#gut care advice

[istar-gzng]

☆𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑶𝑿𝑰𝑪 𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑺☆

𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙-𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ, 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.

1. 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑼𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦. 𝐼𝑓 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔-𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑃𝑎𝑦 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦. 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠?

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒. 𝐴 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑒��𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠. 𝐸𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛; 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘? 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑒𝑔𝑜.

2.𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑮𝑵𝑰𝒁𝑬 𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝒀 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑒𝑦 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑛, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑔 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦. 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑟-𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝐵𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡. 𝐴𝑠𝑘: "𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑜 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚?" 𝑅𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟�� 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒. 𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠, "𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑒?" 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

𝐴𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎, 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑦. 𝑆𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙; 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑠, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒-𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

3.𝑨𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑰𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑪𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑱𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑺𝒀

𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑙. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒. 𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑗𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑦; 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑏𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑦 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐. 𝑅𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒,"𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑚 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛?" 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑔𝑜. 𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙; 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 ��𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

4. 𝑩𝑬𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑮𝑶𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑷 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑪𝑻 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑽𝑨𝑪𝒀

𝐵𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠; 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑝 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢.𝑅𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠: "𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟?" 𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑐𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑘𝑦, 𝑠𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑛. 𝑃𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑑; 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑓 "𝐼𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡?" 𝐴 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 "𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠?"

5. 𝑳𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑮𝑵𝑰𝒁𝑬 𝑩𝑹𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑺𝑻

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑦. 𝐼𝑓 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡. 𝐴𝑠𝑘 "𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠?" . 𝐿𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑖𝑡 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦; 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.

𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑭

𝐵𝑦 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑛𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒. 𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑠, 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙-𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑖𝑡.

[rineedagger]

Some things I've learned this pasts twenty six years

Do NOT alter your form and size to fit into somebody's ribcage. Authenticity is the ground for a healthy environment.

Authenticity can't exist without self-criticism and sticking to your core values.

A peaceful solitude is just as important as a nutritious companionship.

We aren't born knowing, not even of our own self. Wisdom is the fruit of life-long learning, therefore, making mistakes is the key to be and do better (this reminds me of the famously quote "Do not be sorry, be better" from Kratos lol).

Doubting, asking questions, is the concrete to build a fulfilling life.

Remaining the same does not imply to be more stable nor having a healthier life.

Easy and good are not synonyms.

Enough with the label bullshit and the blaming. It isn't about been or not been normal/right, your life/truth is yours only. Do not try to make sense of it using somebody else's eyes.

Medical checking is important. Nobody likes going to the doctor nor feeling sick (and yes, I am talking about going to the therapist and psychiatrist as well). It is part of been human and you will never be alone in the process.

Cooking life actively and over a low heat, is vital to have an appetizing full of flavour meal.

I'm never going to feel ready nor good enough.

Life isn't right nor makes sense. Do not try looking for the missing leg, you'll lose yourself in the process.

Communication is important, but not all communication matters. It has to be direct, understandable and, overall, precised. Overcommunication is as bad as the total absence of it, if not more painful.

Accepting and respecting are not the same thing. One is mandatory while the other, even important, isn't indispensable.

In order to live and not survive, you have to accept your own vulnerability and fragility.

Drinking water is always the good choice.

There will never be enough strawberries to satisfy the craving.

Whoever loves you today may not love you tomorrow, and that's okay.

There isn't such thing as good and bad emotions, rather comfortable and uncomfortable ones. And we must feel them all.

Setting boundaries with yourself and your surrounding is vital to be certain that, whoever remains by your side, is because they actively want you and love you, since there are parts of your self that are not negotiable. If not, you will always be the coach, the therapist, the mother, the sister, the helper, the clown, the mad one, the weirdo, the mysterious one, the thug, the whore, etc., but never you. Consequently, these means an assured expiry date plus food poisoning (I don't know why I'm comparing so much with food...maybe it's because I didn't eat strawberries for a while).

Social media has become a demanding, violent and sick place, filled with expectations, constant stimulation, manipulated or sensational information, rule-following, triggers, distortions and the possibility of been reachable to people that you don't need in your life. It is okay if you can't live in it. Also, if you're the reactive kind, set boundaries immediately with how you manage your social media and your exposure and be firm with it (believe me, I couldn't stand seen someone hating my friend on social media and saying lie after lie after lie...it was REALLY consuming and it leaded to impulsive and shameful acts).

If you are the one that overthinks or re-read texts after a fight, delete them.

Having life-long or very long friendships does not mean that you should cope with every mistreatment.

Do not remain by somebody else's side only because you pity them. Pityness and no compassion is vile.

The same with egotistical interests. The other person is a whole living being aside of yourself, if you put your own interests and greeds as the motivation of that relationship or over it, is vile.

The world is not trying to punish you for any mistake you've done nor for any joy you've experienced. That is, indeed, the process of living.

Boredom is a freaking gift, and a pleasure indeed.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

Finally someone with good takes about hermes 😭 he makes me want to eat drywall

GOD SAME. GOD SAME. GOD SAME. IT'S A WAR ZONE OUT THERE I AM GRIPPING YOUR ARMS. i am chewing table legs about him i am kissing his face i am having a long firm talk with him over tea i am fistfighting him i am feeding him apples. i am showing him that one post where op listed every single bird in the entire world. i am showing him pictures of potoos

he is a soaking wet Long Autism Creature and he is so painfully relatable in SO many ways jesus fucking christ where do i even begin. for one thing every time someone's like 'he was just pre-judging people and shoving away their attempts to connect with him, it's his fault he was depressed and had no support system to deal with it!!!' i'm just like man i'm so glad for you that you've never been traumatized by questioning an evangelical community you're in. i really am. shut the fuck up

(which is something i have just. so many feelings about. it honestly means a lot to me to see that dynamic represented with such devastating accuracy by something that isn't an obvious fantasy expy of christianity. this is a pattern of abuse that happens under the right circumstances because people are people, it's not unique to a certain set of social trappings or even a specific overall belief system, and it makes me feel seen in a way that most narratives about this kind of thing just don't.)

ANYWAY THANK YOU AND I AM SO GLAD YOU ENJOY MY META ABOUT HIM BECAUSE BOY DO I HAVE MORE. People Who Understand That 'Hermes is a School Shooter' is an Absolutely God Fucking Awful Take of the World Unite

[eddis-not-eeddis]

Dealing with newcomer's embarrassment gets easier if you are surrounded by people you have no respect for.

[helpmycvmelanie]

Due to advancements in technology leading to data being readily available to us. Assisting with all sorts of decisions.

We are automatically drawn to quantifiable data and trust whole heartedly in it for a number of obvious and logical reasons.

That’s why some professionals refuse to acknowledge our own body’s process for interpreting information to make a decision and that is your gut instinct.

Our intuition is our body’s way of alerting us to potential danger before our rational minds can explain it.

The brain is constantly filtering all types of information and comparing our current situation with our memories of the past.

Your gut instinct can guide and help you to build your confidence and resilience. Trusting your gut often means having the courage to not simply go with the majority. It can help you learn something about yourself, the issue/situation or about other people.

We are not discouraging people of using facts and figures to make a decision. We want to encourage using both by learning to become in tune and in control of your mind, body and soul to allow you to make decisions true to you and your needs in life. Ultimately, leading you to finding out what resonates with your personal values and trusting yourself and own instincts is key to success both professionally and personally.

It is possible like any other skill to develop a good intuition by practicing, making mistakes, analysing the errors and trying again. Enabling you to become a strong decision maker and develop a solid self trust and resilience. Making you an attractive candidate for any vacancy in any industry.

[obxsummer]

leave me again ii // rafe cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x routledge!reader (she/her), ex!jj maybank x reader

summary: you left the cut with nowhere to go. it’s rafe cameron that finds you and shows you the life you deserved to live

warnings: sorry jj lovers, that man does not get our girl back so sad jj and probably ooc rafe but i love it when that man is soft

navigation || part one

--

Six months.

It had been six months since any of the Pogues had seen you. No social media, no sight of you around town, no letters. Nothing.

The past six months left you to do a lot of reevaluations. You’d walked aimlessly after the group had left for the dive with nothing but your backpack and phone, no destination in mind. Until you found one.

“Lost or something?”

“Fuck off, Rafe,” Your response was instant as you continued to walk without sparing him a look. The car shifted into a different gear, you guessed by the noise, before Rafe was hopping out to approach you.

“Are you okay?” When you didn’t answer, he moved in closer and grabbed your shoulder before turning you to face him. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You stared at him with the knowledge that you probably looked like a mess with the tear streaks across your cheeks. While Rafe had a lot of issues with your friends and brother, he usually stayed clear of you. Whether that was because you were close with Sarah, or what, you didn't know.

Twisting your fingers together, you dropped your gaze as tears started to build again. “You ever watch someone you love choose someone else over you, every single time?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut to Rafe. He had. His whole life he watched his dad choose Sarah. Watched his mom choose another family over him. Watched Wheezie choose another sibling over him.

“Get in, I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

Six months ago, you hopped in Rafe Cameron’s Range Rover and left The Cut behind. You didn’t question the decision, knowing you’d worry about everyone else before taking care of yourself, and that clearly didn’t work in the past. You felt horribly guilty about leaving John B with no indication whether you were okay or not, but you knew if one of them found out, JJ would be busting down the door to Rafe’s bedroom before you had a chance to say no. 

While you weren’t sure what the original intentions had been, Rafe was so different with you after bringing you back to his new house. One he’d bought after selling Tannyhill, free from the haunting of his father and the screams that echoed off the walls, he had turned it into a safe space for himself and anyone he invited in.

Things blossomed quickly and you realized the Rafe in front of you was not the bully, coke-head addict you’d once known. He was such a gentle person, and so much more attentive to you than JJ had ever been. Whether it was making you breakfast in bed before you left for the day, or prepping a warm (actually warm, like hot water you’d hadn’t had in forever) candle lit bath, or popping an expensive bottle of wine just for you to taste, he was there in ways nobody had been. You were his girl, his only girl, and you never once had to question that.

Rafe had even invited you to sit in on his investment meetings and he was slowly pulling your name into his business so you’d have a professional background to grow into. You were steadily becoming an educated little couple in his home, something he was so proud and grateful for. He had someone to lean on for advice and give him fresh eyes on new projects with no judgment or fear of anger. The two of you soaked up your bubble of peace for as long as you could before shit hit the fan. 

Little did you know, on the other side of the island with your brother, there had been absolutely no peace. John B and JJ barely spoke, everything ending in an argument when they did. Pope was sick of playing mediator, and Kie had more of less shut down out of guilt. Sarah was still searching for you, but you’d gone ghost. Cleo was treading lightly with the knowledge that everything would explode eventually. 

So, they did what they could, and dove into treasure hunting. When JJ pulled the amulet out of his pocket in the back of the Twinkie, John B’s emotions were mixed. Sure, he was stoked that he’d found the object the group was looking for, but he wished you were here. It was your birthday, and John B was inches away from losing his shit without you.

“Dude, are you okay?” Pope asked as the group stood in the office area of the house, trying to find more information on the amulet’s inscription.

John B tossed the heavy object on the desk in frustration. “No, I’m not okay! We can find decades old treasure like it’s the easiest thing ever, but we can’t find jack shit about my sister? That’s bullshit, Pope. And you know it.”

Pope knew things would be sensitive today. Even JJ woke up grouchy, which John B told him was deserved since he caused your absence in the first place. The lack of your presence weighed heavy on the group, so Pope suggested going to visit one of your favorite beach spots. 

Little did he know what he was getting himself into.

--

“Rafe!” The house was filled with your laughter as Rafe twirled you in the kitchen lighting, your favorite song playing from the interactive speaker on the counter. The two of you had spent the day together, visiting the country club for lunch before Rafe took you shopping for something to wear tonight.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme love on you, it’s your birthday” He mumbled as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, hands squeezing your hips teasingly. The soft fabric of the dress he’d picked out covered your frame, the color matching your skin perfectly. 

You hummed in content, fingers holding his biceps tightly as if your knees would give out any second. “You loved on me a lot this morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Rafe’s thumb traced your bottom lip before he kissed you softly. “You make it so easy.”

The two of you got lost in each other for a few more moments, soaking up the quiet as the orange sunset started casting through the windows. Today had been the best day you’d had in so long and you were so grateful of Rafe for giving you so much patience and love.

It had taken time for you to adjust to this kind of life. You walked in here with three outfits to your name, a busted cell phone, and a stuffed animal John B won you at the town festival as kids. And Rafe embraced every bit of it, let you keep your Pogue pieces while building you a life around it that was filled with items you needed but would never ask for, all while loving you so gently.

You climbed out of his car (technically the one he’d bought you but you refused to acknowledge that), and stepped down into the soft sand below. This was your spot, the spot you came to whenever you needed to clear your head or take a moment alone. You’d shared it with Rafe shortly after everything changed, and now, it was a shared spot that you both considered special.

Rafe moved around the car to grab your hand and guide you toward the area he had organized for the two of you. A small white table had been set up with your favorite snacks and two glasses of wine, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket and pillows you’d seen. 

“Did you do this?” You squeezed his hand tighter, tears in your eyes at how sweet and thoughtful the gesture was. Your jaw dropped as the two of you walked closer; everything was thought out down to the tiny forks you loved so much being there to pick up the appetizers. 

“Course I did, baby.” Rafe kissed your temple softly and grabbed one of the glasses to hand to you before taking hold of his own. You clinked your glass against his, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply in appreciation.

And then everything went to shit.

“What the fuck?”

Rafe’s hand tightened against your lower back, both of you looking over to see the handful of figures standing a few feet away. Your heart went to your throat went you made eye contact with your brother, whose hand was wrapped in Sarah’s. JJ stood behind him along with Kiara, Pope, and Cleo, all of them looking at you expectantly.

“Shit,” You whispered and took a step back from Rafe, eyes meeting his in dread. His expression had hardened at the sight of JJ, all the anger rushing back when he thought about how you’d been treated in the relationship, how unfair everything had been. You clocked the frustration in his gaze and placed your fingers on his cheek to redirect his focus back to you. “Don’t. I’ll handle it.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked but he didn’t argue as you slipped your wine glass back into his hand and left his side to approach the group standing in front of you. You weren’t even worried about JJ or Kie, you were worried about John B more than anything.

“Hi,” The greeting was so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself. How do you talk to people you disappeared on six months ago?

John B’s only response was to pull you into the tightest hug he had ever given. You stumbled with the force of his body colliding with you before regaining your balance and returning the embrace. 

“You’re okay,” He repeated the words to himself as if convincing his mind that they were true before stepping back and holding your cheeks in his hands. The smile on his face was huge, and you were so so confused. “Holy shit.”

“Hi,” You laughed quietly, placing your hands on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”

John B shook his head, his thumb brushing the random tear from your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I told you to take a break, yeah? And you did.”

You glanced back to where Rafe was surprisingly conversing with Sarah with no anger in sight. The pit in your stomach slowly disappeared as you took them in and turned your attention back to John B. “I um… there’s a lot to catch you up on, and I want to tell you. I wanna tell you all of it, JB, but-”

“And I wanna hear it,” He reassured softly. “But someone put a lot of effort into your night and I don’t wanna steal any of it.”

You were so goddamn grateful for your brother. Pulling John B into another hug, you spared the look over his shoulder to see Kiara stomping away from the beach. You tried to keep a smirk off your face but it definitely made its way through. 

Stepping back from John B, you shared hugs with Cleo and Pope, promising that you would see them soon before you were face to face with the reason you made it here in the first place. JJ looked rough. His hair was chaotic, arms thinner than you remembered, and he just looked tired.

“I don’t want your apology,” You spoke as he opened his mouth. “And it looks like you have a girlfriend to go find anyway.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JJ replied quickly as he stared at you. “Not anymore.”

You pulled your lips in and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you around, JJ.”

He reached a hand out toward you when you moved to walk away. You paused just out of his reach and looked back. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You nodded. “I know. I should be thanking you actually, because if you had said it back to me that day, I wouldn’t have found something so much better.”

And with that, you walked away from JJ and the empty promises he had always given, walked away straight into the arms of someone who would give you the world and more, if you just so much as asked.

--

navigation 

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Capture the Flag

luke castellan x reader

pt 2

A/N: now that i'm writing for other fandoms, feel free to let me know if you only want to be on a hotd taglist. But now, please enjoy the strongest swordsman in camp halfblood

TW: MAJOR SMUT, slight bondage, rough smut, violence, lowkey dark(ish)!luke

word count: 1,699 words

You want Luke Castellan’s head speared on your sword.

It’s like you spend every minute preparing for capture the flag because of him. He spends every last minute of each game cutting down your teammates and stealing your flag, so now it’s time to change the tactic. You ditch your father’s usual battle advice of going for the kill and hope that defence is the best offence for once. You also pray that he will guide your sword anyhow. So there you stand, guarding your flag with two of your most vicious teammates. You dodge the blue team’s first attack that was supposed to draw you off. You may have a short temper but you aren’t stupid. And you’re more than pleased to see the look of surprise on Luke’s face as he approaches.

“Fucking Ares kids.” He grumbles, sword drawn.

“Were you not expecting me, Castellan?” You ask with a vengeful smirk.

He goes right for you. You’re the biggest threat there but he likes to think you’re not even close to his skill level. You would believe that the man plans to cut you down and then your teammates. He always aims for the glory of it all.

“How’s your team gonna get our flag if you’re here?” He asks as he makes the first swing. It’s much better to start off on offence and he’s the one coming at you.

“Who cares. When you’re done, so is your team.” You block him, hating to be on defence but he’s too quick.

“Gods, you didn’t plan ahead of that? There really isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Other than rage of course.”

  You’re a hothead. He knows it. You know it and it doesn’t take much to rile you up. When you’re riled up, you get sloppy. At this point, you don’t care if he guts you, you go for the little fucker’s ankles. You’re actually surprised when he stumbles from blocking your attack. It’s a stupid mistake, especially for him. Though, you aren’t going to let a chance like this slip by. You keep pushing him back, trying to leave him no chance to think in between swings. He trips over a log behind him, the sword falling from his hand. He has no chance now, not on the ground and you won’t be letting him get up.

“Who’s the idiot now?” 

He looks at you as you approach slowly, taunting him. He then grabs his sword and makes a break for it. You’re too shocked to even keep him down.

What the fuck.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke Castellan run from a fight. Not in your 4 years at camp. So you chase after him.

He’s fast, faster than you but you push yourself. He trails away… and away. Then you lose him. 

“Godsdamnit!” You scream into the woods as you jog around where you last saw him. 

You know you can’t stray for long if you’re not fighting Luke so you turn to make your way back to the flag. That’s when he jumps out at you with his sword swinging. You barely have time to block and it puts you off your balance. He swings at you again and again. You fall as you continue to block the merciless strikes. You’re practically holding your sword in the air and hoping for the best. The best doesn’t come as the weapon flies from your hand. He descends on you, straddling your waist as he holds the blade to your throat. He’s smirking.

“You don’t try nearly hard enough.” He says to you. “I know you’re not very clever but hades, my teammates probably already have the flag over the barrier.” 

That’s when you realize how easily you were deceived. Luke didn’t run from you because you bested him; he ran to draw you off. It was a pathetically simple plan and it worked. The heat rises to your cheeks from humiliation. He grabs your two hands and pins them above your head, his grip gentle but also firm.

“I’ll put you in your grave.” You spit out at him.

“Will you now? While I have you essentially restrained?” He’s clearly amused.

You struggle beneath him with all your force but all you manage to do is roll your hips against him, earning a groan from the man. You feel it too, the burning ache between your thighs. You want him. Worse yet, he wants you.

“Let me up.” 

“No. I think you quite like how I have you pinned to the ground.” He smirks.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re wet.”

He slips a knee between your thighs and rubs it against your clothed pussy. It takes everything in you not to whimper.

“S-Stop.” You stutter out.

“Make me.” He murmurs, continuing to make you grind down on his knee as he leans down and forces you into a hot kiss. You hate how you kiss back, so hungry for him. Your mind is clouded with lust for a moment before you realize the advantage he is giving you. You never technically conceded.

As swiftly as you can, you wrap your free leg around his waist and use your whole strength to throw him off you, startling him enough to free your hands.

“You bitch.” He groans as you jab him in the stomach to try and give yourself enough time to grab your sword but it doesn’t work. He grabs you by the ankle and yanks hard. You slam to the ground right on your stomach. He moves to restrain you by sitting on your thighs so you can’t move your legs and holds your hands behind your back. You clearly didn’t consider how inevitably stronger he is than you.

“Shit.” You whine. His hold isn’t nearly as gentle this time.

“That was a cheap fucking shot.” He says cruelly. He’s pissed now.

“Fuck you. Castellan!” Gods it goes straight to his dick when you call him by his last name. He grips your hair with his free hand and pulls back hard so you have to look at him. You whine again at the sharp pain.

“You just can’t play fair, can you, princess? Maybe I won’t either then.”

 He drops your head and you hear him rustling with something. You realize it’s his belt when you feel the leather against your wrists. He’s binding you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is full of rage but to him, you just sound petulant. 

 “What you need.” Is his simple answer.

He shifts down so he sits, or rather kneels, with your legs between his. He’s amused by your renewed writhing as an attempt to escape. It is pitiful really. Oh well, he’ll have you writhing for a different reason soon enough.

His fingertips glide across your waist, to your hips and then to your thighs, causing your back to arch upwards slightly, your stomach dipping. He brings his lips down to your ear, his voice is deep and lustful as he says, “Your body seems to know what it wants.”

“I’ll kill you.” You promise.

“Oh, i’m sure you will. But right now, you fucking belong to me.” He yanks on your hair again so you have to look at him and your eyes water from the pain. “I think you like me hurting you.” His other hand slips between your thighs to rub your clit and you let out a strangled moan. “For a girl who is so controlling, it’s interesting how badly you enjoy me manhandling you.”

He yanks your pants down and slips your helmet under your hips so your ass stays high in the air with your chest to the ground.

“This is fucked up.” You say.

“You love it. Your panties are soaked.” And he’s completely right. You’ve never been so turned on before but not a lot of men are as strong and good-looking as Luke Castellan.

He pulls your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping pussy. He begins to palm himself through his pants and unzips them. “You have about three seconds to tell me if you don’t actually want this.”

You are silent and he chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Before you can even prepare yourself or form a thought, his fat cock is shoved inside of you, splitting you open.

“Ah, Luke!” You moan at the pain and pleasure.

“Gods, this is the tightest little pussy i’ve had.” He begins to fuck in and out of you relentlessly, giving you no time to adjust. “Yeah, you’re good for me now, baby. Such a good little cocksleeve.” He punctuates his last words with hard thrusts, the head of his cock bullying into you each time.

All you can do is repeat his name like a mantra as you get pounded on the forest floor by the strongest swordsman in camp. It’s even worse as he begins to rub your clit again, sending you so close to the edge.

“Never gonna have enough of you after this.” Luke murmurs as he feels you squeezing around him. “My good girl.” 

That’s what sends you tumbling over the edge, bringing Luke with you as you do. He never could’ve kept going, not with the way your walls were squeezing around him. He pulls out almost instantly so he can watch his cum spill out of you. He doesn’t wipe it. He just pulls your panties back on and fixes the both of you up. You’re thoroughly spent, he can tell by the way you pant as he releases your wrists.

“You okay?” He asks as he helps you sit up. He grabs your hands so he can kiss the marks on your wrists. After all you’ve done, that’s the act that makes you blush furiously. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out.

“I’ll be nicer next time, I promise. Somebody just had to put you in your place first.” He grins wolfishly.

“Next time?” 

That’s when you hear the horn. The blue team has won again.

He pecks a kiss to your cheek. “Time to claim my kleos.” He says cockily before jogging off to meet his team.

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

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Anyway, while people are discoursing about men and not sharing Shubble points, here’s the actual advice I got from watching the stream bc I think that probably needs to be spread more. Shubble elaborates it much better but if you can’t watch it’s better than nothing.

Physical abuse is not just hitting or kicking, anyone causing physical pain intentionally to you without consent is physically abusive, regardless of how that manifests or if it seems silly.

Pressuring someone into using a safeword on something that’s not, like, a mutually agreed thing and is just something one partner wants is controlling and creepy.

Partners who push at the edge of your boundaries and avoid safewords are abusive.

A partner insisting you’re remembering things wrong and making you seem crazy is abusive (specifically, it’s gaslighting)

Grand romantic gestures from the beginning can very easily be a sign of abuse, as abusers use it to endear themselves to their victims.

Controlling behaviour and refusing to break up while also refusing to make changes is possessive and unhealthy at best.

Abusers will manipulate things to make it seem normal to those outside of their victims- by being kind and helpful even as they neglect their victim, by pressuring their victim to treat their abusive behaviour as a joke, ect. It’s often very hard for an outside observer to know if something is abusive, and making assumptions off of what you know in front of closed doors isn’t helpful.

It’s very hard to tell that you’re being abused, and you'll often still retain affection for your abuser for a long time- this is normal, and this isn’t your fault if you wanted to stay friends.

Even if an abuser is struggling with their own problems, taking it out on you is not acceptable. People can be bottling up their emotions and struggle with depression and past trauma and that gives them no excuse to hurt you.

If your partner relies entirely on you to take care of them, and support them financially, that’s financial abuse one way or another.

Abusers tend to hurt more than one person, and their actions escalate without outside influence (be it intervention if possible or something that keeps them away from victims if not.)

Listen to your gut, if you think a relationship is bad. Even if you’ve been through this before, sometimes you can’t realise in it, but you’ll feel it subconciously.

Also, Shubble is being supported by friends who helped her cope and went through different but similar things. She's specifically mentioned right now keeping the stories anonymised, but she might change her mind, if I interpreted the last bit correctly. She's doing alright, she's healing, and it sounds like she's being believed by her friends, at least most of them. I wish nothing but growth and healing for them, and wish them the best moving forward.

[bellanothadidloa]

I've been receiving a lot of inquiries since sharing my success story, and while I'm not planning to start a blog, I do want to address some common questions here.

Did I manifest everything from the void?

Yes, everything I listed was indeed manifested when I entered the void, as outlined in my story. I've had some successes with various experiments before, but none reached the level of my most recent attempt.

What was the most crucial factor in achieving the final breakthrough?

I wish there was a straightforward answer, but it probably boils down to the realization that no matter how much I complained or cried, I was determined not to give up. I would read success stories and find myself in tears because they mirrored the life I aspired to have. I wanted to shift realities, be wealthy, happy, and beautiful—it might sound vain, but that's what I desired. I longed to feel free, unbound by any world, and to pursue my own path. Who wouldn't want that? At some point, I asked myself, would I still be trying to shift at 30, while struggling with dietary issues caused by gut praxis disorder? If the answer was yes, what did that mean? It meant I wasn't going to give up. So, I kept trying different things, knowing that eventually, something would work. Inner work is essential, but I believe it's inevitable. The longest journey I've seen took seven years. Do I want that for myself? Absolutely not, but what if it happens? The very acceptance of that possibility means you're not giving up, so what does it matter?

What method did you use?

As I've mentioned, I've tried every method. The final one that worked was the morphic field. I don't really care whether it was the morphic fields or something else that clicked within me. As I mentioned earlier, I realized I was sad, but I knew I wasn't going to give up, so I let myself be sad. Who cares? Let me be angry; I'm still not giving up. So, why fight those feelings? I cared and was disappointed and scared, but I just decided to trust in the fields because, in the end, it didn't matter whether they worked or not. I wasn't giving up.

How do you feel now that you've achieved your dream life?

I've managed to transform my life and self-concept, and along with being incredibly happy, I feel a mix of sadness for everything I endured and pride for how I pushed myself before succeeding. Initially, I thought it would be hypocritical to say I love myself after I changed everything about myself, looks and life, but I realized this is my life, and I'm still the same person, just with desires that now align with my reality. Why would I want to be unhappy in a life that makes no sense to be sad in? I don't believe anyone deserves or doesn't deserve anything. Do what you want, pursue inner work if you wish, or just manifest your desires. Personally, I didn't feel the need to do the inner work after manifesting my dream life, but I know some people do, and that's beautiful too. Life is just beautiful.

How to mend your relationship with the void?

The only advice I can offer from my experience is to acknowledge that you're not giving up on it. It reminds me of toxic relationships where despite infidelity, they say, "I know where home is." Unlike those misguided people, the void genuinely serves its purpose and supports you. It already knows its home is with you, whether you realize it or not, and that's all that matters.

How did you exit the void state ?

Exiting the void was a simple experience for me. I simply took a deep, calming breath and set a clear intention to leave. The sensation that followed was like tunnel vision, where everything around me seemed to narrow and focus. This was followed by a profound sense of detachment from any sense of self, almost like becoming weightless or losing a sense of individual identity. When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself in a completely new room, confirming that I had successfully transitioned out of the void and back to reality with everything on my life

Did everything you wanted come true?

Oh, absolutely—and then some! I ended up getting things I didn't even know I wanted. The way I look now is even better than my Pinterest boards ever dreamed of. Like, I had this idea for how I wanted my room to look, trying to mash together different vibes and aesthetics, and it turned out way better than I could have pictured. I was stuck between wanting a curvy figure and that sleek Bella Hadid look, but somehow I got the best of both worlds, which is exactly what I was hoping for.

I wasn’t even thinking about changing my eye color, but it happened, and I absolutely love it. I thought I'd revise old friends, but instead, I found new, amazing people who fit into my life perfectly. Now that I’ve got a better sense of self, I see this is exactly what I really wanted deep down. Everything just fell into place so perfectly, and it feels like I've finally got a handle on what I truly wanted all along.

Can you manifest things for other people?

Well, yeah, but it’s kind of like it's really just about yourself in a way. I mean, there have been times when I managed to manifest things for my brother, but oddly enough, I struggled to do the same for myself. It's weird, right? I don't fully understand how manifestation works in every detail. I just kind of go with the flow and assume it works the way I want it to. If I can pull off all these manifestations, then why not just trust that I can manifest whatever I want, however I want it? That's the mindset I've adopted, and it seems to work for me.

What's it like being a master shifter?

It's like waking up and remembering who you truly are, and almost laughing at all the suffering you experienced. When you think about it, you might have lowkey created that suffering yourself, which is kind of sadistic, but instead of holding onto any negative emotions about the journey, I just appreciate my life more. It’s a mix of joy and bliss. I still remember my old life, sure, but somehow, this new reality feels just right. It's like destiny exists, and I’ve finally found mine.

This concludes everything for me, and I’ve decided I won't be continuing my blog any longer. I've shared a lot of helpful insights in the past, but I won't be actively posting from now on. Thank you all for the love and support. I’ve reached a point where I no longer have a reason to continue here, and soon, you won't either. Goodbye and take care!

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter fourteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.9k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thanks again for your patience everyone!! i know it’s been a month since the last update but my extracurriculars and class load this semester are insane and i sometimes only get home at 9:30pm so i don’t have too much down time to write x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐙-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍. 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟑:𝟏𝟓𝐏𝐌.

Tashi couldn’t believe she was standing in the back alley of a hotel with Patrick Zweig. She had been hiding in the hotel lounge for the last half hour because she knew you were upstairs meeting Lily for the first time, and the last thing Tashi wanted was to ruin that. It was better to strategise against Art’s future opponents and ignore the sharp pain in her chest than to think about you meeting her daughter without her. 

Patrick coming by to talk to her was her last straw. Tashi didn’t hide her irritation, nor how unimpressed she was with what Patrick had made of his life. All that talent and privilege was wasted on him. Scanning him up and down, Tashi made no effort to hide her disdained frown. 

“I’m going to propose something to you,” Patrick declared. He exhaled, sending a cloud of cigarette smoke to Tashi’s face. 

She jerked back. “Can you blow it away from me, please?” 

“Sorry.”

Tashi rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how Y/N put up with the smoking,” she mentioned off-handedly. “She used to say it was the single most disgusting thing a person could do.”

“I never did it while she was around, and I quit the year she won Wimbledon,” Patrick defended himself. “Started up again the night we broke up. Anyway, I want you to be my coach.” 

Tashi turned her whole body to face Patrick and stared. Even though he wore his typical entertained smirk, Tashi knew he was being serious. “What?” she exclaimed, unimpressed. 

“Even if he wins the Open, completes his career Grand Slam, Art’s still gonna retire as someone who’s just really, really good,” Patrick pointed out. “That’s what you guys will have done together.” As Tashi felt her blood boil with anger, she inched closer to Patrick and didn’t bother to keep the incredulous expression off her face. “But imagine if you could turn Patrick Zweig into a guy who wins a slam. I still have a season. I still have one good season, and I need you to bring it out of me.” By the end of his speech, Tashi’s mouth was slightly agape. Her eyes were comically wide, wondering how and why Patrick could feel so entitled to ask this of her. “So… what do you think?” He smiled expectantly, placing the cigarette back between his lips. 

Tashi reached out and slapped him across the face. The cigarette flung from his mouth to the ground from the impact, and Tashi held back from hitting him a second time. “How fucking dare you?” she exclaimed.

From the pain, Patrick groaned, “Jesus Christ!” 

“You want my best piece of advice? Do you want me to coach you?” Tashi goaded him, fixing him with a withering stare. “Okay, quit,” she ordered. “Quit right now. Right the fuck now, quit.”

“You know that when I’m good, I’m one of the best in the world.”

“You are 271st best in the fucking world,” Tashi corrected him. “Everyone forgot about you, Patrick. The only reason anybody knew or cared about you was because of Y/N. Back then, you were her sweetheart. And even if you weren’t playing at your best, it was a hell of a lot better than you’re playing now.”

It was a jab in the gut for Patrick, but he had expected it. He had a better ranking ten years ago, but Patrick hadn’t cracked the top 200 in several years. Realistically, he had no reason to expect Tashi to agree to coach him. The only time he was truly one of the best players in the world was in the Junior League, and that was a lifetime ago. The tennis world hadn’t cared about Patrick Zweig since word got out that you broke up; they weren’t about to start caring now that he was at the end of his mediocre, unmemorable career. 

“I still have a shot,” Patrick protested. It would have been more accurate to say I still want to win her back.

Her eyebrows raised. “You’re 31. You have a better shot with a handgun in your mouth,” Tashu accused. She knew it was crude and unfair, but she was at her wits end with him. 

Patrick scoffed and laughed at the same time. 

Despite everything they’d gone through, he liked it when Tashi was mean. Not only did it feel more authentic to who she was, but it meant he had her attention. Most people would have just walked away. You would have just walked away. You would have told Patrick that he wasn’t worth your time and kept your emotions out of it. That’s just the type of person you were. You could keep her calm on the court and in your personal life, but Tashi’s temper always ran a little hotter than that of her former best friend. 

“I mean, why don’t you go home?!” Tashi wondered. “Go home, ask your parents for a seat on the board, or you know what, matter of fact, ask them for some money. Okay? Go be like any other spoiled kid who has ever amounted to nothing in their fucking life, and stop this performance of being a down-on-your-luck professional!”

The amused grin slipped from Patrick’s face, hardening his expression as he lowered his eyes to the ground. It was a low blow, and it only made Patrick think of how he lost you all those years ago. You can still make something of yourself, you used to say. Forget your family and forget people’s expectations. You were born to play tennis, and you deserve to have your shot at greatness. 

It had been a long time since Patrick heard that kind of encouragement. 

“Tashi–”

“–No, you’re not 20 years old anymore,” she interrupted him. “And it’s not cute to be walking around pretending like you need to grind it out at these bumfuck tournaments, and sleep in your fucking car! And it is–” Tashi scoffed, holding a finger up to emphasise her words– “Unforgivable that you would ask me to devote a single second of my fucking time to help you achieve your fucking dreams! What dreams, Patrick?” Slightly out of breath from her rent, Tashi paused and waited for Patrick to give any indication that he had dreams or goals for himself. “You never had any!” 

Regardless of the truth in Tashi’s words, it was unfair of her to act like he never had dreams. Perhaps tennis had always been a way for Patrick to avoid a regular job and stop relying on his parents, but he had dreams outside of his career. All the things Art wanted—kids, marriage, success, happiness—Patrick wanted them to. But above everything, Patrick wanted you. 

You were the one who rejected his proposal. If everything had gone his way, he would be with you now. A small voice in the back of Patrick’s head reminded him that he was the one who walked out that night and ended your relationship, but clear thinking had no place in Patrick Zweig’s mind, so he cast it aside. 

“Is that what you and Art are doing?” Patrick asked sarcastically. He was tired of Tashi’s preaching and wanted to remind her of the reality of her own marital situation. “Living the dream?” The words permeated mockery and smug gratification.

Tashi laughed shortly. “That is exactly what the fuck we’re doing.” 

Patrick nodded slowly, lips pressed together as he searched every inch of Tashi’s face. “Then how come he’s still hung up on Y/N?” The anger fizzled out of Tashi’s eyes, replaced with a bout of raw emotion she couldn’t keep under wraps. Pure, unadulterated vulnerability spread across her face, hinting at Art’s ongoing love for you. “Maybe the two of you really are living the dream on the outside, but you know he still loves her. The rest of the world might not know it, but I can see right through your perfect marriage act. He’s practically a shell of himself.”

“I think you might be projecting,” Tashi retorted, not wanting to give Patrick the satisfaction of knowing he was right. “Your entire world might revolve around the fact that Y/N didn’t want to marry you, but some of us have moved on with our lives,” she added. “And our careers.”

“Right.” Patrick chuckled, unconvinced by her tough facade. “Does he ever say her name instead of yours?” he wondered, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “When it’s really late at night, and he’s tired from practice. Does he lie in your shared bed and tell you good night, and he loves you, but then he calls you Y/N? Because exhaustion is a little bit like truth serum sometimes.”

“What, are you jealous?” Tashi taunted. “Do you wish the last thing Art thought about before closing his eyes was you? After all, it’s been a long time since you used to push your hotel beds together and fall in love with the same girl.”

Patrick grinned, wondering, “If your life with Art is so perfect then how come you hate him?” Tashi paused, leaning back to put some distance between herself and Patrick. “You do. It’s obvious, you do.” Sighing, Tashi looked away and clenched her jaw with irritation. “You can feel him giving up already, even though you know he’s not going to retire until you let him.”

“He is a grown man–” Tashi reminded him. 

“–Sure–”

“–He can do whatever he wants!”

“Sure, but he doesn’t. He does whatever you want,” Patrick argues. “Except now, he’s not even pretending to like it.” Tashi sighed, inching closer as he continued to pick apart her picture of the perfect married family. Patrick was right, Art was done with tennis. Everyone could see it. “He’s dreaming about eating hamburgers again. Watching your daughter, um–” Patrick snapped his fingers– “Uh, Lily, grow up. Maybe doing some commentary on the Tennis Channel. He’s ready to be dead. And you’re starting to realise you might not want to be buried with him, ’cause who is he to you if he’s not playing tennis?” 

Tashi’s jaw tightened as she clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. Her chest rose and fell with deliberate, shallow breaths, trying to steady herself, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her frustration. She could feel Patrick’s eyes on her, the smugness barely concealed behind his neutral expression, as though he didn’t feel self-righteous for seeing through the facade of her and Art’s marriage. Her brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly together.

“So that’s what you think he is to me?” Tashi realised angrily. “A racket and a dick.”

For a moment, Patrick said nothing. Then, “Does Art know about Atlanta?” Tashi’s breath caught in her throat, icy tendrils of shock creeping down her spine as his words echoed in her ears. She shivered, her eyes widening as she stared at him, suddenly exposed. “You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches. I think you came for something else,” Patrick continued.

A sharp, disbelieving laugh burst from Tashi’s lips, sounding foreign even to her ears as she shook her head in disbelief. The absurdity of the moment overwhelmed her, and she let out another incredulous chuckle, her eyes narrowing as if to ask, Are you serious? “You think I came here for you?” she cried out. “You think I came here to throw it all away–” Tashi motioned her hand in a circle for emphasis– “For you?”

Patrick’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, his lake-blue eyes glinting with a quiet confidence that unsettled Tashi. It was as if he held some unspoken truth, something lurking beneath the surface, and the certainty in his expression made her stomach twist in uneasy anticipation. “No, I’m not stupid enough to think you did all this for me. Like always, this is about Y/N,” Patrick revealed. “In one way or another, she’s the one that got away. I don’t expect you or Art to give up on her just because so many years have passed. Just like I’m not going to give up on her.”

Tashi rolled her eyes. “So, what? You think me coaching you is going to help both of us get on Y/N’s good side?” She shook her head sadly, her throat tightening as a familiar lump rose, making it hard to swallow. The weight of what they had done hung between them and you like an unbridgeable chasm, and Tashi knew there was no way to mend what they’d broken. “What we did is unforgivable. Maybe Art could get over it, but we slept together the night you broke up with her, knowing it would break her heart.”

“Maybe that would change if she just saw me,” Patrick suggested. 

“She has seen you. You look like shit,” Tashi retorted dryly. She started to walk past Patrick, her steps quick and determined, but just before she could leave him behind, she stopped and turned sharply. “You're an even bigger idiot than I thought if this is your plan to get her back,” Tashi said, her voice low but commanding, drawing his full attention as she stood her ground. “She’d have to fall in love with Art all over again to be with him, and you know she will if he becomes a part of her life again.” She motioned to the hotel. “She’s upstairs right now meeting Lily for the first time.”

Patrick smiled dejectedly, the corners of his mouth barely lifting as he wondered if it was finally time to give up, the fight draining from his eyes. “So you think I should quit on her?” he asked.

“Don’t you get it?” Tashi wondered exasperatedly. “With Art, she has to get to know him and fall in love with him a second time. With you, she just has to admit that she still loves you,” she explained. 

“I’m going to beat him,” Patrick declared, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “If we both make it to the final, I’m going to beat him.” 

Tashi met his gaze and held it, her eyes softer than they had ever been, hoping he could see the flicker of honesty she usually kept hidden. For the first time, there was a quiet sympathy there that she had never given him. “Even if you could beat him, it wouldn’t change anything,” she corrected him. 

“It’ll break him. You know it will,” Patrick replied. If Patrick beat Art in a match, Art would feel like he lost you all over again. It would be his final strike, and he’d never play a game of tennis again. More importantly, the part of Art that always longed to reconnect with Patrick and you would be shattered past the point of return.

“It won’t make you. Okay? It’s too late for that,” Tashi pointed out. “And it definitely won’t win you Y/N back. Not being a tennis champion will always be your insecurity; your problem with your relationship. Not hers. You wanted to beat Art, but she just wanted you.” 

𝟎𝟓:𝟑𝟎����𝐌.

After finishing the movie with Art and Lily, the three of you ordered room-service ice cream before you excused yourself. Reconnecting with Art had been great, but you weren’t ready to face Tashi yet. 

Exiting the elevator, you felt your heart leap in your throat when a voice greeted you, “So you’ll talk to Art but not me?”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick,” you yelped. Your heart raced at the sight of Patrick leaning casually against the wall, a familiar yet unwelcome presence. His expression was a mix of anticipation and apprehension, as if he had been waiting to talk to you but feared what you might say. “What are you doing here?” you asked, stepping out of the way of people entering the elevator. 

“Actually, I was just talking to Tashi,” Patrick confessed. 

Your features smoothed into impeccable neutrality, not giving a single emotion or thought away. “I didn’t know the circus was in town—guess I missed the memo,” you quipped, unimpressed at the thought of your ex and ex-best friend getting together.

When Patrick laughed, your heart stopped; it was painstakingly familiar, just as boyish and uninhibited as the day you first met him. It was almost painful how easy it was to fall back into old habits with Patrick as you forced yourself not to smile or react. 

“That’s cute,” he mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets. “But seriously, you and Art are friends now?”

“Art has a lot less to be sorry for than you do,” you retorted, raising an eyebrow. 

Maybe it was residual anger from talking to Tashi, but Patrick didn’t like that you chose to make up with Art instead of him. He searched your face for understanding, mind racing with images of you laughing with Art, the intimacy you shared lingering like a spectre between you. How could you move past your issues with Art while Patrick felt tethered to his mistakes? 

As Patrick stood before you, he felt a knot of insecurity tightening in his stomach, the words tumbling from his mouth with an edge of desperation. “Okay, fine. You’re right, sleeping with Tashi the night we broke up was wrong, but I proposed and you said no. Why am I the bad guy?” he questioned, his voice barely masking the hurt beneath. 

Your heart ached at the thought that he believed you were at fault for your relationship ending, the weight of his accusation pressing down on your chest like a heavy stone. As memories of that night flooded back—Patrick’s tense expression, the ultimatum hanging in the air like a guillotine—tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Your hands trembled as you fought to steady yourself, each breath coming shallow and uneven. 

“Did you forget how I begged for your understanding that night, how shattered I was by your ultimatum?” you questioned, voice hoarse and quiet with emotion. The injustice twisted in your gut, leaving you feeling raw and heartbroken, as if the wounds of your past were being reopened. “I begged you to change your mind, I begged you to give me time and keep dating because I didn’t want to break up. But you would rather end our relationship or force me to do something I wasn’t ready for.”

“‘Force’ you?” Patrick echoed. “I was in love with you, I wanted to start my future with you! You couldn’t even give me a reason why you didn’t want to get married!”

“You couldn’t give me a good reason as to why we should get married,” you argued pointedly. “It was so sudden and you were in such a bad place, I just felt like the entire proposal was driven by your insecurities and fears rather than what it should be about: us wanting to spend our lives together.”

Patrick stiffened at your mention of his insecurities, a grip of vulnerability wrapping around him as he felt himself freeze. The old fear surged back, a familiar ache in his chest, making him acutely aware of how exposed he was to you. You could always see through the carefully constructed walls Patrick had built around himself, just as he could see through yours. When he first met you, it was one of the reasons Patrick fell in love with you. Now, after everything you’d been through together, it was terrifying. 

He swallowed hard, the sting of anxiety creeping in. “I asked you to marry me and you said no. Forgive me if I felt a little insecure and needed to know that you actually wanted to be in this relationship,” Patrick replied. 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” you insisted. “And I never said no! I said I needed time; I needed to process.”

“If it’s not a yes, it’s a no,” Patrick disagreed with you. 

“You see–” you gestured to Patrick with your hands for emphasis– “This is why we broke up! I never said no! I said that I loved you and that I wanted nothing more than to marry you and have a family someday, but you…” Groaning, you buried your face in your hands and muttered, “God, I can’t believe we’re doing this in public.” You dropped your hands and met Patrick’s tearful blue-green gaze. “You were already done with me.”

“I was ‘done’? By proposing to you, I was ‘done’?”

“No, by not waiting for me to be ready, you decided you were done! I wasn’t asking for our relationship to end, I was asking for time to get my thoughts together and stop freaking out so that I could make a choice! But you made that choice for me when you told me that I had to marry you or you were breaking up with me,” you explained. “My whole life before Stanford, someone else was making choices for me. I always thought that you of all people understood that,” you admitted, referencing your controlling mother and his overbearing parents. “But then you threw it back in my face and told me it was now or never; it had to happen or you were leaving. And no matter how much I loved you, I knew that you had given up. Because if you were truly still in it, if you truly still loved me, you would have known that given the choice, I would have picked you.”

Patrick nodded, pressing his lips together. “You were at the top of your game, and I was struggling,” he admitted. “I needed you to believe in me.”

Your chest tightened at Patrick’s words, the sting of his accusation cutting deeper than you expected. “I did believe in you,” you promised desperately. “How could you think I didn’t? I always saw your potential, I always wanted you to succeed.” Your heart ached at the thought that Patrick felt so alone in his struggles. “I was building my career too, and we were both busy. But I always showed up for you.”

Patrick let out a bitter, sad laugh, the sound hollow and laced with disappointment as he struggled to reconcile the memories of what you once shared with the reality of your fractured relationship. “Yeah, and I was always the one who got left behind. You didn’t care what others said about us, did you?”

“Of course I did!” Your voice cracked from the effort of your cry. “I knew it hurt you, but none of those people knew us! I knew you, and I believed in you and our relationship, no matter what other people said.”

“Then why couldn’t you say yes? Why couldn’t you just take that leap with me?”

“Because I wanted to be sure! I didn’t want to rush into something I wasn’t ready for,” you repeated. 

It felt like the two of you were going in circles, each sentence looping back to the same painful points, as if you were trapped in an unending spiral. You could see the frustration etched on Patrick’s face, and you felt your own simmering beneath the surface. Every attempt to clarify your feelings seemed to muddy the waters further, leaving you more entangled in your past. Patrick sighed, the heaviness of your unspoken emotions hanging in the air. You wondered if you would ever find a way to break free from this exhausting cycle or if you were destined to remain forever locked in this dance of hurt.

“So, you thought I’d just stand there, waiting for you to figure it out? You thought you could just put your life on pause while I tried to keep up?” Patrick asked.

“No, but you weren’t patient. You gave up on us the moment you proposed without understanding what it really meant for me,” you argued. “You could have waited. You could have let me come to you in my own time. But instead, you made it all about your insecurities.”

Patrick’s breath grew shaky, each inhalation trembling as he struggled to maintain his composure, and your heart sank at the sight. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unshed tears threatening to spill over. “Then how come every time I picked up a racket, I thought of you?” he asked. “How come every match I played, I wanted to win just so that—for once—you could be proud of me the way I always was of you?”

“Because you were the one who wanted to prove everyone wrong! I just wanted you, no matter what people thought,” you replied steadily. “I didn’t care about you winning, I cared about your happiness. I cared that you were being so hard on yourself just because Art joined the tour and was playing better than you. I cared so much it hurt! But you didn’t see that. You were too busy drowning in your own doubts to see how much I loved you.”

“You could’ve said yes, Y/N,” Patrick insisted. He shook his head, unable to let go of this one point that had plagued him for the last eight years. “You could’ve shown me you believed we could make it work.” You sniffled, choking back tears. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should’ve waited. But that doesn’t change the fact that I loved you enough to want to spend my life with you.”

“And I loved you too,” you reminded him. “But I would have waited a lifetime for you, and you couldn’t even spare me a minute.” Patrick finally let a tear slip down his cheek before wiping it away furiously as if trying to erase the evidence of his vulnerability. Your heart ached at the sight, realising that, even after everything you had been through, he still wouldn’t fully open himself up to you. “I guess sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you love each other. It’s just not enough.”

𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟒, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟏. 𝟏𝟐:𝟏𝟎𝐀𝐌.

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the small velvet box in his trembling hands. He had wanted to propose to you for over a year, ever since he purchased the ring and slipped it into his pocket. But as he sat there, heart racing and mind swirling, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed. You had skyrocketed to fame and success, your career blossoming in ways everyone except you had anticipated—given your incredible talent, hard work, and tenacity to keep improving—while his professional trajectory felt like a slow descent into mediocrity.

As a former junior champion, Patrick had always been compared to Art, who now stood at the pinnacle of the tennis world. Their history together on the court had been golden, two young stars lighting up the doubles scene, but Art’s transition to the professional circuit had been nothing short of meteoric. With his years of training and playing at Stanford, Art had an army of supporters behind him and an incredible team of professionals helping him succeed. He had come onto the scene with finesse and skill that Patrick struggled to match.

Everyone had been right: coasting on talent wasn’t enough in the professional world. 

The media was all too eager to draw comparisons between them, framing Patrick as the one left behind, overshadowed by his former best friend’s rising stardom and his gorgeous grand-slam-champion girlfriend.

Tonight had to be the night Patrick proposed. No other night would do; this was his final chance. It was after midnight, and technically the early morning of the Atlanta Open’s men’s singles final. Patrick felt the weight of impending doom more than anyone else. He knew Art was going to win; everyone did. Art was the brand new golden boy of the American tennis world, keeping up with seasoned players such as Andy Roddick and Mardy Fish. The thought made Patrick clench the ring box tighter. 

Every glance at the ring brought about a fresh wave of doubt. Would you even want to marry someone who was struggling to keep up? You had blossomed into an extraordinary athlete, and every time you spoke of your achievements, Patrick felt a knot tightening in his chest. He loved you fiercely, but the shadows of his insecurities loomed with each passing day. What if you realised you could do better? What if you decided that Art—brilliant, talented, and successful Art—was the man you deserved? The one you truly loved?

It didn’t matter that Art and Tashi were engaged; Patrick was sure Art would drop his fiancée in a heartbeat if he could have you instead.

Shaking his head, Patrick hoped to shake the negative thoughts from his mind, too. He had pictured this moment countless times, but now that the moment had come, he was filled with terror. Patrick stood, pacing the room as excitement and fear swirled in his stomach. His insecurities were at an all-time high, and he felt isolated because he’d been keeping them from his girlfriend. But all Patrick could wonder was how he could propose to you when all he could think about was how far behind he was in the race they were running together? The comparisons to Art haunted him as he silently rehearsed his proposal.

He had to do it before the men’s finals happened in the afternoon, before you realised just how much better Art was than him. Patrick had to be the person who lifted you up. He couldn’t be the one who held you back from being great.

You pushed open the door to your shared hotel room, exhaustion etched into your features as you stepped inside, your shoes pattering softly against the polished floor. You had spent the entire day arranging press engagements for Patrick, switching between arranging interviews and photo ops and phone calls with Elora, who was helping Patrick out for free. You had gone through all this effort to support him during the Atlanta Open, even after he flew out in the penultimate round. 

As you walked through the door, you let out a long sigh, shedding the weight of the day like a heavy coat, and saw Patrick leaning against the wall, a smile breaking across his face.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice warm and inviting. Patrick was proud of how calm and normal he sounded, given how he had raced to throw the ring box in his duffel when he heard your key card swipe against the keypad of your room door. “Long night?” he added sympathetically. 

You nodded, running a hand through your hair, which had fallen out of its perfect style throughout the evening. “You have no idea,” you replied, your tired eyes sparkling just for him. “It feels like I’ve been on the phone for hours talking to people who only treat me nicely when they realise who I am. I hope they’re nicer to Elora when she calls,” you mumbled. “But I’m here now,” you said happily. Wrapping your arms around Patrick’s middle, you hugged your boyfriend tightly and greeted him with a kiss. “How was your night?”

“Terrible,” Patrick replied, nuzzling his nose against your cheek and sighing happily. “My girlfriend up—being the selfless and perfect creature that she is—was gone all day and I missed her very much.” 

You chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear,” you joked. With a startled yelp, you held onto Patrick’s waist as he swapped your positions, pressing you against the wall. You recognised the hungry, desperate look in his lake-blue eyes and smirked. “Wow, you really did miss me,” you mused, resting your head against the wall and admiring your handsome boyfriend. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Patrick replied smoothly. “I always miss you when you’re gone. I’m like a golden retriever with separation anxiety.”

You grinned. “I missed you too, Pat,” you promised. There was a shift in the atmosphere. A nervous energy crackled in the air that hadn’t been there in the morning. You studied Patrick’s expression closely, searching for any clues that might explain the sudden gravity of the moment, your brow furrowing with concern. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and confidence, now held a flicker of uncertainty, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was going on. “Is everything okay?”

Patrick felt the weight of the ring box pressing down on his mind, an unyielding reminder of what he had planned. “Y/N,” he blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Or, rather, ask you something.”

Your expression shifted from fatigue to surprise, your eyes widening as you registered the sudden seriousness in his tone. “You know you can ask me anything,” you encouraged Patrick, your curiosity piqued. Your exhaustion was forgotten, replaced with pure intrigue.

With every nerve in his body screaming at him, Patrick felt the world around him fade away. His palms grew clammy against the wall on either side of your body, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. A wave of nausea washed over him, tightening his stomach as Patrick wrestled with his doubts and insecurities. His mind screamed at him not to do it, warning him that this was a mistake, but deep down, he knew he had to push past the fear.

He needed you to say yes. He needed to grasp onto this moment like a lifeline, believing that getting engaged could fix the uncertainty that loomed over him and his career.

“I know this might seem sudden, but I love you, and I can’t imagine my life without you,” Patrick said slowly, enunciating carefully so you wouldn’t misunderstand. Encouragingly, you cupped his face and nodded for him to go on. The light touch of your fingertips made Patrick shiver, momentarily halting his proposal. Then, he stammered, “W-Will you marry me?”

The air hung heavy with anticipation, and time seemed to stand still as you stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, caught off guard by his unexpected proposal. The sparkle of pure affection in your eyes faltered, replaced by a bewildered look that sent a jolt of anxiety through Patrick. 

He had imagined this moment for so long, picturing a wave of relief washing over him when he asked the question. But now, standing before you, all he could feel was dread, a heavy weight settling in his chest that made it hard to breathe. The uncertain glint in your eyes only deepened his fears, a contrast to the joy he thought he’d see reflected back at him. Instead of the excitement and agreement Patrick expected, he was met with doubt, and it clawed at his insides like a dark, gnawing fear. Each second felt like hours, and Patrick was just about ready to snap under the weight of his insecurities.

“Patrick…” you started, your voice trailing off, as if searching for the right words to piece together what was happening. Your hands dropped slowly from his face in shock. The surprise painted across your face was palpable, and Patrick felt his heart drop when you—his girlfriend—said his full name instead of your beloved nickname for him. 

In that instant, the warmth and excitement he had envisioned for this proposal flickered, leaving only the raw vulnerability of his heart laid bare before you.

[caprisunnydays]

Stardew Valley x Reader Bachelor Headcanons

Alex

Before you and Alex got together, you probably became long time friends

He was def like "damn they hot" but then when it became more than just that he was like "DAMN THEY'RE HOT"

It's been a bit since he's felt those silly little butterflies, it genuinely makes him nervous

Que him leaning against a wall like "Hey bbg" but he's sweating bullets

After his confession, he feels much better, and the nervous air that only you could really pick up on has disappeared

Very PDA, arm is always around you, probably not in the back pocket but if he's tipsy enough then boom it appears

Insists on going in the mines with you but saw a slime and wanted to dip so bad but you protected him <3

"Heh...I totally wasn't scared. Don't worry babe I'll protect you" nah boy

He feels his heart melt every time he sees you and Evelyn baking together, or her just acting like your grandma

Even George has become a grandpa figure, giving advice with alex or general things

Alex is secretly insecure about himself, but with you, he finds room to grow as a person and find that those worries are unwarranted

Though he doesn't say it often, you make him feel seen, and he truly appreciates that

Elliot

(Personal fav right now so I'm about to go OFF)

If you picked romance for his book he's imagining you both as the main characters

Not a complete parallel because he's like "can't be creepy" but a teensy bit

Speaking of "can't be creepy" he has written multiple sonnets about you since realizing his feelings

Unlike some of the other bachelors, he embraces his feelings more, using his passion to inspire his writing and other endeavors

Heavy on the gifts and courting stuff

Gives you love poems at least once a week he has so many piled up but he doesn't wanna go overboard

Says the sappiest things all the time with this love struck look in his eyes

PRETTIEST MANNNNN

Words of affirmation kinda guy, he's poetic like that

Leah pokes at him for being a simp but mans could not care less he's proud

Picks out pretty sea shells that wash up on the shore and gives them to you, and they're always intact!

Big fan of the flower dance and looks forward to getting to dance with you in front of the entire town! maybe your worst nightmare but he's just happy to show you off (and his dancing skills lol)

Speaking of which, mans is gonna teach you how to waltz and a bunch of other old timey dances

At some point he WILL show up in the pouring rain to profess his love, or give you flowers, or both

You're like "Elliot we're literally dating was this necessary and he's like "OF COURSE MY DEAR"

He'd love heartstopper

Harvey

Insert too sweet by Hozier

Silly little doctor guy tries to avoid you but can't help but be drawn to you

He sees you running around doing your daily tasks, and just watches you from afar from the window of the doctor's office

Maru notices and tells you to come in sometime cuz her boss ain't gonna get nowhere by himself

When you start coming in more often he can feel himself die of embarrassment when he fails to make interesting conversation

Is very worried about your health though and fusses when you pass out in the mines/street

He gets even more adamant about you taking care of yourself once he's confessed

Way less nervous though!

Looks at you with adoration eyes when you do anything

Tipsy Harvey is a cute Harvey because he starts spilling his guts on how often he thinks of you

Whenever you're not busy with work he appreciates you stopping by the office, just to talk about both of your days

He yaps to everyone about you btw

Doesn't mean to but when someone brings you up he's like "oh yes me and my partner love to-" or "my partner loves-" etc etc

I used to not be a fan but he's such a sweetiepie

Sam

"I just love a guy who plays guitar <3" - u @Sam

That's it

I JEST

Originally he's like "hey come and hang out with me, Sebastian, and Abigail"

Then you start coming over and it's just you both alone

He's not creepy about it, just wants to spend time with you one on one

Loves showing you the songs he works on and if you want he'll show you how to play guitar too!

He's also happy with how well you get along with Jodi, always trying to get you both to bond, it makes him feel nice that you feel like you're apart of the family

Once y'all are together he does sneak you in anytime he gets the chance

He'll text you like "come over" You : I've gotta be up at 6am Him : "PLZPLZPLZPLZ-"

OG golden retriever bf

You both go shopping at Joja at 3am for fun and goof off

Or go run around in the forest taking aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos

Sebastian

You can't tell me he's not an arctic monkeys kinda guy so insert R U Mine? By Arctic Monkeys

It took him time to warm up to you

When he did you became one of the few people he could hang out with after a long day of socializing and not feel drained around

I can see him doing things that aren't always super platonic and thinking he wants to do them because

"Platonically" holding your hand, cuddling, etc

At town events he stands all close to you, complaining about how much he hates it, but showing disappointment when you mention leaving

Everyone's like are y'all dating and he goes NO way too fast

When you both finally ARE together though he's actually much less affectionate and public, but it doubles when you're in the comfort of his basement room

Finds the most joy in keeping you trapped in his bed with him until noon when you say you should be working on your farm

Especially in the colder months, then you can also share his mom's pumpkin soup

He's almost catlike with his affection

Another guy you run around and take aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos with, but his are more grunge esk

"Accidentally" leaves his hoodies at your place but he likes seeing you in em

I imagine that the characters have those closets filled with the same outfit, so when you try and give him his stuff back he goes "nah" and whips out his 100th hoodie

Shane

PACK IT UP SAVIOUR COMPLEX I mean what who said that

After you rescue him from the depths of his depressive alcoholism, he feels guilty for having feelings for you

Part of it is because he's like "fuck do I actually like them or is it just cuz they basically saved my life" and partly because it feels painfully stereotypical

Not a lot changes, though he is a lot more open to you then he is with other people, even with Marnie

Helps out with your chickens when he has free time

Talks to them about his problems and once you almost walked in on him ranting about his feelings for you (bro was shook)

But once he's confessed, well, he's still insecure about some things, but accepts your help with stride

Jealous easily, but tries not to show it

Acts of service kinda guy, so if you need him to run an errand while you're swamped with farm work? He's on it

Pulls up to your farm with a bunch of snacks and a bag full of movies for you to pick from

He sets it up while you take a shower to wash all the grime and dirt off from a days work so you can just come and cozy up on the couch with him

You're also basically besties with Jas, such a sweet girl, always asks you to play jump rope with her

You both go "say no to drugs" to her l o l

Marnie is also now your bestie so even when she's not working you can get stuff from the shop #WIN

I loooooove stardew valley it's so cool so great

[kaznejis]

He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?”  “-Y/N, please-”  “My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

A/N: So I hadn't touched this in over a MONTH. Never fear, I had a zap of inspiration and prevailed- I hope you enjoy! I'm considering doing a short fic from Jean's POV of Erik after the battle so look out for that! :)

Word Count: 9,391 / Read it on AO3! / Feel free to send any requests!

BEFORE

“No, Y/N isn’t taking part.” Erik’s words were final, as according to his tone and the silence that ensued; even Charles seemed shocked, his eyes flicking between you, sat upon one of the leather couches, and Erik, stood at the front of the room, hands on hips. 

“Erik-” Charles began, adjusting in his wheelchair and clearing his throat. Jean, beside you, too shifted; her anger visible as she sent daggers Erik’s way with her eyes, he seemed entirely unaware. “I- Y/N is an incredibly capable mutant, in the missions she has gone on-” 

“-Which she shouldn’t have-”

“Erik! In the missions she has gone on,” Charles repeated, shaking his head, “She has proven herself to be one of the best; her Geokinesis has the potential to be-” 

“Potential,” Erik shook his head- whilst your eyes had not left his form, his eyes were yet to stray towards your own as he resolutely stared at any other catching aspect of the room. “That’s all you seem to care about Charles, not the actual raw talent of a mutant.” 

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone who sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?” 

“-Y/N, please-” 

“My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

Your mouth downturned unwillingly as a clogging feeling entrapped your throat, unadulterated sadness filling your gut at the cruelty of his words. Beside you, Jean sprung from her seat; hurling insults at Erik as Scott attempted to hold her back. At the edge of the room, Charles simply rubbed at his brow, but not before sending you a sympathetic, apologetic look. It had been like this for months now; Erik disregarding your every word, suggestion, and proposal; it seemed that he simply had no interest in anything you had to offer. 

You had been appointed to the X-men with wide, open arms; having scored ridiculously high marks in your training. Erik had even been a friend, in the beginning, one of your closest- hence, the outright obvious, and regretful, feelings you harboured towards him. He had once treated you with kindness; helping you in your training, the similarity in your abilities allowing him to provide advice, tips on how to truly harness your powers. Whilst Erik could control the direct elements of the Earth; Iron, Zinc, Potassium, amongst many others- you could control, as stated within your mutant file, ‘photosynthetic eukaryotes’. You had laughed upon first seeing the description, shaking your head at the severity it suggested; Erik had corrected you then. “You can wield more than you know,” He had nodded, gesturing to the screen before you, “Your powers may seem simple to you now; but there is always more to discover,” He had paused then, turning towards you directly, smile discreet, “I will help you discover that.” 

“What more is there to discover about plants?” You had laughed, genuinely unable to grasp the supposedly absurd concept of your power being of any worth other than discreetly fixing an elderly neighbour’s yard, speeding the growth of the tomato plant they had incorrectly cared for despite their best efforts. 

Erik had shook his head, eyes misting slightly as he watched you, “More than you would know.” 

Your feelings for him didn’t exactly come as a surprise to you, whilst you did regret them greatly, you couldn’t deny the kindness he had provided you during your first months at the school; the guidance he had offered you during the day and the friendship he had offered you at night- it had been everything in contrast to the loneliness you had felt since discovering your mutant gene. Harrowing, stomach-turning nightmares would procure directly from your memories; Erik would always be there to wake you, running into your room before anyone else could even rise, shaking you awake and halting your sobs with the strength of his embrace.

In his shift, his silence; you had learned to quieten your cries- to wake yourself up from your nightmares, scared of bothering him even in sleep. 

You could pinpoint exactly when things had changed; when Erik had suddenly slipped away, succumbing you to the darkness of your own mind; to navigate the dingy, griping hallways of your mutant powers alone. It had been the depths of Summer; the sun hot and blazing upon the grounds of the manor- you spent many a day in the gardens, tending to the plants and honing your powers; barefoot and free. Sometimes, Erik would join you, using the seasonal bloom of the flowers as a ‘training opportunity’. 

The day it ended, you had been manipulating the vines of ivy that had grown upon the fence; learning how to move them as if they were one of your very own limbs. “Focus.” Erik had spoken from behind you, his arms crossed and gaze severe, “Clear your mind of everything other than that plant.” 

A difficult task, you had bemused to yourself, when the sole occupier of your mind and the object of your desires stood only a hair’s breadth away. “I’m trying,” You had gritted your teeth, pushing a splayed palm towards the ivy; your fingers trembling slightly, the sun blazing through the spaces between your fingers. 

Just as you had been about to give up, a touch lay upon your wrist, effectively silencing any thoughts intruding on those regarding the task at hand. “Here,” Erik had mumbled, his breath hot upon your neck, “Hold your hand up like this.” As he parted your fingers, practically intertwining his fingers with your own- you had found clarity in your own worry of revealing your nerves to him, of revealing the heat that clambered upon your chest and upon your neck where his breath lay, goosebumps rising in its wake. Within that sense of clarity, you had linked your powers with the twines and inky green leaves of the ivy- lifting the ivy from the fence and guiding it to hover above you; Erik’s fingers still intertwined within yours. You breathed; shock coursing through your body as you stared wide-eyed at the life-form levitating above you- the ivy floated upon the air, drifting languidly as if upon waves of a tranquil sea. The moment passed then; the initial calm of your powers passing as euphoria replaced it. Laughing,  you had instantly turned to Erik, dropping his hand in favour of throwing your arms around his shoulders; gasping and blubbering as tears of joy had formed within your eyes. Erik, too, had matched your fervour at first; grinning and burrowing a hand within your hair, another moving to rest upon your waist. 

Looking back on that moment, you knew that the pulse of power within your fingertips and the warmth within your chest and the hand within your hair had blurred your judgement entirely. So, looking back, you could see why you had pulled away and immediately pressed your lips to Erik’s. 

In other words, you had kissed him. 

At first, he had reciprocated; the hand within your hair deepening, the grip upon your waist tightening. He had guided your face to the side, gasping into your mouth as you intertwined your tongue with his own. You had felt so alive in that moment, your entire body thrumming like a tightened cord; held aloft by the grip of his hands and the heat of his tongue. 

However, the moment ended as quickly as it had begun. You had felt it as he had frozen, his body going ramrock still against your own; the heat between you retreating like a dying flame. 

You lamented yourself for that kiss everyday; whilst you knew that objectively, there had been nothing wrong with it, and it had been the best kiss you had ever experienced, even in its lacklustre length; you couldn’t see past the detrimental effect it had projected upon your relationship, your life as a whole. He had retreated instantly, some wayward excuse tumbling from his lips as he fled the garden, fled the warmth of your touch. The lingering sense of something more hanging stale, dead in the air. 

You had never forgotten the sound the ivy had made as it had slapped upon the concrete; the stems withering and rotting instantly in the projections of your regret, the scent of it bleating from you in waves. You had used every last ounce of your might, your power, to revive it; pressing your hands incessantly to the blackening stems. They did not return to their living state, too far gone in the influence of your vast emotions. Your nightmares took a new turn then, dreams of rejection, isolation; of your powers overtaking you and destroying the foundations of the world, any semblance of emotion desecrating nature and instilling desperation. Those dreams were worse than your own memories; you grew afraid of your powers, afraid of yourself, your own inability to control your emotions. As you became a shell of yourself, of the barefoot girl who grew geraniums in the palm of her hands; Erik drew further away, you could only chart it up to disgust- you had gone too far, flung yourself upon him in the light of the risen sun where others could have seen. He had been embarrassed of you. Why wouldn’t he be? You were a semblance of everything Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, was not; whilst he could control the very foundations of the earth’s core, you could barely maintain its creations. Whilst he could stand before the students and present any lesson he desired, you shied away from an authoritative position, opting to hide in the comfort, the secrecy, of your gardens.

You felt as though you were a disappointment of a mutant; a waste of genetic advancement. Entirely undeserving of the gene. 

Days without Erik turned into weeks, and then gradually months. Day after day you sat alone in the cafeteria; staring at the side of his head, watching the crinkle of his cheeks as he smiled at something Charles said; as he enjoyed the company of those within his own mutant league. 

But, as Erik had departed from your life, Jean had entered. Silver linings, and all. She had barged into your life with her fiery hair and even brighter personality; the powers so strong that they would immobilise the average person, the average mutant- but Jean simply took it in her stride, using her staggering, incredible powers for good. 

You would forever be thankful for the way she had taken you under her wing that one random morning at breakfast. You had been sitting alone, meagerly sipping a mug of tea, your nightmares leaving you unable to stomach any solid food; unable to do anything but longingly stare at Erik across the hall, able to think of nothing but the way his lips had felt against your own. It was set to be an entirely normal morning, the same as every other; stare at Erik, tend to the plants, wallow in your lonesome. However, before you could embark on your pathetic routine, your line of sight had been blocked by a figure before you, Jean, placing her tray upon the table and chatting with you as if it were nothing new. 

“-Honestly, it’s ridiculous.” You had blinked, tearing your vision away from Erik; your finger hanging limply at your lips where you had been chewing at a loose hangnail. Shaking your head, you had been able to do nothing but gape at Jean, your brain unable to compute what had been said, why she had been sat across from you, how you had managed to find your way into the dining hall at all. She had simply nodded her head at you, gesturing blatantly down at her provided breakfast tray, “The fact that they’ve only been serving brown bread for toast recently, I mean- nobody wants to eat that.” 

You had practically shifted yourself into first gear, inwardly slapping yourself awake as you had processed what she had said, what she was saying as she continued to complain about the discrepancies the cafeteria had allowed in recent months. “Maybe you should complain to Charles, go straight to the top.” You had managed to contribute, visibly sighing in relief as she nodded enthusiastically. 

“You know what, you’re so right.” 

From there, Jean’s presence had become a normality, walking arm-in-arm with your new best friend through the halls of the manor became a daily pleasure. 

You had almost forgotten about Erik. 

But, you found within yourself, you just couldn’t. He had been so kind, so understanding, and so ridiculously attractive- to which he, in fact, was potentially even more so. 

It eventually reached the point that you had been at in the common room; the only interactions being him hurling insults in your direction, exposing every insecurity you had ever had regarding your abilities; and you sitting there utterly befuddled as to how your relationship had deteriorated so severely. The conversation had initially revolved around assignments, specifically who would enact the nightly patrols of the grounds; groups of two would simply walk the outskirts of the land owned by Charles and ensure that everything was in order. It had been clear that you were perfect for the job; the edges of the land were uncared for; flooded with wildlife and overgrowth- you would practically be in your element. And yet, Erik had vehemently argued against you taking part, so passionately to the point that it was past being insulting, and just outright deranged. 

“You are such an asshole!” Jean’s shouts brought you out of your thoughts, blinking harshly as you zoned back into the conversation to which you were the main component of, “Do you ever climb down from your high horse, Magneto?” She spat his superhero nickname in a derogatory manner, practically laughing as she procured the word; as if one of the strongest mutants on the planet was merely a joke to her. She turned to you then, where you were still sunken into the leather of the couch; gesturing towards you passionately, “Y/N is an incredible mutant, if you had showed any interest in her recent training, you would know that; in fact, Charles is right, she’s on track to be better than you.” Ending the sentence with a jab in his direction, she turned and stomped back towards the couch; muttering angrily under her breath, you could only offer her a shallow smile in appreciation. You had filled Jean in on everything that had happened between you and Erik, whatever didn’t sound like dreamful vitriol, anyway. She had simply sighed, shaking her head, “Men.” She had tutted, turning the page in her book. In turn, she had filled you in on her situation with Scott; there really wasn’t much to it, other than the usual will-they-won’t-they denial of feelings on each end. You knew for a fact that Scott harboured similar feelings for her, it was only a matter of time.

Erik had recovered from Jean’s berating easily, simply brushing off her insults with a swallow and a hand through the hair, “Y/N isn’t taking part in patrols and that is final.” 

“Charles,” You had sighed, sending him a pleading look, hoping that your other superior would take some stance against Erik, recognise your need to be useful, “Please?” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Charles shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Erik has just as much a say as I do; I’m afraid his decision is final.” 

*

Despite your confidence in Jean and Scott’s mutual feelings for each other, it seemed that the potential couple themselves had been entirely unaware as to this likelihood. 

“Y/N!” Jean cheered, bustling into your room with multiple piles of clothing, you had sprung from your bed; heart thumping from the sudden nature in which she had appeared. She shook off your shock, dumping her clothes onto your bed and spinning towards you, “I need you to help me pick out a dress.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Furrowing your brows, you picked through the masses of colour that now laid upon your bed; clothes suitable for a myriad of situations.

“I’m going…” You waited as she paused for dramatic effect, “On a date!” 

“Oh!” You gasped excitedly, jumping to grasp your friend by the shoulders, “With Scott?”

Jean’s energy died instantly, freezing beneath your hold as she cleared her throat, eyes flickering nervously, “Oh- what? No, why-” 

“Wait- who is it with then?” 

“Um, well, you know Oliver, right?” You nodded, still confused, “We were in classes together and we recently started talking again and, yeah, he seems nice!” 

“Nice?” Grinning, you raised your eyebrows amusedly, moving to sit beside her pile of clothes, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Y/N! Don’t be mean, he’s more than that, I- just,” She huffed, moving to sit beside you, on the other side of the pile, “He’s actually giving me attention whilst Scott,” She shrugged, eyes sad, “He’s not giving me much to work with.” 

You nodded, completely understanding, whilst you were determined in your belief of Scott’s feelings; the theory was based entirely on conspiracy- Cyclops’ nerves tended to evolve into silence when in the presence of Jean. You moved to rub her shoulder; a grin upon your face, “Let’s pick you out something nice then.” 

After a considerable length of time spent rifling through clothes and testing a combination of outfits in your mirror; Jean spoke up, turning towards you suddenly, “Oh! I also have a way this could benefit you; you know how Erik forbids you from taking patrols, well, since I’m going on a date tonight; I need someone to take over my shift-” She practically sung the words to you; her eyes sparkling with glee. 

“No!” You said instantly, shaking your head and hands at her, to which her form drooped; her lips curling downwards, “Erik said no, Jean; not even Charles could dispute that-” 

“Come on, Y/N!” Jean cried, her arms dropping to her sides as the dress within them drooped to the floor haggardly, “I don’t want anyone I can’t trust taking the shift I’d usually have with Scott, and I know you wouldn’t flirt with him.” 

You shook your head, becoming even more steadfast in your refusal, “Jean, I am not hanging out with Scott, I’m sor-” 

“What?” Jean’s face dropped, her eyes resembling that of a kicked puppy, “Why would you not want to hang out with-” 

“And, that.” You pointed directly at her, other hand on hip, “Is exactly why, you’re going on a date Jean-”

“So?-” 

“So?” You mimicked, “I don’t want to be the one that deals with Scott tonight, I have plans-” 

“Plans? What- spying on Erik?” 

Your mouth snapped shut, opting only to glare at Jean; as she cackled to herself. Traitor.  

“Y/N.” Jean’s tone was deadpan, posture straightened, almost stern, “Believe me, patrols are entirely uneventful; I mean, really, you aren’t missing out- but, I know you want to take part so-” 

“Fine.” You relented, allowing Jean a small, genuine smile, “I’ll cover your shift.” 

Later, traipsing through the sloping mud and overgrown grass at the edge of the grounds as rain fell in think sheets, you couldn’t help but curse Jean in that moment- curse her for deciding to go on that date and neglect her obvious feelings for Scott, curse her for being a good friend and prioritising your own troubles in the meantime, curse her for asking you to take over her patrol shift. You were all for a bit of friendly, healthy jealousy- but, oh, this was unbearable. Any joy you had initially had at being able to, finally, take over a shift was long gone. 

“Why would she do it, Y/N?” Scott practically whined behind you, stumbling along behind you; you could feel blisters beginning to form upon your heels, “Why would she go on a date? I mean, I’m right here. Do you know how many times I’ve tried to ask her out?” 

“Keyword, ‘tried’.” You huffed, spinning to watch him as he traipsed towards you pathetically; hair sopping in the rain and lips pouting like an emotionally unregulated toddler, “Scott, if you had asked her out; I would know about it, and I don’t, so you obviously haven’t tried hard enough.” 

To your chagrin, his pout only deepend; his cheeks going rosy with embarrassment, like a forlorn puppy- it made you feel slightly guilty, but only slightly. You ignored the slew of stuttered, random words that followed, opting to turn around and, physically, get to the portion of the shift that would take place beneath the canopy of trees across the field. 

Whilst you were at it, you decided to curse Erik too; curse him for forcing you to exercise such desperate measures and take whatever shift became available to you. If it had been up to you, the two of you would have shared a sunny evening shift- filled with banter, good conversation and maybe even some light flirting, if you felt brave enough. But instead, he had decided to end your friendship and had shared a shift with Raven the previous night, according to the schedule pinned up upon the notice board; to which you could only assume was a great time, seeing as though the two had entered the communal lounge smiling and laughing after it. The page of the book you had been pretending to read had almost ripped in your seething as he had paid you no mind, instead opting to continue his conversation with Raven on the couch across from your own. 

Your night had, effectively, been ruined from that point onwards; as you had been able to do nothing but listen to your so-called ‘crush’ recount memories of his long friendship with another woman. If you had not known better, if you had not known of the hatred he harboured towards you; you would’ve thought he was trying to make you jealous. You definitely did not fall for that metaphorical bait, absolutely not. 

“Did you see that?” Scott’s, grating, voice broke you from your reverie; he seemed to be on high alert- his stance frozen, like a guard dog on alert. 

You turned to him, confused, “No-” 

“Shhhh!” He hissed, moving you both to a crouch below the grass-line; he seemed to be staring at something just past the tree line, his hand poised at the ready. 

‘Scott, what the f- '' You were instantly silenced by a loud, jarring clatter; a shout following it. You squinted your eyes, attempting to spot whatever had made the noise through the dark of the night. Before you could register what was happening; Scott shot upwards, taking off towards the trees, you could only scramble after him, parting the thick reeds with your powers as you followed. Scott reached the trees before you did; instantly throwing himself head first into the darkness. You could only follow, stumbling blindly as you stretched your powers forward; making any attempt to identify what exactly was unravelling before you. 

“Scott, Scott!” You hissed, the thick bushes procuring your sight as you peered into the darkness of the canopy; nearby leaves rustled alongside the clattering beat of your heart, your powers at the ready. “Scott, answer me.” Whispering as loudly as you could, you begged him to answer, to show some indication as to what the hell was going on. 

Before you could call for him again, a beam of light flashed before you, sending you tumbling backwards from your crouched position, your pants instantly becoming drenched in mud. Scott appeared then, panting; his goggles askew, barely concealing his eyes- you gasped at the sight of him, leading him to spin around; his head flitting side to side as he desperately searched for you. 

“Y/N? Y/N, was that you?” It was his turn to hiss now, the sound quickling turning into a squeak as you wrapped a branch from the bush around his ankle and yanked; usually, you would’ve laughed, cackled even, at the sound he had made whilst falling, but instead you had dragged him backward and placed a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing any further sound. As soon as he was tucked into the overgrowth, an entourage of armed men emerged from the dark; armed to the teeth, guns drawn. As they appeared, you felt Scott’s breath quicken against your palm, your own heartbeat hopping in tandem. 

“Was that Cyclops?” One of the men called to the others; flashing his light into the trees, not far from the bush you crouched in, “Do any of the others use laser beams?” 

“Can’t be sure…” Another man replied; cocking his weapon. The entire entourage were on alert, their torches flashing dangerously close; you didn’t allow the fear to swallow you, the adrenaline and the buzz of your powers rendering you silent, aware. 

Slowly, carefully, you slid your hand away from Scott’s mouth; pressing a finger against your own in demand. He nodded, lips trembling as he kept his hand held aloft; ready to shoot if necessary. Shaking your head, you turned towards him, hoping to convey the necessary declaration within your gaze. When you spoke, your voice was barely there; lower than a whisper, each word spoken slowly, “You need to go.” 

You widened your eyes incessantly when Scott opened his mouth in protest, shaking your head firmly- eventually, he broke past your protests, managing to hiss out a word, “What?” 

“Scott,” You gripped his arm; clasp firm and angry, “You need to leave, now-”

“-I’m not leaving you here.”

“Scott, please,” You were begging now, eyes filling with tears as you sniffled at him, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Look at their weapons, Y/N-” 

“Scott, listen to me. We both know that if they manage to get those goggles off, you are a liability to everyone, to me.” You watched his face fall, his mouth falling ajar slightly in despair; his head shaking adamantly all the while, “I need you to go and get help-”

“Y/N, please, I can’t-” 

“You can.” You nodded, gathering him by the lapels of his shirt; jostling him slightly, “You can, Scott, please.” 

He nodded then, understanding. He was visibly stricken, breath laboured, traumatised by the thought of leaving you there. He spared you one last look, one last squeeze of the hand, before he took off; crashing through the bushes and onto the fields- sending any stray laser that he could towards the men. 

“Shit-” They yelled, aiming towards him and beginning to make chase, though before they could, you shot your hand forwards- the branch of a tree effectively impaling three of the men at once; connecting them all by the same gaping hole as they instantly hung limp. The remaining men froze, guns held half-aloft in shock as they stared up at their comrades hanging above. Rising from the bushes, you cocked your fingers; summoning roots from underground and wrapping them around the ankles of the men, dragging them through the mud and back into their place of origin; silencing the velocity of the men’s screams as they suffocated. The rain was blinding, falling in thick slashes, your hair clung to your neck as you manipulated any semblance of nature you could grasp; the roots, vines, leaves, branches- all elements moved in tandem, fighting back against the weapons of the men. You walked into the clearing, untouchable, unobtainable; your powers bursting at the seams as you discovered the potential you had withheld from yourself. 

As a lone soldier sprinted towards you, baton held high above his head; you spun your wrist, leading a nearby tree to reach forward, plucking him from the ground and flinging him into the air. You could almost have laughed, your powers unvanquished even by the sheets of unforgiving rain. In that moment, you felt yourself channeling Erik, the way his face hardened in the pursuit of revenge; the harshness of his stance and the cool of his metal. For the first time, you didn’t see yourself as weak compared to him, as not good enough- you felt like him. Like him in the essence that you could manipulate whatever you wanted, as long as it tuned to the rhythm of your powers. 

Though, your reign was short lived as a flash of light beamed upon you; you squinted, hand held aloft before your eyes as you looked up at the helicopter above you; it allowed only a second of thought before a heavy force knocked you to the ground, the abject press of an electrified baton burning into your side; leaving you convulsing and screaming beneath its hold, face down within the trenches of mud. A hand instantly clasped the ends of your legs, sharpened nails digging into the bare skin of your ankles, and begun to drag; your face and hands and hair sliding in the choking thick of the mud- you knew in that moment that something was going to happen, that you were going to die, even. The thought shot through your rambling brain as you heaved at the mud filling your mouth and eyes, desperately trying to blink it away. With every ounce of your being, you attempted to utilise your powers as you had been only moments earlier, stretched your convulsing fingers forward, nail beds thick with mud; but it was to no avail, the electricity having dulled the receptors within that allowed your powers to course through your bloodstream. 

To your abject relief, your perpetrator dropped your ankles, leaving you moaning and gasping in relief, a smile almost gracing your face as the pain almost stopped. You laid there, face down in the mud, unable to do anything but comply as rough hands fastened a collar around your neck; any semblance of hold you had on your powers vanished- for a long moment, you felt human, normal- no longer were you attuned to the grass bristling upon your legs and the tree branches dancing above you. They simply became fixtures of nature, living bodies unrelated to your own; the tether snapped. 

“We need to get out of here.” A voice rushed above you, the sound of a gun clicking in the deafening drum of the rain, “Leave the other one, this one’s a real freak- I mean, look at this place, look at how many we just lost-” 

The voices around you blurred as raindrops soaked the side of your face; your sopping hair strewn across the base of your neck and chin- your body could only attune to a constant shiver, your teeth chattering against the mud and the blue of your lips. You could only watch through bleary eyes as the helicopter landed beside you; men instantly jumped from it, armed to the teeth, and running to where you laid prone upon the ground. You knew that you were losing consciousness; your human body no longer strong enough to fight your injuries. 

As your eyes fluttered, your body and mind sinking into the mud; you could only watch in confusion as the helicopter’s rotors began to spin, the base of the vehicle lifting clumsily and sending soldiers scattering. It was apparent that had been the warning signal; as the clearing instantly exploded into chaos above you- gunfire and mutant force alike thrashing upon the night’s quiet. The ground below you reverberated as something fell beside you; as it did so- the pressure of the collar upon your neck eased, the device being torn from your neck as a hand shook your shoulder, turning you on your back. Warmth overtook the shiver that had embedded itself within you as a hand landed upon your cheek, calloused touch brushing the sodden hair from your face and caressing the skin that remained in its place. You knew that someone was talking, encasing your body in their hold as the chaos surrounding you continued. Allowing your head to roll to the side, you watched bleary eyed as Scott mowed down the soldiers with his lasers; his finger not straying from the button upon his goggles. A voice sounded above you, causing Scott to spin and immediately sprint towards you, he took over the hold upon you then; lifting you effectively into his arms and breaking into an immediate sprint. The jostle of his movement was the last straw; the final source of pain your body could handle. As you slipped away; slipped from consciousness, from the forest- you watched as a figure stepped further into the clearing, brandishing nothing but a long dark coat and a raised hand. The last thing you saw was the raising of hell; every last man brought to their knees as the force of the dark figure beckoned upon them.

AFTER

Thistles sung as you awoke; their tune long and drawling, carrying upon the wind that fluttered into the room. Trees just beyond the windowsill waved and chattered, their leaves basking within the midday sun. 

You awoke to their calls with a start- an intake of breath so sharp that your chest caught, a sharp strike of pain ricocheting through your belly. Cringing at the light that shone through the crack created by the stretch of curtain that didn’t quite meet the hook upon the wall, you formed your eyes into slits, peering at the room you had awoken in. It was the infirmary within the house- small, cozy but adequately equipped for the petty injuries that students with mutant abilities tend to acquire. You had accompanied a number of students to the infirmary yourself, the gardens with their thorns and brambles tended to be somewhat of a hazard to inquisitive students. 

The room was empty save for yourself; the resident healer was nowhere to be found. Even Hank, who tended to occupy the room with his technology and experiments, was absent. Adjusting the duvet upon you, you used the opportunity to unscramble your mind, to attempt to recall the events that had led you there. 

Rain, mud, light, gunfire, a dark effervescent figure. 

Sounds about right. 

Shaking your head, you moved to sit up; wincing as your body ached and creaked, your back in particular procuring a sharp burn that shot up your spine. Twisting slowly, you lifted the gown you were wearing and picked at your bandages, only to gasp. A grizzly red mark sat at the cusp of your back, tendrils of bruising and burns spanned from the focal point; the wound spread like spiderwebs, eventually meeting in identical patterns spanning over your back and hip. You could feel the pain, the burn of the baton as if it were still happening, the base still prodding upon your back as electricity coursed through your veins- muting your ability to think, see, to feel the very base of your mutant gene. 

In that moment, you struggled with that thought; turned it over and over within the palms of your hands, the reality of how easily, how simply, your mutant gene could be dulled, could be practically removed, rendering you silent, unable to think of anything but that. Before the school, before your new life, you would have jumped at the chance; burned your body until the gene that had ended your life, sent everyone you had ever loved fleeing, was gone. 

But now? 

Now, your mutant gene had given you everything; the lessons you had learned, the friendships you had made, your place within the very house you healed upon. The thought didn’t pleasure you now, it terrified you. 

Would the X-Men, the students, your friends, your family, still accept you even without the gene? If you had emerged from the attack powerless, unable to exercise your main purpose? You wondered if that was why Erik had turned such a sour note towards you, had he realised that your existence within the X-Men was fruitless? You shook the thought from your head, willing yourself to remember the way you had held those men aloft; each incapacitated by the branch that tore through their chests and left them practically dangling from your hold. 

If only Erik had been there to see that. 

Thoughts of Erik lead you directly to that cloaked figure in the clearing, the person who had saved you (alongside Scott, of course). Had it been him? Your mind whispered insidiously, the dark depths of your mind that harboured your feelings for Erik secreting poison into the, well, rational parts of your brain. 

Stop, you chastised your own mind, mentally batting away the insidious thoughts. Erik hadn’t paid any form of positive attention towards you in months, he wouldn’t drop that facade in a heartbeat just to come to your aid, surely? 

But then, no one else in the house had that form of presence. Nobody could step forward and brandish a hand, fortifying the fates of countless men, all armed to the teeth, other than Erik. His presence was always breathtaking; with his lithe, long legs and perfectly coiffed hair. Though that wasn’t the Erik you had fallen in love with, that Erik had shaggy hair and rumpled plaid shirts, pushed up to the elbow. That Erik, your Erik, kissed the girl in the garden; intertwined her petals into his own arms, clutching them between his fingers ever so gently- allowing her into the fortress made of metal. He was your own to keep, to cherish, because he lived in the safety of your own mind, locked away behind thorns and brambles never to be touched again. 

Sighing, you allowed the sadness to fill your gut for a moment, allowing yourself to bask in it; alone in that room, in an unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar clothes. 

That is how Jean found you. 

You had scrambled at the click of the lock, sitting up straight in bed and staring wide-eyed, slightly terrified at the door. A series of events had transpired then. Jean had entered, a mug of coffee balanced on one hand and a book stored beneath the same arm, and had made direct eye-contact with you, very much awake for the first time. She gasped, freezing in place for a moment before remembering the cup balanced on her hand- which was by then falling to the ground. Luckily, her telekinesis caught it just in time, leaving you staring, wide-eyed at one another as the cup and its contents hung precariously in the air. 

Jean was the first to break the silence, essentially crushing it by immediately bursting into tears, the cup finally smashing against the ground along with its contents and the book as she raced towards your bedside. “Y/N! Oh my g- I am so sorry-” 

Confused, you shook your head, moving to face her; your voice croaked brokenly before you eventually managed to speak, “Sorry? Jean you have nothing to be-” 

“No!” She interrupted you, eyes shining and tears coating her cheeks; her lips trembling all the while, “If I hadn’t have gone on that date-” 

Instantly, you shook your head, silencing her by grasping her by the hand, shaking it until she looked back at you, “This isn’t your fault, if anything, it’s Erik’s for stopping me from going on patrols in the first place.” 

Jean’s eyebrows lowered instantly, her eyes crinkling as she looked at you, confused, “Well-” 

“What is going on in here?-” Scott burst into the room then, having been summoned by the crash of the cup; he seemed ready for battle, though his fight-or-flight immediately withered upon seeing you, a grin instantly gracing his features, “You’re awake!”

“Hey Scott,” You smiled tiredly, lifting the hand that wasn’t clutching Jean’s in greeting.

“How are you feeling?” He smiled kindly, moving to pull a chair beside Jean- interestingly enough. 

Nodding, you sighed; feeling the pain within your once petrified muscles and the chill that seemed to sit within your bones. “I’m- I’m okay.” 

Both Jean and Scott looked upon you remorsefully, their eyes forlorn and mouths twisting with emotion. Scott was the first to speak, breaking eye contact and staring down at his hands, “Y/N, we-” He chewed on his lips, flexing his fingers, “We thought you were dead, I- when we got to you, you were just laying there, face down and unmoving.” 

The breath that left your nose was gusty; heavy in its weight and volume, you found yourself tearing up at his words, “Thank you for listening to me.” 

His breath resembled that of a meagre chuckle, his head shaking all the while, “That’s alright.” 

“And thank you for saving me-” 

Scott looked up immediately, his forehead creased beneath his goggles; he shared a silent look with Jean, she too opted not to speak. “Y/N-” Scott began, his posture going straight, awkward, ‘I can’t take credit for that.” 

“Sure you can. It’s the last thing I remember, you carried me-” 

“No-” Scott spoke stubbornly, refusing to take any credit, “I wasn’t the only one to help.” 

“Oh,” You spoke, shocked, despite the memory of the hand upon your face feeling all too familiar. 

“Erik was the first to reach you Y/N.” Jean spoke, her voice low, almost apologetic. 

Oh. 

You remembered then, not just the hand that had lingered upon your skin, perforated your everlasting pain with warmth and, just maybe, something akin to love. Your mind healed, and what had seemed to be poison; welling at the once-dormant temperaments of your mind, receded- the waves crashing and swelling before dissolving into a calm flow. 

Erik had saved you. 

But why? 

Had he been so furious at your inability to comply with his orders that he had taken his anger out on those soldiers before (conveniently) saving you? A job well done, a well-due pat on the back from the rest of the team for making the right call, before he inevitably celebrated his victories by screaming the walls down in your favour. 

Great, you shuddered, practically awaiting his presence; red and pulsing with fury as you had laid there, vulnerable and pained. 

All in your own stupidity. 

Jean and Scott seemed to sense your discomfort, sharing a look before both turning towards you; practically disagreeing with what they knew your internal thoughts entailed. 

Scott spoke first, his tone impeding and determined, “Y/N-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously, “I’m sorry but- you didn’t see him. He was furious.” 

Chuckling, you moved to sit up, shaking your head, “Nothing new there-” 

“No, Y/N.” Jean interrupted you, her own tone identical to Scott’s severity, though her voice lowered to a whisper, “Not at you.” 

You shook your head confused, Scott spoke; cementing the gaps that Jean had created, “He almost tore the place apart whilst you were under, when he found out that you had taken Jean’s shift,” He shook his head, breathing heavily, only calming when Jean intertwined her fingers with his own, “We thought he was going to tear the house down-” 

“What?” You gasped, shaking your head, throat clogging, “Why- he doesn’t-” You paused, collecting your thoughts; the truth gaping in its clarity, “Erik hates me, he wouldn’t-” 

“I think you need to talk to him Y/N,” Jean’s tone was firm, almost angered, “I know what he did to you but- something isn’t right. A man doesn’t act like that when someone he hates almost dies.” 

Jean and Scott didn’t stay much longer than that; the confusion and the clarity of almost dying rendering you exhausted. Jean left with a kiss to your forehead, a promise to return, a command to heed her advice. 

Despite being allowed short walks throughout the house, you didn’t leave the room until your discharge a week later; with only your thoughts, and the occasional visitor to accompany you, you utilised them a lot that week. That long, drawn-out week. The days limped by, minutes feeling like hours; yet still, your mind allowed no time for outside entertainment. On the second day, Jean bought you a collection of your own clothes, smiling sadly as she saw you slumped against the headboard, eyes misty as you watched the trees beyond the window. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your own room?” She had whispered, stroking the hair away from your eyes, ‘I made sure your favourite sheets are on the bed..” 

Shaking your head, you turned your eyes to her, mustering your best reassuring smile, “No, I’m okay here.” 

He’ll be able to find me there, you had thought to yourself, watching Jean’s back as she left; eyes latching upon the door even after it had been pulled to a close. 

Eventually, the week came to a close and you were fully healed; physically cleared to embark on X-Men missions whenever you wished. As you walked to your own room, a bag of dirty clothes tucked securely beneath your arm, you found yourself eyeing every corner, waiting for Erik to turn it; practically creeping through the house, the necessity of not making a sound hanging over the creaks of your movements upon the floorboards.

Part of you, that insidious part of your brain that sung at the worst of times and had apparently grown and swelled in your solitude, hoped that Erik would turn one of those corners; crash right into you and be forced to speak to you- finally, after all these months. 

It took you two weeks to muster up the courage to go back to your garden, Jean sneakily having slipped the state, or lack of, of the plants within your garden; no student able to match your own power. With a huff, and many puffs, you pulled on your dirtiest clothes and trekked down to the garden. The scent of jasmine wafted upon you like a fresh breath of air as you pulled off your shoes, hand clutched against the gate of the garden for balance. After a number of pairs had been lost to the swell of the bushes with many an evening spent searching for them, Erik had eventually rolled his eyes and forged a small metal shelf; just big enough to safely slide your shoes into them. You had kept it there, beside the gate, even after his rejection, its convenience too precious to your time in the garden. 

However, when you went to slide your shoes into place; another pair of shoes already sat there. 

“I see you kept my creation.” A voice behind you spoke; your breath immediately sped, heart thundering in your ears. Slowly, carefully, terror filling your veins and pulsing at your fingertips: you turned, immediately coming face to face with Erik. Erik, with his broad-shoulders and messy hair; lips turning upwards discreetly beneath his crooked nose; his gorgeous, beautiful crooked nose. As the usual residual shock mellowed, the love you felt for him receding slightly; the anger took over; teeth gritting and fist curling anger. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your time-”

“What do you want Erik?” You spat, lip curling in anger; your own torrid emotions instantly combatting his calm front as he tensed immediately; his eyebrows lowering in confusion, his hackles raising slightly. 

“Well-”

“What are you doing here?” Voice lower than a whisper, your words were almost a replica of your previous demand, almost. The tremble of your voice manufactured a shell of your anger, cracking and splintering at the seams. You found yourself trembling; staring straight at him, fear, dread, something awful prevalent in your eyes. 

Erik’s eyes widened, his lips pursing; he looked as if he was on the verge of retreating, waving the white flag, calling the truce. You knew that wasn’t him though; if Erik was going to do one thing, it would not be backing down from a fight. You watched as he visibly rebuilt his walls, composing himself before speaking, “I wanted to see how your recovery is going,” He paused, visibly attempting and failing to string his words together, “So that you can get back out onto the field.” 

Truly, you could have laughed; a hacking cough right in his face, right at his words. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The anger burning the back of your throat and fizzing in the air, lingering upon the garden’s roots, stopped any semblance of amusement, procuring only venom; only white-hot anger. Shaking your head, malice filling your tastebuds, you spat in his face, the sound of it echoing against the walls of the garden, “Back in the field?” Your amusement returned immediately, but it was manic; frenzied, “Your refusement to put me on patrols; your adamance that I be benched? That is what put me in this position.” 

You only felt slightly guilty as he slowly reached upwards, wiping the saliva that had landed directly upon his chin. “Y/N, you know I didn’t mean-” He seemed desperate, voice almost pathetic, his hands clenching at his sides; seemingly stopping himself from reaching for something. 

“We were supposed to be equals, Erik.” You interrupted, voice calm; frighteningly collected. 

“We were!” He objected, his own voice now seeming frenzied. You could only shake your head, unable to face him, unable to face his willingness to lie. 

“Then why? Why did you treat me that way? Why the sudden change?” Demanding, you fired off the questions in a spitfire manner, allowing him no true chance to procure an appropriate answer. 

“I had good reason-” 

“Good reason, my ass. This is the first time you’re not yelling at me in-” 

“Will you let me speak?” Erik’s words shocked you to the core; his voice abrupt and loud, nostrils flared and chest heaving. You could only muster a nod, silenced in the face of his outburst. He too nodded then, scratching at the stubble upon his jaw nervously; his demeanour changed entirely, almost shrinking within himself. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” The question shocked you; you expected anger, fury- but his eyes remained soberingly soft, gaze sad. He continued in the wake of your silence, “I knew something was wrong before Scott even reached the house; but when Charles told me that he couldn’t hear your thoughts anymore and then-” He swallowed thickly, his gaze straying from yours to the ground, he cleared his throat before continuing, “Then I saw you face down in the grass and-” 

“I’m sorry,” You whimpered, sniffling into the palms of your hands as they moved to cover your eyes, “I’m sorry I’m so useless-” 

“No.” Erik’s tone was demanding, his grip severe as he moved to lower your hands from your eyes; his face was stricken, lips downturned and jaw trembling as he looked down at you. His hands moved upwards then, cupping the skin of your cheeks,  “You were, are, incredible; you were a fighter out there Y/N, so so strong; and-” 

Moving from his grip, you shrunk into yourself, finding any semblance of comfort, respite from your own conflicted mind, within the embrace of your own arms, “Then why- why did you treat me that way?” Harried, hagged breaths heaved from your chest as you stared at him, confusion and shock and disgust prevalent within your demeanour, “You were awful to me, ever since-” 

“No, Y/N, please-” 

Stepping forward, coaxing the shock he made available to you forward; you went straight for the kill, voice lower than a whisper but sharper than a knife, “Why did you leave me here?” His inhale was sharp, lips quivering and wet; eyes sheening with tears. He incessantly attempted to hide his sadness, his fear; but you could see it clear as day. Stepping directly into his orbit, you rubbed your nose against his jaw, lips brushing against the base of his neck, “What are you so afraid of, Erik?” You repressed your shock masterfully when you felt his hands encase your waist, his head lowering to the crook of your neck; you waited, waited for him to lay his lips there, waited for him to devour you whole. Though he only cried, quiet shudders as the skin of your neck grew clammy from his tears and the moisture of his breaths. Instincts succumbed to hunger, rendering you silent as you simply stood there and practically drank the affection; the linen of his shirt brushing against your chest, your mouth against his hair, the smell of his musk and the oaky shampoo he had always used. You were being greedy, overindulging on the touch he was offering you in his lowest moments- you never wanted him to let go, wanted him to raise his head and- 

He did exactly that. 

You could only gasp against his mouth as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands moved to cup the sides of your neck as he practically devoured you. With greed and hunger and lust still residually pumping through your veins, you could only thread your fingers through his hair; desperate to reclaim what you had lost all those months ago. He seemed to not know exactly what to do with his hands, too indecisive to choose a specific spot; you gasped and moaned as his fingertips skirted your sides and front and back, his tongue entering your mouth at the opportunity you allowed him. Any semblance of apologies or hatred had vacated your mind by the time his hands reached the bottom of your thighs, only able to gasp as he effectively lifted you against a nearby wall; the cold of the concrete against your back was nothing compared to the warmth in your mouth and chest and unsurprisingly, your groin. Just as you had mustered the confidence to reach down, to pull at the ends of his shirt; he pulled away, lips red and shining, eyes hooded. 

The only word he seemed to manage to gasp was your name, the syllables spoken wetly into the space between your lips; you stared into his eyes, not blinking, not breathing. Erik seemed to be at war with himself, his eyes flitting conflictingly from your lips back to your eyes. Allowing him the time, you simply stared back, blinking owlishly as you awaited the confession that seemed to be brewing. Finally, he came to a conclusion; his eyes clearing, gaze taking a sense of clarity you had not yet seen in him before. Shaking his head, he chewed at his lip, moving his hand to cup the back of your head; allowing it to tilt back slightly, you were prone beneath his gaze.

“I was just trying to protect you.” His lips curled as he spoke, blue eyes brimming with tears. 

You moved forward at his words, pressing a kiss to the crinkle of emotion at the side of his mouth, “What from?” Your voice was quieter than a whisper, more of a movement of lips rather than a true form of speech. 

Once again, Erik shook his head; tears now spilling from his cheeks, “I’m sorry.” 

“What from, Erik?” 

“Myself.” 

He whispered the words immediately, his eyes closing in turn; his head bowing into your awaiting palm, the course points of his stubble creasing against your fingertips. 

Shaking your head, you watched him, “You were so mean.” 

Swallowing visibly, Erik met your gaze; his eyes doughy beneath a stray hair breaching his forehead. He, almost, grinned; teeth flashing and lips curling, “I don’t know how to be nice.” 

“You were nice to me.” Nodding, you moved your thumb to trace his lips; dragging along the sharp points of his teeth, breaching the jaws of the wolf. 

“I destroy everything I touch Y/N-” 

“Well, I can revive things,” Smiling, you removed your thumb from his lips, placing your own there instead for a chaise kiss. Pulling away, you repeated your words, “I can revive it, Erik.”

Grinning, truly now, Erik lowered his stance before rolling his forhead against yours, brushing your noses together in a dance only known to yourselves, “Let me help you,” He smiled, voice mellow in its tone, “Let me help you fix us.”

[logicalbookthief]

I adore the fact that in so many other stories, Mob Psycho would’ve concluded with the World Domination Arc. After all, it has the big, climatic battle with the ensemble cast versus the overarching villain. They win, and everyone goes home, all’s well that ends well, right?

Except the story doesn’t end there. Because Mob has yet to reckon with this internal, antagonist force that has haunted the narrative since the very beginning: Himself.

When Mob comes face-to-face with ???% at long last, he says: I am Kageyama Shigeo.

This isn’t a conflict with a villain, or another esper, or even a separate entity that resides inside Mob’s body. It is something far more personal, and far more relatable.

???% is the culmination of everything Mob’s held back. Not just emotions like anger or fear. Even his desires, like his crush on Tsubomi. All muted by his efforts not to hurt anybody with his powers. Mob has come such a long way, but he’s still restraining his feelings so tightly that the moment his control wavered, ???% took over.

But the conflict isn’t the destruction ???% is wreaking just by walking through the city. The conflict is Mob refusing to accept this part of himself he’s suppressed for so long.

And ???% is right! Every attempt to stop him thus far has failed. Because he isn’t meant to be stopped. Mob has to reconcile with the parts of himself that he won’t acknowledge.

And it’s the most difficult thing Mob has ever had to do! This is the part of himself that hurt his brother; that hurt his friends and decimated so much of the city. Reconciling with it means accepting that Mob hurt those people, whether he wanted to or not. It means accepting all facets of himself, even ones he’s not proud of or wishes he could change but cannot.

Mob has grown so much in this latest season alone, he hasn’t had any explosions, and he felt confident enough in his own abilities to actually ask Tsubomi out, which was something the Mob of two seasons ago could never imagine.

But what about the advice Reigen gave him for his confession to Tsubomi?

His true self, in its totality. This is what Mob has struggled with the entire story. This is why his confession to Tsubomi is the culmination of his character arc. Expressing his feelings means exposing his true self to someone else, even with the fear of rejection.

And while we’re on that subject. Let’s talk about Reigen. Right after he gives this advice to Mob, he says this about himself:

It is the height of irony (and tragedy) that Mob and Reigen admire each other’s strengths so much, yet have no idea they struggle with the same exact fear: that if the people they cared for found out who they truly were, they would reject them. It is why Reigen relies on lies and why Mob suppresses himself.

It is also why Reigen has never actually witnessed ???% until now. It is why Mob has never heard Reigen admit the truth about himself out loud.

And that’s why the final arc feels like such a gut-punch in the best of ways. What is harder than accepting who you are, and hoping for others to accept you as you are? Even at your most deceitful, or your most destructive? Mob Psycho ends with the Confession Arc because that’s the very heart of the story.

[screeching-bunny]

may i request some yan!butler/maid hcs? ur fics/hcs r like my lifeline ALSO love love the name Ligma (srry for the poor grammar, english is my first language/hj)

Yandere! Butler Hcs

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: LIGMA BALLZ. Anyways thanks for liking my name it’s so fucking awesome isn’t it?

🌟 Yandere! Butler who’s a year older than you and has been serving you ever since your teenage years. He’s dedicated and willing to spend the rest of his life serving you as long as it means being by your side forever. He first becomes enamored by you when you happen to come by the shop he was working at the time. He was enchanted by you and after finding out that you were a noble, he began grooming himself in order to be the perfect servant for you. When the position of being an attendant opened up in your manor, he quickly signed up for it. Yandere! Butler made sure to perform his duties as perfectly and diligently as possible while in that position. It was all to ensure that he would be promoted to be personal butler.

🌟 Yandere! Butler was not able to communicate with you when he was first hired to your manor due to being too low of a rank. He could only stare at you longingly from afar and wish that he could be closer to you. Yandere! Butler during this time period would discreetly follow you around wherever you went. Although he wasn’t allowed to talk to you, he still wanted to feel like he was a part of your life, like some secret protector. While doing this he’s definitely stolen a few of your possessions and stored them for his own personal use.

🌟 Yandere! Butler is so enthralled when he finally gets promoted to being your butler. Finally!!! After all these years he can finally talk and touch his beloved person! He’s so excited that he can’t stop shaking with joy when he hears the news. Every waking moment of his life from this point in time will belong to you and only you. He is willing to do anything you ask of him. No matter how small or difficult the task is, he will make sure to complete it as if his life depended on it. As long as it gets you to look and notice him then it is all worth it.

🌟 Yandere! Butler is only loyal towards you. He is not willing to take orders from anyone but you, even if it’s from your own family members. How dare they try to take away his time and thoughts of you away from him? Have they no shame?! Yandere! Butler would definitely be willing to fight anyone who dares to insult you. He doesn’t care if they are young or elderly, his hands are rated E for everyone. His love language is words of affection, so get ready to hear a barrage of compliments every waking moment of your life. Even when you’re not around, he’s still singing praises about you much to the displeasure of literally everyone else.

Yandere! Butler: “Did you see them today! I swear they get more dashing every time I see them. I wonder if they’ll let me touch their–”

Random Maid: (crying) “PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHUT UP!!! IT’S BEEN TWO HOURS!!!”

🌟 Yandere! Butler is in charge of your everyday routine. He’s the one planning all of your meals and makes them personally. He will get upset if anyone but him makes you food because he makes sure to plan it perfectly in order to fit your nutritional needs. He makes sure to take care of you as if you were porcelain glass. His movements with you are light and delicate almost as if he were scared that you would break if he were ever too rough with you. He loves to hear you talk about your day and ramble on about meaningless things. It’s somewhat therapeutic to him and it’s like listening to an asmr podcast in his eyes. He takes in everything that you say and a majority of times gives good advice when you need it. If you ever fall in love, never tell him. He will either gut that person alive or give you the worst possible love advice you have ever heard.

“This guy I met at the bakery was super attractive. How do you think I should approach him?”

Yandere! Butler: (screaming on the inside) “You should tell him that he’s gross. I heard nowadays guys find it attractive when people play hard to get.”

🌟 Yandere! Butler legitimately thinks that you are the most perfect person in the universe and that no one deserves you, including himself. He doesn’t care that you may not ever love him, just allow him to stay by your side all of eternity and he’ll be happy. You could tear him apart or take everything he owns and he’d still be loyal toward you. When he signed that contract, he did not only just promise to be your butler but also made a heartfelt vow that everything he does will be for your greater good. He loves the look of a smile on your face and would do anything to keep it there. Murder is not beneath him, if anyone dares to make you cry then he won’t hold back. Whether it be poison, decapitation, drowning, and etc. He’s willing to do it for you, all in the name of love.

🌟 Yandere! Butler takes care of any task that you deem stressful and overwhelmed by. If he sees any type of distraught look on your face he is taking over. Has that business deal been causing you to lose sleep? Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, he’ll make sure to handle everything. Are you getting a migraine while doing some paperwork? Well then, wait right there as he brews you some tea and he’ll get right in on working on it. If he ever sees you sneeze and sniffle then he is going straight mama bear mode. He’ll force you to stay in bed even if you aren't really sick and he won’t listen to any of your protests. No job is a headache to him when it involves you in the picture. So why don’t you just sit back and relax so that he can just take care of you.

[greensagephase]

For Better or Worse - Part 2

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Overwhelmed, you seek a moment of solitude on your sister's wedding day at the garden, but you can't even have that thanks to your sister's now brother-in-law, Miguel. Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: use of y/n; no name for your sister still (I think we're just going to go with a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; pesky aunts and a divorced man offer unsolicited opinions; some Spanish but translations are provided in text; a bit of arguing; suggestive content, so MDNI, please!; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all A/N: hiiii, finally updating this after two months 🫠 But anyway, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @lauraolar14 for the amazing fanart she made from part 1!! Found here ! Thank you, Lara!! 🥰 Pls go and support her!! Masterlist | Spotify Previous Part

You down a glass with water and place it on a tray just as a waiter offers you another drink. You politely decline before letting your gaze wander around the elegant venue your sister and Gabriel chose for the reception, thinking how it’s truly beautiful and perfect for the wedding they both envisioned.

Your eyes eventually land on the newlyweds as they dance, a smile tugging at your lips. They’ve been dancing nonstop since their first dance, which means their feet will likely be sore tomorrow. However, by tomorrow afternoon they should be in their honeymoon destination, relaxing from the last couple of days of last minute wedding shenanigans and basking in their newlywed energy.

“Aww, sweetie,” someone says, ripping your attention from your sister and now brother-in-law. It’s one of your aunts. You offer a polite smile as she approaches, your gut warning you about her intentions. “Look at you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Look at me…?” you state but it sounds more like a question.

“This must be so hard for you,” your aunt says, taking your arm and holding it, with a sad tone that matches the frown on her face.

You hold back from sighing in annoyance, recognizing where this is going. You’ve heard it twice already from two other aunts.

“Not really. I know she’s the baby of the family, but well, we all grow up, right?” you reply, forcing a smile. You hope your words will deter your aunt from explaining what she truly means, but unfortunately for you, it doesn’t.

“Aw, not that, sweetie. I mean, yes, but I was referring to how hard it must be for you as the eldest. Seeing your younger sister get married before you - it must be so hard. You should’ve been married by now, maybe with a little toddler at your side. Instead, you’ve found yourself witnessing your younger sister marry first, and who knows, maybe pregnant in a few months, but cheer up, sweetie. Don’t let this make you feel less, okay? Sometimes… Not everyone has the pleasure of marrying and experiencing motherhood, but that’s alright. I’m sure you have other… things that bring happiness to you, like… your job?” your aunt says, giving your arm what she thinks is a reassuring squeeze, but is rather an uncomfortable one. On top of that, she’s delivering another jab at you she doesn’t even know she’s making. “I’m sure that brings a lot of satisfaction to you.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” you force yourself to say with a fake smile that seems to go past your aunt. You silently pray she leaves you alone and that this is the last time you have to hear the same “comforting” and “reassuring” words for the night. You hope so, or you’ll slap someone. Mentally, of course. You’d never cause any kind of commotion publicly, much less at your sister’s wedding when you care so deeply about her and Gabriel. Besides, that’d give the people a field day and fill their minds with thoughts of you being “jealous” or “resentful” about your sister marrying before you.

Thankfully, your aunt leaves, off to offer more unsolicited advice and words of comfort, probably.

“Mierda [shit],” you sigh just as you hear a man somewhere behind you.

“Ah, Miguel! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Working all the time, huh?”

Subtly, you glance behind you at the man’s words. You didn’t even know Miguel was nearby, but now knowing he is, you wonder if he heard your aunt. You hope he didn’t as the last thing you want is Miguel to think you were looking at the newlyweds with jealously and that that was the reason your aunt felt the need to provide those “reassuring” words.

“Yes, yes. I stay busy working,” you hear Miguel reply.

“Good for you. And you’re still single?” the man asks.

“Si. No tengo pareja [Yes. I don’t have a partner],” Miguel replies, a hint of humor in his tone.

“That’s good, that’s good! No plans of marriage in sight for you. It’s better that way. You can spend your money how you want to, no children involved, no woman bothering you about grand gestures, or making you spend money. Enjoy your youth, have your fun. Maybe later on, you can settle down.”

You continue to watch the people on the dance floor, but you can’t help but scoff to yourself at the difference.

Your aunt was just pitying you about not being married and having children, but Miguel is being celebrated for the same thing by this man when he’s a few years older than you. You grab a glass from a waiter’s tray, thanking him. “I need one, or two after the crap I’m hearing,” you murmur to yourself as he walks away.

“You think so?” Miguel asks. “At my age, people think I ought to be married. Maybe with a kid or two.”

“No, no. Trust me, it’s better. That’s why I divorced.”

“I thought it was your wife who divorced you,” Miguel says gently. Despite the gentleness, Miguel’s words tear down the man’s attempt to make it seem like he had been the one to make the decision, and had you been watching Miguel, you would’ve noticed his raised brow to go along with it.

“Ah - well. Yes… But who cares? I’m divorced and free. I’m doing better than I was.” The man laughs. “I’m doing so, so, so great...” he says trailing off before chugging down some alcohol, a sign of a man who is most definitely doing great.

You roll your eyes. God bless that woman, she made the right choice divorcing the idiot behind you.

“Yeah, well…” you hear Miguel start. “I guess marriage is not for everyone. I’m not going to say it’s not for me, though. Who knows? Maybe one day a woman catches my attention.”

“You’ll be a miserable man, trust me. Don’t let any woman lure you into the marriage trap. You’re too young. Enjoy your youth. Go on dates. Have fun, if you know what I mean,” the man says, using a tone that leaves no doubt about what he’s referring to.

You decide you’ve heard enough, so you walk away, glass in hand. You glance at your sister and Gabriel from the sidelines of the dance floor, still dancing and lost in their own little and magical bubble. The sight brings a smile to your face once more before you turn, seeking a moment to yourself.

You step out of the venue, sighing deeply as you walk into a garden area where photos were taken earlier in the day. You briefly recall the photo session and how you were forced to take some photographs with the groom’s best man, who looked equally displeased to stand next to you, the maid of honor. You stood next to each other, stiff as surf boards and hands clasped in front of you with the most serious faces.

“This is the most scoffs, eye rolls, and scowls I’ve ever seen in a photo shoot. C’mon, guys! You’re the maid of honor and the best man. And -” Arturo, the cameraman, paused, walking closer. “Respective eldest siblings to the bride and groom. You should be acting like - a family. Here, let’s just move a little closer,” he said, finding it easier to move you instead of Miguel, and moving you closer to him.

You stiffened even more at that and Miguel scoffed at the way you were acting, like he had some incurable disease.

“You, too, señor [sir]. Please step closer,” Arturo gently demanded.

That earned Arturo a scoff and a glare.

“Yeah, O’Hara. Move closer and stop wasting time,” you added, innocently.

“Thank you, señorita [miss],” Arturo replied happily, believing he had at least turned your attitude around when in reality, you were simply taking the opportunity to poke fun at Miguel. It was the only way to make the photo session bearable.

With an eye roll, Miguel stepped closer until his arm brushed against yours. “Better?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Better,” Arturo confirmed. “Though…” he trailed off, frowning.

“You look like a three-day old piece of bolillo [savory bread in MX + other Latin countries],” you said all too seriously. “Stiff.”

Arturo, bless his heart, turned away and attempted to hide his shock.

With a poker face, you turned to look at Miguel and found a scowl, his eyes on you already.

“A three-day old piece of bolillo?” he repeated, annoyance dripping from his mouth. “And what are you? A fresh, sweet, soft piece of cortadillo [a kind of pan dulce; Mexican pastry], I suppose?”

You snorted at that. “I’m flattered you think of me like that. Cortadillo is so good,” you replied, smirking softly.

“Dios mio [my God], I’m just trying to do my job and those two are talking about pan dulce [Mexican pastries],” Arturo complained from somewhere, thinking he was quiet enough that he wasn’t going to be heard, but he was.

Miguel and you stared at each other as the cameraman’s words of frustration rang in your heads. You held each other’s gazes and as much as you both wanted to keep the glares and scowls, Arturo made both of you smile and then burst into quiet laughter.

In the end, Arturo got his opportunity with that moment of laughter and managed to capture the best man and maid of honor smiling in each other’s presence before you both ran off to get other duties done once the photographs were done.

You shake your head from the memory and look up at the garden lights hanging over you, giving the area a whimsical look, before you walk further away from the door and into a less well-lit area.

You sigh deeply again, something you’ve found yourself doing too much lately. The comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard have caused you some irritation, but it’s not just that. You’ve been trying to ignore a problem that’s been weighting on you all day. You’ve tried not to let it dampen your mood, today being your sister’s wedding, and you had succeeded until now. On a normal day, those conversations with your aunts and the man’s words to Miguel would’ve mattered little to you, but with the big issue in your life right now, they’ve managed to put you in a bad mood.

The big issue?

You were forced to resign from your job two days ago, leaving you unemployed.

It wasn’t anything that you did, but rather what you refused to do that led to the decision. You grimace in disgust just thinking about it all over again. You started working at the company two years ago and everything was great with you rising up the ranks quickly due to your hard work and determination, but as you rose higher and higher, you were warned.

You were told to be cautious of your boss and his wandering hands. You did your best to avoid him on your own and always kept a professional attitude to set clear boundaries. Foolishly, you thought you were safe with two years in and no impropriety on your boss’s side, but you were wrong.

Two days ago, he cornered you in his office to make his move. Of course, you made it known you weren’t interested nor willing to do anything beyond what is professional. Even when you were promised a promotion if you “played” the game, you refused - something that angered your boss. Apparently, the disgusting man believed you’d accept his advances. Despite taking it to HR, nothing was done because of the position and status your boss holds within the company. You knew then that you needed to leave the company, so you did.

You don’t regret it. You’ll never give yourself away like that to some disgusting and horrible man, even if you’re unemployed now.

However, you don’t look forward to job searching and all that it entails. Thinking about it makes you feel stressed and even some anxiety. Then, there’s also the words from your ex-boss, his promise to make it hard for you to find a job within your field.

You wonder. Surely he doesn’t have that much power, right?

You hope not.

You down the rest of the drink, briefly thinking about how you should probably stop drinking by now, but the unexpected change, one you’re carrying on your own because you refused to tell your family about it with the wedding coming up, is weighing heavily on you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door open, follow by footsteps. You recognize it’s not a woman’s, at least you don’t think so since there’s no sounds of heels, but either way, you can’t help but feel annoyed that someone has stepped out and taken your small moment of solitude. You just wanted a moment to yourself, but it seems that whoever stepped out, decided otherwise.

“Ah, you’re here, too?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face Miguel O’Hara. Of course, it had to be him of all people.

Miguel stands a few feet from the door, hands inside the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants while staring at you. For some reason, your annoyance grows at the way it hugs him in what women would say the “right way,” which you’re certain many women did comment on tonight, considering you caught many staring at him like he’s a piece of candy. You’re sure many are probably having little fantasies of him now; recalling how tall he is for a Mexican man, his wide shoulders only enhanced by his suit jacket, and the way his hair frames his chiseled face so well like God himself styled it for him.

And if they shook his hand, they may be thinking about how large and warm it was, how it felt against their own.

There may even be some women imagining making their parents suegros [parents-in-laws] and planning some elaborate wedding in their heads, thinking the bride today will be like a sister to them.

“Yes,” you simply reply, turning away again and making it known you don’t wish to talk. He can stay over there, on his own little spot, and let you be over here, unbothered.

“Needed some fresh air?”

Great.

“Yes.”

Miguel snorts, decreasing the distance between you. He’s still not in your space, but he’s significantly closer now. “One-word answers. You must be having a night.”

You don’t reply. Maybe if you don’t he’ll go back inside, but with your luck recently, doubtful.

“Did the comments from your aunts get to you?” he asks suddenly when you say nothing else.

“What comments?”

“You know very well which ones. I happened to be there, you know. When the first aunt went over, the second one, and then, the third and last one.”

You scoff. “Didn’t know you were a chismoso [gossiper; masculine noun].”

Miguel snorts again. “It’s not my fault they talk so loudly and I happened to be there.”

True on the talking too loud, but you still wish he hadn’t heard, just like you wish you hadn’t heard him being celebrated for the same things you were being pitied on.

“Right, and are you here to offer words of comfort, too?” you reply in a snappy tone. “Or, are you out here to celebrate how you were recommended to stay clear from commitment by your friend?”

Miguel scoffs. You really think he’s that kind of man?

“If you heard the conversation, surely you heard what I said,” he replies defensively turning his body to face you now. “I don’t agree with that mindset.”

“You know -” you step back and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. “I don’t care. Can you just - leave me alone?” you snap, stepping away. You don’t care about the topic anyway, it’s not the reason why you’re truly upset. Miguel O’Hara can do whatever he wants with his life and your aunts can nag and pity you, you don’t care. What you care about is the fact you lost your job the way you did and that now you’re unemployed.

“No,” Miguel says, upset. “I’m not. You seem to think you have me all figured out, don’t you? Just because we’ve never been two to get along. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I don’t care what kind of man you are. This isn’t about you.”

Miguel steps forward, his body brushing against your arm making you turn to face him, too. You glare at him.

“This isn’t about me, but I’m receiving the brunt of your anger.”

“I’m not angry about what you think I am, alright? I could care less what my aunts said, what that man said to you, though it’s unfair, but it’s not what’s on my mind. So, do me a favor and drop it. Leave me alone. You’re not the center of my world,” you reply with a scoff before turning away from him.

“What a shame,” Miguel murmurs following you. He grabs your arm and pulls you back, his hand wrapping around your flesh with enough force to keep you still without hurting you. “¿Que te pasa [what’s the matter]? Why are you so upset if it’s not that, then?”

You tug at your arm, a fruitless attempt to free yourself since Miguel doesn’t let go.

“Answer the question,” he demands, those deep brown eyes looking straight at you.

“It’s none of your business,” you answer, still glaring at Miguel.

He scoffs, holding your gaze as you look at him like he’s the most disgusting thing your eyes could ever lay upon.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mumbles, his grip tightening around your arm slightly, tugging you closer to him. With narrowed eyes, he holds your gaze for a few seconds before images of your lips flash in his mind from the dance lessons.

He had never been that close to you before, never held nor touched you.

Miguel had never noticed the way your eyelashes framed your eyes, the shape of your lips, nor had he ever noticed your scent, a mixture of your very own essence and perfume. It’s the kind of scent that makes a man weak in the knees and wish for a closer inhale. No, Miguel had never noticed those things about you and it was to his great annoyance that not only had he noted them, but that those details had also made him feel weird afterwards.

Miguel felt so off that he had to make up the excuse about having a call to make. In reality, all he did was step out and take some fresh air, his mind boggled with the entire situation from the comments the dance instructor made about the two of you being in love and sharing passion to his little stunt after your two left feet comment and your payback, which left an ache on his foot, to the details he had never noticed about you. His mind was boggled and yet, you were the same as always with him; annoyed by, distant from, and uninterested in him.

And for some reason, it bothered him that day.

When he went back inside, he found you on the other side of the dance studio, looking closely at the couple and offering some advice to help them, ignoring his presence. Even when the four of you met up at the parking lot once again after the dance lesson, your attitude was the same. Your sister and Gabriel asked if either of you were interesting in grabbing something to eat, but you declined so fast and stated you had other things to do before the wedding, “maid of honor duties” you called them.

He watched with a scowl as you got in your car and left, only having said bye to the couple while barely giving him a glance of acknowledgement despite the conversation you had just had about making things work for the sake of your sister and Gabriel.

Of course, Miguel declined the invitation, too. He was in no mood to be third wheeling and he did have some things to do for work, so he, too, left with thoughts of your annoying self on his mind.

He eventually placated his thoughts with work, including dealing with his team and the fact that his current assistant put in their four weeks. Thankfully, he still has some time left before his assistant leaves, which he hopes is enough time to find someone to fill in the position. Either way, his work helped him set his thoughts about you aside that day.

Now, Miguel pushes past his thoughts and focuses on you, still holding your arm.

“And what of it?” you reply to his comment about you being a brat, still glaring at him so fiercely and angrily about whatever you’re upset about, proving Miguel you can be such a brat sometimes.

For two seconds Miguel has a thought - bending you over his knee and teaching you a lesson to tame that bratty attitude of yours. Then, his brain betrays him and he imagines what you’d sound like if he did. Would you still be a little brat when his heavy palm makes contact with your rear, or would you whimper and -

“You’re so upset,” Miguel says in an almost breathless way, his mind blanking for a second. “If it’s not your aunts’ comments, then what is it? It must be something of importance, if it has you like this on your sister’s wedding day,” Miguel adds, trying to focus on the moment at hand and not on whatever the hell his brain is going on about. He decides, quickly, that he’s probably had a few too many tequila shots. That’s probably why his brain is acting up. Surely.

“As I said earlier, it’s none of your business,” you reply, once again trying to free your arm, but to no avail. The giant man has you rooted to his side.

“Bullshit,” Miguel replies. His brother married into your family and your sister into his, that makes the two of you something now, doesn’t it? You’re tied for life now, for better or worse, in this way thanks to your siblings. And, the two of you did agree to get along for their sake.

“No te metas en lo que no te importa [don’t get involved in what doesn’t bother you],” you snap. “Mind your business. We may have agreed to be civil, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be besties.”

“As if, princesita [little princess],” Miguel responds with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be able to take your little attitude for two hours, even if I was paid, much less be ‘besties’ with you.”

“We have that in common, at least. I wouldn’t spend a day with you, even for a million dollars,” you reply, even though you could really use a million dollars, especially now.

Miguel smirks, amused by your response, and pulls you closer. “Not even if I paid you two million?”

“Not even five.”

Lies, lies, lies. You wouldn’t be worrying about being unemployed if you had even just one million dollars in the bank right now.

Miguel shrugs. “Maybe it’s too little, they’re little numbers after all,” he replies with a cocky smirk, for some reason bragging about his wealth to you now, something he’s never done before to anyone, but then again, his brain is not working accordingly right now.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. You know Miguel is a CEO for a company you’ve never bothered to learn the name of, so you’re not surprised he has money, but saying five million dollars is “too little” is aggravating, and kind of shocking.

“Whatever, let go of me. Now,” you demand.

Miguel now scoffs at your demanding tone as if he couldn’t easily throw you over his shoulder and carry you off, or pin you against a wall.

“¿Qué tal si te digo que no? ¿Qué vas a hacer entonces, princesita? [What if I tell you no? What are you doing then, princess?]” Miguel replies, pulling you closer, so much closer his expensive cologne surrounds you.

You breathe it in, subtly of course. It’s rich, warm, and woody mixed in with his own scent. It’s the kind that sends a pool of warmth to your very core if allowed to inhale straight from a man’s neck with your nose pressed to his sensitive and warm flesh. You freeze for a second, the very thought almost makes you grimace, the fact that you’ve thought of such thing with Miguel of all men.

“You’re gonna slam your foot on mine again like the other day?” he asks mockingly, bringing you back to your senses.

“And mess your pretty, expensive shoes?”

Miguel snorts. “I can easily replace them.”

“So, you want me to slam my foot on yours? Is that what you’re saying?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel grins, leaning closer, so much closer. He continues to hold your gaze, holding you still.

You scoff, your gaze unwavering.

You’re such a little brat, Miguel thinks again, his hand tightening around your arm just a tad more.

“What? Can’t make up your mind now?” you ask with a smug smile.

He scowls, pulling you so much closer. Your breath fans his face and he finds himself growing still when he feels it against lips especially. He swallows deeply while holding your gaze, your scent filling his nostrils and making him lean almost instinctively.

“You can ruin the shoes, I’ll simply buy new ones. I’ll even get you some pretty heels for your trouble. ¿Trato [Deal]?” he asks quietly, his gaze flickering to your lips for a second.

And God, maybe it really is all the drinks you’ve both had tonight because you lean closer, too.

Suddenly, it feels like two rocks rubbing against each other, a spark of fire made beneath the moonlight.

“¿Que pasa [What’s wrong]? Cat got your tongue?” Miguel whispers with a smirk.

“No. I was just thinking about the color I'd like the heels,” you reply, sarcastically.

“Ah, the color. Don't worry, you can choose whatever color you like. Whatever brand. Saint Laurent, Burberry, Gucci…”

You snort. “Didn't know you were so giving, O’Hara.”

“You don't know me” Miguel replies, tilting his head a little.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a smirk that makes Miguel's heart skip a beat. He leans slightly closer, further decreasing the distance between your faces.

“I’m a man that likes to give - to provide,” Miguel continues, his hand tightening around your arm, his gaze flickering to your lips once more.

“Ah, interesting. You're the tree that keeps on giving, hm?”

“Such a smartass,” Miguel mumbles, eyes narrowing and meeting yours again. “One of these days that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble.”

“I can't wait,” you reply defiantly.

Miguel scowls, your little defiance stirring something in him once more. He huffs, eyes moving to your lips yet again, not thinking straight. All he’s suddenly thinking about is closing the distance and shutting your mouth - with his own. He thinks about his mouth pressed against yours, about slipping his tongue in and swirling it around yours to taste you, to make you whine.

Meanwhile, you look at him, noticing his gaze on your lower face. You find yourself doing the same, your eyes landing on his full lips specifically. You silently wonder, despite yourself, what they’d feel like against yours and against your skin. The thought creates a fluttering feeling inside your chest, one that Miguel shares.

His heart races, his mind clouded with these strange thoughts. Miguel thinks about leaning in all the way and doing it, kissing you once and for all to satisfy a hunger and craving he’s suddenly overwhelmed with.

And he would've, if only the door leading to the garden hadn’t suddenly swung open before you both register voices.

You both pull away instantly, staring at each other like two deer caught in headlights. The realization hits the two of you like a ton of feathers at once, the truth echoing in your heads over and over again.

You were going to kiss.

You were going to kiss.

You were going to kiss.

The only thing that breaks Miguel and you from your shock are the sudden intimate noises, tearing your gazes from each other to see what’s the matter. It’s then that you both see a couple making out against the wall, totally unaware that Miguel and you are there due to the poor lighting.

Seeing the intimacy and hearing their noises of passion is all you need before you walk past Miguel, fleeing the garden area wordlessly to pull yourself together.

Miguel doesn’t try to stop you, not even when you brush past him. He stands there for a second or two before he, too, walks off in the opposite direction, hands clenched.

It’s not until you find yourself utterly alone once more that you stop walking. You stare at the ground, your heart racing while your mind plays the last few minutes over and over again. It makes no sense. There’s no way Miguel was about to kiss you, right? You huff in frustration and begin to pace back and forth, one hand clenched tightly around the glass you brought out with you as you try to make sense of the situation.

“Alcohol,” you say quickly to yourself, nodding. “Too much alcohol. It makes people do stupid things.” You nod once more, slowly calming yourself as you repeat this in your head.

At last, you stop pacing when you find reason for that near mistake.

Alcohol, which messes with your brain. Nothing more.

“Hey!”

Startled, you jump and let out a small gasp before turning. You find your mom, happily smiling.

“Come on! What are you doing out here all alone, mija [my daughter]?”

“Just - taking some fresh air,” you answer, walking over to her.

“Your sister and Gabrielito are about to cut the cake. They were wondering where you were,” your mom informs you, offering her arm to you.

You smile and accept your mom’s arm, embracing her comforting presence as you both head back inside the party.

“They were also looking for Miguel. You haven’t seen him, have you?” your mom asks, nearly making you trip.

“N - No, I haven’t,” you lie, clearing your throat and checking your shoe to pretend something is wrong with it to make up for you nearly tripping. “He’s probably talking with the men. They all seem like big fans of him.”

Your mom smiles, nodding. She hums softly as you both enter the venue again, the kind of hum that only moms can muster when they know something you don’t.

“I’m sure Miguelito is somewhere around here. Maybe he needed some fresh air, too,” your mom continues, patting your forearm as you fully enter the reception room now. “Let’s go get some cake.”

After eating cake and making toasts with your family and the guests, you stick near your parents’ side for the rest of the night, as a distraction to forget what almost happened earlier, until it’s time to see your sister and Gabriel off. You watch next to your parents as the newlyweds walk out of the venue, saying bye to the guests and other family members until it’s the immediate families’ turn at the end.

You hug your sister and Gabriel goodbye when it’s your turn, wishing them a great time and congratulating them yet again.

At last, the couple makes it to the car and gets settled. You smile softly as they wave goodbye one more time before the car departs. Watching the car grow smaller and smaller, the realization that your baby sister is married dawns on you. In the blink of an eye, she grew up and turned into a wonderful young woman. You briefly recall when she was a little girl, when she used to follow you everywhere because she wanted to do everything with you. And now, she’s all grown up and starting a new life with the love of her life.

A few feet away from you, Miguel does the same with a thoughtful expression on his face. He can’t believe Gabriel is now a married man, that he’s all grown up. He sighs, wondering where time went before he turns sideways, finding you staring in the direction of the car. He has no doubt you’re having similar thoughts like his, the two of you being the eldest siblings.

Sensing someone’s gaze, you turn, only to meet Miguel’s eyes. You stare at each other for a few seconds, the moment at the garden flashing through your minds like the highlights of a video with one particular part in replay: that moment when Miguel leaned forward and his gaze fell on your lips before you allowed yourself the same with his.

Your senses, both Miguel’s and yours, are overwhelmed in seconds. You easily recall each other’s scents, the warmth from your bodies, and the angry energy that slowly turned into something different due to the shoe talk before you fell into whatever that was at the end.

You blink at last and swallow deeply, pushing the memory away. You scoff at yourself, still holding Miguel’s gaze.

Damn alcohol and the things it makes you do and feel. Right?

You finally look away and walk off to meet your parents, not sparing Miguel another glance.

Miguel’s eyes follow you until you disappear from his sight. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, frustrated. He doesn’t even know if it’s at you or himself, or both. Or, maybe he’s just exhausted form the wedding planning and the actual wedding activities.

He doesn’t know anymore, just like he doesn’t know what he was thinking back at the garden. He turns away and scowls at himself. Okay, fine. He knew exactly what he was thinking: kissing and tasting you.

“Miguel-”

“What?” Miguel snaps, turning. He clears his throat when he finds Daniel, the man from earlier who was boasting about being divorced and advising Miguel to stay single for a while longer. He sighs and shakes his head. “Forgive me, Daniel. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright. You’re probably tired from the wedding. These things are always exhausting. I was just going to ask if you are interested in joining me and some of the other guys to a bar. It’s still early,” Daniel says before three other young men reach them.

Knowing the men, Miguel knows what kind of night they hope to have; one with no attachments but filled with carnal pleasure.

Miguel shakes his head. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m too tired. And besides, I still have to wrap up some things here regarding the venue. You guys have fun.”

The other men boo him and one even dares to call him “old fashioned” since they know Miguel isn’t interested in those type of nights with strangers. They eventually walk away, leaving Miguel alone once more. He shakes his head as he sees them pull out of the parking lot before fishing for his own car keys inside his pockets.

The truth is, Miguel has no tasks related to the venue left. A cleaning crew was hired to take care of everything so neither families would have to worry about it. The food situation was handled and the gifts have been collected to be stored for now until the couple comes back from their honeymoon.

All Miguel needs to do is wish everyone a good night and head home. That’s it. Yet… His thoughts are a storm and you’re at the center of it, the culprit.

His gaze, despite himself, searches for you. He finally spots you several feet away talking with a man, one he doesn’t know personally. Miguel watches the interaction, noticing the closeness and the way you seem at ease with the individual. Hell, you’re even laughing at something the man says.

He looks away when the man places a hand on your forearm while talking, opting to gaze at the venue’s front gardens with trimmed bushes and perfectly aligned flowers.

Miguel suddenly realizes it. He’s stalling, but why? He turns to look your way again, discreetly, and the need to talk to you suddenly hits him. He needs to talk to you about what almost happened at the garden earlier. So, Miguel takes a few steps your way.

As he approaches you, he’s unsure of what he’d even say. I’m sorry for almost kissing you? Miguel cringes internally. Should he even bring it up? Talking about it makes it more real. It means acknowledging that that almost happened between you along with admitting some level of vulnerability, something neither of you have ever shared with each other.

He suddenly finds himself standing next to you and the man, his large strides making the walk a short one. The man stops talking and looks over at him, a look of confusion at Miguel’s sudden appearance. On the other hand, to Miguel’s annoyance, you give him a look of nonchalance.

“Excuse me,” Miguel starts, acknowledging the man. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I need a word with Ms. Y/N.”

The man nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “I see. I’ll give you two a moment,” the man says despite you beginning to protest.

You watch the man, a son of one of your dad’s friends from work, walk away. Slowly, you turn to face Miguel, keeping a neutral expression. “Yes?”

“We need to talk about what happened,” Miguel says quietly, meeting your gaze.

“What happened?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel scoffs, his eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t give me that attitude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At the garden,” Miguel continues through gritted teeth in disbelief at your nonchalance.

You hum, tilting your head. “Nothing happened,” you respond.

“Are you kiddi-” Miguel starts but stops, his frustration mounting. He lowers his voice. “Don’t play stupid with me, princesita [little princess]. We both know you’re far from it.”

“You know what I know?” you ask quietly. “There’s nothing to discuss. Don’t make a storm in a glass of water, okay?” With that, you walk around him.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking,” Miguel replies, following you.

“As far as I’m concern, we have nothing to talk about. So, I’ll see you around, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, ending the conversation as you head to your car.

“Dammit,” Miguel murmurs, still following you.

You quickly unlock your car and get inside, slamming the door close. You start the car even when you see Miguel standing next to it, trying to talk to you. Sighing, you consider rolling your window down for a few seconds to let him talk, but at the same time you don’t wish to hear him out. A part of you knows that talking about what nearly happened will make it feel important when it’s not. Or, at least you’ve made yourself believe it’s not.

You shift the car’s gear, ready to drive off, but at the last second, you roll your window down. Facing forward and with your foot on the brake, you speak. “We’ve both had drinks. Alcohol makes people do things that they wouldn’t do when they’re fully sober, even with a little bit in their system. There’s nothing to discuss nor explain. Nothing happened and that’s what matters. I’m certainly not making a big deal out of it, nor have I been offended by what nearly happened, so if that’s what you’re trying to do - apologize - save it. Have a good night,” you state firmly before driving off, leaving a frustrated Miguel in the parking lot.

Through your rear view mirror, you look at him one more time. You find him watching you drive off, his arms at his sides in a stance that lets you detect his frustration clearly. At last, you look away, certain you’ve handled the situation accordingly.

A/N: Hiii, I'm sorry for how long it took me to update, but life got crazy in August due to a family member's death and then sickness. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed part 2! When I wrote part 1, I wasn't planning on this being a multiple parts fic, but with writing part 2, I guess I am now.

I'm unsure of how long this will be. Tbh, I'm hoping for it to be short 😭🙏🏼 Like, 10 chapters or so? Maybe less. I need to sit down and plan accordingly! As you can probably guess, this will transition into a CEO!Miguel x Assistant!female reader who are also now connected because of your sister and Gabriel, so I'm just letting you guys know the forced proximity will increase! 🙂‍↕️

Thank you for reading, and I hope you're having a great day/night!!

Alondra❤️

p.s. I have attached my side Spotify account in case you guys are interested in keeping up with the music I listened to while writing this chapter.

for the people that asked me to notify them for part 2: @vera4luv @safixiovi