#(yes it is mostly tidy)

[thecaffeinatedlich]

Asexual!Viktor Headcanons/Thoughts/Rambles

(Hi Jayvik nation. Yes, I know. But I'm ace and these are my headcanons (and my self-projecting on the blorbo). I'm not against the ship at all. I just want to ramble about my various ace shipping ideas.)

Also, i'll be upfront and say I don't want perfect "good representation." My fave romantic relationships in fiction tend to be ones where everybody has something wrong with them and is a little fucked up and things are sometimes messy and weird. Sometimes they are messy and weird on the way to everyone figuring their shit out. Sometimes they just stay messy and weird because that works, more or less, for these characters. So, jsyk, I am not looking for or trying to create Good Ace Rep here.

If any of this bothers you, please move on. I'm just chatting to find like-minded folks in fandom, not trying to convert anyone to my ways, yanno?

Asexual, not necessarily aromantic, but rather oblivious to it. I think he knows he's not really sexually attracted to anyone and finds this a relief because he'd much rather focus on science and has assumed that he also doesn't do romance. Compartmentalized other feelings or perhaps attributes them to admiration of a person. Romantic feelings steal in on the back of appreciation for competency.

I'd also say some internalized ableism is a part of it. It's hard to recognize and accept that other people may find you interesting or desirable when you resent your own body or are dealing with pain and other complications. (There's a whole side-talk to have about S2's "you don't need to fix yourself" bit but it's complex enough that it would derail this list.) Being ace can sometimes feel a little like another way to be a little broken.

Viktor seems a little touch-averse, which isn't necessarily an ace thing but sometimes goes hand in hand. Again, pain and disability can contribute to that. But even when he's fairly healthy he tends to have a little moment of like "what are- why are you doing that?" whenever he is touched. (Which. Relatable. As someone whose brain briefly turns to static when ppl touch me unexpectedly. Jayce is BIG on casual touch tho. Like, "Jayce reaches out to touch" should be on your drinking game lists.) There can be an interesting internal tug-of-war between not really desiring touch yet having some touch hunger. You might not be hungry for hugs and kisses or sexual acts and if that was the only menu you've ever been shown, you've never known how to get your touch hunger sated. The slow discovery that you would like to be touched by someone actually if they can cater to your tastes. The exploration and negotiation of how you'd like to be touched, in the hands of someone who cares enough to listen and follow your lead, and who you trust enough to stop when you need them to stop. I don't know if it's "sexy" really, but there can be a potent fantasy in bodily autonomy when you have a body where being touched at all is Complicated.

The man is oblivious to the idea that anyone would be attracted to him or interested in him. Pretty normal for aces. I've been on at least one date without realizing it was a date until someone pointed that out to me. Yes, I think this is great fanfic fodder and more people should write about aces being absolute dumbasses and failing their perception rolls when it comes to people trying to date them.

Speaking of dumbass asexual moments. The "bedroom door" line. This is 100% the sort of thing that would come out of my mouth without a thought regularly when I was in my twenties. (and sometimes now....). Like "night + door = bedroom" clearly that is the most natural explanation with zero thought about the implications that he is ostensibly taking an attractive man to his room in the middle of the night because that is not a thought at the forefront of his mind. (certainly not when he's thinking about science!). Please imagine someone having to explain the impression he may have made on Mel if she read a sexual implication he did not mean into that. (or Jayce)

Asexual-romantic yearning. Sometimes, when you're ace but not entirely aromantic, you still get crushes on people. Sometimes you don't entirely figure that out until you find yourself resenting your best friend's new romantic partner for taking up all their time (away from you.) TBH, I don't think Viktor would mind Mel that much if she wasn't dragging Jayce into politics that are interfering with the sciencebro goals. But it's fun to add a soupçon of romantic jealousy to that. A "hey how dare you get between me and my Best Friend and our special something I haven't examined too closely but oops it's load-bearing!"

Also, like, after being the focus of someone who you Admire, with your life entwined with theirs, your goals aligned, feeling like a partner in more ways than just work....and then they go off and fall in love with someone else? Someone who can satisfy their sexual needs? Well. He knows he can't do that. Time to double down on science time! Not just because of the, yanno, rapidly imminent death thing. That's a big part of it, of course. But also, there are feelings here that make no logical sense. What better way to tune them than delving into work! The work you SHOULD be doing with your PARTNER! It's fine! (It is not fine.)

(That said. I'm totally here for some sort of Viktor-Jayce-Mel poly thing. Mostly for fluff and fun reasons, but I think it's just barely workable in more canonical works too, fwiw)

Pining. Imagine. Viktor is asexual and full of complicated feelings about his own self-worth and desirability, but he's got this Partner situation pretty locked down and that's great and then in comes this gorgeous, intelligent, powerful woman who seems to effortlessly entice his partner away and can offer him so many things he can't or doesn't want to offer Jayce. Imagine belatedly figuring out that some of his feelings are romantic but not being sure that matters if Jayce has found someone who can fulfill him, mentally, emotionally and sexually. And Jayce is his friend and, as annoying as the politics are, he knows bringing these raw untested emotions into the light isn't going to help anyone and anyway Jayce is happy. Right? But he has to sit there. With those feelings. Pining for an idea of the future that slipped out of his grasp even before he realized he wanted it.

Again, the "you didn't need to fix yourself" bit at the end of S2 has problems, but boy howdy, if you're ace there's definitely a fear that an allosexual partner would always choose someone they can have sex with over you. That scene hit like a truck for me. Seeing an allosexual character choose a partner I had categorized as ace over his allosexual lover? BAM! And it looked like it hit Viktor that way too. Being SEEN. On so many levels!

[navybluetriangles]

Arghhhhhhh

[gaypirate]

just some art videos i've found particularly useful

Love Life Drawing

(great channel, chill encouraging vibes, i appreciate that they try to identify topics that are often taught poorly) 2 Beginners INSTANTLY Improve? How to draw what you see (clickbaity title but this is an art exercise that was incredibly helpful as a starting point when i decided to go back to the basics to fill in gaps i'd missed) Train your eye: Easy perspective practice while walking Eye Level - An Essential Perspective Tip for Artists Artist Eye Training: Seeing Light and Shadows in daily life

other channels/more intermediate+ topics

Richard Smitheman: Important Landmarks in Figure Drawing #1 The ASIS (covering the muscles of the torso/hip/pelvis connection point) David Finch: This Simple Line Trick Will Transform Your Comic Art! (alternating curves and straight lines) Ben Eblen: Line work, what I wish I knew moderndayjames: CLOTH AND DRAPERY 1: Cloth, Folds, Junctions, and Armor

[starlitfunkster]

I got convinced to make my bed after finding a wine red sheet.

Now with less pillows so my back is more comfortable. It really ties my whole room together nicely. :3

[fayes-fics]

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind. 

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers. 

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy. 

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?” 

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre. 

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. “Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight. 

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch. 

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!” 

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom. 

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?” 

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away. 

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure. 

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion. 

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[shinig6mis]

transferring to a new university was nerve-wracking. but finding out on day one that there was no dorm room for you? even worse.

apparently, some glitch in the system left your name off the dormitory list. and now, there wasn’t a single open spot on campus. you wanted to cry, but calling your parents and worrying them was the last thing you wanted to do.

so you spent the entire evening scouring for solutions. a faculty member pointed you to a site where students looking for roommates could post listings, and by some miracle, you found one that seemed decent. the description was short but to the point:

walking distance from campus. only one room available. don’t be loud.

it wasn’t exactly the warmest ad, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. you sent a text, got a short reply, and now here you were.

standing outside the apartment door, your arms ached from carrying a heavy box of books and sentimental junk while your suitcase full of clothes sat by your feet. you hesitated for a second before knocking. the moment the door opened, you almost regretted your entire life.

a tall guy with white hair, scarred skin, and heavy-lidded, almost dead-looking eyes stared back at you. his presence was so intimidating that your first instinct was to turn and run back down the hall. but you froze instead, staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“is touya here?” you managed to squeak out, trying your best not to sound completely terrified.

he raised an eyebrow. “speaking. who the hell are you?” his voice was deep and rough, his tone sharp enough to cut.

“i-i’m y/n. your... roommate? i applied here two days ago, we spoke over t—”

“oh. right.” he cut you off, scratching the back of his neck. “didn’t think you’d be here so damn early.”

if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was complaining. but then again, it was 7 a.m. if anything, you must’ve woken him up.

“ya need help with all that?” he asked, gesturing toward the box in your arms.

“uh, yes... please,” you said, relieved and surprised he even offered.

he grabbed the box with one hand like it weighed nothing, and you followed him inside, dragging your suitcase behind you. he set the box on the dining table and kicked the door shut behind him. the place was neat. not spotless, but cleaner than you expected. the furniture was simple, dark-colored, and kind of mismatched, giving the place a weirdly manly vibe.

“bathroom’s down the hall,” touya said lazily, pointing. “kitchen’s over there. don’t leave your shit everywhere. and that’s your room.”

he gestured toward a door at the end of the hall, and you followed him inside. the room was small but tidy. the bed was bare, just a mattress and a pillow, but it was clean. there was a desk and a small closet, too. it doesn’t look like anyone’s ever stayed there.

“anyway,” he muttered, turning to leave. “don’t make too much noise. i don’t like loud people.”

six months later, you’ve realized that living with touya had been an adjustment. at first, there were awkward “hi” and “bye” exchanges, brief encounters in the kitchen as you grabbed a granola bar or nuked leftovers in the microwave. he wasn’t much of a talker, which was fine because you weren’t either. not to him anyway.

but then, slowly, things started to change.

it began with shared dinners. a random night where you’d made too much pasta, shyly offering him some because it felt wrong to eat in front of him while he sat on the couch scrolling through his phone. he’d taken the plate with a gruff “thanks,” but the next night, there was an extra bowl of ramen waiting for you when you got home from class.

from there, it spiraled into routine. dinners became a shared activity, a small tradition where you’d sit across from each other, trading sarcastic comments and the occasional genuine laugh. somewhere in between, touya went from your intimidating, scar-faced roommate to your closest friend. you told him everything now—your classes, your crushes, your petty grievances. he listened, mostly. sometimes, he’d even chime in with advice, though his tone always bordered on teasing.

so when you burst through the door that night, cheeks flushed with excitement, it felt natural to dump the day’s events onto him. touya was already on the couch, two bowls of noodles on the coffee table. his lips quirked into a small smile as he watched you kick off your shoes and drop your bag haphazardly by the door.

“guess what?” you beamed, practically bouncing onto the couch beside him, knees brushing his thigh. “some guy asked me out today!”

his smile faltered, but you didn’t notice. you were too caught up in recounting the story, your voice light and animated as you detailed every little moment.

touya’s grip on his chopsticks tightened. he forced a small chuckle, though it sounded strained.

“can’t believe this actually happened!”

“yeah, well… it’s about time,” he muttered.

but you didn’t hear the sarcasm laced in his words. you were too wrapped up in your own excitement, oblivious to the way his jaw clenched or how his gaze lingered a second too long on your face.

he should’ve been happy for you. he told himself he was. roommates didn’t catch feelings, not ones like this. and yet, every time you smiled at him like that, so sweet and innocent, he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

the days blurred after that. you went on your first date, then your second, then your third. touya tried to convince himself it was fine. this was fine. he was just your roommate. but you started coming home later and later, your absence stretching into the kind of silence that made his skin crawl.

the noodles he made for you—carefully cooked just the way you liked them—sat untouched on the counter, growing cold as the hours ticked by. he’d find himself sitting on the couch, staring at the door, half-hoping and half-dreading the moment you’d walk in, cheeks flushed with the afterglow of another date.

he hated it.

he hated him. the guy you wouldn’t shut up about, the one who’d taken up too much of your time, your attention. it should be him you’re coming straight home to after school.

touya couldn’t stand it anymore.

he barely needed to put in the effort. you were so trusting, so sweet, and all that innocent yapping gave him everything he needed. your schedule, your habits, even the places you liked to study or hang out. all it took was one stop after his own classes ended to track him down: the library.

the guy was just sitting there, headphones in, engrossed in his laptop.

by the time touya was done talking to him, the guy was pale and nodding, muttering weak promises to do as he was told. touya left the library without a backward glance, his mind already on you.

he got home with enough time to spare, pulling out the instant noodles he knew you loved, the ice cream he bought on the way back. he even set the table, everything arranged just the way you liked it. he’d planned it all perfectly, down to the minute.

and then the door creaked open, and there you were.

he already expected it but it still hurt nonetheless when he saw you—eyes red and swollen, your lips trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. the faintest sniffle escaped, your hands clutching the strap of your bag like it was the only thing anchoring you.

“he broke up with me,” you choked out, voice cracking.

and he almost regret what he’s done. almost.

you didn’t have to say more. he crossed the room in an instant, pulling you into his chest. his hoodie smelled like laundry detergent and faintly of cigarettes, and you buried your face into the fabric, tears soaking through.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as his hand rubbed slow circles on your back. “he’s an idiot. didn’t deserve you anyway.”

his lips brushed the crown of your head, a gesture so soft, so tender, it made your heart ache in a different way.

you melted into him, his arms the safest place you’d ever known. and as he whispered quiet reassurances, a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

this was how it should be. you, in his arms, leaning on him, trusting him. he’d make sure it stayed that way. you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[cbeargyu]

altar boy sins [2]

summary: the pastor’s son fingers you in the back room of the church, promising god’s forgiveness while ruining your last shred of purity.

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

genre: smut, religious corruption, dark romance.

warnings: explicit sexual content, anal virginity, church setting, religious guilt, oral (m receiving), squirting, degradation, sacreligious language, coercion under trust, creampie, overstimulation, power imbalance, aftercare (light), public risk, no vaginal penetration.

part i. - part iii.

MDNI 🔞

the days after that event in the church passed in a strange blur—quiet, heavy, stained with something you didn’t have the words to name. guilt, maybe. shame. or maybe something darker, something you weren’t supposed to feel in your chest every time you thought of him: need.

you’d avoided mark at first. not in an obvious way—just in the way a girl who’s scared of her own body might avoid the boy who took her apart with it. you thought he might pull away too, grow distant after what he did to you. maybe he’d pretend nothing happened, or worse, pretend he didn’t mean it when he whispered he’d marry you.

but he didn’t.

if anything, he became more present. more constant. more yours.

he started showing up around your house with excuses—books he thought you'd like, notes from scripture he said might help you reflect, leftover pastries from the church bake sale he said had your name on them. when he smiled at your mother, she glowed with approval. when he spoke to your father, it was always with respect and devotion. he never slipped. never let on. never gave them a reason to question how filthy his hands had been all over their daughter.

and then he told his father—the pastor—that you had a gift. that you were kind, patient, gentle with the younger kids in bible class. that maybe you should help out, become a catechist in training.

you almost choked when your parents brought it up over dinner. “he said that?” you’d asked, eyes wide, fork frozen mid-air.

“yes,” your mother beamed. “such a good boy. not like others his age. he thinks of the church, of the children, of god.”

you agreed, of course. because how could you not? because your parents looked at you like it was a blessing. because mark had smiled at you across the pew the next sunday and mouthed, i’m proud of you, like none of it was wicked.

and so you went.

every saturday morning, you showed up before mass and helped corral a dozen children into tiny wooden chairs, helped them fold their hands in prayer, helped them understand what it meant to be good and pure in god’s eyes. and sometimes, in the quiet space before their parents arrived, mark would stop by. he’d lean on the doorframe, watching you, eyes slow and dark and unreadable.

“you look cute when you’re being holy,” he’d whisper once, pulling you into the broom closet after class and kissing you so hard you forgot your name.

those kisses had become more frequent. hidden, greedy. fingers sneaking beneath your cardigan. his hand cupping your thigh as you gasped against his lips, terrified someone might open the door. you never let it go too far again—but the air always turned hot when he was near. the world always went still when he touched you.

today had been quiet.

your class had gone well—crafts and scripture, singing soft hymns while the stained glass bled sunlight over the children’s heads. when the last parent arrived to take them home, you’d tidied up, gathered your things, and returned to the small gravel path leading back to your family home. the streets of town were mostly empty, everyone tucked into their usual saturday chores. you waved to mrs. garcía sweeping her porch. crossed paths with the baker’s daughter carrying a tray of loaves. everything felt… calm.

you’d just tied your apron around your waist and started chopping vegetables beside your mother when the phone rang.

the one mounted on the kitchen wall. the only one in the house.

your mother dried her hands quickly and picked it up. “hello?”

her voice lit up at the name. “oh! mark, sweetheart. how are you?”

you froze. your fingers paused over the carrots.

“yes… oh, how careless of her.” her tone shifted, just slightly, that disappointed edge all mothers have. “i told her—always forgetting things.”

you already knew what he’d said.

“she left her bible at the church,” she mouthed at you, covering the receiver.

you looked down. heat crawled up your neck.

“you’re such a good boy,” your mother continued, now smiling again. “always looking out for her. she’s lucky to have your friendship, you know.”

friendship.

you swallowed hard.

you could hear the faint hum of mark’s voice through the line, though not the words. whatever he said made your mother laugh softly.

“yes, yes—i’ll send her right over. thank you, mark.”

when she hung up, she turned to you with a sigh. “honestly, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached. go on, before the church locks up.”

you nodded, wiping your hands and untying the apron. your heart beat a little faster than before. something in your gut twisted.

because you hadn’t forgotten your bible. you never did.

and mark knew that.

you step into the empty church, the air cool and scented with old incense. the wooden pews stand silent under shafts of late-afternoon light. at the far end, mark leans against the pulpit pillar, bible in hand, eyes dark as he watches you approach.

“you came,” he says, voice low. “i knew you would.”

you pause, hand trembling as you reach for the bible on the lectern. his long fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you against him so your back presses to his chest. you gasp, the hard line of his body anchoring you in place.

“mark, let go,” you whisper, cheeks burning. “i just… i need my bible.” he laughs softly, breath warm against your ear. “you and that bible. but really, it’s me you need.”

he brushes a finger under your chin, tilting your face to his. “i can’t stop thinking about that night,” he murmurs. “about the way you squirted all over me. the way you begged me—fuck, you begged me like a little sinner craving my cock.”

you press your lips together, shame coiling in your belly. “stop—please,” you murmur, voice shaking.

he smiles, amused. “stop? baby, i know you love it when i say these things. god won’t punish you for being hot.” he slides one arm around your waist and with the other tugs the hem of your dress up over your hips. the fabric gathers at your waist and rides up your thighs, exposing the curve of your ass.

“i don’t want… not yet,” you whisper, knees weak.

“that’s fine,” he replies, easing you back to sit on his lap on the wooden pew. you feel the tent of his jeans pressing through his pants, hard and thick, but he doesn’t push. instead, he presses both hands to your hips, guiding you against him.

“mark,” you whisper, cheeks flushing, “please... not like last time. i’m saving myself for marriage.” your voice is barely audible, laced with vulnerability. “please don’t put your fingers inside me.”

he pauses, a slow smile curving his lips, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something tender. “we can wait,” he murmurs, fingers tracing a light line along your waist. “i promised i’d cherish you, and i will. we’ll wait until the altar, princess.”

slowly, he runs his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to slip his fingertips beneath. you bite your lip as his cool touch meets your heated skin. he slides a finger to the very edge of your cleft, tracing gentle circles across your clit.

“you feel so wet,” he growls, one hand bracing on the pew behind you as he teases you. “so desperate. look at you—dripping for me.”

you close your eyes, breath hitching. the world narrows to the flicker of candlelight and the press of his body. “mark,” you whisper, voice tremulous.

he chuckles, crooked and low. “i promised i’d take care of you,” he says, thumb brushing your clit in slow, firm strokes. “and i will.”

his touch becomes more insistent, each circle of his thumb sending jolts of pleasure through you. your hips begin to rock against his hand without thought, riding his thumb as it presses faster, harder. you can’t hold back the moans now—soft at first, then louder, more desperate.

“ah—mark—i…” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, your back arching.

“you’re doing so well, baby,” he whispers, voice thick with pride. “so good for me. so precious.”

you close your eyes and lean back against him, drawing strength from the warmth of his body, the slow, worshipful rhythm of his touch. “mark... please,” you breathe with voice fragile.

his finger presses gently to your lips, silencing you. “shh,” he soothes, “you’re safe. it’s just you and me here. god won’t punish you for this. he’ll see how much i adore you.”

his fingers glide with slow devotion, tracing soft, worshipful circles just around your clit, never pressing too hard, never pushing past your limits. the slow burn of pleasure coils in your belly, building steadily like a flame fanned by a gentle breeze.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck. “every gasp, every shiver... it’s all for me. you’re mine, and you please me so perfectly.”

he leans forward, lips at your neck. “come for me, baby,” he whispers. “come all over me.”

with a shuddering cry, your body tenses and releases in waves. a hot pulse of pleasure ripples through you, and you come hard on his thumb, heart pounding as your juices spill down the front of his leg.

he holds you through the aftershock, his hand steady on your hip. when your breathing slows, he tilts your chin up. “see? nothing to be ashamed of,” he murmurs, eyes soft but hungry. “god might judge, but i don’t. you’re mine.”

he holds you close through the aftershocks, pressing tender kisses to your temple. “i worship you,” he whispers, voice thick with awe and need. “my perfect girl. i could praise you forever.”

you rest your forehead against his, body still trembling. in the silence of the empty church, you feel both convicted and strangely free—bound to him by something far stronger than any promise or prayer.

and in the quiet light of the empty church, wrapped in his arms and drenched in the heat of your first release, you believe him completely.

after you leave the church, mark walks quietly beside you down the narrow village streets, the evening breeze cool against your flushed skin. the sky fades into a soft purple as lamps begin to glow, casting warm pools of light on cobblestones. your heart still races from the tender moments shared, and every step feels heavy with unspoken tension.

when you arrive at your family’s modest home, your parents greet you both at the door, their faces bright with excitement. your mother’s eyes shine as she welcomes mark inside. “we’re so glad you could join us tonight, mark,” she says warmly. your father nods approvingly, his smile wide and genuine.

the table is set carefully in the dining room, candles flickering softly, casting shadows on the walls. as the meal begins, your parents chatter eagerly about church events, the catechism class, and the promising future they imagine for both you and mark. you feel the weight of their expectations, the watchful eyes on you, but beneath the surface, your own secret conversation with mark unfolds.

across the table, mark’s eyes catch yours, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips. his gaze is both playful and possessive. your fingers brush lightly against the edge of his knee under the table—a subtle, electric touch. he responds instantly, shifting just enough to let his hand glide slowly along your thigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles beneath the fabric of your dress.

you bite your lip, holding back a breath as the heat pools low in your belly. your eyes meet again, a silent promise exchanged between you. the room buzzes with the polite noise of dinner, but in this quiet connection, the world narrows to the secret intimacy shared beneath the table.

and there, in the soft candlelight, with your parents none the wiser, the slow-burning fire between you and mark flickers gently, waiting for the moment to flare again.

[spiderb00]

- DANCE?

Yumeko Jabami x reader

"no matter what happened, you had to take Yumeko to the dance"

genre - fluff warnings - none

now playing - Love Shine, LEEHEESANG

"걱정하지 마 (don't worry) 우린 영원할 거잖아 (we will be forever)"

“YUMEKO!”

The two voices rang out through the room, the different tones of voice whipping through the walls of the school, only to reach the black-haired girl's ears at ease. Yumeko had that classic smile on her face as she directed her attention to the two people who had called out to her. Her hands positioned elegantly behind her back as she waited for the two of her friends to start talking.

Yumeko met Ryan on her first day at boarding school, she vaguely remembered how nervous the boy was - and still is - when he saw her. Yumeko also remembers very well the day she met you, she remembers how excited you were about betting and how you won - effortlessly - from a random boy. She remembers looking you in the eye and smiling at you, she remembers how you started following her around after that, almost like a pet.

The only thing Yumeko doesn't remember is when your rivalry with Ryan started. You were never exactly best friends, but she remembers the quiet coexistence you had changing drastically to a war of cold stares, interruptions in the middle of conversations and sarcastic jokes - mostly coming from you.

But she couldn't deny it and say that you and Ryan's little battle for her attention wasn't a little funny.

“So, Yumeko… did you hear about the dance?” Ryan asked, taking a seat at the table in front of Yumeko, cutting you off and trying to leave you behind.

Sitting down at the refectory table - next to Ryan - you purposely pushed the boy, but managed to make the movement smooth and almost imperceptible.

The girl let an excited giggle escape her lips as she nodded.

“Mary told me, it sounds like fun.” Smiling at Mary, who was sitting next to her, Yumeko lightly bumped shoulders with the curly-haired girl. That smile made your stomach turn, in the most pleasurable way you'd ever experienced.

“I was wondering if we…”

“We could go together!” You interrupted the boy. You're too tired of Ryan stalling for you to wait for him to get dumped.

The smile on Yumeko's face widened, making your heart beat faster. Her dimples appearing and her head tilting slightly to the right.

“Are you asking me to the dance?” The question was obvious, but for a moment, Yumeko was surprised and excited to see you finally making a move.

“Yes. Do you want to go with me, Yumeko?”

A hysterical scream burst from the lips of the girl in front of you, before she got up and walked around the table, only to leave a long kiss on your cheek.

“Of course I want to go to the dance with you.” Squeezing your shoulders, the girl left the cafeteria.

Your cheeks were red, your ears burned as if they had been thrown into the oven, and you couldn't contain the smile that came from your lips as you touched your fingertips to the spot Yumeko had kissed seconds ago.

“Yn 1, Ryan 0.”

“Shut up.”

You're sure you heard Mary and Ryan's conversation, but their voices were so far away that you couldn't even react.

You looked in the mirror for the thirteenth time, sighing and trying to tidy up anything you thought was out of place. It was almost time for you to pick Yumeko up from her dorm, taking her to the dance would be a big step and you certainly weren't going to let this night get out of hand.

Buttoning up your dress shirt once more, you fixed the little rose-shaped brooch that Yumeko had given you. The black-haired girl said it would make the two of you match, and if that's what she wanted, you'd be doing it.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you walked to the door, remembering to pick up the small box on the bed. A present. Sighing once more, you opened the bedroom door, only to run into Kira.

“ Jeez, Kira! Someone should put a bell on you…”

You had barely finished speaking before the girl with the blue lips pushed you into the room, quickly closing the door. Her hands went to the door key, turning it only to leave you and her locked inside the room.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You asked, stepping closer only to see Kira take the key from the door, dangling the object in front of your eyes.

“I thought you were going to ask me to the dance…” She began, looking at you with that look that gave you goosebumps. “But, no. You had to ask Yumeko.”

You and Kira were never officially a thing, but she always wanted exclusivity with you, even if it didn't apply to her. After a few months, you simply gave up on the boarding school queen, and a large part of that decision may or may not have been because of a certain girl who had recently joined the school.

“I thought you'd get your date. You always get invitations to these things.” You replied, approaching and trying to take the key from the girl's hand, only for her to quickly snatch it out of your grasp.

“Oh, no, no. Do you want the key, pet?” Smiling cruelly, Kira lifted the key once more, only to drop it down the neckline of the dress she was wearing. The object slid down her skin and disappeared between her breasts.

“Come and get it.”

The click of Yumeko's heels echoed through the hallways, the girl - now impatiently - waiting for you. The black-haired girl kept checking her phone every ten seconds, just to see if you had sent any messages. Anything at all.

“I'm on my way”

“Sorry, I won't be able to make it.”

“I can't, I'm an idiot.”

“I'm madly in love with you and I can't make it.”

Anything at all!

Snorting, the black-haired girl leaned against the wall in the hall. The light from the phone screen reflected on her face for the fortieth time in just five minutes. Closing her eyes tightly, Yumeko sighed. She really was excited about tonight. Not because of betting, not because of revenge, not for personal reasons.

Just because of you.

“Yumeko?”

Ryan's voice made the girl open her eyes immediately, straightening her posture and putting a smile on her face. She definitely didn't want him to see her like that, and she certainly didn't want him to know that it involved you. But knowing Ryan, he was probably there because he had missed you, just like Yumeko.

“You know, you're too pretty to not dance.” Ryan held out his hand, waiting anxiously for Yumeko to accept his offer to dance.

Laughing a little, the black-haired girl nodded, taking Ryan's hand and letting him lead her to where the dance was taking place. Sliding her fingers quickly across the phone, Yumeko was discreet enough, just to prove a point, her instinct screaming louder.

write and send.

“Michael, can you take a look at Yn for me?”

Sitting on the floor with your hands on your head, you gave up on anything you could do to get out of that room. You couldn't break down the door, you couldn't crack it, you couldn't convince Kira to give you the key and you didn't know how, but you were pretty sure she'd cut off your cell phone signal.

“You could get the key, you know…” Kira said. “Are you so afraid that you won't be able to resist me?”

Her words made your throat burn, screams trapped.

“I don't want to lay a finger on you, Kira.”

“But you've already done that…”

“Well, I was clearly out of my mind!”

A click.

A soft sound before the doorknob turned, and Michael appeared in the bedroom doorway in all his glory. Honestly, you've never been so happy to see a man in front of you in your entire life.

“MICHAEL!” You stood up quickly, heading towards the boy and hugging him around the shoulders. “Thank you!”

You didn't even wait for him to say anything, running down the halls as if your life depended on it. Well, at least your love life.

You arrived at the ballroom just in time to see Ryan trying to put his hands on Yumeko's waist. Hastening your steps, you made a smooth advance, twirling Yumeko in your arms just enough to make Ryan stay in the background.

“Hi. You look beautiful, Yumeko.” You said, losing yourself in her curves for a few seconds. Your hands came down on her hips, while her arms encircled your neck in a comforting hug.

“You came!” She said into your ear.

“I'd be crazy if I didn't.” You said, drawing a laugh from Yumeko's lips. Your eyes flicked over to Ryan, seeing the boy roll his eyes at you. “Thanks for taking care of her, but I'll take over from here.”

Yumeko laughed, before turning slightly in your arms, just enough for her eyes to meet Ryan's.

“Thanks Ryan, you're a good friend!”

With a tight-lipped smile, the boy left. Yumeko's arms tightened even more around your neck as she straightened her posture. She didn't even realize she was really dancing until she looked into your eyes.

“Wow, you did a miracle.” The kakeguriu girl laughed, resting her head on your chest. Really enjoying the moment.

It was as if it was just you and her in that room. The lights all on you, while the music played softly and Yumeko let you guide her body through the beats. Your hands fit perfectly around the girl's waist, and she could feel it so perfectly, it was almost as if she could melt in your fingertips.

“I'm sorry about what happened.” You began. Making Yumeko lift her head from your chest.

Giving you a sincere smile, the girl moved one of her hands up to your cheek. Standing on tiptoe, Yumeko looked into your eyes for a long second, only to close the gap between your mouths. Her lips were soft, and tasted like strawberries, and something spicy but sweet at the same time, something you knew you couldn't explain in even a million years.

You sighed into the kiss, opening your eyes to look into hers when the two of you broke apart. The smile on her face was purely genuine, and made your heart fill with love.

“I like you. Don't ruin it.”

I had to, I HAD TO!

I love Kakegurui, and even though I was a little hesitant about watching Bet, I loved it!

you know I fell in love with Miku, so i had to do it.

anyway, stay safe and drink water,

xoxo, spider.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

lesson in words | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

for some reason today, annabeth was not in the mood for her princess dresses or jelly shoes. she raised her voice when you were shuffling around her room, trying to find something appropriate for the aquarium. she didn’t want her sage green pants, or her lavender plaid shorts, not even her scratchy sparkling pink skirt.

“i want these!” kicking her legs in the air to indicate her unicorn pajama pants. you just sighed, not wanting to indulge her antics, “honey, those are house clothes. you sleep in those for a long time, they’re not appropriate for a day out. now, what’s our second choice?” leaning against her dresser with a fist beside your growing bump.

“unicorn! i want unicorn!” she jumped her body against her mattress, the springs creaking. a headache brewing behind your eyes, “annabeth diana reid,” you kept your voice stern and level, “if you can’t pick out day clothes then we can’t go to the aquarium. that means you can’t see the stingrays for another month.”

she pouted as she crossed her small arms over her chest, her hectic bed head another part you’ll have to deal with. “i hate you,” she said it mostly quiet, probably meant to be a whisper but doesn’t understand how that works yet.

you pursed your lips while diverting your eyes to the floor, “well i’m sorry you feel that way, but if you can’t fix your attitude and change your clothes then you can stay in your room for the day.” leaving your daughter behind as you headed to your shared bedroom where your husband was tidying the space.

he turned when you stepped on a specific creaky spot, he greeted you with a smile that dropped when you assumed he saw your upset pout and wet eyes. “what’s wrong?” quick to hurry at your side with his hands caressing your elbows.

“hormones mostly,” sniffling, “and annabeth has decided to be stubborn today and says she hates me cause i won’t allow her to wear her pjs out the house.” spilling what happen in the last five minutes as fat tears collected on your lash line, one blink and they slid down your pregnancy cheeks.

“oh honey,” spencer leaned your head into his chest, neglected nails curling into his navy polo. one of his hands slid along the back of your head to keep you hidden while his other rubbed soothing circles between your shoulder blades. “she doesn’t actually mean it.”

“i know i know,” you sniffled as you moved to place your ear to his heart, “just hurts having her say those words. she probably doesn’t understand the extent of its meaning.” taking a deep sigh as you gathered yourself to lean away from spencer.

“why don’t i go talk to her? try from a different perspective.” his warm palms rubbed at your upper arms as he stared softly into your wet eyes.

you sniffled, “she is a daddy’s girl. listens to you more no matter what.” chuckling wetly when spencer just shrugged. he pecked a kiss to your forehead and guided you to the made bed, telling you to rest for now as he went to talk with your four year old.

spencer knocked gentle on her cracked door, “can i come in?” both of you were making sure to teach the importance of knocking before entering a room. she almost caught the act of making her new siblings.

“yes,” she replied quietly. spencer slowly pushed open her decorated door, his head peaking in first before completely entering and closing them in.

his daughter lay in her bed, her flower comforter swallowing her. only a small lump shifting gave away her hiding spot, spencer took a seat at the foot of her twin.

he gave what felt like her calf a loving squeeze, “wanna come out and talk?” her small heel nudged into his knee, “no.” spencer could hear her pout.

“why not?” “cause i-i-i was a meanie to-to mommy,” annabeth began to hiccup through her words. spencer quickly pulled her sheets back and frowned at her rosy wet cheeks, along with a line of snot leaving her tiny nose.

“oh honey, come here.” spencer wrapped his arms behind her back as she threw hers around his neck. she crawled into his lap, her small legs stopping at his hips. “do we feel bad about our earlier emotions?” spencer rubbed a large palm in soothing circles.

“ye- yes. i-i want to see sti- stingrays, and i-i want to match with mo- my mommy.” her words a blubbering mess as she panicked over something small for the adults but other worldly for her child mind.

spencer cooed in her ear, “why don’t we go apologize first. see if she’ll accept.” he felt annabeth nod in agreement. he carried her the short distance to the master bedroom where you were laying on your back as your palms rubbed your stomach and you stared at the ceiling.

you turned your head at a small knock, your face softening at the sight before you. “someone has something to say,” spencer said as he let annabeth’s feet sit on the bed.

the young girl untangled from her father’s hold and slowly walked to sit beside you. you could hear her ragged inhales and frowned at her flushed face. “i- i- i am sorry for ye- yelling. i want to go to aquarium and you- you can help dress me, mo- mommy.” her tiny hands pulled at the helm of her sleep shirt.

you let a palm caress her warm cheek, “i was a little hurt when you said you hate me,” wanting to be truthful to your brilliant child.

her lip wobbled, “i- i didn’t mean it. i lo- love you with my whole body.” something you say to her to show your complete extent of affections. “i heard that it was an unkind word, i- i re- regret saying it.”

“i know you do, honey.” pulling her into your chest for an awkward side hug. “let’s be mindful of our words, alright? they’re very powerful.” petting down her hair, you felt her nod on your shoulder.

“are my two girls friends again?” spencer spoke up during the moment. he stayed near the edge of the room to give the both of you space.

you pressed a kiss into annabeth’s temple, “i think so. what about you bethie, do you want to wear matching overalls today?”

her eyes peeked at your through clumped lashes, “can- can we also do bows?”

you squeezed her side, “of course, bethie-boo.”

-

a/n: i took this idea from @khxna that they left on a post of mine. thank you for sharing💗

[maielasworld]

"What the Moon reveals through each house in your chart."🌑

The Moon in your birth chart

She’s your inner tide, your hidden softness.

The way you feel, remember, and need.

Not what you show — but what you crave when no one’s watching.

She holds the echo of your childhood and the shape of your comfort.

Where she is… is where you seek to be held.

🌒 Moon in the 1st House

You walk into a room and the energy shifts — you carry the aura of someone who knows they’ll win. There's charm here, and an instinctive pull toward roles in public relations, sales, or anything that places your emotions on the frontlines. But with your heart so visible, you're quick to react — sometimes too quick. Others might mistake your sensitivity for volatility. You feel everything and see the world mostly through your own lens — take care not to forget that others feel too. You're drawn to power and admire those who hold it. Deep down, you want to rise within society… and be seen.

🌒 Moon in the 2nd House

You crave emotional safety — and it often takes the form of things you can touch. Objects hold memories, meaning, comfort. But beware of possessiveness, especially when fear whispers. Your relationship with money isn’t just practical, it’s personal. Love feels different when it comes with stability. You gift generously when you feel secure — and retreat when you don’t. Financial and emotional health are deeply linked for you. You don’t just want love — you want love that lasts.

🌒 Moon in the 3rd House

You speak your soul. Your words drip with emotion, sometimes too much to think clearly. Intuition and logic dance a strange waltz in your mind. There’s a deep emotional bond with siblings and a lifelong romance with words — letters, texts, phone calls. You want love that talks back, that listens, that says exactly how it feels. Your best relationships echo the closeness of childhood friendships. And yes — sometimes, the way you talk about love is more intimate than the way you touch it.

🌒 Moon in the 4th House

Your heart lives at home. Peace in your private world is essential — without it, the outside world feels cold. When secure, you’re deeply empathetic. But when you feel unstable, you retreat inward and struggle to share. The mother figure in your life holds great power over your emotional core. You're nourished by roots, by ancestry, by the history of your being. Love, for you, is a fortress — it must feel like protection. You need someone who’s always there. Someone who understands that love means being fully present.

🌒 Moon in the 5th House

You feel everything vividly — like art in motion. You're passionate, expressive, romantic… sometimes overly so. Creativity is your love language. Children, art, joy — they’re not luxuries to you; they’re necessities. You're drawn to pleasure but also to fantasy — and sometimes, the reality of love can’t quite match the dream. Emotional honesty is your superpower. And when love is fun, flirty, and full of fire, your heart absolutely soars.

🌒 Moon in the 6th House

Your emotions live in your body. Sadness can turn into illness. Stress into fatigue. You need peace not just for your heart, but for your health. Routines matter, but only when they feel emotionally right. You do your best work when you're inspired, not forced. You may prefer to follow rather than lead, but self-reliance is a lesson worth learning. You’re nurtured by order — a tidy space, a balanced diet, a daily rhythm. Love shows itself in small acts of care, kindness, and healing.

🌒 Moon in the 7th House

You find yourself in others. Relationships mirror your emotional world back at you. You seek closeness, not just romantically, but in all your connections — business, friendships, everything. You need emotional transparency to feel safe. Love must be mutual, equal, full of patience. You long for a partner who understands your soul and sees all your layers. In return, you're deeply committed — as long as they don’t hide, withdraw, or rush you.

🌒 Moon in the 8th House

Your emotions run deep. You don’t just feel — you transform. Every relationship changes you. Every emotional experience becomes part of your evolution. But you're also secretive, sometimes guarding your feelings even when you shouldn't. You’re sensitive to the undercurrents — the money, the power, the intimacy, the silence. You’re drawn to intense, mysterious love — the kind that stirs your soul and awakens your shadows. But remember, talking it out can be more healing than disappearing into the storm.

🌒 Moon in the 9th House

You’re always searching — not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Home is not a place but a journey. You want love that expands you, inspires you, teaches you. You’re attracted to those with wisdom and stories — lovers who come from faraway lands or different worlds. Your beliefs are laced with feeling; you need your truths to resonate emotionally, not just intellectually. Love, for you, is a great adventure — and you're always chasing the next horizon.

🌒 Moon in the 10th House

You care deeply about how you’re seen — your reputation, your career, your legacy. There's a motherly figure in your life who left a deep imprint on your emotional identity. Your public persona and your private feelings are intertwined. You’re drawn to roles that let you nurture others or lead with compassion. There’s potential here for fame, leadership, or public admiration — as long as you don’t lose touch with your emotional truth. Relationships, too, are part of your image. Love can bring you status, but it must also bring sincerity.

🌒 Moon in the 11th House

You bloom in community. Friendships aren’t casual — they’re essential. You seek people who hold your heart gently, and once you trust them, you hold on tight. Sometimes too tight. Your moods can swing between adoration and detachment. You dream of a better world — and your tribe matters more than most know. Love can sometimes get lost in the crowd. But the right person will feel like your anchor and your freedom. Emotional loyalty is everything.

🌒 Moon in the 12th House

You feel deeply, but quietly. So much happens beneath the surface — emotions unspoken, thoughts unshared. There's a rich inner world in you, full of secrets and softness. You're drawn to the hidden parts of others, and sometimes to love affairs that exist in shadows. You don’t always trust that people will understand you, so you hide. But healing comes when you let someone really see you. Love doesn’t have to be loud to be real. And yes — your soul needs solitude, but not loneliness.

[incloudcity]

hii could i request a quinn hughes fic where he’s dating someone in the pwhl ?

offside | qh43

requests are open

a/n: took some liberties with the plot here hope you don’t mind

Your phone buzzes somewhere under a pile of practice gear. You find it just before the call goes to voicemail.

“You’re not going to like this,” your agent says before you can speak.

“Then why are you calling?”

“Because you’re going to say no. And then say yes.”

You sit on the floor, stretching out your legs. “Try me.”

“There’s a league-wide marketing initiative between the NHL and PWHL. You’re on the shortlist.”

You frown. “Marketing, like... billboards?”

“Not exactly. They want a crossover story. Public-facing. Human interest.” She exhales. “They’re calling it a soft promo campaign for both leagues. ‘Interpersonal branding.’”

You tilt your head. “Is that code for dating?”

A pause. Then, reluctantly: “Fake dating. Light touch. Just a few public appearances, some media spots. Nothing wild.”

You scoff. “Why me?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Because you’re polarizing. People either love you or hate you. You’re too blunt, too aggressive, too… competitive, apparently.”

You close your eyes. That word again.

“And who,” you ask, not bothering to hide your irritation, “is the NHL sacrificing to this noble cause?”

“Quinn Hughes.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Clean-cut, articulate, painfully polite. Your opposite. PR thinks it’ll be good contrast.”

You lean your head back against the wall, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with hockey. “This is so stupid.”

“Probably. But it’s two months. You do it, smile for the camera, and maybe people stop calling you ‘uncoachable.’”

You say nothing.

“Just meet him,” she adds. “If it’s a no, it’s a no.”

The meeting is over Zoom. His camera is on before yours, posture straight, background tidy. He looks like a guy who irons his socks.

“Hey,” he says, nodding once. “Thanks for doing this.”

You give a short nod back. “Don’t thank me yet.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Right. Guess we’re co-stars.”

“I was thinking ‘hostages.’”

That gets a real smile. Brief, but there.

The call is mostly logistics—dates, appearances, things you’re expected to say or not say. You listen, arms crossed, as a PR rep suggests light PDA, “if it feels natural.” You glance at Quinn’s screen. He looks just as uncomfortable.

When the call ends, you stay behind a beat.

He does too.

Neither of you speaks, but the look he gives you—half amusement, half apology—feels oddly like camaraderie.

The first event is a photo call at a community rink. You’re in full gear; he’s in a hoodie and jeans. There are camera flashes, kids with autograph pads, a guy yelling for you to “put your arm around him.”

You don’t.

But Quinn, perceptive or just decent, slides his hand into yours like it’s casual. Like this isn’t ridiculous.

You glance at him.

He just shrugs. “Apparently we like each other.”

You turn toward the camera and smile—barely.

The pictures hit social media within the hour. Most of the comments are harmless fluff. Some are worse.

You expected it.

Still stings, though.

Over the next few weeks, you play along. Sort of. You're in press junkets, soft-focus videos, awkward TikToks neither of you understands. You hate pretending to giggle when he says something mildly clever. You hate how they frame your resting face like it's a character flaw.

But you don't hate him.

He listens more than he talks, and when he does speak, it's careful, thoughtful. He doesn’t tell you to smile or soften. Doesn’t shrink away when you bristle at dumb questions or roll your eyes during takes.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says one day after a shoot.

“Let me guess: you expected angry and impossible?”

“I expected tired,” he says. “You just hide it badly.”

You look at him. “And you don’t?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve just had more practice.”

The clip goes viral within hours.

A scrimmage game, meant to be light-hearted. You’re mic’d up, joking with kids, chirping gently. Then someone in the stands makes a comment—about your place in the sport, about women’s hockey being “cute.” The words hit wrong.

You snap.

Not violently. But with heat. Precision.

Security doesn’t move fast enough, so you do.

Someone leaks the raw audio.

They call it a meltdown. You call it standing up.

You log off for two days.

When you finally turn your phone back on, there’s a clip of Quinn, mid-press conference. A reporter asks about you—about the outburst, about whether the campaign was a mistake.

He shifts in his seat, annoyed.

“If standing up for yourself is a mistake, we’ve got bigger problems.”

It’s simple. Off-script. Not protective—just honest.

And it changes everything.

You’re stranded in Calgary after an unexpected snowstorm. Most of the joint press tour has been cancelled, and the hotel is down to its last few rooms.

They stick you in a shared suite.

Of course they do.

You toss your bag down. “Don’t worry, I’m not the type to talk through my feelings.”

Quinn grins faintly. “Good. I’m the type to fall asleep with a podcast on.”

The silence that settles between you is comfortable, not tense. You order takeout, sit at opposite ends of the couch, and pick at each other’s fries. You talk about road games and playlists, the pressure of captaining a team you’re still learning to lead, and what it feels like to be constantly misunderstood by people who haven’t played a minute of your sport.

“I used to think being quiet meant I’d stay out of it,” he says. “Turns out, silence doesn’t protect you. It just makes other people louder.”

You nod. “Same goes for not playing nice.”

You don’t sleep in the bed. Neither does he. You both fall asleep on the couch, your hoodie rolled under your neck, his jacket tucked over your legs.

It’s not romantic.

But it’s real.

The campaign ends quietly.

No joint statement. No drama. The leagues shift focus to playoffs, team milestones, Olympic buzz. Your name trends less. His interviews stay clean.

You go back to your team. He goes back to his.

Nothing changes. And everything does.

You start getting more questions about your game, less about your personality. People stop calling you difficult. Start calling you deliberate.

The article comes a month later. A feature in a mid-season profile.

“She’s a fighter,” it says. “But not in the way you think. Not reckless. Not impulsive. Intentional. Exacting. A storm with aim.”

You read it twice.

You’re in Vancouver for a weekend road trip. A back-to-back. Your team is exhausted, half the roster taped together with ice packs and adrenaline.

Between games, you spot him.

Not backstage. Not in a media scrum. In the stands, near the top row. Hoodie up, cap low, head down.

No signs. No posts. Just watching.

You don’t wave.

After the game, he’s waiting in the tunnel.

“Nice assist,” he says.

You smirk. “Didn’t know you still followed the campaign.”

“I don’t,” he says. “I follow you.”

The moment lingers—not heavy, but not nothing.

You don’t ask for more.

He doesn’t offer.

There’s no kiss, no confession.

Just mutual recognition.

An understanding.

Something like respect.

You never officially speak again—not in a headline-worthy way. No breakup posts. No lingering statements.

But every once in a while, when schedules line up and cities overlap, you see him.

Always out of frame.

Always watching.

And when people talk about you now, they don’t say too much.

They say underrated.

They say undeniable.

They say herself.

And finally, that’s enough.

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twelve: the watcher

word count: 2.5k

warnings: similiar themes of stalking, feeling watched, paranoia, etc.

eleven | twelve | thirteen

It might as well have been written on a billboard in big, neon letters,

Lando noticed it as soon as he stepped into Brews & Books the next evening.

She wasn’t usually jumpy. A little awkward, sure, sometimes hesitant in conversation, but not jumpy. Today, though? She was tense, her shoulders held a little tighter than usual, her hands moving in small, anxious motions—tugging at the hem of her sweater, smoothing the already-flat surface of the counter.

She greeted him with a smile just like she always did, but he saw the tightness in it.

“You alright?” he asked as she started making his drink.

“Hm?” She glanced up, blinking like she hadn’t expected the question. “Oh– yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Lando tilted his head slightly, watching the way her fingers tapped absently against the counter. He didn’t press yet. Instead, he leaned on the counter, pretending to inspect the pastry display.

“You sure?” His tone was lighter this time, almost teasing. “You look like you’re waiting for something to jump out at you.”

That made her exhale a short, almost-laugh. “It’s nothing.”

But she still didn’t relax.

"You look tense," he added a beat later, glancing at her subtly so as not to spook her by bringing too much attention to it. Yet when he said it, she nearly dropped the cup.

It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it made her feel seen. Too seen.

“Oh,” she said quickly, forcing a laugh. “Just a long day. Lots of customers.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You sure?”

She hesitated. Just for a second. But he caught it.

“I—yeah. Just a little tired.” She focused on the coffee machine, avoiding his gaze as she frothed the milk. “It’s nothing.”

Lando didn’t push further. Not immediately, at least. Instead, he leaned against the counter, casually observing as she worked. The almond croissants were a new addition to their lineup of baked goods. Perhaps he’d try it sometime, he mused.

She could feel his presence, even when she wasn’t looking at him directly. It made her more aware of herself—the way her hands trembled slightly, the tension in her shoulders.

After a pause, he spoke again, voice much lighter this time. Quieter too, like the words were intended only for her to hear. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

She finally glanced at him, brow furrowing slightly.

He tilted his head, offering an easy, almost amused smile. “You said we’re friends, right?”

She forced a smile of her own, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I.. yeah– yes, I mean. I did say that, that’s true. And thanks. But really, I’m fine.”

He hummed, not entirely convinced, but he let it go.

For now.

She didn’t say anything else either, uncharacteristically quiet for the reminder of the time Lando spent sipping at his coffee. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all until later.

By the time the last customers left and she locked the door behind them, it was just the two of them in the shop. Lando had stayed longer than he usually did, taking his time with his drink, absently flipping through one of the books from the shelf while she tidied up. Mostly just for something to do – reading had never really been his thing.

She remained quiet as she wiped down the counter, lingering near him like she was debating something. She hesitated near the door, glancing out at the darkened street before turning back to find him still lingering at his usual spot.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she really was just being paranoid.

Finally, just as she set the rag aside, she exhaled and said, “Okay… Maybe I have been a little weird lately.”

Lando slowly closed the book, resting his arm over the cover as he turned his attention to her. “Yeah?”

HIs face seemed carefully neutral, no sign of teasing or worry or anything that would indicate his thoughts at all, in fact. It was slightly unsettling, but she felt encouraged by the fact that he seemed to care enough to have noticed in the first place, and that he had willingly offered to be a listening ear.

Hell, he even called them friends.

She leaned her weight against the counter, crossing her arms. “It’s stupid. Probably. But…” 

You can still back out. You don’t have to make a fool of yourself by saying anything.

“I think someone might be watching me.”

Lando went very, very still. Other than that, there was no visible reaction – he only watched her, dark eyes sharp and unreadable.

It was intimidating, to say the least. Maybe she was acting crazy, and now she’d gone ahead and blabbed like some crazy cat lady who wore tin foil hats that thought the government was spying on her and her cats.

She shifted under his gaze, suddenly regretting saying anything. 

What were you expecting? That he’d actually take you seriously? That he’d care?

He kept his expression neutral, tilting his head slightly. “What makes you think that?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. I just—sometimes it feels like there’s someone there. But never when I actually look? And maybe I’m just being paranoid, because nothing’s happened per se, and I haven’t seen anyone exactly, and—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply as she shook her head as if it’d somehow physically shake off the craziness. “See? Stupid.”

Lando’s grip on his coffee cup tightened for half a second before he forced his hand to relax.

She wasn’t stupid. She was just too damn observant.

She ran a hand over her face, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just losing my mind.”

“Or maybe you’re smarter than most people.”

She glanced up at him. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain sharpness to it—a flicker of something knowing.

For a second, she wondered what he knew about being watched.

Before she could even think to say anything about it, however, he leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “It’s not stupid if it’s making you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice calm, even.

“Have you told anyone else?”

She blinked. “No. I mean, who would I even tell?”

He shrugged. “A friend. Family. Your boss.”

She shook her head. “Margot would just worry. And I don’t—” She hesitated. “I don’t have anyone else here, really.”

That made something flicker in his expression. Something almost imperceptible.

She shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. I should just drop it.”

For over two weeks now, Logan had been tasked with keeping an eye on her, feeding Lando reports—nothing serious, nothing intrusive. Just the usual movements. Her schedule. Who she spoke to. Where she went. It was a precaution, a necessity, but now? 

Now she was picking up on it.

He couldn’t have that – Logan was a professional, after all.

Subtly, he pulled his phone from his pocket, typing out a short message under the counter.

Loosen up. Don’t disappear, but make it less obvious, would you?

He hit send.

“Hey, look–”

Her voice pulled his attention back to her.

Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed together. “You don’t have to sit here and humor me. I know how it sounds. Like I’m–”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Lando said simply.

She blinked. “Oh.”

He leaned back, fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. “If something’s bothering you, then it’s worth paying attention to.” 

Crystalline green eyes met hers, momentarily taking her breath away with their intensity. “You’re not imagining it,” he added.

She blinked. “How do you know?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat back slightly, drumming his fingers lightly against the counter. Then, in the same easy tone he always used, he said, “I’ll walk you home.”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to be dramatic—”

“You’re not,” he interrupted smoothly.

She blinked.

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head as if weighing his next words carefully. “It’s late when you close up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…?”

“And you walk home alone?”

She hesitated again before nodding reluctantly.

Lando let out a slow breath, almost like he was holding something back. “That’s not exactly safe, you know.”

She laughed, though it came out a little forced. “Yeah, well. Not all of us can afford a car and a driver.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk, but something close to amusement. “So I could walk you home.”

When she shot him a dubious look, he had to sigh. “You finish late. You live alone. Doesn’t hurt to be careful, does it?”

She frowned, shifting her weight. It does make sense, she reasoned with herself. It wasn’t like she wanted to be paranoid. And the truth was, knowing someone was walking with her would probably help her sleep better a bit better at night.

“…I guess not,” she admitted.

His lips curled slightly, like he had expected her to agree. “Good.”

“I can stick around more,” he said, tone even.

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Walk you after,” he shrugged. “Make sure you get home safe.”

She laughed, caught off guard. “So now, what, you’re like my bodyguard or something now?”

He smirked. “If you want to call it that.”

He took another sip of his coffee before adding, “I could also give you a ride to your uni if you want. S'not far.”

That caught her off guard. She raised an eyebrow, chuckling incredulously. “What, so now you want to be my personal chauffeur too?”

Lando huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t push your luck.”

It was easier to joke about it, but underneath it all, she could tell he was being serious. And something about that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

But still, the idea of not having to take the bus every morning was appealing...

Noticing her thoughtful expression, he decided to give that extra nudge. “You know. Since we’re friends and all.”

Her lips parted, the words stuck somewhere in her throat.

He’s using my own words against me! How dare he.

Finally, she managed a weak, “I… you really don’t have to.”

“And yet, I’m going to.”

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You don’t listen, do you?”

“Selective hearing,” he grinned, eyes shining with mischief and dimples on display. He waited for a retort, and when none came, he grinned even wider. “Then it’s settled.”

She frowned. “That’s– That's not how this works, Liam.”

He grimaced inconspicuously at the use of his fake name, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up his coffee again, leaning back slightly, looking entirely too comfortable. “You’re not exactly arguing very hard,” he observed.

She exhaled through her nose, crossing her arms. “Because I know it’s a bad idea to walk alone at night, I just—” She shook her head. “I really don’t want to be a bother.”

He lifted an eyebrow, chuckling lowly. “You insult me. You really think I’d offer if it was a bother?”

She paused, caught off guard by the sincerity. Something about the way he said it made her feel… safe. Certain. Assured.

Not in the way she should feel safe, necessarily. Maybe there was something too composed about him, something about his ease that made her wonder just what kind of man could offer protection like that without the slightest hesitation, as if it was second nature. 

Like nothing in the world would dare touch him.

She sighed, then muttered, “...Fine. I guess, if it makes you feel better...”

Wearing yet another smug expression (or perhaps his face was permanently stuck that way), he nodded like it had been inevitable, but said nothing else.

“Alright then. I’ll wait outside, yeah?”

And just like that, it was settled.

Lando walked her home.

She tried to tell herself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just a precaution, that it didn’t mean anything. But there was something about his presence beside her—calm, steady, entirely unbothered—that made her feel safer than she had in days. It was nice not to feel like she had RedBull running in her veins, hyper and on edge.

They didn’t talk much. He let her lead the conversation, responding only when necessary, but never prying. Still, she could feel his eyes subtly scanning their surroundings, always aware.

By the time they reached her apartment building, she felt a little less ridiculous about the whole thing.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, shuffling her feet. “For, um. This,” she gestured vaguely to the space around them.

Lando just shrugged. “Anytime.”

Something about the way he said it made her hesitate.

“…I’ll be fine tomorrow, though,” she added quickly. “You really don’t have to—”

“You have class in the morning, don’t you?”

She blinked. “Well yes, but–”

He raised a brow, leaning lazily against the side of her building. “Want a ride?”

Her stomach twisted with something dangerous. “I—”

“Relax,” he said, amused. “I’m not asking for your social security number. M’only offering a ride.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Just casually offer to drive random girls to school?”

His smirk widened. “Only the ones I’m friends with.”

Friends. There was that word again.

And she really needed to stop liking the sound of it.

“…Okay,” she finally said, sighing. “But only if it’s not out of your way, okay?”

Lando’s lips twitched before letting a chuckle escape. “No.”

That made her even more suspicious.

After a beat, she shook her head, clearly at a loss. “You are very confusing.”

He just smiled.

But when she finally went in, her shoulders were less tense than they had been in a while, a calm beginning to settle where this once was a nagging unease. 

And so she found herself waiting for him the next morning anyway.

Logan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He read the message from Lando, his lips twitching slightly in amusement.

She’s caught on after all, huh? Good for her.

From his spot across the street, tucked into the shadows near a parked car, he exhaled and took a step back. Maybe he had been a little too consistent.

Time to switch it up.

Rolling his shoulders, Logan removed the camera strap from around his neck, clicking through the photos he’d captured of her that day—some in the café, others as she left, a few of her walking alone. Satisfied, he set the device in the passenger seat beside him and slid into the driver’s seat. His nondescript Vauxhall Astra eased away from the curb, the hum of its engine fading into the night.

High above, from the rooftop of an adjacent building, another figure remained perfectly still.

Stormy blue eyes peered through the darkness, framed by sharp features and an air of quiet control. Unlike Logan, he didn’t need the shadows to disappear—he belonged to them, woven into the city's fabric as seamlessly as the skyline itself.

A slow smirk curled his lips.

“Well, well,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Look at you.”

Long, pale fingers hovered over the ridged button atop his sleek, black camera. He took his time, watching, analyzing, before pressing down.

Click.

A single frame captured – evidence of a hunter tailing another.

And just like that, George Russell was gone.

[moonstruckme]

hey lovely! if you're feelin it, could you maybe do a poly!emt!marauders drabble, where the reader is chronically ill/disabled and usually has pains and problems and sickness, but one day it's really bad and reader asks to go to urgent care, which shocks/worries the others bc they usually are very adamant about not needing to go? no matter how ill i am i always refuse to go to the hospital unless i think i'm like actually dying 😭

Thanks for requesting ml <3

cw: chronic illness, descriptions of pain and mention of nausea, trembling

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 650 words

Your home is always a bit tense when you’re having a flare-up. It’s not your fault, not anyone’s, but your boyfriends feel for you when you’re hurting and they hate not having anything they can do to help. 

Remus can tell it’s a bad one. Ordinarily you try to act as though you aren’t in pain even when you are, tidying and running errands and forcing your way into the kitchen to help with dinner, but for hours now you’ve not wanted to do anything other than sit and breathe. Slow, deep breaths, like you’re trying to reside in your mind and not your body. Your hair is still wet from the warm bath James cajoled you into. Sirius is combing his fingers through it, gently working tangles out of the ends. 

“Still feeling sick, angel?” James asks you. 

You hum in quiet affirmation. Your eyes are closed, so you can’t see the pained helplessness that takes your boyfriend’s expression, but Remus does. He takes James’ hand between his own, rubbing over his knuckles. 

Sirius loosens a knot in your hair. “Do you think a distraction might help? We could read something.”

You mumble, as if even speech is too much, “I don’t think I could concentrate on anything. Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, babydove,” Remus says gently. “Where is the pain the worst?” 

Again, your voice sounds labored. “In my face.” 

James makes a quiet, heartbroken sound. Though they all know that the location of your pain doesn’t indicate its intensity, Remus has to agree that the way you’ve described it in your face before sounds especially harrowing to him. Burns and aches behind your eyes, throbbing you can feel in your teeth. 

“What’s your level?” he asks. 

You continue taking deep breaths. None of the boys push you. Sometimes it takes you a while to find a rating for your pain, to force it into the context of all the flare-ups you’ve had before and assign it a number between one and ten. You tend to undershoot it anyway, so Remus knows that when you rate something a four it’s more likely a six, and a six is more likely a seven or an eight. 

“I think…” you say after a minute. “I think I want to go to A&E.” 

Behind you, Remus sees Sirius’ hands still in your hair, his eyes widening. He feels much the same. You never want to go to A&E. Your boyfriends have even mostly stopped suggesting it, your refusal is so guaranteed. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James reaches for you, crestfallen, his hand clasping around your own. “It’s really bad, huh?”

Your quiet hum breaks Remus’ heart. “Can we?” you ask. 

Remus knows it has to be awful for you to ask. You don’t like to go to A&E, and you like even less than that the hassle of going, having to divulge your symptoms to your boyfriends and sit in waiting rooms and talk to doctors. There’s no possibility that this is a decision you came to lightly. 

So Remus tries not to make you regret it. 

“Yeah, lovely.” He gestures for James to go get the car keys, and Sirius starts easing a hand behind your back, helping you up. “Of course we can. Do you want your hot pack for the wait?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“I’ve got it!” James calls from the kitchen. You all hear the microwave turn on. 

“Thanks for telling us, sweetness.” Sirius kisses the side of your head. He’s supporting most of your weight, the tremor back in your leg now that you’re standing and your balance unsteady. 

“Thanks for helping,” you murmur. 

Sirius makes a quiet scoffing sound, levity feigned for your benefit. “Don’t thank us for that, we love helping you. We’re gonna get you some good help at the hospital too, okay?” 

Remus is going to make sure that’s true.

[gracie-eilish]

may you do a story that basically is like you and billie are high school sweethearts and it’s your 5th year anniversary and your sick she so comes and takes care of you, so basically all fluff and cuteness

sappy anniversary

pairings: college student reader! x billie

warnings: not really! mentions of feeling sick. mainly fluff

five years. five whole years since you and billie had started dating. the two of you were 16 when you started dating, leaving you both now 21 and 20… billie always teased you about those six months you trailed behind her.

five years you stood by her side, or at least virtually did as best as you could. you were there when she swept her first grammys, there for the release of all her albums thus far, there for as many tour dates as possible… you get the picture :)

now here you were on your fifth anniversary, waiting for billie to arrive to your college apartment. given billie’s fame, going out to dinner in your small college town was a no go. so you spent the week tidying up your small apartment, for a cozy date night in…. until you woke up this morning.

your head was pounding, throat scratchy and dry, nose running faster than an olympian.. basically you felt gross. quickly after you woke, you texted billie letting her know you weren’t feeling well enough for a proper at home date.

now, you were slumped half asleep in bed after skipping all your classes today. you had re-runs of new girl playing automatically in the background. you had all the lights off except for a string of christmas lights stung up on the ceiling, and your little humidifier glowed a calming purple color on your nightstand, and a few plain scented candles lit on your nightstand and dresser. not even your dog, gnawing on a bone next to your bead, could have dragged you from your cozy cocoon of sick.

until the door opened and closed… billie.

“babygirl?” she called softly from the front door. “baby, i’m here! i brought some stuff to help you feel better.” you could hear her shoving off her shoes and putting some grocery bags and her keys on the kitchen counter.

your dog scampered off to the front door, following billie’s voice. her little paws scraped on the floor, followed by billie’s silly little hellos and giggles at her enthusiasm.

“where’s your mama, hm? you been taking good care of her all day?” you smiled at her words, muffled through the wall. the little paws scampered closer again, as well as some familiar socked footsteps. the door creaked open, revealing a very cozy billie, clad in some sweats and a soft crew neck. her dark hair was down and slightly wavy, bangs pushed back with a cotton headband, leaving her bare face open for you to enjoy staring at all night.

“hiiiii mama,” her voice was soft but still twinged with that signature charm. “happy anniversary sweetheart.” your lips curved into a slight smile as she perched herself on the side of your bed, candlelight bouncing off her bright red roots.

“hi bub,” you shifted a bit so you could sit up more. “happy anniversary love.”

“how ya feeling? up for a little fun? or do ya just need a super hot nurse to take care of ya all night?” she shot you a wink, smirking.

“jesus fuck billie,” you tried to stifle your laughs to prevent another coughing attack. “i’m better than this morning, but i’m definitely not feeling good enough for more than like .. tv and cuddles.. and snacks.. and tea.” you faked a cough looking at her with sheepish eyes.

“alright sicky.” she rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smile. “well before any fun happens, what have you eaten today? have you had any water?”

“yes, i had some leftover soup for lunch and some small snacks and tea mostly. and yes plenty of water.”

“good girl,” she pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling away quickly before leaning her cheek to your forehead.

“baby!! how are you not sweating?! you’re burning up love!”

you looked at her dumbfounded. you had been shivering and freezing all day so naturally you bundled yourself up with the little energy you had.

“have you taken anything for your fever missy?”

“i don’t have a fever.”

“be so fucking for real with me right now.”

“billie the tylenol is so fucking far away.”

she rolled her eyes laughing and grumbling under her breath.

after getting some medicine and even more water in you, billie insisted on you taking a nice long shower. emphasis on long. you figured it couldn’t hurt, sitting in your sick all day never made you feel better. so billie helped you out of bed and into the warm shower. she shut the door behind her, letting all the warm air stay inside, before she got to work.

to say your room was a disaster was an understatement. while it was a valid disaster, no one felt better sitting in a messy room. she threw a fluffy towel and some clean pjs in the dryer while also throwing your dirty sheets and bedding in the wash, replacing them with fresh clean ones.

back in your bedroom, she set up a little basket situation of all the snacks and things she brought so neither of you would have to leave the bed all night. she set it on “her” nightstand, and on yours she refilled your humidifier, and your water.

by the time you finished in the shower, your room had been transformed to a cozy, romantic, haven set up for you two to still enjoy your anniversary while allowing you to rest.

“baby! where’s my towel?!” you called from behind the door. “it’s fucking freezing in here!”

billie snorted at your theatrics before knocking on the bathroom door, letting you know she was there. once you’d given permission, she stepped in, finding you standing in the shower with the door closed, arms crossed across your chest, teeth chattering like a puppy in the rain.

“oh my god babe, it’s not that cold,” she said in her little voice, wrapping you up in the toasty towel fresh from the dryer. you practically melted into her arms, the warmth from her arms seeping through the fluffy fabric.

“billie?” you half said, half whined.

“yeah mama?” she continued drying you off softly.

“i don’t feel good,” your voice was all nasally from your stuffy nose.

she stifled a snort, pulling you in closer to her.

“i know baby, i know.” she kissed your damp hair a few times. “you wanna get in pjs and then cuddle?”

you nodded without lifting your head from her chest.

“okay. my poor baby.” after a quick pouty, glare from you, and a wet cheek kiss from billie, billie did take her time helping you dry off and get ready for bed.

“alright you, back in bed. is there anything i can bring you before we get settled?”

you thought for a moment, genuinely looking around if you needed anything. you shook your head with a soft smile, scooching down further under your blanket.

billie snuck in next to you, settling on her back so you could snuggle up to her side, resting you head on her shoulder.

“i got you flowers too, but i left them in the kitchen in case they’d irritate your nose,” billie whispered in a small voice. you looked up at her with a pout. she was sickeningly sweet even five years in.

“you’re so cute,” you whispered.

“kai have a kiss?” she asked, puppy eyes on full display.

“bubby, you’ll get sick if i kiss you. i don’t want you to feel all sick and gross when you go back home.”

“does it look like i give a flying fuck right now.”

she did in fact not look like she gave a flying fuck.

“what am i gonna do with you?” you smiled, tilting your head further up to kiss her, softly and delicately.

“love me forever?” she asked between kisses.

“sounds good to me.”

you settled back into her arms, letting her pull the fluffy throw blanket over your shoulders.

“i got you something.” you looked at her surprised. you both agreed that you didn’t need to do gifts for anniversaries. maybe some flowers, a nice dinner or a romantic date. but there was no need for gifts… except for billie. she cut you off before you could object.

“before you freak out… i’m not proposing. i think you’d kill me slowly if i proposed when you had a runny nose.” you giggled a bit, perking up at what she was fishing for in her sweatpants pocket.

she pulled out a ring, nothing extravagant. a simple (your fave metal color) band, with a moderate (your fave gem) stone in the middle. you looked up at her with watery eyes.

“bils..”

“this is a promise ring for you. a promise that first and foremost, one day i’ll buy you an engagement ring. and then a pretty little wedding ring to match,” she kissed your jaw teasingly. “but also a promise, to love you and cherish you and adore you every day i have left on this earth. the last five years have been incredible for a thousand and ten reasons. it wouldn’t have been half as incredible if i didn’t have you by my side.”

you were speechless. you’d talked about the future a few times, but more jokingly like all teenagers did. but… you were now in your early twenties. billie was selling out arenas living her dream around the world, and you were set to graduate next year and start working your dream job. your lives were off to a great start… but doing it together sounded even better right??

“i love you so much,” was all you could croak out, throat tight from tears and whatever scratchiness you had left.

“aww baby,” billie giggled and pouted at your teary face, pulling you in close to cradle your head.

“my emotional little girl,” she teased pinching your side.

the moment died however as you let out a sneeze, a reminder of why you were snuggled up in bed and not sat outside having a romantic little dinner on your small deck.

“sorry billie,” your voice had stuffed up immediately, giving it that rounded edge everyone had when they had a cold. “ruined the moment a bit there.”

billie just smiled and passed you a few tissues, letting you do your thing before finally, snuggling into bed for the last time that night.

“do you wanna wear it or do you wanna wait until you feel bett-“

“billie you bought me sparkly jewelry, of fucking course i wanna wear it.”

she slipped the ring onto your ring finger, holding you hand out for a second just admiring the way it sparkled. she pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before letting your hand rest on her chest, showing off the sparkly stone.

she grabbed the tv remote and pressed play on whatever episode you had paused from when she first got here a few hours ago.

“you feeling any better?” you nodded against her chest softly, eyes already dropping a bit.

“yeah i am. thank you for taking care of me.” you softly looked up at her.

she poked your new ring a few times teasingly, “s’my job!”

“you’re such a goose,” you mumbled smiling, tucking you head back beneath her chin.

“very cute goose. make all the girl goose go woahhhhh,” she cracked herself up, unable to catch her breath.

“baby you said it wrong. it’s moose not goose.”

“can you just let me be funny for like seven seconds? i thought you had a cold.”

“i swear to fucking god billie..”

“MWAH!” she pressed a warm kiss to your cheek. “you love me.”

“you bet your sweet ass i love you.”

🩷

billie couldn’t help but watch as you slept just a few minutes later. sound asleep in her arms as nick and schmidt argued away on the tv. you let out tiny little snores since your nose was so stuffed up, which billie found adorable.

naturally her gaze shifted, watching the sparkly ring on your finger glimmer in the low light of your room. she thought about what it would be like a few years from now when you had an engagement ring on.. a wedding ring.. and couldn’t stop the smile on her face.

you may have been sick and a teensy bit miserable, but you both agreed this was the most romantic and memorable anniversary you’d had yet.

[melliemell]

Pairing: Dazai x f!reader

Contents: mostly SFW, first date with Dazai, making out at uncomfortable places yet again, CW for Dazai-typical discussions of suicide, nothing too graphic; fluff and cheekiness in full. Approx 2k.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There it was again. The stare.

You moved about the food on your plate, feigning ignorance to Dazai’s gaze from the other side of the table. He’s been doing this more often in the past hour than your entire date. It got you wondering what on earth you did to get that switch up. He struck you as the airheaded type, at least at first. 

First dates as a general rule were rather awkward, as common sense points out. Even more so when said guy was a complete stranger you happened to bump into on the street. Dazai did have that effortless charm about him though, and you found yourself saying yes before you registered you’d just agreed to taking him out on a date. 

You. You taking him. 

He had a way with words, that you couldn’t deny.

And now, a second iced tea in and genuinely enjoying yourself, it was easy to see how that happened. From the constant flow of conversation to the rather peculiar sense of humour– yeah, he might be a little weird.

 A bit. 

Okay, a lot. 

But learning the effects of mushroom poisoning wasn’t all that boring. The contrary, actually. But it definitely had to do with Dazai’s ability to disarm any situation of its soberness. You found yourself relaxing into the evening with no worries over figuring out how to come up with escape plans. 

You were sticking this one out. Even if you’d probably be the one paying for dinner.

A faint tapping caught your attention.

“Aw, you’re not paying attention to me,” Dazai said, pouting. He clung his fork against his plate again, looking rather dejected enough to make you feel sad for him. “My lady doesn’t see me worthy of her precious time. Gah, what pains!”

You raised a brow. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?” You wondered how quickly he could switch between emotions. The look from earlier was completely gone.

“So are lots of people around us.” He loomed in closer, eyes glinting with only trouble. “But I keep my attention on the really cute ones.”

Ah, a charmer indeed. Hmm. Let’s see then…

“Do you, now? In fact–” You looked around innocently, weighing your options before settling on a table to Dazai’s back. A smile crept on your lips and you pointed discreetly. “–I’ve always been more of an admirer of elegant appeal than ‘cuteness’, to be honest.” 

“Oh?” 

You sipped your tea patiently as Dazai threw a carefree glance over his shoulder to the woman sitting not far from him. Nothing stood out at first glance, but the way she carried the simple, yet classy dress was enough to give you a double take. It was a stark contrast to the rest of you here.

The restaurant you were in did not have any dress code; it was far from those high-end establishments that required such frivolity.

The low woah that left Dazai’s lips was pretty much on point. It was almost like seeing a poorly disguised celebrity on a random Wednesday. 

Dazai hummed. “I see, I see.” He rested a cheek on his knuckles. “Sad to hear, though. You have a lot more fun with cuties! I have a coworker who’s very tidied up. He’s pretty fun to vex, but it’s almost impossible to free him from that stick up his ass. What a shame.”

“So I should go for the fun ones?” 

“I hear it’s good to mingle with like-minded people,” Dazai said, and winked. 

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m rather ‘tidied’ too, And if it comes with being seen as classy– I don’t mind.” You didn’t feel embarrassed by this. Too much adventure tends to stress you out more often than not. It was a miracle you even went on this date to begin with. But the look on Dazai’s face made you pause.

“Whaat? Pshh,” he waved a hand dismissively. A small glint of mischief flashed in his eyes, making you narrow yours in distrust. “Your modesty is making my heart flutter, here–”

He reached forward, clasping your hand into his before resting it against his chest. His vest felt warm, the wool grazing at your fingertips gently.

You blinked, face blank. “You know I can’t feel anything through–”

“Oh my,” Dazai said, that cheeky smile reappearing. He leaned closer, tone low, “I will admit, this is a bit straightforward; I’m quite shy. But… when a beautiful woman hints at wishing to undress me, and publicly I might add, then–”

Your face heated up. “What? No– nono, you just–,” you hissed, your other hand flying to cover the already spreading flush on your cheeks, and Dazai laughed heartedly.

“See? Told you you were a cutie,” he said, cocking his head. He squeezed your hand, showing no signs of letting go anytime soon. 

“And you’re too much,” you said, eyes peeking from spread fingers. 

“Maybe I need the guiding hand of a good honest samaritan.”

“So long as you don’t lead them to a heart attack first,” you said, cheeks still red.

“Aw, man.” Dazai wrinkled his nose. “That doesn’t sound fun at all. Too uncomfortable for my tastes. Did you know some heart attacks could last for hours? Bleh.”

“Add a comfy bed there in the mix and I’d agree. Heart attacks suck,” you said, and immediately drew slightly back as Dazai all but bore his gaze into you, eyes wide. You weren’t expecting that level of attention… and that stare from earlier. The fleeting one; it was back. 

This man was curious indeed.

There was a moment where no one spoke, Dazai not breaking eye contact with you as you blinked back at him. Then– the sound of wood scraping on floor reached your ears as Dazai scooped his chair closer, crouching close enough to you to feel his body heat. His thigh was flush against yours.

“Please,” Dazai began, “share with me what you meant by needing a bed. How would you like to leave this so dreadful world? Do you have opinions on carbon monoxide?”

You looked down at your seating. “Uhh.” 

Your brain blanked. It was a sudden change, and you were sure you had struck an interesting chord. Dazai nodded his head, beckoning you to share, but your focus was slowly seeping away, replaced by the newfound knowledge that Dazai’s hair was actually probably dark auburn, not chestnut,  and not as straight as you assumed. Or maybe it was the light. Might be. 

It looked floppy too. The type that glides smoothly through your fingers. 

You snapped back, sudden and quick. “Carbon what? Yes, no– I mean, I– like sleeping? Doesn’t sound bad to just drift off in the middle of it.”

Dazai nodded again. He was way too invested in this. “I see. a bit old-fashioned, but I respect that. Very Victorian of you.” 

“Yeah, and you strike me as the obnoxious type. Quiet and peaceful doesn’t ring quite as accurately,” you said casually. You’ve had weirder discussions with your close friends. This wasn’t all too outside your calibre. 

Dazai cradled his chin in his hand, striking a rather silly pose as he pondered this over. “I have said before I’d rather go out with a bang, hah. I am a man of my word, but if a beauty like you were to offer…”

You patted Dazai on the cheek. “Buckle up, clown man. We’re too young for that. Ask me again in, hmm, 60 years? No, make it 70, I’m an overachiever.”

A low whistle left Dazai’s lips, and he flopped back dramatically on the back of his chair. “Time is excruciating! Oh, to wait so long, my frail heart.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

Dazai stuck out his tongue. 

Insufferable. Yet endearing. Keeping back your smiles was becoming harder and harder. Dazai didn’t need a confidence boost like that. Not when he leaned closer every time he made a remark, or when he listened to you intently as you rattled on about your shitty day job last summer or how you missed living at home with your mom’s cooking and her daily gossips. He wasn’t as obnoxious as you thought. 

Okay, maybe a little. 

At some point his hand came to rest over your knee, index finger looping lazy circles on your thigh. You didn’t remember giving him permission to do that, but… somehow, losing that contact wasn’t something you wanted. You leaned into it, catching the quick grin that formed on Dazai’s lips.

It wasn’t long before he had you completely wrapped around his finger, the pair of you stumbling out into the late evening filled with too much giddiness and anticipation. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol in your system yet your mind felt light, barely registering the walk back to your car. 

Dazai sprinted a bit ahead, bowing at the waist as he held the door open for you. “My lady, allow me.”

You snorted as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Very smooth, but if this is your way of pleading for a ride… hmm, wasn’t the subway that way?”

“Aww, you’ll leave me stranded here, and all alone.” 

 Big brown eyes and a pout to kill for, Dazai was pulling the sympathy card like a champ. You weren’t gonna let him so easy, though. “Aren’t you a big boy? I’m sure you can manage.”

He bent down, resting on the lowered window. “I take it I didn’t win you over? Bummer. And I thought we were having a great time.”

“We were. But I learned something new about myself today.”

Dazai perked. “My my, and what is that?”

“You’re too fun to torment. I like that in a man.”

“Cruel,” Dazai said. “I’m way more fun to cuddle.”

You came closer, watching to see Dazai’s body language. He did not budge from his position, his attention fully drawn to you. He was needy for attention; it wasn’t hard to draw that conclusion, but giving in so fast wasn’t your style. Just a small pinch then, maybe…

“Hmm,” you said, twirling a loose strand of Dazai’s hair around your finger. He leaned in closer. “We’ll see.”

You had but a second to glance at his lips before Dazai captured yours. Your hands raised instinctively, cupping his face and you pulled him closer, earning a yelp as Dazai nearly lost his footing before he grabbed at the window frame. You paid that no mind, too busy. 

You didn’t expect Dazai to be a shy kisser; after the sudden moment of quick passion– you found him slowly working your lips together. Chaste and sweet, before he coaxed your mouth open with his. You swallowed his quiet sigh of contentment as his tongue explored yours, felt him running a hand through your hair to settle back at your neck, beckoning you closer.

Not that you could. It was getting hard to breathe, or you just forgot how to. You weren’t sure. 

“Stop, stop,” you whispered in between kisses. “We should really stop, Dazai.”

“2 more hours, please.”

You both laughed, and it was followed by a gentle nib at your lower lip before you lost yourself in him again. 

The world blurred, forgotten, as heat settled between your legs. It always marveled you– how nothing seemed to be enough in those moments. the only thought was more, more, more.

You wanted more. 

“Enough,” you said suddenly, hands pushing at Dazai’s shoulders. He had almost crawled inside your car, through the fucking window.

Dazai blinked at you, still a bit dazed. His pupils were blown wide, teeth grazing his lower lip as he tried to lean subconsciously in again. “You have really round cheeks, did you know that? Cute. Why is everything about you cute?” 

“Yeah?” You set your key in place, starting the engine. “You can make me a list later. Come on.” You patted the seat beside you.

“Wait–” Dazai beamed at you “–does this mean I get to be your passenger princess?”

“Not if you don’t hurry.” The car moved slightly forward in warning, Dazai’s grin widening as he scurried to the other side.

This wasn’t how you planned your night to go but… as Dazai sat down beside you, belt secured and giving you a thumbs up with both hands, well, you could only shake your head with amusement. 

He sure was something. 

Might as well see where this goes…

[yandere-romanticaa]

masterlist.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's the talk of the town once he moves and settles in. The gossip started to pool in mostly due to his looks. He wasn't necessarily what one would call "conventionally attractive" but there was this air to him that was impossible to ignore. It was hard to find him anywhere throughout the day because he spent almost all of his time in the morgue, regardless if his work hours had long since passed. The only time he could really be seen was if you would be lucky enough to see him in the wee hours in the morning, large briefcase in hand and heading straight towards the usual destination. Small amounts of people would gather in the coffee shops and spy on the man. Gossip spread like wildfire but no one had the guts to actually approach him.

One chilly October morning, you decided to be brave. Pushing your insecurities aside your curiosity ended up getting the better of you. There was no turning back.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who's caught off guard by your sudden and bold approach but he doesn't mind.

As a matter of fact, he finds it quite refreshing.

He's not saying much as the day is just a bit too early for him and despite his drowsiness, he is paying attention to you like a hawk. His soft brown eyes are focused on your lips, listening to your every word. You invited him out on a coffee but he frowns - he has to work. A serial killer has been on the loose recently and due to that individual his work keeps piling on. Families need closure and he is an important part of that process. With a sad sigh he declines your generous offer and your demeanor is like that of a balloon which was violently popped, by his own hand none the less. He feels a bit guilty and proposes the idea that you actually come to his place of work if you're so keen on getting to know him. It was a little twisted of him but he was curious to see how fast you would shoot him down on this offer but the opposite happened.

You accepted it in a heartbeat.

Well, now he has to tidy everything up.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍! who can't help but to feel a little starstruck once he actually meets you on this would-be coffee date. He actually prepared a selection of teas in advance just in case you didn't actually like coffee, along with an assortment of snacks to boot. You sit in the lobby and make small talk with each other. The atmosphere is comfortable as soft music plays in the background, ranging from the latest pop music to classical violin. He doesn't like the quiet, he confesses to you. He can't do anything properly because the silence is too deafening to him.

He doesn't tell you that the sound of your voice is like lovely rain on a hot summer day to him. Cooling, refreshing. Perhaps a little bit necessary. His work hours are long and odd and the only people that surround him are not even alive.

That's his own fault though. His urges are too much to handle, sometimes. He has no one else to blame for enhancing his work other than himself.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to make room in his schedule for you whenever he can. Ideally, he doesn't actually like bringing you to the morgue. The place where he works is dark, desolate and cold.

That is no place for the likes of you.

No, he likes to see you bask in the warmth of the sun with a hot beverage in your hand, a goofy smile on your lips as you tell him the plot of the last book you read or the game you had played. He never has the heart to tell you to stop, your excitement is far too precious to him.

He is aware that he is not the easiest person to approach. Aside from the fact that people get a little jumpy once they learn that he works with the dead, his personality isn't much to brag about either. Whilst polite there's a level of dryness to him, a lack of humanity which other people are not so keen on. His shoulder black hair is always messy and, yes he will admit it, his fashion choices are a tad bit archaic. He's gotten an earful from strangers that he looks less like a man from the 21st century and more like a vampire from an 18th century gothic novella.

He knows those are not meant to be taken as compliments but he still sees them as such.

You like to tease him for his fashion choices and make an attempt to improve his wardrobe but you don't want to do too much. Truth be told, you like the way he looks but you don't dare tell him.

If he were to find that out his ego would go through the damn roof.

Within weeks, his closet was filled with comfortable blazes, a sweater or two, some casual t-shirts and some fresh, crisp white button ups that go along with pretty much anything and everything. He gave you the liberty of picking everything out for him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to act more like a member of polite society rather than a reclusive shut in. You took his hand and showed him a glimpse of the world, just how beautiful everything can be. There are so many colors and smells, all so dominating and sweet. You take every chance you can to get him outside even if he's not very fond of the sun. You chastise him for how pale and sickly he looks as you shove food at him, his lanky body showing obvious signs that he was not eating properly.

He simply was not hungry. Food could never satisfy him. He only ate because his body demanded so of him. And for you, of course. He would never turn down any food you gave to him. Ever.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐍!, who starts to become sloppy. His cuts are imperfect and his concentration has never been worse. He stares down at the corpse on his steel table, the bright light above him giving the dead hunk of flesh an unearthly aura of peace. With his gloved hand he reached for the poor victims cheeks, which have now gone hollow and dead. Your face suddenly flashes through his head, your giggles filling his ears, in a manner similar to that of when a person is submerged under water.

What would happen if this were you?

He never could have imagined that he could ever be this charmed by another human being.

For his entire life all he has ever had were his books, notes and his own gloomy company. He was not deserving of someone like you, a creature that thrived among the living. He suddenly stabbed the corpse beneath him with his scalpel, his hand shaking from the rage which overtook him.

Why couldn't he be alive like that?

What was wrong with him?

He could never get along with human beings, no matter how hard he tried. He stopped trying ages ago because the harder he tried, the more he failed.

There was no denying the fact that he was a freak of nature.

An abomination.

If he cannot function around the living he could always turn towards the dead. They made for much better company anyway, always there to listen to him and his woes.

It was frightening how much he relied on you now. His sanity was in your hands and you had no clue.

How cruel.

He hated you. He was beyond envious of your ability to function like a normal human being. All the things which you had perceived to be normal were nothing but pure anomalies to him. And yet, the more he hated you the more he craved you. He could never regret the decision of allowing you to enter his life. It was nice to be wanted.

He loved it when you wanted him.

Do you want him in the same manner in which he wants you? Did you possess the same wicked desires which he did? Human beings are all the same when push comes to shove. Their true colours are shown once they're faced with death.

And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do later that week.

🥀 𝐀/𝐍: I'm not good with creating original characters and I apologize for that. However! I keep having the same dream over and over and I just thought that it would be neat to turn them into entertainment for the rest of the world to see. Please share your thoughts and opinions with me, they are always highly appreciated!