#fear can be the start of something productive if you let it

[mamiya-a]

Playing dangerous

Mother Miranda/reader

Warning for explicit content.

Chapter 15: Alone

Summary:

You receive an unexpected call.

It's humiliating. The ugly, uncomfortable, dirty feeling in your body, growing with every passing second. It gathers like lumps deeply within your veins, cutting the freedom of your bloodstream. History is cursed to repeat itself, over and over again, yet why is it that for all the differences in the picture, this sickening feeling continues to rage inside you. It's stupid, it's so stupid. Miranda is not selfish, Miranda is not a man, Miranda is not the one to cheat.... Miranda is not Philip. However her late strange behaviour has started to resemble  your ex-boyfriend's character a little bit too much. The woman who is more loveable than anyone is now as cold as the first flakes of snow, already falling on the bare roads outside. 

Winter brings stagnation and an unpleasant, uninvited change. 

After long days and nights of contemplation, you alone  have come to the conclusion that your professional relationship with the blond woman is now long over. There's no point in shying away. You love her. Your every act is born of the fact that your thoughts are occupied solely by her. More than once you've caught yourself daydreaming of a peaceful life with her where you can call her your own without any problems. And the ways Miranda talks back to you made you think she's just as obsessed with you as you are with her. But that emotion is too twisted for her taste. 

As if guessing your intentions of declaring passionate love, Miranda suddenly changed her demeanor towards you. A few days, maybe a week ago you woke up naked and alone in your bed. The familiar dull ache all around your forehead greeted you instead of a good morning kiss. You could physically feel your brain throbbing with every thought and guess as to why exactly Miranda was gone, despite the clear memory of the night before shared with her. The world didn't exist for you then, time had stopped. There was only Miranda. But just before those fatal words slipped from your lips - the entire room filled with darkness and the face of the woman beside you slowly evaporated from your sight. 

The products of the unpleasant scene revolved around you and Miranda as the protagonists of the tragedy, with the small difference that one had no idea what play she was in and the other skillfully spelled its end. From that night on, Miranda began to behave differently. And that's what annoyed you the most - when she did things without explanation, in those moments you wanted to destroy her. Hate and love fought an uncomfortably long battle every day you spent with her. 

It all started quietly enough. On this gloomy, headache-inducing day, you barely saw Miranda in her own house. She spent her time in the basement, where you didn't want to go. At some point, of course, she came out to make something to eat. You took advantage of her exposed figure in the kitchen to stand behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and plant a soft kiss on her neck. You wanted answers, you wanted to know why the woman had left you alone. But Miranda just slipped out of your grasp, asking you, not in a gentle voice, to not bother her. That night, she refused to participate in her favourite bedtime cuddles. And you only became angrier. 

Her coldness was strangely resembling Philip's acting the moment you acknowledged his cheating. So then naturally, fear of that exact outcome came to mind. 

In the days that followed, her symptoms of ignoring and distancing only increased. Her gentleness was gone, along with the pleasant voice with which she always spoke to you. Miranda refused to touch you or let you touch her. She reverted to her original behaviour - to that rainy night when you first appeared at her door. She was still domestic, but behind her forced smile was something uncomfortable for both of you - and yet unspoken. The anger was already in the marrow of your bones when you decided to try something as a last attempt at intimacy. 

Her bed was as huge as ever, except you were freezing cold. Of course, you could easily blame Miranda for your discomfort. Winter was coming, in your room -her room there was no air conditioning or any type of heating , and the woman lay with her back and only her back to you , all the way at the other end of the bed. With an irritated grimace you slowly made your way towards her. She didn't flinch when your hands started to wander down and up her body, beneath the covers, yet a hissing sound easily came out of her throat. A fair warning. 

"Are you mad at me for something, Mira?" -  you asked her, not knowing if you liked the way her body shivered slightly, affected equally by the use of her little name and the press of your chest against her tender back. 

"No." - was the short answer, without explanation. At least you were sure she meant it. If you'd done anything to her, she would have told you. You were confident that you knew Miranda well. How wrong you were. 

"Then what's going on? You've been acting strangely for days." - your words caressed the skin of her ear as your hands moved slowly down, finding her nightgown particularly long, uncharacteristic of her. As your fingers slipped underneath it, Miranda turned her head and gave you a mischievous look. Your movements stopped on the soft skin of her thighs. She just shook her head, clearly rejecting you. Your eyebrows knitted together, forming a thin line of displeasure between them. You wanted her, you'd always wanted her, because her feelings were exactly the same, but now... "Are you really all right?" - you pressed a palm to her forehead. - "Are  you sick? You've never refused me..." - and that confused you - she has always been the one thirty for sexual intimacy.Her jaws tightened, clearly showing her discomfort. - "not in the mood...or are you just unable to perform because you're maybe...indisposed?"  

Thinking about it you realized that Miranda has never complained about her period. Nor has she mentioned it. When this time of the month came for you she even looked stunned as if it was the first time she had heard of such a thing or rather forgotten it... She blinked a few times rapidly then turned as if she had never spoken to you and a heavy sigh filled the room. 

"I don't menstruate." - now it was your turn to be surprised. Again, her words are too short and forced to count for anything close to an answer. For your part, however, you react sharply, perhaps even overreact. The way her tone sounded and her body clearly wanting to withdraw from you for no apparent reason finally pushed you over the edge. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." - you hissed in her ear, pulling your hands away from her, already feeling the lack of the warmth of her skin. - "I forgot I was in a relationship with a woman twice my age." - or perhaps triple - she practically never told you. 

Not that it had ever been a problem. Miranda doesn't look a year older than thirty, and though she mostly acts like that of a grandmother from the last century, she clearly still shows her desire to retain her youth too. You regretted your statement only after you took a sitting position on the bed and saw her hands ball into fists out of the corner of your eye. Miranda, however, just covered herself almost entirely with the blanket. 

"If you've stopped insulting me about my age, then  please, let me sleep." - her voice was firm and devoid of any tenderness, but even through her stone cold facade of ignorance you could catch a hint of regret. An emotional both of you felt in that moment. Miranda rested her head fully on the soft pillow, waving a lazy palm at you. - "An old woman like me deserve her rest." - a pause. - "Unbothered." 

You didn't hesitate to leave her bedroom to lie in your own lonely bed. This time Miranda didn't come looking for you, no, that feeling of security she had was gone. You weren't ashamed to let a few salty drops of tears roll down your cheeks, just because the woman you wanted to love so much, and who wanted to love you back, was starting to act like the man who had almost denied you those false feelings. 

That incident was two days ago, a week and a half since her strange behaviour began. The same has been going on for two days now, and a third is approaching, you sleep in separate beds and barely speak to each other - like complete strangers. 

*****  Miranda has heard countless interpretations of love and those who experience it. Rarely, of course, has any of these theories stuck with her. However, there is one in particular that is floating around in her head, lost and vague. It is said that there are two kinds of people in the world, those who give love and those who owe love. One side is easy to understand, but the other... it's hard to convert someone's feelings in a way that doesn't hurt them. It takes care and precision, and too often people fail. The tension of owing that emotion spills over into anger and an uncomfortable sense of obligation. When  one does not know how to give love back eventually becomes a resentful prisoner of this paradox. 

Miranda has always been certain in her role within this specific game...now, however, she feels completely lost. Meanwhile everything is too difficult, too irritating, too tiring. Yet the reason stays unclear, or rather too clear, therefore too scary for her, to be acknowledged. Never again. She says to herself over and over and over.. 

A bright beam of light from under the half-closed curtains manages to spill over her frowning face. She murmurs, uncrossing her legs to get up, and after a few quiet steps she  completely covers her windows. Her blue eyes linger on the accumulated snow for a moment. Miranda thinks to herself that her daughters would love to play  outside. But the idea sounds too exhausting to her. Of course, she could call for you, but that would only make it harder in her already bad enough situation. 

With a quick spin, she heads back to her stacked desk. Her laptop is open -  laughing with an evil, luminous grin, and all the papers on the wooden surface are already digging her grave. Preparing for her official entry into the new company is certainly wearing her down. Instead of her usual pack of cigarettes, Miranda finds a vase of flowers in the right corner of her desk. The plants are about to totally lose their lovely colours, ending their life cycle due to the lack of water in their vase - visibly reflecting the woman's neglect of them. Miranda doesn't even know where they came from, only recognising the pleasant smell when she enters her office. She can almost guess they were a gift from you, after all you often give her flowers. 

Miranda grabs the now brown stems of the flowers and drops them into the wastebasket next to her desk in a lazy motion. The moment they hit the bottom, the door opens with a vicious bang. 

"Insolent as always." -the blonde's firmer sounding voice booms through the room to your surprise. You quickly step inside, closing the door behind you, your fingers touching the key in the lock long enough to know that if Miranda really wanted to be alone, she would lock herself in. There's no point in arguing, though, her eternal excuse would always be her daughters. - "Barging in, uninvited," her eyes whiten as she sits down in her chair. - "I think I've told you more than enough times how much I hate being interrupted when I'm working." 

"So you can communicate normally." -  You don't fall for her bait. Try as she might, Miranda can't make you feel guilty. Not when you want her answers so badly. - "Is that what I'm supposed to do, get on your nerves?" -  you take a step forward, the room shrinking, but Miranda continues to stand with her head held high. - "You've been angry with me for over a week... I want to know why." 

"I'm not angry." -  she scoffs in a low voice, almost mocking your satirical guess. She stretches her fingers across the surface of her desk until they make a popping sound. Her lips curl into a thin line and she looks at you with a sharp gaze. Her next sentence is a pure whisper - more for her than for you. - "At least not with you." 

"Then stop this disgusting act." - you allow yourself to raise your tone to her. You watch one of her eyebrows lifts up as you swallow the lump of worry in your throat. 

"This act...?"  

"Oh, please, don't try to lie to me by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about." - anger leads your body blindly. Almost leaning against her desk, you press your hand against a pile of papers to get her full attention. - "Don't act like nothing's going on, like we don't share a bed anymore, like you don't refuse to talk to me or even..." 

"Is it that easy to hurt my little deer?" - you see no point in lying to Miranda or yourself. The way she calls you one of your nicknames makes you weak in the knees. You mentally curse her as you realise how tightly she has you wrapped around her finger. - "I'm just busy, that's all. No need to take it so personally."  

"You're always busy, Miranda." - that is the main reason you're in her  house at all. Your role is to look after her children while she focuses on her work. - "But you've never acted like this. And I care because, Miranda I-" - her eyes bug out, one of her hands immediately rising to close around the base of her neck. As the familiar feeling of nausea sets in her throat- your head begins to throb with tension. After only seconds, you forget your words, breathing deeply. And staring directly at her. - "It hurts me...it hurts me when you act like this, so please, Miranda, tell me what's happening to you?" 

"I think the only thing that's going on is in your head." -  her sentence brings up a sharp memory of sleepless nights spent in fear of the unknown. You've already felt crazy once in this house, you won't let it happen again. Before you can fully come to your senses though, the feeling of her soft palm is already on your lower back, and you find yourself extremely close to the door. - "Why don't you go get some rest, I will allow it." - her hand presses the handle. - "The girls will understand you, and I'll try to finish here quicker so you can-" 

"No." - Miranda can't even finish her thought the moment you decide she has  spoken enough. You know you're physically weaker than her, but in your surprise you manage to push  her arm away and lock the door impossibly fast. The metal key stays firmly held inside your palm. - "No, I will not leave until you tell me everything." - you straighten your back for confidence. - "Only the truth will satisfy me." 

"Darling..." - you freeze. You know she aims to soften you with the usage of your favourite nickname. But it doesn't work as intended - your chest only tightens. 

"Don't do this, not now, Miranda." - her eyes sparkle with understanding. Trusting this magical light however is dangerous. Your body transforms into a solid wall, steady covering the door, not allowing anyone to get out or in. Miranda, eventually, gives in. She murmurs something under her breath before taking an elegant step back. Her heels drag along the floor until her lower legs hit against a  small sofa with curved metal elements as decorations and cozy looking reddish pillows, thrown on top of it. The woman takes her seat, chin boringly placed in her open palm. Her body swings forward and she obtains a position for observation. Her view, however, remains standing before her, eyes burning with unexplainable feeling. 

"Your attitude is truly unmatched." - although there's a playful smirk wandering at the edges of her lips, discomfort can be easily spotted in her body language. The woman can barely sit still. But she endures, for the sake of this conversation. - "If you wish to root out answers that badly...then fine, have it your way."    

Your chance dances around her long fingers, caressing the open hand she spreads, in order to allow you speech. Convincing Miranda is not a hard part at all. However such woman as her mighty self rarely reveals exactly what you want to hear. The battle you're marching into will surely be a hard one. Trying is more than worth it. 

"I wish to know what's going on with you." - you suck in a breath, puffed air occupying your lungs. - "I wish to know what or who is... forcing you to be so distant." 

"I've been thinking a lot lately." - Miranda blinks slowly, clearly showing you she's mostly still in her own head rather than her reality. She then repeats with a low voice, eyes avoiding you on purpose. - "...a lot." 

"Well after almost two weeks I hope you've come up with a solution to your problems." - you cross your hands in front of your chest. A defensive pose. - "or am I mistaken?" - it's at the tip of your tongue to propose your aide, yet you remain silent after the last few words. Miranda's smile dies just as the tension in the room begins to thicken up. It's suffocating. 

"If I asked you to leave here, to forget about everything connected with me or my daughters...would you do it?" - Miranda completely stuns you. To the point you almost drop the key from your already sweating hand. Although you shake your head, almost violently, she just keeps on talking, keeps on asking you...to leave? - "Would you, little deer?" 

"Why?" - seems like the only reasonable question. As the million possibilities, endless thoughts about the happening start to pour into your mind like a vicious waterfall, your hands begin to shake. The feeling is inescapable. Fear, sadness, anger, or perhaps a bit of everything at once. Too much for the possibilities of a singular person. - "Why?" - you repeat. - "I don't understand...if I have done something at least tell me, don't you...what... don't you want me anymore?!?" 

"You're getting it twisted." - Miranda's head falls down, her shoulders quickly following. While her thin fingers cover her entire face and a sigh leaves her, you can't help but notice how unkept her nails are, implying the idea of her teeth biting at them over and over again. - "That's why I didn't want to tell you." 

"Everything is...going great for us, isn't it?" - few cold drops of sweat drip down your forehead, your words becoming harder to find. You're nervous and it shows. - "Why do you want me to get away, Miranda, I don't understand-" - she doesn't even flinch, solid as stone. Your  next sentence is forced and higher in volume. - "Why ruin it, why ruin us?" 

"The relationship between us is more than simply complicated, my little deer." - that awful nickname again. 

"But we work, don't we? Despite the odds, we are still together and-" 

"I believe I've made a mistake." - Miranda seems unbothered and judging by her absolute harsh tone one might guess the shared debate is at it's end. But you know better. You swallow the moment her back hits the sofa and she glues herself to the furniture, as for needed protection. Then she looks down at you, one hand twisting the fabric of her pants. - "and that's only my fault." - a pause. - "I rushed everything and now...I feel like I'm being punished." 

Furious, you're utterly furious. 

"Punished?" - you roll the disgusting word with your tongue, tasting every drop of bitterness on it, every dark spot spawning in both yours and Miranda's mind. - "Are you really that ungrateful?" - immediately after your unusual outbreak, she looks her head to you, confusing forcing her eyebrows to furrow. - "Yes you're right - you rushed everything. You made me chase you into this...unknown territory, while knowing my situation with Philip and also acknowledging the fact that I've never dated women!" - at the mention of your ex boyfriend's name she scoffs, always hating to hear anything about him. It's funny how she continued to challenge with him, even though she's at the edge of probably breaking up with you. - "And...all I did was try to be good for you, isn't that right? - your arms dance with anger around you, expressing every word. - "and now you're trying to get rid of me!" - as if you're ever going to allow that. 

"Is it appreciation  you're seeking?" - Miranda barks back at you, deeply offended. She would lying if she didn't I admit her back was itching from irritation. She knows this conversation has escalated over small matters. Yet her pride refuses to allow her a steb back. - "Perhaps that darling boy you like to mention so much will give it to you."

Miranda has crossed a line. Both of you realise it too late. 

"You have to right to even speak of him." - your tone is nothing more, but annoyed hissing. - "not when your precious Mia keeps on calling and texting you almost everyday!" - the grotesque scene continues to unravel with the mention of such evil woman. Her name strucks Miranda straight to the hearth. In her defence you've never seen her answer, and since she allows you to go through her phone - she doesn't even bother to check the messages she receives, unless they come from you of course. However, the mere fact that she hasn't yet blocked Mia is enough to drive you insane. And it's currently doing it's work perfectly. 

"Mia...has no longer place in my life, and you know this." 

"Do I have place in your life then, Miranda?" 

"You do, of course you do..." - you have managed to touch something deep inside of her. Sure sign for this is the slight, but noticeable, trembling of her hands. Miranda wishes to pull you closer, to hug and caress you until you fall asleep and hopefully forget everything. You're certain you will indeed follow her desires, that's why you don't approach her. Her manipulative nature will ruin you. - "Forgive me, I wasn't aware you'll succeed in...affecting me in such way." 

"So, am I to assume you wanted nothing more than a plaything, a pet, from me?" - a memory awakens within your mind. Miranda sitting on her bed, graceful as always, while you kneel down in her feet. What an interesting way to describe your relationship. She mentions her past...'pets' and you get upset, believing you're her new one. Then, out of fondness, you allowed this comment to slip past your consciousness, however now...you see right through it. 

"No." - firm, but surprisingly genuinely sounding answer. Miranda shakes her head as if offended. - "I do think... I treated you like one, but darling that's not the case with you." - with each of her words you get more and more certain the woman doesn't really know what she wants. Well, you are definitely something she desires, yet is also afraid of admitting so. How exhausting. - " I often get too overwhelmed from my work and my obligations and there's nothing I desire more than...to just forget about everything for a while." - her eyes lift up to meet yours, her voice melancholic and sweet like singing birds.- "You're a perfect distraction, darling. However as I said before - we're getting ahead of ourselves...and I need to think about it, about us." - she breaths out, breaking the eye contact. Then her real reason hits your hard as a rock. Yet again you manage to match her worries with your own. - "I would truly be heartbroken...if you end up being like Mia." 

In other words, Miranda doesn't trust you enough to allow you to love her. Or allow herself to love again. 

Miscalculated words can hurt so deeply. The cut is instant, bloody and painful. All you've done is show her love and Miranda dares to compare you to that woman with lack of empathy. You force yourself to remain calm, although the nails digging fiercely into your palms are screaming at you to slap the blonde woman across the face and run away. You partly understand her problems, you also worry about her becoming like Philip. But at least she has given you a reason to think about such possibility. Her actions confirm her words - at the moment you feel used, like the darling puppet for distraction she so badly desires. 

"Do you wish to be alone?" - you ask, proposing your aide for the last time. - "Do you wish to deal with this matter alone like you've done till now?" - you bite your lips. Miranda looks like she's expecting more, like she's expecting of you to say 'or' and give her a solution. There is alone silence. 

"Yes..." - she doesn't even dare to stare at you while her truthfully answer echoes around the room. 

"Fine, Miranda." - you push the key back into the lock, turning it and opening the door. - "Be alone." 

.

.

.

Upset, of course you're upset. You're even sure the word is too weak to describe your situation. The air around your small room is thick with ugly emotions, which you can't stress enough for the life of you. You're angry, yet salty tears of sorrow are still dripping down you puffy cheeks. You're tired, exhausted of everything, yet you still manage to find the energy to impatiently circle in a clear line on the hard, wooden floor, pushing any furniture in your way. So far you've broken a lamp and knocked down a few borrowed items, such as books or even clothes. You know there's no point in loosing yourself to this consuming anger, but you can't help yourself. Once again you begin to devide in two - unexpectedly the stronger part of you wants to release all of the built-up negativity on Miranda, however, there's still this inescapable feeling for the gentleness and love you so cordially desire to pour on top of her. That woman, that evil creature, that magnificent person - currently you hate and love her equally enough. Like always. 

It's hell. The lonely, large mansion transforms into your prison for the last time. As if Miranda's home listens to her like an obedient puppy. You're trapped, you're out of air, your blood turns tarry black while your fingernail drag anxious lines along the skin of your arms. You're sweating, which is weird, because the whole house is freezing cold. Yet nor Miranda, or her daughters, bother to check the temperature. Then you burst out. Sharp pain occupies your curled up in a fist hand, with awful periodic throbbing. In a moment of weakness, you've managed to hit the small drawer next to your bed, strong enough to knock down few more items. One of them rolls further away from you, with an alluring sound along the floor, and with that it catches your attention. 

The small bottle of medicaments Miranda has given you so long ago. Months, to be precise. Looking back at the exactly two singular pills left inside of it you can't help but think about all the unusual things happening within this mansion and its residents. Then your mind wanders to another memory. An old man behind a cash register, laughing and looking down at you as if you're his meal. He mentions something about nobody living where you currently are. So what if... you've really went insane. What if Miranda, Eva and Eveline never existed. That's exactly how your so called girlfriend makes you feel. Insane in every aspect. 

Your phone rings, rooting you out of your own memories and thoughts. You blink, to assure yourself reality has hit you. For a moment you fail to locate the path of melody. But eventually your fingers reach the metallic surface of the phone and you do your best to pick up in time, although you get confused by the unknown number. A man stars to explain something, extremely fast - almost too hard to process, in your ear. But once you begin to unravel the mystery behind the soup of sentences, pouring in your system, your eyes widen in surprise and fear. 

You spare only a second after hanging up, in order to save the number, before standing up, almost too quickly as the world goes black. You're out of your depressing, lonely and half broken room without a second thought.  And you run. You run through the long corridor on the second floor. Miranda's bedroom door flies open, handle hitting the wall with a loud tud. However, she's no where to be found. You look around for a while, almost panicking. Until you spot her on her balcony, in her usual chair, unmoving and looking down at the endless forest, surrounding the mansion. You take a deep breath, before opening the glass door to the outside and taking a step closer to her. 

Miranda doesn't move, doesn't greet or even acknowledges you. The woman remains silent and unbothered, even after you take a firm place close to her, eyes scanning the pile of ashes next to her feet and yet another one thick cigarette between her fingers. Her usual sweet aroma replaced by sharp smell of nicotine. You've already guessed she's going to try and drown her sorrows with the help of her favourite poison. But now...you don't feel obligated to stop her. You shiver, feeling exactly how cold the weather has gotten. Miranda doesn't seem to mind it, her clothes are the same from this morning and they don't cover much. Meanwhile you're better dressed, yet still freezing. This fact it's enough to force you wait until she, herself, decides to speak first. It doesn't talk long, perhaps because of her feeling of guilt. 

"Anything you need?" - Marian lazily rolls the words off her tongue, as if her mind has really gotten foggy from all the smoke. Her voice is rather violent, more harsh than usual. She doesn't lift her eyes to look at you. The  horizon is more appealing for her. 

"I've just got call." - you murmur out, placing your hands behind your back. - "A pretty...unexpected one." 

"And?" - she asks, trying to get you to speak more clearly. Meanwhile your nose wrinkles once she takes another puff from her cigarette, more ashes falling down to her feet. 

"It's my father, Miranda." - her eyebrows lift up, as if she's forcing her interest towards the topic. It makes you tighten your jaw. But you refuse to give up to your anger. - "Something happened, but they refuse to tell me over the phone. I'm...scared for him." - finally her head leans to you. - "And I need to leave immediately, so I can check." - she hums. - "You need to understand and allow me to-" 

"Okay." - Miranda rushes to cut you off, her voice calm and calculated. - "That's okay, you can go see him. I'm not the one to forbid you to do so." - says the woman who literally holds you on a leash inside her house. The meaningless, short life of her cigarette finally ends and she throws it down, thin hand already seeking another one. Before she can reach her half empty box, however, your instincts click on and you quickly wrap your fingers around her wrist, holding it firmly. Miranda's lips part, ready to protest, and even after she pulls away, or rather tries to so, you don't let go. 

"You're such a burden, do you know that?" - it's triggering you. Her whole act of playing hurt when she's the one to blame. And yes again, you hate to see her suffer. 

"What more do you need?" - Miranda success in breaking free from your grasp. Only to fall into another trap. Both of your hands get a hold of her face, holding her head straight so she can look you in the eyes while you speak to her. There's something unusual in her blue, infinite oceans, you're not sure if fear if the right term to explain it with, but she's definitely anxiously awaiting for your next move. 

Her eyes stay open even when you claim her lips without a warning. After two weeks of neglect, kissing her feels like pure heaven on earth. One, in which you wish to stay forever. But you know her lines of permission. Soon, too soon for your liking, you pull away. Only placing one last soft kiss at the edges of her lips. Miranda doesn't return your actions, nor she pushes you away. She stays still, solid and , judging by her expression, severely confused. 

"After I return I'll do whatever you want." - you assure her, observing her closely, noticing her hair is not completely slicked back like usual. - "we can go back to casual dating if our current relationship is too much for you." - your thumbs begin to slowly caress the soft skin on her cheekbones. She seems a bit more relaxed, yet still trying her best ro process the happening. - "We can take it slow like you want." - you bite your lips. - "I only have one condition." 

"What do you want from me?" - the familiar question burns your whole nervous system and eventually forces invisible shivers down your spine. The way Miranda leans into your touch doesn't help you at all. You don't understand why she's acting she way she is. However you're too obsessed to let go of her. Something is telling you she feels the exact same way. The sparkle in her eyes almost confirms it. She only looks at you like this when... she's admiring her precious little deer. 

"I can't sleep without you, I really can't." - you're honest. In the past few days, spent in your own bed, you barely got any rest. Just endless turning and squeezing of eyes. You're even certain your dark circles are visible for her. - "Just let me have this, I won't ask you for much." - her hands lift as well, cupping your own, which are still holding her face. - "At least one night a week I can get a good night sleep, please?" 

There's no answer. Miranda only hums. Then she shows her physical power by suddenly pulling you closer and shoving her head in the crook of your neck. Soon enough, her hot breath triggers a reaction as she leans to whisper in your ear. 

"My children adore you, darling." - you feel how her thin fingers travel through your hair, playing with it. - "And I... don't have any desire to search for another babysitter." - with that - she releases you. Although her warning sounds confusing you manage to capture its meaning. To return. To never abandon her. She even played a card with her daughters. Miranda must be serious. She then smiles and waves you off. - "Go on now, don't make your poor father wait for you." 

.

.

.

After nearly an hour, you find yourself outside, fighting with the snow on your shoes, while slowly making your way to the smaller car in front of the mansion. You only have a larger backpack with you, instead of fancy suitcases or unnecessary luggage. If your calculations are correct you should be back quicker than expected. It's not a few hours drive, of course, your father's hospital is far, but you doubt it's going to take you more than a day of travelling. Perhaps two, at most. You open the heavy metal door of your car, making a grimace after realising the inside of it  is colder than the weather outside. You wouldn't be surprised if you end up being sick. Well, there's no turning back now. Yet...your head twists upwards, enough for you to recognise the upper body of a woman, carefully observing your departure. Her honey blonde hair wandering with the waves of wind. She looks beautiful. You suppress the need to wave her goodbye. But then you spot a smaller figure stepping closer to Miranda. The mother, like always, chooses her daughter over you. So you start your car and leave, wishing them a silent goodbye. 

Meanwhile, on the balcony, Miranda panics as Eva breaks her solitude. Not over anything else, but the pile of ashes in her feet. She work fast to cover it, while also searching for a place to hide her box of cigarettes. Only to realise the said object is long gone. She's too focused on her daughter to remember your clever hands carefully stealing her cigarettes and putting them in your own pocket. Denying her from the guilty pleasure of smoking the minutes away while she waits for you. Finally, as her eyes lose visibility of your car in the distant road, she turns to Eva with a forced, bright smile. The little girl returns it and rushes into her mothers embrace. They stay close to each other like this for a while, Eva even manages to climb in Miranda's lap, earning herself a kiss on the head in return. 

"Is she really leaving you?" - the girl asks, tone focused as she looks up to her parenting figure. 

"She knows her way home." - Miranda answers with confidence. 

In the next minute the enjoyment from the calm scene with the two happy family members burst into ruins. Eva begins to cough. Miranda's hand, which was till now playing with the girl's hair, strays away, trembling. 

"Is it starting again, love?" - the woman says, placing the back of her hand over her daughter's forehead. For her unfortunate guess, Eva's skin is differently warmer than it should be. Strangely, her sickness shouldn't be striking her soon. Miranda is even sure the symptoms shouldn't be noticeable at least until next month. This awful curse, usually only appearing in a period of four months or rather three times a year, is getting more and more common. And Miranda is worried. - "How long?" 

"About two weeks now..." 

"And you didn't tell me?" - the sharp comment forces Eva to shut her eyes close, only to feel a kiss to her eyelid a second later. - "You know I have to write down every anomaly." 

Miranda cannot risk to lose Eva again. 

"You were visible upset..." - the girl murmurs, holding strongly at her mother's shirt as she stands up, carrying her inside. - "I didn't want to worry you."  

"You have to always tell me, my love, always." - Eva nods her head. -"now you shouldn't fear anything, we will fix you in no time." - Miranda reassures her. Not afraid yet again to cover her hands with blood, in order to keep her most precious close to her. 

***** 

The hospital is just as you remember it. 

White corridors, sterile hospital rooms. Doctors and nurses wandering at every corner, some pushing around patients in their beds, while others rushing into different rooms, some for emergency procedures, others just to check on their patients. The silence so easily broken every now and then by beeping sound of heart rate monitors, followed by footsteps on the hard floor. The whole place resembling  epitome of health and cleanliness, but yet still feeling cold and unwelcoming. The acrid smell of antiseptic and disinfectants fills the air, assaulting the nose of any who found themselves there. Including you. In fact you can't help but wrinkle your nose once you approach the woman at  the reception. 

Luckily for you, it happens to be an old friend. Maria is her name, if your memory doesn't fail you. Approaching her falls out of the ordinary for you. It's definitely weird, after so many days spent in the consuming company of Miranda, you're definitely struggling to interact with different people. To your surprise, the polite, young woman smiles and waves at you, calling out your name. 

"My god, I haven't seen you in so long!" - she exclaims, laughing immediately after she realising she's a bit more loud than the allowed for a hospital. Once you move close enough for her, she starts taking rapidly again. - "You look nice! But where have you been?" - she extends her arms to grab your shoulders. - "Really I missed you." 

You met Maria in your first year at university. For her - it was her last. You would be forever thankful for her guidance. She helped you with studying and getting to know the scary, large place for the first time ever. After she graduated, however, you never managed to see her again. Now you're happy, a familiar face in the hospital is definitely what you need. 

"Thank you, I'm fine." - you try to keep it simple. Although you would love to stay and chat with her for a bit, you can't stop the eating you from inside worry for your father.  - "Do you happen to know what is happening with-" 

"With your father?" - she smiles. - "But of course! Don't give me that face now, I assure you he's fine." - she clicks something something on a computer in front of her and then you hear a peeping sound from a nearby printer, which immediately starts to produce a document, probably about to be given to you. - "Well he's still... you know." - she makes a grimace, closing her eyes. You don't find it funny, but your or your father's sike you endure the built up anger. - "But - you're in luck. Your old man got transferred into a better hospital!" - finally she passes the printed paper to you. It's merely just an address. You scoff, annoyed. - " Honestly it's so bizarre, the waiting list was practically endless but.... seems like he happened upon a miracle, no?" 

"Thank you, Maria." - changing of hospital, really? Is this why they called you all the way here? Unbelievable, they could have told you on the phone! You place a palm to your face, sighing and clearly showing your disappointment. 

"Don't be all sorrowful now!" - she tries to encourage you. - "They even gave him a new team of doctors, you know?" - she scans the  hospital salon, leaning in to whisper closely to your ear. - "Don't want to get your hopes up, but...I heard they are pretty good." 

"We'll see about that." - you bitterly reply. If you have to be honest with yourself, you're absolutely sick of endless pills and hospitals and these...so very clarified doctors. Yet after all it's your best choice at the moment.  You look up to Maria. Her hair is almost as golden as Miranda's, but she can't even begin to compare. While her eyes...seem empty. Their brown colour is nice, of course, yet it lacks the beauty and sparkle of the dark blue colour of Miranda. You frown, hating how you still think of Miranda even while being so far away from her. Lost in thought, you get startled when Maria pokes your shoulder, repeating your name over and over, trying to get your attention. 

"How about you go out with me?" - you happen to be a little confused. Perhaps she was explaining something else before this question, but you didn't hear her well. She then clears her throat, obtaining back her professional look. As much as she can fake it, that is. - "If and when you have the time, of course, I don't want to force you or-" 

"I'll think about it, Maria." - you take a quick picture of the address, before crushing the paper with your hands. Then you give her a slight smile. - "Have a nice day." 

.

.

.

In your spare time you decide to visit a nearby mall. Since the day it at its end there's no point in rushing to the other hospital. You also checked the address - it's pretty far away. You already booked yourself a hotel room, but you quickly got bored. The mall brings pleasant memories from your time with the girls and Miranda. Although it's not the same building you force yourself to enjoy your journey within memories, while walking around and observing the different shops. You don't feel particularly hungry, besides the food is overpriced so you decide to skip that part. A smile urges on your lips as you pass by a jewellery shop, stopping for a moment to look between the presented necklaces, ring, bracelets... buying one for Miranda is pointless. You woman owns  way too many. The urge to surprise her with a gift is strong, but rapidly thrown aside as you continue your journey. Then, with the corner of your eyes, you catch the illuminated pet store sign. The store windows are decorated with colorful birds in lonely cages. Between them you spot a significant black crow. Although it stands out as different from the others, your attention is completely absorbed by it. You remember the promise to Eva about that birthday present...and how she wanted a cat, despite the fear her mother has of them. 

At the end you find yourself in a bookstore. 

The air is filled with the scent of paper, ink and a hint of coffee. The shelves are overflowing with various titles from different genres, each one waiting to be picked up and discovered. The soft light coming from the ceiling is just enough to navigate through the maze of books.In the back corner of the store is a small nook with a couch and armchairs, where customers can take a break from reality and immerse themselves in a good book. It's unbelievably cozy and you enjoy every step between the many book shelves. 

Naturally you first go to the medicine sector. After a quick observation, however, you note that nothing from the given will help you with learning more than you already have at home. Your own books are rich and with the bonus of Miranda's help you easily cover up all of the needed material. There's a thick atlas of human anatomy practically winking at you to go buy it. You wave it goodbye after seeing its prize. Miranda might pay you a lot, but it doesn't mean you should casually give your money away. 

The children's book section reminds you of Eva and Eveline. You wonder how they are doing, with moody Miranda looking after them. Perhaps your pity should be send for them. You have faith in them,though, you're certain they can handle the blonde woman better than you could ever dream to do so. You smirk mockingly while passing through a section, filled with erotica. You recognise a few titles from Miranda's personal library. Of course she arranges them close to her science books so the girls won't be interested in them. You're not surprised to find out every single one of them lacks male presence. 

At last you move your finger along a line of dictionaries. Variety of different languages reveal themselves in front of you. English, German, French, Spanish...until you stop at a few, explaining in details Romanian rules and grammar. You hum, fighting with your inner self over buying one or not. Eventually you give in, eager to learn something in the language, in order to surprise Miranda or her girls with your new skills. At the checkout, you regard the dictionary in your hand and sigh, realising everything you've done for entertainment still brings you back to that distant mansion. As the night falls you find yourself even missing its residents.  .

.

.

Back at your hotel room, you stare directly in your phone while the non-living object refuses to cooperate. There's no point in waiting. Miranda won't call you or search for you unless you purposely do it first. Yet you're avoiding it. You're absolutely sure she's doing it as well. Both of you too stubborn to admit the clear yearning for the other. Eventually you give in first. You dial her number, waiting for her to pick up and talk to you after a hard day of being alone. But she never does. Oh, well, you're definitely going to fire back at her when you get home. Speaking of home, you lay down flat on the bed, reminding yourself how dependent are you on that place if you even refer to it as home now. 

As you curl up to a side, you make an annoyed grimace. Something is uncomfortably rubbing you from inside your pocket. Naturally you rush to pull and throw it away, so you can finally head to bed and pray for a good sleep, but you stop yourself once you see the object. It's Miranda's cigarette box. You stop to think for a second. You're not quite the smoker yourself, yet last time you shared one of her favourite cigarettes you didn't have a lot of complains. And if it helps her so much with the nerves, why not try it as well. What an awful assumption. 

Only after the few drags from the cigarette you begin to I cough. The taste is completely different. You grab the box again, observing it more closely and immediately finding out Miranda has changed her brand. These are definitely heavier and, to be honest, worst in taste. You think of simple throwing them away, however, as you sense the smell you're yet again reminded of the blonde woman, with who you're so obsessed over. After all you leave the lit cigarette to ignite next to you, holding it between your fingers, without bringing it to your lips. As least the smell can stay. And you're doing her a favour as well - saving her poor lungs. 

Just as the flame of the cigarette reaches its end, your phone light up from a text message. You extend your hand to grab it. It's from Miranda. 

You called? 

You groan. What's the point of texting instead of returning the call? As much as you miss her right now, Miranda doesn't fail to annoy you. Your fingers quickly type a response, a rather sharp one. 

You could have picked up. 

Before she can answer, you correct yourself, deciding you seem too rude, by adding a new message. 

Doesn't matter. Can you talk now?

Miranda takes her sweet time to respond, as if wondering if you're worth it. Once she reveals her true reason, you regret ever getting mad over the situation. As she's clearly not in the wrong. 

Eva is sleeping next to me, darling. She's sick and I don't want to wake her up. Can't we communicate like this? I wish to know how your day went. 

Immediately you start worrying about Miranda's younger daughter. The girl suffers from her periodic illness over and over again without a clear medicine. It reminds you of your father. Miranda has reassured you many times that Eva, despite everything, is mainly doing good. Her health might not be in the best conditions, but she really seems fine most of her days. If must be tiring for Miranda, as a mother. So you decide not to comment on it, instead you aim to answer her question. 

They made me come to the hospital only to tell me they've move my father to another one! 

You know she laughs, back at her home, comfortably snuggled in her bed. You can just feel it. 

At least he's fine, I'd assume?  

Quickly checking the time on your phone, you realise it's getting late. Possibly Miranda is tired. You are as well. So you make it your goal to rush the conversation, without being too rude or awkward.

I will officially know tomorrow. Oh, but they also said he has gotten a new team of doctors. Good ones, or at least they told me so. 

Miranda writes one more final sentence, before both of you turn off your phones. 

I'm sure he's in good hands now. 

Strangely enough her belief, sounding a bit too confident, finds you even in your dreams.

***** 

Morning comes faster than expected. You wake up, unwilling to do anything at all, yet you have a sense of responsibility filling every inch of your body. You get ready fast enough, gather your things, check out of the hotel and take down the road again before lunch hours, which you personally count as a rare win. 

The weather is surprisingly nice and despite the slippery road , the trip goes well. As a neat sign of your already too old car, your radio refuses to work, but you just pull out your phone. Choosing calm music to keep you gripping the steering wheel tight. A few hours later, you arrive at the designated location. 

This hospital is in considerably better shape than the last. First of all it's several times larger and you even manage to park your car in the wide parking lot. Naturally you have  a few  setbacks only with your entry. A bigger and better hospital certainly means more patients. And as follows - the lounge and corridors are filled to the brim. After quite a struggle with the now unfamiliar girl at the front desk, you manage to get the number of the room they put your father in. From there you head in that direction, mentally preparing yourself to see him at his most miserable condition with every step. 

Your father lies motionless on the hospital bed, his body unresponsive to any outside stimuli. His eyes are closed and his breathing shallow and labored. Machines monitor his vital signs and feed him liquids through plastic tubes and IVs that are inserted into his arms.His face is pale and gaunt, the result of being in a state of unconsciousness for extended period of time. To the untrained eye he simply looks like he's asleep, but in reality he is trapped in a deep, unshakeable state of helplessness. 

Your eyes are full of salty tears, but you make no attempt to stop them. You let them roll down your cheeks, falling down, wetting your blouse at the end. The sight before you is heartbreaking, and the fact that you can't do anything about your father's condition is almost enough to rip your heart out. During another heavy sigh, you jump startled, feeling someone's hand on your shoulder. 

You turn to see a middle-aged man in a medical uniform. He smiles at you, handing over a folder of papers. After a rather quick explanation, he walks away, leaving you alone again. You are told that the given documents  contain all the information about your father's now changed treatment, plus his new team of doctors. Everything seems normal enough. But you can't stop wondering why all this important information should fall into your hands. The previous doctors didn't even bother to tell you exactly what pills they were prescribing him. 

The answer is revealed to you the moment you start reading the fine details. The group of professional medics is small, you can't distinguish more than ten people, but right at that moment your body freezes. The first name on the list is not anyone's, but Miranda's to be exact. If that's not a big enough surprise, the next one makes your jaw hit the floor. Just below hers, stands your own. 

Only she knows about your dreams to finally graduate and start treating your father properly. Only she knows and... only she can achieve it. Only Miranda can bring you on a silver plate what you desire most. 

You close the folder of papers and glance at your unmoving father. Your cheeks burn, and at the moment, with all your fixed emotional screaming in your head, you try to decide between absolutely killing Miranda or making love and her until she passes out. Both options sound good, but can in no way even reach your new level of wonder mixed with happiness and partly confusion, about how she managed to sneak you into her team. Hell, how she even managed to get a hold of your dying father? It doesn't matter, at least not at the moment.All you know is that you want to go to her instantly and do whatever she wants. To thank her. Gods, how will you ever manage to do that? 

Without a second thought, you immediately run to your car, ready to go back home. Ready to break your loneliness and get lost in your dreams, together with Miranda. 

[bludpudding]

only one person has gotten the bible verse right in the cori quiz so here’s the answer:

1 Corinthians 13:12 (KJ21)

For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.

“Paul now describes this partial knowledge of God as seeing a reflection in a dim mirror. Some scholars suggest that he had in mind Corinth's famous bronze mirrors, known for their imperfect reflections. … God, of course, is never limited in His knowledge. He knows everything there is to know about us, even what we do not see or understand about ourselves.” - bibleref.com

as the dark mirror of humanity, it is corinthian’s responsibility to help us as dreamers work through things about ourselves that we refuse confront; things we are afraid of.

it’s a tough love job he hates doing, but he does it well.

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Issues with Writing a Self-Insert #1

In case y'all didn't know, I've been going through a reflective period recently, and I've noticed that fear of what others think has held me back in almost every single aspect of my life, and unfortunately fandom is no exception.

I remember when I was like 14 and I tried to write fanfiction for the first time (I don't remember even what fandom I was writing for). Unfortunately, I could barely type a single paragraph without immediately deleting all that I wrote and being overly critical of my lack of writing ability. Even at that age, in the privacy of my dorm room, I couldn't shake off the fear of failure (and I mean howw?? I wasn't the only 14 year old trying to write Wattpad fanfiction). I remember comparing myself to some of my peers who had an amazing talent for writing. For me, I didn't get jealous, but rather I got intimidated, so intimidated that instead of continuing on with something and being imperfect at it, I'd just drop the entire activity altogether.

Because of this habit, I missed out on a lot of potential opportunities for growth during this time. I guess I saw people who were amazing, assumed that they popped out of the womb like that or something, and just....gave up. If I could go back in time, I would tell young me to embrace the cringe, embrace the mess. So what if people laugh or look at you funny or immediately stop whispering to each other once they see you? It sucks, but you will find your people, and you will survive. Trying to be palatable to everyone just means that you stifle yourself.

Years later, I wanted to get back into fanfiction, but this time with very little creative writing experience. What held me back was the fear that someone would read something that I wrote and ridicule it for being something that only an angsty teen would write, except that I am no longer an angsty teen but an unfortunately angsty adult riddled with insecurity, and that reality would just make that hypothetical comment sting even more (that's another thing about me. I create hypothetical ways for people to roast me in order to talk myself out of doing stuff).

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #1 be disciplined

[ the 2025 glow up serie ? Click here !]

Motivation feels amazing, doesn’t it? It’s like a spark—a burst of energy that pushes you forward. But what happens when the spark fades? That’s where discipline steps in. It’s the routine you build, the habits you cultivate, and the consistency you stick to even on days you don’t feel like it.

So, instead of waiting to feel ready, discipline says, ‘Let’s go, regardless.’ It’s the engine that turns dreams into reality.

"Ask urself right now: What’s one thing I can commit to daily in 2025? Write it down. Small steps lead to giant leaps."

1.Building Your Disciplined

How do u stay disciplined? Start with these three small steps:

✒️.Growth is not supposed to feel good. You’re going to hate it. You’ll feel like quitting more times than you can count. That’s normal. Growth is built in the moments where you want to give up but don’t.

1. Create Clear Goals: Be specific. Instead of saying, ‘I’ll study more,’ say, ‘I’ll study history for 30 minutes every evening.’ BUY A SMALL NOTEBOOK AND WRITE ALL UR GOALS WITH SMALLER ONE TO BE MORE PRODUCTIVE

2. Track Progress: Whether it’s journaling or using an app, tracking helps you stay accountable.

3.Master Your Mindset: Stop waiting to "feel motivated." Understand that motivation is fleeting, but discipline is reliable. Every time your brain tells you to quit, remind yourself: your emotions don’t run the show—your goals do.

2.Excuses Are Lies

Excuses are lies you’ve sold yourself to stay comfortable. 'I’m too tired.' Lie. 'I don’t have time.' Lie. 'I’m just not motivated.' Biggest lie of all.

Here’s the truth: You’re scared. Scared of failure, scared of discomfort, scared of how much effort it takes to change. But let me tell you something: Fear is temporary. Regret is forever. Which one do you want to live with?

No more excuses. You don’t need more time. You need more discipline. You don’t need motivation. You need action. Stop talking about what you want and start doing the work to get it. Right now.

3.look at yourself in the mirror

Look yourself in the mirror tonight and ask: Am I proud of the choices I made today? If the answer is no, fix it tomorrow. And if the answer is still no, fix it the next day. Don’t let yourself off the hook.

2025 isn’t your year unless you make it your year. Stop expecting change to happen to you. You are the change. Get out of your head, get off the couch, and get to work. The only thing standing between you and the life you want is your own laziness. Crush it.

4.Action Plan for a Disciplined Life

Stop acting like you’re doing enough when you know you’re not. If you want that dream college, that perfect GPA, or that career you keep fantasizing about, you need to stop wasting time and follow a real plan. Get up the second your alarm goes off—no snooze, no excuses. Tackle the hardest, most uncomfortable task first thing in the morning because procrastination is for quitters. Create a non-negotiable schedule and stick to it like your life depends on it, because it does. Eliminate every distraction: delete the apps, unfollow the nonsense, and stop treating your phone like your best friend. Hold yourself accountable—write down your progress every day. If you didn’t do anything to move forward, face the fact that you’re the problem. Plan your next day before you sleep, so you wake up ready to win, not wander. And for the love of everything you want in life, stop choosing comfort over progress. Your excuses won’t get you that GPA, that acceptance letter, or that dream job—but discipline will.

breaking this into chunks

1. Kill the Snooze Button: Get out of bed the moment your alarm goes off. No "just 5 more minutes." Those 5 minutes are the difference between starting strong and losing the day.

2. Start With the Hard Stuff: Tackle your most challenging task first thing in the day. Procrastination is your enemy—eat the frog and move on.

3. Create a Non-Negotiable Schedule: Block out specific times for studying, working out, or any critical task. Treat these blocks like appointments with your future self—don’t cancel.

4. Cut Out Time-Wasters: Delete apps you waste time on. Unfollow distractions. If you spend hours scrolling or binge-watching, you’re digging your own grave.

5. Build Accountability: Tell someone your goals and have them call you out when you slack. Better yet, make it public—you’ll hate embarrassing yourself in front of others.

6. Track Progress Daily: Write down everything you’ve done that day to move closer to your goals. If you haven’t done anything, face the hard truth: you’re slacking.

7. Plan Tomorrow Tonight: Before you go to bed, write out your next day’s schedule. If you wake up without a plan, you’ve already lost.

8. Say No to Comfort: Skip the cozy excuses. If it’s not pushing you closer to your goals, it’s holding you back.

Discipline is the foundation of every success story. It’s not about luck, talent, or fleeting motivation—it’s about showing up, doing the hard work, and making the right choices every single day. If you want to achieve your dreams, you need to stop waiting for the perfect moment and start building habits that get you closer to your goals. Cut the excuses, own your failures, and take control of your life. The road to greatness isn’t easy, but every sacrifice, every uncomfortable moment, and every disciplined action will take you one step closer to the future you deserve. You either make it happen, or you watch someone else do it. The choice is yours. The clock is not waiting for u !

@bloomzone ✒️

[mirohlayo]

GIRLY GIRL : A LANDO'S

PERFECT MORNING

( In which your boyfriend needs to follow your his 3 step morning routine, which is undoubtedly your favorite time of the day. )

warning : none just pure fluff, lando being the SWEETEST boyfriend ever

note : I didn't plan on writing this much but it doesn't matter cuz I'm glad I did because it makes it even cuter

word count : 2.5k

9:30 - skincare time

“Just 5 more minutes, please, baby”. Lando snuggles up closer to you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. If there is one thing that Lando hates above all else, it is having to get out of bed and at the same time abandon you when he only wants one very specific thing, and that is to cuddle you all the day, and sprinkle your face with thousands of kisses.

And he hated leaving bed even more during lazy mornings.

"Lan, I love lazy mornings too but I need to get up and prepare myself for the day". You move slightly so that you can have a view on him. “Why should you get ready when we’re going to spend the day at the apartment?” His hoarse morning voice is only a reflection of the long but pleasant sleep he spent last night.

“Because I want to feel clean, fresh and pretty.” You place a light kiss on his hair. “But you look stunning all the time, how could you be even prettier?” A shy smile takes its place on your morning face, while a slight chuckle emanates from your body.

"Come on Lan, please. It's time for your favorite part of the day." At this sentence, you feel your boyfriend's body slumped on top of you suddenly straighten up, his face just inches from yours. A most adorable smile appears on his lips as he places a light kiss on the tip of your nose.

"That's right. Let's get you prepared, pretty girl." A gaping smile creeps onto your face as you feel the thick white blanket of your bed slide, revealing your bare legs to the cool morning air. Lando helps you out of bed, gently and lightly taking your hand, as you disappear into the bathroom.

“Skincare time, love”. You place your few skincare products on the edge of the sink, in a certain order so that your boyfriend doesn't make a mistake in the steps of your skincare. Lando pats the small padded stool stored next to the sink, so that you can sit on it comfortably.

Sitting down, you carelessly tie your hair into a ponytail, ready to receive your daily morning skincare. “Should I start with this?” Lando’s soft voice tickles your ears as he stands close in front of you. His blue-green eyes peer curiously at the product in his hands.

The way he cares about the product is just adorable, and you can't help but crack a smile. “Yes, I always start with the toner.” With a nod, your boyfriend unscrews the cap of the product and generously pours the liquid into the palm of his hand.

"Are you ready ?". Lando asks you carefully, to make sure you're comfortable enough. This thought, the fact that he is always so caring and attentive to making you comfortable, for fear of doing something wrong or hurting you, warms your heart because there is nothing more adorable than this subtle but yet important gesture.

You nod your head quickly, and while Lando lets a most precious smile appear on his face, he very delicately applies the product to your cheeks, your forehead, your chin. He is very careful, and caresses your face with a frail delicacy, which leaves you overwhelmed by a wave of comforting warmth.

His touch is soft, delicate, as if he was afraid to touch you, or at least as if he was afraid of the idea of damaging you. “Your skin is really beautiful.” He didn't hesitate to say these few words to you, without really thinking about what was coming out of his mouth. You crack a big smile as you giggle adorably.

This sweet laugh, this sweet sound that reaches Lando's ears makes him miss a few heartbeats. How can a sound be so sweet? It's probably the one and only thing he could die for.

“Oh, I know this product. It’s your serum, right?” The enthusiastic intonation of his voice and the glint of excitement in his eyes gives you the effect of a wave of admiration. Your gaze becomes softer, as you stare at him intensely, with hearts in your eyes. “That’s it, baby.” The smile of victory and pride he displays when he has just realized that he is gradually learning to know your skincare by heart consumes you so pleasantly.

Because you know how much your boyfriend literally loves doing your skincare for you. He likes taking care of you, being able to touch and caress your skin delicately. See your being relax under his delicate touch, while he takes the time to perfectly apply the products to your skin. It's something that will never leave him indifferent, always obsessed with the way his heart savors every moment spent with you.

9:50 - hairstyle time

Your skin has finally finished absorbing all your skincare products, and after storing the products in the small cabinet hanging on the wall, you come and grab your hairbrush. “Hey, it’s my job to get you ready, I want to do your hair too, princess.” Lando takes the comb from your hands as he places his hands on your shoulders so you can look at yourself in the mirror in front of you.

The desire is too much, so he comes without further delay to place a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the delicious smell of your shampoo from the day before. Then, with fluid and delicate movements, he begins to gently brush your hair. Combing slowly so as not to hurt yourself and to avoid big knots in your hair.

You close your eyes, lightly enjoying the moment, and allow yourself to be sensitive to your boyfriend's touch. It always manages to give you a relaxing, even comforting feeling. As if ultimately, he was the solution to your worries, the ultimate solution to your happiness.

“What hairstyle do you want today, gorgeous?” He asks you this simple question, still with this look of concentration planted on his face. You thought vaguely, taking a quick look at the hairstyles you could wear. “Just a simple braid, please.” Lando nods slowly, muttering a low "mm'kay", indicating the fact that he is focused.

He places the brush back on the sink, as he separates your hair into three equal parts. Then, he begins to braid the strands together, crossing them one after the other to obtain a pretty long braid. He braids your hair with absolute delicacy, and it's as if you feel transported to paradise. Everything is perfect.

“I love styling your hair y’know. It’s relaxing. Especially when I see that it also relaxes you a lot.” He offers you a most daring and mocking smirk, while you feel yourself blushing profusely. Your eyes meet in the mirror and you have to look away, too embarrassed.

“You’re cute, baby.” You don't react to his comment, since your body is already taking care of it by coloring your cheeks even more a pretty pink. And Lando loves that he has such an effect on you. Since usually you're the one who makes him completely feral.

Your soft hair that slipped under his fingers is now braided, and Lando comes to tie it using the elastic around his wrist. The rubber band he never takes off, in case you need it when you complain that you lost them all. It has become a real bracelet for him now.

“I’m proud of myself.” Lando smiles to himself as he gazes at your hairstyle, savoring the beauty of your hair. You stand up and turn around to place a quick kiss on his lips. "You did a great job. It's pretty". He grins at you, as his arms wrap around your waist, squeezing it softly.

“Not as pretty as you.” He gives you that cute smile back as you roll your eyes in amusement. “You have improved your flirting skills since we met.” You points out. His eyes fall to your lips, eagerly waiting to kiss them. “I knew I had to improve to be able to pull a girl as beautiful and amazing as you.”

You let out a laugh as he smiles goofily at your behavior, taking the time to readjust your braid as your body presses against his chest. It's in these moments, these innocent moments, that Lando finds comfort, that he feels his heart beating a little harder for you.

10:10 - outfit time

You stop in front of the large dressing room that you share with Lando. His clothes are stacked in a haphazard and very disorganized way, it's simply untidy. You take a look at your clothes, waiting for Lando to choose your outfit of the day.

You feel his hands place on your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck. “What should I wear today, baby?” Your question makes him move again, and taking a few steps forward, he begins to examine the different pieces of clothing you own.

"Something sexy. Hot and sexy. You'll look so good in that". He tries to show you a very tight top but you stop him by hitting his arm teasingly. “No, today I want to feel comfortable.” You protest, placing your hands on your hips. “You’ll feel comfortable when I take it off you.” He protests, offering you a smirk.

You poke his ribs and he contains a little scream. He ends up giggling, amused by the situation and the fact that he embarrassed you so easily. You sigh, looking at the mountain of clothes overflowing from the closet. “What color should I wear?”

"Pink. I think pink suits you really well." He takes out a pink hoodie from the closet, from Daniel Ricciardo's "enchanté" merch collection. His eyebrows furrow as he holds the item of clothing with his index finger and thumb, displaying a look of disgust.

"Eww. I didn't know you had a Daniel brand hoodie. It's horrible." You scoff dramatically as you snatch the sweater from his hands. "Excuse me ? I love it, it's so comfy." You hold it against you, glaring at your boyfriend. He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

"Ain't no way you'll wear that... awful thing." He approaches you, grabbing the hoodie from your hands and throwing it behind him. "You're all mine, you can only wear my hoodies or those of my brand. No Daniel or other drivers." His arms come to wrap around you as he presses you against him. He leaves soft kisses on your neck.

“Huh, much jealous.” You kiss his cheek as he snuggles closer to you. "Of course I'm jealous. You're my girl, not his." His voice is muffled, but quite noticeable. You giggle weakly as you play with his curls. "I only have eyes for you, baby. Don't need to worry."

He pulls back to smile at you like a child, a silly smile but so adorable. “Well, that still didn’t help me find my outfit.” You point at the wardrobe as your boyfriend finally finds some clothes. He ends up choosing a pink lounge set, comfortable but thick enough to keep you warm. Everything you need.

You don't wait any longer before locking yourself in the bathroom to change, and returning to the room where Lando is waiting for you, dressed in your outfit chosen by him. As you enter the room, his eyes fall directly on you. And you really think you're going to melt under his gaze.

His eyes are filled with hearts as he doesn't hesitate to stare at you intensely, a gaze burning with love and affection. “Stop staring at me please.” Your voice is a low whisper as you feel more shy. You never stopped feeling special every time Lando complimented or admired you, despite the fact that he did that several times a day.

It's stupid, but he always looks at you with such passion and ardor that it was impossible not to feel that same feeling of happiness. That feeling that makes you feel so unique and precious in his eyes. Because after all it is.

"Lan, you're staring at a bit too much." You snap your fingers in front of him to snap him out of his thoughts. He comes back to his senses and stares at you as intensely as ever. "Sorry, but how could I not stare at the most beautiful woman in the world? It's unfair how gorgeous you are."

Your brain doesn't think any further before coming to kiss him passionately. His arms wrap around your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer to him. As you pull back, he pecks your lips a second time. And then he admires you.

For a moment, there is silence. A deafening and noisy silence, but because it emanates words of love. Unspoken words of affection, but yet you already know them without even having to say them to yourself. Because after all, no one knows how to describe the love you have for each other better than yourself.

“Mornings like this are my favorite. I do your skincare, your hair, and choose your clothes.” You can't contain a laugh, as Lando looks at you perplexed. “You’re such a girly girl, baby.” His eyebrows furrow slightly as he tilts his head to the side.

You continue to laugh while Lando still looks at you confused. “What does girly girl mean?” He asks curious. "Basically when you're a woman, and you like to take care of yourself. I don't know how to explain it, you have to be a woman to be able to feel it." You explain to him kindly.

“Does this mean that women have superpowers?” He asks innocently, and that cute face he shows forces you to quickly kiss him on the lips. "No, not really Lando. But it's just that you give girly girl vibes, because you like to take care of me." You keep giggling.

“Is it really that bad if I love taking care of my beautiful girlfriend?” He grins at you, almost kissing you by the way. You smile with all your teeth, shaking your head. "Not at all. It's even my favorite thing in the world." He smiles even wider at your words, feeling overwhelmed by love. “Good, because I wasn’t planning on stopping.” His lips press against yours, in an eternal passionate kiss.

After all, he was right. Is it so bad to take care of the person you love most in the world? Because for Lando, it's certain, there is nothing in the world that can match the mornings where he is lucky enough to be able to be next to his favorite person, the one for whom his heart continues to beat very hard every minute, each day that passes.

It is in the tenderness of his caresses on your skin, in the gentle gestures of his hands in your hair, in the innocence of his taste for your outfits, that Lando feels free, loved and happy. That he feels at home, that he really feels in his place, alongside his girlfriend, alongside the one he will love for the rest of his life, forever, because he has known it since day that he laid eyes on you: his heart is in your hands, and it will never stop beating for you. For the girl he always dreamed of having.

For the girl he hopes will wake up next to her, every morning, for the rest of his life.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter five

1 2 3 4

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 3.2k

You decided to stay away from the triplets until the wedding, especially after the weird, sexual thoughts you had about Chris the last time you guys were together. You figured it was best to keep your distance and let your mind sort itself out before you saw him again, or any of them for that matter, fearing you might slip up and say something stupid and have them catch on to the terrifying things going on in your mind. Luckily, the thoughts had mostly subsided, except when you were alone late at night, your vibrator calling to you from your bedside table. You couldn’t help the fact that the original fantasy you had imagined after your date, Chris taking you on the bathroom floor, would infiltrate your mind just as you were about to hit your peak, being the one and only thing you had orgasmed to the thought of in the last week.

But now, you find yourself showing up to the triplets’ house in a pair of sweats and a crop top, your dress, makeup and hair products thrown in a bag as you had decided to get ready there, wanting their input and mostly just their company. “I’m here!” You call as you let yourself into their house, not hearing anyone respond to you so you just head up the stairs towards the living room, still not seeing anyone there.

You huff and place your things down on the table, heading towards Matt’s room, where you hear a bit of commotion going on. You push the door open and see him on his PC, headphones securely on his head as he played fortnite, seemingly with his brothers since nobody had answered you. You walk up to him and place both of your hands on his shoulders and he jumps, whipping his head around to look at you.

“Holy shit!” He yells, putting a hand over his heart. “You scared the fuck out of me!”

You giggle and wave down at him. “Just trying to see where everyone is,” you tell him. He pulls his headset off and leans in to give you a side hug from where he sat.

“Everyone’s in their room,” he tells you, pulling away. “Chris said you can get ready in his room because he already showered and Nick still has to after we get off.”

You nod and ruffle Matt’s hair, telling him ‘thanks’ and ‘good luck’ before you leave his room and grab your things, heading downstairs to Chris’s room where the door is already open. This time he sees you come in and just shoots you a glance before turning back to his game, and you’re grateful he pays you no mind, walking past him and into his bathroom.

He leaves you completely unbothered for the next hour and a half, even once they’re done playing games and Matt and Nick have come to check on you a couple times, Chris stays perched in his gaming chair, scrolling on his phone. You’re fine with this, only really wanting the company of his brothers anyway, but when you’re almost ready and all you have to do is get your dress on, you walk out to him and stand directly in front of his chair.

He drags his eyes up your body until he meets your face, his shocked expression taking over for a moment before he gets it under control, dropping his phone to his lap to see what you have to say. “Can you get dressed?” You ask him. “I want to leave in like ten to fifteen minutes.”

Chris sighs and pushes himself up off of his chair, walking over to his closet so he could grab his suit that hung up in there. He comes back and throws it on his bed then grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

Your eyes widen, not expecting him to start to change in front of you, and to avoid what you’ve coined as your ‘intrusive Chris thoughts’, you turn and head back into the bathroom, shutting the door to create a barrier between the two of you, especially since you figured now was a good time to change into your dress as well.

Once you’re changed you open the door again and see Chris just about done, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you and pauses, taking in your full frame, dress on, hair and makeup done, legs probably shaved. You clear your throat to ease the tension, stepping out of the bathroom and towards him, turning around once you reach him and he understands that you’re in need of help once more. He reaches forward and grabs the zipper that rested low on your back, pulling it all the way up to the top. He then tucks his fingers in the straps and drags them forward, straightening out any twists in them.

You turn around and face him once more, muttering a small ‘thanks’, to which he nods slightly. Your hair was up in a neat bun, a few curls particularly placed andfalling out of it and also framing your face, your makeup a subtle, neutral look as to not be too attention seeking, and although both were simple in itself, the combination of that plus the dress that adorned your body had been no doubt the sexiest you’d looked in a long time, and even Chris couldn’t deny that. He refused to speak, afraid of what would slip past his lips if he parted them.

“Need help with your tie again?” You ask him and he just nods again, reaching towards the bed to grab it and hold it up towards you.

You grab the tie and reach around his neck, starting to tie it for him. You both remained silent throughout this interaction, feeling awkward at the tension that filled the room, yet you tried to ignore it and focus on the task at hand, fingers fumbling with the fabric but ultimately getting it done, running your hand over his chest when you’re done. “Good,” you tell him, taking a step back.

You guys look at each other for a couple more moments, and you’re about to speak, sucking in a deep breath, when you hear the door fly open and Nick walks through it.

“Woah!” He yells, looking at the two of you that now face him. “You guys look incredible!”

Matt saunters in behind him, jaw dropping at the sight of you both. “Holy shit, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you guys were actually a couple.” He laughs, walking closer to you.

You smile shyly and drop your shoulders, hoping the earth opens up and swallows you whole, hating the attention that was directed at you. “Hey,” Matt says, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Stand up straight, you look beautiful.”

You listen, straightening up to appear more confident. “Thanks,” you respond. “I feel really pretty.”

Matt beams back at you. “You should. Take lots of pictures today, I wanna see what you guys get up to.”

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s chill out yeah?” Chris moans. “We leaving or what?”

You roll your eyes at his comment, not understanding why he always had an issue with yours and Matt’s relationship, always feeling the need to say something out of pocket like that. It wasn’t just recently, it’s been always, and despite the two of you being close, it was always platonic. The cuddling, the pet names, you knew for a fact you guys didn’t have feelings for each other, but Chris seemed to think otherwise.

“Yeah, we can leave,” you reply, heading to his door and walking up the stairs. You had left your shoes off, not wanting to put them on until you get to the actual wedding since you had a longer drive ahead of you, so you pick those up off of the floor and grab your purse off of the table, sliding it over your shoulder. Chris follows you up the stairs and into the living room where he puts his shoes on, both of you finally fully ready to leave.

Matt and Nick walk you guys to the door and you and Chris exit the home, heading towards your car. “Can I play music again?” Chris asks once you guys are settled and you nod. “Of course, just don’t mess with my directions, I have no idea where I’m going.”

Chris chuckles a bit at you and grabs your phone, starting to queue music for the ride. You’re about ten minutes into the ride, listening to the music Chris had decided to play, when you reach forward and lower the volume, clearing your throat. “Okay, so. You remember the story of how we started dating?”

He sighs over-dramatically, turning his head towards you. “We met in high school, we’ve been friends for the last seven years, we decided six months ago that we were just so in love and couldn’t hide it anymore, I took you on a date and the rest is history. Easy enough.”

You smile and nod. “Yep! Everything else I feel like we can just make up on the spot. Oh, and don’t forget to call me babe instead of my name, gotta make sure we’re convincing.”

Chris grimaces. “Babe…” he says under his breath. “Kinda cringe, no?”

“What, would you rather call me baby? Sweetie? Honey? Cutie pie?” You retort with a scoff. “I think babe is the most mundane of them all.”

“I guess,” he responds. “How long are we staying?”

“I have no idea, Chris, as long as I feel like it. Just have a few drinks and chill the fuck out, it’ll go by fast.” You tell him.

It wasn’t like you wanted to spend your whole night with someone who would rather be anywhere but near you, but it needed to be done for the sake of your sanity. You couldn’t go another moment listening to people ask you why you didn’t have a boyfriend. Your family has always been the invasive type, asking personal and borderline intimate questions that didn’t involve them at all, so dealing with Chris for one night was worth the peace and quiet you know you’d get from them, apart from all of the questions about your relationship.

After the nearly forty-five minute car ride, you park your car in the lot outside the church, sighing in relief. “I gotta put my heels on then I’m ready to go in,” you tell him, and he nods, not looking up from his phone.

As you’re putting your shoes on, still sitting in the car, Chris speaks up. “How lovey are we going? Like.. from honeymoon phase to established couple, how much should I be touching you?”

You finish buckling the straps on your heels, then sit up and push some hair out of your face, looking over at Chris. “We might have to go full honeymoon phase, unfortunately. If they think for even a second that this isn’t real, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Chris groans, letting himself out of the car and around to your door, opening it for you and holding a hand out for you to grab. “Alright, let’s do this then.”

You grab his hand and let yourself out of the car, locking it and dropping your keys into your purse. “Wow, you’re such a gentleman when you want to be, huh?”

“I’m actually a very good boyfriend, contrary to whatever you think about me.” Chris leans in as you walk side by side, lips inches away from your ear. “I’m also a very attentive lover,” he whispers.

You whip your head around and slap his chest with the hand that isn’t entwined in his. “Gross! Not something I need to know. Why have you gone so sexual on me lately?”

“What are you talking about?” Chris questions, opening the door to the church for you, letting you walk in before him.

You walk in and turn to watch him come in behind you, lowering your voice. “Telling me you’re an attentive lover, talking about fucking me on the bathroom floor, telling me how hot I am, bending me over your bed.”

Chris rolls his eyes, leading you towards the sanctuary where the ceremony was being held. “I’m not saying I want to fuck you, I’m saying you want to fuck me. And sorry for trying to make you feel better when you’re crying over your body that you definitely shouldn’t be crying about.”

You guys take your seat near the back, settling in nice and close to each other. “I don’t want to fuck you,” you tell him quietly. “Sorry if I got your hopes up.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” he responds, reaching down to place his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently.

You look down at where his hand is placed, the unfamiliar feeling sending shivers down your spine. “See?” Chris whispers, leaning in close to you. “You want me so bad.”

You whip your head up, your faces only inches apart. “Don’t want you at all,” you grumble. “God, I can’t wait to start drinking, you’re way too much to handle.”

“Or am I just clouding your thoughts and you need to drown it out with alcohol?” Chris retorts, smirk evident in his voice.

You reach for his waist and pinch him, hard, glaring at him. “What the fuck has gotten into you? Seriously?” Your tone is aggressive but you’re speaking lowly in a whisper. “Why do you think I want you so bad? Why do you want me to want you so bad? Is there something you need to tell me?”

Chris rolls his eyes, pushing your hand away from him and rubbing the spot where you pinched him. “Don’t need to tell you anything, I just like getting you riled up. Angry you is kinda hot.”

Your eyes widen like saucers, unable to believe that he’s still going, despite you practically yelling at him. “Chris, shut the fuck up before I smack the shit out of you.”

Chris leans back into you, lips grazing over your ear as he starts to speak. You know you should pull away and create distance between the two of you, but something inside of you is keeping you put, staying completely still. “Can you pull my hair too?”

You take a deep breath, the so called intrusive Chris thoughts starting to trickle back into your mind, infiltrating your sanity. It was only the start of the day for fuck’s sake and he had already gotten under your skin, how were you supposed to deal with him the entire rest of the night?

You turn your head away from him, now facing the altar with a stoic expression. “Enough,” you tell him, voice laced with finality.

Chris turns his body as well, staring straight ahead, though his hand still rested on your thigh, too high up for comfort, and you’re grateful that you’re at a wedding and wearing a long dress and not at a family barbecue in shorts, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle the feeling of skin on skin right now.

The ceremony starts, and as beautiful as it is, it barely serves as a distraction to the terror in your head. You had never thought about Chris like this, and sure he was attractive but that doesn’t mean he made you nervous or made you overthink every interaction. You hadn’t even thought about Matt like this and you guys were super close, always touching, cuddling and calling each other cute names, so why was Chris making you feel this way?

You chalk it up to just being desperate for man��s touch after so long, telling yourself there was no way you were actually craving Chris’s touch in particular, you were just needy and insanely horny.

After the ceremony is over, you stay seated for a few minutes, letting people filter out of the sanctuary before you decide to leave. You’re hoping you can make it to the reception before you have to start introducing Chris to people, but that wish is crushed when your mom and sister walk over to you guys, beaming from ear to ear.

“Hi!” Your mom gushed, leaning down to hug you tightly, rubbing your back as she did so. “Oh my god, you look so beautiful!”

You smile at her and accept the compliment, standing up from your seat to hug your sister as well. Chris stands up next to you but stays silent.

Your mom locks eyes with you and wiggles her eyebrows. “And who is this?” She asks, giddy.

“This is Chris,” you introduce both parties to each other, and Chris reaches forward, shaking hands with both your mom and sister.

“Nice to meet you guys,” he says. “I hear a lot about you.” Lie.

Your mom puts a hand over her chest, pouting slightly. “Oh how precious. You guys look so cute together.”

“Thanks,” he laughs. “All credit goes to her. She picked out my tie and I think she’s definitely pulling her weight in making us look like a good couple. I mean, she looks stunning.”

You turn your head to Chris and he turns and smiles at you, sending a discreet wink your way. He’s turned it on, and it almost scares you how good he is at this. He’s already got your mom wrapped around his finger.

“I would have to agree,” your mom boasts, still smiling as hard as she can. “Hey listen, we gotta get going but we’ll see you over there, yeah?” You nod and hug them both one more time before they leave and you and Chris both feel a weight lifted off your shoulders.

“You’re way too good at that,” you tell Chris, shaking your head.

Chris laughs and gestures for you to exit the row you’re sitting in, ready to get out of her and back in the car. “Told you I’m a good boyfriend.”

You scoff. “Yeah, if only you were a good friend, too.”

Chris furrows his eyebrows as he follows behind you, processing the words you just said to him. “Ouch,” is all he replies.

You guys leave the church and get back in your car, both of you letting out a sigh of relief from being out of the church, even though the only person you had to see so far was your mom.

“How much you gonna drink today?” You ask Chris, mostly as a joke.

Thankfully, Chris laughs. “A lot.”

You giggle, grabbing your phone to find directions to wherever the reception was. “Me too,” you respond.

“There’s a fine line, though. Gotta make sure I drink enough to survive being your boyfriend, but not drink so much that I actually want to be your boyfriend.” Chris jokes, at least you hope he’s joking.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts, Christopher. Better not try to kiss me or something.”

Chris groans. “Yeah, right. I’ll probably kiss your mom before I kiss you. She’s hot.”

You squeal, smacking his chest. “Ew! Don’t talk about my mom like that.”

“Dude, have you seen her? She’s a fucking rocket.” Chris whistles to drive the point home, laughing at your disgusted expression.

“You’re finding your own way home tonight.”

Chris just smirks. “I know exactly who I’m going home with tonight.”

“Enough!”

-

a/n: feel like i’m edging you guys a little TOOOO much. maybe we’ll switch it up soon. also im sorry I told yall this chapter was gonna be boring 😔

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @st6niolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @flouqissss @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @noplaceissafeanymore @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @sturnburbs @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

[kaaaaaaarf]

Sirius, who owns a popular nightclub in NYC, and Remus, who is dragged there by Lily one Friday night, but would really rather be drinking tea in his tiny industrial art studio apartment in the Bronx with his cat. Wolfstar hit it off, and Sirius takes him home—which happens to be a multi-story apartment in an old building in Tribeca that he paid for not with inheritance, but with the money he makes from his legitimate business. Remus has never been less comfortable in someone's apartment, feels like he's getting Punk'd.

Months go by and they keep seeing each other, but Remus has a panic attack every time he goes over because he is slightly afraid of the doorman at Sirius' building.

Remus, panicked and sweating: What if he doesn't let me in? It's after midnight!

Sirius: What, do you think he's gonna make you answer his riddles three before you'll be allowed in or something?

Remus: I dunno, maybe!!! Should I bring him a coffee to say sorry?

Sirius: Sorry for what?!

Remus: I don't know, existing???

He braves the doorman, though, because he's nervous about letting Sirius see his apartment, which in addition to being industrial and the size of a box, only has heat 45% of the time and has a shower rigged over the toilet. He's like no way can I take this fucking model-level hottie anywhere near this dump because it isn't meant to be lived in...but eventually, six months into the relationship he relents and brings him over. Remus is nervously pacing around his apartment, picking up clothes from his floor and Sirius is completely unbothered, more concerned with petting the cat than with how the apartment looks. It turns out that actually, Sirius lived in a very similar apartment when he was first disowned by his family and was starting up the club with a loan from Fleamont.

Sirius: Remus, sit down. My old apartment was way worse—there was actually a hole in the wall behind the bathroom mirror that lead into another apartment. I had to padlock the fucking thing so I didn't get robbed.

Nevertheless, they still spend most of their time at Sirius' place, so Remus starts baking so that he can give the doorman a peace offering for disturbing him so frequently, which turns out to be a hobby he can't really afford.

Remus, wringing his hands: Lily, I don't know if i can afford to be with this guy...I really like him, and he always pays for our dates and stuff, but I am really eating it with all the money i'm spending on the doorman. ☹️

Lily: ...I love you, but you're an idiot.

Eventually, Remus gets over his fear of Gary (the doorman), and they actually become friends. His peace offerings turn into weekly screenings of Bake Off episodes behind the security desk in the lobby. Sirius has no idea this is happening, just that Remus is always busy Tuesday nights at 7pm. He comes downstairs to walk Padfoot one day and has to double take at his boyfriend and Gary laughing about a soggy bottom.

When Gary retires a few years later, Remus actually sobs, but continues to meet him at the park on the corner on Saturday mornings with his and Sirius' daughter.

The end????

(This has been a co-production from me and @pain-in-the-riri who are both absolutely doing the work we're being paid for and not plotting the lives of wolfstar)

[satzumosupremacy]

Elite Bodyguard Series: Pt.11

No Strings Attached

Male reader x Gong Seungyeon

Tags: Smut 2.3k words

A/N: I redid this fic like 4 times lol. It didn’t work out how I wanted, so it’s better to get it over with and shorten the fic.

You've seen Seungyeon multiple times. She's seen you multiple times, but there hasn’t been a single conversation between the two of you before today.

In the midst of Seungyeon being right in your pool, there's only one word to describe your day—crazy—because Jeongyeon's outrageous plan of setting you and Seungyeon up together worked.

From stopping by to grab your watch at Jeongyeon’s apartment to meeting Seungyeon alone while dropping off cosmetics products, it was awkward, very awkward at the start. You thought Jeongyeon is home, Seungyeon thought you were dropping Jeongyeon off, but funny enough, Jeongyeon is miles away at a mall with her manager.

And now, this actress is right in front of you, in your pool.

“You won't make progress in facing your fear of drowning if you only do what your body tells you, Seungyeon. It’s all in the mind.”

“Okay, you don’t have to act like a drill instructor or whatever they’re called,” she says, frustrated. “This isn’t boot camp. I feel like I’m being trained for the Navy or something. This isn’t normal.”

“The only easy day was yesterday, Seungyeon. Come on, you’re getting better. Believe in yourself. Let’s do it one last time, and then you can rest.”

“May I take a break, please?”

You’re thinking about it. You know she’s so tired that her arms will most likely give out any minute now.

“Are you frustrated with me, Sir?” she asks.

“No, Seungyeon. Why would I be? Let’s take a break,” you say, swimming backwards to a shallower depth as she follows you to get out of the pool.

Even as you stare at her, she looks incredibly hot with her hair all wet. Before Seungyeon got into the pool, she had come out of your bathroom in a one-piece swimsuit, and you tried not to make it obvious that you were checking her out. But what’s super obvious is that Seungyeon doing the exact same thing.

“So like..” she says, grabbing the towel from your hand after you give her one, “I have a question. What was your first impression of me?”

“When we walked past each other at the award shows?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty,” you say, smiling at her. “That dress looked amazing on you.”

“Aw, thank you. I remember seeing you standing out so much from across the hallway before we passed each other. You were very handsome, by the way.”

“Thanks?” you chuckle.

Seungyeon gently places her hand on your chest, shyly, yet very bold. “So, we’re adults, right?”

“You’ve been checking me out, Seungyeon. It’s super obvious.”

“But you’re not checking me out? You said I’m pretty. Something isn't adding up."

“I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t, Seungyeon,” you smirk.

She chuckles, and then you felt a gentle squeeze from her hands on your chest, “pervert.”

“Here we go, I guess I’m in the wrong?”

“Gosh, who knew Twice’s bodyguard was this hot,” she stares at your shoulders, completely ignoring your question.

“You’re acting very different ever since we got out the pool, but I think I like where this is going.”

“See how mature we are? Leave the inappropriate thoughts for later, and later is right now.”

Both of you meet each other’s gaze. It gets quiet with only the birds chirping in the mid-evening. Seungyeon licks her lips, and you follow her lead, doing the same.

“May-” both of you say at the same time.

“You first,” she laughs. You like how she laughs, it’s on the shyer side.

“No, ladies first,” you say.

“May I borrow your lips?”

“If you promise to give it back, Seungyeon.” With a smirk, and a gentle pull on her chin, you lean in, closer and closer together for a kiss. She tilts her head to the right, and you tilt to the left, aggressively kissing each other by the second until it turns to French kissing.

Seconds felt like minutes by fighting over dominance through kisses, and she’s really putting up a fight. Seungyeon’s an actress after all.

“Let’s go inside,” you murmur, breaking the kisses.

“Should we?” she chuckles and puts her arms on your shoulders. You lift her up, hands on Seungyeon’s ass, and carry her inside slowly. “Gosh, you’re strong too,” she utters. “Lift me up so easily.”

As you turn the doorknob, you quickly get inside and shut the door while she makes out with your neck. “Seungyeon, relax,” you whisper. “This isn’t a movie scene.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs.

Walking past the living room, you have only one place in mind—the bed. She crashes down onto the mattress and stares at your chest, so you crawl right on top of her, guiding her hand to rest on your chest. 'You love this, don’t you?'"

“So fucking charming,” she utters and laugh, covering her mouth shyly with her other hand. “How did we end up here?”

“Beats me,” you chuckle, letting go of her hands as she freely explores, while you grab onto the strap of her swimsuit. “May I?”

“Of course. That’s very respectful of you," she says. You pull the strap to the side as it loosens onto her shoulders. Seungyeon pulls you closer for a kiss with her hands on your shoulders, “I can feel something hard between by legs.”

"It's going inside you in a bit." You gently yank on her swimsuit to reveal her tits and give them a lick, then a passionate suck on her nipple. She chuckles and holds you until her nipples are coated in your saliva.

“It was pretty cute if you. Anyone ever said you look cute when your face is between their tits?”

“First time an actress ever said that to me," you smile, leaning in to kiss her on the lip. “How wet are you?”

“How about you find out,” she chuckles. “Gosh, I can’t believe we’re doing this. It's only been a day with you."

“There’s no turning back,” you say and slowly trace down, kissing Seungyeon’s chest, to her stomach, and down between her inner thighs.

“Oh, gosh,” she utters. “Mhmm.”

Seungyeon arches and lets out a quiet moan once she feels your breath between her legs. “It’s very sensitive right now,” she gasp.

Driven by lust, you couldn’t wait any longer. Before she can even realize, she lets out a deep moan once your tongue licks her pussy with her legs spreading wider. Seungyeon moans, “fuck, yes, yes, right there.”

Her head digs deeper into your pillow, eyes all shut with a smile on her face from being eaten out. Your tongue swirls, and you can feel Seungyeon trying to catch her breath, gasping for air the more you passionately make a small mess on her pussy.

She grips right onto your hair, pulling and squeezing with all her might. You can barely hear her moans after feeling her legs closing in on the side of your face. Seungyeon’s legs were tightly locking you in as she squirms side to side, continuously moaning and chuckling from how you're devouring her.

“Fuck!” she moans, screaming out her pleasures and you pull off from her pussy to let her catch her breath.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” you chuckle, then give her a mischievous smirk.

“Put it in already. I can see how hard you are,” she says, breathing heavily.

You take off your swim trunks, and she’s staring right at your cock after all the curious and inappropriate thoughts of wondering how big you were. She gulps, and gulps again, covering her mouth with her legs still spread open.

“It’s not like you’ve never seen a man’s private part, Seungyeon,” you tease her.

“I just haven’t done it in a while, okay?” she shyly looks to the side, embarrassed.

“I don’t judge, Seungyeon,” you say and lean over to slowly put the tip of your cock inside Seungyeon. She quietly moans, then grabs onto the side of your arms with both hands.

“Slowly,” Seungyeon gasp, gripping onto your arms. “Don’t be too rough on me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it anyways. Why would I hurt a pretty girl like you?”

Slowly, and gently, you push deeper inside her, deep enough where you can see her mouth open without a fight. “Fuck,” she moans. “Ugh.”

You lean closer to her face, and brush her hair while you thrust slowly for her sake. “Is it a problem if I,” you take a breath, “cum in you?”

“I never said you couldn’t,” she gasp with her body in rhythm to the way your body was pushing against her thighs. “You feel so good.”

“I can say the same.” You then kiss her on the lip as it quickly breaks into French kisses. She’s an actress, you know they can kiss, it’s what’s charming about Seungyeon. She holds you in with her arms all over your back, just caressing your shoulder blades as you thrust deeper into her pussy.

“You can go faster,” she whimpers. So you did, enough to make you find a good rhythm where her legs cling onto your hips. “Yes, right there.”

“So demanding,” you grunt right after, stopping deep into her pussy as it throbs. You can feel her chin right on your shoulders to where her moans sound so elegant.

“You’re not cumming, are you?”

“No, just not yet,” you chuckle, trying to cover the fact that Seungyeon’s moan turns you on so much.

“How about we change into a new position?” she says. And you don’t why, but the little conversations with her felt refreshing.

“Lay down sideways, Seungyeon,” you say, slowly pulling out and hearing the wet noises from her pussy.

She doesn’t answer, but gets on her side with one leg out in a ninety degree angle. You gulp from just seeing this woman looking at you from the side, “like this?”

“I was thinking of lifting your leg,” you say, unbothered as you quickly put the tip of your cock back in, and slowly going deeper while she groans.

You see Seungyeon gripping the bedsheets after a few seconds, and from just being on top to see her, your eyes are filled with lust, seeing Seungyeon’s ass slowly bouncing, the side of her tits, her back arching, and even the beauty of her face.

“Fuck,” you utter, grunting, thrusting faster mindlessly to hear her moan louder and grope her ass tightly, squeezing it until you’re satisfied.

Her groans are deep, moans so elegant, and the way she’s starting to whimper only made you want more, selfishly. “Right there,” she gasp, breathing harder.

“You love it, don’t you?” you say in a lower tone.

“Yes,” she gasp. “Fuck me.”

Despite her not wanting you to be too rough, you found a sweet spot, right for the two of you to enjoy each other in bed with an overwhelming amount of built up lust from today. You’re drowning in this feeling. Seungyeon’s purely beautiful, but the tight swim suit she had on added to the fueling desire.

But before you knew it, it’s too late, your cock is throbbing inside her. So you cum, without a second thought.

“Oh-” she utters, feeling a rush of warm cum inside her as you crash down, right on top of Seungyeon.

“Seungyeon,” you moan, gasping and grunting. She starts to kiss you, aggressively, wanting your lips glued to hers.

“Mhm,” she moans, “this was worth the wait.”

“It’s worth it if we both cum,” you say, trying to catch your breath and place your hand on her clit. “May I?”

“Keep it in me. I want you to feel me cumming, at least.”

You don’t reply, but slowly rub her clit in circles, gradually going faster. And out of desire, you couldn’t stare at her lips without giving them some attention, so you continue making out with Seungyeon. You just couldn't help it with an actress.

With her breaths coating your face, and after a few seductive moans, you felt her body squirming.“Cumming?”

“Don’t slow down for me this time,” she chuckles, until it breaks into an erotic grunt, instantly cumming and moaning loudly.

You felt her cumming, right on your cock with the walls getting tighter, to which, you can only utter, “gosh, Seungyeon.”

She grabs your hand, quickly with a tight grip to tell you to stop. And with no words, Seungyeon chuckles.

“That was cute of you, Seungyeon.” You pull out, and cum quickly oozes out slowly from her pussy.

“That was exhausting,” she closes her eyes.

“I didn’t hurt you, right?” you say, getting out of the bed to put on your pants only, because it’s more right to be shirtless in front of her.

“Well, it felt good. So, no? I don’t know. It was fun.”

“Stay the night?” you say, staring right in her eyes and getting onto the bed to brush Seungyeon’s silky hair.

“My car keys are at Jeongyeon. If I stay the night, she’ll know what we did. Actually…well, she did bring us two together today without our respective professions involved, didn’t she?”

You chuckle, “are you going to blame your sister for what we’re doing tonight?”

Seungyeon shrugs, “yeah. Payback. I’m taking her bodyguard for tonight.”

“Are you hungry? We haven’t eaten after we met each other."

“I didn’t know you’re a caring man. But yes, should we order something? Let’s get to know each other more. At least let me know you a little."

“I’ll order. I gave you hell today in the pool either way.”

“Hey, at least you had the time to help me out,” Seungyeon chuckles. “Maybe I should change into comfortable clothes.”

“I’ll be here waiting, Seungyeon. No rush.”

She goes into the bathroom with a set of clothes hanging from her arms. You grab your phone and see a text notification from Jeongyeon from an hour ago:

Jeongyeon: I know she’s not coming home. Donate me at least ₩2,000,000 to shut up. Hehe. Thanks.

[farfromstrange]

One Soul | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: Matt gets hurt, badly, so you have to do the one thing you promised him you wouldn't: take him to a hospital.

Warnings: Angst, life-threatening injury, blood, temporary Major Character Death (he comes back, don't worry), mentions of CPR, religious imagery, conflicted relationship with religion, Reader is described as an atheist but Mad At God, prayer, hurt/comfort

A/n: This is a little angst piece I came up with yesterday. For me, personally, my atheism isn't always black and white. I know I don't believe in God, but I have found myself cursing him in the past because it was easier than cursing something I did not understand (like the death of a loved one). And I just know that being with Matt, chances are he will get himself hurt badly enough one day to the point he has to be brought to the hospital.

Read Me On AO3!

The heart monitor beside the bed signals at a steady eighty beats per minute. You follow the many lines of tubing from the machines to his frail body, your eyes lingering on the purple bruises adorning his pale skin—deadly pale, it is. 

His cheeks, once so full of life, are hollow now. His eyes are swollen, his pretty lips cut, and there is blood stuck to his hair, still, soaking through the bandage they applied. You’ve never seen him so broken, so utterly weak and fragile that you wouldn’t dare touch him. The tears refuse to stop falling. 

Years ago, you made a promise. You promised never to take him to a hospital, to protect his identity and him. Hell, he survived the collapse of Midland Circle, albeit with a scattered mind. He had broken bones and a broken spirit, locked away at Clinton Church for weeks, and still, he survived.

Tonight though, for the first time, you felt his heart stop. It wasn’t one of those ghastly nightmares that have been plaguing you ever since you locked Fisk away and he finally came back to you. It wasn’t a product of your imagination; you felt his heart stop. Hands covered in blood, you watched as the life drained from his eyes and he breathed out without breathing in again. 

You swear you can still feel his ribs breaking underneath your fingertips. “Don’t do this to me,” you cried. “Don’t you dare do this to me, Matthew! I can’t lose you. Please, come back. Come back!”

And you prayed to a God you don’t believe in not to take him from you. You begged for a chance to hear his heartbeat again, just one last time even if it kills you. 

You looked to the sky and swore you’d make a deal with the devil if you had to. You’d do anything for this man; this reckless, stupid force of a man you are so in love with that it hurts sometimes. You would’ve let God crucify you for the whole world to see just to get a chance to look at your beloved Matthew one last time, to know he’s alive. And perhaps God did answer your prayers, or maybe the CPR you’d never done before did its trick for he suddenly took a breath, and his heart started beating again.

You cried over his body like Mary over Jesus. You shielded him as if that would heal him, and he clung to you when he realized what had happened. He coughed, and he was bleeding, and you were paralyzed with the fear of losing him again.

What else were you to do but take him to a place where he could be fixed? If you hadn’t brought him here, he would have died. You shouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn't selfish. Yet, the fire within you keeps burning, and your soul keeps hurting as you watch him like a hawk, wondering what he’ll think of you once he wakes up—if he wakes up. 

“I know I’m not… religious,” you murmur, eyes directed at the ceiling now. “I’m not a good Catholic, far from it. I’ve done things… well, you know. And I don’t pray. Matt prays. I don’t,” you say. “I just wanna understand why.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek. The coil in your throat is tight enough to strangle the air from your lungs. One of the shards of your broken heart is stuck, and now you’re bleeding. Your soul is laid bare for everyone to see. 

It’s pathetic, you think, for an atheist to pray. Because you don’t believe, you never have. Matt believes. He has faith. You’re just… angry? Yes, you are furious, and even more now than ever you feel like it’s all a lie. Where’s the hope? Where’s the faith now?

“Why do you keep letting bad things happen to him?” you ask, your voice breaking. “All he’s ever done is try to please you because he thinks you gave him some kind of purpose. That accident… he thinks it happened for a reason. Going blind, losing every one. After all the hardships and the trouble he got himself into, he thinks he’s some kind of soldier. Even when he was at his lowest and stopped believing, he eventually came back to you. Like a dog on a leash.” 

If Matt heard you, he’d be deeply offended. Religion is so important to him, but tonight, he almost died. He almost died before, but it never felt as real as it did tonight, and the thought haunts you like a restless ghost. 

“I want to be supportive, I do. I mean, everyone’s beliefs are valid, in a way, but it almost killed him tonight. If you’re up there—if you’re truly listening—how can you just let that happen to someone you claim to love, God? I don’t–” You shake your head. “I just don’t understand.”

The heart monitor keeps beeping. The lights keep flickering. His chest keeps rising. No answer. The disappointment cuts you deep. Is there perhaps a part of you that does want to believe? Or are you just looking for someone, something, to blame? Instead of the men who did this to him, instead of the men who quite literally took him apart, you’re turning to the one thing you can’t touch. But you know it’s not what Matt would want. He’d want you to have hope.

How does one go about that when everything seems to be going wrong? When your very heart is lying in a hospital bed? How does even an atheist not curse God out of pure and utter desperation? 

Matt lets out a soft groan, and your eyes flick to him. Your heartbeat accelerates at the same time as his. 

“Matt?” you ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed.

He stirs. Every muscle and bone in his body is filled with a dull ache. First dull, then sharp. The stitches in his abdomen pull at the tender flesh with every breath that fills his lungs, the oxygen so rich and concentrated it almost sets him alight. The plastic tubes weigh heavy on his nostrils. 

His eyes pulsate, and there is this obnoxiously loud beeping in his ear. It’s screaming, almost. Beep, beep, beep. Faster and faster, and faster. But his eyelids are so heavy he can’t open them. There’s nothing but fire, and for a moment he forgets that he hasn’t been able to see for decades. 

In his head, he’s eight years old again, his head wrapped with a bandage that itches his skin so terribly, and the world around him screaming. It’s the same room, it seems, cold and dark and terrifying. 

Matt reaches for his eyes, fingers brushing against the bruises that resemble the shape of a fist—no light. He can taste copper on his tongue. The beeping gets louder and his ears are ringing, and why is the blanket made of sandpaper? He wants to tear the skin off his weary bones.

“I can’t–” he breaks off at the foreign sound of his voice. Another trace of his fingertips against the bruised skin. “I can’t see,” he chokes out.

“Matt!” you say a little louder, your hand finally touching his, and it’s as if the bubble he’s in bursts. 

He recognizes your voice. He remembers he’s blind. He remembers going out last night and kissing you goodbye. He was in good spirits then. But something went wrong. Somehow, his opponent had weaponry that could easily break through the protective material of his suit. He stood no chance against the number of men coming at him. They sliced and they hit, and he thought he saw God, but it was just the swinging ceiling light inside the abandoned factory building. It smelled of mold and water. 

He fought until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Until the opportunity to flee presented itself, and so Matt crawled home to you. With every last ounce of strength, he honored his promise to always come back home to you. 

He doesn’t remember much more, only falling down the stairs to the rooftop access to the living room. The crash. Your gasp. Your heartbeat. And then, nothing. Nothing but the comfort of darkness. 

“Hey,” you smile through your tears, “It’s me. You’re okay.”

He whispers your name, and you squeeze his hand.

“I’m here. Try not to move,” you tell him. “You’re at Metro General.”

The word makes his breath stutter. “The hospital?” he inquires.

“Yes. You were hurt… badly. They had to take out your spleen. Fifty-something stitches. Some brain swelling. I don’t know, it’s a lot.” 

“I told you,” he grunts, “no hospitals.”

Matt Murdock is not an ungrateful man. However, his words cut deep. You can’t take much more.

“You promised, no–”

“You died!” you cry out. The echo bounces off the walls and resonates in his ears like the sound of a bomb going off. 

“You died in my arms and I had to–” You look at your hands, stained with blood, “I had to break your ribs to bring you back. Your bones… breaking,” you cry. “You died and I thought I was gonna lose you, for good. You can blame me for breaking a stupid promise, but if I hadn’t, I’d be preparing a funeral now!” 

His head tilts in his direction—you’re serious—and his defenses fall like an iron curtain, shattering like glass. The sound of your voice in such a state of disarray, death by a thousand cuts. 

He almost died. Or, he did die, and you brought him back, but the things you had to do for that… you brought him back, but it hurt you. He hurt you. He swore he would never do so again, only over his dead body, yet it was his dead body that almost broke you. 

Matt never wanted any of this to happen. The love of his life, traumatized. What kind of man does that? Surely the kind of man that no one but the one person he never deserved mourns when he’s gone. 

The silence drags on, suffocating you. “Do you get that?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Do you get that I’d die without you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispers. “I don’t remember…”

“Of course, you don’t. You’ve never been this hurt.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I would’ve traded your life for mine if I could’ve. I tried, Matt, I did. I prayed to God and told him to take me instead while I was trying to get your heart beating again. And I blamed Him for doing this to you ‘cause I didn’t know who else to blame.” 

His fingers brush against the back of your hand. A nurse kindly lent you clothes from the lost-and-found, but you can still feel the sticky substance on your skin, crawling like a parasite.

You shudder. “If you hadn’t woken up, I–“ 

“C’mere,” he says. 

Beep, beep, beep, goes the heart monitor, and sirens wail outside his window. 

“I can’t,” you whisper back.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sweetheart, you could cut out my heart and I’d still want you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach. You feel so sick, so detached from everything and everyone, but the piece of you that you almost lost is right there, and he’s alive.

He’s alive. 

You have to keep reminding yourself of the fact. His heart is beating. His lungs are filled with air. Those last few hours might have felt like a proper nightmare, but you made it through. He made it through. 

“Please,” he pleads. “I… I need you.”

It’s different now. He’s not asking to hold you for your comfort but his own, and without another second thought, you climb into the tiny hospital bed with him. 

Matt seeks out the comfort of your chest, but he’s aimless in his agony. You gently guide his head to your heart. Touching him, feeling him so close to you, melts away the last of your fears.

“You scared me,” you confess.

He exhales. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… promise you’ll live for me.”

The silence wraps a noose around your neck. But then, “You own my heart,” he says. 

“So?”

“Yeah, I’ll live for you.”

Those four words mean more to you than a promise to die for you if push comes to shove. Because what are you supposed to do without him? You’d rather he try everything in his power to live for you than leave you. 

“If you live for me, too,” he whispers then, and a tear runs from his cheek down your chest. You can’t survive without him, that much is certain. That may sound like a state of unhealthy codependency, but when two people share the same soul, every breath one breathes sustains the other. There’s nothing you can do about that, nor would you ever want to.

“Without you, I’d–” he cuts himself off. 

Without you, he’d be lost. Without you, even in death, he would not be able to find peace. 

“I promise,” you manage to say, although the words come with a fresh flood of salty tears that mix with the ocean of his. 

He relaxes into you. “Thank you.”

As he falls asleep in your arms that night, you find yourself staring up at the ceiling again.

“Don’t fail him,” you whisper. To God, to the universe, to the moon and Saturn, and to yourself. 

matt murdock angst tag list: @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @mochie-is-a-librarian @buckyssugarchick

[neominthe]

SPOILERS FOR SCTIR FOR +CH 200

CW: (possibly) Eating disorder ED, depression

Something that keeps me awake at night: at the beggining of the story, Yoohyun's death isn't so painful for the viewers, because we only see what is on the surface of the Han brothers' life. It's through memories and flashbacks that we get to learn 3 facts: Yoojin dedicated his entire life to Yoohyun, they parted ways and in the end they reunited, only for one of them die. That's the introduction of SCTIR for us. Moreover, Yoojin is desesperate to leave the past behind, so he doesn't linger on his traumatic memories for too long, hence why the pain of reading SCTIR isn't instant.

It is gradual.

Yoojin and we learn that the past was never erased. It still happened, and exists in the form of Yoohyun's body out in the cold. Gradually, it becomes more apparent how Yoojin is still so affected by his previous life, despite his fear resistance skill. It starts with small things like him avoiding eating unless someone tells him to do so, always occupying himself with tasks that could be handled by someone else, negative thoughts about himself for every single action he takes and so on. I love, with all my heart, the manhwa, but the novel makes it so much more apparent how Yoojin loathes himself, to the point he keeps wishing he wasn't a human being, rather an item for his brother to use. It's so messed up to want to abandon all your humanity, feelings and concept of self just so you can be of help.

SCTIR is fun to read, but even more so with the unreliable narrator that is Yoojin. He sees what he does as nothing impressive, considering the people he is surrounded with, despite running the kisengsu facility, negotiating with the hair loss company to develop a new product, managing Seok Hayan's research team, mantaining diplomatic ties with Japan, training and helping other hunters and, most importantly, caring for all the S classes. He worries for their well-being because it's only natural for him to do so, as the Perfect Caregiver.

And, in the middle of it all, the only thing Yoojin spares for himself is hate. He doesn't want to live long for himself, but rather for Yoohyun, even though Yoojin already has been through the pain of loss. When Yoojin died in chapter 241, the first thing that he thought was Yoohyun. He didn't even think about how much it hurted dying (with a freaking shot on the head)! He just wanted to reunite and soothe Yoohyun that he was okay.

Speaking of which, in Sigma's arc, as Yoojin was alone, he really stopped caring for his well-being, so Sung Hyunjae took that role and did everything he could to help Yoojin. But, for him to even have to create a quest just so Yoojin could eat is what sparked my lizard brain to write this post.

My point is, there isn't an arc dedicated for recovery (at least until the chapter I have read that is like, ~300) and that is beautiful, because Yoojin is still processing what he went through, and we get to see that. Yoojin has such an interesting character arc as he begins wanting to forget the past, as it is too painful, to start running after it. He can't let go of it, because letting it go means letting his little brother go too. Which is why he says he will never be okay again in chapter 278.

[picturejasper20]

Steven Universe as a character is someone who has been mischaracterized and flanderized over the years, to the point people who aren't into the fandom or haven't watched the show believe that mischaracterization to be a fact rather that a product that comes from memes and jokes

The truth is that Steven often fights in the series when it is needed, usually by fusing with someone else like Connie or Amethyst since he is still developing his powers in the original series. He doesn't cry when he has to fight back or defend himself, with exception if the person attacking is someone he considers a friend. Because, yes, for a 14-15 old teenager it isn't fun having to do something like that and it can be traumatic.

He also doesn't start to cry the moment someone refuses to change their mind or is being mean. He often isn't afraid to be sarcastic or call that person out. He didn't cry when Aquamarine mocked him in ¨Stuck Together¨ nor when Jasper didn't apologize for poofing Amethyst in ¨Crack the Whip¨

However, what we see is sometimes him blaming himself for not being able to help people that, more often than not, have been hurt by Rose Quartz, his mother, in some way. After Season 3, Steven fears a lot that he is going to become like Rose and he is going to hurt people the way like she did.

In general Steven deals with an Atlas complex in the show. He feels like he has to fix his mother mistakes and deal with ¨what she left behind¨ even when Rose wanted for him to be his own person as seen in the tape she left for him as it was revealed in the episode ¨Lion 4: The Alternate Ending¨.

Steven also defines his identity a lot for being to help other people and fix their problems. He believes that he has to be ¨useful¨ for others. So when he believes that he failed to help someone, that may lead him to think that he isn't living up to his ¨purpose¨ or that he is a failure as a person.

In reality, he isn't that much different from other hero protagonists from other animated shows. Those who are kind and emphatic and willing to listen to other people and give them a second chance if the person changes their ways. You probably like an animated show that has a protagonist like this. (Who was probably taken inspiration from Steven if the series came out after SU).

The main difference, i think, is that Steven goes a bit more than those protagonists do when it comes to listening to other people, understand their motivations and give them another chance if they regret their actions. A lot has to do with how he is aware that his enemies (usually gems) act the way the do because of the system they were born into rather ¨they are evil just because¨. He gets that their motivations come from the system that hurt them or lead them to believe that their actions are justified.

Another common mischaracterization is that Steven becomes super buddies with every person he helps...when this isn't always the case. There are some occasions that Steven shows discomfort around people who he has given a second chance. Just because he gives them a second chance doesn't mean that he immediately considers them close friends, maybe allies at best.

A good example of this is the gif above of Steven's interactions with White Diamond in ¨Homeworld Bound¨. White Diamond touches Steven very close to where his gem is- which makes Steven distressed since in his battle again White, she ripped his gem out to prove that Pink was still ¨alive¨. In most of the episode Steven shows to be very uncomfortable around the Diamonds and Spinel, to some extent. They bring him bad memories, which is the main reason he has been doing everything to avoid going to them to ask for their help until this point in Steven Universe Future. He even almost accidentally hurts White's gem by smashing her head against a pillar when she lets him control her to talk to himself. This being result of a intrusive ¨vengeful¨ thought.

I wouldn't say that Steven hates the Diamonds,but- he doesn't want to be their friend neither and wants to avoid in general because he feels nervous and bad around them. It's something like ¨I'm glad that you are changing but i don't want to be associated with you. Please, i would appreciate if you kept your distance from me.¨ dynamic.

On last point, Steven is someone who usually pushes his feelings down in certain situations and buries them down, which has led him to have strong emotional outbursts in bad moments. He usually prefers to ignore his own problems and take priority on others. Again, this comes a lot from his desire to be useful and be needed, making him trying to ignore how he feels about certain people and pretend that he is doing fine.

This explains why we don't see him lash out that much to others in the original series, and, why he feels so frustrated and angry in Future, since all that anger and negative feelings can't no longer be ignored as they used to and they are having a negative impact in Steven's mental health. This, of course, isn't meant to be seen is a healthy coping mechanism. It is in fact potrayed as something pretty self-destructive for Steven, as a huge flaw of his, that over time he comes to learn that it isn't the best way for him to deal with his problems.

These are some of the most common misconceptions i have seen about Steven's character online. I could go in more depth with some of them but i think the points should be clear enough. This could be considered a general analysis of how Steven is as a character and how he operates, leaving aside more specific things that can be covered in other posts.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #9 stop negative self talk

FOR REAL ! The way you speak to yourself is the foundation of your entire life It’s the silent force that dictates how you carry urself, the risks u take, and whether you rise or stay stuck.

✒️..Think about it. Every time you tell yourself, “I’m not good enough,” you’re not just thinking it—you’re believing it. And when you believe it, you act on it. You hesitate, you hold back, and you rob urself of opportunities that could’ve changed your life cuz the only thing standing between you and the life you want is the way you talk to yourself. Change the narrative, and you’ll change your life.

Why Negative Self-Talk is Destructive

1. It Becomes Your Identity

The more you repeat those doubts, the more they define you. If you keep saying, “I can’t handle this,” you’ll convince yourself it’s true—even when it’s not.

2. It Limits Your Growth

The human brain is wired to focus on what you feed it. Feed it negativity, and that’s all it will see. But feed it possibility, and you’ll open doors you didn’t even know existed. (It's real ❕)

3. It Wastes Time

Every second spent tearing yourself down is a second you could’ve spent building yourself up, learning something new, or moving closer to your goals.

How to Stop the Cycle

1. Recognize the Lies

Negative self-talk is a liar. It tells you you’re not capable, that you’re not worthy, that you’ll never measure up. But let me ask you this: Where’s the proof? Where’s the evidence? Most of the time, those thoughts aren’t grounded in reality—they’re a product of fear and self-doubt.

2. Speak with Purpose

Your words shape your reality. So start being intentional about the way you talk to yourself. Replace “I’ll never get this right” with “I’m learning, and I’ll get better with time.” It’s not about lying to yourself—it’s about shifting your focus to what’s possible.

3. Challenge Your Comfort Zone

Negative self-talk thrives in stagnation. When you stay in your comfort zone, you give those thoughts room to grow. Push yourself into situations where you can prove those doubts wrong. Show yourself that you’re more capable than you think.

4. Practice Self-Respect

Respect yourself enough to stop tolerating toxic thoughts. Think of it like this: If someone else spoke to you the way you speak to yourself, would you put up with it? No WAY HAHA So why accept it from your own mind?

NOTES TO ADD TO UR 2025 BUCKET LIST!

1. Audit Your Thoughts

Spend one day writing down every negative thought you have. By the end of the day, review the list and challenge each one. Ask yourself: “Is this actually true? Or is it just fear talking?”

2. Set a Daily Affirmation

Every morning, choose one affirmation that resonates with you. For example: “I am resilient,” or “I am capable of overcoming challenges.” Repeat it to yourself throughout the day. I recommend GRATITUDE APP !

3. Track Small Wins

At the end of each day, write down one thing you did well. No matter how small it seems, acknowledge your progress.

4. Surround Yourself with Positivity

Pay attention to the people and environments that influence your mindset. If someone or something consistently feeds your self-doubt, cut it out. You owe it to yourself to be in spaces that uplift you.

You don’t have time for this self-sabotage anymore. Life is short, and every day wasted on negative self-talk is a day you’ll never get back. You are stronger, smarter, and more capable than you give yourself credit for—but none of that will matter if you don’t start believing it.

@bloomzone 📇

[watchmegetobsessed]

WING IT

A/N: we are slowly getting more content, lets just hope something drops soon!

WORD COUNT: 3k

SUMMARY: It's your first day working in Selma's Home, you're nervous enough already, but when an emergency calls your boss away and you're left alone, the situation is topped when famous CEO Harry Styles casually strolls in.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It doesn’t matter that this job is just an in-between. Something that earns you money until your dream position opens. A first day is always stressful, especially when you have no idea what to do.

You were applying to dozens of jobs at once, just shooting everywhere you could, hoping to get an answer back before your rent was due. Selma’s Home was the first one to invite you for an interview and somehow, miraculously you even got the job despite the fact that you have no experience in retail. You suspect that desperation was a big factor in your hiring, because Selma lost 2 of her employees at once when the young couple that was working for her moved across the country. 

Now here you are, walking into the store, nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you head down the aisles where you see Selma behind the cash register already getting ready to open.

“Hi!” you greet her, her head snapping up at your weak voice. Selma is such a fierce, kind of intimidating woman, but you can see how it helped her to open this store and make it one of the most successful home decor stores in the city, offering tasteful stylish pieces along with practical utility items for one’s home. 

“Oh, hi! Welcome to your first day, you ready?” She even cracks a smile, but somehow it just makes you gulp hard.

“Yeah, readier than ever!” you manage to squeeze out a nervous chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense your jitters.

“Alright, then let’s get started.”

With an hour until opening Selma is eager to squeeze in as much information into it as possible. She walks you through the store, talking about the most important items, but also handing you a handbook about everything that’s currently selling in the store.

“Use your downtime to roam around and you’ll learn them by the end of the week without the handbook,” she says, eyes running over the shelves as she is talking, already moving to the storage room in the back. 

She talks about the system, how to unload the new arrivals every two weeks and then you move on to the cash register, aka your biggest fear. It’s quite the stress factor to deal with money, making sure everything is neat and correct, you can only hope you won’t mess it all up.

Then the store opens and you follow around Selma to learn the ropes. What’s different here is that whenever a customer comes in you offer them help right away and if needed, you assist them throughout their whole time shopping. There are quite some designer products selling and you’ll need to know everything about them to be able to sell them to the customers just like Selma does.

She is so good at it. No matter who comes in, she so effortlessly talks them into leaving with not only what they came for, but some more as well. She is enchanting, nice, open and warm and you just keep taking notes mentally, though you don’t feel confident enough to be as charming as she can be the moment the bell rings above the door. 

When lunch rolls around you allow yourself to feel relieved for a second that you survived half the day already. Selma sends you to the back to have your lunch and you just sit in silence, staring ahead of you, mustering up all your energy for the rest of the workday. You’ve just finished your sandwich when Selma barges into the breakroom.

“Y/N, there’s a bit of an emergency.”

You jump to your feet, scenarios already running through your mind. Is there a fire? Did the storefront just collapse? Someone stole those hella expensive Japanese tablecloths? 

“What happened?”

“My daughter, she is ugh! Such a menace, she got into trouble at school, so I have to go there. I need you to cover for a bit, just an hour tops, I swear!” 

She is already grabbing her purse, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, car keys in hand while you just stand there dumbfounded. Is she actually gonna leave you alone in the store on your first day?

“Selma, I-I don’t…”

“You do, Honey. Just an hour. This is a dead time anyway, if anyone comes in, just try your best to help them and ring them up at the end. Easy, I know you can do it!”

She is storming out and you follow her like a lost puppy.

“B-But what if I mess something up?” you ask, panic setting in. 

“As long as you don’t set the store on fire, you’ll be fine. I trust you, Y/N!”

And with that, she is already gone, the bell rings above the door as you stand there like a statue. 

You watch the storefront in pure panic, your stomach dropping every time it seems like someone is approaching the shop, but no one comes in. 

Until the bell rings above the door. 

For a split second you hope it’s Selma, but looking up you see a tall, broad figure and your heart threatens to burst right out of your anxiety filled chest, at first because hello! It’s a customer! But then as he steps further into the shop and takes off his sunglasses, realization settles in. 

This is not just a regular customer, this is Harry Fucking Styles, CEO of Pleasing Productions, the studio that’s given the world the absolute best romantic movies in the past decades and the man is famously known for being a ladies favorite, but appearing as a total mystery in the media. 

You’ve read about him a lot before, it’s hard not to bump into his name online, thanks to his looks he is always somehow in talk for either having dinner with a model, appearing on the red carpet looking like a fucking snack, or, your personaly favorite, declining giving an answer to a question regarding his private life. 

And now he is standing there, looking around the store. 

It takes a couple of moments for you to push out of this frozen state and finally step forward.

“Hello!”

Wow. Did your voice actually sound like that?

Clearing your throat you keep moving towards him.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?”

You try to rake your mind to remember everything you’ve seen and heard from Selma to use now, but the moment he looks up, your mind goes blank. He is just as beautiful as he looks in pictures or maybe even more. Unlike on those red carpet photos where he is always dressed in designer suits, now he is wearing a pair of simple pants and a gray long sleeve, his hair is a bit tousled and it appears he is growing his beard out, a bit shaggy, but he makes it look very… hot. That’s all you can say looking at him.

“Oh, hey!” He is sporting a polite smile as he looks up, about to keep talking, but he stops for a moment upon looking at you and he stops.

Everything stops. 

It’s as if he is taking you in, you can feel your cheeks heating up, the nervous fidgeting starts again, but you hide your hands behind your back so he doesn’t notice. 

“I’m looking for some kitchen stuff,” he then says, hiding his hands in his pockets. 

“Great!” you breathe out. “We do have… those.”

You flinch internally, but ignore just how awkward you are in his presence. 

You ask him about what he needs specifically as the two of you start walking down the isles and for a moment you think of grabbing the handbook, but that would look awful, so you make a decision on the spot.

You’re gonna just wing it. 

What could go wrong? You’ll just pretend like you’re Selma, confident and know everything about the items, you’re gonna say whatever comes to your mind and just… wing it. 

All while ignoring how attractive this man is up close. And intimidating. And charming. And…

“I think I want to check out the coffee stuff first,” he suggests and nodding you walk him over to the kitchen items.

“Do you have a coffee machine and you’re looking for some accessories, or…”

“I just got one of those old fashioned moka coffee pots,” he says with a boyish smile. “But I want to get that to the next level, if you know what I mean.” You do not.

“Of course,” you smile, eyes scanning over the shelves. 

Your grandmother has one of those old moka coffee makers, but you have absolutely no idea what else could be used for those, so you just start grabbing things and making up what they are used for. 

One after the other, you just keep showing him stuff with no idea what you’re talking about, but the longer you’re talking the more confident you’re growing, especially when he just keeps nodding and humming along to anything you say. 

“So… which one are you more interested in?” you ask at the end of your little speech. You look at him and find him already looking at you with a tiny smile curling up the corners of his mouth. 

“What can you tell me about those?” he asks, ignoring your question and just moving to another shelf. 

He keeps asking about items and you just make up everything as you go. Of course, you know some of the stuff, but you were never really a true chef in the kitchen, so there are way too many items you don’t know that much, but somehow, you’ve gathered enough confidence that even you believe what you say. 

Slowly, Harry fills his basket as you move through the store and every time you look at him you catch him already looking at you with the same smile you can’t quite decipher. 

“What about those?” he points up at a set of plates on the top shelf.

“Oh, those are so pretty! Let me show you them!” you enthuse and run to grab the ladder from the back. 

It’s not the steadiest tool for sure, but you ignore the wobble you feel when you start climbing it.

“Are you sure it’s–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you chuckle, reaching the top step, but your knees are definitely shaking. You focus on grabbing the plates and getting off as fast as possible, but right when you take them off the shelf you already feel yourself losing balance. 

But Harry is quick to come to your rescue. One of his hands grabs the ladder to steady it and the other… the other one grabs the back of your thigh to help you hold yourself up. Until then you were shaking because of the ladder, but now it’s definitely because of his firm hold on you, the warmth of his touch and the thoughts that unrelease when you realize just how perfectly his fingers are digging into your flesh. 

“You good?” he asks in a deep, husky voice. 

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely more than just a whisper as you hold onto the plates as if they could hold you up. 

You start moving down on the ladder, but Harry’s hand doesn’t leave your body, it works up on your hips and waist, grabbing onto your elbow as you finally step onto the ground and even then, he is still touching you, his eyes locked on yours as you’re still holding those damn plates. The image of dropping them and pushing up against him flashes through your mind and your knees wobble again when you catch his gaze flickering down to your lips for a second. 

“The plates,” you blurt out then. He looks down and a smile stretches across his face.

“They really are pretty.”

“Right?” you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Now that you risked your life for them, I guess it’s only fair if I actually buy them.”

Fuck, your heart is about to jump right out of your chest, how is he so smooth?

You gather a few more things and then move to the cash register to ring everything up. 

“How long have you been working here?” he asks, patiently waiting for you to finish. 

“Um… Do you want the truth?” you ask, with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah.”

“This is my first day,” you admit, just as you finish the scanning and when you look at the amount it all added up to, you almost choke on your own saliva. “Um, your total is 1630.”

For a moment you think he’ll question how it’s so much, but without hesitation he whips out his card and taps it on the terminal.

“First day, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have guessed?”

“Oh, I kind of did,” he chuckles and he starts to help you with putting everything away in bags. “You really should learn what the items are used for.”

Normally you’d be embarrassed that he noticed how much you just made up, but the smile he is gifting you with vanishes all negative feelings and you can actually find it funny. 

“I will.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” he smirks, grabbing the bags from the counter. “And if I happen to leave a review about the excellent service, what name should I drop?” 

“I’m Y/N,” you say with a sheepish smile. He then sticks his hand out and you take it.

“Harry. It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

With a final wave he turns around, slides his sunglasses back to the bridge of his nose and then walks out of the store. You stand there completely overwhelmed by the experience and you have no idea how much time passes by before Selma barges through the door.

“Hi Darling! How did everything go?” she beams, walking up to the counter where you’re still standing. 

“Great!”

“Did anyone come in?” 

“Yeah. Harry Styles was just here.” Selma freezes for a moment before looking up at you.

“Harry Styles? As in…”

“Yeah. That Harry Styles.”

“How did it go? Did he buy anything?”

“He spent 1600 dollars on kitchen stuff.”

“Y/N, that’s great!” Selma claps her hands. “Was he satisfied? Could you help him?”

“I think I could,” you say with a knowing smile. “He seemed… satisfied, yeah.”

The first day jitters are luckily gone by the next day, especially because Selma looked at you with so much pride after you told her about your encounter with Harry that you feel like you can’t do anything wrong. 

Before lunch Selma asks you to rearrange some stuff in the storage and you’re a bit relieved you don’t have to take any customers for now.

But because of that, you’re not out when one specific person walks into the shop. Again. 

Harry enters the store confidently, a smile already on his lips as he looks in the direction of the cash register, but it fades when he only sees Selma, but no sight of you. Selma, on the other hand, becomes ecstatic when she sees and recognizes him.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” she chirps, walking towards Harry, who is still looking around, eyes searching for you. 

“Hey, is the… Is the woman who worked yesterday here? Y/N?” Selma stops, surprised.

“Y/N? Uh, yes, but she is busy now, I’m sure I can help you–”

“I want her,” he states.

“She is still training, I’m sure I can–”

“Look,” Harry sighs. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Selma, the owner,” she states proudly.

“Selma, I’m more than happy to buy everything in this store if it means I get to talk to her. How does that sound?”

Selma stares back at him, finally understanding the situation. Her stance changes instantly.

“Let me go get her for you.”

You’re going over your list in the back when Selma appears, her spotless appearance feels odd in the storage room’s setting. 

“Oh, hey! I just finished with–”

“I need you outside.”

“What? Why?” Panic washes over you, because you can’t read her face and what could she possibly need you for outside on your second day?

“Just come. Now!” She turns around and heads out, not even checking if you’re following her. Of course you do.

“Selma, what did I–” you start mumbling behind her, but just when you step out and spot Harry at the cash register.

His face lights up the moment he sees you and those damn butterflies start raging in your stomach. 

“Harry, you’re here. Again,” you state the obvious. 

“I am,” he chuckles and you see Selma walk away from the corner of your eyes. 

“How, um–What can I… help you with?” you ask, clearing your throat. Why is he here? Could it be… because of you? Yesterday you definitely spent an awful lot of time daydreaming of the way he was touching you on that ladder and you’d be lying if you said you felt disappointed he just walked out, knowing you might never see him again. 

Well, so much for that.

“I forgot to get something yesterday.” 

“Oh,” is all you can say, the disappointment snaking back into your gut. He is not here because of you, how could you even think about that?

Harry’s smile widens as he watches your face drop and then he finally continues.

“Your number.”

Your eyes widen and you must look quite funny, because Harry chuckles at the sight of your expression. 

“Was this too straight forward?”

“No!” you snap right away, maybe a bit too eagerly. “Not at all.”

“Great, then…”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over, you type your number in quickly and hand it over. He taps on the screen and a second later your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket.

“Just checking you didn’t give me a pizzeria’s number,” he jokes, making you laugh. “And… now that I’m conveniently here, maybe you can show me some more stuff.”

“What do you need?” you ask as the two of you head down one of the aisles. 

“Hmm, how long is your shift?”

“Um, another four hours,” you scoff.

“Then I guess I’m interested in everything. Whatever takes four hours to look at so I can take you out once you’re done.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[myster-roca]

The Catfish Incident

"Thanks for the energy drink, man," Jake said, cracking open his can of blue energy soda as we ambled down the dimly lit hallway back to our apartments. The gym members' party had left us both hot and sweaty, and I thought a refreshing drink would be the perfect cap to our evening.

"Yeah, no problem, bro. You owe me one next time!" I replied, although I was thinking something else entirely as I watched him guzzle his beverage.

He was tall, about six feet three inches, with a toned physique that would make anyone envious. His hair, the color of wheat, was slicked back with some kind of product, and he wore a tank top that hugged his chest tightly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and thick arms. His shorts were tight enough to show off his wide hips and well-defined ass.

Standing beside him, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity. While I was reasonably fit and steadily working towards what I hoped would be my ideal body, Jake's presence ignited a deeper yearning within me. It wasn’t just about having muscular broad shoulders and a confident stride—it was about embodying that effortless aura of masculinity, the kind of identity that defines an alpha male.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot—I need to head back to my apartment now," Jake said abruptly. "I have a little rendezvous tonight," he added, flashing a smile.

"Sounds like a plan. What time is your date?" I asked casually, pausing beside him.

“About an hour from now, so I should probably hit the showers first. Gotta freshen up and work out these guns again,” he laughed. Then, without warning, he raised his left arm above his head and flexed his bicep, staring intently into my eyes. “It’s been too long since they’ve seen any action.”

I felt myself blush uncontrollably at his words, but luckily Jake didn't see it, and he continued heading down the hallway.

"See you tomorrow, Dave!" he called out over his shoulder before disappearing through his apartment door.

Little did he know, I was well aware of who he was meeting tonight.

As I stepped into my apartment, the familiar walls and furnishings offered no comfort to the restless longing stirring within me.

Each well-placed book and neatly aligned chair seemed to echo the structured, unyielding life I had sculpted for myself—a life of discipline as a respected professor, always mindful of reputation and societal expectations.

With a sigh, I removed my glasses and set them aside on the table. The lenses caught the fading light of the day, scattering beams that danced across the blandness of my living space, teasing me with glimpses of brightness in my otherwise predictable world.

This simple act felt like peeling away the layers of a persona crafted over years.

It felt symbolic, like I was discarding a part of myself that was too familiar, too constricted by old fears and inhibitions. Tonight was not a night for the timid David hidden behind those lenses; it was a night for someone entirely new.

I pulled off my tank top, feeling the cool air hit my bare skin, followed by the soft cotton of my white gym shorts. Finally, I slid down my underwear and tossed them aside. I felt incredibly vulnerable, standing there nude with no one else around.

Across the room, my gaze then shifted to the bed, where the realistic bodysuit of a Latino model lay outstretched. The room lighting cast a bright hue over its meticulously detailed surface, accentuating each muscular contour and shadow, making it look almost alive. It wasn’t just a garment; it was a gateway to another existence.

As soon as I saw it, I couldn’t resist touching its smooth skin. I ran my fingers over its chest and arms, feeling the softness of its skin. Then I slid my hands down to its waist and squeezed its firm butt cheeks. It even had a built-in penis that was larger than my own, which gave me a sense of excitement.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, "let’s get started."

I could feel my dick twitch as I reached down and grabbed hold of the slit at the back of the bodysuit. The suit itself was made of a special material that allowed for easy movement and flexibility. Slowly, I began pulling the two sides apart so that there would be enough room for me to get inside.

As I sat down in the chair, I began sliding my right leg into one of the muscular legs. They were tight but not uncomfortable. As I pulled them up over my thigh, I could feel the skin stretching slightly as it moved up my leg. This was going to be so fucking hot!

I continued moving my left leg into the second leg until both feet were on the ground. Next, I positioned my shaft to the built-in dick and slid my arms into the sleeves. My biceps bulged with each movement.

Standing up, I took a few steps forward, feeling the incredible strength of my legs against my skin. I flexed my arm, watching the veins pulsate under the surface. I couldn’t help but smile at my new, sexy body.

Finally, I put on the built-in mask that resembled the handsome face of a Latino model.

As I slid it over my head, I felt the soft material conform to the contours of my face.

Once the mask was fully secured, the ’Heddon’ app on my phone opened up.

In order for the bodysuit to work properly, it needed to be activated. I selected “Start Sealing” and watched as the screen filled with images of the process.

Suddenly, there was a click, and the suit began to seal shut around me. I felt the muscles of my legs begin to tingle as they fused with the suit.

My thighs and calves became more defined as the skin tightened around them. The same sensation spread across my chest and shoulders, making them bulge outward. My arms seemed to grow larger as the suit conformed to my muscles.

Within seconds, the transformation was complete, and the suit fully integrated with my body, leaving no trace of its presence. It was as if I had become one with this sexy, lifelike skin.

With a grin, I stepped towards the mirror, admiring my reflection. The face staring back at me was that of a young, fit Hispanic man with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

“Welcome back,” I whispered to myself as I looked in the mirror at my new reflection. “Diego.”

My jawline was strong and defined, giving me a masculine appearance. I flexed my biceps, showing off the definition in my arms.

I ran my hands over my hard chest, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers. Then, I squeezed my pecs, enjoying the way they rippled beneath my touch.

I let my hands travel down to the bulge between my legs, squeezing it gently. My cock throbbed with excitement as I imagined what it would feel like to fuck someone with this body.

I picked up my phone, opened a dating app and messaged Jake using the Diego profile. We’d chatted a little bit on the app a few weeks earlier, and he seemed really interested in meeting up.

“Hey sexy,” I typed into the chat window. “Want to see some pics?”

“Sure thing, stud,” Jake responded. “Whatcha got?”

I smiled as I sent him a couple of pictures of myself wearing different leather and latex outfits.

“That’s hot,” Jake wrote. “Do you think you can do something even hotter tonight?”

I grinned as I typed back, “Of course, baby. Anything for you.”

****************************************************

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a Reddit thread mentioning "Heddon: House of Transformation" — a service offering realistic bodysuits that promised an entirely new level of personal transformation. Intrigued yet skeptical, I clicked through.

The website was adorned with glossy images of transformations and detailed testimonials from users who spoke of life-altering experiences. Video demos showcased the suits’ incredible realism and functionality, portraying seamless transitions from person to suit.

Admittedly, the site and service were new, which did little to alleviate my skepticism. However, a promotional offer for first-time users—a significant discount on their first order—was enough to tip the scales.

Despite my initial doubts and the nagging thought that it could all be an elaborate scam, I decided to take the plunge with some disposable income I’ve set aside.

I ordered a customized bodysuit modeled after a muscular Latino—a physique and persona so starkly different from my own that it felt like it could only exist in fantasies.

When the package arrived, it included not just the bodysuit but also detailed instructions for using the accompanying "Heddon: House of Transformation" app.

The app, once downloaded, allowed me to control the bodysuit’s features, including the crucial sealing process which would integrate the suit seamlessly with my own body.

When I first donned my new Diego bodysuit a few nights ago, I created a fake profile on the dating app and got tons of messages but one message caught my attention— it was my gym buddy Jake.

“Hi there! You’re so hot and cute!” he wrote.

“Thank you! You’re pretty handsome yourself,” I responded.

We chatted for a bit, discussing our hobbies and interests. I told him that I was looking for someone to share my fetishes with, and that I loved wearing latex.

He responded quickly, saying that he was also interested in exploring his kinks and that he loved wearing leather and latex. Before long, we were messaging each other every night, sharing our deepest desires and fantasies.

A few days later, Jake asked me if I would be willing to come over to his apartment and have some fun. I agreed, excited to finally meet him in person.

“I’m so glad you’re coming over,” he wrote back. “I’ve been dying to meet you in person.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I can’t wait to see you.”

****************************************************

Now, here I am, standing outside Jake’s apartment door, feeling nervous and excited all at once. I knocked on Jake's door and soon heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swung open, revealing Jake standing there in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Diego! Come in!” he says, grinning at me. I follow him into the apartment, and he shuts the door behind us.

Jake leans against the door, studying my body. “Wow, you look amazing,” he says. “I never imagined you would actually look like this.”

“Thanks. It feels good to finally be able to meet you in person,” I reply. Jake smiles and directs me toward the living room. I remove my jacket, revealing my tight black muscle shirt and latex pants.

Jake’s eyes widen, and he lets out a low groan. “Damn, you’re fucking hot,” he says, running his hands along my chest. His hand then slides down my chest and over my crotch. “And you’re hard.”

“I am,” I whisper. “You make me feel so horny.”

We sit down on the couch, and Jake pours us some drinks. “So, tell me more about yourself,” he says. “What kind of stuff do you like doing?”

“Well, I love wearing leather and latex,” I say. “And I love playing different characters. Sometimes I dress up as a superhero, sometimes as a villain. It really depends on my mood.”

“That’s cool,” Jake says. “Me too. I love wearing my costumes, especially when I’m out with friends. It helps me let loose and have fun.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say. “Sometimes it’s hard to be yourself when you’re around other people, but when you’re in your costume, you can let go and be whoever you want to be.”

“Exactly,” Jake says, smiling. “It’s like a whole new world opens up when you put on a costume.”

Jake leans closer, his eyes locked on mine. “And sometimes, they bring us closer to our true selves than we ever thought possible. Maybe because we feel safe behind the mask, we can express our true feelings.”

The air between us charges with an unspoken understanding. I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Have you ever felt that way? Like you’ve discovered something real about yourself through a character?”

Jake nods slowly, his gaze intensifying. “More often than you might think. Sometimes, it’s only when I'm someone else that I can express what I really feel... what I really want.”

I watch as he removes his towel, revealing his hard cock. I gasp in pleasure as he strokes himself slowly, looking straight into my eyes. The moment hangs heavy between us, laden with unvoiced desires.

Then, impulsively, Jake closes the distance, his lips meeting mine in a passionate kiss that feels like the culmination of our shared revelations. Our tongues dance together, exploring each other's mouths, as I moan softly and my fingers thread through Jake's soft hair.

Jake breaks away from our fervent kiss, leaving me breathless and longing for more. With a sultry grin, he stands up and begins to undress me, one piece at a time.

My excitement grows as he pulls my tight latex shirt over my head, exposing my toned chest and chiseled abs. He trails his fingers down my torso, sending delicious tingles through my entire body.

As Jake continues to undress me, his touch becomes increasingly intimate and sensual. He caresses my skin, grazing his fingertips along my shoulders, arms, and sides. I lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his hands linger on my skin.

Finally, Jake reaches my pants and skillfully slips them down my legs, revealing my matching black briefs. He pauses for a moment, admiring the sight of me in my underwear, before slowly removing them as well. Standing before him completely naked, I feel exposed yet empowered by his admiration.

Jake's eyes sparkle with lust as he looks me up and down. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

My heart races as he bends down to press his lips against my chest, trailing kisses down to my abdomen. His hands explore my body, massaging my muscles and stroking my skin. I close my eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that wash over me.

Just as I start to drift into blissful oblivion, Jake abruptly stops. I open my eyes to find him looking intently into my eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What's wrong?" I ask, confused by the sudden pause.

"Come with me," he murmurs. "I have something I want to show you. It’s my private collection."

He then gestured to a door at the end of the hall. My heart pounded in my chest as I followed him into the room.

Entering, I gasped in surprise at the sight. Scattered all over the room were several realistic bodysuits, each one more impressive than the last.

While pretending to be amazed, I wondered if Jake realized I was wearing a fake body.

Jake grinned. "My job has its perks," he explained. "I'm a beta tester for 'Heddon', so I get access to their entire collection."

"This is amazing," I remarked, feigning ignorance. My hands ran over one of the suits. "What are these things and how do they work?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Jake chuckled. "You may think you're fooling me, but you aren't."

He was right. Staring at him in disbelief, I asked, "What?... what do you mean?"

"It's not a secret," Jake replied. "These suits have a distinct smell, and I've gotten used to it. I know when someone is wearing one."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't deny it any longer. "Okay, fine," I admitted. "You caught me. But please, don't tell anyone else. This is just between us."

"Of course," Jake nodded. "I understand."

He reached out and touched the side of my fake face. "I don't care who you are or what you're doing. I like the idea of someone else being able to take on a new identity for a while."

"Thank you," I said, smiling. "But seriously, why are you showing me all of these suits?"

Jake shrugged. "Since you're wearing one, I thought of wearing one as well," he suggested. "Maybe we can have a little role-play fun."

He then picked up a bodysuit that resembled a tanned male model with long hair. "Do you think this fits the bill?" he asked, holding it up.

I smirked and touched the bodysuit Jake had chosen. "Let's find out, shall we?"

[slashersdaddy]

Slashers Hcs

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lector, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Micheal Myers, Jason Vorhees

Bo Sinclair:

Bo is a quiet partner, if he's happy he's even quieter OR more snarky (no inbetween, hes crazy like that) he will forget things like valentines day, because thety arent something he cares about, but sometimes he will surprise you with small things; Your favorite candy, a candle in the scent you like, jewelry, clothes, ect. He wants you to know he loves you but by god will he make it hard. But if you suffer from fear of abandonment he will do small things to prove he wont leave (he thinks they are small) like getting your name tattooed on his bicep, or letting you leave hickeys on him. Vincent Sinclair:

Vincent is a loving and doting partner, He will leave you gifts like a cat, statuettes of you, photographs, drawings, paintings, a cool rock he found he thinks youd like? its on your bedside table in the morning. He loves you and shows it in every way he can think, candlelit dinners? Check. Gifts for EVERY occasion? Check. Physical affection? Check. Love Letters? Check. He wants you to feel like a god/dess, worshipped by a loyal devotee <3

Lester Sinclair: Golden retriever Boyfriend. Kind of? Hes like a wolf that is loyal to you and his brothers. thats it. but of course he claims that hes all yours. If you ask for it its yours. You like the flannel he was wearing? The next day its cleaned and folded up on your dresser (because he knows the smell of roadkill isnt nice for you) Kisses you all the time, anywhere youll let him, holding your hand all the time. He will bring you fucked up lil things he finds on his daily adventures. He will also let you ride shotgun while he takes the scenic route to talk with you and show you all the pretty landscapes! Hannibal lector: He will rest your head in his lap while he works, gently stroking your hair and humming as he holds you. Hes a quiet affectionate Boyfriend. He will make your favorite tea any time you seem stressed and take 5 minutes to drink a cup of tea with you and talk about nothing in particular, and if you need something so soon as you say the word its done. He will cook and clean and be a house husband and working man for you :3 Billy Loomis: Guard dog boyfriend, do not expect to be able to get out of his sight, this man loves you and would kill any guy/girl who tries to make a move on you. during quiet moments with him he will watch horror movies with you, holding you close as you watch. he loves especially if you get scared so he can pull you into his chest and promise to keep you safe.

Stu Macher: Stu is a golden retriever boyfriend. he wants to make you happy, he will get you anything you request, as soon as you ask for it, if you are AFAB he has an app on his phone that tracks your period and will bring you your favorite snacks and mensural products along with pain killers and gifts the day your period is supposed to start. if you stay over at his place its horror and cuddles, holding you to his chest as he strokes your hair while you are watching the show. he adores you and adores your smile, he will watch sappy romance or comedies with you to make you happy :D

Michael Myers: Michael is a guardian, silent and watching you from afar, or close by. he doesn't talk much- or honestly at all, nor does he care to use ASL, he does however use tiny movements to show his care, little flexes of his hands, tilts of his head, and the occasional hand on your shoulder when he wants you to know he loves you, he's like a cat, leaving gifts at your door, or on your bedside table. its always random things, a knife he though you would like, jewelry, weird things that don't make sense Jason Voorhees: Jason is a big ass teddy bear, he will kiss you all over through his mask, cuddle you, bring you gifts, do things for you, carry you on his back when on walks through the woods, he doesn't want you to be in pain!! He will give you rocks, feathers, flowers, anything nature related, he will sometimes give you jewelry from the victims he thinks will look pretty on you (doesn't matter if your masc. or femme, he will still do it) He wants to keep you safe, so don't expect to be somewhere without him unless its at your house/cabin!