promiscuouspomegranate

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Incomprehensible Rambling

guys guys GUYS!!! Oh my goody goodness, have I come up with some ideas 🤫😏 you'll get a better story soon but i have this really interesting character in mind for the upcoming story (boyloser failure for those who forgot !!) imagine a reader (Y/N) who's been spoiled rotten since childhood but fails to hold any attachment to items. They have no concept of money and view everything—no matter HOW expensive—as just another trinket. This lack of attachment to items turns into the world and they spiral into a depressive episode. They start to crumble away and their parents no longer cosset or mollycoddle them. They're thrown into the "real" (bro is having their rent and utilities covered 😭) world and have to get a job. They're not the snobby "I'm above working" kind of person but "Holy shit this is so magical" while operating a cash register for the first time. This makes their co-workers jealous or amused but another recent hire is absolutely SPEECHLESS. He gets really curious about how the reader's life has been and they have a painfully awkward conversation. "Yeah, I used to float in our pool for hours at a time when I lived with my mom and stepdad. After that, I'd engage in *insert beauty microtrend* before *insert ridiculous ass rich person activity*. It all felt so empty though... sure am glad I work as a cashier now! What do you do?" "Uhm.. I-I have like.. 500 hours on Overwatch.. and—" "What's that?" Your co-worker starts to feel very bitter about your situation and refuses to believe you ever struggled with being sad. You have so much what the fart? How could you possibly be sad? Whenever you open your mouth and talk about your old life, it offends him. In fact, your happiness with working a job, learning basic life skills, and everything gets under his skin. His 4-chan days (before he upgraded to reddit ofc) taught him that people like you TRAMPLE over his kind heh.. sigmas unite! But you're not. You're just so... you? You have this random small encounter of... Y/N : "Oh, you're closing tonight, right?" Him: "Yeah.. I a-am.." Shut up shut up stop talking to me and looking at me i hate you wait why am i so sweaty shit do i have my axe— Y/N : "I thought you were going to play that game.. Is it Underdog? Shoot.. I feel like it's Undertop. Anyway, you planned to do that with your friends?" He can't even talk because what the scallop.. why are you TALKING to him???? Y/N : "I can take your shift for you! I think it's only fair I do since I missed my.. blah blah blah you're so sexy, you know? I love listening to you explain Alex G to me ! ;)" Holy crap... you remembered something about HIS life? Even his mother forgets his birthday on occasion.. wowzers! He exchanges the "Blackpill" (As the youth says) for the "Lovepill" and decides that you two are soulmates and he no longer hates you!! JACKPOT! He's totally going to make a playlist for you two on spotify and will rizz (stare at you the whole day) you up. I think this would be super funny to write but y'all.. lmk if you fw this heavy or if I need to take my anti-psychotics again.

[promiscuouspomegranate]

btw gang !!!! my little dancer is NOT the poll story. it's just one i've been cooking for a while and decided to get it over with and publish. your boy loser is coming soon dw !

[promiscuouspomegranate]

✧. ┊     My Little Dancer // 1

⇢º. AFAB! Showgirl Reader x Mysterious Person 🤫

.❥❧ Y/N temperament is confident and rude.

TWs: Stalking and extortion. More down the road

You are responsible for the content you consume! Stop reading if you feel uncomfortable.

I never liked the bitter aftertaste Marlboro reds left on my tongue, but I’d still finish the pack by the end of the week—a few days if work was particularly stressful. My former psychoanalyst remarked that I was stuck in the oral stage. I was too drunk to recall how I responded, but I am no longer welcome in his office or most in the city. Anger, what an amusing emotion. I forget where the quote comes from, I was always too pretty to pay attention in school, but most regard it as a temporary loss of the senses. I believe it is a heightening.

I took a final drag of the cigarette before I put it out on my aching neck. I flicked the butt onto the sidewalk and stumbled to the back door. A lithe, timid woman quickly scurried past me, fumbling with her string of cream-colored pearls as she muttered a few curses and prayers. I had half a mind to shout at her for shoving into me, but I was like any other gentleman—couldn’t bring myself to do it when such a pretty little thing was in tears. Poor girl just wasn’t cut out for the life of stardom; I could hardly blame her. Come into a jazz club with those periwinkle eyes and adorable angel curls, and you’ll only last a day before you break.

“Where the fuck ‘ave you been, Y/N? I’m telling ya, I can’t do this shit anymore! I can’t,” My beloved manager shouted in between unsteady breaths, “You’re on in five fucking minutes? Did ya spend so much time whorin’ around in school ya can’t read a clock? I swear, ya woman and your—”

“And our what, Kolenkov? Tread lightly,” I hummed as I strolled past him toward my powder room. I smirked at him to send a benign threat, “If you piss me off anymore, I’ll break the pretty little ornaments on stage… again.”

“Break whatever ya want… ya bitch!” He wiped the sweat off his lightly wrinkled forehead with an embroidered handkerchief and hoarsely shouted for a cola.

“Sweetheart, I think you need water and a beer,” I shouted from inside my room as I lounged at my vanity, “Too much sugar and your poor heart is going to finally give out.”

I muttered the sultry lyrics of my performance as I touched up my makeup. I never let another girl touch my face; jealousy tended to style me when I did. I opened the intricately carved drawer and gently rummaged through it.

“Where did I put it…?”

My practiced gentleness and poise dissipated, and I pulled the drawer out and angrily dumped its contents on the tabletop. In the process, I chipped a fingernail and felt like bursting a blood vessel.

“Laura, for the love of God, where the fuck is my rouge? I’m not wearing the cheap shit on stage anymore. Find me my Djer-Kiss or—”

“I uhm, I don’t know where it’s at, but you’re on in two,” Her lip quivered as she held her clipboard in front of her face. I pushed past her trembling form to get what I needed.

“My hair needs to be sprayed again! Where’s the hairspray at, Annie?”

“Like I know what you do with all your junk! Where’s my hat? Bettie, where is my hat?”

“Keep track of the men you meet up with after shows and maybe you’d have an easier time finding it, Annie.”

“Y/N, your fuckin’ rogue is over here,” Kolenkov’s legs trembled as he puffed out smoke, “Ya fuckin’ bitch! Get out there before you miss your damn cue!”

“Oh, go cool off you fat fucking tomato,” I quickly applied a dark burgundy onto my cheeks and powdered my face again. I rushed past fellow showgirls and slammed into Laura as I tried to grab my heels, “Laura, doll, either you do something useful or you get the fuck out of the way.”

“B-but your—”

I grabbed Laura by the collar of her silk blouse and pulled her close to my face.

“Did you ever wonder what you sound like to others? Because, doll, your voice is something so grating, I can’t even begin to express it to you. So, here’s how it’s going to work, okay? You’re going to stay the fuck away from me until I am shouting for you. I don’t care about what a backstage bitch has to say about my performance,” I took a deep breath and flashed a smile sure to break her heart, “It’s all about me, doll. Maybe if you lost fifteen pounds, you’d be able to sing with the big girls. Stick to Sunday choir, and I’ll stick to fully booked shows.”

I looked down at Laura as she started to cry and scoffed. She wouldn’t last a week more if she kept on fucking crying.

“Y/N, get the fuck on stage, now. I will finally fuckin’ fire—”

“You can’t fire what everyone comes to see; this place’ll close down the second I step out or realize I’m better than this joint.”

I glared at Laura again before reaching behind her to grab my heels. I noticed she flinched, and my brows softened.

“The fuck— I don’t have time for this,” I sighed and shoved past every other girl.

I strutted up the metal stairs and could hear the audience chattering outside. A scruffy man helped me into the bedazzled birdcage, and I slouched on the perch. I emptily stared at my fingernails and swallowed the lump in my throat. Everything had to be perfect.

“The other girls are melting away. Kolenkov is melting away. Laura is melting away. My chipped fingernail is melting away,” I mindlessly maundered as I heard Kolenkov tapping on the microphone.

“Welcome, ladies and gents. It’s truly a pleasure—a blessing from the Lord above—to see so many of ya faces again. Though, can’t say some of ya have aged well!”

I grimaced as the audience roared at his quips and wit; he wasn’t very funny or charming. I knew why they were here. I chewed on my already broken fingernail as he rambled about the girls and how he loved us to death.

“Just—”

“Now, I know when I’m no longer welcome! Honestly, if I didn’t love ya folks so much tonight, I’d have half a mind to kick ya outta here,” He chuckled, and it queued the audience into laughing as well, “But it’s time for the star of our little show here. Ladies and gents, meet the prettiest little peacock in all of America! Introducing our beloved Cherie Flambe, the Pittsburgh Princess herself. Careful trying to get a slice of that pie, ya have one bite, then you finish the whole thing.”

Blood trickled down my pointer finger as the crimson curtains slowly unraveled. I sucked in my stomach and fluttered my long black eyelashes, and the bird cage slowly descended. This was it; it was all about me. The lead saxophonist started to snap his fingers, and the white spotlight nearly blinded my eyes, but thank the stars, I was born for the stage. The second my wine-red lips opened and started to sing that jazz, everyone was utterly enthralled with me. What I wore, oh God, if only I could see those ladies' eyes as they bitterly whispered to their pathetic lover boy, “Why can’t you ever buy me something like that?”

I rocked back and forth in a vibrant array of blues, greens, and purples that shimmered underneath the hot spotlight. My bodice gleamed with vibrantly iridescent plumage that formed some sort of intricate pattern, dipping low enough to reveal the costars of the show. As I sensuously swayed across the stage, my skirt flowed and swished around my hips, and I made sure I not only ruffled tailfeathers, but showed them. As the show progressed, I tore away the skirt, revealing all the flamboyant little feathers adorning my legs. I knew the uptight ladies in the crowd would scoff and flutter their flimsy fans to showcase their disapproval. I wish the same happened to their senile husbands. I threw the old dogs out there a bone when I tossed my garter into the audience.

I blew kisses as the music came to a glorious swell, and I began to glide offstage. I didn’t bother to stay for the raucous cheering; there was always plenty of time to schmooze with all the gentle and rough men after the show. I noticed Annie’s legs were shaking and furrowed my thin eyebrows at her.

“Hun, you’re too much of a catch to be shaking like that. Save that for the lads out there, and they’ll lose their damn minds.”

“Easy for you to say, Y/N…I mean, Cherie! You have a whole lot to show off and, I dunno, I feel—”

“Save your feelings for when the audience heads home. We’ll open up a bottle some sucker gives me after the show, if you don’t find your own.”

I squeezed her and rushed off before Kolenkov could have a heart attack over our interaction. I ambled through the dressing rooms until I came across mine. I rolled my eyes as I noticed the old door was cracked open; Annie must’ve borrowed my lipstick again. I sighed as I sat down, staring at my face in the mirror. I plucked my eyebrows with my tweezers, hoping to cool off a bit—we weren’t allowed to smoke until the ladies were gone, something about etiquette. There was a shy knock at my door, and I knew exactly who was hiding behind it.

“Laura, I’m not actually going to kill you. Look, I— Just say what you need to say,” I yawned and poured myself a glass of merlot to unwind.

“You.. You have some gifts already. C-can I come in?”

“Just leave ‘em outside. Don’t really care unless it’s diamonds or cash.”

“O-okay.”

I waited until I heard her kitten heels scamper to the next thing before I opened the door. I noticed the basket of neatly organized letters, roses, exotic perfumes, and chocolates.

“No wine? Fuck, I’ll have to bat my eyelashes at Kolenkov, these bastards are getting cheap.”

I disregarded the rules of not being allowed to eat in costume as I opened a box of imported French dark chocolates, crumpling the note on top of it and tossing it out. I sorted through the letters and saved the prettier ones to read with Annie. I finished a bonbon and felt oddly nauseous as I stumbled across the last letter. It was damp—never a good sign—and simply had my name on it in a beautiful cursive.

“Oh, what the hell, why not.”

I ripped it open and choked on the piece of chocolate I was trying to swallow. As I spat it up, the half-chewed treat had the decency to cover my nudity. I languidly rummaged through the photos and felt tears burn my eyes. Usually, I’d never be terrified of my body, but I felt like the devil himself was dragging me to hell. I didn’t bother with reading shit the degenerate must’ve written as I tore up the photos. A fist pounded on my door, and I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted metal.

“Get ya ass outta there. You’ll have plenty of time to brood after ya show off to everyone. Got a couple of friends who wanna greet ya, maybe give ya somethin’ nice in exchange for a kiss or two.”

“Uhm, alright.”

There was a brief silence, and Kolenkov came inside.

“Normally, I’d tell ya to get ya shit together, but I’m feeling exceptionally decent tonight,” He sat beside me for the first time in a year and stared at me, “Spit it out.”

“I don’t know, I’m fine.”

“I hate it when women say that, y’know?”

“Better get used to it. Women hate you.”

“Atta girl! Now, c’mon, I’m doing ya a favor,” He extended his bulky arm for me to grab, and he escorted us out into the bar, “These guys are richer than the Rockefellers, I swear.”

I had never felt so exposed in my life, but I guess that was the life I was hellbent to live. I flashed the group a lovely smile, knowing my performance wouldn’t be over until I was alone.

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Oh my goody GOODNESS!!!

Y’all are the best, shut up!!! Thank you so much for liking what I write. It makes me feel appreciated whenever I get notifications… idc what they are, but I feel like a celebrity. I feel like I don’t deserve it, but I’m telling my mind to shut up so I can enjoy this! Love you guys!

I guess I have to be more active now… sigh

[promiscuouspomegranate]

guys WHAT DO I WRITE....

I know what you all are thinking "Gee... do we follow this woman for NOTHING? We have been starved for so long.. she's forgotten about us" (Insert the fuckass ant holding the bag here) but i respond with no my children!!! mother is here but she has been working this summer to chase that bag! i'm having random bursts of creativity as of now... so lmk if you want something!!!

level of cunt i feel after edging my three followers to read what i write

[promiscuouspomegranate]

I’m finally on vacation…

I wouldn’t trade the gloomy ocean of the East Coast for anything. I'm definitely going to dabble in writing soon.

[promiscuouspomegranate]

✧. ┊    Snowflake // 1

TWs: Reader is 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 👅, depression, abusive relationship(s)/dynamics, and more as the series continues.

Remember, you are responsible for the content you consume. Stop reading if you feel uncomfortable!

Boreas expelled the numbing winds of the North, and I felt a familiar shiver crawl down my neck, freezing the words forming in my mouth. My chapped lips parted as I gave asphyxiated apologies to my coach.

"You choked again," Lena mumbled, her thin lips pursed in a scowl, and took the Salem to her lips. She slowly drew the smoke in and exhaled it in my face, "Go home, Y/N."

"I just need more time, please," I gave otiose protests, and Lena took a step closer—too close.

"I'll be waiting in the Mercedes, Y/N," Lena put the cigarette out on my worn athletic jacket, "I hate waiting." "I know," I muttered and watched as her wooden cane hit the concrete.

Tears pooled in my timorous eyes as I glided to the exit, stepping off the rink and into the lockers. I wiped the tears from my face, irrationally untying the laces of my skates before throwing them aside. I shoved my blistered feet into old, off-color tennis shoes before storming out of the building, holding my bulky bag. I didn’t bother bringing my skates home—I’d just return to the rink tomorrow. I tried to stabilize my shallow breath as I approached Lena’s car; she never was fond of criers or, as she deemed it, bitching.

“A bad skater is like a snowflake, Y/N. They are delicate, light, graceful, and—most importantly—they fucking melt whenever there’s heat,” She sighed as I stepped into the passenger seat and tossed my bag in the back, “Are you a bad skater?” “No, Lena, I just—”

“Did I tell you this was a conversation? It is rather amusing how you fail to learn the simplest things after all these years,” Her hoarse voice raised as she pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive, “I’m deeply concerned, Y/N. You’re starting to slip away from the spotlight you once held in a formidable chokehold. You haven’t placed in your last three performances… God, should I even take you to Klutzcow’s?” “Lena, please, I—” She slammed the brakes, and my head hit the dashboard. I felt a sharp pain in my nose as I lifted my head and stared at my lap. “I didn’t fucking ask for an answer. Why are you so dumb? You’re lucky I put up with you,” She practically spat the words out. A single tear trickled down my face but was masked by the blood slowly oozing from my nose. Lena parked the car a little further from my apartment and sighed, her calloused hands brushing against my face as she leaned my head forward to dab the blood with a crumpled Kleenex. Her fingers found their way to my cheek as she gently treated my wound.

“I’m sorry, Lena. I’m so sorry,” I sobbed like a bullied child and felt my stomach twist into knots, “I’m trying my best; I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I get so tired on the rink, and nothing helps. I’ve tried dieting, exercising, meditation—”

“Darling, it’s going to be okay. You’re still the prettiest little skater in the rink; that’s what you’ve always had going for you. I’ll choreograph a new routine just for you, hm? I forgive you,” Her hand lingered on my face after the bleeding stopped, and she smiled for the first time in a month, “Besides, you’re getting older now. Maybe it’s time you retire and settle down; give the kids a shot at fame.”

Before I could protest, she handed me my gym bag and stared at me with her icy, seafoam eyes. I knew it was time to leave, but I wanted to savor her warmth for a moment longer. 

“Thank you, Lena. You always are so… tender towards me,” I looked at her with puffy eyes as I stepped out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow and pick you up to go to Klutzcow’s Saturday. Wear something nice, I don’t want you looking like this,” Lena rolled the window up, and silence permeated the air.

It was a painful walk back to my apartment, and my eyes could barely process the environment. I kicked off my shoes, unzipped my jacket, and tossed it on the floor. I ambled to the kitchen and saw Edyth ordered something for me. Disregarding the strict diet Lena ordered I followed, I brought the battered fish to my lips and made quick work of the meal.

“Aw, I knew you’d enjoy this dinner! You’re always so hungry after practice,” Edyth’s warm arms wrapped around my shoulder, and her chest pressed against my shivering back, “Do you like it? I made it for you, Y/N…” “It’s good, I guess,” I pulled away from Edyth and pushed the empty plate aside. I stood up and stared at the carpet, “Thanks.” “Y/N, why are you so—” “Leave me alone, Edyth,” I muttered and walked to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I slumped down against the wall and could hear Edyth’s voice crack as she said she would buy some drinks from the gas station.

( ఠൠఠ )ﾉ NSFW !!! I took off my athletic wear and climbed into bed, my body aching as I felt the bruise on my thigh throb. I placed my left hand on my cheek, where Lena’s fingers were.

“I’m a terrible skater, aren’t I?” I bit my lip, trailed my hand down to the bruise, and pressed on it. Pain surged through my body, and I let out a cry of discomfort. “A-ah.. Lena, I’ll be better for you,” I breathlessly muttered, moving my hand toward my panties as I roughly fondled myself. Fuck, could I be any more pathetic? I covered my mouth with my right hand and bit my finger.

I could feel a dampness form in between my legs as I slid my index and middle finger inside my panties. Sweat formed on my arms, and I knew it wasn’t just from the heat of the room; I needed it. I whimpered as I rubbed my aching clit, feeling my hips jut up—it had been a month since I last treated myself. I felt blood ooze into my mouth as I ruthlessly teased and prodded my needy pussy.

Her name leaked from my chapped lips and was caught by my clammy palms. The friction from my fingers wasn’t enough, and I owned nothing else. My heart raced and skipped a beat when the front door opened. Edyth never knew when to fuck off, did she? I pulled the covers over my body and closed my eyes, ignoring her knocks on my door. Although it was Edyth's voice asking if I was asleep, I fantasized about the husky, sadistic tone of Lena. . . . It's so obvious I don't write NSFW normally.. isn't it 🙁

[promiscuouspomegranate]

✧. ┊     Dreich / 1

. ➶ ˚ AFAB! Selkie Reader x AMAB! Fisherman

TWs: Abduction, violence, light gore from wounds, manipulation, abuse, and the usual. (FURTHER IN THE SERIES) I gave the reader short hair. Sigh... don't hate me long haired readers 😍🥰

You are responsible for the content you consume! Stop reading if you feel uncomfortable.

The sun had not yet risen, and the waters wore an illusion of darkness—a blurry veil of sapphire that soothed my soul. My eyes crashed to a close like the waves on the rocks. I heard the conches communicate in hushed whispers as the wind howled a lachrymose lullaby to damned souls like me. Did I dare to sing with the waters and profess a forbidden love for the sea? No, I wasn’t the fool I was yesterday or the day before. After all, people change like the tides before it all goes still.

As my kitten heels clicked on the cool concrete path, I looked back at the sea once more. I firmly held my straw hat in place as Notus, determined to blow it away, caused a trickle of sweat to drip down my forehead. I pulled out my embroidered handkerchief and wiped the bead off before I resumed my stroll away from the waters. The distant cries of the mighty albatross of the North Sea faded into the bustling streets of Essex. I hummed as I swooped up a newspaper from the trash, scanning the headlines before tossing it away. I opened my parasol as the sanguine sun stretched its fiery body above the port, piercing every shadow with blinding radiance. Hoarse offers of fresh-cut flowers, baked loaves of bread, imported treasures, and every meaningless trinket imaginable overwhelmed my ears. My nose—ever the detective—picked up the scent of fresh fish, and my mouth involuntarily watered. I blushed when I felt the saliva trickle down my chin and wiped it off with my glove. “It seems I am quite the mess today,” I muttered as I approached the stall, eyeing the filleted flesh with an unspoken urgency.

I removed my gloves as I picked up the headless haddock, resisting the temptation to consume it as is.

“Somethin’ catch yer eye, missus,” A gruff voice chuckled as I set the fish down, “By all means, buy it.”

“My apologies, sir,” I cleared my throat and felt my ears burn red at my indecency, “I just haven’t seen fish that looks so… delectable.”

“Relax, missus, ya needn’t be so stiff ‘round me,” He hoarsely chuckled as he adjusted his stained apron, “Can I cut somethin’ fresh fer ya?”

“Do you sell cod?”

“Of course.” He turned around and seized a flailing cod with strong, hairy arms, setting it on a wooden cutting board. He gripped his knife with a steady hand and, with a quick motion, cut the fish’s head clean off. Blood splattered on his face, and I felt my stomach growl at the scent.

“Seems like someone’s hungry,” He grinned—the way most sailors do—and packaged the fish with practiced ease, “Don’t tell me ya ‘aven’t eaten yet, missus. Yer already too thin as is, delicate thing, aren’t ya? What’s a lovely lady like yourself doin’ in the markets?”

“I haven’t any time to sit down in the mornings; too much to be done then to idly ruminate as I eat,” I took the bag from his hands and—what I assume was intention—felt his calloused fingers against my hands.

“A woman after my own heart,” His gray eyes bore into my soul, and he wiped the blood off his cheek, “Didn’t feel a ring on yer hand too so I won’t have to sneak in through the back.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you any class?,” I gasped and pulled away from him, crossing my arms.

“What’s wrong, little lady? Need me to put a ring on ya finger first? Don’t know if I could afford somethin’ worthy of you,” He smugly grinned as I reached into my purse, “Now, I know yer not offerin’ to pay fer that. Take it, it’s free of charge.”

“Thank you, sir,” I hoarsely responded, trying to make my disapproval apparent through my mannerisms.

With that, I walked away and only glanced over my shoulder once to see a smile that nobody had ever presented to me. Would it be wrong to ask for his name?

“Don’t be foolish, Y/N,” A small, unfamiliar blush swept across my sunkissed skin as I walked into an alleyway, “Man and monster do not go well.”

I unwrapped the package and, with sharp, beastly fangs, tore into the scales of the sea. Blood splattered on the old stone pathway and onto my gloves as I ravished the fish. Its bones cracked in my strong jaw, and I spat out whatever remained of the fish. I threw my gloves away and wiped the blood off of my upper lip; the feeling of hunger still remained but wasn’t as unbearable. I opened my parasol and disappeared into the sharp turns and jagged rock of the unspoken alleys of Essex.

…

His calloused fingers reach into the bins and examined soiled lace that reeked—oddly enough—of fish.

“Seems like we’ve got ourselves ‘nother beast in this town,” He hummed as he pocketed the gloves, instantly recognizing the package.

His eyes widened, and his crooked teeth flashed an unruly, savage smile. He took the gloves out of his pocket and inhaled the scent of fragrance, blood, and sea.

“Yer all mine, little lady,” He chuckled and squinted his eyes as the sun shone brightly, illuminating all that was hidden.

[promiscuouspomegranate]

erm.. i'm somehow still alive help? i'm going to post something soon... maybe idk 😭 I got so busy with school + holiday bs that I haven't had any time to create.. my bad gang

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Guys I’m reaching midterm season + recovering from a sinus infection + reading list is too long… might die. Thots and prayers please 🦑

Anyway, I’m making another poll because I feel like it’s easiest to ask this way. WHAT DO WE WANT TO READ THIS TIME !?

[promiscuouspomegranate]

could we get more on ezra? his character seems interesting and i wanted to see more of him in the oneshot! IT WAS STILL REALLY FOOD THOUGH !!

Me fucking rambling

TWs: Bullying, harassment, self harm, physical violence, stalking, manipulation, unstable home life, Lenore isn’t a good person, and Ezra just sucks.

(I hoped someone would ask for more because I focused on adjectives and “Oo, this sounds pretty” more than the plot… erm.. my bad 💀)

When Ezra was nine–maybe ten, he can’t remember anymore–he witnessed his dad strike his mom across the face. His dad cussed her out over a minor inconvenience and then left her alone to go for a drive. His mom needed her “beautiful boy” to hold and coddle with saccharine affections. She whispered in Ezra’s ear, “You are far kinder than your dad… Never turn out like him, Ezra.” Ezra’s father came home an hour later with a bouquet of roses, and he heard his parents kiss from his room. At that age, Ezra took to heart the interaction and prayed that God helped him flourish in love the way his parents did. God never answered his prayers, but the devil did.

When Ezra was twelve–he could never forget the moment–he felt his childhood friendship with you change. You were starting to flourish and grow in ways he never knew someone could. Your mother had passed away, your father became a deadbeat, but you managed to thrive in your miserable conditions. He viewed you as someone capable and strong.

You ruined his perception when he heard you sobbing at the pond. You were crying for your mom to come back. That’s not what you were supposed to be like. You were meant to prevail by yourself. He already has to take care of his poor mother, now you?

The next day at the cafeteria, Ezra handed you a packed lunch from his mom. He waited for you to thank him and swoon–maybe confess your love if you felt like it–but you were so ungrateful. You hoarsely muttered, “I don’t need this, but thanks.” That’s definitely not how you were supposed to react. Weren’t you needy? You needed him. Stop being so confusing.

Your pessimistic attitude and nihilism–as philosophical as a middle schooler gets–were apparent to others. You arrived late to your classes, you cried in the bathroom stalls, and you were no fun to be around. People used to show false sympathies and whisper amongst each other, “Oh, poor thing, I hope they brighten up soon.” Even teachers pitied you and would murmur in the lounge between gas station cigarettes, “Can hardly believe what it’s like to be so young and lose your mom. I knew her well before she passed, lovely thing. Such a shame she didn’t pass her optimism to her child.”

You first experienced bullying when Ezra, enraged by your unwillingness to acknowledge you needed him, spread a rumor about you freshman year. A tale so disgustingly detailed and grotesquely exaggerated, it just had to be true. He told others in a hushed whisper in the band room you caused your mom’s death, whether willingly or not, he left for people to interpret. The car accident was your fault; you told him in tears, “Couldn’t handle hearing complaints about your father anymore. You snapped and lost her in a second.”

He showed them pictures of you in the hospital and old diary entries about your mother. Soon, people felt revolted by his lie and found you guilty of your mother’s death. Rumors stacked, and suddenly, you were getting things thrown at you in class; people would fight you when you least expected, and you were violently bullied and belittled by everyone.

Ezra realized his plan was working when he overheard a group of girls gossiping, “Bet they miss their mom so much they’re trying to join her in the afterlife. Someone saw them cutting themselves in the bathroom… like; get a fucking life, honestly. I knew them in middle school, and they always had a horrible vibe, y’know?”

Yet, not everyone believed Ezra’s story. The school’s book club knew a plot hole when they saw one, and there were quite a few in Ezra’s rumor. The polished president of the club, Lenore, extended a hand and invited you to her group. She would defend you when one of Ezra’s friends harassed or threatened to hurt you. Although her reputation was battered and she became a target, she stuck with you.

At a snail's pace, your personality resurfaced, and your mind soothed itself. By senior year, you laughed alongside your friends, defended yourself from verbal altercations, and debunked Ezra’s rumor. Only Ezra’s friends believed it, and many had apologized to you for their actions.

Yet, the wound was still bleeding, and you could only apply bandaids to patch it. Yes, your depression faded, but it persisted. Yes, you could walk in the hallways without getting your hair dragged, but you still faced violence. Yes, you had a friend group and a fantastic soul to defend you, but Ezra was still there. Why couldn’t he leave you alone? You used to be friends.

Lenore tried to patch your grief with positivity and smother sorrow with her sweet smile. Lenore would hold you close and whisper, “I’m here for you. Isn’t that all that matters? You have someone to look after you.” In contrast, Ezra would open wounds and stab you with words. He’d always repeat, “Just give up, fisheyes. Some people will always know the truth that you’re a murderer.”

tbh I’d move to Wisconsin in this situation and make cheese for a living !?

[promiscuouspomegranate]

The Fish Cries Too

Reader x Ezra

TWs: Reader suffers from severe depression, bullying, suicide attempt, vomiting, mutual obsession(ish), forced kissing, kidnapping (?), and angst. THIS IS DARK !!!

(… democracy asked for a new male character and damn.. he’s definitely a character!! This got a little rushed toward the end and I’m sorry ��)

I dipped my red Converse in the murky, muddy pond as my hollow eyes examined the playful, pink petals of the waterlilies. Baggy black denim jeans stuck to my skin as I sloshed through cattails and schools of brown-gold carp. The water rose to my midriff, and melancholic moonlight guided me to a floating cardboard box. Trembling hands seized the package and carried it above the water. I vaguely remember setting it down on the grass before my body failed me–slipping to a dreamless slumber in the woods.

.

The song of the mourning dove and the sunlight poking above the treetops caused my eyes to open. I weakly reached my hand out to the cardboard box and softly smiled. What mattered was that Dad’s present was safe; I didn’t care about anything else. I rubbed my head and stirred to my feet–a migraine formed, and I felt sick.

I ambled across uneven ground covered in flat rocks, smashed cans of beer, and dogwood branches. I stepped across the small creek and tripped up the dirt mound. Thorns stabbed my skin, and I bit the inside of my cheek. I jerked away and muttered curses, grabbing the cardboard box. I saw the outline of my home enlarging until I was at the broken wooden fence.

I balanced the box above my head and was careful not to step on rusted nails. My head throbbed as I opened the sliding glass door, waking up my little brother–who insisted on sleeping on the couch in the basement. His curly hair shot up from his train pillowcase, and his wide eyes locked with mine.

“Did it happen again,” His gentle voice yawned and then questioned, “Why do they–”

“It’s a silly prank. It’s what friends do to each other,” I smiled as he approached me, holding his fuzzy teddy bear, “They’re only joking, don’t worry.”

“Charlie doesn’t play with me like that,” He hugged my leg, “Why are they meanies?”

“You’ll laugh at it when you’re older,” I patted his head, “When you’re my age, everyone is mean.”

I guided him back to the red couch and tucked him back in. I waited for him to fall asleep before I went upstairs. I set the damp box on the kitchen counter and taped Dad’s birthday card. He wanted a new fishing rod for his birthday to take on his boat; I found a used one and refurbished it.

I muttered as I wandered down the hallway and opened my bedroom door. I saw my chipped phone screen glowing and hesitated to grab it. I felt something hot burn my throat and scrolled through seemingly endless notifications from the latest hate group chat. Highlights consisted of Ezra calling me ‘Fisheyes’–a nickname that used to be endearing–and videos of my friend Lenore protecting my battered, unconscious body from getting injured any further.

I replayed the video a few times, carefully examining the change in Ezra’s behavior when the fight was broken up. If I hadn’t known him, I would’ve assumed he was a bystander. How fortunate I was that nobody knew Ezra the way Lenore and I did.

I blocked the numbers and turned off my phone. I rested my head on a pillow and stared at the upholstered headboard. I traced my hands along the design and thought about the pond. Memories of playing with Ezra in the water and grabbing fish flooded my mind. I was far too weak to suppress the memories of childhood friendship, and the ringing in my ear reminded me of the Sunday church bell.

“We used to draw together in first grade; in second grade, we played house,” I muttered and felt tears trickle down my cheek, “Now, you wish I were dead.”

A thousand thoughts of suicide entered my mind, but only one remained. I thought it would be rather poetic to drown myself in the pond I spent most of my life around. Perhaps, if there was an afterlife, I could watch Ezra’s smug face crumble into a hallowing emptiness. I almost felt the water filling my lungs as my face paled and something rose from my throat. I stumbled to the trash can in my room, and stomach acid spilled from my chapped lips.

“Sorry,” I breathlessly mumbled to whatever divine being was watching, “I won’t think like that anymore.”

I wiped my face with crumpled tissues and pulled my hair back. The nausea finally cleared, and I felt slightly relieved. Footsteps approached my door, and I gently smiled when I saw my dad’s face. Thoughts of sorrow melted from my mind when I saw a toothy grin.

“Shucks, kid. You did well this year,” He heartily laughed and wandered inside my room, “Say, Mr. Borrego and his son, you might’ve heard of him, Ezra.”

He paused for comedic effect and expected me to laugh. I managed to fake amusement.

“Anyway, we were all going out on the boat, just us lads. But, I think it’d be best to bring my favorite kid with me on my birthday trip,” He patted my shoulder and grinned, “You have the honor of receiving my old rod.”

“I can’t fish, though,” I felt nauseous again and resisted the urge to cry, “I shouldn’t go.”

“Ezra can show you how, fisheyes,” He winked, “Besides, I’ve heard from Mr. Borrego a certain someone can’t stop speaking about you.”

“How lovely,” I weakly muttered.

.

Dad was wasted, and Mr. Borrego was rambling to him about how, in his glory days, he caught thirteen catfish from a single river to impress his buddies.

“I could catch a catfish anytime today, y’know what I mean,” My dad howled with laughter, and Mr. Borrego copied, “Y / N ‘s mother was the only fish for me. What lovely scales she had.”

“Her hands weren’t that callused,” is what I wanted to say, but I knew better than to argue with my dad.

“How I’d love to say something about my wife, but I know Ezra would immediately proclaim it to his mother. Such a mama’s boy, it took him ages to stop cozying up between us in bed when he had a nightmare,” Mr. Borrego took a sip of his beer then pointed at Ezra, “Didn’t you always say it was clowns?”

“Can you cut it out,” Ezra sighed, and his hand tightened on his fishing rod.

“Don’t want to embarrass your son in front of my kid now, Joaquin,” My dad’s eyes locked with Ezra’s, “Lord knows he’ll throw a fit the way he used to all those years ago.”

Silence permeated the salty ocean air, and the gray-blue waves rocked the boat. The soft song of the water made me yawn as my dad looked at me and then over to Ezra.

“I’ll drop you two off at the shore,” He hummed and slowly stood up, “You kids don’t need to listen to us drunk adults ramble anymore.”

“Thank God, I can finally fucking leave this shitbox,” Ezra muttered loud enough for me to hear, “Fucking hate it here.”

I felt frightened and approached my father, who was steadily cruising the old boat towards the docks.

“I want to stay here,” I tugged his blue flannel and whispered, “I don’t want to be alone with Ezra. Dad, I've wanted to tell you for a while–”

“Relax, I know you two kids have the hots for each other,” He stupidly grinned at me, “I know you’re nervous to make a move because I know you. Trust me, Ezra’s dad can’t keep a single secret about his son. The boy is a little more than head over heels.”

Protesting seemed pointless; who was I to ruin my dad’s birthday with silly complaints about fears? Besides, Ezra never laid a hand on me personally; it was always his friends. ‘It was fine,’ the words echoed in my head as the motor’s noise softened. ‘It was fine,’ formed in my throat as my sandals nearly fell off my feet when I stepped on the jagged, algae-covered rocks.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, kids,” Mr. Borrego called out as the motor loudly started.

“We’ll be fine,” my eyes and mouth said.

When the boat was far enough, I looked at Ezra.

“I’ll leave,” The words quickly fell off my tongue, and I attempted to ease the tension, “Just tell them I wasn’t feeling good.”

“No thanks, fisheyes,” Ezra smiled and stepped closer, “You scared or something?”

I was at the edge of the rocks and could feel Ezra's amusement. Yet, it didn’t matter anymore. The waves reflected the pale moonlight, and I saw my face shatter and reform in them.

“You think I’d actually hurt you or something? It’s my birthday gift to your fatass dad,” He laughed and tilted his head, “Oh, forgot you’ve always been obsessed with your dad. Don’t yell at me, please.”

The water called to me like a siren, and I felt an overwhelming urge to

Dive.

The frigid ocean water shocked my body as I opened my eyes. They stung with salt, and I felt hysteria overwhelm common sense. I jammed my foot inside the rocks and felt a delightful pain overcome my ankle. I crammed it further until it was stuck and felt relief sweep over my body. The ocean was no pond, but it was death–how could I complain about my wish?

A year, hour, minute, or second passed–it didn’t matter. I felt my lungs override my hysteric state and could hear Ezra’s hoarse shouting from the surface.

‘Fisheyes,’ I thought, ‘I bet his eyes are wider than mine. I loved Ezra’s eyes; they were always prettier than mine. Emerald green with thick, dark eyelashes. They sparkled when they looked at me.’

.

Warm and cold, then warm once more–the cycle of the ocean and my relationship with Ezra. I thought it’d finally freeze over; I thought he wanted me to die.

“Liar,” I threw up water and seafood dinner. My voice croaked out another, “Liar.”

An overwhelming sensation of pain that was too profound to protest any treatment consumed my nerves.

“You’re fucking insane,” Ezra smacked me across the face and clenched my soaked t-shirt, “You’re actually fucking insane.”

“Part of me hoped you’d save me,” I felt my eyes close and smiled, “I mainly wished you let me die.”

“I wish you fucking died. You’re ruining my life,” He muttered and let go of my shirt, “I hate you.”

“Why, Ezra?”

“Because you’re always on my mind, fucking fisheyes. I can’t focus on anything but you; it ruins my day to see you happy when you don’t even know the lengths I go to.”

“You’re lying. I fucking hate it when you lie.”

A chill crept down my spine when he cupped my face. His emerald eyes were wider than my own when our lips pressed. He crammed his tongue into my mouth, and I felt like vomiting again.

“Lenore always got in the way whenever I got you weak enough to do this,” He wiped his mouth, “Fucking bitch, why are you two still friends?”

“Lenore doesn’t get her friends to beat the shit out of me and doesn’t have fantasies of molesting me.”

“I bet I was your first kiss.”

Stomach acid crept into my throat, and I started to sob.

“Calling my dad and telling him you got tired. I’m taking you back to my place,” Ezra left my cold body on the rocks and cocked his head, “You look like shit.”

“I tried to kill myself,” I laughed and felt hysterical, “You want me to go back with you after this? I’ll throw myself back in the water.”

“Gives me another opportunity to tongue you,” Ezra smirked and grabbed my neck as he called his dad.

“They’re fatigued, Dad,” He stared at me, “I’m taking them back to our place; it’s closer. Besides, Mom loves to see Y / N. No, I– Shut up. I’m leaving now, bye.”

“I fucking hate you, Ezra,” My lip quivered, and I felt frigid.

“Cry it out,” He picked me up and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Democracy has spoken and asked for a new male character. Expect to meet Ezra sometime this week!!

I am going to take my time writing this one. It may focus more on technique, so I apologize if it sounds a little rough/confusing.

Have a phenomenal week, everyone 🦑

[promiscuouspomegranate]

HELLO !!!

I’m thinking about what to write to keep you guys entertained! I will do a mini poll because I have more than FIVE followers (Internet icon.. no need to remind me).

[promiscuouspomegranate]

still not recovered from the Carnell x reader… i need more of him.. 🤤🤤🤤

please i need one where instead of that STUPID IDIOT SAYING HE HATES US we go in and smooch his lips and it doesn’t even have to end with abduction i just.. i need my man 🤤🤤🤤

TWs: Carnell couldn’t handle the kiss and got too excited… 😞

He might offer a handkerchief first for all that drool..!

But if you kissed him.. it might’ve gone a little something like this…

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door. My hand weakly opened the door, and I stepped inside.

“You’re late again,” Carnell playfully teased, “I assume you barely made any progress on our song?”

I almost retorted but took a deep breath.

“Carnell, could we try something different today? I need help learning a song on the piano,” I took a step closer and set my violin down, “Could you help me?”

“I– Of course, I could assist you, Y / N,” Carnell seemed flustered and put his sheet music back in its black binder, “Besides, considering how miserable your violin is, you will need the help of the best to teach you how to play.”

Usually, I would think of a witty comeback, but I decided to let Carnell boast. After all, I figured his resentment was his way of poorly masking his innermost feelings toward me.

“This song is uhm,” I felt my hands shake as I gripped the piece of paper. Sweat stained what was once pristine, and I nervously muttered, “It’s a bit abstract in how you uhm.. perform it.”

“What do you mean? Here, let me see it,” He grabbed it from me before I could protest.

I watched as his eyes widened as he read the song. I felt my heart pound as he shakily set it down on the bench.

“Your song is terrible,” He furiously blushed and scoffed, “I’ve seen better compositions from elementary students. I suppose, out of kindness and pity, I will teach you how to perform it.”

I sat beside him on the bench and set my hands on the cool, white keys. Our thighs brushed against each other as the song “For Carnell” stared into our shy souls.

“You want to start your fingers on the middle C,” He grabbed my hands and positioned them to the right spot–disregarding any musical knowledge I had.

“Like this,” I coyly asked, deciding to play into his little fantasy, “It’s been a while since I last played piano.”

Instead of listening to his instructions, I let my hands cautiously wander down the keys to his. I moved closer to him on the bench and awkwardly attempted to flirt.

“Your hands aren’t as rough as mine; it’s nice,” I felt a heat rise in my face as I regretted my choice of words. I fell back to my old ways and quickly added, “Hah! I guess that proves I practice more than you do.”

Silence filled the air like a burning fire, and our fear of vulnerability kindled the flames.

“I fear you are mistaken, as per usual,” Carnell lightly held my hand and examined it, “Your hands are like delicate little p-petals.”

“The skin on my hands is rough,” I guided his hand to my blushing face, “It’s softer here.”

Eyes locked and lingered on facial features as shyness slowly transformed into yearning. The sun seeped in from the window and highlighted natural beauty. Reality blurred as hidden fantasies emerged.

“You’re a pretty boy, Carnell,” I stopped thinking and softly smiled. I leaned in closer and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” He murmured and closed his eyes.

Arms wrapped around bodies as lips revealed every unspoken feeling. I felt our hearts touch as his lips passionately pressed against mine. I slowly pulled away and savored every moment. A stupid, lovestruck smile swept across my face as I sighed.

“I was hoping this would happen,” I chuckled and stared at him, “Do you like me, Carnell?”

Silence filled the air again as my heart ached for an answer. I felt his hand firmly grab my arm as I looked at him dumbstruck.

“I don’t just like you, Y / N,” His eyes widened as a saccharine smile plagued his face, “Oh, I am fervently and exceedingly devoted to your existence. You are my sun and my moon, my goddess and my devil, and my muse and damnation.”

His words felt unnerving and his mannerisms were no longer charming. His fingernails dug into my skin as his affections overpowered his reason.

“Kiss me again,” He pleaded, “I want to feel your mouth all over my skin.”

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Illicit Ivories

TWs: Stalking, Manipulation, Carnell is condescending, bullying (sort of), forced kissing, and angst (kinda).

(There is so much tension between you two, and you are CRUSHING!.!.! This is softer, but if there was a part two.. you’d see 💀 Enemies to lovers enjoyers come feast !! Yet again, another sleepy write pasted from notes.)

Each callus on my hand faintly whispered a story of my musical past, from begging my parents to buy me a violin in 4th grade to my first piano solo in middle school and restless evenings rigidly practicing sonatas for Macherów’s entrance exams. Every little chipped fingernail, bloody finger, and tear shed was all I could offer to such a grand university. Yet–although I am not entirely loyal to any god–I found divine intervention, and an accidental performance with a professor allowed me into the school of my wildest dreams.

The campus was nothing to write home about, but it was the prestige and education that set Macherów apart. Many of the contemporaries graduated from Macherów–except for a select few who decided to dabble in the University of the Muses would help them excel. Yet, I firmly believed that only the world's elite musicians came from Macherów. Those who failed to get in were better off playing piano for an elementary choir recital or tuning instruments in a music shop.

I gripped my sticker-covered violin case and headed toward an empty practice room. For, I believe I finally found my Melpomene to my Thalia. Carnell was an ostentatious, melodramatic, and horrendously talented musician I despised more than any mediocre musical performance. He relished competing with me in every aspect of music and boasted whenever he bested me.

The professors must have been severely intoxicated or praying for my unraveling–perhaps a bit of both–when they announced a graded concert. I remember hearing people gossip and whisper amongst themselves when I saw two names written in bold.

“Carnell and Y / N – An original duet composed by both.”

“Fucking Cosend must’ve been behind this,” I mumbled and pulled out ink-stained, crumpled sheets of paper, “He’s a madman, but fuck.. he knows how to arrange a good performance.”

I heard the door open and rolled my eyes as Carnell entered, his glasses at the tip of his nose, his long, black hair pulled back with a blue ribbon, and his pristine clothes tightly fitting his scrawny body.

“Wait.. fuck no. No! Y / N, he is not fucking attractive,” I thought and glared daggers at Carnell.

“I hope you intend on putting more effort into your appearances as well as your playing,” He advanced to the piano and smirked at me, “Have you tuned your instrument yet?”

“I’d worry about your piano playing; try not to hit the C sharp key so much this time,” I took my violin out of its case and began to warm up. I slightly blushed when I realized it was out of tune, “Don’t you dare fucking say anything.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take things seriously, as per usual,” He hummed to himself and took out the composition he worked on, “Now, you need to start with an E. Do you need assistance finding the right fingering?”

“I will fucking kill you with my bow,” I grumbled and positioned my fingers, “I hate you.”

“Oh, but I thought I was the miserable wretch? You are quite amusing, Y / N, full of contradictions and lacking in musical proficiency,” He laughed the way he usually did and smiled his stupid smile. His laugh always came from his stomach but sounded elegant despite its volume.

His smile was always mischievous at first as if he knew something you would never understand. Then, he showed his teeth, and his nose slightly crinkled. It softens his rigid, upper-class ego and looks. It made him look friendly and…

“You played the wrong note again,” He chimed, and I snapped back to reality.

“Whatever,” I muttered and resumed playing.

•

I took a spoonful of fruit as my friend knowingly smirked at me.

“You love Carnell; you’re so in love,” They loudly teased, “At the end of the duet, you should confess your passionate, animalistic desires to your lover!”

“S– Fuck off! Don’t talk so loud,” I blushed and covered their mouth, “Fuck you so much.

“Not as much as you want to fuck Carnell. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that in class today,” They grinned and gasped, “What if I told Carnell for you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I loudly whispered and glared at them, “Stop talking about Carnell, I don’t like him.”

They burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and I felt my face burning.

“Oh shit, he’s right there,” They froze and pointed behind me.

I jumped and turned around, seeing nobody there. My friend started laughing again, and I splashed my water at them.

“The way you jumped! You sprang out of your seat,” They fluttered their eyelashes and spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, is that my dearest Carnell waiting for me? How I wish to kiss his chapped lips and play with his ugly hair!”

“His hair is not ugly,” I scoffed, “You should focus on Lila’s horrible outfit choices.”

“Lila dresses like a sexy librarian, okay? She wants me so bad,” They groaned and slammed their hand on the dining hall table, prompting some people to look at us.

“But.. does Carnell talk about me in class? Seriously, don’t tease me, or I’m telling Lila that you’re not interested,” I pleaded, “I will finish the rest of your theory work, please!”

“You are so desperate,” They smiled and leaned in, “But.. I might have heard that he got caught practicing a song with your name on it.”

“You’re fucking with me,” my jaw dropped, and I giggled, “No, you’re actually fucking with me.”

“It was so Carnell worded too,” They took a bite of their all-melon fruit salad, “To my dearest Y / N, or some corny shit like that. Anyway, let me know when you two make out during practice. I might’ve pressed my ear against the door once or twice, and oh my gosh… You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry, he does too. Normally, he’s an asshole to everyone.”

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door.

“Carnell, do you like Y / N? C’mon, just tell us, dude,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say as I listened in on the conversation, “There’s a rumor going around you wrote a song about them.”

“Oh, you honestly believe I would dedicate one of my songs to someone so vulgar and disorganized? Please,” Carnell scoffed, and I could picture his eyebrows furrowing, “I would rather dedicate a song to bile than write a measure in her name. She’s a terrible musician; you haven’t had the displeasure of working alongside her. Her head is always in the clouds, which is probably why she’s so breathless and air-headed whenever we rehearse.”

I felt my heart sting as he continued.

“I look forward to the end of this concert so I can get back to focusing on real music,” Carnell sighed, “Her saccharine, sappy, and utterly abysmal compositions make me want to cut my fingers off and never play any instrument again.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” The voice laughed, “You suck.”

I heard footsteps approaching and hid inside a different room. I waited until the person was gone and went into our practice room.

“You’re late, Y / N. Right when I assumed you were beginning to take our practices seriously,” He playfully teased.

“Sorry, I guess I’m too much of a fucking airhead to remember anything,” I felt my emotions get the better of me as I clenched my case, “Maybe if I weren’t so stupid, I’d do a better job composing.”

I could see Carnell was taken aback and dropped my case on the ground.

“You know, Carnell, I actually really fucking liked hanging out with you. I thought our dynamic was fun,” I felt hurtful tears trickle down my face, “You– Carnell, I can’t believe you’d say that shit about me. I.. I liked you in a stupid, high school crush way. I was going to buy you fucking fresh-cut roses for the concert and shove them into your hands.”

“Y / N, I–”

“No, fuck you. I don’t want this duet to happen. I’m going to Cosend and telling him I quit,” I stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I felt myself crying as people whispered and pointed. I pulled out my phone and called my friend.

“Pick up,” I muttered and shoved it into my bag when they didn’t answer, “Damn it, they’re probably too busy fucking harassing Lila.”

I stormed off to the school gardens and took a secret path my friend showed me. I sat under a massive oak tree, pulled out a sheet of music titled “To Carnell,” and began to tear it into pieces. I cried and felt an irrational hurt in my heart.

“Fucking prick,” I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and took a deep breath, “I’m never talking to him again.”

I heard frantic footsteps and poked my head up. I caught a glimpse of a navy blue vest and immediately knew it was Carnell. I gathered the torn-up paper and stumbled to my feet. He panted as he stood before me, gripping a bunch of papers.

“What do you fucking want,” I croaked and mentally cursed myself for sounding so pathetic.

“Y / N, please, listen to me,” He took a deep breath, and I noted that he seemed slightly manic, “There’s a confession I have yearned to tell you ever since freshman year.”

“That you despise me and think I’m stupid,” I mumbled and tried not to cry again, “I got the message.”

I looked at his face and felt shocked when I saw how wide his eyes were. I stepped back and felt like something was terribly wrong with him.

“Oh my word,” He laughed, not as he usually did, but breathlessly and erratically, “This feels so unreal. I can barely believe that you reciprocated my feelings. Obviously not to the intensity I have, but still, you love me.”

He shoved the papers in my hands, and I looked through them. They were dated back to freshman year and were all dedicated to me. The content varied from musical compositions, dramatic sonnets, and poetry to ink-stained confessions with details that sent shivers down my spine.

“You are my muse,” He took a step closer, “When I laid eyes on you for the first time, I thought that the heavens were deceiving me. How could someone so perfect be at this university? When I heard you play for the first time, I had to excuse myself from the classroom. I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed. The crimson red reminded me of your favorite pen–the one you still use despite it being taped.”

He grabbed my arm, and I saw an eerie smile creep over his paling face.

“Your conversation with your friend at lunch today, I overheard it,” He leaned in closer, “You confessed you wanted to kiss me. Well, let me confess something as well: ever since I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve thought of ravishing your body.”

“Carnell, please stop,” I mumbled and tried to pull away, “You’re freaking me out.”

He feverishly placed a kiss on my lips, and I felt my eyes widen. He quickly pulled away and whispered words of excitement.

“Hah! This– You are so much better than I ever dreamed of, my beloved,” He tightly embraced me, and I could hear him smelling my skin, “I-I need more of you. We need to finish our duet, dear.”

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Hi I just wanted to drop in it's telling you that I absolutely love your writing is that even if you have one post I love it .your writing style is just delicious if it was a meal I'd rate it 10 out of 10🦇

aw.. shucks…!!! thank you so much I love the compliment I love it thank you thank tank thank you 🤭🤭🤭

(You are my favorite now….)