#even when reality is dark and won't give you a light

[crazy-pages]

The thing about Aragorn is that he's actually a really stock fantasy character, but he's usually done as an angsty teenager. The rejection of the heroic destiny and overcoming that is usually an expression of adolescent or young adult anxiety, or a narratively performative rejection of authority to demonstrate one's worthiness. It's a story about coming into the world from a place of powerlessness to a place of immense responsibility. It's a coming of age story.

Aragorn isn't a teenager. Hell he's not even middle-aged by typical human standards, he is old enough to have watched every single human in his life grow old and die. And he grapples everyday with having lived through that side of immortality and knowing that if he doesn't condemn the elf he loves to a mortal death, that she will one day experience that about him. Aragorn isn't even moving from a position of not having responsibility to a position of responsibility, he's out there as a Ranger getting. shit. done. This guy charges all nine ring wraiths with a torch and a mundane blade because that is his godsdamn job description.

Aragorn isn't a kid growing up. He's the veteran World War I officer coming back for World War II.

There's no lesson to be learned in that. There's no moral about accepting responsibility even, he already did that in his role as a Ranger. Even as he rejected the kingship, he never rejected responsibility, he just did it in the way he thought he was best suited to and he was damn good at it. His story is just that of a person who has earned their rest a thousand times over, who is still serving his community anyway, being tasked with enduring a whole new set of trials. Not because he needs to learn something from it, not really. Had Sauron not been coming back and corrupted Denethor, it would have been a fine call to make.

Honestly, even his decision to love with Arwen isn't even really narratively aligned with it. Him taking the crown is an act of selflessness, but asking an elf to love him is incredibly selfish. His decision to seek in the time he has is in a way polar opposite to his decision pick up the burden of leadership. It's not part of his grand narrative lesson, it's just a guy figuring out shit about his personal life even as the world falls apart.

But that's the thing, the world did fall apart. The great war came back, and so it's back onto the front lines for Aragorn. He volunteers, because the kids need him.

Which I think is what makes his story so incredibly moving, and is the source of the something that so many of his analogues in other stories lack. The world and its story isn't built around teaching him a lesson. He's just ... a guy in it. An amazing one, who is desperately needed, but the conflict isn't for him. The world isn't ending so an audience can experience grappling with responsibility vicariously.

It's just talking saying that this is what a great person looks like. The world has those.

And because he doesn't have to hit specific beats of growth, he's allowed to just be a complex and well developed person when he enters the story. So we get this good person, a great person, and he's incredibly fleshed out. So he doesn't just end up being an archetype of greatness, he ends up being a person who is great. But he's also not a character you're supposed to identify with, that's not the purpose of his humanity, those would be the hobbits. Lord of the Rings doesn't say you're supposed to aspire to be Aragorn who becomes a king, it says you're supposed to aspire to be the poor bastards in over their heads who get to go home.

What it says about Aragorn is that when shit gets rough, when things are at their worst? There will be people who are equal to it. That when everything is lost and the best you have left is a suicidal delaying action, there will be someone who can make you believe that it's all worth it.

It's not always true. The young lads all come home in this story too, and that's certainly not what happened for Tolkien. But it's a dream about what should be.

And it's a beautiful dream.

after a lifetime of hearing about aragorn but not reading the books or watching the movies, genuinely nothing could have prepared me for his actual introduction. the hobbits picked this man out of a dumpster. he is a textbook softspoken angst prince and he is covered in dirt and he probably smells so bad. he’s the coolest man alive and is so casual about it. his number one skill is Knowing Where They Are and his number two skill is Having A Horrible Destiny That Torments Him. tolkien got it in one i’m afraid aragorn son of arathorn you are the guy of all time

[mischievousmoony]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟺

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. but you won't let regulus be left behind . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 4.6k

⟢ warnings: angst, past abuse from parents referenced/discussed, (spoiler) the reader has to hide from walburga briefly, please let me know if there are any other warnings i need to add

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ part 4 ⟡ masterlist

note: apologies for the long wait! i love u all so much for being so patient with me

It was dark when you woke up, still curled up on the purple floral sheets where you had cried yourself to exhaustion.

As you stirred awake, there was a single moment of peace, where your mind was at ease, untethered from your burdens and heartache. But having that moment of serenity only made it harder when it all came crashing down on you.

All at once you remembered where you were, why you were there, why Regulus wasn't with you, and why— in a place filled with so much love— you had never felt more alone.

It made you want to scream. Or roll over and find solace in your dreams once more. It would be no use, you decided, because you'd have to face reality at some point. And the growing pit of dread in your stomach was getting harder to ignore anyway.

Still groggy from your accidental slumber, you pushed yourself up in the bed, your bones crackling under your weight.

It was hard to see anything in the little room. Someone had drawn your curtains closed while you slept. When you tried to find your way to the light switch, you nearly ended up falling flat on your face after tripping over something large obstructing your path.

Your trunk— which you could see once you switched the light on��� had also been brought to your room while you were sleeping.

You looked down at yourself. Still engulfed in James' sweats, you decided a change of attire was in order and retrieved a pair of trousers and a Hogwarts sweater from your trunk.

As you took the sweater into your arms, something else from your trunk fell to the ground with a clang. You held your breath as you bent down to pick up the fallen item: your emerald bracelet. You handled the vintage jewelry with care as you plucked it from the floor.

You stepped backwards until the back of your legs touched the bed, where you sat as you cradled the bangle in your palms. The emerald-encrusted bracelet, a family heirloom, belonged to a set of three.

Along with your bracelet, there's a ring made up of a wide gold band etched with celestial carvings and a large emerald as its center stone. It belonged to Sirius, who often had his fingers decorated with rings, but never this one. You wouldn't be surprised if he had left it at Grimmauld Place, with how little he cared for it. To him, it's just another symbol of everything he stands against.

The third piece was a gold chain on which a large emerald pendant hung. It belonged to Regulus, who always wore it proudly. Not because it was an ancient heirloom that marked him as the second son of the house of Black. No, he wore it because it is one of three, just like him. He wore it because it's something he shared with you and Sirius.

You knew this because he told you himself. It was one of the many reasons that led you to believe he would never choose to stay behind when you and Sirius left that house. Not without a reason.

Finding the bracelet filled you with sharp determination. Sirius and James could doubt Regulus all they wanted, but you were not going to give up on him. And if they weren't going to help you, then you would just have to get to Regulus on your own.

You slid the bracelet onto your wrist, the cool metal settling against your skin as you rose from the bed. Restless, you began to pace around the small room. It felt reckless, maybe even insane, but the conviction gnawing at you wouldn’t let go. You had to get back to Grimmauld Place. No matter the danger, no matter the cost— you wouldn't give up on your twin.

But it's not like you could floo right into the drawing room or walk in through the front door. In a perfect world, you'd be able to talk to Regulus without alerting your parents of your return. You didn't know how you would manage that if you couldn't even come up with a way to get back into the house. You didn't even know the way back.

James or Sirius would probably come up with some creative— albeit convoluted— plan that would get you in and out safely and swiftly. You ignored the pang in your chest as you remembered that you couldn't ask them for help.

Hot with frustration, you moved to the window to let in some air. With your fingers on the latch, you paused. Looking through the glass at the back garden, an idea finally came to mind. A slightly insane, definitely convoluted, reckless idea that might just be crazy enough to work. It's not unlike one you'd have expected James to come up with. If you hadn't been actively going against his will, he might have even been proud.

You pretended to try to talk yourself out of it as you collected some stationery from your trunk. As you scribbled on the parchment, you thought to yourself about everything that could go wrong. What would James and Sirius tell you, you wondered, and you realized you're only pretending to consider not doing this for their sake. As if that would do them, or your relationships, any good.

Finished, you lifted the parchment to eye level. A letter to Regulus— dated, signed, and addressed, but otherwise blank. Now, you just needed to get it to Glory, and follow the owl across the countryside on James' broom. Nothing you couldn't handle, right?

With one hand gripping the doorknob and the other clutching both the letter and your wand, you drew a deep, steadying breath. Just as you began to turn the knob, a soft staccato of knocks on the wood stopped you cold.

On the other side of the door, James was calling your name in a hushed tone.

"Are you awake?" he asked when he was answered with nothing but silence.

He was muffled by the door that stood between you, but you could still hear the deep, burdened sigh that escaped his lips. You let your forehead rest against the cool wood in front of you, imagining him doing the same.

"Are you... are you listening? You don’t have to open the door. Just… just let me know you’re there. Please."

Despite the lack of response, James didn't leave. Instead, his voice softened, laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything— I just need you to hear me." His voice wavered, but he pushed through. "I... Shit, I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make it better, and all I want is to make it better."

He paused, exhaling shakily. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip until it hurt, almost unable to bear hearing James speak with so much devastation in his voice.

"I know how much Regulus means to you, and I know there’s nothing I can say or do that will make this okay. Merlin, you deserve so much better than all of this. You all do."

His voice broke slightly as he continued. "And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I told Sirius everything. I was just scared for you. But I betrayed your trust. I can’t take it back, but I need you to know how deeply sorry I am."

There was another pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost pleading. "I’m so, so sorry."

"Stop," your voice hit your ears before your brain approved the dialogue. "Stop it, please. You don't have anything to be sorry for James."

James' breath hitched in his throat, your sudden reply coming unexpectedly.

You swallowed hard as you worked up the courage to continue. "I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry. If you could ever forgive me–"

"Nothing," James interjected almost too quickly. "Nothing you could ever do could make me not be able to forgive you. Please, open the door."

You felt a pang in your chest. If only he knew.

"I'm not going to do that," you choked out, doing everything not to break down into tears again. "I just need to... I need some time. I need to be alone."

James released another shaky breath. "I understand," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from cracking. After a beat, he adds, "I love you."

You screwed your eyes shut tight, fighting down a sob. Such soft-spoken words from James were usually a comfort, but something ugly was twisting deep inside you, telling you that you were undeserving of his affection.

"I love you too," you whispered, your words sincere.

After a few moments, you heard James' footsteps retreat softly down the hall. You backed away from the door, letting out a breath you've been straining to hold in as you drive the heel of your palms into your eyes, willing yourself not to cry.

You took a few deep breaths until your emotions were in check. Your mind was reeling, you still needed to get out of this house, but you didn’t want to risk running into James after that.

Your eyes settled on the window in your room, and you sighed. It was less than ideal, but it was an idea.

A burst of cool air hit you as you opened the window as far as it would go. Squinting, you could see that the shed’s window was still open. Perfect.

You raised your wand, “Accio James’ broom.”

A moment passed before James’ broom began flying out of the shed window, just barely fitting through the open space. The broom hovered outside your window when it arrived.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves, then hoisted yourself out the window and onto the broomstick.

You allowed yourself a little laugh. There was a not-so-small chance you’d have slipped and gone tumbling to the ground, and probably broken a few bones in the process, so you were happy you survived your first hurdle. Although you expected that there would be many more to come.

The next part was the easy part. Get the letter to Glory.

You flew down slowly, crossing your fingers that no one was looking out a window right now. As far as you could tell, no faces could be seen in any of them.

Thankfully, the Potter’s owl was still on his perch. You hovered before him and held up your letter, “Hi again. You think you can get this to my brother? It’s not a terribly long flight to Grimmauld Place, is it?”

Once again, owls cannot talk. Yet, you find yourself speaking to Glory as if he’d answer. Still, something about the way the owl looked at you told you it shouldn’t be a very long flight indeed.

“Alright, then,” you handed the letter over, and the owl snatched it with his beak and immediately took off.

“Well, wait for me!” you whispered-yelled, and took off yourself.

You couldn’t believe you were actually following an owl to Grimmauld Place. From the way he glanced back at you, neither could he. Glory kept looking at you, and if an owl could look perplexed, they would look like this.

You didn’t know that a person could be so cold and sweat so profusely all at once. It was freezing this high in the sky, but the reason for your violent trembling was more likely your nerves as you tried to pretend a fall from this height wouldn’t ensure your untimely death. You were actually kind of thankful that the temperature was nearly freezing your fingers to the handle of the broom.

Eventually, your familial home was in your line of sight. You began to slow down to plan how you would sneak in when you realized the owl wasn’t being so careful.

“Wait, wait,” you called quietly after him, but he either didn’t hear you or he ignored you.

The bird flew straight to the window of Regulus’ room and began pecking at the glass. You followed slowly.

Your lips parted and eyes widened when Regulus appeared in the window. His eyebrows knit together as he opened the window for the owl. He retreated into his room, but he left the window open.

Your heart felt heavy at the sight of him. He looked worn out, and his eyes looked sunken, and it was as if the past few days had aged him by years.

You slowly flew over to his open window. He didn’t notice you hovering outside of his room, and you didn’t know how to alert him of your presence without scaring him.

You decided to knock on the window as if it were a door.

Regulus’ head snapped in your direction. He was half expecting another owl, so when he saw you, he gasped and crossed the room in two strides.

“What the hell!” he hissed. “Get in, get in.” Regulus ushered you through the window, broom and all, and you dismounted once you were inside.

“You can’t be here, are you mad?! How...?” Regulus looked between you and the Potter’s owl. “You followed a bird here!?” His tone was hushed, but filled with worry and perhaps a little anger.

“I had to see you,” you explained. “I- I don’t understand what happened, Regulus. Why didn’t you come with us?”

Regulus opened his mouth but just as quickly clamped it shut, trying his best not to snap at you. His eyes studied your frame. You were still shivering, and your forehead was slick with sweat, stray hairs glued down to your forehead.

And your eyes. The emotions swimming in your eyes— the confusion, the sadness, the helplessness— the sight of it made Regulus choke on his own breath.

Your brother set aside his anger at your foolishness to stop forward and wrap his arms around you, his hand finding the back of your head to cradle you close as his other arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

“You can’t be here,” Regulus repeated. “They can’t find you here.”

You pulled away from the embrace to look at him. “Then let’s go. We can follow the owl back to the Potter’s. We’ll both fit on the broom.”

Regulus’ expression was unreadable as he said, “I can’t leave, Y/N.”

Frustration pumped through your veins. You didn't come all this way just for him to refuse. “Well, neither can I. Not without an explanation.”

You sat yourself on Regulus’ bed with your arms crossed, determined not to move until you got what you wanted.

Regulus' nostrils flared at your stubbornness. "I know this isn't what you wanted, but you're going to have to accept it. I'm not leaving. But you are getting back on that broom before you are caught. It isn't safe."

“That means it’s not safe for you either."

“I can handle myself,” Regulus insisted.

You frowned. You were tired of your brothers thinking they could deal with everything on their own. “You wouldn't have to if you would just come with me!”

“I can’t!” he snapped, his fist closing on the empty letter from the owl. He balled it up in frustration and tossed it into the nearby bin.

“You can’t just say that and not explain,” you seethed. “Why!? Why can’t you leave? Why- why didn’t you help Sirius after-“

You bit your lip and focused on keeping tears from welling in your eyes.

Regulus was silent, so you continued, “He said you left him there on the floor. But you wouldn’t have done that. You wouldn’t have. Please, Regulus, help me understand.”

Your words hung in the air like a heavy weight on your chest as you waited for Regulus to respond— for him to explain it all so that you could finally understand what went wrong.

Instead, he didn't even flinch when he told you, "I did. I left him there."

You knew Regulus better than anyone, but sometimes even you couldn't see past his hard exterior.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely reaching above a whisper.

When Regulus didn't answer, you stood. Stepping up to him, you asked again, "Why? Why would you do that? He was alone, hurt, and you left him? Sirius thinks you've chosen them over us. Is that true? Is that why you did it? Is that why you're staying?"

Regulus stared at you, his face void of any emotion or reaction, even as your tears threatened to spill.

"Answer me!" you raised your voice.

Regulus' eyes went wide as he shushed you sharply. He stalked off towards the door, pressing his ear against it to listen for any movement. His body remained rigid until several seconds later, when he was sure you weren't heard.

He wouldn't be so concerned for you if he had really chosen your parents, you're sure of it.

"All you've ever done is try to protect me. Sirius too, even if he thinks he's the one who always protected us. So it just doesn't make sense..." You paused, the realization hitting you. "Unless you couldn't help Sirius, could you? Mother told you not to? She threatened you? She threatened him?"

You grabbed Regulus by the shoulder to spin him back around to face you. "If you helped Sirius she would have done worse, wouldn't she have? He would have paid for your disobedience."

His brow twitched, and that was all you needed to see.

"You need to leave," Regulus spoke clearly, but his voice was just above a whisper. There was a coldness in his tone, but you knew he only put it there to hide the truth.

"I'm right, tell me I'm right," you pleaded with him.

Regulus opened his mouth to respond, but it snapped closed in an instant. There were footsteps in the hall coming closer. Light clacking that could only belong to your mother.

Regulus wrenched you towards his bed by your arm. “Under the bed at once,” he hissed, as he slid James’ broom under there too. You managed to crawl beneath his bed as soon as his door swung open. Even Glory fled out the window before her arrival.

“Mother,” Regulus greeted her, folding his hands behind his back and straightening his spine.

Her eyes darted around the room, and his tense frame, trying to find something out of place but coming up short. “What are you doing? I heard voices.”

“Kreacher was just in, I was speaking to him," Regulus lied easily. It was one of his strongest skills.

“Kreacher!” Walburga shrieked, and you flinched at the sound. You pressed your palms flat against the hardwood beneath you, grounding yourself as the familiar fear and trepidation quickly settled in after just a few moments in her presence.

With a crack, Kreacher appeared in Regulus’ room, bowing to your mother and brother upon his arrival.

“Were you just in here? With Regulus?” she asked him, not tearing her gaze away from her son for even a second.

But Kreacher stood frozen in place where he bowed at Regulus, his height giving him a clear view of the space beneath Regulus’ bed. He was making eye contact with you.

You watched in horror as Kreacher opened his mouth, alarm in his eyes.

“Kreacher,” Regulus’ voice interrupted him in a low tone. To your mother, Regulus was scolding him for his late reply. But Kreacher knew it was an order more than anything else— Regulus was commanding his loyalty.

The house elf made eye contact with Regulus for a moment before finally giving an answer to Walburga.

“Kreacher was just in Master Regulus’ room,” the house-elf lied. He never did favor anyone like he favored Regulus, not even Walburga. “Master Regulus requested material for reading, he did. Kreacher is seeing to it, of course. Kreacher always serves the young master well, yes, always.”

“Very well, go on then,” Walburga dismissed him.

Kreacher looked at you one last time before snapping his fingers and disappearing from the room.

“Reading materials?” Walburga inquired.

“There are articles I’m looking to obtain. Articles referenced in the last issue of the Daily Prophet.”

Your mother considered the information for a moment before she finally decided she was satisfied with the answer. But before leaving, she stepped closer to Regulus. She gently laid a bony hand on the side of his face, patting his cheek.

“You’re a good boy, Regulus. My son. My heir.”

Her voice, the way she carried herself— it was as cold as ever. But there was something else, something somber. But her words struck you, and it felt like your heart stopped. That was perhaps the most tender thing she’s said to one of her children in years, and yet, hearing her speak to Regulus like that made your blood run cold.

After she left, you and Regulus remained frozen for several seconds. You had to be sure she was far away before making a move. Even a creak in the floorboards would have been too loud.

When you finally reemerged from under his bed, he hissed in a quiet whisper, “You need to go now.”

You ignored him. "She called you her heir."

"Y/N-"

"Sirius is the heir."

Regulus took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not anymore."

You stared at Regulus expectantly. It's a wonder why he still expected you to take things for what they were when you've never let him off the hook without an explanation before.

"She burned you off of the tapestry. Both of you," Regulus explained grimly.

You're not sure how to feel about getting disowned. You slumped against one of the posts of Regulus' bed. You were the one who ran away, you didn't want to be a part of this family anymore. So why does your mother's rejection still sting?

“Now she spends hours sitting in that room, staring at the holes in the wall. She almost seems... devastated." He wasn’t saying it to garner sympathy for her but rather to comment on the peculiarity of it.

You're reminded that beneath her cruelty and coldness, she’s still a mother, your mother, and you suddenly felt very sick.

"And now you're the sole heir. And that's why you have to stay. They need to have their heir," you said in a frail voice, finally understanding.

Regulus' clenched jaw gave you all the confirmation you needed. Your parents didn't care for much, but the legacy of your family was something they certainly did care a great deal about.

Regulus sighed. "We don't give you enough credit for how smart you are. I can never hide a thing from you."

You shook your head. "It has nothing to do with smarts. You're my twin. I'll always figure you out eventually." After a beat, you added, "It's not fair."

“But it's how it has to be.”

You opened your mouth again, willing yourself to make one final protest even though you were sure now how this would end.

A loud crack cut you off. Kreacher was back— and he was not alone.

“James?” you gaped at the tall boy who was violently swinging his head around, taking in his surroundings, until his gaze settled on you.

Regulus quickly cast a Muffliato charm on his room. You were one thing—James Potter was another entirely, and he absolutely couldn't be trusted to keep his voice down.

“You’re okay,” James said, rushing to you. His hands came to rest on your arms as he inspected you, making sure it was really true. “What were you thinking coming here?”

“How did you find me?” you asked him, standing up straighter.

“Kreacher found the intruder apparating into Miss. Y/N’s bedroom,” Kreacher drawled before promptly disapparating from the room.

“I checked everywhere at home and you weren’t there and I- I just knew. How did you-?” James’ eyes landed on his broom sticking out from under Regulus’ bed. “You flew here!? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” James fussed, cupping the side of your face.

James’ overwhelming concern for you made him forget where the two of you were— and the company you were in.

“You have to be kidding me,” Regulus muttered.

You slowly turned your head to face him, and James let his hands fall to his sides.

“Him?” Regulus asked, shooting a disdainful look at James.

“Reg-”

Regulus held a hand up, stopping you. His scrutinizing gaze settled on James. He wasn't going to argue against this, he knew it would be futile to try to tell you who was and wasn't good enough for you— even if he thought James Potter was definitely not good enough.

But at least James would be good for one thing: getting you out of here.

“You’ve seen the effects of my mother’s stinging jinx,” Regulus more so stated than asked.

“Yes,” James replied plainly, waiting to see where he was going with this.

“Mine is worse,” Regulus said— a very simple threat of what would happen if James were to hurt you.

James swallowed. “Noted. But trust me, mate, you won’t have to use it.”

Regulus squinted at him, but left the threats at that. “At least this explains your ridiculous attire,” he told you.

You looked down. You never did change out of James’ baggy clothes.

“Look, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe,” James pleaded with you.

“I know, I know,” you agreed, catching James completely off guard. He did not expect it to be that easy.

He turned to Regulus, thinking he might as well try his luck. “You’re more than welcome to come.”

You and Regulus shared a glance, but even before you saw the somber look in his eyes, you knew what his answer would be.

“He’s not coming,” you murmured, barely able to accept it even as you spoke it.

There was a flicker of something in Regulus' eyes, like something in him was more at peace with your understanding of his need to stay.

James nodded. “If you ever change your mind…” he offered, his words dying in the air as Regulus’ expression hardened.

James took hold of you and his broom, telling you to brace yourself, as he prepared to apparate you back to his house. You have never apparated yourself, you have yet to learn how, but have alongside others before. The idea of doing it again made you feel queasy.

“Wait.” Regulus’ voice halted you. He crossed the room in two strides while fishing something out of his pocket. “Don’t tell Sirius. Not any of it,” he instructed as he pressed something cold into your palm and closed your hand around it.

“What?” you asked, taken aback by the request.

“You can’t tell him why I have to stay. He'll never accept it.”

You shook your head violently. If Sirius only knew Regulus' true intentions, everything could be different.

“He hates you right now.”

“I know. And perhaps it’s better if he does.”

His words crushed you, but you couldn’t help but think he might be right. You lunged at Regulus, wrapping your arms around him one last time.

"I'll still see you at school," he reminded you, a fragile attempt at offering you comfort.

“I know,” you responded, but that did nothing to ease your sorrows.

Regulus was the first to pull away, knowing you wouldn’t be, and he handed you back over to James. “Take care of my sister, Potter,” Regulus said, even as he still looked at James with disdain.

James nodded, linking his arm with yours and clutching his broom in his other hand.

James disapparated the both of you, and you clung to the image of Regulus until your surroundings melted away.

[ninikrumbs]

Invisible strings

Suguru Geto x fem!reader.

"Need something, baby?"

The tone of his voice light and indulgent as it always was, not minding the happy distraction your presence brings.

Your head peaks from the doorway, a hesitant smile on your face as you watch you boyfriend work in his home office.

Shaking your head at his questioning haze, your cross the distance between you. He smiles fondly, realizing your intention, twisting his rolling chair a bit to the side to make space for you.

"Come here, pretty girl." He says when you draw near, pulling you down to plop down on his lap, arms immediately finding a home on your waist.

His familiar warmth and smell envelopes your senses imbuing your body with the affection and comfort you always craved from him. The contented noises you let out as you snuggle in the crook of his neck makes him chuckle in amusement, his gentle fingers tracing slow comforting circles down your back. "So my girl's just needy for me?"

You hum in response, looking absolutely cozy with your eyes closed, nose nuzzling his neck as you breath him in, hands resting on his chest.

His hands teasingly wander down your back to give your bum a light squeeze, not enough to startle you from you perfect position but enough to make you grumble, "Not that kind of needy, Sugu."

With you lips right next to his neck, your breath tickles his skin. He huffs a laugh, "Oh, my bad. "

Not a hint of remorse in his voice though. His hands changes it course up to you hair, gently threading through it, making your eyes droop. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

This is where you belong, you thought. At peace in his arms, away from the cruel horrors of the world even for just a moment. And your sure he shares you sentiment with how constantly he tries to shield you from the sometimes brutal realities he has to face.

If he could create a world where you would only know joy and happiness, he would. But Alas the monsters in this world constantly grow like weeds. The best he could do was to make sure they could never get to you. Not in this life or the next.

He hears you whisper his name and mumbling something he incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said I feel bad for a version of me out there who doesn't have you."

He pulls away just a bit to look at your face, he wonders where you get such sudden and weird ideas yet he humors you regardless, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," He raises your palm to his lips, placing a kiss filled with devotion, "I refuse to believe that there's a world where I don't have you. Any version of me won't allow it."

He says it with such conviction that it sounded like a fact, not an opinion or a thought and it makes you want to believe him.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you press youself flush against him once more, finding solace in his words and the beating heart underneath your hands.

"Now sleep, I'll wake you up once im done working some we can eat dinner together."

Your eyes flutter shut again and you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The next time you open your eyes it was to the dark cold ceiling of your room. Your hands reach to the side -searching, hpong, wishing-heart dropping as you merely felt the bitter emptiness of your comforter.

Sitting up on your bed, you look out of your window. The city lights blurred as hot tears clouded you vision. They fall rapidly down your cheeks, faster than you could wipe them away with your fists. Your throat clogging up with such gut wrenching emotion, barely holding back you sobs.

Your lips tremble, smiling bitterly, memories of another life running at back of your head, "Youre such a liar, Suguru.."

part 2

Happy Part 2?

AN : To those who have read this, yes this is a repost. Im just doing an experiment. :)

[rubylovessharks]

Jade Leech x gn!reader x Floyd Leech smut :3

NOT INCEST. reader is not MC/Yuu.

ofc everything is consensual. blindfold stuff, bite marks, the tweels act as one another so you have to guess who's who (they are total liars), orgasam denial.

Darkness is all you can see, and two voices are all you can hear.

Your hands behind your back yet not tied, just held by strong hands of who you assume is Floyd. If he's behind your back then Infront of you should be Jade.

Yet you can never be sure..not with how they are using your body. While it is true that you aren't taking both of them in the same hole at the moment, still the both of them know how to make you lose touch of reality. The one who is in the back puts his mouth on your shoulder and right before you could relax to the feeling of tender lips you feel him bite down, hard.

"Aha!" you hear a laugh from the front, weird that doesn't sound like a laugh Jade would make... "look at you.. Struggling like a fish out of water." but that voice sounds just like him! You feel the twin from behind you lick the wound he had made and you are sure that you felt a light kiss right after. At this point you aren't sure if you were correct about their places a few seconds ago.

Oh but it's so hard thinking when you are getting fucked by such a big cock! But you know that if you don't guess correctly who's who you won't get to cum. So with the little energy you have you try to speak, yet all that comes out are moans. "Daww can't speak? Thought so when my dick is so deep in ya'!" The words sound like something Floyd would say, yet that voice doesn't match.. there's no way the one behind is Floyd.

"P- please, I need to cum!" you mewl out to them, and even if you can't see you just know that the two of them are smirking at you like you are some sort of prey..

"Then tell us-"

"-who is-"

"who."

You break a hand free and move it forwards shakingly to point at the twin that is in front of you, "that one" you stop for a moment "is Floyd" your hand gives up and falls down, only to feel another hold it and intertwine the fingers with one another. "unfortunately you are wrong." "yeah so now you ain't gonna cum! Hope you can take another round of fucking before ya' can finish!"

"B- but- how-" you feel the movement of the one inside of you get faster and cuts you off.

"Ah ah- no 'but's. You lost fair and square."

But how does that count as 'fair' when they both lied?

[thesirencult]

Pick A Card: What They Want To Tell You Right Now

Pile 1

9 Of Cups, Wheel Of Fortune, The Tower

What have you done to this poor man? I beg you please STOP! Hahahaha, all jokes aside I'm scared for this man's well-being, he is being tortured by you my BEAUTIFUL, STUNNING, FERGALICIOUS siren. You are soooo glamorous and he is falling head-over heels for you. He was PUSHED into this. This reminds me of Alice In Wonderland, "I was just there, you knowwww. WHAT HAPPENED TO ME? I just wanted some milk for my cereal then BAM!"

Please, I beg you give him a break he can't even talk right now, he is in the corner quietly hyperventilating, about to put his head under cold water, no, BOTH HEADS. I'm sorry but girl, where did you bag this one?

Anyways, now that he is FINALLY, letting me speak for him, thank you baby boy, ahem, I want to mention some signs and symbols that manifested when I started shuffling: No Chill by PND, 10:10, the movie "The Mask", Jessica Rabbit.

Now, let's jump in: You are a dream that got manifested into my reality. I don't know what I did to deserve to be blessed with your existence my ethereal vixen. I spend my nights thinking about you, dreaming of a future where we ride on my motorcycle/driving in my car (I'm getting something luxurious-as he should), my hand grazing your thigh, your perfume intoxicating me as much as your presence. You make me feel high, drunk in love. You are the best part of my day, your presence is a NEED, not just a want. When I don't see you I go crazy, my head starts hurting and my heart goes cold. When I see you I come alive, my heart skips beats, it is EXACTLY like going 200km/h on a summer night. The freedom, the exhilaration, accelelrating, my blood pumping all over my body begging for a release. I'm so scared, terrified but at the same time I can't stop, I won't stop (dopamine/adrenaline). I want to spoil you, you are mine. You are my little girl, my baby <3 You are so precious to me princess, my queen, my GODDESS. I lowkey love it when you dominate me, as you already dominate my mind and my heart. You own me, I just want you to say the words that you are also MINE, for life. I will tattoo your name across my chest, I will shout that I love you from the tallest building/mountain. I want everyone to know how proud I'm that I'm yours. You are my everything, you are perfection, you are special-different, but what do I do? How do I keep you, how do I even get you? I panic when I'm around you. Let's just make it till the morning, give me just one night, just one, I promise I will make you feel sooo good. I know that you are a gift from the Universe. It is torture seeing you and not touching you. I would inhale you like a fine dish. I want to eat you. You glow, holding sacred mysteries behind those beautiful sparkling eyes, the stars are in there I swear! I love your smile, it lights up the whole world. It's like everything else around you is dark and you are the only bright thing, like the stars in the sky but you are like, the only STAR. My STAR. I'm so scared you will just go POOF! one day and I will look for you around like a crazy person. I took a gamble and then God brought you here, but do I deserve someone as perfect as you? You are otherwordly, ethereal, hypnotic... I need to take a breath, a cold shower and some time away or I will pounce and I will not be able to press on the break, I will go all-in when it's time and you won't be able to stop me. Just say you are MINE, only MINE.

Pile 2

The Devil, 9 Of Wands, Justice, Strength

This energy is much more mellow and guarded. Your person is someone with a more feminine energy. Here are some trinkets I want to share with you that came through while I was doing the reading: fear, Sorry But I'm Outside by PND, waiting, getting played, puppet, Bound 2 by Kanye, BPD, big D energy, Moment 4 Life by Nicki, Tapout, Cleopatra, Real Woman by PND

This isn't someone that wants to share a lot with you. I might use the pronouns she/her a lot here, because I channel a very hurt feminine energy. I'm actually sad over your person's energy and I would love it if you took a moment to pray for them and send them some good energy cause they really need it. I will be writing the following things as if they would say it BUT they would NEVER EVER say those things aloud. They are the type of woman that keeps a straight face and is well acquainted with her masculine side. They might be the eldest sibling, someone who was always seen as mature for their age. The following words talk about their inner state and how they are feeling, they are more of a confession and not what they would say to you.

I'm feeling really hurt right now. It's not your fault but I'm always seeking mistakes and faults that will prove that you don't want me enough and actually I'm happy that in the moment it is pretty easy to do that as you have left me hanging and ran away. How could you leave me here all alone? How can you distance yourself from someone you love? Why? I've had so many sleepless nights, this love is daunting. I'm suffering because of you. I'm trying to break this pattern of my disorganized attachment style. I'm trying to balance my fearful nature with faith. I'm my biggest enemy. I have many problems right now, unrelated to you. You were my escape, something that gave me hope there could be a better tomorrow. I wanted this to continue. I'm very sensitive to other people's actions. I love hurting myself, I love suffering as I feel this is the only way I will get rewarded with something. I feel like I'm meant to suffer, like I deserve it. I think that I will need to forget you too or the ways you hurt me so we could have a chance in the future. I'm very close to giving up in general, but especially when it comes to this connection. Why don't you save me? Why are you leaving me again?

That's all I could get from them and it is veryyyy personal. They would never say those things to you. When you see them again they will probably just listen and tell you it's okay. I think that spirit wants you to know those things so you will treat them accordingly. Now, let's continue the reading with more details about them and this connection.

Your person could have undiagnosed BPD or suffer from other mental issues that have been caused by a stressful childhood. Actually, the words I channeled come mostly from their inner teen who suffered a lot and faced abandonment again and again. Your girl is the epitome of a "good girl". She is scared that you're just playing with them, "leave a pretty girl sad". She might have a beautiful behind. For them, admitting their issues is the first step towards helaing. I don't think they ever had anyone that loved them unconditionally or helped them heal. They see you as THE DEVIL, lol. You're tormenting this beautiful, gentle soul. They are quite pessimistic and think that there is nobody out there to love them. Save me by Nicki Minaj came through and that's when I started seeing them differently, along with the next cards that followed The Devil. There is a huge difference between how and the world see them versus how they see themselves. You see them as a "prized possessions", like loving never made as much sense as it does now while you look into their eyes. Poor baby, the voices in their head don't let them see their greatness. They need reassurance. You think that they are solid and do not care as much as you care about this but they are going through it! SHAME ON YOU! GO HAD THAT BABY RIGHT NOW! They are tired and close to giving up on this connection and isolating themselves AGAIN, until their wounds close up.

You see them as royalty. You think thay have big D energy, no matter their gender. They are crashing out right now, boiling on the inside. You and others see them as an asset, as mature and fine as hell. They are like "No, *crying face* I don't want to do this againnnn!". Their public persona is way different than their emotional side. This is the type of individual their parents left them alone at 9 and were like "Oh they will be fine! In fact let's leave the baby here too and the dog. She'll handle it!"

This is someone who just says to themselves "Okay, let's do this." They put their big girl pants on and get down and dirty. They feel like they do all the work and someone else always gets the credit and awards. Promises unfulfilled. So strong and resilient though. As much as they want to stop they can't, a fire is always lit inside them. This is someone everyone would want in their corner. They can't stop even if luck is against them. They go down fighting. Whatever it takes... A warrior.

She is a feisty one, damn! I'm hearing "heavyweight champ, here to get everything they deprived me of, brink of success, I can't believe I'll make it". This person doesn't have a big ego. If you told them how great theya re they would just brush it off. "You're a star in my eyes." They truly are but they do not believe it. This oerson will sure be retiring with the ring/crown, marriage will happen for them, the big luxurious house will happen for them, the money, the sports cars, the happiness, the peace everything, they won't stop until it happens cause something is pushing them, this inner strength...

They need to tame their inner beasts, anxiety and fears. They are gentle and strong inside. Seem scary but are filled with self-doubt. Your union will happen when you decide that it needs to happen from a place of personal power. Loving and compassionate. They make all others tap out, literally, perseverance. They ahve the power of transforming others through gentle loving. They are rare, irreplaceable (Another One Of Me by The Weeknd). This person will be blessed by karma because they have integrity and honesty and they will get back their kindness x10. Theya re also your karma, hahahha, be careful cause they will act like a mirror, they will hurt you as much as you hurt them, or life will take care of you, if you hurt them, They are divinely protected.

Pile 3

The Sun, Page Of Wands, 5 Of Swords, 3 Of Swords

The song When It Comes To You by Fridayy immediately come sto mind when I'm channeling this person's energy. They are deeply regretful about the way they have treated you so far. They want a fresh start and they are coming in with their little toolbox ready to fix everything, powerpoint slides in the background showcasing all their strengths and weaknesses to convince you that they can be "the one" for you. Some other songs: Glad You Came by The Wanted, Regulr Girl by Tyga, Chris Brown.

"Hey, baby. You didn't expect that did you? I'm focused only on you. You are my sun, moon and stars. Gosh, I can't even talk properly when I'm around you. I can't think straight, your light shines so bright! Anyways, I think that you have put a spell on me. I've been forgetting things lately, I can't focus on anything else, I can't drive or do other daily tasks. My coffee has too much sugar or no sugar at all as I forget how much I've put in, lol don't judge me. I stumble over my words! You witch!

I'm really grateful you showed up in my life. Life was so mehhh without you. We look so good together, I've already visualized everything. What I'll b wearing on our first public outing and how beautiful you will be looking, your hair cascading down your beautiful back, your waist SNATCHED with my arm around it. Lady...You drive me crazyyyyyy! I'm so excited about our future! Don't leave, I'm coming!! I promise, I know our start was rocky but we can ride away together, we have so much potential, you'll see it will be PERF!

I have wasted enough time with my fears of not being good enough and I-I get lost in your eyes. When I get close to you my throat closes up, I overthink everything. How will I take you out on a date, I won't even be able to drive! I will crash somewhere. You little minx! It's your fault I've lost my mind!

Anyways, goodnight babyyyyyyy! Kisses all over!

[daenysx]

3:23am sirius? With reader waking up from a nightmare? Mayhaps mayhaps ...

3.23 AM I SIRIUS BLACK

you can almost feel the hand on your shoulder that connects you to reality.

it's like slipping from unconsciousness, you're being pulled back, you're desperate to lift your body from bed. there's something wrong but you can't focus on it, trapped in your sleep.

"it's okay." someone says. you feel too warm. "you're okay, baby, wake up."

the slightly scratchy voice tickles your ears deliciously, you open your eyes. it's not like you flinch or anything, but the first thing you see is sirius's worried eyes. his thumb draws circles on your shoulder, does he even know he's been doing that?

"what-" you try to lift yourself on your elbows. the words get stuck.

"i think you were having a nightmare, lovely girl." sirius murmurs with a kiss on your head. "you looked so uncomfortable, i was worried."

"i don't remember." you tell him, and it's true. the feeling of discomfort is remaining, but you don't know what you dreamed of. your face aches from frowning.

"that's okay, and we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." he says. "do you need me to turn on the lights?"

it's the middle of the night, and he's losing sleep because of you. you know sirius doesn't care about that, but still you want to take your time with processing the negative emotions you felt unconsciously, you don't even know what you saw.

"no, thank you." you say softly, and settle down in bed again. "um- did i make any sound?"

sirius fixes his hair briefly before bringing his hand to your cheek. "only a few of them. you didn't say anything, but you were feeling nervous, i think."

"maybe i'll remember later." you say.

it's mostly okay, sirius hugs you the way he was doing before he woke up. you put your head on his shoulder, safe in his embrace.

"will you be able to fall asleep again?" he asks silently. he'd stay awake with you until the morning if you can't.

"i feel exhausted." you confess. "i want to sleep, i hope i can."

sleep doesn't come easy. sirius spends the next thirty minutes by rubbing your back with slow circles, kissing your head many times, and speaking in soft encouragements to your ear. you feel like a mush in his arms, desperate for some good rest and unable to find it.

he doesn't let this become insufferable, though. you know he's there with you, you won't sit alone in bed in the middle of the night if you can't find sleep.

sirius pushes his luck a bit harder by adjusting your positions under the covers. he helps you put your head on his heart, you don't protest. it beats steadily, and so beautiful in a way that makes you want to listen to it forever. a nice rhythm in the dark, you follow it. you don't even know when your mind gives up, but at some point it does, leaves you into sleep again.

sirius is proud of himself, and happy with the way you take easier breaths. the night turns into a peaceful one, now that he knows you're feeling better and getting some sleep. you squeeze his fingers. a pretty smile forms on your lips, he can see it this close. he hopes you're having a nice dream this time. he hopes you dream of him.

[butlervibesonly]

𝑈𝑛𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 || Austin Butler

• Summary : Austin and you have been close friends since you were teenagers. However, you have never worked together as actors, and certainly not in a movie where you are a couple.

• Pairing : Austin Butler x Priscilla actress! reader

• Warnings : first kiss, confessing love, overall fluff

• Note : I hope this is not overrated, but I just had to write Austin x actress reader and especially one where you (reader) are playing Priscilla and him being Elvis 😩

You and Austin have known each other for many years. You've been friends since you were teenagers, but never in your wildest dreams would you two have imagined playing Elvis and Priscilla together.

But there it is, and here you are. On the set of Elvis. You and Austin. From the first moments when you started working on the film and started spending more time together, you couldn't help it but catch feelings for him.

But you were afraid that Austin didn't have it that way. Or maybe he has? Probably not. You were just in backstage watching Austin give a breathtaking performance as Elvis. It was almost impossible how flawlessly he could imitate him. The voice, the singing, the look... The hair....

"Y/n...? Earth is calling Y/n." you heard a familiar voice in your thoughts. And in fact, that voice brought you back to reality. Looking up slightly you saw Tom Hanks in his Colonel Parker costume. "Oh, Tom! Hi-" you said as soon as you were brought back.

"Hello there. I see you're amazed just as I am." he said, sitting beside you. "Yeah," you smiled. "He's really incredible. He sounds exactly like him." you complimented your colleague, and heard Baz yell 'Cut!'.

"Right... What's up between you two, anyway?" The question almost took your breath away. You looked at Tom, frozen, taken aback. "Uhm... What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't unsee the way you two are together, you know." Tom spent a lot of time with the two of you, but is it this obvious to everyone that you're completely into him? "You like him, don't you?" he suddenly added.

"Am I that noticeable? How do you know?” you asked nervously. "Y/n, I know what two people in love look like. Maybe it's the way you two look at each other, how you treat each other." Tom was right. In past few months, you have been treating him and he was treating you with such a much more intimacy or connection.

"Yeah, well... I do like him, but I'm afraid. What if it's not both sided?" Tom straightened his position, smiling at you in such a warm way. "I wouldn't be afraid of that," he said suddenly. "If only you knew how he talks about you when you're not around, you'd be surprised."

You looked at Tom, speechless. Austin talking about you? "How?" you were so curious. "Very sweetly, Y/n. I've never seen someone speak so nicely about a woman like he does about you. And it's true what he said, by the way."

Just as soon as Tom said this you looked at Austin who was looking at you. As soon as you made eye contact, Austin smiled - just like he always does when he sees you. "Young love..." Tom added, patting your shoulder as he stood up.

"Don't worry, tell him. Trust me you won't lose anything, quite the opposite.” he winked at you and walked away as Baz decided to call it a day with filming. Austin was still discussing something with the crew, and you were heading to the costume trailer to take off your outfit.

LATER THAT NIGHT...

You kept thinking about Tom's words. Is it really what he says? Austin talks this nice about you? Thoughts were flowing through your head more than ever. You left the costume trailer. Outside was already dark as the late evening air hit you. On your way to your trailer, you suddenly bumped into Austin.

"Y/n, h-hi!" Austin said. You could say you almost blushed the moment you realized it's him. "Hey Aus," you replied, your voice kinda trembling. His eyes were bright even in the street lights, water was dripping from his wet, currently black, hair, probably fresh from the shower. There was a moment of awkward silence as you noticed that Austin was carrying some boxes.

"Oh, um.. I may or may have not accidentally ordered two boxes of Chinese food, and I thought if you don't want to join me?" Your heart started to race. This never happened to you around him, but now, after what you've been told, it's different.

"I would love to." you smiled, and Austin and you headed to his trailer. Is it normal to be this nervous around your best friend? "So how was your day?" Austin asked, placing the food on the table as you sat down. "Mhm, well, demanding? Great?" you smiled.

"So nothin' new, huh?" Austin laughed. Gosh, you love him. "Actually, I saw you were watching while I did the singing scene, how did i do?" he asked, handing you the fork for your food. "You did damn well, Aus. You sound exactly like him."

Austin looked at you with warm smile, happy about your compliment. You guys started eating the food, talking about your day, about the film and everything else possible.

The conversation has slowed down, and there’s this silence, one that’s comfortable but filled with something unspoken. You feel your heart racing a little as Austin glances over at you, his gaze soft and thoughtful.

"Um, Y/n, you know," he began. The words were slipping out of his mouth, one by one, his voice soft yet deep. "I- There is something I have to talk about. Or maybe more, I have to tell you something." Here, you heart stopped. What's going on?

"Mhm?" you murmured to break the silence. "R-right," Austin took a deep breath. "I’ve been wanting to say this for so long, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to risk messing this up or losing you..." Whatever he wanted to say, you didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Lose? Lose how? You feel your pulse quicken, sensing the weight in his words.

“Y/n, I’ve been in love with you since day one,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours, vulnerable and open in a way you’ve never seen before. “Every moment with you, every smile, every little thing you do... it just made me fall deeper. I tried to keep it to myself, but being this close to you now, I can’t hide it anymore. I don’t want to hide it.”

He loves you? Did you hear that right? Did Austin, the boy you knew since you were 13, just said he loves you back? Your heart felt like it's going to jump out of your chest. He likes you, too.

In shock, you lost almost all the words that exist. You didn't know what to say, although you yourself knew very well what to answer. "Sorry if I threw it on you too quickly, I -"

"No," you breathed out in nervous laugh. "No, Austin, don't be sorry. I love you, too. I am completely in love with you more than words can explain. I feel the same, Aus.” you smiled.

After a few seconds, he reached over, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing your skin gently. He let out a small, almost nervous laugh, his eyes flickering away for just a second before coming back to meet yours, more serious now.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” he said, his voice low. There’s a warmth in his gaze that made everything around you seem to fade. He leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to close the space between you, or to pull away if you want. But you didn’t pull away.

When Austin's lips touched yours, it was soft and tentative at first, almost as if he was savoring the moment as much as you were. But then, he deepened the kiss, his hand gently resting against your cheek as he draws you closer. The world felt like it stopped spinning, with only the warmth of his kiss and the feeling of his heart beating close to yours.

When you managed to break the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours. Your heart was still racing, but now in much more pure way, almost as if the soft feelings grew stronger. The silence and sweet moment is broke by your phone ringing with message. "That's Tom," you say, opening the message.

Tom

He didn't order that food by mistake, but on purpose, I told him to do so. I knew I could make you date!

Both, Austin and you laughed. So actually Tom knew all along that you secretly loved each other and wanted to do everything to put you together. And well, he succeeded.

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐢 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭) | love and deep space men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; kinda mad that i didn't take a stab at it ! lads men (zayne, xavier, rafayel) and the habits they've built because of you.. oh, and you broke up (＾＾；)

love mail — added synopsis !! lads debut lads, debut :3 my favey is zayne so if it looks obvi ignore that... (author hasn't played since release be warned for inaccurate depictions.) also i'll be writing for caleb and sylus soon! i just wasn't playing on their release so i wanna do the og three! (^_^) also i'm finally home so layout coming back soon!! love you all :3 do we like the new pfp or do we go back?

zayne hasn't seen you in weeks.

why would he? even if he wishes upon every shooting star that passes by his lonely, office window, you aren't coming back. the hunters already transferred you to a new doctor, he won't be seeing you till he closes his eyes and prays someone up there is kind enough to let him dream of you.

it's selfish, he knows. but who will be around to judge him? the house is empty, his bed is cold, and he can't do anything to change that. he aches, he yearns, though zayne has long sealed his fate. he knows he can't have you, not in any universe where the curse follows, which is every single one.

he still looks, despite this. every cafe, every cat in a tree, drawn to check out every dangerous situation in hopes to catch a glimpse of you. when a client came into his office, they asked about the photo of you he still kept on his desk, proudly on display — even though it shouldn't. it's is only way of seeing you, and he needs it, desperately so. the only thing that kept him sane all this time was the way you glowed so effortlessly. he misses that shine, the light of his life, but he'd rather drown in darkness than let you worry about his curse ever again. his worsening winter inside is nothing compared to the coldness in your gaze towards him now.

xavier doesn't know how to stop making space for you. god, he wishes he'd stop, but he can't. it breaks his heart every time he wakes up alone in an empty bed or couch, expecting to see your pretty face, only to stare at the reminder that you're gone.

he loathes waking up, getting out of bed, just to see your face at work but it isn't as sweet. it's got that sour look when you look at him, and he can't handle it. he wants to see you smile again, he misses being the reason for such a beautiful expression.. but he isn't anymore.

he can pretend well, wear that face of nonchalance and aloofness like it's all natural. everyone in the agency and on enemy sidelines can't read him if they tried. but you can, you always have. and you can see it all in just those eyes.

despite sleeping to escape his reality; xavier is still clearly exhausted. it's more than drowsiness, it's akin to despair. he can't handle this ache that comes with breaking up. but he knows it's for the best, even if he keeps making space for someone who will never fill it again, he stands firm on his decision. no matter how much it kills him.

"there's nowhere else to put these", is the excuse rafayel pulls when thomas worriedly checks on him. in his studio, on every canvas and paper; it's you. every photo of you imaginable is painted and hung on his walls, like a painter trying to remember a distant muse, cause he is. when rafayel began to slowly lose his perfect depiction of you in his head, he painted in a frenzy, uncaring of how long it took, or the care he neglected, he couldn't allow himself to lose it.

you became his muse at his darkest time, needing something to give him a *real* a heart in his work. and how is he supposed to ever pick up a brush when you were gone? sunsets are now dull, flowers seem to be empty no matter how vibrant, and everything beautiful didn't seem so anyore. not when he's seen how you looked under the moonlit light, under his sheets and steady in his arms. rafayel can't name a single part in his oceanic or luxurious home that could ever compare to you.

he noticed that you still came by his gallery sometimes, but word of mouth is that it's only to check if his very first painting of you still stands where it's always been, the heart of all his pieces.

watching you stand there, in what he can only assume to be a growing bitterness to the painting every day it still stands, hurts him. he's glad he's completely shut himself out, locked doors and closed curtains back at home, because he doesn't want to know what you'll react if you figured out he still paints you every day like you never left.

[luckyroll3]

Thank You, Daddy Chapter 8

Masterlist and Summary

Previous Chapter

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, sex work, power dynamics, daddy kink, possessive behavior, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 10,499

Your phone buzzes at 4:12 PM, a text notification from Christopher lighting up the screen: 

Black lingerie set, third drawer, left side. Be in my bed awake by 6:00. 

No greeting, no question mark to suggest it's a request. Just instructions, clear and direct, as if you're an appointment in his calendar. You send back a thumbs-up emoji, noncommittal, neither enthusiastic nor resistant. This is the new language between you: his commands, your acquiescence, both of you pretending it's enough.

The lingerie set is new. You don't recognize it from your extensive collection. He must have bought it recently, maybe even after he’s started treating you differently. The thought irritates you in a way you can't quite define. Is this his version of an apology? A bribe? Or just another way to mark you as his, to dress you up like a doll in his fantasies even as he denies the reality of what's between you?

You hold the pieces up, examining them with a critical eye. Black silk and delicate lace, the bra cut to push your breasts up and together, creating a cleavage that would make a saint question his vows. The panties are barely there, little more than a triangle of lace in front and thin straps that will sit high on your hips. There are garters too, and sheer stockings with seams that will run straight up the back of your legs. It's not subtle, this set. It screams sex, possession, display.

For a moment, you consider saying no. You could text back that you're not feeling well, or simply use one of your allotted refusals. The contract doesn't specify that you have to wear whatever lingerie he chooses, that you have to be waiting in his bed like a gift wrapped precisely to his specifications.

But something in you rebels at the thought of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you break the rules first. If this is going to end, and it feels increasingly like it will when the contract expires, it won't be because you didn't fulfill your obligations to the letter.

So you shower, taking your time. You apply body oil in slow, deliberate circles, the expensive stuff he keeps stocked in all the bathrooms, the scent of jasmine and something darker rising from your skin. You blow-dry your hair, then use the curling iron to create loose waves around your shoulders the way he likes. Your makeup is subtle but precise with dark eyes, nude lips, the look that makes you appear both sophisticated and slightly undone.

The lingerie fits perfectly, of course. Christopher has an eye for these things, knows your body as intimately as the financial markets he manipulates daily. You check your reflection in the full-length mirror, turning to see how the panties cut across your ass, how the garters frame the curve of your thighs. You look expensive, desirable, exactly the fantasy he insists he’s paying for.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

At 5:58 PM, you slip into his bedroom, the lights dimmed to a warm glow. The bed is made, the sheets turned down on one side, your side, though you wonder if he still thinks of it that way. You arrange yourself against the pillows, trying to find a pose that looks both natural and enticing.

Six o'clock comes and goes. Then 6:15. By 6:30, irritation prickles under your skin. He hasn’t done this in a couple months, but this is so typically Christopher: expecting you to be exactly where he wants you, exactly when he wants you there, while he shows up whenever it suits him. The power dynamic laid bare and reestablished.

At 6:45, you give up on maintaining your alluring pose. Your arm has gone numb from propping up your head, and your carefully arranged hair is starting to feel flat on one side. Huffing in annoyance, you reach for the book on his nightstand, a historical biography of some financial titan you assume, no doubt full of the ruthless capitalist strategies Christopher so admires.

But it's not that at all. It's a novel; something about star-crossed lovers in post-war Japan. You flip to the inside cover, surprised to find Christopher's name written in his precise, angular handwriting. He's made notes in the margins too, thoughtful observations about the prose, the characterization, the historical context. This glimpse of him, the private Christopher who reads romance and thinks about love across cultural boundaries, catches you off guard. You haven’t seen this Christopher in weeks.

You begin reading, drawn in despite yourself. The prose is beautiful, melancholic, the story of impossible love unfolding in delicate layers. Your eyelids grow heavy as the emotional resonance of the text washes over you, a counterpoint to the chill that's settled between you and Christopher. Somehow, this book feels more intimate than the lingerie you're wearing, more revealing than if he'd walked in and found you naked.

Sleep claims you somewhere around page 127, the book sliding from your fingers as your breathing deepens.

You wake to the press of lips against your inner thigh, a hot, wet trail moving steadily upward. Christopher kneels between your spread legs, still fully dressed in his suit pants and white shirt, his tie loosened and hanging unevenly from his neck. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark with hunger.

"I thought the instructions were to be awake in my bed," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot through the thin lace of your panties.

"You’re almost two hours late," you counter, your voice husky with sleep and unwanted arousal. "I got bored."

A dangerous smile curves his mouth. "Then let me make it up to you, Baby Girl."

Before you can respond, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and drags them down, exposing you to his gaze. You should be angry, should push him away and demand the respect you deserve. Instead, your legs fall further open, your body betraying your mind's resolve.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "So fucking beautiful."

Then his mouth is on you, his tongue expert and relentless, and coherent thought dissolves like sugar in rain. Your hands fist in the sheets, your head thrown back as pleasure spirals through you, hot and sharp. He knows exactly how to touch you, where to press, when to ease back just enough to make you whimper with need. It's maddening, how well he reads your body, how easily he can reduce you to this primal state of want.

Even as you arch against his mouth, even as your thighs tremble and your breath comes in ragged gasps, part of you hates how much power he still has over you. How he can make you forget your anger, your hurt, your resolution to keep emotional distance between you.

You cum with a broken cry, your body rigid and then liquid, pleasure washing through you in pulsing waves. Christopher works you through it, gentling the touch of his tongue as you become too sensitive, pressing kisses to the insides of your trembling thighs.

When you can focus again, he's standing beside the bed, methodically stripping off his clothes: first the tie, then the shirt, each cufflink placed carefully on the nightstand. His movements are unhurried, controlled, even as the bulge straining against his pants betrays his arousal.

"Take off the bra," he commands, his voice low. "Leave the rest."

You comply, your fingers working the clasp with practiced ease. The cool air pebbles your nipples as the silk falls away, and Christopher's eyes darken further, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

He's naked now, his cock hard and jutting against his flat stomach, the muscles of his abdomen defined and taut. He's beautiful, you can't deny that, all lean power and controlled strength, his body a weapon he wields with precision.

"Get on your hands and knees," he says, climbing onto the bed behind you.

You turn, positioning yourself as instructed, feeling the vulnerability of the pose and the way it emphasizes the curves of your ass, the arch of your back. The silk stockings and garters frame you like gift wrapping, presenting your body for his pleasure.

When his hand comes down in a sharp smack against your right cheek, you jerk forward, a gasp escaping your lips. It doesn't hurt, he's too controlled for that, but the sting sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

"You've been distant," he says, caressing the spot he just struck, his touch almost tender. "Cold."

Another smack, this time on the left. You moan, pushing back into his hand. He kisses the stinging spot.

"Is this what you need?" His voice is rough, a hint of vulnerability bleeding through his controlled facade. "To be reminded who you belong to?"

The words should anger you, should remind you of all the reasons you've been pulling away. Instead, they send a fresh surge of wetness between your thighs. "Yes daddy," you whisper, hating yourself a little for the admission.

Christopher grips your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, deliberately, filling you inch by exquisite inch until you're stretched around him, your body yielding to his invasion. He feels impossibly hard, impossibly big, and a whimper escapes you as he bottoms out.

"Mine," he growls, beginning to move with long, deep strokes that hit exactly where you need him. "Say it."

You bite your lip, resisting even as your pussy clenches around him, greedy for more. This is the battle between you now: his need to possess, your refusal to be possessed, even as your bodies speak a language of mutual obsession.

He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. "Tell me you’re mine," he repeats, circling the sensitive bud in time with his thrusts.

"I’m yours," you gasp, the words torn from you as pleasure builds again, as inevitable as the tide. "Fuck, Christopher… yours."

His rhythm grows punishing, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and his controlled breathing. You're close, so close, teetering on the precipice…

"Cum for me," he commands, and your body obeys, clenching around him as your second orgasm crashes through you, more intense than the first. Christopher follows moments later, his fingers digging into your hips as he empties himself inside you with a guttural groan.

For a moment, you both stay frozen, connected, your bodies still pulsing with aftershocks. Then he withdraws, and the loss of him leaves you feeling strangely hollow.

He stretches out beside you, drawing you against his chest as he always does after sex. His heartbeat is strong and steady against your ear, his skin hot and slightly damp with exertion. His fingers trace idle patterns on your back, and for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself sink into the comfort of his embrace.

Then reality reasserts itself, cold and clarifying. This isn't real intimacy. It's just physical release, a transaction dressed up in expensive lingerie and mind-blowing orgasms.

You pull away, sitting up and reaching for your discarded bra. "I should get back to my room."

Christopher's hand catches your wrist, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Stay."

It's not quite a question, not quite a command. A month ago, you would have melted back into his arms without hesitation. Now, you gently but firmly remove his hand.

"I'm tired," you say, the excuse thin but unassailable. "I'll sleep better in my own bed."

It's a lie, and you both know it. You sleep better wrapped in his arms, your head on his chest, his breath stirring your hair as his fingers massage your scalp. But that's a comfort you can't afford anymore, not when the contract's end looms like a guillotine blade over whatever this is between you.

He doesn't try to stop you again as you slip from the bed, gathering your lingerie and his shirt to cover yourself for the walk back to your wing. You feel his eyes on you all the way to the door, but you don't look back.

The pattern repeats itself over the next week. Christopher sends instructions, you comply. Your bodies communicate in a language of desire and possession, of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. But afterward, you always leave, retreating to your separate space, building walls between you one brick at a time.

Some nights, he tries to talk… about his day, about future plans, about anything that might bridge the widening gap between you. But he never says what you need him to: that he has feelings for you, that the emotions between the two of you are real, that he wants you irrespective of the contract. You respond with polite disinterest, giving him the bare minimum of engagement. Other nights, he seems to accept the new status quo, fucking you with detached efficiency before turning away to check his phone or answer emails while you silently dress and slip out.

Two weeks into this brittle new reality, you wake to a knock at your bedroom door. Your eyes flutter, struggling to focus, the edges of your dreams dissolving into the dimly lit room.

“What is it,” you say groggily as you roll over to look at the time on your phone. 4:07 am.

The door opens and Christopher peaks his head in. “Can I come in?” he asks softly.

“It’s your house,” you respond.

He walks in, shirtless in his black boxer briefs. You take in how amazing he looks, even in the dark shadows of the room, before rolling back over onto your side, your back to him.

You feel him slip beneath the covers and get in the bed behind you. Then his arm wraps around your waist, pulling your naked body closer.

“What do you want Christopher?” you ask quietly.

“I missed waking up next to you,” he says before placing gentle kisses on your shoulder and neck. You sigh softly, not wanting him to know that you’ve missed that too. “I sleep a lot better when you’re with me.”

Same. But you don’t say anything. You allow him to hold you tighter and snuggle against you, relaxing your body into his before you drift back to sleep.

An hour later, you wake again, still wrapped in his embrace. You turn in his arms to look at him, his face beautiful, like always. His hair is a mess and his lips are parted as he breathes slowly. You can’t help yourself when you lean in to kiss him. He stirs gently, then slips his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss before he pulls you closer.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, his hand cupping the back of your neck.

“Nothing’s good about being awake this early,” you reply, kissing him again, unable to stop yourself.

“I can make it good, baby girl.” His mouth trails down to your breasts as one of his hands moves further down.

You’re wet and ready for him, you lift your leg a bit, inviting him in. You push his boxer briefs down and he kicks them off quickly before placing your left leg over his hip and entering you slowly, your body arching into his in automatic response.

There’s no battle between you this time, no power struggle. Just the two of you moving in perfect harmony, reaching for the same thing, lying side by side as your eyes lock on each other, the intensity overwhelming and almost sweet.

It's like a glimpse into an alternate reality, one where your relationship isn't dictated by rules or contracts but by the simple, unguarded desire to be with each other. Where you could wake up like this every morning, tangled in sheets and limbs, without the threat of an impending end hanging over you. But just as quickly as it begins, the moment fades, and you feel the undercurrents of what isn't said. He still hasn't given you the one thing you're waiting for, the declaration that he's all in, regardless of the terms.

You break eye contact with him and stare over his shoulder as he continues to fuck you slowly. You can't afford to think about this, about the sweetness that curls around you after his unexpected visit to your room. He’s making it so damn hard, though, the way he holds you so close, like he's afraid you'll slip away before he's ready to let you go. You try not to listen as he murmurs against your skin, telling you how good you feel, how he’s missed fucking you like this in the mornings, how perfect this is between you. He’s doing it again, trying to pull you back in with the one thing you can’t resist, letting you think this is more than what it is. You know how this ends; later he’ll say it’s part of the illusion.

But the way your bodies move together, his cock sliding in and out of you with slow, exquisite friction, it almost convinces you, almost makes you believe. The pleasure is dizzying, and despite yourself, you find your hips meeting his, your hands pulling him closer, drawing him deeper. His lips find yours, swallowing the soft sounds escaping you as you lose the battle to stay unaffected. Fuck, it feels good, so good that your resolve crumbles, your mind going blank until all you can do is hang on tight, forgetting everything but the way he makes you feel.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, crashing over you before you can brace yourself, your nails digging into his back as you cry out his name. Christopher follows immediately, a shudder running through him as he fills you. He slows his thrusting until your two bodies are still, slick with sweat, your heartbeats racing in tandem.

You lie like that for several minutes, breathing hard, his arms tightening around you, almost crushing in its closeness. His heart thuds steadily against you, a reminder of the things he won’t say. He shifts slightly, his lips brushing your temple, and you know he’s about to say something that will ruin this fragile moment.

“I… I,” he starts. You’re not sure what he’s trying to say.

He pauses, and you can feel the weight of whatever it is stretching out between you, heavy and hazardous, threatening to suffocate everything that's easy and mindless about this. Maybe he’s going to tell you what you want to hear, what you’ve been waiting for. Maybe he’s going to say something completely different, something you aren’t prepared for, another version of “it’s just the arrangement.” Another reminder that this isn’t what you think it is. It’s impossible to tell, and you don’t know if you can trust yourself, trust him, enough to wait and find out. Not now. Not like this. Either way, you know how dangerous those words would be to the precarious equilibrium you’ve established, but you think you want it anyway. Maybe.

The uncertainty strangles you.

You can’t do this. Wouldn't survive it if you did. So you speak before he does. “I’m still tired. I’m going back to sleep.”

Your words are a bucket of ice on the heat between you. Christopher releases you, his warmth and weight vanishing. “Why are you pretending this is nothing?”

You’re annoyed by his hypocrisy. “Is it more?”

Silence.

That’s your answer, then. “Thought so,” you say softly. You pull your knees to your chest, curling into yourself as if that could somehow protect you from the inevitable pain. He watches as you drift back to sleep before leaving to start his day.

The pattern continues, just like before. Instructions, compliance, fucking, leaving. Your days blur together in a series of erotic encounters where everything is scripted, you’re unsure what is real, and you refuse to let anything but his body betray you. Each time, you walk away with marks that linger long after the echo of his need fades.

When he tells you he can't concentrate at work, that he needs to see you, a different kind of desperation lacing his voice, you know by now not to trust it. You’re in his office within the hour, your legs hooked around him, your back pressed against his desk, barely able to hold back your cries as you let him fuck you with all the urgency and possessiveness he can’t hide. You don’t hold back. You’re not supposed to. Not when he has his cock buried so deep inside you that all you can do is cling to him and gasp out his name.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your neck, his words hot and breathless, his teeth marking you as he cums. He’s been sucking on your skin relentlessly, like he wants everyone to know you’re his. Like you need the damn reminder. “I needed that.”

You don’t respond. It pisses him off when you don’t, pisses him off more when you pull away from the moment he’s trying to create, the illusion you’re letting him buy. But that’s the job he’s paying you for, and his thanks mean nothing when this is what’s expected.

Christopher detaches from your neck and looks at you, a flicker of frustration behind his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, and you can almost hear the question he’s really asking: Will you ever give in? Will you ever just be mine without the emotional commitment?

“I’m fine,” you say, your voice clipped enough for him to realize you’re not going to let this be anything but business. A small part of you wants to stay, to push him to say something, to test if he can sustain this need for longer than just a few moments.

You don’t.

“I can have Martha order us lunch?” he asks softly as he kisses your cheek, grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers.

“I’m good,” you say softly. “I’ll just head back.” You kiss him once, lightly on the lips. “I’ll see you at home for dinner.”

He nods, and you leave, feeling his eyes on you until you’re out of sight.

You wake the next morning with a hickey the size of a fucking grapefruit blooming purple on your neck. You touch it, reminded of the way he staked his claim in his office, the way he never hesitates to mark you, even as he hesitates to let you know where you really stand. It’s starting to get to you, like it always does when you let the lines blur too much. You pull on some casual clothes, careful to pick out a mock turtleneck sleeveless top that covers the evidence of his need, and you slip out of the mansion, needing to breathe.

You feel like driving today so you head to the garage. Usually, you take the Range Rover, the least ostentatious of his fleet of cars. But today, you go for the Bentley Continental GTC, the sleek, sexy convertible in a rusty bronze color.

You drive with the top down, losing yourself in the wind and luxury, the memory of him marking you over and over again like a brand fading with every mile. This time, you push further into his world, right into the heart of Beverly Hills, and spend hours shopping on Robertson Boulevard. You treat yourself to everything you can grab, carrying bag after expensive bag filled with things you don’t really need but crave anyway. You make sure he’ll notice the damage when he reviews his credit card bill, though you doubt he’ll care. He’s already spent more on you than you can count. You’re about to leave, your arms full and your appetite for distraction far from satisfied, when you catch a glimpse of a dress in the window of a boutique. It’s soft and white and makes you think of the way the two of you could be if you’d let yourself believe. You linger for a moment before forcing yourself to walk away, to leave it behind.

There’s no way you’re heading back to the mansion yet. You don’t want to face him, or the inevitable conversation, or the frustration of pretending like you’re okay with just being the perfect escort when his actions prior to this month have made you believe that he wanted more… when you want so much more. So instead, you aim the car toward the coast. You’re at the beach within half an hour, barefoot and blending in with the tourists. You stop to grab some lunch, and it’s so late that you’re the only one eating. You take your time, savoring the taste of a burger and fries and the anonymity of being out here, far from what waits for you back at his place. You wander the pier afterwards, weaving through families and skateboarders and couples holding hands.

When you tire of the noise, you head down to the sand, staying close to the water and feeling the spray against your skin. You let the ocean drown out everything in your head, especially the sound of Christopher starting to say the words that he was too scared to voice. You walk until you realize that the sun has set and the moon is bright against the night sky. You’re not ready to go back yet, not ready to face him and the tangle of confusion he wraps around you every time he looks at you like you’re already his.

So you hit the road again, driving until you spot a theater. You hop out of the car and into the crowd, going straight to the box office, buying a ticket to the longest action movie you can find. The noise, the explosions, the mindless chaos of what’s happening on screen: it’s exactly what you need. You don’t want to think about Christopher’s face when you walked out of his office, or the way you know he’ll try pulling you back in the minute you walk through the door.

One movie isn’t enough, so you sneak into a second one, taking you back to when you were a teen and only ever had enough cash to see one flick a month. It feels good to do something for yourself, by yourself. You don’t let yourself wonder what he’ll say when you show up hours later than expected, how he’ll try to pin you down so you can’t escape; the way he always somehow gets you to break first.

When you leave the theater, it’s nearly midnight. The parking lot is mostly empty. You get in the car and start driving, the wind whipping your hair into a mess, your hands tight around the wheel as if holding on is the only thing you know how to do. You make a quick stop for fries, something to keep you going, and the paper bag is your only company as you head back toward his place. You finish it just before you arrive, crumpling the bag and tossing it into your purse.

You let yourself wonder, just for a moment, if he’ll be waiting, if you’ll want him to be.

By the time you get back to the mansion, it’s after midnight and the house is dark. You take a deep breath as you park the Bentley in the garage and slip inside, making sure to be as quiet as possible. You half expect to see him waiting for you in the living room, arms crossed and demanding answers, but the space is empty and silent. As you walk up the stairs, your intention is to head straight for your room, but you hesitate when you reach his door, your resolve wavering like the light flickering under his door.

You should go to your room. You should let him wonder if this is how it ends, with you slipping away before he’s ready to let you go. But you can’t. Even now, when it’s clear that he’ll never give you what you need, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You pause, hand hovering over the doorknob, debating. How long can you keep running from what you really want? You turn the knob and push the door open slowly, already knowing the answer.

He’s waiting up for you in bed. You drop your bags to the floor. You strip silently as he watches you and crawl in next to him, letting him pull you close, letting him wrap his body around you in that way that almost feels like love. He doesn’t mention dinner or the fact that you missed it or ignored his calls and messages all day; he just holds you and buries his face in your neck after kissing it, breathing slow and hard against your skin.

You wonder if this is enough for him, if it ever can be. If you can ever be enough, just as you are.

You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up in his arms, there’s the same ache and tension you’ve become so accustomed to but can never quite shake.

The following week, as you're reaching for your clothes after a particularly intense session that left scratch marks down his back and bruises blooming on your hips, shoulder, and neck, Christopher finally breaks.

"You've been different," he says, sitting up against the headboard, his expression guarded but his eyes betraying a hint of something that might be hurt. "These past weeks. It's like you're not here, even when you're underneath me."

You pause, your t-shirt halfway on, and meet his gaze directly. "I'm just maintaining the fantasy, Christopher,” you say, throwing his words back at him. You put your other arm through the sleeve to pull the shirt the rest of the way on. “Isn't that what you wanted? The illusion without the messy reality of actual feelings?"

The words land between you, and for once, Christopher Bahng has nothing to say in return.

****

The last night of your contract with Christopher Bahng arrives without fanfare. There's no special dinner, no champagne, no acknowledgment of the milestone. Just another evening of his body moving inside yours, of pleasure sharp enough to make you forget, momentarily, that tomorrow everything changes. His fingers trace the curve of your hip in the aftermath, his breath evening out as sweat cools on your skin. The expensive sheets beneath you hold the scent of sex and his cologne, a combination that has become as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

"I want you to renew," Christopher says into the quiet, his voice carefully neutral, as if discussing the weather rather than the future of whatever exists between you.

You stare at the ceiling, counting the seconds between your breaths. One, two, three. The statement doesn't surprise you; he's been dropping hints for weeks, casual references to events months in the future, subtle questions about your availability. But this is the first time he's stated it directly, laid his cards on the table like the businessman he is.

"I'm still thinking about it," you reply, matching his tone, professional, detached. Two can play at this game of emotional distance.

His hand stills on your hip, then resumes its lazy circles. "What factors are you considering?"

A laugh almost escapes you at the clinical phrasing. Trust Christopher to approach even this like a business negotiation. "Various things," you say vaguely. "I have other opportunities."

It's not a lie. Jisung has been texting, asking when you'll be available again. So have other regulars, men who occupied your time before Christopher Bahng demanded exclusivity. Men who don't pretend they're not feeling things they clearly are.

"I could increase the financial terms," Christopher offers, and something in you deflates at the response. Of course he thinks this is about money. "Another twenty percent, perhaps?"

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the sharp angles of his face in the dim light. His expression is guarded, but there's a tightness around his eyes and jaw that betrays his tension. "I'll let you know when I decide," you say, your voice softening despite yourself. "I need a little time."

He nods once, accepting this non-answer with surprising grace. "Stay tonight," he says after a moment, his arm tightening around you. It's not quite a question, not quite a command; it's somewhere in between, in that ambiguous territory your relationship has occupied these past weeks.

"Alright," you agree, settling against him.

His body relaxes minutely, as if he expected you to refuse. His fingers thread through your hair, stroking gently, and the familiar gesture brings an unexpected lump to your throat. This could be the last time he holds you like this, the last time you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear.

You want to ask him again what you are to him, if he sees more for you and him than just the arrangement. But you don’t. You can’t. 

You won’t let him hurt you again.

You lie awake long after Christopher's breathing deepens into sleep, memorizing the weight of his arm across your waist, the heat of his body against yours, the specific cadence of his unconscious murmurs. The moonlight filtering through his half-closed blinds casts silver-blue shadows across his sleeping form, softening the hard lines of his face into something almost vulnerable.

When the first gray light of dawn seeps into the room, you carefully disentangle yourself from his embrace. He stirs briefly, reaching for you in his sleep, but doesn't wake. You stand beside the bed for a moment, watching him, the powerful Christopher Bahng, reduced to a man with mussed hair and slightly parted lips, his hand resting in the warm depression your body left behind.

Then you slip out, padding silently back to your room to begin the process of dismantling your life here.

The packing is methodical, almost meditative in its precision. You fold each item of clothing with care, arranging them in your suitcases like puzzle pieces. The expensive dresses Christopher bought you, the lingerie sets chosen with his specific tastes in mind, the casual clothes you wore around the house, all sorted, folded, contained. Your toiletries follow, each bottle and jar wrapped securely in plastic wrap to prevent spills during transport.

It's surprising how much you've accumulated in half a year. When you arrived, you had two suitcases and a small carry-on. Now you survey four large cases, still not quite enough to hold everything. You'll have to make arrangements for the rest to be delivered to your penthouse.

Your penthouse. The word feels strange, foreign almost. The place you've maintained as your official residence but barely visited a few months after moving in with Christopher. Will it still feel like home, or just another space.

Midway through packing your jewelry, most of it gifts from Christopher, each piece selected with the same exacting attention he gives to everything, you realize how many of your possessions have migrated to his room over the months. Your favorite robe hangs in his bathroom. Your e-reader sits on his nightstand. Your slippers are tucked under his bed.

You'll need to retrieve them, these scattered pieces of yourself. Like breadcrumbs marking the path of how completely you allowed your life to intertwine with his, despite all your professional boundaries and careful rules.

The mansion is quiet as you make your way to Christopher's wing. The staff have been given the day off, Christopher's doing, you suspect, a rare consideration that allows you to leave without an audience. His bedroom door stands partially open, the room beyond dark and still. He's gone, off to work as usual, expecting to find you here when he returns.

Or perhaps not expecting it at all. Perhaps he knows exactly what your silence meant last night.

You move through his space like a ghost, collecting your scattered belongings. The robe from his bathroom. The books you left on his shelf. The small bottle of your preferred hand cream from his nightstand. Each item goes into a tote bag, physical reminders of how thoroughly you occupied his space, evidence of a relationship that went far beyond the parameters outlined in your contract.

As you reach for your slippers under the bed, your fingers brush against something solid. Curious, you pull it out, a small velvet box, the kind that typically holds jewelry. For a moment, your heart stutters, ridiculous fantasies flashing through your mind. But when you open it, you find not a ring but a pair of earrings. Green sapphires, your favorite stone, surrounded by tiny diamonds. The earrings are exquisite, beautiful, and clearly expensive.

The note tucked into the lid reads simply: "For our anniversary. CB."

You know he’s left it for you to find. You snap the box shut, your fingers suddenly numb. Anniversary. As if what you have is a relationship rather than a business arrangement with sexual benefits. As if he counts the days since you first came into his life, marks them with gifts and remembrances.

You place the box exactly where you found it, suddenly desperate to be gone before Christopher returns. The slippers go into your bag, and you retreat from his room, closing the door firmly behind you.

By noon, everything is packed, your presence nearly erased from the east wing. The bed is made with hospital corners, the surfaces wiped clean, the closet empty of your clothes and shoes. If not for the suitcases lined up by the door, no one would know you'd lived here at all.

You're arranging for a car service on your phone when you hear the front door open. Your heart lurches, recognizing the sound of Christopher's footsteps in the foyer: the measured tread, the slight pause as he removes his shoes, the soft thud of his backpack being set down.

He shouldn't be home. It's barely past noon on a Wednesday; he should be in meetings until at least six.

But here he is, appearing in the doorway of your room like a summoned entity, still in his suit but with his tie loosened, his hair slightly mussed as if he's been running his hands through it. His eyes take in the suitcases, your coat draped over your arm, the empty room behind you.

"You're leaving," he says, the words flat, not a question.

"Yes." No point in pretending otherwise. "The car will be here in ten minutes."

He nods once, his expression unreadable. "I came to see you off."

The gesture surprises you. Christopher Bahng, leaving work in the middle of the day, disrupting his precious schedule to watch you walk out of his life. It's unexpected enough to make you hesitate, to make you wonder if perhaps you've misunderstood something fundamental about what exists between you.

"That's... considerate of you," you say carefully, unsure how to navigate this deviation from the script you'd prepared in your head.

"I can help with your bags," he offers, still standing in the doorway, as if crossing the threshold into your space would violate some boundary.

"I've got it, thank you." You check your phone, five minutes until the car arrives. Five minutes of awkward silence stretching between you like a chasm.

“You don’t. Unless you have two additional pairs of arms that I don’t know about.” Christopher clears his throat. "Have you made a decision? About renewal?"

And there it is, the real reason he came home early. Not to say goodbye, not to help with your bags, but to press for an answer about the contract. Something cold settles in your chest, extinguishing the small flicker of hope his unexpected appearance had kindled.

"I need some time," you repeat your words from last night, keeping your voice steady. "I'll let you know."

He steps forward then, finally entering the room that has been yours but never really yours. His movements are controlled, deliberate, as he approaches where you stand beside your luggage. He stops just short of touching distance, his dark eyes searching your face for something, what, you're not sure.

"I enjoyed our time together," he says formally, as if reading from a script. "You've been... exceptional."

"High praise," you respond, a hint of bitterness seeping into your tone despite your best efforts. "I aim to please."

A flash of something—frustration? regret?—crosses his face before his expression smooths back into its usual impassivity. "That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?" You check your phone again; two minutes. "The car's almost here. I should go down."

You move past him, rolling your first two suitcases toward the door. He falls into step beside you, tucking your carry-on beneath his arms and taking the second two suitcases before you can object. Together, you make your way through the mansion, down the hallway lined with modern art pieces you've come to know intimately, down the stairs, past the kitchen where you've shared countless meals, through the living room where you once fell asleep against his shoulder watching foreign films.

The silence between you pulses with unspoken words, with questions that hang in the air like smoke.

What are we? What could we be? Was any of it real?

In the foyer, Christopher helps load your bags onto the bell cart, his movements efficient but unhurried, as if stretching out these final moments. When everything is arranged, you stand facing each other, the physical distance between you insignificant compared to the emotional gulf that has opened since that night when you dared to name what was growing between you.

"I'll have the rest of your things delivered tomorrow," he says, his hands sliding into his pockets, a tell, you've learned, that he's restraining himself from reaching for something. Or someone.

"Thank you." Your voice sounds strange to your own ears, too controlled, too polite. This isn't how you imagined saying goodbye, with platitudes and careful distance. But then, you never really imagined saying goodbye at all after six months, did you? Some part of you always believed he would break first, would admit that what you share transcends the boundaries of your arrangement.

His eyes hold yours, dark and intense, filled with something that might be regret, might be longing, might be nothing more than calculation as he weighs the cost of letting you walk away against the price of keeping you.

"Goodbye, Christopher," you say, the finality of the words settling like a weight in your chest.

He doesn't respond immediately, his jaw working as if he's chewing on words he can't quite bring himself to say. Just when you think he'll let you leave without another word, he steps forward, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he breathes your name softly.

"This doesn't have to be goodbye," he says quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone and his forehead pressed against yours in a gesture almost tender enough to break you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

But you've come too far to turn back now. Your eyes flutter open as you step away from his touch, reclaiming the space between you. "I have to go," you say, the words a shield between your heart and his hand.

His arm falls back to his side, his expression closing like a door slamming shut. He nods once, crisp and final, then steps back to allow you passage.

You walk out without looking back, your steps measured and controlled, your spine straight. Only when the door closes, sealing you off from his gaze, do you allow yourself to exhale, the breath shuddering out of you like something broken.

****

You waste no time reclaiming your life. The day after leaving Christopher's, you reactivate AuVel. Within hours, your calendar fills with booking requests, old clients welcoming you back with enthusiasm that borders on desperation. You sift through them with clinical precision, accepting some, declining others, scheduling your resurrection with the same meticulous attention you once gave to maintaining Christopher's fantasy. Your fingers hover over Jisung's message:

Whenever you're ready, I'm here.

You tap accept. If anyone can help you remember who you were before Christopher Bahng rewired your definition of desire, it's Jisung Han.

A week later, you step into Lumière, a plush lounge downtown where the lighting flatters even the most sleep-deprived faces and the music pulses at a volume that permits actual conversation. Your dress, midnight blue and cut to suggest rather than reveal, clings to your curves like water. The hostess leads you to a corner booth where Jisung waits, his face breaking into a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes when he spots you.

He says your name as he rises to greet you. He kisses your cheek, his hands warm on your upper arms. "God, I've missed you."

"Missed you too, Ji," you reply, meaning it more than you expected to.

He looks good; he always does, with his soft features and large, playful eyes that make him appear younger than his twenty-seven years. Tonight he's dressed in dark jeans, a yellow cashmere sweater, and black Converse Chucks, looking effortlessly casual. No tailored suit, no Italian leather shoes polished to a military shine. No armor.

"Drink?" He gestures to the cocktail menu as you slide into the booth beside him rather than across from him.

"Something with tequila," you decide, settling into the plush upholstery. "Surprise me."

Jisung signals the server, ordering drinks with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly what he wants but doesn't need to command a room to get it. His knee brushes yours under the table, accidental, maybe, but neither of you moves away from the contact.

"So," he says once the server departs, turning those attentive eyes on you, "tell me everything I missed. Did you cure cancer? Write a novel? Finally learn how to cook something besides scrambled eggs and bacon?"

The teasing pulls a genuine laugh from you, the sound almost startling after weeks of measured responses and careful control. "My eggs are amazing, and you know it."

"They're eggs," he counters with a grin. "It's pretty hard to mess them up."

"Challenge accepted. Next time I'll show you just how creative egg destruction can be."

"Promises, promises." His smile dims slightly as he studies you, his head tilting. "But seriously, how are you? You don't seem quite yourself."

The observation catches you off guard. You've spent the past hour carefully applying makeup, styling your hair, selecting an outfit that projects exactly the image you want Jisung to see. You've practiced your smile in the mirror, rehearsed anecdotes that paint your time with Christopher in neutral, professional tones. But Jisung sees through it all with one glance.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, the default response whenever a client asks how you're really doing.

Jisung's expression makes it clear he doesn't believe you. "You know you don't have to do that with me, right? The whole 'I'm fine' routine. If you're not ready to be back out there, we can just have drinks and call it a night. No expectations."

Your throat tightens unexpectedly at his easy understanding. The server returns with your drinks, a smoky mezcal concoction for you, something amber and neat for Jisung, providing a moment to collect yourself.

"It's not that," you say after taking a sip, the alcohol burning a clean path down your throat. "I'm glad to be here with you. I just..." You trail off, unsure how to articulate the complicated tangle of emotions Christopher left you with.

Jisung waits, patient and undemanding. His hand finds yours on the table, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy. "Is this about Bahng?" he asks finally. 

You nod, staring at your linked hands. "It got complicated."

"Feelings complicated or 'he turned out to be a serial killer' complicated? Because one of those I can help with, the other requires a good lawyer, a restraining order, and possibly a shovel."

That pulls another laugh from you, this one slightly watery. "Feelings," you admit. "I broke my own rule. Got attached."

"And he didn't?" Jisung's voice holds no judgment, just gentle curiosity.

You take another sip of your drink, liquid courage for a conversation you never intended to have. "I don't know. That's the thing; sometimes it seemed like he did. He'd say things, do things, that made me think we were building something real. Then as soon as I acknowledged it, called him out, he shut down completely. Insisted it was all just part of the arrangement."

Jisung's thumb traces circles on the back of your hand, the gesture soothing. "Sounds like a defense mechanism. Some people panic when feelings get involved. Especially guys like that, type-A control freaks who think vulnerability is a weakness."

"Maybe." You stare into your drink, remembering the flash of something like fear in Christopher's eyes when you confronted him that night. "Or maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see. Convincing myself it was more than it was because it made the whole thing easier to stomach."

"Do you think that's true?" Jisung asks, his voice gentle but probing. "That you were just imagining his feelings?"

The question pierces straight to the heart of your conflict. You think about Christopher's careful attentiveness, the way he gradually shared pieces of himself that you're certain few others have seen. The book of Korean love stories on his nightstand, annotated in his precise handwriting. The way he came home early on your last day, standing in the foyer with something like desperation in his eyes as you walked away.

"No," you admit, the word barely audible above the lounge's ambient noise. "No, I don't think I imagined it. I think he felt something. I think he still does. He's just too afraid to admit it, even to himself."

A tear escapes before you can stop it, tracking a warm path down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, embarrassed by this display of emotion on what's supposed to be a professional date, no matter how friendly your relationship with Jisung is.

"Hey," Jisung says softly, reaching up to brush away another tear you missed. "It's okay to be hurt. It's okay to miss him."

"I shouldn't," you say, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow even to your own ears. "God, I'm the worst fucking escort ever. Getting all emotional over a client. Breaking the first rule of the job."

"Pretty sure the first rule is 'get paid upfront,' but point taken." You chuckle softly, followed by a loud sniffle. Jisung shifts closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders in a gesture that feels more friendly than sexual. "And you're not the worst. You're human. Feelings happen, especially when you spend that much time with someone."

His understanding only makes the tightness in your chest worse. You take a deep breath, forcing back the emotions threatening to overflow. This isn't why Jisung is paying for your time. He doesn't want to be your therapist.

"I'm sorry," you say, straightening your shoulders and summoning a smile. "This isn't what you signed up for. Let's talk about something else. How's the new app coming along?"

Jisung studies you for a moment, then seems to recognize your need to change the subject. "It's good. We're in beta testing now. If all goes well, we'll launch next quarter."

The conversation shifts to safer territory: his latest tech venture, mutual acquaintances, a gallery opening he thinks you'd enjoy. Gradually, the knot in your chest loosens, and you find yourself genuinely enjoying his company, as you always have. Jisung has a gift for making people feel at ease, for creating spaces where pretense isn't necessary.

Two drinks in, his hand rests casually on your thigh, thumb stroking small circles against the fabric of your dress. The touch is light, suggestive rather than demanding. When his eyes meet yours, the question in them is clear.

You answer by leaning forward, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. His mouth is warm and tastes of expensive whiskey, his hand rising to cup your face with a tenderness that makes something in you ache. This isn't the possessive hunger of Christopher's kisses, the silent claiming of territory. This is an invitation, a conversation, a mutual exploration.

When you pull back, slightly breathless, Jisung's eyes are darker, his smile slow and appreciative. "Want to get out of here?" he asks, his voice rough around the edges.

"Yes," you reply without hesitation. "Your place."

Twenty minutes later, you're in his loft, a sleek, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Unlike Christopher's meticulously designed mansion, with its museum-like perfection, Jisung's home feels lived-in, comfortable. There are books stacked on coffee tables, a gaming console with controllers tossed haphazardly beside it, a sweatshirt draped over the back of a chair.

There's no pretense here, no performance. When Jisung kisses you again, backing you slowly toward his bedroom, it feels like a choice rather than an obligation. His hands are gentle but sure as they find the zipper of your dress, sliding it down with a quiet hiss that sends goosebumps racing across your skin.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your pulse point. "Missed touching you."

Your dress pools at your feet, leaving you in black lace lingerie, not chosen for a client's specific preference, but because it makes you feel confident, desirable on your own terms. Jisung appreciates it with a low whistle, his hands skimming your sides with reverent appreciation.

"Not so bad yourself," you reply, tugging at the hem of his sweater until he obliges by pulling it over his head.

His body is different from Christopher's. It's leaner, less defined by hours in a private gym, but still firm and warm as you run your hands over his chest. When he lifts you, carrying you the last few steps to his bed, the playfulness of the gesture makes you laugh, a sound that transforms into a sigh as he lays you down and follows, his weight a pleasant pressure as he settles between your thighs.

What follows is nothing like the intense, almost combative sex you shared with Christopher in those final weeks. Jisung makes love with the same easy charm that characterizes everything he does; attentive but not intense, passionate but not desperate. When he slides into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his doe eyes open and holding your gaze, it feels like connection rather than possession.

"Okay?" he asks, stilling to let you adjust, always checking, always making sure you're with him.

"More than okay," you assure him, rolling your hips to encourage him to move.

He does, establishing a rhythm that builds slowly, deliberately, his attention focused entirely on your pleasure. His hands seem to be everywhere, cupping your breast, sliding down to where you're joined, tangling in your hair. When you cum, it's with a cry that holds no pretense, no performance; just pure, uncomplicated pleasure.

Jisung follows soon after, his release accompanied by a string of words that sound like praise and awe and your name, over and over. He collapses beside you, drawing you against his chest with an arm that holds but doesn't trap.

"That was..." He trails off, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Yeah. That was worth waiting for."

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in weeks. "Glad I didn't disappoint after your long drought."

"A whole six months," he agrees with mock solemnity. "I nearly forgot how sex works. Had to watch instructional videos and everything."

"I could tell. Very educational. Good form." You poke his ribs, grinning when he squirms away with a yelp.

"Abuse! I'm being abused!" he protests, grabbing your hands to prevent further attacks.

Your laughter fades into comfortable silence, your head pillowed on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. It's nice, this easy aftermath. No strategic retreat to separate quarters, no careful maintenance of emotional distance.

"Hungry?" Jisung asks eventually, his fingers playing with a strand of your hair.

"Starving," you admit. "I was too nervous to eat earlier."

"Nervous? About seeing me?" He sounds genuinely surprised. "We've known each other for what, five years?"

"Five years and two months," you confirm. "And yes, nervous. I wasn't sure if... if I'd be different now. After everything."

He considers this, his expression thoughtful. "You are different. But not in a bad way. Just... I don't know. More yourself, somehow, even when you're trying not to be."

The observation is so accurate it momentarily steals your breath. You've spent the past six months molding yourself to Christopher's expectations, becoming the perfect companion for a man who claimed to want authenticity but really wanted a carefully curated version of it. With Jisung, there's no need for such performance. He's known you too long, seen too many versions of you to be fooled.

"Chinese or Thai?" he asks, reaching for his phone. "Or we could do pizza. I know this great place that does a truffle mushroom and meatball thing that will make you see God."

"Pizza," you decide. "With extra God seeing, please."

While he places the order, you slip into his discarded sweater, the cashmere soft against your skin. It smells like him, clean laundry, expensive cologne, a hint of the peppermint gum he's always chewing. You pad to the window, looking out at the city lights spread below like scattered stars.

Somewhere out there, Christopher is probably in his office, working late as he always does. Or maybe he's in his house, in the bed you shared, with the sheets that still hold the ghost of your perfume. Is he thinking of you? Regretting the walls he built between you? Or has he already filed you away in the part of his mind labeled "concluded business"?

The thought brings a twinge of pain, but it's duller now, manageable. One week of freedom from Christopher's orbit has already begun to restore your perspective, to remind you that there was a you before him and there will be a you after.

"Food will be here in twenty," Jisung says, coming up behind you. His arms slip around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks out at the same view. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking about how nice this is," you say, leaning back against him. "Simple. Easy."

"That's me. Simple and easy." His tone is light, teasing. "Not like your complicated finance guy."

"Ex-finance guy," you correct, though the term feels inadequate for what Christopher was to you. Client? Lover? Almost-something?

"Ex-finance guy," Jisung agrees. "Though something tells me he's not going to stay 'ex' for long. Guys like that don't give up easily."

You turn in his arms, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Call it intuition. Or maybe just the fact that you've got that look people get when they've met someone who's gotten under their skin. Like they've seen something they can't unsee."

His perception is uncanny, almost uncomfortable in its accuracy. "And that doesn't bother you? That I might be... compromised?"

Jisung shrugs, his hands settling on your hips. "Should it? We've always been honest with each other about what this is. What we are to each other."

"And what is that, exactly?" The question comes out more vulnerable than you intended.

"Friends who occasionally have very good sex that one of us pays for," he replies without hesitation, a wide smile on his face. "Friends who enjoy each other's company without demands or expectations. Friends who want each other to be happy, even if that happiness comes from somewhere else."

The simplicity of it, the honesty, makes your throat tight with unexpected emotion. After months of navigating Christopher's complex emotional terrain, Jisung's straightforwardness feels like coming up for air after too long underwater.

"I like that definition," you say softly.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his expression turning more serious. "I've been thinking, actually. When you're ready to step out of the escorting world completely, which, let's face it, has to happen eventually, I'd be happy to have a long-term arrangement with you. No strings attached, just... us, like this. I'd have you on payroll, you'd keep me company when it suits you. And I promise to always be upfront about my feelings. No guessing games, no power plays."

The offer surprises you, not least because it addresses a future you've been carefully avoiding planning for. Escorting has been lucrative, has given you independence and a lifestyle you never could have afforded otherwise. But it's not sustainable long-term, and you know it.

"Are you proposing to be my sugar daddy?" you ask, amusement coloring your tone to hide how touched you are by the offer.

"I prefer 'financial wellness consultant with benefits,'" he counters with a grin. "Less creepy, more professional."

The laugh that bubbles out of you is genuine, unforced. "That might be the least romantic proposal I've ever received."

"Who said anything about romance?" Jisung wiggles his eyebrows comically. "This is strictly business, baby. With orgasms."

You swat his arm, grinning despite yourself. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you're considering it." His expression softens, becomes more serious. "No pressure. Just... something to think about. When you're ready."

The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of your pizza. Jisung presses a quick kiss to your lips before going to answer it, leaving you by the window with his offer hanging in the air between you.

It's tempting, a clean break from the complexities of your current profession, a safety net that comes with friendship and good sex and no emotional entanglements. In many ways, it's exactly what you thought you wanted when you first entered this world.

But as you watch Jisung pay for the food, chatting easily with the delivery person, you can't help but wonder if "no emotional entanglements" is really what you want anymore. Christopher Bahng, for all his frustrating inability to admit his feelings, has shown you a glimpse of something more, something messy and complicated and terrifying, but potentially more fulfilling than the careful distance you've maintained from everyone in your life.

"Pizza's here!" Jisung calls, balancing the box and a couple of beers as he heads for the couch. "Come eat before it gets cold."

You join him, curling up beside him on the sofa as he flips on a mindless action movie, another contrast to Christopher's preference for foreign art films and historical documentaries. The pizza is indeed divine, the company easy and undemanding. For tonight, at least, you can set aside questions of the future and simply enjoy the present moment.

And if, somewhere in the back of your mind, you're already composing a message to Christopher about his contract renewal offer, well, that's a problem for tomorrow's you to deal with.

A/N: This was a tough one to write. How we feeling?

Only one chapter left... Do we think these crazy kids can make it work?

[loveyourlovelysoul]

Choose a number 1-30 and read a sentence for you in time of needs. You can ofc read them all.

1- You're braver than you think. You can get through this too. Just take a breath and then start again. Do not give up.

2- You're not alone even if at times it feels so. Don't worry about being a burden or annoying others: ask for help, talk about your needs and feelings. You don't have to deal with all that by yourself. Keep asking even after being rejected. Someone will answer you.

3- Look inside and see your real worth. No one else can compare to you. You're you, and you're enough and deserving already as you are. Don't let others' harsh judgement make you think otherwise.

4- Life is made of light and dark and so are you. Find your balance again among the two and keep going. It'll be fine, no feeling is going to last forever.

5- Things look scarier and rockier cause they're changing (you're changing too). It's okay to feel uncomfortable and a bit loss or overwhelmed: give yourself time until you find a new balance in your new reality. It won't be bad, I promise.

6- Go slow, take your time. Nothing and nobody is rushing behind you. It's okay to take breaks, it's okay if you're taking a bit more time than you thought in doing something. Focus on the journey not on how much time you're using or thinking you're wasting. You're not wasting time when you use it for yourself. But worrying will make you lose a part of it and hurt you even more.

7- Try to believe that things can change. Be open to them, even if you cannot control this process and see how it is gonna be, chances are it will be great. Trust yourself too (not your fears though, separate from them).

8- You're on the road of success, whether you see it or not. Keep learning, keep welcoming (your feelings in particular): the more grounded and stable you will be able to be, the more opportunities you'll be able to see and make yours.

9- Always be kind and compassionate with yourself: the mistakes you made today won't ever be the mistakes of tomorrow. Making mistakes is a way of learning, not a confirmation of you not being enough. Nobody ever has made no mistakes while trying or becoming better at something. Be patient and give yourself another chance (and even more).

10- Remember the last decision in your life is always up to you: you're the protagonist of your life, don't let it pass you by. Even if at the moment you cannot see a way out, it will come to you. Keep staying hopeful. Keep focusing on what you can actually control, be it even just your feelings.

11- You're not responsible for anyone's feelings or emotions. Remember you cannot control how they react to you or anything really, and you don't have to necessarily make everything better for others. Respect yourself too.

12- Be confident in your abilities and knowledge. Do not second guess yourself cause you were somehow taught you're not good enough: you are. And you can be wrong here and there too and it won't change your worth ever. Trust yourself whether you're right or wrong and soon you'll be just right.

13- Remember that as you give, you also need to receive from others as much. Stay open to that. You don't have to just empty yourself in order to get crumbles or the bear minimum: that's not what healthy relationships are about.

14- Set your boundaries and stand up for yourself. You're not being selfish for this, as you're not imposing on or taking advantages of others. You're just putting yourself on the same page as them, you need as much respect and love as them.

15- Take care of you: stay hydrated, make your bed, take a shower, go for a walk, enjoy a nice book or video or movie, sing, dance, paint... prepare yourself a nice cup of tea and treat yourself with a little gift here and there. You deserve all this, especially when things get rocky and too much to bear with. Celebrate your little successes too.

16- Surround yourself with the right people for you. If you cannot get away from some negative people, try at least to build boundaries and find other people with whom you can share nice moments of peace and growth, and that can get your feelings too. It's important to communicate with people that can understand us.

17- If you feel alone, try to go out and go visit place where you may find like-minded people. Join a volunteering association, go to a movie teather, a park or a library, or start a course of something you're passionate about. Sometimes we need to be the one creating opportunities to ourselves instead of waiting for others to approach us first.

18- It's okay to feel lost while trying to figure out what to do or where to go. Take a breath when this happens and focus on just doing things you like. The more you'll get to know yourself and work on something you enjoy, the faster you'll get to understand more about the next steps to take. Ask to someone trusted for their advice as well: many times people around us can see us better than what we do. Just remember that not everyone can really do that anyway so trust yourself first.

19- You don't have to work on your fears anytime you get triggered or feel overwhelmed. Take a break, focus on something else and come back to it another day. Taking breaks is part of the healing process as much as working with your shadows and triggers, so take time to enjoy your present life away from that too.

20- Help yourself liberating from the excess of energy, caused by anxiety and overthinking, that you may have stored in your body. Move your body: walk, dance, do yoga or any little light exercise (as much as you body allows). Go back to yourself, get in touch with your body and release what is not serving you anymore.

21- Journaling can help you wording and throwing out your confused thoughts, in order to clear them from the inside. You don't have to write them reasonably, this will come later: just focus on freeing yourself first and foremost. At times we just need to pour emotions/events out to process them.

22- Trauma may have caused you to detach from yourself, so take time know yourself again. Know your values and what you can compromise on and why. List things you like and dislike, what you think are your strengths and what may be your flaws (be objective here, don't let others or your wounds decide for you) and so on... you make the rules. Making lists of pros and cons for something may also be useful.

23- As we never stop learning, we never stop making mistakes and growing. Share everything you got around you, keep welcoming and understanding yourself and the world around you. Keep spreading your talents: yes you do have talents, and no they're not negative ones. Allow yourself to try anything you want: who cares if others do it too? They are not doing it better than you, they're doing it differently. See yourself where you can get just by trying with no pressure.

24- You can also try something new and different from what you're used: getting out of your comfort zone can be very inspiring both for your creativity, your mind and your life in general (and in knowing yourself). Share your finds, share your passions. Don't be shy.

25- Having being judged so harshly during your life has probably made you more insecure and willing to close off from the world: please try and allow yourself to see that even if it hurt you so much, it wasn't on you. You weren't the real object of those judgement. It is always all in the head of the person judging, it's never on the object. Be nicer with you, you're worth much more than that.

26- What is really stopping you from trying what you have in mind? Fear of making or not making? Either way, take your fear by the hand and take it to see how is it gonna be for real. Our minds want to keep us safe and try to make things look worse than they actually are just cause they want to keep us in a known zone. But what if that's not where we're supposed to stay? Or where we want to stay?

27- Don't fear: you won't be let down forever nor you won't be alone forever. Your people are coming, try to get ready to meet them and let them in. You're not made for everyone and, if your past has been tough, you may fear not being good enough for the relationship (any type) of your dreams, but you are. And you'll have the chance to build it the moment you'll be ready for it.

28- You may not trust others much out of past hurt, but the fact is that it's never your fault what others do with your trust. You don't have to feel guilty or any less cause you trusted the wrong people. It wasn't your fault.

29- Take your time when you need to bring yourself closure about an event or a relationship. Go slow and try to welcome and nurture each of your emotions and feelings, of whatever type they may be. Ask for support, talk about how you really feel, write, and slowly go back to your passion. Act according on what you feel like doing. Do not make sudden decisions and also, take time to grieve and cry. Grieving is complex, you'll experience ups and downs: it's okay, give yourself time and space to deal with all that at your own pace and conditions.

30- Healing is not about not being triggered anymore and feeling like nothing can scare you: healing is about learning how to recognize your triggers before they hurt you and taking action so that these emotions won't overcome you as they did. It's about learning to not let your fears decide your actions, but taking actions even if not knowing the results feels really uncomfortable and scary. It's about learning to be in discomfort and not letting this ruin your whole life.

---

I hope these short texts can help you in your journey. I hope you take care of your whole being even if you don't really love yourself. I hope you can see yourself as someone you may end up liking after chatting a bit or as someone in need and that you may want to support. Start with that. And be open to see your good sides too, cause you have plenty even on your darkest days (they never disappear).

[ninikrumbs]

Somewhere in the multiverse

jjk men x fem reader.

"Need something, baby?"

The tone of his voice light and indulgent as it always was, not minding the happy distraction your presence brings.

Your head peaks from the doorway, a hesitant smile on your face as you watch you boyfriend work in his home office.

Shaking your head at his questioning haze, your cross the distance between you. He smiles fondly, realizing your intention, twisting his rolling chair a bit to the side to make space for you.

"Come here, pretty girl." He says when you draw near, pulling you down to plop down on his lap, arms immediately finding a home on your waist.

His familiar warmth and smell envelopes your senses imbuing your body with the affection and comfort you always craved from him. The contented noises you let out as you snuggle in the crook of his neck makes him chuckle in amusement, his gentle fingers tracing slow comforting circles down your back. "So my girl's just needy for me?"

You hum in response, looking absolutely cozy with your eyes closed, nose nuzzling his neck as you breath him in, hands resting on his chest.

His hands teasingly wander down your back to give your bum a light squeeze, not enough to startle you from you perfect position but enough to make you grumble, "Not that kind of needy."

With you lips right next to his neck, your breath tickles his skin. He huffs a laugh, "Oh, my bad. "

Not a hint of remorse in his voice though. His hands changes it course up to you hair, gently threading through it, making your eyes droop. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

This is where you belong, you thought. At peace in his arms, away from the cruel horrors of the world even for just a moment. And you're r sure he shares you sentiment with how constantly he tries to shield you from the sometimes brutal realities he has to face.

If he could create a world where you would only know joy and happiness, he would. But Alas the monsters in this world constantly grow like weeds. The best he could do was to make sure they could never get to you. Not in this life or the next.

He hears you whisper his name and mumbling something he incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said I feel bad for a version of me out there who doesn't have you."

He pulls away just a bit to look at your face, he wonders where you get such sudden and weird ideas yet he humors you regardless, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," He raises your palm to his lips, placing a kiss filled with devotion, "I refuse to believe that there's a world where I don't have you. Any version of me won't allow it."

He says it with such conviction that it sounded like a fact, not an opinion or a thought and it makes you want to believe him.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you press youself flush against him once more, finding solace in his words and the beating heart underneath your hands.

"Now sleep, I'll wake you up once im done working some we can eat dinner together."

Your eyes flutter shut again and you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The next time you open your eyes it was to the dark cold ceiling of your bedroom. Your hands reach to the side, - searching, hoping, wishing -heart dropping as you merely felt the bitter emptiness of your comforter.

Sitting up on your bed, you look out of your window. The city lights blurred as hot tears clouded you vision. They fall rapidly down your cheeks, faster than you could wipe them away with your fists. Your throat clogging up with such gut wrenching emotion as you barely held back your sobs.

Your lips trembles, smiling bitterly, memories of another life running though the back of your head, "You're such a liar, you big dummy."

Suguru. Satoru. Kento. Hiromi.

a/n: should I make a happy part 2?

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Divisa; Five

Pairing(s); OT4 (5 possible 👀) x non- mc reader

^ each ending for a different LI and one ending with all

Word count; 2,285

Themes; reality hopping, alternative universe (same as in-game, but things are a little different!), doppelganger, multiple endings, slow-burn

Notes; Second update of the day 😤 my Tumblr is still acting wack, so this probably won't be edited much (italics and such), but it shouldn't hinder the reading experience!

prev || next

☆ Masterlist ☆

Well damn, there go your plans for the day, but at least you found a job! That's something to be proud of.

Baby steps…

You shake your head as you step outside of the Sugar Spoon cafe. Baby steps are better than nothing.

As for what to do with the rest of your day…you could stop by the Nest once again to look for Ezekiel and then after that you could head to Rafayel's art exhibit – maybe get that painting of your mom from him.

Hopefully you wouldn't have to use your Evol again. You were still feeling a little lethargic from the last usage. Your gaze drifts down to your hand and you flex it into a fist, watching the red and black energy crackle and swirl across your knuckles.

This had to be Sylus's Evol. But you're not exactly sure if you stole it from him or if it's just being borrowed for a short time. You hope for the latter, considering if you actually stole Sylus's Evol…he might kill you.

Let's say you borrowed it.

Yeah. That would ease your mind, even just a little bit.

Think of it like…Rogue from X-Men. You borrow powers with a single touch.

You could probably try it out on Rafayel later.

Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you begin to look around at all the people walking around Azure Square, the hoard of them waiting outside Philo for bouquets…

You fix your mask over your nose and start your short walk over to The Nest. Thankfully Azure Square was akin to an outlet mall, everything was close by and basically modeled around the picturesque water fountain in the center.

The bell above the door chimes as you step inside and you make your way over to the bar, getting comfortable on one of the plush barstools.

As you drum your fingertips against the marbled counter, a bartender makes his way over to you, “Would you – “

“Two red wines.” You hear a voice from behind you, your shoulders tensing up at how familiar the deep voice sounds, but you refuse to turn around.

…Maybe if you just ignore him, he'll go away…

“Are you trying to ignore me, sweetie?” You felt a light tapping on your shoulder and clear your throat, “Of course not, Carrion. I'd never ignore you. But I did hope you'd leave me alone…” You turn your head to look at the man behind you, giving him a once over before you sigh.

“Are you upset because I – “

“Because you ignored me? Only an insecure man would be upset over that.” Sylus crosses his arms over his chest and – while he may be hot, if he cuts you off one more time…

“I was going to say for borrowing your Evol.” You hum, lazily lifting your finger up in the air. A dark energy swirls around your finger before it wraps around his tie, yanking his body toward you until his chest is pressed against your back. “But…only an insecure man would be upset over that.” You throw his words back at him as the two wine glasses are set down in front of you.

You feel his breath against your ear as he scoffs, “Oh? So this is what you can do?” He muses, brushing the energy away from him as he takes a seat next to you at the bar. “Well isn't that intriguing…” His fingers rap against the marbled counter before he lifts his glass up, swirling the crimson liquid in a circular motion. Then, he tilts his head back, emptying the glass all at once.

As much as you'd love to have your drink…The mask stays on.

“Drink mine too.” You jerk your head in the direction of your glass. “I'm looking for someone, can't afford to drink and miss them, ya know?” When you lock eyes with Sylus, you swear you saw his right eye glow, but you quickly look away before anything can happen.

“Hmm…” Sylus tsks. “Who caught your eye? They can't be any better than me, that's for sure.” He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm.

“I'm not looking for anyone like that.” You shake your head, however you almost fall out of your seat as another person enters the bar.

Silver hair…blue eyes…

Nope.

No.

You quickly turn back to face the bar, clearing your throat and deciding to use Sylus if he's offering. “I'm looking for Ezekiel. I was told he spends most of his time here, drinking.”

“The washed up hunter?” Sylus nods his head, his gaze drifts from Xavier and then back to you. “He caused quite the stir a few months ago, so he might be a bit harder to find.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head to the side, brows knitting together. “What happened?”

“He ran up to a famous hunter in tears, claiming she was his daughter.” The white haired man shrugs. “But then after she spoke, he left. So everyone just assumes he's going a bit crazy. You still sure you want to find him?”

Gemini.

He must've seen her…You felt your chest tightening as your gaze drifts to the floor. You could only imagine the pain of seeing someone who looks like your daughter, only for it not to be her. Especially a man who has been grieving for both his wife and daughter for over twenty years.

You clear your throat and firmly nod your head, “Of course I'm sure. That's my dad, I can't just…”

“Back corner of the room.” Sylus jerks his chin in the direction he barked out. “All alone, drinking. It's sad, really.”

But before you can walk away, you feel his fingertips brush against your shoulder. “I'd be careful saying you're his daughter, though. Y/n is trouble and, if you look like her, that's also trouble for you.”

Hmm…since Sylus is offering up information like that… “I may look like her, but we’re two entirely different people, trust me. The trouble that’s after her would be disappointed to find me instead.” It’s definitely not a lie. Anyone from Ever or the other love interests would be disappointed to find you instead. You don’t have an Aether Core nor do you have a Resonance Evol. “But before I go…” You spin back around to grab Sylus’s hand, smiling with your eyes as you speak, “If you don’t mind, I’ll be borrowing your Evol for a little bit longer.”

Then, you turn your head back to the corner of the room. Eyes set on the man seated on a bar stool, throwing back glasses of rum and coke. You throw your hand up as you walk away from Sylus and make your way over to Ezekiel - your father. You take a seat next to him at the bar, gently tapping the marbled counter with your fingers.

You brush aside the thought that Xavier, or even Sylus, could see you and you tug down your mask under your chin. Then, you clear your throat, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. You take a deep breath and lightly tap his shoulder. “Excuse me…” When he finally looks toward you, you give him a tiny wave, “Hey…”

“Look, I don’t - “ Ezekiel pauses, squinting his eyes at you as he wonders if maybe he did drink too much tonight. A groan slips from his lips and he rubs his eyes. “I think I drank too much…”

“Does this look familiar to you?” You take the polaroid out of your wallet and slide it over to him. “I’m honestly just as confused as you are.” You nervously chew on your bottom lip and decide to order yourself something sweet to drink since this is the longest you’ve left your mask down all day. “Are you really…?” He has a hopeful look on his face and the smallest of smiles tugs at his lips, “How’s M/n (Mom’s name) doing?”

His question really tugs at your heartstrings, because it’s the very first thing he asks. The first thing he worries about is your mother. A small smile tugs at your lips and you lightly shake your head, “She doesn’t really talk about it with me. She never remarried, she always seemed a bit sad, but I assumed it was because you were dead…Not separated like this. How did this even happen?”

No, seriously. That was an important question. You were so confused how this game world was somehow real and even how your mother got here. You assume it has something to do with your necklace, the reality stone or whatever it was called, but you’re still not sure of the logistics of it all.

“Your mother didn’t know much about it either. Though, she knew more than you since she told me it could only transport two people between realities. I did some more research after she was gone and I found that it’s supposed to help people find their soulmates no matter where they are.” Ezekiel says, but his voice is filled with confusion. Even he doesn’t fully understand it.

“Then, why didn’t she go back with you?” You ask, your hand subconsciously reaching up to grab the necklace that was under your shirt. “She was pregnant with you.” He sighs, running his index finger around the rim of his cup, “We were going to stay here and raise you in Linkon, but when a Deepspace Tunnel opened up in our home…All I could think about was keeping you both safe, so I told her to leave without me.”

“And…do you know why there’s another me running around because that’s really freaking me out.” It was a lot to take in, honestly. The fact that Linkon, that this universe, was the one you were supposed to be born in and that your mother had to be separated from her love to keep you both safe.

“Well…The only idea I have is, since your mother was pregnant with you when she left, the universe created another you to make up for the fact that you left, but the universe couldn’t make you both identical since they had no idea what you would look like and that’s how she came to be.” Ezekiel rubs his temples as if he felt a headache coming on. “I’m not entirely sure, and it’s dizzying to think about.”

That made the most sense to you as well. If you were supposed to be born here, you were already written in this universe, so it makes sense to create another you since you’re not here. But were you really that important to this world to where they needed to make a second you? But also if this stone sent you to a universe where your soulmate would be…That means your grandma really was engaged to a crown prince in another universe, and that you would find your own soulmate here. You’d bet your right arm that you were also the first in your family to be sent to the same universe as your parent, because that’s also a weird coincidence. What was so important in Linkon that two generations of your family were sent here?

“Well, good thing I still have the stone.” You’re thankful you haven’t taken it off and lost it, but you shouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch. “Oh, actually! Do you want to head to Azure Square with me and pick up a painting of Mom?” You unlock your phone to shoot a text to Rafayel about meeting up to collect the canvas.

You; “Hey! This is Comet from the Nest. Could I pick up that painting today in Azure Square?”

Rafayel; “?!”

“duh! U can pick it up today”

“my showcase is today but i can always sneak out for U”

Oh shoot, you forgot Auntie Taryn mentioned he had a showcase today. You pondered the idea of going in to pick it up, but there was always a risk of running into Gemini…

You; “It’s fine! I can always pick it up tomorrow, I don’t want to bother you”

Rafayel; “dun worry about it”

“U could never bother me”

“ill b out in a sec, gotta sneak away from thomas”

You put your phone back into your pocket and pull your mask up over your nose. “We’re good! He should be able to meet us in Azure Square in a few.” Ezekiel pauses for a moment, finally taking in what you said. “Wait, you mean the painting of your mother I had commissioned a few years ago from Rafayel? You have that artist’s number? How long have you been here again?” He raises a brow, suddenly feeling really worried about his daughter. You’ve only been here for a day or two and you’re already close enough with a famous artist that he’s willing to run out of his exhibit to run an errand for you?

“It’s not like that, Dad.” You lightly shove his shoulder with a small laugh. “I sold some of grandma’s antique coins to him in exchange for her painting.” You decide to leave out the fact that you also met the leader of Onychinus, because he’d probably have a heart attack on the spot. The two of you stand up and get ready to walk out of the Nest, but you feel someone catch you by the wrist.

You immediately tense up, feeling the now familiar energy swirling around your palm as you get ready to fight whoever grabbed you, but when you turn your head, you freeze.

Why the hell was Xavier stopping you? And why did he have that look on his face? That one sickeningly adorable expression that reminded you of a kicked puppy.

Taglist; @ladyparamount , @the-love-of-my-life96 , @rui-drawsbox , @deputy-videogamer , @yoongi-tunes , @fallenfromgrxce , @msturi2u , @myheartfollower, @schwnapps , @m00nchildwrites , @black-girl-anime-lover , @shypotatoes013-blog , @mitzkooni , @stxrrielle , @yournextdoorhousewitch , @lifeisnotyahoo , @hon3yydew , @lavvytae, @snowdynasty

[lazyalani]

| Blue Lock

| No one knows how much I cried that day

| angst, breaking down, post-break up, angsty shits, hurt no comfort, implied romantic relationships, i got carried away in isagi's part

| Ft. Itoshi Sae, Itoshi Rin, Bachira Meguru, Isagi Yoichi

Even so, I could never regret loving you.

| Summary: When everything comes to an end.

| Blue Lock Masterlist

| Main Masterlist

two birds, on a wire

RIN

He convinces himself that it was okay. That he's fine, he's okay without you. That it isn't as bad as it seems. Because that's what he's good at anyway, being alone. Or convincing his self that nothing affects him He actually manages to convince himself for a few days until he passes out in practice and wakes up to his teammates pointing out how he's practicing a hundred times harder than usual. How his moderate practiced turned into everyday, everynight. How his medidation and yoga turned tense. How he's lost so much weight despite being always the healthiest and fittest of them all. Oh, but he isn't anymore, isn't he? Why? Oh. So he goes back to his apartment, his teammates' voices ringing in his ears. He tried to think how it happened. How what happened? He can't think of any reason why-- Why is the holder beside the sink only holding one toothbrush? Oh. Oh, but why are his eyes wet? How did the water reach his eyes when he's only brushing his teeth? Oh, that isn't water. I wonder what it is.

one tries to fly away, and the other

SAE

It's not like he fell out of love, no, not like that. It's just that it's not the same anymore. It's just the way Sae's whole world has changed since he went to Spain. You aren't those sickly inlove, innocent, pure hearted children anymore. But he could also never fall out of love either. Not when you're the only one he has left of his past self. You were the only one left of the reminder that he onced lived in the sweet lie behind the realities of the world. You were that one light keeping him from giving in to the shadows of the 'reality' Spain shed to him. Like a kid keeping a light open in the night so the monsters couldn't come and get them. Your sweet smile reminding him of the popsicles he used to share with his brother. You were the silence he needed in the midst of the noisy, demanding world of his career. You were the comfort he had when he is constantly reminded of the harsh reality of the sweet dream he used to share with his brother. But that light has now dimmed. Sometimes, love isn't enough. Sae's world, is just too harsh and dark for someone like you. Better let the light turn off than get tainted. But Sae, is now, even more lifeless. Like a kid being taken away from their favorite toy to grow up. The only hope he had for his happiness is gone, and he has no more reason to even try and pretend infront of a camera. This is Sae, in his lightless world.

watches her close from that wire,

MEGURU

It had always been him and you, no one else mattered. All you two ever cared about was each other and having fun together. You never understood football, nor had he understood your dollhouses and kitchen toys, but it had never mattered to both of you as long as you had fun. You never cared about the side comments, the haters, the bullies, the dumb shits, the cool kids, the smart kids, the people around you. It had always been about the two of you, and it always will be, right? Oh, he has a new friend in blue lock? Oh, his name is Isagi, you're glad he found someone who undertood him in a football sense. Oh, another friend called Chigiri? That's great, it means he won't be alone in there without you. Oh, another one? That Kunigami seems to be reliable too. And another one, and another one, another one... Why, where are you going, Meguru? Don't chase after Isagi... Don't leave me... Ah, you weren't enough, afterall. And Bachira Meguru's return from blue lock was without you. Ah, it seems like you were the only one he had outside football, afterall. Too bad you thought it was better to grow apart as it seemed like he already did. And Bachira Meguru is reminded of the past he shared with you again. Loneliness.

he says he wants too as well, but

YOICHI

From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, to strangers? A very fitting ending for someone who realizes he has to change in order to get his dreams, even it means leaving behind someone in the process, even if it means it's not intentional, and unfortunately, in the middle of it all, is you. Yoichi is a natural sweet and kind person, you've known of his dream since you were kids and the announcement of his return to blue lock with his new found friends had excited him along with you ofcourse, it means he is once again a step closer to his goals. But it seems like those goals of his do not include you. It isn't something intentional. He cares for you a lot. He doesn't seem to know how it's affecting you and you're too scared to tell him, too guilty because how could you even think about your sweet guy like that? But it was reality. He was changing and you could never not notice. The new found confidence, the bravery, the boldness. It seems to be doing him good but, it was having the opposite effect on your relationship. You felt guilty, he never seemed to think less, not even once. He never seemed to have noticed the distance. To him, only little time has passed because he had fun, but to you, it seemed like a whole lifetime. Change can be a good thing, but apparently, when it becomes morre of an obssession to his dream, he strays too far to even grasp. He is right beside you yet you cannot even reach his mind. Always about football, about Kaiser, about Bachira, about Rin, Noel Noa, Kurona, Hiori, Shidou, football, football, football, football. Isagi Yoichi has failed to notice you slipping away from him, and is enveloped by the crashing pain of you leaving him. It isn't anyone's fault really, but when a situation's more complicated than just who is to blame, it becomes overwhelming to the point of nothing at all. And it's better to just grow and learn from it than try and fix it.

he is a liar

[moonveiltarot]

Why Didn't they Choose You? Pick A Card Tarot Reading

Pick the image you are most drawn to about the person on your mind and find out why they didn't choose you! :D

We all have been rejected at some point by a crush ... or maybe we haven't? I dunno... anyway. Let's get into the reading!

1 The Fool. 🫣 They chose something new. It's like they saw something shiny and distracting. "Ooh, look how green this grass is!" Instead of watering the lawn they were on, they jumped the fence to someone else's lawn. They did the same to their new partner. Left them for something that looked better.

Your person has an entitlement and ignorance problem. They didn't think with their heart or their logical brain. They let their greed and genitals do the thinking for them~

2 The Emperor Reversed. 😤 They thought the other option would boost their popularity more. They seem to still be stuck in a high school mentality.

This is what this person values. They are in for a painful invalidating and joyless life. They will go for what others think they should have. This person can't think for themself.

They care way too much how others view them. They want to be seen as a leader, but try to appeal to what makes others think "Oh, Pile 2's Person is just like us." They are trying to lead as a follower. They won't make their own choice for love, career or anything else. They go with what is popular and won't make them look like a weirdo.

They want to be superior, looked up to and idolized. They saw that with you, they'd have met their match.

They want a more submissive partner and someone who won't give them any "lip." No back talking, no questioning their choices, no standing up for themself. Just taking it like a good little doggy. This person views their partners as expendable. They might eventually seek a trophy partner and won't stop using then discarding partners until they find "the one." The one that checks all the boxes, boosts them socially, gets them more money or status and subservient. Obedient even.

3 7 of Cups. 🍸 Options. This person didn't have the slightest clue what to choose. They may have some kind of addiction. They wanted to have a harem, but not to choose or commit to someone.

This person juggles partners. Cheating on their partners and the people who invest in them. This person is a p**sy chaser.

4 The Moon. 🌫️ When this situation got real, they didn't like that. The mystery and "dreamy" vibes became real at some point for them. They ran. Emotional intimacy scares this person. They can dream and fantasize about it. they can enjoy the good vibes and unveiling the other person. But when it's time for them to be vulnerable they run and hide. They can't do it... so they chose someone who doesn't poke, prod or delve too deep.

5 The Devil. 🧪 I feel like this is an addiction, cycle or pattern they go through. They chose someone who helps perpetuate toxic cycles in their life under the guise of playfulness, but with a very dark reality. They aren't in a good space mentally. They chose someone who shares addictive patterns and behaviors. They would have brought you down and been toxic with you. They chose someone who they can be toxic with and are likely forming or have formed a trauma bond with.

Lust, addiction and trauma bonding. They aren't of the light. They are a dark creature of the night. They probably knew they were gonna fumble you and self-sabotaged this connection.

Let them rot in their addiction. They chose stagnation over growth, healing and elevation. They chose a sewer-dwelling rodent over an angel sent to help them... ew.

The devil card is often considered "karmic" but I don't believe in or manifest karmic situations. So take it as it applies, or not. :P

6 4 of Pentacles. 🪙 Convenience. This new person they chose (or situation for some of you) was stability for them. They thought they'd lose things they value if they chose you. They were thinking from fear... They chose crumbs over a banquet just to maintain what little social status they have. It's not much for this person I fear, but they didn't see the beauty of what they could have had. They were pessimistic.

Alternatively, they chose someone who won't ask them to share their resources. They got stingy. Greedy even. Yuck. Leave this loser in the dust.

7 Page of Cups Reversed. 🍼 This person was too immature. This might shock you if they're older or something... but if they're younger like early 20's it might make sense. They are not emotionally mature enough to be available in that way. Sweetheart, but with the emotional depth of a teaspoon. They chose someone who is more on their level maturity-wise. You were a blessing, but they could only stare in wonder... they had no idea what to do with you or that they even could. It didn't cross their mind because they view you as someone who already has it all going on. They didn't even think to consider that they could have a place in that with you. They flirt and stuff, but are very .... childish.

8 The Hanged Man. 🪦 You know that phrase, "saving the best for last?"

Yeah .... your person did that with you. They saw you and recognized you as their "counterpart." Then they thought, "Great, I have a counterpart! Now I'm going to go explore ALLLLL the other options in the universe and when I'm ready my perfect soulmate will still be here waiting for me!!" :D

Fucking dumb ass.

They chose to go play with others. They chose chaos over stability. They chose to put you on the back burner and wait until they were ready for a serious commitment to spin the block. Then you'd just fall into their arms—wait, let's be real. They'd want to fall into your arms because that's just how it goes. You're just there FOR them. Not WITH them... in their perspective anyway.

Closing Thoughts: Take what resonates, leave what doesn't. There are various reasons these things and situations manfiest into our lives, but it doesn't have to stay that way. Circumstances are never permanent. Redirect your attention to what you do want (yes, you can process your emotions and thoughts first) and claim your new manifestation.

[raspberryslxt]

Carl Grimes x Negan’s daughter!reader

-

warnings:none

-

The world had become a desolate wasteland, overrun by the undead and ruled by fear. Amidst the chaos, Carl Grimes found himself face to face with an unexpected ally – y/n, the daughter of the notorious Negan.

Carl cautiously approached the abandoned warehouse, his senses on high alert. He had heard rumors of survivors in the area, but he never expected to encounter Negan's daughter.

Y/n emerged from the shadows, her presence commanding attention as she leveled a gaze at Carl. "What do you want?" she demanded, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Carl raised his hands in a gesture of peace, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. "I'm just looking for supplies," he replied, keeping his tone neutral. "I mean no harm."

Y/n studied Carl for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Fine," she finally said, stepping aside to let him pass. "But watch your back. This world is unforgiving."

As they ventured deeper into the warehouse, Carl and y/n exchanged cautious glances, their guard never faltering. Despite the tension between them, Carl couldn't help but admire y/n resilience in the face of adversity.

"Your father... Negan," Carl began tentatively, breaking the uneasy silence. "What's he like?"

Y/n’s jaw tightened at the mention of her father, a shadow passing over her features. "He's... complicated," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But he's not all bad."

„He killed my friends,” the bot said. Y/n looked at him with a „really dude” look.

Carl nodded, understanding the complexities of family loyalty all too well. "I get it," he said softly. "We all have people we care about, even if they've done things we don't agree with."

As they scoured the warehouse for supplies, Carl and y/n found themselves opening up to each other in ways they never expected. They shared stories of their pasts, their hopes and fears laid bare in the harsh light of reality.

Hours turned into days, and Carl and y/n formed an unlikely bond as they navigated the dangers of the wasteland together. They fought off hordes of walkers, braved the elements, and relied on each other for survival in a world where trust was a rare commodity.

But their newfound partnership was put to the test when a group of hostile survivors threatened their sanctuary. Carl and y/n stood side by side, their weapons drawn as they prepared to defend their makeshift home.

"We can't let them win," y/n said, her voice steely with determination.

Carl nodded, his gaze unwavering as he met y/n’s eyes. "We won't," he vowed, a sense of urgency coursing through his veins.

As the enemy closed in, Carl and Y/n fought with a fierce intensity, their movements synchronized as they battled against overwhelming odds. In the heat of the moment, Carl found himself relying on y/n’s strength and agility, trusting her with his life in ways he never thought possible.

When the dust finally settled, Carl and y/n stood victorious, their chests heaving with exertion as they surveyed the aftermath of the battle. Despite the chaos and destruction surrounding them, they knew that as long as they had each other, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Y/n turned to Carl, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thanks," she said softly, her eyes betraying a vulnerability she rarely showed.

Carl returned her smile, a sense of warmth flooding his chest. "Anytime," he replied, his voice tinged with sincerity.

As they stood together in the fading light of the setting sun, Carl and y/n knew that they had found redemption in each other's company – two souls bound by the shadows of their pasts, yet united in their quest for a brighter future. And in a world consumed by darkness, that was enough to give them hope.

[lokisprettygirl]

Light into the Darkness (Bill Skarsgard! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Horror Romance) (18+) (70s AU)

Read Chapter 2 here

Chapter 3

Summary : You wrestle with your decision throughout the day, knowing you'd have no choice but to give in to him.

Warning: 18+, Reader is depressed, blood kink, smut, reader has plethora of insecurities, she's passively suicidal, she's in her thirties (for some of you that's a warning I guess), when I say alternate universe i mean it

Next morning you woke up to the sound of the rain pattering outside the window, you hadn't seen sun in a week now and that just added to the eeriness you had in your life.

While drying your hair the thought of the entity pretending to be Jonah infiltrated your mind, what would you do if he comes again and Eric won't be here to save you? What if something else comes in his place that's worse or more terrifying than Jonah?

If Eric wanted to hurt you he'd have done it right? He had the power, he could do whatever he wanted and there wasn't much you could do about it. You still felt wary of his intentions though.

It just seemed too hasty of a decision to make, you didn't know a thing about him except for the fact that he was a blood sucking vampire. But tonight was the last night and you had to give him the answer he so desperately seeked from you.

You didn't even have the luxury of distracting yourself with work today, it was Sunday. Mr Rogers kept the store closed.

Before Eric's arrival you used to spend your sundays just sleeping, sometimes you'd put on a movie to kill time or read, but the other times you just slept, the life in your dreams were always much more exciting than your actual one, sleep was an escape, but you couldn't even sleep today, you felt too restless to stay still in one position.

You wandered in your own apartment like a ghost, three nights ago you were begging for your life to change and that change certainly arrived in the form of a seductive vampire.

You didn't know whether he'd be a blessing or a curse and that's what bothered you to the core.

Standing in front of the window you pressed your palms to the sill, the rain drops cold against the glass, you jolted backwards as if you could almost see his reflection in it for a moment.

But maybe it was just in your head.

He was definitely in your head.

You weren't a child, you were a woman, old enough to realise he was pulling you in deeper with seduction. You had dreamt of him again last night, he was in your bed, you were between his legs, his mouth latched onto your wrist as he sucked your blood while you sucked his cock with such fervent passion as if you were starving.

He did this on purpose, you knew when you were being seduced, not that it happened often. But Eric didn’t flirt like the men in your past did when you were younger, there were no cheap lines, no clumsy hands. He invaded. He was clogging your thoughts and dreams, filling them up with filth so you'd be tempted to explore those vivid images, to fruition them to reality, he was teasing you, torturing you with knowledge of what you could have if you'd just let him inside you in every possible way.

You opened the window before turning away, a cold breeze running through your hair, the smell of rain intoxicated you, your heart was pounding constantly, not just from fear, but from something darker, deeper. A deliciously unbearable ache, not just between your legs but your whole existence.

You clenched your fists to ground yourself, to remind your body who it belonged to. He was just a dream, a mirage, you tried to convince yourself that he can't possess you. But you knew better, he didn’t need to touch you to possess you, he didn't need to consume your blood, he was already everywhere. And he knew exactly what he was doing.

You didn’t want to admit how much you craved it. Not just the sex. Not just the blood. The intimacy. The way he looked at you like you were worth crossing realms for. Like your pain, your loneliness, your want was sacred to him.

He was offering so many things you never had and always wanted but you knew it would come with a sacrifice. Even though he didn't say it clearly, he used deception in his silken words, wanting to keep you hooked without giving much of himself.

“You'll never see me again. Back to your good old life”

His words stood out like a needle in a haystack, you couldn't really see them but the damage would make you curl and scream in pain if you dare step on it. Your life wasn't good, of course not, it was boring, meaningless and lonely but it was also mundane, and with mundanity came safety.

But safety wasn't passion.

Your loneliness wasn't the answer to what you truly craved and you craved attachment, you craved romance.

You craved him.

Night befell on you quicker than your expectations. You followed your usual routine, you ate dinner in the silence of your apartment, then you took a bath, a glass of wine perched at the edge of the tub. You needed it tonight.

Stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped around in a towel you looked at your reflection in the mirror. The woman that stared back seemed different to you, your skin was flushed, you looked haunted even though he had promised he'd not do that, you seemed possessed, touched by something otherworldly. Touched by him.

You slipped into a silk nightgown, your fingers fumbling slightly round the knot. Then you lit up two big candles and placed them on the nightstand next to each side of the bed before turning off the lights.

Each movement felt like a ritual, a soft submission to inevitability. You had told yourself you’d make the decision tonight, but you already knew, didn’t you?

You wanted him to come.

You wanted him here.

You were inviting him in.

Taking a deep breath you sat down on the bed, your heart continuing to hammer, it hadn't stopped and so had not the rain out there.

As you closed your eyes and whispered his name, his scent filled your surroundings, you could feel it, his presence near you.

A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers curled into your hair, strands rolling around his long digits but you didn't dare open your eyes.

“Missed me..did you?” He whispered as he placed his knee next to your thigh before leaning into you.

“What makes you say that?” You answered, albeit a bit boldly, surprised by the sharpness in your tone. He smiled but he was determined to melt you into a puddle of want and desire before he leaves tonight.

“You turned off the lights, lit up candles for me, wore silk and you are presenting yourself to me like an offering, inviting me in”

Your breath hitched at his words, his voice rough and sharp in your ears but still carrying the edge of seduction he always had.

His other hand trailed down, briefly tracing the curve of your breasts before he pressed his palm flat on your heart.

“So loud in there.. is it not?”

You finally opened your eyes and looked at him, he was so tall and imposing, candlelight dancing on his face, his long overcoat was missing today, just the shirt with the few buttons undone, curls of small chest hair peeking out from the fabric. You wanted so badly to press your lips on his skin.

“It's fear” you mumbled, making him snicker in satisfaction.

“Or desire. I can make it quiet..not just in here but here” his thumb traced over your temple as he spoke. He could feel it, your hesitation sang loudly, piercing his ear.

“You can have anyone..why me?” You asked him, perhaps a part of you wanted to be praised, to be complimented.

“Why not you? It was you who awakened me. You're beautiful, do you not see it?”

“I am plain and simple” your lips trembled as you spoke. Adam's words were in your head. “If you were human once then you must see that.. a man that looks like you would never pick someone like me”

His jaw clenched at your words, a fury in his eyes awakened, how dare you demean yourself this way?

“I have been human, that is why I understand how foolish mortal boys are. Don't reduce yourself to their opinions of you” He spoke, tenderness grazing his words, you stood up from the edge of the bed, wanting to feel even closer to him if possible.

“Beauty isn't just skin deep, little flame. Sometimes it's a beautiful soul wrapped in silk and trembling flesh, made to feel unwanted by imbeciles because they simply cannot bear how strongly you burn, how deeply you feel, and I hunger for that, all of that” He whispered against your mouth, making your breath shudder.

“The hunger you have awakened in me cannot be replicated, I arose from a long unyielding sleep for you. I could consume every last drop of you and would still thirst for more” he spoke with such reverence it terrified you, he wasn't talking about your blood, he meant everything you had to offer to him.

“You're saying all the right things and that scares me” you spoke softly, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with a predatory intensity.

“Good. Fear is part of it. It’s what makes the desire burn hotter” His hand brushed against your arm, his touch as cold as the air surrounding you, yet it sent a shiver down your spine

His words were dangerously sweet at times, and honest, pulling you deeper every second. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to trust that he saw you differently, that he cared, that what he offered wasn’t just a lie wrapped in seductive promises. But deep down, you knew there was a price to everything, there always was.

“What happens after you take me?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop the words “What happens when I’ve given you everything?”

You asked, his expression darkened, and for a moment, you saw something almost regretful flash across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by that insufferable, hypnotic calm. He reached up to cup your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin.

“Once I’ve taken everything from you, little flame... there will be no going back. Not for you, nor for me” His gaze flickered to your lips, and you could feel the tension crackling between you like the lightning outside.

“I won’t ever be the same,” you whispered, the realization dawning on you.

“And that’s the price you pay for me” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear “Or you let me go. But what’s waiting for you in the world outside this room? More of the same emptiness? More loneliness? You can stay safe, untouched by all of this, untouched by me. And you’ll be nothing but a ghost of yourself, wandering through your own life, never knowing what it feels like to live” His words were like poison, destroying every will and resistance you might still carry in your bones.

“You make it sound as if I'd never have happiness if I don't pick you” you stated boldly.

“You might. But would you be full? Would you be satisfied by it? Would it be enough? Your soul is not for the ordinary and fleeting sort of love. You were meant to be consumed, rebuild, and then consumed, over and over again”

Your heartbeat sped even more if it was possible, his words were curated to enchant you, to make you believe in him.

“And what happens after you're done taking whatever you need from me? Would you destroy and discard me then? Look for another?”

He looked at you for a long time as you questioned him, the primal part of him offended by the mere insinuation.

“I could never be done. Do you think I rose from the dead and crossed the realms just to use you and discard you the way your mortal lovers did?”

He grabbed your jaw between his long slender fingers as he spoke, there was a fury in his eyes but it wasn't for you, it was for those who made you feel so disposable.

“I do not love little flame, I bond. I will latch myself to the entirety of you, I'll make you bleed and suffer and writhe in pleasure for me. I take but I also give in equal amounts. Your devotion to me would be transactional, you won't be the means to an end, you are the end”

His words brought the tears you had been holding in for a while. Your hands wrapped around his cheeks before you raised yourself up and pressed your lips on his.

You could tell he wasn't expecting it but lord knew you had been wanting to feel this the moment you saw him first, his arms wrapped around your waist as his lips moved against yours.

The spark that ignited was nothing like what you had experienced before, sure you had been kissed before but now you knew what he meant when he said he wanted to consume you, it wasn't literal..

Every part of your existence wanted to run to him, to submit, to let him take whatever he wanted even though your mind screamed for caution.

As he finally pulled away his fingers latched around your scalp, pulling at the root of your hair, his eyes darkened at the sight and sound of your blood pumping under those veins.

“I need more” you spoke, the words slipping out before you could stop them, you were begging already and he hadn't even started yet.

“I need to hear the words..say that you want me, that you need to be mine” he spoke with certainty. You looked him in the eyes before you uttered those words, a part of you wanted to hold on but another jumped into the hole he had dug so carefully for you. The allure of him was too strong, too sensuous for you to resist.

“I need to be yours.. claim me, consume me Eric”

A moan escaped from the deepest corner of his chest as he heard the words.

“I knew you'd give in little flame, the desperation spoke louder than your words” you gasped as his finger slipped into your mouth, his words burning a new wave of shame inside you, he sounded boastful and dominating and you wanted to submit, have him make you revel in your humiliation without any consequences or shame.

He brought your wrist up to his lips, you opened your eyes to look at him, the look on his face was of an animal that has been starving, his pupils dilated, your breath hitched as you felt him grazing his fangs over your skin.

“Tonight I'll take a drop, enough to bond me with you, enough to tether me to your world, enough to make you mine”

You looked at him confused as he said that.

“Tomorrow. I will claim you entirely”

“Why not tonight?” He smiled as you said that, possession flickering in his gaze, he had you right where he wanted you, desperate and aching to be filled with his essence, his venom, his cock.

“I adore your yearning for me, little flame. But yearning isn't enough. Devotion is. I need you to be prepared, eager. Tomorrow night you'll serve yourself to me with no hesitation”

His fangs grazed harshly over the skin, it wasn't a bite, just a sharp slice like the tip of a knife, as your blood dribbled down he licked it clean. His eyes rolling back in his head at the sweet intoxicating taste. Years, he had waited years for this. He had been quiet, patient, waited for someone to bring him back to this world.

He stepped back from you for a moment and you despised it, you needed him to close.

“I don't understand-” you mumbled hesitantly, you were willing to give yourself to him tonight. Why didn't he want to take it?

“Tomorrow night, I want you to keep the room ready for me as per my liking” he said, voice suddenly cold and authoritative but possessive at the same time “I want the bed clean, use a sheet that has never been slept on, made of satin and pure white. When I finally feed I need to see your blood stain the sheet, making it as impure as I'd be making you”

Your breath caught at his words, not just from fear, not entirely. It was the certainty in his voice that undid you. He spoke like a god demanding a sacrifice, but you weren’t frightened of being the offering. You were frightened by how much you wanted to be.

You swallowed hard, nodding, unsure whether you were trembling from the depth of his need for you or your own desire to fully become his.

“I want you dressed in white” he continued, the thundering outside assisted him. “Pure silk or lace, you get to choose”

“I don't have it-” you said but he cut you off, his fingers curled around the back of your neck.

“You will look for it, you will find it” he said with conviction, eyes flickering with amusement at your panic. You nearly moaned at his words.

“Bathe yourself before you dress up, i need you clean but no perfume, i need your scent unmasked” he added “Your hair loose. Your mouth painted in red, the shade of blood, pliant and ready for use. No distractions. No hesitations. You already belong to me. Do you understand?” he asked, his jaw clenching and unclenching with his own pent up desires.

“Yes, Eric.” you nodded breathlessly.

White sheets, white dress, red lips. He wanted you to serve yourself on a platter for his consumption.

“Say it again”

“Yes I'll do everything you asked” you whispered, surprising even yourself with the submission in your tone. His eyes darkened, glowing faintly with hunger.

“Light candles the way you did tonight, as well as Jasmine incense sticks. Pose yourself in the centre of the bed before my arrival” he murmured, stepping close again, so close you could feel the cold hum of his presence against your feverish skin. “On your knees, with your head bowed like a bride, waiting for your ruination and salvation. You should be ready to give me everything, willing to let me enter your body, your heart, your head. Can you do that for me, little flame?” he asked.

“I can.” You nodded again, barely managing to say.

He wanted to desecrate you, destroy the woman you had been and build the one in his image, reshape you like a wax doll as per his will, give you a new sense of purpose, a meaning, you'd belong to him from now on. And you will let him, you had no choice anymore.

“Good girl..so submissive and I haven't even begun yet” he chuckled in a condescending manner, the sight of you shivering due to his words, his touch , his presence, it pleased him beyond belief.

“Sleep now. You'd need your strength” he said as he let go of you, your knees buckled as you no longer had his support.

“You're leaving?” you asked, desperation etched in your words.

“For tonight. But you'll never be alone again I promise. You're mine now” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“You may touch yourself when I'm gone but I forbid you from finding release in my absence. You'll never have one again if I'm not the one offering it” you gasped as he said that, opening your mouth to protest but no words came out. “I need you to burn for me little flame, you be good and i will reward you”

Then he was gone.

Not a sound, not a footstep. Just absence. The room felt hollow without him, but your body still hummed with the echo of him.

You sat on the edge of the bed in the flickering candlelight, heart thundering beneath your ribs, skin flushed and yearning. You’d crossed a threshold you couldn’t uncross.

And tomorrow, you’d give him everything.

Even your soul, if he asked for it.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

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