soldier Boy standing right outside your door. His arms were crossed, one hand holding the TV remote, and he spoke the moment he saw you.

“Where the fuck is the rest of it?” His intense, demanding tone was far too firm for how early it was.

You gave him a droopy blink, noticing the same shirt and jeans from the day before. “Did you go to bed at all?”

“No. Where is it?” You try to move past him, but he moves to block your path. “Where?”

You rubbed your face, trying to squeeze out the lingering and puffy sleep. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“The show,” he spoke as if it were obvious, continuing to glower down at you as he waved the remote in your face. “You left, and then it was suddenly over and some weird fucking shit started playing. Fix it.”

You squint at him. “That show was canceled in, like, 2018. There isn’t any more.”

His expression was remarkably distressed. “Why the fuck would they do that?!”

“Netflix isn’t great at understanding popular demand,” you rub your eyes again as the dry of your mouth starts to fade. “But there’s like, an insane amount of shows out there. We can find something else.”

“Nothing else is good,” he grumbled. “All that played after was some stupid dating show. I had to watch a group of fucking idiots sit in rooms and whine about love all night.”

“You had to?” You roll your eyes with a snort. “What, did Butcher arrive with a gas mask and threaten to knock you out if you didn’t? If it’s so painful for you, just change it, or turn it off.”

He glares at your mockery, rubbing his neck as he mutters, “I don’t know how.”

"Huh?" His words had passed right through your ears as you tried and failed to keep your slugglish attention from drifting.

"I don't fucking know how," he practically barked, his face red as he refused to look at you. "It's my fucking fault technology is so fucking stupid now."

“Oh,” You feel a small amount of guilt as you realize that his scowl is one of embarrassment, his annoyed tone most likely rooted in frustration. “Wait, how have you been using it for two weeks?”

“I’d just hit buttons until something happened. It worked fine until you started that stupid Netflix shit.”

With a deep breath and sigh, you extend your hand for the remote. When he doesn’t move, you grab it from him with a tug and duck around him. “Follow me.”

Soldier Boy trails after you as you descend the stairs, stopping at your side as you reach the TV. You raise your arm to turn it off, but glance at his still-scrunched face, his bothered expression, and hand the remote back to him instead.

He stares down at his hands before looking back at the TV, then to you, his scowl only more confused. “Nothing fucking happened.”

“You’re going to do it.” You explain, pointing from the remote to the illuminated screen. “I’ll walk you through it, but you’re going to do it yourself.” “Fuck no,” he tries to return the remote to you. “You do it.”

You hold your hands behind your back. “If you want to live any sort of life in the 21st century after this, you’re going to want to know how to use a TV.”

“I can use a fucking TV.”

“Yeah,” you snort. “A shitty, twenty-year-old motel TV. Unless you want us to put you in a memory unit, gramps, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

“Bitch,” he grunts, but he stops trying to pawn off the remote.

“Cunt.”

His knuckles are white around the remote as he gives you an impatient, expectant look.

“Raise your hand like this, with that side,” you tap the head of the remote. “Facing the TV.”

He mimics your movements, and you give a nod of approval.

“Good, now hit that button.” When he doesn’t, you grab his finger and adjust to sit where you had pointed. “Ok, now that one.”

“Why are all these fucking buttons hidden and not labeled. Buttons used to be fucking labeled.”

You shrug. “For most people it’s intuitive, I guess.” You point to another button. “Now hit that one, and I’ll teach you how to search.”

This continues for another painstakingly drawn-out ten minutes. Once you’re absolutely sure he can passably navigate, raise and lower volume, and turn off the TV altogether, you step back.

“That’s it,” you offer him a grin. “Easy as breathing.”

He makes a grumbling, incoherent sound, dropping back on the couch. After a moment of staring at the menu on the screen, he looks up at you from his seat with an irritable frown. “You just going to fucking stand there?”

You blink at him, catch that his curt words are meant to be an offer, and move around the couch and to take the same spot you occupied yesterday. He offers you the remote back, and when you don’t take it he throws it onto your lap.

You give him a tired sigh. “The whole point of this-“

“I’ve never seen any of this shit. You said you’d find something else I’d like, Sunshine. Prove it.”

You raise your brows, but your protests die on your tongue, and you start scrolling through the display.

“I’m not that fucking old,” he grunts over your focus.

“What?” Half your attention still on the TV, you watch him shift forward in your periphery.

“I’m not that fucking old,” he repeats. “I’m not your fucking gramps.”

You glance at him, a hum of amusement leaving you. “You’re over a hundred. It’s not like you’re forty and I’m calling you ancient. Besides,” you give yourself a small smile. “Hughie told me about your little trysts with mature women. Mature woman, forty years your junior.” You stick out your tongue at him. “Cradle robber.”

“I don’t discriminate.” He says, leaning back to lounge on the couch. “And it’s not robbing the cradle if there’s no one that’s-“ he cuts himself off as he almost slips and admits your point. He gives you a glower, daring you to say something. “I’m not old.”

“Someone’s sensitive,” you mumble with a small, genuine smile, and before he can jab back, you hit play on a comedy special, turn the volume to max, and recline into the cushions.

The next set of days pass in similar fashion, and though Soldier Boy doesn’t stop grumbling insults and annoyances, picking small fights, or calling you a bitch, your childish psychological warfare has come to a halt, there’s no more throwing of chairs or explosions, and the word “bitch” off his tongue lacks the malice it did before. You quickly discover that Soldier Boy is a lot more like a toddler than anyone could have possibly guessed. You start leaving out snacks of cheese and fruit on the counter and rarely return to find it still in its spot. If you sit with him, he’ll stay shockingly still, but will make little snipes at the television. Sometimes you catch him after a comment, watching to see if you’re entertained by his words, and learn that even a vaguely amused smile makes him take on an overtly smug grin himself. At one point you start writing down a list of his less than progressive phrases, labeling it “Soldier Boy Racist Grampa Highlights," until he catches you, grabbing the list from next to you when he notices his name.

“The fucks this?” He’d asked as he scanned the page.

“I got bored,” you shrugged, and he rolled his eyes.

“This one’s not even that bad,” he pointed to a more recent addition, and you leaned over to read it.

“You called Hughie a cocksucking queer piss-boy. He’s not even here to defend himself.”

“So?”

You just gave him a flat look and returned your attention to the book you’d been skimming. You noticed him pocket the list, though, and over the next few days he started to pull it out whenever the apparently vital urge to insult someone showed its face. While the vulgarity didn’t decrease, the use of language you could only describe as tasteless and bigoted, did. Hughie even received a demotion to a “cocksucking pussy.”

He still rarely slept, instead locking himself in his room late at night and only emerging once you wake up. Once you pass his room on a 3am trip to the bathroom, walking in soft, toed steps to avoid disturbing him, only for the light leaking under his door to flood the hallway as he opens it.

“It’s not morning,” he watches you, leaning against his doorframe. “You should be asleep.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” is what you try to say. But between your clouded brain, restless need for the bathroom, and energy-drained body, what comes out is a string of sounds in a whiny tone.

“What was that?” His voice is taunting, but lacks any real edge.

“Cunt.” You mumble, trying to look at least a little menacing and, based off of what you think is a grin on Soldier Boy’s face, not succeeding.

“Bitch. You know, if you’re not tired, I’d be willing to help get you there.” He’s probably giving you a cocky, suggestive eyebrow wriggle, but between the sleepy squint of your eyes and light casting him in a silhouette, you really can’t tell. When you just make another mumble in response, he chuckles “Go back to bed, Sunshine, you’re going to collapse.”

“Nu-uh,” is all you can manage, and start to shuffle down the hall once more. When you emerge from the bathroom, your vision filled with spots after trying to turn on the lights only to be blinded, his door is closed once more, and you return to your room, collapsing back into useless, terror-fraught sleep.

When you walk into the kitchen that morning, the coffee pot is full.

———-

“What’s the third?”

You look up from your trudge through a CIA-provided, untranslated copy of Beowulf to find Soldier Boy staring at you from the door of your room.

“Third what?”

Taking that as an invitation, he stepped fully through the door to stand at the edge of your bed. “Third power. You’ve got your fireworks and feelings shit, what the fuck’s the third?”

You mark your page and meet his insistent face. “I told you that what, like ten days ago? Did you only now think to ask?”

“Nine days,” he says with an eye roll. “Don’t be fucking dramatic. And you got all pissy about your supe name. Not my fault I tried to respect your stupid fucking woman emotions and dropped it.”

You laugh. “First off, add ‘woman emotions’ to the list. And you totally forgot. I can see right through you, you just didn’t want me to make more old man jokes.”

“You’re fucking doing it anyway." He mutters, taking out the crumpled paper and a pencil from his pocket, using the wall to scratch the addition. “Would’ve been a stupid fucking plan, and I’m not a sensitive pussy who cares about jokes.” He shoves the list back into his jeans, and gives you a scowl as your grin spreads further across your face.

“Literally two days ago you threw a tantrum because I asked you what dinosaurs were your friends.”

“Are you going to answer my fucking question?”

“Fine, you baby,” you snort. “I can heal people by touching them. Technically, I transfer their injuries onto me, and then I heal so quickly it doesn’t matter. That’s mostly what I was doing for the Boys before this.”

“You were playing nurse?” He frowned. “When you can withstand a nuclear blast and are a fucking human molotov? That’s fucking stupid.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I don’t really have any control over the fire. And I wasn’t just ‘playing nurse’, I helped with missions in other ways.”

“Really?” His tone was sarcastic as he gave you a doubtful look. “What, you were a human shield too?”

“Well, yeah.” You mutter sheepishly. “But it was helpful."

“Sure, Sunshine. They must be torn up without you.”

You give him a scowl. “You know, I’m not going to tell you stuff if you’re going to be a fucking dick about it.”

He blinks, mouth curving down. “I was fucking joking.”

“Wasn’t funny,” you shrug, opening up your book. “Get out of my room.”

He doesn’t move. “Why are you being a fucking bitch again?”

You sigh, staring blankly at the pages. You’d admit, even from inside your own head, your anger had blossomed quite suddenly. But his accusations of your team being absolutely unaffected by your absence stabbed you somewhere in your chest, fueling that voice in the back of your head. It was getting louder, reminding you of all that damage in your wake—how your team walked on eggshells when they spoke to you and flinched when you touched them. “Human shield” was the best description of your place within the group. “Nurse” was too generous a term for a person they let touch and heal them only if the hospital was too far away and it couldn’t wait. On rare occasions you’d convince them to forgo their protests and just let you fix their wounds, but it took promises and pleas from you and exhausted caving from them. You look back up at Soldier Boy, who has remained in his place, eyes boring into you as you’d calmed yourself.

“I don’t like being useless.” You say softly. You know the admission could return to bite you in the ass should the peace you and Soldier Boy maintained the past week crumble, but he’d surprised you once. Maybe he’d do it again. “I don’t need you to remind me that I am.”

You watch his reaction, frown growing but fuming annoyance fading. His eyes were overtaken by a surly look you couldn’t figure out. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve heard.”

Your jaw drops, and that thing under your skin starts to claw against your skull. “Get out.” When he doesn’t move, your voice raises. “Get out!”

“Would you just-“

“Out!” You’re at a full scream now, chucking Beowulf at him. “Get the fuck out!”

“Just fucking listen to me!” He’d stumbled back as the book hit, most likely out of shock more than anything else, but remained in your room. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice smoke starting to curl around you, but you’re too angry to try to calm it. He must notice it as well, because his face pinches slightly, no longer trying to move back to you. “I wasn’t done-“

“What, you got more stupid, cruel shit to say? About how I’m not just useless, I’m a stupid fucking bitch? A useless whore who can’t even cook? An uptight fucking prude?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman, for once in your life, shut the fuck up!” He’s yelling too now, and suddenly you can’t move. It’s not like he’s never raised his voice before, having frequent appearances in your previous daily shouting matches, but this is different. This seeps through the air into your blood and head, shutting everything in you down until all that’s left is fear. Breathing is hard, your heart can’t seem to keep up with your lungs, and your anger is quickly turning into a light-headed, frantic need to go, go, go and hide, or to start clawing and clawing at whatever comes close until this feeling leaves. All of a sudden he’s right there, he’s in front of you and grabbing your arms, shaking you and saying something you can’t hear. Slowly, the tightness around you starts changing, becoming something solid, something firm. You’re annoyed and frustrated, but under it rests an urge to cover your hands in blood over something. Your fragile terror is washed over by a vigilant alarm, and everything suddenly feels sharper. As you emerge from your own brain, you notice Soldier Boy still there, his face level with yours.

“You’re fine.” It’s not a question. He’s telling you, and suddenly you realize that you are. And as you nod, you feel the distress in you fade into something like relief. Your head drops, and you tense once more as your eyes see his hands on your biceps.

“Um,” you look between his grip on your body and his face, drawn with a confusion you can feel in yourself. You gesture your head back down, his own attention following yours, and he lets out a grunt when he sees what you’re glancing at, dropping himself from you.

He draws himself up and turns, and part of you thinks he’s going to walk out the door and leave the rest of your fight for the morning. But he stops when he opens the door, and speaks without turning.

“You’re not useless. That’s what I was trying to fucking tell you. You’re certainly worth more than any of those preachy hypocrites.” Before you can ever open your mouth, he’s gone, slamming the door behind him.

You don’t sleep that night, laying in bed with the sheets feeling too warm and itchy, your thrashing only just slower than your restless thoughts. You stare and stare at the ceiling, trying to comb through the conversation and pick apart every second so you’d know just what to say when the dawn broke. You wanted to, needed to, make sure things didn’t go back to the way they’d been before. That had been exhausting, every part of your waking moments wondering who would blow up first, listing out hypotheticals to ensure that you would win any fight he offered you. You’d take the blame, a scratch in the back of your head told you it was yours anyway, to keep this truce. As the night moves, time becomes uncertain, hours, minutes, and seconds all feeling the same. Your dread turns to shame, to doubt, to a hot, righteous anger.

This won’t wait for morning, you decide. He doesn’t get to do this, make you sink down like this. It might have been your fault, but he doesn’t get to make you sit in it. You’re going to fix this or blow it up, and you’re going to do it now.

He must be up. He’s always up. You’d seen him “sleep” twice, both times in a frighteningly controlled manner, waking himself up the moment his breathing became soft. He’s certainly up, the light in his room is escaping into the hall, and you can hear him shuffling around, but, still, you knock on his door. When it doesn’t open, you knock again, then once more after another minute of inaction.

After the fifth knock, your patience a thin thread, you shout. “I know you’re in there, Soldier Boy! The light’s on, and I can fucking hear you! We need to talk!” The sounds pick up, but still the door is shut. “Let me fucking in, you ass!”

Nothing.

The thread snaps, and you push open the door. The harsh of the light blinds you for only a second, and when your eyes adjust, you're met with the sight of Soldier Boy, asleep, with his face in crumpled in a pained grimace. Sheet askew across the bed as he grunts unintelligibly, his body looks braced against something you can’t see. You’re frozen in your place near the door, agitation forgotten. You want to wake him up, because you know far better than anyone how real these things can seem, how the pain being your head doesn’t stop the echo of it in your body. You want to leave and never speak of this again, because there’s no way he receive you seeing him like this well. But what makes you decision for you, springing you from your rooted place, is the light in his chest starting to brighten as the room starts to hum.

It’s more instinct than anything—you know that the safe house and everything in it has been built to withstand this very thing, but that knowledge doesn’t stop you—as you run to the bed and shake Soldier Boy by his shoulders. When your skin meets his a rush of fear, pure and unbridled fear as strong as it had been from you hours ago, overtakes you. Fear and anger. You don’t think you ever felt this bloodthirsty, savage anger in you before. Your anger had always been cold and zealous, calculating tributes for your sorrow. This anger didn’t care. Somebody just had to hurt, and hopefully that someone would break.

If it’d been any other circumstance, you’d have been terrified by it. But you’re not, focused entirely on waking Soldier Boy up. Later, when several hours were between you and this moment, you’d deal with this. Maybe you’d even acknowledge how, despite the distance, you still may not be afraid of it. But now, with the light only growing, you let his feelings wash through you, and you do something drastic.

You pull back and slap Soldier Boy in the face.

He roars, eyes shooting open and glazed with a feral haze, his body jerking upright and grabbing you by the throat. Even as it happens, hindsight tells you that there probably were other ways to wake him up, but this was the stupid path you’d taken, and you unfortunately could not go back.

Before your vision could grow spotty, before your own fear and images of a flickering light above you could overtake your head, he let go with another shout. You scrambled back, realizing the fever in you had crept out of your spine, trading bruises on your neck for burns on his hands.

You watch him slowly regain control, his face dropping into exhaustion and his eyes searching the room—for what exactly, you’re not sure—and finding you.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” The words are low and rough, and though they don’t sound like a question, you answer him anyway.

“I- I just wanted to talk, and you weren’t answering the door…” You trail off lamely, your words sounding hollow even to you.

He doesn’t yell at your though, or push you out. He just stares at you, as if you’re meant to continue, to try and justify your presence. But you just stare back, unsure if you want him to kick you out, talk to you, or just pass out and forget the whole thing.

Instead of those options, leaving you at yet another loss, he sits back and scoots over to the far side of the mattress. When you don’t react besides another prolonged stare, he gives a half-hearted eye roll and pats the space next to him. Slowly, slightly fearful of misunderstanding his gesture, you walk over and drop on the bed at his side.

He’s looking ahead, unreadable from only his side profile, when he speaks.

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

You don’t stop watching him as you respond. “Does that happen every time?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

You don’t have anything else to say—any reassurance you can think of sounding stupid even in your head. So you wait, still watching him, and sit in the silence.

“Do you not have any?” His voice is strangely soft, though no tension has left his body.

You give a small sigh. “I do. But I’m good at hiding them. Stuff like that,” you wave a hand to his chest. “Only happens on bad days.”

“Bad days?” You can see his frown forming as his lips turn down, his voice growing deeper.

“On a few missions, I saw Homelander,” you whisper, now staring ahead yourself. “From afar. Really afar. I know he didn’t ever even see me, because I’m not back… there, but whenever I see him, apparently it’s enough.” You turn back to Soldier Boy, and are met with him watching you.

“Is that what yours are about?”

You give a small nod. “Different things happen, but it’s always him. Always there.”

“Hm,” his eyes don’t leave you as he speaks. “How do you stop them?”

You don’t have to ask what he means. “I don’t stop them, I just keep them in here.” You tap your head. “And I think of before. About how it was.”

“That helps?”

“As long as I don’t let myself remember that it will never be like that again.” You can’t hide the pain the words give you.

“What was it like?”

“Before? It’s was normal,” you shrug. “Boring.”

He tilts his head at you. “Normal?”

“Normal,” you repeat, watching his face as you speak.

He frowns, and looks away. You notice him swallow heavily, glaring at the wall. “Like,” he swallows again. “Like what?”

“Well, I had parents. Siblings. I had friends, I worked, I went to school-“

“School?” He turns back to you. “You're an adult, did they make school fucking longer?”

You feel a small smile quirk your lip. “No, I was doing a postgraduate. I’d actually just finished. Technically, I’m a doctor.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Of Anthropology, yeah. I know less about human medicine than WebMD.” You pause. "That’s like, a website that’s famous for giving bad medical advice. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“And you think you know less than it?”

“Oh, I know I know less than it.”

He snorted, returning to watch the wall. “That’s fuckin ironic.”

You nod in amusement. “Yep.”

When you don’t continue, he looks back once more. “What else?”

“I lived alone. Small, shitty studio on the Upper West Side. I visited my dad in Boston once a month-“

“Just your dad?”

“Yeah, my mom wasn’t dead, she’s just a bitch.” You hear Soldier Boy cough what might have been a laugh, but you ignore it. “She and my dad divorced when I was like, ten. They had joint custody, but I stopped talking to her when I was fifteen.”

“Harsh,” he mutters. “What, she ground you one too many times?”

You decided that holding back about thing like this was a need long gone. “She tried to send me to a medical boarding school in the Berkshires.”

“What the fuck is a ‘medical boarding school’”

“Like a psych ward where they teach you math.”

“Huh,” he raises his brows at you. “You need one?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I already knew math.”

He stares at you blankly, a smile having crept onto your face. “You’re… making a joke.” He said slowly.

“Yep,” you nudge his shoulder with your own. “That’s what a good one sounds like.”

He lets out a low laugh. “That wasn’t that fucking good.”

“You laughed.”

“You can’t fucking prove it.”

You’re grinning fully now. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, gramps.”

He rolls his eyes. “So your mom’s a bitch, you lived alone, and you can’t even cook. That’s just fucking sad.”

“New York is famous for its food,” you mutter. “And I can heat stuff up, as you very well know.”

“You can’t coast on box macaroni forever, Sunshine.”

“Been working fine for both of us so far.”

He gives you an amused look. “You’re not trying to seduce me.”

“What the fuck does that have to do-“

“You don’t have to impress me,” he continues, unfazed. “Your cooking doesn’t matter. What’d you do when you were hungry for dick?”

You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.” He only returns your glare with a cocky grin.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet, Sunshine.” He winks, and you roll your eyes.

“Men aren’t big pussies about that stuff anymore,” you smile as his face drops at your claim. “And I never spent a lot of time being ‘hungry for dick’, anyways.”

“What, you have a loyal boyfriend?” he taunts.

“Nope,” you give him a grin. “But I had a sweet old lady in the apartment across the hall who brought me food every weekend. You’d have liked her, she was just your type.”

He grunts, but not with annoyance. “All I hear is no boyfriend, no friends, and can’t cook. Like I said, just fucking sad.”

“I had friends!” You protest. “We’d do karaoke every Friday!”

“You can sing?”

“Nobody who does karaoke can sing,” you dodge with ease. “But we had fun.”

He lets out a labored breath, and when he turns to you this time, you notice how bloodshot his eyes are.

“Would you go back?” He asked. He was watching you so carefully, and you once again are left confused by the look in his eyes.

“I don’t think I could.” You answer, your voice sounding far away, a memory of a gravestone flashing in your head. “I don’t think it would be fair to them.”

“Fair to them?” He gives a doubtful huff. “That’s fucking stupid.”

“Really?” You challenge. “I don’t think it’s stupid to not want to pull the people you love into this shitshow. I got a chance to keep them out of this life. Most people aren’t that lucky.”

Soldier Boy only shrugs. “Bad things will still fucking happen to them.”

“Bad things happen to everyone.” Your words are firm. “I’m making sure they don’t fucking die.”

“Well,” he turns back to the wall. “Aren’t they fucking lucky they have you.”

You know his words are meant to be cold and sarcastic, his face has even dropped into a scowl. But there was no sharpness behind them, and the rest of his face just looks… so tired. You hate it, it’s leaking into you and you’re not even touching him. You really, really want it to stop. So, you say the only thing that you can think of.

“Nobody taught me,” you say softly.

“What?” His red eyes give you a confused glance.

“I can’t cook because nobody taught me how. My mom didn’t care to, I don’t think it ever occurred to my dad, and eventually everyone just assumed that I could and I didn’t want to correct them. I turned into some sort of rage against the patriarchy shit in my head, but it’s a just life skill that I can’t do because nobody wanted to teach me.” You give him a sad smile. “I don’t think they felt as lucky to have me as you think.”

“So why’re you protecting them?” He asks, a puzzled frown on his face. “If those pussies didn’t fucking care about you, then they don't fucking deserve it.”

You shrug. “I know. But I’m going to keep doing it anyway.”

His eyes on yours have that look of dissection again, but it’s no longer violating, only prying carefully. You’re not sure how long passes before he speaks.

“It’s late,” he mutters. “You should sleep.”

You hesitate, but nod and stand. You move to the door, glancing back to see his still watching, alone on the bed. From here, he somehow looks more tired, the light making the circles around his eyes more prominent and the color on his face more washed out. You think it’s the most human you’ve ever seen him.

“Good night, Soldier Boy,” you say gently, and turn to leave.

You almost don’t hear his response.

“You don’t have to call me Soldier Boy,” the words are said under his breath, and when you turn, he has a soft frown. “Ben’s fine.”

You blink, and a small, unforced smile crosses your face. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ben.”

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