#and yeah i’m applying to art school | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweetimpurity · 2 months ago

Text

I Think I'll Keep You 5

a/n: Thank you again for your patience! I hope you guys enjoy and the next chapter is already underway and will come very soon! And some more art and bots coming out as well so look out for that!

w.c.: 10.2k NSFW MINORS DNI

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

“...accurate and efficient methods of decoding… further aiding us in understanding… um… complicated genetic codes… pushing preservation and conservation. Uhh… yeah.” Miguel sighs, sitting up in his seat and peering over your arm as you type away on his laptop. Sitting at a table in the middle of the library during tutoring hours. Your fingers typing for him as he speaks what he wants written. He can’t type. Not with his right hand totally out of commission. So he’s come to your open tutoring hours. And now you have a student to work on so you can get paid and he can get help with his work. It’s Saturday and the two of you have been practically connected at the hip for the past two days.

You woke up beside him yesterday afternoon after that late night emergency room run. Lazily, sleepily taking the rest of the day slowly. Walking across campus to get food since all you both ate the whole night was a few pieces of candy. Smiling and talking, shoes splashing in shallow puddles along the concrete. A refreshing feeling having moved on from the mess of the last few weeks. The bubble has popped. That bubble of sex and ignorance that felt so great for the both of you. Sitting in the dining hall, among the hardwood and tall, ancient windows of your old university; looking over the school grounds turned fall shades and the autumn breeze blowing in through the window. Trying to talk about anything that won’t add any more stress or tension. No talk of friends, or family, not even school. Really just talking about whatever comes into your mind. And the conversation is just so easy. It’s different to spend time with him outside of the dorm room. It didn’t happen very often before. A lot of your conversations were pillowtalk. It’s different talking about the other parts of your life that don’t take place right after doing the deed. Miguel is funny. And he’s a good listener when his mind is clear and he’s focused on you. Only you.

Feels like things are going back to normal. Well not how it was before. A new normal.

“I think it sounds good… it’s a little awkward in the intro still but we can fix it up later…” You assure him, fixing a few typos and reading it over. The library is nice and quiet as always. You didn’t have any other students come this afternoon so you have time to focus on this and help Miguel since you know he can’t really do it himself right now.

“I don’t know… feels like I’m missing something. I’m gonna include the research but it doesn't feel like enough.” He sighs, leaning his elbows on the table, pushing his frames further up the bridge of his nose and looking over the notes in his hand. His knee is bouncing under the table and you can feel the vibrations of it in your seat. He’s applying to the Alchemax grant program. A huge grant with a long essay to go with it, multiple letters of recommendation and a personal profile piece. Tens of thousands of dollars for his research project. And he’d basically be an intern there. Able to use their facilities and labs to complete the job and create a brand new study of his own. It would start right after graduation and almost definitely lead to a great job at Alchemax Industries. He sighs, leaning back in his seat, draping his arm over the back of your chair.

“You okay?” You hum, observing his clearly distressed behavior. His knee bouncing, his brow furrowed, the sighs. He looks over at you, in your eyes. Don’t lie. “Yeah I’m fine… just… want to get this right.”

You nod. Knowing that’s not all there is to it. But accepting it for now. “Well, maybe you should include some of your… personality…traits…” You suggest with a small smile, knowing that it will be like pulling teeth with him, clasping your hands in your lap and looking over at him next to you.

“Like what. I mean… Tyler knows me. He’s the one that told me to apply.” [Tyler Stone. President and Ceo of Alchemax Industries.] He sighs, pushing his glasses up on his head, his dark curls becoming a little messy with the metal pushed through them, and rubbing the sides of his nose with his fingers. The ache of wearing his glasses for a while when he usually doesn’t like wearing them at all. But he’s worn them more often the past few days. He can see you more clearly now.

“Yeah but he’s not the only one who’s gonna be working with you or deciding if you get the job or not. You want people to know who you are… know the kind of person you are. More often than not, that’s more important than the research when it comes to something like this. I mean, you’re not just applying for a grant, you’re applying for a job…” You explain kindly. He looks up, in your eyes, his eyes raking over your pretty face. He loves feeling like he can be close to you again. He loves feeling like he knows what’s going on in your head. Or maybe that’s just his need for control seeping in. Like venom in warm blood. Just sitting next to you like this. Even if he hasn’t so much as kissed you since everything went down. It’s only been nearly two weeks but it feels like an eternity. He wants to so badly. But he reminds himself that this is how things are right now. He messed up and he’s getting a second chance. He won’t take your forgiveness for granted. “Yeah, you’re right.” He admits, dropping the graphs and charts on the table.

“Maybe talk about family… inspirations… personal goals. People like that kind of stuff. People also want to know that you can be a part of something bigger than yourself…” You say, fingers brushing over the keys and ready to type what he says. “Uh…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, trying to pull this out of his brain. He doesn’t really want to talk about his family. Doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being considered inspiration. But his upbringing and his parents’ names alone have opened a lot of doors for him in the past. His fingers fidget on the back of your chair, catching a few strands of your hair, playing with it so softly that you don’t even feel it. And he watches the side of your face to make sure you don’t notice, your eyes focused on the computer screen. Curling the strands around his finger and getting lost in touching you. Hanging on desperately to this morsel of touch. Knowing he probably shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself.

“I guess… we could say I grew up watching my parents with their business. But that’s more… financial services. When I was born, OLI was just taking off and now… I’ve watched them build it into what it is today.” He explains. You keep typing, writing it down in the notes to keep it straight. You can hear the sigh in his voice like he hates to be talking about it. You don’t know why. Mostly because he’s never spoken about this before. But if he’s applying for such a big opportunity then it’s important to include.

“OLI, I’ve heard of that, I think…” You look over at him, unsure what that stands for but you know you’ve heard that acronym before, or maybe you’ve seen it somewhere?

“O’hara Legacy Investments.” He says with a nod and sigh, a level of disdain in his tone. He leans forward, his mind still on this essay. On beefing it up with info that might secure him this grant. Even though he’s confident his connections will get him in. There’s always a chance things might not go his way. He wants to prepare for every possible outcome. He hates to feel out of control. You stop typing. That sounds like investment banking. Like the kind of thing that makes people billionaires.

“Is that the… that tall building downtown?” You ask, looking over at him and he nods, a blank stare in his eyes as he’s looking down at the research notes. “Your family runs that?”

“Yep.” He sighs, not offering more information so you don’t ask for more.

“Okay sooo… how would that influence your work at Alchemax?” You prompt, trying to veer back on course. You can tell he’s losing steam, you’ve been at this a while.

“So I guess it’s not really the same as what I would be doing at Alchemax but… Watching how that runs… how many people it takes to keep something running like that. I guess something about leading teams of people working towards a goal…” He keeps thinking out loud and you keep typing, interpreting his words into organized notes and ideas. “So.. maybe about you as a leader? You think you can be a good leader…”

“Yeah. I think so… and soccer, we could include that too.” He says, perking up and sitting up a bit straighter. Although the topic of soccer does bring his anxiety levels up a bit. Watching you type while playing with a piece of frayed material on his cast. “Yeah, captain of the soccer team, sports is always something they want to hear. If you’re a leader… organizer. And coming from SU especially, they love to see it.” You agree, typing and compiling the thoughts that come to mind. “And to know you can work in a team…”

Miguel nods. Feeling relieved that you’re able to help him with this. He did all the more technical notes for it over the past few weeks. Organized lots of thoughts and data to start the writing process. Then he broke his fingers and that put a wrench in the process. It’s due next week and without you he’d be screwed. But it works out sort of perfectly, and a little selfishly, that now he’s spending more time with you because of that. “I think also…”

He starts. You look over, ready to type whatever he suggests. “I’m an older brother too… that’s… I don’t know…” He mumbles. You find yourself smiling. “I feel like… maybe being a leader in that way is different.”

“It’s very different, yes…” You nod, looking back at the laptop screen, a smile dancing on your lips. “Maybe something about… protecting… looking out for those that are important to me. Or being a good role model I guess…” He sighs. Thinking. About Gabriel. About you. Pretty much the two most important people in his life. I guess I haven’t been a very good role model as of late.

“Loyalty… role model…” You say and nod. Typing those words in the compilation of notes you’re making in the margins. His knee is still bouncing.

“I also think you’re very passionate…” You say. He looks over at you, the side of your face, watching you type more things in the notes. Trying to create a section of his essay that can portray him as not just another applicant. “I think I’m just generally angry… I don’t really think before I do things…” He scoffs, shaking his head and leaning forward, his arms on the table, his head resting down on his forearms, looking at your pretty face from this angle. You grin and nod, giving him a look. “Yeah but we don’t have to include that… passion works…”

He laughs through his nose, blinking softly and admiring your face. Watching your pretty eyes, the light of the computer screen reflecting in them, making them especially sparkly. It’s quiet for a moment, just the clicks of keys and fingertips. He thinks, reflecting on all that’s happened in the past few weeks. That thing with Dana keeps coming to mind. That was really a moment of lost control. Is that the passion you’re talking about? That he loses control and can’t get it back until it’s almost too late? He worries about that. Not remembering most of it because he was so angry. It sort of feels like a dream. Especially since he fought with you right after that and then everything went right to shit.

All he knows is that Dana made it back to his dorm. He knows for a fact nothing happened. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway because he despises her and she was drunk off her ass. But she did lie on his bed. Her perfume was all over him. And he remembers standing over her and wanting to make her hate him. Just so that she would leave him alone. That’s a level of anger he never wants you to witness, or anyone really for that matter. It scares him a bit now to think of it. All he knows is that if you think he’s loyal, he’ll be loyal as a dog. If you think he’s passionate, he’ll be a raging, burning fire to keep you warm. You think he’s anything, he’ll be that. If you want him to be.

He fidgets with the fray on his cast. Coming off the blue material. His gaze caught on the little cursive “mine” you wrote. That night in the drug store. When you were both so deliriously tired, sitting in the middle of the floor. Having this on his arm is like a reminder. Or a promise. That maybe you’ll be his or he’ll be yours again. He’ll just have to be patient. His thumb brushes over the word, like making sure the letters won’t fall off, making sure they’re stained into the blue permanently. Do you even remember writing this? He thinks. Or were you so tired it feels like a dream? His bouncing knee still vibrates against your chair.

“Anything else for today? We did a lot…” You ask, looking over at him. Bringing him out of his thoughts. “No, I think that’s good, thank you… but maybe next week we can finalize things and you can help me edit it?” He asks hopefully. “Yeah definitely, I’ll block out some time for you…”

He nods, sighing and pulling his glasses off his head. Folding them up in his hand and collecting his papers. You just save the document, debating in your head the words on your tongue. Closing the laptop so he can pack it up in his bag.

“So… you wanna tell me what’s stressing you out?” You ask, turning in your seat to face him and leaning your elbow on the table, head in your hand. He stops what he’s doing, putting down the stack of notebooks. “You can read my mind…” He smiles.

“No, you’ve just been bouncing your knee against my chair for the past hour.” You sigh, smiling soft but sympathetic at him. His shoulders slump. “Oh sorry…” He shakes his head, feeling embarrassed for being so obvious, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers.

“It’s okay… Is it the grant? I think your essay will be good enough…” You hum. Noticing all of his distress and not wanting him to be freaking out over something he’s already spent so long working on. “No it’s not… I… I’m really glad you can help me with it. Thank you… I’m just worried about the game tomorrow…” He nods. And it dawns on you. “Ohh…”

“I actually should get going… have a meeting with the coach. Figure out how we’re gonna pull this off…” He sighs, getting up from his seat to gather his things. He’s been wracked with anxiety about the game ever since putting two and two together that he’s out for the next few weeks. It’s against the rules for someone to play with a plaster cast on and he’s nowhere near getting that removed. So the team will have to supplement him.

“You’re not gonna play are you? You shouldn’t… not with your hand like that.” You insist, watching him get up, pulling on his jacket precariously with his one working hand. He can hear the concern in your voice. “I can’t. It's an instant disqualification… so I have to talk to Coach and maybe I’ll just assistant coach tomorrow, I don’t know…” He sighs, knowing it’ll be a struggle for the team to play without him. And they very well might not win. This is a university proud of its win streak so far.

“If it hurts, let Coach know… you don’t have to do anything that’s uncomfortable.” You advise softly. Wanting him to be comfortable. Always. That look of care on your face makes him feel a little warm. Making him feel a little soft and fuzzy inside. He can’t remember ever being worried over like that. He clears his throat, trying not to let that feeling get to him too much, shoving his laptop in his bag and zipping it up. “I will… don’t worry about me…”

He says it but he doesn’t really mean it. Although he doesn't want you to be anxious; he definitely doesn’t need to inflict any more emotional pain on you, he’s done more than enough of that over the past few weeks… he does want you to care. Or it’s more like… once he realized you actually do care, now he doesn’t want to lose that.

“Just be careful… I know you’ll do well and the team will be fine…” You smile gently. Clicking your pen and watching him getting ready to leave. His bag slung over his shoulder. “Thank you… yeah I just need to chill.” He sighs, moving his hurt hand around absentmindedly to soothe the ache. “Well… the feeling you’re having just means you care. It’s a good feeling, even though it’s scary…”

He looks in your eyes, down at where you’re still sitting. Feeling struck by your words. You’ve always been so good at that. You always know exactly what to say when he needs to hear it. He hopes to do the same for you one day. If only he can figure out how you manage to do it every time. He just nods in thanks, a renewed sense of relief inside.

“Dinner later?” He inquires, brow raising as he’s starting to walk away. Walking backwards away from the table, his eyes on you the entire time.

“Sure, I’ll meet you there…” You rest your head on your hand, watching him go from where you’re sitting. Watching that look on his face. A sort of satisfaction in that he’s leaving but already thinking about when he gets to see you next. He nods. Turning towards the library doors and smiling to himself, making his way out. Sneakers tapping on the hardwood floors of the academic building, sparing you one last glance. Finding your eyes still on him. A stupid sort of giddy feeling in his chest. Lopsided grin on his lips as he leaves the library.

“O’hara! Dude.” Peter’s voice brings him out of his flurry of thoughts. Watching his friend march down the rest of the hall to him. “Where you been? You disappeared again…” Peter chuckles.

“Oh yeah I‘ve just been… busy in the lab and stuff… and my application.” He lies. While it’s true he has been working on his application and piles of homework, he’s also been actively avoiding all of his friends ever since your fight. Unable to handle even the slightest of social interaction. His mind set on you and only you. But he won’t tell Peter that.

“Dana said you were being crazy or something…” Peter huffs, his brow quirked in disbelief. Miguel’s heart starts to beat a little harder at that. Did Dana tell everyone what happened? Or her version of what happened? “What did she say?”

“Well… she’s kinda implying that you two hooked up after the party last week…” Miguel’s eyes widen at that news. It’s just not true. But that seems to be the story everyone believes so far. “MJ thinks she’s full of shit bu-"

“She is full of shit.” Miguel sighs. Pinching the bridge of his nose. Or trying to with his cast. It was a foolish thing to give into his anger and take Dana back to his dorm. But he didn’t sleep with her. He’s not surprised though that she’s spreading that rumor around. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Shit, what happened?!” Peter flips, looking down at the cast engulfing Miguel’s forearm to the tips of his fingers. Looking at the seemingly broken hand, his eyes scanning over Miguel as a whole. Feeling like he has no idea what’s going on with someone who’s supposed to be his closest friend. “I broke my wrist but it’s fine, doctor says it’ll be fine even without surgery.”

“It’s fine?! What about the game?” Peter asks in panic, running a hand through his previously neat light brown locks. It’s against policy rules to play with a hard plaster cast for the safety of the other players and teammates. But Miguel’s the captain, their top offense and shooter.

“I’ll be on the sidelines and Miller and Durante can take care of it.”

“It’s Princeton, Miguel. We’re gonna get fuckin’ smoked out there…” Peter huffs, going on and on but Miguel just shakes his head, feeling that anxiety rising again. The anxiety you were able to dampen only moments ago. “I know it sucks… I know. But those new drills have been helping… I’m gonna talk to coach.”

“Alright… but Marco and Santiago need to get their asses in order before tomorrow. I’m not playing defense because they can’t pay attention to the fucking ball.”

“I know, I know…” Miguel sighs and nods. Knowing this is all bad timing. They’ve been preparing for this game for a while now and it’s a pretty big spectacle. The stands will undoubtedly be full to the brim. It makes him tense and anxious to think about.

“Okay…” Peter huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, text me what Coach says…” He sighs, lifting his fist. Their knuckles colliding as he’s starting to walk off to where he’s going. “No more disappearing…” Peter chuckles, looking back as he starts walking down the hall, pointing a finger at his friend. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” Peter says with a nod, his hands in his pockets as he rounds the corner, walking into the library. Miguel sighs, feeling that tension, that tomorrow might not go well and it’ll be all his fault. Because he can’t do more to help the team he’s supposed to be leading.

He jogs down the stairs, down another hallway and outside. The fall breeze and smell of the trees and crisp autumn air flows past his cheeks, blowing back the little curls by his ears. Hunching his shoulders up when the brisk air cools his neck, pulling his collar up and walking across the commons to get to the athletic building on the other side of campus. To meet with Coach about the game plan for tomorrow.

“Come on guys, one more time!” Miguel calls out to the team. Dressed in his uniform, dark blue and silver stripes, school colors with the Sterling University crest on his arm, a C on his chest. Number 99 on his back. Cleats and his cast to match. It does suck he has to miss out on actually playing but he does a lot of assistant coaching as captain anyway so it’s nothing he’s not used to. Coach Dean is talking with the referees anyway. Schmoozing on the sidelines, convinced it’ll earn them less whistles through the game.

Miguel sighs, anxious, shaking his head and directing his attention to the mobs of people filling the stands. The sun is setting, the field lights coming on and a slight chill filling the air. A buzz with that too. College soccer fans here as well as lots of students from both universities. People are excited. The team is excited as well as anxious without Miguel playing beside them. Knowing they’ll have to supplement him being out. Miguel huffs, stretching his arms and wincing slightly at the remnants of ache in his wrist, his breath fogging in the cold air.

“Come on… si yeah! ¡Mantén la posesión!" He shouts from the sides, watching the team warming up with the drills and keeping order, following them up and down their half of the field. “Marco!¡Sigue presionando! Call for it!" A mix of Spanish and English naturally leave his lips. Dark eyes follow their form and technique. Keeping everyone in order. They’re doing really well as always. But Miguel would prefer perfection. “Good! Alright break!” He shouts.

The team all relaxes, sighing in relief and collecting on the sidelines near the bench. Some passing the ball back and forth. The goalie is doing some technique in the practice nets with Durante and Miller. Others glancing at the opposing team warming up on their side of the field. “Marco, you’re gonna break you’re fuckin’ ankle doing that. Keep it light, it doesn’t have to be so fast. Slow down and go through the steps, alright?” Miguel instructs calmly, grabbing a ball and demonstrating on the turf by the benches. Marco nods, wiping his brow with the edge of his jersey.

“Just like that… keep it loose and look at Miller, he’s the one you’re paying attention to. Don’t look at Durante, he’s gonna be looking at Miller for that pass down the field. But that was still good, keep it up..”

“There’s a lot of people here…” Peter comments, squirting some water into his mouth, catching his breath. Miguel walks over from helping Marco, standing beside his friend and looking out at the people in the stands. It’s a little more than they’re used to. Little intimidating considering this stadium seats thousands of people.

“It’s a big game…” Miguel huffs, grabbing his water bottle. Wish I could fucking play… he thinks. Glancing at Coach, still talking to the refs near the midline. They have a little while before everything starts.

It’s the end of the first half and it’s been a good game so far. Princeton is good but so is Sterling. They’d be better if Miguel was on the field to help them. He finds himself getting frustrated on the sidelines, disagreeing with the refs calls and calling out to his teammates, trying to lead and instruct. The whistle blows and the team finally relaxes. Panting and walking over to the sidelines.

“They’re fast…” Marco pants, plopping down on the bench to catch his breath. “We have to be faster… but we’re holding our own…” Miguel says, hands on his hips and looking over the team, trying to keep the edge from his tone. He’s here to lead, not berate.

“You good?” He sees Peter covered in grass stains. Peter’s the one that’s been scoring pretty much all the goals so far. Princeton’s defense is good. It’s one of those games where no one’s going to score very many goals, it’s all about making sure the other team doesn’t get too close. “That was really good, keep doing that. And if it works better for Marco to go up the right side, then do that.” Miguel says.

“I will… they’re so fuckin fast…” Peter pants, grabbing his water bottle and squirting some in his mouth. Breathing heavy through his nose. The team takes a few minutes at halftime to refuel and plan for the second half. Peter and Marco will have to be smart about the next plays. They’re down by two and the other team just keeps getting closer and closer.

“I got a girl in the stands…” Peter says with a lopsided smile, still out of breath, spraying some more water into his mouth. “Yeah?” Miguel’s brow quirks at that information. He knows Peter has a lot of girls around him and friends that are girls. Makes sense, he’s very smart, an athlete, loud and the life of the party. Everyone always trying to get a piece of him. Not a foreign concept to Miguel himself. Miguel grabs his water bottle too, raising it to his mouth. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s y/n…”

What?

“...yeah you should meet her… she’s really pretty and smart and funny...”

What?

Peter keeps talking, tossing a ball to someone else across the bench. Not even registering the look on Miguel’s face. Like shock and something else. Something Miguel himself can’t put a finger on. And Miguel can only half listen to Peter’s words. “She’s head of the tutoring club… did I tell you I started doing that? Dude, I’m getting paid to do some freshman’s homework and get course credit. It's like the easiest shit in the world…” Peter laughs, talking on and on.

Miguel doesn’t understand. It’s like his brain can’t process this. Staring at Peter silently and waiting for him to say it’s a joke. But how could it be a joke?

“She’s riiiiight… there-” Peter turns, pointing at the stands. Turning stiffly, Miguel looks out to where he’s pointing. His dark eyes searching the stands and looking for your face. Hoping to see some stranger who happens to have the same name as you. But no. It’s you.

He watches your gaze snap onto them, seeming surprised to have both their attention now. How did he not notice? You’ve been here this whole time, sitting nearly 15 rows behind him and he didn’t know? But Peter knew?

He can’t help that his immediate reaction to seeing you is relief. Seeing you up there and he just wants to smile. Wants to disappear with you and forget this stressful game. You’re like… his best friend in the whole world. But then that relief is quickly quelled when he realizes Peter is the one who invited you, he’s the reason you’re here.

Miguel huffs. Nearly getting hit in the face when Peter starts waving at you. Stepping back and trying to make sense of this. There you are, waving back their way. What is this? He wonders. Unable to help the scowl that appears on his face as he observes Peter waving. What is this happening that he doesn’t know about or had no idea could even happen? Another bubble has popped and he didn’t even know it.

He looks back up at you. Your eyes looking his way. But are you looking at him or are you looking at Peter? He hates that he can’t even tell. He hopes it’s him but it’s too much distance to know for sure. He just holds up a hand weakly. Waving at you. Feeling like an idiot, a total fool. And here Peter is waving at you, thinking Miguel doesn’t even know who you are. Fuck.

“Alright boys! Let’s huddle up!” Coach yells, coming over to the bench and motioning for everyone to come over. Peter moves to head over, gently kicking a ball on his way. And Miguel can’t help but keep glancing at you. Feeling self conscious. You’ve been watching him and witnessing all of this, this entire time? He didn’t even know you were here and half of the game had already been played. And all he’s done is stand on the sidelines while Peter played big shot scorer.

Your hands wave at him, mouthing something he can’t make out. His brow knitting together as you try to communicate something to him before Coach snaps again.

“O’hara!”

His eyes snap to the team huddled by the bench. Taking long strides to get over there. But his mind is a mess. He didn’t even know you knew each other.

The second half, the rest of the game, it’s hard for Miguel to focus on coaching. He’s watching the team play but it’s like a delayed reaction in his mind. Like his body is here but his brain is trying to tap into some invisible signal stretching from you to him. Peter scores again and Miguel flinches at the sound of the stands erupting. Cheering and echoing through his head. Pounding the sides of his skull.

He can’t help but glance your way every chance he gets. But every time he’s able to spot you in the sea of colors and foreign faces, you’re looking at the ball on the field. Which is always in Peter’s possession. And he can’t focus on anything except what he doesn’t know. What he can’t control.

…

“Wooooo!” Marco hollers, the team gathering in a huddle on the field and celebrating their close victory. They won, but it was a tough game. Miguel stares almost blankly as the team all slaps hands and says good game. And by the time he snaps out of it, turning to find you, the stands are already emptying out and you’re gone from your seat.

“O’hara!” The team shouts, bringing him out of the mess of thoughts. The players crowding him in celebration on the sidelines. Cheers and loud voices. Talking about moments in the game, highlights, certain techniques that had Princeton on their toes. All in all it was an exciting match and Peter was definitely the savior, scoring more goals than anyone and making the game. And Peter is all smiles.

The team heads back to the locker room. Showering and warming down from the game. Miguel stands at his locker. His new locker since the punched in door wouldn’t close properly on his old one. Pulling off his jersey carefully with one hand and hanging it up. Wiping down his broad chest with a towel and hearing Peter with some of the boys walking in from the showers. His movements slow, brow furrowing, grabbing his change of clothes and pulling a tank top on, the black material bunching down his toned abdomen against his deep skin. Listening to Peter’s voice.

His mind races. Since when did you two become such good friends? And why wouldn’t I know you were coming to the game when I saw you all day yesterday? Does Peter know that? Does Peter know we spend countless hours together? Does Peter know we have this deep connection that I’m actually working really hard to repair? He ought to.

He listens to Peter’s conversation, as if waiting for him to say your name to confirm he’s talking about you. But he can’t make it out all the way. Something about a party, something about his car, something about the game. He watches the rest of the guys leave the locker room. Peter walks by with the guys and he just subtly, silently glares as they pass, not noticing him. pulling his hoodie on and shutting his locker gently. Pulling his phone off the charger and slinging his sports bag over his shoulder, walking out.

He slumps down the concrete steps, the hallway leading to the exit doors, opening out to the athletic parking lot. Raking a hand through his hair, his mind a mess. He’s not used to feeling so beaten down after a game. They won, he should be happy. He should be glad. But he just feels indifferent. Or he just really needs to see you.

When the door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him.

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is y/n… y/n this is Miguel”

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?”

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends.

“Uh… I don’t know, I’m kinda tired…” You sigh. Part of you not wanting to go since it’s not your normal scene but a bigger part needing to go so you can feel like you’re really one of Miguel’s friends. Not someone he has to hide. That you can get along with them and be a part of his life. That’s all you want to prove to him.

“Come on… please?” Peter pouts. And Miguel wants to scream. Trying to tell you with his eyes that he doesn’t want to do this. Not right now. Maybe later when he’s had time to mentally prepare himself. It doesn’t help that you look adorable right now. In your Sterling Uni hoodie with a scarf to keep warm. He doesn’t want to do this. He’d rather just go to dinner. Like always. Talk for hours and maybe even fall asleep talking in your dorm like always. Not this. Please not this.

His eyes burning a hole right through you, trying to communicate it without using the words since he can’t right now, not with Peter standing right there. Part of him wants you to come and show you off. The other part of him wants you all to himself, not wanting to share you with anyone. But he’s trying to be better. Trying to control himself rather than try to control everything else around him.

“It would be fun, right Miguel?” Peter asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. He wants to say no. Wants to say fuck no and disappear, taking you with him. But he can’t do that now. So he just nods stiffly, forcing a smile. Almost painfully. “Yeah… come…”

Your eyes light up and Miguel knows he’s done for. “Oh great!” You smile and Peter is instantly excited too. Talking about how great it’s going to be and how many people will be there. Miguel’s heart is pounding, seeing how easily Peter was able to get you to come. How Peter is smiling and looking at you. A sense of dread filling his chest.

It’s the usual bar. The college bar around the corner from campus where the sports teams usually congregate after a game. Or the general student body on a Friday night. Loud music and conversation, the place is packed. Football and UFC playing on the multitude of TVs hanging in the place. The team filters in all acting like they own this place. Playing pool and getting drinks, talking to girls in corners and at the bar. It’s a crazy night at least for you. Miguel’s seen nights like this before, but this time you’re here. And he won’t let you out of his sight. Even as people talk to him, trying to strike up conversation and catch up. Since everyone knows who he is and knows his name. He still keeps his attention focused on you. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this bar tonight.

Drinks flow the second everyone is in there, laughter and loud voices, trying to be heard over the music. Miguel keeps his arm barred at your side to help get you through the density of people. Like a shield to make sure no one bumps into you. Not wanting you to be too claustrophobic or crowded. Staying nearby until you find two seats at the bar miraculously. As you sit down, Miguel quickly scans the room. Looking for one face in particular. No sign of Dana and he can relax a tiny bit. Sliding into his stool seat beside you.

He sits down, watching how you observe the place, looking a little out of your element here. It’s clear you’re not a party girl. You’re a smart, intelligent tutor and it shows. It would almost be comical if Miguel didn’t have a fierce determination to protect you in this place.

He leans over, getting closer to your ear to be heard over the noise. The smell of your shampoo mixed with your perfume, so close and familiar, filling his senses and almost making him dizzy. His mind flashing with moments of you in his bed. Your body under his and his face buried in your soft sweet smelling hair. He’s the only one in this bar that knows what you sound like when you come.

“Drink… Do you want a drink?” He asks, trying to be heard over the noise, his cheek brushing against yours. Pulling back to hear your response. “Yeah! Whatever is fine…” You smile, trying to speak over the chaos of people and stimulation. A bit out of your element but doing fine. Excited to be here with him and feel like you’re fitting into his world.

He gets the bartender's attention, ordering you just a beer in a bottle. He doesn’t know if you’d want anything fruity, not that this crappy bar would have anything that good anyway. He’s never drunk with you before. He slides it over to you, watching you take a gulp and smile. You’re so out of your element here. He sighs. A swell in his chest.

Even though he would normally be drinking a couple beers himself, he just has water in front of him. He wants to stay relatively sober. Enough to keep watch over you and make sure no one else talks to you. “Oh, I thought you were gonna get the same thing…” You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the bar and watching him sipping his water from a plastic cup.

“Someone needs to be responsible for all these people right?” He chuckles. As captain of the team he actually does feel that responsibility. To keep people in line since he knows they’ll listen to him. “And I need to be sober if I’m carrying you out of this place drunk off your ass…” He jokes, teasing you.

“I’m not getting drunk tonight, no way. No thank you…” You sigh, shaking your head. Looking down at the label on the bottle in your hand. Then your eyes dart around the crowded room a few times. He just looks at your face. You’re so pretty. Especially pretty in this low light.

“Well how is the beer at least? I know it’s not something sweet but it’s probably the best thing they have here.” He huffs, keeping his eyes on you, studying you. He’d love to just be all over you and show people that you’re his. But you’re not right now. You’re his friend and that’s the boundary you both set. He’s trying his best to uphold that after his mistakes. “It’s fine… I don’t ever drink much anyway so I’m not picky…”

He nods. Learning more about you all the time. The two of you have never been out to a bar or club before so this is all brand new. He can see how you’re a little nervous in this place. It’s not your usual hangout spot and he can tell. “Yeah, this place is pretty chaotic tonight…” He comments, looking around then back at you. “You’re okay though, right?”

“Yeah I’m fine…” You smile. Clasping your hands in your lap. He’s attentive, more recently than ever. It’s true that he’s become like your best friend over the last month and a half. Even though it hasn’t been that long, it’s felt like a lifetime. And with how much time you spend together, it still feels like he separates you from a lot of the other parts of his life. Friends, family, everything else. You spot Peter across the way standing with some people. The only other person you even know in this place.

Miguel follows your gaze over towards where Peter is and he can't help but wonder why you're looking at Peter or what you're thinking. He looks at the group of people around him, recognizing teammates and classmates, but notices Peter in particular.He tries to remain cool, looking back at you. "He's a great friend… isn't he… "

He says it with a little bit of annoyance in his voice, thinking about how you two have gotten really close as friends and he didn't even know it.

"Yeah he's really sweet," You smile, not really noticing his expression. You want Miguel to know that you can get along with his friends too and you can be a part of his life. "He's funny…"

His brow twitches just a bit. He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that you two are friends in and out of the tutoring club. And that you’re calling him sweet. And funny. He knows how charismatic and charming Peter is, knowing he could get any girl he wants. "He always gets the girls… he's quite the flirt…" He mumbles.

"Oh really?" You smile and scrunch your nose up, looking back at Peter and seeing that yes, there are many girls around him right now. And he must be very popular with the girls, you think. You hadn't really noticed that Peter was a flirt but you think he's charming. Maybe you're just so focused on being his friend to prove to Miguel you can be part of his friend group.

Miguel can feel his patience slipping. How you seem so oblivious to the fact that Peter is a huge flirt and that Peter was flirting with you earlier when he invited you to the bar. But he's been Peter's friend for years, of course he knows the girls flock around him. It just annoys him that you’re completely oblivious to it. He watches you watching Peter across the room, trying not to let it show on his face how frustrated he is.

"How's your hand?" You ask, taking a sip from your bottle. Gesturing towards his cast in his lap. Trying to talk over the noise in the room. The topic change gives him some relief. Grateful to think about something other than the image of Peter taking you home tonight. He lifts his hand, flexing a few fingers. "It's fine. Doesn't really hurt much right now. It's a good reminder to not lose my cool again… "

"Yeah, that locker room hates to see you comin’…" You joke with a smile. Shaking your head. Punched his locker like some guy in a movie.

Miguel can't help but smile, knowing you’re referring to him punching the front of his locker like a crazy person. He sighs, knowing it was stupid and a loss of control. "That locker had it coming though…"

You laugh at his words, his eyes lighting up watching your head throw back a bit. The fluttering sound of your laughter carrying slightly over the noise in the room and hitting his ears. He wants to make you laugh like that all the time. Make you smile like this every day. And Peter works his way through the room over to the bar.

"There you guys are! I thought I lost you…" Peter's face lights up when he gets closer, excited to see his best friend and you, the pretty tutor. He stands behind both your chairs putting his hands on the backs of them. Miguel’s eyes flick back-and-forth between you two. You're still oblivious. Smiling at Peter like you don't know what he's doing. Every instinct inside of him telling him to make Peter back off. But he's trying to be better for you. Trying not to lose control or act impulsive.

"Spending the night bragging, are you?" You smile and tease Peter lightly. Leaning over the back of your chair. He did score a lot of the winning goals tonight. Peter laughs and loves any attention from you. Miguel can only listen and watch this interaction between the two of you. It's like a nightmare come to life. And he's feeling claustrophobic in this crowded place with all these people. He just wants to take your hand and go back to campus, go back to your dorm, go back to the library.

"Well you all played very well…" You hum. Looking between the two boys. You can't help but notice Miguel’s body language. Thinking he must just be upset that he didn't get to play because of his cast. But he did very well on the sidelines.

"Peter here was especially on his game today. Princeton is tough…" Miguel says with tension in his tone, finally joining in on the conversation. His eyes flicking between the two of you but landing on you mostly. Watching your reaction to Peter's words.

"It's all in the foot work really. Reading the opponent… Gotta think about 10 steps ahead." Peter says with a grin, in his element. Miguel has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. As much as he loves Peter, he wants him to fuck off right now.

You giggle softly at Peter's joke and his obvious love for attention. Loving the way you can so casually hang out with Miguel and his friends for the first time ever. Miguel clenches his jaw, sipping his water and trying to keep his cool. You take a sip of your beer finding it's the last one, putting the empty bottle back on the bar. It seems both boys take notice.

"Can I get you another? "Peter asks, His eyes lighting up.

“Um…" You're thinking. You don't really do this that often and you're finally getting to hang out with Miguel and his friends. What the hell… "Sure!"

Peter flashes that charming smile at you and Miguel can feel his control slipping again. Now he's buying you drinks?

"I got it." Miguel suddenly says, waving to the bartender for another round. If anyone's getting you drunk tonight, it's gonna be him. So he can make sure you're okay. “Okayyy…” Peter huffs softly, raising his brow at Miguel’s rivalry. But Miguel doesn’t care. Grabbing the fresh cold beer bottle and sliding it over the bar in front of you. Looking back up at Peter, a stern expression on his face.

Over the next hour and your next two beers, Peter just won’t go away. He’s practically hanging on your chair, talking to you about whatever. And because you’re so nice and sweet you just keep giving into him. Smiling at Miguel too like you want him to be in on the conversation. But it just makes him feel worse somehow. Is he really losing you to Parker? Is that how this is gonna go?

“So… you guys are like best friends?” You ask, your words slightly slurred, cheeks pink and flushed. You’re tipsy and Miguel’s watching you like a hawk. Your beer shined lips as you smile up at Peter. So damn cute and pretty. “We are… best friends…” Peter says in a cocky way. Grabbing Miguel’s shoulder and shaking it a few times, a beer in his other hand. Miguel might be the only sober one in this place and it’s getting annoying.

He fidgets with the same fray on his cast, pulling on it and pulling on it. Watching you talk to Peter. Forcing a smile when you look his way. It’s getting unbearable. Eyes flicking around the crowded room and just wanting to get out of here.

“One more round?” Peter asks and Miguel groans internally. You’re both drunk, everybody is drunk and he just wants to get you back somewhere it’s safer. Peter gets to chatting loudly with some other people down the bar.

“Do you wanna leave?” You lean over, getting closer to Miguel, right up to his face and he just gives you a soft look. Admiring your pretty flushed features. He can see you’ve been having fun. “No, I’m good, we can stay if you want…” He hums gently.

“Don’t lie, Mig…” You whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise. And his brow knits together, hearing the nickname, your soft warm voice, wanting to reach out and brush your hair back, kiss your pretty pink lips. Anything. “I’m a little tired…” He admits. And even in your tipsy state, you know it’s time to go.

“Let’s go then… it’s too loud…” You sigh, a distracted Peter now talking loudly with Marco and Miller down the bar. Relief, Miguel thinks. He does really want to make sure you get back to your dorm okay.

…

“Wai-I ‘ave a question…” You slur, hanging onto him and pressed up against his chest as he’s trying to get you over to bed. His big strong arms around you and it feels so good, feels so right. What you’ve been missing all this time and now it just feels like everything is perfect and everything is good and… and your tongue still tastes like beer and… and he smells so good.

“Yeah, what's your question?” He asks so soft and gently. His voice is like smooth melted butter mixed with sweet brown sugar. Bringing you over to your bed and sitting you down on the edge. Making sure you don’t topple over. “Hold still, I’m gonna take your shoes off…”

“D’you think… that… um…” You sigh, the alcohol clouding everything making you instantly forget what you were about to ask him. But the thought is mixing around your brain just waiting to come out. After all, it’s all you were thinking about all night. “M-my shoe is stuck”

“I know, I’m trying to get it off…” He sighs, unable to stop the smile when he hears your little whine. You are pretty cute like this and he likes helping you. Kneeling down in front of you and taking your shoe onto his knee to undo the laces, slipping it off.

“Do you think that… all your friends… that they like-like it?” You sigh, wiggling your toes in your socks as he slides your shoe off. His hands on your calves, absentmindedly caressing up and down, having you in his hands like this is too good to pass up, but he looks up at you at your question. His brow furrowing, wondering what you mean. “Do they like what,-?” He almost called you baby right there. But stopped himself. Maybe it’s just being like this with you right now. Being close and finally being needy for his help, needing him in any way. Or the way you seem so soft and fragile right now he just wants to protect you.

“That they like me…” You sigh. Pushing a hand through your hair and he pulls your other shoe off, your feet freeing and legs dangling off the side of the bed.

He looks up at you, piecing together your broken sentence. Do his friends like you? Peter?

“Like P-peter… does Peter like me?” You ask and his expression goes serious. Swallowing thickly and setting your shoes to the side. He knows the answer. He knows that Peter obviously has a thing for you. It’s becoming more clear you have a thing for him too.

Miguel straightens back up, standing over you and listening to your drunken rambling. Your mumbles. “Cuz I think Peter is really nice and I think you and I can be friends… and I can be friends with your friends too…”

He doesn’t understand what you mean. Towering over you and feeling so blocked up. Like he’s miles away from where he wants to be with you. He wants you to want him. Not think about Peter.

“Uh… I think Peter likes you, yeah…” He mumbles. Looking down at your face. The way it lights up and his heart falls. “Really? So we can all be friends?”

His heart hurts, looking in your eyes. So confused, not knowing what to think. But wishing he could just kiss you right now and make your thoughts stop. Or to fill your thoughts with him. If he kissed you right now would you forget Peter ever existed? If he kissed you right now, if he laid you down and pumped into you until you were a crying trembling moaning mess like all those times before, would you forget Peter and think about him again?

“I’m sweating…” You huff, moving to get up off the bed and his arms come to steady you. “Woah woah slow down, sweetheart…” The words ooze off his lips. His hands guide you before you reassure him you can walk. He huffs, watching you walk over to your closet. He sits down on the edge of your bed, head in his hands. Feeling pathetic and so lost. Not even knowing what to do at this point. Has he actually lost you for good? Will he actually only ever be your friend now?

You’re sweating, pulling at the material of your hoodie and ripping it off over your head. Slipping your pants off and sighing in relief. Standing in your panties and bra by the dresser and looking for some comfy clothes. Your mind filled with the thoughts of being Miguel’s again. You’re friends with his friends like any girlfriend would be. So what’s stopping him? What’s stopping both of you from just being together again? Since you’ve proven to him, you can fit in.

“Miguel…” You hum, his head coming out of his hands and looking up at you. Eyes widening seeing you in just your underwear. Gulping thickly. “Yes?” He whispers. Like beckoning to your call. Like a plea for you to just put him out of his misery already.

You walk over to him, trying to half haphazardly pull on a big t-shirt. His hands unable to stop themselves, coming up to help pull the material down. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing. This all just makes him feel somehow worse. Your body taunting him, teasing him with everything he needs and no way to get it.

Your hips slot between his legs, standing between them and getting closer. Fingers clenching into his shirt and smashing your lips against his. His fingers splay out, shock and surprise. His eyes wide and heart seemingly stops. You’re… kissing him… you…

Heavy breath through his nose and his eyes flutter closed. Kissing you back, feeling your eager tongue tasting like alcohol come into his mouth. Letting it swirl against his lips and his tongue. His big hands snaking around you, holding you for the first time like this in so long. You gasp and hum against his lips and a chill goes down his back. He must be dreaming.

But your hands go to his chest, pushing him back on the bed, and he’s so weak to you. His back hitting the mattress. He wants this so badly. Wants you more than anything in the entire world. You climb on top of him, clambering over his body, sitting on his abdomen and leaning down to kiss him again.

“Wait-”

He’s silenced by your lips, trying to be dominant and licking into his mouth. You never did that before. That was always him. But right now it’s like you’re hungry for him in the exact same way he was hungry for you all this time.

“I need you…” You whisper, pulling back from his lips with a smack. His eyes wide and breath heaving. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet it’s not right at all. “No baby… you need to go to sleep… you’re drunk…” He whispers, feeling so weak, his hands running up your warm bare thighs, like medicine. His cast is slightly scratchy on your thigh. Finally your body on his, your warmths feeding off of each other.

“No please… say you want me, please you have to, don’t you want to?” You whine. Leaning over him and kissing his cheek, burying your face in his neck. He’s speechless. Doesn’t know what to say or think. He thought you were done all this time. He thought you were pining after Parker.

“I want you… I do want you…” He whispers before his mind can even think. His hands falling from your thighs and flat on the bed. It feels wrong to touch you this way. His love for you overshadows his own selfish need. You won’t remember this in the morning.

You won’t remember this in the morning.

“I love you…” He whispers. Into your hair. Choking back a lump in his throat.

“Mm?” You groan, pushing yourself up drunkenly on your hands, your hair dangling into his face under you.

“Nothing…” He whispers. Swallowing thickly and wrapping his arms around you again. Pulling you to his chest and hugging you. Keeping you there, knowing you’ll pass out in a few minutes anyway and he can tuck you into bed safe and sound.

To be continued…

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!! Let me know what you think or your theories!

Taglist (thank you my sweets 🍬) :

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

@curious-randomlr @safixiovi @daddyfroglegs @theplaid-wearingmoose @reader-1290

@yeanika @elysiumsangel @rinnako @mangoslushcrush @twwcs

@izakopanyi2 @migueloharasoulmate @slut4oscarissac23

@miss-loomis @genny101

@aphinthestars @webshooterrr9 @m4dyy

@jdbxws @roserfz27 @ohara-whore @oharaslove @daisy-artfield

@mooreaey6yem @peachey-pie @migueloharacumslut @pxtched

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @julia4today

232 notes · View notes

matchpointfaist · 1 month ago

Text

tis the damn season ; art donaldson

cw; drinking, smut!!, art and reader are really kinda pathetic <3

if i wanted to know who you were hanging with

while i was gone i would have asked you

it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass

but i felt it when i passed you

there’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me

but if it’s all the same to you, it’s the same to me

five years ago

“hey, stranger,” you can practically hear art’s smile through the phone, “how was your day?” you roll onto your back, phone clutched in your hand like a vice, “it was alright. just cramming for finals,” you sigh softly, “hows stanford?” “god, it’s incredible,” he laughs, “i wish you were here. you’d love it, baby. it’s like a movie,” you hum in response, ignoring the ache in your chest that had made its home there the day he flew out, “how’s training going? do you have any matches soon?” “oh, it’s great!” there’s that smile again, “i’ve got a match tomorrow, actually, so i should probably go soon. it’s at 7 am,”

“that’s good,” you smile to yourself, “do you feel good about it?” “yeah, i think so. coach says i’m gearing up to do really well this season,” he says proudly, and your chest aches again at the thought of missing it. “i’m sure you will,” you try to keep your voice even, “well i’ll let you get some sleep, i love you,” “love you more,” he murmurs, “goodnight, baby,”

art texts you the next morning to inform you he ‘killed’ his match, attaching a poorly taken photo of him grinning ear to ear, gold metal ribbon around his neck. it’s little crumbs like this that keep you sane, keep you feeling close to him, ever since he left. ‘knew you’d win! you’re so cute. call later?’ you reply, your cheeks pink as if you’re texting a crush rather than your boyfriend of two years. ‘course i will’ he replies, and you’re already counting down the minutes until the nighttime routine you’d grown accustomed to.

at nine oclock, you lay across your dorm bed, eyes practically glued to your phone screen as you wait on art’s nightly call. by nine thirty, you’re mildly annoyed, and by ten, you’re worried. you pick up the phone, pressing call on his contact, biting the inside of your cheek as you listen to the phone ring. he picks up after a moment, the music in the background nearly drowning out his voice, “hello?”

“hey,” you try your hardest not to let your irritation bleed into your tone, “did you forget to call?” “fuck, baby. i’m so sorry,” you hear shuffling, and the music gets slightly quieter, “patrick invited me to this party since we won this morning, it totally slipped my mind,” “it’s fine,” you tell him slightly too quickly, “just have fun, kay? i’ll talk to you tomorrow,” “wait- are you sure?” he sounds confused, and you wonder if its the alcohol or the change in your tone that’s thrown him off.

“yeah, of course,” you hope your voice sounds as light as you intend it to, “we can talk tomorrow night, it’s okay. have fun,” “okay, i guess,” he sounds so hesitant you start to think he might just leave the party, “well goodnight then. i love you,” “night. love you too,” you hang up before you can talk yourself into begging him to stay on the phone. the next night, he calls at six oclock sharp, and you can tell the entire phone call that he’s eager not to upset you.

he’d always been that way. he’d do something, just one tiny mistake, and spend days apologizing or being extra sweet to fix it. you’d lost count over the years of just how many grand gestures he’d made, of how many times he’d professed his love for you for no reason other than to get back in your good graces; not that he’d ever left.

you and art were cheesily in love, so high school in the way that you couldn’t keep your hands off of eachother, couldn’t go a day without speaking. you were practically sewn at the hip from sophomore to senior year, even applying to colleges together. when he got his offer from the stanford athletics department, you didn’t think much of it. he seemed flattered, of course, but you never thought he’d actually go.

he loved boston, he loved his family, he loved you, so it made no sense when he came over one afternoon, admission letter in hand, and a wide smile on his lips. “i accepted their offer!” he’d told you, ever so proud, “they gave me basically a full ride, as long as i stay on the team and keep my grades up. can you believe that?”

you could believe it, of course. everyone knew how wildly talented art was, from such a young age. he’d started playing tennis at his parents country club when he was just a kid, and eventually worked his way up to attending a tennis academy not far from your high school. he had promise, drive, ambition, and a naivety just subtle enough to make him an excellent candidate to be pushed too far by coaches.

you’d known, then, that things would change between you. everyone told you nothing would happen, you two were meant to be, but you could feel it. he’d be across the country, practicing incessantly, playing matches, attending parties thrown by teammates you’d never meet. and you’d be home, working for a degree that might help you make a name for yourself.

over the course of a few months after that party, the calls grew less and less frequent. by summer, you were lucky to hear from art more than once a week. you knew he was busy, of course, and tried to ignore the way bitterness coated your tongue with every word you said to him on your brief calls. you tried to ignore the way he talked about all the friends he’d made, friends that you didn’t know at all, and tried to ignore the way he barely sent you photos anymore.

the one thing getting you through was the promise of summer break with art. two short months together, to pretend everything was back to normal, that you weren’t living completely separate lives. you woke up at six am sharp the day of his flight home, eagerness keeping you from sleep, and picked up your phone to call and see when he’d be landing. he answered after four rings, his voice raspy from sleep, “hello?”

“good morning!” you replied cheerily, “when’s your flight?” “oh, hey baby,” you heard some shuffling before he returned to the phone, “uhm, i actually was just gonna call you about that,” “is everything okay?” your cheery tone slipped, dread festering in your stomach before you could even place why. “yeah, of course. i just meant to tell you, coach wants me to do some training over the summer. he thought it would be best if i stayed here, just for this first year, for some extra drills and stuff,”

you sat silently, tears pricking your eyes, as you listened to his excuse. “so what, then? you’ll be home for a month shorter, or?” “i won’t be able to make it home at all this year, honey. i’m so sorry, but you can come stay with me, yeah? i’ll buy your ticket, it’ll be just like we planned,” your heart broke even further at how optimistic he sounded, as if he hadn’t just shattered your expectations of the summer, of your reunion. “i have work, art,” you said quietly, “you know that. i have to make up for being off through the school year,”

“you don’t need that job, baby. come on, come see me,” “no, art!” you argued, your brows pinched in frustration, “i do need this job, actually. some of us don’t have trust funds, believe it or not. jesus,” your words came out sharper than you intended, all the hurt and anger from the last several months finally revealing itself. “i’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “this is really important to me. this is my shot, yknow? i can’t mess this up,”

“yeah,” your voice was bitter, but you truly did understand, “i get it. stay there, it’s for the best,” “i’ll come home next summer, okay? it won’t be like this every year,” he sounded like he was pleading with you, and it took all your control not to snap at the irony of it. “art, i think it’s best we don’t keep trying to make this work. you need to focus on your tennis and school and i need to focus on mine, and let’s just call it even, okay? we had a really good run,”

“a good run?” he repeated incredulously, “are you trying to break up with me?” “i am, yeah,” you hoped you sounded confident in your answer, “i just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to draw this out any longer than we need to,” “what the fuck? where is this coming from? is this about the summer?” he sounded so genuinely confused, so lost, and it only angered you further. “it’s just not working, art. everyone warned us long distance wasn’t a good idea,”

“baby, please,” he was practically begging, a slight whine in his voice that you knew all too well. “no, i’m sorry, okay? but it’s done,” “you can’t just-” “bye, art,” you hung up before you could talk yourself out of it, letting yourself cry as hard as you’d wanted to for months now. you curled up in bed, sobs wracking your body, and mourned the relationship with a boy you’d once thought you’d marry.

you thought he’d text or call, tried to prepare yourself to reject him again, but the contact never came. he listened, for once. art donaldson had completely slipped out of your life, without a trace.

three years later, you graduated top of your class, landed your dream job in journalism, and moved to an apartment in the city. you tried your best not to keep up with art’s achievements, but it was difficult when he won nearly ever tournament he stepped foot into. he made all the sports headlines, and you turned your head at each of them, hoping to convince yourself you never even knew him.

i parked my car right between the methodist

and the school that used to be ours

the holidays linger like a bad perfume

you can run, but only so far

i escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave

but if that’s okay with you, it’s okay with me

current

you returned home for the holidays, driving down from the inner city to your parents home on the outskirts of boston. about three miles out, you’re lost in thought, music playing through your speakers and snow dusting your windshield. you’re jolted when you hit a deep pothole, cursing under your breath when your tire pressure light kicks on.

you pull over into the closest parking lot, grabbing your coat and stepping out of the car to survey the damage. “fuck me,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration when you see the tire’s gone flat. you’re in the middle of trying to pry your spare out of the trunk when headlights illuminate the area around you, and you hear a car crunching over the snow.

“you alright, miss?” a man calls, his voice sharp in your ears against the quiet of the evening. “just got a flat, i’m taking care of it,” you reply, not bothering to look back over your shoulder as you yank your spare free finally. “it isn’t safe to drive on a spare in this weather,” he tells you, and the slight crack of his tone raises the hair on your arms, the familiarity seeping through you deeper than the cold breeze.

you turn, finally facing the stranger, your breath in your throat. there he stands, his blonde hair peeking out underneath the hood of his puffer coat, his cheeks tinged pink from the wind. “art?” you exhale, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, “what are you doing here?”

“oh,” he looks as startled as you feel, his blue eyes widening ever so slightly, “i was just passing by on my way to my parent’s, i saw a car and thought you’d need help,” “i’ve got it,” you say too quickly, “i’ll call my dad to pick me up, don’t worry about it. thanks, though,”

“i can take you,” he offers, gesturing to his car parked just feet away, still running, “it’s on the way, anyway. i don’t mind,” “i think i’ll just call my dad,” you argue, “you can go, okay? i got this-” “please just let me take you home,” his tone sounds like you’d be doing him a favor, not the other way around, “come on, i’ll help you get your stuff, i’ll fix your tire tomorrow,”

you never could say no to his puppy dog eyes, even after all these years. so there you sit, shivering in art’s too nice car, trying not to look at him as he drives you home like he had so many times before. “it’s good to see you,” he says finally, breaking the silence, and you hum in response, unable to muster up any real conversation.

“i moved back,” he says after a few more minutes as he turns the corner to a main road, “i don’t live here, but it’s not far. i live in the city near the university,” “congratulations,” you mumble, trying to keep your tone dismissive, anything to lessen the nostalgia you’re surely both feeling.

“hey,” he sounds as if he’s pleading, and you allow yourself one glance to his side of the car, taking in the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek, the sadness in his eyes. “yes?” “i just wanted to say it’s good to see you,” he says softly, “i mean, what’re the odds, yknow? we’re both back home and i just happened to see you. it’s like fate,”

“yeah,” you agree quietly, “fate, sure,”

so we could call it even

you could call me babe for the weekend

'tis the damn season, write this down

i'm stayin' at my parents' house

and the road not taken looks real good now

and it always leads to you in my hometown

he pulls into your parent’s drive, keeping the car running but leaning back in his seat to look over at you. “you look good,” he says after a moment, “not that you looked bad before, obviously, it’s just, you’re beautiful-” “shut up, art,” you cut off his rambling, “it was sweet of you to drive me, but thats all this was, okay? this isn’t fate. it’s just a coincidence,”

“even if it is just a coincidence, i’m still happy to see you,” he says quietly, “is that not okay? i missed you,” “shut up,” you repeat, “you didn’t miss me, that’s- this whole thing is ridiculous, okay? enjoy your holiday, art,” “wait! can’t we just talk? i mean, even if its not tonight, we could catch up,” he pleads, eyes wide and borderline frantic. you shake your head, opening your door and pausing to glance back at him, “merry christmas, art. please don’t call,” you go inside trying your best to pretend nothing happened, dodging questions about the car in the driveway and greeting your family. the look on art’s face as you closed the car door keeps you from any real christmas spirit.

you wake the next morning to a text from an unsaved number, your brows furrowed as you open the notification. ‘i know you said you don’t wanna hear from me, but i just wanted to say i’m sorry and it was really nice to see you. wanted to give you a fair warning, your parents invited my family to their christmas party tonight.’

you groan, tossing your phone on the bed and getting in the shower, ignoring the butterflies nerves, in your stomach at the idea of seeing art that night. by six that evening, you’re slightly tipsy off of spiked eggnog, trying your best to ignore him from across the room. he’s there, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and a stupid christmas sweater that reminds you far too much of the first holiday you spent together.

you hate the way he mingles with your family so easily, like nothing ever happened. the way he laughs at your dads jokes, the way he’s sipping wine with class he must’ve learned at stanford. the way he keeps looking your way, smiling tenderly, the way he eventually approaches you with all the hesitation of a high school crush.

“you look beautiful,” is the first thing he says to you, sounding almost pained by it. “thank you,” you hope you sound cordial, hope he doesn’t pick up on the way your hands shake around your glass, the way your cheeks are already pink. you tell yourself it’s the alcohol and not the scent of the cologne he’d been wearing all those years ago, the last time you’d seen him.

he looks around, gesturing to the decorations, “good party,” “we don’t have to do this small talk shit,” you say after a moment, “it’s in the past, alright? let’s just get through the party and we’ll all go back to normal,” “don’t you see i don’t just want to get through the party? i’m trying to talk to you here, okay? i missed you, i just wanna catch up,” the pleading is back in his tone, accompanied by his trademark puppy dog eyes, and you find yourself following him onto your parent’s balcony with no hint of the hesitation you’d been full of earlier in the night.

“i saw you on tv,” he tells you after a few minutes of small talk, sipping his drink and glancing at you, the wind rustling his too perfect hair. “yeah?” you smile ever so slightly, “what for?” “it was a news station, i saw it at the airport. you were reporting on the protests in new york,” he smiles back, and your chest aches at the sight. “i’m not usually on tv, i just write the stories, but it was cool. glad to know it’s getting good airport coverage,” you joke, “i’ve seen you on tv a few times myself. wimbledon and all,”

“yeah?” his smile widens, “and what’d you think?” you pause, and you’re not sure if its the eggnog, the nostalgia, or his vulnerable expression, but you find yourself being honest. “i thought you were incredible,” you say softly, “the way you play is just amazing, art. always has been,” “thank you,” you choose to ignore the crack in his voice, “you have no idea how much that means, to hear you say that. that you still even think that,”

“congratulations,” you smile around the rim of your glass, “you’ve won every competition i’ve even heard of. that’s a big deal,” “none of that matters,” he waves a dismissive hand, “i don’t wanna talk about tennis. i wanna hear about you,” “my life is pretty boring,” you shrug, “i write columns and go home and think about work. that’s really all,” “you’re not- are you seeing someone? i figured you’d be married or something,”

“no,” you laugh like its ridiculous, because truthfully, it is. you’d loved him so much that it made the idea of trying to love someone else seem pointless. in the back of your mind, you’d always thought you needed to let it go, to move on, but you never found the time or the willpower. forgetting him and learning someone else was a move you were never prepared to make. “me neither,” his voice snaps you from your thoughts, “not since-”

“i’m sorry i broke up with you,” you blurt out, “it was shitty of me to do it over the phone like that, and i’m sorry,” “oh,” he blinks, looking slightly caught off guard, “no, i mean, it was my fault. i get it, looking back. i’m sorry i didn’t fight harder,” “you were a really good boyfriend,” you say quietly, blinking away hot tears, “like, the perfect boyfriend. it was just too much, being away from you, and i felt like it was just a matter of time before it ended anyway,”

“i never planned on leaving you,” he says softly, “i hope you know that. i loved you more than anything in the world, and i know we were just kids, but i really, really fucking loved you. more than tennis, more than stanford, more than any of that shit. i didn’t care about my future if you weren’t in it, but then you removed yourself from it and i figured i could at least just keep going,”

“i know,” you nod, because you genuinely do know. you know he loved you, how much he cared about your relationship. a moment passes, and you can feel his eyes on you, your heart picking up and a fresh flush prickling your skin. “you are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and before you can think better of your decision, you’ve set your drink down and turned to him, all your logic gone out the window.

“this is a bad idea,” you tell him, but you’ve already taken a step closer, “and i’m only in town for a bit,” another step, “but i missed you so fucking much, art,” “come show me how much you missed me,” he smiles, his eyes almost as dark as the sky around you, “let’s make up for lost time, yeah?”

you kiss him in an instant, and everything else seems to fall away as you feel his lips on yours for the first time in years. he tastes like sparkling wine and chapstick and everything you love about the holidays, about home. he kisses you with the same desperation he’d always had back then, his hands digging into your hips and pulling you flush against him.

the reality of the evening starts to sink back in as hands progress lower, and you pull away, panting softly against his lips, “cant fuck you in my parents house,” “aw, come on, it’ll be just like old times,” he murmurs teasingly, trailing his lips down your neck. “art,” you whine, “we can’t,” “they’re all busy with the party,” he murmurs as he nips below your ear gently, “do you want me to stop?” “no,” you answer easily, “let’s just- can we go to my room? someone’s gonna see us out here,”

you end up in your old bedroom, sprawled out on the comforter kissing art with a feverish desperation. “missed you so fucking much,” he groans as you unbutton his pants, slipping your hand into his boxers, “god, thought about you all the time,” “yeah?” you smile against his lips, “thought about me all the way in california?” “fuck- yeah, i did,” he bucks his hips into your hand, his cheeks pink, “everyday, every night,”

you hum, satisfied, trailing your kisses down his chest and sliding down the bed, “where you going?” he asks, his brows furrowed. “you don’t want my mouth?” you ask, gazing up at him as you push his boxers down, “no,” he smiles hazily, “no, baby. missed you too much for that, just c’mere. let me fuck you,”

you nearly cry at that, the warmth flooding your chest at his words despite the overall nature of what the two of you are doing. you kiss him again, leaned over him, and he pulls you up into his lap, scooting up to prop himself up against the headboard.

“come here,” he mumbles between kisses, positioning your legs to straddle him, “do you wanna do this?” “‘course i wanna do this,” you nod, and he pushes the skirt over your dress up around your hips, running his thumb over the skin, “you’re so beautiful,”

“stop lookin at me like that,” you mumble, feeling entirely too entranced by the expression on his face, “kiss me,” he’s nothing if not obedient, his lips on yours immediately, kissing you with fervor. you reach between the two of you, sitting up briefly to toss your underwear somewhere, wrapping your hand around him once more to line him up. “god,” he groans softly, tipping his head back as you slide down on his cock, your eyes closed in bliss, “fuck, you’re so wet, god,”

you bury your face in his neck, trying your best to be quiet as you adjust to his size, rocking your hips slowly, “art,” you moan breathlessly, and before you know it he’s cradling your head, pulling you in closer and fucking up into you. you bite down on his shoulder gently, hoping to suppress the noises leaving you, “god, not gonna last,” he all but whimpers, “you feel so fucking good,”

you just moan in response as he hits all the right spots, your thighs shaking slightly as he fucks you, “fuck, baby- oh my fucking god,” he groans, pulling you off of him gently, “didn’t wanna finish inside you,” he pants, eyes closed as he steadies his breathing, “let me,” you say softly, taking him in your mouth, moaning around him at the taste of yourself on his skin.

“oh, fuck me,” he moans, hands tightening in your hair and bucking his hips slightly. he’s filling your mouth soon after, your name falling from his lips like a curse as he cums down your throat, panting and whining hoarsely. you wipe your mouth, sitting up to kiss him again, surprised when he pulls you up closer. “sit on my face,” he mumbles against your lips, “let me make you cum, please,”

“i’m okay,” you start to argue, but he’s shaking his head, looking at you with the sweetest expression, “just let me make you feel good,” you let him lead you, as he lays back on the bed and pulls you up onto him, your thighs on either side of his head.

he laps at you desperately, and you have to clutch the headboard to keep from collapsing against him as you rock your hips, borderline grinding against his mouth. “art,” you moan, one hand on the headboard and one in his hair, “fuck, you’re so good,”

this only encourages him, and he slides a hand under you, pushing gently on your hips to make you rock against his face once more. you whimper at that, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you feel yourself getting closer. “art,” you gasp, “gonna-“

your vision is spotty as you come undone, his needy mouth never slowing as he works you through it, sucking at your clit until your legs nearly give out. “too much,” you whine, pulling at his hair to deter him. he hums against you, licking one last, slow stripe against you before helping you down, looking up at you with dilated pupils and a spit-slick mouth.

you wipe his face gently with your duvet, smiling slightly down at him, “that was-“ “you were so good,” he praises, “can’t believe how much i missed that,” he pulls the blanket over your legs, and your chest aches at the tenderness of the action. “you shouldn’t stay,” you say softly, hoping it doesn’t come across as hurtful, “i don’t want my parents to see, yknow,”

“yeah,” he nods, but he looks slightly hurt, like he’s taken aback, “yeah, good point. i’ll call you?” “yes, please,” you nod, watching as he pulls his clothes back on, “i’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?” “yeah,” he nods, fastening his belt, “uh, goodnight, then,” “night, art,” you smile sleepily, and he lets himself out without returning a smile of his own.

time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires

now i’m missing your smile, hear me out

we could just ride around

and the road not taken looks really good now

and it always leads to you in my hometown

the next day, you send him a quick text, slightly worried he’d thought you’d just dismissed him. ‘wanna get coffee today? i leave tomorrow’

‘sure’ he replies, and you’re sure then that he’s hurt, but you hope to rectify it, ‘great! starbucks on third at eleven?’ ‘okay. see you there’ he sends back, and you pull on a sweater and leggings, going to spend some time with your parents before heading out to the coffee shop.

he’s sitting in a window seat when you arrive, much more casual than he had been the night before. he’s in a stanford hoodie and joggers, and you think of him away at college, how at home he’d probably been there. you shake the thought away, walking over to his table, “hey,” you smile, sliding into the booth across him. “hey,” he smiles slightly, “so you leave tomorrow?”

“oh, yeah,” you nod, “gotta get back to work. how long are you in town for?” “told you i moved back,” he says, looking slightly irritated, and you feel a pang of guilt, “yeah, sorry, it completely slipped my mind. so you’re just-“ “what is this, exactly?” he cuts you off, brows furrowed, “i mean, im glad last night happened, but is that just it? you’re gonna shoo me away and go home like nothing happened?”

“what?” you falter, caught off guard, “art, no, i just have to go back home, it’s not like i’m discarding you,” “you sure are acting like it,” he grumbles, “what, then? are we gonna try and make this work?” “make this work?” you repeat, “what, exactly? i figured it was just because we’re both back home, i don’t-“ “what? so what, then, just a one time thing? that’s kinda fucked up to not tell someone,” he snaps, and you hate yourself in the moment, all the memories of the way you’d been so short when you’d broken up with him resurfacing.

“maybe it’s better if it’s just for the weekend,” you say quietly, “i mean, we’re both busy, and this was just by chance,” “bullshit,” he shakes his head, “if you don’t wanna be with me, that’s fine. alright? genuinely, no hard feelings. but don’t give me that ‘we’re both busy shit. what’s the real reason you won’t try again?”

“we both are busy,” you say defensively, “i just don’t- i’d hate for either of us to get hurt again, that’s all,” “i get it, i do, but we’ll never know if we don’t try,” he says softly, “i never wanted to hurt you before, okay? i’ve pictured so many routes for my life and you were always in them,” “we’re different people now, art,” you say carefully, trying to keep your tone even, “you don’t know if we’re still even compatible, and we never know what could happen,” “will you stop doing that? you don’t have to be so calculated about everything. it’s not gonna kill us to try, right? we’ve changed, sure, and we’re at different places in life, but we’re the same people. we’re still the people we were when we were in love,”

“that was a long time ago,” you say quietly, tears pricking your eyes, “i just don’t wanna make a mistake and get us both hurt,” “i’m fine with being hurt by you. don’t you see that? i have loved you since we were sixteen years old. we can get to know each other again, we can take it slow, i’m not asking you to marry me here. just give it a chance, please?” the sincerity in his tone breaks you, and you’re nodding before you can talk yourself out of it. “yeah,” you sniffle, “yeah, i’d like that so much. i’m sorry, i’m just scared, and i didn’t think we’d ever get another chance,” you ramble. “i know you’re scared,” he says softly, taking your hand in his over the table, “we’re gonna take it slow, alright? we’ll be alright,” “yeah,” you nod, tracing his knuckles with your thumb, “we’ll be alright,”

156 notes · View notes

elexaria · 1 year ago

Text

brother’s best friend trope except ur simon’s sister and you both grew up with johnny!! pt. 1 for some context <3

you remember the day the mactavish family moved in down the cul-de-sac, a loud and proud scottish family— a mother, three daughters and two sons. all were older you, which meant you seldom had the opportunity to actually talk to them :(

well, not that you could at first. you still giggle when you remember how michelle and johnny mactavish turned up outside your door, askin’ if you and simon had lost a football. "maw found a fitba in oor front gairden and was curious if it belongs tae youse?" squeaks michelle, all toothy and sweet with her fiery red hair. you and simon exchanged a look, almost like ??? was that english??

regardless, it didn’t take long for simon to become close to johnny, both at the cusp of boyhood and enjoying the exploration of manchester’s back alleys and abandoned train tracks. it was hard living at home, how horrible your dad and older brother was towards you and simon. so, he starts to bring you along on their little expeditions, to protect you.

you’ve always been a shy little thing, and johnny takes every chance he can to make you squirm and blush. “och! look at this chonky wurm!” he chortles out, dangling a slimey worm to your face. simon stifles a laugh as he watches his best mate chase his baby sister around, a potent concoction of boyish laughter and grossed out whining.

even when you’re in your teenage years, it doesn’t change the way johnny enjoys teasing you. "don't look behind ye, but ah hink that lad ye fancy is starin' at ye." he whispers lowly, nudging you gently as he motions to a haggard old man, picking his nose at the bus stop while you all wait for the bus home from school. “johnny!” you whine out, a smirk tugging to your lips as you playfully shove him. simon watches on, a quiet presence in the dynamic riley-mactavish trio.

and then something changes in the dynamic. simon and johnny both decide to apply for the military, and the rest of the mactavishes have either moved back to scotland or have moved elsewhere in england. and it breaks your heart being stuck at home, having to wait those couple of years until you could make the decision to fend for yourself. “i’m not leaving you. i.. need to do this for myself, yeah?” simon promises as he stands at the bus stop, pleading for you to understand that he’s not abandoning you— he could never abandon his baby sister like that.

but it hurts, it stings and you can’t help the onslaught of angry tears that stream down your cheeks as you watch him leave. he’s abandoned you. the last person to ever take care of you, and he’s gone and left you.

for years— no, almost a decade— you cut contact with simon. when the time comes, you haul ass and move up north to pursue a degree in the arts. you push those bittersweet memories of growing up with your big brother and his best friend, how much you all laughed until your bellies hurt, how they were both always there for you whenever you needed a break from your hard life at home.

those memories dissipate. that is, until, you receive a call from simon.

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley #soap cod #soap x reader #brothers best friend

381 notes · View notes

punksocks · 1 year ago

Text

Astrology Observations No.23

*just based on my experiences only take what resonates

Quite a few people with Chiron in Gemini are singers, talented ones too

We always talk about intuition of Pisces and Scorpio but Cancer placements are also crazy intuitive. I feel like you really can’t fool someone about how you’re feeling with Cancer in the big 6.

Air moons tend to catch feelings when someone is unavailable; earth moons tend to catch feelings when someone is more stable/ambitious than them; fire moons tend to catch feelings when someone is passionate and courageous; water moons tend to catch feelings when someone has sort of dreamy/otherworldly energy to them (that unspoken spark really gets to water moons)

If you wanna seduce Venus in 9th, travel with them or teach them something new

if you want to win over someone with Venus in 2nd/Taurus you should get them gifts (can apply to earth moons too imo- as long as the gift is useful or high end for them)

Quietly I think Capricorn in the big 6 can make you just as domestic as cancer in the big 6, but a Capricorn is usually going to talk about/pay attention their public image more

Someone said the only thing they can’t deal with is someone throwing it back in your face when you try to help them/give them advice (like the other person saying you don’t care or that you’re just in it for yourself) and yeah that’s Virgo mars

Moon square/opposition to the ascendant could have people assume you’re putting on a personality/faking something

Saturn in Pisces is another placement to make sure you watch your mental health, all of Saturn’s consequences come at your subconscious

Do water risings seem to have a theme of like not trying to let their perspectives be colored by some sort of sadness ? (Cancer Asc - nostalgia /which isn’t always sad but if you hear cancer placements talk about it then they often filter their own nostalgia through a certain sadness; Scorpio Asc - traumatic experiences that shaped their perspective; Pisces Asc - a feeling of like ennui, a certain kind of listlessness)

Neptune in the houses can show frequent locations if your dreams (3rd house- school, childhood neighborhoods; 4th house- childhood home, places you’d visit a lot with your family; 6th house the workplace; 9th house places you’ve traveled to or want to go to, etc)

Something we don’t talk about with Chiron in 1st is that it’s an energy amplifier imo. So when you’re healed you give off healing energy, but when you’re unhealed or even toxic you subconsciously spread that energy around (or maybe consciously, a lot of people I’ve known that belittle and nitpick others from a place of insecurity have Chiron in 1st)

If mars aspects your 4th house you may have grown up fighting and arguing a lot, especially with your family but in your childhood environment in general

Taurus placements will have their whole day impacted by a disappointing meal (especially moons- also mars imo)

Aries placements have trouble maturing sometimes bc their sign is then youngest of the zodiac (Pisces is the old man but this can make them unclear and disconnected too)

Aquarius in the big 3 (especially Aquarius moon) tend to be really good at playing detached and calculating (in real life too lol but I’m thinking of Rosamund Pike and how well she sold her cool girl speech from gone girl - she’s a double Aquarius) (also in real life people aren’t always so predictable/controllable so this calculating behavior can go sideways sometimes)

I love how the Pluto in Scorpio generation is making all of this mainstream art about transformation and healing generational trauma (everything everywhere all at once is what I was watching when I thought of this)

Also I’m still working on how to utilize degree theory best but Daniel kwan (one of the everything everywhere all at once directors) has Scorpio moon at a cancer degree (19) and his most acclaimed movie so far is about depression, trauma, and generational curses (I love everything everywhere all at once pls watch it, I cried 3 times when I watched it and I’m a Capricorn moon so you know that means a lot lol)

1K notes · View notes

jesswriteswrongs · 1 year ago

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Shameless USA

Characters: Lip Gallagher x Female Northside!Reader

Summary: Reader and Lip return to her house after school, but Reader’s mom comes home early and has a lot to say

Warnings: body shaming, discussion of food, discussion of exercise, discussion of weight

A/N: Readers mom reads like Emily Gilmore because I’ve been binge watching Gilmore Girls

It was mid-October and you had no idea how Lip survived without a coat, when you were dreading pulling your hand out of your pocket to unlock the door. Once you were both inside the warmth of your house you lead Lip upstairs to your room. “Wanna help me with my literature homework?” You asked him, putting your backpack on the floor and hanging up your coat.

“I do love you in that uniform…” he replied, sitting on your bed. You never thought that the kilt, sweater vest, blazer and saddle shoes were particularly attractive, but Lip always seemed to think so.

“Really?” You asked, straddling his lap.

“Mmm…” He replied, pushing your blazer off your shoulders “Southside bad boy corrupts private school girl? It’s like something from a romance novel.” You let your blazer fall to the floor. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do-“ You interrupted Lip’s recitation of Shakespeare by clapping your hand over his mouth, hearing the front door open and close.

“Shit! My mom’s home early.” You whispered.

“Y/N!” Your mom shouted. You put your finger to your lips to signal Lip to be quiet, and climbed off his lap. You headed downstairs to see what she wanted.

“Hi Mom.” You said nonchalantly.

“Y/N! How long have you been home?” She asked, looking you up and down. You squirmed under her gaze.

“Just a few minutes, I was just about to start my homework.” She frowned.

“Hm… well, remember your sister is coming home from Yale this weekend.”

“Yes, Mom.” You replied monotonously.

“How’s your application to Princeton going?”

“I don't need to apply until next year.”

“Yes, darling, but Princeton will look closely at your junior year. Extracurriculars are important.” She placed her handbag on the bureau, paying more attention to the wood grain than to you.

“Mom, I’m already president of the Model United Nations and VP of the astronomical society.”

“Yes, but you’ll need more. Your sister was captain of the swim team, president of the key club, class president and valedictorian.”

“Mom, I’m not Laura.” You sighed, playing with your sleeve cuffs

“Don’t I know it.” Your mother retorted. She looked you up and down once more. “You’re looking fat. I’ll tell Maria to skip the after school snack, you can wait until dinner, and you’ll be taking salad for lunch for the rest of the week. Your father and I pay for the gym, you should use it.”

“Yes, Mom.” You said once more. “Can I go back to my homework now?” Your mother literally looked down her nose at you before she spoke.

“Fine. But I expect you to be exercising after dinner.” You nodded, fisting your hands inside your sleeves and wiling the tears not to fall. You quickly turned and ran back up the stairs, shutting yourself in your bedroom, back against the door, before you let the tears fall. You had completely forgotten Lip was waiting for you in there.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly.

“How much of that did you hear?” Your voice was low and quiet, almost trembling.

“Enough.” Lip replied. He opened his arms. “Everything she said is total bullshit. You’re not anywhere near fat, and you’re going to get into Princeton.” You allowed yourself to be hugged and comforted by Lip, tears falling on to the blue shirt you loved on him. “And if your mom really wants you to get some exercise I can think of an exercise regiment that she’ll hate.” You laughed wetly, before wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

“This is why I prefer your house.” You said quietly.

“What, too loud to think with the police turning up anytime they want?” Lip chuckled. You rested your temple against his shoulder.

“Yeah but it’s family. You may not have much but you love each other, and most of the time you even like each other.” Lip laughed at that. “You’re not competing against each other or trying to outdo each other’s achievements. Everything Laura does I have to be the same or better, whether I want to or not.” Lip seemed to think about that for a moment.

“I guess you’re right.” He said after a moment of silence. “We’re dysfunctional, sure, but I’d do anything for my family. Our achievements are what they are. Shit, I’ll be the first Gallagher to finish high school. Plus, Fiona likes you a lot more than she’s liked my other girlfriends.” You ran your thumb over his shirt collar.

“It’s refreshing. Fiona thinks it’s great when I get a C, Debbie likes when I bring my art homework, it feels safe.” You said quietly.

“Even with Carl running around?” Lip asked

“Even with Carl running around.” You laughed, and kissed him. “I’m totally serious though, my literature homework is due tomorrow.”

“Hmmm, can I be your reward afterwards?” Lip asked.

“Can we go to your house tomorrow?” Lip smiled and nodded. You smiled back and climbed off his lap, grabbing your book and sitting back on his lap.

“What are you doing, Y/N? I thought you were doing homework?” You grinned wickedly at Lip.

“You really want to wait until after?”

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher fanfiction #lip gallagher #fanfic #fanfiction #shameless #shameless usa #reader insert #shameless fanfiction

920 notes · View notes

hymnoeides · 5 months ago

Note

your art is really cute!!

Did you go to art school or are you self thought?

Also do you have animation skills? I wonder if the fandom will have animatics from you one day :D

Tysm anon!! I am self taught :D! Unfortunately, too broke to go to art school and bc I enjoy art as a hobby, didn’t really have much of a portfolio to even apply to college with last year </3

I’ve been playing around with animation recently, but whether I’m good is… nah I’m no good at it at all HAJSBSJSHSJ ID LOVE TO MAKE ANIMATICS ONE DAY!! I’m just usually don’t have the patience/time/consistency to do so🥹 who knows maybe that will change soon,,, no promises but YEAH AHSJWMSK. Have this poor attempt at it some week ago O(-<

128 notes · View notes

acotarxreader · 7 months ago

Text

The Art of You

Cassian x Reader

Synopsis: Cassian found recovery in the art that he created while preparing to apply to art school in New York, his greatest muse being his high-flying down-to-earth socialite girlfriend, you.

Warning; Fluff and modern

A/N: A little Cass fic dedicated to absolutely wonderfully kind and ever-lovely Cassian Queen @sarawritestories on her birthday. Happy (early) Birthday Friend Xx

----------------------------------------------------------

“YNN, can you just please stop fidgeting”

“I’m so boreeeeeeeed Cass” You whined out, your voice echoing around Azriel and Rhysand’s apartment before you fixed your posture to sit straight once again on the stool.

“Well, blame Az, it's not my fault someone ate my bowl of fruit” Azriel rolled his eyes from the dining room chair he rocked back and forth, chucking the core of an apple into a cerulean bowl. Cassian fired a piece of charcoal directly into his best friend's eye as he winked at him A howl left Azriel, immediately gaining a laugh from the both of you. Cassian quickly took a picture of his two best friends and their merriment.

“It'll be easier to draw from a reference who doesn't have the bladder of a Chihuahua” You glared playfully at his words and he took another picture.

“Well, I gotta go anyway Cass, my lovely Aunt will be wondering where I am” You slipped from the chair and into your jacket, Cassian's face sinking.

“How will she react when she hears you’re in love with a starving artist and his soul-searching friends, ruining the image of a socialite” Azriel spoke playfully, trying to lighten the tension from you with having to return to your hectic household.

“I didn’t know you had a soul Az” you teased, buttoning up your coat, ready to face the bone-chilling gales of New York in the Winter.

“Rhy’s dad bought him one”

“Don’t be jealous Cass, you could have moved in with us but no, you chose the damp and rot of that hole you call home” Azriel laughed out to Cassian's toying, Cassian promptly firing more charcoal his way.

“I’m sure she’d love if I social climbed my way to someone like Rhysand”

“Ouch” Rhysand emerged from the bathroom, waist swaddled in a thick fluffy towel, still damp from his shower. You had met Rhysand many years ago through various social functions your Aunt and Uncle dragged you to. The both of you quickly form an alliance of mischief at the events to keep yourselves from boredom. Cassian and Azriel came into your life once Rhysand had finally moved home to New York bringing them along for the fun. Their friendship spanning countless years of Summer camps together from which you had heard such grand stories, you all quickly became fast friends shortly after their arrival.

“Yeah tell her it's the heir to a fortune you’re in love with and not the unemployed artist, what both of your families have groomed you for for years”

“Gross” both you and Rhysand replied in unison

“Az, I’m not unemployed, I’m retired from active military duty. I’m just on leave while I recover and they figure out what to do with me” Cassian rolled his eyes for the millionth time, gathering the creative supplies that had helped him through his toughest months since returning from his time in service.

“Retired like an old man” He nudged you gently while you smirked at him.

“If it’s just leave then why are you applying for art school here?” Rhysand shot from his bedroom door, a raised eyebrow.

“Because-because-”

“-Because he’s great at it, Feyre is gonna try to get his art into the gallery she’s managing”

“Ah nepotism”

“Rhys, y’know what they say about those in glass houses” The group laughed towards the former military man as he reached your side smiling, forever happy you always knew what to say to defend him and his decisions.

“Right kids, I gotta go” You pecked Cassian's cheek, your two other best friends groaning at the sight.

—---------------------------------------

The following night you found yourself waiting outside the rusting entrance to Cassian's apartment, many many many subway stops from where you, Rhysand and Azriel’s playground was. You wrapped your thick designer coat tighter around you fighting off the cold while waiting for Cassian to buzz you into his humble home. You subconsciously placed your car key between your fingers, ready to use it at any moment to defend yourself in the dilapidating area. The sound of the cage humming to release from its locks in front of you filled you instantly with relief, you pulled it to access the entrance to the block of apartments stairway.

Cassian stole the cold away from you in his usual all-encompassing hug. He promptly took your coat for you as you sat down on the tattered couch. The apartment in its completeness was probably the size of Rhysand and Azriel’s sitting room alone. The oven could practically be reached from the couch but there was still room for Cassian's extensive video collection and a small table for two. Adjacent to the kitchen was the tiny bathroom and the entrance to his bedroom, the double bed nearly touching all four walls, a nest of cushioning you frequented.

“Why don’t you ever use that closest?” You quizzed as Cassian draped your coat along the back of the dining room chair. Cassian stiffened for a moment before turning back to you with a shrug.

“Emm that’s where I keep the dead bodies” you chuckled at him, he returned the smile. He dragged the second chair to land across from you where he sat and began to sketch, another one of your evenings to be spent with Cassian practising his portrait work.

“Are you going to allow me to see this one?”

“My love, you know that’s not how this operation works” You sighed, knowing you should have anticipated his reply, he never let you see any of the works where you were the subject.

“How come I’ve never seen the inside of that closet?” you gestured with your chin to the door behind him.

“How come I’ve never met your aunt and uncle? Hm? We’ve been together almost a year”

“Touche-” You laughed “-they’re terrible people, Cass, they don’t deserve to meet you”

“Even still, maybe Az is right and you should tell them it's Rhysand that keeps you away from them so much”

“I’d rather swim up the Hudson in January” You smiled away at the growing sad tone in his voice, his smile growing across his face as he lowered his gaze back to the pad of paper, exhaling loudly in frustration. By 11 pm Cassian had gone through countless sheets of thick paper and abandoned all of the versions of you without allowing you so much as a glance.

“Right, I need coffee” he stood, tossing the closed pad to the floor.

“I’m gonna grab one of your sweatshirts, it's so cold in here” You could almost see Cassian's breath as he laughed at you. He made his way into the bathroom as you returned to the couch, wrapping the long sleeves in balls in your hand, attempting to trap what heat you could.

“My love, can you throw me in a hand towel please”

“Yeah where are they?” you called back to him through the closed door.

“In the closest by the- WAIT ACTUALLY I’LL GET IT MYSELF” His shouts came too slowly for you, the ounce of permission you had waited for for so long allowed you to finally pull the door of the hall closet open. Cassian dashed from the bathroom, his wet hand reaching for the door as you opened it but not quickly enough, a loud whoosh filled the apartment with sheets and sheets of paper, it tumbling out like a tsunami. Reams and reams of endless amounts of art washed over the two of you flooding the ground of the apartment.

“Gods! You’re a hoarder! My boyfriend is a hoarder! I’m going to end up on the news after they dig us out of this!” You laughed lightly, Cassian stepping out of the almost ankle-high amount of his secret to stand between you and the door, your chests almost touching.

“You don't need to see in there, it's all rough drafts of sketches that never came to be...it's all waste paper….” You raised an eyebrow before stepping back from him, looking down at the vast amount of sketches at your feet. Cassian dipped down quickly, attempting to pull back the drawings before you could properly examine them. It was too late, you had seen the vast amount of countless drawings, sketches, etches of you and your friends. Paint, chalk, pastels, pencil, watercolour, you name it and there were half finished creations everywhere.

“Are thes- are these me?” You just collected a random sample from your feet, Cassian seeming immediately ashamed taking them from you only to have you quickly replace them with others.

“They're not done...none of them are, I can't quite get you no matter what I do...you must think I'm crazy” You were almost too busy looking at the intricate details to hear him. You separated your eyes from the pages to focus on the walls of the closet. They too were covered with pages but also pictures. Pictures of you and your friends, you on your own, you and him. You traced your fingers across a few of them with Cassian’s eyes fixed on your every movement for any sign of negative expression. Instead you just seemed amazed at the sheer quantity and quality. You stepped around him to reach for a photo of the two of you, you both making goofy faces at the camera, a memory from your attempt to ride a tandem bike through Central Park. You laughed lightly at the photo, your hand tracing over your elbow beneath the fabric where the scar from the stitches after the fall from said bike still remained.

“My love, please say something, I might be sick if you don't"

“I love them Cass, I mean you might want to try to draw a few objects for the portfolio as well as portraits but still, wow” you laughed, pulling the photo down from the wall, the bluetac taking some paint with it.

“This was a great day, trip to the ED aside...you should draw this”

“I don't know YNN, I've never done a self portrait and-”

“-Then I'll draw you and you can draw me? Please?” He couldn't say no to you, rolling his eyes before searching for materials.

“Are you sure you have paper?” You teased as he pushed the hoards of drawings back into their cage.

“Shut up” he laughed in reply, retrieving a large fresh drawing pad of paper and pencils.

The two of you hovered over the shared piece of A2 paper sprawled across the width of the dining table, both quickly learning to draw around one another with impressive fluidity. Cassian stood behind you, one arm to support himself on one side of you, the other sketching alongside your hand. By 2 am the joint eclectic masterpiece of mixed personal styles was coming to fruition, both of you happy to spend the time together in the comfortable homily silence neither of you could find with anyone else other than one another.

“Why don’t you draw more, my love?” the first time either of you had spoken since starting, his warm words sending electric shivers down the back of your neck.

“I don't really know, I guess I stopped liking the solitary aspect of it...I much prefer this” he agreed and you both continued at the masterpiece until it finally felt as whole as you made one another feel. You both stood back to admire the medley of lines, the drawing was not as perfect or susynced as if one artist had done it but it was yours and that made up for any mismatches in theme.

“It’s perfect”

“Just like one of the artists who made it” he beamed down to you as you folded yourself into his embrace, a tender kiss landing on the top of your head.

“Art school isn’t ready for a talent like you” You reached to kiss him gently.

“When I’m a famous artist, I’ll be worthy enough to meet your family” You groaned into his chest before pulling back again.

“Cass, you’re worthy of all of me now but they are not worthy of you. Once I’ve aged into the trust my parents left me they’re going to be so far gone from my world it won’t matter their opinion on anything in my life”

“So their opinion matters in your life now?” you groan again before laughing at his grinning face.

“If I’m lucky once they find out you’re a hoarder that’ll kill them off” You smirked down to the remaining few paper stragglers on the floor. Your eyes landed back on the masterpiece you had both created together.

“To spend a lifetime trying to be worthy of you my love would be a lifetime well spent”

------------------------------------------------

Whatcha think?

131 notes · View notes

randomness-is-my-order · 4 months ago

Note

wwx is sooo smart! in a modern setting, what subject do you think he would teach? what about in college?

seriously, i can wax poetic about wwx’s intelligence, ingenuity and smartness any day!! and ooooh, your question puts me in a bind because i cannot just name one subject. i think wei wuxian is good at too many things and the younger generations deserve to have his mentorship for an array of subjects. but i’m gonna try my best to just discuss one for this post!

see, i don’t want to mention fine arts because i think wwx would be a hobbyist about it and prefer to be one of those guys hopping around museums and galleries and curating a small but insightful review blog to engage with that side of the arts. an aspect of him that his students would probably find a bit later once they go stalking their professor’s social media profiles (which wwx would be VERY lowkey about) and find that, oh, the cool professor is so much cooler still.

also, because this got me thinking way too much, before we get to the subject, imagining wwx as a full time faculty member–i’ll go out on this fanfic fuelled limb and say he would totally be the teacher coordinator for a university play and/or the debate society! the latter especially, because if the second siege showed us nothing else, it made clear that wwx knows how to frame his arguments logically w/o getting too personal/emotional (not that some debates don’t need an emotional input!) and knows how to keep the audience hooked to his words. the same goes for the deft way in which he handled his defence at the nightless city. so, yeah.

okay, so the subject i think wwx would teach has to be....

physics!!!!!

like this is the one that pops in my mind first and foremost and it fits wwx so well and not just in the realm of engineering. not that wwx’s inventing streak won’t be profoundly useful there but when it comes teaching the subject, when i say “physics” i mean the pure science. that would be wei wuxian’s jam!! he would come up with elaborate setups to simply but elegantly explain and exhibit a complex physics law or phenomenon. he would assign practical-oriented projects to his students and allow for fun which is sorely lacking in intensive pure science classes! he would make time to go over some relevant historic trivia about some theory a guy in the 18th century came up with and he would TOTALLY gossip about the scientists of the past and the scandals so many of them were engaged in. and the most important part!! he would conceptualise different and unique experiments for his class to practice for that part of their grade! alot of the time we forget how important the practical ingenuity of physics professors need to be when it’s not applied physics because the emphasis on the theoretical classes overshadows it. but wei wuxian would plan the practical course himself, even discuss the experimental configurations with his students, and design a whole booklet with them! and ykw?? he’d teach them coding too! which is one aspect of our technological era that i think wwx would excel at because there is so much craftiness required for coding and since coding is so essential for simulations and analysis in physics, wwx could teach them...some python, lol. 😭😭 also, i want to add, wei wuxian would 100% be that college professor with a league of papers published and held in high regard so that for each course he teaches, his own work could be a relevant reference which his students would find SO cool and maybe even funny.

okay, i’m done feeding you my physics professor!wwx agenda but i also think him teaching an ethics class would be fun. and also P.E. no but imagine a sociology course with wei wuxian? or a music major? the possibilities are literally endless but you probably won’t catch wwx anywhere near a culinary school.

#ask #now why do i suddenly wanna write a modern au with profs wwx and lwj #coz professor wei wuxian would be SUCH A DELIGHT #and lan wangji is such an awesome patient fatherly teacher too #they’d be a power duo in their academia circles #wei wuxian appreciation #wei wuxian #mxtx mdzs #mdzs

42 notes · View notes

gildingmist · 20 days ago

Text

Isagi genius-prodigy theory

!!SLIGHT SPOILS!! Why I believe the key to Isagi reaching the spot of n1 striker bases itself on the balance between logical and creative thinking.

Sorry I’m not sure if anyone is interested in my yapping but I needed it written down somewhere. Some elements of it like the eye theory weren’t originally my idea but read off the internet :)

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

Rather than a story about how hard work beats talent, I’ve always considered blue lock a tale of how self belief and mentality remains above all the most important piece of the puzzle to reach success. Because blue lock is no blue period, it’s no ao ashi, it’s not supposed to be such a classic moral. That feels off.

After all, prodigies and geniuses aren’t a hierarchical order. They simply refer to two distinct categories, two schools of thought that stand neither above or beneath one another, those being logical thinking in prodigies and creative thinking in geniuses.

I’m basing myself off quite a few things here but I think the most important element remains Isagi’s light novel, where it a was clearly stated he used to be a genius as a child. It’s stated his playstyle was more focused on dribbling and way more like what we see in bachira today. And honestly?

Yeah, that makes sense. He’s got an innate ability he was born with and most others lack ad geniuses usually do, (his superhuman senses) and being a fan of Noel Noa from a very young age he already knew what an egoist was and consciously or not was applying that mentality to his playing. Even without details or realising, he already had a head start in how to make use of Ego’s theories.

Then, just like aiku he got hit by the fuck you don’t be selfish football beam and forced to play japanese football. And he went from beating five opponents in a row to score a goal with his noa imitation focused training to barely ever passing. He knows japanese football is wrong, and he’s never liked it, literally moments after joining ichiban and hearing their motto, his first reaction is "something’s wrong, isn’t it?"

Then blue lock came in, the rest is history. After forcing to play with such a focus on assist on so long, Isagi’s other capabilities had deteriorated, having to rely on the sole weapon he could always count on, his senses. Leaving behind technique and fancy playstyles to this develop this cut throat, direct playing would later develop into metavision, a weapon that has only been seen in prodigies due to its inherently logical nature. His other weapon, his direct shot, well it was pretty much the only thing he was allowed to keep while playing japanese football.

But that just doesn’t sit right, does it?

The one they called the "unbeatable striker of Saitama", his hometown, just worsening to the point even his own teammates believed his goal in the U20 was just fully, plainly, a total fluke that could never be reproduced? Just, forget everything?

His mother also says in the novel that "this child can see things that can’t be seen" and we know that can’t be metavision as metavision is just taking in information and analysing it faster than others, nothing to do with senses. But that’s just… never utilised? It seems strange not because it’s impossible of course, but because it’s mentioned. Why would this all be told, why would this be his backstory only for the author to be oh well! ;P Doesn’t matter cause he reset!

Also just the sole fact that like, a genius can turn into a prodigy is huge, because it means that those are not two strict categories you’re either born in or out, you can go from one to another.

And it’s not like Isagi really changed THAT much as a person. He’s no Sae, and from the sole fact arts are still his favorite subject and science his most hated, it’s clear he still has this firstly creative way of thinking and overall nature that just, fizzles out when it comes to football. (I’m not saying soccer). It can’t be all there is to it.

Isagi was also a very emotional and shy kid, described as timid and sensitive, which could emphasise that he relies more on his right brain than left brain, by instinct.

Now on another note, right and left motifs are quite prominent in blue lock. Right brain left brain motifs, logical vs creative. It’s a pattern.

It can also be taken notice off in the eye theory that takes notice that During ego heavy moments, usually the composition puts more focus on the right or left eye depending on wether the character is genius or prodigy. Credits to Yeti on tiktok for that one

This mostly applies to Rin and Isagi, (also happened when Isagi got his first metavision) sometimes for bachira, as for some other characters it’s just. Straight up the wrong eye during important shots or just not taken in account (ie; Niko’s signature poose where he circles his eye with his fingers, it’s his right eye when he isn’t a genius.) But it’s the right/left motif that I mean to take notice of here. And consequently, that if Isagi did turn out to become some genius-prodigy hybrid, it would be first foreshadowed through the panelling and composition, his right eye emphasized further at times.

This illustration. Their positioning is based on the ego chart, that’s the first thing I’ve noticed.

Isagi being freedom is very interesting to me as it does add to the whole genius thing, even if all geniuses aren’t freedom axed (ie, Rin.) It’s safe to assume the fourth person that should have been here is Shidou. But that’s not what I want to focus on with this, I digress.

Rather, Again, if we zoom into Isagi, we can see his right gun is gold and his left silver. While I first thought the silver was maybe for ego and the gold one for luck, due to it the puzzle piece’s colour, I think it makes a lot more sense for it to be representative of Isagi’s proficiency with each of his legs. His right foot being his dominant foot.

And now this might be the biggest reach yet and probably stupid but I do like to take notice of it.

Isagi’s dominant foot is his right. It’s the one he’s mot proficient with; and his left doesn’t even compare for most of the manga. The right side of the brain as prior stated is the creative one.

We also notice that over the duration of it, rather than better his shot and his proficiency with that leg, it’s rarely shown to be trained, and isagi doesn’t make a NOTABLE, conscious effort to, instead focusing on bettering his left leg with which he is a complete beginner, an attempt at making up for his flaws. That left leg could represent his logical playing whilst his right could represent the creative part of it all. He sets aside his originally stronger playstyle to focus on building up from zero the other, then reaching a state where both, at the same time and more specifically together qualify as a weapon, his two gun volley.

This could just show his playstyle evolution as a whole from now on, and how despite having been a genius all these years, he left it behind to instead focus on getting his logical mind up to the task, despite starting back to square 1, wether it be conscious or not.

Let’s not forget that Isagi’s weapon is most of all, not his metavision, not his senses, not his direct shot- but his adaptability. And when he reached the big league where practically everyone has metavision (that’s already happening. Reo, karasu, aiku, niko. It’s a damn lot already), crazy physics, and more than a few other weapons?

Yeah, the occasional omnivision trigger isn’t going to be nearly enough at pro levels.

He wants to take the world cup from Noa. And that seems to be the expected climax of the manga. Noa doesn’t play U20, so we have at least 3 arcs or so before reaching that. This isn’t dragon ball, the same weapons can’t keep evolving all in the same direction forever and in so, and even then I struggle to see how much further metavision could expand. So in what other way could his adaptibility develop than in learning the trade of the opposition? Hold your friends close and your enemies closer seems like a very blue lock-esque philosophy. I believe his freedom and his world style ego will permit him to go beyond the label of either genius past or prodigy present, and help him rise above Noa as n1 striker.

Which brings us to my next point:

Geniuses on one side, prodigies on the other, and between that Noa and Ego.

I don’t think Ego’s playstyle is in between prodigy and geniuses, he does seem more prodigy than anything even if he didn’t manage to stay in the field long enough to fully flesh out his playing style as he retired way early, but his placement is obviously to mirror Noa’s own. A pesky shadow of the past he can never quite get out of his head (average situationship) as demonstrated by the fact he still remembers word by word Ego’s theories a decade later when asking Isagi to explain how he views football. But that’s just Ego’s case. What about Noel Noa?

Well, Noa is a logic axed genius.

In playstyle alone he is by all means a prodigy, prioritising logic, efficiency and winning over theatrics. That’s quite literally Bastard München’s whole philosophy. He is a rational man in nature. And that very much shows in his plays. His trainees are also prodigies.

And yet he’s categorised as a genius. And that is thanks to his physicality. His talent is that he’s ambidextrous, it’s something he’s born with that others lack. His dribbling also seems very dangerous, something that is mostly seen in geniuses like Bachira and Laviño, even if Noa seems to believe the latter is better at it than he is.

In a way, the reason that seems to indicate Noa is the best striker, is his ability to balance genius and prodigious mentalities and ideologies and to utilise it to score. He is what we’ve seen closest to what a genius prodigy might be, and in result is the best striker in the verse.

And how do we relate that to Isagi?

Well he’s pretty much in the same boat. Born with capabilities that other lacks, he still is undoubtedly a prodigy by his plays and the fact he doesn’t utilise his senses as other geniuses utilise their talents. And that’s his fundamental flaw as well as the last puzzle piece to reach world level.

But despite that, there is one glaring thing with this illustration, Noa’s throne is made of glass, it’s fragile- and being logical with an extra weapon is not enough for him to let down his guard. Isagi would need to go above and beyond, and that’s why I think instead of just being a genius that plays logically, Isagi needs to be both in balance; stability being the key to turn the glass throne into one of it’s own right. Why mindsets are in the end the most dangerous weapons in blue lock, and what Isagi will need to figure out through the world cup to finally dethrone the man that does not even view him as rightful rival.

Then again I’m like stupid and this post is written weird so don’t take anything I say too seriously lol

#please comment and add ur feedback I’d love it!!!#blue lock theory #text post #bllk theory #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #blue lock #bllk #blue lock manga #bllk manga #bllk anime #blue lock anime #bllk noel noa #fan theory #blue lock fanfiction #bllk fanfic #bllk ego

24 notes · View notes

chunkysoup22 · 2 months ago

Note

have you gone to an art college or done any kind of schooling? i really love your art and i'd love to know how you've furthered your craft

Nopeee would’ve loved to go to school for animation or concept art or something but unfortunately illustrative art is a horrible career field and costs 1 jillion dollars. I’m doing a graphic design degree at a public college and hoping to find some stability in that field.

I feel as though I progress very slowly unfortunately.. I could attribute that to lack of formal art schooling but at the same time everything I’ve learned has been on my own, all it takes really is time and determination.

I’m still doing my best to learn and get better but the fundamentals of illustration and design will take you very very far. It’s very hard to work abstractly without a basis of reality to work with. Ignoring fundamentals kept me at a plateau for a very very long time.

However that’s easier said than done, as much as it can help sitting down and studying muscles and skeletons FUCKING SUCKSSS! You should still do that but I found it much easier and rewarding to apply that study to how master artists draw bodies. Looking at the bumps and bends of a human face is one thing but seeing how someone angles them, which parts they exaggerate and what results that produces, helps immensely. Sorry I can’t offer much more than that but yeah, you gotta observe everything always 👁️

Also I can’t stress this enough, you have to draw more than just what you think is aesthetically pleasing or comes easy. You will learn a lot more tediously recreating an old man’s wrinkles than drawing the same smooth-faced people over and over again

#and again I still have so much to learn and do and am not an expert on this #but you already knew that #thank you so much for the ask! I appreciate it very very much

49 notes · View notes

omgrachwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Carnival - Dalton Lambert

Pairing: Dalton Lambert x Reader

Summary: You and Dalton attend the Halloween carnival together and in turn face both of your fears.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, probs ooc Dalton

A/N: I love writing for Dalton so much! This is a chapter from my upcoming Dalton fic 'Lie to Me,' I've turned it into a one shot so the actual chapter is gonna be a little different. Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think! I love you all xxx

The atmosphere on campus was excitable, everyone was getting ready for the Halloween carnival, and you were no different. Your roommate, Chris leaned against the doorframe as you finished getting ready for the carnival.

You met her gaze in the mirror and grinned, “can I help you with something?”

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?”

You frowned at her as you applied a layer of your favourite lipstick, “what do you mean?”

“You’re going to the carnival with Dalton? When you could go with anybody else, Y/N you can get anyone you want at this school.”

You bit your lip and turned to face your roommate, “I like Dalton,” and it was true, you did like him. He was so different from anyone else.

“He’s my best friend, Y/N. When you break his heart it’s me that’s going to have to pick up the pieces.”

“When?” you glared at her, “Chris, I’m not some heartless bitch, I’m not going to hurt him.”

Before Chris could reply, the boy in question knocked on the doorframe and you smiled at him as he came into view. He looked so handsome in a button down shirt and his long hair was loose and wavy.

“Hey, you look great,” he grinned, a flush spreading out onto his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

You smiled as you grabbed your jacket, “thanks! So do you.”

Chris looked between you and Dalton and rolled her eyes, “ugh, I’ll meet you guys there.”

For the end of October, the weather was pretty good, it was breezy but not cold. It was a bit of a walk from the university to the ground where the carnival was being held so you contented yourselves by making light conversation. You spoke about your classes, his Art classes and your Criminal Justice classes. In the light of day, he looked so tired and you hoped that his classes weren’t wearing him out.

Finally, the smell of funnel cakes and popcorn, coupled with laughter and screams of delight were carried on the brisk October wind. You and Dalton smiled at each other as you walked into the carnival.

“I love funnel cake,” Dalton grinned.

“Me too,” you looked wistfully over at the stall before turning to the handsome boy at your side, “but rides first?”

He laughed and pushed his long hair back with his hand, “that’s a good idea, what do you want to go on first?”

You looked around, trying to decide before you gasped and clutched at his sleeve, “please, can we go on the ghost train?” you pointed over to it.

Dalton bit his lip as his gaze followed where you were pointing. It looked as though he was going to refuse – he had a strange look on his face – but he nodded with a sweet smile, “sure, let’s go.”

You grabbed his hand, smiling up at him when he linked your fingers together as you walked over to the ghost train. He refused to look at you, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the grass but you didn’t miss the way a flush spread across his cheeks. As soon as you walked into the pitch black to wait for the ride Dalton’s grip on your hand tightened and he pulled you closer to him but you didn’t think anything of it.

The ghost train was pretty good, it had the cheesy cheap thrills that you loved but there were moments that actually made you jump. Dalton seemed to be on edge the whole way round, he bounced his leg and his hand was still clutching yours, gripping tighter when there was a jump scare.

“Hey,” you whispered, “are you okay?”

He nodded, “yeah,” he whispered back, “I’m just a little jumpy,” you nodded and didn’t push it but you noticed how relieved he was when you left the darkness of the ghost train and suggested a roller coaster.

After a few exhilarating roller coasters you both walked towards the food stalls still hand in hand, “so, what’s your favourite ride?” you asked.

“Um, it’s kind of lame,” he laughed, “but when my mom and dad were still together we’d all go on the Ferris Wheel together, and it was perfect. So, I guess it’s the Ferris Wheel,” he flushed, you’d very rarely heard him speak about his parents, it did seem like he didn’t like talking about them much. He looked back at you with a grin, “you want to come on it with me?”

You bit your lip and looked away from him, feeling silly, “I’m terrified of heights,” you looked back at Dalton who gave you a confused look, “I’m alright on roller coasters because they’re over so quick but I can’t think of anything worse than being suspended in the air in a metal wheel,” you shuddered, “I’m sorry Dalton.”

Dalton shook his head and gave you a kind smile, “you don’t have to apologise for anything, Y/N. Come on, let’s get some food.”

On the way to the stalls, you ran into Chris and stopped to speak with her while Dalton walked ahead to get the food, “did I see you guys coming out of the ghost train earlier?”

“Yeah, so what?” you asked.

Chris laughed, “how did you persuade him? Did you have to kiss him?” when Chris saw that you had no idea what she was going on about, she carried on, “he’s terrified of the dark, when we were roommates briefly he had to plug a nightlight in. He must really like you, Y/N.”

“Really?” you asked, not sure if you should believe her. Chris nodded with a smirk on her face, you glanced up to see Dalton walking towards you with the food and a warm smile on his face. You instantly felt bad, if Dalton could get over his fear for you then surely you could do the same for him. You smiled at him as he greeted Chris and you thanked him for the food, “okay, I’ll come on the Ferris Wheel with you.”

Dalton raised an eyebrow and he frowned, “we don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No, no. I want to, Dalton,” you smiled at him before you could second guess yourself. You hardly tasted the food as you and Dalton walked through the carnival, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the huge metal wheel, it seemed crazy that you would soon be up there.

As you queued up for the wheel, Dalton’s hold on your hand tightened and he pulled you closer again but it was wildly different to how he had held you in the queue of the ghost train. It was his turn to comfort you. When you got to the front you thought your legs would stop working but miraculously you managed to follow him and sit down in one of the seats. You jolted as the wheel began to move slowly.

“You’re okay, Y/N. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You nodded and gave him a shaky smile, “thank you.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest as the Ferris Wheel creaked and you slowly moved towards the apex. Dalton grinned as he looked over at the view and you felt brave enough to lean over him and take in the scene below, the people down below looked like ants and the clouds seemed so close. Dalton’s presence was so comforting that you even managed to relax as the wheel stopped at the top.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, “yeah, I think I am, thank you for being so great about this,” you laughed nervously.

Dalton shook his head and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “you don’t have to thank me, Y/N,” he grinned and you noticed just how pretty his eyes were and you noticed the different tones of blue.

With a flush you leaned up and kissed his cheek, Dalton didn’t have the chance to react to your kiss because the wheel began moving again and you squeaked as you jolted. Dalton laughed, giving you an apologetic look as the ride moved back to solid ground, to which you were thankful for.

As you both met up with Chris at the end of the ride she smirked and held up her phone, “oh you guys are just adorable,” she laughed as she showed you both the pictures she took.

You both laughed at the picture of you looking scared, your eyes wide, nearly bulging out of your head. Dalton stopped laughing abruptly and looked at you with a flush as Chris flicked to the picture of you kissing his cheek.

Chris smirked, “come on, I’m still hungry. Let’s go to the diner down the road.”

#fluff #dalton #dalton lambert #dalton lambert x reader #dalton x reader #reader x dalton #reader x dalton lambert #insidious #insidious 5 #insidious the red door #reader insert

247 notes · View notes

hannahssimblr · 8 months ago

Text

In the hallway after school on Tuesday, as I head to my locker to retrieve my gear bag, I spot Miss O’Reilly. She is locking up the art room, and gives me a big smile as I approach her. She’s always doing that, smiling at me, I mean, and it throws me off. It's usually not the expression teachers have when they see me coming.

I smile awkwardly in return and she turns her body towards me, takes a step, prompting me to halt beside her instead of barrelling past her like I would have, not enthused about facing the wrath of Doherty if I hit the rugby pitch even one minute late.

“Jude! I've been meaning to congratulate you.”

“Um, for what?”

She laughs as though I’m being dense deliberately, “I spoke to Eileen, the guidance counsellor last Friday and she told me about your offers.”

“Oh, for college.”

“Yes! How wonderful. I’m just so pleased for you that everything worked out the way that you hoped it would, after all of the hard work you put in this last year it’s just fantastic to hear it. And tell me, did you get accepted to every college you applied for?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” she takes a big pause, taking it in, “wow. You must be delighted. How does it feel?”

“I dunno, miss.”

“Hard to get your head around, I’m sure. Your parents must be proud too.”

“Mm.”

She’s determined to ignore our mismatched attitudes towards this news, taking a big, jubilant breath before launching into more affirmations, “well, what a confirmation of your talent and skill. I had a really good feeling about your work when you came to my class last year, and I’m just so pleased that you got the results you wanted. Have you decided which college to choose yet?”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, “yeah I’m choosing NCAD.”

“Oh!” I can tell she’s trying to maintain her upbeat attitude, but eyebrows slowly draw together in confusion, “I hadn’t realised you changed your plan. When we last spoke about it in March you told me you were looking forward to attending universities abroad.”

I shrug, “Yeah, I, um, I changed my mind in the end. I’m going to stay in Dublin.”

“Hm, okay, I just… Jude, do you mind if I ask you why?”

“Yeah, you can ask,” I say, and am instantly horrified by the tremor in my voice. I fight it back with a hard swallow, “It’s just, like… um,” Oh God. What is happening to me? I’m conscious of the crowds of students milling through the hallway right behind me, and of the fact that I categorically cannot do this here. “Sorry…”

“Oh, come in,” she says in a low voice, jangling the keys in the art room door with an urgency that feels entirely necessary, and when she lets me into the room ahead of her I stand dumbly in the middle of it as she fumbles with the blind over the glass doors, tingling jolts of anxiety running down my arms and through the tips of my fingers.

“What is it, sweetheart?” She says, and simply that, the word she uses and the way she uses it makes me want to crumple onto the linoleum floor in front of her.

“You’re alright, you’re just…” she purses her lips, searching for the word, “overwhelmed, I’d say. College and all of that kind of thing, it can get on top of you at this time of year. I know it’s a lot to think about.”

I manage a grunt of vague agreement.

Miss O’Reilly drags a folding chair from the side of the room, “C’mere, sit down there and we’ll have a quick chat about it.”

“Um, Mr. Doherty…” I say, and she understands, “Don’t mind him. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She settles into a seat across from me, and gives me an encouraging smile. As I search for the words I want to say I’m cognizant of how comforting this woman is, how unfazed she is by me and whatever it is that is happening to me in this room. She has a daughter, I know that, a daughter who goes to our school and for a moment I’m jealous of her, that fourteen year old girl who gets to have a mother like this one, that is soft and comforting in all the places where mine is sharp and disinterested in me and every feeling I have ever experienced.

I’m not convinced that I even know how to talk about things like this, afraid that I will try to and come across like the weirdest, most unhinged person on the planet. My thoughts and feelings will be so nonsensical that they will make everyone around me cringe with discomfort. “I’m trying to do the right things,” I attempt, “but somehow the right things feel very wrong to me.”

“When you say ‘the right things’, Jude, do you mean you want to choose the right college?”

I nod.

“And why does NCAD seem like the right choice?”

“Because of my girlfriend.”

“Michelle?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you knew that to be honest.” I never thought that teachers noticed or cared about things that weren’t arbitrary uniform rules and homework assignments, but evidently I was wrong.

She smiles kindly, “So Michelle is going to NCAD?”

“Yeah if she gets the points in her leaving. She applied for all the same colleges as me but got none and now I feel sort of... like I have to stay for her.”

“Is that the right decision for you?”

“I dunno, miss.”

She hums contemplatively, “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing this kind of thing, but it’s not always the best choice to base big life choices on your girlfriend when you’re only eighteen years old. Especially one as important as your university.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s never an easy choice to make. I really empathise with you here, because when you’re in love with a person, you-”

“I don’t even know if I love her.”

There’s a pause, she looks surprised, and so am I. I'm stunned that I told her that, this thought that I've never dared to utter before.

And then everything comes spilling out of me. “Look, it’s just that I feel very trapped,” I say, “Sometimes I think there’s something abnormal about my brain, because I make decisions that even I don’t understand, like with Michelle... when I think about us being together and our relationship I can hardly remember anything good that’s happened between us for a long time, the last fun thing we did or the last time I felt happy. I can’t even remember what I was thinking when we got together. I feel like I’m on autopilot, or like things are just happening to me without me having a hand in it.

“Somehow I’ve just, like, ended up here and I’m making plans with her and promising her things that I haven’t even decided if I want yet. I thought that I wanted to move away, but maybe I don’t anymore. Maybe it’s wrong of me to do that, because what if I go away and then I realise that what I actually wanted was to be with Michelle?”

I breathe in, knowing that I have probably been talking too much, but now I am unwilling to stop, “My parents, they’re fighting a lot at home. Something happened a few months ago and it's just been a battlefield ever since. I know that if I go away I’ll leave my sister alone to deal with all of it. She’s only nine, and the constant tension upsets her so much, she goes into a spin about it and starts fantasising about all of these awful scenarios, and see, my parents don’t know how to deal with her, they don’t really like it when kids act like kids. Or at least they’re not that interested in them– in her. I keep imagining this future where I’m gone, I’ve left home and I’m hundreds of miles away and she’s all on her own with them, and there’s nobody to really look after her because I can’t get home so easily, and when I think like that, even the thought of going away, even wanting it a little bit makes me feel like the most selfish boy on earth…”

Miss O’Reilly produces a tissue and holds it out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I realise she is offering it because I have started to cry. My face is somehow wet with tears. “Oh,” I say, hoarsely and take it.

“Jude, you’re still a teenager.” She says gently, “You can’t possibly be responsible for the emotions of every other person around you. It’s too much.”

“Yeah.”

“When you’re young you have to make selfish decisions, ones meant for yourself and yourself only. Nobody else is going to make them for you. You have to really ask yourself what the right choice is for you, whether you’ll be able to be truly happy in your current circumstance where nothing may change or will you be better off on your own, doing something you love and experiencing real freedom in spite of how others may feel about it.”

I wipe my eyes and nod, staring down at my lap, still in a state of shame and disbelief that I have allowed myself to sob like this in front of my teacher, though if she is bothered she doesn’t show it.

“When you imagine your ideal life,” she urges, “where none of these things are a factor, not the things you promised to Michelle, not what's going on at home, what does it look like?”

“God,” I breathe, almost chuckling because the answer is so easy, “I’m gone. I’m not here. I’m just miles away and I’m making art and hanging out and doing what I like.” It sounds so simple when I say it out loud, yet for the longest time now I’ve felt like a criminal for wanting these things.

“And where do you see yourself?”

“Berlin,” I say, surprising myself. It’s not like I’ve put real time into thinking about this, visualised myself walking those streets, in fact I don’t even know what Berlin looks like, but it feels right to say it, as though there is some cosmic reason for me to go there. Perhaps only because it’s the furthest from home.

Miss O’Reilly nods, “NCAD is a fine college, Jude, but your talent is wasted in a place where you don’t want to be. You could do anything you want. You have incredible potential and I’d be very sad to see it wasted. Life passes you by very quickly, you know, and these kinds of opportunities don’t present themselves as often as you think. It may seem obvious, but you only have one life to live.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t make a decision for you, but all I want you to do is really think about this. Put a good amount of thought into what you really want when you remove everyone else from the equation, then, once you know, you can decide what's worth sacrificing. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Good, then that's your homework,” She smiles and reaches to squeeze my hand, which I am embarrassed about because my skin is clammy, but just like everything else about this moment that is humiliating to me, it doesn't appear to faze her.

“Thank you,” I say, and she nods. “I hope you’re not in a hurry to get to your rugby practice.”

“No,” I sniff, and let out a thick laugh, “No miss, I think I’ll skip it today.”

“Good,” she says, “That’s a good start, see? Here you are, doing exactly as you wish.”

She smiles at me, once again, that bright, warm smile, and I give her one in return because maybe it's just me, my weird brain and the things it invents, but the feeling of hope that rises in me in that moment feels very real.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2010 #that's the last of April!!#i'm so exicted to move on from this #and say goodbye to this cursed school #ch: Miss O'Reilly

49 notes · View notes

klaus-littlestwolf · 1 year ago

Note

Can you please do anal with Klaus and Y/n

Or something like that

Maybe klaus fucks her with a vibrator up her ass

Of course if you’re uncomfortable I understand, after reading the highschool klaus I thought you might be someone who would write it

Modern!Highschool Klaus M. Pt.4

Warning: Smut! Anal sex, Squirting, Dirty talk, and tooth rotting levels of Dd/Lg sweetness from Daddy!Klaus

Masterlist

‘Okay, let’s go mail them!’ Y/n grinned, hopping up and down excitedly, somehow she was more excited about me going to Art school than I was.

‘I still don’t like that you paid for this, I-‘

‘You need to let it go Daddy, I’ve already paid for your applications and it’s only to 3 schools. All of which you’re going to get in so it’ll be worth it!’

We’ve been together for a week now and in the last week Y/n has insisted I apply to art schools that I’m never going to get into. I know that she wants me to pursue my dream but I don’t know if I can take the rejection. All of the schools I would consider going to are extremely prestigious and competitive, they also only accept 150 kids every year but she insists that I try. I agreed to 3 of the applications of which she has helped me with the past few days, my top school however I refused to even apply. The price for the application was 150 dollars and Y/n had paid for the 3 I was sending already which cost 120. I hate her spending money on me, I should be spoiling her, that’s my job as her boyfriend, then again her parents gave her money instead of caring for her so she really didn’t need me to.

‘I love how optimistic you are for me Babygirl.’ I loved that she believed in me so much, though I hated how much she doubted herself. She had gone on and on to me about how dumb she is and I assumed she was failing out of school when she has a 3.8 GPA, however I convinced her to apply to schools in the same areas as the ones I am, with any luck we will get to at least be close if not get an apartment together.

‘I’m not optimistic, I’m realistic! You’re fucking talented Daddy, they would be stupid as fuck not to pick you!’ God I love this girl.

After mailing the applications for the both of us we ended up back at my house where Y/n had been staying with me for 4 days straight now.

‘You realize it’s going to be your fourth night staying here in a row, right?’ I questioned and she looked up at me from where she had sat on my bed, pulling out her math book.

‘Yeah…?’

‘Don’t you think we should talk about that?’ I changed into a pair of sweats and removed my shirt, getting comfortable to not do anything for the rest of the night since it was Friday and we could lounge around the entire weekend.

‘Oh…um, okay. I mean, I can go. I didn’t realize that you-‘

‘What? No! Y/n, no! I mean we should talk about you bringing stuff here if you’re going to be staying from now on. I can move some stuff and you can have a couple of drawers, you can bring your shampoo and shit so you don’t keep going home to shower. The shower thing is becoming very inconvenient as I would very much like to take a shower with my girlfriend, we are doing that tomorrow whether you like it or not.’ I teased, pushing her back onto the bed and lifting her legs and wrapping them around my waist as I crawled over top of her.

‘Is that right?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Her eyebrows went up before I leaned into her neck, sucking a dark red mark onto her skin.

‘I suppose I’ll just have to get used to the idea then, won’t I?’ I grunted an affirmation while continuing to kiss her neck, trailing my hands up under her shirt. ‘We can go and I’ll pack a bag tomorrow if you’re okay with it. My parents won’t care, probably won’t even notice if I’m perfectly honest.’ She said it as if it was normal and she didn’t care but I knew deep down it bothered her a lot that her parents didn’t give a shit about her. ‘My god you’re a fucking horn dog!’ She teased, feeling my hard cock pressing against her pussy.

‘Yes, we know this. I’m a 17 year old boy, it’s common sense to assume that…I love you.’ I had previously told her that I love her in passing, teasingly but also serious however she looked at me shocked as she could feel how deeply I meant it.

‘Nik-‘

‘I love you. I’m sorry you don’t have enough people telling you that because you deserve it and it’s their loss that they don’t get to know what an amazing, generous and wonderful girl you are but I love you Y/n.’ She nodded slowly as if taking it in before a huge smile overtook her face.

‘I love you too Nik. I love you so much.’ She pulled me down to press her lips to mine hard. ‘You know what else?’ She asked against my lips and I pulled back to look at her.

‘What?’

‘I trust you.’ I felt honored by that, I know she has a hard time trusting people so to know she trusts me is a wonderful feeling.

‘I trust you too, and I would never hurt you. You’re my Princess.’ I trailed my lips down her neck, continuing to suck marks there knowing how much she loves and hates it, constantly having to cover them with makeup.

‘Maybe we try something new tonight?’

‘Mmm, like what?’ We’d only been together a week but we’d proved to be a very horny and adventurous couple. I couldn’t imagine what she meant by that.

‘Like maybe another hole?’ She whispered as I continued sucking on her skin until my brain caught up to her words and I pulled back, looking down at her in shock.

‘Really? You-you want to-I would need to stretch you out first.’ She shook her head, taking my hand and bringing it down to her pussy, my fingers grazing something against her asshole and I quickly realized something was already stretching her little hole out for me. ‘Fuck!’ I practically ripped her shorts and panties from her body to see the green jewel on the end of the butt plug that she knew was my favorite color. ‘You’re so fucking perfect, you know that? Are…are you sure?’ She nodded, grinning excitedly and I didn’t need to ask again, pulling my sweats and boxers down before moving to grab the lube I had in my drawer. I placed the bottle beside me before leaning down, ready to shove my face into her cunt when she pulled on my hair.

‘If you want to do that later, fine, but I have had a butt plug in my ass for almost 2 hours, and I’m already dripping. If you don’t fuck me now, I swear to God, someone is going to!’ Her tone was playful but I could tell how serious she really was and I growled, pulling the green jewel from her ass and hearing her whimper as it popped free.

‘Fuck!’ I cursed, seeing her hole open slightly and quickly squirting the bottle on my fingers, pushing them into her and feeling how tight she still was before practically filling my hand with it and lathering my cock in the slick substance. ‘You tell me to stop and I will, okay?’ She nodded firmly, determination covering her face as I lined my cock up with her hole and began pushing in, hissing at the tight squeeze. I had thought her pussy would kill me when I fucked her the first time, and now as I pushed all the way into her hole I’m thinking I may be reincarnated during this she’s so damn tight. ‘GodDammit! How many times have you done this?! Fuck you’re tight!’

‘Never…’ she whimpered and I froze, looking down at her in shock. I had just assumed, clearly incorrectly, that she had tried everything with James…and here I am in her ass for the first time.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that-‘

‘Don’t make it a big deal, I never trusted him…I love you Nik.’

I just stared at her for a moment in shock. It was one of the very few times she didn’t call me “Daddy” while I’m inside of her and it gave me butterflies in my stomach. ‘Y/n, I…my God Princess, I love you so fucking much!’ I leaned down to press my lips to hers and as I did we both cried out at the pressure.

‘I wish it had always been you, wish I could have given you my virginity-‘ I covered her mouth with my hand, resting my forehead onto hers as I took a deep breath.

‘You’ve given me everything that means anything Y/n, virginity is a fake construct created by men to shame women. You’ve given me your love and trust, your body is just a plus…a fantastic plus that I’m deeply in love with-‘ she smacked my ass as I teased her and made her giggle which only made me grunt as she squeezed my cock when she laughed. ‘Okay. Breathe.’ She nodded as I leaned on my arms and pulled back out of her, pushing back in again and not being able to stop the smile as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’ I pushed back in 2 more times before speeding my pace up a bit as she began to start moving as well, relaxing under me as she grew used to the new feeling and wrapped her arms around my neck.

‘Yes Daddy! Your cock feels so good! Ahh!’ I knew I wasn’t going to last long and I was determined to make her cum before I did, also knowing we would definitely be doing this again.

‘Are you gonna cum for Daddy, Princess? You gonna cum from Daddy fucking this tight little hole?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Yeah? Daddy’s fucking your tiny babyhole right now, I know that makes you want to cum! You need it!’ My hands gripped her thighs and lifted her legs up, pushing them onto my shoulders and she wailed! I shoved into her once more before her back arched and she squirt all over my lower body and the blanket which was the single sexiest thing I believe I had ever fucking seen and not a second later I was cumming right along side her, filling her asshole as full as I possibly could, crashing our lips together as we came.

I couldn’t tell you how long we stayed in that position, unable to move until I felt her shiver against me. Being covered in cum in a basement with the air conditioner on is a bad combination, however I keep it on almost always as Y/n likes to sleep in the cold and be able to snuggle into my warm body under heavy, fuzzy blankets. It makes me feel like I’m in the arctic sometimes but I like how happy she is when we cuddle under 6 Sherpa blankets with a heavy comforter on top.

‘Hold on gorgeous, hold on.’ I pulled myself out of her gently and moved to the bathroom, washing my cock off from the pint of lube and cum before getting a wet cloth. I grabbed 2 pairs of my boxers and 2 shirts before quickly cleaning her off as well.

‘Don’t feel gorgeous, feel sticky.’ She mumbled, grimacing as I wiped her thighs, before sighing.

‘Well you are, gorgeous as always. Daddy’s perfect Babygirl. You’re the most perfect girl that’s ever walked this earth and I am the luckiest man in existence that you’ve decided that I am worthy of getting to love you.’ Her face blushed a deep red and I loved seeing how flustered she got when I said things like that. She deserved all the love in the world and for some reason she had never gotten any until me, so I will be making sure she knows how perfect she is every chance I get. ‘How do you feel? I didn’t harm you, did I?’ I wondered, lifting her legs and maneuvering the boxers up her body to cover her before sitting her up and pulling the shirt over her arms and head.

‘No Nik, I’m okay. A little sore but totally fine, wonderful, absolutely perfect! My Daddy made me feel so good! I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before.’

‘Well that’s good, because you squirt all over me.’ I smiled, kissing her nose before seeing her eyes widen and quickly pressed our lips together before she could do something stupid like apologize to me. ‘It was hot, I would say the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen but I think watching my cock push into your asshole has to be the sexiest thing.’ I brushed her hair out with the brush on the bedside table before putting it up for her and removing the damp blanket on top of the bed that we had been on, laying a new one on top and crawling in beside her.

‘I love you Daddy…promise me we’re going to be together forever.’

I pulled her close, resting her head on my chest and kissed her head, my hand rubbing up her back. ‘I promise Baby, it’s you and me, Always and Forever.’

4 Months Later

‘Nik! Where are you?!’ I heard Y/n call from the front door. She had officially moved in a week after moving her stuff into my room and after seeing how much of an effect she had on me my mother didn’t mind at all, loving my girlfriend like her own child nearly instantaneously.

‘Kitchen with Elijah and Kol!’ I shouted back, pulling the potatoes out of the oven and finishing playing up our dinner for the night before my brothers tore into the rest.

‘Hey.’ She greeted, pulling me close and kissing me excitedly. ‘I have something for you.’ She told me, holding up a letter.

We had gotten all of our college letters back last week and surprisingly I had been accepted to all of them like she said I would and we had decided on Columbia university. It had an amazing arts program and she was accepted to a school not far, but as she seemed to be holding up a college admissions letter I was confused.

‘What’s this? I got all my school letters back.’ I said just as Rebekah walked in, hugging Y/n in greeting, they had become very good friends despite my pleading them not to.

‘What’s this about school? I thought you got accepted.’

‘I did…what did you do?’ I questioned her and now everyone was looking at us.

‘Well you adamantly refused to apply to the school you wanted to go to most of all and so I paid to get the admissions forms and forged your application. All I had to do was fill in your information and make a portfolio of 20 of your most recent pieces. I picked my favorites…I used my painting as well.’ She blushed and I just stared at her for a moment.

‘That cost $150 Y/n! I told you I didn’t want to do that and you picked paintings I didn’t want to use on top of that?! Why would you-‘ I huffed out a sigh, running my fingers through my hair and turning away to put the dirty dishes in the sink.

‘Rhode Island School of Design.’ Elijah read, having taken it from her.

‘He’s afraid he won’t get into his dream school so he pretended that the price was the reason he didn’t apply.’ She told him and I turned around, glaring.

‘You Spent $150 Dollars On Me For A Rejection Letter!’ She flinched and I instantly relaxed my body as much as I could, never wanting her to be afraid of me. ‘Why would you do this? I told you I wasn’t going to apply and you fought for it but I still said ‘no’. Why would-‘

‘You’ve been accepted.’ Elijah spoke and I spun to look at him, staring for about 5 seconds before snatching the letter and reading over it to see that he was right. It read that they were impressed with my assortment of unique art pieces.

‘I got accepted to a college about 5 miles away if that’s any help in making your decision for-‘ I cut her off by shoving my lips to hers roughly and hugging her to my body, face in my neck.

‘I’m so sorry. Thank you Y/n. Thank you!’ I took hold of her face in my hands and felt like I fell in love with her smiling face all over again. ‘You believed in me when I didn’t, this whole time. I still don’t like you spending money on me but…thank you. Looks like we’re going to Rhode Island next year.’

‘Damn straight Art Nerd, you ain’t goin’ without me! All those art nerd girls, can’t have you being stolen away.’ She teased.

‘Not a chance in Hell Princess. You’re mine. Always and Forever.’

266 notes · View notes

ellieclaireblack · 1 year ago

Text

sanctuaire | sanctuary

sanctuary | noun your safe and peaceful haven a comforting place of refuge and rest in a noisy, chaotic world

{brother's best friend | fem!reader x james potter} ⪼ warnings: mentions of abuse, panic attack, disorderd eating ⪼ word count: 2k

part two: unforgivables playlist

story: sanctuaire | sanctuary

“What in the world is going on?” I got awoken by a shout and shot up. James beside me stirred and we were faced with Sirius’ face in ours.

“What are you doing here?” my twin brother faced me.

“Sirius, I can explain.” I got up from the bed, but Sirius was already walking away, clearly hurt. I didn’t see any reasoning behind his actions but there was no way to stop him. Shouting his name several times helped nothing, except for waking even Peter, who was sleeping like the dead normally.

I sank to the floor and put my face in my palms. Suddenly two lanky arms wrapped around me. “Hey don’t despair, he’s going to calm down. You know how he gets and he’s hurt too.” Remus told me. “The two of you just need to talk.” James spoke up from the bed.

“Yeah but he’ll have to come to me, I definitely won’t make the first step. Not after him overreacting like that.” I told the two still feeling hurt. It wasn’t just Sirius not wanting to listen to me. There was just so much bottled up rage and fear inside of me. Fear that we might not surpass this, that our relationship might never be fixed again. Rage that my mother was such a terrible person, that my dad didn’t do anything against her. It was incredibly frustrating knowing you couldn’t help the one person you looked up most to, even more frustrating not being able to talk to that person even if you needed their opinion most.

“y/n please don’t be as stubborn as him, you know that way you’ll never get over this.”

“Believe me Rem I’m trying. Now I’ve got to get back to my dorm. I need to make myself ready for school.”

“Wait, I'll bring you down with my Invisibility Cloak so nobody gets suspicious of you wandering around in your pajamas.” I looked down at my body and realized what I was wearing, the cut of my pajamas was revealing quite a lot of my cleavage and due to the cold my nipples poked through the fabric. I crossed my hands over my chest and nodded at James to get up. He got the cue and we made our way to the dungeons.

“Nightbane” I whispered the password to the common room, squeezed James’ arm and slipped inside knowing I would see him later.

──────────────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──────────────────

I went up to my room and quickly got dressed, since it was a school day I wore the school uniform. In the bathroom I met Flo who looked like she was about to throw up on me.

“Bonjour, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez vous? [Good morning, what’s wrong with you?]” I asked her switching into French, all children of the Sacred 28 spoke it fluently and sometimes we would switch into talking it without noticing.

Flo made a sound that sounded close to hurling and pressed out “Sick.”

“Merde! [Shit] Give me 5 and I’ll get you to the infirmary.” I exclaimed and proceeded to make my hair via a few spells and brush my teeth. Applying perfume was the last step.

Then I grabbed Florence’s hands and pulled her up. With most of her weight leaning on me I quickly fetched my bag filled with school essentials and we were on the way to the infirmary.

──────────────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──────────────────

After I left Flo in Madam Pomfrey’s hands I made my way to the great hall. I found Theo and Adam and sat beside them. I sipped on my tea when I felt eyes staring at me. I deduced it was my twin brother and his entourage. Not shooting Sirius another look I got up again not having touched my toast and made my way to our first class of the day.

──────────────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──────────────────

Miss Aurelia Granville, a former auror, taught the Defence against the Dark Arts class. Consisting of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Can you believe my bad luck?

Beside me was an empty seat, that’s where Flo usually sat. The first day back and she was already sick I couldn’t endure the day without her. The scraping of a chair startled me and I looked up to find James’ boyish grin smiling at me. The corner of my mouth quirked up but fell down as soon as I saw my brother behind him. It turned into a frown when I realized a few of my fellow Slytherins would report me sitting next to a Gryffindor to my dearest mother.

James sat down nonetheless and before I could protest Professor Granville entered the room. "Good morning class. I hope you had an amazing holiday. Today we're going to talk about the Unforgivable Curses."

In half a second all of the color drained from my face. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and my heart beat so fast that it hurt. Every curse my mother threw at me came crashing down. Every part of my body ached feeling the strike of the Cruciatus Curse on my body.

"First of all can anyone tell me how many unforgivable curses are." "Three Miss." Remus answered. "That's correct, Mr Lupin."

"And who can tell how those three are called?" Everyone remained silent not wanting to speak up and saying those three words, scared it would have an effect on the speaker itself. “No one? Come, Miss Black I know you know this."

My eyes shot uo. Why of all the students did she have to pick me? "There's the Avada Kedavra curse, for instantaneous death. The Imperio curse, for total control. And-'' My fingers shook violently now. "The Cru-Crucio curse, for excruciating pain." "Well done Miss Black. 10 points to Slytherin."

I hid my hands under the desk, but it was too late. James had already seen them. Tears were forming in my eyes and James grew more anxious by the second. It felt like I couldn't breathe anymore. Minutes passed and the only thing I heard was the blood rushing in my ears. I could see Professor Granvilles lips moving but couldn’t understand a single she was saying.

I had to get out of here. "Professor Granville?" I said raising my hand, doing my best to keep it from shaking. "May I be excused for a moment." With a nod from her I shot up and hurried out of the classroom.

Running now, the tears were streaming down my face and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I hid in a corner trying to even my breath. Nothing worked. Over the last few years panic attacks were nothing unusual for me, but not at Hogwarts. This was the only place where I felt safe, except when the reminder of reality got to me in the form of letters from my parents.

Time seemed to stop moving and I still couldn't stop shaking. Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm. Looking up I spotted James. Worry and concern etched into his features. "y/n, what's going on? Please talk to me." He pleaded.

When he realized I couldn't answer him, because I was having a panic attack he knelt down on the ground in front of me and took my face into his hands. "Mimic my breathing. Come on, you've got this." I did as he told me and slowly felt like I could talk again.

"Tell me five things you see come on."

"You..., a window, my shoes, the ground..., a painting." I slowly got out. "You're doing great love. Five things you hear come on." "You, my heart, the clock ticking, uh- the wind outside and—and the steps of the other students." "Amazing y/n, are you okay again?"

"Yes I uh think so. Thank you J." He pulled me into a hug holding me close.

The bell rang and I realized I missed the whole lesson, that's probably why James went looking for me. All of a sudden Sirius was standing in front of us. Looking just as worried as James earlier.

“What the hell did she do to you?” He nearly shouted, I winced at his loud words and some more tears spilled down my cheeks.

Sirius crouched down beside me and took both of my hands into his. Looking me deep into my eyes he told me “y/n tell me this instant before I lose my mind, please.” James shot confused glances between us.

“I, Sirius, I- can’t.” Was all I got out squeezing his hands slightly. Overwhelmed from all the crying and memories rushing over me. Overwhelmed from being so close to my brother again. My everything, even though I never meant the same to him, he’s the person I’d move mountains for.

“James, could you leave us for a minute” Sirius told his best friend and James shot up and was gone so quickly you could think he’d never been there. Now it was just Sirius and I in the little alcove. Luckily it was so secluded that nobody was able to spot us. I couldn’t have the whole school seeing me having a breakdown.

“Come on now, Dimples. It’s just the two of us.” He said, calling me by his childhood nickname for me.

I took a few deep breaths steading me. “The night- uh when you.. left. Walburga went berserk. Never in my life have I been so scared of her. She banned Reggie to his room thank god and then took most of her anger out on me. She threw some Unforgivables in the mix and today just brought back a lot of memories I guess.”

Sirius looked stunned for a moment before he gathered himself to answer me. “I- oh god. y/n/n I can’t believe she did that. I mean I’m used to a few curses from her, but Unforgivables. I- it’s all my fault and I’m so sorry. But you know I couldn’t have stayed any longer. She-”

“I know how she is. I get it, believe me I do. What I don’t get is why you couldn’t tell me you were leaving. Would it have been so hard? I know I don’t stand a chance against James. From the moment you met him, he was the sibling you never had. But guess what you have two siblings. You were Reggie’s and my role model growing up, never backing down from Walburga. I get it was hard and when you finally found James you could just forget about Reg and me for some time. I know how hard everything was for you. But that doesn’t justify your actions.”

“You really think that?” A tiny nod from me was all it took for him. I could see his heart break right then and there. Millions of tiny splinters. Years of realization washing over him. “Oh. Oh y/n. You can’t be for real. You and Reg were always my priority. James may be my brother in spirit, but the two of you- I could never not for one minute forget about you. Since day one you’ve been a part of me, infused in my every vain and the day Reggie was born even at two years old I vowed myself to always love and protect him. I never wanted to make you feel like I loved you less, when the both of you are the people I love most in this entire world.”

A tear spilled from his cheek, mirroring my feelings. To all the people saying communication is key. Wow. One talk and years of insecurity and doubt faded into the background. I reached out and hugged my twin as hard as I could. Never wanting to let go again. He reciprocated the embrace and we spent some minutes sitting there. The worries about our parents, our differences, our fight being unimportant for now.

a/n: i'm back guys. did you miss me? i haven't been inspired lately and incredibly stressed but i finally got back today. i'll try to upload another part maybe even today (i'm in a flow rn) xoxo and lots of love ellie <3 p.s. it's only half proof read so i hope i didn't make any mistakes

#hogwarts #james potter #james potter x reader #marauders #romance #sanctuary #sanctuaire #sirius and regulus #sirius black #sirius orion black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #black!reader #james potter x black!reader #regulus black #dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s

80 notes · View notes