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andhumanslovedstories · 3 days ago

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I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

#b.#this is about the election and also some past self harm and a murder #nursing tag

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aliyahwritings · 2 days ago

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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (06)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 5.3k

Aliyah's Notes: after the calamity of ch5 i present u ch6.... enjoy it. or not. AND IM SORRY FOR THE ENDING 🔥😩😅😨

It's been days. Or weeks? You didn’t even know anymore. The calendar on your phone kept reminding you, but you stopped counting. Maybe if you ignored the world long enough, it’ll forget you existed. Maybe if you stayed in this apartment, you could disappear into these four walls like you were never here in the first place.

Numbers. You used to count them, obsess over them, keep track of every passing hour. But now, time feels... irrelevant. What’s the point of knowing how long you’ve been sinking when no one’s coming to pull you out?

The silence feels... safe. No one to judge you. No one to see the mess you’ve become. It’s funny, though—people always see what they want to see. The headlines called you a goddess, an untouchable force of beauty and success. But what would they say if they knew the truth? That the girl in their glossy magazines could barely stand to look at herself anymore.

You hated this. The lying, the pretending. Nina thought you were just going through a rough patch, but she didn’t know how deep the cracks went. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be this anymore—broken, fragile, teetering on the edge again. You swore you’d never come back to this place. But it’s funny how easy it is to fall back into old habits, how fast the darkness creeps in when no one’s watching.

No one’s watching.

Maybe that’s for the best. Let them keep seeing the version of you they wanted to see��the confident supermodel, the girl who had it all. Let them believe the lie, because the truth? The truth was ugly. The truth was you’ve been staring at your phone for days, hoping—no, needing—for a message, for something from him.

But nothing.

He was in Missouri. Working, you guessed. You didn’t even know when he was coming back. He didn’t say.

You hated him for that. But you hated yourself more for caring. For letting him in, even when you knew better. For thinking, for just one second, that maybe—just maybe—there was something real between you, beneath all the lies you told the world.

But none of it was real. Not the dating, not the smiles, not the person they thought you were. You were a fraud. A perfect, golden fraud wrapped up in designer clothes and empty promises. And the worst part was, you were too tired to fight it anymore. Maybe this was who you were now. A girl who hid in her apartment, waiting for the world to forget she existed.

Or maybe it already happened.

The sound of the door creaking open started you, pulling you out of the spiral you’ve been sinking into. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. No one else had the key to your apartment beside her.

“Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Nina’s voice cut through the heavy silence like a knife. “This is the third time this week. How long do you think you can keep doing this?”

You didn’t respond.

Nina stromed in, slamming the door behind her, and you heard her heels clacking on the floor as she made her way to the living room. “You’re not answering your phone. You’re not responding to emails. You missed three shoots! People are asking questions, Y/N. What do you think I’m supposed to tell them?”

You stayed silent, curling deeper into the couch. Maybe if you didn’t look at her, she’ll go away. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint that you didn’t want to be saved.

But Nina wasn’t the type to back off. “No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to ignore me, not today. You need to get up. You need to fix this, Y/N. You think you can just hide away forever? Is that the plan? Because let me tell you, honey, the world won’t wait for you to get your shit together.”

She stood in front of you now, hands on her hips, glaring down at you like a disappointed mother. Her usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, and you could tell by the tension in her jaw that she’s been worrying.

“Talk to me, honey,” she said, her voice lower now. “This isn’t you. You don’t just disappear like this. What happened? Is it Rafe? Is it work? Are you back to…” her voice trailed off, but the question hanged in the air, heavy and unspoken.

You couldn’t look at her. The shame curled in your chest, making in hard to breathe. She didn’t know. She didn’t know how badly you’ve relapsed, how badly everything felt like it was slipping out of control again. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not to her. Not to anyone.

“When’s the last time you even showered? Eaten something decent? Your career’s on the line. Everything we’ve worked for is on the line. You can’t just… give up like this.”

Her words hit like slaps, each one stinging, but you still didn’t move. You couldn’t.

Nina huffed, pacing now, her frustration spilling over. “I don’t know what happened between you and Rafe, and honestly, I don’t care. But whatever it is, you don’t get to throw your life away because of it. You’re stronger than this, Y/N. I know you are. So why the hell are you letting this break you?”

You flinched at the word “break.” Because that’s what it feels like. Like you’re already broken, shattered into a million pieces, and you didn’t even know how to start putting yourself back together.

Nina crouched down in front of you, her voice softening, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me, honey. Please. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

For a moment, you almost did. You almost told her everything—the text, the relapse, the endless void you’ve been sinking into. But the words caught in your throat, choking you. What’s the point in talking when nothing will change?

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not fine. You’re far from it. You think I haven’t seen you like this before? You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

She stood, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. “You need to snap out of it. Because in five days, you’re getting engaged to Rafe Cameron, whether you like it or not. And a week after that, you’re walking down the aisle. You can’t afford to fall apart now.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a lead blanket. The engagement. The wedding. The lies. It all felt so suffocating, so inevitable.

Nina crossed her arms, her voice firm. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up, you’re going to shower, and you’re going to pull yourself together. Because tomorrow, you’ve got a charity event with Rafe, and you’re going to smile for the cameras and make everyone believe that you’re still that perfect, golden girl they love.”

You wanted to scream at her, tell her you couldn't do it, that you didn't even know how to pretend anymore. But instead, you nodded numbly, sinking deeper into the fog that had settled over your mind.

Nina sighed, her voice softening again as she headed toward the door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. And I swear, Y/N, if you're still in this state when I get here, I will personally drag you to that charity event."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving you alone with the weight of everything she'd just said.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Just laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how you were supposed to pretend like everything was fine when every part of you was falling apart. You could still hear Nina’s voice in your head, telling you to pull yourself together, to be the golden girl everyone expected you to be.

You dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy. Your legs felt weak, and your mind feltl worse. Everything was numb, but somehow you still felt the pain. You stumbled into the bathroom, turning the water on without thinking. The cold spray hit your skin like tiny needes, and you stood there for a while, trying to let the string wake you up. But it didn’t work—you were still in that fog.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, you didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. It didn’t matter. You grabbed the first thing you saw—a plain black sweater, loose and oversized, and a pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit right anymore. You didn’t even try with your hair, just pulled it back into a bun. No makeup. What was the point? It wasn’t like anyone cared what you looked like today.

When you got to the office, the tension hit you the moment you walked through the door. Your stomach twisted as you made your way down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your chest tightening with every breath. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t. But as you pushed open the door to the conference room and saw him sitting there—Rafe, looking like he hadn’t been bothered by a single thing—you felt the anger bubbling up, hot and sharp.

It started as a familiar ache that had been building ever since the night he walked out of your apartment without a word. Two weeks. Fourteen days of silence. Fourteen nights spent waiting for a text that never came, hoping for even the smallest explanation, something to make sense of the hollow space he’d left behind.

Day 1. Monday, 2:42 AM

You: “Hey. Are you home? LMK, just to be safe.”

Day 2. Tuesday, 8:18 AM

You: “I’m still so confused about what happened last night, but let’s talk when you have a minute.”

Day 3. Wednesday, 5.32 PM

You: “Look, if you’re mad at me, just say it! I thought we were good, what the hell?”

Day 4. Friday, 11:04 PM

You: “It’s been days and I still don’t understand why you left like this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 3:27 PM

You: “Fuck you. I don't know why I keep texting. I know you’re seeing my texts, even though I’m on delivered. Just tell me if you’re done with this.”

Day 5. Sunday, 10:41 PM

You: “Why am I acting like I’m the one who fucked up? I didn’t do anything wrong. You left me like I was nothing, and your only explanation was a shitty rom-com excuse. I thought we were friends, Rafe.”

Day 5: Sunday, 11:36 PM

You: “I hope you rot in your shit ass apartment, but trust that I will show up to one of your stupid games with a sign that says “Small Dick Ghoster” in big, glittery letters. And I hope Chiara will hug you so hard that she’ll end up strangling you to death. Fuck you, again!”

And there he was, sitting there like none of it had happened, like you were still just strangers playing a game. His posture relaxed, that effortless confidence radiating from him, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him, completely indifferent.

It infuriated you—the ease with which he moved on, the way he could look so composed, so completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t abandoned you in that moment when you were raw and vulnerable. Like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

Every part of you screamed to confront him, to demand an explanation for the silence, the absence, the complete disregard. You could feel the hurt clawing up from your chest, tangling with the anger that burned hotter with each passing second. He was so close, but somehow, he felt miles away.

So instead, you steeled yourself, locking down the hurt, burying it beneath the anger that simmered just beneath the surface. You wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on you, wouldn’t give him the power to know just how much his absence had shattered you. No—he would get nothing from you. Not a word, not a glance, not a single sign of the turmoil raging inside you.

You walked past him without a word, each step heavy with the weight of the anger you swallowed down. Let him sit there, pretending like nothing was wrong. Let him think he could ignore you, dismiss you, erase you from his life without consequence. Because you would make sure he felt every bit of the coldness he had left you with, every ounce of the hurt he’d carved into you.

Ignoring him was the only power you had left, the only way to keep the anger from spilling over, from breaking you down entirely. And if he thought he could continue on as if the past two weeks hadn’t happened, then he was going to learn just how wrong he was.

Nicolas cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. “Hi, you two—we’ve got a lot to go over, and the timeline is tight. The engagement is in five days, and the wedding is scheduled for a week after that. So we need to finalize the details today—food, decorations, dresses, the guest list…”

You couldn’t focus. The words blurred together a dull hum in the background as you stared down at the table. Rafe said something, his voice casual, but you tuned it out. You didn’t want to hear him.

Sabrina spoke next, her tone brighter, more enthusiastic. “The audience is really enjoying you together, by the way. Ever since your date, and especially after the pictures from Kelce’s party where you two were cuddled up? People are in love with the idea of you and Rafe together. So, good job, guys.”

Your stomach churned at her words. Cuddled up. Like you were some happy couple.

“And tomorrow,” she continued. “You’ll need to make another public appearance together. It’s a charity event for cancer awareness. A perfect opportunity for more good press. The public is expecting you two to show up as the perfect couple—affectionate, in love, all of that.”

In love.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. This was the part where you were supposed to smile and nod, agree to hold his hand and play the role of the devoted future fiancée. But all you felt was the tension building, the weight of the lie pressing down on you until it was suffocating.

Rafe shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you still didn’t look at him. Rafe felt an uneasy twist in his stomach. You looked… different. Disheveled, almost. Your sweater hung losely over your shoulders, practically swallowing your frame, and he could see dark shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You seemed smaller somehow, your usual energy muted, replaced by something tense and fragile.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your hands, noticing how your fingers fidgeted restlessly, twisting and tugging at your sleeves. Your leg was bouncing under the table, tapping out an anxious rhythm that only he seemed to notice. Every small movement, every nervous habit—you looked like you were holding yourself back, like there was something simmering beneath the surface, ready to break free.

You still hadn’t looked at him, hadn’t given him a single glance, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You’d been messaging him, and he’d been… well, avoiding it, convincing himself it was for the best. But seeing you now, seeing the wear and tear he’d left behind, he couldn’t shake the guilt.

Rafe’s chest tightened. He’d expected you to be angry, maybe annoyed. But this? You looked worn down, frayed at the edges, like you've been carrying a weight no one else could see.

You didn’t remember most of the details they were talking about. Your mind drifted in and out of focus as they went on about the guest list, the food, the decorations. All you heard were words—dresses, flowers, venues. None of it felt real. It was as if you were watching someone else’s life unfold in front of you, just sitting there, an outsider in your own story.

“The wedding will be televised, of course,” Sabrina says, flipping through her notes, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of it all. “And with a full press presence. We want every detail to reflect both of your public personas. Elegant, grand, but also with an intimate, personal feel—something that tells a story about who you both are.”

Who we were. I almost laughed at the irony. I didn't even know who I was right now, much less who we were.

“We were thinking of something grand but elegant. A modern luxury wedding. White roses, lots of gold accents. Maybe something at the estate in the Hamptons?”

You glanced at the board, at all the glossy, pristine images of weddings that could belong to anyone. None of them felt like you.

“Do you have any preferences?” Sabrina asked, smiling like this is the most exciting conversation in the world. “Colors, themes, anything that’s important to you?”

"Actually," you finally broke your silence, your voice coming out quietly, but the words landing heavily in the room. "I’d like the ceremony to reflect... my background." You could feel Rafe's eyes on you again, but for once, you didn’t care. This wasn’t about him.

Sabrina blinked, taken aback, but she quickly nodded, jotting down notes as if she were open to whatever you had in mind. "Of course, that could be beautiful. Were you thinking about specific details?"

You hesitated for a moment, uncertain if they’d take you seriously, but you pressed on. "Yes. The colors… the decorations. I want there to be vibrant colors—not just whites and pastels, but deep greens, maroons, and gold. The way we’d have them back home. And for the flowers… jasmine and roses. That’s what we use for weddings where I’m from. I want it to feel like... like part of my heritage."

Nicolas raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t expected you to care about any of this. But he just nodded, his pen moving across his notepad. "We can definitely arrange that. A traditional, multicultural theme would add a unique touch to the event, I think. It’ll definitely resonate with the press and the viewers."

You didn’t care if it resonated. It wasn’t for them—it was for you, a sliver of authenticity in this whole farce.

Then Sabrina’s voice broke into your thoughts. "And of course, the dress. Have you given any thought to what you want? Or would you like us to arrange for a stylist to go over options with you?"

Your heart twisted at the mention of the dress. The one thing you’d always imagined as a girl—the dress you’d wear at your own wedding. Only, you’d never thought it would be for this.

"I’d like to include some of my culture there too," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe... a fusion. Something elegant and modern but with hints of traditional South Asian bridal elements. Like embroidery or... beadwork. Maybe even henna if it wouldn’t look out of place."

Sabrina seemed to light up at the idea. "That would be stunning. We can definitely work with that! I know several designers who specialize in fusing traditional and contemporary styles."

She was still talking, but the air around you felt thicker, as though the room was closing in. You could sense Rafe’s gaze without even looking at him, the weight of his silence pressing into you.

You zoned out again, your mind wandering back to the last wedding you attended. The colors, the music, the way the bride’s lehenga shimmered under the sun as she walked down the aisle. You’d always thought your wedding would be like that—full of life and celebration, surrounded by people who loved you.

Instead, you were planning a wedding for the cameras, for people who didn’t know you.

The sudden, sharp knock on the door cut through the stillness like a jolt of cold water. Your head shot up from the pillow, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, the world felt like it was still. The quiet of your apartment, the thick fog still clouding your thoughts. You didn’t want to get up. You didn’t want to face the world outside of this bed, this cocoon of emptiness you’d wrapped yourself in for days.

Another knock, this one louder, more demanding.

“Y/N!” Nina’s voice came through the door, sharp and impatient. “You better not still be in bed, because I swear—”

The door swung open before you could even make a sound, Nina storming in, wearing the same determined, unbothered expression she always had when she was on a mission. You tried to bury your face back into the pillow, but she wasn’t having it. Her hand reached down, grabbing the covers and yanking them off with force. You shivered as the cold air hit your skin, the warmth of the blankets yanked away along with any shred of comfort you’d been clinging to.

“Get up.” Nina wasn’t asking. She was commanding. “You’ve got a charity event today, and Rafe is already at the venue. We don’t have time for your pity party.”

You squinted at her, still half-wrapped in your sheets like a burrito, and mumbled from underneath the pillow, “Can’t you just… I don’t know… handle it for me? Go in my place. You’d look great in a gown.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’d look amazing, but you and I both know I don’t have that kind of charisma.”

“True,” you admitted, peeking out from under the pillow.

Nina raised her hands in mock surrender. “Exactly. Now, up. I’m not playing with you today.”

Before you could even protest, she yanked the covers off you with a dramatic flourish, leaving you to shiver in nothing but your oversized T-shirt. It was a miracle you didn’t roll off the bed in the process.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.” Nina didn’t wait for you to even get a grip on reality before heading straight for your closet, rummaging through your clothes like she was on a mission. “You’re going to look so good today that Rafe might just start thinking you actually like him.”

You shot her a glare that could’ve frozen water, but she just smirked, tossing a black dress onto the bed like she was some fashion fairy sent to save you from yourself.

“I’m not going,” you said flatly.

“Oh, yes, you are.” Nina threw a matching pair of heels onto the bed with the same casual flick of the wrist she used to dismiss your protests. “Because you will look stunning, and you will show up.”

You sat up slowly, rubbing your face. “What is it with you people? Why does everyone keep trying to drag me out of bed? It’s like I’m the world’s most reluctant celebrity.”

“Because you are.” Nina grinned, holding up your dress like she was presenting the Holy Grail. “But, hey, guess what? You’re really good at it. So stop sulking and get your glam on. You’re the star of the show today.”

You let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, joy.”

Nina didn’t even flinch. “I’m not asking for a performance. Just put on the damn dress and show up. You can pretend to be miserable, and I’ll pretend I’m not a miracle worker for getting you out of here.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then dragged yourself out of bed with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Oh, by the way, Aisha’s going to be there. She practically begged me to make sure you show.”

Your eyes snapped open. Aisha Patel. Your best friend and, quite honestly, the only person in your life who could drag you out of bed with a single text. She’s been your best friend since you’d arrived in the States. She’d been away for five months—longer than ever before—working on some high-profile project in Switzerland. You hadn’t seen her in ages.

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Aisha’s coming?”

Nina smiled smugly. “Yep. She’s flown back for the event. Can you imagine the drama if you don’t show up? She’ll never let you live it down.”

You sighed, a smile tugging at your lips. “God, I missed her.”

“Me too,” Nina said, her voice softening for just a second. “But you still have to get up. Like now.”

You looked at the dress Nina had already picked out, a sleek white gown that somehow made you feel both glamorous and like you were about to attend a royal gala. “Fine. I’m up. I’m dressed.”

Nina, who was already rummaging through your closet like a pro, grinned. “You look absolutely beautiful, honey,” she noticed your weight loss but decided to not speak on it, in fear it’ll make you relapse… if only she knew. “Chiara’s also going to be there...”

You froze, the mention of Chiara Romano sending a cold shiver down your spine. You’d told Nina everything about the Chiara encounter—her subtle digs, the way she made you feel like you were just another passing phase in Rafe’s life. She’d made things uncomfortable enough at Kelce’s party, and now you had to face her again?

“What? Fucking why?”

“Her father’s the one running the whole damn event,” she explained. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of her or her family because they’re pretty famous, especially in the entertainment and events world. So, get ready for a day full of small talk, fake smiles, and people who will pry into your private life.”

You sighed. “How perfect is that?”

You stood in front of the mirror, trying to shake off the heavy weight of everything swirling in your head. You glanced at the clock. You were running out of time.

You reached for your hair tie, pulling it through your tangled locks. Your hair had grown longer than you remembered, and you decided to tie it up in a messy, yet elegant bun—one that would allow a few soft, curly strands to escape and frame your face. It was casual but chic—classic you. You let a few strands fall loosely, giving the bun a less formal, more effortless vibe. After a moment of satisfaction, you moved on to the makeup.

A soft, dewy glow covered your skin, nothing too dramatic. You didn’t want to feel caked in layers today, just enough to enhance your features. You applied a touch of blush to your cheeks, just a hint, to keep the look fresh. A thin line of mascara lengthened your lashes, and your signature lip combo was the finishing touch. Simple. Comfortable.

As you turned to check yourself one last time, you heard Nina's voice from the other room.

“Y/N! We need to go now. Rafe's texting me and he’s getting antsy. He’s apparently already at the event!”

You sighed, feeling the familiar rush of anxiety settle into your stomach. The mirror reflected a version of you that was ready for the world, but the world, especially tonight, wasn’t ready for this version of you. But as the pressure of the event built up, you couldn’t deny the uncertainty gnawing at you.

When you made your way into the living room, Nina was pacing, her phone glued to her ear. She shot you a quick, approving glance. “Looking good. Let’s go.”

As you grabbed your clutch, ready to face whatever tonight had in store, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped a beat. Was it Aisha? Maybe she’d arrived early, wanting to meet up before the event?

But when you opened the door, your breath caught.

Standing in the doorway wasn’t Aisha.

It was Rafe.

He was in a suit—sharp, looking like he belonged in a magazine ad for high-end fashion—but his eyes, dark and intense, held something more than just a desire to impress. He had the look of a man who knew he had messed up.

His words hit you before you could even process them. “You look stunning. I wanted to make sure you’re okay... before all this.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart thump a little faster, and you hated yourself for it.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking at him. You hadn’t expected him to show up—especially not with that kind of intensity in his eyes.

You exhaled slowly, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest, your posture defensive. The audacity of this guy.

“Really?” You scoffed, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping up your spine with sharp sarcasm. “Now you care?”

Rafe seemed to falter at that, but he quickly recovered, taking a small step closer, but not enough to make you feel cornered. “I’ve always cared, Y/N. You know that.” His voice was quieter this time, and the sincerity in his eyes almost made your resolve crack.

“Do I?” you shot back, stepping out of the doorway and giving him a once-over, your gaze icy. “Because you sure had a funny way of showing it.”

Rafe winced, a flash of guilt flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I messed up, okay? I should’ve reached out. I didn’t know what to say, but I should’ve just... shown up.”

You rolled your eyes, the anger simmering beneath your skin rising again. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, not from the sight of him, but from the frustration that had been building over the past two weeks. “You didn’t know what to say? You think showing up fixes two weeks of silence? Just like that?”

He took a step forward, his face tightening, as though he was bracing himself for a confrontation. "I wasn’t sure what to do," he said, his voice lowering. "I thought... maybe you needed space. I thought if I gave you time, it would be better." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his expression. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the audacity of his words settling like a lump in your throat. “Space?” you asked, your voice low, incredulous. “You thought ghosting me for two weeks would give me space?”

Rafe’s face twisted in guilt, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to let him off the hook.

“Did you at least see my texts?” you demanded, anger rising in your throat.

"Y/N, you’re needed at the car right now!" Nina called, stopping Rafe in his tracks of answering. Before you could walk away, Rafe reached out, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back gently.

"Wait," he murmured, his thumb brushing your skin.

You stared up at Rafe, your breath caught in your throat, uncertainty swirling in your chest. The air between you two felt charged, a thousand unspoken questions hanging in the balance. Your pulse was racing, but before you could voice any of them, Nina practically shoved you both into the elevator. Her hand pressed the button for the ground floor as she threw your heels at you, the sharp click of the stilettos punctuating the tension.

You caught them on instinct. The elevator descended, and your mind was still spiraling, trying to piece together what the hell was happening. What the fuck—this distance between you and Rafe?

But just as the elevator doors opened, the sound of a familiar car door slamming outside caught your attention. A quiet thud, followed by the sound of heels clicking against pavement. Your instincts were on alert, an uneasy feeling crawling under your skin.

And when you turned to look, you saw someone stepping out of the car.

Someone who shouldn’t be here.

“I was wondering when we’d get the chance to catch up.”

chapter seven

496 notes · View notes

ellecdc · 2 days ago

Note

okay but what about when a puck goes flying wild and hits medic!reader square in the face (talking concussion, wound, blood, bruise, whatever u feel like) and her whole team goes crazy both in terms of protectiveness of her but also confusion bc what do we do without our favourite medic??? (can be in the remus hockey player or pt universe, anything u feel like luv)

is there a bug in my wall? how do you know this is EXACTLY what I've been daydreaming about????? I demand answers! (thank youuuuu for the request)

hockey player!Remus Lupin x team medic!reader who's a real member of the team [2k words]

part 1 | part two | part 3

CW: injury, angry Swedes, writers distaste for her home team (of which she cheers for), Scandinavian's beefing with each other but it's in good fun

Remus was certain the game clock was moving in slow motion, or that whoever was in charge of it forgot to hit play a few times when the play would continue. He needed this game to be over.

He needed to get you you.

The entire game had been frustratingly slow; both teams scored one goal in the first period, and then nothing happened in the entire second period. A fight broke out at the beginning of the third, but then it seemed like they were back to nothing happening.

That is, until the worst thing happened.

The Leafs were lining up for a goal in the Lion’s zone with a one man advantage due to Fenwick’s tripping penalty. Grönvall, Dearborn, Nadeau, and Potter were on the ice for the penalty kill, blocking shots for Krum with various parts of their bodies that Remus was sure was going to result in wicked bruises.

Matthews had the puck behind the net, sending it up the boards towards Nylander, Nylander passed it to Rielly who quickly tipped it to Marner, Marner passed it back to Matthews who was now in front of the net, back to Marner who went to pass it to Ekman-Larson, but Nylander reached forward with his stick at the last minute; the puck had been travelling too fast and simply tipped off of Nylander’s stick, ricocheting towards the Lion’s bench.

The Lions - who had been watching the puck - ducked.

You - who had been watching Nadeau who was now limping after blocking a particularly nasty shot with his knee - didn’t see it coming.

The puck hit you right in the face.

Your head whipped to the side in surprise before you all but fell from where you were standing on the bench.

The play stopped, but that was on account of the puck being out of play and not on account that a member of the team - the most important member of the team, if you asked Remus - was down.

“I’m fine.” You hissed at everybody - the players on the bench, the players on the ice, the coaching staff - who had called your name. But you had your face in your hands, were kneeling on the wet rubber floor, and your voice came out pinched.

“Y/N.” Remus barked, suddenly feeling breathless even though he’d not been on the ice, unable to push through the other players on the bench to get to you.

Lars - the team's PT - placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and bent down beside you, and Remus was struck with how much this looked like how you cared for the players when you met them on the ice. Head low, soft murmurs so that no one else could hear, and a comforting hand.

“Stay out here for the team, in case they need you.” Your response came muffled from behind your hands, and you quickly stood and took off down the tunnel towards the locker room alone.

Remus only registered the sound of whistles being blown then, James having clearly chirped at one of the Toronto players, earning him a shove from Rielly before Grönvall, Nylander, Dearborn, and Marner paired off, too.

“That should be a fucking delay of game!” James barked at the ref who was shoving him towards the Lion’s bench (and away from Rielly’s jugular).

“I heard ya the first time, Potter.” The referee grumbled as James got off the ice.

“Fan har du glömt hur fan man siktar på det jävla nätet, Nylander?” (translation: did you fucking forget how to aim for the damn net) Remus spat as he watched number 88 skate towards the Toronto bench.

“Kukhuvud.” (translation: dickhead) Nylander muttered back as he stepped off the ice.

“That’s enough, number 10.” The ref barked warningly at Remus.

Remus did not think that was enough, however, and looked over at the Toronto bench only to find the team medic giving some instruction to their PT before disappearing down their own tunnel, and Remus felt his heart unclench slightly.

He sincerely hoped he was going to check on you.

Remus wondered if he should do the same.

“Lupin, Black, Trenholm; you’re on.” Coach barked, and Remus tried to breath around his panic as he pushed himself over the boards and lined up for the face off.

“Loops, the more times the whistle needs to be blown, the longer it’s going to take to get back to the locker room.” James whispered to Remus as they repositioned for another face off.

“Unless you’re trying to get kicked out of the game for a misconduct.” Sirius added breezily from his other side. “Then you’re on the right track.”

“Do not get any penalties or injuries.” James continued severely. “She cannot help you right now and you’ll be of no help to her.”

Remus let out a groan and playfully shoved his two line mates away from him. “Okay, Cap. Don’t have to be so damn reasonable all the time.”

“Isn’t he the worst?” Sirius chuckled, though Remus knew he was likely glad James talked Remus down.

And it was only once Remus stopped going for blood and focused more on ending the fucking game - which required one more goal so as not to go into overtime - did the clock finally start running down.

Fenwick ended up tipping in a shot from Sirius with only 30 seconds left of the third, and since Remus was getting off and knew he wouldn’t be needed in the last 29 seconds of the game, he stepped off the ice and completely bypassed the bench as he made for the locker room.

“Y/N?” Remus called as he made it to the empty locker room. “Doc?”

He checked the exam room which was empty before checking the dark room next.

After knocking gently and without waiting for a response, Remus pushed the door open to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, eyes closed and face pointed to the ceiling as you held an ice pack to your cheek.

“Baby.”

“Is the game over?” You asked then, turning to look at him and basically ripping his heart right out of his chest when he noticed the drying tear tracks on your face.

Before Remus could respond, the sound of the arena horn blared signalling the end of the game.

“Yes, the game is over.”

“Did we win?”

Remus forced a laugh out as he took off all the equipment he could manage; his gloves, helmet, his jersey, followed by his elbow pads and finally his shoulder pads, leaving him in only his underarmour on his top half. “Of course we won, lovie. Think we were gonna let them get away with that?”

You tried to smile at him, but the deep sigh that left your lungs told him it was just for show.

“My poor girl.” He cooed as he reached for the ice you were holding to your face. “What happened, hm? Let me see.”

You released your hold on the ice pack that Remus gently pulled away to expose your cheek; already mottled and blooming with deep, bruising colours. It had even broken the skin, though it seemed that it was shallow enough to only require a piece of medical tape slapped over it.

“Den jävlan.” (translation: that fucker) Remus muttered under his breath. “I can’t believe he did this to you.”

Your brows furrowed at Remus’ words but you didn’t get a chance to respond when the sounds from the locker room permeated the dark room.

“Loops, is doc-” ‘in here?’ was left unsaid when Remus turned to see Sirius standing in the doorway with Isak and Benjy behind him, exposing your form huddled on the ground.

“Doc.” Benjy whined, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Isak and a reproachful shushing from Sirius.

“Concussion protocol, Fenny.” Sirius hissed at him, earning him a quiet laugh from you which Remus was eternally grateful for.

“Does anyone need me?” You asked quietly, causing all four boys to shout (albeit quietly) various protests.

“I think these fuckers can manage to tape up their own jammed fingers for one game, yeah?” Benjy offered.

“Lars can help, too.” Isak agreed.

“There ya have it doc, your job has been made obsolete!” Sirius cheered. “You’re welcome.”

“Alright, alright. Get out of here.” Remus grumbled with no real ire, letting out a breath of relief when the sounds from the locker room faded away when the door was shut behind them.

“Were you looked at?” He asked you then, repositioning the ice to your cheek as he cupped the opposite side of your face with his free hand.

“Yeah. The Toronto medic checked me out.”

“Concussion?”

“Probably.”

Remus made a sympathetic tsking sound as he pulled the ice back from your face as if expecting the bruising to have gone down in the last 15 seconds. “I hate this.”

“What? My face?” You tried to tease.

“No.” Remus denied, shooting you an exasperated look. “What he’s done to your face.”

“It was a puck, Rem.” You chided. “It happens.”

“But not to you.”

“This is how I feel when you get hurt, you know.” You pointed out to him, even lifting one of your eyebrows expectantly at him.

Remus groaned. “But it’s supposed to happen to me.”

“It’s hockey. Now I’m just a real member of the team.”

Remus tilted his head as he smiled at you. “You’ve always been a member of the team, doc.” He assured you. “The prettiest member, at that.”

You hummed in appreciation as he moved his hand down the column of your neck; touch gentle and reverent as you tilted your head back against the wall.

“Don’t let Black hear you say that.”

Remus tried to control his laughter, he really did, but he couldn’t help the surprised bark that bubbled up at your words. “You know, I think he may feel bad enough to bestow the title to you.”

“You think?” You asked then, tilting your head into his hand that was holding the ice pack.

“Positive.” He promised, smiling at you in semi-content silence before tsking pathetically at you again. “My poor sweet girl; what do you need, hm? What can I do?”

You looked at him for a long moment; eyes darting across his face and pupils perhaps a bit too wide considering what just happened that threatened to make Remus’ protective ire return to its former boil from its current simmer when you came to some decision.

“Can you go shower?”

“Shower?” He asked disbelievingly, noticing you turn somewhat bashful.

“Please?”

“Yeah, you smell and you’re getting sweat all over our gorgeous medic.” James offered quietly as he slowly closed the door behind him; donned in his team hoodie and a pair of sweats, hair still dripping from the shower he just got out of and his contacts traded for his usual glasses as he moved across the room to sit beside you against the wall. “I’ve got it from here, Loops, but you’ll want to be quick; Grönvall knows doc has a thing for Swedes now, I may not be able to fight him off for long.”

James looked so earnest as he said it that the way his face melted at the sound of your laughter made Remus’ love for his teammate and captain increase tenfold; heart threatening to burst from his chest.

“Okay?” He asked you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then to your uninjured cheek, and then to the tip of your nose before placing one on your lips. “You’ll be okay with Cap? Think you can manage?”

“I’ll do my best.” You responded, your soft smile growing cheeky at the sound of James’ scoff, though your one eye twitched as you winced. “Fuck my face hurts.”

“Get out of here, Loops. You’re making her smile and hurting her face.” James scolded.

“Alright, alright. Just don’t leave me for Grönvall.” Remus insisted as he pressed one more kiss to your head before he stood and began walking towards the door. “I mean it; the only thing worse than a Norwegian or a Dane is another Swede.”

494 notes · View notes

uraveragelonelygay · 23 hours ago

Text

Lavender

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending!), mentions of vomiting and blood.

a/n: Hello hello! This is perhaps definitely ass, but I really wanted to write for these two because I'm hopelessly in love with them both. Please enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease 花吐��病 (Japanese) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

The natural world had always brought you peace. The softness of the grass under your feet, the gentle breeze blowing against your skin, the tender feeling of a flower blooming by your hand. You were a green witch, after all.

That was what had driven your family away. You had been 12 when you first sprouted a lily from your hand. You were more curious than scared; you had always sensed there was something that separated you from the rest of your family. Something about the earth’s treasures had always called to you.

But even at your young age, you knew who you were living with. Sharing your abilities was a recipe for disaster; a sure fire way to have you outcast from your family.

So you did your best to keep your powers a secret, honing them in private, away from the watchful eye of your parents.

When you were 20, the inevitable happened. You were meant to be collecting berries for dinner when you had spotted a Willow Tree. It was worse for wear; you could feel it pleading for help as you approached it with a soft smile.

“It’s alright,” you soothed the tree as you gently placed your palms against the soil where its roots rested, “You’ll be alright.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on strengthening the roots as green magic pulsed out from your hands, through the soil, and into the tree itself, which began to heal instantly.

The snapping of a twig broke you out from your trance, turning your head to see your mother fleeing the scene. Your heart dropped as you quickly stood, moving to follow her.

She was too fast. By the time you had returned to your cabin, everyone and everything was gone. Your entire family had left you.

You fell to your knees in the middle of what was once your home, tears rolling down your face as you stared at the ground. Numb, broken, grieving.

You don’t know how long you stayed in that spot. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you just sat, staring, longing.

It wasn’t until a cold hand lifted your chin that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

“Hello, darling,” a voice said softly, and you locked eyes with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Her brown eyes were intoxicating, drawing you in. You tilted your head at her in confusion and intrigue. Who was she? What was she doing here?

“You’ve been sat here for a week, darling. No food, no water, no sleep. You’ll kill yourself if you keep up like this,” she said as she looked at you curiously.

Your eyes widened in realization. Death.

She shook her head at you gently, sensing your fear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not taking you. It’s not your time,” she said, stroking your hair gently.

“Thank you, Lady Death,” you stuttered out, in awe of her soft nature, directly contrasting the connotation of her very existence.

She smiled at you in response. “You can call me Rio, sweet girl.”

There was a moment where you two merely looked at one another before she looked away, taking on a rather stern expression. “But I feel the need to tell you, sitting here and mourning your abandonment will only hurt you. It’s not your time. So don’t let it be. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

You stumble away from her in confusion. “I thought you weren’t taking me?”

She shook her head. “I’m not taking you to the afterlife. I am, however, taking you in. You’ll be staying with Agatha and I.”

You knew that name. You had read about it during your private studies.

“Agatha? Like…’The Witch Killer’ Agatha? That Agatha?” you asked cautiously.

Rio cackled, extending her hand to you.

You took it.

And so began the years you spent with Death and her lover, Agatha Harkness. The two women were vastly different to their reputations that had preceded them. Sure, they both had a fierceness to them. They had to, in order to survive their daily lives filled with corpses and taking souls.

But, with each other, they held such a softness. Rio often came back from a long day exhausted and drained. Death didn’t tend to be a fan favorite, and people made it evident, shouting at her and berating her as she escorted the souls of their loved ones to the afterlife. But Agatha greeted her at the door each evening with a hug, simply holding her for minutes on end, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Rio visibly relaxed into her hold.

And Rio returned the favor, treating Agatha with a love full of tenderness and warmth. Comforting her after each nightmare, preventing her from overworking herself, giving her soft apology kisses after any arguments.

Before long, you knew almost everything about the pair. You learned about Agatha and her son, and his loss which nearly tore Agatha and Rio apart. How Agatha was only a ‘Witch Killer’ to keep Nicky alive as long as she could. How Rio held such anguish and guilt at having to take Nicky’s soul. How Agatha once held it against her but now loved her as fiercely as ever.

The two were made for each other, and though they welcomed you with a similar softness to that which they showed each other, you chalked it up to them taking pity on a girl who was abandoned by her family. You knew they could never love you like they loved each other.

But that didn’t stop you from falling for them. It happened subconsciously; you never meant for it to happen. But when your heart panged in longing at seeing Agatha and Rio curled up in each other’s arms in the living room, you knew it had happened. It panged even further as you looked down, noticing a red carnation that had bloomed in your palm against your will.

You were determined to ignore it. Surely you could enjoy their presence without focusing on the way your stomach flipped when Rio smiled at you, or how your heart seemed to triple in size whenever Agatha would stroke your hair in affectionate greeting. But what you had to do became evident one morning.

“We’re headed out for a bit, doll,” Agatha said as you sat at the table eating the breakfast she had made for you.

You nodded. “Okay! Don’t stay out too late, I’m making your favorite for dinner, Ags.”

She beamed at you, making butterflies flare up in your stomach so violently they made you uneasy. “You’re a gem. Isn’t she just?” She turned to Rio, squeezing her hand gently.

“Oh, yeah, she’s the sweetest,” Rio replied, winking at you as you feel your heart beat faster.

The two bid you a final farewell before leaving for the day. As soon as they left, you began to feel an uncomfortable itch in your throat. You furrowed your brows, attempting to clear your throat to ease the discomfort, but to no avail. Eventually you began coughing. It was a cough that made you feel sick, made you feel like something was really wrong.

And when you coughed into your palm and saw the petals of daffodils, your suspicions were confirmed.

You had heard of Hanahaki disease but had always believed it to be a myth. Your heart dropped at the realization that your love for these women was going to kill you.

You had to leave.

So you did. You packed up that day and left, traveling solo for centuries as you studied the disease you suffered from.

Luckily, it impacted witches differently than humans. As your lifespan tended to be a lot longer, the disease was longer lasting; escalating at a slower pace before killing you altogether.

For the first hundred years, it had mostly been a consistent burning in your throat and coughing up various flower petals. Miserable, but bearable nonetheless.

After those hundred years, it began to escalate at a quicker pace as the flowers bloomed quicker and sharper. After 200 years of this disease, you were weaker than ever before. Coughing constantly, a never ending sensation of your insides burning, vomiting flower petals and blood.

Yes, there was the option of surgery, but you couldn’t bring yourself to allow that option to become a reality. You didn’t want to forget the love you held for Rio and Agatha. They had shown you kindness and softness like none other. You would die before you let yourself remove the memory of them from your very soul.

And you were getting close. You knew your time was running out.

And so, after another long day of slowly dying, you stared up at the sky, longing for your loves, even though you knew it could never be.

It was then that you felt yourself being sucked into the ground beneath you, and you let out a yelp at the shock.

Before you knew it, you were clawing your way out of the ground, now in a completely unfamiliar place. You were on a path in a strange, dystopian-looking forest. You could feel the magic buzzing around you as you pulled yourself up from the ground.

“Who is that?”

“I thought we already got a green witch?”

You heard a gasp and looked up to meet a pair of blue eyes you had longed for night after night for the past 200 years.

“Agatha,” you said quietly, tears welling in your eyes before you could stop them.

A familiar voice said your name and you shuddered at the sound.

“Rio.”

The two women stared at you and you stared back, unsure of what to say.

“So, are you gonna introduce us to the new girl, or…” a witch in a pink dress asked and you broke your intense stare-down to introduce yourself by name to the coven of witches.

“I’m a green witch,” you explained.

“We’ve already got one,” a teenage boy said, pointing at Rio awkwardly.

You knew well and good that Rio wasn’t here as a green witch, she was here on work business, but you didn’t want to blow what seemed to be a cover, and you also didn’t have a damn clue where you were, so you played along.

“Well, you know summoning spells, you never know how many you’re gonna get…” you tried cautiously, still feeling the gaze of your former housemates burning into the side of your head.

“Y/N, a word?” Agatha finally asked, and you gulp before nodding and following her and Rio to a secluded part of the forest.

“Hey guys…what’s up?” you asked with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

Rio narrowed her eyes at you, crossing her arms. “What’s up is that you up and left 200 years ago without so much as a word to either of us. Care to explain?”

You tried to look to Agatha for support, but she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Your stomach turned at the thought that you had upset these women you loved so deeply.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “I had some business to attend to. I didn’t want either of you to get wrapped up in it.”

“Was your business ‘killing yourself?’ You look rough,” Rio said, a teasing smirk hiding her worry.

“Thanks,” you rolled your eyes, some tension releasing from your shoulders at the knowledge that Rio wasn’t angry enough to ignore you.

“You left without so much as saying goodbye,” Agatha said quietly. She sounded so hurt, and you couldn’t believe you had brought this on the pair, but you knew they deserved to love each other in peace, not be burdened at being the cause of your death.

“Ags, I’m really sorry, I should’ve said goodbye, I just-“ you were cut off as a violent coughing fit shook you, causing both women to raise their eyebrows at you.

You turned away from them as you coughed a plumeria flower out of your throat. You quickly slipped the flower into your pocket and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of your mouth before turning to face the two witches again.

The eyes on you were soft and concerned, but you shook your head at them, shutting down their questions before they even asked. “I’m fine, just a cough.”

Rio opened her mouth to protest when a witch sporting orange streaks in her hair interrupted.

“I’m sorry to get in the middle of whatever this reunion is, but I think it’s time for our next trial.”

You furrowed your brows. “Trial?” You began to realize that you had no idea where you actually were.

“Duh, we are on the Witches Road, after all!” The teenage boy exclaimed, leaving you even more confused.

The road isn’t real. You knew all about the song that Agatha had used to lure her victims in.

“Wait, but-“ you stopped yourself from questioning any further when you saw Rio subtly shake her head at you, a silent plea to not reveal the truth of the road to the group.

You nodded in understanding, deciding to save your questions for later. “Alright, where’s the next trial?”

You looked up to see the group staring at something behind you. Agatha and Rio were particularly fascinated by it.

You turned around and your stomach dropped. You saw a cottage. It’s covered in vines and moss, making it appear worn down. But you thought it was beautiful. Perhaps that’s because it was yours. And Agatha’s. and Rio’s.

You looked at the path leading to the cottage. It was covered in flowers. You took a deep breath.

You just got here and already you were being given a trial.

As you and the rest of the coven approached the cottage, you couldn’t help but turn to the women you desire the most for comfort.

Rio had an arm wrapped around Agatha’s waist, her thumb gently stroking the witch’s hip bone. Agatha looked up at her, smiling in gratitude, and Rio pressed a soft kiss to Agatha’s forehead.

Your stomach churned at the sight, and you felt bile rising in your throat. You painfully swallowed it back down, cringing at the effect it had on your throat, already raw from the thorns slowly tearing it to shreds.

“You good?” The witch in the pink dress asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

The inside of the cottage looked just like you thought it would.

Home.

The same furniture, same pillows and blankets, same decor on the walls.

Your eyes filled with tears as you remembered all the time you had spent here with the women you loved more than anything.

“Doll,” a gentle voice said, and you turned to see Agatha looking at you softly. She approached you slowly, holding a hand out for you, but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your face and continuing to move through the house.

“This is new,” you heard Rio’s voice from the room resembling your bedroom.

You entered and were greeted with a tapestry on your wall. It showed 5 flowers. Below the woven flowers was a message:

The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke. For if they never cared, a life cannot be spared.

“It’s my life,” you breathed out, staring in horror at the plants on the tapestry.

Rio nodded, running her fingers along the tapestry as she identified the plants.

“Lily. Rebirth,” she began.

“The birth of your powers, the birth of you as a witch,” Agatha identified.

“Willow Tree. Loss.”

“The loss of your kin. Being abandoned by those you called family,” Agatha continued.

“Red Carnations. Deep, affectionate love.”

Agatha went silent at this, her brows furrowing.

“Daffodil. Unrequited love.”

Rio and Agatha were visibly shaken by this point. What hadn’t you told them? You were in love? With who?

Rio snapped her head to look at you upon seeing the last flower.

“Plumeria,” she said grimly.

Agatha’s eyes were wide. “What does that mean?”

Rio only continued to look at you.

“Rio, what does that mean???”

Her question was answered as you began to cough violently again, the sheer force of it bringing you to your knees.

Agatha rushed over to you in a panic. She looked at the rest of the coven in terror. “What’s happening to her?” she cried as you began to choke.

“The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke,” the teenager said.

“Hanahaki disease,” the witch in pink breathed out.

“What the hell is that?” Agatha was crying now, watching as petals and thorns made their way out of your mouth covered in blood.

“A disease that affects someone facing unrequited love,” Rio said in realization.

As she put the pieces together she knelt in front of you in an instant, anger coursing through her.

“You left because of this,” she said, her voice low, “You thought we didn’t love you, so you left?” she asked incredulously.

“Didn’t want—you to—-see me die,” you gasped out, fighting for air as you began to cough up more and more blood.

“You’re not dying, Y/N. I won’t take you,” Rio choked out, her sorrow getting the best of her.

“Better this way,” you managed, and Agatha choked out a sob.

“It’s not, doll, we love you, we love you,” she cried helplessly.

The whole coven stood in shock. The two women they feared the most were in the most pain they had seen since they began to walk the road.

Both women hold you tight, desperately trying to convince you of their love.

Rio grabbed your face to look at her. “There’s a reason I took you in that day, mi vida,” she whispered as tears fell down her face, “I felt pulled to you. I knew you would be special to me. Aggie and I love you so much, please believe me.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, ignoring the blood and petals and thorns and focusing on you. Just you.

When she pulled away you gasped, finally able to gather air into your lungs.

Relief was visible throughout the entire coven. They had only just met you, but seeing how your existence being threatened had brought absolute devastation to two of the most intimidating women on earth had shaken them.

As you began to breathe again, you sagged against Agatha.

“You’re okay, doll, you’re okay now,” she assured you as she gently ran a hand through your hair.

The door to the cottage slammed open, and the rest of the coven took it as their cue to leave, giving you three a moment to recover.

As you laid against Agatha, you looked at Rio with tired eyes. “Sorry for getting blood on you,” you rasped, causing the woman to roll her eyes at you.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” She scolded before taking both of your hands in hers. “I. Love. You.”

Tears filled your eyes at her earnest confession. “I’m so sorry I ran,” you began, your body shaking, “I saw the love you had for each other, and how much you had healed each other, and I couldn’t hurt that. I didn’t want you to see me die. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you said brokenly.

Agatha shushed you, kissing the top of your head. “You shouldn’t have run. It would’ve saved us all 200 years of agony,” she said, and you hang your head in guilt.

But then you felt a cold hand lifting your chin. And suddenly you were 20 years old again, looking into the eyes of Lady Death herself.

But this time, instead of looking at you with curiosity, she looked at you with something much stronger. She looked at you with love.

“But we’ve got you back now,” she said, smiling tearfully at you, “so we’re taking you in. Is that okay?”

Your body wracked with sobs as you nodded, and both women were holding you in an instant. Your back was against Agatha’s front as her arms wrapped around your waist. Rio straddled you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you close.

And out of the cracked wooden floor of that cottage, something bloomed.

Lavender. Healing. Love.

#agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader

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sinofwriting · 3 days ago

Text

The Wedding Bells Aren't For Me - Max Verstappen (& Lando Norris)

Words: 1,682 Summary: It’s Oscar’s wedding and Lando is ready. He’s ready to finally ask her out. But Max just had to ruin it. Note(s): Piastri!Reader, Lando is upset and bitter in this. Lando girlies please be nice to me.

Masterlist | Support Me!

Lando smiles as he watches Oscar and Lily finish their first dance, other people starting to join. It had been a beautiful ceremony, one that Lily had clearly put a lot of thought into and the reception hall showed that as well.

His eyes move around the room, taking in the few different people from McLaren, Oscar’s family, Lily’s family, and drivers, retired, active, never made it to F1, there was quite a collection. He pulls a bit at his tie as he notices the table that a few drivers and their partners had taken over.

Charles and Alex, Pierre and Kika, Lily and Alex, and god that was a bit confusing, Mark was over there as well, Carmen and George and most importantly Y/N, Oscar’s sister.

She was laughing at something Pierre just said, Kika and Alex both examining her nails while Charles shakes his head at the French driver.

She looked gorgeous in her maid of honor dress and Lando can remember the confusion that had flooded him when Oscar had said that she was the maid of honor before he tried to get the best man position despite knowing that Oscar hadn’t even considered him to be a groomsman, they just didn’t talk off and away from the track. Though a bit of bitterness had hit him when he learned who Oscar’s best man was.

The color of the dress brought out her eyes and the thought reminds him of her speech. Talking about how as both sister of the groom and best friend of the bride, she had been so happy when they got together and how thrilled she was to see them take this next step.

A soft smile forms on his face as he remembers her speech, it had been heartfelt and with a few funny moments. He had expected her to bring up some embarrassing moments, but she had only gently teased the couple a few times. Even Logan hadn’t brought up anything embarrassing in his best man speech.

As he stares at her, he can’t help but imagine her in a different dress, in a wedding dress, a veil covering her face as she walks down the aisle to him. It was far too soon to think about to consider, but maybe it was like what people said, there was just something about weddings.

He continues to watch her as she talks to Kika, Alex, Pierre and Charles. Sometimes Mark chiming in or George or Carmen, but it’s mainly those five that are talking. It’s surprising seeing how easy the five converse. He hadn’t really been aware that she was close to Charles or Pierre. He knew she was close to their girlfriends, to most of the driver’s girlfriends, as fans like to share photos of the girls together and talking.

His eyes break away for a moment as he hears the loud sound of laughing and watches as Lily laughs, a hand over her heart as Oscar and Logan bicker about something, he thinks he can hear just the word karting.

It makes him wish Carlos was here, but there was no way in hell that he was ever going to get invited. The thought of Carlos makes his eyebrows furrow because what was Pierre or George doing here?

Oscar wasn’t close to many drivers on track let alone keeping up with them off track. He knew that because of Logan, Alex and him talked a bit off track. Charles and Oscar had joked about the father and son thing, but a genuine friendship had formed after Monaco this year. But Pierre and George made no sense.

The only thing he can think of is that George had been one of the few drivers that had also been somewhat close to Logan, having the same manager, and maybe he had gotten an invite like that. And well Pierre and Charles were probably the friendliest drivers off track, probably the only two that would actually be friends if they hadn’t ended up in F1. They were an oddity.

The sound of her laughs draws him out of his thoughts and he smiles again at the sight, drinking it in.

He doesn’t know why, but the sound of it now fills him with confidence. He was going to do it. He was going to ask her out. He’d wanted to since the 2024 season had started, since after seeing how happy she was for Oscar in Qatar when Oscar won his first sprint race. He should have done it sooner, but it never felt like a good time, but now feels like the perfect time.

She was happy, smiling, and weddings made people think about love, about relationships, being in love.

Lando nods to himself, taking a deep breath. He was going to get up and ask her to dance and then as they danced, maybe he’d press a little closer, maybe not, and he’d ask her to go on a date with him.

He’s just about to get up when he notices someone enter the large room.

Max.

He shakes his head. He knew from overhearing Charles and Pierre that the older driver would be late, having to take his jet later than everyone else coming in due to some meeting or something, but he’d honestly figured it was just an excuse. He knew that Lily and Oscar had sent out the wedding invitations before August, but they hadn’t taken away his invite? Made an excuse about needing to give his seat to someone else?

Then again, Charles was here as well, and if it had been up to Lando he wouldn’t have gotten an invitation or it would have been rescinded after Monza, after Austin, after fucking Vegas.

His eyes go back to Y/N, the sight of her calming him down and he stands, ready to go ever to her when she stands as well. His heart thuds in his chest and he expects her to turn towards him, but she doesn’t. She’s moving, practically running and Lando’s fists clench as she throws her arms around Max’s neck, the other driver’s arm wrapping around her waist and squeezing tight.

The hug seems to go for hours before they finally stop, but even then, it’s just a small step away from the other. Her arms are still around Max’s neck, his hands now settled on her hips and it makes Lando burn. Max shouldn’t be touching her like that, shouldn’t be touching her at all.

Anger fills him as he watches her lean in and then their lips are brushing before Max moves a hand to her lower back, removing what little space there had been between them and fully kisses her.

He just had to take everything from him. From everyone. Max knew how much he wanted the championship, had to have known how much he wanted her, and he still took both from him because that’s all that Max does. Take and never even thinks of giving back.

—

“She never looks at my nails like that.” Pierre complains and she can’t help but laugh, her fingers wiggling a bit in Kika and Alex’s hold. “Paint them and maybe she will.” Pierre makes a face. “But the smell is so bad.” Charles tilts his head in confusion. “The smell?” “It’s a bit chemically. Too strong for some people.” “Ah.” Charles nods. “Like hair dye.” “Actually, exactly like hair dye.”

“Have you guys seen the photo of Charles’ as a blonde?” Her eyes widened at Alex’s words. “No.” Alex reaches for her phone, smiling at Charles when he presses a kiss to her hand before giving it to her. “Someone tagged me in it on TikTok, they did a wonderful job.” She tells them, scrolling before finally turning her phone and showing Pierre and Kika and then her.

Another laugh leaves her as she looks at it and Pierre and Kika join her, having been stifling their laughs.

“Oh, Charles.” “I know.” “Please never bleach your hair.” He shakes his head. “Never.” His fingers twirl a lock of Alex’s hair, tugging it lightly. “This one would murder me.” “Mate, your mother would murder you.” Pierre laughs. “Pascale would murder you and whoever sold you the bleach.” Kika murmurs, making them all laugh.

She’s about to ask how Pascale is, both of Pascales, but her attention is caught by someone entering the room and her eyes widen, a smile blooming across her face and she’s getting up and rushing over to him.

She throws herself at him, grinning at the laugh he gives as his arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her as she squeezes his neck.

“You made it.” She murmurs. “I made it. I nearly killed him but I made it.”

She takes a small step back, Max’s hands settling on her hips, giving them a squeeze and she can’t help but lean in. Lips brushing together before a hand is on her lower back pressing her closer and Max kisses her.

She nearly moans into it.

It had only been a few days, but those days had been long with them only exchanging a few texts as she wrapped herself up in making sure the wedding and reception were perfect while he tried to cram in as many meetings and things as possible so they could just be together for the last two and a half weeks of January.

“I never want to do that again.” Max murmurs when they break apart. She smiles, pecking his lips. “Me neither. And we won’t have to again. I’ll be around you twenty-four seven.” Her heart beats faster, excitement rushes through her as she’s reminded that they now fully live together, she’ll be going to every race this season, she’ll be with Max all the time. “Good. Now, let me congratulate my future brother-in-law.” She beams, kissing him again before they walk over to where Oscar and Lily are and as they do, she can’t help but think of how soon enough it will be Max and her getting congratulations on getting married.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #lando norris imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #sins fics

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celuere · 3 days ago

Text

I want you all over me.

pairing: feixiao x fem!reader

context: feixiao having never experienced a single mating cycle in her life was always something she has been relatively relieved about. That is until she met you

cw: feixiao has a dick here because I said so, breeding, mating press, feral feixiao, HSR didn‘t have any lore on how Foxians reproduce so I had to get creative, story takes place after she wiped the floor with Hoolay, biting

First work on my iPad with the new bluetooth keyboard I ordered, truly a life changer. Not even my fever will stop me from writing Yuri. and also huge thanks to Ray for helping me with the gradient, not all heroes wear capes. Some of them are axolotls!

NSFW utc, MDNI!

Have you ever wondered if Foxians can enter a heat? Well, they do. Just not the way you think. There are a lot of factors that play an important role in a Foxians heat cycle.

For once their relationship status is a strong factor. Are they single, taken or even married? Are they happy in said marriage? Do they want to reproduce with their partner?

Then there is their age. A first Foxians heat cycle is usually triggered in the late 20s, some may experience it earlier, some later. There are even recordings of certain individuals not experiencing a single mating process in their entire lifespan, simply because they didn’t want to, have never found the right person and variety of other reasons. A Foxians urge to reproduce along with the frequencies of their cycles may decrease with age.

Now, once having lived through a mating cycle you are considered „Mature“. No, it doesn’t refer to your mental capabilities, it‘s simply the medical term for Foxians that can reproduce. Because until you didn’t live through at least one of these unbearable cycles, your ability to reproduce is -so the doctors call it- sleeping.

In the young days of the Xianzhou, where arranged marriages were still a thing, a certain medicine was to be used if one or both parties weren’t already mature to trigger their first heat, so they may produce an heir. That was until said medication was banned for good.

Once mature you only develop a steady, balanced heat cycle that may only occur when you’re in a happy, fulfilled relationship. A few may live through it two times a year, others every two months or even just once every year.

And during the actual thing? Unless not separated from their s/o, Foxians become extremely grumpy and frustrated, it‘s better to not bother them during this time. Just avoid them all together. They reach their breaking point once they’re reunited with their partner again. Be sure you won‘t be leaving the house or rather the bedroom for the next two or three days.

Feixiao usually was never bothered by the fact that she didn’t mature yet, never once was it a problem for her. Quite the opposite. Seeing how her Foxian friends and coworkers seemed to disappear off the face of society for a good few days actually relieved her. It meant no interruptions in her training schedule and left no room for distractions.

That was until you came along.

At first the general didn’t think much of it when you first started dating. She‘d touch herself to the memory of you, how good you‘d took her cock into your wet pussy last week, moaning and clawing into her trained shoulders as you begged for her to go faster. To fuck you harder.

She first didn’t think about how annoyed she got over the week because of the smallest thing, recruits being stupid, Jiaqou annoying her, she even gave Moze a whole earful when he tried his luck on her again. Only feeling better during the mornings and evenings she‘d spent with you in her arms.

It reached a certain point on a Friday Night. Jingyuan sent her home after she almost lost her shit at Hana because of a simple misunderstanding from her side.

„Come back once you’ve calmed down.“, he said.

The funny thing? Nobody was angry with her. Not Jingyuan. Not Jiaqou. Not Moze. Not Hana. Nobody. Everybody already knew what was going on with the Merlin‘s Claw. Except for the poor woman herself.

Or you.

Once Feixiao opened the door to your shared home and inhaled your scent, it‘s as good as over for the both of you.

Poor you was just dusting off the shelves in the living room when your girlfriend practically threw herself right at you, hands clawing your shirt and pants right off of your body. Even your underwear covered too much for her liking.

Her body felt too hot. The general had the impression she‘d burn to ashes from the inside out if she didn’t bury her already throbbing cock inside your cunt within the next moments.

„F-Fei, what- Hah!“, a bite mark on your most sensitive part on your neck never sounded better to her.

She needed you carnally. Fucking wasn’t enough. She needed to breed you throughly until neither couldn’t think straight anymore. Until all that’s left inside of your spent pussy is her cum.

„Quiet, darling.“, leaving your neck with a mark that will surely take on a pretty purple color during the next few days. Goodness, she might as well died without the tightness of your cunt.

In between the fog of clothes flying to the floor, sloppy kisses and Feixiao‘s growling right into your ear, you didn’t even notice when exactly she shoved her length into you. Suddenly she was all over you, inside you, digging her claws into your skin so she could drag you on and off her cock in a faster manner, soon forming creamy ring around her base that drove her close to madness.

She wanted nothing more right now than for you to carry out her babies, the sheer thought only fuel to the fire that’s seemingly devouring her from the inside.

She didn’t try to angle her hips to hit your weak spot better, she didn’t care how you’re supposed to cover up the bite marks on your neck and shoulders, not even your beautiful tits were spared of her teeth.

„Fckin‘ take my cock into that pussy… g-get it all i-in there…“, she‘d mutter as she watches you melt over her for another time, your mixed juices oozing out on the sides whenever she‘d fuck back into you. That sofa will probably have to be replaced when she is done with you.

When your legs were pressed up against your chest that was probably the moment your soul disconnected from your body. Her using you more or less as a personal fleshlight was more than you could ever handle, even when she fucked her third load into your cunt, you just hoped she would keep on fucking out her heat with you.

If every cycle felt like this for her, Feixiao could only pray to Lan to be blessed by this amazing occurrence once every month. The warming sensation of your pussy tightening around her dick every so often, those pretty moans spilling out of your mouth with each time she rolled her hips against yours, only adding to the already torturous pressure against your cervix. She could go on like this for days.

There was one time where she accidentally slipped out when pulling back, never in her life did something piss her more off than seeing her dick outside your cum-filled pussy. Her hands immediately went back around your hips and then she pushed herself back in. With one, smooth thrust you welcomed her back inside your warmth, that absolute guttural moan the both of you let out was surely to be heard outside by any random passerby.

But don’t think she will be done with you after a day. She‘ll make sure you fall asleep with your pussy warming her dick and she‘ll make sure you also get to wake up with it, only so she can mess you up all over again.

Maybe being mature isn’t so bad after all.

#honkai star rail #star rail #hsr #feixiao #feixiao x reader #hsr smut #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #feixiao smut #hsr fanfic #xianzhou luofu #hoyoverse #x reader #yuri

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harryslittlefreakk · 3 days ago

Text

the one

summary: y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

warnings: light angst, made up town, CHEESY writing, smut that’s more making love than fucking

wordcount: 4.7k

a/n: hi guys 💘 long time no see!!! GO EASY on me im rusty!!!

masterlist

The heavy wooden door creaked as it swung shut behind you, sealing out the bitter November wind with a low groan. Inside, the warm glow of amber lights bathed the room, casting long shadows over the oak bar and a few worn leather stools scattered around it. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and a faint hint of wood smoke. A couple of locals sat quietly at a table near the back, their low voices blending with the soft hum of an old jukebox playing a slow, bluesy tune.

“Thank God,” you muttered, the day’s tension melting from your face as the warm air settled around you. You let your head roll back, savoring the first reprieve from the cold. The chill that had reddened your cheeks and numbed your fingers slowly eased, the warmth brushing over your skin.

Winter was settling into Windermere, and you’d never gotten used to it. Your parents found a strange charm in the grey skies and biting winds, bundling up and going about their routines. But for you, it felt suffocating. Each year, November swept in like an unwelcome guest, forcing the town to become even smaller, with people huddled indoors, glancing suspiciously at anyone passing by.

The town seemed cloaked in silence, broken only by the crackle of fires and the crunch of frozen leaves underfoot. It was a season that left no room for secrets, not when every movement was magnified in the stillness. With everyone tucked away, the chances of slipping by unnoticed were slim, forcing your teenage rebellion to thrive in only the rarest pockets of solitude, under the cover of long, dark nights.

“Please, just something hot,” you said, voice weary as you rubbed your hands together, trying to coax warmth back into them.

The bartender eyed you for a moment, one eyebrow raised in amusement as he planted his hands on the bar.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you,” he mused, reaching down to grab another glass.

Your head snapped up so quickly that your neck clicked, and you rubbed the sore spot as a frown knit your brow. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. He was older, scruffier, and somehow more devastatingly handsome than the last time you’d seen him. You blinked a few times, half-expecting him to be some kind of apparition conjured by the cold. But he was real. Your Harry was really standing in front of you, in the last place you’d ever thought you’d find him.

“I didn’t- I tried to find you,” you stammered, your voice catching as your gaze drifted over him.

He was taller now, his once-wild curls a little more tamed. Those same green eyes that seemed to cut straight through into your soul. His sweater clung just enough to his arms to hint at the strength beneath, and tattoos traced up both arms in intricate, dark patterns, curling from his wrists to disappear under the fabric, each one telling a story of the years he'd spent without you.

The decade you’d missed was written across him in lines and ink, yet somehow, seeing him now made you feel like that eighteen-year-old again, waiting for her best friend to realize he loved her too.

“If you’d looked hard enough, you would have,” Harry muttered, his eyes trailing over your face, taking in the flush of cold still lingering on your cheeks. Your lips pressed into a tight line as you dropped your gaze to the worn wood of the bar. You couldn’t tell him that you hadn’t found him because you hadn’t wanted to.

He was a reminder of a version of yourself you’d left behind - a girl who thought she had to earn love instead of knowing she deserved it.

He stood there, still holding the empty glass, his gaze traveling over every inch of you he could see. His eyes lingered on your hands for a moment, his expression hardening before he turned away.

Even through his sweater, you could see his back muscles tense, a reminder of just how much had changed. The unmistakable clink of ice hitting glass sent an involuntary chill down your spine, though you blamed it on the cold draft from the door. But deep down, you knew it was Harry’s presence that stirred something old and haunting within you.

He turned back to you after a few minutes, setting a mug of hot cocoa down in front of you. His hand was steady, but there was an unmistakable tension in his shoulders as he slid the glass toward you.

"Exactly how we used to have it. On the house," he said, voice low, eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to a spot just over your shoulder. You hesitated, your fingers wrapping around the glass, the warmth dancing across your skin.

“Christ. Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip. The burn of whiskey flooded your throat, a welcome contrast to the chill that had settled deep in your bones.

He still didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you’d been doing all these years. Didn’t ask why you’d come back. There was a time when you were sure he’d have asked, a time when he would have read every expression, every flicker in your eyes as easily as a page in a book. But now, the silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, woven from years of things left unsaid.

"Heard you were getting married,” Harry said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear. The words were hesitant, almost vulnerable, but his eyes had a guarded edge, as if they were holding back an ocean of questions. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, almost as if to steady himself.

“Not anymore,” you told him with a soft shake of your head, your voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the jukebox. You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over him, noting the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes, the quiet weight he seemed to carry now, like shadows that hadn’t been there before. He was still Harry - but this version of him was one you didn’t know. Or maybe it was you who didn’t know herself anymore.

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you stayed here, Harry.”

It was true. You didn’t know anything about him. You’d never asked your parents, though they would definitely be privy to what was going on in his life. They knew that whatever had or hadn’t happened between the two of you had contributed to the way you left, so they had made no attempt to keep you updated.

“I didn’t. Came back for my grandma’s funeral and the pub was about to be sold to a chain but no one could afford to take it on. So I did,” he shrugged, his eyes dropping to his feet as he spoke.

You sat back a little, memories of afternoons spent at this very pub flooding your mind. Trying to sneak notes out of the tip jar, Harry coercing his grandma to pass you both shots. “She loved it here,” you whispered, a soft smile on your lips as you traced a finger along the bar. “I had no idea she passed Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“Forty years of her life behind this bar,” Harry nodded solemnly, his jaw tense. “I couldn’t let it go.”

There was a glimmer of the Harry you knew when he said that. It was the part of him that first drew you in. He was cheeky, stubborn, but his loyalty to his family was unmatched. Beneath the external rebellion, he was sentimental and kind, the first to fiercely defend any of his loved ones, the last to leave one behind.

You had no idea how you’d ended up so disconnected from him. You’d only spent five minutes in his presence, but it felt like the first five minutes you’d ever spent with him.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was loaded, more meaningful than any small talk you could have tried to fill it with. It felt as though one wrong word would break whatever fragile truce had settled between you.

Finally, Harry sighed, leaning his forearms against the bar, hands fidgeting with a bottle cap, rolling it over and over between his fingers.

“You left,” he said softly, as if the words themselves had been weighing him down. “And I waited, you know? For a while. I thought you’d come back. And then, when you didn’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

There was a long pause, each word sinking heavily in the quiet room, reverberating through you. You felt a pang of guilt - maybe shame - at hearing his side of it laid bare, the rawness in his voice making it hard to breathe.

“I didn’t know how to exist here,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt flimsy, inadequate, but they were all you had. “I needed to figure out how to do it on my own.”

“And did you?” he asked, something sharp and almost accusing in his tone.

You hesitated, because you weren’t sure how to answer that. Had you? The years had passed, but you weren’t sure you’d changed as much as you thought you would. You’d found your independence, learned to stand on your own - but there was still a part of you that had never let him go, that had held onto the version of Harry you’d left behind.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, the words tasting bitter. “I thought being back here would answer that for me.”

You turned away from him, your heart pounding as you glanced around the pub, taking it in. “It’s changed a lot in here,” you mumbled, never feeling less at home than you did in that moment.

“The whole town has changed.” Harry shrugged, his jaw tense as his eyes followed yours.

The atmosphere had shifted when you turned back to face him, an unmistakable tension settling between you. Harry’s gaze was hard, guarded and defensive, like he was bracing himself against something.

“That’s not a good reason to leave.”

“What?”

“That’s not a good reason to leave,” he repeated, arms folding over his chest. “Are you staying?”

“For now.”

“You hurt a lot of people,” he continued, his tone harsh, bitterness dripping from each word.

“I spent my entire teenage years thinking about everyone else. Selfishness isn’t a crime,” you shot back, pushing your empty mug towards him.

“It’s not. But that doesn’t stop it hurting people.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning your forearms against the bar. “People, or you?”

Harry looked past you at the last patrons filing out, circling around the bar to see them out and lock the door behind them. The silence was thick, stretching through the distance between you.

“People,” he answered finally, those green eyes not quite meeting yours. How had it gotten to a point where you openly lied to each other? A tiny part of you thought that if you ever crossed paths again, you’d fall into your old routine, Harry with the cheeky grin and bad ideas, you with the doe eyes and willingness to follow his every move.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” you mumbled, pushing yourself off the stool.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.” Harry stalked back to the bar, a heavy hand slamming a bottle of whiskey down in front of you. “Have a drink with me, and tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

You swallowed hard, your body tensing as he sat down next to you. “The truth?”

“Whatever was so bad that you had to leave without even saying goodbye.” His eyes were dark as you looked up at him, his fingers drumming against the bar.

“It’s not even important anymore,” you sighed, feeling the lie settle heavy in your chest. You took a swig of the whiskey, shivering as the heat slipped down your throat, trying to steady yourself. But he was watching you too closely, reading you like an open book. Before you could react, he tugged the bottle from your hands, his chin dropping to his chest.

"Pull the other one," he said, voice low. "Whatever happened kept you away for a decade. Did someone hurt you?"

You almost laughed, bitter and tired. He was looking at you now, his gaze sharp and searching, like he was ready to drag the truth out of you no matter what it cost. But you were lost in your own head, your eyes tracing the tattoos winding down his forearms, lingering on the familiar lines and symbols. He was exactly the man you had always imagined he’d become - steady, solid, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But you had never expected to see it like this, up close, with your own eyes.

You reached for the whiskey, snatching it back from him and knocking it back with a grimace. “It was you, Harry.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and unguarded. “Fuck. I realized I’d put my whole life on hold, waiting for you to notice me.”

He froze, his hand suspended in the air, and for a second, there was no sound but the creak of the barstool as he shifted, the slow tick of the clock on the wall. He scratched his head, his eyes falling shut as your words sank in. You could see him wrestling with it, with everything that had been left unsaid all these years.

“And running away was better than just telling me?” His voice was softer now, hurt creeping into the edges, and it made something twist painfully in your chest.

You shook your head, feeling a thousand things you could never say. “How was I supposed to tell you? Hi, Harry, my good friend, I love you, and I’m about to devote my life to you.”

“Something like that,” he muttered, a faint, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he finally met your eyes. The silence stretched again, thick with years of missed chances and the weight of what could’ve been.

You both sat there, lost in the quiet. It felt fragile, this moment, like the whole world could split open with one wrong word.

“It wasn’t just that,” you muttered, watching your feet swinging under the stool. “I couldn’t exist here anymore. It gets to a point where it’s suffocating.”

“But you really couldn’t just tell me?”

You met his gaze, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, your face hot with the blush that spread across your skin. His dark eyes held you, unblinking, and the weight of everything unspoken made your heart pound. He leaned forward, the faintest crease appearing between his brows, as if he was bracing himself for something he’d waited too long to hear. You tried to look away, tried to hide the vulnerability in your expression, but his gaze was unrelenting, drawing the words out of you.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” you said, voice tight with restraint. You tried to keep your tone casual, but you could feel the way it trembled, betraying you.

“Why?” he asked, leaning closer, his face serious. His jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration in his eyes that he tried to temper. It was like he already knew what you were going to say, yet he needed to hear it from you, needed confirmation for the ache that had been buried under years of silence.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. “It’s embarrassing, H.” Your eyes darted away, unable to face the intensity of his gaze. “I changed my whole life because of a crush. I moved somewhere where no one knew me because I was scared of everyone here knowing me too well. I got engaged to the first man I properly loved, and he still didn’t match up to you.”

Harry’s face softened, but he looked pained, his lips parting as though to speak. The vulnerability in his expression was raw, his shoulders stiffened with all the things he had wanted to say, to ask. But when he reached for you, you placed a hand over his, silencing him for a little while longer.

“I thought about you every day for ten years,” you said, feeling the words tear from your throat, your eyes bright with unspilled tears. “And now we’re just sitting here like strangers. Do you get that?”

He let out a bitter laugh, a rough, quiet sound that cut through the stillness. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar as if he needed the support to hold himself together. “Do I get it?” he repeated, his voice low and raw, his brows drawn in with years of buried pain. “I’ve lived the same ten years as you, except I didn’t get the privilege of knowing where the fuck you went or why.”

He looked down at your hand over his, and his fingers slowly closed around yours, his grip warm and strong. He was still, tension held tight in the curve of his shoulders, in the soft way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, as if afraid the moment might slip away. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking, and his other hand rose slowly to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, breath catching in your throat. You could feel your pulse quicken, every nerve alight with the nearness of him, with the intensity in his eyes, softening into something tender, something hesitant and aching.

“What I should’ve done years ago,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours until the last second, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop him. But you didn’t. His lips met yours, hesitant and gentle, as though he were savoring every second, every taste. You could feel him melt into the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The moment you kissed him back, he exhaled against you, letting go of some tightly held breath, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent. His hands moved down to your waist, strong and steady, pulling you closer against him. You could feel the heat between you, the years of longing pouring into this single kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his breaths came rough and shallow. Without a word, he tugged his sweater over his head, baring his skin, the tattoos winding over his chest and arms like stories you’d never gotten to read. Your fingers traced along them, the tip of your nail gliding over the ink, and you could feel his pulse quicken under your touch.

He smiled faintly, but his expression grew serious again as he leaned down, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His arms wrapped around you, his hands sliding down to your hips, lifting you up onto the bar with ease. You gasped softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he tugged your skirt up, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

In that moment, you were no longer strangers. His face softened, his eyes warm and almost reverent as he looked at you, a quiet promise in his touch that maybe, finally, there was nothing left between you but the truth.

Harry’s mouth found your inner thigh, his teeth clamping down on the sensitive skin. “That’s for leaving me behind,” he murmured, his breath warm against the sting. He moved to the other one, his teeth nipping at you for a second time. “And that’s for making me wait a fucking decade.”

Your breath comes out in shallow moans, your hands planted on his shoulders. That damn butterfly tattoo, the one he’d always told you he would get, almost taking flight as he pants against you, his eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned in closer to your core as you widened your legs, his nose nudging against the wet spot on your panties.

“Ten fucking years,” he repeated, his voice husky. He looked up at you with a plea in his eyes, waiting for you to allow or deny his next move.

“Please,” you whispered, your hips bucking against him as he reached out, pulling your panties aside with a quick hand.

Your gaze landed on the window, the dim lights practically inviting passers-by to peep inside and catch you in the act. But when Harry’s mouth found your slick, you couldn’t bring yourself to care, for the first time in your life - whether you became the town gossip or not.

His movements were rough and unrelenting, his fingers spreading you open as his tongue flicked against your clit, appreciative murmurs vibrating against your skin.

As if he could read your mind, his thumb took over the pressure on your clit, rubbing circles against the nerves as you writhed. His tongue licked at your slick with an intensity you’d never know before, his free hand slipping under your jumper to grip at the curve of your waist. Tingles spread from his touch, the lust taking over your body as pressure built in your core.

Without warning, Harry pulled away, pulling your legs around his waist as he stood up. A needy whine fell from your lips as your high dissipated, the soft skin of his abs rubbing against your entrance.

“You made me wait. You can’t handle it now?” he murmured, his lips warm against your neck, the whiskey still hot on his breath.

He took the stairs two at a time, the ancient wood creaking under his feet. You looked around the apartment as Harry weaved through the dark, brushing against tables and knocking over a stray glass, too focused to care. The room smelled faintly of him - whiskey, smoke, and that earthy, familiar scent you couldn’t place. It was messy, cluttered with books and clothes, but your heart warmed with an odd sense of belonging the moment you crossed the threshold. Your clothes came off at some point during the journey, a trail of knits and underwear reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel’s, but one that would only lead you to the person you were before you knew how it felt to be fucked by Harry Styles.

He stumbled slightly, caught himself, and half-laughed, his hands steady on you as he dropped you onto the bed. You landed with a gentle bounce, your heart racing, heat building in your chest. You needed to pinch yourself in case it was all a sick dream. All those days of stolen glances and lingering touches that meant nothing and everything, all those years wondering where he was and what lucky woman hadn’t run away from him.

For all those years, you’d told yourself he was stuck in your head because of the what ifs. What if you stayed, what if you’d forged a life together, what if you hadn’t acted on hormone-driven impulses.

Harry was intense, magnetic in a way that made it impossible to look away, but the idea of actually being with him had always felt like a distant dream. And yet, there he was, breathing ragged and close, his weight settling beside you, hands resting on either side of your head as he held you in place with a gaze that felt as if it could unravel you.

“You really want this, don’t you?” he asked, voice low and edged with that same maddening confidence that had drawn you to him in the first place. His tone was challenging, almost taunting, but there was something vulnerable lurking in his eyes.

You took a breath, feeling a knot in your chest loosen as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Always have.”

His smirk softened for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his face, and you could sense the weight of all the things he’d never said hanging thick in the air. He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, and this time, there was nothing held back - no restraint, no hesitation. Just an undeniable pull between you, finally given permission to break free.

“One condition,” Harry rasped, leaning down to press kisses across your bare chest. “When you leave, you keep in contact this time.”

“I will, Harry. I swear. If I leave,” you grinned up at him, your nails scratching at the base of his head.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he traced a path down to your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “If?” he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He pulled back slightly, catching your gaze with a look that was both playful and deadly serious. “I’m not planning on giving you a reason to run.”

You felt the weight of his words, the lost time between you settling heavy in the air. He wasn’t going to make it easy.

“I won’t this time, I promise,” you whispered, fingers tightening around his neck, pulling his lips to yours, praying your kiss would convey how deeply sure you were.

Harry looked at you for a long moment when he pulled away, studying your face as if trying to memorize every detail, as though he wasn’t sure you’d really stay.

His eyes dropped to your tits as he reached down to stroke his cock, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb grazed over the wet slit.

You pawed at him impatiently, biting back the whimpers that threatened to spill out of you as he lined himself up at your entrance with one last look into your eyes.

You felt your life altering in front of you, your trajectory changing to what it could’ve been a decade before, fate pulling you and Harry back onto the same path, the one your should’ve always been on.

But when he pushed himself into you, that familiar pressure tinged with pain, the feeling of being filled like his cock was the missing fucking piece - your mind was clear. You wrapped yourself around him, your body fighting to be as close to him as possible, your moans syncing to his thrusts.

“Harry,” you whimpered, mouth falling open as his free hand found your clit again, drawing your body back to how close it had been to climax.

“I know, baby girl. I know,” he rasped, his voice strained as he fucked into you, his thumb unrelenting as it worked at your bud, his strong body overpowering yours.

Your hips bucked into him, your legs starting to quiver around his waist as you writhed and jerked, your moans mixing with the deafening slaps of skin-on-skin contact.

“It’s mine, this is mine,” Harry growled, his possession tipping you over the edge. His. That was all you’d ever wanted to be.

Your orgasm came on strong, your body tingling and tensing from your head to your toes, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your back arched into his chest.

Your walls were fluttering around him, your pussy desperate to milk him for all he had.

His thrusts grew sloppier, his control slipping as he stared down at you, committing the image of your high to memory, the first thing he’d want his mind to see when he woke, the last thing he’d see before sleeping. His hand slipped under you to the curve of your ass, angling your hips to allow him deeper, his cock hitting spaces you didn’t even know you had.

“This is just the warm up,” he grunted, pulling his cock from you at the last minute, his come spilling onto your chest, your lips curling into a smirk.

“I think there’ll be plenty more of that,” you whispered, pulling his lips back onto yours, barely unable to kiss him with the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

mehhh i don’t know about this one … but ive been itching to post something 👉🏼👈🏼🥹

taglist: : @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker r @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever @stylesbrock @harry-nialllover @triski73 @meetmeintheemeraldpool @harryshousewitnessprotection @danaehldy @fairytale07 @storyschanging @wannaliveinparadise @mrs-anna-styles211994 @mema10 @fangirl509east @devilsqueen722 @harrrrystylesslut

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harryslittlefreakk #harry styles masterlist

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solxamber · 2 days ago

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Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x you #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona

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starryjake · 2 days ago

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teddy bear pajamas pt. 3 | l.h

part 1 part 2

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, car sex, fingering, tasting cum, unprotected sex, cumming inside, finger sucking, spitting (lmk if i missed anything!)

“a little more to the left.”

you huffed impatiently, moving the banner over to the left by just a smidge.

“too far,” jay said. “more to the right.”

you groaned, setting the banner down all together and climbing down from the ladder.

“i can’t believe you’re making me hang decorations for your party,” you guffawed. “what do i even get out of helping you?”

“you get to go to the party, duh,” your brother replied, grabbing the banner and climbing up the ladder himself.

“well i assumed that was a given considering i live here,” you retorted.

“well i’m not afraid to kick you to the curb if you don’t start getting the snacks ready,” jay responded.

rolling your eyes, you opened the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients for the snack plate you were assigned to make for tonight. once you pulled out all the ingredients, you pulled out your phone, checking for a notification you hadn’t received.

“so,” you started, tucking your phone back away and trying to hide your disappointment, “are all your friends gonna be here tonight? like, all of them?”

jay was focused on stapling the banner in place, his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.

“yeah, of course,” he responded, only half paying attention to you.

that was the only answer you needed though. it meant heeseung would be at the party tonight. heeseung, who fucked you in your bed the other night and then hadn’t contacted you a single time since.

you’d been glued to your phone, checking nonstop and waiting for him to text you, call you, like your instagram picture, anything. yet he’d been silent, and that crushed you.

seeing him tonight at the party scared you. would he ignore you? would he pretend nothing ever happened between you guys?

you had no idea what to expect, and you were terrified.

the party was in full blast. yours and jay’s shared apartment was more packed than you’d ever seen it before.

it was nearing midnight and you’d still yet to see heeseung. in fact, you hadn’t seen him or any of jay’s immediate friend group, which also included jake and sunghoon. you were relieved, but also anxious that he could appear in front of you at any moment.

you were in the kitchen fixing yourself a drink to help calm some of your anxieties when suddenly you heard the front door open, close, and then a loud eruption of cheers and conversation. the loudness and excitement of it all was enough to make your heart start thumping fast in your chest.

then you heard their voices, but it was too late for you to run out of the kitchen because there they were, walking right over to where you were at the drink station.

“hey, y/n,” jake greeted, pulling you into a tight hug.

your face was pressed against his chest, momentarily allowing you to catch your breath. you had to think fast about how you were going to approach heeseung.

“hey,” you replied, forcing a smile once you pulled back.

sunghoon greeted you next, ruffling your hair in a playful manner. you then turned to heeseung, who made eye contact with you, and then turned the other way to grab a drink, not saying a word.

you gulped, looking down at the floor. a wave of sadness overcame you because what he just did was all you needed to see to understand that he did regret what you two did, and now he wanted nothing to do with you.

you walked out of the kitchen and beelined straight for your bedroom. you didn’t want to leave the party, but you just needed a moment to collect yourself.

you little moment of peace ended up taking 30 minutes. it took you a while to muster up the courage to go back out there, but eventually you did.

the party had died down slightly, making it easier for you to walk down the hall and back into the main living space.

you took in your surroundings, first noticing your brother on the couch with an unfamiliar girl in his lap. a few feet away from them, sunghoon was dancing with some girl, and jake was playing beer pong with a group of people. heeseung was nowhere to be found.

your hopes were raised. you thought he must’ve left if he wasn’t around any of his friends.

with a slight hop in your step, you entered the kitchen to nibble on the snack plate you’d made earlier in the day. as you ate, you looked out the kitchen window which had a direct view of the balcony, and there he was.

he was standing outside by himself. his back was turned to you, but you knew it was him. he was leaning over the balcony railing, staring ahead at the city in front of him.

you weren’t sure what came over you. the alcohol, or maybe the rage that came with the fact he had been blatantly ignoring you after what occurred between you two the other night. but suddenly, you were opening the balcony door and joining him outside in the crisp late-fall air.

he turned around upon hearing the door slide open and was visibly surprised to find you standing there. it was unlike you to confront him, to confront anyone, but you were angry. you felt used and you wanted an explanation.

“oh,” he said. “hey.”

for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. you cursed how attractive he was in that moment because it’d rendered you speechless.

“hey,” you responded.

“how are you?” he asked.

“maybe you’d know if you’d bothered to text me,” you snapped.

you were shocked with yourself as soon as the words left your mouth. heeseung looked shocked for a moment as well, but then the guilt set in and took over his face.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed, leaning onto the balcony again. you crossed your arms and waited impatiently for whatever excuse he was going to pull. “i wanted to text you, i just…i got scared.”

“scared?” you repeated. “what’s so scary about me?”

“nothing,” heeseung said, turning his head to look at you. he then smiled a bit and shook his head. “there’s nothing scary at all about you…except the fact that i feel like i betrayed jay by sleeping with you.”

“he doesn’t know,” you assured.

“i know,” he replied, sighing. “that’s the bad part. i’m keeping this huge secret from him and i know he’ll be pissed if he finds out.”

“maybe not,” you shrugged.

heeseung gave you a look, which was deserved because not even you believed yourself. he was right in that jay would be very angry to find out heeseung had sex with you.

“well, you could’ve told me that instead of saying nothing,” you uttered quietly. “it felt like you just used me for what you wanted and then tossed me out when you were done.”

“no no no,” he hurriedly shook his head, planting his hands firmly on your arms and looking directly into your eyes. “that is not what happened, i promise you. i wanted to text you so bad and then when i saw you earlier tonight i just freaked out and didn’t know what to do. i’m so sorry, y/n.”

it was hard not for you to immediately forgive him with the way he was pleading to you and looking into your eyes so thoughtfully. you gulped, forcing your gaze on the ground.

“what now?” you asked.

“what do you mean?” he wondered, his hands still gripping your arms.

“are we ever gonna…” you trailed off, too embarrassed to speak.

“gonna what?” he asked, his thumbs starting to caress your skin. “do it again?”

you nodded shyly.

“do you wanna do it again?” he asked.

“i—i mean—yeah,” you sputtered out.

the corners of his lips turned upwards at that.

“come on, baby, let’s go for a drive.”

you weren’t entirely sure how you got in this position, how you ended up shirtless in the back of heeseung’s car dry humping his lap. but there you were, and you were already a moaning mess.

his hands were all over you, stroking and feeling your warm, smooth skin. he kissed your neck while your clothed lower half ground down on him.

he rolled his neck up to look at your face. it was somewhat difficult to see the details of your face in the darkness of the night and the darkness of the random deserted parking lot you were parked in. but he could see your eyes, your starry, glistening eyes.

“how are you this pretty?” he whispered, looking at you in pure awe.

you blushed, hiding your face in his chest. he rubbed your back, his entire body feeling like it was engulfed in flames, and then he really knew for sure that he had a real, genuine crush on his best friend’s sister.

you shifted off his lap, much to his disliking, and planted your hand on his bulge. he bit his lip, watching you stroke his outline over his pants. you smiled, watching the way his breathing got heavier even though you’d hardly touched him yet.

“heeseung,” you said, slowly sliding your hand into his jeans.

“yeah?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“i want you to fuck me in this car,” you told him, biting your lip to hold back your excited smile.

heeseung nearly fainted. you were so not the shy innocent thing he thought you were. you were lewd when you were turned on and he loved it. the more time he spent around you, the more perfect he discovered you were.

“fuck,” he swallowed, nodding. “okay. i’ll fuck you, baby. i’ll fuck my sweet girl as much as she wants.”

he hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down his legs, which was a lot harder than it should’ve been in the tight confines of his car.

eventually, he was left in his boxers. he watched as you pulled your own pants down, and once you were left in your underwear, he pulled you back into his lap. the lesser amount of fabric separating the two of you made it easier to feel his cock, feel how hard and heavy it was.

he leaned forward and attached his lips to your chest, sucking on your collarbones and moving down to your tits. he kissed each of your nipples, smiling against your chest at the way you shuddered and pushed your hips against his crotch, desperate for some friction where you needed it the most.

he lifted your hips up off of his lap momentarily to slide his boxers down his legs, leaving his lower half exposed. his cock, hard and eager as ever, sprang out and stood long, his tip glistening and shiny from spilled pre cum.

if the confines of the car weren’t so restricting, you would’ve leaned down and licked along his tip, getting a taste of his salty precum. instead, you trailed your fingers along his tip, gathering as much of the liquid as you could, and shoved them in your mouth, moaning at his taste.

heeseung grabbed your hips again and laid you down on his car’s leather seats. he positioned one of your legs over the back of the seat and the other one to the floor, spreading your legs the best he could in the limited space you were working with.

with your legs spread, he rubbed your clothed clit with his thumb, feeling the wetness seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear.

he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your trembling, glistening pussy to him. he traced your hole with his middle finger before sliding it in. your hole sucked him in with ease from how aroused you were, how ready and willing you were to take him.

you moaned as loudly as you wanted since he was the only one who’d be able to hear it. you didn’t have to worry about your brother finding you guys since he was too busy hosting a party and probably had no idea that you guys had even left.

heeseung immediately slid in another finger and started massaging his fingers inside you. you let out soft little whimpers as you subtly humped your hips up, trying to fuck yourself down on his fingers. he had to take a breath to calm himself down, to keep himself from busting without even touching himself. you just looked too perfect like this, spread out in the back of his car letting him finger you.

once he felt like you were stretched and prepared enough to take him, heeseung pulled his fingers out of you. they were absolutely drenched in your arousal, so much so that when he spread his fingers apart, strings of your sticky witness webbed between them.

you turned your head to the side in embarrassment, missing it when heeseung used that same, wet hand to jerk himself off for a minute, covering his cock in your arousal, to get himself ready to be inside you.

he held your panties to the side again, about to position his cock with your hole and slide right in before he stopped himself.

“you ready, my baby?” he asked, tilting your face so you were looking at him.

“please,” you begged. “put it in, hee.”

it was what heeseung expected you to say, but he wanted to check anyway.

he chuckled breathily and slid his cock inside you, your hole taking him in so sweetly. it was warm and wet and unbelievably tight, just like he remembered it to be from the other night.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned out as he pushed himself in as deep as he could go, stopping once he bottomed out and your pelvises were pressed together.

you closed your eyes and a dizzy smile appeared on your face. he hadn’t even done a thing yet but you already felt so good, just to have him inside of you again. to have him all the way buried inside of you felt unbelievable.

“what’s that?” he asked, laughing softly. he tickled your cheek, making you open your eyes. “what’re you smiling about?”

“nothing,” you shook your head, refusing to tell him what had you smiling.

“you feelin’ good?” he wondered, rubbing your thigh assuringly.

you nodded. “need you to move.”

heeseung complied immediately, slowly pulling his cock out nearly all the way and pushing it back in. your walls enveloped him, stretching around his length and taking him like you were made for it.

his thrusts picked up quickly. you barely needed time to adjust since you were so wet and so absolutely needy for him. so, when he started fucking you hard enough that the car was shaking, you didn’t complain at all.

in fact, you were practically crying from the pleasure. moan after moan and curse after curse and whine after pleasured whine tumbled past your lips, so fucked out and far gone already.

heeseung held your thighs as he slammed his cock in and out of you, alternating between watching his cock disappear in and out of you and looking up at your pretty face. he opted for your face because your eyes were watery and your nose and cheeks were red, and you were even starting to drool, and it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. he was ruining you.

“f-feels so fucking good, heeseung,” you sobbed.

“yeah?” he said, suddenly pulling out.

you frowned up at him for suddenly putting a stop to your immense pleasure. to just pull out so suddenly like that, you almost got mad.

he took ahold of his cock in his hand and pressed it down against your pussy, grinding his hips back and forth and rubbing it along your slick folds. it felt so heavy on your pussy, so long and hard and perfect for you.

“oh…” you moaned out, watching his cock rub on your pussy.

he leaned down, unable to go a second longer without kissing you. you shoved your tongue into his mouth and he immediately rubbed his against yours, exchanging an excess amount of saliva.

“put your head back,” he commanded.

you tilted your head back, watching in fascination as he let a wad of spit slowly trickle from his mouth and land on your awaiting tongue. you swallowed it with a moan, pressing his warm body down onto yours. you wanted to be as close to him as possible. you wanted to feel his skin on your skin and never let him go.

“you’re so fucking hot,” you said, running your fingers through his fluffy hair.

heeseung left you with a peck on your lips before sitting back up so he could get back into the position of fucking you again.

kneeling, he re-entered you, sighing from how fucking good it felt every time. every time he first slid into you, it felt magical.

he began thrusting even quicker than before, licking his thumb before bringing it down to rub your clit. you moaned pathetically, your legs starting to shake and your toes starting to curl from the added pleasure.

“oh f-fuck, hee,” you cried out. “mmm, don’t stop! please please please!”

he could tell you were getting closer by your gummy walls clenching impossibly tight around him and your desperate words. luckily for you, he had no intention of stopping, only going harder.

he plummeted his cock into you, his tip hitting spots of you that were almost uncomfortably deep, but not quite.

you were shaking and writhing beneath him and he kept going and going, needing to see you cum because he knew it was going to be harder than any other time he’d witnessed before.

“hee,” you sobbed. “i’m gonna fucking cum. please, oh fuck!”

your legs tightened around his waist and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. your mouth opened in a silent scream as you started cumming around his dick and on his thumb, which was still rapidly fingering your clit.

“goddamn,” he growled, feeling the knot in his own stomach hint at unraveling.

you just looked too fucking unreal when you came. a tear trickled out of your eye, drool sliding shamelessly down your chin. you were such a perfect mess, he needed to fuck you full of his cum.

“oh, my sweet baby girl,” he said, still pounding you despite how hard you just came. “i’m gonna fuck you so full of my load, angel. you want that? you wanna feel all full of my—fuck—full of my cum? you wanna be filled, baby?”

“please, hee!” you begged, nails clawing down his back. “cum inside me, please. need it so bad.”

with a few more thrusts, heeseung finally stilled inside you and you could feel his warmth filling you up. streams of his cum overflowed inside you and you felt euphoric as you laid there and took it all for him.

he had his eyes shut tightly as he lightly thrusted his hips, riding out his orgasm and forcing out as much cum as he could. his grip on you was painfully tight, but you wouldn’t dare stop him now, not when he was cumming so beautifully.

he regretfully pulled out of you a moment later, watching in exhaustion and awe as his creamy white cum came spilling out of your used hole. he moved your underwear back to cover your pussy, watching the way his cum seeped through the fabric and spilled out the sides.

“fuck,” he muttered. “so messy ‘n pretty.”

he rubbed his fingers over the wet fabric, sliding them up and down your puffy folds. you moaned out, setting your hand on his wrist to stop him.

“sorry,” he said with a tired smile.

he handed you your clothes and while you got dressed, he dressed himself as well. there was cum all over his leather seats, but he would have to deal with that at another time.

“c’mere,” he urged once you were both finally calmed down.

you let him wrap his arm around you and kiss the top of your head, leaning into his shoulder tiredly.

“you did so good for me,” he told you. “do you want me to take you home? or do you wanna come to my place?”

that answer seemed quite obvious.

“your place,” you said.

“i was hoping you’d say that,” he said.

the two of you moved to the front seats where heeseung began driving in the direction of his apartment, his mind and his heart racing about what the two of you just did and what would happen next.

well! anyway…part 4?

thank you for reading!

#enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #kpop smut #heeseung #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #kpop #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung #heeseung enhypen #heeseung enha #enhypen heeseung #enha #enha heeseung

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rhythmic-idealist · 2 days ago

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I’ve found some of the most genuine care around me from my coworkers.

Maybe it’s that this is how I’ve always conducted friendships, that I never knew how to hang out outside of high school lunches either. But standing around after work is where we talk about our brains and childhoods and philosophy and hypothetical economic systems and fucking mortality and whatever else. There was a moment in time when I thought the first time I was gonna meet a coworkers kids was gonna be babysitting them for free because he was at the doctor a lot because maybe he had cancer. I’m just commenting bc I know the coworker relationship is sometimes talked about online as a universally annoying one - and there are some coworkers I do not enjoy the company of - but that’s where I’ve found some of the most warmth in my day to day outside of my partners. It’s also where I’ve found people who have made me feel miserable, don’t get me wrong, but it’s where some of my most meaningful relationships are. Nothing is WRONG with that.

There’s awkwardness. I’m very loud and some people are very quiet, and so I always feel unwanted, like an intrusion on their quiet. But I gave union advice to a coworker once and now he comes to me and asks me sometimes, and when he noticed I was taking Lyft home some days he offered to drive me home when I needed it. Are we still able to chat? Not much. One time I asked him “what artist is this [playing rn?]” as if particularly niche, and you could see the light die behind his eyes as he had to say “Kendrick” and I’m still recovering. But if one of us needs something I know we got us.

Recently we were worried one of us was going to be unfairly fired. Several of us were talking to each other and trying to strategize before the coworker who was at risk even had another shift scheduled.

And I had a coworker who seemed to hate my guts for months, and it’s not like he seeks me out to hang out now, but he’ll start an occasional respectful conversation with me because at a meeting with our union rep I said his name several times in a list of people I knew were being denied an earned promotions. (Context: People were doing all of the job duties of those promotions, without being acknowledge with the appropriate title and pay.) I didn’t say it because I liked him, I said it because we’re a union and because I did care about the guy’s livelihood.

This isn’t saying do what I do or enjoy what I enjoy socially or tick how I tick, this is just. Storytelling. Vague, anonymous storytelling.

Work is a place where I know when my coworker is expecting a new baby, and I know when my coworker took time off to attend a funeral, and I know when my coworker’s last name changes because they’ve gotten married, and I know when they’re out sick. We are so in each other’s lives. Corporate “we are a family” is in service of loyalty to the company and is bs. But being in community and solidarity with my coworkers as huge. I don’t know my next door neighbors very well. But my coworkers have me. I’ve got them.

i need everyone to know that community is what will save us all in every single way imaginable. you forming a bond with your neighbour or coworker might help them move house or feel less alone or have the courage to leave an unhealthy living environment. you helping a stranger might provide them with hope. in turn, being able to lean on your community in times of need will save you. your broader bonds with your community are the revolution we need. our society seeks to divide and separate us in so many ways but we are all so much more united in our struggles and joys than you are made to believe. we need to hold onto each other very tightly.

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p0orbaby · 1 day ago

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Remember Cuddles in the Kitchen

summary: you go to your first game as the owner of The Arsenal

warnings: the teeniest start of some angst but that’s it

a/n: i wrote this in an hour, don’t judge, or do

word count: 1.3k

You arrive at the stadium in the kind of vehicle that hardly counts as a car anymore—a blacked-out Range Rover with plush leather seats, which are supposed to help with lumbar support or jet lag or something. It glides through the crowd outside the stadium as if it were water parting, leaving you in a surreal, weightless state as you stare out the tinted windows. People line up along the barriers, some of them with jerseys, scarves, others in crisply tailored suits, all of them fixated on the car as if it’s carrying royalty. In a way, you suppose, it is—at least, that’s what the club PR team likes to tell you.

The driver, whose name you can never remember despite his impeccable service, opens your door with precision timing, as if there were some imaginary stopwatch counting down the seconds it should take for you to step out. You have a fleeting memory of insisting to the board that you didn’t need this kind of attention, but that was waved away—of course you did, they’d insisted, it was all part of the club’s image. So here you are, stepping out into the sharp autumn air, the sound of fans and stadium chatter rising and folding around you.

People see you instantly, recognise you. A ripple of whispers, the odd “there she is!” or “our owner, that’s her!” float up from the throng. A camera flashes. It’s a bizarre mix of adoration and fascination, directed at someone who hasn’t even kicked a ball. They think they know you, these people, with their wide eyes and hopeful looks. They don’t, of course, but there’s no room for reality here, not in a world built on perception and spectacle.

You make your way through the stadium corridors, led by an assistant with a headset who murmurs into it like a stockbroker, keeping you insulated from the crush of ordinary fans. She’s brisk, polite, making small talk as you walk past murals of past players, glossy and smiling and set in that specific historical lighting that makes them look both heroic and outdated.

Eventually, you reach the suite. Inside, it’s the pinnacle of curated, near-stale luxury. Charcoal-grey walls, marble-topped counters, a buffet laden with food that looks more sculptural than edible—truffle-scented hors d’oeuvres and exotic fruits. You can’t remember the last time you ate at one of these spreads; it always feels wrong, somehow, to snack on pâté while everyone else is crammed into the stands, scarfing down chips and Bovril.

You glance at the screen on the far wall, where Leah’s name appears in the lineup. Your heart tugs, some deeply buried urge to be out there with her, watching from the stands, shouting with the fans instead of gliding through this marble-and-silver version of a stadium experience. You scan the field, your eyes finding her immediately. She’s focused, her whole body coiled with that easy confidence you’ve always envied, jogging alongside her teammates, every move smooth and efficient.

The fans in the lower section spot you from their seats, and a fresh wave of whispers and nods starts. A couple of people even clap when you’re shown on the stadium’s big screen for a brief second, a polite nod to their reclusive, mysterious owner. You smile, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment, and settle back in your chair.

The match is a whirlwind, a blur of chants and shouts and, every now and then, Leah’s fierce concentration catching you off guard. She’s different out there, almost unrecognisable from the woman who drinks tea in your kitchen wearing mismatched socks. She’s something more primal, almost statuesque, moving with a determination that feels slightly otherworldly.

When it’s over, you wait in the suite, alone, watching as the champagne is removed, the food whisked away, and the staff disappear with their final, obligatory nods. The door opens, and Leah steps in, looking somewhat shy in her own space. Her hair is still damp from the post-game shower, and her cheeks are flushed from the effort, a hint of colour that feels more honest than the varnished elegance of the suite. She’s got that look—that bright-eyed, smug expression of someone who knows they played well but is too modest to admit it.

She stops, taking in the setup with a flicker of something you can’t quite place. A slight furrow of her brow, a narrowing of her eyes, as if she’s both impressed and vaguely amused by it all. She crosses her arms, eyeing you with a smirk.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” she says, her tone light but with an edge of something darker.

“Not my choice,” you reply, gesturing at the array of imported cheeses and miniature quiches. “Apparently, truffle-infused food is non-negotiable”

She snorts, but her arms stay crossed, her body language closed off. She looks around, her gaze lingering on the sterile decor, the impersonal luxury, and something in her expression tightens, like she’s uncomfortable here. “Feels like a mausoleum in here. Where’s the celebration? The noise?”

You shrug, glancing away, feeling an odd prick of defensiveness. “Apparently, being a good host involves keeping everything as quiet as possible”

She doesn’t smile, just watches you with that steady look. There’s a tension between you that wasn’t there before, something unspoken but heavy, and it catches you off guard.

“Is this what it’s like for you now?” she asks, her voice soft but pointed. “All this… pageantry?”

You hesitate, then nod. “This is what they want. The ‘owner’ experience”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze uncomfortably sharp. “And what do you want?”

The question sits between you, raw and unanswered. You don’t have a quick response, and that unsettles you. Because truthfully, you’re not sure. The distance between her world and yours, between the pitch and this hermetically-sealed suite, feels enormous, almost insurmountable.

Leah sighs, uncrossing her arms and taking a step closer. “I just… I don’t know. I thought it would be different. I thought… I’d come off the pitch, see you there, and it would feel like… like home, you know?”

There’s a pause, a heavy silence as her words settle over you. And it hits you, then—this isn’t just about the suite, the champagne, the hushed voices. It’s about the way this world has started to reshape you, molding you into something polished and distant, something that doesn’t quite fit with the person she fell in love with.

Without thinking, you reach for her hand, pulling her close. “Leah, I don’t care about any of this. I’d be out there in the stands with everyone else if I could”

She looks at you, her expression softening a little, but there’s still a hint of wariness, like she’s not entirely convinced. “Then why are you here?”

“Because that’s what they expect,” you say quietly, the words feeling oddly vulnerable. “It’s all theatre. None of it matters. The only thing that matters to me is… well, it’s you”

The tension in her shoulders eases, and she lets out a breath, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know this version of you. Like I’m just… watching from the outside”

Her honesty cuts through you, but there’s a strange relief in it too, as if naming the problem has made it more real, more manageable. “Then tell me what you need,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me how to make this work”

She looks at you, her expression softening, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “How about we start with a drink that doesn’t taste like money?”

You laugh, a genuine, unrestrained sound that feels like a release. “That, I can arrange”

You signal to the server, and within minutes, a couple of beers appear—actual beers, not the artisanal, locally-sourced nonsense. You crack open the bottles, handing one to Leah, and she raises it in a mock toast, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“To the queen of the royal box,” she teases, and you roll your eyes, clinking your bottle against hers.

“Long may she reign”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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babygorewhore · 20 hours ago

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Cherry flavored.

Best friend Rafe Cameron x curvy!fem reader

Rafe is your best friend since kindergarten. Even though you’re opposites, including being the daughter of a preacher, you still are inseparable. But one day he invites you to a pool party and you find out his dirty little secret.

Hiiiiii this was inspired by talking to @starkeysprincess @rafeyscurtainbangs and @bloodibambiidoll thank you my loves and I hope you enjoy!! Dividers are by @cxrrodedcoffin I also wanted to make the reader curvy/plus sized from a request from an anon!

Warnings! Perv rafe! Panty stealing! Preachers daughter reader! Talks of bad body image! Mention of partying! Male masturbation! Size kink! Oral fem receiving! Inexperienced reader! Choking! Unprotected sex! Daddy kink! Cum play! Multiple orgasms! Pussy slapping! Degrading! Praise! Talk of male oral!

“You’re being so dramatic.” Rafe repeated as he drove you home. You glared at him and smacked his arm lightly. Even intoxicated, you still tossed back his sassy attitude.

You didn’t party often. Usually you were too busy working or studying part time college courses. When you also weren’t helping your pastor father conduct activities for church.

You and Rafe were lifelong best friends. Ever since kindergarten in the private school, when you slapped him across the face for stealing your box of crayons. You two were a funny pair. The preachers daughter, a single inexperienced girl who was insecure with Kook King Rafe with the successful family. Rafe was always pushing you to let loose. Stop being so rigid and tonight you listened. But you drank way too much and now you had a pounding headache.

Rafe pulled up to your house, sighing as you dug through your purse against your plush thighs. The skirt was still covering the meat of your legs. You searched for pain relief pills and took them with the bottle of water. Quirking an eyebrow, you met his stare that was focused on your clothing.

“What are you looking at?”

Rafe snorted and leaned his head back against the seat. “You know just because you’re a Jesus freak, doesn’t mean you have to dress like the Virgin Mary.”

That made you pinch his exposed skin and he chuckled.

“How do you expect to get laid when you wear that shit? Dress like a normal girl. Cross and all.” Rafe reached over and tugged lightly at your necklace. You let him, feeling the warmth from his fingers radiate on your flesh.

“Newsflash Rafe, guys don’t like girls who look like me. And it’s better that I accept that. I don’t need anyone telling me that I look bad when I know that.”

“That’s your problem, babe. You have no confidence. You’re hot and everyone sees that. But you gotta believe it.”

It wasn��t the first time Rafe said this to you but the alcohol stirred a forbidden fire between your thighs. You hid it by looking away.

“Thanks for the ride home.”

Rafe shrugged. “Aight. See you later.”

Rafe felt like a fucking virgin as he tugged at his dick with your panties when he got home. His eyes squeezing shut and cum coating his hand as he imagined your angelic body bouncing on it. He wanted to squeeze your curves, lick and kiss every inch of your body. Rafe wanted to selfishly devour your pussy for not only your pleasure but his own. He wanted to hear your moans and how he affected you.

He wanted to see your lips wrapped around his cock and tongue licking up what you caused.

He’d always found you attractive. And he hated being a stereotype of falling for his best friend.

But goddamn he wanted you. If only his pride didn’t get in the way from grabbing your pretty little face and kissing you tonight.

When he spilled his load into your panties, he groaned and cleaned himself off shortly after. Rafe was texting you, a normal activity even though you had to get up early.

He invited you to a pool party at his loft. It made him angry to think of other men enjoying your presence but any excuse to get you here he’d take it. He also bought you a swimsuit. A bikini.

Did he only know your size because he snuck into your room to steal panties? Yeah but that was between him and God.

Rafe responded by insisting he wanted you there and you finally agreed. And would wear the swimsuit. His dick twitched when you sent him a selfie of you pouring over your Bible, especially since you weren’t wearing a bra.

You held onto the wrap that covered your body as you navigated the large apartment. You’d been to Rafe’s house hundreds of times despite your father’s clear distain for him. Rafe didn’t usually step foot into the church. But he picked you up again today. You’d explained you couldn’t find some of your items and he seemed a little too suspiciously concerned.

You’d changed into the gifted swimsuit after Sunday service. But wore a black covering over it. Your silver cross dangled above your breasts as you sat on a lounge chair. Rafe’s friends swam, drank and meandered as he came out. He was shirtless, wearing a SnapBack and exposing his muscular body.

That same secret sensation came over you watching your best friend greet people. He clapped Topper on the back. His smile cocky as he showed off his workout gains. You pressed your thighs together, shoving down any reaction as he caught your eye.

Rafe disappeared when he brought you both here, apparently to change. He sauntered over to you and gave you a body scan. “Nah, come on. What’s that shit? Take it off.”

You gripped it tighter and pressed your back against the chair. “No. It’s too revealing.”

Rafe rolled his eyes and squinted at you. “Sweetheart, it’s a pool party. Pretty sure everyone here is half naked. Take it off. Show off what I bought you.”

You remained still and Rafe wasn’t pleased by your stubbornness. You shrieked as he hauled you up, his arms scooping underneath your legs and your hands clutched his shoulders.

“Put me down, asshole!”

Rafe chuckled as you squirmed. “That’s what happens when you don’t wanna listen, sweets.” With a wink, he jumped into the pool. He brought you above water, watching in an unreadable expression at the sight of your coverup falling.

The water dripped as you wiped your eyes, moving your hair back. Your tits bounced at your movement, neck exposed fully as you worked to the edge of the pool. The bikini would absolutely show most of your ass if you got out.

“Rafe! I’m gonna punch you in the face, fucker!” You growled and splashed him. Rafe caught your hand, pulling you closer and pressed you against him.

“Now is that any way to act around your best friend? Doesn’t the Bible say to treat your friends well?” He teased and his hands settled on your hips.

Your pulse raised but you tried to keep your composure. “Yeah but just because I follow Christ doesn’t mean I can’t swing on you.” You offered and he smirked. “Especially when you jump into the pool with me! You could have snapped your spine.”

Rafe scoffed. “I know for a fact you didn’t insult me like that. I lifted you just fine, didn’t I? I could beat your ass if I wanted to. Easily.”

You pushed at his chest, making him take a step back. “I’d like to see you try, blondie.”

He licked his teeth and nodded. You narrowed your eyes as you knew that look. He was plotting something. Splashes from the guests made you turn your head briefly but you felt Rafe’s hands return to your body. His fingers tightening on your skin, pressing into the plush flesh of your waist.

“You know, you have one hell of a slick mouth. Shame you don’t put it to better use.”

Your jaw dropped at his words. Rafe hadn’t really hinted at something like that between you. He never really indicated anything past surface level acknowledgement of your features. But now, his blue eyes drank in the sight of you. Especially on your tits that the swimsuit hugged.

“Rafe, come on bro! Quit eye fucking your best friend and get your ass over here!” Someone called and you took the interruption as the key to move back.

You climbed out of the pool, fully showing your curves under the sun with water glistening. Turning, you saw Rafe looking at your body. Immediately you crossed your arms, grabbed a towel and rushed back inside the house.

You went into Rafe’s room with a sigh. You’d borrow one of his shirts before so you knew he wouldn’t mind if you did again. Opening his drawer, you gasped.

Several pairs of your panties were there. Coated in white. Crumpled up. Your mouth hung as you also saw photos you’d both taken together. A sample of your perfume.

“Fucking pervert…” You whispered with wide eyes. You threw on a tshirt, feeling it comfortably around your body.

You covered your lips, shock overwhelming you. Rafe was stealing your underwear. Acting so innocent around you after. How long had this been going on?

You sat on his bed, trying to collect your thoughts. Readying for asking him when he inevitably comes in.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep until you snapped your eyes open at the sound of the door closing. Rafe smoothed his hair back, shorts damp.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came when he saw the open drawer. You didn’t know what to expect. Rafe licked his lips, apparently scrambling for an explanation.

“Rafe, why did you take my panties?”

He straightened his back. “Because I wanted to. What other reason would I?” His response surprised you in honesty.

“I didn’t think you liked me like that.” You answered and he frowned.

“Why wouldn’t I? I mean yeah we’re best friends but don’t be naive.” You rolled your eyes at his flippancy.

“Naive? Rafe, you’ve never said anything. And then I find you’ve been stealing and jerking off with my panties. Like a pervert.”

He stepped forward and crossed over to you quickly. Rafe grabbed the collar of the shirt and tugged.

“Calling me a pervert, huh? Don’t act like you don’t like the idea of me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Don’t act all innocent, cherry.” You swatted his hand.

“Don’t joke, Rafe. A guy like you doesn’t like a girl like me and don’t pretend.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Rafe asked and dropped his fingers.

“I’m not skinny! I’m not like the other girls you’ve fucked or anything. I can’t even swim at a party because I’m too embarrassed of myself. It would be…weird for anyone to see you like me.” You gestured to your body and held out your hands. “I have half a mind to think you’re pranking me right now. No way a guy like you would fuck a girl like me.”

Before you had a chance to insult yourself further, Rafe’s large hands cupped your face and smashed your lips together. You made a noise of surprise, his mouth moving against yours deeply as his right palm slid down your back. He sucked your lower lip, nipping lightly with his teeth.

Rafe walked you back to the bed, his tongue memorizing your mouth as the back of your knees hit the mattress. He pulled back, inches away.

“I don’t wanna hear that talk outta you. Especially since your tits are barely covered under my shirt. I wanna defile the little preachers daughter.”

His dirty words made you whimper and Rafe brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“Cmon. You know it’s perfect. Your first time should be with me, your best friend.” He gave you a sly smile but you looked down.

“It’s not my first time but…”

Rafe lifted your chin, making you meet his eyes. “But what, cherry? Did the Guy bust his load too quick?”

“I didn’t cum. He just fucked me a few seconds and that’s it.” Your body heated with embarrassment and Rafe snarled.

“You know that doesn’t count.” He started to lift his shirt off you but you shifted. “I’ve been entertaining this long enough and I’m gonna make sure your little needy pussy gets what she needs.” Rafe yanked the material off, groaning at the sight of your breasts and body.

His warm palms cupped your chest, squeezing them as he pushed you on your back. The strings of the bikini started to come untied. He closed his lips around your nipple, sucking it. You whined, stomach clenching as Rafe nudged your legs apart.

“Mmm, needed this didn’t you, baby? Needed daddy to worship your pretty body?” He whispered and kissed down your stomach. You looked down at him shyly but Rafe’s eyes hardened with lust. He snapped the strings and peeled them off your thighs. Exposing your puffy cunt.

“Goddamn, princess. No wonder your dad wants to keep you locked up. Making me feel like a dog.” Rafe pushed your knees apart, spreading your folds and open mouth kissed your pelvis. You rolled your hips as he cupped your ass with a light smack.

“Mhm, yeah I’ve been wanting to taste this pussy. Even dreamed about it.” He licked a thick stripe over your clit and you shrieked. You knew it felt good but the way Rafe hungrily lapped at your cunt was unbelievable.

You couldn’t stay still, the way he buried his whole face. Sucking and spitting following with pressured motions with his tongue. He was fully tasting you. Your legs hugged his head but he held your knees further up. Spreading you as far as he could.

“Fuck, you taste so good, princess. So sweet for acting like a little slut. Mmm,” Rafe hummed as his dick grinds down on the bed. You were moaning and gripping his hair. It was overwhelming as he sucked your clit, licking the sensitive part selfishly.

“I-I’m gonna cum!” You wailed and Rafe nodded with a grunt. The uncoiling of your belly came undone with a violent shudder and tears blurred your vision. Your tits were aching as Rafe continued working you over.

He was torturing you, keeping you still as his mouth stuck to your pussy.

“Daddy, please! Please, please, I can’t-“ You begged and finally, he slowed down but traveled kisses up your torso. Rafe’s hands kneaded your ass, hips as he licked your pulse point.

“Yeah? Sweet girl can’t handle me licking your pussy? flavored like a cherry,” He taunted and slapped your pussy. You exclaimed when he pulled his shorts off, letting you see his dick.

He was big. Girthy and it leaked with precum. Your mouth watered and Rafe smirked.

“You wanna suck it? That’s cute, sweetheart. You wanna get on your knees like when you pray to your God? Too bad.” You protested but Rafe slapped your inner thighs.

“Whining isn’t gonna work right now, doll. You’re gonna cream on my dick before you suck it clean.” Rafe ran the tip along your slit, smearing cum along your entrance and slowly pushed in.

Alot of pressure pinched and your eyes widened. “Oh, it won’t fit! It won’t fit!” You babbled but Rafe growled. He held onto your hips, his thumbs almost bruising you.

“I’m not playing this little game. You can take it, oh that’s my girl. Atta girl, that’s what I like to see,” Rafe praised as your eyes rolled back, his thumb massaged your clit. “Being such a good little slut for daddy. Squeezing me like that.” Rafe thrusted deeply, his balls slapping and your mouth hung open.

“Right there, right there, daddy. Please, I’m your good girl.” You sobbed and Rafe’s hand wrapped around your throat. Not enough to hurt but your pussy fucking throbbed at how good it felt.

“Yeah. You’re my good girl. Mine. My pretty little whore taking my cock. Creaming on it like a champion. Acting so innocent under those ridiculous skirts.” Rafe gritted his teeth as you moaned louder and louder. He knew you’d be sensitive but this was better than any fantasy.

“Yeah, that’s right. You can do it. You can keep taking it. Take my dick, you little slut. Making me fuck myself with your panties too long.” Rafe gave you a particularly hard thrust and you screamed. Sending you over the edge and you cried. Your orgasm hit you so hard you almost went limp as he gripped the headboard with one hand. His other palm cupping your wrists and holding them above your head.

He kissed you with brute force as his cum spilled into you. Rafe humped you through it, sloppily making out with you as you silently panted. Your strength was leaving you as Rafe pulled out, jerking his cock and covering your tits with cum. Marking you. It was filthy, the way he licked it up after.

He hovered over you, examining your expression as you twitched with aftershock. Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead, cheeks and nose. “You’re so pretty when you come. You’re a doll baby.” He smiled at you. Genuinely. You looked at him with half closed lids.

“So, you want to be my boyfriend?” You quietly asked and Rafe nodded.

“Yeah. I mean spraying you with cum kinda sealed the deal, baby.” Your cunt pulsed as he kissed your neck.

“I wanna taste you now.” You whispered and Rafe lifted his head. Lips glistening.

“Oh I don’t think you know what you’ve done. Now that I took it easy on you, I’m really gonna fuck you like a slut. Then you’re gonna wear your cum filled panties during church. So God can see who you really worship.”

Tagging: @cameronsprincess @sturnioloshacker @userchai @loserboysandlithium @oceanblvd111 @oceandriveab @redhead1180 @gri959 @take-everything-you-can @decodedlvr @stillwjk-channie-lixie @webbluvrsugar @starkeysbabygirl

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gdn7-dollopole · 3 days ago

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There’s something so sweet about this scene. Not only Arthur is surrounded by his knights, his friends, he still can’t seem to forget there’s someone missing.

And the way he approaches Merlin is nothing funny or sarcastic: it’s pure concern, it’s love, it’s respect.

Merlin admits he’s scared, without thinking about it twice, because yes, this is Arthur, the same man who makes fun of me on a daily, but he’s also my best friend, the man I love, and who I could lose, but I can’t tell him, but, oh God, if he needs to know I don’t want him to die. I’m the most powerful warlock on earth, yet I’m scared of Morgana, because she wants to kill Arthur, and I’m weak when it comes to him, I’m scared I won’t be able to protect him as I should (especially since Merlin has heard the prophecy that spoke of Arthur’s bane).

I like Arthur’s stunned face. Merlin is referring to his life. “You don’t care you could die?” And not only Arthur is shocked by it, because he thought Merlin knew his reasonings by now, knew that Arthur would never risk losing his knights, losing Merlin. But Arthur doesn’t care as long as his men are safe, as long as Merlin’s safe (because, let’s be honest, this conversation is nothing but a way for them to tell each other how they feel towards one another, without exposing themselves to the danger of this revelation). And Arthur needs to make something clear:

“Only about you.” Because Arthur brings Merlin everywhere like he’s a solider, a warrior, someone who knows how to fight with a sword, who’s an asset to Camelot and the kingdom itself, so he considers him an equal, someone he can sit with on a lower step and chat with about his fears, because he can be vulnerable with Merlin. Arthur knows he’s safe with him.

Arthur includes Merlin in his speech, and this is something that could mean, “Oh, so Merlin isn’t a friend, isn’t a brother, he’s so much more.” This scene is so impactful, because it’s one of those rare moments where Arthur shows how deeply he can love, how much risk he’s willing to take to bring peace to his kingdom and to his people: to the ones he loves.

And he knows his knights, he knows Merlin won’t abandon him, because he has never done it, and Arthur truly believes Merlin has no reason to do it now, even if he’s scared. It’s as if Arthur is asking, just to make sure, just to have the confirmation that they think the same of it.

And they do:

I wish I didn’t understand how much I’m willing to risk, and have already risked for you. Because this is why I’m here: for you and only for you.

The self deprecating smile, because Merlin can’t back down, he never will. He’s so frightened, yet not even the prospect of battling against Morgana and her army will make him run.

He has Arthur to protect.

The way he smiles, it’s as if he’s saying, “Why didn’t I understand this sooner? Arthur’s just like me.” But it’s the fact that they told each other this, they know now, after ten years, that they’re willing to do anything and more for the other to stay safe, to be alive, even if one of them isn’t.

Merlin tells Arthur. He watches him intensely, because Arthur needs to understand. He’s honest.

Arthur gets it, and he’s finally happy. He’s relieved that Merlin won’t abandon him, that he will stay by his side, like he always is, protecting him, fighting with him, and helping him.

Arthur smiles at Merlin like he��s seeing him for the first time, and he falls in love with him just that tad bit more.

#this is my favourite scene of them #there is just something so pure and honest about their stares and their words that does it for me #they watch the other’s reaction because they know what they’re actually implying #and i know that this show is simple at the end #maybe there was just something to show and that’s it #maybe the dialogues were written with another purpose #but as long as there will be something that makes me truly believe these two are canon #i don’t care #it’s in moment like this that you wonder because there is just something in arthur’s words #the way he puts it #the way he’s telling this to merlin and not to his knights because he wants to make sure merlin is reading between the lines #and arthur tells merlin to eat something to not think about it because now they’re safe that the other knows #knows how much they love each other #i like this scene so much and arthur’s small and pleased smile makes it all the better #arthur’s happy if merlin’s happy #and that’s all he needs #merthur #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin x arthur

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crazyvik97rpg · 2 days ago

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The atmosphere with everyone around was really lovely, even though they still very much were in a hospital. Sebastian‘s parents and Isa too were more than glad that the surgery went well overall, Sebastian was ready and set for a smooth recovery and with William by his side, Isa was most certain he‘d be back on his feet before they knew it.

Their mom was the most worried of them all though. She just couldn’t bear seeing Sebastian this way, she wasn’t used to it, as was he. He couldn’t get up on his own, let alone walk right now, he was basically confined to the bed. She just wanted this whole ordeal to be over already, it worried her to no end.

And well, as soon as Dr Cole entered the room at some point, to check on Sebastian once more, Cynthia really had a lot more questions. When he‘d be all recovered again, if the cancer was all gone, how high the chance was that it would come back, all of that. Honestly, it wasn’t easy for Sebastian to hear all those possible horror–scenarios. Isa noticed that – at first, she and William shared an amused look but honestly, it was not ideal to be reminded again that they didn’t make it yet. There was still a lot of work to be done.

And truth be told, Dr Cole also couldn’t answer all of Cynthia‘s questions, as Dr Chalman was Sebastian‘s primary doctor in that matter. All she could say, was, that the surgery was successful, give some details and make assumptions about further treatments. Isa and William shared looks, amused at first, but clearly it didn’t help much for William to hear all that either. Isa was there for him mainly, too – everyone was concerned for Sebastian, for obvious reasons, so they simply overlooked that William had a really hard time dealing with all of this basically alone too.

„Usually what is done, is, radiation or chemotherapy, so we can be sure we didn’t overlook any cancer cells. But I assume your primary doctor can tell you more about that, it usually isn’t done after weeks after the surgery, so your body can really recover properly first“, she spoke and well, for now, Cynthia had to accept these answers. Albert was listening attentively as well – he was just as concerned, Cynthia just showed it way more openly.

„Thank you, for all the explanations“, Albert interrupted his wife to ask even mire questions and thanked the doctor, as Dr Cole had a tight schedule still and needed to check on other patients too – that gave Cynthia the signal that she probably should stop pestering her with more questions and Dr Cole said her good–bye for now. Sebastian didn’t see her for the last time anyway.

„So…you know, it’s good that they found it so effortlessly, Sebby, that’s great news. Imagine they didn’t know what the problem was, but you got your surgery so quickly. So we basically don’t need to worry, right?“, she smiled and looked also at the others, Isa, William and Albert, „Did you think about which treatment you will do yet? I mean, you need to pick something anyway, none of them sound especially pleasing…it’s more about picking the lesser evil, I guess“.

„Darling…how about we let Sebastian recover properly first. He’s basically fresh out of the operating room“, Albert chimed in and showed her gentle smile, „Sebastian has plenty of time to worry about that later.“ Well, Isa at this point once again shared a look with William – their mom was starting to become a handful. She couldn’t exactly blame her…but Isa didn’t want her to bring more worry into this room than anything else.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes.

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times.

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?”

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them.

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

#for i have sinned

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