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helen-with-an-a · 6 months

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You always have an excuse

Hi. So this is a request and I really liked the idea. Hopefully, I did it justice. I hope you enjoy

Barca Femeni x reader

Description: R always has excuses but eventually slips up.

Part 1 : Part 2

Word Count: 3.8k

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were late. You were so late. But it wasn’t your fault; indeed, honestly, it wasn’t your fault. Your parents were not the greatest at being parents. They had you when they were just 16 and far too young to be having children. Sure, they paid for your football stuff and gave you a lot of what you asked for, but it was to keep you quiet and out of the house. You didn’t mind too much. It was easier when you only had to look out for yourself, never telling your parents where or who you were with. You always had a range of excuses ready for anyone who asked – lying and telling your friend’s parents that someone else would be taking you home, saying your mum was just around the corner, she had work so couldn’t come to your matches. It was fine. You knew nothing different.

You signed for La Masia when you were 10. The training was intense, but you loved it. You thrived under the pressure, quickly working your way up the ranks. Your debut for the first team happened shortly before your 16th birthday. You had never felt prouder of yourself.

“And here we have it. At just 15 years old, Y/F/N Y/S/N, making her debut for FC Barcelona Femeni. She’s homegrown, working her way up La Masia ranks. She is definitely a future star.” The commentator said as you made your way onto the pitch. This is what you have been dreaming of since you discovered football. This was the dream that only some people achieved. And you were one of them. A professional footballer. Your life’s goal was achieved.

The game was an easy win. The other team was fighting a relegation battle, as Barca slipped 10 goals past their keeper.

“Vamos,” Patri shouted as she shook you by the shoulders. “A debut and a brace. Is that a Ballon d’Or I see in your future?” You laughed as she wrapped you in a fierce hug.

“Neña, what a performance, hey?” Mapi called as Alexia affectionately hit the back of your head.

“Where’s your Mamí? I’m sure she wants to see you after that performance.” You didn’t even bat an eyelid as you smiled sweetly at Marta

“Oh, she said we’d meet outside by the main gates – saves us from trying to find each other on the pitch and in the crowd.” You waved at the chaos surrounding you. You knew your mother was nowhere near the football stadium – you doubted she even knew you had a football match, let alone your senior debut. It was easy to slip away from the changing rooms; you had significant practice doing it most of your life.

And now you were running so, so late. You had woken up on time, but the food in the house looked a little off, so you rushed to get something from the bakery on your way to the bus stop. But the line was bigger than anticipated, so you were rushing to catch the bus. A man walking in the other direction wasn’t paying attention and crashed into you, causing you to drop your stuff and spill hot coffee all over yourself. That had disrupted your flow, and you missed the bus, having to wait 5 minutes for the next one, which wasn’t a big deal. However, the metro system was delayed. And now you were 10 minutes behind, and then the bus you were supposed to catch from the metro station to the training centre never showed up, so you had to catch an alternative one, making you 30 minutes late. You had texted Jona to tell you you were running late but you knew you had laps waiting for you when you actually got there. You arrived at the pitch hot, sweaty, and tired. This was not an ideal start to the morning.

It was a known ‘Alexia Rule’ that every minute late to practice without a reasonable excuse was a lap. As you arrived at the huddle, one boot on, one still in your hand and your shirt stained with coffee, you could tell she was unimpressed. With all your rushing, you had forgotten to think of an excuse. You didn’t want to tell her the real reason; you had a feeling ‘Oh, sorry Alexia, I’m late because my parents are really shitty, forget they have a kid sometimes, and they haven’t been home in over a week, and the food in the fridge looked a little funky’ would not go down too well. She arched an eyebrow at you.

“Um …” You floundered, thinking about what to say. You could tell her the semi-truth that the metro was delayed and you had missed the buses, but they thought you got dropped off at the top of the road by your dad on the way to work. You could tell them there was traffic, but they all drove, so they knew you were lying.

“You have 30 laps to run at the end of training,” Alexia had a stern voice that you knew meant she was serious. 30 laps? That was basically 10k. Your eyes widened to comically sized proportions. 45 minutes of running around in a circle … after training? She was trying to kill you; you were convinced of it.

“You can’t be serious?” You gawked at her. Her other eyebrow rose to join the other one.

“Deadly.” She said icily and walked away.

Holy fuck. You were really, royally fucked this time. You were so dead. You had to miss training. But again, it hadn’t been your fault. The boiler had broken in your house, which wasn’t a big deal – it was late spring in Barcelona, and you didn’t need heating. But you did need the hot water. You had tried to ask your parents to stay home whilst someone fixed it, knowing that you had training and they could definitely work from home for a day. They had dismissed you with a flippant wave of their hands and continued what they were doing. You phoned the company, asking them to come and fix it as soon as possible. But, as expected, they told you they would be there before lunch, which was the best they could offer. It was now 2.30pm, and there was no sign of them. You had texted Jona this morning, offering a weak excuse of feeling a little rough. You hadn’t expected him to tell Alexia that you were feeling bad, and it sounded like you were home alone.

The knock on the door had you running towards it – thinking it was the person coming to fix the boiler. “Gracias, Gracias. Es el …” You rushed the explanation, not realising that it was not a plumber but rather your irate captain. You froze as you looked up. Shit.

“You look fine, neña. You don’t look like you’ve … what was it? Ah, yes, ‘picked up a little something’.” She was far too calm. You could see her anger bubbling under the surface, though.

“Ale, I-” you tried to explain.

“No, no quiero escucharlo,” she cut you off, a hand raising to stop you. “You lied. You skipped training. Was it worth it? Was it so much more important than training?” She hadn’t bothered to come into the house, standing at your front door, a bag of things meant to help you feel better in her hand. “Here,” she shoved it at you. “You’re on the bench until you can prove that you want to be a part of Barcelona Femeni.” And with that, she stormed off.

Tears welled in your eyes. She hadn’t let you explain … but what could you say? ‘Sorry, Ale, my parents are arseholes and don’t realise that I have a life and a job as well’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I had to wait for the plumber to come and fix our heating and hot water, and no, my parents – the adults in the house – couldn’t do it because they think their time is so much more important than mine’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I’m currently trying to raise myself, and whilst I’m usually ok at it, sometimes I fuck up’? You couldn’t say those things to her. You couldn’t tell her how tough your life could be sometimes … most of the time. You couldn’t tell her that your parents don’t even know you have a game, let alone watch it or attend it. You couldn’t tell her you often wake up in an empty house for weeks because your parents jetted off somewhere again. You couldn’t tell her that you doubt your parents could even tell you your full name and birthday.

She thought you didn’t want to be a part of Barca. Barca was your saving grace. Barca was the only thing that got you out of bed. The friendships you made were the closest thing to a normal family you had. Jana, Vicky, Martina, Patri, Claudia, Bruna, Esmee, Salma … they were your crazy cousins, always making you laugh and willing to go along with your mad ideas. Ona, Aitana, Lucy, Cata, Mapi … they were your big sisters, always protecting you on and off the pitch and lightly teasing you. Ingrid, Caro, Keira, Mariona, Frido … they were the calming aunts that helped you through any predicament. Marta, Paños, Irene … Alexia … they were your motherly figures, the people you could always rely on to love you regardless of what else was happening in your life. Did they think you didn’t want to be there? Barcelona was the single most greatest thing that had ever happened to you.

You looked at the bag Alexia had shoved at you. It was full of healthy smoothies, nutritious snacks, and your favourite chocolates. You could even see a soft teddy instructing you to ‘Get Well Soon’. It made you sob even harder. Eventually, you moved to the sofa. Once you started crying, you couldn’t stop. You cried over everything – disappointing Alexia, having no hot water, being benched, your parents' dislike of you, your seeming lack of support system, how you appeared to fuck up the one good thing in your life. You cried yourself to sleep on the sofa, clutching the bag to your chest and feeling so incredibly sorry for both you and the girls you had failed.

The next morning, you looked horrific – puffy, red eyes, dishevelled hair, blotchy skin. You didn’t even try to hide it as you made your way to the bus stop, ignoring the weird looks thrown your way. You were in a daze as you walked through the metro system and onto the second bus, forgetting to hurry down the side alleys instead of the main road. You didn’t see Ingrid’s car as it drove past you, a concerned Mapi, Ingrid, Ona, and Lucy in it.

“Era que?” Mapi asked, pointing over her shoulder.

“Y/N? Sí, fue” Ona nodded.

“Why, though? She said she gets dropped off by her dad on his way to work.” Ingrid was just as perplexed. You seemed to know exactly where you were going and had stepped off the bus with an ease only known to someone who took the same route every day.

“Maybe it was a one-off? He couldn’t take her today, so she had to get the bus? Although I don’t know why she wouldn’t just ask one of us – she lives on most of our routes to work.” Lucy pondered, all of them confused over you.

“Hey,” Ingrid said as you walked into the changing rooms. You didn’t even smile at her, just nodding and moving to your cubby. “Um … so, how come you were on the bus?” You froze. How did she know you got the bus?

“It’s just that we saw you as we were driving in. If you needed a lift, you could’ve just asked; you know we’d all be more than happy to —” Ona explained.

“Yeh, my d-dad only told me this morning that he couldn’t take me the whole way, so … he dropped me off near the metro, and I just got the bus from there,” you lied, rushing to gather your boots and head to the pitch. It was a blatant lie. Your voice was too high, and your hands shook slightly as you tried to devise a realistic excuse.

“Todas sabemos que era una mentira, verdad?” Mapi looked around as the door swung shut.

The following month in training was awkward, to say the least. After your slip-up with the bus, you made sure to take the earlier trains, getting to training before most people had even left their beds. You figured you’d use the time to prove to Alexia and the others that you wanted to be there. You were still benched, but your name was still on the game day sheet, so you liked to believe they weren’t thinking of selling you or cancelling your contract after the season ended. The issue was getting home. If you stayed late, you were often questioned, but if you were seen walking out of the car park, you were also questioned. You really needed to learn how to drive ... quickly.

Eventually, Jona could no longer justify you sitting on the bench. Barca had the Champions League semi-finals coming up, and everyone noted your absence on the pitch.

“Y/N, you will be playing the next match. You’re going to be a sub around 60 or 70 minutes.” It was a short announcement, but you couldn’t help your heart soar. Did this mean they finally believed you when you said that Barca was the best thing that happened to you? Alexia still hadn’t looked at you since That Day, but she was no longer actively seething, which you took as a win. But now you would be playing in the home leg of the Champions League semi-finals. You were nervous, but not because of the match; you were on a 0 – 3 aggregate, and you were going to be playing at Camp Nou – it was an almost guaranteed win –but because you knew the team would be more suspicious of your lack of parents.

You decided to do what you always did – never look to the crowd, do a lap of the stadium for the fans, hurry back into the changing rooms, and slip away. Simple. Easy. You had been doing it all your life. But you hadn’t accounted for how attentive the team would be. They watched you wearily from a distance, concerned when you made no effort to look to the friends and family section during warm-ups or after the match when everyone usually went to see their loved ones. You stayed back, signing more things for fans, and then headed straight to the tunnel. After the celebration in the changing rooms, you gathered your things and disappeared before anyone could bring them up. You had mastered the art of vanishing like a ghost after matches.

But now it was the final. It was obviously an away game, but everyone’s family came. Even the coaching staff brought their loved ones. Not you, though. Your parents hadn’t known you’d left the country, let alone understood that you were playing in the most prestigious match in Europe for clubs. You were in the Starting XI, but you weren’t nervous. You knew you could win this match; this Champions title was yours for the taking. You didn’t realise that the fact that you had no family would be exposed the minute the final whistle went.

You played the full 90 minutes and an extra 5 for injury time. You were exhausted, but that didn’t matter as soon as the clock ran out. You had done it. Champions of Europe. The screams and shouts were so loud it hurt your ears, but you didn’t care. You felt unstoppable.

“Vamos, pequeña. Donde esta tu mamí? Quiero finalmente conocer a la mujer a la que debemos agradecer por regalarle al mundo contigo.” Mapi said as you sat on the grass, your medal around your neck.

“Más tarde. I just want to sit here and soak this all in.” You waved her away. She took you at your word but made meaningful eyes at Alexia, having an unspoken conversation as you moved away. Alexia watched as you leaned back, resting on your arms, legs outstretched, and eyes shut – head tilted to feel the sun on your skin. She waited for 10 minutes, watching you make no effort to see your family. It was the first thing she had done after the trophy celebration. She had run straight to her mother and sister, thanking them profusely for all their sacrifices and expressing so much gratitude towards them – throwing her sweaty body at them and tackling them into long, tight hugs.

“Do you want to see your family now?” It was the first non-football-related words she’d said to you in well over a month.

“No, I’m ok. I’ll see them later,” you dismissed her quickly.

“Do you know where they are? We could bring them down onto the pitch if you don’t want to stand up.” She wasn’t letting this go. She had an inkling that she hoped was wrong.

“It’s alright, Ale. Honestly. I’m fine sitting here, soaking this all up by myself.” You hadn’t opened your eyes, so you had assumed from the quietness she had moved away. “It’s not like you’d find them anyway,” you whispered as an unwanted tear escaped you.

“Qué quieres decir, cariño?” Your eyes snapped open, coming face to face with Alexia, Ona and Keira. You sat up, trying to hide your face.

“Oh, noth-”

“No me mientas. Dónde están tu mamí y papí?” Alexia asked sternly. You misunderstood her, thinking she was angry at you. You shook your head, refusing to answer.

“Neña, are your parents here?” Ona asked quietly, coming to sit next to you. You took a deep breath.

“No. They aren’t.”

“Do you want to phone them?” Keira suggested, hoping that it was just because they couldn’t take time away from work to attend in person. She also sat down, gesturing her phone to you as an invitation to use it. You took another deep breath.

“I don’t think they even know I had a football match, let alone a Champions League final.” Another tear slipped down your cheek. Alexia sat in front of you, reaching for your hands.

“Qué quieres decir?” She asked again, thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of your hands.

“My parents … I don’t really know how to say it,” you paused, Ona gently rubbing your back comfortingly. “My parents don’t really … parent?” You chuckled lightly.

“They don’t support you?” Keira asked, her hand resting on your knee.

“They don’t care enough. They leave for weeks on end without telling me. I get food and stuff like that on my own. I’m basically raising myself at this point. I don’t think they know I have a contract with Barca. I doubt they even know I play football. They just let me do whatever I wanted as long as I was out of the house, not causing trouble and quiet; they didn’t care. They’re lucky I haven’t turned into a criminal or something.” You tried to add a joke to lighten the mood.

“But you said you meet up with your parents after home matches,” Ona couldn’t imagine achieving half the things she did without her family supporting her from the sidelines.

“And you told us your dad drops you off every morning on the way to work,” Keira added, equally disbelieving – her parents were her biggest fans.

“Yeh, I lied. I just go home after matches. And I get the metro to training.”

“But training is nowhere near the metro, and you don’t live near a metro station either.” She still didn’t want to consider what you were saying to be true.

You explained, “I get a bus from mine to the metro and then a bus from the metro to training.”

“That’s why you were getting off the bus that day when we saw you,” Ona realised. She hadn’t trusted your story but had considered no other possibilities.

“That’s why you're late to training sometimes? Because of the buses and trains?” Alexia asked, her hands never leaving yours.

“Yeh.” You looked down, ashamed of your situation and lying to them.

“And that day when you missed training. You weren’t sick. What happened?”

“I … um … the boiler broke, so I had to wait for someone to come fix it. Which they never did, by the way. I had to phone some random company that massively overcharged me, and the water definitely doesn’t get as hot as it used to.” You babbled nervously. “It wasn’t because I don’t want to be at Barca. It’s the only thing that keeps me going, knowing that I have you guys looking out for me. It makes everything else seem not as bad,” you whispered, needing them to know just how important Barca was to you. You looked around. Patri and Pina tried to do the perfect chest bump as Jana and Bruna filmed. Lucy was chasing her niece and nephew. Ingrid and Mapi were with Ingrid’s parents, smiling widely as they talked. Marta and Caro were sat off to one side, talking quietly. You could see the others dotted around the stadium, talking to fans, speaking to parents, and enjoying the support.

“Cariño, I am so sorry,” Alexia implored. I shouted at you and benched you. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t believe you took Barca seriously.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, neña?” Ona asked.

“We only want what’s best for you, kid,” Keira added.

“Um … I don’t really know. It doesn’t really matter. It’s been like this my whole life, so…”

“Cariño. It does matter. But we know now, and that’s all that matters, sí?” Alexia stood up, dragging you with her. “Let’s go see my family. Mi Mamí has been asking to meet you for ages. And before you say no, she already has plans for you to come round for dinner one night. Y en secreto, ella siempre quiso una tercera hija.” She said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as Ona took your hand.

“Oh, Eli will have to fight my Mama on that one, Ale. She always wanted a goal-scoring daughter.”

“Well, my mum says you are more than welcome to stay at her house if you ever visit the UK as long as you cook her paella.” Keira smiled.

Maybe your biological family was shite, but your found one certainly wasn't.

I hope you liked it <3

#barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #fc barcelona #woso blurbs #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso fluff #woso oneshot #woso angst #woso #womens football #woso soccer

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jyoongim · 7 months

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~Blood & BLISS~

Human!Alastor x wife!Reader

Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life! fluff, smut, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy, blood, murder, secrets

chapter two

Synopsis: Marrying New Orleans famous radio host had been a shocker to everyone. You, a southern belle from an esteemed family, had somehow managed to catch the attention of the mysterious bachelor.

Your wedding was all in the papers and talk of the town, even though the ceremony was rather private.

You quickly settled in as the homemaker as Alastor brought home the dough and took care of you.

It was a dream come true.

But Alastor was strange, even to you and you were his wife, but you brushed it off as him just being a man. You had nothing to complain about. You lived in a nice big house, had the finest luxuries, and Alastor would dote on you. What wasn’t to love?

Well… all those things were nice, but you were starting to crave a family with your husband.

You knew of Alastor’s upbringing and had an inkling that children might not be an option…but Alastor wouldn’t deny you what you desired most would he? Of course not ma belle.

Alastor prided himself on how people often wondered about him. The renowned radio host, who the public rarely saw. He was a mystery to many. He frequented jazz lounges and often could be found drinking whiskey as he listened to the Mimzy gossip about the latest news.

He, himself was shocked when he met you, the prettiest thing in the city. He had to have you. He knew you were the one.

Like the gentleman he was, he sent you flowers and love letters to begin courting you. He never tired of how shy you were around him.

It wasn’t long before he asked your father for your hand and the two of you got hitched.

And what a wedding it was! he spared no expense to your disapproval.

Alastor was the epitome of what every husband inspired to be!

Doting, providing, and attentive.

But he had a secret he kept from his little wife…

Can he maintain control over his domestic affairs and his sinister ones?

Soft jazz played in the background as you busied around the kitchen preparing dinner. The sizzling of the oil carried the scent of fried chicken as you chopped collards and added them to another pan to fry.

You hummed along to whatever song was playing as you cooked.

You took the chicken out of the grease, poured some of it in a can for later and used the rest to make cornbread. You stirred the collards a bit, adding pepper and a little salt before turning the stove off. You glanced at the clock; 6pm, Alastor should be coming home soon.

After putting everything in pretty dishes and wrapping it in foil you sighed tiredly as you finally got off your feet, plopping down on a couch.

You almost wanted to go back into the kitchen and clean up, but thought to just wait after dinner to do so.

You perked as your radio made a noise, static as if the channel had changed, before the voice of your husband came through.

”Well folks that is all. I have for you tonight! I hope you enjoyed today’s broadcast and I will see you tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to be late for dinner nonono haha. Until next time!”

You smiled, feeling happy he wasn’t going to stay at the studio all night.

With that in mind, you quickly ran upstairs to freshen up, wanting to greet your husband without the smell of grease clinging to you.

“I’m home!” A voice called as the sound of the front door closing had you rushing downstairs.

Alastor was taking off his coat, when you greeted him “Oh let me take that” you smiled, grabbing his coat to put it away. He let out a relieved sigh as he removed his shoes and put them by the door. Once comfortable, his long arms were around your waist, pulling you into a kiss “And how was my beautiful wife today hmm?” He asked bringing a dainty hand to his lips. You giggled “Oh nothing worth mentioning. How was work today? I heard you signing off. I hate that I missed tonight’s broadcast” you mused, untying his bow tie. Alastor hummed “oh you know same ole same ole, through I will say I got a lot of fan mail today” he chuckled as you rolled your eyes. He took a whiff of the air and grinned “Hmm looks like I actually made it in time for dinner”

You both made your way to the kitchen and you immediately went to fix his plate, while he got glasses out of the cabinet and some red wine.

Alastor practically had drool coming out of his mouth as the smell of food wafted into his nose. You took a seat across from him and smiled. “My my my dear what a meal youve prepared tonight!” He commented as he took a bite out of the cornbread, moaning in delight.

It always filled your heart with happiness seeing Alastor eat your food. When you first got married, you didn’t have a clue on how to cook. It was rather embarrassing, but you had grown up with personal cooks.

But Alastor didn’t mind teaching you, and soon enough you were whipping up delicious meals that filled his stomach, rather than upset it.

Dinner was quiet as the two of you enjoyed each others company, Alastor making comments about the lastest gossip he had heard and you catching him on the neighborhood gossip. “Oh before I forget, Mimzy wants to know if you wanted to swing by the lounge this weekend. Something about I keep you to myself too much” Alastor laughed, swiping at his mouth. You laughed, that sounded like Mimzy. Always hoping to get a chance at you singing on stage so she could make a few extra bucks. “Well tell ‘er not this weekend, I have plans to host a few of the ladies for book club. Rosie is sure to have some gossip I’ve missed.”

Alastor quirked a brow “You sure dear? I fear Mimzy will chew me a new one if she don’t get to see ou” You mulled it over “Well book club usually don’t take that long and its during tea time so I guess I don’t mind gracing the lounge with my presence” you giggled, getting up and taking your empty dishes to the sink. Alastor followed you and quickly swatted your hands as you reached to turn the sink on.

“Now now my dear, you spent all evening cooking the least I can do is wash the dishes. The chef shouldn’t cook and clean” he nudged you away from the sink as you pouted.

It never ceased to amazed you that Alastor took on household chores. Most husbands had their wives cook and clean, but not your Alastor.

He didn’t like you to tire out from maintaining the home all day.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek in thanks and told him you’ll be upstairs getting ready for bed.

You had just finished rolling your hair when Alastor came up to your bedroom. You sighed as you sunk into the cool cotton sheets, finally relaxing for the day. You didn’t realized you had quickly fell asleep until feeling Alastor slide into bed beside you, arm pulling you to tuck you into his side and rest your head on his chest.

You happily cuddled into him, breathing in his scent as the sound of his heartbeat lulled you back to sleep.

A yawn passed your lips as began to fall asleep

”Goodnight”

”Sleep tight dear”

”Don’t let the bedbugs bite”

”haha see you in the morning light love” he whispered pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sighed, chest heaving in deep breaths.

Alastor smiled at your sleeping face; how lucky was he to have a sweet wife who worked so hard while he was gone. His eyes grew heavy as he listened to your soft snores.

What bliss. He wouldn’t give this up for anything in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTE: aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh why and how did my mind conjure this when I have other things to write eeeeeeehhhh!!!!!!!

Anyway….this is gonna be ANOTHER short story hehehe. Since I wrote it on a whim it might take some time for me to post the next part but I hope y’all enjoy it nevertheless!

Remember to comment on the pinned post as I have a hard time finding everyone to tag since y’all are scattered on different posts!

if i missed anyone my bad!!!!

@nightshadelm @th3-st4r-gur1 @amurtan @lunaramune @southern-bayou-beau @monstersealclubber @certifiedcrybabyyy @karolinda007-blog @theveiledlibrarian @simphornies @yourdoorisunlocked @nettaw @purplecatsandhearts @catherine1206 @jellibean2018 @thewinchestah @wonderlandangelsposts @alishii @readergirlstuff @whydohumansss @missgurlsstuff @yuzurixx @darkovergrownforestnymph @dasimp777 @markster666 @alastorsgirl48 @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @preciousbabypeter @alastwhore666 @strawberrypimp666 @stawberrypimpsimp @queenariesofnarnia @peachedtvs @peachedtv @tpks @siiv3r @hazelfoureyes @okay-babe @aconfusedworld @chewbrry @altruisticalastor @yunimimii @dievia3 @alastorsdear @alastorsdarlingdoe @t0byisher3 @dennsfz @twismare @nanami1chu @yoongibabs @menthatilove @smoky000

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #alastor hazbin hotel #human alastor x reader #human alastor #alastor x wife reader #alastor fluff #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor imagine #alastor x you #alastor headcanons

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theealbatross · 15 days

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fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall. “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush.

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone?

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face.

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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darkbluekies · 8 months

Note

This is going to be interesting fr, like how much differently do your ocs treat the reader if they were childhood friends. I’m super excited! Also can’t wait to see Jerry again ❤️

Warnings: violence, murder, unstable home life, bullying

Silas:

Being Silas's childhood friend guarantees you a bodyguard. He doesn't let anyone get close to you. You don't ever have to worry about the fact that anyone will bully you, because Silas will obliviate them. He's the type to let you lean on his shoulder in class whenever you feel tired. He will ditch school with you and go to the zoo if you want to.

People around you will try to separate the two of you. “Silas isn't a good influence”, they say, and doesn't want his behavioral problems to rub off on you, or for you to get in danger. There are speculations that Silas is involved in criminal gangs — and if someone asks you, you won't deny it. But Silas won't let anyone take you from him, won't let anyone touch you. You always have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulders, always claimed by him.

“I'm going to bash that kid's skull in, I'm not fucking joking. If they dare to to touch you — no — if he as much as breathe near you, I'll send them to the nurses office. Lean your head on me, Y/N, its okay. Does your hand still hurt? I cant believe that he fucking stepped on it. It doesn't matter if it was a mistake. I'll cut his off.”

Dr Kry:

There is something off about him, and everyone can see that. He sits back straight, hands together, and always in clean, ironed clothes. His hair is always brushed and fixed, he hates germs and people. And he hates it all, he really does. The only friend he has, is you. The only one he doesn't think is dirty, is you. You know that the reason he sits and talks like a robot is because of how strict his parents are. There has been multiple times where he has dirtied his clothes while playing with you, and has panicked. You help him clean them before going home, and when touching him you make sure to wipe your hands with a cloth — even if you know that he doesn't mind your germs. You know how he doesn't like to be touched, so you never hug him or linger on too long, which is just why Kry likes you so much.

You are the only one who knows about his author's dreams. His parents want him to become a doctor, or a lawyer, and you know he's interested in medicine, but he wants to be able to write. He wants to write sci-fi stories, and you are the only one that knows it.

You get teased by others for being with the “clean freak” but it doesn't bother you. However, it does bother Kry. After someone has been mean to you, they always end up in the hospital, one way or another. You can't help but wonder if it's your shy, sweet friend who's behind it.

“I like having picnics with you. Oh, you forgot the other fork? No, don't apologize, I understand that it was a mistake. We can share a fork, I'm okay. Yes, it's fine, I don't mind … you're so nice, wiping the fork for me, you don't have to do that ...”

King Edmund:

If you are Edmund’s friend while he's the crown prince, you need a lot of patience. He is spoiled rotten, entitled and unpleasant to be around. Everything is on his terms. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't value you. He is locked in his room day in and day out with a private tutor, completely isolated from everyone else. He will throw fits and threaten not to do his classes, unless he is allowed to play with you. So, they bring you to the castle where you get to live from now on.

Edmund absolutely loves to spend time with you. You ride horses together, torment the staff, play pranks and read. When he can't sleep, he walks into your room and crawls under the sheets.

You're with him when his parents are murdered. Edmund's first instinct when the castle is attacked is to run to your room, wake you up and hide the two of you. He is equipped with a sword and will protect you to the last moments.

Although the two of you are isolated, there are people in the staff making fun of you, or talking bad. Edmund doesn't even hide the fact that he orders for their deaths.

“I fucking hate classes, and I hate that tutor. It's so boring. I wish you could take the classes with me, it'd be so much more fun. After class, can't we do something? Can't we go down to the fountain and read? I want you to read for me. You're the only one that reads the story right, that does them justice. Everyone else sounds like fucking donkeys.”

Jerry:

Jerry goes to an all girls school in South Korea. You don't go to the same school — which is probably for the best. Jerry is the leader of her little gang, and they are notorious for their bullying. She is a bully for fun, but won't allow any of her friends to make fun of you. If they do, she will ruin their lives. You do know about her life outside the school though, you have been with her when she steals from stores (often makeup stores). You often meet her after school and go to the mall or amusement parks together. She's a very sweet person to be around when it's just the two of you.

You're friends with her before she starts to call herself ‘Jerry’ — when she's still ‘Yubin’. She had seen the name in a TV series and liked the character. She says that she is going to move to the US, and then she wanted an english name.

You're often with Jerry's friend group on weekend nights, often strolling around the town with alcohol and cigarettes, sometimes breaking stuff. Jerry makes sure that if they're ever caught, her and you slip away. She finds it all extremely exciting.

Jerry escapes to you when she gets to know that her parents (and perhaps sister if i want to give her one) have been murdered by a rival, when she has involved herself in criminal activities for real. It's the first time you get to see Jerry break down. She's in your arms, crying heavily, admitting how scared she is and how much she misses her parents. She loves her family, and now there is nothing left of it. She says that she died that day, and that whoever is inhabiting her body now is a fraction of who she once was.

“You're such a fresh wind from that fucking girl school. Why do I have to go there? Why am I not allowed to join a coed school? What? Why my nails have blood under them? No, I didn't get into a fight again. I didn't. I promise. Get up, let's go get sushi, I'm starving.”

Hedwig:

If you're a childhood friend of Hedwig, you're basically a family member. You go on her family's expensive vacations, just because Hedwig doesn't want to be alone.

You play every day and go through all stages of life together. Hedwig has always been the sweetest human you've ever known, and it surprises you when you see her angry. The many, many years you've been friends, you've only seen her angry a handful of times. You go to summer camps together, share beds, share everything. Teachers ask for the other when one is gone (which is rare).

Being childhood friends with Hedwig would most likely end in romance at one time, so she would win without having to do anything harsh. But if you started developing crushes other than Hedwig before, she would ruin their reputation until you wouldn't want to look at them anymore, but no one would know that it was Hedwig.

Hedwig has always been very popular, both for her money and looks, and by default, you've been too because you're her best friend. Hedwig likes to see how nice everyone is to you, because they know better than to upset you. No one wants to get out of the magical bubble that is Hedwig’s popularity.

“We will be friends forever, won't we? I don't think I could live without you, Y/N. You're the other half of my soul. If I don't have you nearby, I can't breathe.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere doctor #yandere female #yandere imagine #yandere headcanon

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hmusunoo · 21 days

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 - 𝐏.𝐒𝐇

▏pairings. park sunghoon x fem!reader

▏desc. the day i met you i started dreaming, dreaming about the life we’d have to together with the love that we shared, a love like bliss. - meeting Sunghoon during a rain storm.

▏warnings. i wrote this on a whim at 3am from a random thought that popped into my head so don’t judge it too harshly. Short drabble not very long at all.

The day you met SUNGHOON it was raining. The day was dull over taken by gray clouds and a haze that was ever so blinding. It was a day normal people sat inside their house with a book and a warm cup of coffee. It was day you stayed in your pajamas and looked out the windows as droplets of water pelted at the glass.

For you, the sunshine didn’t come from the sun that day. It came from Park Sunghoon. The strange man who was walking his dog in a downpour as nonchalant as a man taking an evening stroll in the spring.

Umbrella over his head he had no sense of urgency, just lazily walking his dog on the leash in front of him. You on the other hand were a mess. Newpaper atop your head your hated been paying attention to where you were going rushing down the sidewalk trying to reach your destination as quickly as possible. You bumped into Sunghoon, falling on your ass and skinning your palms in the process.

You wish you could say it was like a rom com scene. The heroine falls to the floor in a puddle of water and the hero picks her up bridal style carrying her home where they gaze into each other eyes and live happily ever after. You really really wish you could say how it happened but i didn’t.

Instead Sunghoon looked down at your figure on the floor wet from the rain pelting down on you and laughed. He laughed at you. Didn’t offer a hand, didn’t ask if you were ok. None of that. He laughed.

You wanted to huff at him show him some kind of annoyance but instead you were struck by the sight of him. His smile so bright and his laughter so loud it had sprang right through you and shocked your heart. You could help but crack a grin, the corners of your mouth lifting up and a giggle slipping out of your lips before you could subconsciously stop it.

“You’re laughing at me” You giggled looking up at him. He continued to laugh shaking his head at you, his dog sitting there idly looking between the two of you in confusion. The rain still came down hard the two of you getting absolutely soaked.

“You’re laughing to” He said smile still on his face. “You have to admit that it was pretty funny”

You lifted yourself from the ground, dusting off your jeans before looking back at the man whose name you did not know yet. “It was a little funny” You nodded.

“A lot funny” He corrected. Playfully rolling your eyes you muttered “Ok, it was a lot funny”

“are you alright?” He finally asked after the laughter had died down. His dog began to whine besides him probably tired of the rain that was coming down and from sitting stagnant for so long. He looked down at his puppy before raising his head to look at you awaiting your answer.

You gave him a quick nod “I’m just fine, thank you.”

He smiled again. One that was so bright it had lit up your insides the gloomy day long forgotten, hidden behind the light that was park sunghoon.

“I’m Sunghoon” he said raising his hand for a shake. You attached your hand in his a cliche movie like shock running through your veins at the contact. “Y/n” You said. Cheeks heating up red with embarrassment from the moment.

“Gaeul is getting quiet restless so i better go” He trailed off motioning towards the puppy besides him. The rain had finally started to slow not mauling down on the two of them any longer, drizzle the only thing left in its wake.

“Oh ok” You spoke lowly trying to hide your disappointment at the conversation coming to an end. “I’m sorry about bumping into you” You said as an ending argument gearing up to try your hardest to go about your day after this.

In truth you didn’t know how you would. It would be incredibly difficult to forget a face like Sunghoon’s, a laugh like his too. You weren’t sure you wanted to go back to your day to day life after this.

“We were going to the indoor dog park..” Sunghoon said, a small smirk on his face. “If you’re not busy i’m pretty sure Gaeul would love of you’d join us”

You quirked a brow at him a smirk of your own on your face. “Ok, if that’s what gaeul wants then…i have to comply”

“It is.” Sunghoon said quickly “It is what Gaeul wants of course”

You began the walk to the small little doggy park, the sun finally peeking out for the first time all day warming up the day and drying any remnants of the gloomy day but you had your only little reminder of the day. Park Sunghoon.

note - i wrote this small little drabble at 3:30am and it took me like 20 minutes i had this idea randomly like 5 minutes before i started writing it and i just had to do it lol, hope yall enjoyed!

taglist- @belovedhoon , @st1llm0nster , @blossommi

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wildernessuntothemselves · 3 months

Text

Heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and I) | Part 4

Word Count: 6.1k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Summary: When you first met your boyfriend, it was love at first sight. No, more than that. It was love before you even met. It felt like you had known each other in another life and were meant to find each other again.

But that's not actually true, is it? You and Beomgyu don't actually know each other from another life, and the dreams you've been having aren't memories of your past life either. That's ridiculous.

But then why does Beomgyu get so defensive about them? And why does each dream feel more real than the one before?

A/N: this is the sequel to my series YAMQN but I'm trying to write it in a way that it would be comprehensible to people who have never read YAMQN. The parts in italic are the dreams.

Warnings: fem!reader, breast play, humping, slight somnophilia, switch!reader, switch!beomgyu, mentions of past rape, yandere!beomgyu, reader gaslighting herself

He is lying on his side with his arms wrapped around you, staring at you, while you lay on your back, one hand on his arm draped over your chest and your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You’ve been lying like this since your alarm went off, waking you so you can start getting ready for work, though you think Beomgyu may have been awake even earlier.

Your middle finger traces a small line over a vein on the back of his arm, feeling the warmth there as if you can feel his life’s blood. His grip on you is steady, confident, and he never takes his eyes off you.

“Don’t you get tired of it?” You ask softly, voice heavy with sleep. You don’t elaborate on what you mean, and Beomgyu doesn’t ask for it.

“No.” Comes his quick reply. ”Because just being here with you like this… It makes it all worth it.”

You finally turn to look at him, and your heart swells up in your chest. You love him so much. Despite everything, you love him.

“Call in sick for me.” You tell him and he jumps at the opportunity, not hesitating for a second. He grabs your phone and dials your work, making up some bullshit story about you being sick and needing to stay home. You’re usually a dedicated worker despite the grief Beomgyu brings you–because of the grief Beomgyu brings you. The harder he makes it for you, the more you want to hold onto your job because it gives you independence from him and prevents you from being completely codependent on each other the way you know he desires and the way you find yourself secretly wishing you were when things get very tough and all you can think about is being wrapped up by him, protected and cared for and safe from the horrible, cruel world that causes you so much pain and suffering. Because why go out there to fight every day when you can be with him and let him take care of everything?

But then you force yourself to push these thoughts away and act like a grown-up because despite your immense love for Beomgyu, you're not stupid enough to hang your entire future on a man in this day and age. Yes, he loves you but you’re sure all the women who made that mistake before you were also in love. Or at least you like to think you're not that stupid…But for today you’ll let him win. For today you’ll see what the alternative is.

Beomgyu ends the call with your boss with a toothy smile on his face. He looks excited, like you’ve given him the best present ever and he jumps back in to take you in his arms, kissing the side of your face.

“What do you want to do today?” He asks and you shrug, throwing the question back to him. “What do you want to do?”

“I just want to be with you.” He admits and your heart clenches.

“Let’s eat first. I’m starving” You tell him and he’s so excited he doesn’t even whine at your lack of reply to his loving proclamation.

________________________________

Beomgyu makes sure to make the food for you. He keeps apologizing for not having a lot of materials to work with and lamenting the fact that he can’t make this dish or that dish as if you were expecting some extravagant feast.

“Beomgyu, it’s just breakfast.” You reassure him but he shakes his head. “I want to give you the best. Do you want to go eat out? There is this really good restaurant 20 minutes away.”

When he tells you the name of the restaurant, you frown. “Isn’t that place really expensive?”

He shrugs. “Only the best for my princess.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need something fancy, Beomgyu. Pancakes are fine.”

He frowns at that, seemingly upset that you don’t want the expensive restaurant. What’s the deal with him? Sometimes you think he dislikes that you don’t want him to spend his money on you.

Still, in order to make him stop fretting, you say, “Being with you is enough.”

That makes him light up, and he is suddenly content with pancakes too.

“It looks nice outside. Maybe we can pack up some lunch and go for a picnic?” You suggest and he perks up even more. “Yeah. We've got some cold cuts I can make into sandwiches and we can grab some cupcakes or muffins on the way.”

He sounds very excited about getting to spend the day like this with you and it makes you both happy that you've made him so excited by such a small thing but also sad that he has probably been feeling a bit neglected by you recently as you pulled away from him due to everything that’s going on with the dreams and Taehyun.

Well, today you'll make it up to him. Today, you'll set all your worries aside and just enjoy the day with your loving boyfriend.

“Sounds good.”

___________________________________

Beomgyu made way too much food for the picnic and he insisted on preparing everything all by himself, wanting to pamper you. Maybe he himself also feels guilt over not stopping when you asked him to but in a way that makes you feel even worse. He didn’t know that you were serious and you’re no stranger to playfully whining for the other to stop when you’re messing around–even you have done it to him before–so you understand why he didn’t immediately stop. He must feel awful about it. You may be having issues with Beomgyu but that doesn’t mean that he would ever hurt you in that way. You’re his entire life and it's unfair to him to be having these disturbing thoughts, even if you can't control them.

Maybe you just need to agree on a safe word so this doesn’t happen again… if you can even get yourself to get over your irrational trepidation every time you think about having sex with him now that is.

“Beomgyu, I can feed myself.” You roll your eyes when he tries to put a sandwich to your mouth and push his hand away, feeling an uneasy sense of deja vu at the action. For some reason, the most random actions you or Beomgyu do feel like something you’ve done before. Every moment feels like you’ve lived it before and it’s freaking you out. You secretly worry that you’re losing your mind.

He pouts, looking deflated at the small rejection. “I know. I just want to take care of you.”

“I don't need you to take care of me.” You say again and he puts the food down, looking even more dejected at that.

You sigh and open your arms. “Come here, Gyu.”

He eagerly gets into your embrace, laying his head down on your chest and letting you wrap your arms around him.

You kiss the side of his head, breathing in his scent and feeling it soothe your anxiety like a healing balm. “I don't need all of this. I just need you. The you that I love, and not this crazy possessive guy that scares me.”

“And I only ever want you.” He looks up at you, his eyes sad. “If I can be sure that you'll only ever be mine, I wouldn't act so crazy.”

You want to argue with him, get angry that he's asking you to prove your loyalty to him as if you had cheated on him, but you also know that what you feel for Taehyun isn't completely innocent and it would be hypocritical of you to act like his worries are completely irrational.

You sigh, looking at the park around you. You were at one of your favorite parts by the lake. Though it is a little hard to enjoy with so many people around, kids screaming and guys jokingly cussing each other out. You wish it would just be you and Beomgyu here.

“You know these grounds once belonged to the royal family.” You tell Beomgyu, “Imagine having all this beauty to yourself. Wouldn't that have been wonderful?”

“I suppose so.” He mumbles unenthusiastically but you keep going. “Their lives must've been so easy. Eating good food, dressing in fancy clothes, sipping tea in their huge ass gardens…”

“I'm sure they had their struggles.” Beomgyu interjects and you snort. “Yeah right. Their struggles of where to spend all that money.”

“They didn't control their own decisions. They were trapped in what everyone else expected of them. They didn't choose what to wear, who to hangout with, what they want to do with their lives or even who to marry.”

Beomgyu's sudden speech gives you pause. “Damn I didn't know you were so passionate about royal life.”

Is he saying that because he wants to discourage you from talking about the prince dreams again? Well, you weren’t planning to mention them to him anymore, not after how twisted and ugly they’re become.

He falters, seeming to realize how odd it was for him to get worked up over your silly complaints. “It's just… things aren't always what they seem.”

“I suppose. I mean I hear that their lives were filled with deceit and betrayal, like killing each other for power and shit. I'd rather be poor and alive, thanks.” You finally say to lighten up the mood and he smiles, thankfully playing along. “I want you alive too.”

“How romantic.” You roll your eyes and he laughs. “I admit it's not one of my best lines.”

“Well, good thing I got you some love poems to learn from.” You declare, pulling out the book you brought along to the picnic.

“You just want to hear my sexy ass voice narrating your favorite poems.” He calls you out and you don’t even try to deny it. “Guilty. What, I can't take advantage of my sexy boyfriend?”

“You can take advantage of me all you want, baby.” He says greasily and you pretend to gag. “Stick to the poems, loverboy. Don't waste your voice on these corny lines.”

“Yes, princess.” He grins, grabbing the book from your hand and flopping his head on your lap so you can play with his hair while he reads your favorite poems.

Sitting there, with the love of your life in your arms, his deep voice reading out words of love and longing from the most gifted poets and writers of the world, you feel lucky. How could you not when those words that have moved millions over decades and centuries, driving them to long for a love just like that, feel like your reality.

The love you have with Beomgyu is what those poems are written about. Yes, it can be dark and scary, but it can also be so, so beautiful. Just like now, with him sneaking glances at you in between every proclamation of love and adoration he reads off, as if his eyes can’t help but jump to you at every reminder, seeking the sight of the exact love they’re reading about.

Yes, doing this was the right choice. You feel so happy and content right now, the sunshine beaming down at the both of you and warming up your skin can’t even compete with the internal warmth and love you feel holding Beomgyu at this moment. This is perfect. This is where you belong. And this is just what he’s trying to make sure lasts right? He acts crazy sometimes because he knows this love is too rare and special to lose, right?

But the feeling of peace and happiness doesn’t last forever, and an unexpected gloom arrives in the form of one of your favorite poems–Annabelle Lee. Sure, it’s a sad and deeply moving poem but you didn’t anticipate the way it was going to affect Beomgyu.

It all starts off normally, his rich voice setting the perfect tone for the beautiful poem as you play with his soft locks, running them through the fingers of one hand while the other gently massages his scalp.

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

You smile to yourself as you look down at Beomgyu. It’s funny how that’s just what you were thinking–that all that matters is the love you share between the two of you. You bend down to press a kiss to his forehead, and giggle at the way he unconsciously lifts his head up to get closer to your lips.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea:

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Laughed loud at her and me.

Then he hesitates, pausing as he reaches the last line, and you have to nudge him gently to get him to keep going. You see his eyebrows knit together in a perturbed frown but he continues for you.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went laughing at her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

You try to smoothen the lines that formed between Beomgyu’s thick eyebrows but even another kiss to the troubled lines are of no use as his focus was now entirely on the book in front of him. His anxiety was palpable and infectious, and a strange sense of doom creeps up on your protective bubble.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the laughter in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

Beomgyu's voice turned hoarse and patchy as he carried on, and you feel a prickling at the back of your throat as a profound and all consuming grief that you've never felt before and don’t think you have the capacity to contain threatens to engulf you. You hold onto him tighter, suddenly terrified. It’s silly. You’ve read this poem more times than you can remember, and sure it always moved you and made you sad, but it never caused you such gut-wrenching pain as it was doing right now. Whatever misery the poem was triggering in Beomgyu was transferring directly to you through your skin and suddenly the poet was Beomgyu and you were Anabelle Lee–he’d lost you and you can only sit there and watch him suffer and waste away as he cries over you.

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Beomgyu's voice breaks completely as he utters ‘my life and my bride’ and by the time he finishes the poem, he is openly crying. You’re crying too, and hugging him tightly to you. You’re sure you’re both making quite the spectacle of yourselves but you don’t care. You hold him so tightly your fingers turn white and numb, and he does the same. The sense of loss that is filling you up is so intense and vivid, it's as if you've lived it. You’re scared that if you let him go, you’ll be taken away from him just like in the poem.

“Why–” He sobs into your chest, his cries rattling your already injured heart. “Why did they have to be ripped apart?”

“I don't know, baby.” You bend down to kiss his sweet lips, not really knowing what to say but wishing to calm him down–calm yourself down and try to shake off the irrational fear that something like this is going to happen to you. “Sometimes life is just cruel.”

“No. I can't accept that.” He says resolutely, sitting up to face you and reaching out to hold your face in his hands. “Promise you'll never let anyone or anything take you away from me.”

“Beomgyu–”

“Please…” His voice shudders as he tries to speak through his tears. “I can't lose you.”

“Oh, baby.” You sigh, reaching out to wipe the sparkling tears off his face. Oh, how you'll say and do anything for this beautiful boy.

“I promise.”

_______________________________

When you get back to work the following day, Taehyun corners you in the back room as soon as he gets the chance.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks with concern in his voice and you look at him in confusion. “Yeah, why?”

“You called in sick yesterday.” His eyes narrow, already suspicious.

“Oh, right.” You remember Beomgyu calling in sick for you, and you try to brush off his concern. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Taehyun doesn’t let your small slip up pass, now probably convinced there was some malicious reason behind your absence. “Are you sure? Beomgyu didn’t do anything weird, did he?”

His question pisses you off, perhaps because you already feel so guilty towards Beomgyu for your unjustifiable aversion to being physical to him because of your dreams, but you certainly don’t want Taehyun to think Beomgyu is abusing you or something. “No, he didn’t. He took care of me all day yesterday.” You say sharply and Taehyun winces, realizing he has gotten off on the wrong foot with you and that you’re no longer tolerant of him denigrating your boyfriend’s image to you.

“I’m sorry.” He quickly backs down, which is unusual for him, and you feel a twinge of sorrow for going off on him like that. He was just worried about you, but still, he was inadvertently part of the reason you and Beomgyu are having issues and you can’t help but feel frustrated and resentful about that.

“Whatever.” You try to brush him off and get back to the main work area but he is not done talking.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.” He goes on, stopping you in your tracks and you sigh. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

"Can we start over?"

You stare at him, seeing the hope in his eyes and it brings you nothing but pain. “I’m not sure we can.”

Maybe in another world you and Taehyun may have been something–in a world where you met him before you met Beomgyu, maybe. But you would be acting wilfully ignorant if you went back to your budding friendship with Taehyun. Because you know it upsets Beomgyu. Because you know it wouldn’t be just an innocent friendship and that there is more at play here. You need to nip it all in the bud before it grows out of control and suffocates your actual, real relationship with Beomgyu.

You’re loyal to your boyfriend. Whatever strange and inexplicable feelings you hold for Taehyun should be abandoned and forgotten, and they can’t be if you keep being such buddies-buddies with him.

His face falls at your response and you think you can detect an edge of anger to his voice. Why the hell is he angry? He has no right to be upset with you for setting boundaries in order to protect your relationship. “I was out of line. I get it. I swear it won’t happen again.”

“It can't.” You affirm, getting angry yourself. “I'm dating Beomgyu. I love Beomgyu.”

Though Taehyun is usually good at managing his facial expressions, you can clearly see the way his face twists in pain at your proclamation. This is exactly why you have to stay away from each other.

“I know that.” He says through gritted teeth. “Believe me I don’t want to be having these feelings as much as you do, but I can’t control it. There is something drawing us together and I know you can feel it too.”

“Oh, come on, Taehyun, now you sound delusional like me.” You scoff, berating yourself as much as him. You’ve let this delusion get too far. “Next thing you’ll be saying you’re having dreams of us in a past life too.”

“Don’t mock me.” He scowls, the hurt still plainly clear on his face no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it with his unjustifiable temper.

You sigh again. This is not a fight you want to get into. It’s over. You have to end this. “I am not mocking you. But I can’t let whatever this is ruin what I have with the man I love.”

At that, Taehyun turns and walks away wordlessly, and a deep wound opens up in your chest as you watch him leave. You do your best to ignore it. Just as suddenly and inexplicably these feelings developed for Taehyun, you’re sure they will pass away and everything will return back to normal. This is all just a result of the doubts that have been plaguing you about Beomgyu. It’s just your mind coming up with weird feelings and scenarios that mean nothing. Soon enough, you and Beomgyu will be living in mutual bliss like before and you’ll forget about this whole nightmare.

_______________________________

Beomgyu is holding back. You can see it. He tries to keep his desires in check so he doesn't hurt you again without meaning to. He doesn’t want to rush you but you can tell he is suffering.

You can feel the way he reluctantly pulls away when his kisses get heated. You can see the way he averts his eyes when you wear something too revealing around the house. You can hear him when he sneaks to the bathroom in the middle of the night to relieve himself.

And you can definitely feel it now in the way his unconscious body ruts against yours in his sleep.

“Beomgyu…” You call out, mouth dry as you feel his cock grinding against your ass.

“Princess…” He moans at the sound of you calling his name, his hips driving into your ass harder, still asleep. “Need you…”

And you'd be lying if you said you weren't affected too. You need him too. Your body naturally reacts to his, panties already getting wet as his bulge grinds between your legs. But you still haven’t been able to shake those disturbing images and feelings out of your head completely, especially not when he calls you princess. The word now carries an unexpected negative association for you.

“Princess, please…” He cries in your ear, his fingers digging into your stomach. “Oh god, please.”

It makes you feel so fucking guilty to hear how desperate and needy he sounds, unconscious and unable to hold himself back like has been doing so many times recently. You want so bad to help. You want to push him on his back and ride his cock until he’s satiated and happy like he always gets when you fuck him, but you’re not sure you can.

“Wake up.” You urge him, torn between the heat gathering in your belly and the suffocating feeling of being trapped in his hold. You want to help him–you want to help yourself–but you’re fucking scared that it would trigger those horrific images once again.

But Beomgyu only whines and drives his hips into your harder. “My princess…”

“Beomgyu, wake up.” You call out once again, much more firmly this time, and he finally jolts awake, sitting up so he’s now hovering over you and checking you over.

“Wha–what?” His first instinct is to make sure you’re safe and unharmed, looking over your body and touching you slightly all over to confirm you’re not injured. Then the confusion comes in–why do you have that look on your face?--but that only lasts a few seconds before the realization finally kicks in and his face crumbles in dismay. “Fuck, sorry. I’m so sorry. I've just been–”

“Needy? Yeah, I can feel that.” You push your thigh between his legs, trying to push away your unwanted feelings. He was so panicked about you being hurt that it all just makes you feel that much more guilty. Beomgyu would never hurt you. It was all in your head, and you want to get rid of it. You want to allow yourself to feel the love of your boyfriend again.

“Oh, princess, I missed you so much.” He falls right into it, humping your leg just like you expected. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so weak.”

“Aw, puppy…” You coo, brushing his hair out of his face so you can take a good look at the pathetic look on his face that you love so much. It sends a fucking jolt of electricity down to your already heated core.

“It has barely been a couple of weeks.” You reprimand as if your panties weren’t rapidly getting wet right now. But Shame isn’t in Beomgyu’s vocabulary anyway. “A couple of weeks of having you right next to me and not being able to touch you. It was torture.”

He pushes your nightshirt up and buries his face in your tits. You almost laugh, of course this would be the first thing the pervert does. Except what comes out of your mouth are not laughs but moans as his mouth quickly finds one of your nipples to wrap around.

“Fuck, I missed these tits.” He mumbles, voice muffled as he continues to kiss and suck all over your breasts, making your back arch up into his touch and small whines escape your lips.

“Good boy, gyu.” You whine, fingers pulling ruthlessly at his hair that you’re usually so careful and gentle with as he pulls your other nipple in his mouth and sucks harshly. Your hips thrust up against his body as you seek some relief from the liquid heat dripping out of you.

He quickly notices and one of his hands sneaks between your legs to cup your soaked panties. He pulls off your nipples with an obscene pop, smirking cockily. “Looks like I'm not the only needy one here.”

You can't do anything but bite your lip as his palm kneads your sensitive pussy, your teeth tearing into the soft skin as you try to hold in your own needy moans. But Beomgyu doesn’t like that. He uses his other hand to pull your lip away from your teeth and push his thumb in so he has your mouth open and nothing in the way of the salacious noises he craves.

“Beomgyu…” You slur, struggling to talk with his thumb pushing down on your tongue but it's clear from the way you push your pussy further against his hand what you want.

“Are you gonna cum, princess?” He asks, his eyes raking up and down from your flushed face to your exposed tits as you arch your body up, seeking your high against his hand.

“Uh-huh.” Drool dribbles down the corner of your mouth that is still held open by Beomgyu before he finally removes his thumb from your mouth and uses it to flick and pull at your perked nipple.

That extra bit of stimulation makes you cry and jolt as your orgasm comes crashing down like a wave onto your poor deprived body. If your panties were wet before, you're sure that now they've drenched and staining the sheets under you.

But Beomgyu doesn’t care. He focuses on your face as the embarrassingly wet sounds of him continuing to palm your pussy through it all fill the room.

He doesn't stop until after your body is no longer convulsing and just settling into a sluggish tremble as your slack open mouth lets out small, hoarse moans.

Finally he stops, bending down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into open mouth and his hand wrapping around your jaw to get you to wrap your lips around it. You sluggishly respond, your mind still blank from the intense pleasure you just experienced. You didn’t even realize how much you'd missed his touch until now.

But it's not over yet. You may have gotten what you needed but he is still as needy as he was before–even more so after the little show you put on for him, and you can feel exactly how much when pulls your soaked panties to the side to press his bare cock against your pussy.

But as soon as you feel the head of his cock at your entrance, your body seizes up in terror and your mind goes into overdrive with image after image of that horrible nightmare.

“No!” You shriek, trying to close your legs and push him away but you can't because he's lying between your legs and you only succeed in pulling him closer to you which freaks you out even more and you start sobbing. “No. Please, no.”

“What? What happened? What did I do?” He freaks out too. It must be such a whiplash for him. Everything was going so well and he probably doesn't understand what caused your sudden breakdown, but it's not like you can explain it to him when you don't even understand it yourself.

All you know is that you don’t want him to stop so you just cry and shake your head. “Don't. Please, don't.”

The blood drains from his face as he helplessly watches you descend further and further into this unprovoked mental break. “Baby, what's wrong? Just tell me what happened.”

He tries to reach out to calm you down but you finally manage to push him off you and scramble off the bed. “Stay away.”

You pull your night shirt down to cover yourself. You feel disgusted, tainted, used. Why is this happening to you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Princess, please. Talk to me.” He pleads, and you can see his fists clutching tightly onto the bedsheets in order to hold himself back from leaping off the bed and taking you in his arms like you know he is dying to. That's his natural response. It's what his body and heart compel him to do. When you're hurt and in pain, that's what he does–he holds you, kisses you, comforts you, reassures you until you forget everything that has hurt you because nothing in heaven or on earth can get through him. He would never let anything hurt you. But how can he do that when he's the one who is hurting you? How can he protect you from himself?

“You're killing me, baby.” He weeps, distraught and not knowing what to do with himself when he doesn’t even know how he's hurt you. “Please, please, tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

How can you say it? It's too cruel. If he's upset and miserable now, you don't want to think about what he'd be like if you revealed to him that the reason you have been withdrawing from him and reacting so negatively to his touch was because of the terrible disgusting images your fucked up brain decided to randomly conjure up and that he had no control over. It wasn't his fault and you were basically treating him like a rapist.

But Beomgyu will not let it go. How can he when he can't even touch you without you reacting like he had burned you? He has to know. He deserves to know it's not his fault.

“It's… the dreams.” You start, finding it difficult to talk through your parched throat. Your eyes flutter all over his face, searching for the smallest reaction to your words. You know he won't take it well–and you can't blame him. This is why he was so wary of the dreams. He didn't want them to infect your real life and now they have completely infested your brain.

“I had an awful dream that you… that you..” You break down crying again. You don't want to say it. You don't want to break him twice. The worst thing is that they weren’t even just dreams anymore. It was like you were recalling actual memories. They come to you while you’re fully awake now. There is no escape and you don’t know what to do.

“That I what?” He asks, voice so shallow with fear that it's barely a whisper.

“That you… forced yourself on me.” You finally say it and the color drains completely from Beomgyu's face. “I tried so hard to push those images away. I know you would never do that to me but every time we touch–”

“I got it.” He cuts you off, not wanting to hear anymore. Beomgyu never shuts you up. He always wants to hear you talk–to hear every thought that crosses your mind. He soaks them all up whether good or bad. This is the first time he's ever had enough and that scares you more than anything. Is this how you ruin your relationship? Is this the final straw?

“Oh god, Beomgyu, I'm sorry.” You can hardly see through your tears so you walk closer to him, your need to be comforted by him, to know he still loves you, finally overpowering the heinous images in your brain.

But your heart rips in half when Beomgyu flinches away from your touch. “Don't.”

“I'm sorry.” You repeat, holding your arms out slightly from your body, waiting for Beomgyu to slot his own between them where they belong, selfishly needing him to make you feel better about everything when you’re the one who hurt him. “I'll do better. I will force myself to get through this. Just please…”

“Okay.” Beomgyu replies emotionlessly and gets off the bed and away from you.

“Where are you going?” You ask him, terrified. “Are you leaving? I'm sorry, I swear. Forget about everything I said. I'll do whatever you want, just please–”

You walk towards him, reaching out to grab the top of his pants, intent on doing anything to make him stay but he pushes you off, disgust etched on his face. “No. Don't touch me.”

You knew those words hurt him when you said them to him before but you couldn't have imagined just how much, but as you stand now with those same words directed at you, it takes every fiber of you being not to hunch over from the agony they inflict on you. You never thought those wretched words would ever come out of Beomgyu's mouth–no, not your Beomgyu. And it's all your fault.

“Please, don't leave me.” You cry, and Beomgyu looks at you in shock. “Leave? I told you I would never leave you.”

That brings you some comfort, but it's not complete as he continues to stand far away from you, and you make sure to tell him as much.

“Then come hold me.” You ask petulantly. Is it hypocritical of you to demand physical closeness from him when you had before pushed him away when he was in your shoes? Yes, but you don't care. You just want him to stay and put your heart back together before you bleed out.

“I need space. I need to think.” He says and you shake your head resolutely. “There is nothing to think about. I want you to stay.”

He gives you a smile so ingenuine it looked more like a grimace. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Don't walk out on me, Beomgyu.” You tell him, a threatening edge to your voice. Threatening what? You don't know. What are you going to do, sulk until he comes back?

And he knows it too because he just shakes his head and tells you to get some sleep before he walks out. You scream after him, probably waking up all the neighbors but you don't care.

“Beomgyu! Come back! You're just gonna leave me here like this, you fucking asshole?” You scream and scream until your throat raw but he doesn’t come back, and with the last bit of your energy spent on your screams, you crumble to the ground and curl up into a ball–your knees pressed up to your chest and your arms wrapped tightly around them–trying to staunch off your hemorrhaging heart as your world falls away around you.

_________________________________________

A/N: this will always remain my comfort fic despite how dark it can be. i will never get over this. anyway let me know your thoughts and depending on the result of this poll, the next chapter may be the last one or there will be one more chapter.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #tomorrow x together smut #yandere #take care that i said who do you want her to choose #not who will she end up with lmao #there is a difference

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pearlescent-poppies · 4 months

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I’m sick and tired of the Flower Husbands discourse. Like really truly it is just making me so upset now. They are my comfort ship. They are. My first tattoo is a poppy with the ESMP1 quote. I want to hold them in my hands and give them all of the good things in the world. When I see people calling them toxic and abusive, it really hurts me. And there’s not a tag to filter out all of it, not all of them tag “toxic flower husbands”. I get it, okay? I do. I get why you might see them like that. But if anything? If we’re going to see Flower Husbands as the most toxic duo, take a look at every other relationship Jimmy has in the Life Series (with the exception of Tango) and you’ll find the same thing. He’s the butt of the joke. He’s the canary they all poke fun of in his cage. He doesn’t care. But Scott does care. If Desert Duo never left the desert, Scott never stopped crying at Jimmy’s grave. Did you watch his series all the way through? Did you see his ideal afterlife? That Jimmy welcomed him home because that is what they had together? Did you hear the way Scott’s voice got sad talking about how quiet and weird it was not to have Jimmy with him? Have you not watched as Scott uses every single opportunity possible to bring up Flower Husbands? He misses Jimmy with every fiber of his being. Jimmy misses Scott too. Did you watch Last Life? Do you know what Martyn did to make Jimmy give him back the life? He promised a life together, Martyn says it himself! That it was all romantic promising to run away just the two of them. How Jimmy was so hopeful. So naive because this was the beginning, he’s not got all of the hope anymore. Jimmy has had to move on. Jimmy made himself move on. 30 seconds. Do you not imagine him turning away from that interaction resigned to his choice a single tear rolling down his face before he rejoins his boys in their shenanigans? Cause I do. That was a man he had devoted his life to. And yeah, maybe it was because of a joke and a silly a poppy. But do you know what a poppy means? Remembrance, dreams, death, and hope for a peaceful future. Do you know what the white daisy, blue cornflower, and red tulip meant at Jimmy’s grave? Purity, life, reanimation, hope, and true feelings. Do you think a character who conveys a message like that capable of the abuse you accuse him of? Scott’s general air of cattiness is just his character. Hard edges that once you’ve chipped away at, reveal someone who is extremely dedicated and fiercely loyal even and especially to his own detriment. Scott will make jokes about finally being free once his husband dies to the war, but I really think that’s just him preparing for the inevitable. Jimmy was going to die. Canary or not. They all were. So why not make a joke out of being lambs in a slaughterhouse. Isn’t that one of the main ways people cope? Scott loved his husband. Still does and will continue too. Jimmy is the same. But he let go. Had to. He would never have forgiven himself for dragging Scott down with him. How many times do you think that man apologised to Tango for dying first. How many times do you think that man apologised to Tango for dying first before they even lost their third life in the first place? I honestly think Scott himself sums this up best: “I don’t always put myself first and sure I’ve made plenty of mistakes and I’ve hurt people. But I’ve always done my best.”

So next time you wanna call them toxic, rewatch the series and think about this post.

#in defense of flower husbands #history hates lovers fr #LET THEM BE HAPPY!#I hope you enjoyed my word vomit about these two #I have so many feelings!#anyways #thank you for coming to my ted talk #Briar’s Rambles #until next time #(this was 660 words in case you were curious)

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tuliptic · 1 year

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What Is My Purpose Here On This Land

This is for all, but especially for those with existential crises. We’ve wondered what we are meant to do, do we have a purpose being on this planet, and many more questions continue to feed our brains.

Close your eyes, meditate on this topic and ask yourself the question: What messages does your weary heart need to hear? Breathe in and out, make sure your mind and heart is calm. Then, open your eyes to see which pile talks to you the most/draws you in the most. Once you’ve found your pile, scroll down to the respective parts to see what are the messages for you.

Pile 1 - Pile 2

Pile 3 - Pile 4

Disclaimer: This is solely for my entertainment purposes. Take only whatever that you feel like it. If it doesn’t resonate, it’s okay to just drop it. That aside, I do not consent to my work or here to be used by third parties on this platform or other websites.

Decks used: Luna Cat Tarot Deck (Major Arcana), Linestrider Tarot Deck, Flower Petals Oracle Deck, Sweet Dreams Oracle Deck, Starcodes Astro Oracle Deck, self made lyrics deck.

Pile 1: The Rose

A card to represent you: The Chariot

One funny thing when I was shuffling this deck was that this card came out tumbling. It was like.. Upright, reverse, upright again. I’m taking this as a sign. You like taking the wheel. You’ve been through the ups and downs as you journey ahead, sometimes lacking direction, learning self-discipline throughout the process, learning the importance of strength and will, finding balance, and driving to where you are right now. There’s this determination that you’ve gained from past experience, and you’re still driving ahead. A word of advice is to be aware of your own focus level, and to take a rest when you’re tired. The journey of life ahead is long, and it’s always alright to take a break now and then. For some reason, I also feel some of you may be travelling right now, or intend to travel in the future. Make sure to prepare a proper itinerary and have emergency numbers saved!

1. What is my role here on earth? - The High Priestess

First word I’m picking up is healing. You’re the person who answers to the cries of help, being the Universe’s hands in providing aid to those who pray for it, to be that gentle beauty without losing your thorns. You’re called to be the healing energy, to be the kindness that people need but may or may not deserve. Not to put a burden on you, but you probably tend to be kind and subconsciously heal or watch over those who need your help, even strangers, and even people who do not deserve those kindness. (There’s this nagging behind my head that reminds me of the people in Gotham who did nothing yet yells for help/salvation, instead of fighting and protecting their “loved” ones.)

2. Have I achieved it? - The Fool

You’re only starting on this journey. Or maybe have yet to start on this journey. You probably realised this uhhh ability of yours very recently, or have only decided to really start doing something on it. See, realising this ability/skill doesn’t mean you have to do something about it. You may realise your skill for art but not continue cultivating that skill. It’s the same. You’ve probably stopped all those questions and try to take out that first step to do it. You’re killing your doubt step by step, betting in yourself and trusting in yourself to do something entirely new. (Yes, ITZY’s Bet On Me is playing as I write this.)

3. How to achieve it? - The Sun

There are so many things embodied in this card: brightness, hope, ray of hope, and more to come. What I’m feeling from this is mainly warmth, asking you to just be this Sun, to shine just as you are. It’s gonna sound weird but imagine healing rays? I’m cringing and having a weird face as I type this out. But yeah, just be who you are, to continue doing what you do. Just know that your presence is like a walking energy-purifier, lifting up the spirits even by smiling to strangers or wishing them a good day. You can attempt to try doing something else, for example, being more active in volunteer work in nursing homes and shelters, playing a part in activist activities, or even taking up counselling courses to help people out. These are only some of the many ways that are available. Most importantly is that you do kindness with kindness, not to have any ulterior motives behind them.

4. Why do I need to do it? - Seven of Wands rx

The world is changing, more and more people are experiencing a feeling of defeat and overwhelmingness, including you. All are called to make a change, and this is your part in the pledge to make a change. We have arrived at a time of change, and actions need to be taken. People have been fighting among themselves, you may even have been having conflicting thoughts and contradicting beliefs. Peace has been taken away, and instead of fighting to get back that same peace, it’s time to recreate a new peace that will work for this new world. A new structure is needed, and you’re one of those first few people who are tasked to build things anew again.

5. What can I learn from it? - King of Pentacles rx

What you’ll be learning is not only based on what you’ve experienced, but from what you’ve observed. You saw the fall of those who have been obsessed with earthly riches, those who have been paying attention to the materialistic realm, and have forgotten to nourish their soul and mental energy. The downfall was harsh and painful, reminding you that balance is needed in every aspect. From there, you’re gonna continue spreading kindness, letting the scars of the past be a reminder of what has happened, and how you’re gonna redirect the course of your energy.

6. How am I supposed to transform from it? - Knight of Pentacles rx

Self-discipline will take you to a lot of places, and will also be able to take you to places that you thought you never would’ve reached. This gift of yours, this purpose of your is not to let you be more spiritual, but to be more down to earth. You’re supposed to be the bridge between the spiritual themes with the practical, existing world we’re living in right now. From this, you’ll also be able to get connected to your roots, your family, your ancestry, even get connected to your race. I hope I do not get into trouble with how I phrase myself here hshshs. But y’know how colonialism has affected a lot of things, like religion and even language. I don’t quite remember where I heard it, but Tagalog or Filipino, languages of the Philippines, have Spanish influence in it. Or how Christianity kinda replaced the other folk religions with how it’s being brought in. So yeah, you’ll need to do the dissection to find out which was the original, which you wanna connect with. You define your own roots, and you take charge of it.

7. What is the self-fulfilment level? - The Tower

Whilst you dream, you clear your mind of all negativity and your spirit will be refreshed. With that, you’ll charge ahead, doing everything you can until you feel that you’ve changed the world. It sounds really idealistic, but if you need to remember the catastrophic energy that The Tower brings. The change is not gonna be small, and you can’t do it alone. You’ll work ahead, without knowing how long it’ll take. You then make friends on the way, working towards the same goal but with different tasks, slowly but steadily paving and painting a new path. Just like the straw that breaks the camel’s back, your tiniest effort shatters the restrictive and unhelpful rules that were oppressing the people. That’s what you’re meant to be, that’s what you can achieve. But I need to remind you that this self-fulfilment level differs for everyone. One can feel content by doing small things, while some want the satisfaction that comes with doing great things. They are all valid and powerful acts in their own ways, and no one can deny the effort and effect that comes with it.

Overall energy: The Fool, Ace of Pentacles

Overall, you’re called to take actions to start a new chapter of your life. You’re the main character of your own story, you’re the one who decides how you want to paint your journey. However, whatever that you’re intending to do, remember to not do it alone. A solo trip is fun, but a journey? It’s best to have people joining your cause to support each other. Remember that there are other animals in The Fool, cuz one is a guide and the other is a guard/support. The energy of rebirth and transformation comes heavily in this pile, and sometimes, it can destroy you in the process. Proceed with caution and with faith. We are praying for you as you travel.

Pile 2: The Mirror

A card to represent you: The Sun

You attempt to be a person to bring warmth to people around you. The Sun shines warm lights, and that’s something you enjoy as well. But sometimes, when anger gets hold of you, you tend to burn people around you, accidentally or on purpose. You don’t really use the reason “I didn’t mean to”, because if you injure people, you totally mean it. It’s probably due to them crossing your boundaries repeatedly, and you didn’t want to hold back any longer. But still, the card wants to remind you of who you wanted to be. Do not let anger cloud the true you. Let out that anger at the right person, and go back to who you are, the warm and accepting you.

1. What is my role here on earth? - Judgement rx

I don’t really wanna use the word here but you’re called to learn the karmic lessons in the past, may it be the current past or your past lives. There are times that you hold on to your values, yet the world continues to challenge you, which may have made you question what is the meaning of you being here, what do you need to do to get out of this cycle of unfairness. Instead of fighting it, it’s time for you to discard the mask of pride that you’ve been wearing, and accept that unfairness is a part of life that you need to go through. Once there's acceptance, you can build a new structure (structure on how you go through problems, or building up new values or habits, or anything else that can help you). Humility is what you need. And stay away from humiliation. These are two very different things. People taking credit over what you do is… Something you need to be aware of. But. If there are people out there who take credit over what you do yet accuse you of copying or shit like that? Fight.

2. Have I achieved it? - Seven of Pentacles

This is something that will take long to achieve it, but you’re still on the way. You probably have noticed this… Thing? That things have been unfair and that it is too tiring to live, and you’re somehow somewhat struggling through life. Sure, there are times that are fun, but you know that fun does not last long and once it’s time, you continue crashing the waves and pressure life gives you. You feel like you’ve been doing this forever, and things just don’t seem that they are turning better. Have faith that it will. Belief is a skill that comes with birth, you just need to hold on to it, believing that things will resolve in the end. Which it will. The struggles will become lighter eventually, because hard work and effort pays off.

3. How to achieve it? - The Magician rx

There are some other untapped talents in you, and it’s time for you to unlock them. You need to be able to find them and develop them. It’s not something you can easily access to, but it’s something you’ll need to practise and to get good at, and then to use them wisely. This untapped skill of yours may be something spiritually related, with you standing in between humanity and spirituality. You need to be aware to not fall into people’s traps, and to make sure that you do not manipulate others in the process. I feel that this pile may have some talents or skills in manipulation and deception (either you’re aware or not), but you can choose to not do so. Remember, if you choose to do so, there will be more things that you’ll lose. The Magician talks about alchemy, where you use one thing to exchange for another of equal value.

4. Why do I need to do it? - Nine of Wands

There’s a resilience that you need to learn, encouraging you to pay attention to your rights, believe in yourself and defend your position or property. It is time to gather your experiences and life lessons, to reflect on what life has shown you. There’s this hint of spirituality that you’re also called to evaluate - to see what it has to offer in your life, to see how you can use this to make it another life lesson/asset of yours. You need to remember that the process of learning can be difficult and challenging, but you can also make it fun, make it lighter. Unlike in school, where you learn without passion (for most people), you are now learning new things because you’re interested in it. So yeah, learn through playing and experimenting, celebrate each growth and resilience you’ve unlocked. I hope I’m making sense here.

5. What can I learn from it? - Four of Cups

I doubt that many who pick this pile are happy with meditation, but this is one thing you’ll be learning. There’s a need to reevaluate yourself, and realigning values within you. I’m having some difficulties in forming my words, because it feels like your pile already knows about this, but in some sense, refuse to do this, refuse to acknowledge this. You’ve probably heard a lot of this kinda talk, where you need to do this and that to achieve that enlightenment. You really didn’t like that, and you still don’t like it. Yet, this is needed. You need to go through a long while of silence, a time of reflection, to make changes and to be reborn again. It’s difficult, you may cry again and again, because you’ve been in darkness for so long, slowly giving up on whatever ways are out there. Know that it can’t be any darker than this, and it’s also a chance for you to recognise light, and to embrace that light.

6. How am I supposed to transform from it? - Five of Cups rx

You have to accept pain has been crucial in your growth, and walk away from it. It’s time for you to move on, and you’ll find yourself to be more… Accepting? Acceptance is a huge theme in your reading, where you acknowledge that this has happened, and you accept it, and then move on with life. As long as you accept something has happened, that weight will be slowly lifted away from your shoulders. You won’t be able to move when you’ve been crushed by all those unhappiness (or even happiness) that you’ve been holding onto. Focus on wholeness, learn how to take things up and put them down, continue on with the journey of letting go.

7. What is the self-fulfilment level? - The Hierophant

The Hierophant is often related to religion, and it being paired with spirituality speaks even more so. I’m not saying that achieving enlightenment (don’t mistake it with the Buddhist term, please) IS fulfilling for you, but it is one step to achieve what you wanted - release. Life’s burdens have been pulling this pile down, and what you want the most is release, release from responsibilities; release from fears; release from expectations; release from this endless cycle that has been trapping you. You’ll need to invite in a new thought to be released from what has been tying you down, and it’s time for you to be reborn again.

Overall energy: The Lovers, Eight of Cups

There are times where you need to make decisions between two choices that were offered to you. Oftentimes, you want to pick neither, but life decides it for you anyways. Either paths will lead you to where you’re meant to go, so why not stand still for now and listen to your life? Looking at it may be distracting, as there are a lot of worries and neon lights around. Make a cup of drink, sit down, put on your earphones and play some soft music. You might be able to hear something. One thing I have to mention is that there’s a heavy Pluto and karmic energy I’m sensing from here. It’s like… A huge circle, a cycle, where things happen again and again. You’ll need time (and a lot of time) to complete this cycle, only then you can break free from there. Some may feel dejected, but do remember that every step you’re taking right now is bringing you closer to the end. The Mirror is also here for you to reflect, to see who you are, and to see who you are Inside. Make this promise that you’ll be kind to yourself, appreciate each step that you’re taking and celebrate the small wins.

Pile 3: The Key

A card to represent you: The World

This pile is giving me a very comforting and secured energy. Paired with this card, those who picked this pile may have completed a project, or have achieved one of their goals in life, or are close to closing an existing project with success. You may also be one of the fixed signs (Aquarius, Taurus, Leo, Scorpio) or have them in your personal planets. Another thing I’m picking up is that some of you may be looking out for new projects to start when you haven’t reached the end of the current project. Take a step back, do not rush into things quickly. Sure, an end speaks of a new beginning, but you need time to plan a proper project and to recuperate from the exhaustion of the previous project.

1. What is my role here on earth? - Three of Swords rx

I’m seeing more of a guide here. You have been through difficulties in life, and from those, you’ve gained experiences, insights, knowledge and wisdom. With that, you’re tasked to guide the rest who are going through a hard time this round. It’s difficult because kindness isn’t something everyone is equipped with, and for you, especially, you may find it a lil bitter. This is where you challenge yourself to step outside of your comfort zone, to try something that you’ve never thought of, or even detest. But you gotta do it as the path you step on is the road to growth and illumination.

2. Have I achieved it? - Knight of Wands

You're charging towards it, albeit a lil reckless. You do have the passion in it, and you’re more than willing to be the change, even wishing that the change is something that can change the world. You can’t wait to experience the storm and thunder, wanting to feel the same scale of impact. However, you need to remember that passion can dissipate quickly, like how it started. There might be transits in your life, maybe Mars is transiting one of your personal planets right now, which gives you that impulse of wanting to achieve something. You are in control of your response, but the actions of other people and events are not. Do not be dejected when people reject you, but continue ahead without that recklessness.

3. How to achieve it? - Ten of Swords

You will be able to achieve it by going through defeats. You’re one who learns through actual defeats, the pain, remembering the falls of life through your body and soul. From there, only then you can compile those you’ve learnt and observed into a book, for your own and other’s references. At this phase, you may feel pulled between one path or another, and pushed to make a decision. It can be quite tense, but don’t avoid it. These tense situations build your strength, getting you ready to fly. Do not bend; do not submit defeat, continue ahead to chase after your ideals. Let that resolution and will to be your light.

4. Why do I need to do it? - Two of Wands rx

There’s a fear in you, not knowing what you are meant to achieve. This could be a personal goal for you to focus throughout your lifetime, building yourself up, giving you an unnamed courage to find your inner power. I feel that you may have subconsciously (or maybe consciously) compared yourself to people around you, wondering where in life you are, what you’re meant to do. To counter that, you need to set a personal goal, to have some sort of inner alignment, and figure out what you want to achieve. Do you want to appear as a confidant people turn to? Are you keen on sharing thoughts and experiences to make people’s lives a lil bit easier? Try taking a notebook and writing your goals down, and see what you need to do, or what you should stop doing to achieve that. It’s time that you activate a certain switch in you to be that fire (either to warm or to destroy. It’s up to you).

5. What can I learn from it? - The Hierophant, Ace of Pentacles

I feel that you may be even able to start something, maybe a support group or a club, especially in a religious context. There’s some form of finances involved in it, so yeah, maybe a support group where you guide others, and others guide the others, and let the leaves of the tree expand. Finances will be involved in terms that there are donations coming in, which you may use to assist those who are financially needy. You’ll be able to accept this new side of yours, and be more willing to reach out your hands because you could physically see how this chain of kindness continues on, holding on more hope that things can actually change for the better.

6. How am I supposed to transform from it? - Judgement

It is time for you to reevaluate your life, what meanings you want to fix to your life. There may be a calling to change your life or open your heart to new possibilities, to new responsibilities or a new field of work. The horn in this card symbolises that there may be a wake-up call from the world around you, telling you that it’s time to stop being in your head, to see the world for who it is, and how you’re supposed to make changes, or answer to those changes. Change can refer to something tangible and immediate, or the whole way one sees life. In fact, you may have already changed without realising it.

7. What is the self-fulfilment level? - Five of Cups rx

There’s a release from pain and suffering. The pain and suffering does not necessarily mean something physical, but something that’s more on a spiritual level. Y’know how sometimes one can feel… Empty and blank? That. That is actually suffering on a spiritual level, because you have no direction, no guidance, and sometimes that could feel suffocating. Some out there could just go along with life even though they have no idea what to do, and it’s cuz their direction of life is to go along with what the journey has to offer. What you’re doing right now is just standing there and looking blankly to where your eyes are looking, which increases the weight in your chest and legs. Through this, you’ll be able to find a proper direction and the awakening that comes with it will elevate you. Walking again after you’ve been standing so long will be uncomfortable at first, but take small and steady steps. You’ll find yourself running again soon.

Overall energy: The Star, Four of Swords

This reading talks about hope and rest, and how they come hand in hand. I felt a weight on my chest as I was typing the self-fulfilment part, because of how heavy the desperation and feeling of loss is. Know that The Star is shining a gentle ray of hope, consoling you that things will be better. The Star may not be visible all the time, especially in the daylight. But know that she is always there, and you can hear her whispers in the night, when you think you’re about to fall. Be kind to yourself and share your beauty as well as knowledge with those around you. But remember to take rests as well. You can’t afford to do much when you’re having a burnout. It’s alright to fall, but remember to rest and stand up again. Your passion is your greatest drive, go for it.

Pile 4: The Word

A card to represent you: The Magician rx

I feel like you’re currently standing in the middle of two different things, two very different and distinct fields (like science vs arts, realism vs spirituality), not knowing where to head to. There’s some sort of pull from both of them and you’re feeling very, very torn. However, remember that the Magician is someone that has a lot of skills, and has been acting as the bridge between the physical plane and the spiritual realm for a long time. You, also, have the skills to bridge between the various fields/things that are scattered across. As the bridge, you can see the connecting and overlapping points, and you can build out from there. You honour differences and expand.

1. What is my role here on earth? - Two of Swords rx

Your role is to take out the blinds that were covering the people’s eyes, including yours. You are called to stop them from hiding or shying away from the truth, making them see what is the truth, calling them to face reality. For some reason, I feel that you may have not been very liked at home due to this nature. Your parents may think that their reputation or status as parents should not be challenged, but you couldn’t care less about it. What you cared about was that justice and truth be upheld, and you won’t hesitate to rip anyone apart if they tried saying otherwise. This, in turn, has created quite a huge confrontation when you were growing up. But are you stopping there? No. You will continue your role of wake up call, but only once or twice. You’ve understood that there are always people out there who want to run away from the truth, and you’re not gonna waste your effort and time on them.

2. Have I achieved it? - The Chariot rx

You’re currently in a fallback. You took a step back to look at the options available and to reevaluate the situation. You realise that you were having a narrow goal and vision tunnel, which will cost a lot of meaningless sacrifice. You may have thought that it was okay to let your horses run without holding the reins, but now is not the time. You’re now evaluating and weighing the pros and cons, which are the items that you want to invest your time and energy on, finding out where your passion lies. A word of advice: Do not be afraid to try multiple things. Nothing is fixed in stone. Just like you may discover a new favourite dish later, you may also discover a new skill that is useful.

3. How to achieve it? - Page of Cups rx

First of all, you need to kill your doubts and fears. Fear is one main thing that’s stopping you from trying new things in different fields. There are always new things out there waiting for you to try, there are new opportunities that can’t wait to come to you. Being protective of your own energy is important, but you need to get out at times, to talk to people, to learn their ideas and train of thoughts, to see things from their point of view. This way, instead of tearing down the blinds covering their eyes, you’ll be able to verbally convince them to take the blinds down themselves, which is a much gentler way. Be honest and true, even to your fears. Accept them, and they might reward you with something special.

4. Why do I need to do it? - The Fool rx, Knight of Pentacles

I’m seeing some form of heavy responsibility here. You are not tasked to enjoy or to have fun, but to be like a defender, a protector, even a fighter or truth. Unlike The Fool, who goes on new journeys having fun, you are stationed at a place, guarding the gates, making sure those who enter are those who have earned it. This responsibility is not randomly placed on people, but it chooses those who vow to bear witness to the truth. Obligation is a word that’s also relevant here, where you’re also willing to bear this duty. Not sure if you’re doing this because you want the truth to be known or you just wanna spite people by forcing them to look at their wounds. It’s all up to you.

5. What can I learn from it? - Page of Wands

It’s like… A stone egg hatching. You thought that it was a stone, from its rough and hard exterior. But in reality, it’s actually a dragon egg. You learn that miracles happen in various forms, and that one really needs to think of the various possibilities and potentials you hold, even the ones that sound impossible. It’s alright to fail, it’s alright to fall, as long as you continue to climb up and attempt, you’ll be able to see the glory that’s arriving your way. Glory is a huge word but it is what it is. Stop losing focus and get that glory in your hands.

6. How am I supposed to transform from it? - Eight of Pentacles

You can transform into a gem by polishing and honing your skills. If I were to compare and describe, I’d say that you’re a jade as compared to other stones out there. It takes a skilled master to recognize the green under the hard and dusty exterior. Now, you’re that skilled master, and you’re gonna trim and polish the rock to reveal the gentle green in it. It can only be done little by little, and repeating the process until you see that gleam of green. And that’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna polish your skills day by day, night by night. Repetition of the task can sound mundane but that’s needed for you to be able to gain precision. This precision can be used in a lot of places, such as knowing the fine line of breaking the truth harshly or choosing to not say a single thing. Sometimes, people have their pride, and that precision will be able to help you to observe which line to cut, where to stop.

7. What is the self-fulfilment level? - Ten of Swords rx

Through this, I’d say that you’ll be able to let go of the past hurt that you have. There is a lot of anger and pain, especially when you recall how you were treated unfairly. You weren’t in the wrong, but you still get attacked. Now, you’ve learnt how to see things from their side and handle them properly, you’re now able to move on from that anger. It’s difficult, but at least, that chapter of your life is ending. You can close that book, and move on to the second book of your trilogy. Life’s a journey, make the rest of it worthwhile.

Overall energy: The Star, Seven of Cups (Strength hidden behind that keeps wanting to show up)

The Word in this picture is Love. Redirect that love to yourself, allow hope to shine on you, and accept that gleam of hope. Opportunities are coming, but you need to learn how to differentiate them from the illusions or wishful thinkings you’ve made. Fret not, you have the strength, the power to discern them according to your inner code of morale. You have what it takes, so practice courage each day. There’s a new you in the future that’s waiting for you. They seem eager, and prepared to take you onto a new journey, to see the new sceneries that come along with it.

Thank you for reading!

#tuliptic #🌷#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot reading #general tarot reading #i'm not sure how to feel about this tbh #it's very conflicting #so i guess it's prolly gonna resonate with a very specific group of people #do drop me asks if you need further clarification on them #i'll do my best to explain them to you #finally gonna get this out so i can focus on something else yeet

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moriwood · 1 month

Text

Mi Sei Mancato — p.sh

park sunghoon x male reader light angst 1.7k words

There’s no place in your small snowy village for a promising figure skater like Sunghoon. With his family’s increased visits to the city, it comes as no surprise when they announce their plan to send him overseas for professional training. What does he want to tell his closest friend before he leaves?

includes: written with a male mc but is actually gender neutral! and a lot of things happening in rapid succession woops warning: n/a

A thick layer of snow blankets the village, the serene winter stillness a familiar presence for most of the year. The rhythm of life in this tight-knit community is usually unhurried and undemanding, but today, everyone is out and about for the annual winter festival. In the heart of the village, next to the bonfire, a makeshift skating rink stands, where Sunghoon is one with the tunes of the tavern musicians, gliding across the ice with effortless grace.

Knowing Sunghoon since childhood, you’ve seen him outgrow the fringes of your small village. It feels like yesterday when you were kids, back when you would both slip and stumble on the ice, giggling as you kept losing your footing. But the years have certainly gone by, and his clumsy steps have now become effortlessly delicate. He’s gonna be a figure skater, he exclaimed, the first time he showed you a blade screwed into some boots that he bought in the city.

“Sunghoon-ie’s so talented, isn’t he?” you hear your mom gush, elbowing Sunghoon’s mom. “He should be competing overseas instead of indulging us here.”

The spark in Sunghoon’s eyes was always conspicuous, the way his face lit up talking about the Olympics, the applause, the medals, all that. You laughed it off then, thinking it was just some pipe dream of his; though watching him perform now, his spark seems to only grow brighter and hotter. Sunghoon is reaching for something bigger, an ambition that cannot be fulfilled in the confines of your village. He’s already a seasoned amateur champion, and with his family’s increasingly frequent travels to the city, you reckon that they’ve been meeting people who could further propel Sunghoon’s career as a budding athlete.

“We’ve been talking to some coaches in the city, actually,” Sunghoon’s mom reveals. “If all goes well, we might be sending him abroad to train for a while.”

Your mom gasps, pulling you closer to the two of them. “Has Sunghoon-ie told you about this?” she asks you.

You shake your head, making Sunghoon’s mom chuckle. “He’s too scared to say goodbye, I guess.”

As Sunghoon ends his performance and skates back to the sidelines, you meet his gaze. You silently agree with his mom. Other than his calculated movements on the ice is his calculated ambiguity recently, dodging questions on where he thinks his future lies. He gives you a tired smile, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “What y’all talking about?” he asks, huffing from exhaustion.

“Oh, I’ve told them about our plans,” Sunghoon’s mom replies.

Sunghoon’s grip on your shoulder tightens. “What plans?” he clarifies.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she waves her hand. “The offer, Sunghoon-ie.”

The warmth of the bonfire does little to ease the sudden chill brought by the winter breeze. You watch as Sunghoon’s gaze shifts between the four of you, a brief flicker of surprise before being replaced by something you can’t quite place. His grip on your shoulder loosens.

“Mom,” he searches for the right words, voice steady despite the tension. “We haven’t made any final decision yet. You shouldn’t have told them already.”

“We’re just waiting for the visa,” his mother insists, tone encouraging. “You’ve worked so hard for this. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Your mom lightly punches Sunghoon’s arm. “Aigoo, it’s a great opportunity, Sunghoon-ie. Don’t waste it!”

Sunghoon goes back to smiling, one that you certainly know is uncomfortably strained. “It is. It is a great opportunity,” he nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ice beneath his feet. “Can we talk later?” he whispers to you.

—

As the night seeps in, the bonfire is down to its last embers. The lively chatter has toned down to ambient noise, with families returning to their homes to clean up. You find yourself near the frozen lake with Sunghoon. The silence between you is heavy. You walk in silence, the crunch of snow beneath your boots keeping you grounded.

This was where you two used to play around in. Surrounded by a small grove of trees at the edge of the village, it seems like this is now where you two will soon separate. For a long moment, neither of you says anything, both of you taking in the landscape that used to be the background to many of your stories together.

“Congrats,” you mumble, disrupting the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Sunghoon replies, voice barely above a whisper. “I should have told you earlier.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “I get it. You’re trying to figure out how to break it to us.”

“I won’t leave,” he declares. He’s bluffing. His parents would not go this far if their plans were anything but final.

You turn your head to him in incredulity. Sunghoon’s gaze is fixed to the ice beneath his feet. “That’s a stupid choice, Sunghoon, and you know that.”

“But I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of failing everyone.”

You let out a laugh, reaching to his gloved hand and gripping it gently. “Why’d you be scared of that? We’ll always be here rooting for you. You can’t stay here felling and bucking trees with the rest of us.”

“But what if everything changes?” his voice cracks, revealing a vulnerability you’ve never seen so openly before. “What if when I come back, nothing’s the same? What if I’m not the same?”

You sigh. “Whether you stay here or not, we’ll change. But we’ll always be here to welcome you with open arms.”

Sunghoon looks up at you, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s just… this place, these memories…”

He puts an arm behind your back and pulls you into an embrace. Your heart aches, the sincerity of it all making it hard to breathe. The weight of his impending departure looming over you only makes you more confused. He nestles his head on your shoulder.

“You’ll always have a place here,” you continue, “I mean, in my heart at least, you’ll always have a place.”

“Do I really?” he mumbles. You don’t reply, only tightening the embrace. “Why are you making it so hard for me to leave?” he whines.

“Why are you blaming me?” you chuckle. “I don’t want you to leave, but I also don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dream.”

“You’re not,” he raises his head and says firmly, pulling back to meet your eyes again. “You’re one of the reasons why I’m still chasing this dream. You’re a part of my dream now too, don’t you know?”

“You’re making it seem like you’re gonna wed me when you come back,” you grin.

“Oh, I will,” he replies, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ll visit here as much as I can. I’ll call you as much as I can. And when I get that gold medal, I’m running to you with a wedding ring.”

You search his face for any sign of humor or doubt, but all you see is that same determination that you’ve always admired in him. He’s serious about this confession, as much as it seems like a joke between best friends. And as you stand there, with snow falling softly around you and Sunghoon’s warm hands against your skin, you’re not against the idea.

“Then I’ll be here, waiting for you, cheering you on, no matter where you go,” you reply.

Sunghoon’s eyes light up and then, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet, even with your chapped lips. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmurs.

—

“Sunghoon Park!” the arena’s speakers echo, calling the final figure skater.

The crowd grows loud as Sunghoon steps onto the ice, expression calm and focused. This is the moment he’s been dreaming for years, after leaving his hometown and trading it for countless hours of training and perseverance. Despite his growth and maturity, you still see that young rural Sunghoon in the glint in his eyes. He is as nervous as he is excited to prove his talent on an Olympic scale.

The music starts, a jovial melody filling the arena. It’s a rendition of the village tunes, as if his performance is an homage to the youth he spent in that small town up in the mountains. Sunghoon begins his routine, immediately proving that he has become flawless. He is artistic yet mathematical, his skates carving perfect arcs into the ice. His spins are heavy and powerful, yet he goes back to floating across the ice like it’s nothing. Tears blur your vision as you clap for him, proud of what he has become.

He finishes heaving, face flushed with fatigue. But when he looks up into the stands, his eyes find yours immediately, and the smile that spreads across his face is enough to pay back the years he had spent without you.

Sunghoon lands on the top of the scoreboard, earning the gold medal. As the medal is draped around his neck, he looks so ready to leave. The national anthem plays, and as the flag is raised, he looks straight at you. As it ends, he steps down from the podium and runs straight towards you, medal still hanging around his neck and blades to his boots still attached. He reaches the barrier separating the ice from the stands and pulls a velvet box from his pocket. It seems like he hasn’t forgotten a promise from years ago.

“Come here,” he shouts, voice barely audible over the noise of the audience.

Without hesitation, you stand up and make your way down the stairs, glancing at the staff who seem more interested in the stunt than in the tons of security protocols that Sunghoon must be breaking right now. He reaches for your hand and pulls you close.

“Do you still remember?” he asks, voice loud and filled with emotion.

You nod, tears already flowing. “You said you’d win the gold and run to me with a wedding ring.”

“So will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will.”

He slips the ring onto your finger and the arena erupts to an even louder volume. His lips crash down on yours in a kiss that’s long been overdue. He then wraps his arms tightly around you, laughing.

“I’ve missed you,” he huffs, his breath misting in the cold air.

author's note: this one's for you @haocovr ! thank u for the compliments, sorry i took quite a while 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

the paris olympics is over but hey! the next winter olympics will be held in italy, so that’s why my title is that. :]

— moriwood.

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #enhypen x reader #park sunghoon x male reader #light angst #angst #fluff #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x male reader #mori fics

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talkdutchtome · 1 year

Text

You Should Have Said No Chapter One

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / pierre gasly x reader )

summary . . . when your fiancé cheats on you, you strike up an unusual friendship with one of his closest friends, who just so happens to have had a crush on you since he set eyes on you. chaos ensues.

inspired by the works of miss taylor swift )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . should've said no- taylor swift )

warning . . . cheating, mental illness, angst, eventual smut, poorly translated french and dutch, swearing, mention of parent loss, emotionally abusive parent, slight social media au, kendall jenner as fc (potentially more i’ll add as i go along)

series masterlist . . . available here )

“And Pierre Gasley is the winner of the 2023 Monaco Grand Prix”

Pride encapsulated your heart, finally taking a breath after holding it for what seemed like the last few laps of the race when your fiancé had overtaken Max Verstappen on the 70th lap of the race.

You watched him celebrate on the podium with Charles and Max; seeing him take his second ever first place trophy brought tears to your eyes. You two were childhood sweethearts so you had been with him since the beginning of his career and seeing him now win the most prestigious race on the calendar, the one he had dreamed of winning since he was a child, you couldn’t think of anyone who deserved it more.

“I’m so proud of you Mon amour” you exclaimed as soon as he entered his drivers room where you were waiting for him, your arms wrapping around him, planting a congratulatory kiss on his lips. He kissed you back passionately, you could see in his sparkling blue eyes how much this meant to him. All the tireless training, strict dieting and time away from the people he loved the most, finally paying off, finally meaning something. He picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, like muscle memory having have been in this position thousands of times before, you face buried in his neck sticky from the champagne inhaling his scent, smelling the cologne you had watched him put on this morning. You felt him breathing in your scent too, nose buried in your long hair, smelling like the Apple shampoo you had been using since before you had met him, the familiar fragrance calming his racing heart.

“Mon chéri, I did it. No, we did it” he whispered in your ear. You were alone in the room but the intimacy of him talking lowly in your ear made your stomach flutter.

You found yourself in the hottest club in Monaco that night with a good portion of the grid, celebrating the three men on the podium. You were never a person interested in clubbing, usually letting Pierre go alone. Your anxiety of overly crowded places being triggered by the dark rooms filled with hundreds of drunk party goers. But today was his night, you couldn’t not be there celebrating his big win. Sat around a table in the VIP section with Pierre, Max, Lando, Charles and his girlfriend, you felt acutely aware of the swirling pit of anxiety in your stomach but you persisted, wanting nothing more than to celebrate with the love of your life. Pierre had his arm lazily draped around your shoulders, engrossed in a conversation with Charles about the race, Max and Lando were talking to two girls who were gushing over them, Lando relishing it in whilst max shuffled awkwardly in his seat, clearly not wanting the girl sat next to him to be rubbing her hands all over his arms and chest. You smiled to yourself, observing that Max was more than likely acting as a wingman for the young British driver. Looking away to reply to a question asked to you by Charles’ girlfriend, you missed the longing gaze Max gave you.

Hours past and as the club closing time drew near, you became increasingly more tired, just wanting to go home and spend the rest of the night alone with Pierre. Lando’s voice interrupted your train of thought “Everyone’s up for the after party after this right? No need for this party to end” he said taking a break from sloppily kissing the girl sat next to him. You looked up at Pierre, trying to gauge what his thoughts on the proposition were. “Hell yeah” he spoke smiling ear to ear. Feeing your heart sink, knowing that your wish of getting some well needed alone time with your fiancé was now no longer going to come to fruition, you whispered in his ear, telling him that you weren’t feeling great so you would like to go home but that you didn’t expect him to come with you, wanting him to make the most of his celebrations.

“Okay Mon chéri, are you sure? I don’t mind coming home with you if you’d prefer” he whispered back to you, smiling at his selflessness, you planted a soft kiss just below his ear. “I’m sure”

Clambering in the Uber with Charles and his girlfriend who had also decided to call it a night, you gazed out the window watching as the picture of Pierre, Max, Lando and the two girls getting smaller as the car drove away. You waved timidly through the windows, putting on a smile, even though you would have preferred Pierre to come with you, you knew that he had been working so hard and deserved a night to blow off steam.

Falling asleep almost as soon as your back hit the mattress of your shared apartment, you slept undisturbed until you heard Pierre come home. He tried his best to be a quiet as he could coming in, but his drunkenness made that difficult and you stirred, half awake and half asleep as he got into bed. Not awake enough to say anything to him, but awake enough to cuddle into him, you breathed in his scent again, subconsciously noticing that he smelled different to how he normally did, but your brain foggy with sleep didn’t think too much of it.

Your 9 AM alarm rolled around far too quickly, tiredness and a light hangover made your head pound but wanting to stick to your daily routine you pushed through it. Planting a kiss on Pierre’s sleeping head before walking into the bathroom. You spent an half an hour in the shower before you put your make up on and placed a painkiller on your tongue, the headache finally getting the better of you. On your way to the kitchen, you peaked your head into the bedroom, giggling at the sight of your sleeping fiancé still snoring away. In the kitchen you turned on some Taylor Swift and began to prepare breakfast for Pierre, placing bacon in the oven, you began to get to work on making a pancake mix until you heard your phone ring, interrupting the song that was currently planning. For some reason unbeknownst to you, you felt your stomach sink, like you almost knew whoever was phoning you was about to tell you some bad news. Shaking the thought away and dismissing it as your anxiety you picked up the phone and saw that the person phoning you was Max Verstappen. Your eyebrows furred for a second, unsure as to why Max Verstappen would be phoning you. You two had never really been friends, just friendly acquaintances. Chalking it up to it likely being something to do with Pierre having lost something at the after party and Max wanting to return it, you swiped your thumb over the screen, accepting the call.

“Hey Max what can I do for you?”

You heard a shaky breath come through the speaker.

“Hi Y/N, do you have a second to speak? There’s something I need to tell you” you heard the Dutchman say his voice shaking as he spoke, causing the sinking feeling in your stomach return, only more prominent now.

“Uhh yea..” there was a silence as Max willed himself to break the news to you, not wanting to tell you but knowing that you deserved to know.

“Max what is it? Please just-“ you managed to squeak out before being interrupted by the voice coming through the phone again.

“Pierre, he.. well he.. After you left Sophia, one of the girls who was sat with me and Lando”

He paused but your mouth was too dry to be able to fill up the silence, you let it linger before he began again

“Well she started to get closer to Pierre, started flirting with him, and he well he didn’t stop her. He started flirting back. I tried to speak to him, I was going to tell him to stop, to remind him why he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing but he disappeared and I couldn’t find him. Or her.”

Silence filled the air again, tears starting to fall down your face, feeling like your entire world was crashing down, silently preying that Max had nothing else to say, that he was not about to go where you knew he was going with this conversation.

“They eventually came back, together. They were both very disheveled and Sophia’s dress was on inside out. They.. I’m really sorry Y/N. I hate to tell you this but you deserve to know”

Silence filled the air again before a loud sob from you took it’s place. You heard Max breath on the other end of the line, waiting for you to say something, anything. You hung up not wanting Max to hear you cry.

You sat down at the kitchen table, tears streaming out of your face freely, and placed your hand over you mouth, not wanting Pierre to wake up hearing your cries, you couldn’t face him, not right now. Maybe Max is lying, or just mistaken, thoughts flew through your mind, desperately looking for something to cling on to, anything. Memories of last night flashed through your head, Pierre smelling different, but he didn’t just smell different, he smelt like Marc Jacobs Daisy; a fragrance you did not own. You began to sob harder, now struggling to breath you were worried you were going to pass out. The breakfast you had began to make lay forgotten until you heard a shrill alarm fill the house, it was burning and it caused the fire alarm to be set off. You tried to raise to your feet to stop the food from starting a fire but you couldn’t move. It was like you had forgotten how to walk.

You heard footsteps approaching in the distance, Pierre came running through, awoken by the alarm trying to find out what on earth was happening.

“Mon chéri what happened what are you doing?” He questioned you, approaching the oven before turning it off and removing the charred food from within. You said nothing. You did nothing. The chair you were sat on faced away from him and you didn’t make the effort to turn around, not wanting to see his face.

“Y/N? Hello? Is there a reason you were about to let the building burn down?” He questioned walking toward you, his hands finding your shoulders as he stood behind you. You flinched at his touch. The touch that an hour ago you would had relished in.

Pierre’s brows furred at your flinching, before walking in front of you. Worry washing over him when he saw your face, red blotchy with mascara tears streaming down it.

“Mon chéri what on ever is wrong?” He spoke in a panicked voice, before attempting to pull you in for a hug. His worries getting more intense when you resisted the hug instead of melting in his arms like you usually did.

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice was no more than a whisper but it was the loudest thing Pierre had ever heard. He looked at you, expressionless. You knew, he didn’t know how you knew but you did.

“Is that what you called her last night?” You spoke again questioning him.

His heart sank and he was completely stuck, he had no idea what to do, pretend he didn’t know what you were talking about or be honest and work on damage control. He flicked between the two options, truly unsure what to do. But in the time it took him to decide the decision had been made for him. An innocent person wouldn’t have paused like that, an innocent person would have looked confused, not guilty.

“Y/N..”

“Don’t Pierre, just don’t bother.”

“Please Mon chéri let me explain.” He pleaded, although he wasn’t exactly sure how to explain.

“Ok Pierre, explain. Explain why you slept with another woman whilst I was sleeping in our bed waiting for you to come home” you spat, the sadness in your voice replaced with venom.

“She was all over me. I was drunk. You left and went home. It was one moment of weakness. She isn’t the one I want, you are.” He spoke, tears welling up in his eyes.

You scoffed at his excuse, or excuses rather, he seemed to just throw everything at the wall to see what one would stick.

You began to speak, to tell him to leave and never come back but he continued.

“Please forgive me Y/N. I love you so so much. She was all over me and I was missing you it was a moment of weakness you have to forgive me” he pleaded, repeating his words from before.

“You missed me so you slept with someone else?” The question left your mouth before you had a chance to stop yourself.

He was taken aback by your bluntness.

“Yes, uh no I mean no” he stumbled “I didn’t mean for it to happen, I wasn’t thinking”

You rolled your eyes, about to reply with another scathing comment but the venom and anger left your body in an instant. Replaced with an unbearable sadness. You wanted so hard to believe what he said, to forgive and forget and carry on with your life as normal, to marry the man stood in front of you just like you had agreed to all those months ago. But you couldn’t, even if you could find it in your heart to forgive him, things would never been the same again.

“Please just leave, I can’t do this anymore.” You spoke as you stood up and began walking away from him.

“Mon chéri please-“ he began but when you looked back at him he could see the heartbreak in your eyes and he simply nodded before walking to the door. His hand reached for the door handle, ready to let himself out when your voice broke the silence again. You didn’t want to ask, you weren’t even sure you wanted the answer but you couldn’t not know.

“Was it worth it?” He looked up at you, shame in his eyes. “Was she worth this?”

He sighed gently and shook his head “No Mon chéri. She wasn’t. Nobody would be” he looked at you, waiting for you to say something, anything.

You looked at him, the man you had loved for more of your life than you hasn’t and did the last thing he expected you to do. You let out a very low very soft laugh.

“Then you should of said no”

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #max verstappen #formula 1 #max verstappen smut #pierre gasly smut #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x oc #max verstappen x ox #max verstappen x y/n #f1 fanfic #fanfic

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

Text

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. all my life i’ve dreamed of you.

about. you think that he was made for you. im in the mood for some fluffy husband!bakugou !!

warnings. none. sfw, fluff & gn!reader.

“i don’t mean to be corny,” you say late one night, nosing up the side of katsuki’s neck. “but i think i dreamt you up.”

it’s routine for the two of you to be up together for at least an hour before your husband drifts off — bakugou is old fashioned, he doesn’t believe in blue light and phone screens before bed so you’ll often catch him reading a book recommended by momo in the time leading up to his beauty sleep.

you’ll never understand how he manages to fall asleep upright, but for tonight you convince him to lay back with you in the sheets so you can nuzzle your face into his plush chest.

you feel his ruby gaze on you before you meet it — pulled away from the words in his book. “whaddya mean by that, gorgeous?” bakugou chuffs in amusement, a faint smile tugging on the corner of his lips while he shoves his thumb into the spine of his book to bookmark the page.

“when i was little, i dreamt of someone who loved me,” you start by choosing your words carefully — bakugou has always been a man spooked by love he doesn’t think he deserves and even after all this time together, he still has his doubts as to whether or not he believes you should waste an ounce of time on him. he’s come a long way since when you first started dating. but sometimes even the strongest of people need convincing of why they should get to be loved.

bakugou doesn’t run or flinch away, instead he stills his lungs locked away in his chest and waits with baited breath for the blow you might deal him. the doubts start to cloud his mind. “someone who cared for me the way that they do on tv, someone who adored me the way my grandpa loved my grandma…you get it.” you continue, drawing a heart on his stomach with invisible ink.

“yeah, i get it.” the blonde rasps apprehensively.

you push yourself up, bracing yourself on the tussled fabric on bakugou’s side of the bed to cage him in — glassy, tired eyes searching through the soul that swirls in his own. “what i’m trying to say, is that i’ve dreamt of moments like this all my life and now i’ve finally found the person to share it with. no one has ever loved me the way i wanted to be,” from this position you can see the faded constellation of barely there freckles that decorate bakugou’s skin. you see the war he lived and died through etched into worry lines and creases in his skin. you see it all and you love it all. perfectly imperfect just how you imagined it to be.

“not until i met you, kats. you’re the only person who’s loved me enough for me.”

the exhale your husband lets out expels the fear from his chest and replaces it with a glowing feeling — a happiness in the shade of warm toned yellows and oranges. it illuminates katsuki’s face, eases his stress lines and fills him with reassurance.

“i’ll love you enough f’the both of us. always.” he respond, folding a doggy-ear into the corner of the last-read page in his book. bakugou shoves it to the side and let’s his calloused hand cup the back of your neck — it’s weight reminding you of his presence, letting you know that he’s not going anywhere. katsuki is your dream and yours alone.

swooping down, you paint his lips with a feather light kiss and hum at the taste of minty fresh toothpaste intertwined with his promise of forever on them.

“you’ll have to let me give some of that love back,” you say, contentedly. “i need you to know how much of me still loves and dreams of you.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagines #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fluff #bakugo drabble #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha fluff #mha fluff #mha x reader #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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emsgwenstan · 7 months

Text

I need you when I sleep.

Larissa Weems x fem reader. (Angst)

Words: idk like less than 1k? It’s short and sweet.

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of blood and abuse

Note: I really couldn’t be bothered to continue, kinda angsty. (Italics are for the nightmare.)

———

They were taking her, I don’t know who, I don’t know where, but what I did know is that whoever they are dragged Larissa away and they were going to hurt her. I couldn’t move, practically paralysed, I could only scream out to her, I could only plead for them to take me and let her free, but nothing I did could stop the inevitable.

I don’t understand what they want with her, hasn’t she suffered enough? It feels the same as when I found her lying on the cold stone almost lifeless after laurels attack.

I couldn’t bear to have her taken away from me again, the rage accumulated in my veins seemed to take its toll as I retracted enough to completely rip out of their grasp and one by one I slaughtered every one of them with my bare hands, ripping, pulling, scratching and gouging, yet when I ran to her she wasn’t getting any closer, she was so close but not enough for my reach.

Hoards of people came to drag us further apart and I wasn’t strong enough to fight against them all, so slowly, ever so painfully, I watched as they beat her and ripped at her clothes, I saw the way her blood trickled down her face and blemished her porcelain skin. I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat was raw and stinging. The light and the string of life was barely hanging on by a thread as I saw her tired body no longer struggling.

———

Larissa paced back towards her quarters after sneaking down to the staff room to nick a tea bag and make a hot tea for herself, the insomnia finding hilarity in her drowsy state, she sat in the room scrolling through her phone until the cup was empty, then headed back to her quarters.

However the halls weren’t very quiet for 2:30 in the morning. She could hear yelling that became screaming quickly in the span of 30 seconds, she started to walk faster than turned jogging to the noise, she realised that it was coming from my room, she rapidly knocked on the door but with no answer or pause in the distress she pulled out her keys fumbling to find the master that opens all the doors.

Finally she found it slotting it in the key hole and ripping open the door, the room was dimly lit by a singe candle and the red alarm clocks numbers, she could see my thrashing silhouette in the sheets of my bed and ran to sit on the side of my mattress, Larissa grabbed my sheets and pulled them away for better access. “Shhh darling, you’re alright, come on wake up sweetheart.” She said trying to coax me out of the state. She dragged my body to lay in her lap and gently shake me awake. “No don’t!” I yelled. “Wake up honey! Come on.” She demanded. “Don’t hurt her please!” I screamed. “WAKE UP!” She yelled.

A gasp filled my lungs finally being jerked away from the terror, I looked up to see Larissa’s troubled expression, my body was shaking and exhausted. “Rissa, you’re alright…” I hummed my eyelids blinking slowly. “I’m ok? Y/n…?” Larissa curled her knees up, sat on her hip and elbow peering down at me concerned stroking the sweaty hair from my forehead. “Oh thank goodness.” I sniffed, tears rolling down to temples and into my hair. “You can’t leave me again, you can’t die.” I mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m right here I’m not going anywhere, it was just a very bad dream.” She said cupping my cheek.

After a few minutes I had fallen back to sleep, this was Larissa’s queue to carefully hop off the bed and fetch a cool washcloth from my ensuite to pat down my hot sweat ridden face, neck and shoulders. Gently she folded the cloth and wiped carefully until I lulled awake again. “Please don’t leave.” I whispered with my eyes peeling open just a fraction. “I’m not going anywhere darling.” She lowly spoke back, with my eyes closed again and my hand wrapped around her wrist I said. “I love you, Larissa.” Her eyes widen slightly and her movements are relinquished. Before she could respond I was asleep again.

Larissa discarded the cloth, toed off her flats and removed her floor length robe to get in the bed with me. She didn’t care about keeping her propriety, she didn’t even think twice about how inappropriate it is to share a bed with her employee, because that’s not what I was to her, since the day of her near death Larissa vowed to herself that she would not push me or others away to keep her feelings safe, because if she had in fact died that night what would she have to show for it, no family, no lover, just a home and position she’d leave behind.

Comfortably rested in the sheets Larissa pulls my body closer to hers and ever so softly, she lifts my head to remove the hair from my neck tossing it up against the pillow and guide my neck into the inside of her bicep. Her brows are deeply creased due to the concern, but the longer she looks at my sleeping form it softens, her tense muscles relax, her mind slowly coming to ease. “I love you too, my sweet darling girl.” She whispered, hesitantly she placed a light kiss to my cheek, then finally falling asleep herself.

———

As I rolled over, I noticed that I could feel a dip in the mattress and warmth radiating from right beside me, Larissa. My heart starts racing at the prospect of the woman I love in my bed, asleep in all her glory, my eyes meet her glistening porcelain skin thats illuminated by the streak of sunlight casting over her face from the unclosed curtains. She’s bare of any make up, her usual blood red lips are a soft pink, the scar more evident and more beautiful that wonderfully taints her soft feature, her eyelashes a light blonde completely contrasting to the cobalt blue eyeliner and mascara.

In a moment of confusion I found myself staring at her so intensely that I hadn’t realised she had woken, her eyes fluttering open adjusting to the bright light. “Morning sweetheart.” She said, her voice is deep and laced with sleep, I could feel it vibrate from her chest. “Hi…” I said softly. “Are you feeling alright?” She asked shifting her head out of the sun and onto the pillow I occupied. “I’m fine… what exactly are you doing here?” I asked sheepishly. “You don’t remember?” She asked, her brows furrowing. “I’m afraid not.” I mumbled. Larissa took a big inhale of breath through her nose and stretched her long limbs, as she did so the strap of her silky tan nightgown slipped down her shoulder.

“Early this morning, you were screaming. You had a nightmare and I came in to wake you, it was quite terrifying, I thought you wouldn’t wake… but, you asked me to stay.” She said, her reasons seemed valid, it’s easy to believe the nightmare part especially. “I don’t remember it-… wait.” The memory of the nightmare hit me like a bus, I hadn’t realised I’d been screaming in reality. “Yes, yeah I do actually, it was me and you-… it was awful.” I huffed, I extended my hand and pulled up her strap as if were stoping me from focusing. “I apologise, for the noise, particularly things I might have said… what else did I say?” I asked, pulling the braid from behind her shoulder to trace the pattern in her hair, unconsciously not seeing how intimate this is.

“A few things… you asked for me not to leave you, you were worried I was going to die… tell me, how long have you been having these nightmares?” She asked, tucking the hair in my eyes behind my ear, away from my face. “Since you were attacked. I’ve never been able to get the picture out of my head.” I said. “What do you mean? you saw me?” She asked confused. “Who do you think found you Larissa?” I asked looking directly into her eyes. “I took you to the hospital, I stayed with you every night, every morning, every waking moment of every day, I couldn’t bear for you to be or feel alone.” I said slightly ashamed of how invasive it sounds. “You what?” She asked propping herself on her elbow. “I’m sorry… I was just worried sick, I thought that… never mind.” I said sitting up letting the blanket fall down onto my lap as I covered my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes until I could see kaleidoscopic patterns.

A silence filled the air until it was broken by a whisper. “You said something else last night.” I removed my hand and rapidly blinked for my eyes to readjust. “What?” I asked matching her tone. “You said…” she started, sitting up to be face to face with me. “That you love me… Is that true?” She asked with hopeful eyes. “Yes.” I responded without hesitation. “I thought I would never have been able to tell you that… that I love you, that’s why I was so afraid when you were almost taken away from me… I understand that you don’t feel the same but there’s no sense in denying it, because I do, I love you, so much, and I’m constantly in torment when I sleep because I’m so scared you won’t be with me anymore.” I breathed starting to cry.

Larissa had tears rolling down her cheeks before I finished the statement, she didn’t respond with words, but I knew I was wrong by saying she didn’t feel the same when she took my face in her hands and kissed me gently. “I love you.” She whispered on my lips. “I love you.” She said again. “I need you too.” She said with her lips pressed to mine. Her hands traveled into my hair and my own raised to her neck. Everything felt like it was falling into place.

@sabraaabra @barbarasstar @readingtheentrails

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #principle weems #wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #gwenchrist(ie)#larissa x reader #wlw fanfic #larissa weems x reader

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cupidscrule · 9 months

Text

BLACK CAT

Leon X Fem! reader

P in V, smut

[ no tw, vanillaish idk ]

1.2k wrd

”Woah, woah, slow down” Leon chuckled as you started explaining another cool story to him.

Your relationship was like the definition of a black cat and a golden retriever. You always have so much energy and are nice to almost everyone. Leon on the other hand is a tough agent who doesn’t really enjoy showing much emotion. He’s pretty stern towards others— but his softspot for you is clear.

”Okay, i’m listening. Tell me” He said while you were walking together with your fingers interlocked.

"okay okay! So THEN after Fluttershy wrote an entire song, rainbow dash just decides to throw it out? Ugh she's such a bitch. Don't you agree? I mean her friend went through all the trouble to try and get them to win the battle of the bands but she's so selfish.." you said, going on about a children's movie. You loved cute things, hello kitty, my little pony, really anything a 12 year old girl would be obsessed with, wearing cute little outfits and rambling about pointless stuff. But hey it made you happy and Leon thought it was adorable

"Mhm, yeah, so selfish" Leon couldn’t help but chuckle a little about how into the movie she was. by now he knew EVERYTHING about these stupid colourful horses, rainbowdash, fluttershy, twilight, pinkie, apple jack, list goes on. Honestly from what he knew rarity seemed like the best- I mean she was a boss bitch.

He found the whole thing pretty amusing, you were just so excited about it and he’s glad you have stuff you're so.. passionate about

"I mean, it would probably get annoying if her friend just wasted all that effort right? " He said trying to show his interest in her story.

"exactly! Ugh finally you get it" you said smiling up to him, leaning closer into his side as you two walked down back home, it was a long day. Like REALLY long, you took Leon shopping, got your nails done, bought some new skirts, and a new album. All that sort of stuff, but y'know dragging Leon aside you cause someone had to carry the shit, you were gettin really close to the outside of your house, skipping beside Leon holding hands. Life was like a dream.

But the long day out had Leon pretty tired— he had to drag a lot of your stuff around and you insisted they go to multiple stores (you tried to be nice and let him pick something out but he was too tired and grumpy, I know right such a dick head?)

When you were about to arrive home, he looked at you as you skipped around excitedly and smiled softly. Despite what he’s put through, he can’t deny that he finds your behavior adorable.

He squeezed your hand and chuckled a little before you guys got in front of your door.

"Oo Leon tomorrow we should watch rainbow rocks, then you'll understand what I'm talking about better" you say giggling as you step into your house, taking off your little boots and walking away from Leon plopping your ass on the leather sofa, even if you were like if you gave a six year old crack mixed with sour gummy worms even you could get kinda tired. Right, ain't that surprising? Little princess bitch face getting tired, after crawling over Leon like a little kid and skipping everywhere, runnin, jumping, god doing everything known to fucken man kind

“don’t know if we’ll have the time because of..” Leon muttered under his breath, he didn’t want to upset you and ruin your mood when you’re so excited.

He walked over to the couch and sat beside you silently and just observed you as you started talking about the movie. He placed a hand over your thigh, brushing up and down just silently smiling hearing you decribe your weird ass fictional horse people argue with other creatures from mythology, honestly sometimes he wondered if you needed to be checked into a mental hospital. Little grippy sock princess

“Wellll, maybe we can watch it tomorrow..” He shrugged. “I mean, i’ll do anything you want” Leon chuckled looking over at you.

He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him, his body was pretty warm given how hot the day was and his arm was pretty comfortable.

He kissed you forehead before wrapping his other arm around you, squeezing you a little. You loved when he was affectionate, but not in a creepy way, a cute way. But after a long day a girl can get a bit needy, like sue me but when you have a hot ass man cradling you and taking you everywhere, GOD it's like an angel is sent from heaven to fuck you. But fuck you in a good homemade porno way, not one of thoes shitty ones with a whole plotline. Just straight raw fucking

You turn around, breaking his grip on you before climbing onto his lap, placing yourself onto his thigh "Woah Woah, calm down- y'know I'm tire-" he was trying to speak, silly men. You land a big fat kiss on his lips to shut him up, slowly moving yourself on his thigh, pulling away from him getting a breath, saliva dripping down your face like an animal, staring at him in the eyes, his face slightly shocked you made the first move. But you felt something perk up, bingo. Always know what can make your man want ya

"God I can't just stare at your handsome face and do nothing-" you mutter under your breath, pushing yourself closer into him, kissing his face like a big ol' dog, your free hand finding its way to his jean zipper, undoing it his fat dick springing up, he grabs you by your hips, pulling your panties aside, slapping you onto his cock, a groan coming from his lips, honestly didn't expect the day to end like this, went from talkin ponies to getting your brains fucked out. Like a good girl you ride him, his hands are placed on your hips moving you at a decent pase, bit fast but he did do A LOT of work today, guess he deserves it. Nothing else in the world matters right now, euphoric feeling, he thrusted up into you, taking one hand off your hip and grabbing your face, making you look at him, god his eyes make you MELT. He could take care of you, he was real nice with it. He groped your tits sometimes in public, but just made you love him more.

You're at your high, he knows that. Few more thrusts and you whine, feeling your body melt like butter, your weight collapses onto him, but he's not done practically druling on him, limp body he keeps fucken like a doll, if you still have a tight pussy thats all that matters, few moments and he finishes, pressing you down onto him, filling your cervix, still collapsed on him both of you breathen all heavy. "So babydoll, what happened next?" He groaned, a sly ass smirk on his face. "Mm that cunt rainbow got put in her place and they play fluttershys song" you mutter, pushing on his fat chest, rollin off him like a little kid, pussy dripping. His pants stained with you, and a heavy chest.

"I wanna-"

"No"

"Pleaseee"

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tinycozycomfort · 1 year

Text

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta.

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done.

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for.

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation.

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for.

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him.

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing.

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.”

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?”

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.”

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out.

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.”

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?”

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?”

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.”

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?”

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it.

She might be.

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—”

“Hey.”

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.”

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else.

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class.

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on.

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—”

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.”

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.”

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.”

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home.

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.”

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours.

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream.

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old.

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways.

But it’s not up to you.

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel.

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating.

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome.

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts.

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking.

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged.

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him.

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.”

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull.

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack.

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy.

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take.

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding.

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating.

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed.

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal.

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all.

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him.

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him��one for yourself.

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy.

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it..

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you.

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat.

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?”

“What?”

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?”

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to.

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?”

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself.

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why?

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away.

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.”

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous.

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.”

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more.

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.”

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear.

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other.

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun.

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?”

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.”

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?”

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?”

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?”

“So you can get his number.”

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes.

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.”

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.”

And then you’re alone again.

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed.

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous.

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing.

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet.

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind.

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now.

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion.

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind.

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time.

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement.

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip.

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable. He’s going to be a problem.

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