#and lose my creative spark

[autismguy55]

i think i should become an english teacher. multiple people have compared me to one in some capacity over the last week or so and i am horrifically passionate about books and literary analysis. i might do it

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Hello, it has been 8 hours since I did In From The Cold and my mind is still reeling. What do you mean I have to go to WORK now??

[marsixm]

one of my best friends is like 6 years younger than me and really embodies a shitposting ethos of art like she’s just constantly making shit she is cringe but she is free she will make shit based on some random thing she’s really passionate about and god i’m so envious of that but also deeply inspired

[hornystiel]

sigh

[snowflop]

if we don't get a thracia remake in tomorrows direct i am going to explode into a million pieces.

edit: *explodes*

Decent direct but honestly I'm just disappointed they didn't announce the thing i wanted specifically. My fault for getting excited about something with no basis I guess... I just really wanted it to be real orz.

[amongemeraldclouds]

love blooms in strange places

When Mattheo was assigned to help you tend to the greenhouse as punishment, he never expected detention could be so pleasant.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader | Based on this request

Warning: fluff, one use of y/n, used my creative license to come up with plant lore and magic to serve the plot.

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party | 1.7k words

When Mattheo Riddle started his day, the greenhouse was the last place he expected he would be. Yet that’s exactly where he was headed, kicking up dirt as he went.

Snape’s words haunted him as he slowed to the door. “Mr. Riddle, you had been in detention several times just this month alone. If you will not learn by reflection, you will learn by deed. As punishment, you will have to help y/n cultivate plants for a week.”

Before Mattheo could open his mouth, Snape raised his hand. “Any protests and we will make it a month.” He knew better than to talk.

He shook his head as he opened the door, eager to get it over with. He took in pots and plants of various shades of green, color sprouting sporadically where flowers and fruits blossomed. Then there was you.

You saw the curly haired boy approach, Mattheo Riddle, you recalled. Everything about him spelled trouble from the frown fixed on his face, to his askew tie, and the way he strut as if the entire world bent to his will.

You smiled and introduced yourself politely. Your mum after all had raised you to give others a chance. To look beyond first impressions.

Still, it didn’t surprise you when his frown stayed glued to his face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he just stated by way of introduction. “Here’s how this will work. I’m going to stay here,” he said, grabbing a chair at the side of the greenhouse and taking a seat. “I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. When the time is over, I’ll walk away. Nice and simple.”

“So you’ll just let me do all the work?” You huffed, your fists clenched by your side.

“Glad you’re catching on, darling. Go on. Some would say it’s a privilege to be around me but it’s okay if you don’t see that yet.” He flashed you a shit eating grin and propped his legs up the table across him. Such a shame. He’d probably be handsome if his personality weren’t so rotten.

You caught yourself and your expression turned livid. “No, being around you is punishment. I don’t know what I did to Snape to deserve this,” you mumbled to yourself.

Your mum may have raised you to be polite, but she also taught you to stand up against bullies. You strode over to the arrogant boy, plucking a bearded iris on your way. You crushed it beneath your fingers, muttering an incantation.

When you were close enough, you hurled the crushed petals at his feet. Upon impact, sparks burst. Bright searing sprays of light was accompanied by a loud bang.

Mattheo dodged it, losing his balance. His chair tipped backwards. He crashed to the floor.

The bearded iris was otherwise called the firebreather iris. He should have known better than to challenge you.

You towered over him. “You will help me as Snape intended. It’s bad enough I have to spend time with you. You will make yourself useful or that,” you pointed at the ashes of the firebreather iris, “is just the beginning of what I can do. There are poisonous plants around here like nightshade. I will not hesitate to use them and make it look like an accident.”

He looked at you as if he saw you for the first time. The fire was brighter in your eyes than the spark you had thrown. He was silent for a beat as he recalled what Theo warned him about nice girls. You never wanted to see them mad. They were always more clever and therefore more dangerous.

As much as he loved danger, he very much preferred to stay alive. Besides, things just got more interesting. He schooled his face to a bored expression. “Fine,” he said standing back up and dusting the dirt from his clothes and hair. “If you teach me that cool trick, I’ll help out.”

“Stick around and I’ll teach you a few things,” you nodded, satisfied. You tossed him a pair of gloves. “We’ll start here, plant boy.” He suppressed the smile that threatened to break across his features. It was fascinating how you snapped quickly back to your good natured self, as if you weren’t just threatening him moments earlier. If there was anything Mattheo loved, it was a challenge.

As he put on the gloves, he felt detention wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Threatened by the poison and lured in by the idea of learning plant magic, Mattheo had surprisingly been a helpful herbology partner.

Yes, he was stubborn and annoying. But at the end of the day, he was quick to pick up the steps, memorizing which fertilizer to use for what plant, and how much water each plant needed.

The weeks quickly passed and you found a comfortable rhythm. You just had to put up with those terrible lines.

“Are you a flower bed?” Mattheo asked, his face streaked with dirt as he hauled another bag of soil.

“What is it this time?” You rolled your eyes. You found it impossibly adorable and ridiculous how he managed to get dirt all over his face despite wearing gloves and other gardening gear.

“Let’s pretend you asked me why. ‘Cause I want to lay you down and get dirty,” Mattheo said with his signature smirk.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Mattheo considered it a win. “That seriously works for you?” You pointed in his general direction. “I’d rather choke on a cactus,” you beamed.

Mattheo chuckled, “then I want to be a cactus.”

“Oh why, because you’re a prick?” You retorted, shoveling more soil to the new pot.

“No, you can’t use these lines against me,” he said, narrowing his eyes, grabbing a handful of soil.

“Don’t be such a weeping willow about it,” you quipped. “And I swear if you throw that lump of soil, you’ll have to clean it up.”

“Why don’t we go straight to the cleaning part?” He teased instead, returning the soil. He grabbed the water hose nearby and turned it on, aiming it directly at you.

Before you could react, you felt a steady stream of water hit you, the cold shocking your entire system. “You really did it,” you muttered uselessly, releasing a string of curses as you gathered your wits about you.

You ran after him, but he was quick to deflect, running off the opposite direction, taking the hose with him. Five steps in, you slipped on the mud and landed on your back. The wind rushed out your lungs and you laid there recovering your breath.

“Salazar! Are you ok?” He asked, running towards you.

“Come here,” you spoke softly and he leaned in to hear you.

“My name is not Salazar,” you declared when he was close enough. “It’s an expressio—“ he tried to explain but in one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt. The surprise was enough to send him down the floor. He slipped in the mud and joined you. You grabbed the hose from him and sprayed him with water.

He flailed for a few seconds before he caught purchase and rolled over you, yanking the hose away and then switching it off. You both found yourselves in hysterics, bodies shaking from the cold and laughter.

“I can’t believe it. You really laid me down and got me dirty,” you managed to say in between laughter.

“This is not what I meant. But if you want to know what I mean,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. But he was rendered speechless, the words and laughter faded in his throat.

He didn’t think it was possible. But up close, you were even more beautiful with your captivating eyes and kissable lips.

His intense gaze stole the laughter and breath from your lungs. You felt his heartbeat drum against yours, your breaths mingled with one another.

It sunk in then that he was on top of you, gazing at you like he wanted to do a hundred and one sinful things to you. He had a forest full of desires and you wanted to explore every corner of it. To go on an adventure with him. So you did.

You weren’t sure who started it, but the next second you found yourselves kissing each other. It was better than any euphoria plants could induce. His lips felt surprisingly soft and he started off tentative, seeing if you were okay with it. You just needed more and he quickly matched your pace, taking in as much of you as he could.

He was no longer gentle and he ran his hand through your mud streaked hair, holding you just where he needed you, deepening the kiss. You tugged on his hair in return and he rewarded you with a groan, his chest rumbling against you. He licked your lower lip, prompting you to open your mouth as his tongue darted in, exploring until you both needed to come up for air. Panting against each other.

“Why are you looking at me like I just kicked a puppy?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You’re just a boy trying to get through detention,” you stated.

“Darling, my detention was only a week long,” he admitted.

Your eyes widened. “But this is your third week helping me.”

“You still haven’t taught me how to make fire with flowers yet,” he said, kissing you on the nose.

“You’re not afraid I’d poison you?” You narrowed your eyes, recalling your threat.

“I looked it up. The nightshade you mentioned that first week isn’t even poisonous. You never meant to poison me, dear.”

“But you fell for it, that’s what mattered,” you insisted.

“Maybe it’s you I’ve pollen for,” he quipped.

“You’re never gonna stop with the plant puns, aren’t you?”

“No, because you’re ivy and you’ve fully crept in my thoughts. Next, you can creep in my—” you kissed him then to shut him up. He didn’t seem to mind at all. You really had had enough of his silly plant puns, even though you couldn’t get enough of him.

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party

[see-arcane]

Our good friend Jonathan Harker is getting ready to leave for his business trip, Mina Murray is picking out a new journal, Lucy Westenra is charming a gaggle of smitten suitors, Abraham van Helsing is wrapping up his lectures, and Castle Dracula is prepping the guest room for a very long stay.

Which must mean that Dracula Season is here again!

 ‘Dracula Season’ being a catchall term for the voracious reading, memeing, writing, illustrating, analyzing, and general fun-having that’s ensued since Matt Kirkland’s project, Dracula Daily, caught on with us back in 2022. The Substack had already been running before then, but it sparked a conflagration as time went on and readers old and new to Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the actual novel, not Coppola’s fanfiction—devoured it in a way that scratched an itch none of us knew we had. Stoker wrote the book in epistolary fashion, clumping sections together as needed for the pacing without perfect adherence to chronological order. Matt went ahead and put all the events in order and proceeded to set up a lovely chain of emails that delivered entries on those correlating dates.

This style of organization and pacing turned out to not only make the virtual book club that much easier to engage with, but left space in-between to stew on the story and relate with the characters themselves. Every day of waiting in the book feels weightier when you have to pace and sweat and worry in tandem with poor Jonathan trapped in the castle or Lucy wasting away or Mina running out the clock before she loses the fight for her own humanity. And while we sat with the story or the lulls between Dracula Seasons, some of us found ourselves craving more of that ghastly gothic horror goodness to the point that we figured:

“Well. Why don’t I make something?”

And then we did! Tons of creative works have been churned out in the wake of Dracula Daily’s high. I figured that while we’ve still got a bit of time to wait for May 3rd, we should check out all this new stuff in the meantime. (Plus a handful of neat stuff that just clicks with the Dracula itch overall.)

So, in the interest of Dracula Season pregaming, let’s take a look at…

FICTION

Blood of My Blood – A recent addition to the Dracula Bad Ending AU pile, and definitely one of the most harrowing and addictive group-produced narratives I’ve ever come across, Blood of My Blood is the dramatically gothic currently-WIP work of @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush’s devious design. Give or take a heap of other fascinated folks (hello!) adding ideas to put more Horror into the Horrors that our cast has to face. The premise:

The Transylvanian climax went fatally sour and the Harkers were forced to shelter with Dracula himself, including their half-vampire son, Quincey. Cut to two decades later, and Quincey finds himself out in modern London, smitten with Lu, adopted daughter of Arthur and Jack, and diving into certain bloodstained old documents that detail the real history of how his parents came to live in the castle. Said revelations coming not a moment too soon, as a storm is coming for him straight from the Carpathians…

Dracula Daily Sketch Collection – An array of illustrations that captures every entry beat by beat, the Dracula Daily Sketch Collection by Georgia Cook, alias @georgiacooked was dished out over the course of the last Dracula Season. Some of the most fun character designs out there.

Fanfiction Spotlight: BlueCatWriter – With a whopping 99 works devoted to the novel Dracula (so far, the number may have gone up since I blinked), @bluecatwriter is one of the most prolific and talented fanfiction scribblers out there. Romances, nightmares, and overlaps between the two seem to crop up the most, give or take a crossover. Seems fitting that those blue paw prints have contributed to BoMB too.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlefolk – An ongoing comic in which all your favorite characters from the Classics section get together and tackle some perils ranging from the mundane to the monstrous. Started by the amazing @mayhemchicken and posted on @lxgentlefolkcomic, this series is a love letter to beloved Victorian era lit, with a spotlight on the two couples leading the League. Namely, the Harkers, ala Dracula, and the Nortons, ala Sherlock Holmes,’ “A Scandal in Bohemia.” Mina and Irene are the driving investigative and steering forces here, and still deeply in love with their likewise-infatuated husbands, just like in their canons! What a concept! Alan.

Without spoiling the full character list, just know there are going to be a ton of familiar faces roaming around before you finish reading the first arc. Said arc having conveniently wrapped up just a few days ago! Give the comic and its bonus silliness a look if you’re in the mood for a new comfort-adventure epic.

Re: Dracula – Probably the most well-known and incredible thing to come out of the initial Dracula Daily wave. This podcast is a full audio drama that follows the same format as the Substack, with episodes coming out in time with the entries themselves. And it has an unfairly cool soundtrack. They have a Tumblr with @re-dracula, a site and a Patreon to check out before the series kicks up again on May 3rd. (Also, keep an eye out for their next work, an audio drama in the same style with Carmilla.)

The Soldier and the Solicitor – Another treat from @ibrithir-was-here, this one involves a bit of time travel trouble. Quincey Harker has stumbled out of World War I and into the same dark forest where his father once fled for his life…then runs into the man himself, on that same night. Jonathan Harker, young and starved and lost, who has no choice but to trust this stranger while the Weird Sisters are at his heels…despite said stranger having no shadow. It’s a tasty emotional trek, already complete on Tumblr, but now it’s turning into a Webtoon. While Ibrithir is juggling a number of other stories, she’ll be redrawing spruced up versions of the comic and adding a few new scenes as things unfold.

Substack Stack – You know what’s better than one emailed-out public domain book club? A mountain of them. Just. So, so many of them. You’ll see that a lot of these are finished, but some are still ticking along. Either way, they’re all great picks if you’re craving some more old school lit to fill the void between undead emails.

Frankenstein Weekly – Frankenstein

Jekyll and Hyde Weekly – The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Voyage of the Nautilus – Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

Letters from Watson – Sherlock Holmes

The Invisible Mail – The Invisible Man

Letters from Bunny – E.W. Hornung’s short stories of the eponymous Bunny and Raffles

Letters Regarding Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster short stories, including the novel, Right Ho, Jeeves

…

……

………

…The Beetle Weekly – The Beetle (NOTE: Do Not Read This.)

The Vampyres – A novella I finally wrenched through the gears of self-publication as of March this year. Starring a petite but powerful paranormal cast, The Vampyres, centers on an unscrupulous undead fellow who finds that the revenants of the world are being mowed down by an entity known only as ‘Quinn Morse.’ Between trying to save his neck and figure out where the shadowy bastard came from, the Vampyre in question crosses paths with a new paramour and handy human shield in the form of a grieving Good Samaritan. He’s even polite enough to invite the Vampyre into his home while he’s in dire straits! Surely this will end well. All the info is available here and a little author site is over here.

What Manner of Man – This is the one made for everyone who started out hoping there’d be a real love story with our good friend Jonathan Harker and the Count when he was at his most charismatic. Where that sea of wonders dried up into a mire of horror, What Manner of Man by @stjohnstarling keeps things firmly on the romantic tracks. This Substack stars the letter-writing priest Father Victor E. Ardelian as he finds himself meeting with one enigmatic Lord Alistair Vane. It isn’t long before interest turns into intrigue and intrigue into undead intimacies.

The entire novel has been completed—along with multiple epilogues in the author’s Patreon, allowing readers to choose for themselves just how the uncanny romance plays out in the end—and the Substack now has a number of other gothic goodies piling up in the meantime.  

NONFICTION

Dracula Daily: A Unique Reading Experience: This one comes courtesy of @realwomenofgaming. It’s a short and sweet piece that amounts to a fun snapshot of the entire Dracula Daily ride. A cozy couple-minute read.

‘Dracula Daily’ is the One Substack You Need a Subscription To: Features my favorite Matt Kirkland interview. @mattkirkland, if you’re still floating around on here, thank you for dispatching our vampire newsletter again this year.

Dracula Daily is Tumblr’s hottest new book club: Alright, the ‘new’ part is worn out by now, but this one is still a delightful article to swing back around to. Two years on, this Polygon piece is a time capsule of those early months when people outside our bookworm bubble realized we were all happily receiving letters from our favorite classic gothic horror blorbos.  

“How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” – Princess Weekes, if you ever read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. I am sending oceans of love and millions of rewatches to your video essay. If you haven’t seen it yet, “How Mina Murray Became Dracula’s Girlfriend” is one of the most refreshing and well-made breakdowns of both the title subject and numerous other issues that have proliferated in the public view of Dracula’s cast and plot as adaptations endlessly warp or outright bastardize the actual novel. An incredibly cathartic watch.  

Literary play gone viral: delight, intertextuality, and challenges to normative interpretations through the digital serialization of Dracula: A mouthful of a title for an even more elaborate article about the Dracula Daily phenomenon. This one is a full-on study that analyzes just what happened within the big bloodsucker book club surge and how its ‘wandering reading practices’ enriched the experience for participants.

 “The Undying Undead: An analysis of the Dracula Daily community for a theory of online community formation and interaction” – We have a thesis on here! Look at that! @sirangelothebestest’s MA thesis used our vampiric book club as the bones for a massive brick of an academic piece that definitely deserves a look.

…And I think I’ll go ahead and cap things here.

This isn’t everything I got recommended, but if I had squashed all of it in here, I think folks’ eyes would start to fall out of their head. I hope you can find something cool to comb through here. Or, if there’s something great I overlooked, tack it onto the list! We’ve got just two weeks to go until we’re off with Mr. Harker. Let’s enjoy our respite before those castle doors close behind us.

[thebibliosphere]

I was already on a hair trigger today trying not to snap at a mutual for reblogging a "fuck authors who use Amazon" post, but, like, this shit is why some authors can only afford to use Amazon.

They don't have the $75+ to distribute through Ingram Spark. They don't have the $25 it takes to change your files if you need to update them after they've been accepted. They can't afford to take the cost of printing hit to their sales. They can't afford to lose an additional 40% of their income to retailer discounts.

And just so we're clear, Ingram isn't a vanity publisher. They're one of the largest print monopolies in the world. They're used by most mainstream traditional publishers and indie and self-pub authors alike. Amazon uses them when their print demand is too high.

My friend, whose work is published by Gollancz, is printed through Ingram, the same as mine. The difference is their publisher takes the hit for them. In theory. We won't get into dwindling advances here or how publishers are increasingly putting the onus of marketing and sales onto their authors or the fact that their editors can't afford rent or food while the executives get richer and richer.

So what do you do when the mainstream doesn't want you? What do you do when you're told if you can't keep up with the rat race, that you don't deserve to have your work published? What do you do if all you have is the ability to tell stories for a living, and no one wants you?

Well, you could die of starvation. I'm sure there are several people on here who'd be happy if that happened to me. (I know. Because they tell me. Often.) Or, you can shake hands with the devil, knowing it's a bum deal, knowing everything is fucked, but also knowing that every other aspect of this fucking industry is just as fucking bad.

There's no escape. It's relentless.

And you've got people out there posting things like, "Actually, I think authors who charge for their books are part of the problem."

And yeah, in an ideal world, I'd be making art for art's sake.

But we're not in that world. We're in the bad place, and you're actively making it worse. You're encouraging people to steal from people who are struggling just like you and calling it activism against billionaires or putting them in the same moral category as said billionaires as though we're not trapped in this system, same as you. Some of you are fellow fucking authors. And, like, my mind boggles at what it would take to stab a fellow creative in the back like that, but here we are.

Hell world.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : softdom!rafayel, hints of switch!rafayel, reader is hesitant with intimacy, descriptions of self-esteem issues and general insecurities, mentions/implications of toxic relationships, implications of dubcon (not with rafayel), praise and reassurance, kissing and making out, heavy petting, first time sex (with each other) (no virginity loss), masturbation (f), oral (m. receiving), vaginal sex, cowgirl and missionary positions, unprotected sex, creampie, soft sex, use of pet names "cutie" "princess" "baby", references to card "fiery undercurrents", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 7.9k (help me)

youtiful masterlist

a late birthday os for our favorite deep sea painter! ✨

You jumped at your phone, nearly gasping at the caller ID that flashed on your screen.

"Rafayel!"

Your grip on your phone was tight, held against your ear with an immediate burst of excitement.

It had been days.

You knew how it was, of course—an artist's inspiration was often sporadic and fleeting, and you'd even lost count of the number of times Rafayel had told you that. How essential it was to grab the spark of creativity before it you lose it; how paramount it was to focus on your flow before it disappeared... It was ingrained in the forefront of your mind, by now.

And even more than that, if Rafayel had always been one to speak of the elusiveness of inspiration, then Thomas had always been one to insist you leave him and his stroke of genius alone whenever he called for it.

You didn't understand much about the world of artists, so it was natural for you to take their words to heart, but it hadn't been easy.

Rafayel, being Rafayel, would always send you texts and updates, never failingly missing a single day... But it had been days since you'd last heard his voice at all—much less seen him. Now, marking a week sinve you'd been to his studio at all, you were pacing back and forth in your apartment, wondering how long you had to wait, and if maybe you should take a chance and visit him yourself—

But you didn't want to be selfish.

In fact, you quite despised being needy at all—with a quiet laugh, you thought, that was usually the role that Rafayel would play in your relationship. You wouldn't think to take it from him.

Yet, now, your phone rang, and the ever-familiar sound of his voice brought on a wave of butterflies in your stomach that had your mood lifting in seconds.

"Heeyyy there, cutie!"

In the background, you could make out the faint sounds of metal against concrete in the background, and your ears perked.

"Is... that your ladder? Have you finished your painting?"

"Yeah! It really took a while, this one... But Thomas'll be happy to know that it's finally finished! ...That is, if I could get ahold of him..."

You carefully sat on the edge of your bed, swinging your legs in sheer happiness at his little ramblings.

"...And, actually, I kind of need your help."

You blinked.

"Hm? Help? With what?"

"Well, you know how I told you it's been kind of a while since I last cleaned this place...?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you free now?"

"Rafayel, you can't mean...?"

"Yeah! Can you come over and help me clean?"

You couldn't believe his first thought with this call was to ask you for your cleaning services. You strained to hear the familiar tease in his voice, even waited for a moment for some kind of "Just kidding!" or whatever else that could tell you he wasn't being serious—

You felt your eyes narrow in disapproval when you found nothing.

"Rafayel, I'm not your maid, you know."

Not even an "I missed you", not even a " Want to hang out later?".

"Yeaaahh.... But you're my bodyguard, right?" The hopeful tone in his voice now would have made you laugh.... In other circumstances.

"What does that have to do with anything?!" There was a laugh, then, on the other side of the line, and you huffed. "Rafayel, don't joke with me—"

"Look! I told you, right? Thomas won't answer me, and, seriously! The studio's a mess. I really need some help... Please?"

He was laughing completely now, and the sound brought over that same, very familiar ripple of butterflies, despite all the odds.

You caved.

"This is labor abuse, Rafa. Of your own girlfriend, might I add!" You hmphed, but stood up from your bed, haphazardly gathering your things into a purse and walking out of your flat. "Fine. I'm on my way there."

"Oh, you really are the best girlfriend I could ever have wished for! Thanks, princess! See ya!"

Not even a "stay safe"!

You wondered if this was what Rafayel felt whenever you were late to receive his calls or to reply to hia texts, and you sighed.

Is he just trying to get back at me...?

Regardless, he made up for his actions by immediately twirling you over with a kiss the minute you knocked on his door, and you smiled.

"Nice to see you again, princess," he grinned.

You thought you could never have wanted to see his smile as much as you did now—

But you couldn't bring yourself to admit that to him.

"Would've been better if you said that when you called me, huh?" You rolled your eyes playfully, shoving him aside and scanning the space in front of you.

He hadn't been lying.

Paint had been scattered around, well past the patches of safety paper he usually had lying all over his studio. While you were used to seeing the place mostly messy, anyway, this seemed a lot less like the organized mess you were used to. What's more, the painting wasn't even in this room anymore, and god knows where he'd put it now to dry.

You turned towards him with the raise of an eyebrow.

"Geez, Rafayel... This place looks like it's been through a hell hole. What were you doing?"

"Painting."

He shrugged, ever nonchalant and casual, only as if stating the obvious—that clearly being so engrossed in your painting would result in such a mess, and that clearly—he handed over a bundle of cleaning supplies—this was a very normal way of greeting your significant other.

You sighed.

You supposed, nothing was ever truly normal with him, anyway.

By the time you had finished, the sun that peeked through his windows bathed his studio into a golden glow. You settled onto the couch beside him, silent as he rubbed soothing circles into your shoulder, your head resting contently on his shoulder.

"You're rich, Rafayel," you mumbled, a little tiredly. "Why can't you just hire a maid if you don't want to clean things yourself?"

"And where do you think I'd find one I could trust enough to let near my paintings?"

The scoff in his voice made your lips quirk into a smile, and you tilted your head up to look at him.

...Ah.

Your breath caught in your throat when your eyes met, the gentle mix of red and purple hues in his eyes once again having you transfixed. His hair was slightly unruly from the work you'd both done, but the sunset rays streaming in from the window had little specks of sunlight painting his tresses in such a way that had you utterly mesmerized.

He chuckled slightly.

"Cat got your tongue, princess?"

You could barely bring yourself to mumble a response when he leaned in, shifting your positions just enough to have you lying on your back against the couch. Half of his weight rest over you, and you could feel it; his heartbeat against yours. You could almost amazed feel at the comfort in your synchronicity.

He sighed, brushing your hair out of your face. "...Why haven't you been to the studio?" he mumbled.

His words pulled you out of your reverie, and immediately, you felt your heart sink.

"...I thought... I thought you'd be busy..." Your voice came out meek, already searching his eyes anxiously. "Thomas told me not to disturb you, a-and I thought, maybe, you didn't want to be interrupted? I know how hard it's been for you to finish that painting..."

You swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, that might be true..." Rafayel nuzzled your nose affectionately, succeeding in soothing your nerves down to a certain degree. "But what if I wanted to see you, too?"

"...You... You usually just ask..."

Your words were met with silence, and you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze.

"Rafayel—"

"But you can't expect me to be the one asking for you all the time, right?"

Something at the back of your mind told you he didn't mean it that way, but his words stung nonetheless. The disapproval in his pout made your stomach churn. The atmosphere had, to you, become a little weightier, and your chest felt heavy with guilt.

You promised you wouldn't make him wait... But didn't you, in the end? Some useless game of seeing who'd cave first?

Your gaze shifted away from him, and you played with the hem of your shirt.

"Sorry, Rafa, I didn't mean to upset you... I-I don't know much about art, and I didn't want to bother you, and—god, actually, maybe it was stupid of me to just rely on Thomas' words instead of asking you, I'm such a terrible girlfriend—"

Tears began to well up in your eyes as you spoke, but before you could proceed any further, you felt the soft sensation of lips upon yours.

You blinked your tears away rapidly, refocusing to meet his, parting your lips slightly in shock when he pulled away.

"Don't say that, princess." He shook his head, and there was a ghost of a smile on his face. "You're not a terrible girlfriend. You're perfect, actually, and... I'm partly to blame. It was wrong of me to test you like that... You're right. I should have just asked."

You drew in a breath.

Perhaps, it was because your roles had been reversed today; perhaps, it was because you'd been so anxious to see him again that even the slightest signs of any conflict had you feeling like walking on eggshells. But it was rare for you to see him take the situation at hand so maturely, and it did well for the tenseness in your shoulders to melt away.

He moved his hand back into your hair, soft, gentle strokes, if only to soothe you further away from your worries.

"...Well, actually, maybe we both are a little stupid. I... kind if made the studio messy on my own."

Your ears perked up with that, and you looked at him curiously.

Rafayel laughed.

"It wasn't that bad when I'd finished! And I wasn't lying, I had been neglecting the studio, I just..."

When his voice trailed off, you found the courage to speak again.

"Did you.... Make an excuse to bring me here?"

He smiled, bringing his lips over to the top of your head, another one on your temple, and then another one over the corner of your eye.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I missed you a lot. I guess I just got creative... A little too much, anyway."

His lips were on yours again the next second, soft pecks that made your heart soar with glee. You wrapped your arms slowly around his neck, barely registering the way he'd pulled himself over you, feeling safe under the weight of his body—you liked this. And you missed it, being close with him, having a few moments to yourselves just to revel in each other's warmth.

With half-lidded eyes, he pulled back for air, panting softly over your skin.

"...You really could have just asked me," you whispered, gazing into his eyes and allowing yourself to get lost in them once more.

He let out a soft laugh. "Hm, yeah. Buuuut, maybe I thought this would be more interesting... And maybe, then, you could stay the night, too..."

His eyes flickered closed as he ran his hands through your hair once more, bringing a lock up to his face and letting out a sigh.

"You used that shampoo again."

You faltered slightly at his words, but he pressed you against the couch, capturing your lips into a deeper kiss.

...That shampoo.

You knew exactly what he was referring to.

The last time he'd noticed this scent on you, the way he'd pressed his lips against yours had been anything but innocent—it was one of the first times the both of you had made out together, the hairdryer and towel that had started the whole ordeal then long-forgotten beside you. The mere thought of that night brought an undeniable flush to your face, an all-too-familiar tingling sensation breaking throughout your body.

And you knew what he was insinuating. Even as he continued to kiss you, and even as you felt yourself easily melting into him the way that you would.

His hand began to roam your body, slowly stroking down your sides, making their way to your thigh and inching closer, closer, to the heat of your clothed core—

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't control it.

It was like instinct, whatever this conflict of mind and body really was—

You immediately reached out to grab his wrist, and his reaction was immediate. In an instant, his lips were off of yours, and he froze in place, wide eyes searching yours.

"Shit," he whispered. "Princess, I'm sorry— Did I— Did I go something wrong—"

Though breathless and panting, your lips quivered, and your grip on his wrist tightened.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Slowly, you felt him peel himself off of you, sitting up carefully... And you took in a deep breath.

"R-Rafayel, I..."

The waver in your voice and the alarm that had found its way into your eyes weren't missed by him, and you turned your head. "I'm sorry," you swallowed thickly. "I... I don't think i can do this right now..."

You felt feeble and small as you moved to draw your knees up to your chest, almost as if with the intention of hiding yourself away. "I... M-maybe, just... Not tonight...?"

When you sneaked a glance back up at him, you could see it. That glimmer of hurt in his eyes, perhaps just barely there, but more noticeable to you than anything else. You were also made painfully aware of the sun that had set, the studio now darker into the night—a cold draft blew in through the windows and made you shiver, and now, you felt incredibly small.

Rafayel, however, gave you another soft smile, gently moving to sit with your legs over his lap, resorting to holding your hand in his gently.

"Okay," he said.

And it was so simple the way he accepted your rejection, so devoid of judgement, that it made you feel...

Guilty.

Even guiltier than you already were to begin with.

"...I'm sorry, Rafa, I—"

He shook his head, giving your hand another squeeze.

"No, that's... Well, also on me. I should have asked you about this first, too..." The regret in his voice made you want to hit something. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything today. I'll wait until you're ready, princess."

...He'll wait?

Quietly, you moved to crawl back towards him, snuggling into his chest.

This wasn't the first time he had tried to go further with you. That night, after drying your hair, had been one of such times, and it wasn't as if you didn't want to take the next step in your relationship.

In fact, you wanted it just as much as he did.

You've fantasized about it for nights on end, laying on your bed, fingers playing with your clit and imagining how well his hands would have worked you, how well his cock would have stretched you out and filled you up far better than your fingers ever could. You lost count, how many times you'd come undone, alone on your bed, having his name spill from your lips as you did.

You wanted so badly for him to ravage you.

But thinking of it was incredibly different from having the situation at hand right in front of you.

You were nervous.

There were so, so many things that could go wrong from just exposing yourself to him as you would have if you did go that far—just as so, so many things had already gone wrong the last time you had, with other people.

You buried your face into his chest, pressing against him, drowning yourself in his warmth.

"...Are you mad?" You whispered.

"Me? Why would I be, when you're cuddling me like this so tightly?" The playfulness in his voice chased enough of your worries for you to let out a little laugh. "Just so you know... I'm perfectly fine with this."

You shifted, tilting your head to look up at him.

Rafayel gently poked at your nose.

"I can't be mad at you, princess, just because you said no to me. There are other ways for us to be affectionate, and I don't need to have sex with you, you know?"

"...But you want to?" Your voice remained meek, still very obviously wanting to hide yourself back into his shirt. And you would have, if he hadn't pried you away, hands firmly over your arms, leaning down to study your gaze.

"R-Rafa—"

"I want to, princess, but only if you want to. And I need to make that super, suuper clear to you, because I won't be forcing you into anything you don't want. 'Kay?"

His words sent a flurry of comfort into your stomach.

"...But... But what if I make you wait too long? You dislike waiting... A-and it's normal, anyway, right? For couples to have sex? If we don't, then..." As you spoke, you noticed a frown frown gradually form over his face, and you faltered.

"You... You expect me to leave because of this?"

You turned your gaze away in silence.

"Princess... You... May I ask where that's coming from? Do... Do you feel unloved with me? Am I doing something wrong?"

It was like a trigger—the way his voice dropped into a soft whisper, his hands falling back down to take yours in his, lacing your fingers together.

He was so gentle with you.

You felt the unwelcome sting of tears in your eyes, and you shook your head—"N-no," you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. "You've done nothing wrong, but... But you're so—so nice to me, Rafayel..."

"...Baby? Of course I'm nice to you! Aren't you my girlfriend?!"

The nickname switch made your heart jump, and you nuzzled yourself further into his embrace.

"...I don't deserve you."

A pause.

You felt as if you could drown in the silence, even though you knew that he was just thinking of what to say.

"I'm sorry, I just made things worse—"

"...Deserve me? There's... there's nothing for you to say that—princess, that's my line, you know. You deserve everything—every little good thing out there, and so much more than me."

"But—! You—you're so good to me, and I'm—! How many times did I disappoint you? This whole week, and even just now, and—"

You felt yourself sniffling, and Rafayel once again brought you to look up at him. You chewed on your bottom lip, a flash of insecurity in your eyes that made him sigh softly.

"No, no, no... Don't cry, princess... Nothing's going to change just because of this, yeah? You know I love you. And nothing in the way that I love you is tied to... whatever ways you'll allow me to love you. I get it, you know? If you're not ready to go there yet, then that's fine. I promise. I don't make promises without reason, princess."

His gaze, now, was firm, and his words were warm. Genuine—like he always was with you. In the silence that followed, you felt yourself calm down slightly, your breath easing, the tears in your eyes blinked away in your insistence not to cry in front of him.

And more than anything, you found thr conviction in his words to be something you could... Trust.

You took in a deep breath.

"I've... I've done this a couple of times before," you spoke, slowly, quietly. "It's been a while since the last time, but— it's— it's just scary, Rafa."

Your voice trembled, and you hung your head.

"And I feel like it's so silly to be scared of it. It's always so obvious that I am, because I get too focused on trying to relax that I never really do, and then in the end I can only ever make up for it by letting them finish. So I— I don't know. Everyone says that couples always do this, like it's supposed to be a staple... Or else, what are they for, right?"

You let out a dry, sarcastic laugh, but it almost came out as if you were scolding yourself.

"Wait—hold on. You... You've never orgasmed?"

You blinked in surprise this time, looking up at him with a confused frown. "Huh? Only on my own, I guess... Never with them, no, but—"

"Oh, princess..." he began, almost like a whisper. "You've never enjoyed it, have you...? To call it a staple... Gosh. It's not something necessary to maintain a relationship, let's get that out of your pretty head first."

You watched him bring his hand over to the side of your face, a gentle caress.

"I don't know if humans really do think such fickle things, but I wouldn't leave you just because you won't go further with me. I want you to be ready before we go there. Okay? God, who have you been with?! They sound like the worst kind of humans!"

Despite yourself, you laughed at his indignation, watching him fall back against the couch with his arms crossed.

"No, seriously, baby—doesn't it sound wrong to you?! You know, I wouldn't have stopped until you came. In fact, I bet I could make you feel so much better than they ever could—" He paused, ears turning slightly red in telltale embarrassment. "...Sorry. I'll be totally patient, I really mean it. I was just, you know... saying..."

You giggled.

Rafayel was always cute when he was embarrassed, even if just a few moments ago, he'd so obviously reduced you to just a puddle through his kissses alone.

But his words, once again, made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When you looked at him, his eyes were as gentle as the waves of the ocean you'd grown to love almost as much as him, and you couldn't help but feel... safe.

You'd never really felt safe before—not with anyone else.

Any time you opened up about this, your previous partners would have scoffed in your face—would have told you there couldn't have been a basis for what you felt, and that there was nothing more irrational than all of these needless worries of yours.

It was silly.

You had always believed that.

Yet you couldn't help feeling the way that you did.

Whenever you experienced sexual intimacy with anyone else, though you had let it happen in the end, you had never... associated it with anything special. Like you'd said, it only ever felt a mandatory part of any relationship. It was like going through the motions, and then you'd find out that you'd been a terrible experience—no matter how pretty they said you were, no matter how much you'd always be told that they were looking forward to it.

You were disappointing.

That was what conclusion you'd come up with, after several times of the same result.

And you always envied your friends, too.

Whenever the topic came up, they'd speak of how magical it was—how sweet, and how loving, and how good it felt... Yet you'd felt none of that. If there was anything good you associated with sex at all, it had been you—by yourself—in your room.

You really didn't know how to reconcile all of these feelings together—

And, yet, Rafayel had been the very first one to let it slide in a way that put your feelings first.

You promised him you wouldn't make him wait...

Yet here he was, adamant on letting you do exactly that.

You looked up at him, again, listening to him guide the conversation elsewhere, talking about how his week had been, and how painful it had been to get that painting done.

"You haven't seen it yet, have you? Hmm... I'm thinking if I should show you. I guess my girlfriend can have early access to it before the exhibition, right...?" He had one hand resting on your back, the other brought up to his chin in thought. "What do you think? Do you want to see it now?"

You stared, silently, as his eyes were back on yours.

That familiar, adorable tilt of his head, the inquisitive gaze in his eyes bringing that familiar shine to it that you loved, loved, loved, so very dearly.

You watched a small smile form on his features, and he pulled you close enough to have your foreheads touch.

"Hey. What's on your mind, cutie? You're spacing out again. Everything okay?"

God. You really loved him.

Even the simplest phrase had the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around almost mercilessly, and if you hadn't known better, you thought you were very likely blushing in that moment.

"Just you," you spoke, softly, quietly, barely even registering that you'd spoken so honestly in front of him before you recognized the look of surprise on his face. "Shit—I mean—"

"Nuh-uh, no take-backs! I like it when you're honest," he cut you off with a laugh, placing a quick peck on your lips.

Though he didn't say anything more on the subject, you knew he was thinking it—even if you'd tease, endlessly, of Rafayel's own clingier habits, you knew that in the end that you could easily eat your own words.

Rafayel was so good to you.

Sometimes you'd think he was too good to you—too good for you.

But admitting it out loud was always so difficult to you; your honesty of your own overwhelming feelings for him often more than you could speak to him yourself.

He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.

"Maybe we should go to sleep, yeah? It's pretty late. You've worked hard!"

Slowly, you moved to straddle his lap, and then buried your face into his neck.

"...Princess..."

"...Are you really okay with this, Rafa?"

"Me? I told you, I'm perfectly fi—"

"I just—I could make you feel good, at least..."

Maybe you'd let him consume your thoughts more than you'd intended, or maybe the guilt was simply eating away at you, having never been truly placated. You didn't know which side of emotions you were acting upon, and perhaps, it seemed as if he'd sensed that.

"Baby... No. We're not going to do it tonight. I want you to set your mind straight first."

"But—"

"No buts!"

He lifted you off of his lap, another firm shake of his head. "I want to ease you into this. And that means I won't be taking any pleasure for my own just yet, because I want you to feel good."

"...Wh- What do you...?"

He smiled, before poking your forehead.

"I mean, I want you to be comfortable around me first, before you even think of trying to give me an orgasm." Rafayel gave your hand another squeeze. "I'm hoping I can at least show you that it's not supposed to be a bad experience. So we'll sleep on it first, clear our heads, take things slowly... Then we'll see how things go from there. 'Kay?"

"Rafa..."

"Baby, relax. No rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Rafayel was always so good to you.

Even through your biggest insecurities, there would be no exception.

It had been quite some time since that conversation, and, sure enough, he had been adamant on taking things slower with you. You could feel it, how he'd constantly hold himself back with you. The way he would be sure not to take it too far when he kissed you, always respectfully lifting you off of his lap whenever he felt like it would get too much if you continued...

He took things step by step, just like he said he would. From kisses, to slowly dipping his hands beneath your clothes—You had found, over the past couple of days, how warm his hands were around your breasts, cupping and kneading them like a perfect fit. It was comfortable. And it had become almost a staple to your cuddling sessions over time.

Those nights in his bed slowly, slowly became less than innocent as weeks passed by.

And then one other night, you'd finally gained the courage to let him go even further. His fingers were long, able to reach deeper inside of you than you ever could, and the stretch in your walls felt more than welcome after so long. It was just as you'd fantasized—he'd buried his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, slow thrusts gradually picking up the pace until you were trembling around him, his arms holding you safe as you released. Even now, when you thought back to that night, you felt tingles all over your body. It was the first time anyone had made you cum, the first time anyone had bothered to cradle you in their arms afterwards, the first time anyone had cleaned you up without you having to do it yourself—

You hadn't known that this could really feel so intimate.

So loving.

That Rafayel could ease all your worries away, so... naturally.

It had gotten to the point that you began to notice a boldness in both of your actions—you were growing more comfortable with him, like he'd intended you to, and now, you found yourself gladly on your knees, feeling the drag of his cock against the walls of your mouth.

He'd gotten you to cum from his fingers and his mouth multiple times over the past few days, and you had promised him—promised him—that you were only returning the favor because you wanted to. Because through the past weeks, Rafayel had been gentle with you, and patient—always asking for your consent, never pushing you to do anything you didn't want to, never even giving a thought to his own pleasure as long as it meant focusing on yours.

And this, you thought to yourself with a smile, was now a reward for for him just as much as it was for you.

Your eyes closed as you swirled circles over the tip of his length, taking your time with him as he often did with you. Your tongue ran up and over his cock, wetting him fully becore taking him in again, keening at the way his hips would stutter and his moans would reach your ears in a well-received melody.

"Fuck, yeah—Just like that, princess—" Rafayel's words were broken, his eyes half lidded as he watched you work him. "So good for me, baby—ngh, shit—"

You found his praises go straight to your core, eager to please him, eager to hear more. And in effect, your pace quickened, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking and sucking him with a new hunger. His hands tangled in your hair, the sensation more than welcome as he guided you into a rhythm, hips bucking upwards to meet your mouth.

"So, so good— Feels so good, princess, don't stop—"

Another tug on your hair had you moaning against him, feeling him throb in your mouth at the extra stimulation.

He was close.

Determined to take in the sight, you watched, fondly, as his head fell back into the pillows, the skin of his thigh hot to the touch, your eyes drawn to the way his mouth hung open, his own eyes squeezing shut.

"Shit— M'gonna—! Gonna cum, baby, pleas—"

He arched his back, his hands fleeing from your hair to fist into the sheets beneath him. It hit in an instant, then—the sheer intensity having rendered him silent, mouthing curses, eyes still shut as streaks of cum shot out of him and onto your tongue.

You were familiar with the taste; warm in your mouth, and salty—thick. There was a certain discomfort to it, swallowing every last drop, but it couldn't compare to the thrill of it. Having Rafayel finally cum in your mouth, finally come undone for you... Your eyes locked as you released him with a wet 'pop', licking your lips and then hastily wiping your mouth with a little smile.

"Damn... That was..." He was breathless, chest heaving, barely moving to allow you to climb back up on the bed and reach for the bottle of water on his nightstand. "You're really... Really good at that, princess."

Feeling warm at another word of praise from him, you exchanged the bottle for the washcloth beside it, and crawled over to gently pat him clean.

"...Baby, I can—"

"If you won't let me do it when I finish, then I won't let you, either."

Your gaze was firm, and he laughed.

"Well played. My habits are growing on you, huh, cutie? That's good."

He pulled you up into his arms for a kiss, and you snuggled into his embrace. The heat from his skin was comforting—another thing you'd slowly gotten used to, having your activities now easily practiced without the need for any more clothes on.

"...How are you feeling? Was that okay?" He mumbled into your hair as you buried your face into his chest, lifting your leg over him as if to draw him even closer to you. You nodded quietly, and a soft sigh escaped his lips when you brushed your wetness against his still-sensitive cock. "Princess... Did sucking me off get you all wet?"

You could hear the laugh in his voice, and you whined.

"You— you made me wait to do that!" You protested, and you didn't need to look up to know he had that ever-present smirk on his face. "...I wanted to make you cum, too..."

He only replied with a chuckle, trailing his hand down your back to settle upon your waist. "I know. And thank you, by the way. Your mouth feels heavenly. Did you know that?"

You swat at his arm playfully. "Rafayel!"

"What? I'm only saying the truth! And, anyway..." You squealed when he leaned over to nip at your earlobe, completely sure of how flushed you were in that moment. "You're drenched, so which one will it be? My tongue? My fingers? My thigh?"

When you didn't reply immediately, he gently gave you squeeze. "Or do you want to sleep it off? We don't have to do anything if you—"

"N- no!"

You looked up, pouting, and found that the mirth in his gaze had melted away into one of pure adoration.

"I... I think..." You gulped, your eyes traveling downward to where you rest over him.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You would have been lying if you said you hadn't been thinking about it on a constant—how he would feel inside you. And though you'd thought about it generally before, you found yourself warming up to the idea. Craving it, even, in a way you hadn't before.

You raised your head to meet his eyes again, holding your breath as you moved to straddle him, sliding your folds over his cock gently.

The moan that he let out was music to his ears, but when his hands gripped your waist tightly, you stopped.

"Fuck, wait—are you sure, princess?"

You smiled slightly at that.

Truly, Rafayel had been nothing but gentle with you; nothing but patient.

You nodded.

"I-I mean... Only if you want to? But you just came, right...? S-so, maybe not... Sorry, I don't mean to be needy, you can just—"

"Hey, hey. Deep breaths for me first, baby, yeah? Relax."

Immediately, his hands were rubbing soothingly into your sides, and you fell forward onto his chest, holding him close.

"Don't you worry about being needy with me, I don't think I'm any less needier than you, anyway," he laughed. "I want this. I really want this. But, princess... I need to know that you aren't forcing yourself into it."

You remained silent, only managing a nod.

"Look at me?"

Compliant, you raised your head once more, and Rafayel reached over to thread his fingers through your hair. He smiled.

"Verbal consent, princess. I've given you mine. Now, I need your confirmation before we do anything. Have you decided? Do you want me?"

Your heart swelled in your chest.

You didn't know how Rafayel could be so selfless with you.

None of the others you've been with would ever treat you this way, and it was... new.

It was true, what he said—it wasn't a secret to you how much he wanted you. Though he wouldn't say it, so determined not to make you feel pressured, you'd see it in the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. Even the way he spoke with you—always the more vocal one in terms of clinginess, even though you, yourself, secretly enjoyed his attention.

You'd understood from the start that he was doing his best to stay firm in his self control just for you, and it made you feel warm—Loved. Appreciated.

Even now, as you were sitting on his cock, readjusting your position only to have it poke against your back—he was patiently waiting for your answer. He was waiting for you to be sure about this.

You thought it ironic, almost.

It wasn't as if this was your first time, and yet... you'd never experienced someone be so gentle with you.

With another determined nod, you sat back up, placing your hands on your lap.

"Okay," you said, and took a deep breath. "I'm sure, Rafayel. I want you."

You swore you could feel the way his cock twitched at your words, and couldn't help the way your lips quirked into another smile.

He read your expression, and laughed. "You really drive me insane, princess."

His hands remained firm on your hips, gently lifting you off—"Do you want to stay on top? Set your pace for me?"

"...Um... Do you?"

"Baby, don't turn this back to me! Doesn't matter what I want right now, I wanna make this about you. In case you haven't noticed, I'd be more than happy to take you in any way you want me to."

You almost rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "...Okay, then... I'll try it like this. But, Rafayel, sometimes it's concerning how much you pay attention to my needs..."

"Me? Concerning? Says the one who's had some of the worst sexual experiences on the planet!" He scoffed. "Listen, princess. I say this a lot, but you understand, right? I'm not in this relationship for your body. I'm not using you for your body. I love you, because you're you, and not just so I get to fuck you some day." He paused, then, and you saw a flash of contemplation in his eyes, "...Which miiiight be today, but that's besides the point."

You laughed, this time, and perhaps in any other situation, you'd playfully hit his chest, and tell him to stop being so silly. But the lighthearted atmosphere was welcome, and you felt your shoulders slump in some sort of relief.

"I know, Rafa. I..." You bit your lip, steeling yourself, willing yourself to say it. "I... I-I love you, too."

Immediately, you watched his eyes widen, a certain shine in them that almost could have made you melt.

"...Seriously?" he whispered. "You mean it?"

You flushed at the way he sounded so much in disbelief, despite what you were about to do. But, perhaps, you understood the shock that he displayed. While he would often use the words around you—having made it clear that they were his feelings, and that you didn't have to reciprocate them immediately—you had yet to say it back.

You did love him.

Of course you did.

And you have, for a while now.

But it wasn't easy to speak these feelings out loud; wasn't easy to make yourself so affectionate and so vulnerable around him. At least, not as easy as it has been for him. It had been long established that Rafayel was the more expressive one—though he would tone things down with playful jokes and banter to match your pace of things, you knew that his feelings had been nothing but genuine for you.

And you'd always struggled to make sure that he knew you felt the same, but...

You nodded.

You could do it, this time. Give back all the love that he'd always given you.

Slowly, you reached behind you to guide his cock to your entrance, letting out a slow breath at the feeling of his tip—hot, and wet, and stiff—prodding your hole.

"I love you," you whispered, feeling confident, now, as you spoke.

His fingers dug into your skin as he gasped, finally having you slowly lower yourself down onto his cock. "Fuck," he muttered. His eyes closed—you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You feel so... so..."

A loud whine rattled past your lips when he finally pressed all the way inside of you, so big, and so filling, like nothing else you've ever had before.

"Shit," he continued to curse under his breath. "So—so good, baby."

His hands, shaky, massaged your hips in reassurance, eyes opening to reveal a hazy glimmer of lust that you had yet to see on his face before. The image before you made you shiver—every ounce of self control was slowly slipping away from him, and he was trembling with the little bit of patience he still had left in his body.

"M-move," he whimpered, looking up at you with pleading eyes that made you gasp. "Please, princess—please—can you do that for me?"

Your jaw clenched, and you obliged—how could you resist?

You rocked your hips slowly, at first, getting used to the feeling of him in side you. And, you found—you were enjoying this. Whatever you'd imagined could never compare; he felt good inside you. Every sensation you felt of his cock against your center was pleasurable, every moan that fell from his lips having you swirl your hips with a need to hear more.

You bit your lip when he slowly began to rut his hips up to meet your pelvis, now finding the strength to guide your hips gently up and down his length—

"Fuck, baby, don't hide from me, please," he moaned, eyes locking with yours with an air of desperation. "Haah—Let me hear you—hear how good it feels—'s it feel good, princess?"

You found yourself obedient.

As his tip knocked up against your sensitive spot, a loud moan spilled from your lips—immediately, you rest your hands on his chest as your head hung, feeling yourself bounce to his rhythm, hips moving in sync.

"F-feels good, 'fayel— Ah—!"

"Yeah? Like that, baby? That spot, huh?"

You grinded down on his cock, eyes screwing shut at the sound of your arousal slicking around him. His words guided you through your motions, whisperes of praise and reassurance that had you soaring—and you could feel it. The tightness that had gathered in your stomach, slowly, slowly building into something more—but so far away, so unobtainable, that it had you whining.

"R-Rafayel!" You cried as you leaned forward, burying your face into his chest. Even as he planted his feet on the bed and thrust up into you, picking his pace up a little and grunting into your ear, you shook your head— "M-more, please— I— I can't—"

"Oh, fuck, princess—"

He groaned when you clenched tightly around him, and with quick movements, he had you lying on your back, caged between his arms as breathless pants fell from his lips.

"I—fuck, baby... Are you okay with this? I'll—Shit— Sorry, I m-moved—"

He'd snapped his his hips back into yours the minute you wrapped your legs around his waist, but when he looked at you, your own eyes filled with a desire that dared to rival his own, he let out a slow breath.

"...Okay?" he whispered.

You nodded. "Please."

Rafayel laced his fingers through with yours, holding them against the pillow. At your consent, he resumed his pace, fucking deep into your cunt with thrusts so precisely rubbing against your spot that you closed your eyes with another loud moan.

"Ah, Rafa—Rafayel, s-so good—"

Any thoughts of holding back your sounds were lost in the pleasure raking through your body, feeling the way his cock would brush against all the right places. So thorough, and so loving—and so, so good.

Rafayel was making you feel good.

Better than you've ever felt—better than your fingers, and better than his, and you thought—

Fuck.

You wished you'd gotten to do this sooner.

"P-princess," he whimpered, hips stuttering as he pressed his forehead against yours, drowning a myriad of moans of your name with the way he kissed you. So needy with his touches, you melted into him like you always did, easily following his thrusts and receiving everything he could give you.

"Princess—are you—are you safe?" he breathed.

You could feel the way he tensed inside you, his hips slowing slightly into a pace that had you whining as he waited for your reply.

"Can I... Can I cum inside? If—If you—"

It almost seemed like he could barely form coherent words, and you smiled slightly. Your arms wrapped around his neck; "I'm safe," you mumbled. "Go ahead, Rafa."

The moan that he let out sent a shiver down your spine, and then his lips were on your neck, kissing and sucking—you didn't even mind, anymore, whether or not he'd be leaving marks on you by the time you were done. Groans spilled from his lips between his kisses, and you felt yourself moaning along with him. The pace he'd set picked up, no longer as gentle as you'd started with, but you found that it was more than welcome.

"C-Cumming," you shut your eyes, breathing out his name in endless chants into his hair. "Cumming, Rafa, I—!"

You felt it.

The throbbing of his cock as he spilled rope after rope of cum into your cunt, just in time with your own release. Your nails dug into his scalp as you clenched sporadically around him, throwing your head back with a drawn-out moan of his name, feeling yourself drown in the sheer intensity of it.

"Rafayel—!"

"Fuck—Fuck—Take it, princess— Shit—" He hissed into your neck, pumping his cum into you, moans falling back into whimpers.

A moment passed after, and you smiled contentedly as he hugged you, pulling out of you but still so determined to keep you close to him.

"...R- Rafayel?" You whispered, soothingly stroking his hair. And only then did he look at you.

Your breath caught at his expression.

Tired, undeniably, but so... tender.

"Hey..." he mumbled, slowly moving up to give you a quick kiss. "Can you say it again?"

"H-huh? Say what...?" You felt your face grow even warmer at the mere thought of all the things you'd possibly moaned in the midst of your lust.

But he only smiled. "What you said, earlier. Say that you love me."

A giggle bubbled at your throat, and you pushed him onto the space next to you—

Naturally, he only pulled you back against him, arms wrapping around you, tucking you under his chin.

"C'monnnn, baby. Please?"

It was so hard for you to say no to him like this.

You turned around to face him, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Rafayel," you mumbled with a smile.

His expression relaxed.

"...And, thank you. For always making me feel so loved. I've never... I've never thought it could feel like this, a-and..."

"Did you like it?"

"More than liked it! I... I enjoyed it. Really. Thank you."

He grinned, then, gently setting you down on the bed and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Then, mission accomplished! So... Let's clean you up before we sleep, yeah? We can have another round in the morni—"

"Rafayel!"

"I'm kidding!"

⁺₊ / an: holy shit this took an eternity to write??!?!?!! nearly 8k words, what do u know... all this love for the birthday boy, this is an insane amount of special treatment for rafayel fr 🍰

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[astrologylunadream]

Are They Attracted To You?💋🌺🌹 (Pick a card/Tarot love reading)

Hi it's Lunadream❤️ This is an honest reading for whether or not that person on your mind has romantic attraction towards you! hope you find your message💌✨️

Notice: Only take what resonates because the most important thing is your own judgement!♡ If anything doesn't resonate, don't worry! It's not your message right now <3 (Entertainment purpose only. All rights reserved)

Now, shall we begin~? ^w^ Think of the your person, and pick whichever pile that fits the energy you're feeling~❤️‍🔥

Pile 1🩷

Pile 2💋

Pile 3🌺

Pile 4🌹

Take your time and choose carefully with the heart~♡

On to the readings —> ❤️

Pile 1🩷

Sign energy: Facial expression, Body, Art, Right, Demand, 5th house, Taurus, Aries, 2nd house, 9th house,📞🤪🏜🙅‍♂️

🎀Your person's energy: Okay hi so this person is quite smart, they might often be right about things or they always want to be right. They could have sort of a dominant way about them, like they want to be heard.🗣☝️ There is prominent aries or 1st house placements here, also Taurus. Sagittarius, Leo, actually all fire signs wow so this person has a straightforward or directness to them. One of the first things that came up is their body is a work of art lol😂😭 Seriously they might have the build of a greek statue for some, they could be phsyically fit or in shape I'm hearing "sculpted"🦵💪👀 That could mean someone who is creative or into making things too take what resonates.🪄 I feel like this person could make some really funny faces, like they could have very animated facial expressions.😜 Your person may trive on having attention on them, or they just get it without trying. Their voice is attractive, also they can be interested in many exotic genres of music.🎧🎼 For some of you this person is from a hot climate, or they are just hot themselves😉 They are sensual and headstrong, this could be someone from a long distance but I only see that for a few of you. They are exciting and want to enjoy many hobbies, there is a thirst for adventure in them.🪂🌋 They could love food especially from different cultures, they are expressive in their body langauge aswell😅🔥 This person might appear wild or reckless. Possibly a bit demanding sometimes or even selfish it depends on the person, but I think they are a youthful spirit.

🌺Are They Attracted To You: Dating, Warrior, Reconnect, Passion, Finger, Leo, Pisces, Moon, Neptune, Chiron,🔊🥺💁‍♂️🪃

Okay there is a lot of passion here, for some of you this person wants to date you!🫵❤️‍🔥 Like they are energetically pointing at you like "pile 1 date me now😤" lmao. They have a desire to reconnect with you emotionally and heal you with this passion and devotion I'm hearing, but I think your judgement is needed here because the situation is iffy.🤨🔍 Although there is a lot of attraction from this person, it could be more like infatuation for them. This person feels restless and easily bored, I do see that this person would get an ego boost from dating you.🔝🏆 They are very vocal about their attraction to you my pile 1's, but they're wearing rose colored lenses a bit when it comes to you. This person fantasizes about you, and they want to win your heart.🫢❤️‍🔥 It's like they are in a gauntlet of war competing with your potential suitors in the spiritual realm lol😂⚔️ Be careful though as this person's attraction may be unstable or flighty, the spark they feel may ignite but also burn out fast. They could lose interest easily in relationships I'm hearing, it's hard for them to keep focus. I think they have a soft spot for you though, they want to prove themselves to you.🎁✨️ This attraction to you feels more loyal and devoted than they usually are. They want to reach out to you, for some of you this person wants to apologize for something or heal any emotional wounds you have.🫂💞 This person's attraction to you is more on a spiritual and emotional level than phsyical but I'm seeing that too, they feel attached to you most energetically.🔗💭 They are attracted to you because of the psychic bond you two share, your soul is so precious to them and they don't want to see you suffer. Wow I think this person is very emotional over you, there is a mixture of passion and love for this pile.🌹🩷 For some of you this person is having dreams of you, their subconcious is very attracted towards you. I think this person is healing, maybe that is why their energy was so chaotic at first. You may be keeping them in tune with their more caring or nurturing self.

💌Messages from your person: I still love you, It's the start of something new, You're pretty, Nothing else matters, I can't believe you would choose me, You read my mind, I stay asleep dreaming of you, It feels so good. 🐇🛑🍪🕯(Wow yes they dream of you pile 1 and they fantastize of you, definitely a psychic connection here!❤️🥹)

Thank you my pile 1's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🌺💋

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 1 with the pink heart emoji~🩷 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading🥰

Pile 2💋

Sign energy: Back off, Lesson, Glow up, Top, Force, Air, Neptune, Jupiter, 6th house, Pisces,♂️💦🍒🍭

🎀Your person's energy: Wow this person does not like us channeling their energy right now lol😅 Their vibe seems confused and very resistant, they could be very busy or unavailable right now.✋️😠 I feel like this person has a defensive energy towards my pile 2's, they try to be realistic I'm hearing. For some of you this person is masculine or dominant, they could even be phsyically bigger for some of my pile 2's🫢 Air sign energy, Pisces, Sagittarius, Virgo, those could be in their chart. Maybe Neptune in pisces or in the air signs for some, jupiter in 6th house is possible, also pisces mars or neptune-mars aspects. these are all mutable signs actually. This is someone you can learn a lot from, or you will learn valuable lessons from your connection with them.💡 This person is so resistant you guys like they are in this energy of pushing you away?? It feels like they are being way too hard on themselves as well as you.💔 This person is very cautious and intelligent, they may not believe in fairytales or misleading fantasies. Honestly for some in this pile it seems as if they think you are getting your hopes up with them, that could definitely be the case for many of you. They might feel like they are more mature or responsible in some way, they seem to be very strict or judgemental towards you.🤨 I mean, this person is very forceful in their intentions and I think they don't want you to get hurt or have your dreams crushed.💭🚫 There is an absence from this person, they could be distancing themselves from you or there is some lack of engagement physically. I mean this person is very attractive and their chest is very noticeable, some of my pile 2's may be unrealistic about this person.😓 Their energy is currently very tense, they have a lot of discipline I'm hearing. They are forceful and driven. Behind their functional facade they are quite emotionally challenged, but they try to hide their feelings or control them.❤️‍🩹

🌺Are They Attracted To You: Libra, Force, Society, Honey, Frozen, 11th house, Pluto, Moon, Leo, Pisces,📚🧲🎠🧐

Ah so this is interesting pile 2! Force came out twice in this reading and with pluto I think there is a magnetic pull towards you here actually.😳😍 I'm surprised by their initial energy but it seems like they are stuck fighting their emotions, their attraction towards you may go against their own societal expectations or they are worried about their image😱👤✨️ They have a lot of pressure on them, so I think their energy is quite intense towards you. You make them emotional and this confuses them, they feel unable to take any action I'm hearing. It's like this person is frozen with indecision about my pile 2's🧊❄️ They could be weighing their options right now, for some of you this person is also faking their confidence in front of you. They are hiding their feelings, but they feel a a psychic pull towards you pile 2!!💭✨️ They might be searching for information especially online in order to identify these emotions omg.😨 They may have an strange thirst for knowledge about you that they can't explain, they are deeply curious about you without even realizing it. For some this could even mean possible obsession, they can't seem to figure you out so I think that morphs into a type of attraction for them.🧠🖤 This is quite the plot twist. They may not be aware of their interest in you, but there is a strange attachment to you. For some of you they may even be silently learning more about you through social media or any way they can. It is possible this person is definitely not aware of their attraction to you and they may not even feel it at first, but it is subconcious.😳💭 Either they are putting on an act about how they feel or for others in this pile they haven't realized they feel an attraction to you, but this secret is yet to be revealed for them my pile 2's❤️‍🔥

💌Messages from your person: My future is with you, You have so much to say, I have no boundaries with you, You're so delicate, You are, It's all fake, Can I hold you? I'm trying to find myself.🎎🤩🚨🙃 (Okay pile 2 so this person admits to it they have been putting on an act, they have been hiding their true energy towards you relentlessly but they just can't hold back from you. They are lost and trying to figure things out, my pile 2's this person wants to hold you.😫❤️)

Thank you my pile 2's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🌺💋

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 2 with the kiss emoji~💋 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading🥰

Pile 3🌺

Sign energy: Vision, Star, Try, Control freak, Meaning, Gemini, Virgo, 3rd house, Vertex, Earth,😇🕷🍪🤙

🎀Your person's energy: Exciting! This person feels witty and analytical, they may be a fast thinker or use their head a lot.🧠💭 They can be focused and may be good at communicating, also a very angelic personality🥰✨️ They try to be helpful and have meaningful conversations with others, but they can also be very controlling for some. They are skilled with their hands, and they may be very good at many things including speaking.🗣👑 They could be Earth sign, Gemini, Virgo, or Mercury dominant. 3rd house placements, also virgo in 3rd house for some. This person may talk or think excessively.🤯 For some this person is very social and may have many friends or converse with lots of people often. They do well at may at school or work, they have a professional/well put together vibe about them. They want to be a fast and efficient person.🔨✨️ They are talented and there is a star quality about them in their expertise. May be very thorough and detailed. They could have a good reputation or people see them as bright example.⭐️ They may be a rolemodel of some sort or you look up to them. This person possibly struggles with overthinking or anxiety, they often have their mind on many different things.👀 They are mindful and think things through. Try to appear cool in most conversations😎 Very clever and sweet I'm hearing, they might freak out about some stuff sometimes. Like for some of you this person could be afraid of spiders or like not completing an assignment lol things like that😂

🌺Are They Attracted To You: At last, Responsibility, Ladder, Masculine, Accessory, Aries, 7th house, Sagittarius, South node, Eros,🐓♈️🌫🪂

Okay so there is a lot of passion in this pile, they see you as something hot and untamable! There is heavy aries influence here, some of you may be aries🤭 This person is normally level headed and responsible but you bring out this wild side to them😳🔥 There is a lot of attraction to you my pile 3's, honestly you really turn them on😭 This person may feel tempted by you, or you challenge them in some way. You make them want to act tougher or more dominant with you, you bring out a reckless version of this person, it's like a hidden monster that has been waiting to be unleashed.👿⛓️ Mhm this person is wild about you honestly, their feelings are loud and clear here. They are attracted to your free spirit, they want to take risks with you.🪂🔥🚀 Something about you is foreign to them, almost forbidden. If you're in the room with them, the air feels thicker. They have such a passionate fiery energy towards you, but this attraction is also an interest in a commitment with you. They may desire a long term relationship instead of a fleeting romance. This person feels like you complete them, and they may be very attracted to you as their romantic counterpart take what resonates of course.💍💖 They feel an obligation towards you, like they have to be strong or reliable for you. You excite this person, there is a spark they see in you.🔥😫 They might feel like you are dangerous for them though, and there could be lots of physical tension between you two. They try to keep composed, like they are fighting their demons.🥊 You make them feel empowered and full of passion and drive. They may especially view you as phsyically attractive or their ideal type. I'm hearing you cloud their judgement and you could even make them lose their inhibitions.❤️‍🔥 So much attraction!

💌Messages from your person: I know it's hard, I love the shape of your lips, The pain will go away, You're a genius, Don't just stand there, So what? You're too kind, Of course you won't. 🆚️✍️😡🤐 (Ohh pile 3 this person is hot and bothered, they think you're really sweet and smart and they know you won't just let it go to waste🥰 This is a mix of tension and appreciation from this person, wow I think they want to compete for you🥺)

Thank you my pile 3's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!💋

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 3 with the hibiscus emoji~🌺 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading🥰

Pile 4🌹

Sign energy: Beloved, Model, Leo, Blush, Make out, 12th house, Air, Pluto, 11th house, Mercury,⛓️🥀💆‍♀️⛪️

🎀Your person's energy: So.. some of you wanna make out with this person right now😂 lmao just kidding but yes there is a lot of attraction to this person haha. Some of my pile 4's really love this person, they make your day. They could be a model or they have that kind of allure to them, they just earn effortless attention and obsession lol.💫 You may dream of them, even fantasize of them. You feel spiritually connected to them, and of course it is very apparent in the energy that you are interested in them through tarot/astrology. Some of you met this person online or they don't know your identity, only some. This person could be famous or people's heads just turn to them.👤✨️ Could be actor or creator for some, they are talented in something. Some of you are not with this person right now, there could be phsyical distance and lack of communication for you two.📵 They could be an Air sign, Leo, Pisces, Scorpio, Aquarius, Gemini, Mercury in 12th house, Pluto in Leo or Pluto in 11th house, Mercury in 11th house for some. I'm hearing this person is a religion lol what, they could have a lot of secret admirers like for some in this pile take what resonates lol. They could be religious, also for some they have a following on social media or an influencer.🤳 Hey they are pretty attractive I could see why, this person might make you blush.🤭💗 You may be too shy to talk to them or you just can't for some reason, they are quite captivating and glamorous.💋✨️ May attract lots of jealousy because of their radiant energy and confidence. You admire their unique qualities, they are super special. Their presence is intense and magnetic, maybe even serious for some in this pile. Strange things about them make you giggle and smile, I'm hearing they have a hold on you. You might feel like they're your soulmate, but there is an air of mystery to them. This person is so hot, some of you may fantastize being touched by them and you may not even know them that well, it feels like your heart is captured by them, maybe even a little addicted for some.🫢🩷

🌺Are They Attracted To You: Baby, Wedding, Performance, Spring, Ex lover, Taurus, 2nd house, Vertex, Aries, Leo,🕊❤️‍🔥🔑⛲️

Hm interesting, so this is giving a lot more info actually. Wedding came out my pile 4's😏💕 This person finds you naturally attractive and full of charm!😍💋 They have a playful interest in you, also very passionate and sweet. They think you're pretty, aesthetically pleasing to them in many different senses.✨️ For some in this pile this is an ex that wants you back, like the classic "come back to me baby" stereotype lmao I can hear that for some of you😅💌 they are still burning with passion for you. This could be a flame that just started for others in this pile, your connection with this person is meaningful and possibly a key aspect of your life. That is especially true because this person may want to marry you and that could actually work for them!💍💗 They have a lot of charm and attraction to you, also with the dove emoji they might definitely plan to confess or get the message across to you. They want your attention fast, they might even put on a show for it.😂 They are dramatic about you. Like for some of you this person is trying to be flashy to get your interest, they might be dressing nicer or flirting a lot. You make this person feel very flirty omg, with this mix of energy it feels like sweet talking.🗣🍬🩷 Like they feel so attracted to your warm kindness, they find you to be irresistible. They love your personal feminine qualities you whether it's like making things nicer or shopping, even your voice🥰 Some of you may be born in spring, also there are definitely some Taurus in this pile! This person is attracted to your earthly beauty, even if you don't feel pretty they see you as a goddess.🪞 This energy is very persuasive I think this person is so captivated by your aura and presence.💖 Their attraction to you is a grand, passionate and devoted kind, you are like wood they need to ignite their flames.🔥 They feel like they can trust and rely on you, they're attracted to how stable and beautiful you are pile 4! There is a lot of desire here, they want to be seen by you. Also they want to give you their attention, they're such a charmer😩❤️‍🔥

💌Messages from your person: I need you in this lifetime, Pretend you don't know me, I love the shape of your lips, Why not? Let's break up, They're jealous of me, I believe you, Focus on yourself.🧤🔮🤴🫰 (Wow of course they are quite dramatic lol. They are very attracted to you, this person may be unable to be with you right now. Some of you are dating this person or they want a relationship with you but others are jealous😳 People may want their hands on you/them, or for others it could be timing or situation that is coming between you both. This person believes in you though, I mean they believe in the divine connection you have but they want you to focus on yourself right now. There is so much love for you and they don't want you to get dragged into all the drama, they wanna be with you now but they want you to prioritize your self care and wellbeing most importantly.😩💗)

Thank you my pile 4's! If you feel this resonated, you may tap the heart to claim this message!🌺💋

I hope you enjoyed your reading! ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ If you did be sure to let me know pile 4 with the red rose emoji~🌹 Thanks for scrolling through, Hugs hugs hugs!! See you in the next reading🥰

Wanna see more readings like this? Check out my tumblr for accurate readings for you!💗🌊🌸

Thanks for reading! \(*^w^)/💌 -Lunadream <3

[please1mistress]

Warning hypnotic covert language and flashing art that may induce a hypnotic trance without you being aware of it

Ah, the elusive blogger emerges from the digital depths, armed with a fresh spark of inspiration! It's like spotting a rare creature in the wild, one that usually prefers the quiet comfort of scrolling through the endless forest of images. But beware, dear readers, for when the inspiration strikes, a flurry of original content is sure to follow, raining down upon your feeds like a delightful storm of creativity. So keep your eyes peeled and your 'like' buttons ready, because when this blogger gets inspired, it's nothing short of a content extravaganza!

While scrolling this time it struck me that hypnosis isn't really sleep. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People in hypnosis can seem zoned out or in a trance, but they're not asleep. They're actually in a state of deep relaxation and their brain activity reflects this, showing a receptiveness to new ideas and suggestions. This is why hypnosis can be so effective since it taps into the power of the subconscious mind to effect positive change. While it's often used as a therapeutic tool to improve sleep quality, it doesn't induce sleep itself; rather, it helps to prepare the mind and body for restful slumber.

you could be in a light trance as you read this because as you read this your mind is so focused on my words, that it's easy to let yourself relax into the things I say. The concept of a light trance is quite fascinating, often associated with a state of focused attention or absorption in an activity. It's similar to the experience of losing oneself in a good book or being engrossed in a hobby, where the world fades away and one's concentration is honed to a fine point. This state of mind can be beneficial for various mental processes, enhancing creativity, problem-solving abilities, and learning efficiency. It's a natural and safe phenomenon that many people experience regularly without even realizing it.

The beauty of reading lies in the magical dance of words, where one leads seamlessly to another, crafting a tapestry of meaning and imagination. As you read, each word acts as a stepping stone, guiding you through a river of narrative and knowledge. It's a journey that begins with a single word, unfolding into sentences, paragraphs, and chapters, each one building upon the last. making you anticipate what will come next, it heightens your focus, so it's easy for your mind to just relax into the things I am saying. Soon you are so focused that your mind isn't thinking of anything but my words. wanting to focus deeper on where I will guide you.

like being the subject of a hypnotist, you follow and feel your mind surrender to the words. The power of words is truly mesmerizing, isn't it? yes, it is, and you find that you felt the yes in your mind as you read my question, because you are now in a light trance, noticing your breathing has slowed and your focus is now fixated on my words, and the way my words are echoing in your mind. You want to be told what to do, how to think, you want to become more submissive and allow yourself not to think, don't you?

YES

[moonchildstyles]

élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days. 

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once. 

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently. 

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving. 

(Y/N) stayed silent. 

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her. 

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes." 

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?" 

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in. 

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations. 

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence. 

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—" 

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?" 

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned. 

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway." 

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks. 

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait. 

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media. 

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face. 

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources. 

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said. 

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining. 

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her. 

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either. 

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this." 

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her. 

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone. 

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave." 

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being. 

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her. 

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble." 

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?" 

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you." 

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then. 

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise." 

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?" 

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care. 

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me." 

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this. 

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate. 

(Y/N) only shook her head. 

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug. 

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse. 

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here. 

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago. 

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears. 

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing. 

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on. 

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them. 

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know." 

"I know, bu—" 

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear. 

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought. 

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?" 

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club. 

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?" 

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up." 

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—" 

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight." 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered. 

"See you soon, honey! Love you!" 

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something." 

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece." 

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary. 

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence." 

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned. 

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car. 

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night." 

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown. 

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue. 

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting. 

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point. 

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet. 

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here." 

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing.  She didn't even know how to reciprocate. 

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office. 

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her. 

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room. 

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father. 

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing. 

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)." 

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her. 

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze. 

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms. 

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes. 

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face. 

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise." 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her. 

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him. 

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?" 

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now. 

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now. 

Harry was her new cage. 

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away. 

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for.  He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."  

Bodyguard. 

Her personal bodyguard. 

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler. 

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story. 

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out. 

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them. 

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months. 

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted. 

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge." 

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning. 

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later. 

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie. 

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act. 

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room. 

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar. 

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her. 

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—" 

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you." 

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier. 

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy." 

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room. 

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach. 

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack. 

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that. 

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her. 

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck. 

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing? 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down. 

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges. 

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat. 

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates. 

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her. 

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him. 

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that." 

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched. 

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse." 

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's. 

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day. 

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized." 

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay." 

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey. 

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that." 

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side. 

"Okay." 

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she. 

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her. 

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown." 

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning. 

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?" 

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me." 

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him." 

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out. 

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young. 

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming. 

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all." 

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling." 

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!" 

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you." 

"Love you, too! Bye!" 

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her. 

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment. 

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox. 

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did. 

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about. 

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting. 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way. 

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security. 

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own. 

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal. 

Everything was going to be fine. 

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together. 

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be. 

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team." 

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!" 

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get. 

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now. 

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side. 

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this. 

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway. 

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door. 

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in." 

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment. 

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you." 

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face. 

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt. 

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here. 

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client. 

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within. 

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls. 

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows. 

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him. 

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know." 

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears. 

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being. 

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed. 

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything." 

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm." 

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls? 

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets. 

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail. 

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me." 

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company." 

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from." 

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere." 

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her. 

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday." 

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything." 

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad." 

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?" 

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win. 

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems." 

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment. 

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person. 

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere. 

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone. 

Her lips thinned. "No." 

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother." 

"Right. I won't." 

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was. 

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment. 

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it." 

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad." 

"Night." 

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager. 

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell. 

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her. 

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over. 

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence. 

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep. 

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior. 

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then. 

Until the banging knocks started. 

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already. 

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator. 

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about. 

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand. 

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat. 

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?" 

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place. 

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while." 

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed. 

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft. 

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want." 

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space. 

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress. 

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this. 

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again. 

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far. 

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away. 

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything. 

Life could be so unfair sometimes. 

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning. 

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up. 

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you." 

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it." 

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup. 

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch. 

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself." 

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them. 

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection. 

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch. 

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go." 

Harry blinked at her. "Okay." 

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room. 

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal. 

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex. 

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to. 

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face. 

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby. 

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests. 

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver." 

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake. 

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice. 

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror. 

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face. 

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages. 

Fran🫧

      are u bringing your bodyguard????? 

      jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time???? 

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed. 

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle. 

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror. 

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up." 

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before. 

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side. 

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say." 

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him. 

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer." 

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you." 

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers. 

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings. 

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this? 

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture? 

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe. 

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen. 

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that. 

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—" 

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here." 

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was. 

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him. 

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?" 

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please." 

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism. 

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush. 

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her. 

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest. 

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning." 

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all." 

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry. 

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today." 

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today." 

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me." 

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious. 

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana." 

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered. 

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted. 

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her. 

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall. 

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze. 

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons. 

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear. 

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week." 

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on. 

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive. 

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys." 

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma. 

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime. 

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more. 

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?" 

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here." 

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—" 

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now." 

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself. 

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes. 

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off. 

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life. 

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on? 

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind. 

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..." 

—————

"You really have to go home?" 

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug. 

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

 Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips. 

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got." 

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home. 

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow. 

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing. 

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her. 

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge. 

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head. 

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?" 

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter. 

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?" 

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once." 

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again. 

"Y'didn't drink today." 

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No." 

"Why not?" 

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it." 

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets. 

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry. 

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job. 

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought. 

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway. 

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath. 

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch. 

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

     morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home ! 

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal. 

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly. 

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city. 

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today." 

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures. 

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn." 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored. 

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it. 

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions." 

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between. 

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like. 

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger. 

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process. 

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back. 

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through. 

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head. 

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second. 

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now." 

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her. 

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone. 

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway. 

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go." 

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes. 

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again. 

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was. 

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind. 

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms. 

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child. 

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question. 

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt." 

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands. 

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you." 

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say. 

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal." 

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her. 

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text." 

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her. 

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt. 

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal. 

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer. 

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over." 

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page." 

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod. 

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day. 

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out. 

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all. 

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention. 

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge. 

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst. 

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes. 

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines. 

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings. 

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful. 

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal. 

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

[detectivestucks]

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18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Yandere Tobi/Obito x F!Reader

Summery: Obito found you paying your respects to his memorial and an obsession with his first love's best friend blossoms. Soon he finds that he will do anything and everything to protect you, his delicate peach.

Warnings: Stalking, Violence, Kidnapping, Fingering, Nipple play, Unprotected Penetration, Virgin Reader, implied threat of suicide.

Word Count: 9.7k

Author's note: Yes, I know the timeline is a bit altered, it was a creative decision. Deal with it. :)

Itachi and Kisame remove their hats as they return to the hideout looking slightly worn out, presumably from battle. They had just finished scoping out the Leaf in search of the nine tails jinchuriki and Itachi’s little brother, Sasuke.

“Did everything go okay?” Pain asked

“Yes, we ran into my former captain.”

“Itachi had it covered but the copy ninja's annoying boyfriend started attacking and then some shinobi we couldn’t see sent shockwaves into the ground that sparked a small tsunami.”

“It was at that point we thought it best to retreat. We know the jinchuriki is still located inside the village. There was no need for further engagement.”

Obito felt his chest constrict. Shockwaves...he knew that jutsu. That was the trademark of Rin’s best friend. That was a jutsu unique to you. But you had left the village a long time ago. When had you come back? 

Itachi being the only one among them who knew Tobi’s identity, quickly noticed the shift in Obito’s stance. The rest of the group, completely oblivious to the insignificant comic relief, did not notice as Obito exited the room and hurried towards the village. 

Rather than scouring the Leaf hunting for you, he waited at the one spot he knew you’d come, the memorial yard. Sure enough it only took one evening to catch you bringing lilies to your best friend’s grave. Obito cried with you as you shed tears for your friend but then you did something he didn’t expect, you stopped at the memorial stone to pay your respects to him. 

“Obito, I wish you knew how much I cared for you. You didn’t deserve what you got. You were too good for this world.” You dragged your fingertips along his name, tears streaming down your cheeks as you remembered the boy you loved as a child.

You…cared for him? He was… too good?

Obito felt a pang in his chest. You were just like her. So kind and sweet. Always seeing the best in people. Even poor retches like him. He wanted to thank you but he didn’t want to scare you.  Instead he let curiosity get the better of him and followed you home. He watched you through the window as you did your nighttime routine. Seeing you at peace alone in your home brought him contentment. He  snuck up to the window’s sill to catch a closer view as you got into bed and drifted to sleep. It brought him comfort to see you rest and he took that comfort with him as he finally returned to the hideout.

The next day, plans for tracking the other tailed beasts including the three tails had Obito feeling emotional. Itachi caught how stiff ‘Tobi’ stood during the conversation and soon after caught him leaving the hideout to go see you. He found you at the training grounds running drills with Kakashi’s team.

“Y/N-sensei, I wanna learn a new jutsu!”

“Now Naruto, I am under direct orders from Kakashi to work on chakra control drills with you three. A new jutsu will be no good if you don’t have a way to command the chakra to execute it.”

“When will Kakashi-sensei be better?”

“He’ll be better soon Sakura, don’t you worry.”

Obito sat in the trees watching you for a few hours until the jinchuriki kid was done pestering you. He was such a nuisance but you didn’t lose your patience even a little. The same could not be said about his teammates which seemed to only bring you amusement. When you were done you walked over to the memorial stone and gave your gratitude to your fallen comrades before heading home. 

You were so much like her. Beautiful and sweet as a peach. The way you cared for and nurtured others, it took a hold of his heart. He could watch you all day and never get bored. You were his light in the darkness of the Akatsuki. 

The next day he went out with his partner on their mission. While Deidara requested alone time so he didn’t need to suffer Tobi’s presence, Obito used kamui to visit you. Carefully watching from a distance till you fall asleep. Just like he did every time he visits you. Following the same ritual as before. He’d enter your home and play with your hair, stroking it as you slept. Some nights he would lay with you and breathe in your scent while you were none the wiser. It was in these moments that he knew he needed to protect you. His delicate little peach. No one in this cruel world would bruise you. He would make sure of it.

One evening while you were paying your respects to your friends, a jonin he didn’t recognize approached you. The man brushed your hip and backside and you pulled away as he asked you on a date. The audacity of the man to think of romance while you were mourning your lost comrades. You had told him no and he left but something told Obito it wasn’t over. This was clearly a man who needed to be stopped. 

The next day the man came to you again and held your hips while he asked to take you on a date, a little more forcefully than before. You had declined his request once more and politely pushed his hands off of you before turning to walk away. He had called out to you but before he could say anything further Obito had dragged the man into his void. The shinobi looked around bewildered. Obito growled at him from behind his mask.

“The lady said no” 

“Where the fuck am I?!”  

“A place no one can hear you scream so don’t give me a reason to bring you back here.” If the man could see Obito’s face behind the mask he surely would’ve wet himself. But instead in a facade of bravery he hurls insults at Obito

“A fuckin coward relies on tricks. Be a man and show me your face.”

“My face is none of your business, as for tricks, I have none, just superior prowess.” Obito makes his voice thick and deep, tapping into Madara’s tone of intimidation. “If I see you bother her again it will be the last time you speak.”

His facade is broken and his throat bobs as he swallows his pride. “Fine, no pussy’s worth a fuckin death threat.”

“Good, now that we understand each other, you may go.”

Obito materializes the man back in the village while he teleports himself over to the tree outside of your home. He spots you walk up to your door and head inside. He yearned to be the one greeting you, welcoming you home,  rather than outside in a tree. You should come home to his loving face, not a room of darkness. 

Instead he waits till you are sound asleep to touch your hips where the other man had touched them. He replaced the man’s predatory touch with his loving one. You rolled into him, your subconscious nestling into his presence. He held you, almost falling asleep from your intoxicating pheromones as they lull him into a state of bliss. When he was sure you wouldn’t wake, he slipped his body out of your bed, replacing himself with a pillow as you searched for his comfort. 

His thumb brushed over your forehead before he disappeared from your home. His beautiful peach ripe for the picking.

While masquerading around as Tobi, Obito couldn’t help but feel lonely and isolated. His thoughts of you began to consume his mind. Every opportunity he had to visit you, he took. He had disappeared so often that the Akatsuki almost forgot about him, not that they were complaining about taking a break from his annoying persona. 

He noticed that you and Kakashi had become close. You were always assisting with his young team and visiting the cemetery together. Obito didn’t like this one bit. Kakashi would pluck his sweet peach from him. But he had to remind himself that Kakashi did keep you safe when you joined his team on missions. He took care of you when Obito could not. Though that didn’t dull his need to claim you, take you as his own. The feeling was intensifying, swelling every day. 

He found himself hunting down every man who so much as looked at you. Kakashi was the only man who’s affection he let slide…even though he was the one who made him the most angry. Maybe it was his sentiment for his old friend. Maybe it was his fear of Kakashi’s skill. Either way, he let him be, not wanting to catch the copy ninja’s attention. 

The remaining miscreants were hunted without mercy. Sometimes he couldn’t help the bloodshed that was inevitable. He was unable to restrain himself, when it came to his peach, there was no limit to what he would do to keep you safe. If they showed no remorse for their predatory stares and their greedy thoughts he would gladly hear them scream before stopping their hearts. A trail of blood secretly followed you but it was all in your delicate name.

He kept tabs on everything you did, especially when it came to your missions. He had to ensure your safety. Recently learning some of the details of one of your upcoming missions, he knew he’d have to keep special watch over you. It was a dangerous mission with Hidden Mist shinobi that had been under consideration to join his troupe. He couldn’t risk history repeating itself and no longer cared if Deidara or Itachi figured out what he had been doing with his spare time. Even though you would be joining Kakashi on this mission, it wasn’t a guarantee of your safety. He already knew that too well and he must protect his sweet peach at all costs.

He stalks your group as you travel through the woods, earning him a side eye from Kakashi who knew something was up but couldn’t quite pin his finger on who the lurker was. You asked him what was wrong but Kakashi refused to say anything, not wanting to tip off a watching Obito that he knew they were being followed. 

Nice try Bakashi, but I already know your tricks.

Soon you came across your target. As predicted they put up quite a fight. You and Kakashi made a remarkable team fending them off. Your mission was to capture them for intel but the confrontation with the targets escalated to the point that elimination was deemed necessary. Obito was impressed by your strength. You took on three of them at once, knocking them down with your earth style shockwave. You manipulated the magnitude, where the earth would fracture, where it would cave in, and even where it would snap up. It was an impressive jutsu but it was not foolproof. He watched you closely, ready to intervene if it ever became too much. He watched you so closely that he hadn’t noticed the back up Mist shinobi that had been summoned. Kunai thrown from the trees flew at you as you went to weave more hand signs. You lept out of the way but still one caught your leg and the other grazed your thigh.

No.

Before Obito could even breathe he was in front of you, mangekyou in place, murder in the front of his mind. His stance was so protective, you didn’t doubt whose side this unknown stranger was on for a second. You simply pulled the kunai out of your leg allowing the blood to flow freely before going on the defensive. 

When a second wave of backup came, you did what you could but you were overwhelmed. Kakashi and his team could not keep up with the stampede of attacks. The fear for your safety caused Obito to snap. He went on a homicidal rampage, annihilating the entire group with gruesome bloodshed, bringing both yourself and Kakashi to a halt. 

In your stunned transe you didn’t catch the shinobi who snuck past your blind spot and stabbed you in the chest. When Obito turns to slice down the man he sees you clutching the kunai. In the span of a single heartbeat he dropped his weapon and pulled you into his void, bending over you in a state of panic. 

He stole your body from the battlefield so quickly Kakashi almost missed it. Kakashi finished off the last of the Mist shinobi, making certain that the life of the man who attacked you would drain by his hand. He stood up in alarm asking Naruto and Sakura if they saw who the man was that took you away. Neither of them did and Kakashi instructed them to search the nearby area for you.

Obito’s hands shook over you as he went to remove the knife, holding pressure where it once had pricked you like a pincushion. You had no idea where you were or who this man was. You had just watched him slaughter nearly twenty men to protect you immediately before his abduction. You would have been terrified if you didn’t have a more pressing issue to tend to.

“My peach, how do I help?” 

In your state of confusion you thought you misheard him. He must have you confused with someone else. You feel your consciousness begin to slip as you speak.

“Do you know…medical…ninjutsu?” it came out as a whisper.

“No” he whined

“Need…Sakura.”

“I can do that.” 

Obito goes back to the scene of his crime. Bodies strewn all over the field. He felt accomplished to see them sprawled out and covered in red.

“Hey you, girl”

“Me?! What did you do with Y/N-sensei?!”

“She’s safe. You know medical ninjutsu?”

“Yeah”

“Meet me over there.” 

She looked at the masked Obito with severe skepticism. He nodded at her and walked away, swirling out of sight as he did, stepping into his void to retrieve you. 

He lifted you up, supporting under your shoulders and knees. He held you close, his entire body tense with worry but somehow gentle. He felt so warm as you were growing cold from your wounds. Despite the horrors you saw him commit, you laid your head against his chest as he carried you back outside to a sheltered spot behind a few trees and a bush where Sakura was waiting.

He laid you down and instructed Sakura to do what she had to while he eagerly watched. Sakura gave him sideways glances many times when she felt she could afford to risk the distraction. Who was this terrifying murderer? Why did he have a fixation with you? After twenty minutes Sakura lowered her hands, panting from the amount of chakra used.

“There.”

“She’s healed?”

She nods, “She’s healed. The major damage at least.”

“Thank you”

He scoops up your body and retreats back to his void as Skaura shouts at your disappearing figures. 

You were out cold, resting for nearly a day when you woke up in a makeshift bed in a dark endless room filled with large gray blocks. 

“Where am I?”

You scan your surroundings but it hurts too much to move. The mysterious masked man suddenly appears in the room causing you to jump, quickly followed by you grabbing your chest in pain. 

“Careful Peach” he says as he rushes to your side, falling on his knees beside you.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” you inquire with eyes screwed shut in pain.

“Because you are my delicate Peach. I need to take care of you.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself just fine, thank you.” you say through clenched teeth, feeling the pain radiate over your entire chest. This man was clearly insane. Despite how he took care of you, you knew you were in danger.

“I wouldn’t call your current condition ‘just fine’, Peach.”

He feels your forehead, looking for signs of fever.

“Just who are you anyways?”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re okay.”

“It does matter. And I need to go back to my team, let them know I’m okay.”

“The girl knows you’re okay, she’ll tell them.”

“Yes, but I need to get back to them. I need to-”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Disbelief filled you, yet the earlier bells of warning were officially verified.

He looks at you and shakes his head. “No.”

You look at him stunned, fear swelling. You look around the dark empty space starting to wonder where the exit was.

“You’re not going back. They can’t protect you. I know that now. You will stay with me. Here.”

Stunned into silence you look up at him. You open your mouth and close it a few times before you finally say to him, “You can’t keep me here.”

“I can and I will.”

Obito watches as terrified anger blossoms on your face. You stand up in spite of the pain, searching for an exit. Glancing over your shoulder at him as you move further and further away, frantically peering behind every gray pillar and block.

“You won’t be able to leave on your own.” he calls to you. “Only I can teleport you in and out of here.”

“And where is here?” You say, walking back towards him with a guise of bravery.

“My void”

Your jaw fell open. “Your what?”

“My void. Only I have access to it using Kamui.”

Comprehension made your eyes flood with tears. You were trapped. A madman who just slaughtered a fleet of shinobi to save you has trapped you in another dimension to ‘keep you safe.’ You looked up at him pleading, “I want to go home. Let me go home.”

“I can’t…it’s not safe.”

“But my home, my friends, the village…”

“They will be fine without you.”

Starting to realize he was serious, you begin to plead. “At least let me tell them where I have gone. That way they don’t come looking for me. Let me say goodbye.”

“Peach, I can’t risk you running away. I can’t risk you getting hurt.” He reaches out to pet your hair and you shy away from his touch.

The tears leak down your cheeks, feeling helpless. You walk away and sit down, turning away from the masked man, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your head against the tops of your knee caps.

Obito, feeling pain at seeing you so sad walks up and puts a hand on your shoulder, “It has to be this way Peach, I’m sorry.”

He leaves you alone to sulk. You would be fine. You would grow to accept things the way that they are. You would grow to love him in spite of how it started. It was all going to be okay.

When he left in a swirl you wept. You allowed your mind to panic and wander to all the terrifying possibilities. What was he going to do with you? Why was he obsessed with you? How were you going to get out of this? 

The more your mind reeled the quieter your tears became. Eventually you collapsed back onto the ashen floor. As you lay there, staring up at the black ceiling of his void, exhaustion and sadness ebb you to sleep. 

You wake up the next day to find a large chunk of your stuff from your home was suddenly in the void. He had made the effort to move your belongings to you, even bringing many of your most cherished items such as your favorite clothes, your favorite mug, the blanket you sleep with every night, and your photos of Obito and Rin. 

How did this man know these would be the items you’d want most? How long had he been following you? You felt a shiver roll down your spine.

What you presume to be hours later, the masked man returns to check on you. He’s more timid than he was before. Approaching you carefully. 

“Thank you” you say, looking at the floor, “for bringing me some of my stuff. I’m still pissed, and I’m not staying here, but I appreciate the effort.” You were terrified but you didn’t want him to know that. You were going to find a way out of this. You just had to figure out how to get out of this damned dimension first.

If only you could see the smile below his mask. Overwhelmed by how cute you are he pulls you into a hug. You’re stiff with terror but you feel his strong torso pushed up against your own and you can’t help the little part of you that is left breathless. It feels familiar and warm but you can’t place why.

“I love you Peach.” he says as he holds you in his arms, laying his head on top of your head. He was insane. You reply to him with a shaking voice,

“If you loved me you’d give me some windows instead of dreary slate abyss. I can’t even tell what time of day it is.”

“Sorry, voids don’t work that way, Peach.”

“Sorry, I guess being abducted is new to me.” you forced the sass into your tone. You were petrified but you needed a way out of here. You figured maybe you could manipulate his affection for you.

Obito winces at the word abduction. He prefers to think of it as protection

“What? You didn’t think I’d be okay with this, did you? That is the title of what this is.” You weren’t sure where this bravery came from but he was buying it.

“At least I’m not trying to poison you against your own clan, or acting as the architect to kill your childhood crush.” he said with a venom that made you believe he was speaking from experience but you were too focused on your own situation to care. Your false bravery turned into false anger.

“Sorry to steal the opportunity away from you but I don’t have much in the way of a clan and my childhood crush is already dead.”

His face snapped and locked onto yours. “What did you say?”

“I’m not repeating myself, I know you heard me the first time.”

You watched as his throat bobbed beneath his black mask. Why did that impact him so much? Who was this guy anyways? He acted like he had known you your whole life yet you only know him as a mask and tuft of hair.

“Who are you?”

He turned and walked away from you, “Someone long dead to you”

Well that didn’t answer any questions. If anything it brought up more.

“Well if you won’t tell me who you are, then tell me what to call you.”

“Currently the world knows me as Tobi.”’

“Do you want me to call you Tobi then?”

“No…”

“Then what do I call you?”

He paused. “I guess Tobi is fine.”

“Okay, well Tobi, I want to go home. I am not spending my life tucked inside this vault.”

“That’s out of the question.”

You inhale deeply. Acting skills front and center. “Then I guess my safety isn’t guaranteed.”

He glanced over, tilting his head, giving you a questioning look.

“Your top priority is my safety. I can think of a lot of ways to make myself unsafe all alone here in this little void of yours,” You taunt him with your words as your eyes dart around the room.

His blood boiled over. Were you really suggesting what he thought you were? And over some dumb sunlight?! His hands twitched by his side.

“Tobi, if you intend for this” you say pointing around the void, “to be the rest of my life, it will be a short one because I’m not doing it.” you cross your arms. Of course you weren’t actually suicidal but you were going to say anything to better your circumstances. He may be your psychotic captor but he seemed to have a weakness for your well being and you were going to pull at that thread till he unraveled.

He heaved a heavy sigh before grumbling. “Give me a day to figure it out.”

“And how will I know if it's been a day?! I can’t tell time without the sun or so much as a frickin watch!”

The theatrics were working. 

“I’m sorry Peach, I’ll be back.”

He fled from the void with his tail between his legs. You let out a huge breath. How you were able to pull that stunt off was beyond you. Desperation breeds its own strength. You hoped with all your might when he came back it was to get you out of his little dimension. 

You waited, having absolutely nothing to do. No books, no games, no radio, no food, no beverage…nothing. 

You mind tortured you with thoughts. You wondered how everyone was back home, rejecting the demons of your subconscious telling you that you may never see them again. 

I will find a way out of this. 

You strolled around checking out what was behind all the gray boxes. Surprise, it was more gray boxes. You climbed each one, beginning to count them as you went. You were usually a very ambitious person but there was nothing to do. You began playing with your jutsu to see if it would work in a void. Update: it does. You brought an entire kilometer to rubble just for fun and treaded up the path you created to get some exercise. Then you jumped block to block, back to your little makeshift bedroom waiting for Tobi. Eventually you got tired so you made yourself ready for bed hoping that when you woke up he would be back with updated living arrangements.

*******************************************************

You turn over as you stir and nuzzle into a hand that is softly petting your hair. 

“Good Morning Peach”

You stiffen before your eyes dart up to his. Mask of bravery back in place, you greet him. “Good morning Tobi.” He winces. He hates how the false moniker sounds coming from your mouth. 

“I see you started destroying my void.”

“I was bored so I decided to train.”

A hearty chuckle left his throat. “I made arrangements but please understand I will not sound or behave like myself where we are going.”

“And why is that?”

“You will see eventually.”

“Oh boy, so glad you enlightened me.” you lay the sarcasm thick and it only makes him laugh more. Good, he finds you charming. You can work with this.

“I also want to warn you, we will be among rogue shinobi.”

“So your idea of keeping me safe is to have me live with the very people that I’ve been hunting. The very same people who want to kill me and my friends?”

“Yes, If you are among us, no one will bother you. If you remained in the village, you would be subject to their…missions.”

“Seems like stupid logic if you ask me.”

“Please trust me.”

“I don’t, but I don’t have a choice either.”

“At least you’re not dumb”

“Did you think I was?”

“Not even for a second.”

He grabbed your hand with his strong possessive one. Something about the way your palm fit in his felt right. You weren’t sure why but that was the signal your brain sent your hand when you gripped it tighter. A psychopath whose hand you were holding. Great, you’ve completely lost your marbles a mere three days into captivity.

Next thing you knew you could smell the air of the earth again, you could see the shadows left by the sun, happiness washed over you in a visible way and Tobi’s fingers slid between yours upon seeing your reaction. He pulled you into another hug, he seems to always be hugging you. It’s like he’s forcing you to get used to him. “I will be this person when we are alone. I will be another when the others are around. You understand?”

You nod your head worried about what he could possibly mean? What kind of a monster is he around this gang of thugs that he needs to warn you?

He removes his hand from yours and places it between your shoulder blades pushing you towards a cavern. A man with orange hair, purple eyes and many piercings looks you up and down as you enter. 

“Tobi, this is her?”

“Yes Pain! This is the hostage I spoke about!” His voice was comically high pitched and he sounded like a child. You tried your hardest not to react but it was just so different from what you were expecting. 

“Put her in the dungeon.”

“Well sir, remember I requested she stay in my room, sir?!”

“Yes but she’s a hostage, who will stop her from escaping?”

“Do you really think she’s dumb enough to try and leave the hideout of the Akatsuki?”

Your face went pale as you realized just who you had been dealing with this whole time. They were supposed to wear black cloaks with red clouds. You hadn’t seen Tobi wear his once! Always dressed in all black with sandles. But your reaction built a convincing case. The man named Pain accepted your fear as enough of a restraint. He didn’t question why it would be Tobi’s room but some blonde man eyed you hungirly and told Pain Tobi was probably keeping you in his room to finally lose his virginity. 

Once behind his door, he modulated his voice back to normal.

“What the hell was that?” you asked more honestly than you intended.

“What? You’ve never seen an act before?”

“Well of course. But why do you make yourself seem like a fool?”

“So no one will suspect.”

“Suspect what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here.” Tobi swirls you back into his void and he starts gathering your things. After a second you begin to copy him and he brings you both back to his room in the Akatsuki hideout. You start to find nooks and crannies to store your things leaving only one remaining item in your hands. He watches you as you look down on your photos of your friends. Eyes lingering over the one of you and Obito before you tuck them away with mist in your eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, but…thank you…for bringing the photos. I don’t know how you knew but I appreciate it.”

Tobi pulled you into another hug. You were unsure why he cared so much and why you kept letting him hug you. Maybe it was cause compared to your new roommates he suddenly seems less scary. To his credit this hug felt nice. Plus, since it seems like he was going to be your only companion for a while, you decided to tolerate it. 

He unfurled the hug and began tugging at your shirt. Lifting the hem above your neck, exposing your bare breasts.

“Hey!”

He disregarded your complaint and touched where your stab wound had been. “How does it feel?”

“It’s fine.” You say blushing while you cover your bosom. “May you please let go of my shirt now?”

“Huh? Oh, of course. Sorry Peach.” He drops your shirt and backs away swiftly almost as if he was embarrassed. He seemed a little more humane today so you decided to press your luck and scout out your surroundings.

“Can we go outside? I’d appreciate some sun and maybe some real food”

He gives you a piercing stare out of the eye hole of his mask.  “Stay by my side. I know you are strong but however strong you think you are, I am stronger.”

You gulp remembering the massacre you witnessed three days ago.

“I will be your protector. No one will hurt you ever again.” he lifted your chin so you’d look up at his eye through the swirling mask. “I promise.”

“I believe you…”

You see his eye crease when you speak. He was happy. That’s good. Keep him happy and it will give you openings to escape…though you weren’t sure outrunning him would be possible given his tricky teleportation ability.

You spend the afternoon with him, gathering intel and acting flirty, playing along with his advances. When he grabbed your hand, you laced your fingers. When he reached for your hip, you reached for his. When he hugged you, you draped your arms around his neck. You play into his affection for you, keeping him happy, earning his trust and lowering his guard. If I keep this up, captivity will be bearable. But you also feared that if you acted a little too well, you may fall for your own lies. Holding him today felt too easy given your desperate situation. Was it a genjutsu perhaps?

Nighttime came and instead of parading you past the other members of the Akatsuki who were home between missions, he teleported you both straight to his chambers. You get ready for bed and realize you do not have a bed of your own. It was still in the void. Would he send you to spend the nights in the void? He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I would feel safest if you shared the bed with me.” he said looking down. “You can sleep on the opposite side of the bed if you would like but I don’t want an enemy who finds the hideout to get to you before I wake.” 

You swallow nervously. You know he loves you. That much is obvious but you are searching for signs that he might try to take advantage of you while you’re unconscious. You think back to earlier when he was checking your wound. He didn’t seem to register that he had exposed your breasts for his pleasure. It was almost like your anatomy was irrelevant, only your well being consumed his thoughts. You chose to believe he will be respectful and so you agree.

“Pick whichever side you want. I’ll be back when I’m done.” He grabs a fresh pair of pants and heads to the bathroom. When the door is snapped shut you stand there looking at the bed. You’ve never chosen a side of the bed before. You’ve never been in a situation where you had to. You paced around the mattress like it was the most daunting choice you ever had to make. It’s not like this was a long term decision. You’d escape or convince him to let you go soon enough. So why were you weighing your options so carefully? 

Eventually you decide to choose the side closest to the window and give him the side closest to the door. You were much more afraid of his fellow gang members coming in with less than pure intentions than you were of outside shinobi coming for the blood of the Akatsuki. 

Just as you finally slip between the sheets, Tobi comes out of the bathroom with only a pair of black stretch sweatpants on. Your eyes drink up his figure. His body was half white as if made up of false materials but it moved like it was his real body. He was extremely toned, swollen pecs and chiseled abs cut across his upper body causing a little drool to pool in the corner of your mouth. Most surprisingly, he also took off his mask and below you saw battle torn skin that etched across the right side of a face that was intimidating, yet soft and familiar. His eyes catch you staring and he quickly looks down removing some of the intimidation you felt. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t shown my face to anyone in years. I’m sorry if it scares you. I just can’t always sleep in the mask.”

“No, it’s fine” you say in a hoarse voice. Your throat had suddenly gone dry. “It’s not scary.” 

It wasn’t but what did scare you was the thoughts of what epic battle had mangled him to this degree only for him to survive and still be as strong as he is. You suddenly wondered if he was invincible and if escape would ever be possible. 

He took his position on the vacant side of the bed, smiling that you left him by the door. He knew exactly why you chose the side you did. He turned to face you from under the covers. 

“Goodnight Peach.”

“Goodnight Tobi.”

You see him wince as you say his name. You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want you calling him by that name. He turns over and extinguishes the candle letting darkness blanket the room as you drift to sleep with surprising ease. Your body’s alarm, shockingly low given your current residence.

*******************************************************

Sunlight seeps into the room as Obito wakes up. He suddenly realizes how warm he is and it only took a few more blinks of his groggy eyes to realize why. You had traveled over to his side of the bed last night and latched onto him. He smiled, feeling his chest fill with joy. He petted your hair. You were his. You didn’t know it yet, but you were. In a few short days not only were you almost completely healed from your recent battle but you were falling for him too. Hugging him, holding his hand, cuddling in bed, Obito had never experienced human touch like this before but he was sure it didn’t always feel this right. 

He tries waking you but is met with grumpy groans and you bury yourself deeper into his chest. He kisses the top of your head as your little fists cling to him tight. He gave up on trying to wake you and let you ride out your sleep, enjoying the cuddles that were sure to cease as soon as you came to. 

Sure enough, nearly an hour later he hears you sharply inhale as you withdraw from him. You quickly sit up and face the window as he casually stretches and gets up. 

“Good Morning” he yawns feeling smug and powerful

“Morning” you say as you adjust your messy bun, trying to seem casual as you hide your embarrassment that you were needily cuddling with your kidnapper. 

You both get ready for the day, you donning a set of tactical clothes for no reason other than it was what you were used to and him, his mask and Akatsuki gear, no longer hiding the cloak now that you knew his occupation. He grabs your hip and teleports you to a tea shop for breakfast. 

You live out a week in this manner. Spending all your free time together. Occasionally having run-ins with the other Akatsuki members. They eye you in a bone chilling way. You are certain they are calculating how to enter into your room without awakening Tobi. They are nothing but disrespectful towards him, but he gives as good as he gets. You especially have to hone your acting skills to not laugh when Tobi says something ignorant and rude in his comedic tone, earning the anger of who you now know is his partner Deidara. 

One thing that bothers you the most is the ever watchful eyes of the mass murderer Itachi Uchiha. He is always polite and quiet and would seemingly be the nicest of the members if not for his reputation for slaughtering his entire clan. It’s always the quiet ones. You didn’t like how he would stare at you. After your last run in with him and Kisame, you were sure they were looking for retribution. You decide to bring this up to Tobi as he gets in bed. 

“Tobi,” he winces “I know you said I’d be safe here among the other members but I recently fought against Itachi and Kisame. I don’t like how the Uchiha looks at me. I feel like he’s looking for payback.”

“He’s not.”

You were annoyed at how quickly his dismissed you. His concern for your safety was then entire reason for your current predicament.

“How do you know that?”

“Cause I know him.”

“So you should know what he did.”

“I do.”

“And you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“How can you say that? He doesn’t even know your true identity?” 

You are gobsmacked by the wild claim Tobi is making. He killed his entire bloodline and Tobi was okay with that. It was moments like this that reminded you that Tobi was a murderer, not the lovable goof that he had been masquerading around as. 

“Itachi is the only person walking this earth who knows my true identity.”

Your jaw drops open. 

“But you said that no one had seen your face…”

“It’s true, he does not know my face but he knows my identity.” You were at a loss. “One day I will enlighten you on the events of that night but know this, of every person here, Itachi is the one you can trust the most to keep you safe. If anything happens to me, he is entrusted with your safety.”

The thought terrified you. He was out of his mind. You saw what Itachi did to Kakashi first hand. You saw the morning after the Uchiha massacre. He was not to be trusted. “Tobi, no…”

His nose twitches and that was the last straw. “Well if you hate the name Tobi so much then why do you go by it!” your emotions had been high strung for over a week and you were snapping, boldly yelling at your captor.

“I don’t hate the name. I just hate when you say it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“Cause it feels wrong to hear you call me by something other than my name.”

“There’s just no winning with you. I can’t call you by your real name cause it’s some big secret that only a serial killer knows and oh yeah, apparently that same psychopath inherits me if you die!”

You cross your arms over your chest, huffing in frustration. You weren’t even sure why it bothered you so much. This is a temporary situation. You were kidnapped. You were going to escape. If Tobi dies then it will mean you’re finally free. You just have to find a way to sneak out of this hideout and you could finally go home.

“He’s the only one I can trust to guard you with his life.”

You roll your eyes, huffing once more before pursing your lips. “Why? I need to know, Tobi. Why?”

He looks down and shrinks in your gaze. “Because only he knows what it’s like to love as an Uchiha.”

You felt the wind knocked out of you. Was he saying what you think he is?

“You’re a…?”

“Yes.”

“But Itachi…”

“...had help.”

Your hand flys to your mouth covering it in shock. 

He finally looks up at you. “Y/N, it’s not what you think it is. I can explain.”

You feel fear chill your entire body and you see on his face how upset he is that you are more afraid of him than ever. He rushes towards you and gets on his knees begging and pleading, “please allow me to explain.”

“Your clan…you helped him murder…all those people.” you said it robotically. You begin to disassociate from the conversation, lost in thought till you circled around to the realization that no one talked about a missing body among the corpses. The only survivor was Saskue. There was no one else left unaccounted for among the names of the fallen brethren. So who was Tobi?

“Tobi, if you’re an Uchiha, then who are you?”

His face flushed to a cherry red. Despite the horrifying details he just shared, for the first time you felt you had the upper hand in your captivity. Why was he so afraid to tell you? He grabbed both your hands, rubbing his thumbs along your knuckles. 

Your eyes bore into him anxiously waiting for an answer.

“It’s me.” 

You remained silent, your stern expression waiting for clarification.

“Obito”

Your hands went limp in his hold. Every tense muscle relaxed as your heart leapt to your throat getting your hopes up. Then after a moment you began shaking and crying with anger. 

“That’s not funny, Tobi.” You growled at him in quiet rage. “Obito died over a decade ago. Kakashi and Rin saw it happen. None of us were the same after. I visit his grave every day I’m in the village. But I’m sure you knew that already, didn't you?” You were seeing red. He had been stalking you. This was all a ruse to get you to fall for him. You didn’t care for your safety at this moment, even after discovering he was a part of one of the most heinous crimes in the history of the Leaf, you were going to knock sense into this liar if it was the last thing you ever did. 

“Y/N, it’s me. It’s really me.” He grabs your photo of him and holds it by his face. “See?” 

You can’t see the resemblance cause your eyes are too full of tears. 

“Take your hands off that photo! Don’t touch it!”

“Y/N, think about it.” He pleads with you, “Kakashi has a sharingan in his left eye. My left eye is missing. Obito was crushed under a boulder on his right side. Look at my right side! It looks like this.” he gestured to the Hashirama cells, “I was rescued, Y/N. Madara found me. I survived.”

You had to admit that it made sense except for the last part. 

“Madara is dead.”

“He is now, but he wasn’t at the time. He became my master after the accident, after I healed, after Rin…”

His voice cracked at the last word. It was a sobering sound causing your anger to break.

“...Obito?”

He swallowed heavily, “Yes”

You believed him….

The wave of emotion that crashed over you knocked you to your knees. You fell to the ground sobbing. The boy you had loved all your life was before you, taking care of you, alive and well. A monster who had done horrendous things but he was alive. The realization broke your mind. Obito joined you on the floor, holding you as you cried in his arms. 

“Why did you never come back? All of us, we needed you. I-I needed you.”

“I can’t tell you that Peach. But I’m here now. I won’t leave you.” 

Your hands grabbed at him like he would disappear at any given moment. One arm wrapping around his back, the other cradling his head as you hyperventilate in his arms. 

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck as he professes, “I love you Peach.” 

You wanted to say it back but talking wasn’t an option. You were too overcome with emotion. 

He helped you up to standing and laid you down on the bed. He got in next to you and held you in his arms till your cries quieted. His large palm stroking over your back, comforting you as your mind came to grips with the fact that he was very much alive and very much in love with you the way you were in love with him. 

Occasionally as you cried, he’d kiss your cheek or your temple. Suddenly all the terrifying things you’d witnessed over the past ten days were no longer so terrifying. He stalked you cause he loved you. He murdered all those shinobi to protect you. He kidnapped you cause he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. The alarms that he been blaring in your head all turned quiet.

Your breathing began to return to normal and you pulled away to look at Obito squarely in the face, leaving no room for misinterpretation. You needed him to know your intentions. 

You grabbed both sides of his face and leaned in for a kiss. He quickly pulled you into his body as tightly as he could, squishing you into his chest, nearly breaking your ribs with want. You both inhaled deeply as your lips locked onto each other. You opened your mouth, seeking to deepen the kiss. It was your first one after all, you wanted to make it good. 

You toss your leg over his hip, grinding into him as one of his hands lowered to stroke your thigh and ass cheek. You moan into his mouth, him returning your sounds of affection into your own. The stroking of your leg became rough as his tough hands grip into the flesh of your behind. Your breathing heavy and ragged as your arousal increases. 

Eventually he falls to his back as you straddle him, hunching over to feast on his mouth while you continue to roll your hips against his pants. You were in the most heated and only kiss of your life and you were sure for Obito it was the same. His deep groans as you dry humped his boner concealed inside his sweatpants made your heart flutter with excitement. Everything that had been stolen from you as an adolescent was right beneath you, in your arms and between your legs. 

Obito released your lips to lean his head back with a particularly loud moan echoing out of him causing Deidera to pound against the wall. “Just cause I knew you were going to fuck her doesn’t mean I need to hear it you fucking virgins!”

You laugh centimeters from his face before he flips you onto the bed so he is hovering over your panting silhouette. Lashes fluttering as you salivate from the way his strong presence looms over you. 

“Obito, I…” He kisses you slow and deep, not letting you speak. You break the kiss to finish your sentence. “I love you.”

He latches onto your lips again before speaking into your mouth, “I love you too.”

You wrap both of your legs around him, lifting yourself up to rut into him when he finally leans back on his knees to rip down your pajama pants, letting your legs fall to each side, exposing your soft flesh, ready and waiting to be sullied with unholy deeds. He sinks down, positioning himself between your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him with curious interest. 

He kisses and sucks on your inner thighs. He releases the pliable flesh with a pop and smiles at his artwork. Of course he’d leave a mark the first chance he got. You were his after all. 

He worked his way to your center, licking a stripe up your sex before latching over your little bundle of nerves. He began to suck on it as if hoping to separate it from your body. He licked the small nub gently between vicious suckling, driving you wild and causing you to squirm. Your hand shot down to rest in his hair as you furrowed your brows and tilted your hips up into his chin, soaking his face in your secretions. Desperate need consuming your body.

He came up for air and crawled back up over you to get another one of your sweet kisses, before sinking his fingers into your tight virgin cunt. You whimper into his lips. He drags his fingers in and out of you causing you to clench around them. You make small cries as you feel him attempting to stretch you, readying you for his intrusion. 

Your hand reached for him, looking to sink beneath his pants to stroke what you desired. He propped himself up on his elbow next to you while his hand reached between your legs. You slipped between his abdominals and his waistband, fingers gliding around his thick base before closing around it and stroking upwards. Obito shuddered at your touch, hips instinctively thrusting towards you. Your hand firmly set around him, stroking up and down, you twisted towards his face to continue kissing him. The sloppy exchange continuing while you worked between each other’s legs. The heat radiated off of your bodies as your lust filled every pore. You pull back, a trail of spit connecting your mouths as you speak.

“I’m ready.”

Obito withdrew his fingers as he leaned away. He sucked his fingers clean as he stood up next to the bed. He dropped his pants so that they pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of the fabric and crawled back on the bed over you. 

He gently glided his barren length over your folds, lubricating himself in your sopping wet juices. His tip lightly poked at your swollen bud causing your breath to hitch. He gives you a nod signaling he’s going in. He sinks just the tip in and your arms tighten around him in response.

“Are you okay?”

You look up into his eyes and nod. “Mhm”

He begins to push inwards. You gasp at the stretch. It was painful but soon it shifted into a pleasurable sensation.

“Are you still okay?”

You bit your lower lip as you nod in agreement. He reached down. He wanted to be the one biting your lip. Connecting his with yours once more, his tongue swirled with passion as he stroked in and out of you slowly, allowing you to turn into a puddle under him. You cry into his mouth as you feel your walls constrict around him. You had never felt anything quite like it. Every part of you was satisfied in this position. Legs wrapped around his waist, lips connected with his, sharing the air you breathed, and the feeling of him buried in you. It was love in its purest sense. 

His soft slow romantic strokes began to give way as he realized how good the friction felt. Your tight walls wrapped around him so well, squeezing him in a way he could have never even dreamt about. You were perfection itself and it was making him ravenous.

He rolled his hips into you till they slapped against your rear. You make little sounds in response to the connection. It encourages him so he continues to roll. You keep mewling with each stroke. It is an anthem to his heart and he wants to hear it played louder. He begins slamming into you. You want to take it and please him but it’s becoming too much. 

You see his eyes gloss over. He’s consumed with the unfamiliar sensation. He flips you onto your stomach. He straddles you with his knees on either side of your legs, pinning them together. He thrusts up and in as you lay down flat. He slams his palm down on your cheek and you make a small grunt upon impact. You hear him smirk.”tch” He wants to do that again. 

You grunt a second time. He sits back on his heels and pulls your perfect body up off the bed and sits you down on his erection. Back facing him, he snakes his hands around your front and under your shirt. His muscular arms lift you up and down on him as you sing out little sounds of pleasure. 

“That’s it baby. You’re doing such a good job.”

You completely exhale as he whispers praise into your ear. Your heart thundering at a wild pace as one hand grabs on top of his hand that has a bruising grip on your chest and the other reaches back to grab him behind his head. 

He bends forward to lay light kisses along your neck and into the curve of your shoulder. You were his every desire. All the dangerous things he was capable of were only out of love for you. He would murder hordes of shinobi, tame tailed beasts, and level entire cities in your honor. He would do anything to live this moment on repeat for the rest of his life. 

You twist in his arms, politely asking to look upon his face. He sits back as he lifts you off of him. You turn around on your knees and straddle his lap, facing him as he tugs at your hem, gently lifting the fabric over your head and tossing it to a dark corner of the room. 

He hunches down to taste your perky peaks. His tongue dragging along each nub before his lips close around it with a gentle suckle. Your head lulls backwards as you cry out blissfully, allowing the new sensations to overwhelm your mind. Obito rocks your body up and down along his shaft but he doesn’t think he will be able to hold out much longer. 

He gingerly lays you down on your back, propping your legs open with his arms as he leans down, pushing his chest into yours. You feel your flexibility being tested as he sinks into you and your eyes widen at how deep he went. He begins to stroke, craving the warmth of the fast friction generated by his thrusts. He allows his sack to sway into your rear, hitting it with a satisfying clap at each impact. Your face begins to twist with pleasure. Your rhythmic cries calling to him like a siren's song. 

He leans down and presses his lips into yours, allowing your moans to reverberate around the inside of his mouth. He nears his climax as you reach yours. Releasing together in loving harmony. He slowly pumps into you, draining the seed from his length into your loving walls that graciously drink it in. 

Your doting eyes never leave his face. You realize you are hopelessly bound to him. You would never escape your captivity, nor did you want to. Both of you have surrendered to the other. Your head collapses onto the pillow and he licks one last stripe up your neck before falling next to you and kissing your jaw. His strong finger tugs at your chin, turning you to him so he may continue to adorn your lips with kisses. 

Your faces would fold into each other's necks as your bodies tangled together under the covers. The man who kidnapped you, now your most valued treasure. He would possessively hold his delicate little peach every night from henceforth and you would never speak of going home ever again because now that Obito lay with you, you were home. You allow your eyes to close and your heart to go still as you fall into a deep slumber in his arms.

Home… 

Masterlist

[sirenedeslily]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ‎𐦍 𝐜hristopher 𝐬turniolo

❛you have so much to do, and i have nothing ahead of me.❜

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, in the bustling streets of new york city, a struggling artist burdened by her mother's chaos meets chris, a vibrant spirit who reignites her dormant passion for art. as their connection deepens through museum visits and intimate conversations, y/n is torn between the weight of her sacrifices and the allure of newfound love. when their paths inevitably part, chris must confront the heartache of losing the muse who transformed his art, while y/n faces the painful reality of her shattered dreams, forever haunted by the ephemeral beauty of their once-shared moments.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, angst, mentions of emotional and physical neglect, fluffy moments, mental health struggles, open ending (sorry)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 13.9k !

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, this is based on the song “your best american girl” by mitski aswell as “fake plastic trees” by radiohead. this one took everything out of me to write so i apologize if the writing isn’t its best or if it gets repetitive in anyway, i really tried chat. idk if y’all could tell but i got inspired by little women (2019) and eternal sunshine of the spotless mind for some scenes. ANYWAYS this is dedicated to gf @sweetangelgirl7 !! love u so very much sweets

standing behind the counter of the bustling café, you were enveloped by the rich aroma of coffee beans mingling with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of cups. the everyday symphony wrapped around you like a familiar song. as the door swung open, a rush of summer air and the distant murmur of traffic stirred the atmosphere. you glanced up from the drawing you had been mindlessly sketching, your pencil pausing mid-air

a man entered, his presence commanding attention like a character stepping out of a film. dressed in a denim jacket and worn jeans, his curly hair framed his face with an effortless charm. his striking blue eyes, a shade reminiscent of clear summer skies, scanned the menu before locking onto yours. he approached the counter with an easy, unpretentious smile.

"hi there," he said, his voice a blend of warmth and curiosity. "what do you recommend for someone who needs a bit of inspiration?"

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a reflex of shared understanding. "i’d say a mocha with an extra shot of espresso. it’s got just the right amount of kick to get the creative juices flowing."

"perfect," he replied, nodding appreciatively. "i’ll have one of those. and maybe a blueberry scone, if you’ve got any left."

you quickly prepared his order, your hands moving with practiced ease, though a curious sense of anticipation fluttered in your chest. as you handed him the steaming cup and the scone, your fingers brushed briefly, sending a fleeting spark of something unfamiliar through you.

"here you go," you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "one mocha with an extra shot and a blueberry scone. that’ll be $6.50."

he handed you a ten-dollar bill, his gaze lingering on you just a moment longer than necessary. "keep the change," he said with a smile. "thanks for the recommendation...?"

"y/n," you supplied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his genuine interest.

"y/n," he repeated, savoring the sound of your name like a cherished word. "nice to meet you. i’m chris."

"nice to meet you too, chris," you replied, noticing as he glanced at the sketchbook you had left open. his eyes widened slightly, a look of recognition crossing his face. "you drew this just now?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"uh, yeah," you said, a bit self-conscious. "it’s nothing really. i just like to doodle from time to time."

he continued to study the page, which depicted a scene from fallen angel, a film that had left an indelible mark on your imagination. his gaze softened with genuine admiration. "you’ve perfectly captured the essence of the scene. it’s one of my favorite movies."

a blush crept into your cheeks at his compliment. "thank you. i really love the cinematography of it all."

"i completely agree. i seriously believe that if a movie has shitty visuals, it undermines its entire meaning." his candidness made you smile, intrigued by the easy rapport that had sprung up between you.

as chris took a sip of his mocha, his eyes met yours again, a spark of connection kindling between you. the café, with its familiar sounds and smells, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you, suspended in a moment that felt both ordinary and extraordinary. he lingered a moment longer, his gaze drifting back to your sketchbook. "do you draw often?" he asked, genuine curiosity colouring his tone.

"every chance i get," you admitted, feeling a strange mix of shyness and pride. "it helps me unwind."

chris nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "i get that. i paint when i need to clear my head. something about creating, you know?"

you did know. the act of creation, whether with words or images, was a sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside. "what do you paint?" you asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested.

"mostly landscapes," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "i love capturing the way light changes throughout the day."

the two of you stood there, the café bustling around you, but in your corner of the world, time seemed to slow. you shared a smile that felt like an unspoken understanding, a shared secret between kindred spirits.

glancing at his watch, chris had a flicker of regret crossing his features. "i should get going, but i'd love to talk more about your art. maybe over coffee sometime?”

you felt a spark of excitement. "i’d like that," you said, the words simple but sincere.

chris handed you a small card with his contact information. "shoot me a text when you're free," he said, his smile warm and hopeful. "i'd love to see more of your work."

"i will," you promised, tucking the card safely into your pocket.

as chris turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back one last time. "thanks for the inspiration, y/n," he called out, his voice carrying a note of something almost magical.

you watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving you with a sense of possibility hanging in the air. the café resumed its regular rhythm, but everything felt just a bit brighter, a bit more hopeful.

returning to your sketch, you found your pencil moving with renewed energy, capturing the scene with a fresh perspective. the encounter with chris had ignited something within you, a spark that you knew would fuel your creativity for days to come.

𝜗𝒞

the shift ended, and you slipped out of your apron, folding it neatly as you prepared to leave. the evening light bathed the city streets in a warm, golden hue, a stark contrast to the cold, fluorescent lights of the café. you walked home, the sketchbook tucked under your arm, your thoughts drifting back to chris and his easy smile.

home was a small apartment on the edge of town, where the rent was cheap, and the walls were thin. you unlocked the door, stepping into the familiar clutter of dishes in the sink, laundry waiting to be folded, and your mother sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey within arm's reach. she barely acknowledged your arrival, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the television.

"dinners in the fridge," you said softly, knowing she would not respond. she rarely did these days, lost in her own world of regret and resentment. you had grown up with a mother who was more like a ghost, always there but never present. her dreams had died long ago, and she had never forgiven you for being the living reminder of what she had lost.

you heated up a leftover meal, sitting at the small kitchen table with your sketchbook open in front of you. the pencil moved by itself, lines and shapes taking form as you lost yourself in the act of creation. drawing was your escape, your way of coping with the harsh realities of your life. silence was loud in your home; drawing helped you drown its achingly loud quietness. it was in these moments that you felt most alive, the weight of your responsibilities lifting, if only for a little while.

as the night wore on, you were consumed by thoughts of your future—or rather, the lack of it. once, you had dreamed of becoming an artist, envisioning your work gracing galleries and museums. but those dreams now felt impossibly distant, eclipsed by the relentless need to support yourself and your mother. your father had vanished by the time you were nine, leaving you and your mom to fend for yourselves. at least, until her accident. after that, it was you against the world, while she retreated into a haze of painkillers and alcohol.

you were so intelligent that you began tutoring your fellow classmates. at first, the tutoring income covered the bills, but when your mother started siphoning your money for her drugs, you had to take on another job as well. juggling multiple jobs to keep the bills paid, you eventually had to abandon your education as the financial pressures mounted. despite everything, you kept your mind sharp by devouring countless books.

stealing moments to draw whenever you could, you clung to your passion in the scant free time you had. it was a precarious balance, and more often than not, you felt as though you were barely holding on. yet, there was something about chris that had reignited a spark within you. his passion for art and his unwavering belief in following your dreams resonated deeply. for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope—not necessarily for yourself, but for the world. his contagious smile and confidence in his future provided a comforting reminder that, for some people, there is light at the end of the tunnel. even if it was not your tunnel, knowing that it existed for someone else brought a sense of solace.

𝜗𝒞

the days that followed were a blur of work and stolen moments with your sketchbook. you found yourself looking forward to your shifts at the café, hoping to see chris again. it was a slow afternoon when he walked in, his presence like a breath of fresh air.

“hey, y/n,” he greeted, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “got time for a break?”

you glanced at the clock, then at your manager, who nodded with a small smile. “sure,” you replied, your heart skipping a beat. you made two mochas and joined him at a corner table.

“how’s the art going?” chris asked, sipping his drink.

you shrugged, feeling a mix of pride and self-consciousness. “i draw whenever i can. it’s hard to find the time.”

chris nodded thoughtfully. “i get that. life has a way of getting in the way, doesn’t it?” he pulled out a small notebook from his jacket. “mind if i show you something?”

curiosity piqued, you nodded. he flipped open the notebook to reveal sketches, each one more beautiful than the last. some depicted serene landscapes bathed in the golden glow of sunset, while others captured the stark, haunting beauty of a storm rolling in over a rugged coastline. the detail and emotion in each piece were astounding, the kind of art that made you feel something deep in your soul.

“these are incredible,” you said, genuinely impressed. “you really captured its light. even in the darkest ones, i can still see some sort of radiance.”

chris smiled, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes, a shadow of vulnerability. “thanks. painting has always been a way for me to process things, to make sense of the world. some of these are from when i was in a really dark place.”

you looked closer at the sketches, noticing the subtle differences in tone and style. one piece, a vivid sunrise over a peaceful meadow, seemed to radiate hope and renewal. in contrast, another sketch showed a desolate, wind-swept landscape under a brooding sky, the sense of isolation almost palpable.

“these two,” you said, pointing to the contrasting pieces. “they feel so different from each other. what was going on when you drew them?”

chris glanced at the sketches and sighed, a mixture of nostalgia and pain crossing his face. “the sunrise was when i first moved out here, trying to start fresh and find some direction. it was a hopeful time, full of possibility. but the other one,” he said, pointing to the darker piece, “was during a period when everything felt like it was falling apart. i had just lost a part of me, and i felt completely alone.”

you could hear the raw emotion in his voice, the weight of his past struggles. “i’m sorry,” you said softly. “it’s amazing how you can convey so much through your art. it’s like i can feel what you were going through.”

he nodded, a small, grateful smile on his lips. “that’s what i love about art. it’s a way to communicate things that words can’t always capture. it’s been a lifeline for me, in more ways than one.”

as you looked through more of his sketches, you saw a range of emotions and experiences, each one telling a different story. there were joyful moments, like a vibrant carnival scene filled with laughter and light, and somber ones, like a lonely figure standing in the rain, the sadness almost tangible. each piece was a window into chris’s soul, a testament to his resilience and creativity.

“what about you? got any new sketches?” he questioned, his blue eyes boring into yours as you looked up from his pieces.

you hesitated, then pulled out your sketchbook, flipping to a recent drawing. it revealed two evocative paintings, each depicting a moment of solitude. on the left, an overhead view showed a figure seated in a bathtub, their back exposed, water enveloping them in a quiet embrace. on the right, a close-up focused on the same individual, their face partially submerged, eyes closed in deep reflection. the delicate brushstrokes and soft colours conveyed intimacy and vulnerability.

chris studied it intently. “this is incredible, y/n. you have a true gift for capturing pure and raw emotion.”

you spent the rest of the break talking about art, techniques, and favourite artists. it was the first of many conversations that deepened your bond. chris became a regular at the café, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits. he encouraged you to keep drawing, to explore different styles, and to believe in your talent.

𝜗𝒞

for months, you had felt an undeniable connection to chris. his enthusiasm was infectious, spreading through you like wildfire and lingering long after he had left the coffee shop. after those first few weeks of him showing up without fail, ordering his mocha and whatever pastry was available, and watching you as you deftly managed the morning rush, he started inviting you on little adventures.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to join him; it was that you couldn’t. between your shifts at the café and helping the seemingly endless stream of students cramming for finals, you barely had time to breathe, let alone take a night off. but chris had a way of chipping away at your resolve, a determined persistence that wouldn’t let you ignore your own needs. for every reason you had to say no, he always had two more reasons why you should say yes.

“i got us tickets to this exhibition in manhattan,” chris announced one afternoon, his excitement like a burst of sunlight in the room as you focused on the espresso machine.

you sighed, glancing up at him briefly as you handed a latte to a waiting customer. “chris, i can’t just hop over to manhattan and back to brooklyn in one night. not this week, anyway.”

his smile faltered, but only for a moment. “you can’t say no without at least asking me when it is, moonie,” he teased, leaning against the counter.

“moonie?” you raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-bemused.

chris’s grin widened, his eyes dancing with mischief. “yeah, moonie. like the moon. always there, casting light on everyone else but keeping just out of reach. you shine for everyone else, but you stay hidden in the shadows yourself.”

you tried to keep the smile off your face, but it slipped through anyway. “alright, sunny, i appreciate it, but i have responsibilities. my mom, my job—i can’t just drop everything on a whim.”

his expression softened as he leaned in closer, his voice dipping into a serious tone. “i know, but you deserve to live a little, too. you’re always taking care of everyone else. who’s taking care of you?”

his words hit you like a gentle nudge, stirring something deep inside. you’d always been the one to shoulder the burdens, to be the provider, the one who put others first. but here was chris, looking at you like you were something more than that—as if you could be more.

“just think about it,” he urged softly. “one night. it’s not the end of the world. it could be a beginning.”

you exhaled, feeling the weight of your responsibilities pressing down on you. yet, chris’s earnestness was hard to resist. “fine,” you said finally, a small smile playing at your lips. “what’s the date?”

chris’s face lit up like the dawn. “next friday. i’ll pick you up at six.”

“next friday,” you echoed, your emotions a tangled mix of anxiety and excitement.

chris’s smile turned thoughtful as he recalled something from earlier. “sunny, huh?” he chuckled, catching your eye.

you looked at him, puzzled for a moment, before the memory clicked. “oh, right. sunny,” you laughed softly. “yeah, like the sun—always casting light, even on the darkest days.”

he stared at you, his smile growing warmer, more intimate. “sunny and moonie,” he murmured, as if testing the words. “i like that.”

chris had a way of making the ordinary seem extraordinary, and soon enough, you found yourself counting down the days until that friday. the nickname exchange was just one example of how he made things feel special—how he saw the world in a light you had long forgotten to look for. where you saw endless shadows, he saw the stars peeking through.

𝜗𝒞

the days flew by, a blur of coffee cups and late-night study sessions. but every time you thought of friday, there was a flicker of something different inside you—something you hadn’t felt in a long time. maybe it was the idea of finally allowing yourself to step out of the shadows, if only for a night. maybe it was just chris, and the way he seemed to believe that you deserved the world.

when friday finally arrived, you were nervous. your usual routine was a safety net, one you had clung to for years. but there was also a thrill in breaking out of it, in letting someone like chris pull you into his world of light.

true to his word, chris was there at six, waiting outside your door with that signature grin of his. he looked almost too perfect, standing there with his tousled hair and a casual confidence that made you feel both excited and a little out of your depth.

“you look amazing,” he said when you stepped out, and even though you had spent more time getting ready than usual, his words still made your cheeks warm.

“thanks,” you replied, feeling a bit awkward under his gaze. “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

he laughed at that, a warm, easy sound that made you smile in spite of yourself. “ready for our adventure, moonie?”

you nodded, feeling that mix of nerves and excitement again. “ready.”

𝜗𝒞

the train ride into manhattan was filled with easy conversation, chris making you laugh with his stories and little observations about the world around you. he had a way of making you forget your worries, of making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could allow yourself this one night.

when you arrived at the exhibition, it was like stepping into another world. the gallery was alive with colour and light, the walls covered in art that seemed to pulse with life. chris guided you through the crowd, his hand brushing against yours as he led you to the first piece.

“what do you see?” he asked, his voice low, as if the art demanded a kind of reverence.

you looked at the painting in front of you, taking in the swirling colors and bold strokes. it was beautiful, but there was something about it that felt... heavy. the colors, though vibrant, seemed to carry a weight, a sadness that lingered beneath the surface.

“it’s... complicated,” you said finally, searching for the right words. “it’s like there’s something hidden beneath all the color. something... sad.”

chris tilted his head, considering your words. “i can see that,” he said, surprising you. “but i also see hope in it. like the colors are fighting against the darkness, refusing to be overshadowed.”

you glanced at him, seeing the art through his eyes for a moment. it was strange, how two people could look at the same thing and see something entirely different. yet, there was a beauty in that too—in the way he found light where you saw shadows.

as you moved through the gallery, you found yourselves interpreting each piece in a similar way. where you saw struggle and sorrow, chris found hope and resilience. it was like you were seeing two sides of the same coin, both valid in their own way.

but as the night wore on, you started to realize something. maybe it wasn’t just the art that was different for each of you. maybe it was the way you saw the world—how your experiences had shaped you into someone who expected the worst, while chris seemed to believe in the best.

it was a thought that lingered in your mind as you left the gallery, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement as you walked side by side. chris was talking about the exhibition, his voice animated, but you were only half-listening, lost in your own thoughts.

when you finally reached your apartment building, the reality of the night came crashing down. this was the moment where most dates would end with an invitation inside, but you couldn’t do that. you couldn’t let him see the world you lived in, the mess you kept hidden behind closed doors.

chris stopped in front of your door, his smile softening as he looked at you. “i had a great time tonight, moonie.”

“me too,” you admitted, even though your mind was already racing with excuses. “thank you for inviting me.”

he stepped closer, his hand finding yours in a way that felt both natural and electric. “can i see you again?”

you nodded, though the words felt like a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. “i’d like that.”

he hesitated for a moment, then leaned in to kiss you. it was soft, tentative—like he was giving you a chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you let yourself have this moment, let yourself feel something other than the weight of the world on your shoulders.

when he finally pulled back, he smiled at you, a little breathless. “goodnight, moonie.”

“goodnight, sunny,” you replied, your heart still racing as you watched him walk away.

you waited until he was out of sight before turning to unlock your door, the spell of the night slowly fading. inside, your mother’s voice drifted from the living room, a reminder of the life you couldn’t escape. the excitement of the evening was already being overshadowed by the reality waiting for you behind that door.

but as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile, just a little. maybe you couldn’t let chris into your world—not yet—but for the first time in a long time, you felt like there might be a way out of the shadows. and that was something.

𝜗𝒞

from then on, chris would whisk you away to every exhibition new york had to offer. each outing was carefully orchestrated to fit around your work schedule, and when they didn’t align, he would appear with bags full of treats for you and your students. on the days you worked at the café, you’d often find him seated at a table nearby, lost in the world of his sketches. occasionally, your eyes would meet, an unspoken conversation passing between you.

you couldn’t quite fathom why he went to such lengths to be with you or why he chose to spend his time in your presence. each encounter, wrapped in the glow of café lights or the muted brilliance of gallery walls, left you both puzzled and enchanted. his presence was a gentle constant, like a soft murmur of wind that stirred the leaves of your daily routine. as you navigated your days, his quiet dedication painted a new layer to your life’s canvas, one you hadn’t anticipated but couldn’t ignore.

in those fleeting moments of shared glances and unspoken understanding, you found yourself drawn to him, grappling with the inexplicable warmth of his affection. it was as if he saw something in you—something hidden, yet profoundly significant—and his efforts to bridge the gaps in your lives became a silent testament to his feelings.

despite your confusion, there was a growing realization within you, like a hidden spring slowly unfreezing. his presence wasn’t just a backdrop to your days; it was a catalyst, nudging you toward something you hadn’t yet defined. and with each passing day, you began to wonder if perhaps you were both searching for a place where your paths might finally converge. as the weeks passed, the rhythm of your days began to harmonize with chris’s presence. the city, once a cacophony of distant dreams and scattered hopes, now seemed to pulse with a new, vibrant energy. his frequent visits to the café and his thoughtful interruptions of your routine became a comforting cadence, a reminder that you were not alone in your solitary journey.

in those quiet moments when he would sketch or when you’d catch his gaze from across the room, there was a subtle dance of connection that unfolded—a delicate interplay of curiosity and affection. you noticed how he would sometimes pause, his eyes reflecting a quiet intensity, as if searching for something within you. and in those moments, you couldn’t help but feel that he was unraveling parts of you you hadn’t even known existed.

you started to understand that his attention was not just an act of devotion but a mirror revealing facets of yourself you had kept hidden. each exhibition, each thoughtful gesture, was not just about sharing experiences but about creating a bridge between your worlds. his presence was a reminder that amidst the noise and chaos of life, there was still room for understanding and connection.

though you continued to question the reasons behind his unwavering commitment, a tender curiosity began to blossom within you. you found yourself looking forward to his visits, savoring the way he seemed to fill the gaps in your life with warmth and sincerity. and as the seasons changed, so did your perspective, gradually shifting from bewilderment to a quiet acceptance of the possibility that perhaps, in some way, he was meant to be a part of your story. the rhythm of your life continued to intertwine with chris’s, each day offering new layers to this unfolding connection. his persistent presence brought a warmth that seeped into the corners of your routine, transforming the mundane into something infused with new possibilities. the exhibitions, once a distant dream, now became a shared adventure, each outing a testament to his belief in the beauty of the world and your place within it.

you found yourself eagerly awaiting these moments of escape, the gallery visits becoming more than just breaks from routine. they were brief but intense encounters with a world beyond the confines of your daily struggles. chris’s enthusiasm was a contagious force, drawing you into a vibrant dance of discovery and appreciation.

one crisp evening, as winter's chill began to settle over the city, chris arrived with a surprise. "i thought we’d do something different tonight," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "how about a stroll through the city lights?"

"i have to tutor carl, remember?" you replied, removing your apron with a wistful smile.

"actually, no you don’t," chris said, his smile widening. "i talked to matt, and he said he’d be okay with taking over for tonight." matt, chris's brother, was a harvard student back in new york for winter break. his brilliance was well-known, and you trusted him implicitly.

"oh, okay," you agreed, curiosity piqued. as you walked together through the illuminated streets, the city's energy felt different—more alive, more hopeful. the cool air was invigorating, and with chris by your side, the world seemed to expand, revealing hidden layers of beauty and potential.

as you meandered through the sparkling streets, your conversations flowed freely, punctuated by moments of comfortable silence. chris shared stories of his childhood and the small joys he found in everyday moments. you, in turn, opened up about your own dreams and fears, the walls of your carefully guarded heart slowly coming down.

each street corner revealed a new vista of light and shadow, and with every step, you felt a deeper connection to the city—and to chris. the evening felt like a canvas painted with the *colors* of possibility, each shared laugh and heartfelt conversation adding a new brushstroke to the picture of your evolving bond. the city lights cast a warm glow over the street, their reflections dancing in the cold, darkened windows of nearby buildings. chris and you had walked for hours, your steps and breaths synchronizing in a rhythm of shared moments and unspoken connection. now, standing under a canopy of snow-dusted trees, he stopped abruptly, turning to face you with an intensity that made your heart leap.

“y/n,” he began, his voice a low murmur, almost lost in the hum of the city. “i can’t keep this to myself any longer. being with you these past months… it’s been like finding a part of myself i didn’t know was missing.”

you felt your heart pound, a mixture of hope and fear swirling within you. “chris, i…”

he stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. “let me finish, please,” he implored, his expression earnest. “you’ve become the most important person in my life. your strength, your talent, the way you see the world—it’s all so beautiful to me. i find myself wanting to share everything with you, to be there for you in ways i’ve never wanted with anyone else.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you blinked them back, trying to hold onto the walls you had built so carefully. “chris, i’m scared. i’ve spent so long being strong, keeping everything inside. letting you in… it’s terrifying.”

he took your hands in his, his touch gentle and r reassuring. “i know,” he whispered. “and i’m not asking you to change or to be anyone other than who you are. i just want to be there for you, to share your burdens and your joys. i want to love you, y/n.”

his words hung in the air, a fragile promise. you felt the weight of his sincerity, the depth of his feelings. and as much as fear gripped your heart, there was also a yearning—a desire to step into the light he offered.

“i don’t know if i can,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i’ve been hurt before, and the thought of being vulnerable again…”

chris’s eyes softened with understanding. “you don’t have to decide right now. but i want you to know that i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. you’re worth the risk, y/n. you’re worth everything.”

in that moment, something inside you shifted. the fear didn’t disappear, but it was tempered by a glimmer of hope. and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, closing the distance between you. your lips met his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent confession of your own.

the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of warmth and possibility. when you finally pulled back, you saw the same hope reflected in chris’s eyes, a promise of a future you had never dared to dream.

𝜗𝒞

from that night on, your life took on a new rhythm, one marked by shared moments and unspoken understandings. chris continued to surprise you with outings, each one designed to pull you further from your cocoon of fear and into the light of his affection.

each weekend, you found yourselves wandering through various art museums, chris always with a thoughtful expression, you with a mix of curiosity and wariness. at the metropolitan museum of art, you stood before a grand, sweeping landscape painting. chris’s eyes lit up as he took in the vibrant colours, the play of light on the canvas.

“look at how the artist captures the dawn,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “it’s like you can feel the hope and promise of a new day.

you studied the painting, seeing instead the lone figure in the foreground, a small silhouette against the vastness of the landscape. “i see solitude,” you murmured. “a person standing alone, facing the immensity of the world. it’s beautiful, but also so lonely.”

chris turned to you, a thoughtful smile on his lips. “i never thought of it that way. i guess that’s what makes art so incredible—how we can see the same piece so differently.”

𝜗𝒞

at the museum of modern art, you stood before a striking abstract piece, all bold lines and vibrant colours. chris saw movement and energy, the potential for change and growth. you saw chaos, the struggle to find order in the midst of confusion.

“it’s like life,” you said, your voice soft. “so much happening at once, and we’re just trying to make sense of it all.”

chris nodded, his expression contemplative. “but there’s beauty in that struggle, don’t you think? in the way we keep going, keep finding our way through the chaos.”

𝜗𝒞

as the weeks passed, your differing interpretations became a dance, each one revealing more about yourselves and each other. chris’s unwavering optimism was a balm to your often weary soul, while your introspective views grounded his boundless enthusiasm.

one evening, as you strolled through a lesser-known gallery, you stopped before a small, delicate watercolour. it depicted a single tree, its branches reaching skyward, its roots firmly planted in the earth. the simplicity of the image spoke to you in a way few pieces had.

“roots and wings,” chris said softly, his arm slipping around your waist. “the tree is both grounded and reaching for the sky. it’s like us, finding our place in the world while still dreaming of what could be.”

you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence seep into your bones. “maybe,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. “maybe we’re finding our way together.”

in the quiet of the gallery, surrounded by art that spoke in myriad voices, you realized that you were no longer alone. chris’s love had become a guiding light, illuminating the path before you. and as you looked up at him, you saw not just a lover, but a partner, someone who saw the world through a lens of hope and possibility, and who was teaching you to do the same.

the journey was far from over, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace, a quiet assurance that with chris by your side, you could face whatever came next. and as you walked hand in hand through the gallery, you knew that the future, with all its uncertainties, held a promise of beauty and love yet to be discovered.

the night air was crisp, a faint whisper of winter's end curling through the streets as you and chris strolled back from yet another gallery. the city's lights twinkled like stars that had descended to earth, casting a soft glow that danced in your eyes. you walked in companionable silence, your hearts speaking in the quiet moments between words.

as you neared your apartment, a familiar tension began to creep into your chest. you could feel chris’s gaze on you, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill. yet, with each step closer to your building, the weight of your reality pressed down on you. your mother, the disarray, the stark contrast to the beauty and light chris brought into your life—it all felt too much to reveal.

chris paused at the entrance of your building, turning to face you. his blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, held a depth of emotions you weren't sure you were ready to face. he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“i had a wonderful time tonight,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your anxious heart.

“me too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. the fear of what lay beyond this moment was a shadow in your mind, threatening to eclipse the light chris brought.

chris took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “i know you have your reasons for not letting me in, for keeping this part of your life hidden. but i want you to know that i care about you, y/n. all of you. your art, your strength, your vulnerabilities—everything.”

his words pierced through the walls you had built, each one a gentle push against your defenses. you opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the fear and shame you carried.

before you could respond, chris stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “you don’t have to be perfect or have everything figured out. i’m here, and i want to be here. for you.”

tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his sincerity almost too much to bear. you looked up at him, seeing not just the man who had become your anchor, but a beacon of hope in a life that often felt too heavy to navigate alone.

“chris—” your voice broke, the words dissolving into the cold night air. but chris understood. he always did.

without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that spoke volumes. the kiss was a promise, a silent vow that transcended the fears and uncertainties that plagued your heart. it was a moment of connection, of shared vulnerability, that neither of you could deny.

when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, seeking the reassurance you struggled to give. “i’ll wait, y/n. as long as it takes.”

you nodded, the tears finally spilling over as you whispered, “thank you.”

chris smiled, a bittersweet curve of his lips that held the promise of understanding and patience. “goodnight, y/n,” he said, pressing a final, tender kiss to your forehead before turning to leave.

you watched him go, a mixture of relief and longing twisting in your chest. the night felt colder without him, the weight of your reality settling back over you like a heavy cloak. yet, as you turned to enter your building, a small flame of hope burned within you, kindled by chris’s unwavering support.

one day, you thought. one day, you would find the strength to let him in completely. until then, you would carry this night with you, a reminder that love and understanding could pierce even the darkest corners of your life.

as the weeks passed, you and chris continued to explore the city's art museums. every night would end the same way, with chris walking you home, lingering at the doorstep with a kiss that held all the promises of tomorrow. and every night, you would retreat into your world, holding onto the hope that one day, you would find the courage to let him in completely.

chris’s footsteps echoed through the silent hallway as he approached the door. he knocked on your door, his heart heavy with a mixture of hope and confusion. when the door finally swung open, his eyes searched for a sign of the warmth and openness he’d come to expect from their evenings together. but the darkness of the living room, the disheveled remnants of a life in disarray, struck him like a cold wind.

“are you ever going to let me in?” chris asked softly, the question laced with the delicate edges of frustration and concern. his voice trembled, not from anger but from the sting of being so close yet so distanced.

your eyes, shadowed by the dim light from the hallway, flared with a sudden intensity. “it’s not about letting you in. it’s about what’s behind this door.”

chris stepped closer, his gaze fixed on you. “i don’t understand. i thought we were building something together. but every time i try to get close, you shut me out.”

“building something?” your voice was a mere whisper, yet it carried the weight of countless sleepless nights. “do you think you can simply erase the mess of my life with your visits and your hopeful smiles?”

“i’m not trying to erase anything,” chris insisted. “i want to be here for you, to understand. but you keep pushing me away.”

“and i keep pushing you away because i don’t want you to see this,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the cluttered, sorrowful room. “it’s not just a room; it’s my entire world, falling apart. i don’t want you to see how i live, how i struggle.”

chris’s expression softened, though frustration still clouded his features. “but isn’t part of being together facing those struggles? you don’t have to hide from me.”

your eyes shimmered with a blend of pain and resignation. “you say that now, but what happens when you see the full picture? when you see that my life is a perpetual struggle, not a picture-perfect canvas?”

chris’s voice rose, filled with an aching intensity. “why do you think i’d turn away? why do you believe that knowing the full picture would change how i feel about you?”

“because,” you retorted, your voice breaking, “because it’s not just about how you feel about me. it’s about what you’ll see in me—the chaos, the failures, the person i can’t escape from.”

chris’s frustration boiled over. “you’re not a failure! and you’re not your circumstances. but you have to let me see who you really are, not just the part you choose to show.”

your face crumpled with anguish. “you don’t understand. the chaos, the disarray—it’s not just an obstacle. it’s a reflection of everything i’ve had to sacrifice, every dream i’ve had to let go. you think you can just walk in and fix it all?”

“i don’t want to fix it all,” chris said, his voice heavy with a plea for understanding. “i want to be here with you, through all of it. but you’re not letting me in.”

there was a long, painful silence. your shoulders slumped, your defenses faltering. “i do not know how to let you in. i have spent so long building walls to keep everyone out. i’m afraid that if i let you see everything, it will be too much for you.”

chris reached out, gently touching your arm. “you don’t have to do this alone. let me help you, not by fixing everything, but by being here with you. by understanding that the mess and the chaos are part of who you are, and that’s okay.”

your tears fell freely now, mingling with your whispered words. “i don’t want to be a burden to you. i don’t want to drag you down into my darkness.”

chris’s expression was one of profound compassion. “you’re not a burden. you’re a person i care deeply about. and if that means standing by you through the darkness, then i’ll do that willingly.”

your gaze met his, a flicker of hope amidst your sorrow. “but what if the darkness is too much? what if it’s something i can never escape?”

chris’s voice was steady, filled with conviction. “then we face it together. we learn from it, grow from it. but you don’t have to face it alone.”

in the stillness that followed, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if awaiting the resolution of their anguished debate. your heart ached with the raw vulnerability of your exchange, yet for the first time, you felt a fragile bridge forming between your fears and chris’s unwavering support.

and in that quiet, amidst the shadows and the echoes of your argument, a fragile understanding began to take shape—one that might, if nurtured, bridge the divide between your hearts and heal the wounds that had kept you both apart.

𝜗𝒞

the invitation to dinner at chris’s house felt both exhilarating and daunting for you. the idea of being part of a family gathering—a far cry from your own fractured home life—was both thrilling and intimidating.

the sturniolo house looked like something out of a postcard, the kind with perfectly manicured lawns and warm lights glowing from within. it was the kind of home that promised safety, stability—everything you’d never had. chris parked the car and gave you one of his easy smiles, the kind that usually made you feel like you could conquer anything, but tonight it barely reached you.

“you ready?” he asked, voice full of optimism as he turned off the engine.

you nodded, though your stomach was a knot of nerves. feeling like the plastic one among a garden of real, breathing things. and now, sitting here on this impossibly quiet street, you couldn’t help but think about how you’d never be the “best american girl” that chris’ family probably wanted for him.

the door opened to a flood of warmth, both from the house and the people inside. the air smelled of something delicious—rosemary, maybe, and roasted chicken. marylou was the first to greet you, her smile wide and welcoming, though it felt more like a spotlight than a comfort.

“hi, sweetheart! we’ve heard so much about you!” she gushed, pulling you into a hug that was more familiar than you were ready for.

“thank you, mrs. sturniolo,” you replied, your voice small and hesitant.

“oh, call me marylou!” she insisted, her hands gripping your shoulders as she held you at arm’s length, examining you with a look that was both kind and curious. “we’re so glad you could join us. chris never stops talking about you!”

you forced a smile, the words catching in your throat. what could you possibly say to that? the truth would be a disaster, but lying felt like choking on your own breath. so you just nodded, trying to ease the anxiety that buzzed under your skin like a thousand tiny needles. marylou was warm and welcoming, but her kindness only made you more anxious. you couldn’t help but think about your own mom, how different she was from the picture-perfect mother marylou seemed to be. what would they think if they knew about the nights you spent cleaning up after your mother, the times you had to be the adult when she couldn’t be?

jimmy appeared next, tall and imposing with a firm handshake and a face that was harder to read. “good to finally meet you,” he said, his tone polite but measured, like he was trying to size you up in just a few words.

“nice to meet you too, mr. sturniolo,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray how much you felt like an intruder in their world.

“jimmy,” he corrected with a nod, but you could feel the unspoken assessment in his gaze, a weight that pressed down on you with every second.

the triplets entered the room like a burst of energy, and the tension shifted, just a little. nick, with his bright, boyish charm, came at you first, grinning from ear to ear.

“hey, finally! the famous coffee shop girl,” he teased, pulling you into a quick hug. “chris wouldn’t shut up about how cool you are.”

you managed a laugh, the sound more hollow than you intended. “i could say the same about you. he talks about you guys all the time.”

matt followed, quieter but no less genuine, giving you a smile that felt more like a lifeline than anything else. “good to see you again,” he said, his voice a little softer, more reserved.

you smiled back, grateful for the familiarity. “you too, matt. thanks for all your help with my tutoring.”

“no problem,” he said, his eyes understanding more than his words let on.

and then there was justin, the one you’d heard about but never met. he stepped forward with a more distant smile, like he was trying to figure out where you fit into this picture.

“so, you’re the girl who’s stolen chris away from us, huh?” he said, his tone half-joking but with an edge that made you uncomfortable.

“uh, i guess so,” you replied, shifting awkwardly.

dinner at the sturniolos’ felt like stepping onto a stage with no script, and you were in the spotlight, unprepared and unsure of your lines. dinner was served in a dining room that looked like it belonged in a magazine. the table was set with what seemed like a million utensils, each one gleaming under the soft light. you fumbled for the right fork, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to keep your focus on the conversation buzzing around you.

they asked you about school—whether you were planning to go back, what your major would’ve been, what your future looked like now. every question felt like a tiny cut, opening wounds you didn’t want them to see. you stammered through vague answers, feeling the disappointment settle like a stone in your chest.

“oh, i’m just taking things one day at a time,” you lied, the words bitter on your tongue. “i’m not really sure what the future holds.”

marylou’s face softened with concern, but it only made you feel worse. “it’s important to take care of yourself,” she said gently. “you’re young—you have plenty of time to figure it out.”

but you knew better. time was something you couldn’t afford, not with the bills piling up and your mom’s condition growing worse by the day. you could see it in their eyes—they didn’t understand. how could they? this wasn’t their world. their worries were about grades and careers, not about whether there’d be enough money to keep the lights on.

chris tried to steer the conversation toward lighter topics, but it was no use. every word felt like another reminder of how different your lives were, how far apart you were from the kind of future they imagined for their son.

you felt like you were drowning, every breath a struggle as you tried to keep up with their lively chatter. they laughed and teased each other, stories flowing effortlessly, while you sat there, every smile forced, every laugh hollow.

it was matt who noticed first, his sharp eyes catching the tension in your shoulders and the way you kept your answers short and guarded. he didn’t say anything, but the slight frown on his face told you he understood. across the table, matt caught your eye, offering you a small, reassuring smile. it was a silent reminder that you weren’t completely alone here, that someone understood at least a part of your life. but even his quiet support couldn’t erase the feeling that you were out of place—a square peg in a round hole.

nick, oblivious as always, kept the conversation going, asking you about your favorite books, movies, everything that felt light and easy, but you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest. you could barely meet their eyes, every question a reminder of how much you didn’t belong here, how you’d never be the kind of girl they wanted for chris.

chris reached under the table, his hand finding yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. you looked at him, trying to find comfort in his smile, but even that felt distant, like it was just out of reach. he believed in you, you knew that, but right now, it wasn’t enough. you were drowning in your own insecurities, the fear that you’d never be good enough for him, for his family, for anyone.

as the night dragged on, you couldn’t help but feel like you were playing a role in a play you didn’t understand, the words heavy and unfamiliar on your tongue. the sturniolos were everything you weren’t—successful, confident, a family that had it all together. and you were just… you. the girl with the broken home, the one who had to drop out of school to pay the bills, the one who had no idea what the future held.

by the time dessert was served, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, the walls closing in as their voices filled the room, warm and familiar, everything you’d never had. you excused yourself, slipping away to the bathroom, where you locked the door and sank to the floor, trying to catch your breath.

you felt like you were unraveling, every thread of your life coming apart as you sat there, the weight of their expectations crushing you. you weren’t their best american girl, the one who had it all together, the one who could make their son happy without bringing all your baggage with you.

and as you sat there, you felt the cruel reminder of everything you weren’t, everything you could never be. you were just a girl who was trying to survive, who had sacrificed everything for a future that felt more uncertain with each passing day.

when you finally emerged, your face composed but your heart heavy, you found chris waiting for you, concern etched on his face.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand reaching for yours.

you nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, i’m fine. just needed a minute.”

but you weren’t fine, and as the night wore on, you knew it would be a long time before you felt anything close to okay again. dinner continued, the sturniolos oblivious to the turmoil in your mind. they laughed, they shared stories, they embraced the easy camaraderie that comes from years of being a family. but you were adrift, caught between the image of who they thought you were and the reality you couldn’t escape.

as the evening wound down and the sturniolos began clearing the table, chris walked you to the door. the night air was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the warmth of the house. he turned to you, his eyes searching yours.

“you did great in there,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “they loved you.”

you wanted to believe him, but the doubt lingered, clinging to you like a second skin. “thanks,” you whispered, your voice heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. “but i’m not sure i’m the girl they think i am.”

chris frowned, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be. and they’ll see that. i see that.”

his words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the ache inside you. because as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were a square peg trying to fit into a round hole, that no matter how hard you tried, you would never be the girl who belonged at that dinner table, in that world.

as you said your goodbyes and walked away, you couldn’t help the word “imposter” echoing in your mind—a painful reminder that sometimes, no matter how much you try to fit in, you can’t change who you are or where you come from. and maybe, just maybe, that was okay. even if it didn’t feel that way tonight.

𝜗𝒞

inside, marylou watched you leave, her heart heavy with concern. she turned to chris, who was still standing by the door, his eyes following you through the window. there was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that made her heart ache.

“chris,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “can we talk for a moment?”

“‘course, mom. what’s up?” chris replied, sensing the seriousness in her tone.

marylou hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “i’ve been thinking about tonight, about y/n.”

chris’s brow furrowed slightly. “what about her?”

marylou sighed, reaching out to place a hand on his. “i can see how much you care about her, chris. it’s written all over your face. but i have to ask—are you sure this is worth it? i mean, the two of you are in such different places. she’s carrying so much on her shoulders, taking care of her mother, trying to hold everything together. and you… you have all these dreams, these goals. you’ve already applied to art programs all over the world.”

chris’s eyes widened slightly. “how do you know about that?”

marylou smiled faintly. “a mother knows. i saw the letters, the applications. i’m proud of you for going after what you want, but have you thought about what that means for her? for the two of you?”

chris looked down, his thoughts swirling. He hadn’t told you about the applications yet, hadn’t found the right moment to share that part of his life. he loved you, but there was a gnawing doubt, a fear that maybe his mother was right, that maybe your paths were destined to diverge.

marylou squeezed his hand. “i’m not saying you should give up on her. but i want you to think about what you’re asking of each other. is it fair to hold on if it’s only going to bring more pain down the road?”

chris felt his heart clench at the thought. he wanted to believe that love could conquer all, that the connection you shared was strong enough to weather any storm. but as he looked up at his mother, he saw the wisdom in her eyes, the concern for his future, and for yours.

“i don’t know, mom,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t know if i could ever let her go.”

marylou nodded, her expression softening. “just promise me you’ll think about it, chris. i know you want to help her, to be there for her. but sometimes, love means making the hard decisions, even if it means letting each other go.”

chris swallowed hard, the weight of his mother’s words settling on his shoulders. “i will, i promise.”

marylou leaned in, kissing his forehead softly. “i just want what’s best for both of you, chris. whatever that might be.”

as chris sat there, the room quiet around him, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way for the two of you to find a future together—or if you were destined to become another sad song, another missed opportunity, as your paths inevitably drifted apart.

the weeks had slipped by in a rhythm you were starting to get used to—late-night conversations with chris, shared laughs over cups of coffee, and those stolen moments where everything else in the world seemed to fade away. but lately, chris had seemed a little distant, preoccupied. you chalked it up to his art, the way he sometimes got lost in his work, but there was something else, a tension that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

then, one evening, during one of your dates at a cozy little restaurant you both loved, chris seemed especially quiet. the two of you were tucked away in a corner booth, surrounded by the warm glow of candlelight, your usual banter replaced by a heavy silence.

“hey, what’s going on?” you asked, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “you’ve been a million miles away all night.”

chris looked down at your hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as if he were trying to find the right words. finally, he took a deep breath and met your eyes, his expression a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

“i got some news,” he began, his voice careful, as though he were stepping onto fragile ground. “and... i have been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. “what is it, chris? you can tell me anything.”

he hesitated, then blurted out, “i got offered a residency at the école des beaux-arts in paris.”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. paris? the prestigious école des beaux-arts? it was the kind of opportunity that only came once in a lifetime. but as the reality of what he was saying sank in, so did the implications.

“that’s... that’s amazing, chris,” you managed to say, your voice tinged with both awe and dread. “i’m so proud of you.”

he smiled, but it was a small, uncertain smile, as if he knew there was more to say. “i didn’t tell you because i wasn’t sure if it would actually happen. i didn’t want to get our hopes up, but... now it’s real.”

you nodded, trying to keep your emotions in check. “when do you leave?”

“in september,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s for an entire school year, but if it goes well, it could turn into something more permanent.”

the weight of his words hung in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. this was everything chris had ever wanted, everything he’d been working toward for as long as you’d known him. and you were genuinely happy for him—ecstatic, even—but beneath that happiness was a growing sense of loss.

chris watched your reaction closely, his eyes searching yours for something, anything, that would reassure him. “moonie, i don’t know how to do this,” he confessed. “i don’t know how to leave you behind.”

the pain in his voice cut through you like a knife. you knew what he wasn’t saying, what he was afraid to admit—that this residency could mean the end of your relationship, the end of everything you’d built together.

“you shouldn’t have to choose, chris,” you said softly, though your heart was breaking. “this is your dream. you have to go.”

he looked at you, his expression torn. “but what about us? i don’t want to lose you.”

you forced a smile, even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “you’re not losing me, chris. you’re gaining everything you’ve ever worked for. i’ll always be proud of you, no matter what.”

chris squeezed your hand, his grip tightening as if he were holding on for dear life. “i wish... i wish things could be different.”

you nodded, blinking away the tears. “me too.”

the rest of the evening passed in a blur of bittersweet conversation, both of you trying to ignore the inevitable. but in your heart, you knew that the clock was ticking, that the moment chris stepped onto that plane to paris, everything would change. and as much as it hurt, you also knew that you couldn’t stand in the way of his dreams, no matter how much you loved him.

𝜗𝒞

spring had arrived, painting the world in soft pastels and fragrant blooms, but the season’s warmth couldn’t chase away the growing sense of dread that hung between you and chris. each day felt like a countdown to the inevitable, and though you both tried to hide it, the weight of his upcoming departure loomed over every conversation, every touch, every stolen glance.

you walked together through the park, the cherry blossoms above you shedding petals like gentle tears. chris held your hand, but there was a tension in his grip, as if he were afraid that if he let go, you might disappear. the sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the world, but all you could feel was the darkness closing in.

neither of you spoke much, the silence between you heavy and charged with everything left unsaid. you both knew what was coming, and the closer it got, the harder it became to ignore the truth that you’d been avoiding for weeks.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. you stopped walking, pulling your hand from his and turning to face him. the words were stuck in your throat, but you forced them out, knowing that this conversation was as necessary as it was painful.

“chris,” you began, your voice trembling, “we need to talk about paris.”

he looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and fear. “i know,” he said quietly, as if he’d been dreading this moment as much as you had.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i don’t want you to go to paris thinking about me,” you said, your voice breaking. “i don’t want you to hold back or hesitate because of us.”

chris’s face crumpled, and he reached out to you, his hands gripping your shoulders as if he were afraid to let you go. “i can’t just stop thinking about you, y/n,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “you’re everything to me.”

tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head, trying to be strong, even though every word felt like it was tearing you apart. “but that’s just it, chris. you have this incredible opportunity, and i don’t want to be the reason you miss out on any of it. i don’t want you to feel torn between your dreams and... and us.”

he looked at you, desperate to find a way to make it all work, to keep everything from falling apart. “but we can make it work,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “we’ll figure it out. we’ll make it through this.”

you shook your head again, the tears spilling over now. “it’s not that simple, chris. you’ll be on the other side of the world, and I’ll be here, and... and we both know how hard that will be. i don’t want us to end up resenting each other because of the distance, because of the what-ifs and the maybes.”

chris’s grip on your shoulders tightened, as if holding onto you could keep everything from slipping away. “so, what are you saying?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid of your answer.

you swallowed hard, trying to find the strength to say the words you knew needed to be said. “maybe... maybe we should end things now,” you said, your heart breaking with each syllable. “before it gets any harder. before we both end up hurt.”

chris stared at you, his eyes wide with shock and pain. “you don’t mean that,” he said, his voice shaking. “you can’t mean that.”

“i do,” you whispered, though it felt like a lie even as you said it. “i love you too much to hold you back, sunny. and i love you too much to let us fall apart slowly, to watch us unravel because we couldn’t let go when we needed to.”

the tears were streaming down your face now, and chris pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could, as if he could fuse you together and keep you from slipping away. “i don’t want to lose you,” he choked out, his voice thick with tears.

“and i don’t want to lose you,” you sobbed into his chest. “but we can’t hold on to something that’s only going to hurt us in the end.”

you stayed like that for a long time, clinging to each other as the world around you grew darker, the spring air turning chilly as the sun dipped below the horizon. neither of you wanted to let go, neither of you wanted to face the reality that was closing in on you.

but eventually, you both knew it was time. with a final, heart-wrenching kiss, you pulled away, wiping the tears from your eyes and trying to steady yourself. “you’re going to do amazing things, sunny,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “and i’ll always be proud of you.”

he nodded, his own tears glistening in the fading light. “and i’ll always love you, moonie. no matter where i am. please don’t let your dreams go. the world deserves to see your art, angel.”

you gave him a small, sad smile, knowing that this was the beginning of the end, the moment where your paths started to diverge. and as you walked away from him, leaving the park and the spring blossoms behind, you felt the weight of the future pressing down on you—a future without chris, without the person who had meant everything to you.

and though you knew it was the right thing to do, it didn’t make the pain any less real. the two of you had tried so hard to hold on, to make it work, but sometimes love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between dreams and reality.

𝜗𝒞

the weeks that followed were a blur of heartache and routine. you threw yourself into your work, trying to numb the pain that gnawed at you. each shift at the café felt like an eternity, a constant reminder of what you’d lost.

one evening, after another long day, you trudged home to the small, cluttered apartment you shared with your mother. she was sitting at the kitchen table, her face flushed with alcohol. the dim light cast long shadows, adding to the oppressive atmosphere of the room.

as you walked in, she looked up with a vacant expression, her words slurred but surprisingly clear. “you know, kiddo,” she began, her voice soft and almost gentle, “life’s... it’s not easy. it’s like a constant fight. i see you trying so hard, and it’s like... you’ve got this light in you. don’t let it go out. don’t... don’t let it be for nothing.”

you were taken aback by her unexpected clarity. the vulnerability in her voice, the rare moment of motherly concern, struck a chord deep within you. you sat down, your heart aching, as she continued to speak in a quiet, rambling monologue about her regrets and missed opportunities.

but the next morning, when you awoke, her words were already a distant memory, overshadowed by the haze of her intoxicated state. she was back to her usual self, lost in her own world of highs and lows, her brief moment of insight forgotten.

despite her fleeting clarity, her words lingered in your mind, echoing through the silent corners of your heart. they were a stark reminder of the dreams you harbored, the life you wanted to reclaim, and the harsh reality of your current existence. they offered a glimmer of hope amidst the despair, urging you to keep moving forward, even as the world seemed determined to keep you tethered to the past.

chris stumbled through the rain, his once-pristine outfit now clinging to him like a second skin, saturated and heavy. each drop felt like a judgment, each gust of wind a reminder of the chasm between his art and his heart. he was drenched to the bone, but he barely noticed. his mind was a storm, as tumultuous as the weather around him, swirling with remnants of the love that had slipped through his grasp.

his heart ached with a familiar ache—a blend of longing and loss—as he approached your home, the apartment complex that now seemed more distant than ever. the light from inside spilled through the gaps in the curtains, casting warm pools of light onto the wet pavement. he raised his hand, trembling slightly, and knocked on the door.

the door swung open to reveal your mother, her face shadowed by the cigarette she held between her fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. her gaze, though steady, held a mix of curiosity and wariness. she looked at chris with an understanding that came from witnessing her daughter’s silent struggles.

“you must be the one who stole my daughter’s heart,” she said, her voice a gravelly whisper. there was a note of reluctant admiration in her tone, mingled with the faintest hint of something else—perhaps hope or desperation.

chris nodded, his voice nearly lost in the rain’s cacophony. “is she here?”

“she’s in the shower,” your mother replied, stepping aside to let him in. “come on in. we’ll wait for her.”

as chris stepped into the warmth of the house, he was immediately enveloped by a heavy sense of confinement—both literal and emotional. the interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cigarettes and a faint undertone of stale beer. they moved to the living room, where chris sank onto a worn-out sofa while your mother took a seat opposite him, her eyes reflecting a guarded empathy.

“i know you’re probably wondering why i’m here,” chris began, his voice hoarse and tired. “but i needed to see her. i needed to understand.”

your mother exhaled slowly, releasing a cloud of smoke into the room. “you know,” she started, her voice softening, “she was always so sensitive as a child. she never let it show, but she felt everything deeply. when her father left, she blamed herself, even though she shouldn’t have. she tried to be strong, to make up for what was missing, but it wore her down.”

chris listened, absorbing the weight of her words. the room seemed to close in on him, the silence punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the rain against the windows. your mother’s eyes held a sadness that mirrored his own.

“y/n took on more than she could handle,” she continued, her tone a mix of regret and resignation. “i couldn’t be there for her—i was too wrapped up in my own failures. she’s had to be a caretaker, always putting others before herself. but lately, with you, i’ve seen a change. she’s been happier, more like herself. she wouldn’t tell me and i’m too coward to ask questions anymore but you’ve made a difference. and for that, i’m grateful.” chris nodded, your mother’s unexpected words hitting him like a ton of bricks. “she’s a good kid, you’d be a fool to let her go— i know i am.”

the sound of the bathroom door creaking open broke the heavy silence. chris’s heart skipped a beat as he saw you emerge, in a set of pyjamas and droplets of water still clinging to your hair. your eyes widened in surprise when they landed on him, a mix of confusion and anxiety crossing your face.

“chris?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i needed to talk to you,” chris said, standing up and moving toward you. “can we go outside? just for a minute?”

you nodded, your gaze flickering between him and your mother, who gave you a reassuring nod. together, you stepped out into the rain, the cool droplets mingling with the warmth of your lingering emotions.

as the night enveloped you both, the rain drummed softly around you, a gentle, melancholic accompaniment to the conversation that was about to unfold.

the rain cascaded around you both, turning the world into a blurry, shimmering painting of melancholy and despair. chris stood before you, drenched and desperate, his eyes pleading with a depth of emotion that seemed to defy the storm's intensity. his voice was raw, breaking through the rain as he spoke with a fervor born of both hope and anguish.

“i can’t be anything without you,” he cried out, "i find myself unable to draw breath or live without you. you have woven yourself into every fiber of my being, occupying my thoughts, my dreams, my very essence. without you, i am lost—unable to be or do anything of meaning. you are my muse, y/n, the very air i breathe." his words cutting through the tumult of the storm. “come with me to paris, i leave tonight you can come with me. we can build a life there. we can be—everything we’ve dreamed of. i need you, y/n. please.”

“i can’t,” you choked out, your voice breaking under the weight of your grief. “i can’t leave my mom. she needs me. i—”

your voice faltered, but the flood of reasons came pouring out in a torrent of desperation. “i am not right for you, chris. i can’t even give you what you want. i’ve got nothing to offer. i am too broken, too caught up in this life that’s crumbling around me. i would ruin you. i’d drag you down.”

as each reason left your lips, chris’s eyes filled with more tears, his resolve unshaken by your pleas. with every reason you listed, he responded, his voice breaking through your objections, “i love you, y/n.” the words were tender, insistent, and utterly unyielding. his repetition of those three words was both a comfort and a torment, a balm that only seemed to amplify your pain.

“stop,” you cried out, frustration and anguish mingling in your voice. “stop saying that. it doesn’t change anything. it doesn’t make me any less broken.”

for a moment, silence enveloped you both, the rain’s rhythmic patter the only sound in the quiet space between you. chris looked at you with a mixture of sorrow and determination, and then he spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. “those aren’t reasons to me. you are everything i have ever wanted. you’re my heart, my soul. i need you.”

tears streamed down your face, blending with the rain, as you felt the weight of his words, the finality of his plea. he continued, his voice trembling with every utterance, “please, y/n. i need you with me. i can’t imagine my life without you.”

you reached out, pulling him into a desperate kiss, one filled with all the love and sorrow that words couldn’t convey. the kiss was a blend of passion and farewell, an attempt to capture a lifetime of feeling in a single, fleeting moment. when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless and teary-eyed, the gravity of the situation became undeniable.

“i can’t,” you repeated softly, your voice breaking. “i just can’t. this is the end.”

chris leaned in for one final, heart-wrenching kiss. it was slow and aching, as if trying to savor every last second before the inevitable goodbye. as the kiss lingered, it felt like an eternity, a final, beautiful moment suspended in time. but even as you both struggled to end it, you knew it had to be over. you pulled away, your hearts breaking with the weight of the farewell.

with a heavy heart, you walked back into the house, your tears mixing with the rain on your face. the warmth of the interior felt hollow compared to the storm outside, and you collapsed onto the floor, the sobs that erupted from you visceral and agonizing. you were consumed by a pain that seemed to tear at your very soul.

your mother rushed to your side, her arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and unconditional love. she held you close, her own tears mingling with yours, her kisses on your forehead gentle and soothing. “it’s okay,” she whispered, her voice a tender murmur in the midst of your sobs. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

as you wept, her embrace was a fragile comfort, a small beacon of solace amidst the overwhelming grief. the rain continued to fall outside, its relentless rhythm a mournful echo of the love that had slipped through your fingers.

𝜗𝒞

the morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, casting a pale light over the room. you lay in bed, feeling the aftershocks of the emotional whirlwind from the night before. the storm had passed, leaving behind a quieter, more reflective day.

your mother���s footsteps approached with a newfound determination. she entered the room, her demeanor more resolute than you’d seen in a long time. sitting on the edge of your bed, she took a deep breath, her gaze steady and earnest.

“i am going to rehab. i need to get better, not just for me, but for you too.”

the gravity of her words hit you like a tidal wave. you stared at her, trying to reconcile this new resolve with the image of her that had been marred by addiction. “rehab?” you echoed, trying to grasp the significance of this decision.

“yes,” she said, nodding. “i can’t stand to see myself ruining more of your life, especially after everything that happened the other night. it’s time for me to step away and focus on getting better. but i need you to listen to me.”

you sat up, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. “what is it?

“when i come back,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity, “i expect you to start focusing on yourself. i want you to pursue your art, to follow your dreams. it’s time for you to stop putting your life on hold for me.”

her words felt like a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of despair and giving you a glimpse of a future you’d almost forgotten. “but—”

“no,” she interrupted gently, placing a hand on yours. “no more excuses. you’ve put your dreams aside for too long. i need to make this right, and that means letting you live your life fully, without the burden of my problems.”

tears brimmed in your eyes, but this time they were a mixture of hope and fear. “i don’t know if i can—”

“you can,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. “you have so much talent, so much potential. i’ve seen it in you, and i believe in you. when i come back, i want to see you thriving, not just surviving. i want you to be the artist you’ve always dreamed of being.”

the promise in her words, the sincerity of her intention, was a beacon of hope that cut through the lingering darkness. you squeezed her hand, feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“okay,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “i’ll follow my dreams momma.”

“good,” she said, a smile touching her lips. “that’s what i want. to see you finally living the life you deserve. i am going to get better, and i’m going to make sure that when i come back, things are different for both of us.”

as she stood to leave, the weight of her decision seemed to settle over you like a cloak of both comfort and challenge. you watched her go, a fragile but potent hope blooming within you. the path ahead would be difficult, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like there was a clear direction—a chance to reclaim your dreams and build a future, even as you navigated the complexities of healing and change.

the years had passed in a blur of creative fervor and personal growth. you found yourself standing in your studio, surrounded by the pieces that had become your voice, your outlet, your lifeline. the gallery was bustling with the energy of a successful exhibition, and as you moved through the space, a sense of accomplishment filled you.

a gallery assistant approached, her face alight with excitement. “you won’t believe this,” she said, her voice barely containing her enthusiasm. “someone has bought every single piece of your work. every last one.”

you blinked, a mix of surprise and curiosity washing over you. “every piece?”

“yes,” she confirmed, nodding eagerly. “they want to meet you. they’re waiting in the back room.”

a flutter of anticipation gripped your chest as you followed her through the gallery. you entered the back room and stopped short. there, standing amidst your art, was chris. his appearance had changed—his face now framed by a beard, his hair longer, his style different. yet, despite the differences, his eyes remained the same: those summer eyes, deep and familiar, that had once held so much promise and pain.

“sunny?” you whispered, your heart skipping a beat as the recognition hit you.

he turned to you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “moonie,” he said, his voice holding a mix of nostalgia and affection.

ᨳུ⠀ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @l34n @sofieeeeex @sturniolossss @eternaldecisions @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 to be added click here

my inbox is always open !!! pls feed it some content 🧸🫐 likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated.

[crispytubes]

kc/turbo reqs?? omg :3c here are some ideas/suggestions: - crashing a car (his own? vanellope's? the road blasters car?) - pacing anxiously - as a cat/catboy. or other creature you think he's adjacent to. - scheming after losing a race - playing the piano. maybe singing too (what song? you decide. maybe the other racers are playing along with guitar/ drums/ xylophone too. whatever u want) - spreading propaganda - at the beach. i imagine he wears one of those 1920s-30s beach bathing suits but your vision might be different

no pressure to do all or any of these if they don't spark joy & creativity. love your art! :D

picked some at random and ended up doing my own twist for some of them lmao, thanks for the suggestions :)

[door]

i wanna take a minute and talk about my friend coleman.

coleman and i have been buds for a long time! when we both moved to the same city we achieved a bond that many service workers do: that of mutual discounts. coleman was a barista across the street from where i was a bookseller, and we passed each other as many free/discounted books and coffees as we could get away with. i always felt i had the better deal, however, because while i got cheap lattes i also got a glimpse into what coleman was thinking about and working on.

"do you have any patricia highsmith" he'd text me, and i'd raid the mystery section and think what story is going to come from this? he got very into oskar schlemmer's Triadic Ballet and i started checking any books we got in about the bauhaus for new images and texting them his way, knowing i was going to see it reflected in art someday soon. because the thing about coleman, maybe my favourite thing about him (among many, many things) is the way he will pursue a set of interests and then synthesize them all into a work of art that is entirely new and entirely him and like nothing i've ever seen before.

coleman makes comics. you might have seen his art in steven universe issues, or on tapas, or here on tumblr (like this one, about creating a personal color palette for himself, which literally changed my life). most of them you haven't seen, however, which kills me. i've edited a number of graphic novel pitches for coleman and i can tell you the stuff he comes up with is GOOD. it's weird and queer and earnest and original, all of it, every time. i really hope y'all will get to see some of it someday. but my point is that you can see this one thing right now:

coleman has been working on stone fruits for months and as of january 1st it's updating every day. it's a love letter to newspaper comics and early webcomics. it's about losing the spark of creativity and having to keep going anyway, and queer communities and weirdos and going home. this thing is so lovingly crafted, from the hand-drawn buttons (which change on certain days) to the fact that the website is .net. No element was too small to be considered, and it has been a joy to watch coleman consider them.

i want coleman to find his audience. he deserves it, and so does the audience. read stone fruits.