#I don’t have any hopes or dreams of goals to keep me going | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babygorewhore · 4 months

Text

Tempo

Frat!Rafe Cameron x sporty! fem reader!

As Kiara’s older sister, gifted athlete and now college student, you never had time for dating. Or time to acknowledge your secret crush on Rafe Cameron. But when your eighteen year old little sister visits, she pushes you to attend one of his parties.

W.C. 2.4k. I was requested by anon for inexperienced!reader! And size kink! I hope you enjoy!! I lowkey wanna burn this lol

Warnings! I am NOT an athlete by any means so this is very vague lol. Size kink! Inexperienced reader! Manhandling, slapping kink! (Rafe likes to be slapped) degrading, praise, oral! Fem receiving! Unprotected sex! Reader is sporty and frequently works out. Kiara is also OOC but it’s my fic lol. Dividers by @xxbimbobunnyxx

Getting a visit from your parents and little sister motivated you for the performance as you accepted flowers and praise after the competition. Your mother and father finally allowed Kiara to stay the weekend with you on campus, you managed to convince them that your eighteen year old baby sister would be completely safe with you.

You knew they were mostly attempting to keep her away from Pogues back home but with your down to earth nature she felt comfortable to get along with you.

“I don’t know why you’re wasting your time studying something else. Why don’t you go to a fancy art school or some shit? Follow your dreams!” Kiara flopped on your bed in your dorm and you sighed.

“Because. Sports aren’t a long lasting career choice for me. Besides, if you want to live with me, I need to have a good paying job, right?” You countered as you sipped a protein shake.

“You need to stop thinking about everyone else. Think of yourself. You don’t have a life. All you do is study, work and compete. You’ve got to be so bored.” She argues, folding her arms.

“I’m not bored, Kiara. I stay busy and I’m fine with that. And I do have a life! I have a few friends and I have you.” You mumble and she lifts herself up, walking over to you and lightly elbows you.

“You know how much I hate them, they’re a waste of money that could be used for donations but what about parties? Have you gone to any?” Rolling your eyes, you groan at her lecture.

You knew she was jealous of your freedom, considering her relationship with your parents and her full time job. But she also didn’t understand you. The pressure you’d always been under. At a young age, you were in gymnastics. Building your body like a machine while you spent everyday challenging yourself to meet your next goal. And you were good at it.

Your wall was covered in medals, your shelf had a few trophies and photographs of your proud moments.

Dancing was a natural evolution for you. Something you’d discovered when one of your gymnast friends opened their own studio after graduating high school a few years ago. The fluidity of movement, the tempo of the beat and music brought you to life. You were strong, frequently at the gym to keep up with having to flip yourself around in the air with your part time job that was physically demanding.

Your life was fast paced, a competitive streak in your blood motivated you to remain disciplined and focused. Your guilt for being so busy was one of the reasons you wanted Kiara to stay with you this weekend. But she did have a point.

You didn’t have time for dating. You’d never had a boyfriend, guys in the past weren’t exactly pleased that you could fairly put up a physical fight given your athletic lifestyle and razor sharp drive. Men found you…boring. You had an obsession with Halloween and darker things too. It was a nice change from the neon uniforms you were forced to wear.

Her question about parties reminded you of a instagram post you were tagged in yesterday and Kiara must have sensed your train of thought. “Don’t tell me you were invited to one and you’re not gonna go?”

“I’ve been too busy! Plus I wanted to hang out with you-“

“It’s tonight?” She shrieked and started shoving you to your bedroom. “What the hell are we doing? You need to get ready.”

“Kiara, I’m not going to some stupid party. I’m tired from dancing earlier and besides Rafe Cameron isn’t going to notice one person who doesn’t show up.”

“I fucking knew it. You’ve been crushing on that asshole for years. That’s why you were so happy you got into this school.” She accused and you defensively shook your head.

“No I haven’t-“

“Me and Sarah knew you liked him when you shoved him in the pool years ago when he was messing with us when you were life guarding. And that’s why you always offered to babysit during high school. You just wanted to be near him.” Kiara made your jaw drop and you turned away.

“That’s not true! He’s a dick! Why would I like someone like Rafe? That’s why I’m ignoring his invitation.” She extended her hand.

“Let me see the post.” You grumbled something about how your little sister was the one bossing you around and you slapped your phone in her palm.

She read the invite with her mouth parted. “It’s a fucking Halloween themed party? You can dress up and you’re not going? He’s obviously obsessed with you.” You yank your phone back.

“What are you talking about? He’s not!”

“He was there tonight. I saw him watching you dance in the crowd.” You gasped and you felt your cheeks burn. “And now, he’s doing something knowing you like it. Get out of those damn sweatpants and put on something cute. You’re going to that party.”

“No I’m not! I don’t like Rafe Cameron and listen here you little goblin,” Kiara ignored you as she dug through your drawers for another set of clothes.

She tossed you an oversized shirt with skulls on it, knee socks and your converse. “Here. This is good.”

“Why do you want me to go so badly? You hate Rafe!” You complained and she waved her hands.

“Yeah I do. But I want you to have fun. Let loose for one night. Show off what you worked for and finally put yourself first.” You raised an eyebrow.

“You really wanna talk to someone don’t you and you don’t want me hovering?” She was finally silent for a few seconds and you smirked triumphantly. “Fine. I’ll go to this damn party.” You walked away, preparing to change clothes but you gave her a light smack upside the head.

“Ow! The hell was that for?” She whined.

“For telling me what to do.”

You felt your heart in your throat as you knocked on the door of the house where the party was held. You could hear the sound of music and chatter from behind the door as you shifted your weight from leg to leg.

Your face was covered in makeup and your jewelry dangled from your neck as you waited. The entrance opened and Topper ushered you in. “Hey! Look who it is! The girl of the hour!” His arm slung around your shoulders and the bustling crowd cheered. You awkwardly smiled and waved. Girl of the hour?

“Cmon. Rafe is upstairs.” Just the mention of the males name made you swallow thickly and you followed him. A lot of people were wearing costumes, fake blood and merchandise from scary movies.

You recognized Rafe because of his clothing and body but his face was covered. He was wearing a Ghostface mask. Plain black shirt and jeans. Your eyes widened briefly when he turned, noticing you before you smoothed back your nerves and approached him. He met you half way and looked down at you, mask tilted.

“You did show up after all, princess.”

You give him a smile. “Yeah I did. I heard you were at the dance. Did you like what you saw?” You didn’t know where this confidence was coming from but he seemed to be enjoying it. Rafe stepped a little closer, “Oh I loved it, baby. That’s why I told everyone to dress up. Gotta celebrate my little champion, huh?”

“Champion?” You parrot and he chuckles.

“Of course, Angel. You think I’m stupid or something? I’ve been a big fan of yours for a while. I couldn’t wait to get you here so I could have you all to myself.” He trails off quietly and you feel his big hands settle on your hips, squeezing lightly.

“Well, we’re not alone,” You respond and he tugs you against him, as much as you love the mask, you wanna rip it off.

“Easy fix, baby girl. C‘mon.” Instead of walking, Rafe lifted you off the ground and you squeaked. Throwing you over his shoulder, he walked through a hallway before opening a door.

Rafe easily tossed you onto the bed, the plush covers and pillows bounced. You shakily sat up as he tore off the mask and looked down at you with a dark smolder.

“Oh, princess. You have no fuckin idea how long I’ve wanted you in my bed.” He leaned down and put both hands on either side of you as you looked up at him, doe eyes staring into his.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why would you like me? I’ve never told you-“

“Like you? Baby, I don’t just like you. I think about you all the time. No one else has made me feel like this. You’ve always stood up to me and didn’t put up with my shit. You think it’s a coincidence that I liked to push your buttons when we were kids?”

You’re breathless as he tugs on the end of your shirt with a smirk.

“I like a girl who pushes back. You’re my strong girl, hmm? But not tonight. You’re not in control for once. I am.” He grips your waist, your bare skin from your top pulled up and your core pulses.

You reach up, lightly smacking him in the face. “You think you can earn my submission?” Rafe gives you a chuckle and flash of excitement crosses his eyes.

“Princess, by the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna be my little fuck toy. You just wanna push my buttons so I throw you around.” His words turned you on more and you shudder as goosebumps rise on your skin. “Slap me again. Get a good one in too.”

“You serious?” You whisper and he nods.

“What? You too scared?”

You slap him. Hard. Hard enough that his face turns but Rafe doesn’t look angry. “That was a good one, baby. But I’m gonna make you forget any other fucker. I’m sure all those other dudes are all over you at the studio or some shit.” He grunts and tugs off your shirt. Exposing your torso and bra.

You have the urge to cover yourself but you resist. “I don’t have time for dating.”

Rafe pauses and raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you haven’t dated? You a virgin?”

You bristle. “No but…it’s only happened once.”

Rafe cups underneath your arms and manhandles you higher on the bed. You don’t have time to breathe before you find yourself pinned with your arms above your head, his face inches above yours. “Bet you’re soaked right now. Underneath those panties you wear.”

He reaches in between your legs and cups your cunt. “God damn, princess. This what you needed? Me to take care of you? Shut off that overthinking head of yours?” He muses and you cup his face bringing him down to fuse your lips together in a messy kiss.

He moans against your mouth and shoves his tongue inside, you separate your legs and tug him closer.

“Gonna taste more than your mouth, baby girl.” He promises and kisses down your body, peeling off your underwear.

“I’m gonna worship this perfect pussy. I’m gonna take such good care of my girl,” He mutters against your pelvis. Rafe shoves your thighs apart and buried his head in, making you groan and dig your fingers onto the sheets.

His tongue laps hungrily at your clit, sucking in all your wetness as he moans and grinds on the bed. You whimper as he fucks you with his mouth.

“You like that, babydoll?”

“Mhm! I’m gonna cum,” You stammer and he lifts up, his massive body flexing as he rips off his shirt. Exposing his fit body.

“You’re gonna cream on my dick, then you’re gonna clean it up. Are you going to be a good little whore?” He breathes and you whine.

“Mhm, yes. Please, fuck me. I need it so badly. I want you to fill me up,” You beg and he shoves off his pants. His big, thick dick slapping against his thigh.

“How can I say no to such a pretty girl?” He gives your bare ass a slap before he pumps himself a couple of times, his cock in his fist before he presses into you.

You mewl and bury your head in his neck. He growls and thrusts, hard enough that you almost feel like you’re gonna burst from how big he is. But he quickly adds his fingers to rub your clit.

“This fuckin pussy is mine. It’s so tight, splitting you in two, baby girl. Gonna breed this perfect cunt.” He huffs and your eyes squeeze shut as your peak rises.

“That’s it, princess. Cream on my dick.” He praises and your climax overwhelms you.

You cry out and sink your teeth into his naked shoulder and he moans. He moves harder, bringing slight pain but it only adds to your pleasure. He spills in you, “Gonna stuff you so full of cum you’re gonna be a brainless little doll.”

Rafe pulls out, pumping himself again as cum drips onto the bed. “Give me that pretty mouth, princess. I wanna see your eyes roll back. You can fuckin take it. Like a little champion.”

Tagging @marchsfreakshow @xxbimbobunnyxx @drewstarkeyslut @redhead1180 @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @rafescurtainbangz @rafeinterlude @gri959 @rafesthroatbaby @slvt4jamesmarch

#rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic

257 notes · View notes

punksocks · 5 months

Text

Warning Signs That You May Have A Toxic/Karmic Significant Other

Hey everyone, you may have seen my recent post about breaking up with my ex partner after 5.5 years. If not, I’ve been deep in reflection after ending this relationship. My reasons for ending it were that he refused to seek professional help to manage his anger which would come out in constant outbursts of violence (not physical ab*se but hitting walls, kicking furniture, scarring my dog, etc) and his mental health in general. After breaking things off I analyzed our relationship and all the red flags became crystal clear in hindsight. This blog is not only my emotional space to reflect, but also a place to give out advice to make sure you guys feel less alone in the world. So I’ve compiled a list of behaviors that made it clear that in hindsight the relationship was destine to be toxic and could not continue. It’s important to take lessons from painful experiences in order to continue to grow, and that’s what I hope I can help with by sharing my experiences here:

(TW Manipulation, Distressing Themes, Emotional Ab*se)

- They hate your intuition: (they work to make you doubt whatever means you have of self guidance. Whether that’s tarot/astrology, or spirituality in general, or therapy, or your simple gut feelings/reactions to things. They hate them because they know that they’ll be singled out at some point by them so they work to make you not believe in yourself through manipulation/gaslighting. My ex would constantly say the tarot is going to tell me to break up with him, but he never really changed he’d just belittle it and say I was getting weird about spirituality and he’d try to make me doubt myself or choose between the tarot and him. When I asked him to go to therapy he would also say that he was worried the therapist would tell him to break up with me-implying I was the problem. When I would ask him to go anyway he would find a way to avoid it- saying it’s too expensive, too hard to find, he doesn’t have time, etc)

-They constant give you advice that puts you in harm’s way: (My ex always told me I was too quick to cut off people that threw me under the bus and that I was paranoid. When I found out my former business partner was being shady and stealing from me, he told me to keep working with her. I said I had to take things over. He said I had no chance of covering the expenses on my own and that he wasn’t going to help me at all even though he was working a consistent 9-5. I rationalized this as putting too much pressure on him to support me through my apprenticeship over the previous few months, even though by the time we were having this discussion I had picked up a seasonal 9-5 to compensate for starting the business. I still felt guilty because I was asking him to cover the rent at home while I built this business up. I ended up wracking up debt over trying to cover everything myself and he was telling me I was going to fail every step of the way. When I didn’t fail and the business remained open over a year later, he said he had always believed in me every step of the way.)

- They rewrite history (that’s the other thing- when I broke up with him he said it was his idea to open the studio in the first place. This was a lie. A bold one at that. At the time I would have had to become self taught due to dealing with several egotistical mentors (wow thematic) and I looked for positions in other studios and there were none. My ex told me I should “pause” my goals. I told him I’ll open up my own space with another artist. He had a long talking down to me about how we couldn’t afford any of that, and how impossible it was, etc. But I went through with it anyway, effectively doing all the work on my own. He constantly told me what I was doing was crazy. But I made success out of it, thank God. Now my ex is trying to take credit for the whole thing as if I don’t remember what happened. Audacious.)

- Instead of having their own dreams they focus on wearing yours down (I have so many big dreams I want to accomplish and every other idea I shared with my ex was pushed back on or breadcrumbed. I wanted to live abroad, he’d say it’s too expensive but maybe he could find a way to make it work if I stopped putting so much pressure on him. I took over my own business, he told me I shouldn’t do it and should quit while I’m ahead. He would always try to counter every idea I had with a “logical reason” of why it wouldn’t work. He would try to control me by doubting me and in turn trying to get me to doubt myself. I never actually listened to him in hindsight, and when I pushed through successfully he would pretend to have been on my side the whole time.)

-They always compare you to their exes, in bold ways (My ex would always go out of his way to bring up his past relationships. The examples and instances were never appropriate. But one of the first worst early examples was when we were at a show. My friend’s band was playing. In the middle of the set he decided to look up his ex on social media. I was clearly uncomfortable but he continued. Then when we’re talking he brought up a nickname she used to call him that was inappropriate. When I was upset by this he threw a shirt (merch gifted to him by my friend’s band) in the booth almost hitting me with it and he stormed off. He made himself seem like the victim in a situation where he was trying to bait me into starting a public argument and yet made me soothe him afterward.)

- The betrayal of not ever being believed (early on this was another giant red flag in hindsight. I’m black and I tried to explain colorism to him, while I was having a bad experience with it. He’s white and should have been listening and understanding with open ears. Instead he tried to argue me down for being “mean” to light skinned black people. In the experience I was talking about how a mixed femme at work established a boundary with our white bosses to try to avoid racist harm. They let the femme do this without any pushback. I tried to establish the same boundary in the same meeting and those white bosses accused me of actively refusing to do my job. I told my ex this was colorist and that’s when he argued with me about this. He didn’t believe my experiences until he googled “the right articles”. When I brought this up in the future he would say he was just trying to see all black people as equal. It was a pretty disgusting defense.)

- Throwing insults in your face about past trauma (I told my ex about how emotionally abusive my mother was (wow there’s that pattern again) and he would throw this in my face and blame me or compare me to her at the slightest provocation in several arguments. When I was disrespected at work, he would blame me for misinterpreting things. Complaining about how I used him for money whenever I had asked him for help managing the business’ expenses. And so many deep cuts of things he should never said to me and names he shouldn’t have called me if he ever cared about me. He always wrote it off as me misremembering or him meaning it as something else or a distraction tactic of whataboutism -‘what about when you complained that I left dirty clothes on the floor?’ For example. All ways he tried to manipulate me from seeing this pattern of messed up behavior. Every argument he would make us talk in circles until I would have to give up from frustration and exhaustion.)

-They’re full of hot air, and if they seem like they aren’t they’re probably mirroring you (when I broke up with him I stopped hanging out with him pretty much immediately. Although I had to coordinate moving out still, I started keeping my head down to focus on my work. Essentially I had already moved on. I thought we had had deep discussions about the world and life but when I had less to say he had nothing to add. He would just keep filling up the air with anecdotes about nothing and commentary on anything just to keep crossing my boundaries and to try to force me to pay attention to him when it was clear I neither interested or comfortable doing so.)

- They try to force you to become as cynical and jaded as they are (I was never antagonistic per se, but when we were together I had unconsciously started looking/preparing for the worst in every scenario and every person I’d meet. Because of my ex’s toxic influence. Getting along with coworkers? They must be just “kissing up to you” according to him. Like that tv show most people are fond of? No way that has to be trash. Want to try something new? No there can’t be anything good about that. He was a very stuck person that refused to find the joy in almost anything. Unless it was too impressive to ignore —but even then he had to nitpick it apart. I would wonder why his compliments would feel so hollow- it was because he really had trouble seeing the good in anything. Like a day or two after we broke up I was already feeling lighter and more optimistic. When people were kind to me I embraced it easier and in turn every aspect of life got a little brighter. The contempt for others was palatable. Because he expected everyone to be ready to undercut him like he was ready to do to them.)

- Before you know it, they’ll have you romanticizing breadcrumbing behavior (I asked my ex to get on meds for his mental health and to find a therapist so many times over the course of 5 years. 4-5 months before I broke up with him he got on medication. Then after a peace period of a month or so, we were back in a cycle of petty arguments and he was saying the meds don’t work. He didn’t even try to go to therapy until I broke up with him. he got an appointment the next day because he “was trying to win me back” Essentially, he’d never work on himself or actually actively improve things. He’d always make one or two half steps to placate me then complain about how it was too hard and completely impossible to put the work in. Even with the therapy example, he wanted to display that he could make progress in order to win me back. Don’t worry, I had seen this tactic before and knew he would just fall back into toxicity. So, it didn’t work.)

- When you do leave they get cocky about how you’ll have nowhere to go (I leaned on my ex to support me when I became overwhelmed by figuring out my business on my own. I worked several temp jobs in addition to the business but it was stretching me thin. So I needed his help several times and only had so much saved up by the time I broke up with him. After begging me to take him back the entire night and pretending to be supportive, the next day he was scoffing and boasting about how “[he] didn’t even know what [I] was going to do.” He did this over everything from buying my own detergent-even though I always bought the detergent- to managing my bills on my own-even though I usually managed most of my bills on my own- until I finally was able to move out and leave him behind.)

- They never defend you and always make it seem like it’s your fault if you get attacked (My ex was always siding with abusive people and gaslighting me when I noticed that behavior. As many of you may know, my mom was a terror throughout my childhood. I confided in my ex about how much of an impact this had had on me. Before I went no contact with her we all got dinner when she came in town to see me. Despite all my warnings and preemptive begging to be supported through the difficulty of meeting with her my ex threw me under the bus immediately. He laughed at her jokes at my expense and didn’t stop her at all from singling me out. I shutdown in this moment and began to draw to cope- I’m neurodivergent so that’s one of the things I default to doing when I’m overwhelmed. They continued to make fun of me together and when I asked him why he didn’t have my back afterward, he blamed me for “not being friendly enough” and “not interacting with [my] mom enough”. This pattern of doubting and failing to help me would continue through our entire relationship.)

- They’ll have -self aware- moments that aren’t quite what they seem (I truly cannot count the number of times my ex would start an argument just to talk me in circles then try to get me to believe I was in the wrong too. It was truly maddening. He would always push to say he “understood” how we had gotten there. Then ramble on and on and on saying that I was attacking him and he was the victim of things. I asked him to do the dishes? I’m “criticizing [his] housework and putting too much pressure on [him]”. I ask him not to throw things when he’s upset? I’m “overly criticizing [him] and making [him] so anxious he can’t help but hit things”. And on and on and on it went. He would always tidy it up by saying he forgave me because we were “both wrong” and he just “would try to be better next time and [I] should too”.)

-They have underlying personality issues that need to be addressed (and when you bring a hint of these up, they lash out about how you’re attacking them and they throw personal attacks back at you because of their fragile ego. If you -somehow- get them to see a mental health professional you may find them lying about what feedback they got. After I broke up with him he said he’d go to anger management class and find a therapist “to win me back”- funny how it’s after you leave them and set the ultimate boundary they do the work to show you they can hypothetically change and it’s never one of the times you’ve begged before in the midst of madness. Before I moved out I overheard his therapy appointment and she asked about his bipolar diagnosis and he said he was just anxious despite the mood swings. When he came to me to tell me the good news of him finally going to therapy he left that out. When I asked if the therapist knew if he had another disorder he manipulated that. He said the therapist asked if it could be anything else but it was just a brief thought. He framed it that way instead of the consistent behavioral issue it was.)

- Usually they attract drama and chaos but blame you for it as their partner (He always kept his ex around in boundary crossing ways. In hindsight I wouldn’t be surprised if he had cheated in any way with any of them because of how murky he was about spending one on one time with them. They also will always encourage you to keep other toxic people in your life so they can keep flying under the radar/blaming the other toxic people when you feel drained/etc. When I decided to go no contact with my parents, he second guessed me. When I decided to go no contact with my friends that were harmful, he second guessed me. He went out of his way to call me paranoid and picky and every other name in the book he could. Even after I broke up with him he went out of his way to tell me I was paranoid and should quit tarot reading “because [he] knew it would turn [me] against [him] one day”. I told him his opinion meant less than nothing to me.)

- Whenever you set a boundary they try to undermine it and take it as an attack (When we met, all of my ex’s small circle of friends was made up of people he had dated or slept with. Once his friend, who had flirted with him multiple times, asked to stay in his apartment while she moved out of her place. He offered her his bed. She even had a boyfriend at the time but she went to my ex first. I told him this made me very uncomfortable. He screamed and yelled about how he’ll always choose his friends first and I have to understand that and that she didn’t want to sleep in his bed while he was in it. It was crazy but the whole time he called me dramatic and made me feel insane for being so uncomfortable with it.)

- They may often act out in public over the littlest things (my ex would get absolutely infuriated when there were lines in places. Insane right? Especially living in cities? with other people? And yet whenever we went out I’d have to prepare my mental for the possibility of him getting angry and breaking down because people were waiting ahead of him in line. In hindsight the entitlement he had was overwhelming in itself. The last time we went out to a movie -which was a whole scheduling fiasco in of itself with him during our entire relationship, he was obsessed with movies. I like movies but spending 6-9 hours in a theater? Every week? On top of hours of mandatory movie viewing at home? It was exhausting. He also made me pay for my own monthly movie pass even though it was his thing. Even in covid, although I’m immunocompromised I had to negotiate with him to wait to get vaccinated before he went back to the theater. And to wear a mask in the showings. He would huff and fuss about those small courtesies the entire time. Anyway the last movie we went out to see had a long line but we bought tickets ahead of time. He pitched a fit and kept storming off away from me and threatening to leave over the line. I kept following him foolishly, and coaxed him into staying. Of course there were enough seats and of course he enjoyed the movie. He apologized after for “getting overwhelmed by the line” but that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.)

- It’s all or nothing for them but breadcrumbs for you (I’ve always been clear that I have no plans of staying in the country I’m from. From the start I’ve understood I’m not meant to stay here. And yet I stayed in a city I hated so he could suddenly finish his associates degree. We moved back to my hometown but we lived in the most stressful neighborhood because he “wanted to be downtown with a pool.” He would always complain about every single idea I had to leave the country. I’m thinking about doing a language school or artist residency? He “did long distance with [his] ex who cheated and it would be too hard”. I want to study this language and go to this -easy-place for a visa? He “kept forgetting to study and had no idea how we would ever afford the move.” And on and on it went until I simply gave up on trying to get him to step up.)

- They twist everything to be about them even grief (my grandma was like a mother to me, so it hit me hard when she died. She even told me she was going and thanked me for my friendship at the end. It was still a very difficult period and I couldn’t accept it until it just happened. When I got the call and burst into tears my ex said “I’m so sorry… do you blame me because we stayed here for me to go to school and you couldn’t be home with her?” It hadn’t even been 20 minutes since I learned she was gone. The extent of his selfishness would shock me until I cut him off.)

- They make you bury things they don’t like about your self expression/goals (I’ll use a simple example. I love fairy lights. When we met I had fairy lights and my ex had no complaints. But when we moved in together they ‘would always bother him and give him headaches’. So I took out the lights. Then he got me a glowing lamp I wanted for my birthday but never allowed me to turn it on when we were in the room. I brought the lights I love to my work and my ex would complain about them there too. He’d say he didn’t know why he “just didn’t like spending time at the studio” and then use the lights as an excuse, and then hed complain all day about how exhausting it was to be there. He’d only offer to come to the studio more if I turned them off just for him. All this time later and all of a sudden I don’t have any lights I like up. This didn’t happen for everything, but there were a lot of little things he was so controlling about just to be authoritative about something I liked.)

- They hate it when you have positive things happen to you (and instead of seeing your success as a good thing they see it as you one upping them, so they often express jealousy and then disguise it as a joke. He would “joke” about how I was going to fail so often I lost count. When I had a great day there would always be a hint of disappointment in his voice. He would always undermine it in anyway he could. “Oh you made X amount that’s nice, but that’s not enough to cover the rent”. I got a lot of compliments on my outfits, so he’d say “no one ever compliments me”. Always something to bring me down and try to get me to focus on a worry.)

- They downplay your trauma (I’m a burn survivor. My dad burned me through hot water and neglect as a baby on around 20% of my body. For that and many other reasons I became sort of a local legend for my time in our local child protective services. In a city of well over a million people. Doctors thought I wouldn’t be able to walk again and it was a miracle when I did. My grandmother had to wrap my scars everyday, twice a day for 3-4 years afterwards. She would tell me the pain would make me cry random throughout the night until I went to kindergarten. All that to say, my scars had a BIG impact on my health and my life. When I told my ex about my insecurity he said “sorry that happened, but it’s not that big of a deal.” Crazily at 21 I took that as flattery. It was not, it was severely downplaying the trauma I went through because my ex didn’t care for that part of my life. I even remember thinking I should tag a post as a burn survivor and he said “isn’t that like advertising your burns, why warn people about it?”. I got better and embraced my scars all through my own healing but damn it was all severely fucked up.)

- They usually have a Fatal Flaw they try to make you contend with (My ex had explosive anger where he would hit something (a wall, the couch, his desk, etc) or throw things at any slight provocations, and he would disguise it as a reaction of low self esteem instead. I didn’t realize how bad the conditioning had got until I broke up with him and I wasn’t getting jumpy from him coming home anymore or my dog wasn’t hiding from him anymore. I was walking on eggshells all the time and I only knew it subconsciously. He would also curse at me and call me the meanest names from the smallest arguments, he would get belittling. It’s their signature style to make you feel small and to desensitize you to truly nightmarish behavior.)

- That’s the other thing- most people and sometimes animals can tell they’re off (I would always wonder why my ex never seemed to make a good impression on others. They could tell he was off from the start.)

- They start trying to love bomb you after you give up or when they sense you are finally giving up (I always asked my ex to pay more attention to my business/endeavors/art/etc when we were together, to respond to texts I sent him at work-within reason-, to give me some support or feedback. His replies were always blasé. “That’s nice.” Or “I will.” As soon as I broke up with him. He was complaining that he always missed texting me at work. Then he started getting more involved on my social media pages. Then for the first time in months he watched my story on Instagram completely unwelcomed and unprompted. It was how fake the performance of interest was that really struck me after everything.)

- They always ask for one more chance when you’ve given them at least a hundred chances (Evem when I broke up with him he kept saying “you cut off other people (for being toxic) but I never thought it would be me!” I feel like I’ve already put plenty of examples of this, so I’ll just say this points to the fact that at their base motivation they don’t really respect you or care about you. If someone actually cares about you, they’re going to go out of their way to make you comfortable, to care about your opinions and feedback, from the very start)

- Even when it’s over, they still always try to blame you for their bad behavior. (My ex painted himself as an introvert when he was in a relationship. I had always asked him to make -newer, healthier- friends and to make a social effort. Since the beginning. After we broke up he made an effort to go out to social events. After he went out one day he came back and said “I was such a girlfriend guy, I never went out and socialized!” In turn I said you’re not a girlfriend guy you never cared about what I had to say, if you were a girlfriend guy I wouldn’t have had to break up with you for literally never taking me into account. So that ended that.)

- When it’s over the relief hits you in waves (I didn’t even realize how much I was doing to cope with the hostility and boredom of the relationship until it was over. I stopped overeating, I actually lost my appetite for days. I went from taking edibles every week to not even craving the ones I had. I wasn’t the most indulgent but I was shocked by how immediately I was fine with going cold turkey. My time with myself became even more peaceful. Even before I moved out, I was more creative and productive. I felt the beauty and the optimism of all the little moments deep in my spirit and my glow was brighter than ever before. My ex kept turning to me in despair and asking “how can you be so okay with this??” I answered him indifferently because he wasn’t worth entertaining. But obviously my spirit had been restored, I wasn’t wasting love on anyone that didn’t deserve it anymore. My energy was finally all mine. And I had faith in God that everything would be alright. And it was.)

You slowly but surely realize that you were formed to be a victim of a narcissistic/antagonistic person due to being raised by narcissistic parents and in an environment full of enabling emotionally and verbally abusive behavior. When we met I was so vulnerable. I had moved to a new city on my own, I was in a financially precarious place. The city was The Worst for Black people (tm). I was so desperate for an ally, I caught an energy vampire instead. I’ve healed and learned a lot from this. To be much more deliberate about who I let into my life. To be unafraid of purging and moving on when someone shows you they’re incapable of growth. To not accept crumbs of affection and appreciation. To pour my love into myself first before I let anyone else do the same. So I write all this to say, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that some people are so corrupted to the core that they’d rather destroy you than heal themselves. So… forgive yourself for this experience. Forgive yourself for being a person that just loves and cares about others. That believes in cultivating a world full of warmth and compassion. Don’t let one (or a dozen- ugh the people I’ve had to move on from oml) toxic ass person ruin you and your compassion. I had to forgive myself for believing in a lot of disappointing, inept, bad people. But I won’t stop being kind and compassionate because of those losers. I’ll continue to shine my light on those who need it whenever I’m supposed to. I mean I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to rely on anyone again without fear of their self interest but one step at a time, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Anyway, wish me luck on this fresh start. Buy a reading if you want to support me. But yeah, thanks for reading y’all.

#astro observations #astroblr #astro notes #astro community #astrology #lilith astrology #healing #karma #life lessons #false soulmate

144 notes · View notes

lividstar · 3 months

Text

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎Chapter One: A Change

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 9k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, first person is only used in your journal entries so don’t worry, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Moving to Paris in order to leave your past in Arcadia Bay had been a long-term goal for a while now, and you were more than excited to finally have this dream of yours within your grasp. Of course, things won’t always turn out well consistently, and you had to be reminded of this in the worst way possible.

a/n: i’m having a huge struggle with figuring out how i’m supposed to conclude ‘sly fox, dumb bunny’ thus i decided to put it on hold for now. in order to compensate for that, allow me to introduce an entirely new series to keep you guys entertained <3 this was originally supposed to be oneshot but tumblr’s 1k block limit per post won’t allow that haha :’D still haven’t figured out how many chapters this will have in total but it will definitely be more than 2!

October 24th, 2018

If there was one lesson that struck me the most this year, it would definitely be the fact that in order to be able to move forward, making changes in your life are necessary, no matter how minor or major it may be. Maybe it could be something simple, like trying out a new restaurant different from the one near your house that you’ve been going to for pretty much your entire life, with the 0.5% possibility that you may cross paths with someone in the new place you’ll choose to visit, and the either lesser or bigger possibility that they may be the key to changing the way you view your existence.

Or maybe, it could be something as major as settling in a foreign setting to rewind the clock of your life right back to the very beginning—which is the change I am currently aiming for. I just feel like the opportunities that my hometown offers to me are way too restricted, you know? It’s like I don’t feel like I can push my potential to its very fullest in a place that isn’t big enough to withstand it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hate it here—in fact, Arcadia Bay is the only place I can call my home without having any second doubts about it. But that’s exactly the problem. It feels like a home with locked doors, and I don’t hold the keys needed for it to be unlocked.

So then, months ago, I decided to take the risk and grab the opportunity to fly to Paris. I don’t know why exactly I chose it out of all the other choices laid out in front of me, but there’s just something about it that captivates me—better yet, draws me in. When I was surfing on the internet, looking to see which places are the best choices if you want to move out and start a new life, I came across Paris, and once I did, I knew I couldn’t just continue scrolling to look for other options. It’s like I had to choose to go there and nothing else, if you catch my drift.

I’m currently writing this in the airport, waiting for my flight to arrive. And by the time I step foot into Paris, I’ll make sure to write an entry as soon as possible—if unpacking won’t take up too much of my time. I honestly can’t wait for Paris! I hope it goes the other way around, too :)

Letting out a sigh of relief, you clicked your pen to push the ballpoint back in, gently shutting your journal and putting it back in one of your luggages. Staring at the sunset through the glass walls of the airport as you let your gaze be dragged back and forth by planes that were both departing and landing, you couldn’t help but let a wistful smile appear on your face. Even long ago, you already got aboard on a ship of longing for a change, a major event that will change the trajectory of your life for all the years that are yet to come. But you’ve never really been brave enough to keep your word back then, thus, the idea eventually rotted until it turned into a thought buried in the very back of your mind.

What you weren’t expecting at all was that very thought to come crawling back to bite you years later, but it’s been a long while since you neglected the idea, and now, you were no longer the same scaredy cat who had a knack for stressing herself out over the potential consequences of her actions instead of choosing to live in the moment—well, you were still a bit of a coward on specific circumstances, but no longer as much now. It wasn’t really charged by a highly traumatic moment or anything—you just came to realization that longing for a change without actually taking an action upon it won’t do anything on a random Sunday while moping over your laundry pile that refuses to decrease when you’ve literally been neglecting your house chores for an entire week straight.

The different jobs you’d take up almost every 3 business weeks due to always being fired over the most mediocre of reasons didn’t help with getting your life together either, especially since all of them had a low pay rate. Well, it only makes sense for things to be that way, considering your town was small and wasn’t really that fortunate in terms of financial matters, but that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to just suck it up and endure it. After all, why would you expect yourself to feel pity for the reason behind why you’re still unsure of what path you’re supposed to tread in life?

This was also one of the many reasons you decided to move to another country—you weren’t just hoping to experience a life-changing switch up, you were hoping to be able to find yourself throughout your journey in a foreign setting. You’ve never really been sure of what you wanted to be, always too busy with thinking of ways to survive rather than ways to live.

The speakers scattered around the walls of the airport then began to ring, signaling the departure of a flight. “Attention, passengers: Flight 276 to Paris is now boarding at Gate 12.”

You felt your heart skip a beat as the announcement rang through the terminal. With a deep breath, you stood up, gathering your belongings with a mix of excitement and nerves. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for. The walk to Gate 12 felt surreal. People occupied themselves in their personal activities around you, dragging suitcases and chatting in various languages, but it all seemed to blur together as your focus remained on the boarding gate ahead. Handing your boarding pass to the attendant, you couldn't help but smile as they welcome you aboard.

Stepping onto the plane, the cool air and the quiet hum of the engines greeted you. Finding your seat, you settled in, glancing out the window at the fading light of the evening. This was the beginning of your new chapter, and as the plane began to taxi down the runway, you felt a sense of determination wash over you. Paris was waiting.

The flight was short, but for you, who had already been brimming with anticipation for what felt like an eternity, each passing second seemed to stretch into hours. Every tiny movement of the plane, every faint hum of the engines, felt amplified by the adrenaline spreading through your veins. You had spent weeks imagining this moment, and now that it was finally here, the reality felt almost too surreal to grasp.

As the plane soared above the clouds, the world below seemed to shrink, becoming a patchwork quilt of landscapes, cities, and oceans. The setting sun painted the horizon in brilliant hues of gold and orange, casting a warm, ethereal glow over everything. You pressed your face to the window, your breath fogging the glass as you gazed out at the breathtaking view. The sprawling scenery beneath you brought a sense of comfort, a reminder of the vastness of the world and the endless possibilities that awaited you.

Your thoughts drifted to the life you were leaving behind. Memories of your hometown, with its familiar streets and faces, flashed through your mind. There was a pang of nostalgia, but it was quickly overshadowed by the excitement of the new chapter you were about to begin. You closed your eyes, intending to rest them for just a moment. The gentle hum of the plane and the slight turbulence lulled you into a light nap, the anticipation and exhaustion of the journey catching up with you.

You were awoken by the voice of the pilot crackling through the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you look out of your windows to the left, you will see the Eiffel Tower in the distance as we begin our descent into Paris.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the grogginess of sleep quickly replaced by a rush of excitement. You pressed your face to the window once more, your heart skipping a beat at the sight that greeted you. There, standing tall against the backdrop of the glowing sky, was the Eiffel Tower. Its iron lattice structure, illuminated by the last light of the day, seemed to beckon you, a symbol of the dreams and opportunities that lay ahead.

The plane began its descent, and the details of the city became clearer. The Seine River snaked its way through the heart of Paris, its waters reflecting the shimmering lights of the bridges and buildings that lined its banks. You could see people walking along the river, tiny figures in the distance, living their everyday lives in this magical city. The closer you got, the more real it all became.

As the wheels touched down on the runway, a wave of emotions washed over you. Relief, excitement, and a hint of nervousness mingled together, creating a heady cocktail of feelings that made your heart race. The plane taxied to the gate, and the passengers around you began to gather their belongings, ready to disembark. You joined them, your hands trembling slightly in excitement as you reached for your carry-on bag.

Stepping off the plane and into the terminal, you were immediately struck by the vibrant energy of the place. The air was filled with a symphony of languages, the chatter of travelers from all corners of the globe blending together in a harmonious cacophony. The terminal itself was a hive of activity, with people bustling about, some rushing to their next destination, others leisurely browsing the shops and cafes.

You followed the flow of people through the airport, the sights and sounds of Paris already beginning to enchant you. The aroma of freshly baked croissants and strong coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the subtle scent of perfume from the duty-free shops. The polished floors gleamed under the bright lights, reflecting the excitement in your eyes.

With your luggage in hand, you navigated through the crowd, your steps quickening as you neared the exit. The doors slid open, and you stepped out into the cool evening air. The city of Paris stretched out before you, alive with lights and sounds. The aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby café.

You took a deep breath, letting the reality of it all sink in. This was your new beginning, your fresh start—all chances to achieve every dream you had always wanted to turn into reality were eagerly waiting for you. As you hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of your new apartment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe and wonder. Paris was everything you had dreamed of and more, and you were ready to embrace every moment of it.

The taxi ride through the streets of Paris felt like a dream. The city was a blend of old-world charm and modern vibrancy, with historic buildings standing proudly alongside trendy boutiques and cafes. You watched as people went about their lives, completely unaware of the new arrival who was already falling in love with their city.

The taxi driver, an older gentleman with a kind smile, made pleasant conversation during the ride. “Is this your first time in Paris?” he asked in a thick French accent.

“Yes, it is, sir,” you replied, your voice tinged with excitement. “I’ve always dreamed of coming here.”

“Ah, Paris is a city of dreams,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror. “You will love it here, I’m sure.”

Finally, you arrived at your apartment, a quaint building nestled in a quiet street. The driver helped you with your luggage, and you thanked him, giving him a generous tip. As you approached the building, the landlord, a friendly-looking middle-aged woman, stepped out to greet you. “Bonsoir! You must be the new tenant,” she said warmly, extending her hand. “I am Madame Dupont."

“Bonsoir, Madame Dupont,” you replied, taking her hand in yours and gently shaking it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to Paris,” she said, her smile broadening. “I hope your journey was pleasant. Now, let me show you to your apartment.”

You followed her inside, the cozy interior of the building immediately making you feel at home. She led you up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where she unlocked the door to your new apartment. “This is it,” she said, opening the door and stepping aside to let you enter first. “I hope you will find it comfortable.”

You stepped inside, your eyes widening as you took in the charming space. The apartment was small but cozy, with large windows that offered a stunning view of the Parisian streets below. The furnishings were simple yet elegant, and there was a welcoming warmth to the place that instantly put you at ease.

“It’s perfect,” you said, turning to Madame Dupont with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she replied. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. The other tenants are very friendly, and there’s a lovely café just down the street. I’m sure you’ll settle in quickly.”

“Thank you, Madame Dupont.” You gave her a grin filled with gratitude. “I really appreciate it.”

She handed you the keys, her smile never wavering. “Enjoy your stay in Paris. I have a feeling you’ll have many wonderful adventures here.”

With that, she left you to settle in, closing the door behind her. You took a moment to soak it all in—the cozy apartment, the view of the streets below, the realization that you were finally here, in Paris. Unpacking your belongings, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You have made it. You were here, ready to start this new chapter of your life. As you stood by the window, looking out at the city that would now be your home, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful adventure.

Once you finished unpacking your belongings, you were about to settle down and immediately continue your journal entry for the day, but then you remembered Madame Dupont mentioning a café nearby the apartment. You mused to yourself, why not start your very first step into your new life now? You went through the rack of clothes you had just finished hanging inside your closet. Since you’d read somewhere that the weather in Paris was very cold lately, you decided to go for a comfortable, chic outfit made with a fabric thick enough to help you withstand the climate, paired with a long beige coat.

Debating whether to wear a beret as a cherry on top, you figured that would be way too much of a giveaway to the city folks that you were new around here. Instead, you chose one of the small bags you brought with you that wasn’t too big but big enough to fit your journal and essentials. Taking one last look at yourself in the mirror, you smiled to yourself in approval before heading out.

As you made your way outside the apartment, you passed by Madame Dupont, who sent a wide grin your way. “Already going out for an adventure, huh? I see you’ve got a strong sense of spirit in you, young lady. Take care.”

You lightly laughed and returned her smile. “Thank you, Madame Dupont. I’ll make sure to be back soon before it’s too late,” you promised, bidding her farewell before heading out and not looking back.

You felt a little foolish for forgetting to ask Madame Dupont where exactly the café was located before leaving, as now you were on your third circle around the apartment wondering where on earth the café was. Determined not to give up, you tried once more, scanning the streets with renewed focus. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a café came into your line of sight, and you let out a relieved sigh. The place was filled with activity, its warm lights and inviting atmosphere drawing you in. You decided to head for the vacant tables outside, appreciating the opportunity to soak in the vibrant Parisian street life.

Settling into a seat, you placed your bag on the table and took out your journal. The evening air was crisp, but your thick outfit kept you warm. As you opened your journal, you glanced around, taking in the sights and sounds of your new city. The café’s ambiance was filled with the soft murmur of conversations, the clinking of cups and plates, and the occasional laughter from nearby tables. You took a deep breath, savoring the moment. This was your new beginning, your first step into the life you had dreamed of. With a smile on your face, you began to continue your entry for October 24th.

I made it! I’m finally here in Paris, and let me tell you, the way it is described by media articles and people in social media spaces definitely does not entirely sum up just how beautiful it actually is in real life. I know it hasn’t even been half a day since I got here, but I can already feel myself falling in love with this city. Well, I guess they call it the city of love for a reason, right? I mean, in a literal context, how I feel is not why Paris is called such, but I’d like to think falling in love with the endless opportunities a certain place offers to you gives a more heartwarming feeling than falling in love with those who live in it.

Anyway, the journey felt like an eternity, but the sight of the Eiffel Tower from the plane made every second worth it. Stepping off the plane and into the terminal was like stepping into a dream, one you’d never catch yourself wanting to get out of. The energy, the diversity, the sheer magic of it all—it’s everything I imagined and more.

Madame Dupont, my landlord, is incredibly kind. She welcomed me warmly and showed me to my cozy apartment. It’s small, but it’s all I can afford for now, so it’ll do. It provides me with a spectacular view of the streets below, too, so I guess it’s not really that bad. After unpacking, I decided to explore the neighborhood, and now, I’m currently sitting at a charming café just around the corner from my apartment as I’m writing this.

The atmosphere here is enchanting. The air is filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the chatter of people enjoying their evening. I feel alive, inspired, and ready to embrace whatever comes my way. This is the start of my new life, and I couldn’t be more excited. I’m sure it’ll take me a while before I get used to the new environment, but everyone starts somewhere, right?

Just as you finished your entry, a waiter approached your table with a friendly smile. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle. What can I get for you this evening?”

You looked up, momentarily taken aback by the realization that you were truly in Paris. “Bonsoir,” you replied, returning his smile. “Could I please have a café au lait?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I’ll bring it right out.”

As the waiter walked off, you looked around, taking in the sights and sounds of the café and the street beyond. Even though it had barely been 24 hours since you arrived, you could already feel the major changes in your life beginning to take place. Listening to your gut and deciding to move to Paris was definitely the best decision you’d made so far. Your hometown was nice, but it had finished serving its purpose. From now on, it was nothing but a distant memory that could only be fondly looked back at and not returned to.

Minutes later, the waiter came back with your order and placed it down on your table with a kind smile. You return it back with an even wider grin, thanking him with utmost gratitude as he went off to serve other customers and left you with your internal musings.

Paris felt like a breath of fresh air, a place where you could truly spread your wings and explore your potential. The city’s energy was infectious, filling you with a sense of possibility and excitement for the future. The people, the culture, the very air you breathed—it all felt like an invitation to start anew, to discover parts of yourself you never knew existed. As the sky darkened and the street lights flickered on, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets, you felt a sense of contentment wrap you in an embrace.

Noticing that it was getting quite late, you hurriedly began to pack your items. The last thing you wanted was to stay in the streets for too long and risk getting into trouble before you could even start your new life. Plus, you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on Madame Dupont by breaking your promise to return before it got too late. And you certainly didn’t want to stay up too long and miss the opportunity to wake up early tomorrow to start searching for a job to settle yourself in.

In your haste, you quickly gathered your things, placing them back in your bag. However, in your rush, you forgot to place your journal back inside. You slung your bag over your shoulder, the adrenaline of the day still lingering in your veins as you made your way back to your apartment.

As you neared your apartment, a sudden realization hit you—you had left your journal at the café. Panic surged through you as you turned on your heel and rushed back, your heart pounding with urgency.

The café was still open, and you hurried inside, scanning the tables where you had been sitting. Your journal was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing your anxiety, you approached the counter where a waiter was wiping down some glasses.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice tinged with worry. “I left a black journal here earlier. Do you have a lost and found section?”

The waiter looked up and smiled kindly. “Yes, we do. Follow me.” He led you to a small office in the back and began rifling through a box of forgotten items. “Apologies, what did you lose again?”

“A black journal,” you repeated, your stomach in knots.

The waiter nodded and pulled out a plain black notebook. “Is this it?”

You sighed in relief. “Yes, that’s the one. Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” he said with a smile. “Glad we could help.” You thanked him again and hurried out of the café, eager to get back to your apartment. You clutched the journal tightly in your hands, not bothering to check it until you were safely back in your room.

Once you were home, you finally took a moment to catch your breath. You sat on your bed and opened the journal, flipping past the first page. But something was off. The pages weren’t filled with your handwriting; instead, they were covered in otherworldly sketches of fashion designs, complete with detailed notes.

Confused, you flipped back to the front cover and saw a name scrawled there in neat handwriting: Kim Hongjoong.

Not being able to keep your curiosity in check, you decided to take a look at the sketches in the journal. Opening the first few pages, you find yourself to be immediately in awe with the sight that greets you.

The first page featured an elegant evening gown, the kind that would turn heads at any high-class event. The dress was sleek and form-fitting, with a high neckline and elegantly patterned lace detailing that cascaded down the back. The fabric seemed to shimmer even on the page, giving it a sense of movement and grace. There was a small note attached to the side:

“Inspired by the twilight sky. Use silk chiffon for the outer layer, color: midnight blue.”

You flipped to the next page and found a chic, modern pantsuit. The jacket was tailored to perfection, with sharp lines and a slightly oversized fit, giving it a contemporary edge. The trousers were high-waisted and wide-legged, creating a powerful and stylish silhouette. Another note accompanied this design:

“Power and elegance combined. Fabric: wool blend, color: charcoal gray. Consider adding a silk blouse in white.”

The next sketch was a whimsical cocktail dress. It had a flared skirt that ended just above the knees and a fitted bodice adorned with floral embroidery. The dress seemed playful yet sophisticated, perfect for a summer party, a fancy brunch, or maybe even a date by a park. The note read:

“Spring collection. Use organza for the skirt and satin for the bodice. Embroidery: floral motifs in pastel shades.”

Turning the page, you found a casual yet stylish ensemble. This one consisted of a cropped leather jacket, a simple white tee, and high-waisted skinny jeans. The look was completed with ankle boots and a statement necklace. The note next to it said:

“Urban chic. Jacket: genuine leather, color: black. Jeans: denim, dark wash. Accessorize with bold jewelry.”

You continued to flip through the pages, marveling at the diversity and creativity of the designs. Each sketch seemed to tell a story, and it was clear that Kim Hongjoong had a keen eye for fashion and an impressive ability to translate his vision onto paper. Another design caught your eye—a stunning bridal gown. The dress was timeless and romantic, with a sweetheart neckline, a fitted bodice, and a flowing tulle skirt. Delicate lace covered the bodice and trailed down into the skirt, giving the dress a dreamy, ethereal quality. The note attached was longer:

“Bridal collection. Bodice: lace overlay on satin, color: ivory. Skirt: multiple layers of tulle for volume, same color. Add pearl embellishments to the bodice for an extra touch of elegance.”

You found yourself getting lost in the artistry of the sketches. Whoever Kim Hongjoong was, he definitely knew what he was doing. His designs were not only beautiful but also meticulously planned, with each detail carefully thought out and noted.

You couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander freely. Was he a fashion student? But his designs seemed too advanced for that level. An aspiring designer, perhaps? You had no idea. You hoped Kim Hongjoong hadn’t mixed his notebook with yours as well—but then again, why would there only be one black journal there if yours hadn’t already been taken?

What if Kim Hongjoong had been in the café hours before you came by and went back only to end up retrieving your personal journal instead of his sketchbook? One thing was for sure, you had a desperate sense of hope that he wasn’t snooping through it right now as you lay down and let yourself be drowned in your thoughts.

Well... you did snoop through his sketchbook, but journal entries are way more personal than that, aren’t they? You imagined him reading through your thoughts and musings, learning about your insecurities and dreams, unsure of how to feel about the scenario. It was one thing to admire someone’s creative work, but entirely another to delve into someone’s private reflections.

As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind whirled with questions and possibilities. Who was Kim Hongjoong, and how could you find him to return his sketchbook and retrieve your journal, in case it was in his possession as well? The idea of someone else reading your innermost thoughts made you uneasy, but at the same time, the mystery of this encounter intrigued you.

Not even a day had passed, and yet Paris was already proving itself to be filled with extraordinary happenings.

—

“So… you’re telling me that not only did you forget the sketchbook you’ve been using since you started fashion school back in college—which you, by the way, claim to be your most prized possession, but when you went back to the café to retrieve it, you ended up taking a stranger’s notebook with you?”

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his temples as he lightly banged the back of his head against his headboard. “Prized possession or not, you know I tend to be forgetful about my belongings, Seonghwa. So whatever you’re trying to imply, drop it. Plus, how was I supposed to know? The notebook they gave me was a hundred percent identical with what my sketchbook looks like.”

“And you didn’t bother checking the pages first before heading back here last night?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “You seriously waited until now to tell me about this?”

“First of all, I didn’t wait. You woke me up by telling me you’ll be coming over to check my latest designs for our autumn collection,” Hongjoong countered, crossing his arms in defense.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “So, what, had I not called you, you would’ve waited until later in the afternoon to tell me?”

“That’s not the point!” Hongjoong buried his face deep in his palms, the skintone of his fingers mixing with the dark hues of his hair. “I’m stressed out and I already have a lot on my plate, so please, Seonghwa, if you’re not going to help me out with this, just leave.”

Seonghwa let out a soft sigh before throwing his arms up in defeat. Taking a couple steps to draw closer to Hongjoong’s bed, he took a seat on the edge of it, the cushion underneath shrinking. “I literally help you with everything for a living. I definitely don’t want to validate your stupidity, but if that’s what’ll bring money to the table, then fine, I’m all ears.”

“Will you stop acting like we’re just co-workers and I only hired you as a personal assistant to treat you like a slave? Mind you, you’re the one who came up with the idea of taking this responsibility to begin with.” Hongjoong groaned.

“Yeah, when I was a dumb man back in college,” Seonghwa retorted, though playfully, as he never really took the endless banter between him and Hongjoong seriously. It does get a little serious about twice a year, though, but doesn’t that happen to every friendship in this world?

“What changed now? You’re a dumb man in the fashion industry?” Hongjoong challenged, drawing the blankets closer to his torso.

Seonghwa gave him a disapproving look. “You better quit giving me attitude. It’s 7 in the morning, and I’m not having any of that today.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m your child!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

Hongjoong roughly dragged his palms across his face. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that sorted out, have you done anything with the notebook, like, at all?” Seonghwa turned his body slightly to the left so he could face Hongjoong.

“I have. I checked the notebook a minute after you called me to ask about our autumn collection, and flipping through its first page was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. Although I do agree it would’ve been wiser to have done that the night before…” Hongjoong admitted, avoiding Seonghwa’s gaze as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, staring out the window of his penthouse.

“Everything you needed to know?” Seonghwa tilted his head.

“What was on the first page wasn’t a name—it was ‘Letters from the archive,’ and it was written in cursive. My sketchbook has my name on its first page,” Hongjoong explained, eliciting a sigh from Seonghwa.

“Letters from the archive, huh? The owner must be into literature,” Seonghwa mused. “Are you sure it really looks that identical to your sketchbook, though?”

“I am. I swear, there isn’t even a single difference. Here, I’ll show you.” Hongjoong stretched his arms, finally taking the blankets off of him and leaning closer towards his bedside table to pull the top drawer open. Once he had taken out the notebook, he pushed the drawer shut, moving to occupy the empty space beside Seonghwa on his bed. “Look at that and tell me it doesn’t look exactly like my sketchbook.”

“Oh,” was all Seonghwa could say as he examined the journal’s cover. “Well, I guess you’re not that stupid after all. I mean, you’re still stupid for forgetting your prized possession, but not as much anymore. I definitely wouldn’t have suspected a thing if I were you, either.”

“...”

“But I definitely would have decided to check the contents first—”

Hongjoong snatched the journal away from Seonghwa. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, whatever. So… what do I do now?”

“Maybe try flipping a page further? Just to see if you could find any information that could take you a step closer to figuring out what the notebook is for.” Seonghwa shrugged his shoulders.

Hongjoong hesitated. “What if it’s some sort of a personal journal? The eccentric cursive lettering kind of gives it away. Are you sure about that?”

“Positive. And if you’re immediately met with a journal entry, close it shut as soon as you can and we’ll try to find another way to see who the owner is. We’re not invading people’s privacy in the 21st century,” Seonghwa suggested, leaning back and placing his hands down on either side for support as he waited for Hongjoong to do as he said. “So?”

“It’s blank.”

“Huh?” Seonghwa straightened up, looking at the open journal laying down on Hongjoong’s lap. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What now?” Hongjoong asked, staring blankly at the empty page. “I’m pretty sure the only way we can find out this person’s name or anything remotely hinting at their identity is if we go deeper and read at least one entry. Just one.”

“I don’t think that’s…” Seonghwa trailed off, considering Hongjoong’s words. Even if he hated to admit it, the man had a fair point. He was against his idea, but right now, it’s not exactly like they have any other choice. Sighing in defeat, he slumps his shoulders. “Fine. One entry, but that’s it. That’s as far as we should go.”

Hongjoong nodded in satisfaction, ecstatic that for once, Seonghwa actually views his perspective as something valuable. “Alright, one entry it is,” he mused, almost to himself, before flipping through the pages and stopping at a random entry.

July 10, 2018

Is it unacceptable to long for a major shift in your life? To desperately hope for a miracle to happen almost every night, just a couple seconds before your body entirely falls into the pit of unconsciousness? To be frankly honest, these are questions I have no answers to. Not because I’m empty-handed, rather, I’ve always been too afraid to step out of my tiny little bubble to find out the answers myself. How am I supposed to know if yearning for a change despite already being in an environment considered comfortable is unjustifiable if I’m not making any move to feel at least a fleeting touch of that “change” to begin with?

I know my parents think keeping me alone here in my hometown while they continued their lives in a different country was the best decision they’ve made for my entire lifespan because in their eyes, they view this as a way to teach me the art of independence or whatever my father called it, and don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly and I know they’re only doing all these things because they care for me, but if it’s a good decision in their eyes, why can’t it be in mine?

Yes, Arcadia Bay is the place where I grew up, the only place I feel enough connection with to call my home, but I have to be honest and admit that this place doesn’t exactly feel like something I could call a sanctuary anymore. I love it here, but I feel like this town was supposed to be nothing but a guiding light that has already served its purpose back in my childhood days. I feel like I’m not supposed to be here anymore—who knows, maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so out of place ever since I started growing up.

I’m still unsure of whether I should initiate a change in my life as of now, but if I were to do so anytime soon, I think following my parents’ footsteps and moving to a new country as well would be the right decision for me. That’s a huge change, right? Maybe once I’m brave enough to stand firm on that decision, I can finally prove to them that I’ve grown to be the independent figure they’ve always wanted me to be. That would make them proud, right? Guess I’ll start browsing the internet for recommendations on one of these following days.

“Arcadia Bay?” Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, Seonghwa, could you look up where Arcadia Bay is?”

The aforementioned man didn’t need to be told twice, already pulling his phone out from the pocket of his tailored pants. “On it,” he replied before typing the words ‘Arcadia Bay’ in the browser’s search bar. Once the results appeared on his screen, he couldn’t resist but let out a hum of surprise. “Oh?”

“Why?” Hongjoong gently closed the journal, placing it on the empty spot to his left as he leaned closer towards Seonghwa, who gave him a clear view of the browser’s search results. “A secluded town located in…”

“So the owner isn’t from here, then?” Hongjoong whispered to himself, yet it was audible enough to make Seonghwa give a curt nod.

“The entry I chose to read was written on July 10, and they said something about wanting to move to a new country. I wonder if they’ve been here for a while or have just settled in…” Hongjoong trailed off. “Should I read the most recent entry?”

“Hongjoong, are you out of your mind? One entry is enough,” Seonghwa countered, but Hongjoong insisted. “I know, but how am I supposed to figure out if they’re new here or not?”

Seonghwa groaned. “You don’t need to know that to begin with. Reading one entry is invasive enough. Just leave the rest to me. I’ll figure out a way to track the owner down and see if your sketchbook is in their possession as well.”

Seeing that Hongjoong wasn’t convinced enough, Seonghwa softened, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know you’re worried, but we’ll figure this out, alright? I’ll do everything I can.”

“We can wait for autumn all we want, but autumn won’t wait for us, Seonghwa. What if the months pass by faster than we’re currently anticipating, and my sketchbook is still not in our hands? What will I do, then? You know I can’t mess this up.” Hongjoong’s figure slumped, a symbol of hopelessness.

A flash of empathy spread across Seonghwa’s gaze. “I know that more than you think I do, Hongjoong. And that’s exactly what I’m here for. I volunteered to be your personal assistant for a reason. Now, quit moping around, or else I’ll tell Wooyoung about this.”

“Oh, God, no—anything but that. You know he always does everything in his power to make me feel even worse when I’m having a horrible day,” Hongjoong said, groaning at the thought of his fashion brand’s photographer.

“I beg to differ. I think it’s just his own special way of cheering you up.” Seonghwa nudged him, a smile on his face. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me snitching on you to Wooyoung, since he’s most likely busy with his photography gigs outside of taking pictures of models.”

At the mention of the word ‘model,’ Hongjoong’s ears perked up. “Speaking of models, you mentioned the other week you’re looking for a specific set of features that’ll match the vibe our upcoming collection is opting for, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working my soul off to try and search everywhere for a suitable muse, but luck hasn’t been on my side lately. My schedule today isn’t packed since yours isn’t, so I’ll make use of my free time later in the afternoon to conduct another search.” Seonghwa turned to Hongjoong, a grin of determination spread across his face.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be in the trenches and not a penthouse right now.”

“Wish that was the case.”

“This is the only time I’m allowing myself to express my gratitude verbally, and that’s the response you chose to give me?”

You wandered through the streets of Paris, eyes scanning every shop window and café for signs advertising job vacancies. The bustling city, with its charming cobblestone streets and historic architecture, felt both enchanting and overwhelming. Every corner held a new promise, a new opportunity—or so you hoped.

Your first stop was a quaint little bakery that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a storybook. The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out as you pushed the door open, the bell above jingling to announce your arrival. A middle-aged woman with kind eyes greeted you from behind the counter. “Bonjour! How can I help you?”

You smiled, trying to mask your nervousness. “Bonjour. I was wondering if you might be hiring?”

Her smile faltered slightly, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re fully staffed at the moment. But I do wish you the best of luck in your search!”

“That’s alright. Thank you,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Have a good day.”

The doorbell jingled again as you left, and you sighed, making a note to check back in a few weeks before continuing your job hunt. Next, you approached a charming bookstore nestled between a café and a flower shop. The smell of old books greeted you as you stepped inside, and the owner, an elderly man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose, looked up from his newspaper.

“Excuse me,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. “Are you looking for any help?”

He gave you a kind but weary smile. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just me here, and I can manage well enough. But thank you for asking.”

“Of course. Have a good day,” you said, nodding politely before exiting the store.

Feeling a bit discouraged, you decided to try your luck at a nearby café. The place was bustling with customers, and you hoped that meant they might need an extra pair of hands. You approached the counter where a barista was busy making coffee.

“Hi there, I was wondering if you’re hiring,” you asked when the barista had a moment to spare.

She glanced at you, her expression apologetic. “Oh, sorry, but we’re fully staffed right now. Maybe try back in a month or so?”

“A month… Okay, thanks anyway,” you replied, feeling your spirits dip further.

As the morning turned into afternoon, you found yourself in a part of the city you didn’t recognize. The streets here were pristine, lined with designer boutiques and luxury cars. The buildings were grand and elegant, their facades adorned with intricate details that spoke of old money and high status. It was clear that the people who lived here were exceptionally wealthy.

You spotted a small convenience store and decided to take a break, purchasing a bottle of water before finding a bench to sit on. You took a long sip of water, feeling the cool liquid soothe your parched throat. The hustle and bustle of the morning had worn you out, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. Maybe you had underestimated just how difficult it would be to find a job in a new city, let alone in a foreign country where you barely knew anyone.

You glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The buildings here were charming in their own way, but they didn’t have the same vibrant energy as the heart of Paris. You wondered how far you had walked, how many miles you had covered without even realizing it. The city seemed to stretch on endlessly, each new street a labyrinth of possibilities and dead ends.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help but think about how much you missed the familiarity of your hometown, despite its suffocating nature. Back there, you knew the ins and outs, the shortcuts and hidden gems. Here, everything was a mystery waiting to be unraveled—a mystery that, right now, felt overwhelming.

But you couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity. You had made the choice to move here, to start anew, and you were determined to make it work. After all, wasn’t this what you had dreamed of? A fresh start, a chance to reinvent yourself in one of the most beautiful cities in the world?

You stood up, drinking the last drip of your water before tossing the bottle into a nearby recycling bin. You decided to continue your job search, reasoning that you might as well make the most of being in an unfamiliar part of the city, yet the next few hours passed in a blur of polite conversations and disappointing rejections. You visited a cozy bookstore, a flower shop, and even a small art gallery, but each time the answer was the same: no openings.

At a chic boutique, you approached a stylish woman arranging clothes on a rack. “Excuse me, are you hiring by any chance?”

She looked you up and down, her expression neutral. “Not at the moment. Try again in a few weeks.”

“Oh, um, alright. Thanks,” you said, trying to keep your tone upbeat.

A small restaurant was your next stop. The manager, a burly man with a thick mustache, listened as you asked about job openings. He shook his head. “Sorry, we’re not hiring right now. But I’ll keep your name in mind if something opens up.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” you said, handing him a slip of paper with your contact information.

You continued to push forward, determined not to let the string of rejections defeat you. At a florist’s shop, the owner, a woman in her forties with a friendly smile, seemed sympathetic. “I wish I could help, but we’re fully staffed for the season. Try the market down the street, though—they’re always busy.”

You thanked her and headed to the market, only to find the same disheartening response. The vendors were polite but firm: no openings.

By the time the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the city, you were exhausted. Your feet ached, and your spirits were low. You had covered a lot of ground, but you were no closer to finding a job than you had been that morning.

You made your way to a nearby bus stop, hoping to catch a bus back to your apartment. As you waited, you couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. It was disheartening to face so many rejections, but you tried to remind yourself that it was only the first day. Things would get better—they had to.

Just as a bus pulled up and you prepared to board, you noticed a man standing across the street, staring at you. He was well-dressed, his long, dark hair neatly styled, and there was something about his gaze that made you pause. But you didn’t have the energy to think much of it. You dismissed it as a coincidence, stepping onto the bus and finding a seat by the window.

As the bus pulled away, you watched the city pass by, the streets slowly transforming from the unfamiliar to the familiar. You leaned your head against the window, closing your eyes for a moment. Tomorrow is a new day, and you should continue your search. For now, you allowed yourself a moment of rest, letting the rhythmic motion of the bus lull you into a state of quiet reflection.

If only you had your journal with you.

Seonghwa strolled through the opulent streets, his mind still buzzing with the image of the woman he had seen at the bus stop. There was something undeniably captivating about you—your presence was like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the city’s chaos. Your aura practically reeked of autumn, a season that brought a sense of warmth and nostalgia, and your features harmonized perfectly with the vibe you carried. There was a certain grace you held, a blend of determination and gentleness that made you stand out.

Seonghwa had a unique talent, a third eye for spotting individuals who deserved to be showcased in the fashion industry. Today, it was as if a laser had hit him right in the eye when he saw you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you were the perfect muse Hongjoong had been searching for.

As he approached Hongjoong’s penthouse, Seonghwa’s mind was racing. He had to tell Hongjoong about you, even if he didn’t know your name or where you were headed. He pushed open the door to the penthouse, finding Hongjoong hunched over his desk, engrossed in his work.

Hongjoong looked up, surprise evident on his face. “Seonghwa? You’re back already? And… wow. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Seonghwa shook his head, still trying to process what he had seen. “No, not a ghost. I saw the perfect muse for your works.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, immediately intrigued. He leaned back in his chair, motioning for Seonghwa to sit down. “Settle down and tell me everything. Did you get her name?”

Seonghwa sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “No, I didn’t. I only saw her just as she was getting on a bus across the street. But Hongjoong, you have to believe me. This woman—she’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. Her entire aura screamed autumn. It was like she was made to be your muse.”

Hongjoong frowned, disappointed but still intrigued. “You know how rarely you say something like that. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever used the word ‘perfect’ to describe any of the models you’ve scouted.”

Seonghwa nodded sarcastically. “Thanks for the info, Sherlock. I know that very well. That’s why I’m so certain. She was different, like she wasn’t from here at all.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Tell me more. What exactly did you see that made you so sure?”

Seonghwa took a deep breath, trying to put the ineffable into words. “It was the way she carried herself. There was a certain grace, a natural elegance that you don’t see every day. She had a strong, remarkable energy, yet there was also a touch of softness to it. Her presence was calming, almost like the gentle fall of autumn leaves. Her features were perfectly combined in a way that was so unique as if she’s the only one who could pull off such an appearance. It was her overall vibe—the warmth, the subtle strength, the sense of being grounded yet free.”

Hongjoong listened intently, absorbing every detail. “And you’re sure she’s not a local?”

“I don’t think so. There was something in her demeanor, a curiosity about her surroundings, that made me think she’s new here. She seemed to be exploring, taking in everything around her.”

Hongjoong’s disappointment deepened. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to speak to her. But if she’s new here, she might not have settled down yet. We could still find her.”

Seonghwa nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping for. We’ll need to keep our eyes open, maybe put out some feelers. Someone must have seen her.”

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, considering the possibilities. “Can you draw? Even just a little?”

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard by the question. “A little, yeah. Why?”

Without another word, Hongjoong handed Seonghwa a pen and a piece of paper. “Draw what she looked like.”

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment before taking the pen. His eyebrows lightly furrowed as he began recalling the details as best as he could—the way you carried yourself, the way your presence seemed to radiate warmth. He began to sketch, his hand moving swiftly across the paper.

As he worked, Hongjoong watched intently, his anticipation growing with each stroke of the pen. Seonghwa’s drawing wasn’t perfect, but it captured the essence of what he had seen. The lines conveyed a sense of movement, a grace that was unmistakable. When he finished, he handed the drawing to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong couldn't take his eyes off the sketch. The lines were simple yet evocative, capturing an essence that stirred something deep within him. “She’s... ethereal,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s like even through this sketch, I can feel what you were talking about.”

Seonghwa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “See? It was as if she had her own gravitational pull. Among all the people, she stood out. Not because of any single feature, but because of the way she seemed to belong and yet not belong at the same time. Like she was part of this world but also a visitor.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, still entranced by the sketch. “You really do have a knack for psychoanalyzing people at first glance, don’t you?”

Seonghwa chuckled, nudging Hongjoong playfully. “It’s a gift, what can I say? I see beyond the surface. It’s what makes me such an asset to you.”

Hongjoong smirked, shaking his head. “An asset, huh? More like a pain sometimes.”

Seonghwa grinned. “Only sometimes? I must be losing my touch.”

Hongjoong laughed, the tension easing between them. “Well, you definitely haven’t lost your touch with this one. Seriously though, are you sure you weren’t hallucinating? She looks too good to be true.”

Seonghwa’s expression turned serious. “I’m as sure as I can be. She’s real, and she’s out there. I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes you just know when something is right.”

Hongjoong’s mind raced, the image of you taking root in his imagination. “I need that kind of authenticity, that depth that she seems to hold just from this sketch alone. Someone who embodies change, transition, like the seasons shifting.”

Seonghwa’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. That’s why I couldn’t just let it go. There was a sense of autumn around her—warmth mixed with a touch of melancholy, like she’s seen the world and carries its stories within her.”

Hongjoong’s thoughts were a whirlwind of possibilities. He could already see the designs taking shape, inspired by the image Seonghwa had drawn and the feelings it evoked. “You know, this could be the breakthrough we’ve been searching for. A muse like her could elevate the entire collection.”

Seonghwa smiled, feeling a surge of excitement. “I knew you’d understand. We just have to find her now. Maybe we can start by visiting the area where I saw her. There might be clues, or someone who knows her.”

Hongjoong agreed, his determination solidifying. “Yeah, we’ll start there and leave no stone unturned. I want to know everything about her—where she’s from, what brought her here, and what her dreams are. She’s the missing piece.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly. “You’re already captivated, and we haven’t even met her yet.”

Hongjoong smiled, a mixture of excitement and anxiety in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s my passion for what I do speaking for me. No personal feelings involved. Sometimes, you just immediately know when something—or someone—is going to change everything.”

“So, what do you think, Hongjoong?”

“I think she’s that someone.”

🪞 — lividstar.

#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar．#kim hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong ateez #park seonghwa #jung wooyoung

76 notes · View notes

samuelsdean · 1 year

Text

The Cure to Injuries

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you most definitely didn’t think that the most effective cure to a bruise is a gentle kiss placed on it.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 1.8k

author's notes: this is the first fic i have ever written since my stay on wattpad during grade school. so, forgive me for any mistakes & cheesiness that bled into it. spencer is too cute and he deserves more softness in his life. anyway, i hope you'll enjoy what you're about to read as much as i enjoyed writing it. i hope you'll like & reblog if you find this fic good. please do tell me if you want me to write more because i will!

GROWING UP, YOU’VE ALWAYS KNOWN YOU WANTED TO DO SOMETHING TO HELP PEOPLE. The first job you thought of was becoming a teacher. However, you realized that making lesson plans and dealing with naughty kids weren’t your thing.

The next one was becoming a lawyer. But, you’ve had enough of seeing your dad being buried in paperwork and your family telling you, "You’d be a great lawyer! You literally enjoy debating with everyone."

Then, you thought of becoming a doctor. You were good at science, and you found the human body interesting. That was your dream until you had to see your friends vomit literal bile on the sidewalk and have their stomachs pumped after a night of drinking. After that, you didn’t think you could deal with vomit and other possible human excretions in the future.

Luckily, one sunny day, your brightest idea of what you wanted your future to be like finally came to you. You wanted to work for the FBI. You’ve always been a bit too interested in criminal justice, but at the same time, you wanted to fuse it with your interest in science. So, you’ve decided that becoming a profiler is your end goal.

You just didn’t think about how becoming one could involve getting bruised and battered, possibly even shot at and blown up, and you most definitely didn’t think that the most effective cure to a bruise is a gentle kiss placed on it.

"Ow! It’s good you aren’t the medical doctor kind of doctor because your patient would definitely file a complaint against you."

You huffed and puffed, as you gingerly sat on the ambulance, accompanied by your co-worker, Dr. Spencer Reid. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at you as he continued prodding you for other injuries.

The FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU, has been your workplace for almost four years now. You never thought you’d get here after you realized that you don’t only need brains to become a profiler but also brawn. Fortunately for you, you were too smart for the FBI to pass up on, and, well, you at least passed your physical exams—albeit barely but still enough to get to where you are now. Oh, the dream!

Where you are right now, despite that, is definitely not the dream. You were presently black and blue after being the one to take down and make the arrest of the unsub who had abducted children in Kentucky as surrogates for her deceased child. Despite your injuries, the day ended on a positive note. All the children are going home to their parents alive, and that’s all you could ever ask for. Well, that, and the incessant flocking of your co-worker, who just so happened to be the person with whom you have harbored romantic feelings for quite some time now.

"What you did was stupid, Y/L/N! You could’ve gotten killed, going in there like you’re bulletproof or something," Reid exclaimed, complete with the hand gestures and the word vomit when he’s excited or worried. "Did you forget what happened five months, seven days, and three hours ago? You got shot in the arm!"

In this case, you’re positive he’s about to pass out from all the talking and lack of breathing.

"You know, Reid," You chuckled in amusement and said, "I’m more concerned about you keeping track of the exact date and time I got injured. Are you sure you’re doing that out of concern for me as your coworker, or is it because you secretly have feelings for me?"

The doctor paled, his pouty lips opening and closing like those of a fish, swimming in the depths of the ocean.

"W-what?! What do you mean I have feelings for you?"

That made your heart twitch, and not in a good way. You knew the doctor couldn't reciprocate your feelings. He just happened to have a phenomenal memory. He can’t help but store random information; he has no choice but to remember. But, you can’t help yourself. A tiny part of you still yearns for him to return your feelings. Oh well, you’d rather have him as your friend than nothing at all. But, a little teasing won’t hurt, right?

"I’m kidding, Reid," you snickered, "I know you know that piece of information because of that eidetic memory of yours or whatever."

"It’s not just because of that, you know," Reid sighed.

That gave you pause. It seemed like your world stopped turning and nothing else mattered. It couldn’t be, you thought, there’s no way he likes you back. You’re you, and he’s this otherworldly guy. You can’t even believe he’s real.

"What?" You chuckled nervously, tugging at your ear gently, "What are you saying, Spencer?"

Spencer sighed and frowned, "I know I was the reason you got shot that day, Y/N. I saw the glint in your eye when you thought the best way to save me from getting shot was to push me out of the way and shield me. And that was a stupid move, by the way."

Your jaw dropped. You were about to say something, but Spencer beat you to it.

"Let me finish first," He said, raising his index finger as if to say I still have a lot to say, "It’s stupid because you almost got yourself killed. I was about to move out of the way when you covered for me and you got hurt! You got hurt, Y/N! How was I supposed to live with myself if you ended up dying that day because of me? How, Y/N?"

"But I didn’t! I’m here, Reid." You’re scowling now and about to rant Spencer’s ear off. " What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I wanted to save you that day? Because I’m not!"

You know that what you did that day was incredibly stupid of you. What Reid was saying was true. You could have died that day, but you were too selfish to admit that. You were so selfish that you couldn’t imagine living a life without Spencer Reid in it if you hadn't pushed him out of the way and ended up hurting yourself for it. And you have had no regrets to this day about doing it.

"That’s the thing, Y/N," Reid was almost full-on shouting now: "No matter how much you end up getting hurt to protect the people around you, you don’t care! Did you really think I’d appreciate what you did for me if you ended up seriously getting hurt, or worse, dead?"

Your vision is getting blurry from the unshed tears now. You love Reid so much, but he wouldn’t get it. He would never see you as more than just a coworker. More than a friend.

"No, Spencer," you sniffled, looking directly at him now, "I know you wouldn’t have appreciated it if that happened. Call me selfish, but I care for you too much to ever let anything hurt you and regret what I did."

You stood up from where you were sitting and were about to head to the SUV where you could be alone before driving back to the precinct, but Spencer didn’t let you. He held your wrist, pulled you back, and groaned.

"God, you’re insufferable!" He exclaimed, "Don’t you get it? I care about you, Y/N!"

"I know, Reid," you smiled wistfully, "you care about me because I’m your friend."

"No, I don’t."

This made you stop in your tracks and stare at him intently.

"I don’t care about you as a friend, Y/N. I never did."

"Oh."

Reid sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I don’t expect you to love me back—"

"I love you." This made Reid stop fully. "I have loved you since the day you talked my ear off about Doctor Who. I have loved you since that time I woke up in the middle of the night back in Atlanta and ended up knocking on your door because I couldn't go back to sleep. You told me you'd always be here for me."

"I love you, Spencer Reid."

Before you could overthink your sudden confession, Spencer held your uninjured cheek with his slender hand—and the next thing you know, he is kissing you.

You couldn't help but gasp. You were startled by the suddenness. His lips were warm and soft, almost pillowy against yours. Warmth blossomed in your chest as Spencer's lips brushed against yours tentatively. The smell of his hair—like the smell of early mornings after a night of rain—was dizzying. He smelled so clean and fresh, like soap, with a hint of the smell of a new book.

You felt lightheaded as he swiped his tongue against your lips, asking for entrance, which you gave him. You could taste the hint of sweet coffee he drank just minutes before the takedown. You could feel the soft tickle of his breath and his fingers as he carded it through your hair while you breathed each other in.

You never imagined kissing Spencer could feel like this.

Regretfully, your bruised cheek was starting to take the brunt of all the snogging. You had to pull away because you were running out of breath, so you tapped his cheek. Spencer wasn't taking the hint at all, which made you giggle—cute. Having no other choice, you held both of his cheeks and pulled away.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, silly," you chortled; he's so cute. "I just ran out of breath, and my bruised cheeks hurt. It isn't your fault. Don't worry." You assured him.

Spencer sighed a breath of relief, which made you want to tease him.

"I know what can stop my bruises from hurting, though."

Eager to please you, the doctor was about to start searching for possible medical remedies to your injuries, not knowing you had something else in mind.

"You could plant a kiss on them." You grinned widely as you saw Spencer's neck start reddening, "I'm kidding, Spence," you said, "You don't have to—"

You didn't expect Spencer—of all people—to be the type of person who would shower you with kisses if you asked him, but he is. He started planting light kisses on the purple blotches on your face—not caring that anyone from the local police to your workmates from the bureau could see you.

"I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N," Reid said, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he brushed his lips against yours once again.

You never thought the best day of your life would be the day you get injured. You never thought the best cure for cuts, scrapes, and bruises could be a kiss from the one you love the most—Spencer Reid.

916 notes · View notes

banjjakz · 6 months

Text

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you. “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities. Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #jjk reader insert #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta reader insert #okkotsu yuta reader insert #jjk ao3 #jjk fic #okkotsu yuuta fic #okkotsu yuuta fanfiction #okkotsu yuta fic #jjk fanfiction #my writing #mine #commissions

93 notes · View notes

miasbby · 1 year

Text

indefinitely ours.

(teacher!reader x teacher!Ellie x Abby)

summary : You're not willing to date nor looking for anyone, but Ellie Williams, the art teacher working in the school that hired you a year ago, is making you seriously doubt that decision. With her flirting, praises and constant touches, you're all but ready to give up and ask her out. That is, until you meet her girlfriend, Abby, who to your greatest shock seems very… curious about you.

word count : 7.2k (sorry)

note : this is my first fic in the tlou fandom ever, so it'll hopefully be good and i hope the characterization is okay! i wrote this to practice writing shorter fics and failed.... it probably won't get a part 2 but who knows!

warnings : smut with a bit of plot, female anatomy reader, occasionally mean!ellie and mean!abby but they love you<3, light objectification, degradation and exhibitionism, mention of anal, alcohol use and light intoxication, sub!reader, consent is respected but there’s a few bold moments, bit of a housewife kink, crying from overstimulation, threesome.

●○●○●○●○●○●

An ordinary life is not what most aim for, but you have to be honest in that regard: there’s nothing you’ve craved to achieve more than the simple peace of life, a peace often found in modesty yet sought in extravagance.

The primary school you joined last year has fulfilled that goal in more ways than one, allowing you the safety of a job you spent years dreaming of, a kind group of colleagues that have befriended you ever since you first arrived, and a class made up of the most adorable group of pupils, all eager to learn and earn the good graces of their favorite teacher judging by how the blue of your classroom’s walls are now entirely hidden by drawings. It’s on the outskirts of the city, in a cute area where prices had not soared just yet when you first bought a house, and the neighborhood couldn’t be more welcoming.

Your time is well-spent: between preparing lessons, finding original ideas to keep a hyperactive group of six years old entertained, taking care of the renovations your new house still requires, and caring for a vegetable garden you did not expect to grow so well, it’s safe to say that you don’t have much time left for anything else, and that includes a relationship. You haven’t been looking, really, happy to settle down on your own until life picks up a slower rhythm and to make friends rather than losing yourself in back and forths. Your previous relationships were never particularly fulfilling and often ended up being on and off until you got tired of the uncertainty. You’re done with all of that.

The only person that could make you doubt the choice of celibacy, however, currently has her back turned to you, rummaging through a tiny box of chalk sticks on her desk. The kids are out at lunch and you know she tends to eat on her own in here instead of the break room where all of the teachers often meet up. Of course, you only chose to come get her because she’s been a good friend, not because of any ulterior motive…

“Planning to stay hidden in there for long or are you going to come out and eat?”

Ellie doesn’t even appear startled and you wonder if she could somehow sense your presence by the door. She throws the tiny, useless pieces in the trash, reminding you to filter through your own box of it, and turns to face you with that eternally smug smile, leaning back against the side of her desk. It’s a mess, but that’s not surprising coming from Ellie. Whether it’s because she’s the art teacher in charge in the school or because that’s simply in her nature, you’re not sure, but you know to no longer be shocked by the sight of paper and paintbrushes thrown randomly on her desk.

“Planning on distracting me for much longer or is that gonna stop at some point?” she answers back. “You can’t come in here looking like this and seriously expect me to think of lunch.”

And that is exactly why Ellie is making you reconsider your opinion on dating.

If it weren’t for the constant light flirting you still don’t know how to read into, you think that handsomely sweet face would have convinced you anyway. It’s not that Ellie is your style, it’s that you’re convinced no one on this planet could be more attractive to you. Today’s look isn’t helping either: that opened cargo shirt barely hides the simple white tank top she must own in four identical copies and doesn’t do much to conceal the tight, sculpted lines of her arms, blues veins running down to paint-stained fingers.

Oh, if only you could stop thinking about how they’d feel dipping into the heat spreading from your clit down to your entrance, filling an emptiness that rings between your legs as much as it does in your heart. Unfortunately, such luck cannot be granted to you. Not yet, and perhaps not ever.

“You’re not flattering yourself out of coming with me.” You slide your hand down to the doorknob and motion for Ellie to follow you out, but she shakes her head, grabbing her phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Sorry,” she says, smile dropping with hesitation before she continues. “The girlfriend forgot her lunch at home and I’ve gotta go get it for her. But I’ll see you tonight, we’re still grabbing drinks with the team, right?”

You blink, cheeks straining from the efforts required to keep your smile up even as it turns dishonest, and try to make sense of the word she just uttered, any heat in your belly extinguished by an ice storm. Did she say girl friend or… girlfriend? Why would anyway refer to their friend that way, though… Stop lying to yourself, you got the meaning right on the first try.

Your heart does not break per se, but it skips a few beats you’re incapable of missing. In the few months you got to know each other, Ellie never mentioned a girlfriend nor did she introduce anyone to you.

Well, there goes your only temptation for a relationship. Celibacy it will have to be.

“Of course. See you tonight.”

If Ellie notices the light dim in your eyes, she doesn’t show.

—

That evening, you hesitate until the very last second about going home and finding a new show worth obsessing about or going out as promised. Ellie doesn’t give you much of a choice, however, when she shows up in your classroom right after the last student filters out with his father and pulls you out of your seat, refusing to take no for an answer.

(If it’s the request that convinces you or the strong hold she has on your wrist, you’re not sure. But you still let her tug you to your car anyway.)

The ‘team’ as referred to earlier consists of five other teachers whose classrooms are all sharing a hallway with yours and with whom you spend your Friday evenings in a local beer bar next door, a place Ellie first dragged you all into when you were still relative strangers, to celebrate your arrival. Your usual table is free when you arrive, Mel and Ellie right behind you, and you suppose a beer might be the best way to forget about your stupid little crush and the shame eating at your insides for having taken friendly banter as flirting for months now.

Overall, the night is fun, and after a few well-placed jokes at your expense, you finally manage to leave what happened earlier behind and enjoy yourself. Unfortunately, whatever superior being out there who’s decided you should, after a year of knowing each other, finally get to know all about Ellie’s girlfriend, is not on your side today.

“Oh, hey Abs!” Mel waves behind where you and Ellie sit, still somehow pressed up against each other, and your friend immediately brightens up, turning around to face someone. “Have you finally decided to join us? I thought you’d never leave that work of yours for even one night a week.”

“Maybe next week if she forces me to come.” The woman comes into view and immediately rests a hand on Ellie’s shoulder, smirking down at her before her eyes travel to you and stay locked onto your own for one second too long for it not to feel somehow… knowing. “But nah, I only got here to take Ellie home. I bet she drank too much to drive and that none of you would have been able to convince her not to take her car.”

Mel laughs, joined by the others, and even you have to agree on that. Ellie is particularly stubborn on the average day, but she gets even worse after three beers and a few shots.

“I’m fine, come on… I could drive on my own, a few beers have never killed me.”

The problem is, she says that while stretching an arm over the booth seat, enveloping your shoulders and tugging you closer to her side, and the only explanation for doing that in front of that literal goddess-looking muscle-paradise girlfriend of hers has to be the alcohol. ‘Abs’ raises a curious eyebrow but her smile never dies, and you look away to focus on the bottle clutched in your hand, guts turning into a mix of nervousness and shame that does not blend well with alcohol.

Abby stays around for a bit. The whole time, her eyes remain on you, taking in the features of your face, sweeping over your figure and translating what you would interpret as unabashed attraction if it came from anyone else. It’s like she’s trying to memorize your face, your body, your soul. Like she means to lay an invisible mark on your heart you’ll feel with every beat, right next to the one Ellie has unconsciously placed there long ago.

The arm only leaves its place on your shoulders when who you now know as Abby urges Ellie to go, and you leave soon after, sitting in the dark of your car for five minutes before your head clears enough for you to drive.

That was… definitely something. But you could unfortunately not explain what in any way.

The next time you see Abby does not offer any sort of clearer explanation as to why the mood always seems odd around you and Ellie, and particularly so when she’s there with you.

She comes around for drinks for the first time in months the following week and turns your offer to change seats down, seemingly fine with sitting next to you, her girlfriend on your other side. Her presence warms the hearts of everyone around the table but yours, stressing you out beyond sanity. You know you didn’t do anything wrong and that it’s probably a good thing that you learned of Ellie’s seemingly very joyful and fulfilling relationship now rather than after an attempted kiss or a date proposal. Yet, you cannot help but feel unsure around her - like she knows, like she can read through your heart and flick through its pages until its secrets have been bared.

Abby never talks to you nor mentions you in her conversations, yet, she’s always got an eye trailed on your figure, always silently insists on you being aware that you’re taking all of her attention.

And Ellie, well… Ellie has not changed, and that’s probably where the actual problem lies.

She still smiles at you with that signature smugness you know is only reserved for her girlfriend. She still flirts and teases and touches, still makes comments about how prettily you blush and how well that shirt fits you and you never know what to answer to any of those things. This time again, one of her arms is spread over your shoulders, her fingers fiddling with the fabric of Abby’s shirt on your other side, and if anyone were to look, they’d probably think you’re dating either of them - if not both.

Your thoughts are interrupted by her voice, and you almost let go of the glass of water you requested earlier when its now familiar murmur tickles your ear. “I like this skirt. Is it me you got it for? I’m sure Abby would like it just as much.”

Poorly disguised shock shines in your eyes but Ellie appears unphased, not even bothering with a glance at where her girlfriend listens to Mel vent about a fight between two of her students. You clear your throat, avoiding the heaviness of her stare, and shake your head timidly, scared to voice out your thoughts or to be heard. The fabric isn’t anything short per se, but it rode up your thighs through the night, and you’re suddenly far too aware of where Abby’s glances might have led to earlier. Ellie’s only response is a chuckle.

You think that’s the end of it but that’s without counting on the end of the night - when everyone leaves but Ellie insists you stay around some more, and Abby doesn’t show any interest in moving away, her thighs spread and pressing you further into Ellie. The arm behind your back moves and this time, you can’t control the way your body jumps when she places a hand just above your knee, stroking the tight fabric of your skirt.

“So,” you begin, trying to break the silence. “How long have you two been together?”

Abby takes a swing of her beer and your eyes follow the bulging muscle of her biceps until Ellie reminds you of her presence by patting your thigh affectionately. “Three years now. We met when Abby came around the school to renovate the gym with her crew and ended up moving in two months later. She’s a carpenter.”

“Oh,” you exclaim, interested but also still very much nervous. “That’s definitely helpful to have around at home. How long have you been doing this for?”

It’s the first time you address her directly and the kindness you’re met with feels almost surprising. You don’t think you would be kind to someone your girlfriend is two inches away from touching inappropriately right under your nose, but you suppose you should be glad that’s the case here.

“Ever since I was a kid, really. Being a carpenter didn’t exactly fit my father’s plans but he always encouraged me anyway when I saw how much fun I had fixing things and building my own. What about you? What got you to into teaching?”

Tension leaves your back altogether when her answer reflects the smile perched on her lips and the mirth shining in her eyes. “Children, really. It started with babysitting and then all I could think about was teaching.”

Abby’s eyes dip down to your lips. “That’s cute.”

“I told you she’s adorable,” Ellie interrupts. “And beautiful too, isn’t she? I knew she’d be your type.”

Your lips part to speak but before a protest can slip past them, Abby nods, smile turning almost predatory. “I’d say she’s your own just as much. You’ve always liked your girls a bit innocent.”

“I’m not-”

“Can you blame me, though?”

Abby pretends to think for a second and gets that knowing look again, reading through the blush spreading up to your ears and the fast ups and downs of your chest in ways you fail to understand yourself. Everything’s going too fast, like a ball bouncing from one side of the court to the other, and it suddenly feels like they’re discussing you, praising you, without even including you in the conversation anymore.

“No. I think I understand.”

Ellie chuckles, inching her hand higher up on your lap, and she allows the silence to persist for a moment longer before standing up to order another round for you. Abby never looks away. You’re still trying to comprehend what just happened, still failing to make sense of why your friend’s partner is staring at you like she’s considering the interest of throwing you over the table dirty with food crumbs and alcohol spills and flexing those fingers inside of your cunt instead of playing with the tip of her bottle.

“Oh, you’ve got some crumbs here,” Abby says, eyes flicking down to wear your shirt wraps tightly around your chest. You follow her line of sight, wondering how that could be when you didn’t eat any of the fries they ordered earlier, and find nothing. “Here, I’ll get them off for you.”

Before a word of gratefulness can echo between the two of you, your lips part in shock, a hand positioning itself right above your breast and arching a curious eyebrow, staring into the depths of your eyes. There’s no hesitation in the action, but rather a sort of anticipation you find yourself trapped into. “Is this alright?” she asks, the “Yes,” out by your lips before you can even make sense of what she means.

Deep down, you know what it means. Deep down, you’ve got a feeling Abby might have been familiar with you far before your recent introduction.

Once your agreement has been voiced, Abby startles you, immediately aiming for your right breast and gripping it with the whole length of her palm. A thumb rubs at soft skin only hidden by the light fabric of your shirt, almost transparent, not thick enough to act as a proper barrier, and you can feel it all - the heat of her hand, its roughness, how it’s thick enough, big enough to effortlessly envelop all of one breast.

It’s the first time her eyes have moved away from the trance they had yours stuck into, her stare dipping down to where she pretends to rub at your shirt, only reminding you of the absence of a bra to truly cover you. Your nipple hardens under her palm and that seems to be the goal because her hand changes sides, repeating the process, teasing and rubbing, the cotton fabric too rough for the sensitive little bud. Your thighs rub against each other, failing to get any sort of release from the pressure burning your cunt, hips almost bucking in a silent plea to be filled up by those very same fingers.

Abby smiles, still kind, still honest, and shifts her hand only to roll it between two fingers, pulling a wet moan from your lips you fear the people behind you might catch. “See, that’s better now, isn’t it?” And just like that, she pulls away, hand settling back around her beer, leaving you to deal with the wetness soaking your underwear and the blush heating your face, shining like a broken christmas light.

“Y-yeah.” It’s odd that you even manage to speak when flames circle hardened nipples, driving you into unknown depths of desire, but you’re proud to say you at least manage a coherent sound. “Thank you.”

When Ellie comes back, conversation follows a course far more normal, and if it weren’t for the hooded eyes, the pulsing heat, and the hand claiming its spot back on your lap, you’d think you hallucinated all of the tension.

The state of your underwear when you strip down before a shower later that night, however, is all the proof you need. Yet, you fail to truly comprehend what happened. The innocence that almost shone in Abby’s eyes as she touched you is impossible to make sense of, and the next morning, you’re no longer sure of what her intentions truly were.

Did she mean to tease you like Ellie has been doing - as a friend, a friend who has a pretty interesting definition of the word platonic but a friend nonetheless? Or was this more?

You’re not sure, but if anything, you won’t be the one to bring up the question just yet.

Ellie and Abby are coming over to your house to help with the endless renovations you’ve been making. And no, it wasn’t your idea.

You’ve been avoiding thinking about Abby and how she’s just as illegally fine as who you already considered to be the hottest woman alive, and although ignoring Ellie is impossible, you at least made some progress this past week with accepting the flirting as some meaningless fun. When you complained about the difficulties you’ve been having with painting the ceilings of two rooms and fixing the guest room bed, however, Ellie suggested that they come over to help and, well, how could you turn down such a nice proposal?

That’s how you end up watching them by the kitchen’s window as they relax around a glass of iced tea in the garden, cheeks stained with light grey paint and arms bared, water running in the sink and acting as the background noise to your current fantasies.

The mind owns a power the heart only dreams of having, capable of eternal wanderings uncontrolled by even the strongest wills.

Yours has not resisted purposeless dreams. Dreams that once involved Ellie, a sweet craving for what could perhaps come to exist in the realm of reality - a craving for late-night guitar sessions and paintings in bold colors, for rough palms to sculpt your heart into submission and teasing smirks wiped away by kisses. Dreams that now involve someone else, a person you have yet to truly understand but who seems to perfectly fit a puzzle from which you did not believe a piece lost. Her body rings with a rigidity that’s a lot more pronounced, yet her heart appears softer, willing to lead you further into the depths of a euphoric swamp.

A blurry motion startles you out of your thoughts and you blink to find the water is still running, the time still passing. Ellie is waving at you and Abby is staring with a raised eyebrow of curiosity.

You smile, waving back, and turn off the tap.

Fantasies are just that, unfortunately. You’ll have to make do with your imagination because it seems Abby isn’t intending on repeating what you’re getting more and more convinced was meaningless teasing anytime soon.

They spend the next weekend at your house too, fixing broken cupboards and a tall wardrobe you couldn’t figure out how to close fully, helping with the garden and any heavy objects you need to move around.

It comes to a point where you decide that if you can’t have either of them, then dreaming is fine. The only problem is that you end up doing that a lot, and getting caught is inevitable.

“Could I borrow your shower?” asks Ellie once the day reaches its end, the sun freefalling on the horizon. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” Abby has fetched a chair for the same reason but you know how much Ellie like to sit beside you. Her girlfriend’s presence has not stopped the oncoming stream of cuddles she requires from you, and you’re more than happy to be held, touch-starved since the end of your last relationship.

“Sure. I’ll get the food ready.”

You stand from the couch to head for the kitchen but before you can disappear, Ellie grips the hem of her shirt and pulls it up, revealing a glistening, tight stomach in what feels like a slow motion to you but is surely a very normal pace for anyone else. The fabric slides off her shoulders and gets thrown straight to Abby’s face but your brain is in no way capable to register anything but newly revealed skin and soft curves hidden under a white sports bra.

“Feel free to join me,” she adds, teasingly, and you know it has to be directed at Abby who, it seems, is just as affected as you are judging by the darkened gaze she keeps directed at Ellie, but if that’s the case, then you cannot explain why Ellie is staring right at you as she says it before turning around and leaving for the bathroom.

It’s that gaze you see once they’re gone that night, writhing on top of your bed, covers thrown to the floor and pillow wet with your spit. It’s that gaze encouraging a second, then a third finger to fit into your cunt, the pressure too much yet so far from what you wish for, from how well you know they would both fill you, breaching past undesired tightness and taking all that you’re willing to give.

And it’s their voices, blended in as one, whispering praise into your ear and urging you to let go when you finally fall over the edge, tears pooling in your eyes and teeth aching from the marks they’ve left in that poor pillow.

“You know,” you begin, words not slurring but speech clearly affected by physical exhaustion and beer. “I thought you were flirting with me before you suddenly mentioned your girlfriend.”

A chuckle greets you, but you can’t tell if it comes from Abby or Ellie, both of them cuddling on the couch in front of you as you lay on the fluffy chair you bought for decoration purposes but that’s actually pretty amazing to use when sleepy. The night has fallen and you spent a lot of time in the garden today while Abby watched over you and Ellie finished with painting touch-ups, explaining the tiredness numbing your arms and the effects of the alcohol.

Your eyes remain closed and you shift around when air tickles the bottom of your stomach, your shirt having ridden up to reveal skin.

“What if I was?” and this time, you know it’s Ellie - sure, because it sounds like her, but also because she’s the one who likes teasing you the most.

You huff, internally rolling your eyes. “With a girlfriend like Abby, trust me, you were not. You’d be dumb to flirt with anyone else or want to kiss anyone else,” you say, voice barely above a murmur. That second beer should not have been handed in your hand, but Ellie has always been a bad influence and Abby drinks them with little effort. Slowly, you half-whisper, “Bet her lips are so soft.”

Abby laughs this time, reminding you of her presence, but you’re too far gone to care. “I think yours would put up a great fight in a contest,” she says, the smile evident in her voice. “Maybe even win, who knows. I know I wouldn’t mind trying you out.”

“Hey!” Ellie interrupts, “I get to try her out first. I found her. You would want me first, wouldn’t you?”

It takes a while for you to register the question and understand you’re being spoken to. “I think I want the both of you… together.”

Someone’s breath hitches, but you fall asleep before you can find out whose.

All you remember the next morning is strong arms holding onto the back of your thighs and your back carrying you up the stairs, a pair of sweet lips leaving a kiss on your forehead, and the throbbing traces of a hand on the naked skin of your stomach.

That must have been a fairly nice dream.

You’re in the kitchen when things truly take a turn you did not expect to happen in reality, breaching the realm of fantasies and fully stepping into your life - your peaceful and joyful life that, as you will soon come to realize, was actually missing two precious souls to reach the desperate form of completion you sought.

Abby is drying the dishes you’re washing and Ellie is… well, she’s simply being herself, avoiding any sort of chore and whistling in the living room as she chooses what movie you’ll all be watching tonight. The mood has been particularly tense today and this time, you’re glad to say it’s not your fault. Abby has been especially attentive to you, asking about your day, your past, and the shape you imagine your future to take, casually exchanging indecipherable looks with Ellie. They’re more than familiar with your house now yet they’ve never acted more like strangers scared of trespassing.

If you didn’t know better, you would think of them as almost… afraid.

Fortunately, the tension left as soon as night fell and you all settled back into soothing habits. At least, that’s what you think, until a shadow looms over your back, blocking the naked lightbulb from shining light on the last plate in your hand, and you realize that Ellie isn’t as busy as she made it out to be.

“Dinner was great, thanks for preparing all of it again,” she says, supporting her weight with one hand on the countertop and the left one innocently resting on your hip. Her touch is welcomed and familiar, her palm cupping the curve to perfection. “Anyone ever told you you’d make the perfect little wife?”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes although you know she won’t be able to see it. “If that’s truly the case, there’d be a lot more people pilling up at my door, or at least one person. I think you two are just terrible cooks in desperate need of a chef.”

Abby shakes her head, nudging you with her elbow as she wipes water from a pack of forks. “You’re not wrong in thinking we’d wife you up in an instant if you wanted, but not because you’d be a great chef.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees, flexing her fingers where they rest on your hip. “I can think of a few other reasons. You’d be an amazing mother, for one, and you’re far more patient than either of us deserve.”

“And you’re ready to put up with her stubbornness, so a perfect match, really.” Abby’s comment makes you laugh but Ellie speaks again before you can tease her about her own issues with never doing as told.

“All of that, and I even bet you’d be such a pretty little thing to fuck.” Your hands freeze on where you’ve just put the plate away, tension seizing unready muscles. You blink, staring by the window, the night turning it into a mirror and reflecting the shock wild in your eyes. For a second, you’re convinced to have misheard. But the silence that follows tells the opposite story. Ellie’s close, suddenly, closer than she was before, and Abby’s hands have stilled as well, her body tight with stress. “I feel like we didn’t thank you properly for all the meals you’ve prepared for us. What do you think, Abby?”

At the edge of your vision, you can sense that Abby has given in and glances at you from the corner of an eye, the sound of her breathing audible, loud. “I think she very much likes politeness, and… it would be rude not to give back after taking so much, wouldn’t it?”

“Right. And what about you, um?” The hand on your hip slowly slides closer to your front before drawing back, again and again, in what feels like a maddening caress. “Do you think we should thank you? Together, I mean.”

Later, you’ll have more than enough time to consider just how stupid it was for you, at that precise moment, to doubt the true meaning behind Ellie’s suggestion. There’s a part of you that yearns for this to be real, for it to feel real, but that part cannot be allowed to exist because it is directly connected to a risk of disappointment you’re not sure you would survive. So, when you reply a breathy little, “Yes,” you don’t actually expect what follows.

“Good girl.”

A whine spills past your lips but the reason behind its existence is blurry - is it the praise, vibrating through your lungs and soaking your cunt, or is it the hand that fully slides against your front, rubbing at the seam of your jeans frustratingly right above your heat, the other suddenly palming the curve of your ass and roughly kneading skin? You think you’ll never know for the first moan, but the next one is inevitably due to the second pair of hands finding a place to have some fun of their own.

“I can feel how soaked you are already,” Ellie says, tone teasing, taunting and forcing past your defenses. “Are you sure you didn’t expect this to happen? How often did you fuck yourself wishing it was us, hmm, pretty girl?”

You think that question should not require an answer, mostly because you’re incapable of giving any, incapable of getting that brain of yours to think and function properly. But Abby doesn’t seem happy with your silence, and she finally decides to remind you of her presence.

“We asked you a question, sweetheart.” Her voice startles you and your head turns to face her, your heart soothed by the admiration and the awe and the desire reflected in usually tight features. She’s smiling, not that usually kind expression but one that’s almost amused, and you realize you’re in serious, serious trouble with these two. Two fingers seize you by the chin, pushing it upward, and a thumb rubs at your bottom lip. “How empty did you feel thinking about how good we could take care of you?”

“I- I didn’t-” Ellie’s nails sink into the flesh of your ass, reprimanding, and Abby tuts, shaking her head disappointedly.

“It’s alright,” she adds. “You can be honest with us. There’s not a single time we fucked since you started working here that we didn’t think about you, about how complete you’d make us.” And you’re going to process that at some point, but now will not be that time. Not when she continues to speak, stealing any hope for coherency from under your feet. “We’ll take care of you now, though. Come on, Ellie, don’t be a tease.”

Ellie hesitates, hands still, fingers flexing. They stare at each other with blazing heat in what you think could be a fight for dominance you’re not sure to make sense of when they could just take out all of that on you.

“You better beg for it.”

When the gearwheels begin to roll again, you lose all sense of reality.

It’s like they both observed you for months, like they figured out what button to push and with how much strength, what you love and what you’re too ashamed to admit you need. Chills of shame erupt on your arms at the idea, worsened by how smoothly Ellie works your body.

“Let’s get these off you,” she mutters, lips hovering right next to your nape, inches away from a kiss. “You won’t be needing them around us anymore.”

There’s possessiveness in her words and there’s possessiveness in how fast she slips the button of your jeans off and tugs on the material, slowly, as if to admire what is finally hers to worship and use as she deems fit. Abby growls, watching with a well-trained eye as the tight fabric slides over your ass, and her hand moves down to press against your throat, keeping your back shamefully arched, ass raised for their eyes to feast onto. Your pants end halfway down your thighs, and you have to say there’s nothing surprising about Ellie’s eagerness to get to the source of her desires, hot between your thighs.

“Abby told me I’d love your ass. Guess she wasn’t wrong.” You expect your underwear to follow next but she decides not to bother with that. “Ever gotten fucked there before, or are you keeping that tight little hole for when we decide to use it?”

“N-never, I- I don’t-”

Abby sighs, shaking her head warningly. “Ellie… focus.”

“Right, sorry. We’ll keep that in mind for another time, you’re ours now anyway, aren’t you? Our pretty little toy.”

You’re all but ready to cry when fingers slides into the front of your underwear, familiar roughness perceptible in the actions, immediately drenched in your desires. Your cunt aches, your core throbs, and your nipples harden. A cocktail of needs that can only be sated by much more than what you’re given. Efficient fingers part your folds before expertly reaching that little bud of sensitiveness at the top of your mound, circling it, pinching it, driving you crazy with it.

But that’s not what truly seals the first release of the night. That only comes when Abby decides to fully join in on the fun.

Fingers unbutton your shirt until it parts to reveal the pale pink bra that matches the current dark pink of your panties, only abandoning your neck until the offending lace has been pushed right under your breasts and returning to its hold. You think Abby’s going to kiss you, for a moment, but she’s only reveling in the hot puffs of air slipping past your lips and trying to swallow down the guttural moan that vibrates in your throat when Ellie decides she wants to take the next step.

The hand that had for now been palming your ass travels closer to your center and tugs flimsy fabric out of the way carelessly. You’re not given a warning when the first finger breaches past your entrance, only the sound of Ellie spitting on her fingers for unnecessary lube and that feeling of needing frustratingly more. A whine lodges itself at the back of your throat, and they both laugh, only turning your frustration worse.

You want to move and fight back, tell them you’re more than capable of taking charge yourself. But there’s something about being treated as a toy meant to receive pleasure, about being admired and taken and praised, about that second finger joining the first and filling the tightness of your cunt, that forces you into a soothing form of submission, allowing every touch and taking them willingly.

Abby palms at one breast, rolling a nipple under the strong surface in a touch that translates all of her strength. “Is that blush for us, pretty thing? You’re gonna come all over her hand like a good slut already, aren’t you?”

And, it’s cruel, but of course you do.

Ellie flexes her fingers, increasing the speed of her arm. You can’t see it, but you know veins must shy prettily all over her forearm and biceps must be bulging from the tightness required to fuck you like she does now - like she wants to pull orgasm after orgasm from your core until you no longer understand what it means not to feel the maddening pulse of a release coursing through your body like liquid fire. Abby turns meaner, rougher, pinching a nipple between two fingers and pressing the hand further into your neck, forcing you to follow its direction and standing further on your toes.

Four hands - teasing, fucking, taking.

Two souls tauntingly attracting your own into their orbit, sealing an invisible lock around your heart, your body, your being itself.

And sweet, sweet praise, whispered right under your ear, sending you into a release you’re helpless to control.

“Ellie, Abby… I-” The moan that travels from your chest and spills past your lips is rough, guttural, connected to the inhuman waves of pleasures rocking through your body. Your cunt clenches around the fingers still thrusting in and out of your center, clinging onto the digits until they’re forced to stop, Ellie breathing heavily in your ear. Abby kisses down the curve of your throat, teeth nibbling at sensitive skin and laying a mark you refuse to ever cover.

Your moan ends, broken off in tense breathing, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, and that’s when you catch the groan vibrating Ellie’s throat. It, too, falls into silence.

Abby swears against your skin, a deep, rough “Fuck,” that sends shivers down your spine.

“Told you she’d be the cutest little thing to corrupt,” Ellie teases, slowly sliding out of you, fighting against the tightness of your walls and your eagerness to be fucked into a stupid mess. “She’s all proper and shit but I could tell she’d love it.”

“I never doubted you.” Abby says, kissing the lone tear sliding down your cheek with all of the tenderness she can conjure. “Come on, let’s get her on a proper surface.”

Heat blooms on your cheeks when Ellie steps away to allow Abby to take you into her arms, the ground suddenly disappearing from under your feet. The way they talk about you like you’re not even there, like you’re too fucked out to understand a single word, would be shameful under any other circumstance. You know it’s only a game when Ellie takes advantage of finally facing you by planting a soft kiss on your forehead, pushing away a lazy strand of hair.

They begin to walk toward your bedroom like they perfectly know the way, and your vision turns dark right as they push the door open.

“Can you hold her open for me or have you been slacking at the gym?”

Your eyes remain closed, but your brain kickstarts itself into working properly again. You can feel the familiar linen of your sheets under your ass and soft naked breasts pressed against your back, another weight shifting in front of you on the bed.

The body behind yours shakes in rhythm with a chuckle and you recognize Ellie. “Can you still eat pussy or should we trade so I can show you? Sorry we didn’t plan for your strap, I thought she might have a cock lying around but… we’ll have to take care of that next time.”

“Fuck you,” says Abby half-heartedly, the sound followed by more shifting.

You’re fully aware again when Ellie grabs the back of your thighs and tugs them, spreading your legs and allowing air to tickle the slick still running from your center, drenched folds bared for anyone to use as they please.

“Come on, get to it. I know you’re hungry.”

Another pair of hands holds you by the ass and your eyes flutter open, hoping to catch sight of what you once dreamed about. Abby barely spares you a glance before she all but leaps to feast on your cunt, igniting a fire not yet extinguished.

“Abby… Abby…” You repeat her name like a plea, like a prayer. Your hips buck and trash around, your heart pauses and starts again, your releases come and come again right after each other until you exist no more, a broken toy a kid cannot help but continue to play with.

Lips circle your clit and suck, pull and deliver rough kisses. An expert tongue gathers slicks at your entrance and spreads it all over already drenched folds, eating rather than licking, a starved woman relishing in her first and last mean. It’s all too much, too soon, too sensitive, and you’re in no way capable of pulling away, four hands keeping you all tight and secure in their hold, a prisoner to your own pleasure.

“Keep them coming, pretty thing. I want your cunt red by the time we’re done with you tonight,” Ellie murmurs in your ear before resuming the path of tenderness her mouth trailing on down your neck.

You only find the strength left in yourself to follow that order.

An unwelcomed warmth burns your closed eyelids and you shift, attempting to escape its path. To your great despair, it doesn’t budge. A tired groan echoes in the room and you blink sleep back into your body, limbs stretching and encountering a soreness that did not exist before.

Oh. Right. Last night happened and… it was not a dream this time.

Fear seizes your heart for a moment and you quickly look around, scared to find the bed empty save for your body. A happy sigh of relief marks the moment you see them - Abby clinging to Ellie’s back, still sound asleep and temptingly naked, and Ellie holding onto your waist, staring up at you with a smug look and a kind smile.

“Morning,” she says, voice broken from sleep. “You didn’t think we’d abandon you, did ya?”

“N-no I… I’m just happy to see you.” You cannot control the dumb smile that widens on your lips, and Ellie’s smirk only widens, her hold pulling you back into the eternal depths of the sheets.

“We’re not going anywhere, try to get some more sleep.”

It’s a simple sentence, meaningless on the surface.

Yet, you know it’s more than that.

It’s a promise.

A promise for more, meant to suppress the doubts blossoming in your chest. A promise that they’ll be there when you awake again, and again, and again.

#ellie williams #abby anderson #ellie williams x abby anderson x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #abby anderson smut #ellie williams x abby anderson #ellabs

596 notes · View notes

cardboardheartss · 8 months

Text

Short PAC : What would BTS members think of you?

⚠️DISCLAIMER! TAROT CARDS ARE NOT 100% ACCURATE! TAKE EVERYTHING WITH A GRAIN OF SALT! IF MY INTERPRETATIONS ARE INCORRECT FEEL FREE TO CORRECT ME!⚠️

remember to take a deep breath, and think about which pile you feel most connected to before you pick a pile to read!

(Please don’t forget to like, reblog and follow! It will be much appreciated!📦)

Pile 1 : GMA Performance

Pile 2 : HHYLT Era

Pile 1 : GMA Performance

Overall energy : Strength, KnoP & The Fool

The BTS members think you’re really cool! They LOVE your vibes overall! In their eyes you seem like a very strong, patient and hardworking! They also think you have a pretty tough demeanor too! You may have a tough demeanor, but they also think you’re a bit naive and really carefree too! You give off “YOLO” vibes to them!

RM : 2oP

RM thinks you’re a very busy but skillful person. He thinks you manage wayy too many responsibilities and struggle to just and rest at times. If he could give you any advice, he’d want you to slow down for a little bit and just rest to avoid overworking yourself.

Jin : 10oS

Jin views you as a person who’s sad? He thinks you’re quite melodramatic. You may have had experienced some sort of loss and he can tell that it has affected you a lot. He would want to encourage you to keep going!

SUGA : QoP

SUGA sees you as a family oriented person. Thinks you’re also down to earth, smart, warm-hearted, and you’re also devoted to your loved ones and people around you in general! Overall… it’s really positive thoughts!!!

J-Hope : Wheel of Fortune

You give off, “go with the flow” vibes to jhope! He sees you as a lucky person, who’s is literally protected by the universe! He thinks you’re also really kind, you’re like his twin lol! Once again! Positive vibes!

Jimin : The Hermit

Jimin thinks you’re spiritual. He views you to also be an introvert too, who is also detail oriented. Jimin could also think you’re probably a teacher, given off by your calm demeanor with many wise words to say.

V : The Tower

I believe for V, he may meet 2 different types of pile 2! One of them being a person who he thinks has a strong aura and you literally pave the way, and go against society’s norms. The other type of pile 2 he’ll meet, is the one who he thinks loves to stir up drama for no reason and sees you as a person who thrives in unnecessary drama as well!

Jungkook : The Chariot

Jungkook sees you as a focused person, whom wants to achieve their dreams! He believes you are a hardworking person too. But he may see you as an intense person, who doesn’t want to be played with, so he will avoid getting into any trouble with you!

Pile 2 : HHYLT era

Overall energy : 5oS, 8oP & AoC

The members think you’re very competitive whom likes to stand out , and will not be bothered if you lose friends/family to want to achieve their goals! They think you’re also a perfectionist who’s also very emotional because you wear your heart on your sleeve lol!

RM : 8oS

He may think you’re very stubborn. He thinks you don’t know your way around this thing called life, and you often times victimize yourself.

Jin : The Chariot rx

He thinks you’re not a force to be reckoned with, he might even be too scared to tell a simple joke! You seem really aggressive in his eye!

J-Hope : 2oP

He will see you as a very busy person. He may think you have many jobs or sources of income. For you to rest because it will be too much work for your own mental and physical health.

SUGA : 2oS rx

He views indecisive. In his eyes. He sees as a type of person who would sit for an hour, deciding what to eat for dinner that same night. Apart from you being indecisive he does believe that you’re able to understand other peoples opinions and see both sides of the story.

Jimin : The Empress rx

Jimin thinks you lack creativity. he thinks you worry too much, mainly about work. He also thinks he have body image issues, and that you have a strong connection with Mother Nature, if he could give you any tip and advice he would want you to love yourself specifically your body, because of a very naturally beautiful body, no matter what shape or size .

V : AoP rx

V would think you’re over spender, and he thinks you cannot plan your future properly. You seem to go with the flow, but that doesn’t help you in anyway whatsoever. if we could give you any tip, he would want you to stop planning properly and to stop over spending your money because you’ll never know if your salary will increase or decrease.

Jungkook : 7oP

Jungkook sees you as very hard-working. He thinks you’re good at making a long term career path/investment! He appreciates all the hardwork and can see you doing excellent things in the present and future!

Thank you for reading!📦

(21/01/2024)

#tarot #tarot reading #bts army #bts tarot #pac reading #pick a pile #btspac #Namjoon #jungkook #park jimin #taehyung #kim seokjin #yoongi #jhope #kpop tarot #kpopstan #taehyung users

96 notes · View notes

l1llina · 5 months

Text

"Huh, me? Like him ?"

Alhaitham x Fem!Reader

18+, Minors dni

Synopsis: The Akademiya is pushing a big project to fight the Abyss Order. You along with the other students are assigned to work on it. This project will bring you and Alhaitham closer.

It’s another day, another day of zoning out. What annoyed you even more was this really stuck up guy in your class. He always seemed to look down on everyone else, including you, and you’re a sensitive bitch so this bothered you a lot.

One day, the school reveals that every student will play a part in building a machine to fight the Abyss Order specifically the Abyss Prince. The pressure and excitement in everyone was of course very high almost overbearing. You couldn’t believe it. This was... amazing. Big ambitious projects with the whole help of the school. The school officially recruited everyone and everyone became an employee for the Akademiya.

Unfortunately, the way they assigned divisions were by class, this was all planned by the day you enrolled. The leader of your division who could order you to do anything he wishes was.. Alhaitham urgh. This went from being your dream to a nightmare.

He actually didn’t put many rules but the goal for that semester was to finish an elemental laser gun. Surprisingly every person in the class had a different role. You received the Casanova role but why did they need one ? At first, you pondered maybe they just didn’t want to hurt your feelings but then you guessed it was because they still lacked sufficient funding for such a project so you were the leader of your own little crew. The marketing crew!

Your job was to convince people to invest in such a project, and honestly who better for the job hah. Additionally the school encouraged the students to actually date and find love within other similar types. You were kind of manipulated into dating the heads of the project. Since production would go up if a Casanova and Leader got along well.

You were “advised accordingly” to go on a date with Alhaitham, your enemy. You didn’t have any romantic/sexual feelings for him before the date but during the date, he seemed a little obsessed, a little too happy to be here.

The Akademiya issued Friday to be a day to deepen relationships between the students. Admittedly they cared more if you had sex. They didn’t give the opportunity to buy condoms, since they hoped the students could bear kids to continue the project if the parents died.

Alhaitham urged you to take a sip of wine, you did out of politeness and out of curiosity to see what he’d do. You didn’t want your gut feeling to be right, to think he’d do something terrible, however when you came to, you were in white lingerie in Alhaitham’s dorm.

“Hey.. Y/N, I’m sure you know why I abused my position of power to get you here. You teased me on purpose huh, wearing that short pencil skirt. I don’t like helping the school with their corrupt ways but I can’t help but want to keep you to myself so let’s bear a child and we’ll rule the school”

He began teasing you, bouncing you on his thigh, you muffled your moans, refusing to yield to this asshole’s demands, but slowly, after being edged for so long, you started losing your rationale and following his demands. He worshipped the body that would give him an heir and the woman who clouded his mind for years.

“I saw how you looked at me in class, such hatred and disgust, there’s nothing more satisfying than triumphing over my enemies but in this case, you’re my doll now and don’t worry doll I’ll make sure to treat you right and please you accordingly”

You thought he’d stop at grinding you on his laps but he got down on his knees and started stuffing your tiny hole and circling your clit with his tongue. Urgh the only thing that’s stopping you from giving yourself to him fully is your pride. If you gave in, he’d win and there’d be no guarantee you’ll find real love with him.

“Why are you still holding back, do you think I’ll hit you ? Insult you ? Never, not to the girl I’ve respected for so long”

“W-What, re-respect hngh..?”

“Yeah, you’re a little stupid but you always kept your promises and showed your hatred for hypocrisy and oppression of the system. You’re exactly my type, I love your character and I hope even after this little stunt, you can find a place in your heart to love me too”

“Al.. I didn’t wanna give in because I don’t like losing.. These past few years, I always thought you were an asshole, even now you’re proving my point but right now I couldn’t care less, you being an asshole also ties with your ambition and I couldn’t find anything more attractive than that, well devotion too but you’re that too so. More so, you’re fucking hot.. Are you kidding me ?”

“So, we’re a thing then ?”

“Yeah.. now fuck me with your cock already, just so you know though I don’t really like kids but I still wanna have sex with you right now”

He plunges his cock and makes you cum many times that night. The next day your dorm changed to Al Haitham’s and you shared a dorm now. Outside of school hours and even during, you would be in his office, dating and fucking him”

At night, you found a new nerd pal to geek out with but he sometimes takes it too far and it ends up in passionate makeout sessions. The next morning, the cycle continues

TBC <3 Pls don't hate me

#al haitham x reader #smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #yandere al haitham #al haitham #fanfic

56 notes · View notes

nicoline1998enilocin · 8 months

Text

A new start

PAIRING ⇒ Husband!Ari Levinson x Wife!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT ⇒ 1K

SUMMARY ⇒ You've always dreamt of turning your career around, starting in a new field. When you mention this idea to your husband, Ari, he is very supportive in the best way he knows how to be.

RATING ⇒ General (G)

WARNINGS/TAGS ⇒ Age gap (5-10 years), use of nickname (Beautiful)

REQUEST ⇒ @cevansbaby-dove Something for me being that i am nursing school can u write something (pick anyone chris has played or himself) in a fic of reader is having a stressful day about school and he helps her study for an exam she is nervous about (tons of cute things and smut if you want)

A/N ⇒ Thank you so much for this request, and I deeply apologize for taking this long to get around to it! I still hope you will love it, and thank you for your patience! @ccbsrmsf1 thank you so much for proofreading this one! 💜

EVENTS Masterlist ⇒ @fluffbruary ⇒ Caress Masterlist ⇒ @flufftober Flufftober '23 ⇒ Encouraging s.o. to reach a goal Masterlist ⇒ @ultimatechrisbingo ⇒ ''I like to be the exception''

Banners: Yours truly ⇒ Divider: @firefly-graphics ⇒ GIF: Source

Main Masterlist ⇒ Ari Levinson Masterlist

For the last six months, you haven’t been able to get the idea out of your head to switch fields. It’s not that you don’t enjoy being a teacher by any means, but something about being a nurse has intrigued you ever since your stay at the hospital almost a year ago.

You’ve been searching the internet for courses catching your eye and finally found one. You can do it in the evenings, so you can still work while following it. Now, all you can do is tell your husband about your plans.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours, Beautiful?” He asks as you sit at the dinner table, shoveling the food from one side to the next without actually taking a bite. You squeeze your eyes and find the courage to tell him what’s been circling through your head.

“I-it’s nothing, Ari,” you say with a smile, though it’s not very convincing. He can see something occupying your mind and won’t stop until he knows exactly what’s happening.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me; you haven’t touched your food at all,” he answers with a raised brow, and that’s when you know you can’t keep it inside any longer. He reaches over the table to grab your hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over your knuckles.

“I want to switch fields and become a nurse. I’ve been looking at fitting courses for the last six months, and I found one last week,” you tell him in a rushed breath, and the heat spreads over your cheeks, a mix of shyness and embarrassment taking over.

“Really? That’s amazing, Beautiful! If I’d known sooner, I would have helped you find a fitting course,” he says enthusiastically, and every single doubt you had melted away as you finally dare to look at your husband. He’s always been nothing short of supportive of you, and it makes your heart flutter every single time.

“So… You’re not mad at me for doing this? I know we have plans for our future, and this might get in the way of those,” you say softly, but Ari is sure to wipe every last doubt away.

“God, I would never be able to get mad at you for following your dreams, Beautiful! Just as long as you promise to put on a sexy nurse outfit for me now and again, I’ll be more than supportive of you,” he says with a wink, and a broad smile spreads over your face at his words.

“Deal!” And with that, you finally dive into your food, and Ari is glad you’re feeling better. During the rest of dinner, you tell him everything, and that night, he even helps you out as you’re signing up for the course, followed by a night of passion as he constantly tells you how proud he is of you.

The following day, you wake up in your husband’s arms, snuggled right into his chest, the hair tickling your cheek as his chest keeps rising and falling. His hand is caressing your back gently, pressing soft kisses on the crown of your head.

“Mornin’, Beautiful,” Ari says as he feels you stirring awake, and you lift your head to press a kiss to his soft, plump lips.

“Good morning,” you say before snuggling even closer to him, your naked bodies intertwined under the covers. You don’t want to get out of bed yet, and Ari seems to have the same plan as he pulls you closer, his beard tickling against your face as it makes you giggle. You will never get enough of moments like these.

“So, how does it feel to be starting nursing school soon?” Ari asks in his rough, deep morning voice, sending the butterflies in your stomach off.

“Good, been wanting this for so long that I’m thrilled I found the courage to tell you and sign up,” you tell him. You can’t wait to see what becoming a nurse will be like, and you’re excited to follow this path with your husband by your side.

The first few months of nursing school were going well, but now you have a critical exam coming up that has you stressed out beyond belief. You have studied the material inside and out for the last few weeks, but there are still some things that you can’t seem to remember.

You’re pacing through the living room with your notes in your hand, repeating everything out loud until they lose all their meaning altogether. When you’re about to give up, Ari walks in after working in his office all day, and he can see the nerves radiating off you from a mile away.

“I think it’s time for a break, Beautiful,” he says, walking over to you and wrapping his long arms around you, pulling you into his chest and calming you down.

“But I have to study, Ari! I can’t take a break,” you say, and he can see your bottom lip wobble slightly, tears threatening to spill over as the nerves begin to win the battle.

“Of course, you can, and I’ll take one with you, okay? Maybe we can watch an episode of your favorite series as I massage your feet and you drink some tea,” he offers, and you give in, not being able to say no to something so enticing.

“You know, whenever I talk to other people in my class, I sometimes get the feeling their partners aren’t even half as supportive as you are,” you tell him, and you groan as he massages your feet, and you melt into his touch.

“I like to be the exception, Beautiful,” he says, and with those words, you enjoy the rest of your massage before he helps you study, and with his help, the last information is quickly saved into your brain, too.

When you get your exam results a week later, you can’t wait to tell him.

“Ari, Ari! Guess what?! I passed my exam because of you!” You say as you jump into his arms, and he hugs you close, pressing kisses on your neck as he tells you how proud he is. Not long after, he’s making you fall apart the best way he knows how.

“I’m proud of you, Beautiful, and I can’t wait to have my sexy nurse take care of me soon,” he whispers in your ear before going for round two.

110 notes · View notes

ickadori · 8 months

Text

++ 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐆

[summary] forced to voice an embarrassing thought to keep from dying, shen does what he does best and comes to your bedside to tease you.

[cws] gn reader. minor spoilers for the UMA spoil fight. reader has a broken rib. unedited.

Maybe turning into a semi-mindless zombie wouldn’t be so bad - at least you wouldn’t have to worry about doing a skin routine any more.

You also wouldn’t have to shout out your hopes and dreams and completely embarrass yourself in front of the trio.

67 seconds.

You sigh to yourself, arms crossed over your chest as you listen to Shen’s dream —a very grandiose one at that, but a part of you feels as if there’s a small possibility of it happening…or maybe that’s just your bias talking—, and three sets of eyes turn to you, waiting.

“Oh,” you start, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed at the attention. “I…I think I’m just gonna let the timer run out, guys. Don’t worry about me. Carry on.” You wave them off.

“Stop fuckin’ around, this isn’t a game.” Andy snaps, and you shoot him an annoyed look. The man that had come charging in with a rocket launcher, snagged a zombie-bride, and then proceeded to have the entirety of the zombie town participate in a brawl was telling you to stop fuckin’ around?

“Maybe you should try telling that to yourself, you half-dead per—” A head of blue hair is suddenly blocking your vision, and you blink as Shen crouches in front of you, his eyes trained on yours as he gives you a patient look.

“What’s going on?” His eyes flick between your steadily decreasing timer and your face. “Even if we kill Spoil, their ability won’t go away, you know. You’ll stay a zombie.”

“That’s fine,” you obstinately turn your nose up. “I’ve been thinking about switching up my look anywa—!” A scream is pulled from you when you’re suddenly snatched up into the air, and you look back to see Andy holding a fistful of your shirt, a maniacal grin on his face as he propels the both of you closer to spoil.

“You wanna be a zombie, eh? Then let me help speed up the process!” You recall how Andy had immediately spoiled when he got too close to the UMA, and a wave of panic washes over you as you’re forced to come face-to-face with your decision.

“W-Wait! I change my mind! Andy, I said—Andy!” He catapults you into the air, and you wonder for a brief second how the hell Fuuko could possibly get used to this.

Andy grins up at you, and your hands reach out for him as you go flying back down, only to be met with nothing as he cackles. “You know what to do if you don’t wanna die!”

Your gaze moves to Shen who’s watching on with a look of amusement, and your cheeks and ears burn as you slap your hands over your eyes.

Damn it all.

“I’ve gotta say, your dream is quite the lofty goal.”

You groan as you flip over in the infirmary’s bed. Not only had you been forced to shout your humiliating dream at the top of your lungs, but Andy had also failed to practice the same care and compassion he put into carrying Fuuko around, resulting in him breaking two of your ribs when his torso slammed into yours to keep you from going splat on the ground.

Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away - it’s wishful thinking, but it’s better than facing him after you loudly declared that your dream in life is to—

“I never saw myself getting married,” Shen muses, “but if it was to you…well, I don’t think I’d have too many complaints.” The heart monitor you’re hooked up to starts to beep wildly, and you make a noise of embarrassment before you’re hastily moving to pull the wires away from you.

You only manage to get one off before a pair of warm, strong hands are covering your own and pulling them down to rest in your lap, and your head snaps up to lock gazes with Shen, that signature smile ever present. “I hate you.”

“Yet you wanna marry me - you’re a strange one.” He breathes out a laugh, slightly leaning forward in his chair, and you go to turn your head only to find that you can’t.

“Shen, stop.”

“What?” You narrow your eyes at him, and he pouts before dropping his ability. “I don’t like when you hide that cute face of yours. Haven’t I told you that?” Yes, many times, and it’s only served in making you want to hide it even more to conceal your burning cheeks.

“Well, get used to not seeing it because I’m never showing it again once I get out of here.” You’ll go into hiding—put your ability to good use and vanish off the grid and lay low in the African jungles or something. You could live off the land; build a small house, start a garden, hunt for food, really just reconnect with nature while you waited for the world to end.

Yeah, that’ll do.

“Oh that won’t do,” Shen tsks as he shakes his head. “It won’t be much of a wedding if I can’t see your face.” The beeping goes haywire again, and you sputter as you shake your hands free from his grip.

“I-you-we’re not getting married!” The both of you hadn’t even kissed yet—you weren’t even in a relationship, not really! There was…something between the two of you, but with the possibility of being killed so high, no one was really eager to form such connections.

The idea of getting married to Shen had only come to you after hearing Andy announce that he was getting hitched, to a zombie of all things, and your mind had immediately conjured up images of you and Shen being the ones to tie the knot. It had been a silly thought, but your brain had latched onto it nonetheless in that instant.

“Yet.” He stresses, and then your hands are back in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. “We’ve got a lot of milestones to hit before we can finally tie the knot, after all.” He leans in a bit more, and your eyes widen as his flick down to your lips. “…I think now would be a good time to hit one of ‘em, don’t you?”

…you must have died. Andy hadn’t caught you at all and you had burst open on the ground - they were probably scooping your body parts up right now to give you a proper burial.

You must be in Heaven right now, and this is simply all just some kind of hallucination that God blessed the love-sick idiot with, and who were you to deny such a generous blessing?

“…yeah.”

His lips are soft against yours, incredibly soft, like pillows, and his scent wraps around you and squeezes you tight. You feel warm all over, and when one of his hands move to cup the side of your neck, you briefly wonder if you had went to Hell instead with how hot your skin burns.

His tongue runs along your bottom lip, prompting a gasp from you, and you feel him huff out a laugh through his nose before his tongue is making its way in. It’s rubs against yours, and then it’s running along the roof of your mouth and forcing you to abruptly pull back from the ticklish feeling.

The both of yours breathing is ragged, but that doesn’t stop either of you for going in again - the next kiss is messier, sloppier, chockfull of held back emotions that had been festering for months, and Shen curls an arm around your waist to tug you closer.

A sharp pain follows the action, and you wince through a groan as Shen immediately pulls back and moves his hand away from your side. “I’m sorry,” he pants, lips moving to press against your temple. “I got too caught up.”

“It’s okay.” So much for being in Heaven. “It’s just still really sore.” He hums, fingers softly tugging at the hospital gown you wear as his eyes take in your face. You take the chance to do the same, although you find your gaze focusing on his pink, puffy lips more than anything else.

They curve into a grin. “See something ya like?”

“No.” His fingers push into your cheeks.

“Your face is burning up. You sure you don’t see something you like? You positive? Maybe you want another kiss, huh?” He squishes your cheeks together, forcing your lips to pucker, and you make a noise of complaint before he’s pressing a quick kiss to your mouth. “And another, yeah?” He kisses you again, a loud, exaggerated ‘mwah’ sounding after, and you laugh as best you can with your cheeks squished together.

You don’t know if marriage is in the cards for you two, but even if it’s not, you think that just being with him as you are now is enough.

#undead unluck #undead unluck x reader

120 notes · View notes

becoming-happy-for-myself · 2 years

Photo

Vision Board 2023 ✨

1. Exercise: For me this means moving my body in any way, shape or form. I want to go on walks, experience nature, different places in and around my city, go on hikes. I’ve recently bought a used Crosstrainer/elliptical off of eBay - I’m going to use it 3-4 times a week to build up endurance and to simply keep my heart and therefore my entire body healthy. It has for some reason always been a little dream of mine to some day run a (half-)marathon. I am nowhere near able to do that anytime soon... But this year I'm starting to work on that!

2. Diet: I want to cook more. I want to use fresh vegetables and fruit. I want to limit fast food/sweets/processed food because I know they don’t make me feel good and they’re not contributing to my goals. I’m not saying I won’t ever eat any of those things again, but they should be an exception, not the norm. Since I also struggle with Crohn’s disease, this is a very important aspect that I have to figure out for the rest of my life. Even though the medication I'm on right now is doing a good job, I’m sure I can support my body by feeding it actual real food - and therefore also prevent future flares.

3. Self-Care: This includes skin and hair care. I have very acne-prone and oily skin, but I know that actually drinking a lot of water and religiously following a skincare routine does help a lot. Self care for me also means taking care of my mental health. I’ve always been a pretty anxious person, but this last year really hasn’t been great. I want to start journaling / writing in a diary again, as this helps me clear my head and at the same time it is a wonderful thing to look back trough my life at a later point. I also want to figure out, what it is I want to do with my life (career wise). I’m currently studying in a masters program, but as of late I'm not sure if that’s actually what I want / should be doing.

I’m going to share my journey on this blog, which will also include specific goals, daily routines, what I eat, and what I do to reach my goals. I want to lose weight (around 15 kgs / 33 lbs), feel healthier and more energized overall and become happy and content with the way I live my life. I hope you guys are along for the ride ✨

495 notes · View notes

tomorrowxtogether · 6 months

Text

Music BEOMGYU listens to, sings and writes

The TOMORROW X TOGETHER member shares his views on the power of music

Having grown up with music around him, BEOMGYU has since become an artist himself and takes on the role of DJ on his Weverse radio show, Beom’edio, to discuss his musical thoughts, feelings, and tastes with his listeners. You can tell how serious he takes music by how he carefully combs through lyrics to pick out songs that perfectly reflect the stories he hears from fans. BEOMGYU’s already been an idol for five years, but he’s still passionately exploring his musical side, looking to get better at playing guitar and writing songs. He lights up when he talks about the power of music, and wants to be the one to show people just how powerful it can be. As you’ll see below, BEOMGYU’s musical world keeps on growing up and outward.

A friendly, chill time with the host of Beom’edio BEOMGYU: Hosting a radio show was always a small dream of mine. I wanted to hear stories from listeners and give me thoughts on them, talk about my own experiences—just chill like that. I was on a number of radio shows after debuting, both as a one-time guest and over a few episodes, and that led to me setting myself a goal to have my own radio show some day. I don’t put in a huge about of prep for the broadcast—just get excited thinking about the stories I’ll get to hear and think about what I should tell them. I’ve seen MOA worry about me before, like, Is something wrong with BEOMGYU today? He looks a little down today. But it’s not like that—never. (laughs) I’m always pretty quiet when I’m not working on camera and even more so when the other members aren’t around. I keep reminding the fans that keeping things chill and low-key works nicely for me.

Choosing songs for MOA after a long, hard day BEOMGYU: I read people’s stories, look up lines from songs that have made me feel better in the past, and try to pick out the song that matches best to play. I recommend these songs to MOA after they’ve had a long, hard day in hopes that it’ll be a good way to bring it to a close. Sometimes just a single little song can be a huge source of relief after a really tough day, you know? And I really love hearing people talk about their lives. When I recorded the third episode of Beom’edio for my birthday, there were a lot of stories about birthday traditions I forgot about but that I’m sure I used to do, like eating seaweed soup. And I remember there was someone who talked about how they turned things around and wrote their parents a letter on their own birthday and their mom cried while reading it. I learn things from reading MOA’s stories and get wrapped up in their emotions, which I feel like gives me more emotional depth.

The feel-good beauty of comforting indie music BEOMGYU: When I was a trainee, I listened to “Photograph” by offonoff a lot, and practiced singing it, too. I would listen to it at night when I was alone and that helped calm me down. I really loved that. That’s when I started really getting into indie music. I still listen to it today. To me, indie music feels like it’s either really poetic or really straightforward. When I’m listening to music, or when I’m writing my own lyrics, I like a song where the words alone can make you feel better, even without any melody. A lot of the songs that gave me support when I felt anxious or down were indie songs, so I listened to a lot of them. That’s why I play indie music for MOA so often on Beom’edio.

Heo Hoy Kyung’s cover of “Anti-Romantic” BEOMGYU: I said on Beom’edio before how “I think the power of music is amazing.” When I experience emotional uncertainty, I really rely on the power of music. It can be especially tough being in unfamiliar places when traveling abroad. So, before I get on a plane or go up on stage, I need some alone time. And in times like that, I always listen to Heo Hoy Kyung. I was so happy when I saw recently that Heo Hoy Kyung sang a TOMORROW X TOGETHER song on Lee Hyori’s Red Carpet and talked about me. (laughs) She sang “Anti-Romantic,” and that song means a lot to me because I worked really hard on the lyrics and I feel emotional whenever I perform it. I was with my parents when she covered it, and I kept bragging and showing it to them. I listened to her cover on repeat until I fell asleep. (laughs) If I ever get to cover one of her songs, I’d like to try doing “So life goes on”!

Songs that bring BEOMGYU back to a special time BEOMGYU: My taste in music is heavily influenced by what I listened to with my dad when I was young—listening to ABBA songs like “Dancing Queen” and “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” early in the morning, or “Piano Man” by Billy Joel. Even now, whenever I listen to ABBA, I still picture waking up at three or four in the morning with my dad and driving to Taebaek. And my mom used to play IU’s album A Flower Bookmark on a speaker every morning. Whenever I hear songs from that album, I think about the times I woke up rubbing my eyes. That’s part of the reason why I bought a copy on vinyl. Sure, you can just listen to music, but it also makes memories last longer, you know? It makes them memorable. That’s what makes music so special.

BEOMGYU’s approach to songwriting BEOMGYU: When I write a song, I always, always, always draw on personal experience. When I go to write a song, if I can look at what it’s about and relate to it and go, I’ve thought that before, or, I’ve dealt with this before, then I can get really into writing about it, but I don’t really write about things I haven’t personally experienced. I don’t feel really confident about writing about emotions I haven’t personally felt. Everyone has their own approach to writing songs; this is just the style that’s worked for me so far. I don’t sit down to write songs—I’ll just be walking along or washing my hands in the bathroom when suddenly an idea hits me and I make a quick note on my phone or hum the melody and record it. I try to take my thoughts and feelings about my experiences and turn them into songs.

What BEOMGYU wants to preserve through his music BEOMGYU: It feels like lots of people are so busy living their lives that they completely miss out on the things right in front of them. Even me: Until just recently, I was so involved in the things I’m working on that I never properly got in touch with my parents or with my friends. But then, this year, I realized something. I’ve been in Seoul for something like seven or eight years now, and I feel like I’m missing out on so much. I need to look around myself more and take better care of the people around me. There’s a song by LANY about parents called “if this is the last time.” We always think of our moms and dads as these strong superheroes who always win in the end, but at some point you realize they’re getting older. I go down to Daegu once a year to see my parents, and every time I do and I see they’ve gotten a bit older, it really hurts to think about—because, even though everybody gets older, I wasn’t there to watch it happen and I couldn’t pay enough attention. And I want to preserve this realization I made earlier this year by writing a song about it.

A growing appreciation for “Skipping Stones” BEOMGYU: In a previous Weverse Magazine interview, I mentioned that “Skipping Stones” really lets me show off my vocals, but to be honest, I wasn’t confident about that from the start. When I heard we were going to have an indie song, I had no idea it was going to sound like that. It felt all new. It didn’t sound like what I’m used to hearing from indie. But SOOBIN absolutely loved it. That’s when I realized how many different styles there are within indie, and over time, I really came to love it. And it sounded even better with our vocals. My vocal parts were higher than I usually sing, and it feels like the way I pushed myself to sing it actually brings out the emotion better. It doesn’t normally feel so emotional if the singer can effortlessly hit those high notes. (laughs)

Songwriting always begins with a guitar BEOMGYU: Guitar is one of those things I can never leave out of my music. And actually, every time I write a song, it always begins with the guitar. I honestly think songs without guitar in them feel flat. (laughs) There’s something comforting about an acoustic guitar—and electric guitars make you feel energetic. I’m still looking into guitar lessons, too. I’d love to keep taking lessons, but it’s hard to find time with all the promoting and touring, unfortunately. But I fell even more for the electric guitar while practicing the song “Wonder” for the latest concert. Learning to play electric guitar better would vastly widen the spectrum of music I could write, not to mention my ability to express those things on stage. I want to get better so that I have more to offer. Practicing guitar empties my head of distraction and instead fills it up with determination. (laughs) Like, I gotta do this.

Packing five years into minisode 3: TOMORROW BEOMGYU: Preparing for this comeback was the busiest we’ve ever been, without question. (laughs) All I was thinking about while recording the vocals was, I really have to do a good job here. I just thought, the better I do it, the better the message gets across. “Quarter Life” was the song off the album that most closely aligned with my tastes at first, but now I’m loving “Miracle” the most. “Quarter Life” is a unit track with Kai, TAEHYUN, and me, all of who love the sound of rock music, so we were extremely excited to try something like this. I actually thought about doing rock music with Kai all the time, and I wanted to do it with TAEHYUN too because he has such an amazing voice with a wide vocal range.

Shared tastes in music among the group members BEOMGYU: SOOBIN likes indie music, too, so he recommends a lot of songs to me. He’ll send me, like, three songs and then two days later come ask me, “Did you listen?!” But the truth is, I don’t always check them out right away. (laughs) If I say, “No yet,” he pushes me, like, “Just listen already! Listen to them right now!” (laughs) SOOBIN’s really broadened my taste in indie. Sometimes when I’m with him and see how he listens to music, I think, Wow—this guy really loves his indie. Of all the songs he’s sent me, my favorite was Kim Hyunchang’s song “Nothing but Morning,” which I talked about on Beom’edio. I think Kai and I click musically too. Both of us used to play instruments and we love rock music.

Speaking up through indie music BEOMGYU: I’ve mentioned before that I have a personal goal where “I hope I can engage in indie music in the future.” While I do work on and put a lot of thought into TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s music, I’m also constantly thinking about what my music is like. So, when I have a little more time and my skill levels improve a bit, I want to think about what kind of music it is I truly want to do and try to write my own music. Learning guitar is another part of that dream. Those songs you hear where they play the guitar and softly, softly sing about the things they want to say, and they make you feel good? That’s the kind of music I want to make. Music that says what I want to say.

#txt #tomorrow x together #240408 #weverse magazine #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #weverse

48 notes · View notes