#he likes his woman older and financially well off

[bunnithechubs]

breaking news: she would date men her age but they're all dead!

[berberriescorner]

“Are You Listening?”

Interlude: “Drinks On Me, Yeah?”

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: Issa Interlude, mama. Expect the unexpected.

Warnings: Profanity, angst, fluff, and drinking-little libation for the one, two.

Word Count: 1,700+.

A/N: My lovelies! My babies! Mama’s back and I got a little sum-sum for ya! Let’s start this weekend with a little Rio and the crew, yeah? Yeah. I want to give so many thanks to all of you sweet lovelies who have been rocking with me this entire time. Most of you know that the past year and a half has been quite the struggle. To everybody who took time out of your day to come and check in on me, please know that I’m appreciative and forever grateful to have connected with such amazing people🥹♥️. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks as well💓. I’m a little rusty, so be gentle with your girl. Enjoy my sweet babies.  Before anyone asks, yes, I’ve been working on Pt. 4😂😏😈.

"Are You Listening?" - The Playlist

Apple Music.

Spotify.

Part One Here.

Part Two Here.

Part Three Here.

Inspired By:

Your body pressed down into the plush mattress as you reveled in the comfort and security of being home. Your mind replayed the image of your mom snatching the door open, the two of you hugging tightly, rocking side to side. You had spent the past week trying to survive final exams and warding off the many questions of, “What’s wrong, baby girl?” The woman who gave you life knew you all too well. Sensing that her youngest baby was struggling, her attempts to get you to open up over the phone went unanswered. With the semester complete, being home didn’t leave much space to dodge the knowing gaze in her eyes. 

That master’s degree will probably be a waste of time.

The moment you pulled away from the hug, she cupped your chin, and your poker face cracked as the tears cascaded down your cheeks. Two hours later, you filled her in on everything from the stress of school, financial aid, working doubles, and the fresh crack in your heart that was taking its sweet-ass time to heal. All of which had only taken about forty minutes to stutter out. The talk and her comfort had left you wiped out, and just like any amazing mother would do, she sent you to your room for a nap and got to work on preparing comfort food.

You considered dozing off for a bit more rest, but your bedroom door flew open, bouncing off the corner of your vanity. Your eyes narrowed to mere slits as you started to curse your oldest brother out. His hand raising halted the verbal reprimand.

“Alena’s big-headed ass is here to see ya mean ass,” he snarked about the woman who would eventually become his wife.

These two bitches are so in love. It’s sickening. The attraction is so annoyingly obvious. Shit makes me sick to my stomach.

Before you could tell him you didn’t want company, she was already in the doorframe. “Uh-uh, bitch you are not about to dodge me for another two weeks.” With those words said, you had no choice but to give her a rundown of what had transpired. Not only had she forced you to divulge every last detail while the two of you hugged and cried together. She also took it upon herself to wiggle you into your best freakum dress and head out for a girl’s night.

Being the baby and the only girl in your family made for very over-the-top protective parents. The moment your father saw your attire, he wouldn’t let up. He was hell-bent on forcing your brothers to chaperone.

It wasn’t a horrible idea.  Only you didn’t like your independence challenged. Luckily, the older siblings were pretty chill, so long as no one was overly aggressive. They had taught you how to handle shit for yourself at a young age. You spent the first half hour in the club pouting and ready to go home to wallow in self-misery.

“Hoe! If you don’t fix your face, scaring off every good-looking man in this club!”

“They’ll be alright, so long as they keep their distance. In case you didn’t get the memo after our long talk. Men make my ass itch,” you growled, kissing your teeth.

“Whateva, you and that stank attitude can have a good time together,” she sassed, throwing up a hand and walking away from the bar.”

“Where are you going? Alena!”

“I’ll be back, damn! Let me go on and annoy them, fine-ass brothers of yours. Be nice, and don’t bite nobody head off, sourpuss.”

“Always thirsting after my blood, just triflin’.”

With the flick of a middle finger, she sauntered over to their section. You could see the irritation rolling off them as she seated herself in the middle. The arguing started seconds later. Your eye twitched at the sight. Swinging the barstool back toward the liquor, you were about to pass the time scrolling through social media. Instead, a set of bronzed-colored, muscular digits came into view. They gently pressed your phone to the bar as the matching digits slid another lemon drop into view. Your eyes danced along those muscular fingers, trailing upward until they landed on one of the sexiest faces you’d ever witnessed. If any other man would’ve done this, he would’ve been set straight expeditiously. In this instance, ole boy was just too damn fine, and it left you on mute. The corners of his mouth lifted into a handsome smirk.

The stranger turned his barstool to get closer. One hand rested on the bar while the other cradled the back of your seat. His eyes roamed over your body, lip tucking between his teeth, matching you stare for stare. He chuckled when he noticed your quirked eyebrow.

“I don’t mean to intrude on ya evening, but I figured you could use another drink.”

“Is that so?”

“Couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your friend. I’m tryin’ to  figure out why these men got your fine ass itching out here.”

Shit, he heard that? Floor, open up and swallow me. That’s so damn embarrassing.

As if reading your thoughts, he continued, “Nothing to be embarrassed about, mama. There’s a lot of boys running around here pretending to be men. Who was crazy enough to fumble you? He gotta be the dumbest man on earth.”

As if on cue, said fumbler’s name popped up on your caller ID. With a swipe of a finger, the phone went silent. You turned back to your new admirer. He had signaled for another round of drinks.

“Either you’re a big spender, or the bartender is your connect,” you teased.

“Connect is one way of putting it. This my spot, darlin’.”

He chuckled as you damn near choked on your drink.

“I’m sorry. Tend to put my foot in my mouth.”

“You good. I like a woman who’s not afraid to speak her mind. Dealing with me, you go to say it with your chest.”

“Oh, so you plan to be around me beyond tonight?”

“Around, underneath, on top. We locked in, mama,” he insisted, licking his lips.

“I don’t even know your name, fool,” you cackled at his cockiness.

“Name’s Rio, but you can call me Christopher, mama. My future wife needs to know my government name. I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t be tellin’ my business, sweetheart.”

“Who says I’m checking for you, Rio?”

“You accepted my company and drinks. Deep down, you’re intrigued by me. Ain’t no need to hide it. When I see something I want, gotta go after it, mama.” he rasped, voice lowering to a panty-dropping level.

“You’re trouble. I just know it.”

Rio planted both hands on your thighs. The gasp that escaped you lit his brown orbs with passion.

“Can I have your undivided attention for the night? Want to get to know you better, mama.”

Grabbing his outstretched hand, he helped you down off the stool.

“Rio…”

Piercing light flickered in the darkness, pulling you from the memory that played itself in your dreams. Your hand snatched the vibrating phone from the table. Your orbs squinted to read the screen, teeth clenching in frustration.

Fucking Rio, I can’t even get away from him in my sleep. Stupid-handsome-asshole.

With a single tap, the phone rested on DND. You closed off from the world to find a peaceful slumber, only to wake from another dream. Throwing the covers back, you startled, feeling the bed dip. His cologne wafted through the air, and your eyes connected.

“Why all the tossing and turning, amor? Hmm,” he rasped, hand trailing up your arm. His warm palm cradled the side of your neck, rubbing away some of the tension.

“Sorry, did my restlessness wake you?”

“No, querida. I’ve been up taking care of some things.”

“Same old Miguel. Everything business. Still don’t sleep much, huh?”

His eyes crinkled with a small smile, but you could also see sadness. It’s the same unhappiness that’s always lingered, only now accompanied by sparks of anger and resentment. Your mind replayed his words in the elevator.

Where’s your wife, Miguel?

She had other plans tonight.

The slightest mention of her had nearly sent his mood spiraling. You weren’t privy to what was happening in his marriage but didn’t want to pry. He would only reverse card uno your ass. Miguel would insist that you vent about your own life and frustrations.

“Thank you for taking the couch,” you nibbled at your lip. 

There was a hint of frustration and guilt lingering in your chest. Not being able to sleep without dreaming of Rio left you feeling conflicted. Part of you wanted to say to hell with loyalty. Being in such a vulnerable state had you craving to be held and cuddled, but regardless of circumstance, the two of you were very much married. Concern swam in the pools of his eyes. Miguel sensed the ongoing dilemma in your head, and his fingers gently cupped your chin.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s all this,” he asked, tugging the lip between your teeth. “Tell me what you need.”

“I can’t,” you sighed.

“You can, and you will. Look at me,” he insisted as your eyes locked.

“Anything you ask me. It won’t leave this room. You need me to hold you until sleep takes over, amor?”

Unable to verbally say it, you gave him a slight head nod. Removing his tie, watch, and shoes, he made it over to the opposite side of the bed. Miguel got right to it, not giving you time to overthink it. He pulled you into his chest, arms engulfing you in a tight hug.

“Were you having nightmares, cariño?”

“No, just happy memories reminding me of the present painful ones,” you replied, voice filling with unshed tears.

“You want to talk about it?”

Silence filled the room as Miguel continued, “We don’t have to ta-.”

His sentence cut short as he felt the tremors and your head burrowed into his side. Miguel’s heart cracked at the sound of the sobs falling from your lips. His arms pulled you further into him until there was no space left, and the palm of his hand rubbed at your head.

“Shhh, you’re okay. I’m here,” he cooed, leaving soft kisses on the crown of your head.

Miguel continued to whisper calming words. You cried until your head pounded, and sleep took over.

Hope you all enjoyed that little peek into how Rio pulled up on your girl for the first time. He saw something he liked, and he had to have you🥰. We’ll just call this a vague moment of insight into upcoming events...if that makes sense 😆. If you enjoyed please be sure to hit the love button, comment, and reblog. Spread the love, my babies.

Divider: @firefly-graphics

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[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au future

a/n: i had this idea and needed to write it. it's a bit into the future, much past where i currently am, so feel free to skip. i'm still posting the next part later this evening, but i just needed to get this out of my head and figured i'd share lol

*gif courtesy of google*

words: 1.6k // warnings: solana is sad, roman is pissed, and their families ain't shit

taglist: @fearlesschimera @sayyestoheav3nn @annfg8 @cyberdejos2 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @trentybenty @empressdede @tshepisho @southerngirl41 @callmekayd

Solana should have listened to Roman. 

Should have known better than to ever think this was a good idea.

To think that they could have both of their families in the same vicinity and everything would go fine. Granted, the type of division she was expecting has been relatively tame. There hasn’t been any violence, largely due and thanks to the weapon deposit bins by the entrance.

Weapon free establishment and all. 

Yet, she’s not naive enough to think that the lack of guns, knives, and other unmentionables could stop her or Roman’s family from throwing down if they wanted. But, they haven’t. No punches have been thrown nor bones broken. It’s been more of a clear separation. Roman’s family only interacts with each other, and her family interacts with each other.

Not the kind of cohesion she was hoping for but a much better alternative than what it could be.

But, while conflict and violence between the in-laws has, so far, been avoided. There’s still another major issue that has Solana locked in one of the back rooms, sitting on a random chair, crying her eyes out.

The bullying. 

Towards her. 

Towards Roman.

Towards their baby.

It started out light, Solana having to politely shut down a near fight between her brother and Roman.

Wes lifted the beer to his lips, eyeing Roman. “So, how many people have you killed today, Reigns?”

“Wesley!” Solana’s sharp use of his name was conjoined with a disapproving expression. He’s too old for the petty jabs.

Roman, however, simply smiled coldly, scratching his beard as he delivered a chilling warning. “So far none, but you keep fucking talking, and I can change that real fast.”

Thankfully, Solana was able to de-escalate, her sister-in-law, Hazel, prying Wes away before any violence could commence. 

Then there was the conversation Solana unintentionally walked into while conversing with two of her older cousins she’s not as close with.

For good reasons.

“Aren’t you at all worried?”

Solana frowned. “About?”

Her cousin leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Roman as a dad. I mean, he’s not capable of love. Do you really expect him to be a good father?”

There’s no words to describe how much hearing such a thing about the man she loves hurt Solana. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her other cousin, however, simply rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, everyone knows that man is a sociopath. You’re better off cutting your losses now, taking the kid to Mexico with your mom’s side of the family, and praying he doesn’t turn out like his psycho dad.”

Solana had to excuse herself for that one. She had nothing nice to say in that moment, but beyond that, she just needed to get a few tears out.

And she did, hoping that would be the last of it, but no, that was just too good of a hope to be true. 

It was the comments overheard by some of Roman’s relatives, however, that did her in.

“I just can’t believe out of all the women, the respectable options who come from more established families, he chose her.”

The other woman snorted, shaking her head. “Right? It’s obvious she was looking for a sugar daddy. What is she, like 25?”

“I heard her father’s not doing well financially and told her to seek out Roman.”

“Makes sense. Look how easy she was. Didn’t waste any time opening up her legs and trapping him with a baby.” The woman rolled her eyes, adding, “at the very least, he could have found a Samoan woman. It’s bad enough he’s afakasi, but this child of theirs? The girl is Mexican and Black. He’ll hardly have any Samoan blood running through his veins. Our Bloodline could die out because of her.”

The first woman to speak snorted, smirking almost as she suggested, “that’s assuming it’s his baby. Roman’s smart though. I’m sure he’ll have a paternity test done as soon as she pushes out that bastard.”

“Assuming ICE doesn’t deport her first.”

The two women fell out in laughter at the same time Solana darted off, desperate to get away and have a safe space to cry. 

It’s all just been too much. Too much hatred spewed for something that should be filled with love and excitement. 

It’s been anything but, and it hurts. 

It hurts a ton. 

The knocking on the door is loud and borderline erratic, Solana quickly wiping her eyes and clearing her throat to inform that she’ll be out in a minute. But, a deep, familiar voice beats her to it.

“Solana.” It’s Roman, and he doesn’t sound happy. “Open the door.”

She blows out a deep breath and does her best to feign a ‘normal’ voice. “Just—just a second.”

“Now, Solana.” Before she can ask why, he adds in a calmer voice,“I know you’re crying.” Damn. 

“So you either let me in or I’ll break this goddamn door down.”

He’ll do it. She knows he will. There’s nothing ever stopping Roman from comforting or being there for her when he knows she’s upset. 

And this would definitely be one of those times. 

Solana sniffles, trying to gather herself as she carefully stands up from the toilet seat. Wiping at her eyes, she flips the lock and is barely able to turn the knob when Roman is opening the door. Stepping back, he closes it behind him and moves his hands to her face, gaze locking with hers.

“What’s wrong?”

So many things, but this isn’t the time or place, so she shakes her head. “N–nothing. I’m just—baby hormones.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs, voice still surprisingly gentle. “Baby, talk to me. What happened?”

Solana looks away, hating how just that question, coming from him, tone so understanding and soft almost, is enough to pull the truth out of her.

And it does.

“You were right. This was a bad idea. I should have never—” She stops herself, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I just wanted…..I thought….I thought they’d be happy for us.”

“Sol, you know it’s not that simple.” Though his words could be seen as insensitive, the way he says it is anything but. “Who said what?”

She closes her eyes, grasping onto his white button-up shirt. “It wasn’t just…..one person….it’s everybody.” He wipes at her tears, as she continues to feel the emotional weight of it all. “My family saying cruel things about you—”

“Sola—”

“Your family saying things about me, about our baby—”

At that, all gentleness drops and is replaced with something else. Something she knows Roman knows well. 

Anger.

“Who?” It’s one word. One single word that means a multitude of things and none of them good.

Solana shifts her weight, shrugging, “I—I don’t know who they are. Some….some cousins of yours. But, it doesn’t—it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does fucking matter.” Roman drops his hands from her face to instead take her right hand in his, holding it firmly. “And we gonna address this shit right now.”

Solana's eyes widen a bit. That’s….that’s not what she wanted. “Wait, Roman—”

He’s not listening though. His stride is purposeful and determined, as he leads them out the bathroom, down the hall, and into the main section of the venue where most of their families are gathered. 

Roman guides them over to where the DJ has his setup, Solana gasping as Roman uses his free hand to yank a set of chords out the wall, effectively stopping the music. 

The DJ looks just as confused as most of the guests but cowers away in fear when Roman ‘iffs’ at him, like he’s going to hit him, before snatching the microphone. 

The abrupt ending of the music has attracted most gazes to where Roman and Solana stand, him moving them to the middle where all can see and hear.

He never once releases her hand. 

“Imma say this one time, and one time only.” She swallows, her eyes landing on her parents. Her mom looks confused, while her dad wears the same expression he’s worn since the moment Solana finally came clean about her relationship with Roman.

Disappointed. 

“Cause if I have to address this shit again, it’s not gonna be verbally.” Chills move up and down her spine. There’s not an ounce of her that questions if he’s bluffing or not. Roman doesn’t bluff. If he says it, he means it. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. That includes her family and mine, but I’ll be damned if I let any of ya’ll disrespect her or our child.” Solana’s hand naturally moves to her belly, her bump that’s pronounced and especially visible in her white bodycon dress. “We’re together. We’re having a baby. However way any of you feel about it, keep it to your fucking selves, because there’s no reason Solana should be crying at something that’s supposed to be a happy occasion.”

She swallows, noticing how the entire room has gone silent under the deep voice of Roman’s address. There’s not a person who looks uninterested or annoyed. It’s just a sea of various scared and nervous expressions. 

“So, the next time you find yourselves talking shit about her, and especially our baby, understand it will absolutely be the last thing you ever fucking do.” Solana watches Roman begin to hand the microphone to the flabbergasted DJ before he snatches it back, turning once again toward the onlookers. “And one more thing……when you address her, make sure you do it properly.”

Solana’s throat goes dry.  She shakes her head. He can’t be doing what she thinks he’s about to do. “Roman—”

“It’s not Solana Miller.” Oh my God. “It’s Solana Reigns.”

The sea of silence quickly morphs into an ocean of various gasps, exclamations, and even shouts. 

Meanwhile, Roman simply smirks as he sticks the nail in the coffin before dropping the mic on the ground. “—we’re married.”

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Next part

Tags list : @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[littledovesnow]

president snow, the prelude

a/n: so there were like 750 words that didn't make it into the final fic for president!coryo, here they are! i wasn't going to publish this, but it sets up a lot of the backstory for future fics i have planned :)

-----

The room was electric as Lucky Flickerman’s face popped up on the TV, ready to announce Panem’s next president.

Your husband, who was freshly twenty-five and had his name on the ballot fo the first time, stood next to you, hand laced in your own.

“You’re a shoo-in, Coryo, I don’t know what they’re even doing counting the votes. Everyone knows you’re going to come out on top. After all, Snow lands on top.”

Coriolanus smiled softly at the sound of his family’s favorite phrase. He knew he had most likely won the election as well, but he wanted to hear the final vote before celebrating anything.

“The results are in,” Lucky Flickerman’s dramatics were dialed to a hundred tonight, as he flicked open an envelope brought to him by a station worker.

“Panem’s next president is,” he trailed off, wanting to build the anticipation.

You could feel the electric in the air, squeezing your husband’s hand as Lucky opened his mouth to continue. “The Capitol’s own Coriolanus Snow!”

Cheers erupted from the Snow’s great room, Coriolanus’ closest family and friends having gathered for the momentous occasion.

Mr. and Mrs. Plinth, who thought of you considered your in-laws, wasted no time in congratulating the young man, their next president. “We always knew you had it in you, Coriolanus. Ever since you and Sejanus first were mentors way back when!”

You and Coriolanus shared a look, neither of you had ever come out with the truth about what happened when Coriolanus was exiled the summer after the 10th Hunger Games.

Putting on a smile, Coriolanus hugged the older woman, and shook hands with his late classmate’s father. “You’ll do this nation proud, boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Plinth.”

Mrs. Plinth brought her attention to you, the nation’s next First Lady. “You’ll be a splendid First Lady! Oh, the Capitol will be overjoyed to have a young couple at the helm again! Especially once a child is brought up!”

You stopped yourself from frowning, instead giving the woman a soft smile.

Coriolanus watched with a careful eye, not wanting to cause a scene at the woman’s comments. He and you had been trying for a child for a few months, to no avail. One of his first tasks as president would be to find better fertility care, as he was growing worried that each failure was taking a larger toll on you than you let on.

“If you’ll excuse us, I believe I do need to go make a speech.” Coriolanus smiled, tugging you out of the room with a promise to catch up at his inauguration.

You waited until you two were in the privacy of your bedroom before letting any emotions go, inner turmoil over your husband’s victory and sadness over Mrs. Plinth’s comment.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Coriolanus murmured; voice much softer than when he is in public. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

 You looked at your husband with tears on deck, stomach rolling over. “She’s true. The Capitol’s going to want us to start a family as soon as possible. I’m going to be seen as a failure if I can’t even get pregnant!”

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you as your emotions crumbled, heat growing in his heart. He wanted to immediately call for her to lose her tongue, with little regard that she was one of the two people who had helped him financially be able to make it to this point in his life.

“We’ll figure it out, my love. I vowed to help you become a mother, and it’s a vow I intend to keep.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve, earning a tsk from the president-elect. “I just wish it was as easy as It is for everyone else. I deserve this, for God’s sake!”

Coriolanus frowned, hand running up and down your spine. “I know, my love.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he kept his lips closed.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more, until there was a knock at the door, an Avox opening it once Coriolanus granted permission.

Holding a phone up, the Avox gestured to Coriolanus, who begrudgingly stepped away from you to take the call, which was Lucky Flickerman himself, conducting a phone-style interview live on air.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, playing into the pizazz and cheer over the phone, stating how excited he was to have this honor as president, all while sitting on the luxurious bed you two shared, hand moving up and down your arm as you curled into his side.

-----

a/n: and there it is folks, basically why i made coriolanus want funding for a fertility clinic :)

[thebluemallet]

My Favorite Portia Featherington Moments

Throughout all three seasons of Bridgerton, Portia Featherington has been a complicated character. On the surface, she's completely unlikeable. She treats Penelope poorly. Her fashion sense is excessively gaudy. And she seems either unaware or willfully ignorant of the social faux pas she makes from day to day.

But she is also a survivor who was dealt a shit hand in life with her useless husband. And she did what she had to do to ensure the safety and well-being of her daughters in desperate times. So here are a few of my favorite Portia moments.

10- Showing Marina What Her Future Holds

When Portia finds out that Marina is pregnant, her first instinct is to protect her girls and her family's reputation. She wants to send Marina away and back to the country but she can't because of her useless husband's dealings. George hasn't answered Marina's letter telling him about her condition. Without knowing that George's fate has already been sealed, Marina's insistence that George will come for her seems naive--especially to Portia.

When Marina refuses to even entertain the idea of being married off quickly to an older man in need of an heir who won't ask too many questions, Portia, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, shows Marina what her life will be if she continues to hold out for George.

It's a much-needed wake-up call but it does not work on Marina. The forged letter may have seemed cruel at the time, but if I were in Portia's shoes, I would have assumed the worst of George, too.

9- Confronting Her Husband

When Lord Featherington puts a premature end to the courtship between Albion Finch and his middle daughter Philippa, Portia is outraged. A man has taken an interest in one of their daughters, seems besotted with her, and wants to marry her. What possible objections could there be?

When she tries to press him for answers in public, Lord Featherington uses his position as a man and a husband to silence her. But when Portia uncovers that he has gambled away all of their money--including their daughters' dowries--her husband is revealed for the sniveling coward that he is. Outside of the eyes of society, he is a weak man who can't curtail his vices even for the well-being and future of his family.

They may not like each other, but even Portia wasn't expecting this level of betrayal from her husband.

Cry those crocodile tears, Archibald! I don't feel sorry for you whatsoever. I'm Team Portia on this one.

8- "You find things to love, my dear."

Even a blind man could tell that Portia and Archibald were not a love match. She married him for security and he failed to even provide that. But she managed to find silver linings in the many clouds of her marriage.

Her talk with Marina in the final episode of season 1 gives the audience more insight into the kind of woman Portia is and how strong she had to be to endure her marriage with her late husband for so long. It's the kindest and most motherly we've seen her be all season. And her talk gives Marina the final push she needs to do what needs to be done to protect her babies.

Portia, as we'll see, is better off without her deadbeat husband. She has more strength than she gave herself credit for in this scene. And she has the three best things her husband gave her by her side.

7- "I am a MOTHER."

After the death of Archibald, the Featherington women are in financial stasis until the new Lord Featherington finally shows up. When Cousin Jack finally arrives some things are starting to look up. But he is making some questionable decisions right off the bat.

Portia is, once again, at the mercy of a Featherington man who makes piss-poor financial decisions when Cousin Jack comes into the picture.

She navigates the situation as best as she can, even getting into his fraudulent gemstone scheme when she's backed into a corner with no way out. Desperate times, desperate measures.

After Colin uncovers the scheme and Cousin Jack proposes not only running away from the country, but even leaving Prudence and Penelope behind and sending for them later, Portia has had enough. If you think this woman would ever seriously consider abandoning her daughters to save her own skin, then you don't know her at all.

Portia doesn't always make the right decisions. Portia doesn't always say the right things. Portia is far from a perfect mother. But she'll ALWAYS choose her daughters over mediocre men who only care for themselves, and for that, I'll love her forever for showing Cousin Jack the door.

6- Sex-Ed With Philippa and Prudence

The moment Philippa said that she and Albion were "very passionate" I KNEW that we were in for some comedic gold.

And I was RIGHT.

At first, Portia thinks her biggest problem with the Featherington Heir Race is Prudence. But at least she can relate to Prudence's problem of not enjoying the marital act. Poor Portia's not even aware that it can be enjoyable for both parties.

But to her horror, BOTH of her married daughters are the problem. Prudence isn't having sex because she doesn't like it and Philippa isn't having sex because she has no idea what it is.

You can see the wheels turning in both Prudence's and Portia's heads when Philippa asks that infamous question.

If Lady Featherington went home that night and screamed into her pillows, I wouldn't blame her.

5- Chaperoning Polin

Portia's finally realized that she's been a little lax with chaperoning Penelope over the years. No matter, she'll make up for it now and chaperone her daughter when her fiancee comes for a visit!

Colin and Penelope are just not used to having a chaperone and they have no idea how to conduct themselves with one in the room. Colin looks downright annoyed every time he sees Portia out of the corner of his eye. Penelope's staring at his lips the whole time and probably wants Colin to compromise her again right there on the window seat.

But the real comedy of this scene is knowing that Penelope is already pregnant. So the chaperoning was too little, too late.

4- Finally Bonding With Violet

For most of the series, Portia and Violet have gotten along like oil and water. They're not great friends like Penelope, Colin, and Eloise. They don't hang out at social events. Portia is envious of the Bridgertons and their social clout. Violet barely tolerates Portia on a good day. And as much as Violet loves Penelope, you can tell in 3x05 and 3x06 that she's not looking forward to having Portia as an in-law.

But when Colin and Penelope are on the outs just before their wedding, the two mothers have finally found some common ground.

3- Handling Lady Whistledown

I was not expecting Cressida to actually tell Portia that Penelope was Lady Whistledown. I thought she'd make a vague comment that Penelope would have to play off as nothing and then she would work with Colin and Eloise to overcome the Cressida threat.

But no, Cressida really tells Portia.

The threat of Cressida's blackmail hanging over her daughter's head and what this could mean for the Polin marriage is enough for Portia's protective mother instincts to kick in and she teams up with Colin and Eloise to find a solution and protect Penelope.

And she gets extra brownie points from me because one of her first reactions to learning about Whistledown is to point out that Penelope was the one to write horrible things about herself. ("The things you wrote! About your family! About yourself!")

Yes, Portia's angry about Penelope's secret and what she's done as Whistledown, but she puts that anger on the back burner for a short time while she tries to navigate her family through their latest crisis. To paraphrase what she said to Cousin Jack at the end of last season: she and Penelope are on the same team.

2- Portia and Penelope Finally Talk

Portia might have put her anger to the side when she found out about Whistledown, but it returns when Penelope finds out that Portia kept the money Cousin Jack had embezzled from the ton.

Portia and Penelope finally have it out and mother and daughter realize that they are more alike than they had previously realized or were even willing to admit.

1- Portia as a Grandmother

Portia started out the season anxious that none of her daughters would have a son and secure their family's future. By the end of the season, she's a grandmother to two granddaughters and one grandson--the new Lord Featherington. Her family's future is finally secure at last.

Now that she has her grandchildren, Portia will finally be able to relax a little. It must have been hard being in survival mode for so long. Now she can enjoy her life and watch all three of her daughters have marriages filled with love and happiness.

[muddyorbsblr]

a startling realization pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Oakley returns to campus after a trip with his mates and steadily comes to realize he's developed feelings for you

Pairing: Oakley x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning/s: frat boy friends vibes; bit of angst; probably not a completely accurate referencing to the events of 'Unrelated' [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: prequel piece to 'just another memory' but can be read alone; Oakley is a SIMP in the making for Reader

There'd been a strange sinking feeling in Oakley's stomach since he and his mates hit the road back to Cambridge. It was the kind that he'd only ever felt when he knew he'd done something that could get his mother cross at him and she and his father would impose some form of punishment on him. Perhaps revoke his cell phone for a week so he couldn't join his friends on their regular scheduled shenanigans. Or chat up some stunner that he'd met the week prior.

But things were different now. He was no longer bound by their rules for the most part. He was free to do whatever he wished and this trip to Italy was the perfect showcase of that new dynamic. All he had to do was get his degree and get a job, and he would still have their support and financial aid so that he wouldn't have to stay at the dorms or even have to tough it out with a roommate that might not approve of the way he lived day in day out.

The only person keeping him in check now was himself, and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing he'd done in Italy that he wouldn't have done in Cambridge. He had a bloody good time there, even, getting to engage in not just one but two flings, and one of them with an older woman.

And yet, when he thought back on every touch, every kiss, that he'd shared with either of the women, that pit in his stomach would form again. As if the activities he'd engaged in during his vacation were somehow the "wrong thing" that could make someone responsible for him cross.

But why?

"You're awfully quiet back there, mate. Which one of your lucky ladies is taking up space in that randy little brain o' yours, I reckon?" Eric teased, lightly tapping the curly blond's head as he plopped down on the seat next to him, jostling him out of his dwelling over why there was a pit in his stomach to begin with.

"I've no idea what you're on about, mate, I'm not thinking of anyone," he tried to brush it off, brows furrowing together when he tried to remember that night in the pool and the knots in his stomach worsened. Like the memories he made in Italy were not something he could look back at with fondness.

If he dwelled on it for even a second longer than necessary, it almost felt as if he was looking back on those memories with a touch of shame.

"Ah come on, Oaks, you tellin' everyone 'ere that you're not thinking about that stunner of a blonde Elizabetta? Even I'm thinking 'bout her and it wasn't my tongue down 'er throat." Eric crowded his space, squishing him to the side of the van. "Or even that cougar Anna, my lord, man that one was fawning and doting after you!"

As if right on cue, his mobile rang and vibrated violently in his pocket. Another call. He didn't need to even glance at the tiny device to know who it was. She'd been calling since just a few minutes after they'd all said their goodbyes.

That was over 24 hours ago. And he was well on his way back to campus, the scenery already began to elicit that feeling of 'home'. Or at least of familiarity.

"Speak o' the devil! Why don't you pick it up, Oaks? Be a grand old time hearing her pining after you again." His friend flailed into his side, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his brow. "'Oh Oakley how I miss you terribly, why don't I come visit you on Cambridge and we can live out any professor fantasies you might have in that virile young college brain? I'll even get the glasses and the pencil skirt just for you."

"Sod off," he grunted, trying to chuckle away the mental image. Another thing that was bothering him: Those fantasies that he'd had before they left for Italy a little over a month ago…none of them appealed to him now. "If you want, you take her number and live out those filthy little daydreams of yours, mate."

All that he could manage to think of at the moment was the melancholic knowledge that when he got back to his apartment, there would be no one there. He wasn't coming home to anyone. That didn't used to bother him before, but for some reason sitting in this van with all his mates and having to hear them be completely taken up with his own conquests in this trip made him feel as if he should be guilty and shameful somehow of the way he acted. The way he treated both the women that he encountered and found himself entangled with.

This is ridiculous, you're not looking for a wife, you batty little git, he hissed at himself, trying to supress the urge to let out a deep exhale. That would set off everyone in the van. Besides, you don't even know anyone that's even remotely wife material.

"Hey hey hey look alive, lads," Marcus, the one at the wheel, started to call out. His tone was brimming with wanton intent. "We are steadily approaching the dorms, and you know what comes after."

"Sorority row!" the rest of the van cheered, proceeding to make botched barking sounds, effectively drowning out the relentless ringing of Oakley's phone.

But the mention of the dorms finally had him sitting up straighter, realization dawning on him that he was wrong. He actually already knew someone who was so much more than "wife material". Someone brilliant and diligent that had a part of him driven to make the steps to be someone better.

Someone that he called his best friend. Better than anyone in the van with him tonight.

You.

"Marcus, could you drop me off here?" he called out, his stomach flipping at the sight of your familiar silhouette jogging to the front door of your dormitory.

His friends' remarks faded into a dull buzzing in the background as he got off the van, making his way over to you and staying still by your side while you did your step-ups at the bottom step of the stairs. It only took a few moments before you shifted your gaze at him, removing your earphones and hooking the cord behind your head before giving him a beaming grin.

"Goldie Long Legs!" you squealed, the exhilaration from your workout giving you an adorably flushed look, the slightest tinge of pink on your cheeks. "I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I was gonna give you a call when I woke up tomorrow, but then I saw you." He did his best not to pay too much attention to the strange somersaults his stomach was making the longer he stared at you. "Coffee?" He tried to keep his tone casual, despite the way his voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he was a nervous lad asking a girl out for the first time.

You answered a giggle that had his heart doing the most bizarre acrobatics in his chest. Why was he reacting to you like this? Was it simply the lack of a woman's presence the last two days as they made their way back, making this reaction more primal than anything else? Was it your exercise outfit and the way the fabric clung to the curves that were rarely ever out for him to take notice of before?

Was it something else? Something that was simply…uniquely…you?

"Coffee? At this hour?" you laughed off his offer. "All the coffee shops are closed by now, and you know how you get with caffeine, Goldie. If you have a sip, you won't know a peaceful night's sleep tonight."

"Oi! Lookin' good there, Y/L/N!" Eric hollered from the van. Oakley's skin bristled seeing how his friend leered over your figure. "Shame you didn't join us, Italy woulda been an even prettier sight with you around."

"Rather not add to the trail of broken hearts you lot left behind," you shot back flawlessly, sticking your tongue out at the boys in the van. "I know you lads well enough to know you didn't behave yourselves."

"Oaks over there's the worst offender of us all!" Eric pouted, pointing at the curly haired blond. "Two flings. At the same time. Shoulda seen him, Y/L/N, he was at the top of his game."

The playful smile on your face faltered for a fraction of a second before you recomposed yourself. That infinitesimal moment was more than enough for the pit in his stomach to make its presence felt once again. Now Oakley knew what it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Shame. And the worry that knowing what he'd done back there would somehow taint your perception of him. When your gaze darted to him once again, he had to fight back the words that wanted to stumble clumsily out of his mouth. They meant nothing to me.

In the moment they were fascinating, and truthfully while he was in said moment, he thought about how things would go moving forward. If he would try to pursue anything with either of them, but ultimately the immediate answer was 'No'. Back then he didn't know quite yet the reason behind his mind's outright refusal, but now he did.

This dalliance was a mistake. I have someone so much better back at home and I've been a fool not to see it.

"Quite the juggling act, Goldie," you remarked, your tone more hushed than before. It felt as if you were putting distance between the two of you despite not having moved an inch. Like there was a wall he couldn't quite scale now just to get to you.

"One o' them even gave him a nice lil picture o' her. A breathtaking blonde called Elizabetta. Ohh man not even the finest girls in sorority row can compare."

Shut up, you little twat, he internally seethed, wanting nothing more than to throw whatever he could get his hands on at Eric's head so that he could just. Stop. Talking.

And then his mobile started ringing again. And your smile disappeared, your face looking as if it was struggling to decide how to reconfigure itself, your neck twitching with every shrill note of his ringtone. "That's probably that breathtaking blonde now," you said in an eerily chipper tone. "I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're tired from the trip. And you'd like to spend the night speaking with your new lady friend."

"Oh that's not even the blonde! That's the other one!" Dammit Eric, stop talking. "Older lady. Head over heels for him, she couldn't keep her hands off him every time they were in the room together. Told you, Y/L/N. Top of his game."

"Ohh so a lady lady friend. All worldly and whatnot…" Even your body language was throwing him off now, way too casual to fit how he himself felt in this moment. The feeling of wanting more than anything to explain. "Well then, I really don't want to keep you. I know better than to keep my elders waiting, you should, too."

The boys in the van started cheering and clapping over your remark, jokingly chanting "One of us! One of us!" as you gave them a curtsy, making a motion as if you were wearing a skirt rather than your black and hot pink leggings.

It was only when you were halfway up the steps to your dorm building that he managed to find his voice again. "Breakfast tomorrow? My treat?"

You only answered with another giggle. "Did you hit your head or something back in Italy? You don't do breakfast, Oakley. At most you do half a protein bar at first period. From my purse. I'll see you at lunch. I mean…if you're not too busy with your new lady friends or whatever."

He couldn't come up with an intelligible enough response, instead watching you walk into your building and shutting the door, wiping away at your face with your towel. All that he could do was walk back into the van, telling Marcus in a daze, "Drop me off at my place. I'm not in the mood for stop overs at sorority row."

Oakley wasn't in the mood for any more games. Any more women. Not tonight.

The next morning the first thing he did was call up his service provider to see about getting a number blocked, and then he grabbed his wallet, rummaging around in his desk drawer for a handful of photos to place in front of Elizabetta's. A group photo with his mates from their first class project in freshman year, a photo with his family. A photo of a stolen moment with you where you two were wielding chopsticks at each other in a playful "stand off" for a potsticker, and your graduation photo.

On a whim, he placed the potsticker one in the front, a fond smile stretching across his face as he traced his finger over your face in the picture. And then his alarm clock began to ring and the sound quickly filled his apartment, springing him into action to find the nearest clean outfit he had lying around.

He nearly broke a sweat with how fast he ran to your dorm building, hoping he'd catch you before you started walking toward wherever you'd decided to grab breakfast for this morning. Right as he was across the street from the front doors, you walked out, one earphone plugged in and the other dangling from the cord, undoubtedly mouthing along to whichever song was topping the chart this week.

"Y/N!" He internally winced at the hoarseness in his voice. He wasn't even running for that long; how was it that he was already heaving for air?

Your head snapped up to his direction at the sound of your name, shock registering on your face when your eyes met his. Followed by confusion, your brows adorably knitting together as you watched him jogging towards you as he crossed the street.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods at this hour, Goldie?" you greeted him with a smile, hooking the cord of your earphones behind your neck. "Have a breakfast date with one of the girls from my building? You must have it bad for this one if you're willing to wake up so early for--"

"Y/N, I'm…I'm not here for someone from your building," he cut you off, wiping his hands on his shorts before standing up straight, trying to get his heart to stop beating so bloody fast. "I asked you to breakfast last night, remember? My treat?"

His response had you visibly taken aback. "Oh…" The word came out more like a squeak, making you clear your throat. "I uhh…I thought you just offered that as a nicety. For catching up. We could've done lunch…or you know, coffee now that it's a reasonable hour."

"We could do that, too," he said in a rush, fighting against the strange instinctual urge to reach for your hand as the worry that you might wave him off and start walking away crossed his mind. "After breakfast?"

You shuffled your feet in place, slightly swaying back and forth. It was a motion he knew all too well from you, the one that told him you were trying to think something through, trying to find the reason and the rationality in something before deciding what to say or do next. Had it been any other day, any other circumstance, and had he not been grappling with finding his own sense of rationality in why there was suddenly this shift on how he was acting and reacting around you, he would have swayed with you.

After a few moments your mouth stretched into a half-smile, shrugging before tilting your head in the direction of a nearby cafe and bakery. "Alright then. Let's go."

Oakley couldn't help how his face broke out into a grin, a touch too eagerly falling into step with you, still fighting the urge to reach for your hand. To lace his fingers with yours.

"So tell me all about Italy," you started, looking up at him and squinting your eyes as the morning sun hit your features. "Start with the food because I want to know if handmade pasta--"

"We can talk about Italy later," he breathed out, finally losing the struggle to not reach for you and settling on lightly resting his hand just above the small of your back. "Tell me about what you've been up to the last six weeks."

He'd try and process what it meant later. That all he wanted to do was know how you'd spent your time apart. That he wanted to hear your stories rather than speak about his own. That much as it was an extraordinary experience to roam Italy with his mates, the only thing he could think of now was how it could have been even more beautiful if he perhaps…experienced it with you.

"Oh…" Your voice got smaller again, as if you were struggling yourself to find words. "Well truthfully they were quite boring. My sister visited campus to drag me to the shopping plaza to overhaul my wardrobe. She's quite literally holding my jumpers hostage and replaced them all with…well, things like these." You awkwardly motioned at the dress you were wearing, a frilly sage number with a bow. "I look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful," he blurted out, immediately biting the inside of his cheek when you snapped your head up to give him a questioning look. A new feeling flooded him. Something almost akin to…fear? His heart was still pounding and thrashing in his chest, his breathing thready like the air was too thin.

Like he was afraid that you'd look at him and see right through him. Right into his soul. His deepest, most secret thoughts. Thoughts he hadn't even dared to properly articulate with himself.

And if you saw them, if you saw him, you would walk away without a second thought. Those words that he was so used to wielding without completely meaning it when he was around other girls, he'd uttered to you with the weight of every unspoken thought he'd had of you since last night.

With every ounce of sincerity and honesty that felt so foreign for him to possess.

"Oh please, Goldie, you don't have to butter me up," you laughed off his compliment, waving it away with your hand like it was a little housefly flitting away by your face. "You don't have to lay it on--"

"I'm not." The words were flying out of him faster than his brain could filter them. "You're beautiful, Y/N. And it's not because your sister overhauled your wardrobe or you changed your hair. It's you." His heart caught in his throat seeing your eyes widen, the questions and the confusion in them mirroring his own. What was wrong with him today? "All of you."

You pursed your lips, already looking back in the opposite direction like you were second guessing agreeing to sharing a meal with him. Or maybe even sharing any form of time with him. He already wanted to hit himself for not keeping his mouth shut, he probably just flushed your entire friendship down the toilet all because he started acting the same way he did when he was in the first grade talking to the prettiest girl in class.

"Hmmm," you sounded through pursed lips, taking a deep breath before your features morphed into that all too composed smile that you gave him and his mates last night. "And here I thought all I had going for me was my winning personailty."

"That's just a part of it," he shot back, failing to fight the urge to touch his hand to your arm as you reached the cafe, helping you keep steady as you walked up the elevated platform leading to the door. Right as you walked past him when he opened the door for you, he caught a wisp of your perfume. The same one you'd worn every day since the day he met you, the scent of apples and mandarin blanketing him with a warmth that took him aback.

Memories of his weeks in Italy now bombarded him. How he would relish the apples that he had, breathing in the scent before taking a bite. How he brought an apple when he and the rest of the group visited a citrus grove, and how the combined smells reminded him of home.

Only his family home didn't smell like that at all. It smelled of tea plants and bergamot.

"Oakley?" Your voice broke through his memories. "You alright over there?"

He took in the sight of you, a single eyebrow raised looking like you were amused by his stupefied state, the corner of your mouth upturned in a little smirk. "Right as rain," he choked out, finding it hard to breathe properly with his heart beating so fast it might as well be The Flash on a treadmill. "Just not used to being up this early, is all."

You only wagged your finger at him, tsk'ing in response when he stepped up next to you at the counter. "Shouldn't have shocked your system with changing your routine like that, Goldie. You have to ease yourself into it, take baby steps. Otherwise you'll crash midday and end up taking a twenty-minute nap that quickly turns into four hours, miss a lecture, and then you'll have to rely on my notes. Again."

"Ah, you should know me better by now, Y/N. I'll need to rely on your notes even if I'm wide awake, I can never pay attention to those old windbags."

His words had you rolling your eyes to the ceiling, a devious smile playing at your lips. He couldn't take his eyes off you, every waking brain cell screaming at him to take your face in his hands and kiss you.

"And here I thought your time with your new worldly lady friend would have you respecting our elders a bit more," you quipped, laughing at him when all he could do in response was audibly choke on the air. "Maybe we can hack that debauched brain of yours. Pretend those old windbags are your older lady friend instead, or pretend one of the pretty girls in our lecture room is your breathtaking blonde Italian beauty. Maybe then you'll pay a bit more attention in class."

I won't, his mind protested. Why would I look anywhere else when you're right next to me?

"I really don't think so," he said softly, letting out a chuckle when all you did was shake your head at him, proceeding to order a bacon cheese waffle sandwich and the first of a handful of coffees you'd be drinking throughout the day. All the while Oakley watched you, a fond smile stretching across his face as he lost himself in the memory of the citrus grove again. The scent he was chasing the entire way to Italy and back.

Your scent.

Home

A/N: Sometime last year I made a lil note in my idea notebook to make a prequel piece to 'just another memory' and now here we are…and it's gonna be a 2-parter with a potential alternate ending because the lil gremlin horn dogs in my writer brain want a scenario where she chooses…well, y'know what, you'll know who it is soon enough 😈😈

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[oliveisme533]

My dad’s neighbor is a dilf

Chapter 1

Joel Miller x you

Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..

You were a teacher so the summer months were nice and slow. As you packet your suitcase, you thought back to the phone call with your dad just a few weeks prior. "Hey babygirl, why don't you come on down to Austin for the summer? I know your roommate has been driving you a little crazy lately...wouldn't hurt to get a break ya know? Plus I miss you sweetheart... would love to see you"

You smiled at the memory of his words. He was right about your roommate being annoying lately. Nothing crazy...just normal roommate things. But most of all you missed your dad. Your college summers were all spent with your mom in Boston, so this visit was long overdue.

There airport was fucking packet of course. Airports made you anxious and you always got to your gate a couple hours early for fear of missing your flight. You sent a quick text to your dad letting him know you made it to the airport and would let him know when you safely landed. He loved the message and moments later your phone buzzed again.

Venmo: Dad sent you $50 for "Uber 🚗"

Your dad definitely did well for himself, He was a financial consultant and never missed out on an opportunity to splurge on you and your sister. You knew you wouldn't be swiping your card a single time once you stepped foot in his house for the summer, and you weren't complaining...teachers don't exactly make a ton of money. There was one thing nagging at the back of your mind that you hadn't let yourself think about until now. You always had kind of a girlish crush on your dad's friend and neighbor. You hadn't seen him in years and you wanted to believe he could find you attractive now that you were actually a grown woman. It was a fantasy you know would never come true even in your wildest dreams, but it was still fun to think about from time to time. You put your headphones and closed out the world.

You smiled as the warm air hit your skin as you walked across the tarmac with one hand shading your eyes from the Texas sun. Austin was where you spent your childhood. Before their divorce, your parents had brought you and your sister into a comfortable lifestyle that you were forever grateful for. Your mom headed to Boston after the divorce, you and your older sister followed suit, but Texas never stoped feeling like home. "Uber for y/n?" You slumped down into the air conditioned car with a sigh of relief. "Yes." You looked out the window as the familiar scene flew by. By the time the car turned into your neighborhood your mind had drifted far from Boston. Your stomach lurched slightly as you passed Mr. Millers house. His truck was in the driveway. You remembered a recent phone conversation with your dad where he mentioned Mr. Miller having kind of a hard time spending his first summer without his daughter Sarah. She was with her mom for the summer, a new arrangement you were pretty sure. Maybe you would go and visit him. He was the kind of family friend that had a key to your dad's house . What if he didn't remember you? You were being stupid. Mr. Miller didn't need to entertain a 20 some year old girl. He had friends his own age, a life, and for all you knew maybe a girlfriend. You brushed the idea off as the car slowed in-front of your dad's house.

Your key clicked in the door and you were promptly greeted by Lea, your dad's new kitten. Your sister and you joked that this was his first symptom of his mid life crises. The second being the fact that he now had a girlfriend. You flung your suitcase aside and sunk into the window seat of your bedroom. You have many memories of a younger version of yourself sitting here in the summer days, reading or just watching. In the evenings you were too busy sneaking out the back gate to do such things. You smile as you recall your reckless, teenage activities. You sigh and look down at your watch. Your dad won't be home for a couple more hours. A nap probably would serve you well. Before you get up, you feel your phone buzz again. It's your dad.

"Hey sweetheart I see you made it to the house. I completely forgot Joel said he was picking up some tools I borrowed from him last week. He knows the garage code, but didn't want you to be alarmed if he's there before I get home. See you soon xx"

You found yourself staring at the text... would Mr. Miller ...Joel, you correct yourself, would he even remember me? In the spirit of southern hospitality you decide to get dressed in something that does smell like the airport and go downstairs when you hear the garage opening. You walk through the front door and out towards the driveway where Joel is loading some tools in the back of his pick up truck. He glances up at you and a wide smile forms across his face. "Well hey!" He says. "Your dad told me you were coming in... welcome home!" The words warm your heart. This was home for sure. "Thanks, I'm glad to be back. Even just for the summer!" God his arms look good in that t-shirt... "well I know your old man is happy you're here. Hasn't shut up about you comin' for the last few weeks. 'Course I get it, countin' down the days 'till Sarah gets back myself." You giggle at the comment of your dad's excitement about your arrival. "Yeah dad told me she's with her mom for the summer right?" Joel nods closing the back of the pick up. "Yeah that's right." You noted a twinge of sadness in his voice. "I'm sorry I'm sure that's hard...I mean I know she loves being with her mom and you too. Of course she'll be back for school in the fall, but still I'm sure the summer feels different with out her. I'm not a parent though so I really have no idea what I'm talking about." You fumbled through this response and ended with a nervous laugh. Joel didn't mind. He looked at you with those fucking puppy dog eyes that could make you melt. He laughed too you were pretty sure the laugh was more at you than with you, but you kind of deserved it you figured. "You're sweet, yeah she's having a blast with her mom and that's all that really matters. Your dad has been putting up with me a lot. With an empty and quiet house it's just not the same, and he's been havin' me over lots" "Well I'm sure he appreciates the company too" you couldn't help but feel a little guilt that you had possibly made your dad feel the same emotions as Joel. "Well I gotta run, but I'm sure I'll be seein' you around. Good to see ya Darlin'" you waved as he pulled out of your driveway, grateful that he was probably too far away to see the blush on your cheeks.

The next few days went by with not much to remark on. On Friday your dad mentioned that Joel would be coming over for dinner tomorrow. You told yourself it was time to act like an adult and put this girlish crush out of your mind. Joel was at least 10 years your senior and he was a close friend of your dad, In fact these fantasies are simply degrading to him or disrespectful. You're not sure of the right word, but he's a person with a life and feelings and things he's going through. To make him the object of your fantasies was wrong, you decided.

Saturday evening came around and your dad was in the back grilling and playing his country music on the speaker you had gifted him last Christmas. There was a knock and the door and the sound of Joel's voice echoing through the entry way. You didn't bother coming out of the kitchen, knowing he would come to you. Your back was turned, focusing on the sangria recipe you were sure wouldn't turn out the way you wanted. "My dad's outback." You said gesturing to the back door. " I'm sorry, where are my manners!" You turned to open the fridge and pull out beer for Joel. "You ain't gotta make a fuss darlin' is just me" Joel chuckled. You wished he would stop calling you that, but you also hoped he never would. Joel y through the utensil draw to find the bottle opener. He asked about your day and you asked about his. "I can't get over how much you've grown up" he said at one point. "Yeah o guess the last time you would have seen me I was a lanky teenager with braces" you laughed and so did he. "I think you're right... if I recall you were just about the death of your old man when you were that age." You shrugged. "Yup that's about right. I had a nack for getting into trouble." He laughed that wonderful deep laugh and said "well you turned out alright, kid"

The rest of the evening you debated whether Joel saw you more as a grown woman or a kid. He had referred to you as both in a matter of minutes...so which was it? "What's on your mind kiddo?" Your dad's voice snapped you back to reality. "Oh ..um, nothing honestly. I'm just kind of tired today for some reason." You were both in the kitchen, Joel was still in the back yard getting ready to light a cigar. "Baby why don't you go upstairs and rest. I'll make sure to kick Mr. Miller here out if we get to rowdy." He said that last part loud enough for Joel to hear. "Dad jokes.." you mutter to yourself as you climb the stairs to the second floor of the house. Your bedroom is on the front end of the house, so by they time you get there, no noise from your dad and Joel can be heard. The sound of the shower in the bathroom drowned out the noise of your phone buzzing on your nightstand. When you exited the shower there was a missed call from "Ben" Ben Sinclair was your on again, off again boyfriend for the last 4 ish years. This time you were done. You had been broken up for a month this time and you told him (in no uncertain terms!) this was it. So what could he possibly want tonight...

[lullabyalikpoptarot]

Seventeen Thoughts on Being an Idol

Alright ya'll it took me months to finish this. It has been in my drafts forever, so going to post this finally. I will say overall this isn't the wildest, but some interesting tidbits, mostly from the older line. The younger ones did not want to say much, so not sure how accurate theirs are, because I felt like I had to guess theirs a bit more and they were confusing. I definitely enjoyed what the older ones had to share though.

S.Coups

What he likes? (The Empress) His ability to create the life he has wanted. The ability to create beautiful things. To just show his creative energy. There are lots of seeds he has planted. It is like the fruits of his labor has been nurtured and flourished. Creativity just flows through him as an idol.

What doesn't he like? (The Emperor rv) I love how we got the Empress and now the Emporer here. He may not like the lack of control he has as an idol. There is a sense he likes to have control of things and as an idol it may be hard, there is a lack of strategy and planning there is that he may not like either. He may also not like overcontrolling figures in the industry as well.

What has he learned/experienced in the past? (7 of Pentacles) He has kind of learned that he is stifled a bit. That there is a concocted image of him. That he has to be a certain way. That things move a bit slow, or there is a bit of stagnation here. He wasn't able to build upon something. It is like he has to stay in line and in place.

Thoughts on fans? (Strength) Love this card for this question. He sees them as strong. It is like they are his strength. As you can see, the card is represented by a powerful woman, and many fans are women. So, he respects their power and strength. They stand by their group no matter what. They are a pillar to the group.

I feel like I liked his responses the best out of any group I have done so far.

Jeonghan

What he likes? (Wheel of Fortune) It gets him closer to his goal. It keeps him moving. Being an idol is a positive direction in his life. He is always growing and evolving as an idol. It gives him the financial security he needs. He seems to feel he is lucky to be in the position he is in.

What doesn't he like? (The Empress) Interesting card here. Weird message, but I am getting a feminine energy may steal his shine or take his creative energy. Also, his creative work may not get noticed at all. It is like he puts the work in, but it goes nowhere. There could be an overbearing feminine energy here too.

What has he learned/experienced in the past? (Page of Wands) There was a curious nature to him, a need for him to get out of his comfort zone. He may have played it safe, but no longer wanted to do that. As an idol he is able to explore new territory. He comes off as a very cautious, timid person, but there is a passion for him to try more and do things that scare him a bit, so maybe that is what pushed him to be an idol.

Thoughts on fans? (The Magician) He believes they are skilled and talented. It is like he manifested them into his life. Having fans that adore him is something he has wanted. They bring him a lot of confidence. He also enjoys communicating with them as well. They may also inspire him to create. They just make him feel powerful.

Joshua

What he likes? (9 of Pentacles) Independent freedom. His ability to make his own money and to be able to enjoy the fruits of his labor. To spend the money, he wants. He enjoys all the success and what he was able to accomplish as an idol.

What doesn't he like? (Knight of Cups) He may not like being vulnerable or emotional. He may not like being emotional available to fans or acting like a romantic interest to them. He doesn't really like to wear his heart on his sleeve. Although, I feel he is a sweetheart. He may like to keep things casual than act all romantic and emotional.

What has he learned/experienced in the past? (5 of Wands) That it is a dog fight out there. You got to fight and compete to get where you need to be in this industry. People will need to fight and compete to get their place in the industry. Also, there are a lot of people with big egos. A lot of battles and arguments.

Thoughts on fans? (7 of Pentacles) I find this card so weird for what someone thinks of fans. He may feel they keep him in a box, they limit him. It is like they have a concocted image of him. He projects a certain image, but can't be his true self, a sense of stagnation here. This is not my favorite card to get for this question, but it is what it is, still love you. This is only one card, so this doesn't explain his thoughts on fans as a whole, but it does say a lot lol

Junhui

What he likes? (6 of Cups) The loving memories of the past. This may have been a childhood dream of his. It seems he focuses heavily on the past though. Like he may have enjoyed the beginnings of being an idol. The freshness of it all. It is like this dream was passed down to him. That doesn't make sense to me, but okay. There is a strong connection with his childhood here, it makes him feel like a child again. Weird, but okay Jun.

What doesn't he like? (Temperance) The calmness, the peace and tranquility. This is weird, why would he not like this, does he prefer things to be chaotic and messy? The fluidity of it, once again, just the messenger, not sure what that means either. Dipping his toe into something but not going fully in, like he may want to go all out, he may want things to be a bit crazier and wilder. Like things are a bit too calm for his liking, really!? How? Oh man, love these weirdos sometimes. I say that with lots of love.

What has he learned/experienced in the past? (9 of Pentacles) That has to be independent and stand on his own, to make his own way in the world. He will need to be vulnerable and expose a bit of himself to get there. Not sure he means literally or figuratively, or both. To always look for his best interest and accumulate all he can.

Thoughts on Fans? (The High Priestess) Not the witchcraft, spells card again lol He may be into spell work, or he thinks the fans are. He may find they obtain lots of knowledge about him, or he keeps things from fans, and doesn't like to share a lot about himself. He may also find them very intuitive. They seem to have sacred knowledge. I wonder if he knows about Tarot readers that read for them. He may know about it. He might do protection spells on himself to be honest.

Hoshi

What he likes? (King of Cups) That he can show his more emotional and vulnerable side. That he can put it all out there. I mean the KOC's in this deck is bare naked, so he doesn't mind showing himself. I mean he isn't going to get naked, but just the ability to be open and vulnerable. It is like he can pour his true emotions as an idol. I guess if he wasn't an idol he may not be able to do that. It is like he loves to give his cup of love to others. He may also like helping others feel better as well. There seems to be a lot of depth to him, but not sure we see that, not sure why that came up, but yeah, now I am curious about doing his perspective reading.

What doesn't he like? (King of Swords) This makes sense with what he got for what he likes, it is like the opposite of what he likes. He doesn't like people who just use intellect, tact and logic. People who lack compassion and emotional depth. People who like this a certain way and just aren't open or understanding to other people's opinion. This got to be the higher ups or something. People who are just cold to be honest.

What has he experienced/learned in the past? (The Fool) That being an idol is a journey, and that one will make mistakes and look like a fool. It is all part of the journey. He learned to wipe the slate clean and learn to let go and start over. He also learned to keep things simple.

Thoughts on fans? (King of Pentacles) He feel very generous and appreciated of the fans. He knows he wouldn't be as successful without him. That all he has is because of the fans. He may feel spoiled by them. They make him feel powerful, abundant and successful. He sees that they pamper him a lot and maybe they give him lots of gifts. He feels they take good care of him.

Okay, love his energy, so far this group answers have been my favorite with this series.

Wonwoo

What he likes? (The High Priestess) Umm, this along with his thoughts on the fans gives me a weird vibe lol Once again, this card is a very ritualistic card in this deck, witch crafty and spell work type of card, so there is hidden knowledge he knows that he likes. There are like things he is privy to as an idol. Sacred things, sacred knowledge wtf is this? Is there some book of spells they give these idols wtf

What doesn't he like? (7 of Wands) To have to fight for his place on the top, or to compete, the aggressive energy that surrounds him, or people always trying to take him down. It feels like he always has to have his guard up and defend himself.

What has he experienced/learned in the past? (Queen of Cups) There is a loving motherly figure in his past that he holds dear, not sure if this is his Mom, but I figure she would be the Empress, so this may be someone very loving and caring in his past that may have helped him out. And gave him a lot of support. Not sure why this is significant though.

Thoughts on fans? (The Druid) He may like the hold he has on them, this also gives me ritualistic vibes. Are they taught to put spells on fans?, because I legit think some do, not going to lie, not going to share why I feel that way though. Like to make them love them and buy their shit, to make them money. I swear this is a thing idgaf. Anyway, this is how I feel here.

Woozi

What he likes? (The Moon/8 of Swords) Sweetie what is this? I feel he is also someone that escapes things and the idol life is a good way to escape things. There is a mystery to him, something he may want to hide and he likes uses the idol life to do that.

What he doesn't like? (Queen of Cups) There could be someone he is at odds with. Once again, getting being offered things, like drinks. This is weird having a queen of cups as a dislike, this is a caring and loving person. I am starting to see why I forgot him. It seems he may be hiding things. Because he doesn't really make sense.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (Page of Swords) To defend his ideas or himself. Or that he has to keep some things to himself and not share a lot of information with others. To be cautious of what he says.

Thoughts on fans? (Knight of Pentacles) They bring him money lol They help support him financially. He is pretty matter of fact on that one.

Dokyeom

What he likes? (The Magician) He kind of likes the power he holds as an idol. He may like that he can manipulate things a bit. That he was able to create the life he wanted. He seems to like that he has the ability to showcase his skills and talents. To communicate that to the masses.

What doesn't he like? (Justice) He may not like having to keep a straight face or being stoic about things. Maybe he wished people were more emotional or weren't so matter of fact about things. That people play it safe and try to be too fair about things. I am confused about what this means to be honest.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (10 of Swords) Lots of betrayal, hurt, pain, tons of mental exhaustion.

Thoughts on fans? (7 of Cups) They can be a bit deluded lol I mean it seems he had a lot of love for the fans. He may daydream about them. I mean, he himself may be deluded about fans.

Yeah, he didn't really want to say much, I get it.

Mingyu

What he likes? (Queen of Swords) I am getting the power of his words. There is something about being able to inform people of things, observing and gathering information. Also, gaining knowledge and experience through this. He might like how cut-throat it can be. It is like he has information to offer wtf is this? This is a weird message for a like. Okay, looking at his dislike, he may like that he stands above all the cruelty and cut throatiness by rising above it and observing.

What doesn't he like? (5 of Swords) The cruelty, harshness of it all, backstabbing people. People trying to break you down. A lot of nastiness behind it all and cruel words.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (7 of Wands/Page of Wands) To stand his ground and be on guard. That he always has to defend and protect himself. That he should be cautious about how he proceeds with things. It is like he needs to keep himself protected. Abd also to protect his creative energy. Also, there will always be obstacles that may stand in his way, and that he should defend himself through these obstacles.

Thoughts on fans? (Wheel of Fortune) He feels fortunate to have fans. They help him grow and prosper. He would like to see continuous growth. They help him move up in life.

Minghao

What he likes? (Queen of Cups) Sharing his love to others. Giving light to others. Spreading love of some sort. He may also enjoy the love he receives. But he enjoys pouring his love to others.

What doesn't he like? (10 of Pentacles) Being a money maker for others. A money machine, a product for others. That is what he may feel he is for others.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (Strength) To find strength within himself. To tap into that divine feminine energy of being still, patient and allow his intuition to guide him. To find self-love and acceptance. All the challenges he may have been through has helped him become a stronger person. He has shown resilience through it all. He knows the power within himself.

Thoughts on fans? (10 of Wands) He may feel a burden, exhausted. Maybe just all the energy he as to put into pleasing the fans. I don't see this negatively, just that he carries a lot of the weight, or pressure on himself to do well for the fans, also all the work he has to do to keep the fans happy.

Seungkwan

What he likes? (6 of Cups) The lovely memories he made with fans and the members. These are things he can hold on to. Lots of lovely past memories. Also, the ability to live out his childhood dream.

What he doesn't like? (Knight of Cups) I think this may have to do with drinks they are offered. Or people pretending that they care. People being fake and showing fake concern. Or that he has to pour a lot of his emotions to others.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (Wheel of Fortune) That overall, he is fortunate and lucky to have what he has and that he needs to keep moving forward and pushing ahead. It is all about forward movement. I guess that is something he learned.

Thoughts on fans? (10 of Wands) Why does this keep popping up. They are burnt out and tired, maybe for all the concerts and performances and content they have to do, it is all draining and I guess he connects that with the fans.

Vernon

What he likes? (3 of Pentacles) Working with his members. Coming together as a team. That they all get along and collaborate well with one another. He enjoys the process of getting the work done with his team. Interesting like.

What doesn't he like? (The Sun) I always see this card as like the stolen youth card. Being treated like children. Not able to grow up and mature. Kind of being stunted in a sense. Maybe, not allowing his creativity to grow and shine and maybe flourish.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (King of Cups rv) Emotional turmoil, the industry has kind of made him numb emotionally, to kind of learn to shut it off and be a bit cold. To not really show vulnerable sides of himself.

Thoughts on fans? (Ace of Cups) He has a lot of love for fans. Is he going to pour his heart out to fans, share some emotional letter? Not sure why that came up. But this card is about pouring your emotions and love to the fans. But he has overwhelming love for fans. Cute.

Dino

What he likes? (7 of Pentacles) I guess he likes being manufactured lol It is like he may like having a certain image and upholding it. Weird card as a like. This is about someone whose image is created by others and someone stunted. Maybe he likes being told what to do and how to behave. It is less pressure on him. This I don't understand. He may like the curated image he has as an idol.

What doesn't he like? (King of Swords) A stubborn person, I just heard ignorant, okay. Someone who can be harsh with their words, someone who lacks empathy and emotions. Cruel and cold. I am thinking this is a person, but maybe, people like this. I am getting stubborn and ignorant.

What has he experienced/learned from the past? (Justice) To be fair, logical and smart about things. To not get overly emotional about things. To keep a level head and to not get caught up in sh** or messes. I am getting stay neutral.

Thoughts on fans? (Judgment) There is a baby on the card, does he think his fans are babies? Or he may think fans will judge him if he tries to mature or do anything outside the box or if he steps outside of what they expect, he may think they coddle and baby them.

Okay, took months to finish this, but finally got it done. I say the older members gave me much more tea. The younger members were a bit more silent or just don't really have tea.

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 1, 2, 4, 5 (WIP)

Length: 2,636 words

AO3 Link

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Chapter Three

Always Sunny In The Rich Man’s World

Her night was…surprisingly nice. 

Which felt like a strange thing to say about spending time with a man who had paid twenty thousand fucking dollars for…what had he called it? The pleasure of her company? It seemed absurd and yet, that’s exactly what happened. 

Upon her return, he had welcomed her back into his suite to the smell of something delicious and the sight of half a dozen covered platters laid out on the dining room table. 

He was ever the gentleman, pulling out a chair for her before sitting down himself. Serving her before adding anything to his own plate. Asking her how her day had gone. He acted like…like this were something they had always done. 

As if this were a real relationship. 

Afterwards, he tucked her into bed with the kind of care and attentiveness that Feyre hadn’t experienced since childhood. 

“But…” she whispered, as he pulled the coverlet up to her chin. “Aren’t you going to…” 

“Not tonight,” Rhys said gently as he kissed her forehead. “You’ve had a long day. Just sleep.” 

She blinked up at him curiously. Confused. 

“But…what about you?”

He smiled softly. He looked at her the way she would a puppy. Or a baby rabbit. 

“I have some work to finish up. I tend to stay up late anyway.”

And then he had just…left. 

She was so confused that she honestly wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed by this outcome. 

Did I do something wrong? She thought, staring after him long after he’d closed the door. 

Feyre didn’t understand him. 

She didn’t understand him at all. 

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Feyre awoke to the image of Rhys clasping on his wristwatch by the bedside table. Behind him, she spied the the still dark sky through the window and wondered what time it was. 

“I have an early meeting,” he explained to her softly. She blinked blearily up at him as he smoothed a warm hand over her hair. “Feel free to sleep in. Order some room service. Relax. I’ll be back in the afternoon. I have a gala I’d like you to attend with me this evening.”

“Okay,” she said, still half asleep. 

“Good girl. Now go back to sleep.”

And who was Feyre to argue?

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She felt immensely out of place. 

While Feyre had seen galas on tv before, the reality of one was something else entirely. Never before had she been surrounded by so much wealth. Everyone around her looked as if they had stepped straight off of a red carpet. They had the kind of bodies and faces that spoke of the best surgeons, the best dermatologists, and the best personal trainers money could buy. 

It was enough to make Feyre, even dressed in a designer gown (and crowned with more diamonds than she’d ever seen in her life) feel like a bit of a fraud. A toddler playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. It felt so very obvious that she didn’t belong here. She lacked the confidence so many of these people seemed to have. A kind of arrogance and self-assuredness that came from a lifetime of financial security and rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. 

“You look ready to bolt,” Rhys commented amusedly. 

“Don’t you have a work friend or something you could’ve brought to this?” Feyre sniped through her teeth as she smiled nervously at yet another celebrity glancing their way. 

“Afraid not,” he said unapologetically. “Besides, I don’t think they would’ve worn that dress quite as well as you.” 

Quite against her will, Feyre felt her face flush hot and red. 

Thank God she was wearing a pound of makeup. 

Luckily, she was saved from coming up with a reply when a couple of men appeared to greet them. 

“Rhys!” The first man exclaimed congenially. He was solidly middle aged unlike his companion who looked like he’d just stepped out of a haircare commercial. “So good to see you!” 

“Gareth” Rhys replied with the same smooth charm before nodding to the younger man. “Tamlin. How is business?”

While the three made small talk about stock prices Feyre couldn’t help but stare at the second man curiously. 

Tamlin. 

Why was that name so familiar?

It took her a moment but eventually an image came to mind, of an overly serious teen boy leading ten year-old Feyre around after her father had kicked them out of his office while he entertained a client. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

The man stared back. 

Feyre looked back at him with slowly dawning horror. 

“Ah, forgive me,” Rhys’s voice cut through her internal crisis as she felt him gesture towards her. “This is my friend Vivian.” 

“Vivian?” Tamlin said with a frown. 

He knew. 

She knew he knew. 

Fuck, how was she supposed to wiggle her way out of this one?

“Yes,” she said cheerily, plastering a wide, fake smile onto her face. “Vivian.” 

It couldn’t have been more clear she was lying through her teeth. Thankfully, Tamlin seemed to understand that now was not the time to press the issue and backed down immediately. However, she felt his eyes boring into her skill for the rest of the conversation. 

She should’ve known he was just biding his time until he found a way to corner her. 

Alone. 

Well, she thought bitterly when she spied him loitering outside the women’s restroom a half hour later. That didn’t take long. 

“Oh hi Tamlin. Are you looking for the men’s room? I think it’s actually further down the hall-”

“Why are you here?” He interrupted her, green eyes daring her to lie to him. 

“At the moment? Going to the bathroom-”

He made a frustrated noise. “Not in this building, I mean with him. With Rhysand.”

“He asked me to come.” In more ways than one…

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“But why?” Okay, now he was just insulting her. 

(Even if, not so deep down, she agreed with him.)

“The pleasure of my company?” She bit out. It wasn’t even a lie. Those were Rhys’s words exactly when they’d made this strange bargain. 

“Listen,” Tamlin said placatingly, seeming to realize that he was upsetting her. “I know your name’s not Vivian.”

Here we go, she thought. 

“You’re Feyre right? Feyre Archeron? Our fathers used to work together?” 

Fuck. He did remember. 

Feyre felt like a whole hive of bees was skittering across her skin. Would it be too rude to just start running? No, no, she couldn’t do that. She could barely walk in heels, let alone run in them. Maybe she could throw them at him as a distraction? 

Unaware of her current escape plans, Tamlin moved closer and touched her arm. 

She jolted. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. 

Feyre wondered if this was what cornered animals felt like. 

“I just,” he said, softer. “You’re not in trouble are you?” 

She stared at him. 

What?

“Because I know your father lost everything back then. I just worry that someone might be taking advantage of you.” 

In an instant, Feyre felt her face heat with embarrassment. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…he’s not paying you to be here is he?”

Cold, humiliating horror settled deep in her gut. The answer must’ve been written all over her face because she suddenly felt Tamlin grab ahold of her hands and try to catch her eye. 

“He is isn’t he? Jesus, I’m sorry, I can’t believe you’re being forced to do this.”

Wait…forced?

“No,” she tried to argue, lips still numb with shame. “It’s not like that-”

“If I’d known you’d needed money I would’ve given it to you. I’m sorry we lost touch after the market crash. But I’m here now! I could help you!” 

Feyre felt like she was watching this entire interaction from afar. A curious bystander watching this strange, horrifying moment in her life play out while she could do nothing to stop it. 

The worst part about this whole thing was that this should’ve been ideal. Rhys was a stranger. She didn’t know him. She had no guarantee he would continue to treat her well whereas Tamlin was a known quantity. She had known him since childhood. She would’ve been safer taking his money over Rhys’s. 

And yet…

Rhys had been nothing but kind to her since the start of their arrangement. Really he’d…he’d taken care of her. 

Like she mattered. 

And maybe, selfishly, she wanted to drag that feeling out a little longer. Before the week was up and she was forced to go back to her life of abusive bosses and neglectful sisters.

“How much is he giving you?”

The words slipped out of her mouth faster than she could catch them. “Twenty thousand dollars.”

Tamlin startled. 

“Twenty thousand?” He repeated, as if he had heard incorrectly. 

Feyre shrugged. 

“Jesus, what are you doing for him?” He said it in such a way that implied that whatever it was she was doing…it was dirty. Shameful. 

Feyre tore her hands away from his. 

What the fuck, she thought. What the fuck. 

“That’s none of your business,” she said frostily. Am I so unlovable? She wondered. So poor and pitiful that all Tamlin could imagine Rhys would want from her was something horrible and sordid? 

“Feyre-”

“Thanks for your offer, but I really must decline. Excuse me.” 

Fuck him, she thought angrily as she walked away. I’ll show him. 

I’ll fucking show him. 

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Her anger followed her all the way back to Rhys. 

“Are you alright?” He had asked her, real concern laced through his words. 

And Feyre had replied, not fine at all, “I’m fine.”

She fought hard to be as pleasant and accommodating as possible for the rest of the night, but it truly felt like she had a roiling little stormcloud hanging over her head the entire time. She just couldn’t stop thinking about Tamlin’s words. 

What are you doing for him?

Nothing. 

She was doing…nothing. 

Had been doing nothing for the last three fucking days. 

It made her feel…bad. Antsy. Like she wasn’t earning her keep. 

The feeling followed her all the way into the car when they finally decided to leave. And it was that very same feeling, those same words, that compelled her to slip down onto the floor of the car. 

Between Rhys’s legs. 

She struggled a bit to situate herself, seeing as how the space wasn’t exactly made with blowjobs in mind, but Feyre was nothing if not stubborn and determined. 

Rhys, however, seemed wholly confused by her sudden awkward positioning. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, brows furrowed. 

“Earning my keep,” she chirped before putting her fingers to the front of his pants, looking for his zipper. 

Rhys sucked in a sharp breath before quickly halting her hands with his own. 

“You don’t need to do that.”

She pursed her lips. 

“Don’t I?” Her words were harsh but inside she was reeling. If he didn’t want to fuck her then how was she supposed to earn her money? Why even keep her around then? Had Tamlin been right? 

“You really don’t,” he insisted, pulling her up off the floor and back onto the seat beside him. 

“What’s the point of this then?” Feyre asked, staring at her shoes, unable to look him in the eye. “If I’m not here for that then why am I here at all?” 

Rhys was quiet then. For a few excruciating moments she was sure then that this was where he finally kicked her out of the car and put an end to their arrangement. 

Instead, she felt him move. 

Onto the floor. 

He was kneeling in nearly the same spot she had been just moments before. Even on his knees, he still towered over her. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly bone dry. 

“Have I not been taking care of you enough?” He murmured quietly. 

Feyre stared at him, dazed by their sudden role reversal. 

“Does my sweet girl need tending to?” 

“What?” Now Feyre was sure her brain was short-circuiting. 

Rhys chuckled and slid his hands up under her dress and along her thighs. 

“Don’t worry, I know what you need.” 

She sucked in air through her nose as her panties were quickly pulled down her legs and tucked away into Rhys’s pocket. He looked down upon her bare cunt with a pleased expression and then carefully, gently, she felt the lips of it pulled apart with his thumbs to reveal the dusty pink flesh underneath. 

“You’re so pretty here,” he said conversationally. And then she watched as he bowed his head, as if in prayer, before she spied a flash of a pink tongue and then—

Oh, she thought, in shock. Oh. 

In her admittedly short sexual career, no one had ever gone down on her. Feyre had always been led to believe that it was just something men didn’t enjoy. 

It was quickly apparent that Rhys was not one of those men. 

The noises he made as he licked her cunt could only be described as enthusiastic. He sounded like a starving man devouring a steak dinner, not a man swirling his tongue around her clitoris because she had the audacity to try to give him a blowjob. 

He’d barely been at it for sixty seconds before she was ready to squirm out of her skin. Her skin felt hot and tight. Her pulse kicked hard in her veins. Her nipples had hardened to stiff little points that rubbed against the silk of her dress. She felt…overwhelmed. Like she simultaneously wanted to wiggle away and pull him closer. 

“Fuck,” she said deliriously. “Fuck.” 

Her hips writhed in her seat but Rhys just placed a large, muscular arm over them, locking her in place. He glanced up at her like a scolding parent. 

“None of that. Be a good girl and take what you’re given.” 

There were those magic words again. Good girl. They rang through her ears and into her brain like a siren song. Like a sedative. 

Her muscles went lax. 

Rhys smiled. 

And then he peeled back the little hood of her clitoris and blew gently on it. 

Feyre gasped. 

His laugh was almost mean. Carnivorous. And the vibrations and heat from his breath against her cunt made her shiver. 

“Oh yes. I think I’ve been quite remiss in my duties towards you.” He didn’t direct his words at her, but towards the shiny swollen clitoris he now rubbed softly with his thumb. 

She felt like a fish caught on a line. Desperately jerking and wiggling but unable to escape the man who had caught her. 

“Oh God,” she gasped. “On my God!” 

“Just Rhys is fine,” he said cheekily. And then her eyes crossed as the velvety feel of lips and tongue latching back onto her clitoris had her spine bending back at an angle that was sure to give her back problems later. 

Liquid heat pounded in her cunt. She was sure, at this point, that all the blood in her body had fled there because she could barely form a single coherent thought outside of…

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

“That’s it. Let go pretty girl.” 

Feyre wasn’t sure what finally pushed her over the edge, his sugary sweet words or the fluttering of his tongue against the underside of her clit but regardless she felt her whole body seize and shake into a mind-numbing orgasm. 

She felt herself pulled into strong, warm arms as Rhys settled back beside her as she came down. 

“Shhhhh,” he murmured sweetly into her hair. “You should’ve told me you needed this. Next time you’ll tell me when you’re worked up hmm?”

Feyre nodded into his neck, still sleepy and drugged from the endorphins flooding through her brain. 

Yes, she thought. 

That sounded good to her. 

[usmsgutterson]

Contented- K.B x fem! reader

This one was requested by @levis-dilutedbleach​! I don’t think I’ve written something of this sort in the two years I’ve been writing for Kaz and if I have, it has been a very long time since I last wrote something of this sort, so thank you for sending it in and I hope you enjoy!

Fic type- this is very fluffy

Warnings- none

Yours and Kaz’s relationship was anything but typical, but it did have it’s typical moments. Moments like the one where, after you’d hit the one year mark, you asked if he’d like to attend dinner with you and your parents, and he had said yes. 

You were the daughter of a wealthy merch that lived in the financial district and you had an apartment in the area, and that fact alone was enough to put Kaz on edge. Dealing with merchants was typically easy though certainly a rare enough occurrence in his life, and still. The fact that your father was a merchant and the fact that he was your father was enough to make him just a bit jittery. 

It was something he’d schooled out of his expression and daily mannerisms with a practiced carefulness that some would’ve found impressive, but it was still something you had noticed. 

You commented on it as the two of you walked up the steps to the front door, hand ghosting over his arm in what would’ve been a comforting gesture but never touching it to respect Kaz’s touch aversion. 

“Don’t be nervous,” you said. “My mother has very low expectations given that she knows your status in the Barrel, so as long as you don’t act much like you do when we’re in the Slat and you’re running a mean streak, all will be well. My father is...well, he’s my father. He takes a bit of getting used to.” 

You knocked on the door, once, twice, and one of the staff answered, greeting you with a smile. You went in, took off your coats and your shoes. Kaz glanced at his gloves daringly for a moment before shaking his head at himself. 

As the two of you proceeded down the hallway that lead to the dining room, Kaz straightened his tie and ran a self conscious hand over his dark hair in the last second before the two of you spotted a woman who might’ve been you but thirty years older. Kaz had a split second to do so, but he managed to smile and hoped it came off as warm. 

“The refined Kaz Brekker, I assume?” She asked. Kaz nodded and registered a man who must’ve been your father approaching.

“Barrel businessman,” your father intoned. “Criminal, really. Shameful business model.” 

“I run my clubs as fairly and efficiently as possible,” Kaz responded, already sensing a dislike from your father. “There is no conning in my clubs, and when there is, it is dealt with accordingly. I thank you for the businessman comment, though, so few recognize me as more than Barrel trash.” 

Barrel trash that was a force to be reckoned with, of course, but he forced himself to bite his tongue. The aim of the meeting was to get your parents to like him, not to argue with your father over the expensive wine or the taste of the cheese on the charcuterie board. 

“Kaz Brekker,” your father greeted. “It is...well, it is something indeed, to finally be able to make your acquaintance.”

Your mother took you by the hands and gave Kaz a kind smile. “You two have most certainly arrived on time! Dinner is to be served any minute, and the table is set!” 

Kaz followed you and your mother to the table set for four, took a seat on your right and across from your father. 

“Do tell us more of your clubs, Mr. Brekker,” your father said. “I do hear that they’re all the rage among the tourists.” 

“The Crow Club is largely a gambling hall,” Kaz said. “Makkers Wheel, Three Man Bramble, games mostly. There’s a bar for those who aren’t interested in gambling and a lot of seating for those looking to dine at the establishment. The Silver Six is more of the same, and I would like to think it’s a step up from what it used to be.” 

“Oh yes! I’ve gambled at the Kaelish Prince during a few meets with my coworkers--that Pekka Rollins who ran it was bloody awful. Lots of those games were rigged and the liquor sometimes tasted quite odd.” 

You glanced at Kaz. 

“Had a few squabbles with Rollins myself,” Kaz said. “Dregs business and irrelevant, though. Glad he’s gone.” 

“Glad you took it over,” your father said. “I think I’ll visit the Silver Six, get a taste for what it’s like to gamble in a place owned by my daughters most beloved.” 

“I do hope you’ll enjoy, then,” Kaz said. “Tell me what day you and your lot come down--I’ll man a couple of games at the tables.” 

“He’s excellent,” you said. “I won’t say he’ll ensure you win the pot of money that you and your work friends will put down because he likes a fair game, but he’s really excellent with cards. When he mans a game, it’s in his hands the whole time. Mesmerizing to watch.” 

Kaz shot you a thankful smile, and the dinner continued as such. Kaz’s father attempting to a throw a curveball at him, Kaz catching the ball and tossing it back into your fathers yard. Eventually, when your father grew tired of the games and decided he liked Kaz well enough, you both noticed it, and you watched Kaz’s shoulders deflate along with his nerves bit by bit throughout the rest of the night.

A couple hours in, Kaz was making your father laugh and relishing in the way you laughed when your mother took your hands and told you that Kaz must’ve been the one, that they were sorry for how they’d judged him without knowing him so well. 

Kaz could relax. He’d impressed both of your parents with only a few glasses of wine, a twelve course meal that took you all quite some time to eat because you were so busy talking, and the beginnings of a lemon meringue pie for dessert. 

By the time that you were leaving, your mother was hugging you and your father was shaking Kaz’s gloved hand--he’d asked first, the rumors of the touch aversion lingering in every corner of Ketterdam no matter the district--and Kaz was hoping that the waters would not rise while simultaneously hoping that your father was impressed by it.

Kaz walked you to your apartment and chose to stay the night in the end, the two of you sleeping far enough away from one another that you didn’t risk waking up to find your bodies entangled and triggering Kaz’s touch aversion.

As he drifted, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Your parents liked him. He had won their approval. It was enough to keep him contented through to the next morning, your presence enough to keep him contented forever. 

[artificial-transmutations]

Alpha Firefighting

Reece felt bad about his job. It was not that it was particularly hard to do or that he was bad at it. The colleagues were reasonably nice (although they were often a particular kind of person that Reece didn't like very much in general). The pay was good, fantastic even for the kind of work he had to do.

No, that wasn't the problem, really. It was just that Reece sometimes felt like his job was useless, in the grand scheme of things.

He worked as a financial account manager for a big insurance company and more often than not, Reece felt like he the world in general could very much do without his job, or the company he worked for. On some occasions, he even asked himself if society wouldn't be better off without greedy capitalistic companies like the one he worked for.

Even though he always tried to do the right thing, this lack of sense troubled him a lot. He donated money and blood, didn't eat meat and tried not to fly too much, but this kind of central pain point in his life kept nagging on him.

In the nights, he often dreamed of a more fulfilling live. He pictured himself as a doctor, or a nurse. Perhaps a paramedic, or a firefighter. He even could imagine himself as a social worker or a veterinarian. But every time he woke up, he was still the same old balding office worker.

Reece wasn't too young, and he had his fair share of bills to pay, so as much as he wanted, a job change would have been a really bad idea at this point in his life, however unhappy his job made him.

One evening, when he came back from work, he passed a carnival that was still under construction. Reece was a big fan of these kinds of events. They provided fun and distraction for people who needed it most. There were many different reasons why someone might feel depressed, and there was nothing wrong with having fun to forget about them. Besides, the bright colors and colorful costumes always brightened his mood.

Strolling over the place, Reece watched the busy people erecting tents or shacks. One tent was already finished, and when he passed it, he heard someone calling from inside. It was a raspy old woman's voice asking "Do you want to know your fate?"

Reece stopped. A fortune teller's tent! Reece didn't really believe in that, but he admired the acting skills of fortune tellers, as well as the ambience, so he didn't mind to indulge in this kind of event from time to time.

He had nothing better to do this evening, so he turned around and entered the tent, and said: "Why not?" in his usual soft and friendly voice.

The lady sitting behind the table looked up at him. She was an older woman, probably in her fifties, with long black hair and dressed in a red robe. On her head was a kind of turban. In front of her was no crystal ball or deck of cards, but a single burning candle.

She regarded him with a mysterious smile and said: "Welcome! You are my first customer in this city, so I will give you a special reading."

The air in the tent was heavy with incense and Reece was happy like a young boy. He liked it when the show people were in character like that.

He nodded happily and said: "Okay! Tell me everything, please."

The lady looked into her candle and moved back and forth, like she was in a trance, before she said: "I see your fate... You are a good man, perhaps one of the best that walk the earth. But the thing that pains you... your job... you won't escape it until you retire. Your fate is to be unhappy for all of your working life."

Reece blinked. That was both unusual and sad. Normally, fortune tellers made a show of telling you unspecific good things that were coming his way. This prediction... was hitting too close to home. His unhappiness with the situation must have been so obvious that the old lady picked up on it.

Without thinking too much, he answered: "But... I don't want that. I want to have a job that's important!"

The lady opened her eyes and stared at him, before she answered: "The fate that is read is what life has in store for you. You can, however, change it. But it will cost you dearly."

"How much do I need to pay?"

"You don't have to pay in money, but in what makes you special. Do you want that?" The question sounded genuine and unjudging.

Reece didn't need to think about his answer much:

"Yes, I think I would gladly pay anything to be able to help people in my job."

The old lady smiled and blew out her candle. "Then go on and do so!"

From one moment to the next, there was pitch black darkness in the tent.

"Uhm... hello?" Reece called but stopped again at once. His voice didn't sound like it was reflected from the fabric walls of a tiny tent, but more like he was in a bigger room. He stood up and felt around until he found a light switch. After he flicked it, cold neon lights came on.

Reece was astonished. He wasn't in the tent anymore, but he was standing in some sort of locker room. It wasn't hard to discern what kind of locker room, either, since there was a lot of equipment and uniforms hanging around that pointed to one particular job.

"A firefighter?" Reece mumbled as he looked around.

"Reece, hurry up and get changed!" yelled a voice from outside.

What kind of magic was this? Did the old lady somehow made people think he was a firefighter?

Nevertheless, almost automatically, Reece disrobed. The moment he put away his suit into one of the lockers, it became a more casual attire, jeans and t-shirt. However, Reece was more concerned with the clothing still on his body, his underwear. He was sure he put on a comfortable pair of boxers this morning, but he was wearing a loose jockstrap. That didn't make sense! He didn't even own such a piece of underwear!

To make matters worse, the jockstrap was quickly changing, getting tighter and... No. No, that wasn't what was happening. It was filling up! His junk was getting bigger, mightily though. He wasn't getting hard, it was just his flaccid dick getting longer and girthier, alongside with his balls that swelled with masculine seed.

The changes didn't stop there, quite the opposite. Reece watched in amazement, as his body transformed, from his groin outward in all direction. His ass grew fitter and firmer, and his belly sucked itself in, revealing clearly visible ab muscle that stretched a bit, giving him some centimeters of extra height.

At the same time, his calves firmed up with muscle. They didn't change size a lot, but his fat melted away and was replaced by dense muscle.

As the changes reached his knees on the one end, his chest began to itch, as hundreds of small hairs sprouted on the changing flesh. It went a long way from the pudding-like consistency to two hard slabs of muscle, coated with manly hair. The changes continued down his lower legs and his arms. Biceps and triceps filled with mass, two strong arms that were made for breaking doors with a fireman's axe. His muscular legs gave him the necessary stability to do so. His feet enlarged a good one or two numbers, which would certainly help him keep his balance. Finally, the changes reached his head. Stubble formed on his chin and his hairstyle became a stylish, yet douchey cut. With his face squaring into the perfect male form, Reece’s personality changed.

Damn, was he looking good today. He gave his ample cock a last tug before he quickly changed into his uniform, ready to do his job.

Finally, he put on his sunglasses, grinning at his handsome reflection. He didn't have a particularly deep connection to his firefighter job, but the uniform looked awesome on his alpha male body, and he got to spend time with his bros. Besides, a lot of chicks and fags looked up to firefighters, which gave him plenty of material to stick his dick in.

After the operation, he needed to snap some new tinder pics and wait for the inevitable stream of thirsty comments from which he could choose from for tonight. He didn't discriminate if it was a boy or girl worshipping him, unlike most of his bros, but he got them all. He was, after all, a true alpha.

Be sure to check out my riot page for more stories, pictures and early access!

[notesfromthepalace]

Don't Be Jenny from the BLOCK!

No tea no shade to Jen, that's my sister, I LOVE HER!

When I say "don't be Jenny from the block" - what I am referring to is dating someone from your neighborhood, your town, you high school, and if you've glowed up after college, I would say extend that to anyone you've met before the age of 23.

In the words of Joseline Hernandez (I'll explain why I love her in another post), don't be a "$2 hoe".

I repeat, DON'T BE A $2 HOE!

Now, let's get into some things.

You today, in your mid 20s, should be the best version of yourself:

The finest

Prettiest

Skin Glowing

Hair always done

Nails done

Just That Girl, Okay?!

Whether I am being casual or saditty, I am That Girl, ten toes down.

Do you know why I choose to show up as That Girl no matter what?

Because I remember when I was this girl:

Now, to be clear I have had NO cosmetic procedures. I just grew up, slimmed down, filled up in the right spots, figured out what to do with my hair and skin care, etc. There's really nothing wrong with me in the above photo except for how I felt about myself. I thought I was ugly so my confidence was low, and I did not think I was deserving of love or the finer things in life.

Naturally, the guys around me treated me how I felt about myself.

But when I believed that I was all that and a bag of chips, I definitely gave that in my aura and appearance, but I still entertained a childhood love. I don't doubt that he loved me but he treated me as the girl in the green dress and would get annoyed when I demanded better.

But you know what, it's not his fault. He was treating me like the $2 Hoe he meant in the sixth grade - and not because I was actually a $2 hoe, but when I use that term, I mean a person who feels like they are less then.

If he had met me today, he probably would have admired me from a distance because he would've knew he could not provide what I require. But because he met me in another life chilllllle, he thought yesterday's price was today's price, but it wasn't - hints why I finally dumped him.

Every person I met after the age of 23 is completely different from people I met in my adolescent years. This isn't tea or shade to my close girlfriends, but as you get older and your values change, you realize that the conversations you are having in new circles feels more natural because the older conversations are beneath you.

This whole $2 hoe thing applies not only to dating, but your friends and the conversations you entertain as well - it's like a frequency you admit, a low vibrational frequency.

For example: I have friends who still "roster date" - meaning they have a routine/rotation of men that they go out with - which is their prerogative. I am a happily monogamous woman who is on her way to engagement and soon there after, marriage.

mon amour

There are conversations that I don't want to have anymore. I don't want to hear how you feel played by the man you knew was married, or how John and Joe found out about each other, etc.

The conversations now should be about investing, skin care regiments and medical spa recommendations, marriage, children, family, whether to be a stay at home mom or to pursue careers, and how to go about being mothers, wives and financially comfortable, how to support our future husbands: these are the conversations that peak my interest.

I left the block about five years ago. Once in a blue, I go back home to visit family and get my hair done, but I don't make a big deal or announcement about my arrival because I am not trying to invite the rift raft that comes with it.

The block is no longer my Ohana.

I have created my own.

Sometimes leaving home and cutting off old friends and leaving romances from our early years sounds scary, but my dear, you will not regret it.

Now, my girlfriends that I have known for over 10+ years know I'm not talking about them because we all still talk. But is there some distance between some of my old girlfriends and I?

Absolutely.

And that's okay. You're real friends will understand that because we're all growing and changing. It's called evolution.

Evolve

Grow

Be that girl.

And if someone tries to make you feel bad for that, especially a man: unfollow, block, throw away everything that person gave to you, sever the soul tie.

As always ladies,

God is King

Be beautiful.

With love,

Sarah Chanel

[edwardseymour]

Is Katherine Howard very 'luxurious'? How is her family's expenditure situation?

✨ terfs/zionists fuck off ✨

i’m not sure what you mean by your question abt her family: her father ran up debts and struggled financially, but the howards were, generally, wealthy… and her uncle and grandmother likely financed her early career at court.

i think a lot has been said about how indulgent, frivolous and spoilt katherine was as queen, with alison weir suggesting “each day, katherine discovered some new caprice, and her greed earned her the disapproval of many of the older people at court” — for which there is no evidence — and lacey baldwin smith characterised katherine as “a doll upon which to lavish all the luxury and display of tudor imagination. at twenty-one katherine howard, temperamentally, was quite capable of acting the role of the pampered and irresponsible child bride, but she lacked the wit, patience and understanding to play the companion” — which can be disputed with evidence of her involving herself with the queen’s work, and multiple positive descriptions of her by her contemporaries.

moreover, the primary source for the idea that katherine was indulgent and frivolous comes from the spanish chronicle, so it’s not reliable: russell admits that “a spanish merchant living in london, who admittedly never let fact stand in the way of a good story, claimed later that ‘the king had no wife who made him spend so much money in dresses and jewels as she did, who every day had some new caprice’”. likewise, baldwin smith described the same author as “one not very reliable chronicler”. so, there has so be a level of criticism applied to the validity afforded to this source. that’s just basic analytical skill as a historian.

as for actual sources as to her frivolity, we can say that a considerable portion of her collection of jewels and lands (excluding those that came from the queen’s collection) came from henry by way of gifts, with marillac reporting “the king is so amorous of her that he cannot treat her well enough”. the spanish chronicle seems to have rendered this as something katherine demanded, that “the king had no wife who made him spend so much money in dresses and jewels as she did”, which almost certainly seems incorrect, if for no other reason than katherine was not his wife for very long. true enough, if we traipse through her inventories and other records, we can identify numerous gifts from henry. we can also identify gifts that katherine regifted to others, as well as pieces she had repurposed. that she was reported as favouring french fashions suggest her wardrobe was distinct from her predecessors enough to suggest new pieces were purchased in place of her inheriting pieces from jane seymour — albeit anne of cleves did also introduce french fashions to her wardrobe — but this can’t be corroborated with evidence, as hayward has pointed out: “little has come to light about katherine’s wardrobe”.

comparatively, it does not appear that katherine’s material wealth was excessive relative to henry’s other wives. as russell points out: “a defence of her spending can be mounted by pointing out that it does not seem so great when set in its wider context. her jewellery acquisitions in the summer and winter of 1540, for instance, compare favourably in cost to those commissioned by or for anne boleyn, even before she became queen”. likewise tallis’ research has indicated that “jane seymour’s collection was significantly larger than that of either of her successors. […] katherine howard’s inventory consisted of more items than that of the queenly inventory of her successor, katherine parr”.

simply put: the royal court was an exorbitant/garish display of opulence and wealth, irrespective of katherine — earlier in his reign henry’s court was described as a remarkable show of “jewels and gold and silver, the pomp being unprecedented”. katherine as queen, and as an english-born woman lacking international royal standing, was simply more vulnerable to accusations of overspending and frivolity than her husband or other members of the royal family, just as anne boleyn had been. this extends into her historiography too, with gareth russell claiming katherine valued henry because he “could give her everything she ever wanted”, and that “katherine’s extravagance was not balanced by any particular displays of piety or memorable largesse”; perpetuating this idea of teenaged frivolity while otherwise relishing the lavishness of royal and aristocratic circles. consider how russell describes henry’s court otherwise (“the henrician court in its twilight, a glittering but pernicious sunset” in the introduction, as one example). he wants to have it both ways, critical of the barbarity of the henrician court, whilst finding irresistible the level of wealth only barbarity can uphold — this extends beyond henry viii’s court, as russell has also written about the queen mother and titanic, so clearly richness and materiality has its own draw as a subject. meanwhile for katherine, it is used against her: “the very things that made katherine howard’s time as henry viii’s queen so pleasant became a cudgel with which to beat her” (blakemore). moreover i think it is a detail we read backwards into katherine’s historiography, as people allow archetypes about teenage girls, and young women who marry older, wealthy men, to colour their conceptualisation of katherine howard. i’m old enough to remember how people talked about anna nicole smith. especially given the fact that materialism is an element of the investigation into her downfall — “one cannot read the surviving records of the scandal without noticing the ubiquitous concern with the material circumstances of katherine’s indiscretions” (irish) — as the council were very interested in the material connections between the people involved as evidence of courtship conventions by way of gift-giving etc. it has been extrapolated in popular imagination to justify katherine’s actions as those of a spoilt teenage girl.

[bellestarot]

Chaeyoung's Reading

January 11, 2025

Right Now

She’s feeling a bit dissatisfied with how her family dynamics are right now. She senses that things aren’t the same as they used to be, which has left her somewhat disappointed in her family. She’s been working a lot—actually, she’s working at this very moment. She might be traveling to a faraway country soon, but even when she does, she feels somewhat empty. While she travels and works hard, she often feels like she doesn’t really have a personal life. She struggles with her own sense of identity.

She’s been spending time with two older men and feels a bit uneasy around them. She feels like she needs to show more of herself and raise her voice to be heard by them.

Love Life

Her heart is broken right now. She and her partner are going through a separation. She feels it’s necessary because their relationship has become very unhealthy.

She feels deeply betrayed and hurt. She’s trying to get it off her mind by traveling and discovering new places, but she’s in a bad place emotionally. She feels deceived and extremely angry. It seems her partner doesn’t have the courage to speak to her right now.

She discovered something shocking through a text or phone call and feels like she’s been lied to and played for a fool for a long time.

She’s dealing with a lot of anxiety but believes things will eventually balance out. Her spirituality is strong, but she’s disappointed because she once saw her partner as the best friend she could ever have. Something serious happened that damaged their relationship.

Career

At work, there’s a man she doesn’t trust. She believes he’s toxic and that his ideas or suggestions could harm the idol's image. She sees him as dangerous in some way.

She’s excited about traveling and exploring new places. Her group might be preparing for a tour or show in another country, and she’s eager to go.

However, she doesn’t realize that her group faces issues of disrespect and injustice from the company. She’s more focused on spending money and having fun than addressing these deeper problems, possibly not noticing that the company might be exploiting them to some extent.

Family

She feels her family sometimes behaves unethically, though she tries not to judge them. She attempts to move forward but holds some critical thoughts about them. She supports her family financially and they seems to be waiting for a transfer.

She’s close to a younger man in her family or someone around her age. However, she feels like she’s walking on eggshells with a younger woman in her family, even though they’re also close.

Friendships

She has some male friends, but she doesn’t fully trust them. She thinks some of them are fake or behave suspiciously.

One of these friends has feelings for her, but she’s made it clear they’re only friends. Despite this, he keeps insisting, and she’s had to reinforce that she won’t get involved with him.

She feels somewhat lonely, to be honest. She misses the friendships she had last year and feels those bonds were more genuine than the ones she has now. She deeply misses people and friendships from her past.

Future

She’s going to mature a lot. She’ll notice her personal growth and go through a significant period of isolation, closing herself off from people in general. During this time, she’ll likely become interested in philosophy, psychology, and areas that study human behavior.

She’ll be very happy and hopeful about a project at work or possibly a solo endeavor that will be a huge success. She’ll collaborate with many people to make it happen, but she might feel a bit disheartened if the financial outcome isn’t what she had imagined.

As for her relationship, I don’t think they’ll break up, but things will change. Her partner will have to work hard to win her back and make the relationship work again.

Advice

"Simply judge well to act well, and strive to judge as best as we can so that we may also do our best."

— René Descartes

[calderasletski]

Bound to Revalidate

Forced into a marriage of convenience, Y/n turned to Cherry, the AI calligrapher she trusted, seeking help.

Chapters can be found HERE

Chapter 1

“So, you’re suggesting a contractual marriage for a year?” Kaoru repeated, arching a brow.

“Yes,” Y/n replied, her voice resolute as she steeled herself to see this exchange through.

“And what exactly do I get out of this?” he asked, leaning back with mild intrigue.

                                                 ………………

Twenty-year-old Y/n L/n, the only daughter of an affluent family, found herself grappling with an existential crisis. Her father had arranged for her to marry the son of his business partner, a move designed to solidify their business alliance.

“Ugh, Fat Louie, I knew it! I always knew!” she lamented to her ginger cat, who, as usual, seemed entirely uninterested.

At least her fiancé-to-be was someone she knew—a former high school classmate with the shittiest reputation imaginable.

“That rat’s a complete womanizer!” she exclaimed, pacing around her room with flailing arms. “Now I’ll never find true love, and I’ll be treated like some piece of property for the rest of my life!”

Fat Louie let out an apathetic meow, pawing at her leg.

“Baby, I know you’re hungry, but can’t you at least listen to my sob story for a little longer?” she said, scooping him up into her arms. “I won’t even get to see you if I marry that bastard.”

“Unless…” Y/n’s voice trailed off as an idea struck her. Her eyes lit up as the perfect plan formed in her mind.

“Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” she exclaimed, holding Fat Louie up as if he were Simba in The Lion King. Predictably, the cat remained unbothered. “It’s crazy, something that only happens in novels, but it just might work.”

And that’s how she ended up standing in front of Kaoru Sakurayashiki, determined to make him sign a marriage contract with her. If her father was determined to "sell her off," then she figured she deserved the right to choose her buyer.

“What made you pick me? You do realize I’m six years older than you,” Kaoru asked, his tone carrying a mix of skepticism and mild amusement.

Y/n bit her lip. She had anticipated this would be tricky. Kaoru wasn’t the type to be swayed by money, even if she dangled the possibility of a lucrative business arrangement between their families.

“It’s just… I can’t follow the path they’ve forced on me,” she admitted after a moment of hesitation. “My family doesn’t care who they marry me off to as long as it benefits them financially. And—he’s not a good person. Please, Kaoru, will you marry me instead?”

Her words spilled out in a rush. “At least with you, I know I won’t be treated like property. You’re not the type to dictate my every move or control my life. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay.”

“…Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to skate again if I—huh? Wait. Really? You’ll marry me?” Y/n’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Why do you look surprised now?” Kaoru asked, smirking at her reaction.

“I just thought it would take a lot more convincing,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Well,” he began, “you came here looking like you were ready to win. And frankly, I need to get married too—if only to maintain my image. You’ve presented a convenient opportunity. These are the conditions?” he asked, gesturing to the document she had placed before him.

“Yes, you can modify or add any clauses you deem necessary,” Y/n assured him.

“You’ll be required to attend business parties with me,” he stated. “And fair warning, they can be dreadfully tedious.”

“I’ve been to more business parties than I care to count,” Y/n replied, rolling her eyes at the memory of her parents forcing her to attend. “What’s a few more?”

Once they had ironed out the details, Y/n gave him a complicated look, her expression somewhere between relief and hesitation.

“Do you have something to say?” Kaoru asked, watching her carefully.

“N-no, it’s just… what will Carla think?” she blurted out, instantly regretting it.

A heavy silence followed.

“I’m having second thoughts now,” Kaoru remarked dryly.

“Forget I said anything!” Y/n exclaimed, waving her hands in a panic.

“One more thing,” Y/n added, standing abruptly. “Let me bring my cat! I promise he’s the laziest thing alive and won’t cause any trouble. If I can’t have him, I—I’ll die!”

Kaoru sighed, shaking his head. “Calm down, Y/n. You can bring your cat.”

With the lack of Cherry x Reader fics on the internet, I decided to write my own and maybe mix my fav trope. I kinda have the plot planned out and am currently in the process of writing ch2. Most importantly, thanks for reading♡