𝕟𝕖𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕒 {𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤}

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ... ʙᴜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ [xɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ] (ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴀᴜ)

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Isabela Madrigal x gn!reader

they/them for the reader & she/her for Isabela

fluff, drabble, prompt fic

modern AU, highschool AU

word count: 2763

!english isn't my first language, so there can be some grammar mistakes that I am sorry for in advance!

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"I'm having... doubts." Isabela clasped her hands together with a sharp inhale. She looked at her cousin in the mirror. Dolores sighed and rolled her eyes.

"It'll be fine, it's just hair," she said.

"It's not just hair, Dolores!" Isa exclaimed. "This is, like, my whole identity."

Dolores put down the scissors and the comb and rested her hands on her hips. She stared at Isa with disbelief and Isa seeing her expression, grabbed handfuls of her hair protectively and backed away shaking her head.

High school was the time for rebellion. It was that kind of time where all of your decisions both matter and don't matter at the same time. You can do whatever you want and deal with the consequences later. It was the time to sneak out late at night. It was the time to start talking back to your parents. It was the time to part, to have fun, to make life long friendships yada, yada, yada. It was also the time to start finding your true self.

And apparently, a great first step of that journey was to cut your hair.

Not according to Isabela though.

Miss Perfect, here, had doubts. Massive doubts. Her comfort bubble was getting tighter and tighter with each look at the scissors. It was suffocating. Even more so than it usually was. Not long ago, she found out that she was in fact a very reserved person. She was organized, she was smart, she was perfectly perfect. But she was also boring, because, you see, imperfections are exhilarating.

And Dolores, being the good cousin that she was, offered her help in popping that bubble and freeing Isa. A haircut was the first step.

Baby steps, baby steps. Dolores would assure Isabela.

What Isabela also thought about herself, was that she thought she was quite tough. She thought handing Dolores the scissors and saying do it would be easy. She was wrong. Isa had truly no idea how such a small thing managed to make her so nervous.

It's just hair, it'll grow back. It's just hair, it'll grow back.

No matter how many times she repeated that mantra in her head, she still could feel the anxiety grabbing her stomach and squeezing it.

For so long, she stuck to this one image. The image of a put-together popular girl, with wrinkle-less clothes, simple yet classy makeup and straight, shiny, long hair. That was how she carried herself as well. At least tried to. She hoped the outside of her would cover the messes on the inside. Hoped that fake confidence would distract from the unsure little creature that hid behind her mask. Behind the clothes, makeup, hair.

She was never the one to rebel. Out of all her siblings and cousins, she was supposed to be the one who stayed the white sheep. The one her family would be proud of. The one her grandma would first kiss on the cheek and make her sit next to her at family gatherings. Not Luisa, not Mirabel, not Dolores, not Camilo, not Antonio, but her. Perfect flower Isabela.

And for ages, she was being convinced it was her destiny, that she started believing it. She started believing that the pressure was just a small prize for the promised "happy" ending.