#and she has to deal with someone who writes and is a teacher | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cameronsbabydoll · 2 days ago

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rafe cameron au ideas in my notes app! 🗒️ 🤍

let me know which you want to see!! ALSO PLS DO NOT STEAL ANY OF THESE!! THESE ARE MY IDEAS!

🛸 abduction survivor au

you were kidnapped for months and returned with no memory. everyone treats you like glass. rafe was your ex—the one you left before you vanished. now he’s back in your life, obsessed with protecting you.

only he knows where you were.

because he’s the one who took you.

🎸 ex-rockstar!rafe

he had it all: the fame, the girls, the coke. but he disappeared mid-tour, vanished into the carolinas. now he’s living alone in a lakehouse. you’re the girl who finds out who he really is—and instead of pushing you away, he lets you stay.

but you don’t know why he left.

or who he killed.

🛞 nascar driver!rafe southern golden boy, all charm and danger. he wins, crashes, bleeds, repeats. you’re the PR girl assigned to fix his image. he calls you “darlin’.” you hate it. he calls you at midnight. you answer. and when he crashes again, you’re the only name he says.

🧳 travel blogger!rafe (toxic edition) he documents his life online—beautiful cities, women, hotels. you’re the only one who shows up in every photo. but not by name. not tagged. you’re his secret. and he likes it that way.

🎢 amusement park!rafe

he runs the ride you’re terrified of. tattoos, sunglasses, always chewing gum. flirts shamelessly as he locks your safety bar in.

you come back again. and again.

he gives you free tickets.

you don’t know he got fired weeks ago—he’s just been showing up for you.

🛟 lifeguard!rafe

red swim trunks, lazy attitude, always wearing sunglasses inside. you’re the nerdy summer hire.

you get heatstroke your first week.

he carries you to the first aid room and acts like it’s no big deal.

but now he watches everything.

won’t even let you near the deep end unless he’s there.

🧳 bellboy!rafe (but secretly rich)

he works at a luxury hotel, carrying luggage and judging everyone. you’re a guest—soft, girly, rich.

he hates your perfume. your little skirts. your voice.

but he keeps getting assigned to your room.

and he does not take tips.

because he already owns the place

🎤 failed soundcloud rapper!rafe he’s your older brother’s friend. he lives in your garage. he records songs about “loyalty” and “betrayal” and posts thirst traps. you laugh at him once. and now he writes every verse about you.

🎥 indie director!rafe pretentious film bro who only shoots in black & white. he casts you as the lead in his “gritty” student film. you’ve never acted before. he says that’s what makes you

🛥️ boat tour guide!rafe (washed up rich boy era) he used to be someone. now he’s tan, barefoot, bitter—working tourist gigs on the island. you’re the girl who booked a solo ride. he thinks you’re naive. you think he’s broken. and when the boat "accidentally" drifts into a private cove... he doesn’t take you back.

🎮 esports champion!rafe (spoiled toxic gamer)

he’s 23, rich, and still acts like a reddit mod. his fans love him. his teammates hate him.

you’re the shy girl who wins a charity meet & greet.

he thinks you’re boring.

until you beat him.

and then he can’t stop DMing you.

🪚 woodworker!rafe (grumpy small town recluse)

he lives in the woods. builds furniture. barely speaks. you inherit your grandma’s house and hire him for a repair.

he touches your wrist to measure something.

you blush.

he stares.

“i could build you something softer.”

👨‍👧 single dad!rafe

he’s rough around the edges, has custody of his daughter, and never dates.

you’re her new preschool teacher.

she draws you in every crayon picture.

and he starts showing up early. stays late.

asks if you like wine.

🛌 sleep specialist!rafe (medical-ish, creepy edition)

you go to a sleep clinic because you’re waking up with bruises and no memory.

rafe is your assigned doctor.

you fall asleep hooked to wires.

and he watches.

because it’s not your body that’s restless.

it’s what’s inside you.

💒 wedding planner!rafe (obsessive & unhinged) you’re a blushing bride. he’s the planner your fiancé hired last-minute. detail-obsessed. unsettlingly calm. he starts changing things—your dress, your colors, your venue. then your fiancé disappears. and rafe smiles. “i’ll make it perfect, sweetheart. just like you.”

🕷️ pest control!rafe (genuinely horrifying) you call someone to deal with the weird scratching in your walls. he shows up. says it’s not bugs. starts coming by every night. asks if you’ve been having bad dreams. asks if you’ve fed it. starts staying over. you’re not sure if he’s protecting you or keeping you still.

🪞 mirror salesman!rafe (supernatural possession au) you buy an antique mirror. he delivers it. and then you start seeing him in the reflection even when he’s not there. he says he’s just checking in. he says you’re his. and you believe him. even when your reflection starts moving without you.

🎯 carnival worker!rafe (gritty & obsessive) he runs the ring toss. has scars. chews toothpicks. calls you “princess.” you win a cheap stuffed animal. he asks for your number. you say no. and now your face is in every funhouse mirror.

🏰 medieval knight!rafe (lowkey unhinged protector) he’s your sworn guard. you’re promised to another man. he kneels before you. calls you “my lady.” tells you he’d die before letting someone else touch you. but when war breaks out… he doesn’t die. he kills. and steals you in the night.

🧼 laundromat owner!rafe (obsessed loner type) he watches you through the security cams. always turns on your favorite machine. leaves little notes. a folded sock. a chocolate bar. you think it's cute. until you find one of your shirts in his car. folded. and kissed.

🐍 snake handler!rafe (low growly animal man) he works at the weird exotic pet shop. slow, southern drawl, hands always dirty. you flinch around the snakes. he laughs. calls you “fragile thing.” one day he lets you hold one. says “they only bite if you’re scared.” and puts his hand around your throat.

31. 🎞️ 1950s diner boy!rafe x soft sockhop reader he flips burgers, smokes behind the building, says things like “what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out this late?” you wear cardigans and saddle shoes and always say thank you. but you sit in his section every saturday. and he starts spiking your milkshakes with secrets.

32. 🕶️ 1960s cult leader!rafe x flower child reader you follow the caravan out west, looking for peace. he finds you barefoot in the desert and calls you an angel. feeds you berries, whispers about fate. you believe he’s gentle until you try to leave. and he smiles like god.

33. 📼 1980s mall goth!rafe x prep reader you wear pearls and read cosmo. he shoplifts eyeliner and writes his name on the bathroom stall. you kiss at the roller rink and he tastes like metal. he keeps your picture in his wallet and a knife in his boot. and the first time you cry, he laughs and says, "good. now you’re mine."

34. 📹 1990s video store clerk!rafe x shy reader you come in every friday to rent romcoms. he never speaks until one day he slides you a blank tape. you take it home. it’s footage of you. through your bedroom window.

35. 📟 2000s warehouse rave dealer!rafe x academic honors girl reader he sells molly in a strobe-lit room. you get dragged there by your roommate. he sees your cardigan, your ballet flats, your physics textbook peeking out of your purse. asks if you’re lost. you say no. you are.

36. 🪖 1940s war nurse!reader x soldier!rafe (psychologically broken) he’s injured, bleeding out, calls you beautiful even as he chokes on blood. you stitch him up. he won’t stop looking at you. won’t let anyone else near. says he’s gonna marry you. says he’ll go back to the front if you say no.

37. 🎤 1970s rockstar!rafe x sweet christian reader you meet backstage. you’re volunteering. he’s high and calling you “baby.” you say you don’t believe in casual sex. he laughs. then writes an entire album about corrupting you. and dedicates it to “the one who ran.

38. 🕹️ 80s arcade owner!rafe x weird tomboy reader you hang around all day, chewing gum and beating the high score. he calls you trouble. gives you quarters for free. starts letting you into the back room where the real games are. the ones that don’t belong in public.

39. 📻 1930s radio host!rafe x mail-order bride reader you win a contest: marriage to the “most eligible voice in america.” he sends a train ticket. you arrive to a broken-down house and a man who doesn’t look like his photo. he smiles, says you’ll adjust. says your voice is even better when you cry.

40. 🧤 1920s bootlegger!rafe x flapper reader (rebellious but naive) he finds you singing in a speakeasy. calls you “baby doll.” gives you pearls and gin and a gun. you think it’s glamorous. until you see the blood on his cuff. and he asks you to help hide the body.

41. 📼 y2k party boy!rafe x good girl reader he’s the rich kid who throws house parties. you only came for extra credit. he kisses you during seven minutes in heaven, says he likes the way you blush. and now he won’t stop calling your house phone. won’t stop showing up at your school. “you kissed me first, remember?”

42. 📚 1930s librarian!reader x rich heir!rafe he keeps coming in, ruining the silence, asking dumb questions. but he watches you like a wolf. drops crisp bills in the donation box. asks why you never smile. you say he doesn’t scare you. you lie.

43. 🧿 psychic!rafe x cursed!reader you were born under a bad moon. bad luck follows you everywhere. he’s the psychic in a dusty roadside town who touches your hand and goes still. says “i’ve been dreaming of you.” says “you’re mine in every lifetime.” says the only way to break your curse is to stay with him. forever.

44. 🔪 detective!rafe x missing girl reader you’re the face on the flyers. the girl who disappeared. he finds you. brings you home. but he never files the report. never tells the department. because he’s the one who found you. so now you’re his.

45. 🔒 prison guard!rafe x inmate!reader you got locked up for something you didn’t do. he believes you. believes in you. tells you he’s gonna protect you. he starts slipping you things—notes, snacks, keys. but when your release date comes… the paperwork goes missing.

46. 🕳️ neighbor!rafe x homebody reader (creepcore) you never leave your apartment. he likes that. you keep your curtains closed. he likes that too. but when your packages start going missing, you knock on his door. he’s already dressed for you. already knows your name. already has a shrine.

47. 💻 hacker!rafe x influencer reader you’re perfect on camera. filtered, loved, adored. but he sees the metadata. the real you. hacks your phone. watches you through the lens. starts changing your passwords. texting you from numbers you don’t recognize. telling you what to wear. what to say. and then one day, he shows up at your door—uninvited but expected.

48. 🍓 farmhand!rafe x city girl reader (isolated, slow-burn psychosis) you inherit a farmhouse. alone, city-born, clueless. he helps. teaches you things. fixes your roof. you call him sweet. he calls you “his girl.” and then your car won’t start. the phone line’s cut. but the fridge is full. and he says “you’re safe here.”

49. 🕰️ antique clockmaker!rafe x reincarnated reader he’s immortal. you’re the same girl in every lifetime. he always finds you. always loves you. and every time, you die too soon. this time, he says, he’s not letting you go. this time, he’s going to stop time.

50. 🐚 lighthouse keeper!rafe x washed-up girl reader (gothic horror vibes) you wake up on the shore. bruised. dazed. he finds you. says the sea brought you to him. you ask for a way back. he says “there’s nothing to go back to.” the waves crash harder when you try to leave.

51. 💉 emergency medic!rafe x reckless reader (toxic obsession) you keep showing up in the ER—bruised, sick, dizzy. he patches you up. lectures you. gets colder every time. until one night he leans down and whispers, “i don’t like watching you break yourself for people who don’t deserve you.” and the next time someone hurts you— they disappear.

52. 🧼 obsessive cleaner!rafe x feral girl reader you live like chaos. dirty dishes. wine-stained pillows. he works for the cleaning service your landlord hired. he starts staying late. scrubbing harder. starts folding your underwear. starts buying things “for you.” until one night he says, “you don’t have to live like this. let me take care of you.” and moves in without asking.

53. 🩻 radiologist!rafe x sickly reader (medical kink, twisted caretaking) he sees you on the screen first. your scans, your file. starts requesting your case. calls you “my little patient.” tells you you’re special. you don’t even realize you’re getting sicker. but he does. and he likes it.

54. 🔭 astronomer!rafe x insomniac reader you can’t sleep. he works at the observatory. lets you in late at night. says the stars are watching you. calls you “celestial.” writes your name on every constellation map. starts sending you letters in morse code. you think it’s romantic— until he stops using a telescope and starts using a camera.

55. 🧷 psychiatric orderly!rafe x inpatient reader you’re admitted for a breakdown. he’s the only one who treats you gently. but he never lets you near the phones. always adjusts your dosage himself. tells you your family stopped calling. tells you the world outside isn’t safe. but he is.

56. 💼 1950s door-to-door salesman!rafe x housewife!reader he knocks at your door every tuesday with a new vacuum, new grin, new excuse. your husband’s always away. you always say no. until one day, he doesn’t leave. just sets the box down and says, “you don’t have to pretend anymore.” and steps inside.

57. 🍸 1960s ad man!rafe x secretary!reader (mad men-coded) he smokes menthols and drinks gin by noon. calls you “doll,” “baby,” “sweetheart.” you bring him coffee. you see him watching you from the glass wall. he tells you you’re the only girl in this building who’s not fake. and when the lights go off, he makes you prove it.

58. 🧺 1950s milkman!rafe x lonely housewife!reader your husband is never home. your neighbors whisper. rafe shows up every morning with fresh bottles and warm eyes. leaves little notes. asks how you slept. asks if you’re cold at night. then one day your husband doesn’t come home. but the milk keeps arriving.

59. ☎️ 1960s switchboard operator!reader x cop!rafe he keeps calling the station line after hours. says he’s just checking in. asks what you’re wearing. you tell him to stop. but the calls keep coming. until you see him across the street. smiling. not holding a phone.

60. 🧽 1950s neighborhood watch!rafe x younger reader you’re the sweet girl next door with curlers in your hair. he’s older, clean-shaven, everyone’s favorite “community man.” he says you shouldn’t walk home alone. he says boys your age don’t respect girls like you. he says he’ll drive you. but he never takes you straight home.

61. 🕶️ 1960s undercover fed!rafe x secretary!reader (cold war paranoia) you get assigned to a new boss. he’s stiff. serious. strange. but he’s always asking about your life. your schedule. your friends. and then your friends start disappearing.

62. 🧑‍🔬 1950s scientist!rafe x subject!reader (atomic age horror) you signed up for a government-funded health study. he runs the tests. he tells you your body’s changing. he keeps you longer each visit. starts calling you his. says you’re not safe out there anymore. not with what’s inside you now.

63. 🩰 1950s ballet instructor!rafe x obedient student!reader you’re the softest, smallest girl in the class. he calls you perfect. but when you misstep, he grips your waist too tight. breathes down your neck. says “try again, darling. or I’ll break you in.”

64. 📚 nerd!rafe x mean!popular!reader (but you bully him first) you were paired with him for a group project. you make fun of his glasses. his pants. his pens. he acts like he doesn’t care. but he’s writing fanfic about you now. violent fanfic. and one night, you find it. and instead of being disgusted— you smirk and say “you want to try it?”

65. 🎮 gamer!loser!rafe x camgirl!reader (toxic simp energy) you’re a camgirl who plays dress-up and blows kisses. he’s been your top tipper for months. you say his name once on stream and he loses it. prints it out. writes it on his walls. starts showing up to your P.O. box. and now he thinks you owe him something.

66. 🖋️ creative writing major!nerd!rafe x popular!reader (he writes dark drabbles abt you) you’re loud, hot, always late to class. he sits in the back and watches. when it’s his turn to share his story, it’s about a girl with your name. about the things he’d do to her. everyone laughs. you don’t. and when you ask him if it was really about you— he just says “do you want it to be?”

67. 📸 photography club!rafe x cheerleader!reader (voyeur-coded) you agreed to let him take pics of you for the school exhibit. what you don’t know is he’s been taking them since before you said yes. in your car window. through your blinds. and when you ask to see the proofs, he shows you the folder labeled “mine.”

68. 📚 tutor!nerd!rafe x flirty dumb!reader you ask him to tutor you in econ. you don’t know how to stop biting your pen. he doesn’t know how to stop staring. you get every answer wrong. but you bat your lashes and go “oops.” and suddenly he’s gripping the desk and telling you, “say oops again and i’ll fucking ruin you.”

69. 💼 tech support!loser!rafe x bratty!rich!intern!reader you keep forgetting your password. he keeps resetting it for you. you call him a dork. a lifesaver. a little genius. he saves every voicemail. and when he hacks your laptop and turns on your webcam, he says it’s just so he can protect you.

70. 🎓 teacher’s assistant!rafe x spoiled dumb!reader you keep showing up during office hours in mini skirts. he says you’re wasting time. you pout and say you’re trying. he knows you’re lying. knows you want attention. and one day he snaps. locks the door. says “you want an A? earn it.”

71. 🧠 stem major!rafe x sweet but dumb!reader he’s cold. brilliant. always correcting people. you wear bows and pink headphones and never get the formula right. he tells you you’re embarrassing. tells you to focus. but he starts walking you to class. starts carrying your books. and when someone calls you stupid, he doesn’t correct them—he threatens them.

#rafe cameron au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #cameronsbabydoll ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#rafe outer banks #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction

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warrioreowynofrohan · 2 days ago

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Rilla of Ingleside Book Club – Chapter 2 (“Dew of Morning”)

My gut is saying that the chapter title is a Bible reference. Whether my gut is correct or not, the metaphor is clear – something that is beautiful but very transitory. The chapter’s purpose is dramatic irony, and it lays it on thick. “Sometimes I wish something dramatic would happen once in a while.” “Don't wish it. Dramatic things always have a bitterness for some one.” “Don't wish your youth away. It goes too quickly. You'll begin to taste life soon enough."

"Taste life! I want to eat it," cried Rilla, laughing. "I want everything—everything a girl can have. I'll be fifteen in another month, and then nobody can say I'm a child any longer. I heard someone say once that the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years in a girl's life. I'm going to make them perfectly splendid—just fill them with fun.”

“I can't be sober and serious—everything looks so rosy and rainbowy to me. Next month I'll be fifteen—and next year sixteen—and the year after that seventeen. Could anything be more enchanting?"

"Rap wood," said Gertrude Oliver, half laughingly, half seriously. "Rap wood, Rilla-my-Rilla."

By the time the war ends, Rilla’s girlhood will be over – in terms of age. In terms of life experience, it will be over sooner than that.

The other purpose of the chapter is to introduce Rilla, amd wow is it a contrast to LM Montgomery’s other characters. Anne’s central characteristic is her imagination (and temper), Emily’s her love of writing (and her pride), Jane’s (in Jane of Lantern Hill) her desire for responsibility and usefulness as expressed in domestic tasks. Rilla…Rilla is the “other girls” that novel protagonists aren’t like. Rilla is the silly, shallow girls who thonk of nothing but beaux and parties and dresses, and who want beaux – plural! – not because they love anyone in particular, but because it’s a mark of admiration. Sure, she’s, 14, but – girl! At some point you are going to have to do something with your life! Whether you get work and support yourself or get married and become a housewife, you are going to need some kind of skills! This isn’t an Austen novel! You can’t count on some rich guy to be enchanted and sweep you off to live a life of leisure surrounded by servants, so you need to have some actual abilities beyond being pretty and charming!

In some ways she feels like Anne’s young friend with all the italics in Anne of Windy Poplars (she’s even trying to be besties with her teacher in the same way!). The girl whose life has largely been free of bitterness affects to speak “bitterly” to echo the gravitas of someone with real life experience – not to put on a facade for others, but to feel more interesting to herself. (I may be being too hard on her. Her favourite brother being so sick he was hospitalized is a kind of hardship most present-day people haven’t experienced by 14).

Rilla is possibly the least ‘exceptional’ or unusual of LM Montgomery’s heroines, amd I think her frivolity here is the point, as a contrast to how the war will shape her. Someome who was already serious and forward-thinking wouldn’t have the same kind of arc.

“Wordsworth never wrote anything like Walter's poems—nor Tennyson, either."

"I wouldn't say just that. Both of them wrote a great deal of trash," said Miss Oliver dryly.

This made me laugh out loud. I do like Walter – it’s just, the enthusiasm of the young vs the perspective of the older.

#rilla of ingleside book club #rilla of ingleside #lm montgomery

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huewrite · 6 months ago

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Hey OP @magentasnail, my therapist said I need to make an emotion chart and everyone in my house is ND (Husband ADHD, Child Diag Autism, Me diag Dyslexia and self diag autism) .... Can I use this for that please?

served my duty as an autistic artist and made a bunch of autism creature reaction images

#emotions #feels #this is me #I need this #look I am trying to do the good therapy stuff and the homework she gave #and she has to deal with someone who writes and is a teacher #I need to give her this win and this fits better than other ones I saw #I just need a hide in the biggest hoodie ever one #I will share a picture of me in the biggest hoodie ever if you do it

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kashverse · 4 months ago

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Hi ! What about babykuna's first fight at school or on the playground ? How would it happen? How would her parents react to the comments of the teacher or the parent of the child that babykuna fought against?

By the way I love your writing ❤️

Coming back on your page is part of my routine, now ❤️

babytoru was first introduced in this post, if you missed it out :P

the playground is truly a battleground of politics, alliances, and power struggles. the young rulers of the sandbox empire have their territories marked—some reign over the swings, some control the seesaws, but the slide? the slide is where real power is decided. on this fateful day, all was running smoothly. the queue was in order. kids were waiting their turn, deals were being made—who gets the best spot in the sandpit, who gets pushed on the swings, and of course, who gets the ultimate first slide down. but then—disaster struck.

enter babytoru.

babytoru, the undisputed princess of the gojo household, struts up to the slide like a celebrity at the met gala. she is wearing a custom LV dress with designer shoes that probably cost more than someone’s mortgage, and she is here to take what is hers. babytoru, with all the grace and arrogance of a true queen, points at the slide. "i wanna go first."

everyone in the queue freezes. it is a declaration of war.

the kids exchange nervous glances. no one dares oppose babytoru—not because they’re scared of her, but because they know—somehow, she always gets what she wants. so naturally, the line parts like the red sea. babytoru hops onto the slide, smug as ever. but what she doesn’t realize is that in her moment of unwarranted self-glorification, she has landed in the worst possible place.

babykuna’s spot.

now, babykuna is not one for dramatics. but she is also not one to be disrespected. and right now, she is disrespected. babykuna’s chubby little arms cross over her chest. her lips purse. her four-year-old glare is burning with the fury of a thousand betrayed souls. babytoru, completely unbothered, smirks at her. "you can push me now."

the playground goes silent. the kids hold their breath. babykuna does not hesitate.

she shoves babytoru.

it is not a graceful shove.

babytoru goes tumbling.

she hits the slide at maximum velocity, flipping over like an olympic gymnast who wasn’t ready for their routine. and then—

SPLAT!

she lands face-first into the sandpit. the horrified screams of the playground fill the air. babytoru is motionless. for a moment, the world stands still. and then—

she wails.

"MY DRESS!"

babykuna immediately starts crying too. "you stole my spot!"

now there are two very loud, very distressed toddlers crying at top volume. the playground is in chaos. some kids have fled the scene. others are watching, fascinated. the sandpit kids do not care because they are deep in their own battles. meanwhile, the fathers arrive.

gojo, upon seeing his daughter crying in designer fashion disaster, immediately crouches beside her, trying very hard not to laugh. “oh my baby—oh my god, you should’ve seen how you fell—wait, no, i mean, are you okay?” babytoru sniffles dramatically, lifting a sand-covered hand. "my dress is ruined."

gojo bites his lip to stop a grin. “it’s just a little sand, princess. we can—pffft—wash it off.” babytoru glares, lower lip wobbling as she lifts her sand-covered dress.

"this is LOO-WISS… VUHH… VUHEE… VU-TON!"

gojo loses it.

“pffft—yeah, okay, we’ll get your ‘loo-wiss vuhee vu-ton’ dry-cleaned, princess.”

"DADDY!"

meanwhile, sukuna is having a different kind of breakdown. his daughter, his sweet babykuna, is standing there, red-faced, tears streaming, looking both guilty and furious at the same time.

"you okay, kid?"

babykuna, between deep sobs, hiccups, "she—she STOLE MY SPOT!"

sukuna, massaging his temples, exhales, "yeah, yeah, kid, i saw. and you, uh… handled it."

he takes out a tylenol. he dry swallows it. "you’re gonna apologize," sukuna sighs. babykuna stomps her tiny foot. "she should apologize!"

babytoru, still wiping sand off her precious LV dress, gasps.

"you PUSHED ME!"

"YOU TOOK MY SPOT!"

"YOU TRIED TO MURDER ME!"

"IT WAS A SHOVE!"

"MY DRESS!"

"MY SPOT!"

gojo bursts out laughing. sukuna rubs his face in pure exhaustion. this is going to be a long day.

#@sukuna #@gojo #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jjk drabbles #jjk crack #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen crack

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milfsloverblog · 23 days ago

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hola!! I would like to request larissa x reader where they broke up years ago and when larissa sees reader again she finds out reader has a daughter who looks just like her 👀 lots of angst please

All the Quiet Things

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Ngl, I usually wouldn’t write fics where a kid is involved, but reading this request my brain was immediately flooded with angst ideas…. I hope you’ll enjoy it, I sure enjoyed working on it! Oh and happy pride month!

She tells herself it’s the books.

There’s a stall in Greymoor Square that sells rare volumes. Bindings cracked from age, typefaces long since faded. The woman who runs it speaks only in riddles and won’t haggle for anything less than a poem. It’s charming, Larissa tells herself. Worth the hour’s drive, if only for the atmosphere.

That’s why she’s here.

She repeats it like a mantra as she steps onto the cobbled main street of the town just past Jericho. Her heels click sharply against stone. The air smells of baked bread, cherry blossoms, and something sweeter underneath. Something she refuses to name.

It’s early yet. The market is just waking.

Sunlight stretches pale across the awnings, catching on glass bottles filled with syrup and honey. Someone’s tuning a fiddle in the corner. Wind stirs the edges of paper signs.

Larissa inhales. Exhales. Keeps walking.

She should be back at Nevermore, revising staff evaluations, fielding calls from the board, dealing with that absurdly smug fencing instructor who’s started teaching metaphors alongside parries. Instead, she is here, in a town she once passed through and never returned to.

The lie still holds.

Barely.

She stops at a table of marmalades, nods politely to the vendor, pretends to study the jars. Her gloved fingers pass over labels—plum-rose, blackberry-thyme, fig and burnt orange. The colors are rich and glimmer faintly in the morning light.

She does not buy anything.

Instead, she drifts. Watches the life of the market unfold in pieces. An elderly man arguing about tomatoes. A pair of girls balancing loaves of bread between them. A woman with a sleeping child tucked against her chest, the tiny hand curled in soft trust.

Larissa’s stomach turns.

She pauses at a flower stall. The scent is almost overwhelming: lilac, sage, and freshly cut mint. She remembers the smell. Not the exact one, but the shape of it. You once carried mint on your fingers, tucked wild herbs into your pockets. You used to tell her she smelled like winter, and you were determined to warm her up.

She hadn’t thought of that in years.

Hadn’t let herself.

But now the memory presses forward uninvited, and she cannot push it away.

Because someone said your name.

It had been nothing, really. A casual remark over coffee in the staff room. One of the teachers, cheerful and unobservant, had mentioned passing through the Greymoor market the weekend prior.

“Oh, and I could swear I saw a woman who used to work at the Academy years ago… What was her name? The one with the clever mouth. You know, the one Principal Weems was always—well. Never mind.”

Larissa had smiled. Tilted her head. Raised one perfectly plucked brow.

“You must be mistaken,” she had said.

But her tea had gone cold in her hand.

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

And this morning, after the groceries, her car somehow veered west instead of north.

And now, now she is here. Pretending not to search for something she has no right to find.

She rounds a corner and sees the bookseller’s stall in the distance.

Her breath stutters. Not because of the books.

Because someone just turned away from the herbs stall, and she would know the shape of your shoulders anywhere.

There are moments the mind saves for after the fall.

Not the arguments. Not the leaving. Just the quiet before it all began to end.

It comes to her now like mist curling through an open window. Soft and familiar, tinged with the ache of what she never gave.

You used to come to her only after dark.

Never earlier than midnight, never later than two. The hours when the halls of Nevermore slept, and her corridors belonged to no one but ghosts. You never knocked. You didn’t have to. The door was always unlocked, cracked just slightly as if her restraint had slipped at the last minute.

She remembers the sound of your steps.

Barefoot on stone. Careful. You used to hum to yourself on the nights you thought she wasn’t listening.

She always was.

Her quarters were colder than they should’ve been. A high-ceilinged thing with windows far too large, draped in velvet so deep it swallowed moonlight whole. You hated the curtains. She used to watch you wrinkle your nose at them, mutter something about feeling like a kept secret.

And you were.

She made you one.

Every time you touched her, she felt seen in ways she didn’t know how to bear. You peeled her open with fingertips and laughter and soft, unrelenting trust. And what did she give in return?

Nightfall. Shadows. Silence.

You’d crawl beneath the covers beside her, skin warm from sneaking across cold floors. Your body always found hers instinctively, one knee slipping between her legs, one hand brushing her hip like you had every right. You’d smile into her collarbone and call her headmistress in that irreverent way that made her shiver.

She let you shift her. Literally, sometimes. Those were nights she gave in to the instinct buried deep in her kind, the one that allowed her to change shape and body, to take on something heavier, harder. You liked that. She did too. Not because of what she became, but because it was still her, and you never flinched.

But even then, in the dark, there were boundaries she never let you cross.

No hand-holding outside.

No pet names. Not where anyone could hear.

And always—always—you left before dawn.

She told herself it was protection. That if the wrong person knew, your job would be in danger. That you didn’t want that kind of attention. That the board wouldn’t understand. That she was sparing you.

But the truth lived deeper.

She didn’t want to risk herself.

It was easier that way. To keep the thing sacred only in secret. To let love bloom behind curtains, never in daylight. She convinced herself you understood. That the way you curled closer afterward, pressing your forehead to her sternum like it was the only place you slept well, meant you were content.

But she remembers the last night.

You’d said it like it didn’t matter.

“I won’t do this forever, you know.”

Your voice had been soft, almost sleepy. You were lying on your side, hair mussed from her pillow, fingers tracing idle circles over the inside of her wrist. Larissa had stilled. Not enough for you to notice, not enough to seem afraid, but she had felt something tighten.

You didn’t look at her when you said it. You looked at the drawn curtains, the ones you always hated, as if they were the ones holding you captive.

“I can’t keep being nothing in the daylight.”

And Larissa, she didn’t answer.

Not with anything that counted. Just touched your hair, pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, and pretended the moment hadn’t happened. She thought, maybe, if she stayed quiet long enough, you'd stay too.

But you didn’t.

You left before dawn, as always.

Except you never came back.

She had told herself it was for the best. That you’d moved on. That some bright-eyed suitor had offered you a life that didn’t involve shadows and silk-draped secrets.

That it was easier this way.

It’s what she clung to—until now.

Because now, in the center of the market, the crowd parts for just a moment—and you’re standing not ten paces away.

Older. A little.

Your hair is longer. Or maybe shorter. She can’t tell. Her breath has stilled in her throat like a bird caught behind glass.

You haven’t seen her yet.

You’re studying a jar of jam like it contains the answer to something complicated. The sun lights your cheekbone in the exact way it used to when you turned toward her bedside window. She feels the past stretch toward her like an echo trying to find its source.

It hits her all at once:

You’re real.

You’re here.

You suddenly lift your eyes.

And the world stops.

Larissa doesn’t remember stepping forward. Only that your face is exactly as she remembers, and nothing like it at all. Softer around the edges, perhaps. More tired. Or maybe just sharper, carved by five years of silence and everything they didn’t say.

Your expression changes.

Not shock. Not warmth.

Something colder. Something closed.

Her breath stumbles. She swallows it.

“…Hello,” she says.

It lands with all the grace of a stone dropped in water.

You don’t smile. Don’t look away. You just set the jar down on the table—deliberate, controlled—and straighten.

“Principal Weems,” you say, voice dry as paper.

That stings more than she’ll let show.

She gives a small nod, trying to hold herself upright beneath the weight of her own cowardice. “You… look well.”

“Do I?”

There’s no warmth in your voice. No invitation. But you don’t walk away.

Larissa seizes on that small mercy and steps closer. The space between you is measured now, not by feet, but by regret. The kind that yawns wider the longer it’s left untouched.

“I didn’t expect—” she starts, then stops herself. She can’t say she came looking. Not like this. Not when she barely deserves your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect to see me? Or didn’t expect to see me here?”

The market bustles around you, oblivious. Somewhere nearby, a fiddle begins to play. It’s light, cheerful. Out of place.

Larissa draws in a breath. “I heard your name. A colleague mentioned seeing you. I… didn’t believe it at first.”

Your jaw tightens, just slightly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back this way,” she adds.

“I didn’t,” you say flatly. “Not until recently.”

A beat.

She wants to ask everything. Where you went. What you’ve done. Who you became without her.

But you speak again before she can find the words.

“You look exactly the same,” you say, tone unreadable. “I guess time doesn’t touch you the way it does the rest of us.”

Larissa flinches inwardly. “That’s not true.”

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

Her throat closes.

There are a thousand things she could say. Apologies she’s rehearsed in the silence of her chambers, explanations that don’t excuse but still try to make sense of her choices.

But you glance to the side. Just slightly. As if checking for someone. Your posture shifts, not in fear, not in nerves, but in the guarded way of someone who has something precious nearby.

A little girl—no older than five—comes sprinting toward you across the square. Pale curls bouncing, face alight with joy. You bend slightly as she flings her arms around your waist, and you catch her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you have always done it.

Like you are her mother.

Larissa can’t breathe.

The child turns and looks up at her. Wide blue-grey eyes. A dimple in her left cheek. The shape of her nose, her chin, the curl of her lashes…

Larissa staggers a step backward.

“She looks like me,” she says.

You don’t answer right away.

Larissa can’t move.

Because suddenly, the past five years shift. They realign. Every breath, every sleepless night, every echo of your body in her bed.

It all collapses into this one impossible truth:

She hadn’t just left you behind.

You hold your daughter a little tighter.

It’s instinct. Not fear. Just the kind of silent tether a mother keeps when the ground starts to tilt.

You don’t look at Larissa. Not right away.

Because you can’t.

Not when her eyes are locked on the child like she’s seen a ghost. Not when her voice trembles with that awful, fragile kind of disbelief.

“She looks like me,” she says again.

You breathe through your nose. Slow. Measured.

You’ve practiced this.

You’ve practiced everything.

The way you kept your voice steady through the morning sickness. The way you signed the birth certificate without a second name. The way you buried that old photograph, the one where you lay half asleep, curled into her bare chest, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You buried it all.

But it still breathes.

Your daughter shifts in your arms, resting her head against your shoulder. Her curls brush your cheek. You close your eyes.

She smells like sun-warmed linen and lemon soap and the apricot pastry she insisted on having for breakfast. She smells like home.

You open your eyes and finally meet Larissa’s.

She’s pale. Paler than you’ve ever seen her. Her lips parted. Her hands slack at her sides.

You don’t want her to look at your child like that. Like she’s a riddle. Like she’s an answer. Like she’s a revelation Larissa didn’t earn.

So you speak. Soft. Sharp.

“Don’t.”

It stops her cold.

Her mouth opens. Maybe to ask. Maybe to apologize. But you cut in before she can do either.

“You don’t get to look at her like that.”

Your voice doesn’t shake, but your fingers do.

Just slightly.

Larissa notices. Of course she does.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “God, I didn’t—I didn’t know you were—”

“Pregnant?” You exhale. “Neither did I. Not when I left.”

The words sit heavy between you.

“I wasn’t hiding her from you,” you add. “I just didn’t know she existed yet.”

Larissa stares. Frozen. Like if she breathes, the world will split open.

You look down at your daughter. Your voice softens without meaning to.

“I left because I was tired of being a secret, Larissa. Not because I stopped loving you.”

She looks like she might fall over. Like the ground has opened and nothing is holding her up anymore.

“I would’ve stayed forever,” you say. “If you’d let me exist in the daylight.”

The silence that follows is raw. Almost sacred. The kind that only lives between people who were once everything.

Your daughter stirs, blinking up at you.

“Everything okay, Mommy?”

You brush a strand of hair from her forehead. Smile, soft and instinctive. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart.”

You glance back at Larissa. Her face is shattered.

You should walk away. You know you should.

But something stops you. Not pity. Not cruelty.

Just history.

Just love. Old and threadbare, but not quite dead.

So your voice gentles when you speak again.

“I didn’t plan to hurt you.”

You shift your daughter higher on your hip, thumb smoothing the back of her dress.

“I didn’t plan any of this.”

You start to turn away. Then pause.

And when you meet her eyes again, something quiet lingers there. Not forgiveness. But not quite blame, either.

“If you’re wondering,” you say, “I named her Solene. she’s kind. And she’s bright. And she likes to sing when she thinks no one’s listening.”

A breath.

“She got that from you.”

A silence.

A heartbeat.

Then you’re gone.

The car door slams harder than she means it to.

Inside, the silence is too much. The stillness. The absence.

Larissa grips the steering wheel with both hands, but it’s pointless. Her palms are damp and shaking. The leather is warm under her fingers, but she’s cold. Icy, bone-deep cold.

She stares straight ahead.

The market is still busy. Families move between stalls, children tugging their parents toward sweets and painted wooden toys. Laughter floats through the air. Bread, flowers, the sharp salt of feta samples. It all smells like life continuing. Like nothing has happened.

But something has.

You.

And the child.

Her child.

Larissa shuts her eyes.

“She looks like me,” she had said.

And it was true. God, it was true. Those wide grey-blue eyes. The dimple. That nose. That mouth. It was like someone had taken the smallest, most human parts of her and carved them into new life.

A daughter.

Your daughter.

She presses her forehead against the steering wheel.

You didn’t tell her.

Not because you wanted to hurt her. Not because you meant to hide it. You just… left.

Larissa feels the ache of it now. The terrible symmetry of what she did to you—hiding you behind drawn curtains and late-night shadows—and what you had to do in return. Raising a child alone. Bearing the weight of both your griefs in silence.

She had no idea.

All these years, she thought you walked away out of pride. Out of anger. That you’d found someone new. That the pain she’d tried not to feel was mutual, deserved, symmetrical.

But you didn’t know you were pregnant.

And you still chose to walk away, because Larissa never once gave you the sun.

She breathes through her teeth.

Something hot and acidic swells in her chest. Grief, yes, but something else too.

Longing.

Want.

Not for the past.

For now.

For that child who looked up at her like she was no one. For that child who should’ve known her. For the curve of your voice when you said she sings when she thinks no one’s listening.

She should’ve heard that.

She should’ve known that.

Larissa shoves the door open and climbs out.

She doesn’t think. Doesn’t lock the car. Doesn’t glance at the market square. She just walks—quickly, eyes darting, scanning for any glimpse of your silhouette, your hair, that soft blue dress your daughter wore.

She doesn’t care how foolish it looks. How desperate. How loud.

She needs to see you.

Not to apologize.

Not to explain.

To ask.

To beg.

Let me try.

Let me meet her. Let me know her name. Let me hold her just once. Let me be the thing I never thought I was allowed to be.

Let me be her mother.

She turns a corner and sees the crowd begin to thin.

Shops give way to cobblestone alleys and quiet cafés. She slows slightly, eyes searching every step ahead.

She has no idea what she’ll say when she finds you.

But she knows she won’t let it end in silence again.

She sees you half a block ahead.

Near the bakery. That little one with the peeling paint and the lavender hanging in the window.

You’re slower now. Your daughter’s hand is wrapped tightly in yours. She’s walking on the low stone edge of the path, carefully balancing herself as you guide her. You glance down every few steps, steadying her with just a brush of your palm.

Larissa doesn’t call your name. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.

She just walks faster.

You hear her steps before she’s close enough to speak.

You stop walking. Don’t turn around—just stand still, spine straight, hand still curled protectively around your daughter’s. You murmur something to the little girl, and she hops gently off the stone ledge. You gesture toward the bakery door.

“She’s hungry,” you say as Larissa slows to a stop behind you. “We came here for bread and I let her get distracted. She loves the cheese twists.”

Larissa swallows. “You do too.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

“She’s five,” Larissa says, quietly.

“Four and a half,” you correct. “Birthday’s in November.”

There’s silence. A breath too long. A breath too charged.

You sigh.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Larissa’s voice is hoarse. “Because I didn’t get to say anything.”

You don’t turn around. Not yet.

“She asked who you were,” you say. “I told her your name. That’s all.”

“And if she asks more?”

“She won’t. Not today.”

Larissa nods. She deserves that.

You shift slightly, just enough to glance at her over your shoulder.

Your eyes are tired. Not just from today. From years of it.

“She doesn’t know,” you say. “Anything. She doesn’t know you exist.”

The words land with a weight she can barely bear.

“And it wasn’t to punish you,” you say again. “I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I didn’t want to give her a ghost.”

That’s what Larissa had become, after all.

A name unspoken. A grief unshared. A memory too sharp to explain to a child with nothing but questions.

“But now I’m not a ghost,” Larissa says. “I’m here. And I want…”

You turn fully now. Still holding your daughter’s hand. Still standing between them.

Larissa’s voice cracks.

“I want to know her.”

You say nothing.

“I want to learn her favorite color. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to know she came from something… from someone who would have loved her so much if she’d only known.”

You blink, and something shifts in your face. Not forgiveness, not yet. But a fissure. A place where something old has started to melt.

“I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Larissa steps closer.

“I’m asking you not to shut the door. I’m asking you to give me a chance to meet my daughter. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Just…” Her voice breaks again. “A beginning.”

Your daughter tugs lightly on your sleeve.

“Mommy,” she says. “Is she sad?”

You crouch to her level, brushing a curl from her face.

“She’s someone I used to know,” you murmur. “And maybe… maybe someone we’ll get to know again. What do you think about sharing your cheese twist?”

The little girl looks at Larissa.

Then nods.

Larissa doesn’t move.

You rise slowly and tilt your head toward the bakery. “Come in, if you want.”

Larissa breathes. For the first time in minutes. Maybe in years.

You’re not promising anything.

But you’re not walking away.

Not this time.

————————————————————————

taglist: @weemssapphic , @im-a-carnivorous-plant , @dingdongthetail , @gwensfz , @erablaise-blog , @rainbow-hedgehog , @renravens , @kaymariesworld @niceminipotato , @witchesmortuary @notmeellaannyy , @weemswife , @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 , @redkarine , @women-are-so-ethereal , @opheliauniverse , @willisnotmental , @raspburrythief , @fictionalized-lesbian , @geekyarmorel , @h-doodles , @cxndlelightx , @m1lflov3rrr , @winterfireblond @nocteangelus15 , @aemilia19 @spacetoaim22 @vendocrap8008 8 @jkregal @gela123 @lilfartbox1 @xuukoo @bellatrixsbrat @sadsapphic-rose @dumbasslesbi @larissalover3 @friskyfisher @fliesinmymouth @imprincipalweemspet @forwhichidream11 @amateurwritescm @imlike-so-gaydude @sugipla @lvinhs @http-sam @gweninred @a-queen-and-her-throne

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems x y/n

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janeyseymour · 8 months ago

Text

Wouldn't Deny That I'm In Love With You

Disclaimer: @schemmentigfs and I both got the same prompt, but decided to both write our own takes on it... so... but also like go read hers because it's a fucking slay.

Summary: You're a sunny art teacher, and you're married to the Abbott grump. No one knows. (requested by @strawberrypink-jellybeans )

WC: ~4.6k

Ms. Y/N. Ms. Schemmenti. Two souls who just so happen to find each other at the school that you both work at. Two souls that just so happen to be married to each other, undetected and unknown by most of the Abbott Elementary staff- aside from Barbara Howard, who doesn’t say much in regard to the topic because she knows of her work wife’s preferences. Two souls who, despite being near polar opposites, have found a love that they each hold near to their hearts.

Five years the two of you have been together. Three of those years, you’ve spent married. Why no one has really caught onto the fact that the tough, take no shit, second grade teacher and the always sunny and radiating joy art teacher are together? You never made a big deal about it, and you probably won’t ever. The only times that the two of you are necessarily together at school is when she brings her students to you for their related arts time. Your lunches and preps don’t line up, and Melissa likes to get to the school early enough to catch the news and prepare for her day while you prefer to lie in bed for longer than you would like to admit. There’s no need for all of glitz and glamour- no, instead, you began dating quietly, and then two years later you made your way down to City Hall with simple rings that had arrived in the mail from Amazon. With Barbara Howard as your witness, the two of you wed in a small conference room in the center of the city that had both of your hearts.

The change of last names never happened. Everyone at Abbott is so used to Melissa being a Schemmenti, and she takes pride in that last name. And you? You wouldn’t have minded being Mrs. Schemmenti, but you did fear that it would confuse some of your younger students. So, you kept your last name too.

And since that beautiful day two years ago, you’ve never been happier. Your sunny disposition only became brighter. And for a bit, Melissa was lighter on her toes before slipping back into the rough and tough teacher she was known to be. And no one ever asked why you began to wear a ring on your left hand- just another addition to the many rings that you tend to wear on a daily basis. The same goes for your wife. So no one at Abbott is aware of the marriage- including your boss, who has glossed over the fact that your paystubs have the same address.

If anybody had ever asked why either of you began wearing rings, you would tell them that you happily got married. And if anyone had asked why Melissa was wearing a new ring, she would tell them that someone finally managed to tie her down. And if they were smart about it, they would’ve known that the two of you are happily married. But you suppose that nobody expects the fiery redhead and the sweet art teacher to really cross paths to begin with.

It’s not like you hide the fact that you’re in a relationship. You really don’t. In all honesty, you wear your heart on your sleeve, and outside of school, everyone knows that you are happily married. You have your regular spots for dinner and coffee, her family absolutely adores you, and your family has made it quite clear that if you were to divorce Melissa, they would take her side in the matter.

Outside of school, those who know that the two of you are together know just how in love the two of you are. You’re not afraid to tell people how you love her- grumpiness and all.

Even your families are slightly attune to the fact that your wife isn’t always the badass bitch she pretends to be. They watch the way she tends to be with you, how you have this magical presence about you that eases everybody, but especially Melissa. They see how she holds you tenderly and how you are at such an ease with her, and you’re usually at ease to begin with.

But you know that there’s a time and a place to bring out the softness of your redheaded angel. And school is not necessarily the time or the place. Well, until…

It’s a Thursday morning when Melissa slams her fist into her alarm clock with a bit more force than she usually would that you know today is going to be a day where your phone just constantly goes off because you need to help keep your wife from committing arson.

After yesterday, you have a feeling that today is going to be a shit show for your wife. You’re quite thankful that you don’t have to deal with parents very often after you hear some of the horrors your wife has gone through.

When you expect her to roll out of bed to get into the shower, she doesn’t. She simply tightens her hold on you and kisses your neck.

“Hun,” you chuckle softly. “Babe.”

“Don’t wanna go to work today,” Melissa mumbles into the crook of your neck. “Don’t make me.”

You chuckle lowly. “You don’t have to, Lis. But I am going.”

“Stay with me,” your wife whines. “C’mon. We never take a day.”

“I can lay with you until it’s time for me to get up, but you know how excited I am to start this unit with the kiddos,” you tell her.

She groans at your insistence. “I guess I’ll take what I can get.”

Her laying with you only lasts a few minutes longer before she huffs and throws the covers off of her body. “If I go to work today, will you at least come shower with me?”

With a giggle, you follow her into the bathroom.

You think that maybe with the way she left the house this morning while you finished up your makeup and getting ready, her mood would be slightly better than it would’ve been had you not had sex in the shower.

But on your drive to work, you get a call from Melissa, and you know that nothing good can come from a call from her this early.

“What’s up, babe?” you answer brightly.

“I’m going to commit a crime,” your wife huffs into the phone.

You sigh deeply. “No, you are not,” you tell her firmly. “What happened?”

The redhead proceeds to tell you about the terrible email that a certain parent had sent her last night, claiming that she was the worst teacher in the greater Philadelphia area and that she was going to sue.

“I doubt that she’ll do that, and you know you are a great teacher,” you attempt to calm the fired up woman.

“I’m going to commit a crime for a different reason,” Melissa tells you.

“And that would be?”

“She left a voicemail on my phone and called me a dyke.”

That was probably the last thing that you expected your wife to say, and your heart breaks in your chest. You know that particular word brings up quite a few things for the redhead from her past, and you can’t say you’re fond of that slur either.

“My love,” you make your voice as warm and as calm as you possibly can. “I’m sorry. What do you need right now? Comfort, or a solution?”

“Both.”

“Well, my comfort solution right now is that I’m about five minutes from school, so you can head to my classroom and wait for me there. And my solution solution would be to go to Ava with the email and the voicemail and see what she has to say about it.”

You hear a soft hum come from Melissa as she debates which one she should do.

“Or, you can come to my classroom, and when I get there, we can go together.”

Melissa doesn’t end up doing any of those things. Of course she doesn’t. She stays on the phone with you until you get to your place of employment, but then she claims that she’s fine and doesn’t need to come to your classroom and she can handle the situation on her own.

And that solution is for her to simply simmer in her classroom- she doesn’t want to bother you when she knows that you have so much to prepare for today.

When the kiddos begin to trickle in, you’re upstairs in your classroom while Melissa stands by her door and tries to smile as her students greet her.

That’s when the parent comes in. She comes in with a fire and storms right up to your wife.

“The hell do you think you are?” the mother gets right in the redhead’s face. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Ma’am,” Melissa says, scarily calm. “Now is not the time or the place. If you wish to speak to me after school, I would be more than happy to do so with my boss present.”

“I think here is a great place, and now is the time! Because I won’t have time to have a conversation with you at the end of the school day! I have to get my daughter home and ready for gymnastics! Not like you would know anything about that, fuckin’ pathetic, childless fag.” The woman ends up screaming in your wife’s face because of a note that was sent home in regards to her daughter’s behavior the previous day. She ends up getting so close to Melissa that she can smell the booze in her breath- at 7:30 in the morning.

To the second grade teacher’s credit, she remains eerily calm the entire time. The only signal that she is getting angrier is that her fists clench and uncurl every so often. And because of this, Barbara Howard does not get involved. Instead, the kindergarten teacher greets her students while keeping a careful eye on her work wife and makes a mental note to text you a warning about your wife’s attitude when you see her later today.

Unfortunately, kindergarteners always keep the woman of God on her toes, and that text doesn’t get sent until you’re already in the middle of teaching your sixth graders.

A parent came in here raging at your wife. Lay’s mom.

She sent Lis a nasty email last night too… Should I come check on her?

I’m already sending her up. Having Janine watch her class as we speak.

Thank you.

Good luck.

You can hear your wife before you see her appear in the doorway, her heels clicking on the tile in a way where you know she’s pissed. And then her face is in front of you, and you can see how pissed she is.

“Hey,” you smile warmly at your wife. “Just give me a second to get the kids set up, and then-”

“Why did Barb send me up here?” Melissa bites out. “I don’t have time for this, Ms. Y/N.”

A few of your students look to the feisty second grade teacher with what you can only describe as a scowl. She’s speaking to you, the sweet and sunny art teacher, in such a bitter way.

You just give her a look that tells her to simmer down before turning back to your students. Some of them are waving at her, as she was their second grade teacher, but most of them just look confused that she’s up here when second grade doesn’t have their special until the end of the day, and she’s here on her own. You give them their instruction and ask them to do it quietly while you speak with Miss Schemmenti. Being a good group of students, they all take out their sketchbooks and begin to work. So, you step into the hall and crack your door.

“Lis,” you sigh quietly once you have privacy.

“‘m. fine,” your wife grits out. “Don’ even know why Barb sent me up here.”

“Because it’s clear you’re pissed, and that woman was yelling in your face.”

“And?” the redhead challenges. “I handled it fine. Didn’t even start cursing in Italian when I went into my classroom. I don’ need Barb, or you, acting like I’m gonna fly off the handle at every little thing. I don’ need it.”

“Lis.” You raise a brow and hug your arms around your body. “C’mon. We’re just looking out for you because we love you.”

“And I can handle it on my own.”

You frown, but nod. “Okay, hun. If you say so. But just know, I’m always here for you.”

Your wife just gives you a look that is clearly asking if you have anything else to say, or if she can go.

“Okay, babe,” you sigh. “I’m sorry she sent you up here, but we’re just looking out for you and making sure you’re okay. We love you, you know.”

The redhead finally begins to soften up a little. “I know.”

“Good.” You reach a hand out and squeeze hers gently before dropping it between the two of you. “I’ll see you when you bring your kiddos up for art?”

“Yeah,” the redhead sighs.

“And then tonight, we can just relax, yeah?”

She nods.

“I love you, Lis.”

“I love you too,” Melissa whispers back. She turns her head both ways to see if any students are wandering the hall, and for once there aren’t any stragglers. So, she leans in for a quick kiss- one that you reciprocate. And then she’s off down the hallways, heels still clanking against the tile, but slightly less aggressively. You can’t help but watch her figure as she goes before turning back into your classroom.

What the two of you weren’t aware of is that one of your students had gotten up to ask if she could use the restroom, and she saw the two of you kiss.

The class is whispering rapidly when you walk in, but you don’t really mind. You had given them an easy assignment, and it was simply to draw how they were feeling today. You knew it wouldn’t take much time, and you were prepared to walk back into your classroom to a more chaotic situation than you had. What you don’t know is that they were already whispering about you and Melissa. They go quiet as you walk back into the room.

Your smile is warm and your eyes are soft as you continue class with a grateful thank you for their patience and behavior.

By the time their teacher comes to pick them up, the word has spread like a wildfire- or a Schemmenti-made fire. They took to texting their friends while you gave them time to work on their sculptures with the option of listening to music on their phones.

But you are blissfully unaware of the rumors circulating about you and the second grade teacher you call your wife, so you send them off with a smile. When your next group comes in, those kids are well-behaved, albeit a bit chatty. You don’t tend to listen in on their conversations, so you don’t know that they’re speaking about you. You don’t miss the way some of them look at you, but you suppose that maybe they just aren’t fond of this outfit today. Still, you maintain your positive and bright disposition throughout the class period.

When your prep period comes around, you feel as though you’re in a good spot to be. So, you settle at your desk with a light snack and your phone.

I hope your day got better, you text Melissa.

Her response comes a bit later, as you’re thumbing through a few papers. Yeah. Got a few visitors from past years swinging by the room too, which is nice. Reminds me that I’m a good teacher.

Neither of you are aware that her former students are stopping by to get a look at her- as if they can see if the rumor is true or not by simply looking at her.

You are, you reply. I’m glad your day got better.

Thanks sunshine.

You smile dreamily at her words.

Come lunch, word about the two of you dating has gone through the school. Even most of the teachers are aware of the rumor- but you’re upstairs in your own little bubble, and everybody has seen the mood that your wife is in, so no one says anything. Not even Jacob, who is known for his curiosity, says anything. The lunch room is eerily quiet, and Melissa can’t say she’s unhappy about it. After chaos in her classroom, the redhead welcomes the calm eagerly.

Your last class to come by today is your wife’s. You’re standing outside of your classroom waiting for them when you see her marching her students down. She clearly seems to be in a better mood, and for that you are thankful. A grumpy Melissa at home is not a fun Melissa.

“Hello, Ms. Schemmenti!” you singsong, and your heart fills when she gives you a smile she usually reserves for you at home.

“Ms. Y/N,” the second grade teacher chuckles. She smirks. “My little eagles have been talking about how they’re so excited to see you today.”

You grin brightly at the kids lined up at your door. “How sweet,” you coo, and you ruffle Rakeem’s hair gently. “C’mon in, find your seats, and pull out your sketchbooks for me, okay?”

They file their way in, and you take the opportunity to look at your wife in all of her beauty for a few seconds. “Better day?”

“Better day,” Melissa sighs quietly. “And I talked to Ava about that situation, and she’s surprisingly willing to help me out.”

“Say what you want about Ava,” you chuckle. “But she does her job sufficiently.”

The redhead rolls her eyes and shrugs, and all you can do is smirk. “Have a good prep period, hun.”

“Have fun with my monsters.”

You turn into the room with a dopey lovesick smile on your face before you begin your last lesson of the day.

The second grade teacher is all caught up on her work, and she doesn’t really have much else to discuss with Janine in terms of curriculum, so Melissa makes her way up the stairs about ten minutes early.

You’re fully immersed in your teaching when she comes by, and all she can do is lean against the doorframe and watch you work your magic. It’s… definitely a different approach from her own teaching style, but you thrive. You’re easily one of the best teachers at Abbott, and your wife knows that- she tells you constantly.

You don’t even notice that she’s standing there, until you notice that your students are maybe not as engaged as they usually are with you.

“My loves,” you sigh softly, but the smile on your face is still present. “I do wish you would stay with me so you know what we’ll be doing next class.”

“C’mon, my little eagles,” Melissa scolds them gently. “You gotta listen to-”

“Am I running late?” you turn on your heel and look at Melissa.

She shakes her head. “Just had a few extra minutes. Thought I’d see what my favorite students are up to with one of their favorite teachers.”

“Oh,” you ease up immediately. “Well, come on in, Mel- Ms. Schemmenti.”

The redhead takes an empty stool and watches as you teach for the last few minutes. The students look between the two of you the entire time.

When there are a few minutes left of class, you ask the children if they have any questions- and you should’ve been specific in asking if they had any questions about the future of their art projects. Immediately, almost every student’s hand goes up.

You frown just slightly. “Was I not clear enough with my instruction?” you mumble to yourself. You thought you had been quite clear with the next steps and expectations. “Yes, Angel?”

“Are you and Ms. Schemmenti dating?”

You give a blank stare, and then your brows creep up your forehead. “What?”

“Are you and Ms. Schemmenti dating?” she repeats.

You glance to your wife, and she just gives you a look that states you can say whatever you want. With a nod of her head, you take a deep breath.

“Where did this come from?” you inquire.

This time, Malia speaks up. “My older brother saw you and Ms. Schemmenti this morning in the hallway kissing.”

“Wh-” Melissa gasps out. “That-”

“He said that Ms. Schemmenti came up during his class, and when he got up to ask to go to the bathroom he saw her kiss you.”

You bite your lip. “Well, that rumor is not true.”

The class gives a collective sigh, and you allow them to believe what you said before you smile.

“Because actually… Ms. Schemmenti and I are married.” You hold up your left hand and wiggle your ring finger. The students’ eyes go from you to your wife, who is also holding up her left hand with a smirk.

The frowns and sad sighs quickly turn into wide eyes, mouths agape, big smiles, and cheers. Questions are flying at you a million miles a minute, and you can’t help but chuckle. Instead of trying to answer them over the chaos in your room, you simply make your way over to the redhead and drape an arm around her shoulder while you wait for them to get their excitement out. It takes a minute for their shock to die down and for you to wrangle their attention again.

“Ms. Schemmenti and I are married; have been for three years,” you chuckle. “Yes, Sweet Cheeks comes home with us over the summers. Sometimes we go out for dinner, but mostly we just stay in and cook. Our house has a front porch with a garden in the back. No, we don’t usually come to work together.”

“H-how?!” one of the kids stammers out.

You go to say more, but your wife just holds up a hand to signal them to stop bombarding the two of you with questions. “My little eagles, we have to get back to our classroom if we want to get to dismissal on time. So, line up. C’mon.”

Dismissal is much more hectic than usual. You’re standing outside at your duty while Melissa sees that all of her students get to the right places, and word travels fast. You have students and their parents coming up to the both of you praising you for ‘having the courage’ to come out. Others can’t believe that the hard ass and the personification of sunshine are married. But almost everybody is smiles at the confirmation that the two of you are a happy couple.

Well, all except that one parent. She comes up, guns a-blazing to you. She begins to scream in your face, calling you all sorts of derogatory names. She’s… you’re becoming increasingly nervous.

Thankfully, Melissa is able to dismiss the rest of her students and comes to your rescue. So does Ava. While Ava tries to get her to walk away without causing any more of a scene than what was already created, your wife is pissed.

“You can talk to me however you want,” Melissa hisses at the woman, pointing a finger in the woman’s face. “You can say whatever the hell you want about me. But you do not speak to my wife like that. Nope, and if you keep goin’… you don’t know who you’re-”

“Lis,” you tug her back by the arm gently. “Just… let her go. Ava will handle it.”

She shoots you an incredulous look. How are you so calm about this? But because you give her a look that tells her it’s not worth it, she backs down. She continues to glare at the woman as she’s pulled away by another parent and the principal.

The redhead just wraps an arm around you, holding you close for the rest of dismissal. She doesn’t care anymore- the entire school knows that the two of you are together at this point. And if they didn’t witness the events that had just taken place, the two of you know word travels fast in this school- everyone would know by tomorrow morning anyway.

One more parent approaches you with their child, and Melissa looks like she’s ready to fight if someone else says one more negative thing about your relationship.

“I- I saw what happened,” the mother states quietly. “And I just want you to know… she’s on her own in that mindset. The rest of us are quite happy to have the two of you at Abbott, your relationship aside. And, if the two of you are happy, that’s nobody’s business but your own.”

You give this mother a soft smile and a thank you for her words.

After dismissal, you don’t go into the staff lounge to grab your lunch bag- you’ll wait to get it tomorrow. No. You just want to go home and relax after the last hour of your day. Melissa texts you to let you know that she doesn’t plan on sticking around today either- she’ll meet you at home as soon as she can. So, you quietly slip out of the school once teacher hours are over.

At home, you’re just pouring two glasses of wine as your wife comes in and kicks off her shoes. Her arms are instantly around your waist and kissing you softly. You giggle in her hold.

“Hey, babe,” you smile against her lips.

She just kisses you again, murmuring, “My beautiful wife.”

“Do you want to talk about today?” you ask as you pull away and offer her the wine glass meant for her.

Where you think the redhead is going to go back to raging, she just shrugs. “Ava already pulled me aside and told me that she has our backs. She ain’t gonna let this parent ruin it all- somehow she’s already in the process of moving the kid to Janine’s class, as much as I’ll hate to see Lay out of my class.”

“It’s probably for the best,” you sigh quietly.

Melissa nods with a frown. “And instead of taking art, she’ll go with the gym teacher twice a cycle… Mom’s a real homophobe and doesn’t want us ‘rubbing in the gay’. Whatever the hell that means.”

You roll your eyes. “A real piece of work.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

“Well?” you ask as you take a sip of your own wine. “How do you feel about us being out at school?”

“It was only a matter of time,” your wife tells you with a small shrug and a smile. “I don’ care if everyone knows, although I’m not looking forward to the line of questioning I’ll get from Pipsqueak and her sidekick tomorrow morning.”

“Why don’t we go into work together tomorrow, and I’ll help you out with that?” you tease.

“You’d wake up early for me?”

“You know I would,” you chuckle.

The next morning, Melissa drives the two of you to your place of work, and you walk into the staff lounge hand in hand. Almost immediately, her work crew- aside from Barbara- are bombarding you with questions.

You do everything you can to answer them, until Jacob asks, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Melissa just smirks. “Youse didn’t ask. Had you, I would’ve told you I was happily married to Y/N three years ago. It’s not like I deny that I’m in love with her.”

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#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you

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writingpandagoth · 12 days ago

Note

Hiii So you know how Remus&Tonks met and fell in love with each other during the order meetings? And how he refused to acknowledge her feelings at first? Reader is an auror at the ministry(Her and Tonks are bestiesss). She has a crush on Severus since her school years and her feelings resurfaced when she met him at meetings. Reader confessed to Sev but he is in denial. So her and Tonks basically have to comfort each other because their crushes are so blind. The rest is really up to you (an happy ending if possible) Thankyou!

Hey!

Sooo basically I started writing and then I kept writing and then I realized it's gonna be another long one😂

So here it is.

I hope you enjoy!

Blind Spots

You met Tonks your very first week at Hogwarts.

Not in a grand, fate-sealed way. You were both trying to get through the same too-small doorway between the main corridor and the Transfiguration stairwell and ended up elbowing each other in the ribs. She swore loudly. You apologized. She grinned and asked if you wanted to trade one of your Cauldron Cakes for her extra Sugar Quill. It was an uneven deal.

You traded without thinking about it.

From there, it was natural.

You were drawn to her like gravity. She had this energy—loud, impulsive, impossible to ignore. Always knocking over her ink pot or tripping up the stairs. Her hair changed color constantly, sometimes by accident. Sometimes on purpose. You found it fascinating. Not just the magic, but her—her fearlessness, her ridiculous jokes, the way she could light up a room just by walking in.

She liked that you were quieter. That you always carried extra parchment, and didn’t laugh when she asked you to help her charm her homework to sing. You balanced each other out. She got you into trouble. You got her out of it. By third year, people had stopped referring to you as individuals. It was always "Tonks and her shadow" or "You know, the one Tonks always follows."

Late nights in the library turned into whispered stories and half-written notes passed back and forth in class. You talked about everything—teachers, spells, what it might be like to be grown up and away from all this. She wanted to be everything: a curse-breaker, a magizoologist, maybe a spy. You wanted to become an Auror since your second year.

It was in your fifth year that she found out your well kept secret.

It was after Potions class. Tonks was, once again, halfway through ranting about how unfair Snape was when you slipped up and said,

“But he’s not wrong, really. His feedback’s just… intense.”

Tonks tilted her head, smirking. “You defend him a lot for someone who supposedly hates his guts.”

“I don’t defend him,” you said, a little too quickly.

“Oh, you absolutely do. Merlin’s saggy left—Do you fancy Professor Snape?”

“I do not!”

"You do! You are even blushing!"

Your silence was damning.

Tonks burst out laughing. “You’ve got a crush on the King of Scowls! This is fantastic.”

You buried your face in your hands. "He..isn't so bad...he just... he has this aura about him....”

She leaned back dramatically, hand to her heart. “Your secret’s safe. But I’m never letting you forget this.”

And she didn’t. For the rest of school, it was a running joke—her nudging you every time Professor Snape entered a room, or drawing little hearts next to his name in your notes. But behind the teasing was something steadier.

She never mocked you in front of others. Never crossed a line. And when she saw how your face fell after one of his colder comments, she was the first to hand you a chocolate frog and change the subject.

You were best friends in the truest sense: no ceremony, no drama. Just loyalty. Comfort. A quiet kind of love you didn’t have words for back then.

Even after school ended, you and Tonks never drifted—not even for a moment.

If anything, you got closer. While others scattered to different departments, continents, or careers, you and Tonks made one unspoken decision: stick together. You applied for Auror training the same week, got accepted the same day, and started the grueling program under Alastor Moody with matching black eyes and bruised ribs within the month.

Moody was ruthless, paranoid, and brilliant. He didn’t care who your family was or what grades you got—he cared if you could think under pressure and survive being cursed in six different ways before breakfast.

Tonks thrived in chaos. You thrived by thinking three steps ahead. He hated that you came as a package deal, but even he had to admit: you worked well together.

You’d train all day, then collapse back into the tiny, crooked apartment you’d scraped together rent for in the dodgiest corner of Diagon Alley. The floors creaked, the windows stuck, and your upstairs neighbor was most definitely raising something illegal, but it was yours.

Living together felt like an extension of school—only messier.

Tonks left clothes in every room, sang off-key in the shower, and brewed experimental teas that occasionally exploded. You organized the spice rack alphabetically, hexed a laundry-folding charm into the sofa cushions, and always had healing balm stocked. She stole your socks. You stole her biscuits. She changed her hair color depending on your mood more often than her own.

It worked.

On the hard days—when Moody tore you down in training or your legs ached from endless drills—you’d both sprawl across the living room floor, limbs tangled, laughing at nothing.

She never lets you spiral. Not for long. The second you start sounding even vaguely self-pitying, she cuts in with,

"Okay, but let’s not forget your ex once hexed his own eyebrows off because he thought you were flirting with a waiter."

You nearly choked laughing when she said that the first time. You still do.

She was your family.

—

Auror life is exhausting. Between endless paperwork, midnight patrols, and cleaning up after Ministry scandals, you barely have time to breathe.

One night, she arrives looking unusually serious. The door slams shut behind her, and she tosses her coat over the back of a chair before saying, "Moody pulled me aside after our patrol. Said he wants us both at a meeting tomorrow night. Confidential. Off the record."

You blink. "Order of the Phoenix?"

She nods. "Didn’t say it out loud, but come on. What else would it be?"

You stare at her, letting that sink in. You've heard whispers—of Dumbledore assembling people, of something bigger than what the Ministry's pretending to handle. You didn’t think you’d be pulled into that.

Tonks flops onto the couch. “Told him we’d be there. He grunted, which I’m pretty sure was approval.”

With the flat dim and quiet, the weight of it settles in. You get up to make more tea. She adds some dragon brandy to both mugs without having to ask.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Dunno. Moody said to ‘expect people you won’t like but will have to trust.’ So... tense. Probably weird. Dangerous.”

You sit beside her, knees touching. “You think it’s real? That this...war that’s coming—it’s as bad as they say?”

Tonks doesn't answer right away. Her hair shifts to a darker shade, a sign she’s thinking hard. Then she says quietly, “I think it’s worse. And I think we’re going to be in the thick of it.”

You nod. Sip your tea. Try not to let your hands shake.

“Whatever happens,” she adds, bumping her shoulder into yours, “you and me? Still a team. We will go through it together.”

“Always.”

You both fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch that night, the warmth of your shared blanket and mission stitching something fierce and unspoken between you.

The next night, you and Tonks arrive early—Moody’s orders, of course. Grimmauld Place is a little more haunted-house than war base, all dim lighting, creaky staircases, and portraits that grumble as you walk past.

Tonks manages to trip over the umbrella stand before the front door even closes behind you. You grab her elbow just in time to keep her from face-planting into a side table.

“Off to a graceful start,” she mutters, fixing her hair—which shifts from a calm brunette to an agitated mustard yellow. “At this rate we’ll get kicked out before we’re recruited.”

“Don’t touch anything, the walls look like they will curse you otherwise.” you whisper, eyeing a snarling family tree on the wall.

Inside the drawing room, you find a loose ring of chairs forming around a big table. Most of the seats are still empty, but the few people already there give you a once-over—Kingsley nods at Tonks and you briefly giving you a small thumbs up. Moody grunts and gestures toward two chairs.

You and Tonks drop into them immediately. She leans toward you. “Who’s that?”

“Pretty sure that’s Emmeline Vance. See the robes? Old school dueling champion.”

Tonks raises an eyebrow. “Think she’d train me? I want to win at something other than ‘most likely to trip over her own wand.’”

You stifle a laugh.

More people start to arrive—Molly and Arthur Weasley step through the door, Arthur spotting you and Tonks immediately.

He gives a warm, fatherly smile and says, “Ah, good to see you girls here,” before settling into a seat beside Kingsley.

A moment later, someone you recognize from old newspaper clippings and reputation alone strolls in—Sirius Black, all swagger and shadows, jaw clenched like he’s constantly daring someone to challenge him. Tonks elbows you excitedly. “That’s my cousin. He’s… complicated.”

Before you can answer her

The air shifts.

Severus Snape steps through like a shadow that decided to walk on two legs. Tall, severe, with his long black robes trailing behind him like smoke. His presence drags silence with it, unsettling and total. Heads turn. Conversations die.

You fall halfway out of your chair, catching your shin on the table leg and wincing loudly. Tonks’ hand darts out to yank you back into your seat.

“Oh Merlin,” she breathes. “Is that—oh, it is. It’s him.”

You try to school your face into something neutral, something professional—but your ears are definitely hot.

“It's actually him! It's Snape!” she hisses, kicking your ankle.

“I can see that!”

Severus sits across the circle, arms crossed, looking like every chair personally offended him.

Tonks leans in. “He still looks like he bathes in vinegar and regrets. But I can’t lie, the hair works in this lighting.”

You glare at her. Before you can reply, the door opens again.

Remus walks in quietly, a book tucked under his arm, soft robes brushing the floor. His expression is mild, almost absent, until he sees Moody and nods and then takes the empty seat next to Sirius.

Tonks makes a sound between a cough and a hiccup. Her hair immediately floods pink.

You stare at her. “You okay?”

She whispers, “Who is that? And Where has he been hiding all my life?”

“Probably reading somewhere with better lighting,” you murmur.

“I want to marry his jumper,” she breathes.

“You don’t even know him yet.”

“I can dream.”

The meeting starts, but neither of you register more than every third word.

Moody launches into a gruff update about shifting patrol assignments, but your brain is too busy trying to process how Severus still looks more like a storm wrapped in robes than a man. He’s scribbling something in a small, weathered notebook with quick, precise movements, and every so often he glances up—he never looks at you, thank Merlin, but you can’t help flinching each time, just in case.

Next to you, Tonks is sitting bolt upright, hands folded like she’s trying to behave. Her hair is still a bit too pink and her eyes haven’t left Remus for more than five seconds at a time.

“Stop looking at him like he’s your Patronus,” you whisper sideways.

She whispers back, “He probably is my Patronus.”

You bite down a snort. Emmeline Vance begins correcting the placement of some ward markers on a wall map, but all you see is how Remus rubs the edge of his thumb along the side of a parchment, brows furrowed in thought.

And then Severus speaks.

"They are shifting their operations to Wiltshire. You’re wasting time watching Knockturn Alley."

His voice slices across the room like a spell. Cold, certain, unmistakably him.

You gasp, too audibly. Heads turn.

Tonks promptly kicks your shin under the table. "Subtle," she hisses.

You hiss back, “He just—talked.”

“He’s allowed to talk!”

You sink lower in your chair. “Did you hear his voice? It’s like dark velvet and guilt.”

Tonks makes a strangled noise. “Oh Merlin, stop.”

“You stop looking at Remus like he’s a dessert trolley.”

“At least mine smiles. Yours looks like he’d rather be hexed than hugged.”

“Yours literally has holes in his sleeves.”

“He’s rustic!”

“Rustic?!?”

You both clamp your mouths shut when Kingsley raises an eyebrow in your direction.

The next few minutes are spent pretending to jot notes while only half-listening to talk of safehouses and encrypted messages. Meanwhile, Severus licks a smudge of ink from his finger before turning the page of the notebook and you fall out of your chair again.

Tonks catches your expression and covers her mouth with her sleeve.

When Moody finally closes the meeting with, “Get some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins,” both you and Tonks almost jump up from your seats and bolt out of Grimmauld Place.

The moment your flat door slams shut behind you, she lets out a sound somewhere between a squeal, a gasp, and a tiny scream.

“Okay. Okay, what just happened?” she blurts, pacing like she’s being chased by her own thoughts. “Remus is—He’s—He looks like a worn-out library book I want to press to my chest and never return.”

You drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the couch, your face still flushed. Tonks flops onto the couch beside you with all the grace of a flobberworm. “And then he spoke. His voice is like chamomile tea and rainy Sundays.”

“Your hair turned aggressively pink.”

“I panicked!” she whines. “I didn’t even say anything to him, just made weird eye contact and probably looked like I was about to confess to a crime.”

You let out a whine at the memory of the meeting „I actually almost fell out of my chair when Severus walked in. That’s so embarrassing! It’s like my body decided to reenact Swan Lake—horribly.”

Tonks howls. “You did jerk like he cast a silent spell at you. And your face—pure panic. I thought he’d hexed you just by walking past.”

You throw a pillow at her. “Severus Snape, Tonks! You know I’ve never really gotten over it.”

“Oh, I knew, but seeing it live was ten times more dramatic than I expected.”

You sigh, flopping back with a groan. “He still has that voice. That impossibly sharp, cold-as-ice, absolutely-don’t-talk-back voice. He spoke and I forgot what year it was.”

“He licked ink off his thumb and you went into cardiac arrest,” Tonks snorts.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“Well I’m not sorry about it!”

Silence stretched between you. Both completely lost in your own thoughts of what happened at the meeting.

After what seemed hours Tonks exhales dramatically and mutters, “We’re going to die. And it’s going to be because we were too busy making heart-eyes to notice a hex.”

You nod still mentally recovering. “This will be the end of us. But seriously how can you fall for someone you just saw and didn’t even speak to?”

Tonks covers her face. “How can you still be crushing on a man who looks like he’d rather die than compliment anyone?”

“Remus probably owns exactly three shirts and thinks wool counts as formalwear.”

“We’re both doomed,” she says, grinning.

You sigh dramatically.

Tonks leans her head on your shoulder. “I give it a week before one of us doodles hearts in our field report.”

“Too late,” you mumble.

She gasps, sitting up. “You didn’t.”

You glance away. “Just initials. Maybe. Twice.”

Tonks lets out a scandalized squeal and whacks you with a cushion. “You are hopeless.”

“Completely hopeless,” you agree, laughing.

And the flat rings with it—relief and giddy, schoolgirl chaos and something sweeter hiding underneath.

—

At all the meetings that came after that, you try to focus. You really do. But every time Severus speaks, you feel it again—that familiar spark just beneath your ribs. His voice is still cold, deeper than you remember from school, tinged with exhaustion. But there’s still that fire in it. A quiet, deadly fire that ignites something in you every time he opens his mouth.

You swore to yourself that you’re going to speak to him. You even rehearse it in your head. You even walked up to him after the meetings ended, only to chicken out and pretend to check a parchment on the wall. Or tie your boot. Or suddenly remember a nonexistent appointment.

Every. Single. Time.

Tonks, meanwhile, is thriving.

She starts chatting with Remus after meetings—little things at first. Passing the sugar when they gather in the kitchen afterward. Asking him what he’s reading. Making him laugh with some absurd story from work.

You watch it all unfold with awe. Tonks, so bold and awkwardly charming, and Remus, who slowly stops avoiding eye contact and starts seeking her out.

“You should just finally talk to him,” she whispers to you during one particularly long and boring debrief about apparition grid safety.

“I will,” you whisper back.

“You won’t.”

“Shut up.”

She grins and nudges you with her knee under the table.

But she was right, at the rate you were going, you never actually going to talk to him.

Every time Severus meets your eyes, it's like looking straight into a Pensieve full of barbed wire. And no matter how many times you remind yourself you’re not a teenager anymore, your stomach still flips like one.

So you sit. And you listen. And you steal glances. And you wait.

"You’re staring again," Tonks mutters one night, bumping your knee under the table.

"Was not."

She raises an eyebrow. "You absolutely were. Want me to spill my Butterbeer on him so you can swoop in with a napkin and a smile?"

"That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard."

"Worked on Remus."

You both glance across the table. Remus, is currently nose-deep in a book and doing a stellar job pretending everyone doesn’t exist, not even really bothering to listen to what's talked about..

"Worked?" you snort. "He's pretending you're part of the wallpaper."

"Because he's noble," she says, grimacing.

You laugh, but the ache lingers. You’re women in waiting. Orbiting two emotionally unavailable men.

Suddendly the tension at the meeting turns thicker than dragonhide. Severus just brought up faulty recon near Malfoy Manor, when Sirius bristles like he’s been hexed.

“Of course you’d know all about Malfoy’s whereabouts,” Sirius snaps, leaning forward in his chair like he’s spoiling for a duel. “Still keeping in touch with your old mates, are you Snivellus?”

Severus doesn’t even look at him. “Unlike you, Black, I don’t rely on nostalgia and guesswork.”

Sirius laughs humorlessly. “Right. Because nothing says trustworthy like a Dark Mark and a superiority complex.”

“Better a mark I chose to turn from than a name I hide behind while rotting in my family’s attic,” Severus replies, voice razor-sharp.

Remus lowers his book finally and steps in, calm but firm. “Alright, let’s not—”

“No,” Sirius cuts him off, eyes flashing. “Let’s. Why is he even here? Why should we trust a man who only shows up when it’s convenient and slinks back into the shadows the moment it’s dangerous?”

Severus turns to him slowly. “And what is it you do? Aside from pacing the floorboards and snapping at people who are actually risking something?”

Sirius shoots to his feet. “I’ve fought for this cause—”

“Fought?” Severus scoffs. “Hiding in your parents house with a bottle of firewhisky isn’t fighting.”

Sirius sneers, voice rising, "Says the greasy little git who spent half his life licking Voldemort’s boots? You are not loyal. You're pitiful. Always hanging around in the corner like a curse no one bothered to lift."

Your chair screeches as you stand. “Enough!”

Everyone freezes.

Your voice rises, sharp and blistering. “How dare you!? Severus stands in front of that monster alone risking his life every single second just so we have intel on what's going on! He could have run away but he doesn't and keeps risking being found out. While you—” your voice cracks with fury—“you sit in this house, barking like a chained dog, snapping at anyone who reminds you that the world kept turning without you.”

Sirius starts to speak, but you’re already on fire. “You think sneering at him makes you brave? You think calling him names makes you useful? The only thing you've contributed to this war in months is your bitterness. At least Severus earned his place at this table. What exactly have you done, besides act like a schoolboy with a grudge?”

The air goes dead still. Even the walls seem to hold their breath.

“You think you know him—” Sirius tries again.

“I know enough,” you snap. “I know he doesn’t get praise. He doesn’t get friends or thank you’s or a warm bed at night. He gets suspicion and scars. And he still shows up. While you—you sit here and hurl insults like it’s a Quidditch match and you’re mad no one handed you the snitch. So unless you do not actually have anything damn useful to say. Sit your whiny ass down and shut up!”

The silence that follows is absolute. Even the portrait on the wall stops muttering.

Severus stares at you like you’ve hexed the floor out from under him.

You sit back down, fists clenched in your lap, breath tight.

No one dares to speak up for a long time.

Sirius slowly sinks back into his chair, his jaw tight but silent. He doesn’t look at you. Or anyone. For once, his mouth stays shut.

Remus glances at you, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, respect, maybe even a little awe. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling.

Tonks leans over and whispers, “You might’ve actually broken him.”

Around the room, others are blinking. Molly and Arthur look like proud parents, whose child just won every trophy possible. Kingsley hides a smirk behind his hand. Even Moody tries not to smirk.

But Severus—he doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at you. Not with his usual scowl or cold detachment, but with something harder to decipher. Like he’s seeing you properly for the first time. And that’s when the heat crawls up your neck.

You suddenly realize what you’ve done.

You look down, mortified. You just publicly annihilated the cousin of your best friend, defended the most controversial man in the Order, and now you’re being stared at like you grew another head.

You cough into your sleeve and mutter, “...Too much?”

Tonks snorts. “Perfect amount.”

"Alright, back on track." Moody’s voice boomed out, snapping the room back to order. The meeting limped along to its conclusion, mostly quiet, the usual sniping and debates subdued.

When it finally ended, you stood slowly, still feeling the echo of your own voice in your chest. Molly had cooked—an impressive spread of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pasties, and buttered carrots—and people lingered more than usual.

To your surprise, Severus didn’t vanish like usually. He stayed and even took a plate.

You and Tonks found yourselves off to the side, standing half in the doorway, watching the group move about the kitchen.

“I still can’t believe you said all that,” Tonks said around a mouthful of roast. “You basically put Sirius Black in his place and he just sat down like he was a child. A really quiet one.”

You rubbed your hands over your face. “He just really pissed me off with what he was saying. I wanted him to shut up.”

“You should be proud. It was art. Molly looked like she wanted to applaud. Remus definitely did mentally.

"I am never going to talk ever again.”

“That’s a shame,” came a low voice behind you.

You jumped.

Severus.

Tonks blinked at him, blinked at you, then grinned so wide her cheeks dimpled. “Right. I’ll just—go pretend I have something to do in the pantry.”

She disappeared with a wink, leaving you suddenly very alone.

Severus stood a few paces from you, holding a cup of tea. He didn’t look angry. Just… unreadable.

“I didn’t need you to stand up for me,” he said finally.

“I know,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “It wasn’t about that. I just—” You hesitated. “I couldn’t stand hearing him yap through another meeting. He’s like a howler that never shuts off. And what he was saying about you was just not okay.”

A pause. And then—unexpectedly—his mouth twitched. Not a smile. But close.

He looked at you again, longer this time. “You were always… persistent.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“In class,” his voice is calm but there is a hint of amusement in it. “Fifth year onward. Asked more questions than most. Top marks. Except for that one explosion.”

Your face went hot. “That wasn’t my fault. The instructions in the textbook were vague.”

He hummed lowly. “Or perhaps you were too eager to impress.”

You stared at him, flustered. “Potions was always my favorite subject. Even when you gave me detention for answering questions too quickly.”

His mouth twitched. “You were never just quick. You were thorough. Meticulous. Determined to prove yourself. The detention was for yelling the answer and not raising your hand.”

Your breath caught. “You noticed that?”

A pause. Then, very quietly: “I notice more than people think.”

For the first time, you were having an actual conversation with him. It felt strange. And strangely easy.

His eyes lingered. “You were always… precise. Focused.”

You swallowed, heart stumbling. “You were always terrifying.”

That got the faintest curve from his lips.

And just like that, something shifted.

You start talking. Not much—short exchanges after meetings about potions techniques, obscure ingredients, or the ridiculousness of certain assignments. But he listens. And replies. Sometimes with a sarcastic edge. Sometimes with real curiosity.

Once, you ask about a text on defensive elixirs. He recommends three others, more advanced, quotes the page numbers without blinking, and mutters, “Try not to incinerate anything this time. Though I assume the eagerness hasn’t worn off.”

You grin. “Only one cauldron ever died. And it died bravely.”

He almost smiles. Almost.

Sometimes, the conversations shift sideways. You end up snickering beside him when Sirius whines for the fifth meeting in a row about being left out of missions.

“I do wonder how he breathes between monologues,” Severus murmurs.

“Barely,” you reply, trying not to laugh into your cup.

He glances sideways at you. It’s not warm, but it’s no longer distant either.

It becomes a rhythm. Something constant. A pulse through the chaos. Every meeting. Every snide comment passed between you. Every book you pretend to casually bring up, just to hear him talk.

It’s not new. The crush—his voice, the way he moves, the way his mind works—you’ve carried all of that since you were fifteen. But now, it’s different. Sharper. He’s no longer a distant figure behind a desk. He’s someone real. Present. Willing to meet you halfway.

You’re not just starry-eyed anymore. You care about him—his silences, his scars, the exhaustion he hides under his sneers. You start noticing the quiet things—the tension in his shoulders before he speaks, the way his fingers twitch when he’s trying not to show he’s anxious, the fact that he never forgets what you’ve said, even in passing.

Every time he says your name, soft and precise like it’s part of a formula, something inside you twists. Because this time, it's not a crush.

It's love.

—

You just came home from a mission when you plopped down on the couch besides Tonks.

She is curled on the couch, hair dull and grey—not from effort, but from mood. She stares at the ceiling, voice flat.

"I told him. Remus. I told him how I felt."

You sit up straighter. "Wait—what? You actually told him? When?"

"Last night. After the meeting. Just... blurted it out. Like a bloody idiot."

"And what did he say?"

Her laugh is dry and bitter. "Said I was too young. That it wouldn’t be fair. That I deserved someone who wasn’t... him."

You blink. "But—Tonks, are you joking? He watches you. I’ve seen it. He listens when you speak. He always lights up a bit when you’re around—"

"Yeah," she cuts in, quietly. "I thought so too. But maybe I saw what I wanted to see. Or maybe he’s just scared of being happy."

Your heart twists. "Tonks... I’m so sorry."

She shrugs, fighting back tears. "I don’t regret telling him. But I feel like I set myself on fire and he just stood there watching. But I am not going to give up even if that makes me an Idiot."

You take her hand. "You're not an idiot. You're brave. I wish I could be that brave."

She gives a weak smile. "You need to confess to your disaster man as well."

"Tonks—"

"Nope. I mean it. Severus watches you the same way Remus watched me—except Snape is even worse at hiding it."

You shake your head. "He doesn’t feel that way. And even if he did, he wouldn’t say it."

"Then you say it," she says, fierce. "Be the one who jumps. Don’t wait like I did."

You stare at the fire.

Then nod.

The meeting that night is long. You barely hear a word of it. Your heart is pounding in your chest so loud you’re convinced someone will comment. You catch Severus glancing at you a few times—short, searching looks, like he’s noticed you’re not entirely present.

Tonks nudges your arm and murmurs, “Still on for after?”

You nod, throat dry. She squeezes your hand once under the table before drifting away to speak with Remus, who is lingering near the back of the room.

You watch them. Their heads are close together, voices soft. You can’t tell what’s being said, but Tonks is smiling—hopeful and nervous all at once.

Then you spot Severus slipping toward the hallway, cloak already gathered in one hand.

You stand. Fast.

“Severus—wait.”

He stops, slowly turning.

You inhale once, deep, and step toward him.

“I need to say something,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I swear, I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it for weeks, but here we are.”

Severus stands there, watching you with that unreadable look. Your heart thuds hard enough you’re afraid he can hear it.

“I like you,” you say, quieter now. “I mean I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. Well actually I liked you since fifth year but then I thought I stopped but I think I knew I didn't the second I saw you walk into that Order meeting. And then we started talking and—Merlin, it’s not some passing thing.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. “You’re complicated and sharp and so much more than people ever see. And talking to you is the best part of my week, every time. So I thought maybe—if you wanted—maybe we could go for a nice romantic dinner...?”

Silence stretches.

He doesn’t move.

Then, finally, he speaks. “You shouldn’t want things like that from me.”

His voice is low, but not cruel. Just tired. Like he’s had this argument with himself already.

You swallow hard. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not made for that,” he says. "I am not the man to go for candlelight...It wouldn’t suit me. It never has.”

He hesitates, eyes flicking to yours something you can't quite place flashing in them but only for a second.

He turns before you can say anything else, footsteps retreating down the corridor without a backward glance, his cloak trailing like smoke behind him.

And your heart folds in on itself as you’re left standing there in a very quiet, very final way.

Tonks and You barricaded yourselves into the apartment the whole weekend after that, armed with chocolate frogs and more bottles dragon brandy than the two of you could drink.

"He’s a bloody idiot!" she says, plopping down beside you on the couch at some point after the third bottle.

"They both are."

You turn your head to look over at her grabbing the bottle and taking a swing before scrunching up your face at the burn. "Remus still pretending you don’t exist?"

"Like I’m contagious."

You hand her the bottle letting out a sigh. "At least Remus kind of gave an actual reason."

Tonks musters you for a moment after taking a sip from the bottle herself. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed with brandy and frustration.

“They’re idiots,” she declares again, slamming the bottle down on the table. “Grade-A, Ministry-certified, emotionally-stunted idiots.”

You nod solemnly, sprawled sideways across the armrest. “Absolute morons. Should be banned from having faces that make us feel things.”

“Exactly!” she slurs. “You—brilliant, loyal, terrifying when angry—you confess and he runs like a blasted dementor’s on his heels. And me? I practically proposed to Remus with my eyes, and he just—‘too young,’ ‘not safe,’ blah blah, tragic werewolf poetry.”

You start laughing. It bubbles up out of you uncontrollably. Tonks joins in, snorting into a cushion.

Then her face goes serious. “We need a plan.”

You blink. “What kind of plan?”

“A scheme. A plot. Operation: Emotionally Inept Men Realize Their Own Damn Feelings.”

You giggle. “That acronym is awful.”

“I’m drunk. You fix it later,” she mumbles. “We need to make them jealous. Or nervous. Or confused. Just—something.”

You snort. “Like what? Send each other flowers in front of them?”

Tonks gasps. “YES. And then we act super casual. Like, ‘Oh, Remus, this bouquet? Just a little something from the hottest person I know—not you, obviously.’”

You wheeze into your sleeve. “And I’ll just be like, ‘Oh Severus, Tonks and I are trying this thing where we only date people who can actually say how they feel.’”

“We’ll crush their fragile egos.”

“We’ll be legends.”

Tonks raises the bottle. “To unhinged women and emotionally constipated men.”

You clink your glass to hers, grinning. “It’s our time to shine.”

The both of you continue to drink until the alcohol takes it turn and you both fall sleep on the couch.

But life doesn’t bend to your drunk schemes and hopeful hearts.

The war escalates. Your missions grow bloodier. Darker. The laughter fades, and reality sharpens like a blade.

You and Tonks barely have time to breathe, let alone flirt. The Ministry's collapsing under the weight of fear and infiltration. Raids are more frequent. Casualties are no longer numbers—they're names you recognize.

The Order meetings grow tenser. No more teasing from across the table. No time for exchanged glances or shared smirks. Just tactics. Intel. Survival.

You didn't speak with Severus again after he left you standing in that hallway. He kept glancing over at you during meetings but he never tried to speak with you. It felt like you pressed your heart into his hand and he let it fall, untouched.

You pretend it doesn't hurt. But it does. So you throw yourself into missions. You find dark corners and dangerous paths.

The air is thick with dust and disuse, the floorboards groaning under your boots as you move through the narrow hallway of an abandoned house on the edge of the Wiltshire countryside. The mission had come straight from Moody—quiet, off the books, just you. A suspected Death Eater hideout, previously warded to hell, but recently showing signs of magical activity again.

You entered through a broken cellar door, wand raised, eyes scanning every shadow. Moody's briefing had been short:

check for signs of occupation, gather intel, and get out. If you could confirm who was using the place, even better.

The scent of burnt parchment and something fouler—blood, maybe—lingered in the air. You found remnants: a broken wand tip, a crumpled map of the Ministry’s upper levels, and a few strands of white-blond hair caught on a cracked mirror.

You were about to mark your findings and prepare to leave when you heard it.

Voices. Faint. Muffled. Two people—men, you think—talking in harsh whispers from a room at the end of the hall.

You edge closer, careful not to make a sound, wand held tightly at your side. The floorboards creak beneath you, but you move slowly, deliberately, step by cautious step, until you reach a slightly ajar door.

Inside, two cloaked figures stand near an old writing desk covered in parchment, open potion vials, and a magical map glowing faintly. One of them is holding a wand over the map, murmuring incantations. The other laughs under his breath and adjusts his hood.

Your heart pounds. You’re close enough to make out part of their plan—something about targeting a Ministry courier, something about tonight. You lean in, trying to get a better look, to see their faces, to hear more clearly.

Then—

CREEEAAK.

Your boot shifts ever so slightly on a warped plank.

The sound echoes like thunder in the tense silence.

Both men whip around toward the door, wands already raised.

“WHO’S THERE?!” one of them shouts.

The other spots you at the door, “Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green light blasts through the narrow opening just as you dive backward, making it out of the way last second.

You scramble, raising your wand and firing back as you retreat, the doorway exploding in splinters behind you. The Death Eaters charge, spells slamming into the walls and floor. You fire a disarming spell—miss. A stunning charm—connects. One of them stumbles but recovers fast.

The corridor becomes a war zone. Shelves collapse. Dust blinds you. You roll over broken floorboards, casting Protego and ducking hexes.

You stagger into a corner and use the moment to hurl a curse that sends one Death Eater flying back into a crumbling dresser but the second one closes in, too fast, too brutal. He casts a slicing hex that tears through the wall inches from your face.

You twist to cast, wand rising, a spell burning on your tongue— But the red light surges faster.

It slams into your side like a battering ram.

White-hot pain detonates through you, sharp and immediate, tearing through muscle and bone in one vicious, blazing line.

You land hard on your back, your wand flies from your grasp with a clutter and rolls out of reach. Your body is seizing and ribs flaring with fresh agony. Your lungs refuse to expand. You open your mouth—but no air, no sound. Just the thick, crushing pressure of pain locking you inside your own body.

Your vision blurs at the edges. Every heartbeat is a thunderclap behind your eyes.

You try to move—can’t. Try to breathe—fail.

And then footsteps. Closer. Fast.

You’re exposed, defenseless, flat on splintered wood, blinking up at the ceiling as it twists and swims above you.

A sharp crack of Apparition splits the air.

A shadow cuts through the smoke—swift, dark, deliberate.

Boots crunch over shattered glass and splintered wood as a tall figure strides into the chaos. His face is hidden beneath the edge of a hood, but you know him.

You’d know that presence anywhere.

Severus.

He moves without hesitation, stepping between you and the oncoming curses like a storm given form, his wand already raised. The air explodes with spellfire—green, blue, blood-red—and he counters each one with brutal efficiency. Every motion is sharp, practiced, lethal.

You can barely lift your head, but you watch him—how he doesn’t falter, how he doesn't look away. A shield erupts from his wand, catching a blast before it can reach you. The recoil ripples through the room, shaking dust from the beams above.

Then—with a harsh word and a flick of his wrist—he sends one Death Eater crashing into the wall hard enough to splinter the plaster.

The second barely has time to scream before a nonverbal curse lifts him off his feet and slams him against a broken dresser. He crumples to the floor, motionless.

Only when the room has gone silent again does Severus lower his wand.

He turns toward you.

And pulls down his hood.

You try to speak—his name, anything—but the pain anchors you in place.

“You absolute moron,” he snaps at you, voice taut. Then he’s there lifting you up with such a gentleness and care that you are sure you are dreaming.

“Don’t even try to argue,” he mutters steadying his hold on you. You feel his hand under your back, the twist of Apparition.

Everything folds.

The house vanishes. The pain doesn’t.

The last thing you felt as you passed out is his heartbeat, loud and furious.

When you wake, you’re in a room at Grimmauld Place. The ceiling’s cracked. The sheets smell like dust.

Your chest aches. You blink slowly. Then you see him.

Sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed, coat discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up. There’s a faint streak of ash across his cheek.

He looks at you, jaw tight. “You’re an idiot.”

Your voice comes out croaky. “You have a terrible bedside manner.”

He stands, crossing to your side. Without a word, he begins applying a cooling salve to your ribs, his touch gentler than you expect.

“If you die,” he mutters, “Moody will be buried in paperwork explaining why a promising Auror died on an off-the-books mission and be even worse than he already is.”

You smile weakly. “So you came to save the parchment.”

He doesn’t answer.

But his hand lingers when he finishes wrapping your side. Just a moment. A pause heavy with everything unsaid.

Then he lets go.

"You should have went in took notes and left. Not go full on hero complex and investigate all on your own," he scolds, not bothering to hide the sharp edge in his tone.

You blink slowly, trying to gather your breath. “How did you even find me?”

“I noticed you weren’t at the meeting.” His voice is clipped, his movements precise as he checks the bandages at your side. “I asked Tonks where you’d gone. She told me about the mission.”

You stare at him, still dazed. “So... you left the meeting? Just to come find me?”

He straightens up but doesn’t meet your eyes. “That particular location has been on my radar. It was used previously by known associates of Mulciber. It wasn’t a matter of coincidence.”

You study him. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

His jaw tightens. “You always were too eager to impress. Someone had to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed because of that recklessness.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can press further, he steps back. “You should rest. You’ll need strength for the inevitable lecture from Moody.”

And just like that, he turns to leave, the tension in his shoulders betraying everything he couldn’t say.

"Wait," you croak, voice still hoarse but strong enough to stop him in his tracks.

He pauses at the door, head tilting slightly.

“I still feel the same,” you say, trying not to wince. “Even if you don’t like me. And I know that maybe I shouldn’t say this after you already clearly rejected me but it’s true.”

Severus turns back slowly. There’s a strange look on his face—confusion, maybe. Something softer than before.

“I didn't rejected you,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

He takes a few steps closer. “That night, when you asked me. I didn’t reject you. I said you shouldn’t want that from me. I said I wasn’t the type to do candlelight dinners.”

You stare, heart hammering. “Which… sounded a lot like a rejection?”

He moves a little closer now, arms folded—not in his usual defensive way, but like he’s holding himself still.

“I said I’m not made for candlelight dinners because I’m not,” he continues. “I meant I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of romance. Not that I didn’t want… you.”

You stare at him. “Then why did you just walk away?”

He scowls, and not at you. “I didn't...I told you the night before the meeting that I had to leave right after because I was summoned for another meeting and couldn’t stay to talk. I barely had time to get out and show up there without them getting suspicious.”

You feel your cheeks flush hot.

„I forgot…“

Your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting.

“I thought you understood what I meant and left,” he says, voice quieter now. “But you never brought it up again. And I assumed you…simply didn't want it anymore. So I stayed away.”

Your mind is reeling, trying to make sense of everything he’s just said.

“I didn’t bring it up again because I thought you told me that you do not want to go on a date with me,” you say, incredulous. “I thought I embarrassed myself.”

“You didn’t,” he says tightly. His voice is almost amused as he looks at you. “You didn’t embarrass yourself. I was quite flattered.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You reach out—tentative, careful—and take his hand. And for the first time, he lets his fingers curl around yours.

You look at him, heart thudding again—but differently now. “So... what now?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Please anything but candlelight dinners.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You—you are infuriating.”

“I’m aware.”

„Okay so no candlelight got it.“ You grin despite yourself.

“I do like you rather a lot and would love to spend more time with you if that's what you still want.”

Your smile softens. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He looks at your intervened hands before gently lifting them and pressing a featherlight kiss to the back of yours. The two of you stay like that a little more in silence just enjoying the presence of each other.

And this time, when he turns to go, he pauses at the door— to glance back, eyes lingering just a second longer.

You’re still sitting up in bed when the door bursts open without warning.

Tonks stands in the doorway, wide-eyed and breathless, hair a disheveled mix of pink and brown like she forgot to decide what mood to be in.

“Oh thank Merlin,” she says, exhaling hard. “You’re awake.”

She rushes forward and throws her arms around you before you can say anything. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s Tonks—tight and warm and a little shaky.

“You absolute idiot,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “I was two seconds from hexing Moody for sending you out alone after I heard Snape brought you here hurt and passed out.”

“I’m fine,” you croak, but you hug her back just as tight.

“You’re not,” she says, pulling away just enough to glare at you. “You scared the shit out of me. Again. We had a deal. No solo heroic missions.”

You give a weak laugh. “Didn’t feel very heroic, getting hexed like that.”

Her eyes scan your face, softening slightly. “He got there in time, though that's all that matters.”

You nod, biting your lip.

“I knew he would.” She sits on the edge of the bed, legs bouncing. "The way he ran out the way he did after I told him where you had your mission. He just went quiet and ran. No questions. Just—gone.”

Your heart thuds at that.

“He looked ready to tear the place apart,” Tonks adds, voice dropping slightly. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

You sit in silence for a beat, the memory of his wand raised between you and those curses still vivid.

Then Tonks squints at you, eyes narrowing. “You don't seem surprised by that and you're blushing. Why are you...Something happened, didn’t it!?”

You open your mouth. Close it.

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

You sigh, looking at the blanket folded across your lap. “I stopped him before he left. After he patched me up.”

Tonks leans in, rapt. “And?”

“I told him I still felt the same. About him. Even after everything.”

Her eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

“I did. He was halfway out the door and I just blurted it out.”

She grabs your hands. “What did he say?”

“He turned around. Looked at me like I was the one who’d been Confunded. Then said—he never rejected me.”

Tonks freezes. “What?!”

“I said the same thing!”

You start to laugh, almost delirious from it. “I reminded him of what he told me—the bit about how I shouldn't want that from him, and how he doesn’t do candlelight dinners…”

“And?”

“He said he only meant he’s not that kind of man. Not the kind of man who knows how do that kind of romance. That he didn’t say no. He thought I changed my mind when I didn’t bring it up again.”

Tonks lets out a sound that’s part shriek, part groan, and shoves her hands into her hair. “I knew he liked you! The way he looked at you during meetings? The way he listened when only you spoke up? That wasn’t indifference. That was Severus Snape trying not to combust on the spot.”

You shake your head, smiling. “He said he likes me a lot and would love to spend time with me.”

Tonks practically vibrates in place. “It means you’re dating Snape! You’re dating Severus Snape and I’m going to explode.”

“You are not telling anyone.”

“I am absolutely telling Remus.”

You laugh, then wince at the ache in your ribs.

Tonks sobers just a little, reaching for your hand again. “He really came for you. Without hesitation. You know that, right?”

You nod, eyes burning a little. “I know.”

“And I’m glad. Even if he is the most emotionally damaged man in Britain.”

You squeeze her fingers. “Takes one to fall for one, apparently.”

She lets out a long sigh, collapsing backward onto the bed. “I swear, if Remus doesn’t get his head out of his arse soon too, I’m going to challenge him to a duel and make him lose on purpose.”

You snort. “He’d probably thank you for it.”

Tonks looks at the ceiling, hair bleeding pink again. “You and me. Falling for the most exhausting men alive.”

“At least they’re consistent.”

She smiles sideways at you. “We’re going to be fine, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve got each other. And you finally got your grumpy potions bat and I will eventually get piece of that sad werewolf.”

You grin. “Cheers to that.”

Tonks reaches for a half-melted chocolate frog on the bedside table and raises it like a toast. “To the worst taste in men and the best possible endings.”

You clink your teacup to it. “Here’s hoping.”

And the moment settles between you—quiet, loyal, real. Just two girls in a war, holding each other up and daring to hope for something good.

—

Remus sat in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, legs folded beneath him in one of the battered armchairs, a book resting in his lap. The fire crackled lazily, casting warm shadows against the cracked wallpaper and dust-choked bookshelves. He was half-reading, half-listening to the muffled sounds of Molly in the kitchen and the low groan of the old house settling.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps—measured, unhurried, precise.

Remus glanced up, ready to offer the same cautious nod they always exchanged.

But something stopped him.

Severus, of all people, looked... different.

Not unrecognizable. Not exactly relaxed. But there was a distinct shift in him—like he was carrying less weight across his shoulders than usual. His usual scowl was subdued. His mouth not pressed into it's habitual sneer.

There was a stillness about him that wasn’t edged with bitterness for once.

He looked content.

Remus blinked.

Severus, of course, noticed.

He paused at the threshold of the room, eyes narrowing faintly. “What?” he said flatly.

Remus tilted his head. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“You looked... less miserable than usual,” Remus said mildly. “I was trying to figure out what caused it.”

Severus walked to the edge of the fireplace and leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms folding over his chest.

“I suppose I could ask the same of you on the days your hair isn't a mess.”

Remus chuckled. “Touché.”

A pause stretched between them. Crackling wood. Pages shifting.

Then, without looking up, Remus spoke again. “I heard what happened. With the mission. It's because of your fast reaction that we do not have to bury (Y/N)”

Severus’s expression didn’t shift, but something behind his eyes flickered.

“Tonks told me something interesting,” Remus continued, “that you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with (Y/N).”

Severus’s lip twitched faintly. “You’ve been gossiping, Lupin?”

“She likes to tell me. It’s hard not to listen when she talks.”

"Apparently.”

Remus looked at him fully now. “You like her.”

Severus didn’t flinch. “Yes and she likes me.”

There was a long pause as Remus processed that. "So...Have you figured out what you are going to do about it?"

"There is no figuring out," Severus added dryly, “We are dating.”

Remus blinked again, still stunned. “But...things as they are—this war, the risks—and she’s younger—”

Severus turned his head, very slowly, and fixed him with a look so flat and unimpressed that Remus actually winced.

“I see,” Remus muttered. “None of my business.”

“No,” Severus said. “It’s not.”

Still, he didn’t look away. His voice lowered, tone quieter, more serious. “But I’ll say this once.”

Remus looked up.

“It would be idiotic to reject someone who cares for me like that especially in times like these,” Severus said evenly. “Someone who sees every part of me and still bothers. Who still wants to bother. That doesn’t happen twice.”

Remus stared at him, unmoving.

Severus went on, voice calm but sure. “She knows what she wants. And she’s more than capable of choosing for herself. Who am I to push that away, for the sake of appearances or pride?”

Remus’s jaw clenched faintly.

Severus didn’t smile. But there was a finality in his gaze, a grounded certainty.

“I’m not a fool,” he said. “I may be many things. But I know what matters when it’s standing in front of me. And I will not waste the little time I might have left, wondering on what it would have been like if I can spend it with her and know.”

With that, he pushed off the wall and turned to leave, robes brushing the doorframe as he disappeared into the hallway.

Remus sat still for a long time, the fire crackling behind him.

Dinner at Grimmauld Place that evening is louder than usual.

Molly has outdone herself again—roast lamb, buttered veggies, fresh rolls, and enough potatoes to bury a man alive. She’s fluttering around you with the urgency of someone who’s decided your brush with death was a personal insult to her kitchen.

“Another helping, dear?” she says for the third time in as many minutes, already scooping more onto your plate before you can answer.

“I—really, I’m good—”

“You need to rebuild your strength,” Molly insists, ignoring your protests entirely.

Tonks, seated across from you, is no help at all. She’s already giggling behind her pumpkin juice, watching the scene like it's the best show she’s seen in weeks.

“She’s going to roll you back to the flat at this rate,” Tonks teases. “Merlin forbid you miss a meal. You’d have to survive on… what do you even keep in our pantry? Seven varieties of tea and a questionable jar of pickled something?”

“I like variety,” you grumble, nudging your mashed potatoes half-heartedly.

Severus sits beside you, unusually quiet but very much present. He hasn’t spoken since the meal began, just calmly observing the chaos of the kitchen, his posture composed, his expression unreadable.

Until your arm tenses.

It’s just a small motion—lifting your fork with your still-sore side—but the moment you reach too high, pain flashes across your face and you wince, hand faltering.

The moment is so small, so quiet, it might’ve gone unnoticed.

But before anyone else can react—before even you fully register it—Severus sets down his own fork, reaches calmly across, and takes yours from your fingers.

No words.

Just steady hands, practiced grace, and a flick of his wrist as he spears a piece of roast lamb and holds the fork out to you.

The entire table freezes.

Molly stops mid-pour with the gravy boat. Arthur’s eyebrows climb his forehead. Remus pauses with a roll halfway to his mouth, blinking like someone just flipped the room upside down. Sirius chokes on his Mulbery Wine so violently that Molly has to slap his back.

Tonks, meanwhile, looks like someone just handed her the keys to Honeydukes. Her grin is feral, gleeful, and practically glowing. Her eyes flick between you and Severus like she’s already scripting the ballad she’s going to write about this moment.

You don’t even notice.

You just beam, completely unbothered by the stunned silence, and lean forward to take the offered bite without hesitation.

“Mmm,” you hum. “Thank you.”

Severus doesn’t smile, but there’s something there—a twitch of his mouth, the softest exhale through his nose. His hand lowers back to your plate, calm and precise as ever, already gathering another bite like this is simply the most logical way to deal with a sore arm and not the social equivalent of dropping a bomb in the center of the Order dinner.

You take another bite from Severus’s hand, still grinning, completely unaware of how stunned the rest of the table is—until Sirius opens his mouth.

“Alright,” he says loudly, setting down his fork with an exaggerated clatter. “What the bloody hell is that all about?”

Tonks immediately glares at him, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t start.”

Even Remus, usually the peacekeeper, glances at Sirius with a hint of disapproval. “Not the time, Sirius.”

But of course, Sirius barrels forward like a broom with no brakes.

“I mean, come on,” he says, gesturing broadly toward you and Severus. “Snivellus hand-feeding (Y/N) at the dinner table? This is weird, right? This is weird for everyone?”

Tonks opens her mouth, clearly about to explode.

But Severus speaks first.

Calm. Bored. Unbothered.

“I’m feeding my woman because she is in pain,” he says. „Not that you understand. You've never tended to anything that didn't stroke your ego.“

Flat. Dry. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Silence.

Absolute, floor-dropping silence.

You, still mid-bite, blink in surprise. Your heart skips an entirely unsafe number of beats.

Molly stares, eyes wide. Then—slowly—a small, knowing smile pulls at her mouth. She glances at Arthur, who lifts his eyebrows but smiles back with an approving nod.

Tonks actually squeaks.

It’s small, barely a sound, but her whole face lights up and her hands slap over her mouth like she’s trying not to scream into them.

Sirius stares.

It’s the kind of stare that says he’s been hit with a Stunning Spell mid-chew. His mouth is open. But no sound comes out. He’s blinking at Severus like he’s trying to read an instruction manual in another language.

You nudge Severus gently with your elbow, your voice low. “That was…not subtle.”

“I don’t do subtle,” he says without looking at you.

You laugh under your breath and pick up your cup with your good arm, hiding your smile behind it.

Severus, meanwhile, continues eating his own dinner like he didn’t just casually claim you in front of half the Order.

Remus says nothing—but he’s watching.

You notice the way his eyes shift toward Tonk as she glows and fidgets and looks like she might combust with happiness. There’s something in his expression—pain, maybe. Or longing. Regret, even.

“Well,” Tonks says, trying and failing to sound casual, “I’d say that clears up a few things.”

Dinner resumes—sort of.

The food disappears from plates, the conversations return in hushed tones and sideways glances, but something has shifted. The air feels lighter. Not so sharp. And even if half the table is pretending they didn’t just witness that moment, the other half is definitely planning to tell someone else about it later.

And you?

You just let Severus brush his fingers lightly against yours beneath the table. Quiet. Steady. Real.

The house settles into quiet as the dishes are cleared, conversations fade, and the others retreat upstairs or into separate corners of Grimmauld Place. You manage to make it down the corridor on your own, stiff but mobile, with Tonks promising

“I will be back later, a certain emotionally terrified werewolf wants to talk to me urgently about something apparently.”

You find Severus upstairs, half-hidden in the shadowed end of the corridor by the old study door, arms crossed like he’s trying not to pace. He looks up when you approach, expression unreadable but his eyes soften when you approach him.

You don’t say anything at first.

You just step into his space—closer than you would’ve dared even days ago.

He doesn’t move away.

“Are you in pain?”

“A little,” you admit. “But it’s manageable.”

He nods once. “You should still be resting.”

You glance up at him, suddenly very aware of everything still unsaid. Of how different things feel now. You fiddle with the sleeve of your jumper.

„You know," you speak softly „For someone who claims that they are not the type for candlelight dinners you do know how to make a moment romantic.“

That earns you the faintest huff. Not quite a laugh. But close. “Should I have waited and made a formal announcement?”

You fold your arms, the ache in your side a dull throb. “Sirius nearly chocked and looked like he aged five years on the spot.”

A flicker of smug satisfaction crosses his face. “That part I did enjoy.”

That makes you huff a laugh before you can stop yourself. You stare at him for a moment, heart doing something uneven in your chest.

“You meant it?” you ask finally.

He lifts a brow. “You think I do things like that to amuse myself?”

A soft breath leaves you—not quite a laugh, but something close. “You know, you caused a small riot?“

“I’m aware.” His expression is unreadable again as he looks at you.

You hesitate. Then: “You called me your woman.”

“Was I wrong?” He meets your eyes.

You open your mouth. Close it.

There’s silence for a moment, but it isn’t awkward. It’s full—settled. Something has shifted and neither of you is pretending otherwise.

“I didn’t plan to say it,” he admits, voice quiet. “It came out.”

You stare at him. “Do you regret it?”

He shakes his head once. “No.”

You search his face. There’s tension there, yes, but also clarity. He’s not performing. He’s not trying to convince you. He’s just telling you the truth.

“You know,” You step closer. „I saw Remus look at Tonks after you said it.“

Severus tilts his head slightly. “And?”

“And it made me think… maybe what you said, did more than just surprise a room full of people.”

You smile—shy, warm, and completely real.

And then you lean in, slowly, your hand finding his cheek.

He doesn’t move—not at first. Just watches you like he’s still making sure this is real. Like he’s memorizing every second of it.

But when your lips meet his, it’s not rushed or hesitant. It’s warm and sure, a little uneven at first—because it’s new, and it means something. His hand rises to your waist, not possessive, just there. Grounding you.

He kisses you like it’s something he never expected to have—but won’t let himself fear anymore. Careful, but wanting. His fingers slide along your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go too soon.

When you pull back, he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

“Come on,” you whisper. “We should go back before Tonks tries to sneaks up here and catches us.”

“She’s already watching from the stairs,” Severus murmurs dryly.

You spin. “What?!”

But there’s no one there. He smirks.

You groan. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says, letting his hand trail to your lower back and pulling you against him. “And yet, here you are.”

He slowly leans down and presses another kiss to your lips.

Neither of you think to stop but when you do pull back, just a little, your forehead rests against his.

The air between you stays charged—gentle, electric.

You whisper, “I guess this is much better than a candlelight dinner.”

He exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek. “This is much more...enjoyable.”

You smile, lips brushing his again—just because you can now.

By the time you and Severus return to the main sitting room, the fire’s been rekindled and most of the Order has either gone to bed or wandered off. But the few who remain—well, they paint quite the picture.

Tonks is curled up on the couch, tucked against Remus’s side. His arm is slung around her shoulders like it belongs there, and her head rests just beneath his jaw, her pink hair brushing his collar while her legs are draped over his lap.

She’s beaming. Glowing, really.

Remus looks half-relaxed, half like he’s still recovering from letting himself finally give in.

And then there’s Sirius.

Sulking.

He’s folded into one of the old armchairs like it personally betrayed him, arms crossed so tightly across his chest it’s a miracle he’s still breathing. He’s scowling across the room—specifically at Remus and Tonks—with the fury of someone who just found out his favorite pub closed down for good.

The moment you and Severus step into view, Sirius’s eyes dart toward you both, his expression contorting further into something between deeply betrayed and vaguely nauseous.

You don’t miss the way Tonks catches your eye across the room and grins like a smug cat. You grin right back.

She mouths, he is mine now.

You mouth back, I can see.

You turn to look at Severus over your shoulder. He gently places his hand on your lower back and presses a quick kiss to your lips before guiding you over to the free armchair. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap if it was the most normal thing to do.

Sirius groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, this is unbearable.”

No one acknowledges him.

He huffs louder, throwing his arms up. “First, it’s Snape feeding her like it’s some tragic romance novel, now Remus is cuddled up like a bloody pillow—what is this? The common room of poor decisions?”

Remus raises an eyebrow but doesn’t even blink. Tonks snuggles in closer, visibly delighted.

Sirius keeps going, gesturing wildly. “It was bad enough having to accepting those two—” he points at you and Severus, “—will be snogging in doorways and making heart eyes over dinner—”

“We are not—!” you start, but Tonks bursts out laughing.

“—and now this?” Sirius growls. “Now I have to watch my best mate fall for my pink-haired menace of a cousin who brews exploding tea and crashes into tables on the regular?”

Without a beat. No cue. No hesitation.

Everyone in the room—Tonks, Remus, you, and even Severus, flatly—says at once:

“Shut up, Sirius.”

Sirius blinks like he’s been smacked with a rolled-up Prophet.

The fire crackles.

Tonks lifts her mug in a mock toast. “To love, chaos, and Sirius suffering.”

Remus looks smug and entirely too comfortable where he is.

Sirius scowls deeper, muttering something about needing stronger firewhisky and better friends.

You rest your head on Severus's shoulder, who doesn’t say anything, but his arm comes around your waist, holding you closer.

And for the first time in what feels like months, the room—despite the war, despite the madness—feels full of something warmer than tension.

It feels like peace.

—

Months later, the war rages on.

The sky seems permanently gray these days. Grimmauld Place is colder. The halls quieter. People speak in hushed tones now—not just from caution, but fatigue.

But not everything is bleak.

Because even in the cracks of this crumbling world, you’ve found moments that feel…safe.

Your relationship with Severus is unlike anything you imagined.

It’s quieter than you thought it would be—not loud declarations but small things. Constant things.

He always makes sure you have tea after a mission, mixed with healing potions, even if it’s more bitter he insists it’s “medicinal.” You bring him books he pretends not to need and lay with your head in his lap in silence while he reads, just being near each other.

He lets you lean against him after long meetings, his arm a constant, grounding weight around your shoulders. He strokes your hair gently until you fall asleep next to him.

You argue, of course. He can be sharp, cold, too used to pushing people away when they get too close. But he always comes back. Always shows up in the morning, coffee in hand, like it’s his way of saying he’s still here.

You love him for it.

And even though he rarely says the words, you never doubt them. Because when you’re bleeding, he’s there before the blood dries. Because when you’re gone too long, he paces the halls and snaps at everyone until you’re in his arms again. Because when everything seems to fall apart around him, you are the only place he truly let’s himself fall apart.

Because his love is not loud.

It’s constant.

That afternoon, you and Tonks find yourselves at your flat for once—no assignments, no alarms. Just a rare moment of stillness, wrapped in mismatched blankets and oversized sweaters, sipping tea.

Tonks stretches across the couch like she owns it, which she technically half does. Her hair is soft today, a dusky pink that fades toward her shoulders.

In the kitchen Remus is quietly preparing food while Severus is filling up the cabinets with actual food.

You and Tonks watch it unfold from your positions.

She grins over her mug. “Remus made me tea this morning. Loose leaves. Honey. He even brought it to bed.”

You raise your brows. “That’s scandalously domestic.”

“I know,” she sighs dramatically rubbing her swollen bump. “He’s ruined me. I’ll never settle for anyone who uses teabags again.”

You chuckle, swirling your own mug. “Severus made me take a Pepper-Up Potion after I sneezed once. Called me ‘reckless’ for standing too near a draft. He wouldn’t stop glaring at me until I had drunken it”

Tonks bursts out laughing. “That man shows love like a hostile letter.”

You smirk. “He also charmed the door to alert him if I leave without my wand. Don’t tell him, but I think it’s sweet.”

She raises her mug in salute. “That’s basically marriage.”

You clink mugs, leaning into each other with soft, tired laughter.

There’s a silence afterward—comfortable, layered with memory.

You stare at the two men in your kitchen. “Do you remember what we were like this time last year?”

She groans. “Pathetic.”

“We used to get drunk and cry about how they’d never notice us.”

Tonks puts her hand to her heart. “And now mine makes me soup when I have cramps.”

You grin. “Mine lectures me about sleep and then lets me drool on his shoulder.”

She eyes you sideways. “He told Sirius to shut up the other day just because you sighed.”

“He did not.”

“He did. He’s obsessed with you.”

Your cheeks heat, but you try to play it cool. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. He loves you.”

You go quiet. Not because you doubt it—but because it still feels fragile sometimes, like something you’re afraid to jinx.

But then you think of the kisses and touches you had shared, how he is holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You smile.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “He does.”

Tonks leans her head on your shoulder. “We really pulled it off, didn’t we?”

You grin. “We made emotionally repressed men fall in love with us. That’s basically winning the war.”

You sit like that for a long time—warm tea, shared silence, the world outside be damned.

While the two men you loved silently moved around the kitchen like it was their own.

Because blind spots don’t last forever.

Not when love keeps tapping you on the shoulder.

#severus snape #fanfic #severus snape x reader #harry potter

196 notes · View notes

welostheplot · 20 days ago

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── 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ᨒ↟☾.࿔*:･ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!ellie williams / werewolf!abby anderson / reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: during your first week of school, you get a taste of jackson—its biting mountain air, cliquey friend groups, and a steady stream of hallway gossip. you learn about the millers, though “learn” feels like a strong word considering how little anyone actually knows.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: no warnings! besides a touch of daddy issues if you really squint.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.1k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: i was literally kicking my feet writing the iconic bio class scene hehehehe. just so we're all on the same page, the twilight parallels will be both from the books and the movies!! :0 also thank you for all the support on this series so far!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: "welcome to jackson"

YOU HADN'T CRIED YET.

not when you said goodbye to your mother, who clutched you in a fierce embrace in the middle of the chaotic phoenix airport terminal, her own tears wetting the shoulder of your crewneck.

not when you experienced the stomach-dropping sensation of the plane's wheels lifting from the tarmac.

not when you unpacked your clothes into the dusty drawers of the wooden dresser shoved into the corner of the your bedroom and prayed the mothball smell wouldn't seep into the fabric of your shirts.

not even when you finally did fall asleep that first night, every creak and hum seeming a thousand decibels louder in a house left empty thanks to your father's overnight shift at the police station.

but now, standing outside jackson hole high with the hard plastic of one of your binders biting into the skin of your palm and your hair sticking to your cheek from the snow flurries, you kind of wanted to.

you had hoped getting out of the unforgiving january cold and into the school away from the dreary, overcast weather might improve your mood, even minorly.

it didn’t.

inside, the hallways smelled like petrichor and old textbooks, and your damp converse squeaked with every step on tile floors worn down from generations of boots and snow.

the woman at the front desk of the main office was nice enough, handing you a stack of papers with a patronizing pat to your shoulder. kept calling you “hon” and giving you smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“you’re the chief’s kid, right?” she asked, like she already knew the answer.

you nodded.

“well,” she said, placing your class schedule on top of the growing pile of printed materials. “welcome to jackson.”

YOUR HOMEROOM WAS ALREADY FULL WHEN YOU ARRIVED.

if you didn’t already think the people of jackson had a staring problem, entering the classroom and being forced to stand in front of twenty curious eyes while your teacher introduced you sealed the deal.

after she finished butchering your name (you didn’t have the heart to correct her and hoped the mispronunciation wouldn’t stick), she gestured for you to take a seat near the back.

the chair squeaked as you settled into it. someone a row over whispered something you didn’t catch.

you were halfway through pretending to listen to announcements detailing clubs and events you knew nothing about when someone tapped your shoulder.

you flinched. then turned.

“hi,” said a girl with big, inquisitive brown eyes and shiny cherry red lip gloss. “i’m cassie.”

you blinked. remembered your dad’s newest kitchen countertop note from that morning: be safe. have fun. make friends.

“hi.”

“you’re new?”

you thought it was pretty fucking obvious. but held your tongue. “yeah.”

she smiled like it was something the two of you were now in on.

“i’ll show you where the good vending machine is,” she said. “the one that always has the red sunchips in stock.”

you decided she’d be worth keeping around.

THE LUNCHROOM WAS A MINEFIELD.

you had barely made it through the cafeteria doors before you were overwhelmed by the roar of hungry high schoolers. it was loud and bustling, but organized chaos: every table had its own ecosystem.

cheerleaders. jocks. theater kids. a group in the back wearing too much camo and carhartt.

cassie stuck to your side like she was being paid to do so, firmly guiding you to a table where three other people already sat.

they looked normal enough. or at least that’s how you felt until you were forced to awkwardly hover with your tray of food while one of them—“nat. short for natalie. but you can call me anything you want, new girl.”—insisted on pulling your chair out for you in an act of chivalry.

“laying it on a bit thick, don’tcha think?” cassie chided as devin, the awkward but oddly confident, spiky-haired boy sitting to your left, made his second comment in five minutes about how pretty he thought your hair was.

you let out an embarrassed chuckle and scraped at the sticker on your apple with the jagged, bitten nail of your thumb.

then there were hands gripping your shoulders from behind, giving you a teasing shake as another student flirtingly jeered, “everyone just can’t get enough of the shiny new toy from arizonaaaaa.”

“knock it off, marcus, you’re clearly making her uncomfortable,” leah, a soft-spoken girl with round-rimmed glasses, came to your rescue from across the circular lunch table.

“wait, aren’t girls from arizona supposed to be like... bimbo sorority girl wannabes?”

you didn’t really know what to do with that, opting for an awkward attempt at self-deprecating humor—your specialty.

“yeah... maybe that’s why they... kicked me out. i dunno.”

there was a beat before the table dissolved into laughter, seemingly placated by your joke and attention shifting to individual conversations you didn’t have the energy to insert yourself into.

you let their chatter fade into background noise, opting to scan the room, your eyes bouncing from face to face.

that’s when you noticed.

it was them again. that weird group from the gas station.

and your eyes were, once more, instantly drawn to that same girl in particular.

she sat slightly slouched in her seat, elbow resting on the surface of the table, fingers drumming a slow rhythm next to a tray of food she paid no mind to.

then the energy in the room shifted. and your stomach twisted.

because she was now looking at you.

not a glance or a casual once-over.

a stare. direct and unblinking.

you dropped your gaze immediately, and the thumbnail you’d still been mindlessly scraping over the apple sticker bit into the flesh of the fruit as you white-knuckled the object in embarrassment at being caught.

“the millers.”

the words came from cassie, unprompted, like she knew what you were thinking.

“and the one who just caught you staring? ellie.”

you scoffed and rushed to defend yourself, but cassie barged on like she didn’t even hear you. “they’re foster siblings, technically. joel—he’s their, like, dad-uncle-grandpa figure, i don’t really know. they keep to themselves.”

you tried to sound normal when you asked, “what’s her deal?”

cassie raised an eyebrow.

“what’s your deal?” she countered.

you smiled, the left corner of your mouth tilting up, and she returned it, then fixed you with a serious look.

“don’t waste your time trying to get in with them, by the way. the millers don’t talk to anyone.”

“why not?”

cassie shrugged. “some say they’re homeschooled weirdos. others say they’re part of some religious cult. i say serial killers.”

you blinked. “seriously?”

she grinned. “kidding! ...mostly.”

you turned your head just enough to sneak another glance back at their table.

the freckled girl—ellie—was still staring at you.

and now she looked pissed.

YOU COULDN'T WAIT TO GET HOME.

you spent the rest of the school day navigating the maze of hallways and trying not to react too stiffly to each new, overly friendly introduction that came your way.

you'd even managed to put on an embarrassing, flailing display in p.e. that somehow resulted in you smacking the ball over the net into an empty spot on the other team’s side of the court, earning your own team the winning point.

“way to go, arizona!!!” nat had yelled from across the gym, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t throwing her own group’s game in favor of watching you instead.

now, you were in the home stretch with your final class: biology.

you approached the entrance to the lab, eyeing the interior of the room and its durable tables designed specifically for partner work.

and then realized how the only available seat was next to...

ellie.

you hesitated at the doorway, mentally weighing whether it might be worth it to ask your teacher to reassign you, the memory of ellie’s intense, angry gaze in the cafeteria still haunting you.

ultimately, the decision was made for you: you had already arrived late, there were no other empty seats, and you were promptly ushered further into the lab room by your teacher, who damn near slammed the door shut behind you in his desire to get the lesson started quickly.

you stumbled forward at the brisk movement, a gust of air from the sharp swing of the door strong enough to blow a few unruly strands of hair into your face.

collecting yourself and brushing the hair back with a quick swipe of your hand, you took your seat—but not before noting how ellie visibly recoiled at the mere scent of you.

you weren’t much of a perfume user; you had grown up occasionally asking your mother for a dollop of cucumber melon bath & body works lotion before school, in an attempt to “smell pretty” and fit in like the other girls your age.

but you knew for sure you didn’t stink, and you had even opted to roll on an extra layer of deodorant before and after p.e. in fear of the nervous sweats. you tried to subtly sniff at your shoulder as you settled onto your lab stool anyway.

ellie sat rigidly, her eyes fixated on the small petri dishes that rested on the table in front of you both.

as the teacher began the lesson, you chanced a glance at her. her jaw was clenched, and her hands were balled into fists on the table.

“hey,” you ventured softly.

“i’m new here.”

she didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly.

the tension was palpable. you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

with a shaky hand, the other one clasped firmly over the lower half of her face in an attempt to 'subtly' cover her nose, she nudged your petri dish towards your end of the table and slid her own closer to her side.

then, she hunched in on herself, angling her body away from you as much as she could while still facing forward to pay attention to the lesson.

this was going to be a long forty-five minutes.

AS SOON AS THE BELL RUNG, SHE WAS OUT OF HER SEAT.

her stool screeched against the tile at the sudden movement, and by the time you fully registered what had happened, she was already up at the front of the room, seemingly arguing with the teacher.

ellie jerked her head back in your direction, muttering in a voice that was quiet yet urgent. you couldn’t make out the words, but the teacher shook his head, and she stormed out of the room.

it didn't take a genius to infer that you, for some reason, were the problem.

confused and honestly unsettled, you made your way back to the front office to make sure all the paperwork for your transfer had been finalized before leaving for the day.

as you approached the desk, you saw ellie there, her back to you. she seemed to be engaged in a debate even more heated than the one you witnessed back at the lab. this time, you were actually in earshot of the conversation.

it was your first time hearing what her voice sounded like, low and a bit raspy. you’d have probably taken more time to enjoy the timbre of it had she not been asking to transfer out of her biology class as soon as possible.

you caught your name. and then: “…any other open labs? i'll retake astronomy if i have to.”

"you passed astronomy with flying colors, ellie. if mrs. cochran could've given you a grade above an A+, she would've."

upon your entry, she turned slightly, green eyes widening as she saw you. without another word, she brushed past you and exited the office.

you stood there for a moment, processing the encounter. the same front desk woman, still wearing that fake smile, beckoned you forward and asked if you had a good first day as a newly official ‘jackson hole bronco.’

ten minutes later, as your truck pulled out of the quickly emptying school parking lot, you gripped the cold steering wheel and tried to keep your tears at bay.

YOU DON’T SEE ELLIE AT SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY.

and one day with no sight of her quickly becomes the rest of the week. none of the millers seemed to be in attendance, actually. you were perplexed as to why nobody batted an eye at their disappearance.

you guessed it must be that typical “homeschooled weirdo” behavior as cassie had called it.

when curiosity got the best of you one night during yet another dinner where your dad spent more time watching the game than talking (you didn’t blame him—starting over was awkward for everyone involved), you’d asked him about them.

“what do you know about the millers?”

your dad’s eyes finally left the grainy tv screen to look at you instead. he spent longer than necessary chewing a bite of his steak. scratched at his beard.

“their dad— er.. their… joel? whatever he is to them, he’s doing something right. kids never cause any issues with me or the force, unlike some of the others in this town.”

you nodded, ready to leave it there.

your dad regarded you carefully. stabbed at a roasted mini potato with his fork. didn’t move to eat it just yet.

“why do you ask? one of them do somethin' to you?”

you paused, unsure. why had you asked? you didn't even know any of their names besides hers. and at this rate, their attendance made it seem like they’d skipped towns or something anyways.

you shrugged, sliding out of your chair and bringing your empty plate to the sink to scrub at it.

“they’re just kinda…. odd. yanno?”

he nodded in agreement. “this town’s got some quirks. everyone’s a little weird,” was his gruff reply.

“but quite frankly? we’re lucky to have someone as smart as joel around on the council. don’t know what this town would do without him.”

you shook the excess water off of your now-clean plate, moving to prop it up on the drying rack. taking a chance at breaking the ice, you joked: "all of them kind of look like they stepped out of a magazine."

with a chuckle, your dad replied, "you should see joel miller in the flesh then. he's got all the moms in town swooning."

you both laughed and there was a comfortable silence after. it was the first conversation you'd had with him that didn't feel like you were talking to a complete stranger.

YOUR MOM CALLED YOU LATER THAT NIGHT.

your phone nearly vibrated off the bathroom counter as you rushed to spit out foamy toothpaste, caught mid-brush. the screen was lit up with some number you didn't recognize, but you answered anyway.

“there’s my big shot jacksonite,” she cooed, the sounds of clinking bottles and a laugh that definitely wasn't hers echoing faintly behind her.

“what’s the damage? has the cold frozen off any of your toes yet?”

“nope, no frostbite yet,” you mumbled, sliding under your covers into bed and pulling up the duvet to your chin.

"well, tell me everything about your first week at school! i was gonna write you a postcard, but then i realized i can just harass you over the phone instead."

you smiled, even though your chest ached a little. you had missed the sound of someone who actually knew you.

"not much to tell. it's pretty boring here. cold. people stare a lot."

“probably because you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to that school in ten years,” was her reply.

a loud beep cut in through the line. "please insert 25 cents for three more minutes."

“ugh, hold on—stupid machine—”

you could hear her fumbling for coins, the clang of quarters, the receiver wobbling as she probably tucked it between her cheek and shoulder. "you're calling me from a payphone?"

"don’t sound so horrified! we’re between cell towers and i saw one out back behind the bar. it’s vintage. kind of romantic," she added, dreamy.

"oh!" she gasped. "speaking of romance—have you met any cute guys yet?"

you rolled your eyes automatically.

"oops! i mean girls. girls, right, right—sorry, honey, i always forget. force of habit."

a beat.

"have you told your dad about that yet?"

you snuggled further into your bed.

"...no."

another pause. longer this time.

“okay,” she said, softer now. “you don’t have to. not ‘til you’re ready. just don’t think you can’t, okay? he’s a little slow but he’s not a lost cause.”

“mm,” you said, which was safer than agreeing.

“he used to wear cargo shorts year-round, babe. if that man can grow out of that, he can come around to anything.”

you snorted softly. there was a stretch of silence where neither of you said anything, listening to each other's breathing.

“i miss you,” you murmured.

“i miss you more,” she said softly. “i think i might’ve cried for, like, the entire state of utah.”

“you say that like you didn’t ship me off yourself.”

“hey! it was a joint decision. plus, your dad missed you. and us? we need some time to… i dunno. exist in a tiny metal box and pretend we don’t have any obligations.”

you laughed in spite of yourself.

"he’s still good to you?"

“he’s still amazing,” she confirmed. “he bought me one of those horrible souvenir snowglobes at a gas station today and told me it was for when i wanted a reminder of you since you're out there shivering in the jackson tundra. rich, hot, and super thoughtful.”

“gross.”

“i know, right?” she sighed contentedly. “but also… not.”

a strange pang tugged at your chest. you were happy for her, but the kind of happy that also stings.

“i’m glad you’re good, mom.”

“me too, baby.”

another loud beep cut in. “please insert 25 cents for three more minutes.”

"ugh. okay, this thing's unforgiving and i think they just announced last call. probably time to hit the road anyway."

you bit your lip. "call me when you're somewhere normal. preferably from your cell, please."

“what is normal, really?” she hummed.

and honestly? after moving here, you found yourself asking the same question more and more.

"i love you, honey. keep sending me those e-mail updates. i'll read 'em like they're the tabloids whenever we can stop at a library and get to a computer."

"love you more. bye mom," you got out, just before the call dropped.

you tucked your phone under the pillow your head was resting on and curled into yourself. no matter how much you tried to cuddle in, the sheets were cold, and the wind howled faintly outside your window. but her voice lingered—soft and bright and warm around the edges.

as you drifted off to sleep, you found yourself thinking, not for the first time that week, about a girl with sharp green eyes and a voice like gravel.

you wondered if she’d be back on monday.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

191 notes · View notes

mochinek0 · 1 year ago

Text

In Sickness and in Health

"Damian, I need you to work with the new student on this project." his history teacher stated.

"What new student?" the young Wayne questioned.

'There's no one new here. Has he finally lost it?'

"Stay after class, please." they replied.

Damian simply nodded.

'At least if the new person is all in his head, I can work by myself.'

"The new student isn't here today as she's sick. They're also a transfer student." The teacher spoke, "Here is her address."

"You want me to go there and become ill?" Damian speculated.

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. All I am asking is that you, at least, speak to her about the project." the teacher sighed, "She'll know better than anyone how long she'll be absent. Get her to write a note saying, I don't know, she gives you full control on the project or something. I'll deal with it from there."

"I can do that." Damian accepted.

'At least I can still work by myself.'

Damian looked down at the address in his hand an then back at the seamstress shop. Confused, the young Wayne entered the store and looked around for someone his own age.

"Can I help you?" asked an elderly lady.

"I was given this address for a classmate of mine." Damian explained, "I believe they mixed it up. Excuse me."

"Are you looking for Marinette?" they questioned.

'Marinette? Is that her name? Not American; he did mention they were a transfer student.'

"Yes." he answered, still unsure.

"Go through the blue curtain in the far back." the lady smiled, "There's a set of stairs that will take you to the apartment above the store."

Damian nodded and went to the back of the store. There was blue cloth hung up on a shower rod that parted slightly.

'A door would be better suited.'

Damian walked up the stairs to the second story and found single door. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. The door opened and he was shocked. There in the doorway was a girl with blue hair, up to his chest. She was wearing what seemed to be pajamas, had a blanket draped over her shoulders, a face mask, and a cooling cloth attached to her forehead.

'She is obviously seriously ill. How did she open the door? Why didn’t anyone else open it for her?'

"Who are you?" she questioned, hoarsely.

"Damian Wayne." he declared, "I was told to talk to you about a history project for school."

She moved away from the door and went stright to the kitchen.

"Sit anywhere you want. I haven't sat in the living room in three days. I'd offer you a beverage, but I don't want to get you sick and asking you to get it yourself, seems rude." the girl spoke.

'Polite; unexpected.'

"What are you doing?" Damian questioned, as he watched her stir a pot.

"Making soup for the week." Marinette answered.

"So, I should not expect you to return this week." he suggested.

"I usually eat soup when I'm sick and for the following days, to keep my immune system cleansed." she explained, "So, history? Leave me the details and I'll work on it."

"Mr. Hayes suggested you could write a note putting me in charge." Damian spoke.

"I can work, Damian." Mari remarked, "I don't need you coddling me because I'm sick."

'Coddle! I-The last thing I would do is….coddle her!'

Damian snapped, "I am giving you a way out! Get your rest and I will do it completely!"

"I'm on bedrest and as you can see, I'm functional." she growled back.

Marinette began to cough heavidly, enough to make her grip the kitchen counter. Damian watched as her breaths became labored, as if she had trouble inhaling.

'She calls this functional?'

Marinette grabbed a mug and poured hot water from a near by kettle. Damian watched as she spooned a small amount of tea leaves into a container and place it in the mug.

'Peppermint? She should try lemon, ginger, something citrus.'

"When are your parents getting back?" Damian asked, not moving from the doorway.

"I'm emancipated." she smiled.

'She's by herself?'

Damian looked around and noticed a small table with one chair. The living room had enough to seat up to three guests. There was also one door to the left, behind the living room.

"Leave the form and an email or something so I can send you my portion." Marinette called out, "If you don't like it, I can work in my room and you can work from out here."

Damian took out a pen and quickly wrote down his email at the top of the paper.

"I'll be back, tomorrow." he stated, leaving the apartment.

'Why is she so stubborn? She needs to rest. The simplest solution would be for her to rest this week while I work alone. What is she trying to accomplish?'

The moment she opened the door, Damian stared at Marinette annoyed. She had showed recently, but her hair was still wet. At the very least, she was wearing different clothes.

He scowled, "Where is the bathroom?"

"Oh, in my room, on your left." Marinette pointed out.

'Guess he really needed to go.'

Damian came back with a towel and threw it over her head, without notice. He quickly began to rub her head to get the moisture out.

"You're going to get worse with you hair looking like a wet mop." Damian stated, "Dry it completely."

Marinette remained silent and still. Damian stopped his movements.

"Marinette?" he asked, moving to face her.

'Shit!'

Marinette's eyes were wide and she was practially hyperventilating. She was clenching and unclenching her hands.

'She does not handle physical contact well. Is she going to be okay at school?'

Damian kneeled in front of her and showed his hands were raised in front of him.

"My apologies." Damian whispered, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Damian reached out and dragged his bag, next to the couch. He pulled out a small cylinder.

"I brought you some tea leaves. Citrus help you recover from illness." he began, "I don't believe peppermint will work." as he handed her the container.

Marinette took it and looked at it. She opened it and sniffed the tea leaves. There was lemon, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. There was some other stuff she couldn't make out.

"You......made this?" Marinette questioned.

'Why would he give this to me?'

Damian remained silent, but nodded. He didn't think she would noticed he took his time to make her something.

"I make my own teas." he replied.

Mari smiled, "Thank you."

Damian watched as her expression softened. She got up from her seat, letting the towel fall from her head, and quickly began to get things ready to brew the tea. Once it was finished brewing, she took a sip.

"It’s delicious, Damian!" Mari smiled, happily, "Maybe I should go to you for all of my teas."

Before he could respond, Marinette took her tea and went into her room. Damian picked up his things and saw she had gotten comfortable in her bed with her laptop on a tray.

"Were we not working over there?" he questioned.

"I don't want to get you sick." Marinette replied, "Besides, there's only one chair. I'll just email you-"

Damian left the room and returned with the chair from her kitchen table.

"I don't get sick, easily." Damian declared, setting the chair down a few feet from her bed, "h quicker we finish this, the more you can rest."

Marinette worked silently, sipping on the tea Damian had brought her. After an hour, Damian packed up his thing, declaring he'd return the next day.

This time, when Marinette opened the door, he could tell she was moving much more sluggish.

'She got worse! She's pushing herself for me. Damn her stubbornness!'

Damian quickly picked her up in his arms.

"You're-" she began.

"If I get sick, I will blame you later." Damian claimed.

"Sorry." Mari whispered.

Damian placed her back in her bed. He quickly rushed to the bathroom in search of a first aid kit or at least, a thermometer. Once he found it, he brought it back and held it out. Mairnette looked at it, in dissapointment.

"Use it." he demanded.

Marinette shoved it in her mouth and waited. The quick beeping notified them both something was wrong. Mari took it out of her mouth n tried to hide it. Damian was able to grab it with ease.

'102.5'

"I'm fine." Marinette declared.

"You are far from fine." Damian stated.

Damian took the thermometer to the bathroom and washed it, as well as his hands. When he returned, he found Marinette fast asleep. He found a cooling pad near by and placed it on her head. Damian remember a small cloth by the sink and wet it. He quickly cooled off her arms, her neck, and her legs, before covering her up. Damian took out a sticky note and wrote down his number.

Marinette woke up to the room being dark.

"Damian?" she called out.

She grabbed her phone and saw it was close to two in the morning. She set her phone down and felt a paper.

'Sticky note?'

She turned on the flashlight on her phone and looked at the note: Call me if you worsen-Damian.

'Aw. He's really sweet. I feel so bad for falling asleep on him.'

Marinette stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and took her temperature. It read 99.2; it was the best it had been all week. She washed the thermometer and took some medicine. After, she made more of Damian's tea.

'Gonna need it.'

Damian arrived back from patrol to find an email from Mari.

'I thought I told her to call me if she got worse, not email me!'

He opened it in a panic and found it was her completed work for the assignment. Damian looked at the time. It was now three in the morning and she had sent it thirty minutes ago. He grabbed his phone and opened his contacts. Then, he froze.

'I don’t have her number! Fuck!'

Damian went over the next day and was surprised to see her more active. Marinette had answered the door happily and was dressed in white tank top, pink shorts, and slippers. She wasn't even using a blanket to keep herself warm.

"Damian!" She smiled, "Hey, did you get my email?"

"I did." he answered.

"Is everything okay?" Mari asked, "I didn't think I'd see you today."

"Why did you send it so late or early, I should say." Damain questioned.

"It was when I woke up." Marinette answered, "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I decided it was best to work on it, while I had a clear head. I'm feeling a lot better, so I should be able to see you at school tomorrow. I'm sure it was all thanks to your tea."

Damian nodded and held out his phone for her to grab. Marinette looked at it confused, but took it.

"I planned on yelling at you, for being up so late, but I didn't have you number." the young Wayne stated.

Marinette giggled, "And I should give it to you, why?"

Damian remained silent. He didn't think she would refuse to give her number to him.

"In case we are paired up again." he quickly spoke.

Mari added her contact information and handed it back.

"Sick Girl?" he questioned.

"So you know it's me." Mari answered.

He hated how right she was. It was likely that if she had entered her name, he would have forgotten it in a week and deleted it.

"Do you want to come in or was that all?" she asked.

"That was all." he said and quickly left.

Marinette closed the door an giggled.

'He's like a stray cat that came to say hi.'

Damian sat in class and kept his eyes on the door. Marinette hadn't walked in, yet, and it was almost time for the bell to ring.

'Is she still sick? Did her fever come back? I should have called her this morning to make sure she was feeling fine.'

The bell rang breaking him from his thoughts and then, she rushed in.

'Marinette.'

"Late." their teacher declared, "I will forgive you, this time, since you have been sick, Miss Duapin-Cheng."

Marinette nodded her head. It was finally time for history class and it was so different to see her in uniform. Damian could admit he more use to seeing her in pajamas or shorts, with her blanket curled around her. He was even use to her falling asleep, but some how the uniform felt less personal. He hated it. Damian watched carefully over Marinette. He had to make sure she was completely better. Her damn stubbornness left him worried about her pretending to feel better for his sake. Then, he saw it; the tense smile on her face. She was surrounded by their peers. It reminded him of the smiles his brothers' gave at parties. Damian walked over and grabbed her wrist.

"We need to talk about the project since you have been absent." he declared.

"Oh, okay." Marinette answered, as he pulled her away from everyone else.

"He could have been nicer."

"It's Wayne. When is he ever nice?"

"Lucky bitch."

"I can’t believe she was his partner."

"He probably did it himself, already."

"Yeah. He's just gonna give her a copy and put her name on it."

"I can’t believe he touched her."

"True."

"Better than him yelling at us to move or scram, again."

Marinette frowned as she heard what they said about Damian. That wasn't the Damian she knew.

"Thank you." Marinette whispered, once they were far enough.

Damian looked at her questioningly.

"For rescuing me." she answered.

"You appeared uncomfortable." the young Wayne spoke, " I was uncertain how you would react if one of them touched you. I understand if I made you uncomfortable, as well. My apologies for forcing you. Next time, tell them to leave."

"I'm not good at dealing with people; not anymore." Mari declared, "Besides, they should forget about me soon. I'm still 'new' in their eyes. I'm not trying to gain anything by talking to them. I don’t want to get to know them."

"I thought you weren't coming." Damian spoke, changing the subject.

"Huh?" she asked, confused, "I told you I was coming today."

"You were late." he growled.

"Oh." Marinette winced, "Uh….I have a feeling I will be in detention a lot."

Damian stopped and turned to her, waiting for an explanation.

"I have always been late to school, even when it was across from my house." she stated.

Damian sighed, "I'll pick you up in the mornings."

"No!" she cried out.

"Why?" he demanded, "Is that an issue? I have been to your place before, have I not?"

"I'm not a morning person." Mari replied, looking down.

He sighed again, "My brother isn't either, unless he has had coffee. I can bring you some." making a mental note to steal Tim's coffee in the morning from now on.

"Really?" Mari questioned, perking up.

"You better, at least, be dressed." Damian retorted.

"Pajamas count as being dressed, right?" she squeaked.

Damian glared at her, "Why would you still be in pajamas?"

"I'm not a morning person!" Marinette glared back, "I work late and-"

"The shop keeps you that busy?" he questioned.

"Oh." Marinette spoke, "No. I help in the shop sometimes, but that's not my job. I do commissions. She asks me to help some times, but she's going to let me use the sewing machine for free until I can buy one."

"How….long do your commissions take?" he sighed.

"Depends who it's for. If it's for my uncle, I tend to work three weeks straight. It also depends on the pay and timeline. If he called me right now and asked for something in six months, I wouldn't worry unless things began to pile up. It could also be one of my aunties."

'What the fuck is with her family? No wonder why she is emancipated! I can't believe they would work her that hard.'

"You're moving into the manor." Damian declared, "I'll even get you a new sewing machine."

"I am not!" she cried out, "I barely know you! All I know is you name and you make tea!"

"At this rate, I'll have to get you dressed and drag you to school!" Damian cried back.

"Who the fuck made you my babysitter?" Marinette shouted.

"Someone should be." he huffed, "You obviously need someone to take care of you. I don’t see why it shouldn't be me!"

Marinette squeaked and turned red. Realizing what he said, so did Damian.

The teacher watched as Damian took Marinette aside to talk. He was well aware that their assignment had been turned in three days ago. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was the closest he had ever seen Damian be comfortable around anyone. He also was aware of Marinette's past school and being bullied.

'I knew getting them to talk would be a good thing.'

DAMINETTE TAGLIST: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

TAGLIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

#daminette #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette in gotham #bullied marinette #emancipated marinette #sick marinette #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #history project #matchmaking teacher #maribat #damian worried #grumpy damian #mochinek0

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inupibaldspot · 1 year ago

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So It Matches Your Eyes.

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Highschool!Gojo has a crush on you, idk mane.

To Yaga, this was a sight of fresh air which almost acted a light reminder that his students being so strong and special affiliated with cursed energies where still children.

His four second year students were all under detention after forgetting to make a veil when they carried out a mission. Dealing with the after math which consisted of explains to the elders and finding excuses on how to twist the media had led him to not sleeping for three days! Now he was making all of them write an descriptive essay on why veils are such importance to jujutsu sorcerers . Shoko’s seat was empty though , she was summoned in the infirmary after a third year student was severely injured from a mission, Yaga hoped Shoko didn’t miss out too much of her school days.

Despite, Yaga having a book in his hands as he read through got distracted my a certain trouble maker student, Gojo Satoru. A strong young man born into the esteemed Gojo Clan, blessed with infinity and six eyes was currently looking a certain someone sitting next to him.

You who was always diligent was working on your essay, occasionally closing your eyes with a small pout and when you felt you finally got a point worth writing down,tongue slightly jutting out from the corner of your lips which would make Gojo’s lips curl up as his eyes soften. Ahh young love.

Yaga had noticed how Gojo’s seat would be much closer to yours as compared to the regular seating arrangements, and if anyone Yaga himself would come in early and make changes to the seating, Gojo would always nonchalantly, without fail shift it closer to yours.

“Yaga Sensei, I’m done!” You shouted up from your seat which made both Yaga and Gojo, jump as you rush quickly up to your teacher with your paper which you had your essay written on. “ I’m done so I’ll be leaving. Drama of Haruma Miura will be coming out and I haveeee to watch it live.”

“Wai-!” Ignoring Yaga’s shout you quickly made your way out of the door leaving a trail of dust behind with how quick you were which made Geto laugh at your antics.

Yaga quickly scans through you essay and sighs. It’s well written so I have no place to complain. “Sensei, I’m also done!” Gojo quickly rushes to his teacher and places his paper on his table about to rush away, in a rush to follow you.

Before Gojo could take another step, he felt a tug on his collar as his turns his head to look at his teacher who had a scrowl on his face. “Satoru,I asked for a descriptive essay!”

“Not only did you write me an argumentative essay, your essay completely sided with not putting up a veil because that’s a drag and ordinary people should just suck it up.” Geto sits completely amused, as Yaga never lets go of Gojo’s collar as he continues to shout at him, the way you’ve got Gojo completely following you everywhere with his puppy love was funny as fuck.

You flinch as the door to your slams open which makes you turn your head to find a scrolling Satoru Gojo walk in with his hands in pocket. “ Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“Beats me.” Despite entering the room like an uncivilized person would gently close the door behind him, he didn’t want more scolding from you. His eyes trails to you who sat on your bed with a small table on your bed, your hand was extended with nail polish es sets on the table. “Weren’t you gonna watch a drama or something?”

You huff as you made sure your left hand was staying still,making sure the mail polish dries properly. “He kisses the female lead so I don’t wanna watch the drama no more…”

Gojo’s smiles, a condescending one in fact as he walks and slowly sits on your bed making sure your nail polishes don’t fall over. “Sucks to be you~” He purrs out his words.

“Hmp! I hope Inuoe Waka gets exposed for having a husband.” You say with Gojo going ‘blah blah’ in the background, smile still plastered on his face. Your eyes look over to his, sharing an eye contact as you smile. “Want to put on some nail polish?”

Gojo peers over. “You gonna apply for me right?” And smiles when you have a nod of confirmation as he hurriedly out-stretched his hand towards you.

“Really? I thought you’d be against it,saying something like this ain’t what men do?” Gojo have no shit to that thought, as long as the girl he had a big fat crush on, holds his hand, a win is a win.

You look over you collection. “What color do you want?.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Maybe blue…a blue which would look similar to your eyes.”

“Beautiful…” Gojo slightly melts as you peer over your collection, your hair slightly covering your face as the evening light from the sun gives your face a heavenly look. “I meant of course! My eyes are a beautiful blue!” He stammers through his sentences as he fights back the heat on his face.

You looked at him with a scowl, what an egotistical brat! Was written all over your fave but then you didn’t say a word as you picked up a color and held his hand, bringing it closer to yours as you start applying the nail polish.

Gojo felt as if the part of his hands which were held were extremely warm, he hoped he doesn’t start sweating. But as he continues to look at you and your eyes which was focused on his fingers, he felt very light, as if this was how it was always meant to be with him being with you and you who looked simply so beautiful as the room was engulfed in a comfortable silence.

“Done!” You smiled as you looked at the nail polish on Gojo’s fingers before your lips curled upwards turned into a pout. “You’re so unfair, Satoru…”

Gojo tilted his head in confusion. “What did I do?”

“Even your hand is so pretty.” You huff as you brought your hands next to his. Gojo’s hands were big yet it was so slim with proper trimmed nails , you had no doubt if he were to become a nail model he’d be booked and busy.

Gojo felt heat rush into his face as he tried to keep his heart from beating too fast as his brain starts to make unconfirmed scenario but in which all of them contained you. “What do you mean ‘even’?”

You looked into his eyes for a brief second as you slowly look away, your cheeks had a beautiful flush to it. “I mean… you’re born into the Gojo clan so you’re already freaking rich… you have such cool cursed techniques, you’re already a special grade sorcerer.”

Gojo bites the inside of his cheeks In disappointment from your answer. As he opened his mouth, about to make a snarky remark you beat him to it.

“You’re tall, your hair always looks good no matter how you style it, your eyes are so beautiful which looked like the limitless skies , you’re also good looking…” you finally look into his eyes, Gojo thought that it was his day to die for a second at how adorable you looked with a shy look into your face. “So it’s unfair that you even got pretty hands.. you literally got everything.”

“…you.” Gojo muttered in a low, quiet voice which you couldn’t understand properly so you titled you head as you have him a confused look, blush still dusted on your cheeks from your confession.

“I don’t have you…” He repeated. “If you were mine then only can I say I have everything.” Gojo had always made many scenarios which was about him confessing to you as he attended class, in his showers, before he slept but this, this wasn’t part of his scenario. This wasn’t how he thought he’d be confessing to you but then the moment now seemed just right.

“I see… I guess that really means you’ve got everything.” You break into a smile as you then put out your hand towards him. “Do you mind coloring this hand of mine?”

Gojo smiles as his heart soars, he tries to control his lips from curling into a smile but then despite being the strongest sorcerer of his generation he is unable to; he was simply that happy, so happy that you reciprocated his feelings. “What color?”

“Blue like yours…So we can show everyone that I belong to you,Satoru.”

Guys I’m kinda proud of this cus even I was giggling, twirling my hair and swinging my legs writing this

#gojo imagine #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo saturo #gojo satoru imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo fluff

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wosofutbolfan · 11 months ago

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When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

A story of a lifetime spent growing together. To what end?

Songfic

WC: 17k. Check TW inside.

TW: Bullying based on disability. Death of a parent. Angst. Grief.

Hi Guys.

This has sat in my drafts for months and inside my head for even longer. There is no part 2 planned. This is angsty with fluffy moments. Be warned.

I think we can all agree the most heart wrenching media moment of all time is Toy Story 2 and the below song.

If you don't agree. Move along this is not for you.

Reader calls Alexia, Alex throughout this fic. That's based on this video. Cause I have never heard someone refer to that and I thought it was cute. Alexia refers to R as 'Conejito' as a literal translation of bunny - I have since realised there's a more vulgar translation of this which I'm ignoring. Ha.

Spoiler Alert - This story deals with the death of a parent. Which I went back and forth on writing. Something about it still feels ick to me because these are real people. I may delete. Everything within is based on my own experience of parental loss. And it comes from no place of malace or weirdness.

This also deals with a severe speech impediment - which again, I do not suffer from myself but have experience with and hope I have done the struggle justice for anyone who may suffer.

My spanish is google translate because I am an ignorant English speaker. Apologies.

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart

It was raining on the day that you met her.

That was strange. For Barcelona. The rain.

You found yourself where you usually could be found, to anyone who would take notice. Which wasn’t anyone to your knowledge except for a few observant teachers. In the art room, in the back corner, working relentlessly at an easel that your favourite teacher would set up for you.

You had transferred into the school part way through term, and for the first few days as with most schools you were the new and shiny thing. At 12 a lot of the kids in school had known each other since birth and you were new fresh blood to entertain them.

That didn’t last too long though when they realised you weren’t actually that interesting.

Shy and quiet as you always had been, you kept yourself to yourself. Its not that you didn’t want to make friends. You did. You so desperately did. But you just didn’t know how.

You had a stutter. That never helped. Kids could be cruel. And with the move from your hometown to Mollet for your mum's job it had only gotten worse.

Words felt like lead in your mouth, your jaw felt tight and you struggled to get your words out. They stuck in your throat and refused to move from there.

The teachers were kind. Your peers were not. Your speech therapist was helping. You spent more time than any 12 year old should thinking about sentence structure and breathing techniques.

You knew your parents worried about you. Waiting for you to get home from school every day with worried glances and eager smiles; “Did you make any friends today niña?” your dad would ask, pretending to be casual, flicking through some book or another. “Not today Papi.” You would reply, never wanting to lie to your family, before happily jumping the couch next to him and starting to scribble in your notebook.

“Maybe tomorrow niña. There is always tomorrow”.

Well. Turns out dads are clever.

Because there was always tomorrow. And on an unusually rainy day for Mollet tomorrow came.

“Putellas!! Get back here! Pute-...”

The door to the art room quickly opened and slammed closed. The noise jolts you out of your peaceful reverie. A tall brunette girl smashed her back against the door and a hand quickly flicked out to turn the lights off to the room.

She clearly hadn’t noticed you huddled in the corner as she slid down the door onto her butt. Closing her eyes she let out a deep sigh and rested her forehead on her knees.

You didn't know what to do.

You knew who she was. Of course you did. She was Alexia Putellas.

The Alexia Putellas. Futbol superstar. Well… the 12 year old playground version of that. The coolest girl in school. She oozes confidence. Was always surrounded by a gaggle of your peers. Never without a ball at her feet or in her hands. But she hadn’t noticed you. Arm still raised working on the canvas in front of you, vision now impeded by the dark she had forced onto the room by turning the light off. You froze. Mouth slightly agape and hand starting to sweat. You watched as she rocked her forehead side to side on her knees. Your arm became tired in its upright position and the noise of you plopping the brush back into the water jar seemed to jolt her out of her stupor. Her neck snapped up and you met her wide, hazel eyes that bore into you. “Oh! Lo siento, I didn’t… I didn’t know anyone else was in here.” She was met with silence. Your stutter affected you terribly on a good day. Nevermind your safehaven suddenly being invaded by the coolest girl in school. Who you had idolised from afar since arriving in Mollet. Her head tilted curiously as she took you in. You felt her eyes drift to the canvas behind you. “Did you paint that?” She stands to her full height, still keeping her distance from you. “Why are you painting in the dark…?” She asks curiously. Head still tilted. Faced with a direct question you couldn’t put it off any longer. You couldn’t delay the inevitable. “Y..y…you, tu…tu….switched off….” Changing the words you intended to use halfway through was a coping mechanism that your therapist had tried to get you to work out of your system. She called it masking. You called it getting by. You raise your hand and point to the lightswitch that she had flicked when she entered the room. She looks at you harder now. You feel her eyes boring into you and wait for the inevitable laughter. The pity. Maybe even the cruelty that you are used to when people hear you speak. You cast your eyes down, waiting for the blow. But you just hear a flick of a switch, and the darkness behind your eyelids lifting. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have switched it off if I had known. I was just trying to get away. I kicked a football at Senorita Lopez by accident in the gym. They won’t let me play outside in the rain. Idiotas” You lift your eyes at her gentle, lilting tone as a smile teases your lips. She's moved closer to you now. “You didn’t answer. Did you paint this?” Her hand comes out to hover over the lines of your still-wet painting. Carefully. Again, you’ve been asked a direct question. “Si.” you reply, quietly. You don’t struggle so much with single words. “By yourself?” she asked, aghast, wonder taking over her features. You nod in reply. “This is so cool! Show me!” A grin overtakes your features as you nod more enthusiastically. Glasses slipping down your nose. Pulling out a fresh canvas for your new friend. “Lo siento, I haven’t told you my name. My Papa says it's rude not to introduce myself…” she stands tall and thrusts out her hand. Very formally. Very practised. “I am Alexia Putellas Segura.” You pause for a moment, looking at her outstretched hand. You wipe your clammy hands on your jeans. And shake her hand. “A…A…” you grow frustrated with yourself, the words getting stuck in your throat. You pull your hand away but Alexia keeps her grip firm and nods at you encouragingly. “Al…Alex… Alex.” you give up. Eyes downcast. Maybe you can tell your papa you nearly made a friend today. “Alex! Cool! I’ve never had that nickname! Most people call me Ale. But it can be our thing. I know you, you are y/n I remember Senora Perez making you stand at the front of class. Show me how to paint! Please? ” Alexia was not a good painter. She quickly got bored and distracted by the newspaper on the desk intended for a paper mache project which she screwed up together, fashioned into a football and then spent the rest of the wet lunchtime kicking around the art room aiming for various targets that she would shout out to you.

You dutifully cheered at every successful hit of the target. That night as you climbed onto the couch next to your papa and he asked; “Did you make any friends today niña?”. You couldn’t wait to reply; “Si! Alex.” You missed the way his newspaper dropped ever so slightly, and he caught the eye of your mami who was in the kitchen. “Ah, Si? Alex should come for dinner! We would love to welcome him!” He replied, his delight even obvious to you. “No tonta… Alex is a girl!” you let out. In that hilariously moody way only 12 year olds can. You became inseparable. Alexia was your best friend. Complete and total opposites. She would spend wet lunches in the art room with you. She would drag you to the playing fields after school and on break and you would be a goalie for her. Which was really just you standing complaining about where you found yourself and you dived away from balls as she cackled out a laugh. She came round for dinner with your family most nights. You spent every weekend at the Putellas household, travelling to her football games, strapped up next to Alba in the back of the Putellas family car, scribbling away in a notebook as you drew landscapes that you passed. On the way home you would sketch and sketch, only slightly hindered by the weight of your gangly best friend as she slept on your shoulder. Your art would sit on both family fridges. Alex’s football boots would litter both entrance ways. Your mami would pick Alba up from the junior school if Eli got stuck at work. Joint family dinners were the norm.

Your relationship evolved through the years. Easily. Blissfully. You grew together. You became taller, however still paling in height compared to your best friend. You got braces and had them removed, You wore contacts most days now instead of your thick rimmed glasses. Though you still could usually be found in the art rooms.

Alexia filled out, she became less gangly and more strong, after years dedicated to football and training.

Your speech improved. Your stammer only comes out rarely and you know your triggers. You worked hard every week with your speech therapist but you always credited Alexia. She gave you confidence.

No one at school would roll their eyes or laugh at you when Alexia was by your side. She didn’t rush you. She didn’t finish your sentences. Nothing was more formidable within your school walls than if Alexia had found out someone had made fun of you, or not been patient with you. She got in trouble countless times defending your honor. Even if the teachers hated punishing her for it.

You maybe realised on some level that you were as important to Alexia as she was to you the day that caused her to miss the U15 School Championship final.

One of the more idiotic older basketball boys had caught you in the hallway. Trying to impress his gaggle of followers he had tripped you up as you were on your way scurrying into the art rooms to finish the sign you had made for Jaume to wave at the upcoming championship final. You had fallen flat on your face, quickly moving onto your back and pressing yourself against the wall. It had been a while due to Alexia's influence but you had dealt with bullies your entire life and you knew you had to just make yourself small and wait it out. “Oh s-s-s-s-s–s-s-oooorry it w-w-w-as an a-a-a-a-accident!!” the boy taunted you, leaning over you and exaggerating your stutter.

His spittle hitting your face and making you wince. He brought himself to his full height, which was impressive for a 16 year old and turned to his friends. “Honestly, how is she even in this school, she is so estupida!” His guffaw was matched by his followers however their faces quickly dropped as they looked behind their ringleader. “What did you just say to her?” a cold, terse voice entered the conversation. You didn’t see his face drop but you could imagine it.

He quickly turned and looked at Alexia standing in the doorway. Sunshine behind her darkening your view. As she stepped into the halfway you took in the thunderous look on her face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her as angry.

You barely recognised her. “I-i-i sai…” This time he wasn’t impersonating you.

He knew he was fucked. She moved quicker than you had ever seen her move on the football pitch. The tall boys friends quickly scattered as she grabbed him by his shoulders. He may have had at least two foot of height difference on her but that quickly diminished to nothing as she kneed him squarely between the legs. He doubled over in pain as she landed blow after blow to his stomach. “Alex… stop.” you instructed, gathering yourself to your feet.

Your voice cut through her rage and she immediately stopped her punches. He scurried off as soon as he was able to, no serious damage done apart from to his ego… and maybe his balls. She turned to face you after shouting some choice expletives to his back, face immediately morphing into one of concern, eyebrows furrowed as her hands cupped your face. “¿Estás bien?” She asked, seriously. Hands moving to check you over.

“Si, Si, estoy bien.” you replied. “You shouldn’t have done that Alex.” you regarded her with sceptical eyes.

Her brow furrowed further, “What should I have done then? He’s un maton, he hurt you. I taught him a lesson. I would do it again. I would. I am not sorry.” she said firmly as she moved your head beneath her chin and wrapped her strong arms around you.

You tried to pretend that the butterflies in your stomach erupting at her protectiveness were a normal reaction to a friend.

Right? She repeated the same platitudes the next day, but this time with Jaumes hand on her shoulder as she sat in the headmaster's office. The boy she had humiliated so happened to be the son of one of the school governors. The headmaster told the footballer and her father that if Alexia apologised to the boy then she would go unpunished, otherwise, he would be forced to stop any of her extra-curricular activities, including the interschool championship final. Which, as headmaster, he really didn't want to do when his school had their first chance of winning in over a decade. She refused.

She was banned from playing.

The team lost.

Badly. The guilt ate away at you as you both watched from the sidelines as the 5th goal against your team went in.

She grasped your knee, and still watched the game. “Stop feeling guilty. I am still not sorry. There are more important things than football conejita.”

You took a breath and placed your hand on top of hers. You turned to look at her incredulously. “I mean, very few. Football is still in the top 2. Food is 3.” she continued, deadpan. Forcing a laugh out of you. You asked her once, years after first meeting, one sleepover when you were both lying side by side on the Putellas trampoline looking up at the stars. Why was she so patient with you? When no one else was? She looked at you, dumbfounded, genuinely confused by the question. “You have a voice y/n. You deserve to be heard.” she replied. Moving into her favourite position which was pulling all of your weight completely on top of her. Your head rested over her heart. You could hear the thump thump thump against your ear. You hoped she couldn’t feel the fluttering of yours.

It was that simple to her. “Plus you looked like a rabbit in the headlights when I barged in, you were too cute. Mi pequeña coneja”.

Your Alex.

You transitioned from best friends into girlfriends at 16 with no fanfare. A shy kiss after a win at Alexia's latest championship sealed it. Her grin splitting her face. Yours matching when you realised your dreams could become a reality. Hands held tentatively in the backseat of Jaumes car as he smiled at the scene through his rear view mirror. Days later, as you both stood in front of your mami and papi shyly holding hands you realised, squeezing the trembling hand in yours, that it was the first time you had seen Alex nervous. In all of your years of friendship.

Alexia still had her weirdly formal streak, the same as the day you met her, so you let her do what she felt she needed to.

“Senor y Senora y/l/n… “ she started, taking a breath. “Mi and y/f/n…”

Your parents caught your eye, dumbfounded. She never used their titles. They rarely heard her use your name. You were always conejito.

“Alexia… estimada…” your mami started, with kind eyes. You could tell she knew what was coming. You shook your head at her slightly, Alexia too caught up in her own moment to notice. Your mami let her speak.

“Mi and y/f/n…”

Your papi, however, was not as emotionally in tune as your mami, “Monito, what is going on? Why are you being muy loca? Have you got mi mija pregnant? I know you're an overachiever bu…” “Papi!” you screeched out, interrupting him.

Alex stood mouth agape, face flushed as she looked to you for help. “Papi, Mami, Alex is tr…try…tryi… telling you that we’re together together.” you let out, raising your joined hands. Your mami let out a laugh behind her hands, your papi however stood and exclaimed, “Was that some sort of secret!? Dios Mio of course you are! We thought you had been for years! You made me change your bedtime story from princesses to football-playing princesses on the day you met! Why do you think your Mami makes you keep your door open when this one stays, Mija?”

Now it's your turn to blush as your mouth drops open. As he passes Alexia he gently smacks her upside the head, ruffling her long brunette hair. “Now come on cabeza de bola, me and the guys from work are starting a 5 a side. I need your help on penalties…” You huff out a laugh as your girlfriend is dragged away, confused look stuck on her face - eyebrows adorably drawn and mouth furrowed and clinging to your hand until distance forces her to let go.

Your mami settles her arm across your shoulders. “I’m happy for you Mija” she mutters, in her gentle tone as you fall into her embrace. “You’re going to marry that girl one day.” Even after everything that would happen and the hell you would feel, you thank God for the unseasonal rain in Barcelona that day in junior school.

And when she was sadI was there to dry her tearsAnd when she was happy, so was IWhen she loved me It wasn’t long after you made your relationship official that you had your first real test.

You knew something was wrong with your girlfriend probably before she did. You knew her like the back of your hand. Though it finally came to a head one early evening at the Putellas household.

You had both picked Alba up from school, and you had set out to making dinner in the Putellas kitchen whilst Alexia's parents were both stuck at work.

It was standard practice, occurring at least once a week. You moved through the kitchen with ease. The ease is what alerted you.

Usually, on nights like these, Alba would huff off to her room like any other pubescent teenager, head stuck in her phone and earphones firmly in place. Alexia however, would usually be found attached to your back, arms wrapped around you as you cooked, or sat at the breakfast bar, swiping chopped veggies til you hit her with a spoon to make her stop, rolling your eyes as she insisted she was a growing girl and she needed the extra.

No, this was too easy, you thought, as you moved around, you missed your big inconvenience in the kitchen and you made sure your pasta sauce was bubbling nicely and went to search for her.

You find her in the living room, her large frame draped over the sofa, eyes mindlessly watching the TV. But you can tell she isn’t watching whatever is on. Ale isn’t a big TV-watcher. She's very rarely sitting still for long enough to concentrate. The exception being if you're in her lap, where she entertains herself by playing with your hair or tracing the lines on your palm. “Hey, amor, estás bien?” your voice brings her out of her thoughts, “Ey? Ah sí conejito, lo siento, is dinner ready?” she asks, making to stand, but being stopped by your hand on her shoulder. “Ay, when did I become the hired help, ey?” you ask, trying to tease a smile out of your girlfriend. “Dinner will be ready soon. Tell me what's on your mind.” The thing about Alex is she’s an open book. People may think she is stern and serious but she wears her heart on her sleeve. You can always see her thoughts plainly on her face, so you know something troubling her. She knows she can’t hide it from you, so she doesn’t try. “I’ve been offered a professional contract.” She states, plainley. Your heart lifts for her. Your whole life Alexia has bled football. For many years she believed, and you did too though you would never admit it, that it wouldn't be possible to make a career from the sport. You don’t think you have ever seen Alexia as sad as when she aged out of the Barcelona FC teams. She was devastated. It was a harsh reminder that Spain wasn't the USA. The opportunities are not always available. But the thing you loved most about Alexia was her dogged determinedness. She would train in the morning, in the afternoon, between classes. You are overjoyed that all of that hard work has paid off. Something wasn’t adding up with her reaction, however. “Alex, that's amazing news!” you exclaimed, unable to hide the joy in your voice. “Why are you not more excited? Is it a bad deal?” “No, amor, it is a fair deal.” she sighs. You just look into her eyes, waiting for her to tell you what she wants to share. She takes a deep breath. “It’s Levante, I would have to move to Valencia.” Ah, you see. Your heart breaks at the sad frown painted on the usually stern face of your girlfriend. Your hand moves up to trace her eyebrow, forcing them to unfrown and moving down to cup her cheek. She leans heavily into the warmth of your hand, and damp eyes open, fixing to yours. “Oh Alex, it’s okay” you whisper. The truth is you had always known that with the career your girlfriend was destined to follow, that you would have to spend time away from each other. You already did. Alexia has often been away throughout your friendship and now your relationship for national camps.

You had a very mature relationship for 17 year olds. Having been woven into each other's lives for so many years. You were part of each other's DNA. You knew how to manage the time without your girlfriend. You were both grade A communicators. You accepted that this would be different, and no doubt unimaginably hard for the footballer, her family was her life. But so was football. And you know you needed to encourage her to take this step. “It’s not okay!” she stated, firmly, sitting up straight on the couch. “It’s not fair! Finally I get what I have dreamed of but it comes at the expense of everything I love. Mi familia, Barcelona, you! Why can’t I have both? I don’t know what to do” “You go to Levante, Alexia.” you say, seriously, “This is a huge opportunity for you.” She looks at you incredulously and you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong. “Oh, so it is that easy for you? Si? You just let me go like it doesn’t even bother you!” You aren’t used to Alexia's stern frown being sent your way, usually it's aimed at someone in defence of you. Or at a goalkeeper. You, however, know the brunette is feeling vulnerable, she has waves of insecurity at times, she puts so much pressure on herself it's inevitable, but you are always there to assure her of her worth, and your love. “You know that's not true, amor.” you say, tenderly, hand reaching into her brunette locks to sooth her. “I agree, it’s not fair that Barca don’t have a women's team but I have always known your talent would take you away from me, “ she opens her mouth to interject, “but I love you. And I know you love me. We are tethered. Forever. When, not if, you go to Valencia, we will make it work. You know we will amor, you can have both” “But I will miss you.” she whimpers, pathetically. “I will miss you every second. But it will get better, it’ll pass Alex.” Her head finds your neck as she settles in there. Her larger frame is quite comically draped over you. “Do you promise?” she lets out, weakly. And you don’t let a moment pass, “I promise.” and seal your promise with a kiss to the crown of her head. She moves her chin up and faces you, “Beso, por favour” she asks, who are you to refuse? You kiss softly, you don’t know how many minutes you are tasting her sweet lips pass before you are interrupted by a sulky 14 year old. “Ewwww!”

Alba appeared, making the two of you split apart, her disgust at the scene she's found making you laugh as Alexia peels herself from you, rolling her eyes.

“I’m gonna tell Mami that you two were making out instead of feeding m…ahh!” Albas accusations getting lost as Alexia chases her around the living room, ready to fight in a way only sisters can.

A strange smelling odour fills your nose. Oh… Oh no. You rush into the kitchen to find your dinner smoking on the hob.

“Oi, Putellas diablos!” You stick your head into the living room where you find Alexia sat on her younger sister whilst she tries to battle off the huge weight she finds on herself. They both pause and look at you guiltily. “C’mon, shoes on, we’re going out to eat, on me, we’re celebrating!”

Both of them unite in cheers as they childishly jump up and run to the front door in glee, shoving each other out of the way to try to get their shoes on first as you watch, affectionately shaking your head.

It will be months later, after a summer filled with memories made with your girlfriend, days at the beach, trips to the market, lazy days at home and soft moments made in the streets of Barna, that you would find yourself alone in bed.

That was weird.

You had spent the day packing with Alexia, the sadness of moving away had started to be replaced with excitement from the tall girl. Her dreams were coming true, okay, it may not be perfect, she finally understands, but it's a step in the right direction.

She can’t believe that she's going to get paid to play football.

Paid. The evening after a long day of packing was spent having a family meal at the Putellas household. Your family is also in attendance. It was a loud and joyous affair and it helped to keep the sadness out of your girlfriend's eyes. After a long evening of sombremesa Alexia had insisted on coming back with you to your parents to your house.

She didn’t want to spend her last evening in Barcelona in her empty bedroom, instead finding solace in yours. You had both talked into the early hours, in the arms of each other, trading soft touches and exchanging breaths until sleep took you. You pretended for her sake that you couldn’t hear her rattling breaths or feel the dampness of her cheeks on your fingers.

Now, however, you were alone, and unsure at what woke you up. Until a tapping comes to your attention. You sit up in bed and hear it again. What is that? You get out of bed and go towards your window, yep, there it is again, coming from outside. You throw open the curtains and peer out into the moonlit garden.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness but you can’t take that moment because you suddenly are hit squarely in the face by a pebble.

“Ouch.. what the he…” you stand suddenly and bang your head on the window frame “Ow, Fuck!” “Ay Dios Mío, lo siento amor! I didn’t see you had opened the window!” Alexia's panicked voice reached your ears, why was she in the garden? What the hell was going on? “Are you okay conejito?” You take a moment to steady yourself and your mind into your new and abrupt situation. “Conejito?” “Yes, Alex, I am fine. What are you doing out there?” You’re met with silence. “Al?” The tall brunette is scuffing her foot against the pebbles of the garden that she had previously been launching at the window. “I don’t want to say. I feel stupid now.” You arch your eyebrow in her direction. You don't think that she can even see it but she knows what's aimed in her direction. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. And also sad. And muddled. And I will miss you so much so I was just imagining how good it will feel when you visit, or I visit. Or when I score a goal and you’re watching. Which I know you’ve seen but now it's my job.” she rambles, pausing momentarily to take a breath.

“Anyway, I thought about how cool it would be if I came to visit and woke you up by throwing stones at your window like in a film! You’d love that! Then I just couldn’t wait to do it. So here’s me, doing it. I’m being romantic.” She throws a crooked grin up at the window and your heart literally melts. “I..I….” and you promptly burst into tears. “Oh no mi amor no! Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to throw a pebble at your face! I’m sorry!” she gestures towards you with her hands frantically. “It’s not that Alex, you’re just such an idiot. And I love you so much. I am going to miss you so much. Get up here.” needing her arms wrapped around you. She nods vigorously and makes to climb the trellis that goes to your window. “No you idiot! Use the door! You have a key!” “Oh yeah.” you hear her mutter to herself before she scurried back inside. As you’re settled back into her warm arms, her huge hands palming through your hair. “That was very romantic Alex.” you mumble and you practically hear her purr with pride at herself. “Next time though bebe, use your key, I would much rather you be here in bed with me.” “Noted.” she mumbles into your skin, wiping away the tears that you can’t stop from rolling down your cheeks. Alexia got settled into her professional team quickly and efficiently, she was one of the youngest but easily the most talented on the pitch. You would travel up with Jaume religiously at the weekends wherever you could, your time in the week spent busy with the Art College you had enrolled in. Alba sometimes tagging along when you bribed her with snacks.

As promised you were there when she scored her first professional goal, her beaming smile sent directly to you and Jaume in the stands, stood cheering for her. You witnessed her wide eyes, after the game, as you stood waiting for your celebratory hug and maybe a cheeky kiss, when she was stopped by a little hand. “Hola.” the small girl had to crane her neck to look up at your girlfriend. She was shaking with excitement. “Hola?” she replied, confused. “Can I have your autograph por favour?” she asked, sweetly. Alexia just stood there, like a sim.

You stepped forward with your notepad and drawing pencil that you carry everywhere, you had more drawings of inside a football stadium than anyone would need. You ripped out a page and handed Ale the pencil. “Of…of course?” She scribbled down her autograph for the young girl who beamed and ran away holding it above her head to show her mami who picked her up in glee. Alexia's wide eyes stared at you. “Did you see that?” “I saw that bebe, I handed you the pencil. I also saw your goal, superstar!” You couldn’t control your grin, which was mirrored by your girlfriend. “You played so well! Alex!” You're interrupted as she drags you over the fencing and pulls you into a bear hug. Her face nuzzled into your neck, her body vibrating with excitement. “I scored for you conejito!” she says “Well, hija, I won’t be offended, I have only been to every game you’ve played for 10 years” Jaume appears above you both still in the stands, smiling teasing his lips. “And you papa!” she releases you and pulls her papa into a hug. Dragging you back in after a moment before declaring that her first goal means that she deserves pizza and ice cream courtesy of her papa.

Through the summer and the fall We had each other, that was all Just she and I together Like it was meant to be

You finished your college course and your love for art had never died. You made the trip to Valencia wherever possible to see Alex and she came back to Barna at least once a month to see her family and you on an off weekend. You would spend those weekends living at Alexias house, soaking up every moment together as much as possible.

She would bring her clothes home for Eli to wash as she was useless at anything practical. You would make sure that you would always snag a sweater of hers before it was washed and keep hold of it, soaking in her scent before you could swap it out again. Alexia, used to pretend she hated it, they would always be returned with paint stains around the cuffs which would harden and she said irritated her skin. You tried to be more careful but you didn’t stop stealing them.

You saw the same amount of her family as before she moved away, your lives had been so intrinsically linked that you had become an honorary Putellas, and she was a part of your family. You hung around with Alba and you helped Eli with her shopping when her car broke down. You were family.

Weirdly enough, it was you that met Alexia's future best friend first. After college, you started to make money from your art by being a live artist at weddings.

You knew your parents were worried about what you would do with your art. Teaching was the obvious choice but with your speech issues, it was your idea of hell.

This was perfect.

It was a niche business but you got paid well and you loved it. You got to go to weddings for a job. You got to capture people's joy on the most important day of their lives. You would sit in the corner with an easel set up, sketching and painting guests, the dance floor, the top table. And you could immediately give your paintings to the couple and their guests, the validation was enormous, you were good at what you did. Discreet and professional.

You soon get a client list for miles and the money starts to pour in.

It was at one of these weddings that you met Mapi. She caught your eye during the speeches and you started to draw her outline. She was clearly very very gay at a very straight wedding. But it wasn’t just that that caught your eye, her tattoos intrigued you. And you loved sketching them and adding hints of colour here and there.

She looked up at you and caught you sketching, as guests often would, you were able to not let it distract you, ever the professional you offered a gentle smile.

“You like football?” a heavily accented voice reached your ears as you were adding the finishing touches to the dancefloor scene that was set out before you.

“Que?” It wasn’t often that guests interacted with you, but sometimes it happened.

“Your bag, FC Barcelona? That's not usual for a pretty girl like you, to like football.”

“Ah, Si.” You reply, your eyes not moving from your painting. “It’s my girlfriends.” you reply, emphasising your relationship status, not wanting a moment of confusion.

“Ah, boo, you have ruined my fun.” She replies, “Maria Leon '' She introduces herself, hand out for you to shake, you don’t take her hand, handing your paint-y hands up. She holds her hands up in surrender. “I see, I see. FC Barcelona though. Good team. No women's team though.”

“No, but there will be, and my girlfriend will be their top scorer when it happens” you reply confidently. “You seem so sure?” “I am.” She lets out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that, then I will be their best defender” she offers a huge smile. Mapis smile is magic and makes you smile.

You and Mapi become firm friends. She talks. And talks and talks and talks. You don’t know how she has so much to say. But she is fun and she is kind. Your stutter makes an appearance as it sometimes does but it is perfectly offset by her inability to stop yapping. You don’t feel a pressure to fill the silence because you know she will.

Years later, at a supercup final, you will both laugh about your first conversation. About how both of your statements came true. Turns out, people paid well for authentic paintings of their favourite moments. And as a young adult you found yourself with enough money to get yourself a small apartment in Mollet. You loved it. And you loved the independence it brought you. You think that was the happiest time of your life. You would spend days on your sun drenched terracotta tiled balcony. Painting watercolour and sketching the scenes both in your mind and your view over the square that your apartment was on. You had quite the online following and would get some commissions for your art which brought you a sense of purpose and joy. The absolute best time was when Alexia had a free weekend, or a break, she would stay with you and you would live in domestic bliss. It was an unspoken agreement. No question that she would make her base for her time back at your apartment. Even when she wasn’t there you wouldn’t sleep on her side of the bed. More of her clothes made their way into your closet. More of her sweaters would get paint marks on them. You would cook together, sing together, dance together in your small kitchenette. Feeling happy and in love as only young people can. Nothing gets between you. Training had been kind to your girlfriend, and you struggled to keep your eyes off her as she would do basic tasks. She was thick. For want of a better word. Her gangly limbs had become pure muscle, her back would ripple when putting on a t-shirt, you would find yourself staring at her forearms as she would cut vegetables. She knew what she did to you and she loved it. Often sending a wink your was and sending you into more of a stuttering mess then usual, heat climbing to your face. You felt your heart grow as you would go shopping for groceries together. Take strolls in the square, you sitting on a bench and sketching as she inevitably got herself involved in a football game with the local kids. Her favourite time of day would be Friday nights. Often, if she was lucky, she would be scheduled an early kick off on fridays. You would travel back from the game together with her papi. You took the backseat as you knew you would monopolise her time back all weekend. Giving her a chance to catch up with her family. You would get home, she would shower whilst you made a light dinner, both taking it in on the balcony before moving inside and settling on the couch. She would put on some illegally screened recordings of the game she had played in. But she would mute it as she pulled you into her chest. You would have a sketchbook in hand and continue working on your art, or a piece from a wedding that needed finishing up. You always told her the commentary wouldn’t distract you. But she insisted. Once finally saying, “I like the sound of your pencil, it soothes me, and sometimes you trace the sketch on my leg with your free hand. It gives me goosebumps. I like it.” you never asked again. You argued, of course, like any couple did. But it never lasted long. Alex would get angry when she would find paint in the sink, and you would struggle to share your space at first. But you never went to bed in a fight. Even if you tried to be stubborn your body would fail you and you would gravitate towards her in the moments before sleep, muttering your apologies or forgiveness. In those early days of young adulthood it would be the only time in your relationship where you had more money than Alex.

Football did not pay well. It did not pay a living wage.

You didn’t care.

You felt privileged every time you scanned your card for the groceries, or paid for dinner on a date. You knew she hated it though. “One day conejito, I will give you everything life can offer, I promise” she would whisper into your skin whilst she tried to make it up to you in other ways. You would always tell her you had everything you needed right there with you. It was perfect. Life was perfect. You had friends, a stable job, the love of your life. Yes, distance was hard, yes, each time she left you would cry and hold her tighter to you, but you knew it wasn’t forever, and you never felt that distance in your relationship. You grew together, like a plant, your love was carefully cultivated in experiences and shared memories.

And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her And I knew that she loved me

You had never felt sadness like it. It was all encompassing. You couldn’t get away from it. You were sad for your chosen family. You were sad for your own family. You were sad for yourself. But you were devastated for your girlfriend. You didn’t know what to do with so much sadness. You couldn’t hold it in, but you couldn’t let it out. You needed to be strong for your girlfriend. Who was walking around as a shell of the person that you knew her to be. Well, that was when she was walking, she would throw herself into her childhood bedroom and stay there silently for hours. You would be okay with it if she was sleeping, but she just stared at the wall aimlessly. Her Papa was her inspiration. The reason she got into football. She would look up to him even as she towered over him. And it was so so cruel that he had been taken away from her in such a manner. A week after Jamues passing you found yourself next to Alexia at his funeral. It was a beautiful affair, a celebration of the life of a man who loved hard and was loved hard. The morning had been difficult, you had ironed Alexia's dress and set it out for her. She took your instruction like a small child, you brushed her hair straight and pulled it out from her face. You struggled to speak. Such immense grief you felt the words became garbled in your mouth, rendering you mute. But you didn’t want any pressure on Alexia.

You knew when your stutter made an appearance she would drop everything, concentrate on doing your exercises with you, hand automatically cupping your jaw and massaging the soft area beneath your ear because she knew that relaxed your facial muscles. So you both moved around silently. That morning. As you guided her around what needed to be done. As you packed her bag with tissues you hoped that you needed to use them. You hadn’t seen her cry since she rushed home from Valencia to the news. So no, you didn’t know what to do with your grief. You loved him too. He was the first person you had loved and lost. You had your own special relationship built from long car journeys and shared snacks. He would put your art on his fridge like you were one of his own. He was kind and he was half of the person who you loved to your core. God. If you felt like this. You don’t know how Alexia was still breathing. You had been spending all week as the Putellas household. Not leaving Alex's side. But also not leaving Alba, who would lean heavily into you of an evening, seemingly crying all of the tears that her sister couldn’t. It felt healthy though, through the tears you could share memories and make her laugh. You would go to bed with Alex and the silence would continue. When you were sure she was asleep you would sneak out of bed and grab your sketch pad, settle into the corner of the room and just let it out. Her dad told you once at a game how his father worked as a coal miner. He said it proudly, he adored hard work. That's where Alexia got her devotion from. It was a passing moment, a memory that you didn't even know you had. But it stuck with you as you went into the Putellas garden and took a lump of coal from the barbeque and settled yourself into the dewey grass. Hand not stopping over your sketchpad and tears rolling down your cheeks.

The night after the funeral you stayed at your own parents house. You couldn’t handle the loneliness of your own apartment. You didn’t want to intrude at the Putellas residence, and you hoped that maybe some time with her family would be what Alexia needed to open up. You were right, but not in the way you imagined. A soft clink, clink, clink, woke you up, This time you were not frightened. You had heard this noise before. You immediately jumped out of bed and ran to your window, showing it open and shoving your head out. “Alex! What are you doing here, why didn’t you use your key?” The brunette looked up at you with sad eyes, you saw she was in her pyjamas, eyes sideways showing no car, she had walked here. “I forgot it.” she let out, morosely. “Oh mi amor, no p..p..problem, hold on I will come down and let you in.” before you had a chance to bring your body back into the house you heard her again, “You left me.” your heart cracked into two. You didn’t reply but instead hurried downstairs into the moonlit garden. She stood there, with all her muscle and height, looking everything like a toddler who was lost in a supermarket. You took her hand in yours and used your other to cup her cheek. “Oh, mi amor I didn’t leave you, I thought you wanted some space.” Maybe you expected her to agree, maybe you expected her to disagree and shout at you for getting it so wrong. You didnt realise that you were to her, like an umbrella in the rain, protecting her from the downpour. With you gone she drowned in the grief. You didn’t expect her lip to tremble and her to burst into tears. “I want my papa.” Those 4 words broke your heart as you huddled her into your arms, rocking lightly to bring her confort. There was nothing you could say, you just brought her into your bed and held her as she cried, painting her skin with whispers of your love “I know, bebe, I know, I promise it’ll pass, I promise, and I will be here. The pain will go. It will pass Alex and I will be here.” It became a mantra that you whispered into her skin.

As she calmed down you took a moment to think. As you got out of bed and she groaned in annoyance you hushed her with your lips to her skin. “Un momento, mi amor, I have something for you.”

You presented it nervously, unsure of the reaction you would get.

It was a framed picture that you had created. Not like your usual artwork as it was made from coal. Coal from the Putellas barbecue to be exact. It was a sketch of a man in the stands of a football stadium, somehow, eyes beaming with pride, laugh lines visible on his face. A footballer with a long ponytail and similar features jumping into his arms.

It was a scene you had witnessed hundreds of times throughout the years. You didn’t need to see it again to create it. The coal added a haunting and beautiful dimension to it. When you explained your reasoning Alexia looked deeply into your eyes. Holding onto the frame with white knuckles like her life depended on it.

“I love you.”

And when Alexia scored and helped her team to win the U19 Championship for her country not 3 weeks later. Celebrating with eyes to the sky, fingers pointed. You knew that, eventually, she would be okay.

So the years went by I stayed the same But she began to drift away I was left alone Still, I waited for the day When she'd say, "I will always love you"

It was as though it had been destined for years but finally finally the news came that Barcelona FC would have a women's team. Mapi had texted you with glee when the news broke out, she knew that she was stuck in her own contract but the fact it existed made it a possibility for her dreams to come true. Your girlfriend, on the other hand, was a free agent. You thought, privately, that even if she wasn't a free agent that she would break every law on planet earth to play for her childhood club. She was offered a contract and signed without any hesitation. A mist in her eyes at the missing presence in her signing photos. You drove with Alba to collect her and all her things from a year in Valencia directly to your apartment. As you unpacked her stuff, Alba on a food run with money you had shoved into her hand, your small flat suddenly felt full. “Alex,” You called, from the living room, you heard her shuffle around and pop her head into the bedroom where you stood, surrounded by boxes. “Si, conejito?” she asked, breathlessly. You took in her smile, that you had missed over the months, the light in her eyes, the ease of her movements. “I am just asking, I don’t actually remember asking you to move in?” You say, teasingly, gesturing to her boxes surrounding you. It was true, you hadn’t, it had just been assumed by both of you, as well as both of your families. A blush rose up her neck, “I mean… I-i-..”. You burst out laughing. “I am just teasing you”. A glint in her eyes took over and you had half a second to brace yourself before you were tackled by an almost 6ft wall of muscle. You landed gently on the bed with a thump. “Well, light of my life. I think it’s too late for that. Maybe I can make up for my rudeness.” Her voice takes on a sultry tone, attacking your neck with kisses, making you groan. “No, No, No, No, stop it you two! Why is this my life!” Well. Alba was back, You groaned as Alexias full body weight fell onto you as she heard her sister. You had a feeling you both had plenty of time to make up for it. Living with Alexia full time was natural. You had obviously had practice from the year she spent in Valencia but you didn’t realise how easy it would be. You knew where to step to not fall over her boots in the hallway without looking.

You amended your grocery show to include all her weird protein-packed foods. She would help you get ready for work in your evening gowns that you had to wear to fit in at the weddings, and she would stay up to make sure you got home safe and listened as you babbled on about your favourite parts, all the while taking it in for ideas for your own wedding. You continued to make money at weddings, Alexia rose through the ranks at the new Barcelona Femini team. Quickly establishing herself as a calm and serious captain.

She took her role seriously, she would study games religiously at home as you would paint or sketch. Your easel set up in the living room or on the balcony. She would rub your shoulders as you painted, eyes set on the TV at the game. The shared time doing your own activities matched you both perfectly. And just like that, years passed. Years in domestic bliss. Spent together and with your families. Vacations in Ibiza and even a pet cat called Pablo Petcatso, or Pabs for short, entered your little family unit. He was a ginger cat who loved a cuddle and loved getting into Alexia's kit bag, he even made it to the training once or twice, and you had to drive over there to pick him back up. Dragging him away from 22 cooing footballers.

Women's football grew, as did Alexia's paycheck. And with that, you think, looking back, as did the cracks in your relationship.

“We're here!” Alexias excited voice explained, you had pulled up outside a tall apartment building in the centre of Barcelona. She hadn’t shared with you where you were going. Insisting it needed to be a surprise.

“And where is here?” you looked up at the towering glass building above you, you didn’t come into the city much, you preferred the quiet of your suburb.

“You’ll see, you’ll see!” Her excitement was catching, and you found yourself giddy as the elevator took you further into the skies of the city.

“Ta-da!” She presents a huge open plan space before you, the glass fronted living room has views over the city to the sea. You could count at least 3 bedrooms from where you stood in the hallway. The kitchen was sleek, straight lines and clean granite.

“What is this place?” you ask, confused, taking in your surroundings. “It's our new apartment!” What? “What?” you breathe out. “Don’t you love it?!” Alexia remains giddy, her excitement not fading and she fails to notice your unenthused reaction. Your mind whirred. “Come look, come look!” she grabbed your hand, and pulled you further into the apartment. Proudly presenting each room to you. “And this room. I thought you could have it as your art studio!” “Art studio?” you whisper. “Yeah! Isn’t it so cool, and so much space. Now I wont get cross at you for getting paint all over the kitchen! Pabs will have so much room to explore!” She turns around and pulls you into her embrace, you are still shellshocked at everything presented to you. “I promised you, didn’t I? I would give you the world conejito.” Her eyes are so bright with joy, the smile so wide on her face, you couldn’t help but smile. Yes, the sleek lines, the large space, and the modern kitchen were beautiful. You didn’t see it for yourself, you preferred your terracotta tiled balcony and your plants overtaking your kitchenette. You loved painting in your living room when Alexia would watch a match. Pabs crawling over your shoulders, your little bubble with your family. But you could see how proud Alex was of herself, of what she had achieved. You must have taken a moment too long, as her eyebrows furrow. “You don’t like it.” you said, plainly, “No… No Alex, I do! I was just so surprised. I love it, and I love you.” “Yeah?” her eyes brighten again. You kiss her lips softly, “Yeah.” “Good! And think conejito, maybe one day there would be room for a bigger family?” she asks, shyly. Your heart melted as you nodded frantically and threw yourself into her embrace. As Alexia's career grew, so did the pressure on her. She was often away, it was something your whole relationship had survived, but now, being away with both club and country, as well as in an apartment that had never truly felt like home. You felt lonely. You would come home from weddings with only Pabs to greet you, you would create art in your studio without the background noise of Alexia watching a game, or preparing a smoothie. She would do that in the living area. Nights together were rarer. Your love never dimmed. Alexia showed you in her every movement that she adored you. Date nights, whilst few and far between, were the highlight of your week. Though that soon became the highlight of your month. The one saving grace during this time was that Mapi had finally joined Barcelona Femini and you took it on yourself to be her personal Barcelona guide. As Alexia's fame grew, you shied more into the background. You weren't an extrovert. You would never hide your relationship and you never asked Alexia to but the only social media that you had was that to promote your artwork. Meanwhile, Alexia's followers grew and grew. A few crazed fans had deep dived into her archives and knew of you but that was only a portion of the fanbase. She hated the delving into her private life, and that caused her to stop posting anything of you onto her public accounts. Any trace of you, gone. Before being a footballer, in Alex’ mind, she was your protector, that hadn’t changed from 15 years ago. With 2021 came great change. All of the years of dreams and hard work had paid off and Barca had reached the champions league final. You travelled to Gothenburg with Eli and Alba, a nervousness in your stomach more than usual. For both your girlfriend and your best friend. You celebrated the win with a euphoria you had rarely felt. Everything felt worth it. The lonely nights, the travel around the country, the sacrifices you had to make as the partner of La Reina.

And as she pulled you into her arms after the final whistle, and pulled you over the barricade the same way she did when she scored her first professional goal your heart couldn’t swell more with pride. You don’t want to say that Alexia changed after the Ballon D’or. Because she didn’t. Well, maybe she did, she suddenly sported bright blonde locks which, you admit was sexy, but you missed the softness her natural hair gave her face. By the second Ballon D’or you thought maybe it was you that changed. Maybe it was you that put up a barrier. One that couldn’t be identified easily. But with study it could be noticed. The problem was that Alex wasn’t there to notice. Yeah, you were together, you did things together, you made love and you made memories. You went back to Mollet regularly and ate with your families and you went to games with Alba. But Alexia was busy. She had brand deals, she had interviews, she had achieved her dream of being the best footballer in the world. You knew she was since you were 12. But now the world knew too. And the world wanted her attention.

Oftentimes she was exhausted when she got home. She didn’t want to cuddle on the couch. She didn't want to walk around the plaza. She didn’t want to hear about your day. She would ask, but you could tell her mind was elsewhere, in some contract somewhere, so you started to lie. To give answers which would satisfy her without arousing suspicion. Always trying to put her ease first.

You would decline for nights out with her teammates, you even lied once or twice and said you had a wedding to paint, just to avoid suspicion. Alexia would take your answer as the truth, and kiss your cheek lightly as she left the apartment which quickly felt like it had become your prison. Mapi could see through you. She would try to get you to talk, but she was Alexia's team mate. Alex was her captain. It didn’t feel right to discuss your relationship issues with her. Not when you wouldn’t even talk to the woman in question about it. You found yourself in the familiar seats of the Johan Cryuff stadium taking in the first home game of the new season. Alba and Eli by your side. The first game was always a family affair. With the Putellas cousins in attendance, a restaurant booked for this evening for you all. It was an easy win for the Champions of Europe. And as you stood with Mapi and her new girlfriend Ingrid at the end of the match chatting, Patri bounded over, sweat on her brow and joy in her eyes. “Hola Senora La Reina” she teased you, kissing your cheek, you had been around the team so much that they all knew you well. “Ay, Idiota, hands off” and large, familiar hands wrapped around your middle, a kiss planted to your other cheek as you melted into her embrace. “Congrats bebe” you muttered, craning you neck you see her looking down at you with a smile. “Senora Reina, you’ll come out for drinks with us to celebrate the win, won’t you?” Parti asked, full of joy.

The attention of the 4 footballers on you suddenly unsettled you. Maybe it was the busy environment. Maybe it was being with Ingrid who you’d only met a few times. Maybe it was Alexias hands around you for the first time in what felt like months. But you struggled to get your words out. “Ah, gra…grac…gracias for the invite diablo, but m…m…me…” “She’s coming out with mi familia Patri, it’s tradition! You know that! Vamos, I will come out quickly for a drink then join you all, conejito” Alexia interrupted you, planted a final kiss on your cheek and headed to the changing rooms. She didn’t feel you freeze in her embrace. She didn’t see Patri and Mapis expressions change. She didn’t see Ingrid's look of confusion. You felt sick. You felt like you were about to burst into tears. Your throat burned and you struggled to swallow.

You felt small. You shuffled your feet on the ground and looked up to see Mapis' face had grown furious, her girlfriend's arm had come to rest over her shoulders, trying to settle her but unsure why. You went straight into damage control. Alexia has protected you your entire life. She had never interrupted you, she knew you couldn’t stand when people would finish your sentences. It was the worst thing you could do to someone with a stutter. She knew that. You don’t know why Alexia's endless patience ran out that day. But you knew you wanted to protect her from your best friend's rage. You knew it would happen one day, you just wish it had happened without any witnesses. For both of your sakes. “Mapi, it's fine.” “It is not fine!” Patri backs away from the situation with a kiss to your cheek and an apologetic look. “I don’t know what's wrong with her lately. I am going to kill her…” she moves towards the changing rooms but you pause her with a soft hand. “Maps, please don’t. It’s f…f…okay. I am okay. Ju…just go get changed and go on your night out. I will t..text you tomorrow. Please.” You look to Ingrid for help, you don’t know her well but she has the power over Mapi seemingly, and as she guides her to the changing rooms the small Spaniard seems to settle down.

Not enough though, apparently, because as soon as she sees her captain again, a flicker of that rage comes back to her. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” Mapi hisses to her captain, “Maria, stop” Ingrid tugged her by the elbow, trying to take her away. Alexia looked up from her phone with a look of indignation, yes she was Mapis friend but she was still her captain, and they were in front of the whole team. Her defensive wall immediately came up. “Discuple?” Her eyes cast across the changing room, their team mates continued to get changed and pretended they weren’t eaves dropping into the mini argument that had developed.

“I said, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mapi spat out. “Why did you interrupt her?” Something in Alexia's stomach dropped. Her hands become clammy, her body reacting to the accusation before her mind could. “What? I didn’t. I would never.” she whispers in reply, but more to herself. “No, No I didn't.” she said more surely, somewhat desperately.

Mapi takes in her best friend's demeanour, the usually stoic and strong captain looked devastated, maybe even petrified? Mapi knew what she had done, but could see that Alexia would punish herself more than Mapi ever could. She stepped away, guided by Ingrid. Leaving Alexia to replay the last 10 minutes, desperately. Mapi saw the moment that realisation came to the Catalan Captain, as she bolted out of the changing room, hair damp, throwing her shirt on as she sprinted back into the stadium. Which is where she found you, moments later. You were sitting in the friends and family section, Alexias new baby cousin settled onto your knee, playing with your hands and babbling to himself. You made cooing noises and spoke softly to him and all her Tias and Tios got rounded up for your meal out. You felt her presence behind you, you could practically feel her anxiety coming off her in waves. You looked back quickly and confirmed your suspicions, her blonde hair damp and wetting her shoulders, her foot twisting against the concrete floor, hands knotted together and bottom lip drawn into her lip, chewing anxiously. “It’s fine Alex.” you said, as you turned, attention back on the baby in your lap. She must have seen this acknowledgement as her body surged towards you, she loudly collapsed into the seat next to you, the anxiety coming off her in waves. “Conej…” she started. “No Alex, I pr…pr… I swear. It’s okay. But I’m currently holding the ba…bab…ba… child.” you take a sigh. “I am holding the child and I don’t want to cry so p…please. It’s okay.” If it's possible. She looked even more devastated. Her whole face collapsed. She hated when you would revert to old techniques to speak, by changing up your words mid sentence. Alexia was your protector. It was her proudest badge. Before she was a footballer, in her mind, she was your partner. And she had let you down. She had done the worst thing she could have done. To an outsider Alexia's moment of impatience may have been a minor indiscretion at most. But to you? To Alex? It was the basis of your whole relationship. You felt safe with her. You had a voice, she said, all those years ago when you fell in love, and you deserved to be heard. And now she has brought that into question. “Can I touch you?” she asked, gently. This brought tears to your eyes and you nodded, whilst still entertaining the baby in your lap with coo’s and a false smile. She touched your knee, the heat of her hand bleeding into your skin. “You don’t need to mask in front of me y/f/n.” Alexia never used your name. “Please. Use the words you want to use. I am here to listen. Always.” You are interrupted as Alexias Tia comes to claim her baby, who you hand back with a last pat on the stomach and raspberry to the cheek. You are trying to avoid the next 5 minutes you know will happen. Alexia is somewhat rude when her Tia offers her congratulations, eyes boreing into your head. You sweep your hair back as you face her, having had a moment to think you get your words out easier. “Alex, it’s okay. It was bound to happen one day. Don’t worry about it. Please. Go out with your friends. I will go to the meal as planned. I promise. Alba will drive me home later.” “No.” Alexia says desperately, clutching your hand in hers, “Let’s just go home, amor. Please.” “Ale I made a promise to your mami. I am going to eat. I will see you later.” you press a kiss to her cheek and wander off towards her family. As she stands, watching you interact with her sister and her mami, her teammates call her over. She feels torn. She just wants to go home with you. She just wants to wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you in her arms. Safe. But you don’t want that right now, so she turns to do as instructed. Throwing one more glance your way, missing Albas worried face as she wipes a tear from your cheek.

Lonely and forgotten Never thought she'd look my way And she smiled at me and held me Just like she used to do Like she loved me When she loved me

You came home early. You asked if Alba could drop you off as soon as you had finished your meal. She was happy to oblige, worried about your silence the entire meal. You were looking down at your phone as you entered your apartment. Assuring Mapi again that you were fine and she should enjoy her drinks. You go to flick on the light in the living area when a stream of light below the door of your studio distracts you. You push the door open cautiously and see Alexia standing there, looking at your work in progress. It was different to your usual work. A close up sketch of a hand, wrapped around a flower, tenderly, it was in the early stages, you could see the lines of the palm and the blades of grass in the field behind. It was mounted onto canvas on your easel and the splashes of colour you had started to add contrasted against the paleness of the room. She hadn’t heard you enter, too lost in the image before her, but Pabs making a run for the door as it opened brought her attention to you. As you stand there, under her gaze, you struggle to remember the last time you saw Alexia in your studio. Yeah she would bob in to let you know dinner was ready, or that she was heading out, but she didn’t come in often enough to take in your work anymore. Now it wasn’t forced on her in the living space. It seemed Alexia had the same realisation as she broke her gaze with you and gestured towards your painting, and then further, to your desk overlooking the window, where more of your work lay. “You’re amazing. I didn’t… I.” a deep breath. “I hadn’t forgotten but I think I… Got lost? Somewhere along the way?” you tilt your head curiously. You don’t know what she’s talking about. “I have been a bad partner to you.”

“Alex…” “No. I have. And I’m not interrupting you but I won’t let you lie to protect me.” her eyes go again to your easel. “You’re amazing. You are so talented. You are filled with so much kindness. You deserve so much more than this.” her eyes fill with tears and she looks at you. “I tried. You know? I promise I did. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought this,” she gestures towards you and around you “was what you deserved. And it is. But more than that you deserve everything.” She takes a step towards you and grasps your hands with hers, her hands are cold, you note. As you take her in you see dried tear tracks down her cheeks, and… damp hair. “Alexia, did you not go out with the team?” “How do you think that I could go out with the team after what I did?” she asks, aghast. The reminder of the way the evening went washes over you. Alexia panics when she sees your eyes fill with tears. And she pulls you into her chest. “I am so, so sorry mi amor. I am so sorry” she whispers into your hair. “I have broken something sacred between us. And I will never forgive myself.” she swears to you. Though that doesnt bring you any joy. “I forgive you Alex.” she shakes her head in despair, joining you in tears. “You said it was bound to happen someday,” she starts, “Do not think like that amor. It was not. This is not your fault. In any way. It is mine. Please don’t think that, you deserve to be heard. I am so so sorry. So sorry. I will never do it again, promesa.” All you can do is nod into her chest.

She pulls you from the room and settles you both into the sofa, keeping the light off, only the skyline of the city illuminating your living room through the large, glassed wall.

She lets you cry into her t-shirt, soaking it more than her damp hair, and through the darkness you pull away and take in her face, she looks youthful. Gone, the professional make up, the expensive jewellery, and hair darkened by the dampness from her shower. You take in a large choked breath. “We need to talk.” you let out. Fear takes over her features and she starts to shake her head. “No, Mi Conejito please no, don’t do this.” she wails. It is a heart wrenching sound. She thinks she's going to be sick. “Woah, woah, woah” you place your hands on her cheeks and pull her panicked eyes to yours; “Mi amor I am not breaking up with you.” you state, clearly. “I am not. Now breathe with me.” Her eyes steady from their darting around the room in fear, and you place your hand on her chest, making her breathe with you. “Okay, okay… okay. Yes, please. Talk to me.” she begs, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs. “I feel alone. I feel… sa…sad. A lot of the time. And I know… you y…you aren’t doing it on pur…purpose.” Your girlfriend looks heartbroken. Like she had just found out her entire family had died. But refuses to interrupt you as you speak. But you have needed this conversation for so long, that the words start to tumble out of you. Getting lodged in your throat. Har large hand comes up to that familiar place, and massages the soft tissue behind your jaw. Trying to help you without interrupting. “You aren’t doing it on purpose.” you repeat. She pauses for a moment and doesn't ask what you thought she would. “Why am I making you anxious?” she asks, cutting through your thoughts. You move away from her and settle your elbows to your knees. Rubbing your face as you feel a large hand settle onto your back. You hated your stutter. You hated that it ruled your life, but most of all you hated how it exposed you. You were like a child who can’t hide a blush in front of their crush. “You aren’t, Alexia.” “Alex.” she corrects, “I am Alex to you” she insists, “your Alex. It’s just me, mi amor.” she looks at you desperately. “I feel alone, you are never here, and when you are here physically, you aren’t here in your head. Your head is in the clouds, it is with your agent, with your coach, it is not with me.” you’ve started now, so you won’t be able to stop yourself “it is me and Pabs and, even though you're dumb as bricks bebe, you're a better conversationalist than him” you try to joke, a half smile on your face. Which she matches, hand not stopping her ministrations on your back.

“I cannot remember the last time we just sat together, the last time that we cooked together. Can you Alex?” you don’t receive a reply,

“I haven’t had your eyes, look at me, really look at me for months. You give your time so easily to those around you, your team mates, people I see you out with at events. I can’t blame you, this is what you always dreamed of. But… I miss you.” Your speech is strong now; “and I love you. That will never change. But you need to know how I am feeling. So it's fair to you. I feel as though you are bigger than the world. And I am just the girl you saved in the art room.” She is openly crying now. “Don’t say that, you are everything” she mumbled, through tears.

She knew that she had been busy. But she didn’t realise the damage that she had done. She had been to events, you had been at her side. But. When was the last time she asked about a wedding you’d worked? God, you used to sit for hours describing the beautiful scenes, and she’d store away ideas for your own wedding. The last gallery you had shown at? When had she last visited your mami and papi, who had been there for her her entire life? She kept you off social media for your protection, but she didn’t mean to erase you. When had she become so god damn selfish. “Amor, I think that somewhere along the way, I had forgotten, and forgotten to remind you. There are more important things than football. Well. Football is second”.

You are thrown back to a memory, a school championship 15 years ago, sat on the bleachers watching your school get destroyed. The lanky football captain sat by your side. You can’t help it but tears fill your eyes. You missed her. That girl. The one you were and the one she was. “But.. you told me once, that I could have both.” she whispered, into your neck, “and you can, Alex. Of course you can. But you have to want both. And at the moment. It feels. It feels like you don’t want me.” “No! Mi Amor, Mi Vida, Mi Conejito. You are everything. Eres mi mundo. I am nothing without you.” she takes a breath, deep and shuddering. “I will fix this. Thank you for telling me how you feel. I have a chance to fix this. Si?” she asks, desperately. You nod, “Of course Alex, and it's for both of us to fix, I should have said something sooner.” She refuses your admittance of guilt and drags you into bed. She sticks to you like a second skin. Moves with you to brush your teeth. Standing waiting whilst you use the toilet. She places a fresh glass of water on your bedside table.You want to tell her to give you a bit of space, but the fear in her eyes prevents you from doing so. As soon as you crawl into your side of the bed she has pulled you into her embrace and the warmth that fills you goes beyond the shared body heat. For the first time in a long time, you wake up in the strong arms of Alexia. She hasn’t moved in the night an inch, and you take a moment to take her in. This is what you missed. Just breathing the same air as her. Just existing in the same space. As though she can feel you looking at her she begins to stir. Taking a moment to come to her senses, her arms grip you tighter around your waist. “Hola, Mi amor” she whispers into the air. Your response is a kiss to her lips, which she steals, hungrily. As you deepen the kiss you feel her begin to pull away. “Lo siento, mi amor, we cannot get carried away. Things to do.” your heart hurts again. You roll off the taller girl and reach for your phone as a distraction.

You thought, maybe, just maybe, for today at least. You would spend the day together. “Things to do!” she repeats, jumping out of bed with glee. “Where’s your passport”. That grabs your attention. “Que?” you ask, confusingly. “Your passport amor, Vamos!” She had long ago left the bed, and had started moving around the room, picking up various bags which had definitely not been there when you went to bed and moving them into the hallway. She was like a ball of energy, she stripped off her oversized t-shirt she had worn to bed, leaving her standing in just her boxers. Your eyes widened at the sight. Well, you think, at least all the time not spent with you was doing something good. You find yourself in a trance, practically salivating at your view.

A change of clothes being thrown at your head brings you out of your stupor. “Dressed. Go.” Alexia teases you, definitely having caught you starting. This makes you finally start to move as you shrug on the jogging bottoms and hoodie she threw at you. Happily, you note, it's one of hers that you’ve already destroyed with paint marks on the cuffs. “Why do you need my passport Alex? What's with the bags?” “We’re going on vacation!” That stops you, half in, and half out of your hoodie. Getting yourself stuck. “Vacation?” you ask, voice muffled by the fabric. You hear Alexia make her way over to you, then feel her gently pull you free from your fabric prison. “Si…” she gently tells you. A look overcomes her face which you can’t distinguish, then she kisses your nose, softly. “Vacation. Just me and you amor.”

“But what about work?” you ask, still catching up. “You don’t have anything booked for 6 days, I checked your calendar. And where we are going, you can bring all your art things if you need them. I’ve packed the basics in my carry-on already.” “Not my work. Alex, your work. You have a busy week.” at this point you seem to have lost her attention as she turns to your question dismissively. “I cancelled it.” she replies, simply. “You cancelled it.” you repeat. “Si.” “Alexia! Have you lost your mind! You have training, you have that meeting with Oakley - you have the pre-euros media to do! You have a game in 3 days” you reel off her calendar, watching as she continues to dress and pack her toiletries. She heaves out a sigh and turns back to you.

“Conejito, I know what I had, you don’t need to tell me I have just spent all night cancelling all of them. I spoke to Jona and he’s happy for me to miss the game. The rest of it doesn’t matter.” she moves closer to you again, “So no, I have not lost my mind. But, I did almost lose you, so please. Please tell me where your passport is so we can get on the plane I booked. Mapi will be here in a moment to take Pabs for the week.” You find yourself standing there, stunned. She seemingly had thought of everything. You look into the hall at the bags packed there ready to go. Pabs sniffed them curiously. She’s looking at you with wide, expecting eyes. There's nothing else for you to do you suppose. As you turn from her and open your bedside table, a smile can’t be kept off your face, you turn triumphantly with your passport held high. “Voila!” you present it to her; “What are you waiting for then Alex! We've got a plane to catch!” as you scurry out of the room and you hear the front door knock. Alexias cackle behind you. Alexia was always full of surprises when she wanted to be and she remained tight lipped all the way to the airport, refusing to tell you your destination.

You assumed it would be one of the islands somewhere, with the size of her luggage maybe somewhere farther afield, sun, sea and a pool somewhere promised. But she shocked you. When you got to the check in desk and realised you were flying to Switzerland you could have been knocked down with a feather. Your Alex, who was upset when she even had to wear a bikini top in the month of August, has booked for you to go to Switzerland?

She ignored your curious stare and just continued to sweet talk the check in lady, upgrading you to business class. As you descended hours later, between the snow peaked mountains against a stunning orange sun you couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your hands itched to claim the sketch book from Alexias carry on. Soon, after collecting your luggage and Alexia picking up a hire car that has also been pre booked (seriously did this girl sleep at all the night before?), you found yourself being driven through a mountain forest, as a lodge that seemed to cling to the mountainside came into view, isolated and beautiful. You stood on the wooden balcony, hands gripping a warm drink as you took in the view of the sun setting behind the mountains. “Look at that, Amor.” you felt, more than heard, whispered against your ear. Lips planting a kiss at your jaw as strong hands settle over your stomach.

You fell back into her embrace. “It’s so beautiful.” you replied, eyes focused on the scene before you. “I saw this advert. Months ago.” she continued. “Just in the back of a catalogue at work. They will have the Euros near here, you know, 2025?” That made you snort with laughter. “Ah, I see Putellas, now it makes sense how you’ve been dragged from the beach, scoping out the environment are we? Anything for that competitive edge.” your teasing is clear in your voice.

You feel a pinch on your stomach, “No, idiota,” though the laugh is clear in her voice. “I saw that advert and I couldn’t get it out of my head. It is so beautiful here.” you hum in agreement, “But what I could not get out of my head was that I wanted you to see it. I love seeing the world through your eyes.”

She turns you in her embrace and she places a gentle kiss to your forehead as you feel her breathe you in. “You see things so beautifully, Amor, and then you paint them for the world to see. You are so special.” Your heart melts at the blonde, and you feel some of the despair that had settled into your stomach over the last months shrink. Here Alexia was, at work, flicking through some promotional material between interviews and training, and her thoughts are with you. “And I will not let you forget how special you are, ever. Never again”. You spent those days in pure bliss. You spend the days hiking - her pretending to be as tired as you at the peak of a mountain, she was a terrible actress but you appreciate the sentiment non the less - having picnics, exploring the mountain villages, and on one particularly spicy day, skinny dipping in an isolated mountain lake that a swiss teammate had told Alexia about. Evenings were spent looking up at the stars together, you firmly in alexias lap on the balcony, sharing a glass of wine which you held. She pointed out stars that her Papa had shown her and given silly names to, and you were there to catch her tears. She would complain only minimally that she was cold, and you would offer to warm her up and she would lead you gently into the bedroom. Nights spent in each other's embrace, sighs shared and no alarms to wake you. You would dance around the kitchen, play cards at the table, share wine and stories and just catch up.

The pit in your stomach mended with each kiss, each peel of laughter and each stroke of the skin.

One evening, after the skinny dipping adventure in which the footballer insisted that she must have hypothermia and had taken herself off over an hour ago telling you she wasn’t coming out of the warm shower until she had become a prune. You had started to add the finishing touches to a sketch of the scene beyond your lodges window when you felt the blonde return into the room, You eyed her quickly, flannel tartan pyjamas covering her tall frame, hanging over her wrists, matching shorts which are despicably short. Fuzzy socks on her feet. She looked absolutely adorable.

You didn’t know why she was staring at you though, She moved towards you and you made space for her on the couch. “You have your glasses on, Conejita.” she mumbled, and you reached up, as though to confirm they were on your face, “I didn’t know you still wore them.” You didn’t, too be honest, but with the long day of fresh air and a strong sun on the mountainside your eyes had grown tired. You shrugged at her, as she placed a soft kiss on your lips. Lovesick look in her eyes. “You’re so hot.” She mumbled, more to herself. You hear though, and the blush runs up your neck.

You moved to get your work off your lap but she stopped you, pulling you back into her embrace and you automatically moved your knees up to rest your sketchbook there. “Carry on, please.” her chin rested on your shoulder. You hesitated, you didn’t come all this way to not spend time with the blonde, you wanted to soak in every minute. You wouldn’t be happy if she started to kick a ball around in the kitchen. She could sense your hesitation, “please. Remember, I like the sound of your pencil.” she moves your free hand to her bare thigh, “and it gives me goosebumps.” You fell in love again over those 6 days. You never fell out of it. But maybe you both just needed reminding. You felt whole, your communication about how you were feeling had worked, Alexia had listened. You just had one worry though, as the plane landed back in Barna you couldn’t hold it in. “Alex.” you said, before the seatbelt sign came on, gripping her arm lightly. “This was the best trip of my life. Thank you.” Her smile cracked her face, and she looked immensely proud of herself. “Mine too, Amor.” she agreed, easily, her face was peaceful . “But. I can’t go back to how things were again, si? I don’t think I could survive it, not after this week.” she's already shaking her head. “It won’t, I promise. I will not let that happen. Me and you, Si? That is all that is important” you take a moment, “And Pabs.” you amend for her, breaking the tension. “Si, of course” she rolls her eyes, “and Pablo Petcatso.”

When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour we spent together Lives within my heart When she loved me

“Hey, Al?” you shout, into the living room as you enter your flat. It's been a few weeks since you returned from your impromptu get away. A busy few weeks. You have been booked up and Alex had to make up for the time she had lost, Barca were still in 4 competitions so the match load was heavy. You could see she was trying though, so that made the darkness that had started to creep back in more bearable. She wasn’t home from training yet. Which disappointed you more than usual. You were giddy.

You had just found out that your art had been selected to be shown at a huge gallery opening in the centre of the city. An established and high-end gallery. It was a big deal, and it was potentially your big break. You got flutters in your stomach even thinking about the commissions it could make you. Pabs popped his head around the door and you picked him up giddily and span him around, his meow in response you took as a congratulations as you danced and laughed. You didn’t hear the door behind you open but you heard your favourite voice in the world, “And what have I walked into here, hey, a party with my favourite two? Without me?” Alexia laughed. “Alex, we're celebrating!” you let Pabs free from your grip as he scurried away from his crazy mama. Her arms loop around you as you move into a slow dance, grinning up at her; “Ah, Si? And what are we celebrating?” “I got chosen! For the gallery!” Your feet leave the floor as the taller girl fully brings you into her arms, lifting you and spinning you around in glee, the squeal she lets out is full of childlike joy. “Of course you did! You are amazing!” she plops you back down and attacks your face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you Mi Amor and I am so excited to see your gallery. Oh I can get all dressed up and be your arm piece!” The thought brings you pure joy, the image of Alexia standing by your side, proudly, champagne in hand. Your Mami and Papi and Eli and Alba all present. Pabs in a little bow tie. “Si?” you ask, shyly, much more used to being by her side, “You’ll come? It is in 4 weeks. The 16th. You should be just starting on break.” A shadow of sadness passes her face at your insecurity, “Amor even if I was not on break I would not miss this for the world. If I had the world cup final I would call in sick. I will be there. I will be the girl with the biggest bouquet of flowers in all of Barna with the lovesick look on her face.” It had been a whirlwind of a month, you had to put the finishing touches on your pieces.

You have chosen to showcase your best landscapes.

Scenes from the road to Valencia, The Square in Mollett, Beach Scenes in Barca, Snow capped mountains of Switzerland.

It was the story of your love for Alexia. Told through scenes only the two of you could understand the significance of.

In the week leading up to the opening, you would spend late nights at the gallery, setting up lighting with Mapi and your Papi. Eli would walk around straightening frames on the walls. As you settled into bed each night, Alexia would open her arms and bring you into her warn embrace.

You couldn’t wait to share your love story with the world. Alexia was having a bad day. It started bad. And continued to be bad. First, she woke up alone, which she hated.

She recalled a kiss to the forehead and a whispered ‘I'll see you later’ before she'd dozed back off. Then she realised that she had forgotten to charge her phone and was therefore late to training. Well. Not late for normal people. But late for Alexia. Then she forgot her socks and had to steal some of Irenes. She had a bad training session and Patri beat her in all their 1v1’s. And then the icing on the cake. She was dragged out from her gym session to do media which she hated. By the time she had finished the changing rooms were mostly empty, with only Pina and Patri left, scheming together in a corner.

“Ah now, Capi! Turn that frown upside down!” Pina teased her, “Ay, come out for a drink with me and Patri, the girls are all coming later, a bonding session before the break!”

And Alexia would usually say no, she wasn’t one for massive social events. But a drink sounded good. And it was the last day of training before the break.

Which is how she found herself 4 drinks in, deep in a booth in Patris favourite bar downtown. Most of the girls had joined them and laughter and chatter filled the roped off space. Something was missing and it took Alexia a moment to realise that there wasn’t a yapping in her ear.

“Ay, Pina, where are Mapi and Ingrid?”

“They text the group, they had something on but they’re going to join us after. Ah… here they are!” Pina turned as Patri dragged her to the dance floor. Alexia turned to where Pina had pointed and saw Ingrid and Mapi walking towards her. She smiled and raised her hand in a wave, as they got closer she took in their state of dress; “Ay, sexy mamas, it’s only a night out with the team. Why are you dressed so nice? Have you just come from your wedding?” Mapi looked at Alexia. But really, really looked at her. “What?” nothing. “Maria, what? Why are you looking at me like that? Ingrid?” she faced the usually kind woman but she wasn’t met with her usual smile, “What’s happening? Wh-ohmygod.” It hit Alexia like a freight train. Like 10 freight trains. She physically had to hold onto the chair to her side to remain standing. “No, no, no, I didn’t, I couldn’t have done.” She starts to pat herself down and pulls her phone out, dead, still uncharged from the night before. She holds it up to Mapi, as evidence, evidence of what she doesn’t know. As though it gives her a lifeline. She knows it doesn’t. “Ingrid? Ingrid please tell me I didn’t miss it.” she asks, desperately. The tall girl looks away, as though she can’t even face what the captain had done. “Alexia.” The rage is barely contained in Mapis' voice. “I can’t even look at you.” Mapi turns to leave, but it's as though her anger wont let her; she turns again and spits out; “Do you think she needed a reminder on her phone to know when the Champions League final was? Do you think… I can’t… I have just come from her gallery opening. Her life's work. A life shared with you. And here you are. At a bar. Celebrating, what? A game of football? A half season well done? Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck. Off” Ingrid grips her hand and tries to pull her away. All Alexia can do is stand there and take it, it's not a hundredth of what she deserves. “No Ingrid.” She pulls her hand free and pushes her finger into Alexia's chest. “You are a selfish monster. She thought you must be hurt. That's what she thought. She thought you were in a ditch somewhere. She almost cancelled the whole thing to run around hospitals to find you. But then Alba saw you on Patris instagram. And here you are. La Reina.” Mapi looks her up and down, pure disgust on her face. “Your Mamis held her as she sobbed. Alba redid her makeup. I would steer clear of her Papi for months if I were you. She is strong, and she gave a speech.” Alexia couldn’t breathe. You gave a speech? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there. “Please, Maria, stop. I can’t listen.” Alexia couldn’t take it. She moved Mapis' hand off her chest and ran to the door of the club. One thought in her mind. Get to you. Get to you. “It's too late Alexia.” Mapi shouts to her back. She ignores her. It can’t be. No It can't be. She jumps out of the uber onto the unfamiliar street. The lights to the gallery are off but she desperately tries the door regardless. Banging on it with her fist in frustration. She lets out a scream into the empty street. Peering through the windows she sees wall after wall of your work. Scenes she recognises from her life. Football pitches. Beaches, Mountains. The scene from your balcony in Mollet. It was all so beautiful. So carefully curated. And she wasn’t there. She takes off at a run. It’s not too late. Mapi is wrong. It’s not too late. She will die if it is too late. “Y/N!” she barged into the apartment. She must have ran 10 miles. “Y/N are you here?” She runs from room to room. But there is no one there. When that's established she plugs her phone into the charger on the breakfast bar and makes her way back through the apartment. She goes into the bedroom. No, please no. The wardrobe is open, your side is empty. She looks around. Your things are gone.

The kitchen remains largely unaffected. Though the picture of you and your parents no longer sits on the shelf. Your trainers are gone from the hall. Your favourite blanket from the couch. She looks at the walls. Anything you had painted. Gone. Alexia always insisted that your art be on the walls, in each home you shared together. “Why would I want strangers work on the walls, Mi Amor? When I have the best artist in the world here?” she would say, making you blush. She was addicted to that blush. She walks back into the hallway. One picture remains in pride of place. The picture you presented to her in her darkest moment. You would never take that away from her. It was a gift of pure adoration. All it does is make the stabbing pain in Alexia's heart worsen. She pushes open the door to your art studio. All that remains are paints and blank canvases. Except. In the middle of the room. The easel. A picture she had seen before, in its early stages. A hand. A hand holding a beautiful flower. But it had changed somehow. Pressure lines had appeared. The flower beginning to wilt under the force. It wasn’t your usual work. Alexia stood closer. Entranced. As she inspected the image she saw the light tease off still wet paint. You had touched this up recently. Her eyes search, frantically for anything of your last moments in the apartment when she catches it. Too light for anyone not searching for it. 11. Blended into skin at the wrist of the image. A tattoo. So lightly painted but it etched itself fiercely into Alexia's soul. This was her hand. This hand that was silently destructive, was hers. She saw a post it note stuck to the leg of the easel and in your looping handwriting: ‘Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they won't use it.’

She brought her hand up to her mouth and let out an audible gasp. She runs into the kitchen and dry heaves over the sink. There, she watches as her tears splash into the marble. And as she watches. She takes note of a single paint droplet. Her tears joined it, creating the most heart crushing piece of work she had ever seen.

God. She used to get so angry at that paint in the sink.

It's been years, she thought, years since she found paint in the sink. How much did you have to lessen yourself in order to be with her?

She collapsed into a seated position. Back against the kitchen cabinet. And brought her knees to her chest. She sobbed. And sobbed. She was joined at one point by Pabs. She thought you’d taken him with you. But no, in a typical act of kindness you wouldn’t leave her alone in her despair.

His little bow tie still sat around his neck, skew-whiff, as he looked at his mama curiously. He licked her nose and she sobbed harder.

Weeks passed.

She doesn’t know how she got through those weeks. Thousands of missed calls. Hundreds of messages. Went unanswered.

Alexia didn’t hear from you. Her Mami and Alba had forgiven her after Alba had found her in a state and unable to look after herself but they made it clear they were on your side. Mapi wouldnt look at her. They wouldn't tell her where you were, they wouldn’t pass on any message.

She was too frightened to go to your Mami and Papa.

She hadn’t trained well for weeks, She arrived at training exhausted. Sleep would never find her. She was barely clinging on. Jona still insisted she play. She was La Reina.

And then she broke. And that's where Irene found her, after another match of lacklustre performance. In a back corridor of the stadium. Broken and staring at the wall in front of her.

A ghost of the woman she was.

Her phone lay next to her. A message from you. A response to her apologies, her thoughts, the pain she had told you she felt for your failed relationship.

Finally, Word you were alive.

3 words in fact. ��It’ll pass Alexia.”

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso community

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bengiyo · 5 months ago

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Ben’s Big BL Blurb 5: Let’s Talk About Sex

I was mostly planning to check in again after the current Japanese shows ended, but after three out of four sex scenes left me wanting this week, I want to write down my ideas. I maintain that bed scenes, like action scenes, need to tell us more about the characters. Many sex scenes serve as a release of tension or confirmation of existing feelings. As usual, MAME seems to understand this, and others should probably take notes.

Call Me By No Name is Doing Nothing For Me (5/8)

I have just about given up on this show. I don’t get Megumi’s whole deal, why she’s so in love with Kohata, or Kohata’s reticence. I was really hoping that an intimate scene would open up some space for vulnerability and truth with them to give us some answers about why these two weirdos are drawn to each other, but that’s not what we got. I was hoping that when we saw these two go at it we’d learn how much Megumi has felt for women before, or how she responded to Kohata’s experience. Instead, I’m left feeling cold by the whole affair, and generally baffled by the conflicting themes around going somewhere she did cutesy girl nights before, and ordering the cute food. This one is a chop.

Impression of Youth is Wasting My Time (5/9)

I have my own squicks as a former teacher with stories where a teacher messes around with their student. However, I don’t see the point of doing a teacher-student story if we’re not going to explore any of the lines being crossed here. We also didn’t get a good arc about the student helping the teacher properly reconnect with a feeling, or discover something, that helped him get back to his art. We simply had him start painting on the beach again, the kid confessed, and then they fucked with awkward kissing. I was a bit let down by the brother’s fast encouragement of the whole thing. It felt like they were reaching for the same energy we had in Call Me By Your Name (2017) with Oliver and Elio, but it’s missing the component where Oliver knew what he was doing the whole time for me. The overall alignment feels off, and I’m getting so little emotion from this show as a result. On top of all that, they showed us the kid’s boxers before implying he was nude in the shower! Ridiculous!

When It Rains It Pours is Being Shy About Sex in a Show About Cheating (5/7)

This is the biggest offender of the week for me. This show is all about how the leads cannot have sex from the people they love, and find someone they can commiserate with in each other. When the dam finally breaks and they both need the release in each other, I was so dismayed that the show tried to gloss over as much of the sex as possible. It’s so fucking annoying for me when the shows about sex get precious about it and won’t show it. I was thankful that they tried to capture all the emotions happening around the weekend they spent together, but I think we lost a lot in not having Hagiwara blow Sei, because you just know that man has a people pleasing streak that would require him to give pleasure back. The lack of sex also means that there is no gap time between the infidelity and the discovery. We don’t give enough time for the shift in their relationship to breathe before the crisis (@respectthepetty). I’ve lamented before about Japanese shows only showing toxic or breakup sex, and so it’s damned annoying that they’re doing that in the cheating show because they probably want these guys to be together by the end. I was really hoping Mood Indigo would have some company finally (especially after Love in the Air Koi), but I clearly need to stay patient. Cannot overstate how lame it is for the show about two guys cheating because their partners won’t fuck them being shy about the sex effectively sides with the partners who won’t fuck them. Finally, I am not over them getting the insertion angle wrong while making points about it!!

Your Sky Could Have Been A Good Follow-Up on 2gether

I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit because I don’t know what I want to say about this one. I was really into it in the beginning, but it felt like this show didn’t really know what it wanted to do after resolving the issues with Oh. I personally liked the dad being confronted by his wife and father about the way his homophobia was hurting his son, but I didn’t really enjoy it as a Very Special Episode. I would have also liked to see Teerak’s newfound assertiveness in this period beyond is refusal to cave. I think this show also deeply underutilized its own supporting characters, especially the side couples. Still, I thought Thomas was probably the most beautiful newest BL boy we’ve gotten, and I liked the way he and Kong worked together. I also really enjoyed Teerak being allowed to want sex, ask for it, and take charge of it. That’s so important for a cute character. Letting us know that Teerak has also become protective of the private moments he has with Fah, and is growing into his desire for Fah really is a great way to finish a show.

Final Verdict: 7, Recommended With Reservations. I find it hard to give this a stronger recommendation. I just think the show ends up being overall inessential from how much of it ends up being fluff that doesn’t connect much to each other. The biggest things I liked were Fah and Teerak, especially in the early episodes, and I liked the family dynamics. Still, I feel like this show didn’t know what to do without Tine’s internalized homophobia, and what to do with Fah’s ex that was mentioned. There’s just too much hanging off this to recommend it as a strong drama. Everyone is very pretty, and the performances are earnest. It’s a show that means well, even if it’s a bit indulgent.

The Boy Next World Understands that Phu Has a Dick (5/10)

MAME, as usual, understands the assignment. There’s no way that their first encounter is going to be Cir showing up to stick is dick in Phu’s ass. He’s been obsessed with this boy for years in a way that prioritizes Phu’s wellbeing. It was absolutely correct to payoff that Cir keeps making Phu hard by having Cir take care of him, let us see that Phu enjoyed it. Like @babyangelsky I think it’s important that we let go of the notion that cute characters cannot want and enjoy sex. We got so much from this. We know that Cir likes to give pleasure, and that he’s not going to ask for it from Phu. We also know that Phu cares about Cir, too, because he asked about his time in the bathroom (Cir clearly jerked off and rinsed his mouth, y’all). What’s so excellent about putting a sex scene at this point is it means we’ll see their sex change after Phu learns that Cir has been stalking him for years. MAME is consistently the best storyteller at using the kisses and sex to help inform the arc of the relationship. Most importantly, she gets what the angles are supposed to be.

Ossan’s Love Thailand Is…Fine (5/12)

I’m not really into this one much right now, despite what I think is a pretty solid performance from Krit Shahkrit. I understand the choice to go back to making Kongdech a widower, but I don’t think giving him a daughter who initially opposed the romance added much to this for me. I’m hoping activating Thor’s character next week will add some energy to this for me, because I’m feeling a bit flat with it at this point. I’m glad they’re letting Earth and Mix continue to play adult characters, but it doesn’t feel like they knew what they wanted to do with office romance dynamics here.

Gelboys is a Welcome Return from Boss Kuno (1/7)

Started this today and I am seated. I really love how much it feels like we get to actually be inside of Bangkok. I love that we opened with an ad for the Bangkok rail system as a mechanism for freedom. I love how filming on iphones has enhanced the naturalistic feeling of the production. I also love how we completed the major arc of the het angst of Make It Right in the first like five minutes. Incredible stuff. I’m so excited to see the mess Fou4Mod is going to make of everything, and I’m excited to see Chian dickmatize that boy. Curious to see how much this feels like a bubble show. Shout out to Boss for showing us a naked teen at the start of this show to scare off the pearl clutchers.

RED BLUE is EVERYTHING (6/8)

This is not BL, but it’s got enough BL boys rolling on the floor and sweating on top of each other that I’m saying here loudly that I LOVE IT. Kimura Keito is fantastic in this, and I loved his fight with Okura Takato in episode 6. I almost didn’t recognize my boy from his role as Amane in If It’s With You with the change in his hair. I did not know I needed a wrestling show with BL boys…who am I kidding? We’ve been asking for this every year. This is hitting all the notes I want from a sports shonen show. It’s fantastic.

Please Use the Sex Well in Romance

I think there’s a real place for clean romance in the BL genre. Some of our favorites don’t involve sex being a major component of their romance narrative, but that often requires significantly more drama and better storytelling and plots. What I cannot abide is when I find myself bargaining about how a show that wants to talk about sex every episode seemingly doesn’t want to deal with sex. Romances about sex that don’t use the sex well in their stories are as bad as comedies with terrible jokes, or action flicks with no suspense and satisfying fight sequences.

Other than that, I dropped I'll Turn Back This Time. It’s just too stupid and incoherent for me to put up with it’s nonsense. Seeya next time.

#Ben watches #call me by no name #impression of youth #when it rains it pours #futtara doshaburi #gelboys the series #the boy next world #your sky #red blue the series #ossan's love thailand #thai bl #japanese bl #taiwanese bl #chinese bl #bl series #i'll turn back this time #japanese gl #gl series #bl blurb

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natsswife · 7 days ago

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wilderness tl nat x fem!reader weeks after the crash you start getting tired and depressed of “living” in the middle of nowhere, nat is there to try and do her best at cheering u up<3

cw: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, you and Nat r girlfriends before the crash and jackies gay radar knows that, set before her death(missing jackie hours frfr), reader is a little annoyed that nat has to hang out a lot w travis and it contributes to her loneliness feeling.

tw: depression, reader starts eating less at one point cuz shes just tired of everything notes!!: no mari hate, just her yelling at reader to do something cuz shes also tired of everything, i cant hate my fellow latina prima, i love her smm also sorry if its feels a little long before reaching the main point i wanted to elaborate everything n i started to write recently so im trying my best to not make it feel rushed nskdjsjd

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆˚

༘⋆ its impossible for someone like you who used to spend weekdays going to school with the sole purpose to not fail math again and seeing your girlfriend (at that point Nat was your only reason to go to that hellhole), practicing and playing soccer, seeing jackie threaten to quit as a captain for the third time, gossip with nat if Tai and are Van are a little more than friends and betting if coach Scott just looks gay or is actually gay

༘⋆ spend weekends hanging out with your girlfriend getting high, buying alcohol with fake ids, sneaking out and going to parties some random will throw out in the middle of the night and then running away from the police till you both arrive to your home ,having messy make outs in your room while your mom was asleep, just loving eachother in your little room without caring if it's morally correct to be queer and free or not, w/o judging looks from randoms that doesn't understand what true love is, to “settle” to whatever was this…

༘⋆ having to first endure a plane crash where gods know how everyone managed to make it out alive, deal with untreated injuries even though misty tried her best, allergies after accidentally stepping on toxic plants, and the worst of all: Not being able to shower properly and clean ur selves in general, just sitting on a rock everyday waiting for a miracle.

༘⋆ things got “easier” after finding the cabin (with a dead man included that made lottie a little bit more crazier than before) but still, this isn't what you wanted nor everyone, but for some reason it was more difficult for you to get used, a literally 180°change in your life that you didnt expect, and seeing everyone, including nat getting used to this “sweet camp life” made you feel useless.

༘⋆ Mari was always there, giving you and jackie angry looks, reminding you of your chores, sometimes yelling, sometimes just straight up throwing you the bag full of dirty clothes for you wash them, you couldn't blame her, neither yourself, everyone was just trying to move on with their lives, but you were stuck, feeling tired, desperate and lonely, missing everything you once had, even that shithead teacher that always gave u the worst math exercises for you solve in front of everyone.

༘⋆ it was a relief to see that you weren't the only one struggling, seeing jackie also getting on mari’s nerves made you feel less alone in this, but still, she had Shauna, who let her be “useless” and free while she takes care of the rest, it wasnt the same for you, Nat was always with travis, far away and trying to find some deer or whatever so no one will starve, and it annoyed you, you were alone and your girlfriend, the only person who used to understand you was with someone else far away while your mind fog with the same shit.

༘⋆ the same routine, u wake up, nat’s already gone, nothing to eat, mari yelling at you first thing in the morning to go and do something useful, lottie asking and saying weird shit, the same routine every damn day, you stopped counting how many times have you done the same, the same clothes to wash, the same bucket to fill, sneaking from the others at the same time to go and cry under the dusty blankets until the feeling brush off (it never does) the same the same and the same and no one cared, probably not even your girlfriend who has better things to worry about at this point, you were alone in this.

༘⋆ today the feeling was the same, you wonder if this is gonna be your new future, far from home, with a numb feeling that never go away, no matter how many times you sleep and cry under the covers, no one notices not even the only adult who also has his own struggles, you thought sometimes about opening to Nat, but she has her own concerns and you didnt wanna be a burden.

༘⋆ all you do was stare at your reflection in your cracked mini mirror, ignoring all the noise outside, apparently something happened but u couldn't care less, that's until Jackie comes in calling you for lunch, apparently the girls has been calling for you so long that she has to come and get you

“hey.. something wrong?” her voice quieter, like she managed to read you across the room

“oh hey, everythings fine, im just… nothing”

“we've been calling for lunch, u wont believe what natalie and travis brought this time”

she said with a big grin on her face and before you could even speak

“and no, do not tell me you're going to skip and give your food to shauna again”

“jackie…” you huff tired “shes eating for two now, and besides im not in the mood right now, i just wanna be alone please”

“youre never in the mood, and neither all of us, but that doesn't mean starve to death, you're barely eating nowadays” she sat beside you, her voice now laced with concern

“I know we weren't the closest before, but if something's wrong just tell me, spending all these weeks stranded here has made everyone closer.. except for you”

“its nothing i swear, just not feeling like it, i just wanna be alone please..”

“nono, don't lie to me, i’ve noticed your behavior and its obvious somethings wrong” jackie says softly, her presence warm beside you like the sunny person she is

“your dim eyes, all these days of not eating anything and just staying inside the cabin after chores”

…

“its for nat right?” she looks at you with mischievous eyes while getting closer

“i know what you two are, GOSHH ITS SO OBVIOUS, and dont worry i get that feeling of seeing the love of your life spending more time with someone, used to happen when i saw jeff sticking to randy’s ass but they're just good friends y’know, and its not like nat has a choice, its either that or letting travis run away and stealing our only weapon”

how could you not love her? she's very good at cheering up people, with her dramatic tone and confidence like you two were the closest friends ever, she's your captain for a reason.

you try and smile to let her know is all good, but it doesn't show on your face

“yeah, but its not only that” ur voice comes in a whisper, your eyes full of sadness that didn't go unnoticed for her, “not to be rude jackie, i appreciate your effort but im not hungry really, i just want to sleep a little”

“mmm… okay”

༘⋆ and with that she leaves, you pull the covers all way to your face, just leaving a little space to breath and close your eyes waiting for sleep to kick in, around ten minutes passed until your hear footsteps and suddenly feel a heavy weight laying on top of you.

“wha- what the fuck” you said trying to get up quickly but that whatever thing wont let you

“no what THE fuck is happening to you” its just nat, you let a relive sigh, for a flash moment you thought it was some of that wilderness things that lottie has been murmuring about

“Jackie came worried looking like she just saw a fucking ghost almost screaming and told me that you were possessed by an emo entity and were on ur death bed right now” she let a giggle while her hand caressed your cheek and acting like being on top of you wasnt taking your breath away “and if i didnt wanna miss your last breath in these world then i should come here and drag you from your feet outside before its toooooo late” heavy on that “toooo” late

“its nothing nat, just tired of being stranded here, i need some sleep and tomorrow ill be a new person” hopefully, but for nat who knows that when you play with your hair like that you're lying and there's something more about it.

༘⋆ your tired eyes, quite behaviour when you used to be active around her, especially after not seeing her days, made her knew something was wrong, the way you barely talk when she came back after being out for hours trying to hunt something, she didnt wanna bother you asking something out of place, but she knew this wasn't you, this wasn't the extrovert girl she met.

༘⋆ she knows she has been absent from your life these past few weeks, but Jackie's pressure on her for not finding something, mari’s looks everytime she and travis came back barehanded, and everyone in general starving in the middle of nowhere put a toll on her, made her feel guilty.

༘⋆ and more guilty after Jackie came out of the cabin, make her drama as an excuse to took her to a private place away from the rest and told her everything that has been happening to you these past weeks.

༘⋆ she thought that after finding a big deer for everyone to eat she’ll be able to spend more time with you, this time for real, but seeing how her absence hurt you made her realice of fucked up things are right now.

“no need to lie, i know when you play with your hair like this is because you need me to take the words out your mouth”

“uh…”

“jackie told me everything… i wanna start this with an ”im sorry”, im sorry for not being there, for made you feel forgotten when thats not what i wanted, for failing as a girlfriend but i know its not enough”

she doesn't sound angry but worried, sadness in her voice that made you feel feel guilty for now worrying her

“its not your fault nat, but i cant adapt as fast as the others, i miss everything, i dont wanna be here i hate this… just wish i can disappe-”

“don't say that” for a brief moment the air became tense, nat now lying on the mat made you turn around and face her, her eyes full of worry, she hated hearing you saying things like this, especially when you were the most joyful person she ever meet

“i dont expect you to become a master at camp life but neither i want you to give up, to not eat and give your food away, weren't you the same who told me breakfast was the most important food when you saw me smoking and drinking a coffee at six in the morning?”

you let out a small laugh, that was one of the first times you talked, and after that you convinced your mom to give you extra lunch so u can share with her, if there's something that you hate to see was someone you cared for eating first thing in the morning something like that.

“yeah but its not something i can control, you dont know how many times i’ve cried while you were gone, trying to brush this feeling off but it just… dont go away”

“i know, and im sorry for not being there to help you, even a little” she gives a sweet kiss to your forehead “but please promise me that you wont hide this feelings ever again, even if im not here promise that you will find coach or someone to talk and not just bury yourself here”

“also, i have a stupid plan but before give a few minutes ill be right back” she stands and left the cabin, you didn't realize how much you have missed her till now, having this small talks, ignoring everything, just you and her, sure the context wasn't the same but it now it didnt matter.

Nat came back with two small plates with meat and sat next to you

“alright, i wont let you argue i know youre hungry, so please just a few bites”

you were about to argue but deep inside you know she was right, your stomach has been empty for the whole day, and talking to nat, having her by you side again made you feel at ease again.

“ill spoon you like a baby if it's necessary to make sure you're well fed by now”

and with that you take a bite from her hand, savoring not only the meat nutrients but also the effort made by nat, by travis, by mari to cook and fed everyone

“So what's this stupid plan of yours about?” you ask her a little intrigued, when nat says its something stupid you know it always ended up being something either mind blowing or just problematic

“i wanna teach you how to use that rifle, youre on the best hands, im gonna train you so we can both go hunting and spend more time together, alone, like this, like this beautiful and rustic romantic dinner”

..woah

“ohh hold on nat you know damn well im not into guns and-”

“i know dumbass but y’know its necessary, we need more hands to hunt, travis is a good guy but a little dickhead, and i want you to go out, this isolation here is not good for you”

well… she's right

“take time your time to learn, no pressure, all i want is you coming with me everywhere, out of here even if its only to be a passenger princess while i try to hunt some fucking rabbit so jackie wont kill us”

༘⋆ and with a sweet kiss the deal was seal, after that you feel how you got better day by day, sure still being trapped there, with a life no one wanted was a headache but now with nat by your side things were more easy, hunting wasn't the most enjoyable thing and using a shotgun was difficult, but at least you now got someone to teach you and didnt care if you actually learn, because all Natalie wanted was to be with you, make up for the lost time and never let you fall again into that sadness ever.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆˚

do not translate w/o permission, copy or use for ai training, train your useless brain instead<3

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sunshine-zenith · 4 months ago

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Random thing I’ve been thinking about for months — Cosmo and Wanda’s default disguises actually tell you a lot about the respective series they’re in

So in the original series, Timmy’s problems were external. His parents were super neglectful, his babysitter was abusive, his teacher was intentionally harsh, he struggled in school, and while he had friends, they were all targets of bullying. A real world kid in this situation would, naturally, feel incredibly isolated, with no one to turn to, and, given how he was surrounded by adults who sucked, no reason to turn to any of them anyway. Since Timmy was basically meant to be someone the “average” kid watching could relate to— he was specifically identified as “average” in the theme song— then kids in his situation (backed into a corner with no adults to help) probably would react with some degree of :/ if suddenly a pair of reasonable adults popped up and fixed things for him, because that wasn’t something a kid like him would feel like they could have access to.

(Side note— feel like. C&W do take adult human disguises a few times in the OG series, and ANW states that if they had used that “adult authority” instead of getting up to hijinx, they probably would’ve helped Timmy’s situation change and improve, at least a little)

Plus, Cosmo and Wanda’s default disguises being not just pets, but pets that are famous for “not doing much” is actually pretty genius. Goldfish are famously seen as disposable, cheap, and are often mistreated because “they’ll die soon anyway.” They’re often neglected. They’re given away without a thought. And how many of us have ourselves or had a family member just their corpses down the toilet instead if burying them, without even considering that that’s actually probably not good for your pipes, as if they weren’t part of the family as pets?

While I doubt anyone watching the show as a kid, or even writing for it, thought about this, there’s something poetic about giving the neglected, mistreated kid a famously neglected, mistreated pet, especially when you see how much that kid comes to love and feel loved by said “pets”

Hazel, comparatively, has almost exclusively internal problems — yes she was briefly bullied in her new school, yes she had to face a lot of stressful changes in rapid succession, but she has everything Timmy didn’t: teachers that care, parents that put in effort, friends that stand up for her as much as she stands up for them. She even enters a friend-situationship with the school bully

And yet she still needs Cosmo and Wanda — she gets stuck in her head, she spirals, she’s impulsive. Having loving parents who put an effort into supporting you doesn’t do much when your brain tells you to sneak past them and run away in a city you’ve never been to without a proper plan, especially if they try to give you space to process things and don’t realize you’re gone until hours later

Her problems aren’t actively made worse by the adults/authority figures around her. In fact, she trusts adults, she likes being around them

So… Cosmo and Wanda present themselves as adults when out and about with her. Specifically, while there is basically always a degree of power imbalance between adults and kids, they’re adults that technically have no inherent authority over her. They aren’t her parents or teachers, and they aren’t necessarily acting as her babysitters (they certainly aren’t ever shown being paid to look after her by her parents). They’re the neighbors, an older retired couple with at least one son old enough to live on his own. If, say, Hazel ever got in trouble, she wouldn’t ever be in trouble with them, and they have no legal control over her. If, say, a kid where like Hazel and needed help from an adult, but didn’t feel comfortable going to a guardian or teacher for whatever reason, people like Cosmo and Wanda — trustworthy, experienced adults who live nearby, who she isn’t actually forced to deal with, and who can’t technically legally loophole their way into having a route to continuously abuse their authority like a teacher/guardian/official caretaker could — would be a godsend

(Note — before anyone Um Actuallys, yes, adults that fit this description could still cause harm to a kid. But again, they’re specifically adults she doesn’t have to automatically grant authority to, and therefore can’t necessarily get away with abuse the same way legal guardians or teachers can)

Cosmo and Wanda are basically a backup set of Trustworthy Adults for Hazel to turn to when she doesn’t feel like she can go to her parents or teachers

(Note — this could also be why Peri doesn’t have a Human Disguise: Dev doesn’t have the same trust or faith in adults that Hazel does, and therefore a kid who relates to Dev probably also doesn’t have that trust or faith either. Peri’s default disguise seems to be a pair of headphones— an object that Dev could easily replace if he breaks or loses it and that most people wouldn’t be emotionally attached to. Shoot, Irep’s seems to be a pin — a decoration that’s easily replaced or swapped out, something I know is easy to lose, and like. Raise your hand if you’ve ever accidentally stabbed yourself with one)

There’s been a major cultural shift in stranger danger and attitudes around unattended children over the last 30 years.

When the OG show was coming out, I’m pretty sure Stranger Danger was a rising concern, but a lot of children’s media from around/before that time just had kids wandering around without any adult supervision. Shoot, I remember picking up old copies of Judy Moody or watching old episodes of Arthur, and the main character just walk to the store alone. They buy candy or get ice cream or get haircuts and none of their parents are anywhere to be seen. I know there was still a degree of comfort with kids walking to their friends houses or just being left home alone for a while

Timmy walking around in public, maybe being followed by a pair of pink and green squirrels or carrying colorful pencils but otherwise adultless, probably wouldn’t raise as many eyebrows back then

Nowadays, I can’t think of many parents who’d be comfortable even letting their kid hangout in the front yard unsupervised

When Hazel is out in public without her parents or teachers around, that’s when we see Cosmo and Wanda in their human disguises. The show basically goes out of its way to almost entirely avoid having a scene where a ten year old has no adult supervision while out in regular public spaces. Pretty sure off the top of my head the only times Cosmo and Wanda aren’t in disguise are

A) when Hazel and Dev were doing their homework hunt (note- the buddy system could apply here as Hazel and Dev stayed by each others sides for the most part)

B) when Crocker were chancing them all (note-they were in an enclosed building and her parents were also in the building, even if they were separated) and

C) when they were all pretending to be teenagers (pretty sure most of the parents I’ve interacted with are fine with a teenager being out in public alone, even if only for a short period of time, plus a) all three of them were being teenagers together, so buddy system again and b) Cosmo and Wand were visibly shown to be concerned and distressed when separated from Hazel)

Also, ANW has Cosmo and Wanda specifically introduce themselves to Hazel’s parents, specifically inform them of the fact that they’re also parents, and specifically shows Marcus and Angela getting along with them. If you think about it, ANW is presenting Cosmo and Wanda as trustworthy adults specifically to the parents — they’re meant to come off as the type of adults you’d be relatively comfortable-to-outright trusting around your kids. Angela and Marcus aren’t neglectful or oblivious like Timmy’s parents could be, so it makes sense that they’d probably not be okay with their young kid running around town unsupervised and would want the people supervising their daughter to be adults they felt they could trust

Timmy lives in a house that his parents presumably own, while Hazel lives in an apartment that her parents presumably rent. Apartments/rented homes usually have some sort of rule around pets, while if you own your own home who’s stopping you from getting pets? There’s a possibility that Hazel might live in a pet free apartment or her parents would have to pay pet rent (which you know she’d feel guilty about) or something

#fairly oddparents #fop #fop a new wish #long post #hazel wells #timmy turner #cosmo cosma #wanda fairywinkle cosma #cy meta #broke 100

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arilevenatz · 6 months ago

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Ideal Trip

Pairing: San x reader

Genre: Action, fluff

Word count: 15.2k (💀)

Warnings: San is kinda not a nice man at first, but then he is!, blood, monsters getting mutilated, but it's for like 5 seconds so don't worry.

AN: I legit had a dream of this. This dream happened after crazy form teaser pics dropped and I had this in my drafts for that many days. I hope y'all like this as well. Please consider liking and pls reblog as it motivates me to write more!

Masterlist

The school that we are currently standing in front of is called 'The Ideal School'. Literally, that's it's name. Talk about overestimation. Even though it is called so, it is nothing like your average good school.

You see, it's an old school. Older than I can remember. Heck, my father was a student at this school.

And we came here to give an exam, a Mock test in particular. Some of our friends applied for this. Well, their parents did. And me you ask? I was here because, and these are my mom's words, "you will give the exam because all of your friends are giving it".

Yeah me and dad thought it was bullshit.

But as both of us are scared of her shouting and making the house a circus, I decided to give it.

And so here we are, sitting inside one of the classrooms on the ground floor. My classmates were there, as well as students from other schools.

The walls here are really old, covered in writings that stretch across the walls, doors, and windows. It feels so different from my school, and I can’t help but find it a bit strange.

Time passed and we were just chatting when all of a sudden there was this commotion in the corridor.

Us being curious little kids we went outside. We somehow got to know that a boy has been found sneaking in the canteen and going through the food stash.

I don't know why, but all of us went there. Why? To see the commotion there? Tsk, kids.. where is the canteen?

Reaching the canteen, we saw that the child who had dared to sneak in was being scolded. The teacher was saying something about punishing the kid. The kid, no older than 10, looked traumatized by the screaming teacher.

They are pretty strict with this" I asked one of my friends.

"I wouldn't last a day here" she replied with a chuckle.

I heard one of my other classmates say something but before that a high pitched sound pierced my ears.

My hands instinctively flew to my ears as black spots began to creep into my vision. And then, everything went dark.

Aw come on I came here to give a test not to pass out. Get up you weak ass bitch.

You do wake up, but not where you expect. This isn’t The Ideal. It’s your school. The one four stations away.

What. The. Hell.

The bell rings. The freaking bell.

You try to calm yourself, but panic bubbles up. You’re in your classroom, lying on one of the benches. Groggily, you push yourself up using your elbows and glance around.

Beside you, someone stirs.

“Wake up,” you mutter, shaking her.

“Five more minutes,” she grumbled.

“This isn’t your house! We’re at school!”

“School?!”

She bolt upright, eyes wide and frantic, looking more like a confused puppy than anything else.

The two of you quickly realize you’re in your classroom. Familiar, but something about it feels… off.

“Should we go out?” she ask softly, looking at the door.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

You peek out first. The hallway is unsettlingly quiet. Too quiet. Something feels very, very wrong.

The two of you head to the neighboring classroom, where your other friends sit cluelessly at their desks.

“Surprise, motherfuckers,” you announce.

“Ah!”

“So, what’s the deal?” you ask, ignoring their startled expressions.

“The stork?” one of them jokes, earning her a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

You sigh. "We need to figure this out. Let’s go.”

As the defacto leader of your little group, your friends all look at you for guidance. You don’t remember volunteering for the job, but it’s become second nature by now.

The layout of the school flashes in your mind—there’s the main building, the field, the stage at the far end, and the smaller two-story building beside it, home to the singing room. It’s always been your favorite spot.

Stepping outside, you’re greeted by chaos.

No, worse than chaos. Something you can’t explain.

Students, rows upon rows of them, march silently across the school grounds like lifeless puppets. Their faces are blank, their movements robotic.

And suddenly, you’re alone.

You whirl around. Where are they? Your friends who were just right here. You rack your brain, desperate to remember, but all you get are fragments: the classroom, the field, the students, their uniforms.

But the uniforms are wrong. These kids aren’t wearing your school uniform. They’re dressed in plain white—head to toe.

A chill runs down your spine.

You look down at yourself. Your uniform’s still intact: white shirt, blue skirt, tie. No jacket, though. Why the hell didn’t the school provide winter coats? It’s freezing.

Your breath comes out in shaky puffs as you call out for your friends.

Nothing.

The silent students turn to look at you, their blank faces unnerving.

“What are you looking at?” you mutter, backing away instinctively.

Before you realize it, you’re standing in the middle of the field. How did you get here? Your legs feel like they’re moving on their own.

Your mind races. This has to be a nightmare. Right?

Your feet carry you toward the singing room, up the stairs of the two-story building. Maybe it’s your love for music—or the connection you’ve always had with the music teacher—but something about this place feels… safe.

The door to the music room looms in front of you, larger than usual. Slowly, you push it open.

Inside, your teacher sits at the piano, but something is horribly wrong.

He’s completely black. Not in a racial sense—his entire body is an inky void, like a shadow brought to life. The contrast is so stark it makes your chest tighten.

You stagger back, trying to be as silent as possible, but the universe seems to hate you. Your shoe scrapes against the floor.

The shadow turns to face you.

Your breath catches. For a moment, it doesn’t move. Slowly, you back away, step by step, until you’re near the stairs.

And then, it bolts toward you.

Your legs carry you down the stairs, sprinting as fast as they can. The ‘krt krt’ sound of the thing chasing you sends shivers down your spine.

You run across the field, not daring to look back. The students don’t react, as if this is all normal to them.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you collapse onto the stairs, exhaustion seeping into your bones. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield your face as if it’ll protect you from whatever is coming. The sound of your own ragged breathing fills your ears, but it’s soon overtaken by another noise.

It’s faint at first—a low, guttural growl, followed by the unsettling ‘krt krt’ sound that echoes in your mind. Your chest tightens. You don’t dare look up.

It’s here.

You brace yourself, every nerve in your body screaming for you to move, but your muscles refuse to obey. Your breath catches as the sound grows louder, closer, until you swear you can feel its presence looming over you.

This is it.

And then, it happens.

A sharp, metallic sound slices through the air, followed by an agonized screech that makes your blood run cold. You flinch, instinctively pulling your arms tighter around your head. The screeching stops abruptly, replaced by silence so heavy it feels like the world itself is holding its breath.

When you dare to look up, your eyes widen.

There, standing a few feet away, is someone you’ve never seen before.

The first thing you notice is the knife in his hand—long, sleek, and dripping with blood. The blade glints faintly under the dim light, a cruel contrast to the dark substance staining it.

Then your gaze travels upward.

His silhouette is sharp and commanding, radiating a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He's tall, with a posture that exudes confidence and danger all at once. But it’s his face that steals your breath away—delicate yet fierce, almost otherworldly. His features are so striking it’s hard to tell if he's beautiful or terrifying.

But the most jarring detail is his hair.

Bright fiery red with black highlights, with contrast to his pale face, the colors clash in a way that should look ridiculous but instead feels hauntingly perfect. The contrast is mesmerizing, drawing your eyes like moths to a flame. You don’t even like red, but on them, it feels… powerful.

He glanced down at the lifeless black figure sprawled across the ground, his expression unreadable. Blood pools beneath it, the deep crimson stark against the pale concrete.

For a moment, it’s like time itself has frozen.

Your savior turns, his piercing gaze finally meeting yours.

It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. His eyes—sharp, unyielding—cut through you like the blade they wield. There’s something chilling about the way he looks at you, as if he's staring straight into your soul.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

Before you can process what’s happening, he turns away.

“Wait!” you call out, scrambling to your feet despite the ache in your legs.

He doesn't stop.

You stumble forward, your mind racing with a thousand questions. Who is he? How did he know you were here? What even was that thing he just killed?

But before you can take another step, something cold wraps around your ankle, yanking you down with a force that sends you crashing to the ground.

The floor wasn’t soft, and neither was your chin. Pain radiated through your jaw as you lay there, groaning. “It hurts like a bitch,” you muttered, clutching your face.

When you glanced down, though, any complaints about the fall evaporated.

There, gripping your ankle, was a dismembered hand.

Cold, pale fingers dug into your skin, unmoving, yet somehow alive.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, raw and uncontrolled. You kicked instinctively, but it held firm. Panic rose, choking you, as you clawed at the ground to pull yourself away.

Before you could react further, like a thunderbolt, the guy reappeared. He raised the blade high and brought it down with a sickening crunch.

Again.

And again.

The hand was reduced to a mushy, unrecognizable mess as he hacked at it relentlessly. Blood splattered across the floor and your legs, and the wet, squelching noise made bile rise in your throat.

“Stop! Stop, it’s gone!” you wanted to scream, but your voice refused to come.

Finally, he crouched down, prying the mangled remains from your ankle. His fingers worked quickly, efficiently, peeling the cold digits away.

He stood up, wiping the blood from his hands on his pants, and turned to leave without a word.

“Wait!”

Your voice cracked, desperate, but it was enough to make him stop.

He froze, mid-step, but didn’t turn around.

Scrambling to your feet, you dusted yourself off and stumbled after him.

“Excuse me, mister!” you called, your voice trembling. “Can you please tell me how to get out of here?”

He turned then, slowly, and his gaze locked onto yours. He was taller than you by at least half a head, and his dark eyes bore an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You…” His voice was deep, rough around the edges. “How are you talking?”

You blinked. Is he high or something?

“What?”

“And your clothes,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “They’re different. Have you… escaped the process?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped, your frustration mounting. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Are you from this school?” His tone sharpened, almost accusing. “Answer me.”

“Yes, but—”

Before you could finish, his hand shot out and grabbed your arm.

His grip was like iron, unyielding, and he started dragging you forward without hesitation.

“Hey!” you yelped, tugging at his hand. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled against his hold. “Listen, mister! I don’t know what’s going on, okay? I just woke up here, and I don’t know what the hell happened! Please, let me go!”

He stopped abruptly, spinning around to face you. His piercing gaze made your stomach churn.

“So…” He spoke slowly, as if piecing something together. “You haven’t been processed.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

His eyes raked over you, up and down.

Did he just check me out? you thought, outraged. Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound of the police!

“Follow me,” he said curtly, turning away.

You stood your ground. “No. How do I know I can trust you?”

He chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “Do you see anyone else here you trust more?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Damn. He had a point.

“My name is San,” he offered. “What’s yours?”

You hesitated.

“It’s fine if you don’t trust me yet,” he added, almost kindly. “But if you want to survive, you’ll follow me.”

Against your better judgment, you nodded. Your questions could wait—surviving took priority.

As you walked behind him, you glanced down at your legs and winced. Blood streaked your socks and shoes, the sticky warmth making your stomach churn.

Noticing your hesitation, San spoke without looking back. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

“Huh? Oh, the men’s bathroom is—”

“Does gender matter?” he interrupted. “Just tell me the closest one.”

You sighed and led him to the bathroom in the main building. He pushed the door open and strode inside, heading straight for the sink.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing at the ground in front of him.

You hesitated. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, you stepped closer.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” he instructed.

“What? Why?”

“They’re covered in blood,” he said simply. “And if ‘they’ track us by your bloody footprints?”

You swallowed hard. “who are they?”

His lips quirked, almost amused. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, confused and unnerved.

“Take them off,” he said again. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

Grumbling under your breath, you crouched down, slipping off your shoes and socks, your fingers trembling slightly. San grabbed them and rinsed the shoes under the tap.

“The socks are ruined,” he muttered, tossing them aside.

He straightened up and glanced at you. “Wait here.”

Before you could protest, he was gone.

As the silence pressed down on you, the weight of your situation finally hit. You slumped onto the edge of the sink counter, your legs weak.

What if you never got out of here?

“Are you okay?”

San’s voice startled you, and you looked up to see him holding a pair of sneakers.

“They’re not your size, but they’ll have to do,” he said, handing them to you.

You slid off the counter and slipped them on. They were too big, but at least they were clean.

“Let’s go,” he said, heading for the door.

Something about him felt off��his protectiveness, his calm demeanor in the face of chaos. Why was he helping you?

You didn’t know, but for now, you decided to trust him. You didn’t have much of a choice.

San was overjoyed. Even the strongest word for happiness couldn’t capture the overwhelming elation surging through him.

He had found a human. A real, living human—someone other than himself. And not just any human, but a student from the very school they stood in.

Finally, he could go back to his family.

Well, a makeshift family, but a family nonetheless.

A group of people who had taught him that the blood of the covenant truly was thicker than the water of the womb.

He cherished them, loved them, and would do anything to protect them. Most of all, he missed them.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to grab this girl and force her to unlock the path. He could taste freedom—it was right there within his grasp.

But San was no brute. He prided himself on being patient and calculating. He’d use this girl the right way, ensuring they both got out safely.

Still, a pang of guilt gnawed at him. She wasn’t just a tool; she was just as lost as he was, maybe even more so. Her confusion and fear were written all over her face.

But a man had to do what a man had to do.

“Hongjoong hyung,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible, “I’m coming home. Just wait a little longer.”

The sound of his own voice brought a small chuckle to his lips. Damn, I must sound like a lunatic, talking to myself like this. But it didn’t matter. He had a plan, and nothing would stop him now.

---

I had been walking for what felt like an eternity. Either this guy was playing some elaborate prank on me, or he really did live on the other side of the universe.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, we stopped in front of a room.

I recognized it immediately—this used to be the teachers’ lounge.

Now, though, it looked like he had claimed it as his own.

The room was cluttered but strangely organized. In one corner, several of those stark white uniforms the kids outside were wearing hung in neat rows.

The shelves, once filled with papers and notebooks, were now stocked with weapons and strange equipment I couldn’t identify.

A large table occupied one corner, covered in maps, papers, and a small computer that looked like it had been swiped from the computer lab.

On the opposite side, there was a pile of clothes and a small mattress on the floor. A mattress. Since when did our school have those? Where did he even get it?

“It’s getting late. You should sleep,” he said, his tone casual.

I stayed rooted at the doorway. The thought of sleeping in the same room as a man—a man I had just met—made my skin crawl.

“I don’t want to,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Okay, then don’t,” he said, shrugging as he made his way to the mattress.

And that was it. Just like that.

Feeling slightly foolish, I shuffled over to a chair by the table and sat down. That’s when I realized just how cold it was. My legs were freezing, and my arms weren’t faring much better.

I curled up in the chair, hugging my knees in a futile attempt to stay warm.

I just wanted to sleep—sleep and maybe never wake up.

“You can wear my jacket,” his voice broke the silence.

Startled, I glanced at him. He wasn’t even looking at me, his arm draped over his eyes as he lay on the mattress.

“Is it washed?” I asked skeptically.

He let out a low chuckle. “Seriously? That’s your first concern? You’re freezing, and you’re worried about whether it’s clean?”

“Well, yeah,” I muttered.

“Do you want it or not?”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” I said, too cold to argue further.

Wrapped in his jacket, I was finally warm. The thick material cocooned me, and the lingering scent of something earthy—him—filled my senses.

It was so comforting that, before I knew it, I had passed out, slumped over the table with my arms folded under my head.

"Bro, I think San has company."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

Inside a makeshift room—cramped and chaotic with tables, equipment, holo screens, and all the clutter that a group of overgrown boys would gather—two figures were hard at work.

One of them, silver-haired and deeply focused, sat hunched over his task. Across the room, a black-haired guy with glasses was multitasking, eating a chocolate bar while working with one hand.

"Geez, stop eating while working, Wooyoung."

"I do what I fucking want, Yunho."

Yunho rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet "whatever" before cupping his hands around his mouth like someone yelling into a canyon.

"I think San has companyyy!" he sang in a childish tone.

Immediately, there was the sound of something crashing. Yunho looked up to see Wooyoung scrambling over boxes to get to him.

“What the fuck do you mean, bro?"

"Don't believe me? Just watch."

Wooyoung peered at the hologram and saw it: a red dot labeled "San," but beside it, another red dot marked "Unknown."

"You think it's a processed kid?" Wooyoung asked hesitantly.

"Doesn't seem like it. If it was processed, San wouldn’t let it stay in his room for long."

"True..."

"Hello, hello."

The two boys turned toward the door, where two figures entered the room. The first, a man with brown hair in a suit, strode in confidently. Behind him, a taller man with black hair streaked with light brown highlights followed, also suited up, both with guns in hand.

"Did you kill them, Mingi?" Yunho asked.

"Ask the maknae."

"For the love of god, hyung, I’m old enough! Stop babying me," the younger one whined, despite his protests sounding anything but mature.

"Jongho-ya, did you kill them like Hongjoong hyung asked?" Wooyoung teased, giggling.

"Yes," Jongho replied proudly.

"Aww, our Jongho’s all grown up! Come here and give hyung a hug!" Wooyoung exclaimed opening his arms and skipping toward the youngest.

"Nuh-uh, hyung. I’ve got a gun in my hand. I will rat ta-ta-ta you up."

"Wooyoung, calm down!" Yunho scolded.

While the three bickered, Mingi moved to the hologram and stared at it.

"Um, I don’t know much about your holo stuff, but I’m pretty sure someone’s in San’s room right now."

The three of them stopped, looking at him in disbelief.

"What? Am I not allowed to be smart?"

"No, it’s not that, hyung. It’s just...you were never smart to begin with," Jongho muttered, earning nods of agreement from Yunho and Wooyoung.

"Wow, the disrespect! I just helped you kill those players!"

"Okay, but jokes aside," Yunho said with urgency, "San really does have someone in his room. Should we tell Hongjoong hyung and Seonghwa hyung?"

"Tell me what?"

Speak of the devil.

Hongjoong entered the room, light brown hair slightly tousled. Though shorter than the others, his aura made it impossible to underestimate him. He was flanked by Seonghwa, the group’s oldest and de facto mom, and Yeosang, who had green hair with black stripes. Although he looked like a Greek statue, his strength is not to be underestimated.

"Tell me what, Yunho?" Hongjoong asked again, his voice firm.

"San has some company," Wooyoung blurted out.

"Ooh, really?" Yeosang chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yes," Yunho confirmed, walking toward the hologram and shooing Mingi aside as the others crowded around him. "If you look at this red dot, you’ll see it says 'Unknown,' which means there’s an unidentified entity with San. It could be someone processed, but honestly, I doubt it. San’s not that reckless."

"I mean, he kinda is," Seonghwa remarked dryly.

"Aren’t you all?" Jongho muttered, earning glares.

"Enough, everyone," Hongjoong commanded. "Let’s focus. Wooyoung, Yunho, can we contact San right now?"

"We could," Wooyoung said hesitantly, "but wouldn’t that alert the other person?"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said slowly, "our priority is to ensure San comes back safely, whatever it takes. Let’s not overthink it."

"Okay, then I’ll—"

A sudden piercing sound emanated from the hologram. Yunho’s fingers flew over the controls as he opened a new tab, revealing San’s face. He was trying to contact them.

When San woke up, it was dark outside. He looked around, and the girl was still fast asleep, slumped over the table like a rock.

He walked toward the table and sat across from her, then grabbed the computer and started typing away quickly. He had recently found a way to communicate with his family, but it was only for a limited time.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hello San! Got company?"

Straight to the point, just like his best friend.

"Kinda, yeah."

"Who is it, San?" came the voice of the leader, one of his hyungs.

"A girl."

"OoooOooo—"

"Please shut up wooyoung"

"San, why do you have a random girl in your nook?" Seonghwa, the oldest, asked, his voice stern.

"Hyung, guys... she’s from this school."

A brief silence followed. No one spoke, waiting for their captain's response. Soon, a sinister grin spread across the captain's face, sending an eerie vibe through the room.

"Well, tell me more about her, San."

---

Ugh, I hate waking up.

I stirred awake to the sound of rustling clothes. Looking up, I saw, surprise, surprise, that guy again.

San. I still don’t trust him. At least he didn’t do anything while I was asleep.

He was rummaging through the white outfits stacked in the corner.

He suddenly turned, as if he could sense me watching him. "You should wear this," he said, holding up one of the outfits.

"What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?" I replied, feeling petty.

"Sure, if you want to get attacked by a processed, be my guest." He put the outfit back in its place.

Ever since I met this guy, he’s been going on and on about these “processed” things. What the hell even are they?

"I mean to ask… what is this processed thing you keep mentioning?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, then said, "Wear this. I’ll tell you as we venture out."

---

The outfit turned out to be surprisingly comfy. It was flexible and looked good too.

It was basically a white shirt, with a white jacket and a hood over it, paired with white trousers. Pretty neat.

We were walking down the stairs when he suddenly started speaking.

"This world is a post-apocalyptic world."

Well, that’s one way to start a conversation.

"The government wants to create emotionless puppets to work for them. This world is basically full of puppets—no talking, no expressing, and most importantly..."

I looked at him, waiting. What was he going to say?

"...no music or dance."

If this was a text conversation, I would’ve sent the crickets emoji. There’s no way in hell this man just said that.

"No… music?" I asked, my voice timid.

"Yes, no music. No dance either. My family and I have been trying to bring fun back into this world. But because of some technical issues, I had to stay here."

"So, you’re staying here for a reason?"

"Yes," San said, the lies sliding off his tongue. He didn’t have a choice. To go back, he had to lie. For his plan to work, he had to lie. Did he feel bad? Who knew. The process had almost taken his emotions away, but he escaped at the right time. "And since you’re here alone, why don’t you help me with my task?"

Okay, so he sounds sketchy, but it makes sense. Damn, this is harder than choosing which album to buy, and that shit is hard...

Okay, maybe he’s starting to become a little more tolerable.

"What kind of help?"

"For now, stop being a whiny kid and listen to me."

I take back everything I just said—this guy is still a bitch.

"I’m not whiny."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I looked around and realized we were on the ground floor, near the gate of the field. It felt so strange to see it so empty.

The emptiness of the field stretched out before you, its silence almost deafening. The once-familiar grounds now felt like a foreign, lifeless expanse, devoid of the chatter, laughter, and energy that used to fill it.

San kept walking ahead, his posture straight and his steps confident, as though he had a destination in mind. You, however, lingered near the gate, staring at the field, a strange ache forming in your chest.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder, his tone clipped. "We don't have time to waste."

Reluctantly, you followed, your footsteps echoing against the eerily quiet surroundings.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence. "This whole 'no music, no dance' thing... It sounds ridiculous. How does anyone even live like that?"

"They don’t. They survive," San replied without looking back.

The words hit harder than you expected. "What do you mean?"

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to hold a depth of pain that made your stomach churn.

"I mean exactly that," he said. "The processed aren’t alive. They’re shells of people, controlled, used. No thoughts of their own, no emotions. Just... tools."

You shivered, though it wasn’t cold. "That’s horrifying."

"It is." His voice softened, just slightly. "That’s why my family and I were trying to change things. Music and dance... they’re not just entertainment. They’re freedom. Expression. Resistance."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time since meeting him, you saw a glimpse of something more—a passion, a purpose that made him seem less like a cold, calculated stranger and more like someone who truly cared.

"But why you?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. "Why stay behind? Why not someone else?"

San hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

"It wasn’t supposed to be me," he admitted quietly. "But plans don’t always work out. Someone had to stay, and I was the only one who could.”

San lied straight through his teeth, the words slipping out with practiced ease. But deep down, a twinge of guilt gnawed at him. He hated deceiving you, especially when you looked at him with cautious curiosity, as though weighing whether to believe him.

He justified it to himself—he didn’t have a choice. If he told you the truth, that he was here because of a mishap, because things hadn’t gone according to plan, you’d never trust him. And trust was what he needed from you. Without it, his chances of getting back to his family, his real purpose, would slip away.

So, he buried the guilt and steeled his resolve.

You didn’t notice the flicker of hesitation in his gaze as he spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "Helping me is the only way to survive here," he said. "Together, we can fix this world, bring back what’s been lost."

He sounded convincing, even to himself. And when you nodded, still wary but willing to listen, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

But as the two of you walked through the quiet expanse, San’s mind drifted back to the faces of his family, their smiles, their laughter. He thought of the nights spent planning, dreaming of a world where music and dance weren’t forbidden.

He clenched his fists. Lying to you wasn’t just for him—it was for them, for everything they were fighting for. He couldn’t afford to feel guilty. Not yet.

San’s mind was racing as he led you through the eerily quiet halls of the school. He knew one thing, which was informed to him prior by the captain. The principal’s office held the item he needed—the key to returning to his realm, to his family. But there was one problem: he couldn’t enter it himself. The rules of this world were annoyingly rigid—only a student or a staff member of the school could access the office.

And that meant he needed you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you followed, your expression a mix of confusion and determination. You had no idea how critical you were to his plan. Yet, despite his guilt over using you, there was no other choice.

“The principal’s office…” he began, breaking the silence. “Do you even know where it is?”

You nod your head.

San looked relieved “That'll make things easy”

You look at him, gesturing around. “Half of here looks like it’s been taken over by… whatever you call those things.”

“Processed,” San corrected. “And they’ll make reaching the office more complicated.”

You stopped walking, folding your arms as suspicion flickered in your eyes. “Why do you even need to go there? What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully. “It’s something that could help us. Something that might give us a chance to survive in this place.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

After a few minutes of standing in silence he breaks it “We need to go somewhere to get a little information first. It's for me if you're wondering”

“Library, maybe?” you suggested.

“Good idea,” he agreed. “But the library is likely crawling with processed. We’ll have to be careful.”

The path to the library wasn’t easy. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally along the walls, and faint, distorted murmurs echoed through the corridors. San moved with sharp, calculated precision, motioning for you to stay close.

At one point, you almost stepped on a loose tile, but San’s arm shot out, pulling you back just as a processed shuffled by, its vacant eyes scanning the hall. The two of you froze, your breath shallow as you pressed against the wall.

The position was simply vulnerable. San’s back pressed against the wall, while yours was pressed against his chest. His one hand wrapped tightly around the front of your shoulders. Another hand held onto the knife.

Once the danger passed, you whispered, “How do you know so much about avoiding them?”

San hesitated for a moment, then replied smoothly, “I’ve been here long enough to learn their patterns. Stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”

Finally, you reached the library. The massive double doors loomed before you, slightly ajar. Inside, the faint glow of flickering lights revealed rows of dusty shelves and scattered books.

But you both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. San stepped forward, scanning the room. “Stay alert,” he warned. “The processed aren’t the only thing to worry about in places like this.”

“What else is there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” he muttered, his hand subtly resting on the dagger strapped to his side.

The moment you entered, the library twisted into a neon-lit maze of mirrors, the air turned cold, suffocating, like the maze itself was alive and hostile. The mirrors stretched endlessly, reflecting an infinite number of you—and none of them felt right.

“San?” you called out, panic lacing your voice.

No response.

“SAN!” This time, your voice cracked, raw and desperate.

Then you heard it—a low, guttural hiss, like the sound of something primal awakening. Your heart leapt to your throat as a shadow shifted in the reflection, something dark and unnatural slithering behind the glass.

The black void creatures emerged, their shapeless forms twisting grotesquely as they crawled from the reflections into your reality. Their hollow, inky eyes locked onto you with an intensity that froze your blood.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, adrenaline flooding your system. You bolted down the corridor of mirrors, each step echoing with a deafening clarity. The neon lights flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows of the creatures chasing you.

Behind you, the whispers started—low, distorted murmurs that seemed to claw at your sanity. They grew louder, overlapping, forming a cacophony of voices that sent shivers down your spine.

The maze twisted and shifted with every step you took, the mirrors rearranging themselves as if mocking your attempt to escape. You turned a corner and nearly collided with a reflection of yourself. But it wasn’t you—it was something else, something hollow-eyed and smiling eerily.

You screamed and turned the other way, but the creatures were gaining on you, their movements unnaturally fluid, like shadows dragged against their will.

“SAN!” you screamed, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your face.

“I’m here!” His voice rang out, faint and distant, but it was there.

Your chest heaved as you pushed forward, your feet pounding against the mirrored floor. You glanced back and instantly regretted it. The creatures were right behind you, their forms flickering and writhing like living nightmares. One of them lunged, its clawed appendage slicing through the air just inches from your shoulder.

A burst of neon light blinded you as you stumbled forward, crashing into a mirrored wall. The surface rippled under your touch, distorting your reflection. You turned, back pressed against the glass, as the creatures closed in.

The largest of them, a towering mass of void and shadow, loomed over you. Its hollow eyes burned with a hunger you couldn’t comprehend. Its whispers turned into a deafening roar as it lunged.

“NO!” you screamed, bracing for the impact.

But then the mirror behind you shattered, and an arm shot through the jagged shards, yanking you back with a force that knocked the breath out of you.

You tumbled to the ground, landing hard on the other side of the mirror. The air was different here, colder but less oppressive.

“Got you,” San’s voice came, low and fierce. His grip on your wrist was unyielding, and his eyes burned with determination.

“San!” you gasped, tears blurring your vision.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his tone sharp and commanding.

The creatures weren’t done. They began slipping through the shattered mirror, their forms reforming with a horrifying fluidity. San pulled you to your feet, his gaze darting around, calculating.

“We’re not safe yet,” he said, his voice tight. “Run!”

He pulled you along as the creatures poured into the new corridor, their shrieks echoing through the maze. You ran as fast as you could, San leading the way, his grip never faltering.

Suddenly, you both turned a corner and saw it—a door at the far end of the maze. Relief surged through you, but your hope was quickly dashed. The door wasn’t ordinary; it was made entirely of thick, reinforced glass.

San stopped beside you, his face set in grim determination. "We’re almost there. Keep moving!" he barked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along.

The creatures shrieked behind you, their distorted forms growing closer with every second. You both skidded to a halt in front of the glass door, and San quickly examined it.

“It’s locked!” you gasped, panic rising in your throat.

“Not for long,” San muttered.

“Huh?”

Without hesitation, he stepped back, his fists clenching. Then, with a guttural yell, he slammed his fist into the glass. A web of cracks splintered across its surface, but it didn’t shatter.

The creatures were nearly upon you, their whispers turning into a deafening roar. San didn’t stop. He struck the glass again, this time with everything he had, and the door exploded into shards with a thunderous crash.

“Go!” he shouted, grabbing you by the waist.

“Wait—what are you—”

Before you could protest, San lifted you effortlessly and hurled you through the opening. You landed on the other side with a thud, scrambling to your feet just in time to see him climb up the jagged edges of the broken door, the neon lights behind him casting an almost heroic glow around his figure.

San leapt through, landing in a crouch beside you as the creatures clawed at the shattered remains of the glass. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up.

“Run,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Together, you sprinted away from the maze, the sounds of the creatures fading behind you as the two of you finally escaped its horrifying grasp.

Both of you stumbled out of the maze, panting heavily. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the mirrors behind you shimmered and collapsed inward, dissolving into nothingness. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound being the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

San slammed his fist against the nearest wall, his jaw clenched tight. “Damn it! We failed!” His voice echoed through the empty library.

You flinched at his tone, but you didn’t blame him. After everything you had been through, it was hard to come to terms with failure.

San ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “All of that, and we still don’t know what I needed to know. We’re wasting time we don’t have!” His eyes darkened, a rare glimpse of despair flashing through them.

You were about to try and console him when something caught your attention—a slight weight in your pocket that wasn’t there before. Your hand slipped inside, and your fingers brushed against the edges of a piece of paper.

“What the…” you murmured, pulling it out. It was old, almost fragile, the edges yellowed as if it had existed for decades. Strange symbols and scrawled writing adorned its surface.

“San,” you called softly. He didn’t respond, too busy pacing angrily.

“San,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

“What?” he snapped, turning to you, his eyes sharp.

You held up the paper. “I found this in my pocket.”

His expression shifted from irritation to confusion. He stepped closer, snatching the paper from your hand and scanning it quickly. His eyes widened as he read, his grip on the paper tightening.

“This… this is it,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

“What is it?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

San pointed to a phrase written in bold near the bottom of the page: “The Key to Realms: Chromer.”

“It says the key we’re looking for isn’t a traditional key. It’s a sand clock,” San explained, his voice filled with sudden urgency. “A sand clock called Chromer. And it’s in the principal’s office.”

Your brows furrowed. “A sand clock? Why would something like that be the key to anything?”

“It’s not just any sand clock,” San replied, his tone deadly serious. “The Chromer is a relic that connects dimensions. It’s what I need to go back to my realm. This is the information we were searching for.”

You both stared at the paper, the weight of its significance settling over you.

“But how did it get in my pocket?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

San shook his head, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know. Someone—or something—wanted us to have this. Whatever force controls this place isn’t done with us yet.”

The two of you exchanged a glance, the reality of the situation sinking in. The journey was far from over. If anything, it had just begun.

The hallways stretched endlessly ahead, dim and cold, as if life had been sucked out of the building. The air felt heavier with every step, and the faint echoes of your hurried footsteps reverberated eerily. San walked ahead, his shoulders tense but his movements calculated and sure.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop glancing nervously over your shoulder. The memory of those void-like attackers from the maze haunted you, and your gut told you they weren’t done yet.

“Stay close,” San said over his shoulder, his voice low.

You nodded, clutching your jacket tighter as if it could shield you. Suddenly, a shiver ran down your spine—an unnatural chill that made your skin prickle. Before you could react, a guttural sound tore through the silence.

They were back.

Out of the shadows, black void-like figures materialized, their featureless forms surging toward you. But this time, something was off. They weren’t even glancing at San. All their focus was on you.

“San!” you screamed, backing up instinctively.

San turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. “Why the hell are they only after you?” he muttered, stepping in front of you.

One of the figures lunged, and he swatted it away effortlessly with his arm. “Just stay behind me!”

“I’m trying!” you yelled, dodging another swipe from one of the creatures.

Despite his best efforts, they kept finding ways around him, their movements unnervingly quick and calculated. San could only defend so much, and his frustration was mounting.

“You need to fight back!” he barked, slashing through one of the attackers with a weapon he’d conjured from seemingly nowhere.

“I don’t know how to fight!” you snapped, ducking as another creature swiped at your head. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

“Then run smarter!” San shouted, his voice strained. “Don’t just run blindly—watch their movements!”

Easy for him to say. You scrambled to your feet after nearly tripping over yourself, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The creatures weren’t slowing down. One lunged at you from the side, and you barely managed to dodge, crashing against the wall.

“Damn it!” San growled. He lunged forward, grabbed your arm, and yanked you toward him. “Stay close—closer!”

He practically dragged you down the hallway, his speed making it hard for you to keep up. His movements were fluid, each strike precise as he knocked away the attackers that got too close.

Still, they came.

Another void-like figure lunged directly at you, faster than the others. You couldn’t move in time. But just as its claws were about to reach you, San spun around, shielding you with his body. The creature’s attack hit him squarely in the back.

San didn’t even flinch.

“San!” you gasped.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, slashing the creature to nothingness. “But you won’t be if you don’t stop being a damn target.”

“I’m not trying to be a target!” you shot back, the fear making your voice crack.

San sighed heavily, glancing at the path ahead. “We’re almost there. You just have to survive a little longer.”

“That’s not very comforting!” you hissed.

He didn’t respond, instead focusing on cutting a path through the swarm of attackers. The principal’s office was just up ahead, its door faintly illuminated like a beacon.

“Run!” he commanded, pushing you forward.

With every ounce of strength you had, you sprinted toward the door. The attackers closed in, but San was right behind you, clearing a path and yelling for you to keep moving.

You reached the door, slamming your hands against its cold surface. It wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked!” you shouted, panic surging.

“Move!” San barked, his voice sharp. He didn’t hesitate, driving his fist into the glass pane. It shattered instantly, the shards spraying everywhere. Without a second thought, he gripped you around the waist and hoisted you up.

“Go through!” he demanded, lifting you through the broken opening and onto the other side.

You scrambled over, your heart still racing. San quickly followed, vaulting through the broken glass. He landed beside you, his chest heaving.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the chaos behind you finally falling silent. Then San glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“You’re alive,” he said simply, his tone more relieved than he let on.

“Barely,” you muttered, collapsing against the wall.

He smirked faintly, brushing glass dust off his clothes. “Good enough.”

Your legs felt like jelly, your lungs burned from the constant running, and every part of you was screaming to stop. The fear, the chaos—it was all too much. You pressed your back against the wall, glaring at San as he dusted himself off like nothing had happened.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you snapped, your voice trembling with exhaustion and frustration. “This is insane, San! I’m not some fighter, I’m just... I’m just a student who got stuck in this nightmare!”

San turned to you, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his words.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” he finally said, his voice calm but firm. “But we don’t have a choice. You’re my only shot at fixing this mess, and I’m your only shot at surviving it.”

You scoffed, throwing up your hands. “Great pep talk, really. But I’m done, San. I can’t keep running and almost dying every five minutes!”

Instead of arguing, he pulled out his watch. The faint, flickering blue light of the device illuminated his face as he fiddled with it.

“What are you doing now?” you asked, exasperated.

“Calling my family,” he said simply, his tone uncharacteristically soft.

The watch buzzed faintly, then a holographic screen popped up, displaying blurry but familiar faces. You recognized one of them immediately—the leader, Hongjoong, with his sharp eyes and commanding presence.

“San,” Hongjoong’s voice came through, clear and steady. “You’re still alive.”

“Barely,” San muttered, glancing at you. “I’ve got her with me. We made it out of the maze, but things are getting worse. The attackers are targeting her now.”

“Why her?” Seonghwa’s voice chimed in, his tone calm but laced with concern.

“I don’t know,” San admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s making everything ten times harder.”

Another voice cut in—Wooyoung’s. “Maybe she’s got something they want? Or maybe she just smells like fresh prey.”

“Wooyoung, not helpful,” Yunho interjected.

You felt scared. Being in the mercy of these unknown and certainly shady men. He can do whatever he wants to you. It all came down like a mirror shattering. Ironic

“Look,” San continued, ignoring the bickering, “we’re on our way to the principal’s office. We think the key—the Chromer—is there. But it’s getting harder to move without drawing attention.”

“You need to keep her safe, San,” Hongjoong said, his voice firm but an underlying meaning present. “Whatever it takes.”

San’s jaw tightened. “I know that, hyung.”

You sat quietly, watching the exchange. It was clear that these people weren’t just his team—they were his family, and their concern for him was genuine.

“San,” a new voice broke in, deeper and more commanding. It was Jongho. “Do you think she can handle it?”

San glanced at you, his eyes searching your face. “She’ll have to.”

Your heart sank at his words. He wasn’t wrong, but the weight of it felt crushing. You wanted to argue, to tell them all that you weren’t cut out for this. But something about the way San looked at you—determined yet oddly reassuring—made you hold your tongue.

“Stay in contact,” Hongjoong said. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

The hologram flickered and disappeared, leaving you and San in the dim light of the hallway.

He slipped the watch back onto his wrist and turned to you. “I know this is hard,” he said quietly, his voice softer than before. “But we’re almost there. Just a little longer, okay?”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But all you saw was determination—and maybe, just maybe, a hint of trust.

“Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the wall. “But if I die, I’m haunting you forever.”

San smirked faintly. “Fair deal.”

As San and you finally found the door to the principal's office, you both stopped in front of it. The door was large, dark, and imposing, a heavy weight hanging in the air as you both stared at it.

San’s eyes locked onto you, his face tense. “You need to go in there. The Chromer is in that office, and it’s the only thing that can get me back to my realm. You have to do this.”

You hesitated, feeling the fear creep into your chest. “I... I can’t, San. What if something happens to me in there? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not like you. I can’t fight.”

San’s frustration was palpable, his fists clenching as his tone grew more urgent. “We don’t have time for hesitation. You have to go in there and get it. Do you understand?”

You took a step back, heart pounding. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. I’ve never been strong enough.”

Before San could reply, the watch on his wrist buzzed, and Hongjoong’s calm voice came through.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said, his tone reassuring yet firm, “we know you’re scared. But you have to do this. San needs you.”

Next, Seonghwa spoke up, his voice gentle but steady. “You might not think you’re strong, but you are. You’ve already done more than most people could ever imagine. You’ve come this far, haven’t you? That’s strength.”

You felt a sense of warmth from their words, but the fear still held you tight. Then you heard Jongho’s voice, clear and strong, cutting through the fog of doubt in your mind.

“Listen to me,” Jongho said, his voice carrying that same unwavering confidence. “You’re not alone. We’re all right here, cheering you on. I know it’s scary, but I believe in you. We all do.”

A slight shift in San’s demeanor caught your attention as he stared at you. His frustration softened, replaced by a look of understanding.

"Jongho's right," San added, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. “I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t believe in you too. You’ve got this.”

The weight of their words, their unwavering belief in you, was enough to start dissolving the fear. You didn’t want to disappoint them—especially not San.

Yeosang’s voice cut in next, surprising in its warmth. “You’re stronger than you think. You can do this. We’re right here with you. One step at a time. Just trust yourself.”

Mingi chimed in with his usual confidence, “And if you need any backup, we’ve got your back. We’re with you every step of the way.”

Wooyoung added his usual teasing tone, “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, trust me. Now go show us what you’ve got.”

With each of their voices echoing in your mind, you felt the weight of your fear start to lift. You weren’t alone in this. They were all behind you.

You took a deep breath, summoning the courage you didn’t even know you had. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice steadier than before. “I’ll do it. I’ll go in.”

San’s expression softened, a quiet gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

You gave him a small nod, looking back at the door. The fear was still there, but now there was determination too. You weren’t just doing this for yourself—you were doing it for San and his family. And that made all the difference.

You stepped up to the door, your hand shaking slightly as you reached for the cold handle. Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned it, pushing the door open slowly. With one last glance at San, you stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever waited inside.

San and you stood in front of the principal’s office. It looked imposing, with dark, heavy wooden doors that had a strange energy about them. The air felt thick, as if something was lurking just beyond those doors.

San, his face tense with anticipation, turned to you. “You have to go in. We don’t have time to waste.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I can’t... What if something happens to me? What if I get caught?” Your heart raced, fear creeping up your spine. You didn’t want to be the weak link, but the thought of stepping into that office alone was overwhelming.

San’s jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. His patience, usually so steady, was starting to crack. “We don’t have a choice! You’re the only one who can get in there. You’re the student. I’m not allowed in.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you muttered, looking away, unable to meet his gaze.

The tension in the air thickened. San’s hands clenched at his sides, his fingers twitching as if he was on the verge of snapping. But before he could say anything, his watch buzzed to life, and the voice of his captain echoed in the silence.

“San, calm down,” Hongjoong’s voice came through, cool and authoritative. “Let her breathe. You know she’s scared.”

San’s eyes hardened as he spoke through clenched teeth. “But we need this, hyung. We can’t afford to fail now.”

“I know,” Hongjoong responded. “But you can’t push her. You’ve trained with her, you know what she’s capable of. Give her a moment. We can’t force her to go in, but we can help her understand why it’s important.”

San's gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, seeing the fear written all over your face. He let out a slow breath and then spoke, his tone more gentle this time. “Look, I know it’s terrifying. But you’re not alone. We’re all here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. You just have to trust me, and trust yourself.”

You felt the weight of his words, but still, doubt lingered in your mind. “What if it’s too dangerous?”

Hongjoong’s voice came again, more insistent. “It is dangerous, but do you want to know what’s even more dangerous? The alternative. We don’t know how much time we have. You’re the key to all of this, and you can’t let fear stand in the way now.”

San stepped closer, his eyes unwavering. “We’ll get through this together. But you need to go in. Do it for us. For you. And for what’s right.”

You hesitated, but then San’s words sunk in. He was right. The fear that had held you back was still there, but so was the determination. You had come this far. You couldn’t turn back now.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

San’s expression softened with relief, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “Thank you.” He stepped back, his eyes fixed on the door. “I’ll be right here. Just get what we need.”

With a final look at him, you reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed it open. The darkness inside was almost suffocating, but you stepped in, ready to face whatever came next.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you could hear San’s voice, faint but comforting, echoing through the hallway. “You’ve got this.”

You pushed the door open, the sound of it creaking in the silence. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with rows of old bookshelves lining the walls. A desk stood in the center, cluttered with papers and objects that looked ancient and important. The air felt heavy with a strange energy, the kind that made your skin tingle and your heart race.

Your eyes scanned the room, and that’s when you saw it—the sand clock, sitting on a pedestal in the far corner. The chromer. It glowed faintly, its sands moving impossibly slow inside the glass.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath as you walked towards it. Each step felt like it was pulling you deeper into the unknown. This was it. This was the key. You could feel its power, like it was calling to you, urging you to take it.

You reached the pedestal, hesitating for just a moment. Was this really happening? Was this how you were going to help San? You had no idea how this sand clock worked, but you didn’t have a choice. You picked it up gently, feeling the cool glass under your fingers. The sand inside swirled, almost like it had a life of its own.

Just as you turned to leave, you heard a faint creak of the floor behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you spun around, instinctively clutching the chromer tighter. But it was only the wind. There was no one else in the room, nothing to worry about—at least, for now.

You breathed a sigh of relief and made your way back to the door, keeping a sharp eye on the room around you. With one final glance at the sand clock in your hands, you pushed open the door and stepped out.

San was standing there, his back to the wall, waiting. His expression softened when he saw you holding the chromer. Without a word, he walked towards you, his hand outstretched.

“We did it,” you said, holding it out to him.

San nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes were full of concern. “You’re alright?”

You nodded back, still a little shaken but relieved to be out of there. “I’m fine.”

He reached for the chromer, taking it from your hands. As his fingers brushed against it, he let out a quiet sigh, as if the weight of the moment had finally caught up with him. “This is it,” he said softly. “With this, I can go back.”

You both stood in the hallway, the weight of your mission heavy in the air. It wasn’t over yet, but at least you had what you came for.

San gave you a long look, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

San’s arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. You gasped, your heart racing as you instinctively tried to push away, but his grip was firm, secure.

“Wait—San!” you stammered, panic rising in your chest. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

His smile was wide, his eyes shining with pure relief and joy. “We did it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not letting you go yet. You helped me get this, and you’re going to be safe with me.”

You squirmed slightly in his arms, but the more you tried to pull away, the tighter his grip seemed to become. The sensation of being carried—of someone else having complete control over you—was overwhelming, and you couldn’t quite figure out why it made you feel so vulnerable. You had always been independent, had always taken care of yourself. No one had ever carried you before.

“San, I—” You trailed off, trying to calm your racing thoughts. His steady heartbeat echoed against your back, reminding you how close you were to him. “Please, I’m not used to this.”

He slowed his pace slightly, as if sensing your discomfort, but he didn’t stop. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Despite his words, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. Your chest tightened, and your hands instinctively gripped his jacket, as if trying to steady yourself. You couldn’t explain it—the way he was holding you felt so... foreign. So intimate.

You swallowed, attempting to push the discomfort aside, but the fear still lingered. The feeling of being completely at his mercy, so exposed in his arms, made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“San, I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice small.

His steps faltered, and he looked down at you, his expression softening. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll get you to safety.”

But the truth was, you weren’t just scared of being in his arms—you were scared of what this might mean. You weren’t sure how to handle the feeling of being cared for, of being protected in such an overwhelming way.

You didn’t know what to say, how to react to all of it, so instead, you stayed quiet, allowing him to carry you. You didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden him with your confusion.

And yet, despite your unease, a part of you felt comforted by his hold. Part of you felt... safe.

San adjusted his jacket as he stood in the middle of the chromer's glowing circle. The energy buzzed around him, and his mind was calm yet excited. This was the moment he'd been planning for days. He was going to ensure everything was set right — that you would go back to your world, and he would return to his with his friends.

As the chromer activated, the world blurred and spun, the familiar hum of its power resonating in his chest. Then, everything stopped abruptly. He felt solid ground beneath his feet, and as his vision cleared, a grin spread across his face.

He was back. The comforting sight of his realm and his friends standing nearby filled him with relief. "Finally," he muttered, stepping forward. But then, a small movement behind him made him freeze.

He turned his head slowly, and there you were, standing wide-eyed and just as disoriented as him. San’s smile faltered, replaced by a mix of confusion and disbelief. His friends, who had started to approach him with cheers of welcome, suddenly stopped in their tracks. Their gazes darted between him and you, their expressions mirroring the bewilderment in his heart.

“San…” Wooyoung was the first to break the silence, his tone tinged with disbelief. "Who’s… she?"

San opened his mouth, closed it again, then ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here. He had been sure the chromer would teleport you back to your world, far away from his chaotic reality. But somehow, you were here, standing in his realm, right next to him.

“I—uh—this wasn’t supposed to happen,” San stammered, glancing at you and then at his friends.

You looked at him, your voice soft but steady despite the strangeness of it all. “San… why am I here?”

Before he could answer, Yunho stepped forward, his tall frame imposing but his tone kind. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me this is the girl you’ve been talking about?” He gave San a knowing look, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.

San groaned inwardly. “Yes, but—listen, this wasn’t the plan. She wasn’t supposed to come here.”

“Well, she’s here now,” Seonghwa chimed in, crossing his arms. His gaze flickered to you, assessing but not unkind. “What are you going to do about it?”

San’s mind raced. He turned to you, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened. I thought the chromer would send you back to your world.”

You blinked, taking a hesitant step closer to him. “So… this is your world? Your realm?”

San nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He could see the questions swirling in your eyes, but what caught him off guard was the faint flicker of awe. You weren’t panicking; instead, you were looking around with cautious curiosity.

“Okay, hold up,” Wooyoung interrupted, stepping between the two of you with a playful grin. “This is kind of amazing. She’s here, Sannie. Isn’t that… good?”

San shot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

“So what are we gonna do now?” Mingi piped up, his voice heavy. He gestured at you dramatically, “we have a child with us”

You look at him with an offended face “I'm not a child. Just because you got an extra 1ft up your butt doesn't mean I'm a child”

San sighed, rubbing his temples. This was a problem. But atleast his friends were enjoying this more than they should, but deep down, a part of him couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief. You were here. With him. It wasn’t what he had planned, but maybe… just maybe, this wasn’t a bad thing.

“I don't know,” San muttered, glancing at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure this out together.”

“i don't trust any of you, just take me somewhere safe”

San flinched slightly at your blunt tone. His friends exchanged amused glances, but there was a hint of curiosity in their eyes as they sized you up.As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of their gazes—some curious, others amused—but it was San's quiet presence beside you that gave you a strange sense of reassurance. Maybe, just maybe, you could trust him. For now.

"Safe?" Wooyoung echoed, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "You wounded me! We are the definition of safe."

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. If safe means being surrounded by a bunch of guys who probably argue over who gets the last slice of pizza."

Wooyoung gasped in mock outrage while Yunho let out a deep chuckle. "She’s not wrong," Yunho admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

"Guys, can we focus?" San snapped, rubbing his temples again. He turned to you, his expression softening despite the frustration evident in his voice. "Look, I understand this is overwhelming. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But I promise, no one here is going to hurt you. You’re safe with us."

You glanced around at the group, noting the mix of playful energy and genuine care in their faces. Still, the situation felt too surreal, and trust wasn’t something you handed out easily.

"Fine," you said reluctantly, though your posture remained guarded. "But if anyone tries anything funny, I’ll…" You trailed off, looking down at your empty hands. "I’ll… figure something out," you finished awkwardly.

Seonghwa smirked, his voice calm and teasing. "Noted. No funny business."

Behind you, Mingi whispered loudly to Jongho, "She’s feisty. I like her."

San shot him a glare over his shoulder. "Not helping, Mingi."

Hongjoong and yeosang, who had been quietly observing from the back, finally decided to chime in.

Hongjoong adjusted his captain’s hat and gave a dramatic sigh. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, stepping forward and crossing his arms. “San accidentally brought you here, and now we’re babysitting?”

"Not a child," you snapped again, glaring at him.

Yeosang tilted his head, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos around him. “She has a point,” he said simply. “But the bigger question is, what are we going to do now? We don’t even know how she fits into this.”

You frowned, feeling like you were being talked about like some kind of puzzle piece. “I’m standing right here, you know. Maybe ask me instead of acting like I’m some sort of problem.”

San sighed, clearly at his wit’s end. “Hongjoong, Yeosang, can we not make this worse? She’s already stressed out enough.”

“Worse?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “You mean worse than accidentally dragging someone into our realm? Yeah, okay, San, sure. Not worse at all.”

Yeosang shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well, she’s here now. Might as well make the best of it.”

You glanced between them, trying to gauge if they were as unpredictable as the others. "Are these two always this cryptic?" you asked, pointing at Hongjoong and Yeosang.

“Cryptic?” Yeosang repeated, almost amused. “No. I’d say I’m more… realistic.”

“And I’m the strategist,” Hongjoong added, smirking. “Which is why I’m asking the important questions. Like what exactly you plan to do while you’re here.”

You sighed, exasperated. “I didn’t plan anything! I didn’t ask to be here!”

San, sensing the tension rising again, stepped in quickly. “Okay, that’s enough. We can figure everything out once we’ve all calmed down.”

Hongjoong shrugged, falling back into step with the group. “Fair enough. But don’t think I’m letting this slide, San. We’re going to need answers.”

Yeosang gave you a small nod, his calm gaze meeting yours. “You’ll be fine. We’re not as bad as we look.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, but something about Yeosang’s steady demeanor was oddly comforting. Still, as you followed the group deeper into the unknown, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.

The tent was much larger on the inside than it seemed, a testament to the strange realm you’d been dragged into. The small room San and Wooyoung led you to was simple but cozy—there was a bed with neatly folded blankets, a small wooden table, and a lantern casting a soft glow across the space.

“Here,” San said, gesturing toward the bed. “It’s not much, but you’ll be comfortable.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Don’t get used to the royal treatment, though. We’re only doing this because someone—” he threw a pointed look at San, “—messed up.”

San rolled his eyes, clearly ignoring Wooyoung’s jab. “Get some rest. We’ll figure everything out tomorrow.”

The two of them left, closing the door behind them. You sat on the edge of the bed, sighing as the muffled voices of the group reached you. They were having a meeting about you, their tones ranging from curious to concerned.

It was only then that you noticed something odd about this room. It felt… lived in. A small detail here, a personal touch there. Then it hit you—this was San’s room.

The realization was confirmed when you heard Wooyoung loudly teasing San outside.

“You’re really giving up your room for her? You’re softer than I thought,” Wooyoung said, cackling.

“Shut up,” San replied, sounding exasperated. “I brought her here. It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s okay.”

“You could’ve just given her my room,” Mingi’s voice chimed in, indignant.

“No way,” San shot back. “She’s my problem. I’ll crash with Yeosang.”

“I didn't ask for this, why does my consent not matter?”

Everyone ignored yeosang.

You blinked, surprised by the admission. He was going out of his way to make you comfortable, even at his own expense. Despite everything, a small part of you felt… touched.

Back in the main area, the conversation continued.

“So, what’s the plan?” Hongjoong asked, his voice sharp and commanding.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” San said firmly. “She’s been through enough for one day.”

“You’re taking this pretty seriously,” Yeosang observed, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity.

“Because I’m the one who messed up,” San replied.

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was strange being in this world, surrounded by people who were so different yet oddly familiar. You couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last—and what San’s words really meant.

As the muffled voices outside the room grew louder, it became apparent that San's friends were thoroughly enjoying the situation at his expense.

You soon realised that wooyoung guy would not leave San alone about the fact that he has brought you here.

"San," Wooyoung's teasing tone cut through the chatter, "what’s the deal with you and the girl, huh? She gets your room and your undivided attention. Should we start planning a wedding?”

San groaned audibly, likely rubbing his temples again. "Wooyoung, shut up."

Mingi jumped in with a laugh. "Nah, but seriously, you’re awfully protective, don’t you think? I’ve never seen you this flustered."

“Maybe San has a crush,” Seonghwa chimed in, his usually composed voice dripping with amusement.

“I do not have a crush,” San snapped. "I’m just trying to fix my mistake. That’s it."

Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his arms. "You know, San, your ‘mistake’ is starting to feel less like an accident and more like fate."

Even Yeosang, who rarely joined in on teasing, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You did seem pretty quick to give up your room for her. Very... gallant of you.”

Jongho grinned, leaning back against the tent wall. "Should we be worried? What if this becomes a thing? Next thing we know, he’s ditching missions to hang out with her."

“Guys,” San groaned, his voice rising in frustration, “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“San and the mystery girl sitting in a tree—” Wooyoung started singing obnoxiously, only to be interrupted by Seonghwa laughing so hard he had to lean on Mingi for support.

“Alright, enough!” San finally snapped, his face undoubtedly red from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “She’s not a child, she’s not my crush, and she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just—she’s here because of me, okay? I’m taking responsibility!”

His declaration only earned him a chorus of exaggerated "ooohs" and smirks from his friends.

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” Hongjoong said, winking.

From inside the room, you couldn’t help but overhear every word. You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. These guys might’ve been a handful, but there was something oddly comforting about the way they teased San. And for some reason, knowing he was defending you—even against his friends—made your heart flutter just a little.

The next morning, the sound of a light knock on the door pulled you from sleep. As you groggily opened your eyes, Jongho stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression softening ever so slightly.

“Get up,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’m in charge of you today. San’s orders. We’re starting with shooting practice.”

Still half-asleep, you blinked at him. “Shooting?”

Jongho nodded, walking over to a corner where a small handgun rested in a holster. “This world isn’t safe. You need to know how to defend yourself. If you’re going to stick around, you can’t be useless.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you muttered under your breath, dragging yourself out of bed.

Once outside, Jongho led you to an open field near the camp, where targets had been set up against a cluster of trees. He handed you the gun, explaining the basics of safety and handling in his usual no-nonsense manner.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Aim at the target.”

You took a deep breath, gripping the gun tightly and lining up the shot. To your surprise—and his—you hit the target on your first try.

Jongho raised an eyebrow. “Not bad,” he admitted, a flicker of surprise in his tone. “But your stance is all wrong. You’re gripping it too hard, and your feet are too close together.”

Before you could react, you fired again. This time, the recoil sent you stumbling backward, nearly losing your balance. Jongho caught you by the arm, steadying you with ease.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” he said, his expression softening just a little. “You’ve got good aim, but if you don’t fix your posture, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He stepped closer, adjusting your grip and positioning your arms with surprising patience. His hands were firm but careful as he guided you.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructed, nudging your leg with his boot. “And don’t lock your elbows. Let the gun’s recoil flow through you, not against you.”

You followed his instructions, firing again. This time, the shot landed perfectly, and you barely felt the recoil.

Jongho nodded approvingly. “Better. Keep practicing like that, and you might actually survive out here.”

A small smile crept onto your lips. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the morning went on, the two of you continued practicing. While Jongho’s usual stoicism remained, you couldn’t help but notice the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes every time you improved. Despite his tough exterior, there was something reassuring about his presence, and for the first time, you felt like you could truly hold your own in this strange, dangerous world.

Later that day, as the group gathered around their makeshift campfire, Jongho casually brought up the morning’s events.

“She’s good at aiming,” he said simply, crossing his arms as he leaned back against a log.

Yunho immediately seized the opportunity, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Oh, I bet she is. She already pierced San’s heart.”

The group erupted into laughter, a mix of playful jabs and exaggerated gasps.

“Classic Yunho,” Mingi chuckled, nudging San with his elbow. “You gonna deny it?”

To everyone’s surprise, San didn’t snap back or brush it off like he usually did. Instead, he glanced down at the fire, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“I—” he started, but then shook his head, letting out a small, almost shy laugh. “I’m not even going to argue with you guys.”

The laughter paused for a moment as everyone processed what he’d just said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wooyoung leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Did San just admit to something? Did I hear that right?”

“Mark this day,” Hongjoong said dramatically, pretending to jot something down. “The day San didn’t deny his feelings.”

Yeosang smirked, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a rare glint of amusement. “Looks like someone’s getting soft.”

San groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all insufferable.”

“But you love us,” Seonghwa teased with a knowing smile, earning more laughter from the group.

Jongho, watching the chaos unfold, couldn’t help but smirk. “All I said was she’s good at aiming. You guys took it and ran.”

“Yeah, but you have to admit,” Yunho said, still grinning, “jongho said she hit the most important target without even trying.”

San rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. As much as his friends teased him, there was no denying the truth they’d managed to uncover so easily.

As you sat on the edge of the camp, your eyes drifted to where Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang were huddled together. The way they bantered and laughed, their easy camaraderie so natural, made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

They were teasing each other relentlessly, Wooyoung doubling over in laughter while Yeosang calmly delivered a comeback that made San groan dramatically.

You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Not because you didn’t like them being close, but because you wished you had something like that—best friends who knew you so well, who could make you laugh even in the most stressful situations, who felt like home.

The loneliness you’d carried for so long suddenly felt heavier. You tried to push it away, but the thought lingered. What would it feel like to be part of something like that?

Wooyoung caught your gaze first, his playful smile faltering when he noticed your expression. Nudging San with his elbow, he nodded in your direction.

San followed his glance, his brows furrowing when he saw you. Without hesitation, he stood up and motioned for Yeosang and Wooyoung to follow him.

“Hey,” San called out as they approached. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Just sitting.”

Wooyoung plopped down next to you, resting his chin in his hand. “You looked like you were deep in thought. Care to share with the class?”

Yeosang sat on your other side, his calm presence immediately grounding. “Something bothering you?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, not wanting to admit what you were feeling. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking about stuff.”

The conversation earlier left you feeling a little lighter, but not entirely. As the evening rolled in and everyone busied themselves with their tasks, you retreated to the small room San had given up for you. Sitting on the bed, you stared at the wall, lost in thought.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence. “It’s me,” San’s voice came through. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, then called out, “Yeah, sure.”

The door creaked open, and San stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

San raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You didn’t seem fine earlier. You’ve been quiet ever since. What’s going on?”

You looked away, gripping the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t pull that with me,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “You can talk to me. I won’t judge you.”

Something about his sincerity broke through the wall you were trying so hard to keep up. With a sigh, you finally admitted, “I felt jealous earlier. Watching you and your friends… I don’t have anything like that. I never did.”

San’s brows furrowed as he moved closer, sitting down across from you. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t have those kinds of bonds. Not with my family, and definitely not with friends. I’ve always been… on my own. Watching you all laugh and support each other just made me realize what I’m missing.”

The room went silent for a moment. San’s gaze softened, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. “You’ve been carrying that around all this time?”

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve managed this far.”

San shook his head. “No, it is a big deal. You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just how it is. I’ve learned to deal with it.”

San reached out, gently placing a hand over yours. “You don’t have to deal with it alone anymore. You have us now. You have me now.”

His words made your chest tighten, but this time, it wasn’t out of sadness. It was the comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You really mean that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

San smiled, a warmth in his eyes that made you feel a little less alone. “I do. We’re here for you. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

San's words lingered in the air, heavy with sincerity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fully accept them. You’d heard promises like that before—words meant to comfort, to soothe—but they rarely held up. People always said they’d be there, and yet, when it mattered most, they disappeared.

You offered him a faint smile, hoping it was enough to convince him you were okay. “Thanks, San. I appreciate it.”

But deep down, the wall you’d built around yourself refused to budge. You couldn’t afford to let it down, not when experience had taught you that trust came with consequences.

San tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly shook your head. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not used to this. It’ll take time.”

He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “I get it. I can’t change what’s happened to you before. But I want you to know I’m not like that. None of us are. When we say you’re part of this now, we mean it.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let those words sink in, but the scars of broken trust ran too deep. Instead, you nodded, giving him another polite, distant response. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

San’s shoulders slumped slightly, like he knew he hadn’t quite reached you. But he didn’t push further. Instead, he stood, looking at you with a quiet determination. “Alright. Take your time. I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

You nod your head hesitantly. Doubts still circling your mind.

“You keep saying that, but I know you’re not gonna. You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I wish you would.”

For a long moment, the room was silent. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this, San. Trust people. Believe that they’ll stay. I’ve been let down too many times.”

San’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I get it. I do. But… not everyone is going to hurt you. Not me.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can you say that? You don’t know what the future holds. People change, San. They leave.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his tone steady. “But I’m here now, and I’m not planning to go anywhere. I mean it.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. There was none. Still, you shook your head, your walls refusing to come down. “You don’t understand, San. I’ve heard those words before.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, then stood and extended a hand toward you. “Come with me.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Just… trust me. For tonight,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

Hesitant, you took his hand. He led you out of the room and through the quiet camp, eventually stopping in a small clearing lit by the moon. The rest of the group was nowhere in sight, leaving the two of you surrounded by stillness.

“I wanted to show you something,” San said, letting go of your hand and stepping back. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn object—a charm.

You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

“It’s something my mom gave me before I left home,” he explained, his voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and warmth. “She told me to hold onto it whenever I felt lost or unsure. And I wanted you to have it.”

Your eyes widened. “San, I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer. “You’re not alone anymore. And even if you don’t believe me now, I’ll keep proving it until you do.”

The sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes—it broke something in you. Tears welled up despite your efforts to hold them back.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Because you matter to me,” he said simply. “More than you know.”

The walls you’d built so carefully began to crack. Slowly, you nodded, accepting the charm. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try. For you.”

San smiled, his relief palpable. “That’s all I ask.”

As the night stretched on, the two of you stayed there, talking quietly under the stars. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found someone who wouldn’t leave.

In the weeks that followed, something began to shift. San kept his promise, showing up in ways you hadn’t expected. Whether it was a warm cup of tea when you couldn’t sleep, a steadying hand during training, or simply sitting beside you in silence when you needed it most, he proved his words with actions.

The group noticed, of course. Wooyoung teased San relentlessly, while Yunho and Mingi exchanged knowing looks. Even Yeosang, usually reserved, smiled faintly when he caught you two sharing quiet moments.

Slowly but surely, you found yourself opening up—not just to San, but to the rest of the group. Hongjoong taught you about navigation, Jongho helped you refine your aim, and Seonghwa shared stories of his childhood that made you laugh until your sides hurt. For the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged.

One evening, after a long day of training, you sat with San on a hill overlooking the camp. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the sun dipping low on the horizon.

“You’ve changed,” San said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re smiling more,” he said, his own lips curving into a grin. “And I think you’re starting to trust us.”

You looked out at the horizon, the warmth of his words settling in your chest. “Maybe I am,” you admitted. “It’s… nice, having people to rely on.”

San chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “Well, you’ve got us now. And we’re not going anywhere.”

You turned to him, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t felt in a long time: gratitude. “Thank you, San. For everything.”

He met your gaze, his eyes soft and sincere. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re here.”

As the sun set and the first stars began to appear, you realized something profound. This wasn’t just a group of people who had taken you in. They were your family now—a family you’d fought to find, and one you knew would stand by you no matter what.

And as for San? Well, maybe—just maybe—he was your beginning, the start of a life you never thought you’d have.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking back at what you’d lost. Instead, you were looking forward—to a future filled with hope, laughter, and the people who made your heart feel whole.

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