himani98

[mssallsunday]

mouthwashing features a mc who rapes and impregnates a woman and then crashes a spaceship full of innocent people to cover that fact up when the news gets out to the ppl she confides in and the captain tells her her assaulter wouldn't do that because he "knows him" and the mc pretends like it never happened as he is haunted by the images of his lies and deceit and cowardice and the image of his unborn child and the sound of a child's cries and the captain who failed to act cannot move himself or feed himself or speak for himself or defend himself when the mc attacks him and berates him and blames him for every lie he's ever told as the captain loses every scrap of autonomy he has left. but yeah it's about fucking. capitalism and yaoi. whatever i guess

[mellosdrawings]

The Princes

Ten years later. When marrying a Prince turns a Queen and a Servant into actual Royalties.

Because Vil deserves a real crown and Jamil deserves to be treated better.

NOW I'M GONNA RANT ABOUT MY CHARA DESIGNS CHOICES AND ALL THE DISCOVERIES I MADE WHILE LOOKING FOR REFS! If you only care about art and funny doodles, you can scroll down for a handful of slices of life.

(Don't worry if you can't read my notes, I'm repeating myself better right under this)

Leona

-Lion: As you may know, one of my grievances with Leona is how his hair doesn't look like an actual mane despite being a lion. While I don't want to stray too far from the canon design with the usual drawings, that's the occasion for me to have some fun with a future version. Give that lion a beard and voluminous hair!

-Hair: First, get those bangs out of his face. Despite Leona being very confident, he still has bangs covering his scarred eye. I wanted him to finally own the aspects of him that may be scary to others (his UM, his scar, etc). I actually went with bangs framing his face similar to the ones he had during his Overblot. I wasn't sure whether to give him dreadlocks or curly hair, but I ended up choosing the free curls decorated with some atebas and braids so that Vil could have more fun styling them.

-Eye: Thanks @aria-faye for the idea, I decided to have his eye gradually lose its capacities with time. From a headcanon that, while the eye wasn't directly touched by whatever attack scarred him, the process of healing still had an impact on it and he gradually lost sight in his left eye years after years.

-Body: Not giving him a dad bod (yet, maybe in another ten years), but definitely giving him more voluminous yet casual muscles. Practical muscles with a healthy dose of fat and tissues. Also giving him two full sleeves of tattoos because I decided he should have much more than just his lion tattoo.

-Clothes: Went full Maasai dressing and Kenyan fabrics and beadworks. If you're not familiar with it, please go check it out, it's GORGEOUS!! Crown is beadwork too. He also has one Arabic styled foot jewellery.

Jamil

-Hair: My first order was to remove his double-faced hairstyle and also remove his bangs from his eye. Make him confident enough to show his whole face. Unlike Leona and Vil, he doesn't really want a crown though (he still feels weird about becoming royalty) so instead he uses a braid as crown. Also gave him a little goatee because I like facial hair and Jafar has a beard too.

-Body: He grew up! While he didn't quite catch up with Leona and Vil, he is now closer to their sizes than before, sitting at around 180cm. He kept his breakdancer/martial artist lean muscles but developed a bit of shoulders.

-Clothes: Went full Arabic dressing and fabrics (once more, go check the fabrics, they are pieces of arts). I gave him floral motifs instead of his usual fire/snake motifs (though he does have a snake earring and a fangs necklace) to symbolise his rebirth/blooming. Like Leona, he has one piece of jewellery that is beadwork.

Vil

-Hair: Here it was a bit tricky. Considering Vil's work, he likely changes hairstyles a lot, going from long to short for his roles instead of his wants. So I leaned into the little things he could add to his hair despite their constant changes, mostly jewelleries, beadworks and wool decorations he stole from his husbands. He also cares a bit less about them looking perfect and is allowing himself to be more natural. He doesn't have any facial hair (yet), keeping a youthful appearance for as long as he can. In another ten years though, he might start looking more and more like his father, beard included.

-Clothes: For Leona and Jamil's mental states, the three of them most likely started living in Sunset Savanna so they wouldn't freeze to death. Vil is well traveled so he can handle most temperatures without trouble, and he is used to dressing up in the local get ups. Here I decided to give him both African dress and Arabic fabric, and likewise both beadwork and golden jewellery. I gave him crown and heart motifs so he can keep being himself despite borrowing a lot from his husbands.

There, I'm done rambling. Here's some doodles, followed by some random headcanons.

-Vil does his husbands hair every morning and keeps giving them more and more intricate hairstyles. He developed a whole haircare and beard-care products set for them.

-When Vil is away for a movie, Jamil keeps his hair mostly down save for a few accessories.

-Jamil and Falena get along surprisingly well (to Leona's despair). Vil gets along very well with Falena's wife.

-Jamil acts as a Scalding Sands ambassador and still is the one to care for Kalim when he comes to visit, though this time he's doing it because he wants to and not because he has to.

-Vil got used to his new title immediately but Jamil struggles with it a lot. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he is no longer a servant.

-The servants at the palace love Jamil because he always makes their job easier.

-Leona finally decided to put his wits to good use and became Falena's advisor. He still fights a lot with Kifaji about the direction to take with the country, but he managed to make some of his ideas heard to help with the staggering inequalities in the country.

That's all for now!

[lylianrae]

A list of all the things I have manifested ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

We manifest everything in our lives btw - the good and the bad which is why I will be including both to prove that the law does not discriminate. If you can successfully become poor, you can most definately become rich with the same ease because everything is just a state.

Long hair

AHH this is one of my favourite manifestations. Ever since I was young I had a weird bob with a fringe (often crooked) and I wanted long hair like all the other girls (lmaoo) but my mum was strict so she didn't let me grow it out. Although I didn't know about manifestation back then, every new year and birthday I would wish for long hair and I would pretend I was a princess with butt long hair. Guess what, somewhere along the line, my mum let me grow it out and now I have butt length hair (don't really know what to do with it tho </3).

As all kids do, I went through an emo phase where I chopped off like half of my hair like 4 years ago. I literally grew back 7-8" of hair within a month because my parents got too mad. I knew about manifestation here so I just assumed my hair always grows unaturally fast. Same with when I cut bangs, they grew past my chin within a couple of weeks.

Manifesting my way into a private school

Honestly this just shows that you dont need 2430430 hours of working on your self concept to manifest. Literally so many celebs, including Marylin Monroe (the queen), manifested their fame with awful self concept. Likewise, here I was possibly going through the worst time of my life back then. I would wake up at 8 am and start studying and end at 11 pm despite being only 10 at the time. I was so freaking stressed and envious of all the other children and went into a depressive spiral where my two options were pass or die. I didn't even have enough practice and I cried my self to sleep on most nights. Anyways, when i did the exam I was deathly calm and even after the exam I was apparently so chill so my parents thought I failed.

I literally left 9 questions on one paper but throughout the summer, everytime I found a dandelion I would make a wish and imagine digging a tunnel to the examiners room where I secretly change my answers into the right ones (lmfao my tiny 10 yr old brain - idek how it worked). Anyways my results were sent back to me a month later on a random October evening and I got a really high mark. Even after 7 years of going to this school I havn't met anyone who has gotten a mark higher than mine.

Curly hair / straight hair

Sigh. We always want things we don't have. When I was younger I had really straight hair like 1A asian hair but when I was like 10, I really wanted curly hair and I would try to curl it often. After a few months, I manifested a curling iron and my hair literally became naturally curly like right after a wash it would curly af when before it was dead straight. Naturally I grew bored of it and I wanted my straight hair back and for ages I began overcomplicating the law and struggled to manifest it. It was only recently when I actually let go of the 3D that I manifested the silky, shiny straight hair.

Social life?

This is also a funny one, just shows how easily you can manifest. So back in 2021 after lockdown I felt so lonely and felt so left out of my friendship group so after a few months I began stressing myself out and spiraling for like 30 minutes, sobbing to myself about how I was so lonely and how nobody loved me (💀). Anyways it became reality, I found myself uncomfortable in many social situations and found myself becoming forgotten far more easily. I don't really remember the details but it was so bad that I think I accidently manifested social anxiety (oh well we still up tho).

However I am a loa girly so I found myself listening to popularity subliminals and slowly (but surely) my mindset change from having no friends to being the most popular girl in the year. Like no joke I became friends with like 3 people from different social circles so at lunchtime we had to join up like 3 different tables so we can all sit together. Overall I got myself 20+ close friends and even my ex friends began to admire me although it had ended badly. Even now, when someone says something thats untrue - for example saying that they are dumb when they are not, they would be like "ahaha so its like when Rae (me) says she has no friends, the whole school knows who Rae is".

Clear skin

This was sort of in the beginning of my loa (law of attraction back then) journey, I just randomly found out what subliminals were and was still quite new to everything. Now I don't even understand how it happened but I had busted some capillaries under my skin and it looked like small red viens under my skin and bro I was freaking out at the time. One night I was like just, I had enough, I'm going to get myself better skin and so I listened to a sub once for 3-4 days and on like the 4th day, my cheeks began to heat up which was odd and the next day it was 90% gone. Just like magikkkk.

Desired university?

Guys. Feeling is the secret. Don't you ever forgot that - not feeling as in emotions but rather the feeling of knowing. I had 2 entrance exams to do to apply for my universities and it was a stressful time where I wasn't getting enough sleep and wasn't eating enough simply because I didn't have the time. Like I come home from school and would have 3-4 hours of homework, then I need to revise for tests and then the remaining time would be spent on the entrance exams. Each past paper took 2 hours and I have around 13s per questions and I was already struggling on time. Anyways, I began to hate them and I would often complain to my mum saying things like "My score got even lower!!" or "I hate it so much" or "My head hurts / eyes hurt".

Guess what? Not only did I see my score decrease over time but I also made such a silly mistake on the most important entrance exam which I needed for 4/5 of my universities. I left a question and completely forgot to mark on the answer so when I finished the section I realised I had one more space on the sheet with like 10s to spare. I didn't have enough time to go back and fix it and lemme say that I did so badly in the test. Even while waiting for results I was just like "ah it would be a miracle if I scored above this bla bla".

I got the score back and it was so freaking bad like I did not stand a chance at my university at all. However, I started to affirm for a place and to my utter shock and surprise my desired university reached out and offered me an interview. I knew people who had like scores which were 50% better than mine and they still got rejected pre-interview. Anyways I began stressing about the interview and the results of the whole thing and boom. I got rejected 3 days after my birthday lmaoo. But its okay because I'm reapplying and I learnt so much more. I'm redoing the entrance exam and my score is a loooot better than it ever was last year.

A key take away would be thoughts are the result of the state you are in. Your dwelling state manifests and I was focusing on the unrealness and the difficultly of getting into this uni and thats what manifested. At the time I was heartbroken and literally went through the 7 stages of grief and spent so many months trying to revise it only for me to focus on the 3D. Just know that everything is done in imagination and it appears in the 3D as a result.

Photographic memory

So this is also something I had manifested before I actually knew about loa but the takeaway here is that manifestation is always instant. I was around 11 reading a random book on my tiny kindle and the book was on how to develop a good memory and I was like ah that'll be useful. Anyways later in the car, I asked my dad about photographic memory and he sort of explained it to me. I just assumed that I have that and I told him I do. He just laughed at me and said thats something that you have to train for and I was not impressed lmao. Inside my tiny brain, I was just like nope, I already have photographic memory and I dropped that thought. Let me tell you, my memory is actually photographic and has helped me out on so many occasions like my brain just takes pictures of things.

Learning fast

This is also something I did before I knew loa, I was just always wondering why the other kids couldn't grasp concepts as easily as I did. Literally in every lesson I would be like ah I learn so fast and now I am actually blessed with the ability to grasp complex subjects so fast. A favourite example of mine would be when I was obsessed with music but to take it to a higher level you need to be able to play an instrument. I couldn't at the time and my teacher told me the requirements a week before the actual deadline. I have never actually played piano with both hands but one day I sat down and worked through the entire song (fur elise by Beethoven) which is a grade 5 (I think) and it normally takes people months / weeks to learn. I learnt the whole thing in 3 days and from then on, I could play piano like I had been doing for ages. Again the memory thing was so helpful because I never actually used any sheet music, I learnt it off a youtube video and I remembered every single note I needed to play.

Hourglass body + 22" waist

This was a couple of years ago when I actually didn't understand loa. Anyways long story short, I would do a 3 minute workout and then flex infront of the mirror all day (💀) and be like omg I have abs. Overtime, I actually got so skinny everyone around me kept pointing it out to me and my mum got so concerned that she took me to the doctor like 4 times. It was so funny, I would loose like 2-3kg overnight and my parents would have to buy better fitting uniform.

Bigger boobs

This was also back in the day (2021?) when I didn't understand how to manifest things easily af. I had an A cup but I wanted better boobies and I listened to like 2 subs for a week and I went to a B cup. But I just assumed I have a bigger cup size recently and I just skipped C and went to D+ (haven't measured in a long time).

I'm not done but I'm tired now bye bye

[rottiens]

✮ tags. (18+), fem!reader, bf!geto, established relationship, domesticity and fluff, reverse comfort if you squint, cockwarming, petnames (baby).

✮ wc. 1.5K

✮ notes. guys...I swear I didn't mean to do this smut, I swear this was going to be fluff,,

"Hey."

Suguru calls out to you from the door of the shared room, his shoes absent, his white shirt unbuttoned —his chest exposed to your eyes, very few scars, the one or two moles and a marked abdomen, along with a path of curly, dark hairs ending where his pants begin— as he carries his uniform jacket on his forearm.

Your eyes filled with life, you've been waiting for him all day.

"Come here," you call him softly towards the bed patting the mattress, setting the cursed techniques book aside to focus on him.

Suguru shuffles his steps across the floor of the room, his shoulders are slightly down, his hair as he approaches you can see it getting more and more disheveled, loose strands sticking out from every corner of the perfect bun that once existed.

"What happened?" You question him, Suguru was at that point crawling his body to the mattress like a worm. His face remains just above your bare thighs as he looks up at you from below with eyes full of love, your fingers comb a lock back behind his ear. "I only missed one day and this is your state, huh? You missed me that much?"

Suguru rolls his eyes, then closes them, letting himself be dragged down by the weight of exhaustion. His long arms wrap around your waist and you lie like that for a while, so silent you think he's fallen asleep until his raspy voice shakes you, taking you by surprise.

"I'm tired."

"You want to talk about your day?"

Another grunt. "It's just that being a teacher is harder than I thought."

"This is only your second week." You speak in the same sleepy tone as he does, almost as if you're seeking not to wake him up.

"Satoru makes it look so easy," he says, still with his eyes closed.

"You know this is fun for him. He doesn't take it as seriously as you do." You try to comfort him, still massaging his skull.

You get a glint from his brown eyes as he opens one eye for you, squeezing the other.

"Baby."

"Hm?"

"I'm getting hard." You stop yourself from stroking him all at once, he moans. "Don't stop. I'm sorry."

"I thought you were tired." You were confused… this wasn't unusual but still, you couldn't help but frown somewhat incredulously.

"And I am… but I'm so stressed lately, I'm late from killing curses and you're not here, I get up early and you're not in bed and, ugh."

"Hm?" you insist.

"I've been thinking about you all day," Suguru sighs.

You swallow, nervous because you know where this road leads —you've lived it a hundred times already— your caresses become a little unsteady in his hair and Suguru notices, drawing a smile in his unconscious. Your skin feels very sensitive to his touch, his warm fingers hugging your skin where the pajama top can't cover.

"What have you been thinking?" you venture to ask.

"You know exactly what I've been thinking," he murmurs, scrunching his face against the warm flesh of your thighs. "About you, about your hugs, about your mouth, about your kisses, about your hands on me…"

Suguru opens his eyes wide, smiling without showing his teeth and your heart, never able to have adjusted to his effect, leaps. He leaves the comfort of your lap to get up, Suguru throws his shirt on the floor and settles on the bed to wrap his arms around you from behind, you arrange your body so that the two of you form a perfect arc.

You knew what that position meant, but as if Suguru thought you were in doubt, he adds, "Let's get some sleep."

Are you sure?" It was six o'clock in the evening, sleep now meant waking up like wide-eyed owls in the wee hours of the morning. It meant making coffee to keep you awake until you had to go to work again because there was no way you could fall asleep again.

"Just a little bit," he says, not mentally reasoning the same points you are. You let it go because he really feels exhausted and you know what it means to him in that state to have your him keep you close.

Suguru settles in better behind you, his strong arms holding you close to his body, impossible to escape even if you wanted to. His face is hidden in your neck and the warmth of your boyfriend after so many days of being away feels good, his hands are on your tummy making circles that lead you to close your eyes.

Suguru moves closer to you, and though his breath on your skin makes you want everything more than sleep you try for at least a couple of long minutes, until you feel his arms stir like snakes in your body and move up to your breasts and squeeze. You lie still, wondering if he did it out of inertia until he does it a second time.

You groan, inevitably pushing into him, bumping into an erection that digs hard against your ass.

His calloused fingers search for your nipples on the fabric finding them instantly hard. Suguru sighs deep in your throat, squeezing your body a little tighter, the tips of his pearly teeth grazing your flesh.

"I thought you were sleepy…" you moan, throwing your head back, giving him the space he needs to suck on your skin.

"Shh," he shushes you with another insensitive squeeze to your nipples, Suguru didn't used to be so rough, but his actions only hid behind the desire when he missed you.

His fingers enter through your top and fiddle with your nipples, playing with them back and forth. You both continue the game for a while longer, him squeezing and tugging at them, you rubbing against his hard cock directly ruining your pajamas thanks to the non-existence of your panties.

"Put it in," you barble full of ecstasy, you feel him grinning near your collarbone.

"Already?"

"Yes, hurry."

"Are you wet?" he doesn't let you answer as he keeps talking— "Let me see… No panties," suguru emphasizes. Without asking permission, he reaches through the elastic of your shorts and positions himself with his middle finger between the soggy folds of your pussy. He rubs your clit, you blindly reach for his erection in an awkward position where you throw your arm back but he stops it; ceasing to knead your breasts to make it prisoner against your back.

You moan, wanting to touch him too, but all prayer is half-hearted the moment his hooked fingers expand your pussy. Suguru is fucking it with his digits, you are obscenely wet, you soak him to the knuckles, staining your own thighs in the process and the room fills with the sticky 'click click click' sounds along with the chorus of needy moans.

Suguru kisses your wet temple.

"I missed you," he admits, increasing the rhythm, his wrist beginning to cramp.

"I missed you more! Suguru.. stop, I don't want to-!"

You try to stop him by pushing his hand away from you but this doesn't help much.

"Condom," he says through gritted teeth.

"We don't have…" you hate yourself at that moment for forgetting to buy but he hates himself more.

Reluctantly Suguru pulls his fingers out of you.

"Fuck it," Suguru growls. You hear him unzip and pull down his uniform pants, just enough to pull his cock out. "Let me fuck you like this…" he asks, taking your cheek and pulling it apart, exposing your ass and pussy from behind, Suguru spits on his hand and fucks the swollen tip of his cock for a while, just watching you dripping and squeezing around nothing. "I'm gonna pull out.." Suguru promises falsely.

"Hm," you nod looking back spreading your legs wider for him.

You feel him at your entrance, rubbing all over your wet slit with his even wetter head. Suguru taps your sensitive clit with his stiff cock and slides in one shot inside you before you have time to beg him.

You can feel him trembling and it's desperate. He doesn't move and you want to scream.

"Baby…" you call out to him, looking back up at him and he tastes the desperation in your broken voice.

"Let's sleep like this." Suguru wraps his arms around your waist again to the same innocent position as before, only now you can feel it throb and fill you to a point where you can't breathe.

"Babe…" you call out to him again, this time he spanks you lightly.

"Don't move, you're going to make me cum."

"Suguru…" You whimper a third time and he mischievously gives a deep thrust of his hips.

"Stay still. Let me feel you." He returns to his original spot, massaging your breasts and tugging on your nipples, you moan.

"I love you," you sob, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you needed to stimulate your clit, that it was throbbing and that you clearly weren't going to be able to sleep.

For a brief flash you imagine if you could make yourself cum silently.

[meazalykov]

welcome home

barcelona femeni x alexia putellas x youngadult!reader

summary: you find healing after switching clubs

warnings: swearing, bodyshaming, one mention of bodily fluids, I made up names of imaginary players who don't play for the nwsl club mentioned in this fic!!!, bullying, angst, yes there is a happy ending.

you grew up with your eyes on the stars, and your feet on the ball. 

at 15, you felt like the world belonged to you—a place where dreams became your reality. you’d trained hard your whole life to make it to the world stage, and by 16, you were living your dream as one of the youngest members of the 2019 world cup roster for the united states. 

the national anthem playing, crowds screaming your name as you made the assist to rose lavelle’s goal—it was everything you’d ever wanted.

all of the happiness and thrill faded away when you joined the kansas city current. when you first stepped into the locker room, you were excited. new teammates, new opportunities—it was everything you’d hoped for. 

you wanted to make friends, to be part of a family when it came to being with your first professional club outside of your childhood one. 

the moment you walked through those doors, you could feel something off. the eyes on you were sharp, intense, cold.

“what’s up, big foot?” macy had said, the team captain, with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

"don't trip over those feet, yeah?" she had laughed, and a few others joined in, but the laughter felt harsh, mocking.

“yeah, we don’t need a kid coming in thinking she’s hot shit,” added jessica, one of the veteran players, her words dripping with sarcasm. 

“try not to embarrass us out there.”

you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off as rookie hazing, but the tone was sharper than you expected. you told yourself that it was normal, that it was just their way of breaking the ice.

 

you couldn't have been more wrong.

practices started to become a war zone. it wasn’t just intense training; it was like they were out to get you. elbows to your back when the coach wasn’t looking, hair pulling, shoes clipped behind your heels to send you stumbling. 

once, in a scrimmage, you remember trying to dribble past jessica. the curly-red headed girl came in late with a slide tackle, her studs connecting straight with your shin. you hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, and she stood over you, smirking.

“whoops,” she said, her voice flat and unapologetic. “you should be quicker, portland has fast forwards and you can’t defend them with those legs.”

the coaches didn’t do anything. you’d get up, limp back into position, and hear them say, “come on y/n, toughen up. you’ve got to be ready for contact against portland on thursday.” 

they acted like it was all normal, like you were the problem.

in the locker room, it wasn’t any better. they whispered behind your back, cruel comments about your skills, your looks, even your voice. 

once, after a tough practice where arianna had practically shoved you into the goalpost, you were struggling to keep your emotions in check as you unlaced your cleats. you heard them in the back of the room, their voices loud and taunting.

“seriously, what does the national team see in her? she’s not even that great,” jessica said, snickering.

“guess they needed a token teenager to fill the roster,” another voice added, followed by laughter. 

“she needs to go back to playing with the u18s, kylie you’d do much better than her in the left-back position!”

you bit your lip so hard it bled, staring down at the floor, pretending you didn’t hear them. you never knew what to say. it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

everything you did felt wrong, like you were walking on eggshells every day.

and then came the night that broke you.

it was after that world cup loss to sweden, a moment that already weighed on you like a thousand bricks. 

you returned to kansas hoping to throw yourself into training, to prove you could bounce back. but when you entered the locker room, your world came crashing down. your locker was trashed—like a hurricane had blown through. 

your training kit was shredded, your cleats filled with some kind of foul-smelling gunk– obviously period blood due to a used tampon found inside of the locker. and scrawled in black marker across the inside door of your locker were the words, 

spoiled, selfish, fat bitch!

you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking so violently you couldn’t steady them. 

“what... what the fuck is this?” your voice came out a choked whisper.

kamryn, another girl on the team, walked by, a smug grin on her face. 

“looks like someone had a bad month,” she said, fake sympathy dripping from her words. 

“i hope you can still play tomorrow, stargirl.”

the nickname fans around the world called you, now being used to belittle you. 

you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you yelled at them, your voice cracking with rage and desperation, “the fuck? what did i do to any of you? this is fucking insane and you think i am the problem?”

“you walked in here thinking you were better than us. you got handed everything, y/n. you don’t deserve to be here. you’re a little girl playing a big girl’s game.” jessica walked in, scoffing while smirking at the sight of your locker in the dressing room.

you left that night and didn’t stop crying until your eyes were red and swollen. but even then, the coaches did nothing. 

they told you to toughen up, to show “mental strength,” as if their approval could patch over what you were going through. and that’s when you realized you had to get out—before this place destroyed you and any love you had for football.

barcelona was the escape you desperately needed. a chance to rebuild, to breathe. 

when you landed in spain, everything felt fragile. it didn’t matter that you were now with one of the best clubs in the world. 

the trauma from kansas stuck to you like a shadow. you walked into your new locker room, keeping your head down, afraid to say the wrong thing, terrified of the laughter you thought you’d hear.

but it never came. 

instead, alexia, the captain, was the first to welcome you. “y/n! niña!!! so nice to finally meet you,” she beamed, pulling you into a hug that felt warm and real. 

“i can’t wait to see you play. you’re from the states? we need to introduce you to keira and lucy– they’ve been wanting to meet you but don’t take their banter seriously.”

every day, they chipped away at your fear. little by little. 

when you struggled on penalty kicks one time during training, patri stayed back with you after practice. 

“okay you got this!!! by the end of this evening, you will never miss a penalty kick again. trust me! yeah? it’ll be fun.” she speaks with a thick catalan accent. 

you were hesitant, scared to mess up, but patri never pushed. she was patient, kind. she’d pass the ball back to you and made you do penalty kicks over and over again until you felt comfortable, until your footwork was smooth, and every small achievement she celebrated like it was a goal in the final. 

“see? you’ve got this,” she’d say, and you’d feel the corners of your mouth tug into a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.

it was a few weeks into your time with barcelona, but you still felt like an outsider. 

even with the kind gestures, the smiles, the support from the team, you were carrying the weight of kansas like a ghost. 

you stayed quiet during team meetings, laughed politely but never loudly, and when the others shared jokes or talked about life outside of soccer, you sat on the edges, half-invisible. 

alexia had been watching you. she noticed how you shrunk into yourself, how you seemed to fade into the background during conversations. 

during drills, your focus was laser-sharp—too sharp, like you were overthinking every touch, every pass. when you were off the ball, your eyes darted around, like you were searching for threats. 

you reminded alexia of esmee when she first arrived last season—new, uncertain. but this was different. 

there was fear and sadness in your eyes.

one afternoon after training, alexia pulled you aside. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pitch, and most of the team had already started heading back to the locker room. 

you felt her hand on your shoulder, and you turned, trying to hide the nervousness in your eyes.

“niña,” she said gently, a small smile on her lips. “can we talk?”

you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. “sure, alexia. what’s up?”

“it’s about you,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “you’ve been… quiet. more quiet than normal. and i get it, you know, being the new girl and all. esmee and kika were shy when they first came, but…” alexia paused, searching your face. 

“this feels different. it feels like you’re afraid of us.”

you could feel your chest tighten, the words getting stuck in your throat. you didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden anyone. 

“i’m not... i mean, it’s just—" you stumbled over your words, trying to find the right thing to say, something that wouldn’t make you sound like a mess. “it’s nothing. really.”

alexia didn’t buy it. she shook her head slightly, taking a step closer to you. “i don’t think it’s nothing, y/n. you barely look anyone in the eye, and when someone even brushes by you during training, you flinch like you’re waiting to get hurt. it’s not normal.” 

she kept her voice calm, steady, like she was trying to reassure a frightened animal. “listen... if something happened before you got here, you can talk to me. it’s just me right now. no one else.”

you wanted to brush it off, to laugh and say she was overthinking, but the truth clawed its way up, burning your throat. you clenched your fists, staring down at your cleats, trying to focus on anything but alexia's eyes, which felt like they could see right through you. 

“it’s… it’s hard to talk about,��� you finally admitted, voice cracking on the last word. 

“back in kansas, things were... bad. really bad.”

“what do you mean?” alexia’s voice was a whisper, gentle but urging you to continue. she stepped closer, her hand on your shoulder now, warm and steady.

you bit your lip, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. 

“my teammates—they hated me. from the minute i got there, they acted like i was the opponent that happened to sneak into their dressing room. i thought maybe it was just... i don't know, maybe i did something wrong. but no matter what i did, they just got worse. they... they bullied me. on the field, off the field... they’d make comments, call me fat, trash my stuff, physically go after me during practice.” you took a shaky breath, your shoulders trembling. 

“they hated me for being good– for being called up to the world cup before some of their veterans did. they said i didn’t deserve the call ups at all, that i was useless. every single day felt like... like a war that i was going to lose.”

alexia’s face hardened, and for a second, you thought you saw anger glistening in her eyes.

“and your coaches?” she asked, voice tight with anger. “they did nothing?”

“they... didn’t care,” you said, shaking your head. 

“if anything, they made it worse. told me to toughen up, to get used to it, that it was part of being a pro. so i did. i tried to act like it didn’t bother me. but it did. every day, it did.”

there was a heavy silence. alexia didn’t speak for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. and then, she pulled you into a hug—tight, secure, like she was trying to shield you from all the pain you had gone through. 

you stiffened for a second, unaccustomed to the softness, the genuine care, but then melted into it, burying your face in her shoulder.

“you don’t have to go through that alone anymore,” she whispered. 

“this is your home now, y/n. we’re your family. i promise you—no one will ever treat you like that again. not while i’m here, and i am going to be here for a very long time.”

you felt the tears slide down your face, but they weren’t tears of pain anymore. 

they were relief, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. when she finally let go, alexia cupped your face, making sure you were looking right into her eyes.

“you are so much more than what they made you feel,” she said firmly, her voice laced with emotion. “and if anyone even tries to make you feel like that again, they’ll have to go through me. through all of us. okay?”

you nodded, a small, shaky smile breaking through. “okay.”

“did you go to anyone on your national team about this?” alexia asked, hoping you did. 

“i did. alex was the one who encourage me to move clubs. trinity even promised to smash kansas when they go to washington dc to play against spirit.” you laughed, wiping a stray tear from your face.

she laughed back, squeezing your hands. “we’ve got your back, y/n. always.”

and she meant it. over the coming weeks, you felt the shift.

after that talk, alexia made it a point to check in on you. 

the small gestures from the team slowly healed the wounds you didn't think would ever close. 

when ingrid left you notes in your locker before every match with scribbled encouragements, kika making it a routine to kiss you on the head when you scored a goal past aitana in training, or when mapi pulled you into a bear hug after a tough game reminding you that she is proud of you– you felt at home. 

masterlist

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Training Session

luke castellan x reader

A/N: had a cutie little request for this so i hope it delivers everything you wanted

WARNINGS: SMUT!, semi-public sex, knife kink, jealous luke, getting caught (oopsie)

WORD COUNT: 1,073 words

“You know, anyone in this camp would be bloody grateful to train with me.” Luke says as he shoves you to the ground with his shield after you cursed him out for about the fifth time during the sparring session.

“You’re an arrogant dickhead.” You snap at him as you pull yourself back to your feet.

“It isn’t arrogance if it’s backed up.” He states as he swings at you, barely giving you a chance to block the attack at your throat.

“Gods, Luke. You nearly took my head off!”

“I didn’t though, did I?” He continues on the offence before you see your chance and swipe at his feet. It was a good move but you don’t make any contact. “Finally.” He murmurs. “This was starting to get pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” You scoff, your anger rising. “If I had a dagger in my hands, you’d be dead in seconds.”

“At least I can handle a dagger. You look like a clumsy toddler wielding that sword.” He laughs, attacking you again and knocking the steel from your hands.

Was he just toying with you?

“I don’t know why I even put up with your shit.” You start to reach down for your sword, planning to collect your things and leave before you’re stopped by the feeling of the sharpest part of his blade against your throat.

“Training with me makes you better.” He says assuredly as he lifts your head with the tip of his sword until you’re standing straight. You don’t think he would cut you… but he might.

“I could also train with another man to make myself better.” You say snarkily.

His eyes darken and he grabs your arm to pull you closer to him, his sword is still held to your neck like he might slit it. “You won’t. No other guy can do what I can.”

“I could always try one out.” You say, sensing the possession in his voice.

“I won’t let you.” He growls.

“What are you going to do to stop me?”

Silence for 1… 2… 3 seconds and then his lips are smashed against yours. He carelessly tosses his sword to the side. It doesn’t matter nearly as much as what he is going to do to you right now.

“Luke,” You murmur as you pull away. “Someone is gonna see.”

He smirks. “You must really wanna kiss me if all you’re worried about is privacy. Besides, everyone is at dinner by now.” His lips chase yours as he tries to pull you in for another kiss.

“And we should be at dinner too.” You protest.

“No, we should be laying you down on the bench and getting out all this pent up tension.”

You have to admit that his strength from before was turning you on. What girl doesn’t like to be pinned down with a sword pressed to her throat… and another one pressed to her thigh.

“Someone will catch us.”

“Not if you’re extra quiet.” He keeps pecking tantalizing kisses to your lips that distract you as he lies you down on the bench.

“I swear to the gods, if someone sees us, i’ll kill you.” You murmur as he pulls off your pants.

“As is your right.” He smirks as he pulls down your panties, eyes zeroed in on your sticky sweet cunt. “Can I?” He asks, looking into your eyes eagerly and you nod.

Your cheeks flush at the way he eats you out. You can feel the absolute yearning in his tongue as your fingers thread through his curly locks.

“Good girl, baby.” He murmurs against your pussy as you try to keep the whining mewls from falling from your lips.

You know you have to be quiet but you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. You end up biting down on your tongue when you hit your peak so you barely let out a sound.

“Fuck, you taste so perfect.”

 He moves back up to kiss you, looking ever so pleased with himself as he palms at your tits. You feel him pressing against your thigh once again.

“Let me fuck you now?” It’s phrased as a question but you hear the dominance in his voice.

“Hmm… I guess so.” You say playfully, as if you don’t need him so achingly.

“You think so? I’ll have you begging by the end of this.” Luke says and you feel his cock sliding through your wetness, collecting it as lubricant. 

It doesn’t even sting when he pushes into you, not with how desperately you want for him. He looks into your eyes again, gaging how you’re doing before he begins to thrust. You feel as if you’re being sent to heaven and back with each movement.

“You think another guy could fuck you this good?” He says as he starts to pound into you.

“No, Luke.” You whine with each slam of his hips.

“No man will ever train or take care of you as well as I can. I’ll kill the bastard who thinks he can match me.” He fucks into you so hard that you start seeing stars. “Say it. Say no man compares to me.” He commands.

“No guy compares, Luke… there’s only you.”

You squirm a little as he lifts one of your legs to hook over his shoulder. You aren’t sure if you can handle how much deeper he gets in the new position. His hand slips up your shirt now so he can feel your skin on his and the look on his face is angelic. Mortals compare beautiful men to Greek Gods all the time but Luke doesn’t look like just any half-blood; he truly does look like a god. You swear that if you saw Eros in person, he would be imaged after Luke himself.

“Mmm i’m gonna cum.” You breathe out.

“I know, baby. You can cum.” He coos, giving you the last thrusts you need before you’re squeezing around him. The pressure alone is enough to cause him to spill himself inside of you. “You did so well, princess, so well.”

He presses one more soft kiss to your lips before helping you to get dressed, whispering kind words into your ear as he does. All would have been fine and well… If Luke had a chance to pull his jeans back up before Percy walked around the corner.

“Hey guys, everyone is wondering whe- oh what the fuck.”

taglists (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

Luke Castellan: @amortencjja @urmomsbananabread @kissingyourgrl @vikimontethegirlblogger @maryann2013 @stark-head @remussbitch @ever8ea @batmandabest @jennapancake @junos-web @tanifsblog @stupidtween  @10ava01

[kendyzzlewp]

The Right Decision || ART DONALDSON

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to a big scary decision but it’s okay because Art supports you. no matter what.

tags: married art, working mom female reader, they have kids, basically the conversation that tashi should’ve had with art when he wanted to retire lol

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“I have to tell you something but I don’t want you to get upset. Just listen.”

Art looks away from the tv, his mouth falling automatically into a frown. You stand next to the couch, your fingers fidgeting with your wedding ring. A habit you picked up on when you first got engaged.

“I might cry,” you warn, already feeling the tears sting the edge of your eyes. “But it’s not because I am sad or anything. I just have anxiety.”

His frown deepens and he instantly turns off the television, giving you his full attention. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

With a heavy sigh, you drop down onto the couch next to him. “I’m struggling at work,” you admit, the embarrassment creeping behind your neck like a tick. “I can’t do it anymore. The demand, the constant traveling. It’s keeping me away from you and the boys. I hate it.”

Art scoots closer to you, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Yeah,” he says softly. “We hate being away from you too.”

“I want to be home,” you say, turning your head to look at him. “I want to be here for them. I feel like I’m missing out in everything. I want to be a good wife and a good mom. I want to cook dinner and help with homework. I want to clean—god I miss cleaning.”

Art chuckles quietly, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Baby, I-“

You cut him off because you already know what he was going to say. That you should’ve quit that job the moment you found out you were pregnant. But you weren’t a quitter, you saw things through to the end but this… this was just too much.

“Yes, I know,” you say quickly. “I should’ve quit years ago but I just didn’t want to take advantage of you. You trained so hard to be where you are. I’m not entitled to it just because I’m your wife.”

You could feel Art tense beside you, he couldn’t understand how you could think that. With a gentle touch, his fingers grab your chin, forcing you to stare into those ocean eye that made you weak.

“You are the mother of my children and the love of my life,” he firmly states. “You are entitled to every part of me. You took care of me, held it down for us when I first turned pro. Let me take care of you.”

Cue the waterworks. You always told him that if the tennis thing didn’t work out, he could look into being a writer. The sincerity in his voice, the love in his eyes, the kindness of his touch really made you fall in love all over again.

“We have more money than we know what to do with. If it quitting your job brings you peace, then do it. Be a stay-at-home mom or get another job if it’s what you really want. And please, cook for us again, I don’t think I can keep eating dino nuggets.”

A watery laugh escapes your lips as you grab the bag of his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The sounds of tiny footsteps, thundering down the hallway capture both of your attentions. Your twin boys, Jackson and Eli, burst into the living room.

They are the perfect mixture of you and Art. Their blonde curly locks, your skin tone, his stunning blue eyes and your nose. You couldn’t help but to stare of them in slight awe, eternally grateful to be able to be their mom.

“Mama, look!” Eli exclaimed, climbing up onto your lap. “I drew a dino.”

You took the paper in your hand, gasping dramatically. “Wow, this looks so good bear.”

Jackson, the more reserved of the too, quietly climbed onto Art’s lap. He snuggled into his chest. “I drew something too,” he says, handing a paper to Art.

Art shows you the paper with a fond smile. “Wow, buddy. Is that our family?”

He nods, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, you, me, mama and Eli.”

Your heart swelled at the picture perfect moment. Sitting there basking in the love of your family you realized the decision you had to make. It wasn’t a hard one at all.

“I have some great news,” you say as the four of you cuddle closer. “Mama is going to be home all the time now.”

Eli jumps excited on your lap, his eyes wide and curious. “No more trips?”

“No more trips,” you confirm, ruffling his hair.

Jackson lifts his head from Art’s chest. “Really?”

Art smiles, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Really,” he confirms. “Mommy is ours now!”

The boys cheer, jumping from the couch and pulling your hand. Both of them babbling excitedly about playing and painting and snacks. You turned to look at Art, smiling widely.

“Thank you,” you say, tears threatening to fall again.

He smiles, tilting his head. “No, thank you.”

[with-every-piece-of-me]

Sweetheart; Tate Langdon x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Tate Langdon x fem!Reader

Summary: You come home after a weekend away and Tate's so glad you're back. 

Warnings: Sub!Tate, Dom!Fem!Reader, grinding but no actual penetration, one use of the word "mommy", kind of a handjob but not really (?), let me know if I missed anything! :)

Words: 1.6K

⋆♡⋆˚₊‧*☆⋆♡⋆☆*‧₊˚⋆♡⋆˚₊‧*☆⋆♡⋆☆*‧₊˚⋆♡⋆

You stumble up the stairs of the house, you haven't been home for the past couple of days, you missed Tate, sure, but you wanted to stay over at a friend's house for a sleepover. You adore Tate, but you also want a social life, even if Tate disagrees with that.

You sigh softly as you stand in the doorframe, the door is ajar and you can see into the room partially. You see the blanket hastily hanging off the side of the bed, it's flat on the bed then there is a rise under the blankets, and you can see someone is lying on your bed. The figure isn't moving, implying they're asleep but you know a stranger isn't gonna just break into your house to take a little nap, you already know who it is.

"Tate....?"

You call out softly, your voice comes out almost no louder than a whisper but you can tell he heard based on his slight movement, his supposedly sleeping figure shifts slightly under the blankets. You know he isn't asleep, why would a ghost need to sleep?

You walk up to the bed, and place your hand on the left side. Tate's lying silently on his side, he won't turn around to look at you.

"Tate?"

You call out again, this time a bit louder and clearer. You're met with Tate turning around to look up at you, his eyes are watery and red, and he has tears rolling down his cheeks slowly, covering the previous and now slightly dry tear stains. His cheeks and nose are rosy and red, your heart breaks slightly at the sight.

"Oh, sweetie..."

Tate leans into your touch as you reach out and graze his cheek softly with the pads of your fingers while you try to talk to him despite his deviated state.

"You were gone for so long... I was worried you had left me."

The boy stammers to the end of his sentence as he pulls himself up so he can sit. Tate looks up at you in sadness with a glint of relief in his eyes. Relief that you haven't left him, relief that you came back, back to him.

"I would never leave you, Tate... You know that."

You reply with a small but reassuring smile. You slowly sit on top of the blanket on your bed, Tate completely shifts his body over to face you. He reaches his hand out to grasp your own lightly.

"Stay here, in bed."

Tate requests as he stares up at you with a glimmer of hope plastered on his face, his doe eyes staring up at you – you chuckle under your breath.

"But, I have to unpack." 

You tease as you pull your hand away slightly and try to hide your slight smile, finding his desperation strangely endearing.

"No-! Stay..."

Tate demands as he pulls your hand back, his grasp on your hand is tight but not to the point of pain. His voice was laced with desperation. He looks up at you, his eyes glossing over.

"Of course."

You smile lovingly as you place your free hand on the side of his face, you lean forward to place a kiss on his forehead gently.

As you pull away Tate stares at you lovingly. He smiles as he places his hand on your hip, he slowly moves his hand under your shirt and rests his hand on the skin of your waist, tracing light shapes with his fingertips.

You place your hand behind his neck to pull him into a soft kiss, and in an instant, he kisses back in a needy manner. You move your hand up his neck and into his hair.

Tate gasps softly as his hand grips your waist and you tug on his soft, curly hair gently. You let go of his hair and pull away from the kiss, Tate looks at you in confusion and eagerness.

You place your hand on his shoulder to push him from lying on his side to lying on his back. you kneel on the bed and move yourself to straddle his waist, Tate stares up at me with a small smile on his face. you slowly pull his shirt up and off, you lean forward to kiss him quickly before pulling away and peppering kisses from his jaw, down to his collarbone, your lipstick leaves small but noticeable stains on his skin. The kisses and marks you leave are met with small whines and groans from the man below me.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, sweetheart..."

you whisper as Tate props himself up on his elbows, his curly blonde hair now somewhat disheveled.

"Then show me how sorry you are."

Tate states, a smirk plastered on his face, you chuckle softly at his request.

"Oh, don't get cocky now. I might not."

you state as you put your hand on his chest and push him back down, his head hitting the soft pillows.

you trace your nails lightly down his torso, goosebumps quickly following your trail. Tate's breath comes out shakily and unsteady.

"...please..."

Tate breathes out, barely above a whisper. you look down at him and smile sadistically.

"What did you say, dear? I couldn't hear it."

you grin as you draw a slow line from his stomach to the waistline of his pants with your fingertips, earning a groan from the man below me.

When he doesn't answer and instead just whines in response you hook two of your fingers on the waistband of his pants, pulling them back ever so slightly but only to snap the waistband against his waist as Tate gasps in response.

"Sweetheart, I can't give you what you want unless you ask."

you tease as you feel his muscles tense. Tate stares up at me with doe eyes as he's acting as though he has too much pride to beg for what he wants, but you know him better than to believe that, he just wants me to give him what he wants without him having to do anything.

you move down from his waist to be straddling his hips as he stares up at me with a hopeful gaze, you would've thought he wouldn't be so naïve to think I'd just fuck him without him following a simple order.

you lean in closer, your lips only a few inches away from Tate's, so close yet so far. Just as it seems as though I'm about to kiss him you move your face away from his and instead begin kissing and biting his neck gently, leaving a trail of marks and hickeys on his neck to his jaw.

As you do so the man beneath me lets out sighs and breaths of relief as I'm finally giving him at least part of what he wants.

you smirk slightly as you get an idea, you begin gently grinding your hips against his, giving him the bare minimum friction you can as there are still layers of clothing between the two of us.

you grind your hips against his agonizingly slow as he begins letting out chocked-out whimpers, you can feel the vibrations from the noises he makes in his throat as you continue trailing kisses along his soft skin.

However, Tate's been so needy all weekend, practically destroyed at the fact that you've been away for a few days and now that he finally has you, you barely give him any friction, how cruel.

Tate whines pathetically as he tries to buck his hips up against yours needily, desperate for just a little more friction to relieve himself of the want he's had for you all weekend when he hasn't been able to do anything about it. It's almost cute, how much he aches for your touch.

You sigh as you move your hips up, just out of reach of his body, rendering his desperate movements useless as you've completely taken away any friction he's had due to him being too needy for more. Tate's desperate pleas for you to give him just a bit more only fall upon deaf ears as you have no intention of giving him anything just yet.

Tate groans softly as you run your hands down his waist, resting your left hand on his hip while your right hand slowly makes its way into his pants, tracing gentle, slow circles around the tip of his already hard cock, causing the man to moan before biting his lip to try and keep quiet. God, it's so easy to get him riled up for you.

He moans and whimpers while trying to stop himself from rutting against your hand as his hands grip the bedsheets to try and keep at least a little bit of control over his body.

"What's wrong, baby?"

You ask in a teasing and sadistic tone as you continue to tease his tip while kissing and biting his neck tenderly. Your words only cause mumbling pleas to fall from Tate's mouth, although they're all too mumbled and rushed to fully hear what he's begging for in specifics.

"I need to go unpack."

Interrupting his begging while you move your hand out of his pants, moving to be sitting up with your knees on either side of his hips, you're so close to him but too far away for him to touch you the way he so badly wants to.

Just as you're about to get up you feel Tate's hands gripping your thighs, pulling you back down onto him as you're now sitting on his lap straddling his hips once again, you can feel how hard.

Tate looks up at you with teary puppy eyes as he bats his lashes, his cheeks still have a pink tint to them.

"Please, mommy... Touch me?"

(I've been in a creative rut lately, and this has been in my drafts for months now, and even though I hate it I decided to edit and post it, sorry its not that good. I might to a PT2 but Idk yet <3)

[happy74827]

You Must Be Haunting Me

[Brian Moser x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Even after a year, you’re still haunted by the Ice Truck Killer.

WC: 2643

Category: Angst, No Comfort {TW: Not Proof Read 😞}

I did another one!! Are you guys proud of me? 🥹

So, rewatching the season, I forgot how sassy he was so I wanted to really show off that aspect in this one. Then my patience was over it, so the ending is just kinda… bland. But it’s okay because it’s Brian (he seriously needs more attention FOR REAL).

Anyway, for those 14 Brian fans… this one’s for you 🫶

『••✎••』

The dark circles beneath your eyes. The way you can barely stand on your feet, your body so exhausted that you can hardly lift a finger to defend yourself. You’re like a walking corpse, and he's the one responsible for putting you in this state.

It started one year ago. One year ago, you moved to Miami and became the victim of a killer. It wasn't until his brother came along and put him six feet under that you began to heal and get back into the normal, everyday routine. But then he showed up.

It was one of those nights where you’d randomly get a jolt in your sleep. You sat up straight, the sheets pooling at your hips as you looked around the room. Your breathing was shallow, and sweat was beading on your brow. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you slowly laid back down.

"You sleep soundly."

His voice caused your heart to stop. You knew who it was, the same man who had terrorized you, who made your life a living hell. Slowly, you turned to your side, staring wide-eyed at the dark figure at the end of your bed. Your hands began to shake and tremble as you reached for the lamp on your nightstand.

"Oh, don't bother."

In an instant, with the sound of fingers snapping, the lamp's light went out. You could hear a chuckle coming from the intruder, and you were paralyzed, afraid to make a move.

I mean, it couldn’t be him, right? It was just some sick joke. He was dead. He couldn’t be here.

He couldn’t.

But, god, he looked the exact same. The curly dark hair, the pale skin. He was just a silhouette in the darkness of your room, and yet, you could tell that the grin he wore was the same grin that he had on the day you met him.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost." He mused, moving closer towards you. His weight caused the bed to dip slightly, and you could feel the fear begin to take over your body. "Should I start saying boo?"

Your throat was dry, and you couldn’t speak; all you could do was stare at him, frozen in place. He lowered his head in amusement and chuckled, leaving his lips once more.

It was when his eyes weren’t on you that broke you out of your daze. You shot up from the bed, nearly tumbling over yourself as you ran to the dresser, grabbing the nearest thing you could find and throwing it at him. It was a vase, one that held a bouquet of flowers, that shattered against the wall, causing him to look up.

"…Was that supposed to scare me?" He asked, raising a brow as he tilted his head, an almost bored expression on his face. "You’ve got the aim of a blind man."

"Get out of my house!"

The sound of your own voice startled you. Anger wasn’t necessarily the emotion you normally felt, but now it was the only thing that was running through you. Anger and adrenaline.

He stood from the bed, taking a step closer to you, the broken glass crunching beneath his feet. You didn’t care; you took a step back, holding your hand out as if it would stop him from coming any closer.

"Get away from me, you psycho."

He laughed. He actually fucking laughed.

"Psycho?" He repeated, "That’s a new one."

"Stay back." You hissed, feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

He took another step.

"Don't touch me!"

Another. He was only inches away from you now, and the thought of him being so close made you want to vomit.

The annoyed sigh he let out when he noticed your hand trembling was enough to set you off. You didn’t think twice; the only thought in your mind was to get him out, and so you did.

When he was walking towards you, your mind remembered the small kitchen knife that you left on the counter. Quickly, you ran past him, dodging his hands as he reached out to grab you, and grabbing the knife, and in one quick motion, you turned and stabbed him.

"That’s not going to—"

It went right through his chest. He stared down at the knife, then up at you, with that all-knowing expression.

He sighed again, "…work."

What the fuck?

In the next moment, he vanished, and the knife fell to the ground, the clattering against the linoleum floor echoing through the house.

For a minute, you thought it was a dream. That is, until he appeared in the chair beside you, his arms crossed, his eyes boring holes into your face.

"You can’t hurt me." He said, his tone flat, his eyes narrowed, "I can’t either. Not physically, anyhow."

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"I can fuck you up, though." He continued, "In many ways. Mentally, emotionally… The possibilities are endless."

"What the hell is this?" You questioned, your brows furrowing, "Are you some kind of— of, what, demented Casper?"

His expression was unreadable, but then again, he always had that look on his face.

"Casper? Wow, seriously? You remind me why I don't watch movies." He groaned, shaking his head.

"You didn't answer my question."

"And you won't like my answer."

"Try me."

"You’ve lost it." He shrugged, "Completely off the hinges, you know? And that's saying something, considering who you’re talking to."

"I don't—"

"Have a mental disorder."

"What?"

"That's what it's called. When someone has delusions of grandeur, where they think someone is after them. Someone, of course, meaning me." He explained, a grin spreading across his lips. "But, no. It's all in your head. Just. Like. Me."

The words sank in, and you stared down at the floor, your mind processing everything he was telling you.

"No, I'm not crazy." You murmured, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear.

"You're not? Well, how else would you explain me being here?" He asked, cocking a brow, "I’m dead, remember? My dear brother made sure of that."

"I—"

"And you know damn well I’d never wear this out of the office. It's not exactly the most flattering."

It was then you noticed what he was wearing.

He had his lab coat on. His entire outfit was the same thing he wore the day he met you. You were with Debra to question him about Tucci’s recovery and, god, if he didn't make the biggest impression.

It was pretty hard not to like him when he was giving one of his patients, a little boy, a lollipop from his jar and making a joke.

You remember telling Deb, 'What a nice guy'.

Oh, the irony. The fucking irony.

"What a nice guy." You found yourself repeating before looking him up and down, your lips curling in disgust. "You were just fucking with me the whole time, weren't you?"

He shrugged, "What's it matter now? I'm dead."

"It matters to me."

"Would you like me to apologize? To beg for your forgiveness?" He asked, a mocking tone in his voice, "Would that make you feel better?"

You were silent.

"Wouldn’t do anything." He continued, "And it certainly wouldn't change a thing. But, hey! By all means, you go right ahead and play pretend. Maybe then, you'll sleep better at night."

You scoffed. He was such a piece of shit.

"How much are you gonna torture me, huh?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, "Torture me like you did, Debra? Like your brother? Are you just going to follow me around like a bad smell? Make my life a living hell, like you did theirs?"

"I didn't torture him." He stated, a hint of malice in his tone, "He's my brother."

"Like that means shit."

"He was just like me. A lot like me, in fact." He went on, his eyes flickering over to you. "I could see myself in him."

"Well, he killed you." You countered, "That doesn't really seem like brotherly love."

"He did what he had to." He shrugged, "That Harry… he was a real piece of work, wasn't he?"

You were quiet again.

"And Debra?"

"A pain in my ass. Always sticking her nose in places where it doesn't belong." He replied, shaking his head. "But, then again, that was her job, wasn't it?"

"You broke her. You tore her apart." You snapped, the memories of the past year filling your mind. "She really loved you. She really did."

"I know."

"You don't care."

"Not at all." He said, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. "Not in the slightest."

"Fuck you."

He laughed, his laughter filling the room before it faded out, leaving the both of you in a heavy silence.

He had a different aura around him this time. It might be the aura of a dead man, a hallucination. But he still felt so… present. Even his mannerisms were the same—the way he moved his hands, the way he tilted his head. His eyes still had that glint of mischief. It was so real.

So. Fucking. Real.

"If your just in my head, why can’t I just kick you out?" You asked, finally breaking the silence, "Make you go away."

"Because, even after a year, I still affect you." He answered, his voice low. "Even though you try to ignore it and push the memories back, I’ll always be there. In the back of your mind."

"Why couldn’t you be my dead childhood dog or something? Why do you have to be some crazy serial killer that ruined my life?" You said, shaking your head.

"I'm not boring."

"Neither was my childhood dog."

"Rocky didn't have a single interesting thing about him. All he did was drool and lick himself." He countered, his lips pursing.

"How the hell do you know— oh, fuck this. Just go away." You groaned, rubbing your temples.

He didn't respond, and the room was quiet. For a second, you thought he actually listened. Then, you heard him hum.

"Hm. No."

"Jesus Christ."

"Now, that's really a name I haven't heard in a while."

This was how it became. For months, you would have these random conversations with him, and no matter how much you tried, he would never leave. Everywhere you went, he was there.

Work.

Shopping.

Even at the damn bar.

You had no idea what this was. You didn't know if this was a side effect of the trauma you went through. Whether it was your mind trying to cope or just the result of a lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it was draining the life out of you.

You felt like a shell. Your coworkers knew something was wrong. The way your eyes were dull and lifeless, the dark circles, the slump in your shoulders.

They were concerned—except Debra. She was too concerned about the case to pay attention to anyone else.

You weren't really sure what day it was. Or month. Time was going by, and you were slowly dying mentally, as he put it.

"Is this because I can't sleep?" You asked him one night, staring at the ceiling, your voice hoarse, "Because I can't go to sleep without seeing your face? Or is it because I don't have the energy to live?"

"I would say both."

You groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"It's not what you did." He replied, his eyes locked on yours, "It's what I did."

"Yeah, well, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The two of you sat there in silence before he cleared his throat.

"How are things with my favorite bloodhound?" He asked a curious tone in his voice. "Is he still sleeping with that cute blonde, or did he wise up and break it off?"

"Rita. Her name is Rita." You corrected him, shaking your head, "She’s his girlfriend, not his flavor of the week."

"Hm."

"And, for your information, they're fine. Great, actually."

"How disappointing." He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. He genuinely looked upset, which caused a snicker to leave your lips. "What's so funny?"

"You are." You replied, looking over at him, "You're so pathetic."

He blinked.

"You're a dead man. Dead. How can you be disappointed about his love life?"

"I'm his older brother." He stated, his jaw tightening, "I want what's best for him."

"Really? Then why aren't you in his brain, harassing him?" You questioned, a smile coming onto your face, "You know what? I bet he's sleeping great. He doesn't have to deal with this. Not like I do."

"I would love to give him a good old-fashioned night terror. It'd be easy, too. He's not exactly the most stable." He replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But his brain is too messy. He's always been that way."

"I guess he takes after his brother."

"He took after our father. The one thing I did was make him forget about it." He retorted, his tone harsh, "Notice how he never talks about the old man? Or the past? Now it’s only me. That's because of me. I took him from that shitty childhood. I gave him a better life. A better everything. I could’ve given him the world."

You were quiet.

"Instead, he killed me." He spat, the venom in his voice obvious. "Because of that stupid, half-witted sailor mouth."

You honestly had to give your brain props for this one. He was too realistic. He was too Brian.

"You know what?" You began, sitting up, "I really am feeling a lobotomy."

At that, he actually laughed. Now that… that was different from the chuckles and snickers, this was a full laugh, something you haven't heard since you met him. It was loud, it was obnoxious, and it was the only thing you could hear.

It was the last thing you heard before the most amazing thing happened.

You fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up to a pounding on your door and an annoying ringing. Groaning, you pulled the pillow over your head, hoping the noises would disappear. Instead, they only got louder, and you had no choice but to get up.

"Coming, coming!" You shouted, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the door, the banging and the ringing still going on.

When you opened the door, you saw Debra.

"Good. You're up." She greeted, her expression annoyed. "Where were you last night?"

"Sleeping. What are you, my mom?"

"I called you. I even sent someone by your house. You weren't here." She stated, a slight bite in her voice, "And I'm not your mom, but if I were, I'd spank you."

"For what?"

"We have a meeting in five minutes." She said, checking her watch, "Get dressed. I'm waiting."

"Shit."

In record time, you threw on some jeans and a shirt, and within the next three minutes, you were out the door and in the car with Debra.

But as she pulled out of the driveway, he appeared directly in front of her.

"Hey, watch—"

But he only winked at you before disappearing. And at the time, you found it nothing but him being a prick. But, later on, you would realize.

This was the last time you would ever see him.

A month went by. And another. And another.

Then, a year.

The visions of the past still came. The thoughts of him were still there. The memories were still fresh. And sometimes, if you listened closely, you could still hear that laugh.

But you weren’t afraid anymore. You had no reason to be. And so, you moved on. You continued living because that's what he would've hated. And that made you smile.

Because, now, it wasn't him haunting you.

It was you haunting him.

[saintmuses]

❝𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙂𝙤𝙙, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝❞

Pairing:

Ghost!Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary:

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” Those were the last words before her lack of knowledge of them ceased. You. Just one simple word for what the shadow of a man in her childhood’s home, Arrow House wanted.

Warning(s): SMUT. Dub-con. Implied age gap (obviously, but everyone’s grown). Mentions of death. Exophilia. P in V. Obsession. Depraved??? Possessive!Thomas. Major death at the end (gore-ish). Minors, dni! Note: They didn’t directly interacted when she was a child until she moved back in the house. I’m trying to go for Don’t Blame Me vibes.

Word Count: 5k

Act I

She could hear the wheels rumbling as the gravel hit the bottom of the vehicle they were driving away in. The sky was grey with dense clouds rolling through 

“Y/N?” Her mother’s voice grabbed her attention as the vehicle drove around the fountain, causing her to turn her head away from the window to her mother in the front passenger seat. 

Her mother gently clasped her hand with her nimble fingers, “it’s for the best, honey.” She said gently, looking at her with kind eyes that her heart clenched at the idea of leaving everything she had known behind to move to Northern Ireland for her father’s work.

O’ Children was playing on the radio, and her lips curled up in delight since it was one of her favorite songs she would force her father to play.

Hey, little train, wait for me!

I once was blind, but now I see.

She turned her head to look back to the house they were leaving behind, one of the hired staffs were moving their furnitures into the moving company vehicles, and she observed the state of the manor. Her eyes kept straying to the entrance door that was left wide open, and the stale light was spread throughout the hallway.

Her breathing was ribbed when she noted a translucent figure filling in the gap of the doorway. The figure resembled a man, towering over the domain of the threshold. 

A shadow, her mind whispered. Those words she did not understand, too young for her mind to understand what those words had meant. 

She was far away from the house that she could not tell the features of the man, however, she knew he was watching the vehicle slowly driving down the road past the gates as the house began to get smaller and smaller.

Strangely enough she’d swore she felt like she was leaving the shadow of the man behind.

Hey, little train, wait for me.

I was held in chains, but now I’m free.

Thirteen Years Later

Arrow House stood still as if time had never casted a spell on it, the only signs of the place being affected by time was the cascading vines on the side of the house, the stains on the glass panes of the windows, and the color of the bricks was dull as if the soul had left its host. 

She supposed it did because no one had lived in Arrow House for years.

Not since she was eleven years old and that was thirteen years ago.

She had no idea that the house was still under her parents’ possession, she had thought they sold it when they left the way they left the place.

Her parents died five years ago prior to Christmas, and Johnny Dogs took her in along with Curly who was his only roommate at that time.

For the life of her, she could not figure out why he had preferred to be called Johnny Dogs. He used to make jokes of how he felt like a reincarnated person, but really his parents would call him that.

She paused after placing her hand on the  handle before pushing it sideways to open the door. The hinges squeaked as she pushed inward into the stale hallway, brightly lit by the sun through the windows.

The parlor looked very empty, and lonely that she felt small standing in it. She heard her friends yelling at each other for instructions as they started taking things out of the vehicle.

Her eyes raked the place before her, taking the things that made her remember what she did in the parlor years ago.

As she reminisce, she heard a clang as it hit the floor, her head was drawn to the sound and she spotted an object.

A bronze bullet rolled on the floor as if someone had pushed it down the hallway towards the dining room. She walked towards it after it slowed down to a stop.

She bent over to pick it up, curious 

When she felt slight texture on smooth surface, she twisted the bullet until she saw the carving. She ran her thumb over the name that was etched in the metal.

Tommy

She frowned when she noticed the portrait that taken over the dining room, she had forgotten about it.

She used to play with her toys under the enormous portrait as if it was protecting her from any danger lurking in the dark shadows of the room.

She was surprised it was still on the wall, ageless, she knew what year it was painted; 1923. And yet the canvas did not turn yellow or it was lacking a layer of dust from decades of just hanging on the wall.

It was a figure of the man standing next to the white beautiful horse.

It felt like he was alive in the painting, staring down at her with eyes so cold and empty from the canvas. Iron clad control gripping the manor with the coldness in his gaze. She immediately pocketed the carved bullet into her jeans when she heard Curly’s voice, questioning about the portrait considering it was the only wall decoration hanging on the wall, every room and hallways in the manor were barren.

“I think we tried to take it down, but it refused to budge so we left it there.” She shrugged, frowning at Curly’s facial expression.

“It’s creepy,” he shuddered, letting out a light whimper before walking towards the entrance to return his tasks.

She rolled her eyes before turning to look at the portrait again.

She’d swore she saw a mere smirk curling on a stoic man’s face.

Perhaps Curly was right, the portrait was displaying creepy undertones.

Act II

The sun was barely rising above the horizon when she was dragged out of the bed due to the sounds of echoing loading off the weapon. 

Her fingers grappled onto the white curtains, and pushed it off to the side until she could see out of the bay window. She frowned when she only saw a heavy thick haze rolling around across the fields. She loved the morning dews, but hated the thick fogs in the morning.

The sun was coming up, but the fields were  in a state of stale gray and muddied in a way it would look like it came out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre film. The film gave her nightmares when she was younger until she grew up, and was able to get over her aversion of horror films.

However, she did not think she got over the aversion of paranormal activities that had been occurring in the last several days since they had moved into the manor.

She had sworn she saw a shadow gliding across the field. The shadow raised something in the air, aiming it at something.

She flinched when the sound of gunshots went off, her fingers dig into the material of the curtains as the fog thickened and then the gunshots stopped firing.

The walls were quite thin in a way where she could hear the door swinging open and hefty footsteps were being made on the hardwood floor on the other side of the house.

“Bloody hell was that?” She heard Johnny shouting down the hallway causing her to turn her head towards her bedroom door.

She tittered before returning her gaze back to the fields from afar, only to see it was empty of fog and it was coming alive in a sense as the sun casted its light on the fields.

She frowned. Had she been seeing things?

“Nothing!” She shouted back after she dragged the curtains to block out the morning light through the window.

Johnny dragged out a box onto the coffee table in the library. The box had a stale cream borders on the front of it along with the design of a board and a planchette, and thick letters in the style that resembled to the sixties or the seventies. A Ouija board.

“What is that?” She asked flatly, recognizing the box as she sat down on the soft threaded rug next to the coffee table. However, she waited for her friend to confirm it for her.

She eyed the box with distaste. She had never used one before because the idea of it was ridiculous. Not only that, but her mother had expressively forbidden the board in this house. Something about not wanting to draw spirits into their home. While Johnny lifted the lid of the box to set it up, she spent her time observing the environment around her. The walls were lined with shelves and books especially scholar books. 

The books on the shelves had not been touched in years that it was layered with dust and moth bites along with the smell of old parchment between pages. She loved the smell of old books, but she hated the smell of dust. She could tell when she was living in the house they only cleaned the ordinated desk and other furniture they actually used. The books were merely placed as decorations despite it had not moved in years since the previous owner’s -prior to her parents- death.

She heard Curly stepping into the library and she turned her head to see him eyeing the board set up fearfully. “I don’t know about this,” he mumbled, shifting his feet nervously. “I don’t want to disturb the spirits.”

“For the last time, Curly. It is not haunted.” She said sharply, eyeing him with slight annoyance. She loved Curly, but his thoughts would get the best of him. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

It still did not explain strange occurrences that had been happening around the manor, although she would never admitted to her friends.

The righteous indignant expressions would be sent to her way and she would never hear the end of it at all. She loved her boys, but they can be a little too much when paranoia would get the best of them.

“Oi! Are you trying to drive us out of here when we barely lived in this place?” Johnny complained before instructing Curly, “sit down.”

Curly sat down next to her by the coffee table after setting up the fireplace with a few wooden logs to start off with.

She plucked the planchette from Johnny’s grip, setting it on the board on the 'G' as the thin white paper instructed her. They each placed a hand on the piece as she read the instructions in her other hand.

“Johnny since you want to cause chaos tonight, why won’t you be the first to start us off.” She said flatly, Curly nodded in agreement.

Johnny gave them a glare before grumbling. “Are there any spirits with us tonight?”

For a moment, it was completely silent as they all waited with bated breath to see if the planchette would move. A minute ticked by, and then another.

“Are there any spirits with us in this room?” She asked firmly.

They waited for another minute before a strong smell began to overtake the surrounding.

She inhaled sharply, wrinkling her nose, recognizing the scent of tobacco burning from years prior when she was a child. None of her parents were smokers, and she had concluded it was one of the memories of the room. However her eyes widened when she felt the object beneath her fingers shifting.

The planchette moved to the word YES.

Her eyes shot at Johnny’s wide eyes before returning her gaze to the object. Curly whimpered next to her.

She hesitated before she asked, “what is your name?” 

The planchette moved slowly across the board as it targeted the letters.

It stopped on the letter in the middle on the second row, “T.” Then it barely moved to the first row and landed on the letter next to G, “H.” The next letter ended up on the letter “O” on the second row on the other side of the board, then the planchette landed on the last letter of the first row, “M” then it moved across the first row to the first letter which was “A”. At last it stopped on the letter on the second row next to T, “S.”

THOMAS

Tommy? She asked to herself, remembering the engraved name in the bullet sitting on top of her dresser.

“What do you want, Thomas?” She questioned shakily, remembering the ghosts would have their own unfinished businesses whether they were tethered to something.

YOU

It was a declaration. A warning, a reminder, and an order all in one. To her, it was just downright terrifying. Nevertheless, she snapped herself out of her daze of shock.

“We’re done,” she muttered indignantly, pushing herself off the floor until she stood then she snatched the board. The planchette flew off to the side due to the aggression she inflicted on the board.

“Wait! No-“ she heard Curly attempted to stop her.

“You have to say goodbye before-“

She threw the decorated laminated cardboard into the fireplace, and she ignored the commotion of Curly’s voice as it reached a shaky high pitch.

“I said we are done with it. It’s stupid, and pointless!” She glared at them before turning on her heels to storm out of the library.

She would never tell them that she was terrified.

Act III

With soft echoes of her footsteps as she reached to her bedroom, creaks radiating as to reflect the true age of the house she was currently residing in. She turned the brassy knob opening the door, but she frowned when she felt something different in the air. As if the air particles were stilted, as if it was disturbed.

With her eyes, she scanned the bedroom and something caught her gaze. She zeroed in the direction where there was something on the mattress.

She found a simple sheet on the edge of the bed, recognizing the parts of the poetry to one of her favorite collection of poems.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang

I'm sure you all have read.

how they rob and steal;

and those who squeal,

are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;

they're not as ruthless as that.

their nature is raw;

they hate all the law,

the stool pigeons, spotters and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers

they say they are heartless and mean.

But I say this with pride

that I once knew Clyde,

when he was honest and upright and clean.

But the law fooled around;

kept taking him down,

and locking him up in a cell.

Till he said to me;

"I'll never be free,

so I'll meet a few of them in hell"

If they try to act like citizens

and rent them a nice little flat.

About the third night;

they're invited to fight,

by a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too smart or desperate

they know that the law always wins.

They've been shot at before;

but they do not ignore,

that death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together

they'll bury them side by side.

To few it'll be grief,

to the law a relief

but it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

Her eyes widened when there was something made known of a presence when she felt one hand running firmly up the length of her back to rest on the back of her neck. 

The sound of the paper crinkling before it floated into the air as it fell down to the ground.

She was frozen at this point, not budging at all, her breath caught in her throat before her eyes closed and squeezed tightly as if she could make whatever was touching her disappear.

It had to be him. It had got to be. There were absolutely no explanations for what she had gone through in the last few hours. No, scratch that, for the last few days.

The one who turned her world upside down with its presence through what she had thought a simple silly game when it turned out it was not a child’s game to play. Absolutely not a game for children nor for someone like her or her beloved friends, Johnny and Curly.

She felt something lingering in the crook of her shoulder, and her breathing stilled even more when she felt what she recognized as a face nearing her neck, the tip of his nose ghosting on her skin before she felt his lips followed.

Immediately, she stepped away, her eyes wide as she slowly turned around to face the bay window of her bedroom, her chest now heaving to compensate for the painful chilling moment.

She blinked at the reflection of the wide glass panes pathetically, the moon casted its own light on her through the window. She felt completely out of place because there was no one there except the shadows of the night of the moon.

She was so fucking pretty.

He hadn’t been able to appreciate finer, beautiful things after his death. 

When he put a bullet in his own brain, ending his own cursed life. He hadn’t anticipated to return to the house that held nothing but stagnant moments with good times that were very few and far between.

He had thought about implanting explosives in the house and let it blow all up, to destroy a extensive piece of his past because he once believed that the past was the past and it wasn’t his to be concerned about anymore.

However, in that last moment before walking out of the godforsaken place, he had changed his mind and changed the orders for his men to remove it from the manor but he knew Lizzie and his son, Charlie would not come back to this place. He did not want them to, regardless.

Looking back prior to his death, he was relieved he did not destroy it.

For the fact the woman standing before his being was the reason he was able to experience her presence. 

For the past several days, he didn’t lose sight of her and followed her for a while, still hidden by the shadows of light and time except the trinkets and reminders he would leave around for her to find.

He would be there, chasing her down the corridors at night without her knowing.

When he was alive, he used women as a way to escape his mundane life despite it was filled with danger and enemies and never a moment to rest except in death.

He had experienced displeasure when his remaining siblings, Arthur, Finn and Ada agreed to sell Arrow House a few years after he died because it was too much for them to live in the house that held nothing for them anymore.

He had been pleasantly surprised by the fact he was able to enjoy her presence back when she was a child. He had enjoyed the presence of children when he was alive, but life got in the way of him being able to be the person he had wish to become. As a ghost, he hadn’t been able to surround children for the fact there were not many tenets with children. He had observed her throughout time, noticing how she was mindless to her surroundings, untouched by the cruelty of the world that bestowed since the dawn of time. It had made him feel protective of the child who played with her toys under the portrait in the dining hall. It was easier to keep an eye on her from the things that could potentially hurt her. 

He had never thought he would be angry with the thought of her and her family leaving the manor behind, forgotten as they moved onto the next chapter of their lives. No one in his life stayed for him, not in the way he wanted them to. He wanted them to stay for him, not for what he could provide. He felt the same way when the family left the manor despite him being a ghost.

Now time had passed and she got older while he stayed the same, frozen by the law of nature.

And she, she had come back to the manor when she had no reason to. He had felt alive and things had changed the moment he laid his eyes on her again when he saw her presence climbing out of a vehicle along with two men he had recognized in his previous life.

He traced his fingers across his trouser-cladded thigh. He had never thought he would be aching to slide his thick, heavy cock between her thighs that were exposed under her pajama shorts. 

He had never thought of her as anything but someone to protect. Until she stepped into the Arrow House again.

However, nothing could destroy the pleasure of the fact she chose his old room as her oasis, her bedroom, a room for her to find peace in her own space.

He leaned forward, easing himself around her figure, brushing his knuckles against her shoulder to stroke her warm skin gently.

He could touch her now. A touch-starved man was a dangerous beast.

Whatever it was thirteen years ago prior to her leaving, it was the past. It was glaringly obvious that the past was a different life. 

Far from this one.

A sudden predatory arm snaked around her waist causing a gasp from her lips. Out of pure instinct, her hands reached down and gripped tightly onto his forearm attempting to push it away. Snatching her back into his broad warm chest birthed a panic attack in her.

She was exactly where she dreaded being - right where he wanted her to be. She nearly forgot what it was like to be trapped within the dark embrace of any kind.

His muscles held her tightly like a second skin and yet brought an ounce of fear the woman had never felt before until she moved into the damn Arrow House.

Another gasp slipped from her mouth as he brought her head back with a slow but forceful movement of his hand, letting the crown of her head tip back against his shoulder. She trembled, keeping her eyes as straight as she could while her hands gripped onto him for life. The fear of the unknown made her head swirl as the thought of being completely hostage by him.

She tried her best to remind herself that she would not die because he was a goddamn shadow. However, she had seen too many poltergeist movies to know she could die.

She bit down on her lower lip to prevent any other sound from leaving her mouth until she felt it. His other hand crawled its way up to her stomach.

Feeling the weight of his fingers and palm drag slowly up her abdomen, he was unpredictable and that made this all the more worse. His nose now met the tip of her right ear, causing the girl to shiver as her eyes closed tightly. He nuzzled the smooth skin of her ear. All she could hear was his steady deep breathing, lightly rising with each movement of his chest, until a deep intentional breath filled her ears.

He was smelling her hair, releasing a deep exhale as if he could finally settle and she found herself frozen in place especially when she could see him now. 

Exactly like the man in the portrait in the dining room.

Thomas.

She tried to move her head, to avoid his lips, but he already had his hands out, chasing her face to close the distance. 

He embellished the feeling of her soft skin underneath the pads of his fingertips by gently grabbing the both sides of her pretty face.

A groan slipped out from his lips as it rumbled in his throat when he finally finally felt her lips with his own. Desperation that was brimming the moment he knew she could see him and touch him washed over him, and his hands immediately captured her face as he had found out he could touch her.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “Y/N, love.”

It was as if her fault for making him lose his breath, her fault for keeping them apart like this despite not knowing it was him was what drove her away, his lungs collapsed. He nibbled and bit her lower lip in punishment. Between sudden breaths, he worshipped her with his mouth and hands to the point of terror.

“Thomas,” she let out a protest, her fingers clenching his shoulders to push him away. Only there was no use.

Ignoring her, a growl pulling his lip ever so slightly as he captured her lips again in a searing kiss. Teeth catching onto her upper lip before opening his mouth to devour her bottom lip as well.

He spun her away from him before pushing her against the mattress while she had struggled against him.

Without letting her move, he had began to remove her clothes, and his eventually joined the pile. He didn’t care for anything but to be inside of her.

He pushed her flailing legs apart before nestling between them.

His cock was trailing up and down the folds of her cunt. The head got caught on her opening for just a moment and sent a shock of electrical pleasure throughout his entire body.

He rumbled lowly in his chest as the thick tip of his shaft pushed through the opening, making her inner muscles give out as he started pushing inside with the tilt of his hips. He grunted lowly into her neck as he slid into her the first time.

He moved slowly as he buried himself inside her pussy. The hot sensation enveloped his dick as he made her feel every inch of it, he was wanting to savor the moment since it had been years since he last had a warm cunt and it had never felt like this coming from the woman beneath him, but it all became too much to the point where he shoved in the last few inches instead.

He groaned when her cunt pulsed and clenched down on his shaft in response as she whined into the mattress. She may have not wanted it, but her body wanted more.

He was able to prop his arms beside her head as his thick cock was nestled deeply into her warm cunt before extricating his cock from her tight cunt and slammed back inside, forcing a sharp moan from her throat.

Thomas began thrusting into her with abandon, feral and animalistic. Her hands scrambled to hold onto something which ended up grasping onto his forearms instead. A part of him felt an undeniable need to claim her, to fuck her so hard and rough he would imprint upon her being. He needed to make sure she would never leave him.

He did not know what he was anymore. In this moment, he was nothing but a pure primitive being, redacting every piece of history from this moment to the dawn of time. 

Trying to claim his woman.

“God, look at you,” his voice came from above her, low and rough.

His knees were spread, resting on the outsides of both her legs, his feet hooked over her calves to accommodate the position which had spread her legs apart, forcing her to take him as the position gave him the leverage to pound down into her hard, slamming his hips into her ass with rough thrusts that borderline brutal. He would bet she could feel his heavy balls smacking down against her slicked cunt, and hear the loud, crude slapping sound it made. It only made him harder even more somehow as pleasure rolled down his spine due to the lewdness of the position. 

He loved how spread open she looked, how it felt to shove his cock into her warm cunt as he fucked her like an animal.

“Mine.” He rumbled, smirking when she didn’t say anything.

She seemed so small beneath him like this. He looked down at where his dick was swallowed by her pussy, he ended up grabbing her ass, his large hands gripped her flesh, and spread her open, groaning as he saw the way her folds were spread open by his cock and her cunt was wrapped tightly around him. 

One of his hands trailed up her spine, smirking when a shiver rolled down her back and settling in gripping the back of her neck as he move himself to hover over her writhing body.

With one hand finding the front of her throat, he pulled her closer against his chest as much as he could, pace not faltering once. He could feel her walls fluttered around his cock due to the possessive grasp he had on her throat. She was trembling, he nearly smiled with a feral expression as he had a hard time focusing on anything but her, the way he fucked her, pushing her closer to the edge. 

“Such a tight cunt, so perfect for me.” He rasped, his lips grazing her cheek.

Somewhere in the haze of pleasure that rolled through him, Thomas groaned as the grip on the base of her neck tightened; threatening to leave bruises as he thought about spilling his cum into her pussy. He shoved his cock so deeply inside of her that she collapsed with a startled cry where no one could tell the beginning and the end.

His weight was pinning her to the blankets as her cunt was flooded with his cum. She began to squirm beneath him once she realized there were flames licking the bedroom and smoke began to rise, but he kept her pinned where she was, sliding his cock back and forth in her warmth.

“Tommy,” she protested, attempting to crawl away from him, only he held her down firmly.

He swallowed thickly as he laid his head against the curve of her back, “there’s not a damn thing I wouldn’t do when it comes to you, do you understand me?” Despite being a ghost, the warmth of her skin mingled with his as he felt the heat of the flames licking the curtains and the wallpapers as the fire began to spread around them, eventually consuming them.

Then she screamed as fire licked her skin, burning the flesh and he held her down in his arms, bounding her to him forever in death.

[girlbeyondthegrave]

There's a lot of conversations about how the ship being filled with mouthwash is meant to be a commentary about capitalism and the way workers are often broken down to produce luxury items for the upper class, but I'd also like to add that JIMMY himself IS mouthwash.

At face value, mouthwash is great. It cleans out icky bacteria and leaves you with minty fresh breath. It is helpful. However, it is also dangerous. As Anya says, the sugar contents rule out the possibility of it being a disinfectant, while someone less knowledgeable on the topic may read the alcohol contents and mistake it as a viable alternative. Ingesting large amounts can a) make you drunk; b) make you sick; or c) kill you.

At face value, Jimmy is an okay guy. He's been with the company a long time, and has now worked his way up to co-pilot. Sure, he doesn't do his psych evaluations, but surely someone making silly jokes is harmless, right?

While it makes the most sense for Anya to notice that mouthwash cannot be a detergent as a nurse, she is also the only person that has experienced the threat Jimmy can pose to someone's safety while still being able to talk about it. Curly knows who Jimmy is now, but doesn't have the means to tell anyone. She is the most qualified to both see what mouthwash really is and who Jimmy really is, which is why she talks to Swansea and gives a cryptic speech from behind the medical room's door, knowing that Diasuke can hear it and hoping he will ask Swansea about what she meant.

Every time a crew member gets too close to Jimmy, they are damaged by their dynamic with him. Anya was sexually assaulted and pregnant when she ultimately decided the best way to take control back was to end her life. Curly is disfigured, missing limbs, in constant agony--he is frozen in that state. He will not wake up peacefully. Daisuke is manipulated by Jimmy and is injured. Swansea kills him to end his suffering, this boy who was so kind and warm and young. Swansea killed a man barely of age so he wouldn't end up in drawn out agony like Curly. He confessed that he knew who Jimmy really was, and he paid the price with his life.

Jimmy keeps saying he's going to fix things, but he makes them worse. He is not disinfectant. He does not heal. He does not protect. He is mouthwash. He hurts you slowly. He ruins your insides. If you aren't too careful, he'll kill you.

But hey, at least your breath is minty fresh, right?

[roseroro]

Autonomy / choices in Mouthwashing…

I’ve only played the game once this very morning but goddamn the THOUGHTS. Will replay for more insight now that I know what it’s all about. In the meantime:

Daisuke, the young last-minute intern. From beginning to end, his autonomy is non-existent. He didn’t sign up to be on the Tulpar, his mother did it so he’d stop “slacking”. Under Swansea’s supervision, he can’t make his own choices, and instead spends his time on pointless repetitive tasks that don’t give him opportunities for mistakes. (Mistakes being the only example of him having a shred of autonomy, when he ends up stuck in foam… he’s doing his best I promise 😭). Then, when Anya locks herself in medical, Jimmy orders him to deceive Swansea then to go into the vent. Even his (merciful) death is someone else’s choice, Swansea’s (who swings the axe) and Jimmy’s (who brought him to that point).

Curly, the captain. Originally in a position of relative power (still under Pony Express), Jimmy strips him of everything and frames him for the mess he created. Curly is left unable to do anything but lie there and let others decide what he needs, what he wants, what he feels… what he did. No longer truly seen as human, his two perceived states are (irritating, noisy) pain and (accomodating) silence - silence achieved through force, shoving painkillers down his throat. He can do nothing but witness the events, yet he survives to the end. Unable to get in Jimmy’s way in his state, he becomes his puppet, the conduit for Jimmy’s delusion about being the hero and fixing things. His life is Jimmy’s choice.

Anya, the nurse and only woman on the ship. Belittled, abused, and raped by Jimmy and pregnant from it, her bodily autonomy is taken from her. After the crash, she’s left to care for Curly (who was supposed to take care of her before the crash, but didn’t despite his promises), who’s also lost his bodily autonomy, but she can’t bring herself to, well, force painkillers down his throat. The parallel to her own suffering too vivid. She chooses her death as a last attempt at regaining agency over her life (and, of course, makes that choice next to Curly), but Jimmy ultimately forced that choice on her, as he did with the others.

Swansea, the grumpy old man with a heart. As Daisuke’s supervisor, he steals part of his autonomy - but unlike Jimmy, he does so with Daisuke’s best interests in mind. He’s a protector, not an abuser. He also protects the sole working cryogenic pod from Jimmy - not for himself, as Jimmy believes, but most likely for his protégé. That choice is taken from him by Jimmy, who uses his alcoholism against him. In the end, Swansea is the only one who is able to truly fight back. Unfortunately, Jimmy is in possession of the strongest authority tool there is - a gun. The gun that the powers that be, Pony Express, placed there from the beginning to deal with eventual mutinies. Swansea never had a chance or a choice in the face of such powers.

Jimmy, the abuser. At the risk of repeating myself, he abuses everyone on the ship, he craves control and authority, he uses people’s weaknesses to obtain what he wants. He ends up as the only person in a position where he can make choices at all. He chooses how he lives and how he dies, he thinks he’s the hero of the story. The second he thinks his freedom is about to be taken from him (when he is about to lose his job and have a child with the woman he raped), he snaps and takes everyone’s fate into his own hands, he would rather kill everyone including himself than lose control. Obsessed with taking responsibility, never actually doing it.

Screaming crying chewing on drywall how can a 2h30 long game have so much in it there’s SO MUCH TO SAY

[queensunshinee]

Waiting room || Patrick Zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+) Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, fingering, oral sex), mental health issues, manipulation.

Word Count: 3.2k

Waiting room

Your leg jittered uncontrollably in the waiting room. It was almost ironic that it was six in the evening, and there was only one other person beside you. You weren’t waiting for the same doctor, nor were you there for the same reasons. He looked less neurotic. He looked like someone whose life had sorted itself out, while you wore a nearly neon green shirt that said 'I Have Issues' A shirt that reeked of an attempt to make Dr. Delulu laugh. She never laughs; maybe she doesn’t know how. Her name isn’t really Dr. Delulu. Her real name is Dr. Dallin. Katherine Dallin. A boring name. "Why are you here?" the stranger in the gray shirt asked you. It made your leg jitter even faster because interacting with people whose lives are together enough for them to wear matching colors makes you anxious. "Medical confidentiality," you mumbled, and he raised an eyebrow. His curly, messy hair blended with his thick, untamed eyebrows. There might still be some hope there.

"I’m here because—" he began, but someone burst out of Dr. Delulu's office in tears, cutting him off. Both of you stared at Jake in shock. The stranger had no idea that Jake, 17, dreamed of playing in the NBA but wasn’t taller than five-foot-four. He’d told you about the NBA like he was the next Michael Jordan, while you weren’t even sure he could dribble more than three times in a row. Which explains pretty well why Jake was here.

"You think he’s okay?" the guy in front of you looked horrified as Jake stormed out of the clinic. You blinked at him. Why is he talking to you?! Why doesn’t he understand the social norms where everyone minds their own business until they get called in to see their doctor?! That’s how it works, but no one in this clinic seems to grasp what’s expected of a person in a social environment—not to talk to strangers. Exhibit A, Jake, whose biography you could write if he paid you enough.

"Patrick, you can see Dr. Carter now," Jessica, the receptionist, suddenly called out, and the guy in front of you stood up, smiling at her in a way that could only be described as flirtatious, borderline sleazy. Maybe he’s one of those sex addicts you read about in a magazine at the hairdresser's once.

The guy disappeared, and you were left alone in the waiting room, wondering what Dr. Delulu did with all her spare time between your session and Jake's. Maybe she stared at the creepy stuffed animal on her desk. That disturbing raccoon, more than anything, spoke to her mental state. In the first few sessions, you couldn’t take your eyes off it. It looked almost alive, like it was just about to attack you. When she asked if you'd prefer she take it off the table during one of your meetings, you said you didn’t care because it was just a stuffed animal on her desk. Any normal person would prefer not to have a dead animal staring at them while they poured their heart out about their problems. But this isn’t your office, and you have no intention of pouring your heart out anyway.

"You can go in, Dr. Dallin is waiting for you," Jessica muttered without looking up from her computer, unlike the way she spoke to Patrick. You fall into the category of people she has no interest in, and the feeling is mutual. Jessica is just a dull character with a clear beginning, a boring middle, and an obvious end. She spends her days answering emails and phone calls, listening to people complain and ask for quicker access to their prescriptions at the public clinic. Most of the time, you think Jessica doesn’t have the skill set to deal with desperate people; she doesn’t look like someone who’s ever been desperate in her life. But that’s a judgmental thought, and you're trying to quit judging people, even if they are Jessica.

"(Y/N), come in," Dr. Delulu’s office smelled like ham, and as you sat down, you tried to guess what she had put in her sandwich. Did she add mustard and pickles, or maybe she ate it plain? Was it on a bun or diet bread? It would suit Dr. Delulu to be serious about her health. Too serious. "Hey," you mumbled to her, remembering from your first sessions that not speaking at all might set off warning signs for people like her. "How was your week?" she asked. The raccoon stared at you as if it were more interested in the answer than she was. Both of their gazes were equally hollow. "Same as always, you know, work-home. I went on a Tinder date. Everything was normal," you replied in a monotone voice, trying to project normalcy.

"A Tinder date? Want to tell me more?" she asked, her eyes on your horrendous green shirt, making you smile. She probably thought you were smiling because you were remembering your Tinder date, but you were smiling because you’d managed to throw Dr. Delulu off balance. That might be your main goal in these sessions. Maybe you should be her therapist, not the other way around, though it's technically dangerous to let you take care of even a cat. You tried once, then had to beg your old neighbor to take it.

"His name was Roni. We had fries and drank soda," you replied. Maybe his name was Roni, but you drank wine, and he was too cheap to order anything to eat. Later, you went to his apartment and asked yourself at least four times if this was your end. Was he a serial killer, and would you die because you were too horny and hadn’t seen a dick in a month? But no, you survived. If you can call it surviving. You couldn’t call that a dick either, but maybe Roni needs to talk about that in his therapy, not yours. You won’t be seeing him again anyway. He didn’t even ask if you got home safely. You could have been murdered twice since then.

"Was it nice?" Dr. Delulu asked, and you found yourself letting out a sigh. "I’ve had nicer dates. Jake looked sad on his way out, he didn’t even say hi," you changed the subject, glancing at the clock to see that time hadn’t moved at all. "We’re not going to talk about Jake," she replied, the same unbearable smile plastered on her face. "Your shirt is interesting," she added. "Yeah? You like it? I bought it at the market. I couldn’t pass up something that represents me so accurately, don’t you think?" you asked, trying to muster an innocent smile.

Forty-five minutes passed slower than usual. She asked questions that no one, probably not even her, cared about, and you avoided answering honestly. She prescribed you Xanax at the end of the session, said something about your condition improving. You forced a smile, and she said you'd meet again in a week. The air outside her office smelled like freedom. Maybe it was the lies you told about how good you were doing, or maybe it was the stench from her sandwich. Either way, you nodded in Jessica Minimous's direction (she completely ignored you; you could've burst into flames right in front of her and she wouldn't have cared). The cold New York October air slapped you the moment you finally stepped out of the clinic, holding the weekly prescription that would dull every emotion threatening to overwhelm you.

"Your session was longer than mine," the guy from earlier, Patrick, said, making you turn toward the sound of his voice. He was leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. "Those things are killing you," you stated, looking at the death machine in his hand. "So do car accidents. Once, I saw a guy get run over on a scooter. If he had just chosen the more pleasant way to die- cigarettes," he said, his tone amused, as if he was trying to figure you out without putting in much effort.

"So, what's your crazy?" he asked after a few minutes of silence in which you stood there, not really knowing what to say or do. "Rude," you replied, rolling your eyes. This time he chuckled, not just smirked. "I have a tendency toward addictions, and Dr. Carter said, and I quote, 'You're suffering from narcissism, and we need to find ways to bridge that and present you differently to the world,'" he looked at you, noticing how you were almost mesmerized by the bluntness with which he described his deepest issues. "Do you want me to guess yours?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes again, starting to walk away, which made him follow right after you. "You look about 25, you have no idea what to do with your career, and your mom nags you way too much about meeting the son of her best friend, someone named Mark or Benny, but you’ve seen his picture and you’re not attracted to him," he was clearly pleased with himself, causing you to stop in your tracks.

"I'm 28. I've been working the same job for three years, nine to five, with excellent health insurance, and I'd rather have my appendix burst than go out with anyone named Mark or Benny," you responded, rising to the challenge just as he wanted. Almost falling into the trap. "What’s wrong with Mark and Benny?" he asked. "I had a boyfriend in elementary school named Benny, and he smeared snot on me. It scarred me," you replied quickly. That made Patrick smile mischievously, like a man with a plan, someone who had led you exactly where he wanted. "And Mark?" he continued to challenge. "Mark sounds like an accountant, and I can't deal with someone asking me so many questions about money. I don’t even know what’s going on with my pension fund. It’s way too intimate, and Mark doesn’t have boundaries," you shrugged, as if it were obvious, as if he should have already known the backstory of this fictional character.

"Bye, Patrick. See you next week," Jessica’s voice cut into your bubble, making both of you turn to look at her. "Bye, Jess," he smiled, and she kept walking, ignoring your existence for the third time today. If your ego were as big as hers, that would’ve been a blow to it. "She’s not a fan of you," he remarked, chuckling again. The look on his face signaled amusement. "No, she treats me like everyone else. You’re just a good-looking adult with mental issues, and I don’t have a dick, so I can’t compete with that," you said exactly what was on your mind.

"You think I’m good-looking?" he asked. The amused smile still hadn't left his face. You almost wanted to slap him, just to wipe off that smug expression. "You really are a narcissist, you weren’t kidding," you replied with words instead of violence. Dr. Delulu would’ve been proud. Although violence had never been your problem, maybe she’d be proud because this was the longest conversation you’d had with a living being in two weeks. And that includes Tiny-Dick-Ronnie.

"Your place or mine?" he asked. "Excuse me?" you were surprised, your heart beating faster than usual, and here came all the familiar feelings of interacting with people. The overthinking about what was appropriate to say and what wasn’t. "Yours? You got a car? I’ll drive," he practically stated. "You don’t even know my name," you found yourself mumbling, wondering if your voice was steady enough to keep talking. "What’s your name?" Still that smile. Still that tone. "(Y/N)," it was softer than expected. Almost submitting to the guy in front of you. The one so sure of himself. "Great, so now we’re acquaintances. Can an acquaintance give you a ride home and let one thing lead to another?" He wasn’t even ashamed of what he was suggesting. "You could be a serial killer," you said, managing to come up with the most convincing argument you could. "You’re wearing the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen in my life. The only thing I want to murder is whoever made it," he said, a bit abruptly but fitting with the personality you’d learned in such a short time.

"You’re so rude, you know that? What if it’s my favorite shirt?" you tried challenging him again. "It’d look much better on the floor. Maybe it’ll become my favorite shirt too," he said, shameless. "Bye, Patrick," you rolled your eyes and tried to walk away again, but his hand was on yours in a second. "Wait a minute. It doesn’t have to be a thing. I can just give you a ride home," he said, looking at you. You blinked a few times quickly, just like you had earlier when the two of you sat across from each other in the waiting room. "Whatever," you shrugged. You figured he didn’t have any reason to kill you. You wanted to believe that. And Tiny-Dick-Ronnie’s nickname really helped explain your level of desperation.

You felt like you were bringing home a stray dog when he stepped into your studio apartment. It was more pathetic than you’d like to admit. The bed, the living room, and the kitchen were all in the same space. The shower dripped in a way that sometimes made you wonder if there was a bomb in the stall. On the small table in the living room was an empty bottle of cheap wine, a bowl with a few kernels of popcorn, and on the bed were clothes, some of which you’d pulled out of the laundry basket that morning, spraying them with deodorant, wondering if it made sense to wear any of them to work. It was clear you hadn’t expected guests- not today, not ever.

Patrick’s lips found yours the moment you closed the door. He didn’t bother checking out the space he had entered; instead, he tried to touch you as much as possible.

“Is this okay?” he asked into your lips as his right hand found its way onto your stomach, under your shirt. All you could do was nod in response. Within seconds, the green shirt was off your body. “That thing is so ugly; we need to burn it,” he muttered, keeping his lips pressed against yours. Your tongues almost danced together. You weren’t looking to win the battle for control that was clearly his, as he basically threw you onto the bed with a force that made you wonder if one of the mattress springs had broken.

“You’re so pretty. I saw you a few days ago on Tinder, you know?” he mumbled words that didn’t quite make sense to you as he started undoing the buttons of your jeans, with no resistance on your part. His lips were wet with saliva -so messy- and he trailed them across what felt like every inch of your stomach. While his right hand played with one of your nipples, his warm lips enveloped the other. The sounds coming from you were sinful. It was as if you hoped the entire building could hear how this almost-stranger was making you feel. How no one had made you feel this way in years.

“That’s it. Fuck, you sound so good,” he murmured as his lips finally found their place on your pussy. For a moment, you wondered when you’d lost your panties, but you didn’t dwell on it because Patrick began moving his tongue in circular motions, inserting two fingers inside of you. “I… I’m close,” you managed to find the strength to say, as you felt your hips move into his face uncontrollably. His firm hand tightened its grip around you, preventing you from thrashing beneath him. “Come on, baby, cum for me,” he said, and you did exactly that, feeling the high wash over you with an intensity you probably hadn’t felt before. He knew exactly what he was doing. “That’s right, good girl. Fuck, that’s hot,” he spoke as you climaxed, not moving his head away for a second, letting you soak him in your juices.

“Fuck, Patrick. Fuck. Fuck.” You repeated yourself like a broken mantra, feeling tears of pleasure welling up in the corners of your eyes. The man in front of you moved up to your eye level, studying your face as if you were a work of art. His lips were covered in your fluids mixed with his saliva, and he pressed them shamelessly against yours, muttering filthy words about how you should taste yourself, that this was what you deserved. And as his tongue once again intertwined with yours, you felt him slowly start to enter you. Carefully and deliberately, he never broke eye contact, seeking your approval at every moment.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, groaning as he pushed inch by inch, deeper inside. “I can feel you in my stomach,” you said, feeling it was true, even though you knew it wasn’t. “You’re filling me so good,” you couldn’t stop talking as he sounded like that. Every word you said brought him closer to the edge. His movements became faster, less considerate. The sounds turned choppier, words became non-words. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto yours, and when he told you to open your mouth, you did exactly as he asked, only to feel a wad of spit land there, followed by his large hand closing over your mouth, gripping your jaw, silently commanding you to swallow. “You really are crazy, huh? I knew you’d be a good slut,” he said, and you felt yourself tightening around him with every insult and humiliation. “Letting a guy you don’t even know spit on you. Fuck.” He half-whispered incoherently as another glob of spit landed on your cheek, making you moan.

Just after you came a second time, he followed, collapsing on top of you for a few moments. His tongue slid over your cheek, where his spit had been just seconds ago, with a tenderness and gentleness that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll clean you up, wait a second,” he mumbled, seeing you nod. You couldn’t respond beyond that, overwhelmed by the momentary euphoria. He stood up briefly, feeling a slight dizziness as he walked to the bathroom, not paying much attention to the space around him as he grabbed the towel hanging there and wet it with warm water. Patrick looked at you for a few seconds, lying in your bed with half-closed eyes. He nodded to himself and began gently wiping you down with the towel.

He settled next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder after he finished. A part of him hoped you wouldn’t want him to leave, that you’d let him stay the night. Maybe even tomorrow. Maybe forever.

“So, what’s your crazy?” he asked with a chuckle, bringing you back to the first question he’d asked what felt like weeks ago. “I don’t think I’m crazy, just lonely,” you said after a few seconds of silence, without lifting your head from his chest. It was the most honest thing you’d said in years. “Oh,” he nodded to himself. “Lonely people attract lonely people. Then they’re not lonely anymore.” At that moment, Patrick decided that you both would be okay. . . .

Heyyyyyyyyy, hope you'll like it. This is basically me showing my love to Patrick Zweig. Let me know what you guys think. My inbox is open for requests as well. Have a great weekend <3

[madqueenmomo]

Hiya folks. Todays the ffxiv hair contest winers were announced and of of the styles I made won.

The one who will be implimented in game will be Natural curls.

These were made with my friends in mind (because I love them and they deserve more actual natural curls) while taking into consideration the lack of curly hair, the textures I know they would be able to make and how it would look like on non poc wols

The winning hair

This was the first and more simple one I made. I started out with the base shape then painted it over with a natural curl hair brush.

I wanted to make a texture I felt i’ve seen the devs make in Highlander/Midlander hair but no where else.

I simplified it for the quickly drawn examples … I have a feeling the end product might be closer to those instead of the more curly version. Here is to hoping no.

The ones I made but did not win, so wont get in game

The curly swoop

This one was actually requested by one of my friends.

She wanted me to try a hair still she wanted to have in real life. Due to the reasons stated on top, i had to loosen up the curls of the swoop to make it work with what i knew was a texture they could pull off and also work with non poc characters.

Old school ponytail

This one was inspired by nostalgia from when I was in grade school.

I remembered those hail tie balls so well and associated them with fond memories.

Sadly I didn’t think i could do my original idea of the thick cute braids i associated these with in a way that the game would make it not look racist/work with non poc characters so I focused on just the curls. It ended up reminding me of Terra from FF6 but more curly.

In the end. I’m glad Natural curls won. I really hope they get the texture right and curly.

I still feel awkward cause i’m white woman who submitted these. But I did them with love and support for my friends and to yell at SE to add more poc hair (wich i saw a shorter dreads hair and also a really elegant brais with poofy curls won so i guess my plan worked?)

I just hope this will make them make more hair with poc in mind so the players can eat well.

[lcvemiyuki]

"nostalgia and night patrols" | daichi, hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: after years apart, a chance encounter with your childhood crush, daichi, leads to a night that opens up a box of unspoken feelings for you; welcome home, y/n.

warnings: fluff, high school classmates to ??, timeskip!daichi, f!reader, y/n is clingy+touchy while drunk, drinking, light cursing

character(s): daichi

word count: 2878

a/n: rewrote this 3-4 times...but timeskip!daichi mmmmm. (not proofread!)

art cred: @/W4W7o (on twt)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

the moon gleams down onto miyagi as you and your friends celebrate your success in opening up your own business. it was only a matter of time before you built something from the ground up, fulfilling a promise you made to yourself to visit your hometown once your shop opened. its been five years since you’ve last been home. you were determined to come back and make your friends and family proud.

keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough.

it pulls at your heartstrings every time; what was he up to these days?

𓇢𓆸 later that night

the bell chimes once more as customers pour into the chaotic restaurant; dishes piling up on each table as work ends for every adult.

“i think that's enough for tonight, y/n!” your friend exclaims in concern while rubbing circles on your back.

what started with light drinking and bubbly laughter ends with your face down on the cold, metal table. your friends worryingly nudge you, fearing the last round might make you hurl.

your raven-haired friend nervously laughs, and you only make groaning noises as a sign of life. “okay! are you ready to take this lightweight home?” she claps her hands together, directing the conversation to the girl with curls framing her face, whose eyebrows furrow in worry for you.

the three of you soon exit the busy restaurant, and you wave your hand in the air, hoping your words reach the owner. “thank you for your service!” your friends stifle a chuckle as they cage you in and hold you up.

“i hope she wakes up and gives us a hundred bucks each for this tomorrow,” the raven-haired girl jokes as she struggles to hold up her end. a sigh heaves on the other side as the curly-haired girl tries to blow her curls out of her face.

as you stumble down the quiet, moonlit street, your intoxicated state makes you a challenging companion. you occasionally mumble incoherent words, your legs wobbling and causing your friends to adjust their grip frequently. you are a comical sight, half-laughing, half-struggling, as you make your way through the sleepy town.

“maybe we should have just gotten a cab,” the curly-haired friend mutters, her breath visible in the chilly night air.

“no way, we’re almost there,” the raven-haired girl replies, though the strain in her voice suggests otherwise.

just as you turn the corner, you almost bump into a tall figure. the streetlight illuminates his familiar features—daichi sawamura. his eyes widen in surprise, then soften in recognition.

“daichi!” the curly-haired friend exclaims, relief washing over her. “perfect timing. can you help us get y/n home? she’s, well, had a bit too much.”

“oh yeah, suprise! y/n’s home.” the other one chimed in, her free hand doing jazz hands.

at the sound of the oh-so-familiar name, you lift your head just enough to peek through your eyelashes.

he looks so grown up now. the light blue uniform clings to his form, the short sleeves seemingly inadequate for the freezing night. yet, he stands unbothered by the cold, a picture of unwavering composure. his broad shoulders fill out the fabric with ease, and the muscles of his arms bulge slightly, pressing against the tight sleeves. in the dim light, his presence is commanding, a blend of strength and tranquility, as if the cold air dares not touch him.

you audibly gasp, a hiccup or two crawling out of your throat.

“desk-mate!” you slur, your words slightly muddled as you throw yourself at him, intoxication evident in the lack of coordination in your movements.

daichi's muscles tense momentarily at the unexpected weight crashing into him, but he quickly steadies himself. his fingerless, black-gloved hand finding its place on your head with a gentle pat. an awkward laugh bubbles from his lips as he glances at your amused friends, one of whom is already lifting her phone to capture the hilarious scene, while the other attempts to push the phone back down.

“hey, easy there,” he chuckles softly. his tone, slightly raspy and warm, makes you straighten up slightly as he tries to guide you to compose balance.

“it’s nice to see you too, y/n,” he adds with a warm smile, his hand continuing to smooth your hair out in a playful yet reassuring manner. his gaze flickered briefly to your friends who are now fully engaged in their mock make-out session; hands crossed and on their backs rubbing all over the place as if it were someone else's.

you don’t say a word as if you could even make out any of the conversation—your heart drumming is to blame.

despite his attempts to help you stand up straight, you droop your head back down. your giggles mixing with the chilly night air as you lean heavily against him.

with practiced ease, daichi catches your stumbling frame once more, positioning himself for you to climb onto his back.

“all right, y/n, can you hop on? i can hold your heels if you want,” he offers gently, mindful not to speak too loudly given your state.

you respond with a playful salute, your movements exaggeratedly dramatic. “aye aye, captain!” you chirp, swiftly kicking off your black wedges before wrapping your arms snugly around his neck.

as daichi hoists the giggling, slightly wobbly you onto his back, he gestures for your two friends to walk in front of him, ensuring they remain within his line of sight. you four navigate through the dimly lit streets.

a few minutes into your impromptu piggyback ride, you, in a moment of drunken clarity, peek over daichi's shoulder and lazily poke his cheek.

“are you the real daichi? like, really?” your words slur slightly, carrying a curious lilt. “i thought i was hallucinating when i first saw you, mr. officer,” you ramble on, your train of thought not allowing daichi a chance to reassure you.

“oh my god, did i just randomly hug you? what if you aren't the real daichi?” your expression shifts to one of concern, teetering on the edge of tears. “it’s okay, you can arrest me, mr. officer. i've been inappropriate with law enforcement,” you add with a serious expression, offering your wrists for imaginary cuffs in shame.

this has daichi turning his head in the opposite direction to stop the laughter bubbling up his throat; a small grin curls upward. you squint at him a bit harder to see and can’t find the answer as to why it’s so funny.

your curious mind once again spoke out loud, “huh? what's so funny, mister? does this mean i’m not going to the slammer?” you reach out, placing your hand over the officer's heart, and sigh in relief as if it were your own.

his footsteps falter for a moment as he clears his throat, “y/n, you don’t have to worry. it’s me, daichi,” finally finding an opening to reassure you.

a few deafening seconds pass by as the cogs in your brain turn. “…oh,” a few more seconds pass, “oh! daichi!” your palm departs from his chest, and snakes upward to squish his cheeks.

the touch of your cold hands once again startles the officer, but they soon warm with the use of body heat.

you ramble on, your palms gently turning his head to face yours. “well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?! ah, it feels good to know i won’t get arrested after all.”

his smile widens, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you know i wouldn't arrest you, even if you tried to talk me into it." he replies, his voice teasing.

he had always been the sensible one in the class, the steady presence that balanced your more pessimistic tendencies. despite your different aspirations—his to excel in nationals and yours to make something of your own—you both found a middle ground through your shared ambition. you admired his dedication and often found yourself inspired by his drive, feelings that blossomed into a secret crush. even though your paths diverged, you continued to support him quietly. however, emails changed and no phone numbers were exchanged making it inevitable to lose touch; yet, the memory of him remained, a constant whisper in the back of your mind.

𓇢𓆸 five years ago

it was a sunny spring day, and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom; their petals gracefully drifting past the glass-paned windows.

our last day together.

you wanted to say it, to let those three words spill out and maybe change everything—but something inside you held your tongue. perhaps, it was the fear of being rejected.

‘you’re leaving for tokyo after graduation. why confess now? and have him wait for you for who knows how long? what if he doesn’t even like you back?’

the more you thought about all the possibilities, the more you convinced yourself against it.

a calloused hand rested on your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts. “y/n,” he said, drawing your attention to his familiar short, coal-black hair. “are you worried about something?”

his eyes innocently searched yours.

‘about you, actually.’

“…yeah. i think i might get homesick, you know?” you played along—it was too late anyway. you didn’t want to ruin this happy moment right now; not when it’s the last day before everyone moves on to the next chapter of their lives.

“keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough.” his eyes were filled with concern.

you knew he wanted to say more, but was cut short by the class photographer passing by, wanting a picture of the two of you.

“daichi! y/n! let me get some pictures!” the enthusiastic classmate aligned the camera with you both as you smiled for the picture—daichi’s arm snaked toward your waist, his touch light and almost hesitant.

“say cheese!” the camera clicked twice with flashing lights.

it was a memory you wanted to hold onto forever, even if your heart ached with the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

𓇢𓆸 present day

some things never change.

ten minutes pass as daichi ensures the other two ladies make it back to their house safe and sound. both give him a good luck pat and wiggle eyebrows—he only rolls his eyes in response, a tiny chuckle escaping his lips as he watches them disappear into their house.

turning back to you, he notices your eyes drooping. his black boots clack softly on the cement as he continues the trip. “come on, let’s get you home,” he says softly.

the night is quiet, save for the distant sounds of crickets and the occasional car passing by. daichi can feel your breath against his neck, a steady reminder of your presence.

“daichi, you’ve always been there for me,” you mumble, your words barely audible breaking the silence.

just like in old times; he would always stick up for you and be the voice of reason whenever you got too much in your head.

his eyes flicker to the side to check up on you. “i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” he replies, his voice filled with sincerity.

“officer daichi to the rescue,” you tease, your voice filled with playful cheerfulness.

as you approach your front door, daichi pauses, his brows furrowing with apprehension. before he can speak, the door swings open, revealing your parents standing there, worry etched on their faces.

“oh, thank goodness,” your mother sighs in relief—a hand held to her heart as if she had gotten a big scare, “come in, both of you.”

your father steps aside, allowing daichi to guide you inside. “thank you for bringing her home safely, daichi,” he says, patting him on the shoulder.

inside, the familiar warmth of your home wraps around you. daichi gently guides you through the hallway to your bedroom, his touch steady and reassuring. your parents follow, watching with concern as he helps you sit on the edge of your bed, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

“thank you, daichi,” you mumble, your words slurred with exhaustion. “once again, saving my ass.”

he smiles, patting your head. “get some rest, y/n.”

as he turns to leave, you reach out, your hand catching him. “daichi, wait…”

he stops, looking back at you, his eyes filled with concern. “what is it?”

“daichi, i...” you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but the exhaustion and alcohol make it hard to form them. “i...”

before you can finish, sleep overtakes you, your head falling back onto the pillow. daichi watches you for a moment, a mix of emotions playing across his face. he carefully tucks you in, making sure you’re comfortable.

your mother steps closer, her voice soft. “she’s lucky to have a friend like you, daichi.”

he nervously scratched the back of his neck, the weight of the moment dawning on him as he realized this was the first time meeting your parents. "of course," he managed, a hint of awkwardness tinging his chuckle as it slipped out.

“ah, i’m going to run to the store mrs. l/n. just to get her some remedies for tomorrow morning.” she simply nods with a heartwarming smile.

𓇢𓆸 the following morning

soft morning sunlight filters through the cream-colored curtain, casting a warm glow in the room.

you groan slightly and squint to see daylight once again. your hand lifts, reaching your forehead to pinch the pounding in your head. blinking slowly, you try to piece together the events of the previous night.

as you push yourself up, a wave of dizziness hits, and you groan again, cursing your choice to drink so much.

your eyes catch sight of a bottle of water and a few painkillers on the bedside table, alongside a neatly folded note. curiosity piqued, you reach for the note, recognizing daichi's familiar handwriting.

good morning, y/n. i hope your hangover isn’t too bad. i left some medicine for you. take it easy and rest up. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. - daichi (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

you read the note twice, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment flooding your senses. memories of the previous night begin to surface—your friends struggling to take you home, running into daichi, him carrying you to your bed.

you cringe inwardly, recalling drunken ramblings and how you almost confessed your feelings.

“dear god…” you whisper to yourself, the reality of your behavior sinking in. “what did i do?”

you flop back onto the pillow, groaning loudly.

“why did it have to be daichi? after all these years, and i act like that?” you cover your face with your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks.

images of daichi’s concerned face, his gentle reassurances, and his steady hands guiding you through your house flood your mind. you remember leaning into him, nuzzling his neck, and calling him "officer daichi" with a teasing cheerfulness.

“why did i do that?!” you mutter, your hand repeatedly hitting your pillow as if that could erase the memories.

your heart races as you recall the moment you almost confessed, your drunken state allowing you to voice the feelings you’ve kept buried for so long; thanking the universe sleep had taken over you beforehand.

“what does he think of me now?” you wonder aloud, anxiety creeping in. “i acted like such an idiot.”

you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. unscrewing the bottle of water, you down the painkillers, hoping they’ll at least take care of the headache. as you do, you glance at the note again, daichi’s words providing a small comfort.

“always helping everyone still,” you whisper to yourself.

you couldn't help but glance over again at the digits scribbled at the end of the note; your heart fluttered once more like a teenager giggling over a crush.

𓇢𓆸 last night

with the small box of headache medicine in hand, he approached the counter, fumbling for his wallet. as he pulled it out, something fell from one of the inner pockets—a small, slightly worn photo. daichi paused, staring at the picture that had slipped out.

the photo was from high school, a candid shot taken by one of their classmates. in it, you were smiling brightly, your eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness. daichi was right beside you, but his gaze wasn’t on the camera; it was on you. his expression was soft, a quiet admiration in his eyes that he had never voiced out loud.

a soft smile tugged at daichi’s lips as he remembered the moment. he could almost hear the laughter of that day, and feel the warmth of your presence beside him. tucking the photo back into his wallet, he felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with something more—a longing that had never quite gone away.

‘you’re finally home’

a surge of emotion washing over him. it was as if he had been waiting all these years, silently holding onto the hope that one day, you'd return.

the weight of unspoken words and hidden glances pressed heavily on his heart.

he was set on making sure you saw him more than just a lingering memory of the past.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[kalki-tarot]

About your future spouse 🪷 - pac

Current energy, Looks, personality, potential meeting scenario & their profession.

Pick a picture ✨️ | masterlist 🤍

The images I use to select a pile are from Pinterest, I hope the readings will resonate with you. I'm not responsible for any decisions you make in your life from my readings. I'm just a beginner and these readings are just for fun.

Pile 1

Current energy

Your future spouse is currently busy and juggling between things right now. They're not in a good state of mind, they're anxious. They're troubled about managing their finances right now. They might be dealing with some financial loss. They're pessimistic about the future. They're remembering the good old times where everything was alright. They did not wish for this to happen.

Looks

They look pretty young of their age. They can be tan or have reddish brown skin tone. Short hair, may have blonde or white highlights. Short height and chubby figure but not fat. Black or blonde hair. May like covering their head with a hat or cap or smth.

Personality

Water and Fire signs may be prominent for them. They're probably a leader. They like to do teamwork. They're very patient and they believe in hard work. They have a strong business mind and also good leadership qualities. They may like nature, money, power. But this person has a romantic side to them also. They're handsome/beautiful, they have that charm. They're a trustworthy partner and a good friend. This person knows how to be romantic, they're naturally good at this. They have this emotionally intense side to them. This person is completely opposite of what he shoes to others with their loved ones. They're quite creative. They want that happy ending love story. They have those idealistic thoughts about love. They love their family and loves being with them. They're very intuitive and sensitive but may now show their inner child to everybody.

Potential meeting scenario with them

You may meet them after a heartbreak in your life. You're exhausted and tired about everything before meeting them. They'll come into your life when you're in the hermit mode. When you'll be having some self realizations. There's still some time before you meet them. If you don't make necessary changes to your self destructive habits, your meeting with them might get delayed. So please don't belittle yourself, have some courage to move forward in life.

22 number may be significant, can also be a sign that you're gonna meet them soon. You can meet them through a collaboration or a deal. You can meet them at the sea, or a cruise/ship. You can meet them through work. And also you may have a competition with them.

Their profession

They may be unemployed right now, may be still studying. Possible careers can be of a comedian, instructor, financial advisor, entertainment, or even a child specialist or child care jobs.

Pile 2

Current energy

They're currently very balanced and satisfied with their lives. They are thinking to start a new business or a venture. This person is thinking about their finances. They think they can earn a little bit more through this new business idea. They can be a Libra ♎️ or libra is prominent here. This person wants justice in their financial aspect of life as they juggling between things and are tight on money right now. They're just thinking about how to make more money or how can they bring financial justice in their life.

Looks

This person looks very rough and manly, may have a resting b*tch face and looks intimidating. They are the knight in shining armor. They are very charming and romantic though. This person looks like they may get into fights often. Very competitive and fierce. This person has two sides, one is very rough and bold and other is very calm, emotional and romantic. They may wear wigs or can be a crossdresser. They have a long height and slender body. They have long legs. Fair to wheatish skin tone. Short and curly hair.

Personality

This person is very intelligent and quick minded. They love to study a lot of books and read. They are very successful in whatever they do. They are creative and open minded. They are strong minded and a visionary. They are into some sort of business. They can be hot tempered sometimes. But they are a stable and action oriented person. They like to lead. They cannot be easily fooled. They sometimes get very tired and exhausted of things and they need their alone and self introspective time often. They are sensitive sometimes. I see a need for them to heal their inner child. This person is naive and innocent despite having their trust broken many times.

Potential meeting scenario with them

When you let go of the wall you've put around yourself to not get hurt again, you'll be presented many options or romantic potentials in life from the universe. I'm seeing you meeting them in a wedding, party or some sort of ceremony with many people and family around.

This can be arranged marriage for some of you ; you may finally decide to get married and you'll get many options and they will be the one you choose.

Their profession

They can be a therapist or a psychologist. They can also be a psychic, they get visions. They can be a financial advisor or may work as an agent in loan giving companies. They can also be a tourist guide.

Pile 3

Current energy

88 or 888 can be significant. Their thoughts are verh quick paced right now. They are currently working hard in their career and getting stable in terms of finance. They're leveling up their skills. This person wants a love offer in their life. This is because they recently got betrayed by a female figure (can be their family or ex) whom they thought of very nicely. But they deceived them. They were hurt. But they're focusing on their career as a distraction and its working. They want someone to take care of them as they feel very unloved. They're manifesting new things in life.

Looks

33 or 333 may be significant. They look harsh and heart broken. They may have a large back. They have Black/Brown hair and tan body. Their facial expressions look calm and serene. They may like wearing accessories on their head. They have nice hands. They have a thin and long figure. They have a big back but rest of their body is thin. They can be Air signs as we have lots of swords here.

Personality

This person is known for their good looks and body. They work out a lot maybe. They're very focused and disciplined. They can be an air sign, they are self critical, independent and powerful. They can be calculating sometimes. They could be someone who is very thoughtful and not too emotional or too detached, wants nothing more than to make themselves better. They are very detached from reality and can be in their head a lot. They carry unrealistic expectations in life, and don't know how to deal with the painful consequences of their own shortcomings. They fall in love with love. The devil shows that this may end up being their own negative aspect of life. This can become an addiction. But they'll take charge kof everything. They are dominating and powerful.

Potential meeting scenario with them

The king and queen of cups tells me that you may be romantic soulmates. You'll meet them when you'll stop being defensive about your feelings and inner self. There is a need to reevaluate things for your own good. Where you're settled in right now, is your comfort zone. It's nor helping you at all, please be open and expressive of your emotions. Your future spouse will be very understanding of your feelings, so don't worry. You can meet them while traveling or near the sea/beach.

Their profession

Position of power and authority, can be a ceo or head. Can also be a doctor, nurse or healthcare worker.