#i don't know what he put in that song but it is quite possibly the best thing he's written lyrically

[hyperpotamianarch]

Hello. Today, I'd like to make some random anecdotes about Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra - poet, commentator, linguist, mathmatician, probably not too bad at chess and cursed to be poor for the entirety of his life.

After a cursory look at his wikipedia page, I must admit I didn't really know much about his life: only that he was born and raised in Spain, went travelling, had terrible luck with everything, wrote his commentaries on the Torah for money (which I think didn't help with the "cursed to be poor" thing), befriended Rabbenu Tam in France, possibly married the daughter of Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi and promptly died... somewhere... oh, and also wrote lots of poetry in the middle.

Historically speaking, he lived at the end of the Golden Age of Judaism in Spain, around the 11th-12th centuries CE. This puts him right after Rashi - which allows him to snark at everything he thinks Rashi was wrong about, but before Rambam - which means he doesn't get to snark at everything Rambam got wrong. His commentary on the Torah leans a little towards the linguistic side, though he has a couple of other things going on as well, like roasting people he disagrees with (Ben Zuta is the only friend a bull has, anyone?) and dancing around verses he thinks were added later to the Torah, like every time it says "to this very day".

He also wrote one of the first math books in Hebrew - Sefer HaMispar, he wrote a poem about chess, one about how whatever he'll work at he won't get enough money. And generally, he wrote poems. Quite a lot.

I suppose at this point I should mention something: Hebrew linguists were, at the middle ages, predominantly Sepharadi. I mean, sure, there could be a non-Jewish Hebrew linguist, but for some reason I don't hear much about those. And there probably were Ashkenazi linguists, but there weren't many of them. Rashi does deal with linguistics - but half the time he does, it's using the books of two famous Sepharadi linguists. The Sepharadim, living in Muslim lands as they were, simply had a better background with learning Hebrew, since they were surrounded by speakers of a closely related language - Arabic. And Ibn Ezra's deep understanding of Hebrew led to him loving linguistic riddles, which I can never figure out - and I was reading an eddition with footnotes! Though maybe I didn't make enough effort or something.

But no, the reason I wanted to talk about Ibn Ezra was the impossible standards for poetry, as set by Sepharadi poets. You see, Jews were always influenced by their surroundings, in multiple facets. and poetry is definitely one of them. So, the influence from Arab poets includes strict rules for rhythm and - and this is what I actually wanted to talk about - rhyming.

The rythm thing is bad enough. Only once in my life have I tried keeping up with that. It was very, very hard. It's probably because I'm not used to this, but no song I write can keep a consistent rhythm and meter, and that's without trying to apply the standard Sepharadic rules. So trying to have such a strict meter... didn't work well for me. I guess I'm the frenchman from

וּמִי הֵבִיא לְצָרְפַתִּי בְּבֵית שִׁיר,

וְעָבַר זָר מְקוֹם קֹדֶשׁ וְרָמָס;

וְלוּ שִׁיר יַעֲקֹב יִמְתַּק כְּמוֹ מָן,

אֲנִי שֶׁמֶשׁ, וְחַם שִׁמְשִׁי וְנָמָס.

which was actually written about Rabenu Tam, but I'm a distant relative of his so this might still be applicable. Besides, as far as you know my name is Ya'akov, just like Rabenu Tam! (Sorry for not providing a translation, the gist is "how dare a frenchman trample all over poetry?!")

But rhymes. Oh, the Ibn Ezraic rhyming standards.

According to Ibn Ezra, one must always rhyme with the entire syllable. So no, just the last sound isn't enough. In Ibn Ezra's book, rhyme and dime don't actually rhyme - though I don't think he'd care about English at all. For the Ibn Ezra, shor and ḥamor can't be rhymed with each other; shor can rhyme with Mishor, and ḥamor can rhyme with har hamor, but you can't rhyme any other pair of those with each other. And I can't stay up to this challenge. It's nearly always impossible for me to find proper words to rhyme even without the extra demand for the rhyme to be the entire syllable. With English I don't think I even bothered or ever will. You have too many weird syllables for me. But with Hebrew... I do try with Hebrew, really. But I can't keep this up. And the most frustrating thing? It doesn't appear other Ashkenazi writers had this problem.

Now we get to the interesting part. I have been trying lately a new possible format for my very-anticipated-and-definitely-not-only-I-want-it Jewsade fanfic: introduction, preface and Haskamot to books. I just really enjoy reading prefaces for books, and one of my recent favourite pieces of writing is the conclusion piece of the Vilna edition of the Babylonian Talmud. If you're interested - it can be found in most editions of the Talmud at the very end of Masechet Nidah. The piece describes the trouble they went through to publish this edition of the Talmud and it's very interesting. Another favourite piece of mine is the preface of the Levush, a slightly obscure Halachic book from the time of the Shulchan Aruch. If you've ever seen me talk about the race to Halacha - this is my source for that, because the poor author was upstaged about three to four times by other people doing exactly what he planned on doing. I highly recommend this piece as well, though I don't know how easy it is to find. And the Levush - Rabbi Mordechai Yeffe - is a nice Ashkenazi guy. So he must be more lenient with his rhymes, right?

Well, I guess I didn't establish that part. Yes, the preface to the Levush starts with a poem. It's fun. It's great. It's also up to the Ibn Ezraic standard, while my attempt to write an equivalent is... not.

Huh. This post is oddly rambly. Ah well, maybe someone will like it. Anyway, the preface portion that really takes the cake is actually one from a fairly recent obscure book - like, this one was written barely a century ago. I only found it because one of my favourite singers, Aharon Razel, made a song out of it, but the song doesn't really capture the hilarity of the piece. Do ask me if you want to hear more, this one's great.

Signing off with a "darn you, Ibn Ezra! Why must you set such high standards!"

[theinfinitedivides]

my f*cking God he's done it again!!!!!!

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

[katsu28]

oscar's a grouch (or is he?)

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: to your knowledge, oscar piastri really doesn't like you. but a night out in monaco makes you realize that maybe you don't know oscar's feelings towards you quite as well as you think you do. (3.7k)

warnings: swearing, unwanted advances from a man (not oscar, don't worry), a smidge of landoscar if u squint really hard

a/n: idk about y'all but this summer break is killing me 😭 i just wanna see my boys on track again is that too much to ask. anyways here's some oscar bc he's been giving literal crumbs lately (except for casually mentioning his broken fucking rib)

You’re not even sure what you're celebrating tonight. 

All you know is Lando called you a few hours ago demanding you come to some club with him and a few of his other driver friends, and who were you to deny yourself a fun night out? Especially one where you can put all your drinks on Lando’s tab. (You’re not a gold digger—Lando refuses to let you pay for most things when you go out because he, and you quote, ‘makes a shit ton of money, so why not use it’.) 

Now you’re here, sipping the last of your third (fourth maybe?) drink of the night until there’s nothing but ice. 

The music blasting through the club is so loud you feel the bass thumping in your chest, and it only gets louder when you venture through the crowd in search of the group you came with.

Somehow you’d gotten separated, but it’s really not too hard to locate them. All you have to do is look for a very tall, very polite looking British man a head taller than everyone else, and then you’ve found George Russell.

He spots you too, beckoning you over into the VIP section with a cool nod of his head. All the other drivers are around too—Carlos winks at you over the rather brightly patterned mini umbrella in his drink, Max tips his glass at you as you make your way by. 

Charles and Oscar sit together on a sofa further into the section, seeming deep in conversation, but look up as you pass them. The Monegasque reaches up to give you a fist bump, and Oscar just blinks at you, taking a measured swig of his beer. You fight the urge to sigh at his standoffishness. 

Over the years, Lando’s friends have quickly become your friends too, but Oscar Piastri is an enigma you have yet to crack. You know he’s on the quieter side because Lando had warned you of it before you’d met Oscar for the first time, but you weren’t expecting completely and totally icy.

The Oscar that Lando always talks about excitedly is an entirely different person than the Oscar you’ve become familiar with. 

It seems like he can barely look you in the eye whenever you try to make small talk with him, and you don’t think you’ve ever been alone with him because he always finds a way to slip away before you can even try to make a genuine connection with him. 

What makes things even better (read: worse) is that despite all that, you’ve grown a small crush on Oscar. You’re not sure how, and you’re not sure why, but that doesn’t make your feelings any less real. You’ve accepted that this is just the way things will always be with him, you with a pesky crush and him not wanting anything to do with you. 

You find Lando quickly, bopping around to the beat of the song playing without a care in the world. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, and when he spots you, he positively beams, waving wildly at you. 

“Hey, you!” He exclaims. “How are you? I love you!” 

“I love you too!” You chuckle. “I was gonna get another drink, d’you want anything?” 

“What?” He yells, brows furrowing. “You’re gonna dye your hair pink?”

“Another drink, dummy! Do you want another drink?” You make sure he’s looking at you this time, over-enunciating your words, so he’ll understand them. He narrows his eyes at you in the dim lighting but gets the gist of your question, perking up at the possibility of yet another drink. 

“More vodka shots, baby! One for you, one for me! No, one for everyone!” He giggles, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

His movement is so enthusiastic he nearly tips the two of you over, stumbling on his feet clumsily. You’re quick to push him back into an upright position, grimacing with effort as you trudge over to the nearest sofa and deposit him onto the seat unceremoniously. 

“Oh, this is nice,” He sighs, stroking the leather dreamily. “I should—I should get one of these for my place. D’you think they’d let me take it home?” 

“I really don’t think so, Lan,” You reply, amused. “Stay here. Don’t leave this sofa.” 

Lando groans, tilting his head back against the cushions. “Okay, mum. God!” 

Right, so maybe he doesn’t need those extra shots after all. 

You shoot him one more stern look before leaving him behind and heading for the bar, quietly tasking Carlos with making sure Lando doesn’t do anything stupid while you’re gone. 

There’s an empty spot at the bar when you approach, and you slide in, fingers tapping on the countertop idly as you wait for the bartender to finish up other drinks. 

“Hey.” 

You glance to your left to see a man you don’t recognize, smiling at you.

“Hi.” You say back, pressing your lips into a polite smile. You’re hoping that’ll be the end of the conversation, because you’re not really in the mood to be talking to someone you don’t know when all you’re trying to do is order something. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a club like this?” His eyes rake over you from head to toe as he says it, shamelessly checking you out with a glint in his eye that makes you feel dirty. 

You take a small, calculated step backward, and much to your dismay, he takes that as an invitation to inch forward. “I’m with a group of friends.” 

“Are they all as attractive as you?” He must think he’s being smooth, but it just makes you even more uncomfortable. 

“Pretty sure they’re not your type,” You reply flatly. “Unless you’re into dudes.” 

The man’s nostrils flare, like you’re accusing him of something absurd. “I’m not. I’ve only dated girls. Really hot girls.” 

“Uh…good for you? I don’t really—” 

“What’s your name? I bet it’s something sexy.” 

“Y’know, my friends are probably wondering where I am, so I’m just gonna—” 

“What’s the rush, sweetheart? I’m just trying to get to know you,” He drawls, stroking clammy fingers over the back of your hand. You yank it away, reaching up to adjust the strap of your top just so he wasn’t touching you anymore. Maybe a little bit harsh, but the vibe you’re getting from him isn’t good at all. 

“I have a boyfriend,” You reply stiffly. It’s a boldfaced lie, but you're hoping you sound convincing enough to get this guy off your case. He’s starting to make you nervous. 

He takes an overdramatic look at your surroundings before focusing back on you, shrugging. “I don’t see one.” 

As if the universe is presenting you with a way out, you spot Oscar walking by at that very second, and before you can think you're grabbing his hand, tugging him towards you. He comes willingly, but looks slightly confused as you tuck yourself close to him.

He’s definitely not your first choice, but right now you don't think you can afford to be picky. At least it's someone you know. 

You pop up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, lips almost pressed to his cheek as you whisper, “Please play along.”

His eyes flick between you and your unwanted conversation partner, and for a moment you think he might blow your cover, but he slides an arm around you after you turn back around, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

You force yourself to ignore the effect it has on you, instead opting to press a little more into his side. His torso is firm under your trembling hands, tense if anything, but the steady rise and fall of his level breathing provides comfort. 

“We got a problem here, mate?” Oscar’s voice sounds more serious than you've ever heard it, and when you look up at him, he looks downright scary.  He towers over both you and the guy you're desperately trying to get rid of, brow furrowed, jaw set. You’re glad that look has never been aimed at you.

The guy shifts nervously on his feet, but still holds his ground. Not a good idea, anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that. “No problems, just trying to have a friendly conversation.” 

“Doesn’t look very friendly to me. Looks like you’re bothering my girlfriend.” 

“Dunno what to tell you, mate. We were just chatting, weren’t we, sweetheart?” 

You wrinkle your nose in disgust, feeling safe enough to do so tucked under Oscar’s arm like you are right now. This guy might be a fucking creep, but he’s not stupid enough to go up against Oscar. “No.” 

He glowers at you, and you feel Oscar’s palm come around, curling around your waist protectively. “Seems like that’s settled then. I reckon you should leave now.” Oscar’s tone leaves absolutely no room for discussion.

Is it wrong that you find it hot? 

“Fine. Don’t need to waste my time on bitches anyways.” 

Oscar stiffens. He moves forward like he’s about to throw a punch, but you’re quicker, splaying your palm over his very sturdy chest to stop him before he does anything rash. You don’t think it’ll go over too well with McLaren higher ups if they learn that one of their drivers got into a fight at a club. 

“He’s not worth it, Osc,” You say softly. He looks down at you, sees the look in your eyes, and his posture relaxes just a little bit. You’re not sure how long the two of you hold each other’s gaze, but when you finally tear your eyes away from his, the guy is long gone. 

Only then do you step away from Oscar, straightening yourself out as much as you can given how things could’ve ended had he not been there to save your ass. He steps away too. With the guy no longer around, there’s no reason for you to be that close together. 

“You alright?” He mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. Even in the dim lighting of the club, you can see how red his cheeks are. 

“Yeah. Fine. That guy was just really freaking me out.” 

“Are you sure? That you’re okay, I mean. ‘Cause yeah, that guy was a creep.” 

“Total creep,” You agree, bobbing your head. “But I’m sure. I’m, uh, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not been there, so…thank you. I know it was probably a little hard for you, but thanks anyways.” 

That last part was likely not necessary, but you’re a smidge tipsy right now. You’ll blame your loose lips on the alcohol. 

Oscar’s brow pinches in the middle, head tilting in confusion. “What?” 

“Pretending to be my boyfriend. Pretending to like me.” 

“Why would that be hard for me?” 

“Uh, I dunno, maybe ‘cause you don’t.” 

“You—wait, you think I don’t like you?” Oscar looks truly befuddled at your insinuation, and you frown, because from your side of things, it’s pretty damn clear. 

“I’m not, like, upset or hurt, or anything. You have a right to dislike whoever you want, I don’t care,” You shrug, craning your neck to look for the bartender. 

“It’s not true.” 

You hum absentmindedly, not really paying attention to his words. Where was that damn bartender? You need that drink, now. Oscar’s fingers wrap around your forearm loosely, but tight enough to grab your attention again. “What?” 

“I don’t…not like you.” 

“I said I don’t care, Oscar. You don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s fine,” You assure him. You really wish he’d stop pushing the subject. “Just drop it, yeah? Thanks for the save, you can go back to the group now.” 

He regards you blankly for a long few seconds, then he opens his mouth, and just when you think he’s about to say something, it snaps shut. Then he pivots on his heel and starts to walk away. You roll your eyes, turning back to the bar. After all this, you definitely need another drink. Preferably a strong one. 

Maybe you’ll get those shots Lando wanted after all. 

The bartender finally spots you and you sigh in relief, glad and ready to finally get what you came for, but before you can get a word out, you’re being dragged away by the hand. 

You nearly scream, your mind jumping to the worst conclusion before your gaze lands on the same broad shoulders, the same head of brown hair that had just left you not seconds ago. It’s Oscar pulling you through the crowd, and even though you’re beyond relieved, you’re also confused and a little bit pissed off. 

“What’re you—hey! Oscar!” You have to shout over the pulsing music, but either he can’t hear you or he’s choosing to ignore you, because he doesn’t stop. 

He muscles through the crowd with surprising ease with you stumbling along behind him until you’re outside the club, in some sort of private patio area. There’s no one else out here and you’re glad for it, because you have half a mind to yell at him.

Oscar drops your hand, running his fingers through his hair, and when he looks up, you detect confliction in those big brown eyes of his. It almost derails your thought process, but you scowl. 

“What is your problem?” You snap, folding your arms over your chest angrily. 

“You think I don’t like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This again? Fucking hell, I told you to forget about it, Oscar. I meant that.” 

“No, I’m not gonna—you said it, so you obviously meant it. I wanna know why,” He insists. “Why do you think I don’t like you?” 

“Maybe because you haven’t exactly given me anything else to go off of? You always brush me off when I try to talk to you, and when I do get you to have a conversation with me, you can barely look me in the eye. And I swear, it’s like you find every excuse to not be around me.” 

You can’t resist the urge to allow a slightly bitter sounding laugh escape you because, fuck, no matter how many times you tell yourself that you don’t care what Oscar thinks of you, that you don’t give a crap about how it looks like he’s only this way with you, you do care. 

You care so much it makes you want to scream into the void. You shouldn’t care, but you do. 

“So you can say that it’s not true, you can tell me I’m wrong all you want, but I’m just telling it as I see it.” 

Oscar blinks at you again in that way he always does when you talk, the way that makes you want to smack him upside the head but also kiss him senseless too, just to see if he’d react differently. 

“I’m an idiot,” He says. You press your lips together. There won’t be any denying that fact from you. 

He groans, tipping his back towards the sky. “I’m an idiot. It’s not because I don’t like you. It’s—” He pauses, sighing. Crossing his arms, uncrossing them, weighing his options. “It’s because I do like you. A lot. I like you to the point where I don’t know how to act around you without the fear I might do or say something stupid, and then you’ll think I’m a dickhead.” 

“So you thought completely icing me out was…you not being a dickhead?” 

He wrinkles his nose, like he's just realized what his actions must’ve looked like to an outside party. “Oh. That’s not what I meant to….fuck, you must think I’m such a—”

“Dickhead?” You supply helpfully. He nods, shoulders slumping. 

You’re used to long stretches of silence with Oscar, but this one feels different. Now that you know he doesn’t totally hate your guts, the silence isn’t totally unbearable. He steps closer, watching you, gauging your reaction to his movements like you’re some sort of unpredictable creature. 

If anything, Oscar’s the unpredictable one. 

“So…” You start, tilting your head. “You like me?” 

Oscar exhales sharply, nodding. “Guess it might be a bit of a shocker, but I do.”  

“And you already know I like you.” 

“I’ve noticed, yeah,” He says, lips quirking up into a small smile. “What do we do now?”

“Maybe we take things slow. Get to know each other first, ‘cause I dunno if you’ve noticed, but one of us spent a lot of time ignoring the other,” You lilt, half joking. Oscar rolls his eyes playfully, but nods his agreement nonetheless. “I think for now, we should get back inside. I’ve got to make sure Lando hasn’t tried to steal the sofa from right out the section.” 

Oscar’s nose scrunches, head cocking to the side in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it another time.” 

“How about tomorrow over dinner?” He blurts, running a hand through his hair. It flops right back into place, one stray curl hanging over his forehead that he doesn’t seem to notice as he smiles hopefully at you. 

“I’d like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Duh.” 

His smile grows bigger, pushing up his cheeks so much it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. You’ve never been the receiver of this smile before, and now that you are, you never want him to stop smiling at you like this. “Okay. Okay, cool. I’ll text you.” 

“Don’t you need my number for that?” 

“Oh, I’ve uh, I’ve got it already. I nabbed it from Lando’s phone a while ago. Just in case I gathered up the courage to message you. Which I didn’t, as you could probably tell,” He replied, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I wanted to though. I just—I didn’t know what to say.” 

“How’d you get into his phone?” 

He snorts this time, raising a brow at you. “His password’s 4444. Not exactly mission impossible.” 

You really need to have a talk with your friend about Internet safety one of these days. 

The aforementioned friend throws his hands up into the air when he spots you making your way back into the section as soon as you re-enter the club, bouncing over to you to wrap you in a giant hug. Lando mumbles something you can’t understand into your ear and giggles, then spots Oscar lingering behind you and positively screeches, reaching to pull him into the hug too. 

You don’t have time to get your arms out of where they’re trapped against your sides in Lando’s surprisingly vice-like grip before Oscar stumbles forward into your back at his friend’s harsh tug, cheek smushing against the top of your head. The muttered sorry he offers you does nothing to quell your rocket fast heartbeat at being this close to him for the first time.

“Look at us!” Lando hiccups, squeezing you both as tight as he can. Not an easy feat when you’re hugging two people at once. He bumps his forehead against yours gently to draw your attention back to him. (More like lightly headbutted, but you remain un-concussed so you won’t hold it against him.) “Hey, you’re in a papaya sandwich!” 

Oscar’s low chuckle vibrates through his chest and you feel it rumble through you too. You also feel his pinky curl around your own, thumb pressing against the inside of your wrist tenderly. 

It’s a subtle gesture, one that might not seem like much to anyone else, but you’ve gone from sort of acquaintances to something a little more than friends in the span of less than an hour.

Are you even friends now? You can’t even answer that. You like him and he likes you, but the only time you’ve ever spent together has been around other people. 

Still, only two points of contact—you’re not even holding hands and you think you might spontaneously combust. 

But you have to play it cool. 

The good thing about drunk Lando is that his attention span is close to zero, so he quickly grows bored of sandwiching you into a McLaren hug and wanders off again, most likely in search of another drink. You feel like it would be a good idea to stop him but you plop onto the nearest couch instead, letting your head tip against the back of it. 

To your surprise, Oscar motions for you to scooch over, slotting himself into the extra space you create. There’s a respectful distance left between yourselves, but then he leans towards you to be heard over the music.

“Your pulse was racing.” 

“Gee, I wonder why,” You muse. “Definitely not because of how I feel about you.” 

“Ha ha. You’re funny.” 

“See what you’ve been missing out on all this time?” You joke, head lolling to the side to grin at him. 

“I see it.” He’s looking at you unabashedly already, eyes drinking you in like he’s parched and you’re water. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, and god, you want to kiss him so bad right now. 

Instead you take a deep breath, fixing him to the spot with a pointed look. “Stop staring, or you’ll draw attention.” 

Oscar startles like he wasn’t aware he was staring that hard at you, mumbling out another apology before retreating back to his own bubble of space stiffly. 

You feel a tad guilty now. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but you and Oscar haven’t even begun to understand what you are to each other yet, and the last thing you want is the driver rumor mill to start spinning its wheels about your budding relationship before you even knew if there was going to be a relationship. It’s the kind of thing you want to keep under wraps until the two of you figure things out. 

Sighing lightly, you slide your hand along the empty space separating you, curling your pinky around his the same way he did earlier. Part of you expects he’ll shy away, so when he reciprocates the action, you’re pleasantly relieved. 

There’s still quite a bit of getting to know each other to be done, but you’re excited to see what this next chapter with Oscar holds.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

hey could I possibly get a scenario of reader who is not Gojo’s s/o yet. Taking a nap in his presence. They don’t plan it. They were talking with him for a bit. They just felt tired suddenly and fell asleep on the couch in the teacher’s lounge room next to Gojo in the middle of their conversation. He’s the only one in the room?

Gojo Satoru - Falling Asleep on His Shoulder Mid-Conversation

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

. . .Hey @nesting-dreams, It's your turn today. Sorry that I took so long, college and work have been taking up most of my time so I have to squeeze these in here and there. Sorry that it's really short, for some reason I had a lot of trouble with this one. This takes place a few months before the events of Jujutsu Kaisen. Also, this is written in the third person, so I hope you don't mind it too much. The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Put You Head On My Shoulder” by Paul Anka. —Benny🐰

Warnings ➔  Reader is Gn, Reader is a 1st Grade Sorcerer, Reader Teaches the 3rd Year Students 

Word Count: 534 words

                                                                                                   

❝𝕻𝖚𝖙 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝕺𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗, 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝕸𝖊 𝕴𝖓 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕬𝖗𝖒𝖘, 𝕭𝖆𝖇𝖞~ 𝕾𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖟𝖊 𝕸𝖊 𝕺𝖍-𝕾𝖔-𝕿𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝕸𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕸𝖊 𝕿𝖔𝖔~ ❞

. . .

♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾

“You've got to give that poor kid a break; he's got his own missions already, you know?”  

[Name] chuckles in exasperation from their place beside the strongest sorcerer, arms loosely crossed over their chest.

“Wha– Oh c'mon, it builds character. It's not like Megumi won't get harder missions when he goes up a grade. Plus, it's a bonding thing too; he's getting to know more about me by experiencing what I do for work!”

The snow-white-haired man smoothly excuses himself, glancing at the person beside him.

[Name] rolled their eyes and attempted to playfully shove Gojo aside, only to have their hand stop just an inch from the man's clothed shoulder. They huffed, giving the man an annoyed expression as he chuckled at their futile action and rested his arm behind them on the sofa's backrest.

“You and that damn infinity– quit smiling like that, you weirdo.”  

The first-grade sorcerer jokingly complained, rubbing their now sore wrist with their free hand as they lazily laid their head on the infinity that shielded Satoru’s shoulder.

Blindfolded blue eyes glance down at the top of [Name]’s head; his long arm moving from its place on the sofa's backrest to draping around their shoulder where slender fingers annoyingly pinched at their cheeks.

“Ya tired? Stay up all night doing boring paperwork again~? That's why I just make Ijichi do mine.~”  

The white-haired man blabbered as his hand continued to busy itself with poking at the other's face.

The shorter only hums quietly at first, swatting at his bothersome and intrusive appendage, before quietly muttering:

“...You always bully that poor man… you make me feel bad for ‘em.”  

Gojo lets out a quiet but amused chuckle, beginning to play with and tug at the ends of a few thin locks of [Name]’s hair. The first-grade sorcerer grunts in annoyance and swats at his hands again, shrugging their shoulders up to their ears to hide them from their fellow teacher’s nimble hands. The blindfolded man then ‘‘relents’’ and only rests his hand on their shoulder.

“I don't understand why you feel bad for that guy; he works for those damn geezers.”  

He complains, tossing his head back childishly and digging in his ear with his pinky while tracing the lines in the textured ceiling with his gaze.

A few moments of silence –with the addition of soft rhythmic breathing– pass after his words before he lifts his head and casts his gaze to the left. The sight of a close-eyed [Name] greets him; their body and expression fully relaxed, allowing him to tell that they had fallen asleep easily. After a few seconds of admiring their sleeping face, Satoru deactivates his infinity, allowing the first-grade sorcerer's soft and warm cheek to rest on the fabric of his uniform jacket. 

A soft sigh escapes his nostrils as his hand resumes playing with their messy locks of hair.

“You know you could ask Yaga to switch classes with you if those third years are giving you this much trouble… Man, you're even more hard-headed than Suguru was…”  

The white-haired man mutters quietly, his own eyes closing as he rests his head on top of his friend's.

♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾•♡•♾

. . .

❝𝕻𝖚𝖙 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝕺𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗, 𝕳𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝕸𝖊 𝕴𝖓 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕬𝖗𝖒𝖘, 𝕭𝖆𝖇𝖞~ 𝕾𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖟𝖊 𝕸𝖊 𝕺𝖍-𝕾𝖔-𝕿𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝕸𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕸𝖊 𝕿𝖔𝖔~ ❞

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

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[norikuna]

I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY — gojo satoru

prologue. → gojo was always charming, maddening and impossibly brilliant. a gift and a curse to the world. the love of your life, the loss of your life, the one that got away. you can only sit alone with his cold, lifeless form and wonder where it all went wrong. how do you mourn a star that burned itself out for the sake of the sky?

pairing. gojo satoru x on/off ex!reader

warnings+. heavy angst, flashbacks of a whirlwind and not so healthy relationship, description of death and injuries and what comes after the heart stops beating, suggestive content but nothing explicit. u could interpret this as unreliable narrator who didn't quite see gojo properly, or that gojo just wasn't a good partner to keep things interesting?

word count. 1.9k song inspiration. i love you, i'm sorry — gracie abrams

a/n. this was actually meant to be sweet but suddenly reader became an ex. and well...it snowballed 😁 peep the ttpd reference in the prologue

mp3. a habit to kick, the age-old curse. i tend to laugh whenever i'm sad, i stare at the crash, it actually works. making amends, this shit never ends. i'm wrong again.

there was no funeral for gojo.

and right now, the room smells of heavy antiseptics and medicated disinfectant. sterile white walls seem to echo every tick, tick of the clock, every scrape of shoko's surgical tools against the metal tray. but there is little that cuts deeper than the silence.

gojo's body lies in four neat pieces on the long table, stitched in places that cannot possibly hold him together, laid out like a broken constellation. shoko has allowed you to stay here, perhaps some form of pity?

you just sit in the corner of the lab, knees pulled to your chest and trembling with the effort it takes to keep breathing.

gojo satoru was always meant to burn out, wasn't he? he had been a lit match, vibrant and untouchable, like a streak of blue wildfire that seared much too hot, too fast.

satoru had been bruised fingertips on your rocking hips, he had been clashing teeth and tugged cherry-bitten lips, sweet caramel dissolving on your tongue.

he had been screaming matches in the rain, slams of an apartment door, a vicious and cruel tongue when provoked.

what he wasn't meant to be was a multitude of patchwork pieces, coated in patches of day-old rusty blood and shards of bone.

you just didn't think that someone like him belonged in this fragile, porcelain world. gojo had laughed too loud for it, fought too hard, loved too recklessly. its bitter to think of now — a cosmic power in a body of flesh and blood.

how could someone like him have ever lived to see his twilight years?

but you still always thought that he would. you thought of his arrogance, the small curl of his lips as he crowed on with a shadow in his jewel-tone eyes, "don't worry, i'm the strongest, remember?"

and so, you thought you had time. time to heal wounds that you had both inflicted on each other. time to try again.

but now there was no time. no gojo. just you, left to pick up the pieces of sukuna's little mercy.

shoko works quietly, and her hands are steady, a mask pulled over her face as tools gleam under the harsh light. she's running stitches through flesh that was once warm under your skin. you watch as she runs rolls of small bandages over his bisected waist, bandages imbued with special spells for gojo's posthumous...plan.

"i can't promise anything, you know. even if i put him back together, it will never be him. just okkotsu." the shadows around shoko's pretty eyes are ever deeper, violet and blue bruising the tired ache that paints her face.

what an awful and cruel plan. the ache in your heart is too great to even consider the trial that the young yuta is yet to face, to have to step into another's body. what a perversion of the world. but your mind lingers on the harsh reality that gojo must have known that there was no other ending to this story.

and you wonder briefly about whether he had finally reached the peace that he had sought. whether that those last moments, lying in the snow like a butchered and wounded animal had been painless. had the world gone quiet in his ears as snow fell around him? had he been glad of the end?

you don't respond to shoko. what could you say? there's nothing to fix. gojo is gone, and no amount of polypropylene sutures or reverse cursed technique could sew him back into the man who had leaned against the doorframe of your room last week, grinning with his haori thrown around his shoulders.

"you just take things too seriously," he had teased, mirth tickling his voice, poking around for a provocation, "i didn't even mean it like that. let's go get something to eat downstairs." "fuck you, satoru!" you had been furious with him at the time, he had drawn your ire with some pointless tussle and barbed comment. you had been launching a comb at him which only just deflected away from his infinity, when he had laughed. "all right, let me know when you feel better, pretty," and he had tugged his haori back over his broad frame, "we can do other things too, if you like. y'know, if you're still feeling hot-headed." "get out, you dog!" "love you too." and the great gojo satoru, a fuckin' grown man, has just giggled. and winked audaciously, as he practically sauntered away.

now his ridiculous smile is a ghost, and you wonder if you’ll ever stop seeing it when you close your eyes.

you've risen from your chair slowly, every joint stiff as if the grief has taken root in your bones, curling poison ivy around your limbs that make you want to tear your nails into your own skin.

the surgical table feels close, too far, too unbearable. but you reach out still, as your fingers tremble, and you let them hover over whatever is left of him. it's his right arm, only loosely held together by rough stitches.

touching him now is like plunging your hand into a winter river. it's cold, unyielding and so profoundly wrong. the skin beneath your fingers has lost all the elasticity of life, no longer soft of warm, but stiff in an alien way. there's a bitter clinging in the back of your throat when you wonder how shoko does this everyday. it's like touching the husk of something that was once sacred to you, and you trace the faint lines of veins, now a ghostly blue beneath waxen skin. the arm is heavy, dead weight against the table.

and there's the smell, faint but inescapable. the metallic tang of blood, now dried to a dark, rusted maroon. it lingers in the air, and you close your eyes to stop yourself from losing the contents of your stomach.

It’s like touching the husk of something once sacred, a relic robbed of its divine warmth.

your hand trembles as you pull away, the cold clinging to your palm like a memory you can’t shake. you want to scrub it off, to erase the feeling, but it’s already etched into your skin, into your mind. the absence of warmth feels like a punishment, a reminder of what you’ve lost and what you can never have back.

"i should've —" the words choke in your throat, sharp and jagged. you swallow them, but they’re stuck, just like the tears that refuse to fall. "i should've done more."

shoko glances up, her gaze as piercing as the scalpels she wields. "you did everything you could. so did satoru."

your eyes blur as they fix on his lifeless form, but now you're no longer seeing cold flesh on the table. no, you're somewhere else, far softer and far sweeter. somewhere before the world had turned to ash in your hands.

you're seventeen again, standing outside your favourite bakery after school, laughing so hard your ribs hurt. because gojo had just tried to bribe the shop owner for an extra box of mochi with a lopsided grin and misguided charm. the elderly woman behind the till had told him to get lost, before muttering something about the youths of the day were rude geezers.

gojo had always been like that, over the top and dramatic, dragging you into his whirlwind without asking, but you hadn't minded. not then.

every day he had brought home something, a sugar-dusted pastry, a delicate cake, a flimsy excuse to see you smile as he'd thrust the treat into your hands like he had conquered the world, and didn't he say that there was nothing in the world as sweet as your kisses?

you drank him in like honey, not realising how it would one day sour on your tongue.

and you still remember the day that gojo came home, buzzing with energy, his usual swagger somehow dialed up to an eleven. he could barely sit still as you watched him pace your shared apartment, his words tumbling out in excited burst. you had laughed and asked what on earth was going on with your sweet boyfriend, but had only grinned before reaching into his pocket and kneeling on the worn, wooden floor.

the ring had been small and simple, a thin silver band with a single shining gem — but knowing the spending habits of the head of the gojo clan, it must have been illustrious in its price. wide-eyed and earnest, for once, he had been stripped of all his bravado.

"i'm going to marry you," he had said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. as if you weren't already his, body and soul. heart and hands.

god, you had wanted this more than anything. you had said yes, a squealing and gushing yes! gojo had slipped the ring on your finger with hands that shook just a little, and the two of you had...rechristened almost every surface in the apartment that night.

but then, it was over. slowly at first, like the creeping edge of frost, until one day it felt like you were standing in the middle of a blizzard.

the kisses turned sharp, fleeting, like a blade grazing your skin. loving hands became cold and distant on one another, pulling away as if the other’s touch burned. you started slamming doors in anger, avoiding him in the quiet spaces of your home. and when you couldn’t avoid him, your words became weapons, dripping with venom and spite. he gave as good as he got — every snarky comment from your lips was met with one from his. pride clashed with pride, and neither of you would bend, not even for love.

the breaking point came after that mission. the one where everything had gone wrong. a cursed spirit of impossible strength. you’d taken a blow meant for him — too fast, too reckless — and nearly didn’t come back from it. you remember the blood, the way it soaked into the earth beneath you as gojo shouted your name over and over again, a sound you thought might split the sky.

you’d lived, somehow, but the cracks in your foundation were too wide to ignore. that night, you’d stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the ring on your finger, and finally let yourself bawl. when you’d slipped it off, it felt like your heart had gone with it.

what gojo didn’t know — what he never found out, would never find out now — was that you hadn’t discarded it. you couldn’t. even in the worst of it, when the fights left you shattered and raw, you couldn’t let it go. the tiny band of silver stayed tucked in your pocket, a quiet weight against your heart, a reminder of what could’ve been.

now, as you sit here, staring at what’s left of him, that weight feels unbearable. you reach into your pocket, your fingers brushing against the cool metal, and pull it out. the gem glints faintly in the fluorescent light, as if mocking you.

i still loved you, you think, the words echoing hollowly in your chest. i’m sorry.

but it’s too late now. too late for apologies, too late for second chances, too late for anything but this — grief that swallows you whole, a storm with no end in sight.

the ring slips from your trembling hand, clinking softly as it falls to the floor.

[dilf-docs]

Sabor A Chocolate

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend eddie and his symbiote pal just make sure you know how loved you are.

warnings: sfw (there's always a first), tooth rotting fluff, my attempt at comedy (less funnier than friends), age gap (blog's brand ofc), chubby!reader, she's very insecure but actually deserves the world💔, angst, hurt/comfort, discussions of body image (neg), venom/eddie giving her the love she deserves!!!! kinda took some inspo on elefante's song by the same name of the title, set before venom 2 (not important actually)

word count: 2,580 words

side note: so i watched again venom 3 now that it's available on stream and i'm full of grief for my black little people eater alien💔 anywayyyy this is a based on this request; i hope u enjoy it my lil' frien :) ALSO tysm for leaving ur message!!!!!!!!!

It was Mrs. Chen's fault, really.

It all started with a late trip to the convinience store, which happened to be owned by one of your mother's closest friends.

Final's week was approaching, and with all the academic pressure, you tend to study until late hours, which means snack time can also end up happening in the middle of the night. Which is the reason why you're scouring through the store at 10pm, your hand occupied with some chocolates and chips to endure the rest of the study session you've got ahead.

The door makes its silly sound, announcing a new customer.

"Hey Eddie!" you hear Mrs. Chen's voice. You hide behind one of the shelves, ashamed of your aspect: one thing is a close elderly friend seeing you like this, another is a total stranger watching your final's week look: consisting of a long over-sized shirt with a washed up Welcome To San Francisco! on the front, some pajama shorts that ride up your thighs, a ponytail-bun hybrid and bare face.

"Hello, Mrs. Chen" the gravely voice returns. Oh, it's a guy: a guy with a very nice tone. You wonder if the face matches the voice, "looking good"

If possible, you get more embarrased than before. You don't usually have that much game, but if you were to get a chance, it definetely won't happen with you looking like this. You desperately want to get out, but leaving the food behind is a huge no. Also, getting out through the door without the man noticing is quite literally imposible.

She snickers, "I always look good!"

You decide to stay put until he leaves, hiding next to the chocolate shelf.

"What are you getting tonight, Eddie?" the elder woman makes a pause, "let me guess..."

You hear foot-steps against the floor, the sound growing stronger and closer. You pray to anyone out there who can hear you to stop what you think's going to happen.

"You already know what it is, Mrs. Chen" a beat, "chocolates!"

He screams first. You then scream, and then Mrs. Chen shuts you two idiots up.

"Stop shouting in my store! You'll scare possible customers"

"I'm sorry" Eddie says, then turns to you again and repeats his apology, "I'm sorry"

"I'm sorry too" you laugh, ashamed. "I didn't mean to scare you"

Now, Eddie takes in your figure better. Yes, your aspect is very poor, but it doesn't erase your beauty. He can understand: thanks to Venom, he's been sweaty and bad-looking before.

"Is everything okay?" you ask, growing a bit self conscious with the staring. It's definitely happened before, and not for good reasons.

"Yes!" he answers hastily, then coughs, rosy cheeks on display. "I'm Eddie, by the way"

"Glad we cleared that up" you chirp, almost breathing with relief on the spot, "I'm y/n!"

"Pretty name" he whistles, "pleased to see the name matches the face"

"Oh" you blush furiously. Is he being for real? This absolutely gorgeous strong older man? It's like a dream come true; maybe it is. No way a man, a good looking one on top of that, notices you, especially now that you're looking the worst possible ever.

"Are you buying or what?" Mrs. Chen pops up from behind you both. "Flirt later, after you buy. Outside"

"Geez, Mrs. Chen. I thought you were my friend" he feigs sadness, a hand over his chest. "You sure know how to kill a guy's game"

You giggle, and Mrs. Chen looks at you, then at Eddie and smiles. Ah, you know that look. God, this is about to turn very embarrassing.

"Not with y/n" she elbows your side, not so discreet. "My girl here is difficult to scare"

You turn red again. "Don't know what that says about me" then you lean closer to Eddie, whispering. He gets a whiff of the strawberry splash you put on yourself (you may look bad, but smell bad? never). "Mrs. Chen's friends with my mom, please don't listen to anything she says"

"Well, thank you, Mrs. Chen" he then looks at you and winks. He mouths an I'll help you, and you find yourself blushing for the 100th time. "Help me check this out, won't you?" he shows some chocolates. She leaves with Eddie, saying something like For your friend, right? but you're too busy thinking about how that could've gone in a more embarrassing way. The downside? She totally noticed the exchange; after the wink and asking your name part, you're positive it isn't one-sided.

"Hey, um. Y/n, right?" you nod too vigorous, like a fool. Just a name exchange and you're already this down bad? You need to stop. "Do you need help with that?" he points out the snacks that, at this point, you've already forgotten about.

"Oh! I can carry it myself" you dismiss.

"No, not that kind of help. I can see you're doing a pretty good job yourself" he gets closer, and your skin gets goosebumps at the closeness, even feeling his breathe on you. He's making you nervous just like that. "I'll pay for it"

Low husky voice whispering to you? Close proximity? And paying for your snacks at the very first meet? Is this some sort of trick or a straight out of a rom-com scenario?

You tend to more skeptical, but this guy is definitely working on you.

"C'mon. Don't leave me hanging in here, doll" he encourages, seeing your lack of motion. You blush (again) at the compliment. "Rough night?"

"Just finals" you answer while giving him your two snacks.

"Are you in college?" you nod. Then, you both walk to the entrance, where Mrs. Chen gives you with a look you try to ignore. She checks out your snacks and his chocolates. You wonder if he likes the same as yours, and why he's got so many of them. "Wow, what are you studying?"

"Journalism!" you answer a bit too excited, but God, don't you love your degree. "The reason I'm studying journalism is because I love to write. Through it, I would love to help others without a voice, you know?

"Wanna know something funny? I'm what you'd call a journalist as well"

"What?!" you shout a bit too loud, perhaps because of ease or perhaps of laugh at the timing of it all.

"Yeah! Are you from San Francisco?" he asks.

"No" you answer, confused as to where it leads. "Moved in for college"

"That explains it" he grabs the items he's just payed for, handing them back to you. "You know, I'm sort of famous around here. Ever heard of Cletus Cassidy?"

"Cactus what-?"

"Oh, Eddie" she laughs, mockingly. "Y/n here is as pretty and young as she looks. Of course she doesn't know who you are!" she snickers.

"Nevermind" he says ashamed. "Jesus, you sound more like a hater than a friend"

"It's all right!" you chime in, nervously. You're afraid you've fucked it up. "I can investigate you- oh, that sounded bad. Investigate your career, um. You know what I mean! It's kind of what I do, after all. Part, at least, of what I do"

"It's alright, doll" you could get used to this. A gravely rich voice calling you such. "No need to be nervous"

He looks thoughtful for a moment, and you start to fear your yapping or in general, the strange appeal or whatever magical reason he was interested in you, has vanished. As soon as he gets out of the store with you, fear creeps in. Is it all over? Was this a brief glimpse of what dating life is like? A chance you'll probably never get again. But then, he says:

"Can I have your number?"

"Sure!" you sound kind of glad about it, "do I put it in your phone?"

Eddie hands it to you, smiling when he sees what you've saved yourself as:

Y/n 👻🍫

"There you go" you say as you exit, and Mrs. Chen keeps looking through the glass. You hastily dismiss her, but you know she'll soon gush to your mother about it. "Thanks for everything"

"No problem" he winks. Oh, the nerve of this guys. "See you around, y/n. Good luck on those finals!"

You have to shut your demons for a while. Meet-cute-at-the-convenience-store guy seems to be truthful about it!

You'll just have to see how long it lasts.

Flash forward: it's lasted! Now Eddie is your boyfriend. Four months dating and you feel in heaven!

Yes, a bit of your demons have come out here and there, but Brock's been there to kiss away every single one of them. Venom too! Ah, yes: the alien symbiote that lives inside of your lover. Even he has taken to your liking! Being honest, meeting him did scare you at first; kind of a mind-blowing confession to make on your 1 month anniversary, but you soon learned surprises are a common thing if you're dating the so-called Lethal Protector. You both share chocolate filled afternoons when he takes over Eddie (he hates sharing yet let's his pal have some fun with you), watching a movie or two with his silly little comments on the background, sharing his alien-like knowledge with you (whatever that means).

So yeah, it's been a few months and you couldn't be happier!

Today, Eddie's supposed to pick you up from college. He has done so the last couple of weeks, and if you've seen people whispering behind your back, you've been smart to ignore it.

But today as you walk to your usual spot where Eddie picks you up, you hear the comments of two of your classmates (you recognize) from a class you take:

"They haven't broken up yet?" the other one laughs.

"She must've used some kind of dark magic, because there is no way that guy is with her"

"Yeah" the first one agrees, "y/n's weird just like that"

They aren't being discreet, and you start to believe they're choosing to do so, because next thing you know, they're talking about your body.

You begin growing self-conscious of your appearance: a sweater and a skirt, something Eddie loves seeing on you (he says it's easier to do stuff) but you can't help and start to feel insecure about the skin of your bare legs. You tense, tighlty grabbing the exposed flesh between your fingers, the tissue doughty under your hands. You hate yourself more often than you love, and it's harder to remember the positive side when you hear your thoughts loud in the mouth of other people.

The sound of a roaring engine cuts through the cloud of negative thoughts.

"Y/n!" you love it when he calls your name, enjoying every second of it. But now you just want to get out of here.

"Hey" you get closer to him, hoping on the bike. It's a big distance between you and the two classmates, but you still hear them say:

"It looks like a strong bike" pause. You feel sick, "I hope it won't break"

Eddie feels your arms cage him a little stronger than usual. "Hey, is everything okay?"

You hide your face against his back. "Please, let's go"

"You aren't going to say goodbye to your friends?" he looks back at the girls waving in your direction.

"Let's go!" you plead, rougher. He then realizes the girl are waving at him and not you, a flirty wink his way proving it.

Oh. He gets it now.

"Don't worry, doll" he caresses your hand. "I got you"

Then he speeds, not before making sure he leaves the girls who were harrasing you inside a cloud of smoke that makes them cough. Eddie looks back to see if you're laughing, but your face remains against his back, and he can feel his shirt start to damp.

Shit.

When you arrive at his apartment, your pace is fast, rushing through the stairs and entering his place first.

"Doll?" he calls out, but you don't answer. All he hears is small sobs, and his heart breaks. He finds you lying on his bed, your face hidden against his pillows. "Look at me, y/n"

"Y-you don't get it" you hiccup.

"I think I do" he purses his thick lips, "those girls were jealous of you"

"Jealous of me? Sure" you let out a dry laugh. "If anything, I'm jealous of them!"

He scoots closer, a hand resting on your back. "And why would you be jealous of two girls like that?"

"Because they're pretty" you confess, voice small. "Their bodies are perfect; doesn't matter if they're ugly on the inside. People mostly care about the outside"

"I see what's hapenning" he forces you to look at him, and your puffy red eyes make his chest pang. He needs you to know how beautiful you are, no matter how much you try to deny it. "You think you're ugly"

"Eddie!" you whisper-shout, alarmed.

"Hey! I never said that was my opinion" he says, tone defensive and arms raising up. "That is yours. A wrong one, by the way"

You scoff. "Yeah? why?"

You know Eddie loves you, but after today, you need to hear it.

"Because I don't like ugly people" you laugh in disbelief, "it's true! I love you because you're beautiful, in and out"

"Bullshit" you challenge, tears welling up again. You may start to see the light, but your demons come back to haunt you in whispered dark thoughts.

"You want me to list all the reasons I love you?"

You sniff. "Are there any? I mean, why are you with me, Eddie?"

No. He absolutely won't let you speak about yourself like that.

He grabs your face gently, wiping some tears. "I love you because you're the smartest, funniest, driven, most caring woman I've met, inside the hottest body of all times!" he squishes your side, and you laugh because of the ticklish sensations. "Haven't I shown you so? How much I worship it in bed? You've got to be kidding me! I wouldn't know what else to do or say to convince you of just how perfect you are!"

"Eddie..." you whimper his name out, lunging forward and enveloping him on a hug. He brushes you hair, softly.

"Listen, y/n. I understand your feelings, but it's unfair how bad you see and treat yourself. You are beautiful, no matter what anyone else says, and that's the point: beauty starts from within. It doesn't matter how many times I tell you so, because if you don't believe in yourself, it's all in vain"

"I'm sorry" you hug him tightly, "I wish I liked me more; to see me how you see me. Thanks for having patience"

"No need to thank me for anything" he assures, kissing your temple. "I don't get tired of telling you how much I like your eyes, a delicious invitation to taste you. Or your peachy skin, rosy and soft in all the perfect places. Or your chocolate heart: warm and sweet. You're bascially a ticket to heaven"

"Thanks" you whisper again, much more calm. "I love you, Eddie"

"Well, I love you too, doll"

"I love you too!" It's Venom, who appears next to Eddie. "You're the prettiest human girl I've ever met!"

"If it makes you feel better, I can eat those sluts" he offers softly, and you pet him while laughing, although Eddie rolls his eyes. The nerve of this guy.

"Seriously? Read the room budy!"

[mistresscitrusslice]

The Season 2 Opening. We Must Discuss.

First of all, small beans. Instead of static, lifeless statues, this time we get moving humans. Mel features significantly more than I expected, so she'll probably be a much more major character than I expected for a non-champion character and I'm so happy for her. I believe the use of moving people instead of statues signifies that immense change will be happening. What we thought was literally set in stone in Season 1 will be turned on its head in Season 2.

Okay, on to the really concerning matters.

Yuhuh. Jinx moves too fast for me to get a good screenshot, but she gestures like this around her face a lot. I think we all already know about the Caitlyn-Jinx parallels, but my sister suggests it could be a red herring for the actual resemblances she has to Silco.

Sis gets credit for the following observation, but Caitlyn's daydream sequences about shooting Jinx are controlled and clearly separated from reality unlike Jinx's.

However, sis has not seen ep 2 yet, where Caitlyn does have that moment in the arcade where she shoots her vision of Jinx among the wooden dummies. Not only does this more closely resemble Jinx's hallucinations, it also parallels Jinx shooting the harmless crow in s1 e5. By the time the strike squad are about to leave, she can clearly tell that what she thought might be Jinx was really just a harmless wooden standee. Startling, but harmless. She shoots it anyway.

Caitlyn is totally gonna spiral more, and maybe she'll start losing her grip on reality too, but for now, she has more in common with Silco than she does with Jinx. Did anyone else get reminded of Silco's coat when Ambessa put the supervillain cape on Caitlyn? The collars don't look similar but they still eerily resemble each other, you get me?

Ok back to intro stuff

Vi wipes off her name from her face. That's two tattoos that are rendered impermanent in this opening theme. In the Fenty x Arcane video, they mention that Mel's golden freckles are tattoos. Later in the intro song, we also see her golden freckles gone. Change, impermanence. That seems to be a theme here.

Vi is literally erasing her name from her face. In any normal circumstance, I'd say that means she wants a change of identity, a desire to start over. However, I know that Vi's League lore involves amnesia. Does she really drink herself into that bad of a stupor? Jkjk. I assumed that her amnesia was replaced by the Stillwater imprisonment to explain how she got topside and with the enforcers, but perhaps I was wrong. Maybe they do still intend to go the amnesia or partial amnesia route with her.

The teasers implied that Vi shares the genetic trait that has Jinx predisposed to hallucinations. It's possible that this eventually contributes to her loss of memory, but I wouldn't call it quite yet. However, if this happens during her emo era when I'm assuming she has no support system, she'll be very vulnerable, unlike if it were to happen while she was still partnered with Caitlyn, in which case they could easily fill in most blanks in her memory.

I have no idea what to make of this. It's clear as day what they're paralleling, but why? Why the flashlight scene? My best guess is that they're trying to draw on déjà vu, implying a repetition of history, but why this particular moment? They could've easily chosen anything else in Jayce's s1 arc. He has many more memorable moments than this. Let's see, I'm literally making this up as I go.

This meeting was a pivotal moment for Jayce. Both his meeting with Viktor and his meeting with Mel changed his fate. The Viktor one is pretty self-explanatory, but without meeting Mel, they would've both just gotten exiled or locked up again. With Mel, they had someone in power who could vouch for them.

That begs the question, is Jayce meeting someone new? Or is this a reintroduction to someone he's already known before, a new meeting after a long time apart or after a significant change, maybe a change in them both. I believe it must be someone who was involved in the original hallway scene.

Jayce is either looking at Mel again or at Viktor. Given the amount of Viktor/Mel parallels in Season 1, I believe Jayce is looking at Viktor after he's undergone his likely final evolution. That'll obviously be another pivotal moment for him... but will it be a good one like it was with Mel? Viktor has power now. He's performing miracles. He's, like, two steps away from parting the Pilt River like it's the Red Sea. He seems to hold a grudge against Jayce, though, for *checks notes* saving his life? Jk I know he feels like he's losing autonomy and like Jayce didn't respect his wishes with the Hexcore and Jayce obviously couldn't let Viktor die when he'd fought so hard to stay alive before.

Anyway, I feel like this could easily be both a good omen and a bad omen for Jayce. More than anything, I feel like it'll be an epiphany. He is quite literally seeing the light. The light at the end of the dark tunnel? The light of the heavens at the end of his life? The light of a revelation sent by a god he once knew as a man?

Seeing Mel screaming bloody murder during the opening, this was the first place my mind went to. The pose doesn't match up exactly, and Jinx/Powder's screams are definitely wilder, but I feel like there's definitely something here. Is there anyone else who screams like this, thrusting their head forward and keeping their arms back?

We also see the shadow hands from this earlier shot:

I'm thinking of the Black Rose (is that their name?) kidnapping her in thin air, incorporeal hands reaching at her and snatching my joy the love of my life Mel away. It could also represent people grasping at the power Mel wields, both as the wealthiest Council member and as a Noxian princess, one of the closest people to Ambessa, the one wielding the most power right now.

Mel is really out of her depth right now. Her power and influence is up for grabs if she dares to blink and let her guard down. I'm also surprised that we don't see her fight back at all when there's danger around. I thought she might have more battle experience as she was raised by Ambessa. For those people wondering about her magical powers, I think she would've used them by now if she had them. Council attack aside, which could've been Viktor's magic, she wasn't able to do anything about the memorial attack or her own kidnapping. I think they're trying to show us that Mel is not as untouchable as she presents herself. Under the right circumstances, she's just as vulnerable as any civilian.

The sliver of light? My sister pointed out that it looks just like the crack of light between two double doors. Almost closed... or barely open? It appears in pretty much everyone's shot in the opening, but it's right down the center of Mel's face here. Is she torn between two sides? Is this about an impossible choice she has to make?

The spotlight is also on her. That's two sources of light. It looks like a red sun. All eyes on her as the surviving voice of the Council?

And her expression... shock, fear, horror. The heavy breathing, the look on her face... I feel eerily like I've seen it on someone else before. I can't place who, but I'm getting déjà vu from this. Does anyone else recognize this expression and these mannerisms?

[catghoststories]

Frank, Eddie, and the Tell-Tale Heart

So, I know the main focus of this update was Poppy, which I was happy to see (though I'm not happy to see what happened to her).  I do have a theory cooking about her, Sally, and the Commedia Dell'arte, but Frank n' Eddie are my favorite pair, and I've been stewing over this particular theory since the July '23 update.  This tiny line from the Looky-Loo storybook is what cinched it for me.

Source: Merchandise Page, Looky-Loo Storybook

This line isn't read out loud, but we can see it at around the 9 minute in the video, above Eddie, looking so polite.  It reads,

"Villains!" I shrieked, "I can deny it no longer! I admit the deed!—tear up my flower bed!—here, here!—it is the ticking of my beloved alarm clock!"

This isn't the actual line from The Tell-Tale Heart.  The original line reads "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Source: The Tell-Tale Heart

The Tell-Tale Heart is about someone murdering their roommate, cutting him into pieces, and hiding the evidence under the floorboards of their house. 

And I think this is what Frank is going to do to Eddie, in an attempt to protect him in a perverse, misguided way.

This rewritten lines seems very specific to Frank and Eddie.  We know Frank loves his garden.  And who's the only character in the Neighborhood who owns a clock?  Eddie.

At the end of the Homewarming video, Frank sees how distressed Eddie is.  As many have theorized, Frank seems to be somewhat aware of what's happening, although we don't know to what extent.  But he sees that Eddie is now in the line of fire of The Powers That Be, and he becomes worried for him.  

I think Frank will dismantle Eddie and hide him in his garden until he deems it 'safe' for Eddie to come back, once the 'eyes' are off him.  (Kind of reminds me of the Eye of Sauron from Lord of the Rings).  An unintentional—or perhaps intentional—side effect of being dismantled and put back together, with new parts, is that Eddie doesn't remember things well. 

Including, possibly, his and Frank's relationship.

This goes along with the theme we've seen several times in WH now, including this new Halloween update.  The puppets unintentionally—yet seriously—harm their loved ones in order to protect them from something they deem far worse—whatever that may be.

As these posts by kykudos, oniongrass, and nikkiiiscute discuss, there is an image from one of the hidden bug clips of Frank's garden with 9 clothespins—one buried in the dirt.

Source: Welcome Home Hidden Audio ('til it's back on the official site :3)

And there's the references to burial in Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight, too.  This post by the-nosy-neighbor goes quite a lot into this song very well, especially how it might indicate Frank could put Eddie into a suspended state!

Source: Transcript Page, Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

Now I have been thinking about this dismantling/reassembling thing for a long time, especially since the last Halloween update.  Eddie is one of the puppets with a new costume, and he is Frank(enstein)'s monster.  And he has a big yellow band-aid on the back—Frank's color.  If Eddie is taken apart, Frank will patch him up again.

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(Also, I'm curious about the blue hand and face in Eddie's costume design. That's Barnaby's color. Does Frank use Barnaby's spare parts to put Eddie back together?! 😳 Especially since I feel like Barnaby's time on Mister Bone's Wild Ride is fast approaching—but that's yet another post 😅)

But based on the Tell-Tale Heart line, Frank may have been the one to do the dismantling in the first place, which is quite dark.  Based on the below picture from the former staff member page—clearer image here from Clown's Tumblr—Frank may be aware they're puppets and made up of various parts.

Source: Welcome Home Wiki until it's back on the official site :3

There is also an intense piece on Clown's Ko-Fi here (please support Clown if you can!) that shows butterflies doing SOMETHING to Eddie. Are they putting him together? Or taking him apart to join them in their hibernation? 🤔

Frank also likes gelatin. As he tells Poppy in their hidden audio, 'it holds perfectly sliced fruit beautifully'.  Perfectly sliced, cut up fruit, eh?  Gelatin is a preservative that we also see in the cookbook recipe, and we all know Eddie has an unholy encounter with his single pea.  So yet another symbol of suspended animation that is related to Frank and Eddie.

Source: Merchandise Page, Cookbook

So it seems like Frank has some experience in preservation, hibernation, etc. and knows how to use it, if it comes to it.

The next big update will likely be spring-themed.  A long time ago, Clown posted that Frank has a holiday in spring. Of course this isn't canon until it's on the website, but either way, I think Frank will have an important role in the spring update, which I believe will also focus on Julie.  We may see him wake up Julie from hibernation...and Eddie from his dirt nap.  

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(I've been so curious about that shadow behind the flower.  At first I thought 'OMG, it's Eddie's hand!', but I don't think so. 😅 I dunno what it is, but it doesn't quite seem flower like to me...🤔)

This Ko-Fi post (again, please support Clown if you have the means!) was posted around Easter this year and had a bunny/Easter theme.  Clown says "What is there to say though... Well! We know what the next holiday is in our Home Sweet Home, I'd say."  A huge theme of Easter/Spring are Rebirth and Resurrection.

As this post by serene-hatterene so beautifully details, Frank may feel pressured to kiss Julie to wake her up to prove his heteronormativity.  Maybe to further protect Eddie, too, to prove they aren't a thing.  Seems like Julie's family may show up this update, too, and we know family can cause a lot of pressure for couples during holidays. 😬

My last item isn't that strong, but I have been thinking of since the July '23 update.  In Eddie's Big Lift, Frank says the following line:

Source: Transcript Page, Eddie's Big Lift

The tense of "You always did work too hard" always bothered me.  Why doesn't Frank just say, "You always work too hard!"  And Eddie doesn't seem to know what he's talking about. Frank sounds almost wistful here.  It's like he's talking about his ex—a former version of Eddie, pre-dismantling, perhaps?

(Also, 'Enjoy the ground, Mr. Dear'? Dude, if this theory is right, that line is even more screwed up than it already was. 😳)

Here is my order of how I feel these events actually happened:

Secret Bug Audios (Eddie and Frank flirting) -> 1st Halloween Audio (Eddie still seems like his chipper, knowledgeable self) -> Homewarming -> Springtime (and Eddie's Resurrection)? -> Eddie's Big Lift

Not quite sure where this last Halloween update lands, but I feel like it's later.  Eddie seems ignorant of the potential adverse effects The Brickening (TM) could have on Poppy.  I feel like he's been more sensitive to Poppy and others in the past (but maybe I'm wrong, I'm biased towards him, heh).  Perhaps after his Reconstruction, his memory has now been reset, and he has "fallen into line" with the other Neighbors and their weird, pile-onto-one-person ways.

Anyway, what do you all think? 😬😬 I do hope I'm wrong, since Frank is my favorite, and this would make me feel very differently about him. 😬😬😬 Please tell me your own WH theories, too! I find them so interesting!

[trippinsorrows]

give me a reason + one

authors note: welp. here i am, once again. granted, i'm a bit excited about this one, as it's a unique storyline, at least not as cliched as maybe 'ltye' or 'with me'. trope is essentially age gap x best friends brother x second chance romance x something else that'll be revealed by the end of this chapter and my own creative flairs.

the age gap between mariella and joe is four years, and nothing romantic happened between them until she was in her twenties. just putting that out there now. ari don't do that grooming shit.

their story will be told in a mixture of flashbacks and present day. how they ended up where they are now will eventually be revealed, but until then, it's expected that ya'll are confused.

words: 9k

song inspo: just give me a reason by p!nk and nate ruess

warnings: angst and fluff

if i tag anyone and you don't want to be tagged, please let me know!

taglist: @annfg8 @whatdoeseverybodywant @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @prettybitxhnica @shayaaaaaaa

Summer, 2003

“Ladies, next week officially starts the beginning of the rest of our lives. No longer will we be lowly 8th graders. No, we will be official high schoolers! Next week is a new beginning, a new era, a new decade of wonderful, fabulous, life changing—”

“Baby girl, do you want a hot dog or a burger?”

Mariella releases the loudest, most exaggerated sigh known to mankind that is possible for a 14-year-old. She turns from where she was pacing across the stones that line around her family’s pool. Sure enough, her 6’3 father stands before her with his spatula in hand, wearing his apron gifted to him for Father’s Day a couple years back. He’s using his free hand to shield his face from the blaring sun. 

“Daddy! I was in the middle of a monologue!”

Byron Holmes looks as disinterested as the tone of his voice. “Ella, you always talking. How am I supposed to know the difference?”

This time, it’s a dramatic gasp that's evoked instead of the previous one born from irritation. “I resent you saying that, father!”

“I’m sure you do, now do you want a hot dog or burger?”

Mariella might quite possibly be the most dramatic person to walk the earth, but the promise of one of her dad’s famous grilled burgers is too good to turn down. She can turn her strong feelings at being interrupted into a song at a later date and time.

Defeated, unable to overpower the desire for good food, she murmurs, “burger, please.”

“Thank you.” Byron Sr. shakes his head. Getting an answer from the prisoners is easier than getting one from his youngest sometimes. He then sets his gaze on her audience. “What about you girls?”

Promise Rose is the first to answer, that usual nervous smile on her face as she adjusts her thick rimmed glasses. “A hot dog, please, Mr. Holmes.”

Byron nods, committing her request to memory. He then turns to the other, already knowing what he’s in for. “Iris?”

Her hazel eyes that are obscured by the heavy set of eyeliner land on him with icy indifference. “I refuse to participate in the travesty and continued slaughter of the innocent just for the selfish pleasure and satisfaction of the greedy carnivorous species that occupies this stolen land.”

Byron releases a heavy sigh. It’s always something with this one. “Is that a yes or no, Iris?”

Iris lifts her chin, answering just as coldly, “I’ll just take the bread.”

Relieved and eager to be away from the only fourteen-year-old who could unnerve him, even with his twenty plus years as a prison warden, he walks away, mumbling to himself, “I swear something is wrong with that child….”

Returned to the previous topic at hand, Mariella plops down on the pool chaise across from her two best friends since third grade. “Now where were we before I was so rudely interrupted?”

“The inevitable extinction of mankind.”

“Surviving high school.”

Mariella rolls her eyes. It can so difficult sometimes to get her two polar opposite besties on the same page.

“We just have to make sure we do everything perfect.”

Promise Rose chews nervously on the corner of her lip and criss crosses her legs over each other. She looks between the two of them, anxiety growing by the second. “Ella is right. With BJ and Joe graduating this year, we’ve gotta make sure we elevate our social status or else we’re dead meat.”

Confused, Mariella asks, “what do you mean?” She then adds, “our social status is fine.”

Promise Rose looks over at an uninterested Iris. “Help here?”

“I refuse to subscribe to the patriarchy of social hierarchies.”

“Oh geez.” She should have known better. Iris refuses to get hip with anything if it’s not sticking a finger to the man. “Ella, it’s only because of your brother and Joe that we haven’t been bullied out of school. We are literally only semi-popular because of association. Without the guys, we’re nerds.”

Mariella would have preferred an actual dirty, jagged edge dagger be shoved into her chest. “We are not nerds!”

“Ella, you’re weird. I’m scared of everything. And Iris contemplates murder every hour on the hour.”

Iris shrugs, pushing her Kaleidoscope colored hair over her tanned shoulder. “Only on exceptionally bad days.”

“I rest my case.”

Mariella isn’t beyond consideration of alternative perspectives. She takes Promise Rose words to heart, trying her best to see it objectively.

She’s also not above admitting that having her brother and Joe look out for her over the years has only been beneficial. Even with them being out of middle school for almost four years now, their popularity has existed since damn near elementary school. Them and her twins sisters, Everly and Olivia, really. But especially Byron and Joe, mostly because of their standing as football players, two of the best on every team they’ve been on. Because of that, there’s not a soul in town who doesn’t know her as BJ’s little sister and Joe’s adopted little sister.

She’s always seen that as protecting her from guys messing with her but never associated it with social status.

And just as she’s undergoing a life changing realization, the creak of the side gate snatches her attention, revealing the two people who can clear all this up for her.

“BJ!”

Mariella untangles her legs from off the pool chair and jogs over to her brother and Joe.

“Damn, not even home for five minutes, and you already sweating me.”

Glaring, she shoves on his chest, muttering, “you’re such a dick sometimes.”

“Aye, watch your math. You too young to be cussing.”

She ignores him. With his 18th birthday right around the corner, Byron Jr., BJ as everyone calls him, has been on some weird power, superiority trip. 

Mariella redirects her focus to Joe, accepting his side hug. “Whassup, Ri.”

Mariella has a variety of nicknames. Her parents bounce back and forth between Mariella and Ella, mostly everyone else calls her Ella, but with Joe, she’s just Ri.

It’s kind of an unspoken rule that only he can call her that.

Joseph Anoa’i. 

Mariella can’t think of a time Joe wasn’t in her life. Not only does he and his equally large family live just a few doors down, he’s played football with BJ since they were six-years-old, before she was old enough to know what football even was. An almost quiet, level headed balance to her sometimes hot headed biological brother, Joe is Mariella’s big brother from another mother. Hes has always looked out for her just as much as BJ, if not more. 

He’s essentially been informally adopted by her family as BJ’s brother for life. 

“Hey, Joe.” Separating from him, she turns back toward the two of them. “Okay, I have a question, and it’s imperative you provide me with the raw, honest truth.”

Joe seems at least somewhat interested, but BJ is the one to make the smart comment. “Make it quick. I’m hungry. Practice was brutal.”

A brief brow lift from Joe is confirmation BJ isn’t exaggerating, so in a moment of rarity, Mariella bypasses all of the theatrics and skips right to the point. “Am I a nerd?”

Mariella expects contemplation, some level of astonishment that she could even fix her mouth to ask such a thing. Instead, she’s met with her brother shrugging with a simple, “of course, you are.”

Mouth ajar, hand to her chest, she asks, “what?”

“Come on, Ella, you know you’re kinda weird. Be talking to yourself and stuff.”

“It’s a sign of genius, thank you very much.”

“It’s a sign of weirdness.” She crosses her arms over her chest as a sign of unspoken protest. “If you wasn’t my little sister, I’d probably bully your nerdy ass.”

Completely done with the young man she once considered brother, Mariella looks over at Joe to see he’s on his phone. Probably texting his latest girlfriend of the week. Latisha, or something like that. He seems to cycle through girls faster than BJ. “Joe?”

He lifts his gaze from his phone, and Mariella readies to remind him of the initial question when he answers. “You’re just you, Ri. That’s all that matters.”

She’s not sure why she expected more. Joe can be of so few words at times. She just wishes this wasn’t one of those times. 

“While I do not agree with the expressed opinions, I appreciate the candor.” Chin lifted, she bids them farewell. “I will leave you be now.” Mariella can briefly overhear Joe saying something about Latisha, but it’s pushed away, outweighed by this new shocking piece of information.

In walking back over to her best friends and future members of her team when she’s a world famous singer, Mariella is unsurprised to find Promise Rose sitting on the edge of her seat while Iris simply glares at nothing and no one. 

Promise Rose is the first to speak, asking with all of the anxiety she carries on a daily basis. “Well?”

Mariella would love to lie to them, but these are her best friends. She could never do such a thing, even if the truth sucks more than the rumors of a pending B2K breakup. “You’re right.” Shoulders slumped, she groans loudly and throws herself back on the pool chair. “We’re dead meat.”

—-------

Present

You, you love it how I move you 

You love it how I touch you 

My one, when all is said and done 

You'll believe God is a woman

Watching her perform has always been an experience, a treat, a vision in some ways. The way she moves across the stage, so demanding, so in the moment, the eye contact and engagement with the crowd creating such an all-encompassing experience. 

On the stage, performing, is her element. It’s always been where she shines the most, and tonight is no different.

She’s up for a couple Grammys, already snagging two, as expected. He knows the ones she’s really anxious about are the coveted Album and Record of the Year. It’s something she’s always dreamed of achieving, and while there have been whispers that she’s a shoe in, Joe has known Mariella long enough to know that’s not enough.

It’ll only mean something to her when they’re in her hands.

And he’s confident they will be. She’s had yet another stellar, groundbreaking year, her album somehow doing better than her last. No one’s seeing numbers and sales like her. Her pen game is unmatched, not to mention her album is almost entirely written and produced by her, something unheard of these days.

She truly is an icon in the making. 

And the way she ends her performance with a standing ovation from some of music’s best is just more proof of how much she’s killing it.

Joe watches her walk backstage after nervously basking in such a response from people she’s looked up to her whole life.

She doesn’t return to her seat next to him, as expected. The final two categories are about to be announced, and he realizes it would be easier for her to remain backstage when her name is called. 

And the minute it is, he finds himself nodding with a small smile. He knew she could do it, knew that there was no way she could release such accomplished work and not leave with acknowledgment of such.

There’s an almost awkward but appropriate pause as the attendees stand and applaud, Mari suddenly rushing out from the back while holding her dress up. For a brief second, he thinks she’s gonna fall flat on her face. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She's a talented dancer, but the textbook definition of a klutz.

Always has been. 

But, she doesn’t. Thank God. He knows that’s something she would never let herself live down.

Seconds later, she’s at the mic, panicking, “oh my god!” Her breathing is uneven, and he can bet it’s because she was in the back wearing a hole in the floor with her nervous pacing. “I’m sorry, I was in the back having a panic attack.” That might not be entirely untrue. “And also, my dress is not dressing for some reason, so I’m just gonna awkwardly hold this up to avoid flashing anyone and getting sued by the FCC.” He shakes his head. Even with all the fame, she’s remained the same. “Okay, but seriously, this is insane? Ummm, thank you! I don’t— have no idea what to say. God is so good. My mama would kill me if I didn’t say that. Ooh, I want to thank my parents, of course! My big brother and two older sisters for always putting up with me singing and dancing all over the house.” Always isn’t an exaggeration. Joe can’t recall a time where he walked into the Holmes adobe and wasn’t met with or overheard Mariella working on some aspect of her craft, whether that was writing, creating beats, learning a new dance. She’s always been so focused on getting exactly where she is now.

She continues to thank her team, rushing through the litany of individuals she attributes to helping her stand where she does with the awards that she’s been awarded this night. And when he doesn’t hear his name included, he knows right away she’s in a relatively good mood, willing to play up their Oscar worthy performance.

“And lastly, to my amazing husband,” her eyes search the room, finally landing on him. “Joe, you are my best friend and my biggest supporter. I love you so much. Thank you for always being in my corner and putting up with all of my crackhead energy.” Her eyes are teary, but he has no doubt she’s pulling from the emotion at crossing off yet another box from so long ago versus feeling so moved by her inauthentic words. 

But again, he follows along with this song and dance they’ve mastered at this point, mouthing once again that he loves her too.

The music begins to play indicating that she’s maxed out her time, and he hears her quickly throw out, “I’m not on crack, by the way!” before she walks off the stage, ushered by Pharrell and Diane Warren.

Theres’s something both treasured and uncomfortable about those words leaving her mouth. They’re so freely used these days. By both of them. But the meaning and impact behind them is long gone, some place in the past where demons and skeletons lie, often tampered with but never fully addressed.

It now just leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

—-------

“I have a show on the 13th you need to be at.”

Joe is sitting on the edge of the bed, undoing his tie, focused on the balcony doors across from him instead of to his right where she sits at her vanity, removing her jewelry. 

“What?” He doesn’t need to be looking at her to know she’s angled toward him, face turned up in disgust. “Of March?”

There’s no need for a wordy answer. “Yeah.”

“I can’t.” Mari has made it a goal of hers to stay on top of her calendar as she prepares to enter the next era of her career. With the Grammy’s now over, the end of this award season is upon her, and preparation for her next album is underway. It’s why she knows and communicates in the moment of the scheduling conflict. “I have a meeting with my label to start discussing my next album.”

Joe can’t deny the fact that he half-expected her to come up with some excuse, some reason as to why she yet again can’t do her part of this joint collab of theirs. “Can’t you move it?”

“Why should I have to move my stuff around for you?” Mari can count a variety of times where she’s done so before, but that was then. This is now. They’re miles away from where they once were, and she’s not willing to inconvenience herself for him.

Not anymore. 

Meanwhile, Joe doesn’t understand why everything that’s inherently so simple has to be made so fucking complex. It’s never a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ with her. “You can tell Jax if a date doesn’t work for you. I can’t do that shit with Paul.” And she knows that. Mariella is well aware of how the WWE works. Dates are set in stone months in advance, years in advance sometimes for PPV’s. She’s just being difficult for no damn reason.

As per usual. 

In a perfect world, Mariella would be celebrating right now, would be in attendance at the prestigious Grammy’s After-Party celebrating her major accomplishments. Instead, she sits in the room with a man who seems hellbent on stealing her joy in any way he can these days.

It makes her sick. 

She’s fully turned toward him, even as he refuses to look her way. Intentional, of course. He knows how big she is on eye contact. “I did that the last time I went to a taping, Joe. I’m not gonna keep doing it.”

He glances at her, and she instantly knows he’s not backing down, not willing to let this lie. She knows she’s in for another pow-wow. A signature finish for most outings these days. “But, I can show up for you?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like this isn’t as beneficial for you as it is for me.” One thing she won’t put up with is him acting like their arrangement isn’t just as great for his career as it is for hers. The press and fans of both of them eat up any type of public appearance, especially when he plays the role of the loving, supportive husband who wants to celebrate his wife’s big wins with her. “And you know how busy I am after award season.”

He knows that’s typically when she gets back in the kitchen to start cooking up her next album, where she locks herself in the studio for hours on end writing, producing, escaping.

“And WrestleMania season isn’t for me?”

Truth be told, she’d briefly forgotten about that, forgotten that the biggest night of his career is only two months away. A small part of her hates that. Hates how far they are from where they once were. There was once a time where she had every single event committed to memory, would bend over backwards to attend as many of his shows that she could.

Now, she couldn’t give two shits. 

The same way he feels about her.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” She turns back to the mirror to safely remove her diamonds. They’ll need to be returned tomorrow to the designer, and the last thing she wants is to drop or lose something because of his ass. “You got your little whores there anyway. What do you need me for?”

It’s a petty but truthful jab. Mariella knows good and well that her showing up to one of his tapings after he attended the Grammys with her will be ate up by their fans. It’s good press. Great, even. 

But the thought of sitting there, with the full, painful, embarrassing knowledge that the women behind the scenes, the women who are hidden behind NDA’s and WWE hush money, see her for the fraud she is. Know that Joe will end up fucking them when the night is over and returning home to her with the scent of their cheap perfume and not an ounce of regret.

It almost makes her stomach turn. 

He chuckles, and that’s what makes her gaze snap back onto him. She hates when he does this, when he makes it seem like shit is funny. There’s nothing comical about this tragedy. “Did I say something funny?”

“Forget it.” And now he’s dismissive, trying to shut down an argument that he started. “You don’t fucking listen anyway.”

“Are you serious right now?” Mari’s eyes go wide as she stands up, finally rid of six figure jewelry but basked in growing rage. “I don’t listen? Joe, you don’t listen! You never listen! You haven’t in years.”

Joe feeds off her energy, the quiet anger he’s usually well adept at concealing bubbling its way to the surface. No one’s ever been able to get him riled up like she does. “Naw, you not gon’ do that. Make it seem like this is on me. You do what you want and then expect me to just be okay with shit.”

“Wow. This is rich. Absolutely rich.” Mari can only laugh, because this part is funny. It’s hilarious. His lack of insight is astounding. “You are the most selfish bastard I have ever met.”

“Here it is.” He’s now standing as well, hulking body angled towards her, towering over her even with her designer heels. He motions with his hand for her to continue, to go on with the victim narrative she loves to clothe herself in. “Keep going. Tell me all this shit you already know about me, how awful I am—”

“Because you are!”

Something about the intensity in her voice sends him, makes him snap back easily. “And you’re a fucking saint?” His volume is also rising, which he hates. He never allows anyone to have access to that button, to know what to press and how to press it to get him this worked up. “You don’t never do shit wrong?”

Mariella feels her anger intensify as he turns to walk away from her. She’s hot on his heels, following him into the bathroom. “God, you always do this! You always put it back on me. It’s never your fault. Always mine!”

“And this is what I’m saying.” He has his big hands planted on the bathroom counter, looking at her through the large, mounted mirror. “You’re not even hearing what I’m saying. Always so fucking defensive. I’m not the one who don’t listen, Mari! You are!”

She can’t deny there have been a number of occasions where she’s jumped into defensive mode sooner than what’s necessary. Mariella isn’t above acknowledging that. But for him to make it seem like it’s not for a good reason, if not for his role is something she won’t stand for. “So what if I am defensive, huh? Who made me this way? You did, you bastard!”

“Just stop fucking’ talking, alright?” He’s pulling his suit jacket off, tone a mixture of defeat and exhaustion. Emotional or physical, she’s not sure. She knows she certainly feels both. “I don’t wanna hear this shit anymore.”

“And now here you go, always walking away, always taking the easy way out.” Because this is his MO. He loves to accuse and gaslight, and the minute she calls him out on his hypocrisy, he wants to shut everything down. It’s infuriating.

“Fine!” He slams his fists down on the same granite counter Mariella still remembers him once making out with her on, a starting point that ended with him carrying her to their once shared bed where he would make love to her throughout the night. Such a far away, almost unfamiliar time. “You want to sit here and continue yelling, be my fucking guest. I’m not saying shit though!”

“There you go again with more avoidance. God, you’re so predictable! Shit gets too hard, you shut down. You run away.”

“Don’t fucking act like you ever want to talk about shit with me—”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Joe. You don’t know what I want, okay? You don’t know anything about me anymore!”

“And whose fault is that, Mariella, huh? You don’t tell me shit! You never tell me shit!”

“Why should I? You don’t deserve to know shit about me anymore!” It’s more emotions than anything that fuels her to add on the accusatory, “It’s not like you care in the first damn place!” It also has to be the emotions that have her eyes watering, because it’s been forever and a day since an argument between them—and there have been plenty—has made her feel anything other than anger.

This is different.

This is sadness.

 Mariella watches as Joe punches the adjacent wall, the action taking her by surprise and making her jump back from said shock. “What do you want me to say, huh?” It’s been years since she’s seen him this upset. “No matter what I fucking say, what I fucking do, nothing’s ever right, so what’s the goddamn point!” With almost desperation, he shouts, “what the hell do you want from me!”

“I want you to love me again!” She snaps with a burst of visceral emotions. His anger simmers instantaneously. Joe knows that was the last thing she wanted to say, the deep down secret she’s worked hard to keep hidden and tucked away suddenly laid out in the open for all to see. The devastation on her face gives it away as she says more to herself than him in an equally devastated tone, “but that’s gone, isn't it? Everything we had…..everything we were…..is gone.”

An eerie silence settles over them. Joe closes his eyes and does his best to regulate his conflicting emotions. Everything is felt at once. So strong, so confusing, so pressing. That was the last thing he expected to hear from her, the same way the last thing he expected to feel at said words is longing. It’s so unfamiliar and confusing. She has so much power over him. To evoke such strong emotions with just a single sentence. To make him suddenly battle with the array of feelings he’s felt toward and about her at any given point in all of the many years they’ve known each other.

It’s just a fucking mess.

But then, the focus isn’t on his emotions anymore. It’s on the quiet sniffling he hears that makes him close his eyes. Joe instantly feels something different, something similar yet almost stronger than guilt.

She’s still standing at the doorway, but her hands are covering her face, failing to hide what is both visible and audible. 

Tears. 

She’s crying.

Something else unfamiliar settles over him, something almost nostalgic, that once upon a time uncomfortable plethora of emotions he’d find himself battling whenever he saw she was upset.

It never sat right with him to see her cry. 

His tone immediately shifts to something significantly calmer. “Mari….”

“I’m just tired, Joe. I’m so so…..tired.” And it’s with an almost whisper into the enclosed palm of her hands that she grabs the nail for the coffin. “And I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He’s dangerously still, rendered almost physically unable to move. The air around them is suddenly so much more noticeable, heavier, weightier, debilitating. 

She lifts her head, revealing a tear stained, distraught expression that makes him almost as equally distraught. “I don’t want to live like this anymore, Joe. I’m not happy. You’re not happy.” Each word leaving her mouth chips away his anger and replaces it with something unidentifiable. “It’s obvious you don’t love me anymore, and that’s—” Her throat catches as she forces herself to continue. “—that’s okay. Our careers are stable enough to where we don’t have to keep up this facade anymore.”

“Mariella—”

“I want a divorce.”

For some reason, there’s always been this belief system that any argument between them is just a part, a part that’s followed up with another one, then another, and then another. But, it never dawned on him that a single part could be the final part.

The final straw.

“Mariella, we—”

He’s stepping toward her, and she’s instantly stepping back, lifting her arms. She doesn’t want him near her, doesn’t want him touching her. It’s a sting, that’s for sure. 

“Don’t.” And he won’t. Won’t cross her boundaries even if everything in him is screaming to do so, to bypass her wishes that are being fueled by something temporary. Something that will fade by the time morning rolls around. “Just….don’t.”

She’s wiping at her eyes and mutters, “I need some air.”

He doesn’t like seeing her walk away in this manner, doesn’t like ending on this point. It’s one thing to leave off with the promise of another chapter, but it’s an entirely different thing to know that what could follow is the back cover without the anticipation for a sequel.

But, he says nothing. 

Does nothing.

He just lets her leave.

—-------

2007 

The phone ringing less than ten minutes after Joe plopped his big body in the bed was the last thing he expected and needed. Coach put them through hell today, and he’d completely forgotten about an assignment due the next day, so he’d forced himself to power through his physical exhaustion to get it submitted. 

Unlike a lot of his teammates, Joe does care about his academics as much as he cares about football. He recognizes it’s important to have something to fall back on. And as a senior, he’s really at the point where failure just isn’t an option.

He’s come too far now for that shit. 

When the phone rings a second time, he realizes it might be worth answering, even if everything in his body wants him to let it ring 18 times if that’s what it takes for the caller to get the message.

Not even bothering to check who it is, Joe grabs his cell and hits the green button. “Yeah?”

He’s met with soft sniffling followed up with a quiet, “it’s me.”

At that, Joe sits up in his bed, all attention on the person on the other end. “Ri?” He’s wide awake now. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to call so late—”

“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t care about that anymore, just wants to know what happened to make her phone him at such a time. To phone him crying, at that. That’s the part that makes him concerned.

He can’t remember the last time he’s seen or heard her do that.

He hears shuffling on the other end as she chokes out, “can you—can you come get me?”

It’s not even a question. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”

—--

Joe nearly knocks down the damn mailbox in front of the frat house with how quickly he pulls up, his truck coming to an abrupt sudden stop. He’s barely got the truck shut off when he’s ripping the door open and jogging up the path to the house of entitled, elitist pricks who get off on the misery of others.

But, he’s more focused on Mariella who meets him halfway on the path of said house, arms wrapped around her body. 

He’s assessing her from head to toe, using the dim streetlight as a guide in the stark darkness of the night. “What happened?” Realizing she’s still hugging himself, Joe’s blood goes cold. “Did he touch you?” And when she doesn’t say anything right away, he’s trying to move past her, murder on his mind. “I’ll fucking kill him—”

“No.” Her hand is on his chest, restraining him as much as she can. The truth is that it would be nothing for him to carefully move her to the side and beat the living shit out of her asshole of a boyfriend who he’s never liked from day one. “He didn’t.”

Joe doesn’t put it past her to try to say what she thinks he wants to hear. “Ri, don’t lie to me.”

“I promise. He didn’t. We just—” and the emotion rises back up, making her pause as she pleads with him. “Can we just go? Please?”

Joe knows why she called him and not Byron. Because Joe nods and guides her to his truck without further protest. Byron would have beat Damien first and maybe or maybe not asked questions later for the mere fact that he made his baby sister cry. 

The ride back to his dorm is silent, and it’s not until they are sitting outside on the steps of Joe’s residence hall that he asks again, much calmer, still as curious, “what happened, Ri?”

It takes a few minutes for her to start talking, and while he does his best to be patient, it’s also really fucking hard to not just bypass the conversation and go straight back to the original plan of murder.

“We were—we were messing around.” Instantly, Joe’s anger suddenly shifts to disgust. While he recognizes his best friend’s little sister isn’t so little anymore, eighteen and a college freshman, she’ll always be that goofy, klutzy, theatrical kid who was always trying to hang out with him and Byron. So, hearing about her messing around is the last thing he wants, but he also doesn’t want to interrupt and allows her to continue. “He wanted to have sex, but I—I told him no.” And before the murder plan can be revived, she clarifies. “And he stopped, but then we started arguing, and he—he told me he was tired of waiting, but I said I’m not changing my mind and….and he broke up with me.”

In some strange sort of way, Joe is more relieved than anything, mostly at the fact that nothing physical happened. It sucks, and he hates seeing her upset, but it’s really a blessing in disguise. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.

Still, he’s sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Ri.”

She sniffles again, wiping at her eyes. “I really liked him and—and I thought he liked me.” 

Joe wants so badly to tell her that Damien never liked her. He liked that she was a virgin. 

Mariella had made the cardinal mistake of sharing with her ex that she was still a virgin, something the bastard, like Damien, thought he could change. When that didn’t happen and a breakup followed, that same asshole took it upon himself to share her virgin status with several friends, several teammates. And it’s become a bit of a contest almost among the basketball team, to see who can take it from her first.

It’s fucking disgusting and makes him sick, but it’s also the culture of college athletes. 

Some, at least. 

“He’s an idiot, Ri.” This is said both because it’s true but also because he just wants her to feel better, to not feel like she lost out on some prize. If anything, she dodged a bullet. 

“Maybe I’m the idiot.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “Cause I keep finding myself in the same situation.”

He’d like to call it an exaggeration, but Joe also knows that this has been an issue in almost all of her relationships for the past few years. Less an issue and more a deal breaker. Sex is something that’s deeply personal and important to her, and he’s happy she’s that way, that she isn’t just sleeping around with anyone. Especially since she seems to have a penchant for athletes. 

They can be the worst.

He would know.

“Athletes can be hoes, Ri. That has nothing to do with you.”

“You and B aren’t like that.” She then corrects with an ounce of her usual sense of humor. “I mean, you guys are hoes, but you’re nice hoes.”

He laughs. That’s a bit of the Mariella he’s used to. “True, but maybe we’re the exception.” He then takes a deep breath, speaking to her from the heart. “I’m not really sure, but what I do know is that Damien was an asshole who never deserved you in the first place. You’re better off without him.”

It’s the god’s honest truth. Ri is like his little sister, and it pained him to see her give someone like Damien the time of day, but he also respects that while he still sees her as a little kid, she isn’t. She’s a legal adult capable of making her own decisions, and he respects that.

“He had pretty eyes though.” Joe gives her a look, and for the first time, she actually, truly laughs. It’s music to his ears. “What? If I don’t laugh, I’ll just keep crying.” Her eyes light up with something other than sadness, and he watches her pull out her phone, suddenly typing away.

He doesn’t even need to ask. He’s seen this before. She’s inspired and is getting out the lyrics before they escape her. And a few minutes later, she reads to him what she’s come up with.

If I don't laugh, I'm gonna cry 

Don't wanna hear your name tonight 

I'm finally happy, not in the mood 

I don't wanna think about you

“I like it.” It’s the truth. He likes most of what she writes, outside of the shit that’s way too girly for his musical preference.

She offers him that brilliant smile, eyes twinkling with something similar to appreciation. Mariella grabs his bicep, laying her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.”

He looks down at her. “I’ve always got your back, Mariella.” And that’s a promise. “Always.”

—-------

“Mariella, this is fucking ridiculous.” Joe pulls the phone away from his face to get a specific, accurate time. “It’s almost 3 o’clock in the damn morning. Get home now before something happens to your ass.”

He then quickly jabs the red end button. It’s an unkind voicemail message to leave, but also one of several he’s left over the past two hours. The first was a lot more understanding, almost apologetic. Now he’s just fucking annoyed, because she said she needed air. He figured she’d go sit outside, on the patio, maybe even sit poolside. 

Not for her to take off for a late night car ride without telling him anything. It’s something she used to do once upon a time, when they were both broke nobodies trying to keep the dream alive. 

Such a far off, distant memory. 

Joe wishes he didn’t care. Wishes he could head to bed and let her be in her feelings. He’s got an afternoon flight out to a taping and needs to be at the airport by 10am. At this rate, he’s not going to get any quality sleep, and that shit annoys him to no end because he likes to be well rested for work. Especially in his line of work. 

Sleep deprivation can make a wrestler more prone to unnecessary injuries. 

Still, he also knows that even if he were to try to get some sleep, he’d twist and turn the whole night. He’s never been able to sleep well until she was home and safe.

But, she’s not, and that shit just pisses him off all over again. He grabs his phone, ready for yet another call to go straight to voicemail when it lights up, generic ringtone filling the sizable kitchen. He doesn’t even bother checking the caller, just hits the green button and jumps right into questioning. 

“Where the hell are you?” At this point, he’ll go pick her up his damn self just to see her two feet planted in their LA mansion. “This isn’t—”

“I’m sorry—” Joe is the one who’s sorry because that certainly isn’t Mariella. Confused, he pulls the phone away from his ear again to see that it’s an unfamiliar local number. Bringing it back so he can ask who the hell this is, the caller beats him to it. “I’m looking for Joe Anoa’i.”

The woman’s voice is professional, but there’s also a hesitation there. A hint of emotionality almost. 

Frowning, he answers, gruffly, “This is Joe.” He’s quick with the follow up. “Who is this?”

“My name is Leslie Owens, and I’m an officer with the Los Angeles Police Department.” And just like that, Joe knows his entire world is about to be flipped upside down. “I’m sorry to inform you, but your wife has been involved in a car accident….”

—-------

2013 

“Just a couple more steps….”

“Ri, this is stupid. I’m gonna open my eyes.”

He can hear her dramatic gasp as she squeezes his hand. “Don’t you dare ruin this moment for us, sir!”

“The moment’s gonna be really ruined if your accident prone ass makes me fall down these damn steps.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m only accident prone when it comes to myself. Not others.” She sounds so proud of this fact too. “Thank you very much.”

She makes him smile, but that’s a given. There’s always an immense amount of joy and contentment when he’s around her. Her positivity, while excessive at times, is calming. Always has been. 

He’s happy when he’s at least done with the steps and on a leveled surface. Recovery from face planting on pavement has to be easier than a tumble down three flights of steps.

That reminds him. “This place doesn’t have an elevator?”

She’s quick with the answer followed by the jangling of keys. “Naw. That was the other place, but it was out of our budget.”

He says nothing. It seems like a lot is out of their budget these days.

Joe can hear her insert the key as well as the turn of the door knob and subsequent creaking of a door. She’s pulling him forward and he naturally steps over the mantle that she surely would have let him trip over because of her obliviousness in the moment. 

It’s when she drops his hand that he knows the end of this unnecessary dramatic introduction to seeing the apartment for the first time is nearing an end. 

“And…..open!”

Joe doesn’t need to be told twice.

The first thing he sees is her beautiful smile as she stands before him with her arms stretched up and in a ‘v.’ “Welcome to our first place together as husband and wife!”

Looking around, it’s clear as day that Mariella is probably the nicest thing in his line of vision. It’s not a bad looking apartment, at all, just plain and clearly in need of some modernizing updates/renovations. 

He can tell she’s tried to make it a little more homey with the rug and curtains, as well as family photos, but it’s still a far cry from the kind of place he’d love for them to call home.

“It’s….something.”

Mariella rolls her eyes. “I mean, it’s not the Hilton, but it’s ours, and that’s all that matters.” She moves over to him, reaching to wrap her arms around his neck. His hands plant on her hips, holding her to him. “Sure, the balcony is basically a ledge, and our view is of a park, so it gets loud sometimes, and I may or may not have witnessed a crime the other day……hope he’s alright.” Her brows cave together in brief confusion before she shrugs and back to smiling like they just won a million dollars. “But that’s besides the point because every couple has their struggle origin story. This is just ours for now.”

He’ll be happy when they’re out of this chapter of said story. This is one of those times he somewhat wishes he waited to marry her until they were both in better financial places. More him than her. She deserves so much better than this. She deserves the world, and he’s going to give it to her one day. 

He just prays that day is sooner rather than later.

“Hey.” He looks down and refocuses his attention on her. “As long as I have you….I’m good.” She moves to lay her head against his chest, murmuring, “I love you, and you love me. That’s all I’ll ever need.” And in true Ri fashion, she gasps and pulls away, looking up with almost childlike excitement. “I almost forgot!”

In many years of knowing Mariella, Joe has learned it’s always best to just let her do her thing and see what happens versus trying to navigate the eccentric workings of her chaotic mind.

So he watches silently as she rushes over to the counter to dig through her purse and pulls out her phone. She does that rapid tapping and sliding of her fingers that she does when in a self assigned rush. Less than a minute later, he’s hit with an all too familiar opening piano followed by even more familiar lyrics.

It's undeniable

That we should be together

It's unbelievable

How I used to say, that I'd fall never

Joe smiles as she moves her way back over to him, reaching for his hand. “Our wedding first dance song to christen our first place together. We have to dance. It’s literally in the marriage rule book.”

He chuckles. “Oh, really?” 

“Duh.” She gasps and bites down on her bottom lip when he quickly yanks her toward him. Joe’s hand is on the small of her back as hers move up his check, locking behind his neck. “See….not so bad after all?”

He dances with her, but his attention is focused less on the music, even the dancing and just her. “Anything’s better if you’re there.” She beams up at him and giggles as he spins her so that her back lands against his chin. His head dips into her neck, as she places her hands on his forearms.

He’s taking her in, enjoying this moment with her when she says leadingly, “you know there’s another first we haven’t done yet to christen our place…..”

Joe makes a sound and presses a kiss to the side of her neck. “Hmm. And what is that?”

He can only imagine the way her cheeks must be tinged red as she answers almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “That thing you’re really good at.” He smiles against her skin and holds her tighter. “I especially like when you do that one thing with your tongue and—Joe!” Too much talk, not enough clothes being taken off. He doesn’t hesitate to lift her over his shoulder, eager to show her just how much he also likes to do that ‘one thing’ with his tongue.

—-------

Present 

Two weeks.

Two weeks since he’s seen her big, beautiful smile.

Two weeks since he’s heard that infectious laugh.

Two weeks since he’s heard her voice.

Two weeks since the night that changed everything, the night that some idiot decided to drive drunk and crashed into her vehicle head on. 

Two weeks since she was airlifted to a Level 1 trauma center where her injuries were so severe that they immediately took her into surgery that saved her life in one way but couldn’t in another.

Because she has yet to wake up from the initial accident. 

Because it’s been two weeks since Mariella slipped into a coma. 

It’s been two weeks of that cruel waiting game, that slight smudge of hope that rises where the doctor comes in with just as much desire it’ll be a different prognosis only for the same thing to leave his mouth every time with that same disappointed expression.

“We just have to continue to wait.”

Joe isn’t sure he’s ever hated a saying more than he now hates that one.

Just like her mom and other family members, he's been at the hospital every day, just sitting for hours at her bedside, holding her hand that’s much colder than he’s used to. Than it should be. 

The room is silent, a type of silence he’s unused to. There’s never silence when Mariella is around. She’s always talking, always smiling, always laughing.

But not anymore.

Now she just lays there, unconscious, Joe praying more than he ever has in his entire life that he gets to see her pretty eyes yet again, hear her beautiful voice scream at him, sing to him, laugh at him, anything.

He just needs her.

The love and support from her fans has been astounding yet expected. She’s America’s Sweetheart. Music’s new queen. Everyone loves her. She’s received an endless amount of support, kind words, prayers, and well wishes from both fellow artists and fans. Though the fans seemed to have done the most. Even holding several vigils outside the hospital. And though he’s still pissed that piece of information got leaked, he knows she would be so moved by the love. 

Joe wasn’t entirely in agreement with sharing Mariella’s coma status with the world, but it was the decision that was eventually settled on by Iris, her manager, and the rest of her team with the family’s eventual blessing.

The specifics regarding her injuries, however, have remained confidential, and for that, he’s grateful.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed yet again, taking over the shift from April, Mariella’s mom, whose devastated expression hasn’t changed from the minute he had to tell her and the rest of her family what happened to now, as they all wait with all of the hopes and prayers in the world for the prognosis to change.

“This is the longest I’ve ever gone without hearing your voice.” Just saying it aloud feels strange, wrong even. That he gets to sit here and talk while she lays there, plugged up to a million machines, deprived of even that basic right. “I never knew I could miss something so much until now.”

And it’s the truth. 

Realizing his NFL dreams weren’t going to become a reality was devastating, but this….this is another level of hell.

“You said…you said you want me to love you again, but….but I can’t do that, Ri.” His hand is over hers, thumb rubbing the skin that’s not covered by the IV and large bandage. “I can’t do it again because I never stopped loving you in the first place.”

It’s a disgusting, pathetic feeling. To know that the words he should have said to her when everything first started falling apart can only leave his mouth after something like this occurs. After he’s so brutally reminded of the fragility of life and the importance of telling people how you feel when they’re still around.

There’s so much he needs to tell her, so much he needs to clear up, so much he needs her to tell him.

She deserves clarification.

He deserves answers.

Joe just prays he gets the chance for that to happen. 

It’s nearly seconds after that thought crosses his mind that he feels movement under his hand. His eyes snap up to see the one thing he’s prayed for every day for the past two weeks, the one thing he deep down was scared he would never see.

Mari’s brown eyes. Glossed and confused as all the outdoors, he sees them darting all around the room and feels her trying to move her hand. 

He’s not sure he’s even breathing anymore. “Ri?” It’s as she continues to blink and try to move her head that he realizes this isn’t some cruel hallucination. She’s awake.

Mariella is awake.

When the shock wears off, he all but runs to the door, ripping it open as he calls for the doctor, the nurse, any medical professional available to tend to her. 

Joe is right on the doctor’s heels as he moves quickly to her bedside, digging for something out of his white coat pocket. Joe moves to the other side of her bed, closely observing any and all interactions of both. 

“Mariella, I’m Dr. Reynolds, and I’ve been overseeing your care here.” Joe then looks back at his wife who seems more awake by the second but still with her mouth turned downward, like she’s lost at what’s happening. 

Mariella squints when the doctor shines the light in her eyes, wincing almost, and Joe has to catch himself from telling the doctor to be careful. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Reynolds asks, and Joe watches closely as she looks at him with the same level of confusion. “Can you tell me what year it is?”

His stomach drops when she shakes her head no.

“You were in a car accident.” The doctor’s voice takes on a different tone, something not as optimistic, more….ominous. “Can you give me your full name?”

Again, a slow shake of the head to answer no.

Joe goes to ask the doctor what’s going on, if this is some side effect that people can have when waking up from a coma, but the man is pointing in Joe’s direction as he asks a final question. “Do you know who this is?”

And it’s then, as she shakes her head ‘no’ yet again that Joe realizes what’s happening. A new kind of ruination overcomes him, making his throat suddenly feel almost as heavy as his heart.

It’s a heartbreaking realization that he has to say aloud because it feels almost too unreal to be true. 

“Her memories are gone….”

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and I) | Last Part

Word Count: 13.8k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Summary: When you first met your boyfriend, it was love at first sight. No, more than that. It was love before you even met. It felt like you had known each other in another life and were meant to find each other again. 

But that's not actually true, is it? You and Beomgyu don't actually know each other from another life, and the dreams you've been having aren't memories of your past life either. That's ridiculous. 

But then why does Beomgyu get so defensive about them? And why does each dream feel more real than the one before? 

A/N: this is the sequel to my series YAMQN but I'm trying to write it in a way that it would be comprehensible to people who have never read YAMQN. The parts in italic are the dreams. 

Warnings: fem!reader, sub!gyu, dom!reader, dom!gyu, sub!reader, fingering, handjobs, missionary, doggy, mentions of previous noncon, yandere behaviour, violence, bodily harm, alienation

You still have the dreams, the memories, the torment. They never went away despite you trying your goddamn hardest. Your brain seems to conjure them up harder and more vividly the more you work to push them away. You don't know if Beomgyu knows this but he's beside you every possible second of every day, keeping you busy and helping to push it all away, or at least distract you from it. 

You've quit your job. Beomgyu isn't unreasonable. He will help you get another job, just as soon as you feel better. But not right now. You're not ready yet. You need rest and he makes sure you get it, devoting every second he's not at his job or getting you food and stuff you need to taking care of you.

He wanted you to move away, just pack your things and get away from this place that had brought you both such grief, but you couldn't go through with it. Not yet. You had freaked out when he suggested it, telling you it would do you good to get a fresh start and get away from Taehyun but you know he wouldn't be the only one you'd be getting away from. All your friends are here. Your family is here. And even though you're hardly seeing them right now, you know it wouldn't be right to completely uproot yourself from everything you've ever known except Beomgyu. Even though you'd promised to completely and fully devote yourself to only him, you know it can't be good for your already unstable mental state.

You tell him that you'd feel so terribly alone if you move away, especially when he goes to work. So he offers to quit his job to spend all his time with you, explaining that he has put aside some savings he could use for the time being but you still refuse. You tell him that you'd be horribly selfish to let him waste the little precious money he saved up just so he can babysit you but you don’t tell him about how much it scares you to cross that last boundary, to let him completely and utterly devour your entire life despite something at the bottom of your soul telling you to just give it to him.   

Beomgyu reassures you that he doesn’t mind. He wants to spend his money to make sure you're taken care of, but you still refuse. You stand your ground and hold onto the last shred of your life that is not his–for what? You don’t know–and he reluctantly lets it go, for now at least. 

Instead, he uses the time he does have with you to pamper you, feeding you breakfast in bed, getting you things to occupy your time while he's away, drawing baths for you when he gets home from work. It all feels so terribly familiar. The sense of deja vu choking you but Beomgyu is determined to mentally and physically push it all out of your mind and take its place instead. 

He only reads you happy poems and stories, only sings you cheerful love songs. You feel like he’s lulling you into a deep slumber. You're still where you've always been–your friends and family are still within reach, your old life is there to reclaim if you want to–but it's like he'd succeeded in putting a wall between you and the world just like he wanted, and it scares you that you can't tell if that is a good or bad thing. Maybe you should just give into him, fall into him and dissolve into his being until no one will ever be able to pull you apart again. 

You feel his fingers knead the skin of your shoulders as he sits behind you in the bathtub–once again using his free time after work to take care of you instead of giving himself a break after working hard all day. Bubbles and candles surround you, the calming scent of them permeating your brain like a drug, aided by the glass of wine in your hand, to lull you further into your slumber. You let out small hums of appreciation under Beomgyu's expert hands that seem to know you better than you know yourself. How does he know where exactly to touch to unwind a particular knot in your back or relieve a certain stress that has been nagging you for a while? All you have to do is sit there and sip your wine, letting the groggy feeling from the liquid combine with the blissful pleasure of Beomgyu's touch to submerge you deeper into a dreamy state that one day you may never wake up from. 

“There is this beach I was reading about online that I'd like to visit.” You tell him lazily and he chirps happily. He always gets so excited when you initiate any outings or dates to go on and it makes that familiar tender spot in your heart ache at how selfish you’re being. He tries so hard to make you happy and fill your life up with fun and exciting things to do to distract you from the loneliness, and yet you so rarely respond in kind. “Sure. Anything you want, my love.” 

You smile, hearing the relief in his voice, and you go on, a little more excitedly. “It's near that old medieval castle at the cliff top. It's very popular.” 

“Oh, that place.” His hands falter and you can feel a sudden strange chill in the air. “It's just an overrated touristy spot. I know plenty of other beaches that are better.”

You pout. You didn't expect his response. He is usually happy to do whatever you want and you had actually been looking forward to going to that particular beach for a while. “But I want to go there. The beach looks really nice and I thought I could even go explore that old abandoned castle with my prince.” You giggle, trying to crane your head back to send him a flirty look but the expression you find on his face wipes all hints of playfulness off yours.

“And I don't want to. Pick literally anywhere else.” His response is strangely irritated and you frown. You should probably drop it. He is right. There are plenty of nice beaches around. You don't have to go to that particular one. But something about his sharp refusal prompts you to dig more. Stupid girl. Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat? 

“Why do I need to when we can just go there?” You huff, tension creeping back into your shoulders. 

“I said no.” He rebuts with no explanation and your fiery temper sparks through the heavy fog that has been weighing on your brain. 

“Oh, you said no? Well then if Master says no then I guess that's the end of it.” You snap, your anger begging for you to let it catch fire.  

“Why are you being difficult? I thought you said you'd listen to me?” 

And just like it, he snuffs it all under his finger. You immediately shut down. How long is he going to hold that over your head? You've quit your job. You haven't spoken to Taehyun since then. You hardly see your friends. You stay home waiting for him like a dutiful little housewife. What more does he want from you? You know you've made a mistake. You know you promised to make it up to him and regain his trust, but surely asking to visit a stupid beach doesn't count as a potential breach of trust, does it? 

“Forget it.” You mumble, deflated. You were really looking forward to going there. The place looked super pretty online. It was one of the few places lately that have managed to get you excited at the prospect of visiting them. It held a certain vibrant draw to it when everything else seemed gray and dull in comparison. But you guess you can’t have even that.

You try to get out of the bath, no longer in the mood for intimate messages, but Beomgyu holds you back. Of course, he does. 

“Wait.” You hear Beomgyu sigh and let his hands drop to the water to circle around your waist and pull your body back against him, his lips kissing the junction between your neck and shoulder gently, apologetically. “I'm sorry, baby. I just have a bad feeling about that place. Can't you trust me on that?”

A bad feeling about the place? What the fuck does that mean? It’s just a beach, what could possibly go wrong there? 

Still, you hesitate. You didn’t think that anything could go wrong by being friends with Taehyun either and that Beomgyu was being overly jealous and paranoid but here you are. Maybe if you go there you'll fucking drown or something crazy like that.

You suppose you can give him that. You know if you had a bad feeling about a place, Beomgyu would not force you to go there. It probably wouldn’t be fun anyway if you make him go and he hates every second of it. You want to do something you both enjoy. 

But you really wanted to visit that place. Maybe you should go when he's at work… 

No. Just the idea of going out in public alone without Beomgyu makes you shudder. You can't handle being around people without Beomgyu's comforting presence to rely on. He's got you right where he wants you.

“Fine.” You say in a small voice, finally relenting. 

“Thank you, princess.” He sighs in relief and the tension in the air begins to dissipate once again. “I know you’re bored. I promise to take some time off work and take you on a nice vacation somewhere. How does that sound?”

“Okay.” You mumble unenthusiastically. 

“Come on. Cheer up.” He holds your jaw gently and turns you towards him, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that slowly turns sensual. 

“Beomgyu…” You whine into his mouth, the water shifting as you rub your thighs together. He will never not have an effect on you. You’re too weak for him. 

“I know, princess.” His hand drops between your legs, loosening you up. “I got you.”

His light touches are as strong as electric currents coursing through your veins, and before long, you find yourself squirming in his hold, pushing yourself closer to his touch while paradoxically trying to get away from the intense feeling at the same time. 

But he doesn’t let you. He throws his other arm over you, caging you into place as he takes a hold of your breasts, kneading them until your nipples have pebbled in need. 

“Baby…” You keen, pushing your breasts further into his hand, and crying out as he pulls one of your perked nipples between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Relax for me, baby.” He hums, holding you in place as he works his fingers inside you. It stings a bit as the water dilutes your arousal but he throws your legs on either edge of the tub to give him more space for his fingers to easily breach your hole, the heel of his palm working in tandem to bring you to the edge so scarily fast that you barely even register the sharp bite of his teeth on your neck as he zealously marks you. “Let me take care of you.” 

It’s a spell–a bid to get you to let go, and it’s so hard to not give in when he makes it feel so damn good. 

You're so exposed like this. Even though there is no one here to see you but Beomgyu, it feels like the whole universe is watching him spread you open to his satisfaction and no amount of faux demurity would fool the universe into believing you're not a willing participant in all of this. It's hard to care about your debauched display when your orgasm was heating you up from the inside so much you feel like you might spontaneously combust. Why is it always so intense with him? How does he do it so well? 

You may never know but what you do know is that your orgasm was rolling towards you like the water rolling over the edge of the tub, sharp and sudden, and when it reaches you it threatens to take you under. But Beomgyu holds your head above the water as his relentless fingers continue to fuck you until you yield to his will. You break apart under his touch, forgetting about everything except him in those few moments, forgetting about the beach, the castle, Taehyun and everything you've lost–the only thing registering in your mind is Beomgyu's touch, Beomgyu's smell, Beomgyu's warmth.  

“Beomgyu, Beomgyu, Beomgyu!” You cry as your whole body convulses in his arms, yet it doesn't slip from his hold for even a second, and when you finally come down from your quaking orgasm, you're still in his hold but half of the bath water had spilled over the edge, exposing your skin to the chilly room air–a stark contrast to the searing heat of Beomgyu’s hard cock pressing against you lower back as he tries to subtly jerk himself off against you, and it's your turn to hold him in the palm of your hand.

His quiet desperation brings even more memories to mind, memories of prince Beomgyu needily humping you in frantic attempt to get off, secret exclamations of desire and forbidden love whispered hotly on the skin of your neck or ears or breasts as he mounts you like a dog in heat in a way that he makes sure to tell you is not befitting the image of a prince like him. 

But when you turn around, it's your Beomgyu you see there, a regular college student on the surface, though nothing about him is regular. Is he really even your Beomgyu? The image of him in front of you shimmering and wavering between the Beomgyu you know and prince Beomgyu, and you're not sure which one is real anymore.

“You’re perfect.” He tries to reach out to you but you put his hands on either edge of the bathtub. “Keep those there.”

“Baby–” He starts to whine but shuts up when you grab his submerged cock and start jerking him off roughly. More water splashes out of the tub but neither of you care. He'll clean it up after anyway and you don’t even feel guilty about it. 

“Please, please.” He cries pathetically as if you're the one in control.

“Please what?” You ask curiously as if you're expecting him to suddenly reveal something that would make sense of the tangled mess you've made of him in your mind. 

“Anything.” 

You snort. “God, if someone is to see you like this they'd think I never touch you. You've been cumming every day, in my hand, my mouth, my ass, my cunt, on my face, my tits, my back…”

“It's not enough.” He shakes his head, looking delirious. “Never enough.”

“Well if it's not enough then what's the point of me doing this?” You taunt, going to pull your hand away from him but his own hands quickly fly out to grab yours and put it back on his cock as his whole body springs forward to get close to you as if he could glue his body to yours so you can't escape. “No! Please!”

“Get your hands off me.” You growl and he quickly puts his hands back on the tub's edge, trying to appease you so you wouldn’t deny him, but it’s not enough. He has to feel as helpless as he makes you feel and so you push him away roughly, his head almost hitting the ceramic as his back meets the wall of the tub. 

“You can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?” You purr, raising your free hand to his chest to play with his nipples, making his back arch and his fingers turn as white as the ceramic they're gripping onto while your other hand twists over his cock. 

“Sorry.”

God, you hate hearing that false word fall out of his mouth. You're pretty sure Beomgyu has never been sorry for anything in his life. 

“Are you?” You challenge, squeezing your hand around the head of his cock tightly. “Are you really sorry?” 

“Princess?” He cocks his head to the side innocently, as if he has no idea what you’re talking about. God, how he drives you crazy. “Please, I’ve been good.” 

Has he? You can’t tell anymore. He's poisoned your mind so much you can't think straight. 

You sigh, jerking him off fast, hard, knowing that the only thing that can soothe your troubled mind right now is watching your tormenter–your everything–fall apart in your grip just like he had done to you over and over again. And he doesn't disappoint. 

“Fuck! Oh, gods, I'm so close.” 

“Gods?” You laugh. That’s new. “I'm your only god, baby.”

“Yeah… only you.” He easily agrees with whatever you say, no thoughts behind his big adoring eyes, his body lying limp in the bathtub, only his hips moving to meet your fist everytime it goes down to smack against his pelvis. “Wanna cum for you. Worked so hard for it.”

“You did, didn't you?” You coo, one of your thumbs brushing against his hard nipples while the other teases the slit of his leaking cock. “Worked so hard to take care of me. Just need a little bit of attention in return, don't you?”

He nods eagerly, his lewd unabashed moans echoing all around the small bathroom as his high builds and builds, not daring to snap without your divine order. “Please, please…”

“Poor baby.” You tsk, looking at the man laid out before you and knowing in your heart of hearts that he was far from innocent. 

Rotten. That's the word that comes to mind when you look at him and you can't put your finger on why. But then why does he still look so beautiful to you? 

“Cum for me, love.”

“Yes! Thank you!” He cries out, his cum shooting out of his cock and immediately dispersing in the soapy water, tainting it like he's tainted you but you can’t get yourself to get away from it, the same way you can't get yourself to get away from him. You're rotten too now.  

“I love you so much.” He slurs as his body sinks into the water. 

“I know.” You do. It's the only thing you can be sure of anymore in the confusing mess that has become your life. That and “I love you too.”

___________________________

“Taehyun, what are you doing here? How did you get this address?” Your slow dreamy life comes into sudden disturbing focus when you see the one person you've been hiding from standing right outside your door. But your barrage of questions can't stop him from pushing past you into the apartment and back into your life. 

“I got your address from Yujin.” He explains once he's in and you look around in worry. He shouldn't be here. You'd barely managed to convince Beomgyu not to hurt him when he found out you had kissed him. What is he going to do if he finds him alone with you in the apartment while he's at work? You can't even let yourself think about it. It's too terrifying. You need to get him out. Why the fuck would Yunjun give him your address? Is she doing this to get back at Beomgyu? To get back at you? 

“Please leave. Beomgyu is going to lose his shit if he sees you.” You tell him as if that's not the understatement of the century. But Taehyun doesn’t appear to be phased. 

“I know. He is very dangerous. That's why I'm here.” He tells you, calmly acknowledging your statement that would have anyone else possibly running for the hills. “I have to tell you something. I think you were right. I think the dreams are memories.” 

You freeze in your spot, all thoughts of getting him out of here suddenly put on the backburner. What the hell is he saying? Has he gone crazy too?

You have secretly, shamefully, been harboring that rotten suspicion for a while now. The dreams just all felt too real to just be dreams. Nothing that vivid, that detailed, could just be the product of a slumbering mind, right? Besides, it didn't even stop at the dreams. You were having these “recollections” even while you're awake now, but you don’t dare believe them to be real memories because what would that mean for you? Best case scenario is that you've officially lost your mind and worst case scenario is that all of those dreams and images actually are real and Beomgyu really did all those awful things. You did all those awful things for him. 

“What makes you say that?” You gulp, asking cautiously. This feels like one of those moments that could forever change the trajectory of your life and maybe if you keep a cool safe distance away, you'd come out of this unscathed.

“I have been having more of them too. They have been plaguing my every sleeping moment, my every waking moment. They’re driving me insane–” He looks up at you and his expression almost knocks you off your feet. You know that look all too well. You see it in the mirror every day now. It’s the look of someone feeling themselves going mad and hoping that they really are because the alternative is just too cruel to consider–all the grief, all the blood, all the loss. No, it’s simply too much to bear, and you can hear the same torment you’re running from twisting his voice as he goes on. “Memories of us together… we were married in your dreams, right?”

His face is afflicted with an agony so raw it lashes against your skin in thick, bitter strokes that leave you gasping.  You never told him that. How did he know that? Okay, calm down. Breathe. This doesn't mean anything. He just had a lucky guess. Nothing more. 

“Yeah.” You admit slowly, watching him cautiously as if waiting for a further attack from him, and he doesn't disappoint. 

“You left me for him.” He says, an accusation in his voice that makes you falter. He is speaking to you as if he’s now fully convinced that the dreams are true, as if you really were married and you’d left him for Beomgyu. 

“No!” It feels strange defending something that a possibly fictional, possibly real version of you may have done because she's not you!--or is she? You didn’t leave him but you did. You don’t have to answer for her crimes but you feel compelled to try to anyway. “I thought I was saving you.”

But that just makes him angry, his fury so deep it couldn’t possibly have just been born today. It feels ancient, the edge of it sharpening over centuries. “Don't lie. That's not why you left.”

“It is. I swear. I just wanted to save you. I wanted to save everyone.” Your words sound insane even to your own ears but they're tumbling out of your mouth before you can even fully process them, again feeling compelled to defend yourself. You don’t even understand half of what you’re fighting about–your only aid in this battle are half-formed images of a fabled previous life you don’t want to remember.

“You’re lying to yourself.” He spits out bitterly, his visage taking on a hue that makes him look much older than he actually is–that makes him look like the Taehyun from your dreams, afflicted by loss and death and forced to grow up way too quickly. And here he is again, aging years in the blink of an eye. “You knew how crazy he was. You knew he wouldn't stop and you didn’t care. You just wanted to go back to him. You never fucking cared.”

“I didn't. I swear to god–” The way his conversation was heading brings a fresh wave of nauseating deja vu crashing onto you. You shake your head, trying to dispel whatever Folie a deux you both seem to have fallen victim to. You need to pull the plug on this insanity before you completely lose your mind. 

“Forget it. This is insane. Those memories aren't real. We're just working ourselves up into a frenzy. My brain has obviously sprung up all that shit out of my anxiety regarding me and Beomgyu's relationship, and after I told you about them, you started dreaming them up too.” You narrow your eyes at him as you attempt to rationalize your way through this mess, “Or you're taking advantage of my obvious mental instability to convince me to ditch my boyfriend to be with you.”

That must be it. It's the only explanation that makes sense and you try to hold onto it like a woman drowning, but Taehyun refuses to let you. 

“For fuck's sake, woman, wake up!” He grabs you by the shoulder and shakes you as if he could forcefully shake off the walls of denial you’ve been trying to build around yourself. “It's me. We've been reincarnated again for some sick reason and we're forced to relive everything we've done again, just in a different setting. Maybe it's a punishment. Maybe it's a test to see if we would choose differently. Choose right.”

“And the right choice is you?” You ask and he scoffs, looking affronted by the mere idea of there being a question about it. “It clearly isn't him. After all he's done to you. He imprisoned you. He raped you… He killed you.”

He looks as if he doesn't fully realize what he'd said until he’d said it, as if the returning memory was compelling his tongue to speak before it's been fully realized in his brain, and as the memory passes through him to you, you suddenly feel a sharp, piercing pain in your abdomen. It only lasts for a second but it draws the breath right out of you. For that second it feels like your soul is being carried away on that breath and you panic at the terrifyingly all too familiar sensation of dying. No. No. No.

But just as suddenly as that breath was exhaled, it was shoved back into your chest when Taehyun covers the phantom wound with his hand. Your own hands quickly clasp around his, and your eyes widen in a gruesome realization. 

“He killed our baby.” You whisper, your face suddenly wet with tears you didn't realize were there. Oh god. You're the dead ex-girlfriend, aren't you? There was never anyone else. It was always you.

“He did. He wasn’t going to let anyone have you if he couldn’t. Even your own child.” Taehyun says, allowing a painful melancholy back into his voice. “So he stole you from the world.” 

You and Taehyun slowly and fearfully piece together this traumatic past life you seemed to share, some details you had already recalled before while others were triggered by Taehyun’s own mad recollections. It's not a perfect story. There are many gaps in it but the main frame is enough. 

You were a Lady at Prince Beomgyu's royal palace. You loved each other but couldn't be together because he was betrothed to someone else, couldn't even tell eachother. But Beomgyu was secretly plotting to keep you bound to him, and it was working until Taehyun came into the picture and you developed an interest in each other. Beomgyu didn’t like that and he went crazy and… he hurt you. That pushed you to finally escape from him and marry Taehyun but your marriage wasn't perfect and Beomgyu took advantage of that. He threatened the lives of thousands, including Taehyun, if you didn’t go back to him. Taehyun told you not to but you did. You thought you'd be saving him and everyone else but you had just stupidly walked into Beomgyu's trap. He never intended to let Taehyun live. And when you finally realized your mistake, when you saw Taehyun's life on the line, you acted in a moment's frenzy to save him, plunging your knife right into Beomgyu's heart and ultimately succumbing to a fatal wound he dealt to you in response with a kiss and a promise that he'd find you again.

And he did. Gods help you, he did. 

It's a horrific story, disgusting, cruel, and you don’t want to believe it. It can't be. 

“We have to go. We have to leave before he comes back.” Taehyun pulls on your arm but you hesitate, automatically digging your heels on the ground and not letting him move you. He stares at you in shock. “You can't be serious? You're choosing him again after everything?”

You shake your head, panicking. “No, Taehyun–”

You want to tell him that you haven't chosen anything. You just don't know enough to make a decision. You still don't know if any of this is actually real or if you're both just mad. Even if your brain tells you it is, your heart tells you that it can't be true. This is ridiculous. Beomgyu loves you. He would never do this to you. And who is to say that he even knows any of this himself? What if he's just like you and Taehyun were at first, only feeling an inexplicable sense of love for you and hatred towards Taehyun that he doesn’t even understand the source of? Is that why he had been acting so irrational and scared to lose you? Because he has all these emotions he can't explain? 

And what about Taehyun? Yes, you had something maybe in a past life but does any of that translate into right now? Can you abandon Beomgyu and the real love you have for each other in order to build a relationship based just on memories of a previous life that ended tragically for all of you? Did that past Taehyun even love you?

You want to explain all of that to him but you don't even get the chance to before you're interrupted by the sound of keys turning in the front door's lock. 

Your eyes widen and fear grips your heart. Despite what you tell yourself about none of this being real, you suddenly fear for Taehyun's life. 

“Hide. Please, hide.” You try to tell him but he's not listening to you. He has no intention of hiding and you can see that when he grabs your hand and pulls you behind him roughly. 

When Beomgyu steps into the house and sees you, all doubt in your heart about the memories being false dash out of the room with the first word out of his mouth. 

“Again?” He asks coldly, viciously. “I knew from the moment you met him that this would happen. Even centuries later you can’t fucking help but act like a slut when he's around, huh?”

“You knew.” You croak, throat closing up to try to prevent that breath from escaping once again, fear shaking you to your core. “You always knew.”

You were too kind. Too stupid. He wasn't acting crazy because he loves you so much and was afraid of losing you. He wasn't acting crazy because he didn't understand his own feelings. He was acting crazy because he's done this before and he’ll be damned if he lets you ruin it again. 

"Of course I did. I have to find you every time.” 

“Every time?” The shaking spreads to your heart, weakening it, throwing off its rhythm. Your poor, naive heart that doesn’t know what to do with itself when the one person it loved and trusted in the world has been lying to it this whole time. “This happened more than once before?”

He laughs cruelly. “This, something else, the details differ but it's always us. Me and you.” He turns to Taehyun with rage that could hardly be contained in the small room. “Not him. I haven't seen him since that first time. The gods really wanted to piss me off this time.”

“Or maybe they wanted her to finally break free from you.” Taehyun's grip tightens around you–to hold you back or to protect you, you don’t know–something that Beomgyu doesn’t fail to notice, his upper lip curling in a snarl, clearly displeased that Taehyun even dares to touch you. But before he can act out on his rage, you speak up. 

“So what? We just keep getting reincarnated and reliving this misery over and over again?” You’re surprised he hears you when you can hardly hear yourself. 

“You do. Not me. I was only reincarnated once, right after we died. I spent many lifetimes in your tomb, mourning you. I thought that was what I was brought back for and I would've stayed there forever but I was drawn out by the gods who wanted me to realize they’ve sent you back again and again for me to find you. It's amusing to them, to see me suffer and lose you.” 

He knew from the beginning. He knew lifetimes ago and he lied to you from the start, made you feel crazy for having these dreams, tried to gaslight you into believing it was all in your head all while working to put distance between you and everyone else so he can have you all to himself. How long was he going to keep up the facade for? Is this what he did every time or does he always come up with new cruel and unusual ways to break you just like he did that very first time? 

“Why?” You ask lowly and he stares at you in confusion, not understanding the question so you gather up your strength and speak louder, more clearly. You need to finally get answers. “Does it ever work?” 

“Sometimes it does. For a little while anyway, before the gods decide we've had it good for too long and tear us apart again.” He scowls, blasphemously enraged at those mythically evil gods. “At first I thought they were giving us second chances but they're just laughing at us, watching us get together before ripping us apart like a child ripping the wings off a fly.”

“Then why let them? Why keep doing it?” You ask again and Beomgyu directs his anger at you. 

"Would you have been able to have all those memories of us, not just of our first life but every single one after, all these fragments of our infinity together and just ignore it and move on, just pretend like you don't know the other half of your soul is out there waiting for you to complete them?"

You shake your head. No. You've fallen for it before you'd even regained your memories. You can't imagine how brutal it is on him. God, to imagine him scouring the earth looking for you only to lose you again and again in horrific ways… it made your soul ache for him despite everything. 

"I have to keep trying. We were so close this time. We were fucking happy. I worked so hard to make everything perfect for us but you had to ruin it. You had to let him in.” He growls at Taehyun who was unimpressed with his entire confession. 

“If my mere existence was enough to ruin your happiness then maybe it wasn't real from the start.” He challenges, not letting you go for a second. He'd learned his lesson. His hold on you hurts, turns your hand cold and blue but you dare not protest. “You've lied to her, manipulated her and blinded her until she bowed to your twisted will and even then she was still struggling against you every step of the way. If you really loved her, you would let her go. I bet she was the most happy during those lifetimes when you were under the ground in her tomb where you belong. You killed her. You deserve to mourn her for eternity. You don't deserve to get a second chance with her.” 

“It doesn’t matter what I deserve. I know she wants to be with me, which is more than I could say about you.” Beomgyu’s face twists in a sadistic grin. “Despite everything, she still can’t live without me. You know, because you've tried to make her. She never loved you and it kills you to know it.” 

That works. Taehyun lets go of your hand and lunges at him. Beomgyu is on the ground before the scream leaves your tense throat. He didn’t stand a chance. You’ve seen Taehyun fight before, and Beomgyu–immortal being that he is–still is not able to weather the flurry of punches Taehyun’s trained fists are raining down at him. 

Taehyun pummels him to the ground right in front of your eyes and you can’t bear to see it. Yes, Beomgyu has hurt you. Yes, he has been lying to you and manipulating you all this time. Yes, he's done unthinkable things for you, to you, but you still can't just stand there and watch him get hurt. You're sick of all the pain. You want it to be different this time. Maybe that's the way to break free of this curse. 

You try to tear them apart but Taehyun is like an unstoppable force that has been dying to be unleashed. You cry and pull and plead but he doesn’t stop, slowly reducing the love of your life into a bloody, gory crime scene before your very eyes and you don't know what to do to stop him. 

It’s only when you see the glint of a knife as he pulls it out of his pocket that you’re able to finally do something to stop the carnage, and you throw yourself over Beomgyu in order to protect him. 

“Please!” You cry out, inconsolable. “Please, stop hurting him.”

Please, don’t take him from me again. You hear her sob from deep inside your soul, getting louder and louder by the second as she struggles to finally break through the rusty door of memory and time. 

“He has to die.” Taehyun growls, looking crazed. “He won't stop until he’s dead.”

No. No more death. That can’t be how it ends again. 

“I can't let you hurt him.” You sob, shielding Beomgyu with your life. You don’t know if this Taehyun would kill you–You don’t know if past Taehyun would’ve killed you–but you can’t let him do this. 

“I knew you would choose me, princess.” You hear Beomgyu’s muffled voice from beneath you and look down to see a demented, bloody grin on his face before you and Taehyun are thrown off him. 

He does it so easily, leaving you to gape at him in shock. If he could’ve done this from the start then why did he let Taehyun beat him up? 

You watch in horror as the tables quickly turn and in the blink of an eye it’s Taehyun that is on the floor and Beomgyu is on top of him with his hands around his throat, choking the life out of him. No matter how hard Taehyun tries to push him off, he does not budge. 

You try too. Beomgyu was never heavy, even you are usually able to throw him around if you really wanted to, but now he is like a rock that can’t be moved. You rip at his clothes and nothing. You claw at his skin and nothing. Nothing happens except the slow snuffing of Taehyun’s breath under him. 

“No. Why are you doing this?” You wail, tears burning on your cheeks. “Just stop. Please. I can’t lose either of you again.” 

But you should’ve known better. You should’ve known that would only make Beomgyu angrier. "This is why he has to die. We were happy before he came along and we’ll be happy again once he’s gone.” 

You can see Taehyun’s face turn blue as he struggles and fails to push Beomgyu off him, the only sound coming from him are his thrashing limbs, no air able to escape from under Beomgyu’s death grip. 

The view is enough to suffocate even you and you quickly say everything you could think of that might persuade Beomgyu to spare Taehyun, even if spelt your own doom. “Don't hurt him. I'll go with you. I swear I will go with you and I won't try to fight you ever again. Just let him go. Let him go and I’ll be all yours.” 

“Your promises mean nothing to me when you’ve broken them so easily before. It doesn’t matter. You’re mine anyway.” He answers, unimpressed and you shake your head. “I will fight you every day if you hurt him. I will never forgive you. You may have me physically but my heart won’t be yours anymore. You’ve fucked up so much Beomgyu. You owe me this.” 

He grunts, his hands tightening around Taehyun’s throat for a second–the poor man’s face almost turning purple now–before he loosens his grip enough to allow a thin, raspy breath of air into Taehyun’s lungs. 

“What does it matter anyway? He'll be reborn again. Away from us.” He spits out angrily, his fingers twitching–dying to resume their vice grip on Taehyun’s throat but thankfully holding back.  

"It matters to me. If you want me to let you have me, you’ll spare him.” 

To your surprise, it is not Beomgyu but Taehyun who speaks up, his voice so uncharacteristically weak coming out of his almost crushed windpipe. “Let him kill me. Maybe then I'll be rid of you.”

The coldness in his voice freezes the air in your lungs, forming jagged icicles that tear you apart from the inside. 

“You've made a fool of me too many times before. I will not live out another life as a fool. Free me of you.”

You hold back your tears. “Taehyun…” 

“You'll never escape from him because you deserve him.” 

Beomgyu looks torn between his fury at Taehyun’s vicious attack on you, and his relief that he’s ruining whatever goodwill you’d built up behind his back, but he seems to settle on the latter, a slow unkind smile warping his lips. 

“See what he is? He was never the better option. He would never love you like I do, unconditionally and forever. Let me kill him. It will do us all good.” His voice turns fearsome on that last appeal and you struggle to remain unshaken in the face of it. Yes, you deserve this. If all the little and big pieces of your past life that have come back to you are real then you deserve to live in a world bound to the monster you nurtured and hated by the one man who tried to break you free from him. 

“Let him live.” You insist, fighting both men for Taehyun’s life now. “Let him live or I’ll make sure that all that you’ve worked for this time will have been for naught. You may as well kill me after him because you’ll never be able to have me in this lifetime again.” 

Beomgyu bares his teeth at you like a feral dog, unhappy about your demands of mercy for the sake of the man who in his eyes was the reason he lost you–and by the sounds of it is intent on doing it again.

“If you keep me alive I will hunt you both down until I kill you.” He warns and Beomgyu looks at you in a silent plea, like a child begging to pour salt on a slug, but you shake your head at him. 

Do you not care about his threat? Of course you do. Do you not believe him? Of course you do. But just like before, you've got no one to blame but yourself and Beomgyu–Beomgyu because he forces the strings of fate to weave to his will and bring you together no matter how ugly and knotted it ends up making your lives, and you for always stringing along innocent people into it, tying them up into a mess that isn’t their own. 

“Come on, Beomgyu.” You put your hand out to him. “Let’s go.” 

You see the vitriol in his eyes soften at the extended hand. You know he wants to take it. He wants nothing more than to take your hand and disappear forever with you–Taehyun is an afterthought to him, this entire life just a distraction in the grand scheme of things–and so he does. He reaches out to take your hand, but not before he grabs Taehyun’s head, smacking it against the hard ground and knocking him out. 

You gasp at the violent action, withdrawing your hand in shock but Beomgyu doesn’t let you, reaching out to clasp it tightly in his own hand, reminding you that once you give him something, you can never have it back. “Beomgyu!”

He rolls his eyes, standing up and pulling you flush against his body. “He’ll live. Might take some time to recover, or better yet he’ll be dumber for it, but he’ll live just like you wanted. Now forget about him and just focus on me.” He grabs your chin and turns your gaze away from the unconscious Taehyun and towards his own face. “You have to hold up your end of the bargain now princess or you'll pay with his life.” 

Of course. Even this small act of kindness couldn't be selfless. He only did it in order to ensure your good behavior. As long as you live, you’ll have to appease Beomgyu's demented whims or Taehyun’s life will be on the line. A deal with the devil.

Your lips tremble and you ask yourself. Is this really what you deserve after all? Were the sins of your past life so offensive to the gods that the only way to pay for them is through eternal damnation with your monster? Was there no hope of salvation for you? And would you have taken it if there was? 

“Where are you taking me?” You ask in a shaky voice as he pulls you after him and away from the flat, leaving every part of this temporary life behind. 

"Somewhere no one will ever find us.”

__________________________________

The journey to this place in the middle of nowhere lasts longer than you could’ve imagined, longer than you could stay awake, that it feels like he was really taking you somewhere at the edge of the universe where no one can reach you ever again. You doze off as the adrenaline that had kept you going until now leaves your body, and Beomgyu is more than happy to let you rest in the backseat of his car as he takes you through dark remote areas you wouldn’t have been able to keep track of even if you were awake. 

When you finally reach your destination and groggily step out of the car with his help, you almost think you’re still dreaming, because in front of you is a massive mansion you’ve never seen or heard off before. All the way around was nothing but empty woods, the imposing and impressive structure seemingly completely cut off from the rest of the world. 

You look at Beomgyu in shock, the sleep flying off your eyes at the unexpected sight. 

Beomgyu grins–or at least attempts to through the swelling of his lips, his bloody teeth barely visible underneath. Oh, your poor beautiful boy. He looks like a mess. “Do you like it, princess?” 

“H-How?” You ask cluelessly as he pulls you towards the entrance. “Being immortal has its perks. I knew I needed to make myself a small fortune to show off whenever you were ready to come back to me.” 

You’re in for a bigger shock when you finally step inside the mansion, because everyone and everything here–all the decorations, furniture, servants and household staff gathered around to greet you–are all styled in a way you only recognize from your dreams. The entire mansion looks as if Beomgyu had plucked it straight out of your first life. 

And yes, there are people there. You had been fully expecting this grand building to be running on magic or something ridiculous like that. After all, if immortality and vengeful gods are real, what makes the thought that stupid? But no, there are people here and you honestly can’t tell if they belong to this era or if Beomgyu somehow stole them from your previous life. 

“Welcome home, my lady.” A woman who you presume to be the head of the household staff bows towards you. You just stare at her, mouth agape. She didn’t look like she was wearing a costume or putting on an act. She looked exactly how you remember the staff at the old palace looked like.  

And what did she say? Home? Is this really home? It looked like it–definitely smaller than Beomgyu’s old palace despite how big and opulent it is by modern standards– but you’re scared by how your guards are already going down by the familiar sight. 

Beomgyu nudges you as the woman straightens back up and stares at you in expectation. 

“Uh, yes, thank you.” You chew on your lip and Beomgyu chuckles lightly. “You’ll have to forgive my princess. This is all a bit of a shock for her. I am sure once she goes back to her old self, she’ll be much more mannerly.” 

“Ah, yes, of course. Silly me.” The woman laughed graciously in turn, “The poor dear must be exhausted from all that travel. I know we have all been waiting for her to finally arrive but I suppose our welcome party will have to wait for the morning when she’s properly rested.”

They have been waiting? They knew you were coming. Beomgyu was always going to win, wasn't he? It was just a matter of time. He always does.

“That’s right. She can hardly stay upright from the fatigue.” He pulls you towards him, and you realize belatedly that he’s holding you up by the waist. “Pray tell me that our bath is ready.”

“Of course, my prince. And a fresh change of clothes too.” She chirps happily, proud of her immaculate service. “It’s all waiting for you upstairs.” 

“Wonderful.” Beomgyu turns towards you and smiles, “Let's head to our chambers, love, shall we?”

Your spacious bedroom has an almost equally large ensuite attached to it where some servants were still fussing about, putting extra oils and salts into your bath to make it gentler and more calming, before Beomgyu dismisses them and goes about his familiar habit of bathing both you and himself. You barely register any of it, too preoccupied by the overstated luxury of the place around you to pay much attention to him undressing you and pulling you into the large tub–the water a perfect temperature, the smell heavenly, his touch both gentle and purposeful as he attempts to cleanse you of your previous life. 

You feel both out of place and right at home, the two very different sides of you pushing and pulling as you look around the room. The way this bathroom is decorated and even the products he’s using look and feel more expensive than your entire life had been so far, and Beomgyu appears well aware of that fact and quite pleased with it too–happy that he could finally show off what he’s been dying to for so long. You always had a feeling he wanted to shower you in the finer things and you never understood or accepted it because you thought he was just another broke college student making stupid rash decisions in order to impress his love, but now you get it. 

He makes sure to explain to you the source of everything he’s using and the rare ingredients that go into it, trying to appeal to that old part of you that had apparently yearned for spoils and riches. Of course these weren’t just simple shower products that normal plebs use. These were made specifically for you, just waiting for your arrival. He points out every aspect of the bathroom and the room attached to it that seems to be catching your eye at the moment and tells you how he chose them and where he got them from–how he chose the golden and brown accents because they’re reminiscent of the sunflowers you so adore–how he had the ceiling decorated in shining stars to resemble the stars you would see when you laid in each other’s arms in the palace gardens. It was all so meticulously planned and decorated just for you. 

Is it really for you though? It may have been for a past you but are you still her? Can this extravagance be for you when you never even realized that anyone would ever care to spend so much money on a place that everyone else uses only to get rid of their waste or wash off the dirt and grime off their bodies? 

But as Beomgyu continues to flaunt it all to you, you realize that even a room as ordinary as a bathroom is another space where the rich and powerful can show off their wealth. It’s a room where they go to shed the filth of the outside world away and relish in their highly curated luxury and beauty just as Beomgyu is doing right now–diligently scrubbing that real world off you and washing it down the drain until this fantasy mansion looks like it could be where you belong. 

If just the bathroom was hard for you to wrap your head around, you can’t even begin to describe how lavish the connected bedroom is, but one thing that catches your eye amidst the exuberance of it all is the portrait in the middle of the wall facing you. It’s a portrait of you and Beomgyu, or rather prince Beomgyu and the person you were back then. He is standing behind you in all his royal garb and you’re in front of him dressed in the finest silks and jewelry money can buy, shining like his most prized possession as one of his hands rests on your shoulder and another is seen wrapped around your waist possessively.  

“Do you like it, princess?” He asks after he dries you off with the softest towel you’ve ever felt on your skin, his hands almost mirroring the portrait as his slightly bloody lips follow the curve of your neck, not caring if he leaves small crimson streaks on your skin. “Does the place suit your taste?” 

“It’s…” You utter slowly, eyes jumping around the room as Beomgyu stares at you with hopeful anticipation, waiting for the realization of all his effort, but as you say your next words, his expression falls. “It’s a lot.” 

“A lot?” He scoffs, offended. “The you I know would never say such a word.” 

You gulp. “Well maybe that person isn’t here anymore.” 

Why would you say that? Why would you purposefully upset him when he’s shown you time and time again what he’s capable of? It’s a lie of course. She has always been there deep inside, slumbering but not dead, just waiting for him to come back and awaken her. 

“Not there anymore?” He growls, pushing you onto the impossibly soft bed and climbing over you, not as gentle as he had been so far. “Bullshit. You just need a little reminding.”

He kisses you roughly, angrily, with the weight of centuries of longing that had turned sharp and tender. You can’t help but respond back. Despite your words, she claws her way out of the abyss at his beckoning. 

“Why do you always have to make me work for it?” He growls, nipping at your neck while his fingers find their way between your legs, the easy practiced way he can get you dripping no longer such a mystery to you. He has honed it over lifetimes. “Why do you love torturing me?” 

You? Torturing him? He has controlled you in this life and the first one and probably all others in between. He has manipulated and hurt you in countless ways and yet you’re the one hurting him? 

“Because you deserve it.” You breathe out mournfully, “We deserve it.” 

His swollen lips curl in distaste. “I don’t care. As long as I got you, I don't give a shit about anything else. Let me be damned for all of eternity as long as you're mine.” He kisses you again, the metallic bitter taste of blood combined with his natural sweetness so fitting for him, your corrupted angel. “Always mine.” 

He pushes his fingers inside you and your pussy takes him easily, knowing who it belongs to before even you did. 

The way he has you on your back with your legs open and your feet in the air is a scene you’re sure has recurred over and over again across your centuries with him, repeatedly laying his claim to your pliant body until you can no longer rebuke him, your body knowing what to expect now even if your mind still struggles to catch up. 

You feel Beomgyu pull on your hand to wrap it around his cock, the silent order from him not needing to be said out loud for your body to start acting, your grip on him turning firm as your hand moves in that practiced way over his cock that has his jaw hanging open and his back arching into your touch, his eyes hungrily feasting on the sight of you splayed open and ready for the taking.  But he waits, letting both your desires build up to an unbearable heat. 

“Fuck, Beomgyu… just do it already.” You hiss, sick of the wait. He knows you're his. You've always been and always will be so he should just get it over with. But of course Beomgyu can't let it be that simple. He has to force you to say it. He has to rub your face in it so you won't dare disobey or deny him again. 

“Is my princess in there?” He cocks his head to the side, his thumb flicking your swollen clit, making you bite down on your lip. You can’t bear the way he looks at you. It makes your skin burn. 

“Yes.” A few hot tears fall down the sides of your face. Why bother fighting it anymore? He has won. 

“Does she want me?” He continues, pulling his fingers out and making you whimper at the emptiness as he takes your hand off him so he can replace his fingers at your entrance with the head of his cock, hot and thick, taunting you with what he could give you if you bend to his will. “Do you want me?”

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, locking eyes with you and looking right into your core, forcing you to face him as you give in. 

You let out a pathetic cry. “Yes. I want you. I will always want you.”

“Good girl.” He pushes inside you, letting out a heavy sigh of relief, like coming home after being lost for so long. “I missed you so much. I always knew you'd come back to me.”

He did. This entire mansion is a testament to it. And so you lie there on your back and take it, getting fucked open by Beomgyu, his beat up face not taking away from his beauty. If anything, his bruised and bloody visage contrasts with the backdrop of the elaborate and extravagant ceiling above him and serves to drive home the lengths he’s willing to go–the ugliness and horror he’s willing to let come pass so he can have you, so he can steal you away and keep you as a good, pliant fucktoy for the prince who had always been greedy for more than his fair share. 

“Maybe I should thank the fool for getting you back to me.” He murmurs, making your eyes jump from the glittering chandelier above him to his sparkling eyes that cannot be dimmed even by the blackness around them, that have only been put off once by death itself before he revolted against it and came back for you. “Getting you to remember us.” 

You frown. You know what he means. You were together before Taehyun came into the picture but not fully, not the way he wanted you to be. But now he's slowly getting back the you he's always been chasing, the you he may have only reunited with a few times over centuries. You understand that. Still that doesn't mean he can disparage Taehyun, and it doesn’t mean that you want to be reminded of him. 

“Don't speak of him.” You don't want to hear it. You're here, aren't you? He won and you’re here. He should just let you forget what that has meant for you. 

He smiles, more than happy to not speak another word of Taehyun ever again, and rewards you by bending down to kiss you as he fucks his cock ruthlessly in and out of you, fully devoted to helping you forget. 

“Fuck, I really missed you.” He groans against your lips before pulling back so he can feast his eyes on you. “Now that I have you back I don't think I can give you a break until I show you just how much I missed you. Gotta make up for all our lost time.” He drills his cock faster and harder into you, the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh ringing around the room so loudly you're worried that all other occupants of the house can also hear it. “Not gonna rest until all your holes are filled to the brim with my cum and you remember just how much I love you.” 

“Gyu…” You whine at his loud promises, fearing the rest of the household is hearing his filth. “Keep it down.”

He laughs, fucking you harder. “Why should I? Everyone here knows who you belong to. They know their master will be fucking his princess every night. Every day. They may as well get used to it now because I don’t intend on hiding any of it.”

“What?” Your cheeks flush bright, surely he is not suggesting what you think he’s suggesting. 

“This isn't our old palace, princess. I don't have to hide what is mine anymore and I expect you not to either. And if that means they can hear or even see me claiming what is mine then so be it. It’s what I always wished I could do anyway.” 

Yes, you know that very well–images of Prince Beomgyu’s attempts at inappropriate touches in public flitting through your brain. You shake your head, whining. “Not hiding, just common decency…” 

“Fuck that. Gonna show the whole universe who this pussy belongs to.” He growls, and you feel one of his hands move between your bodies to reach your pussy, his fingers easily rubbing your soaked lips and making your thighs tense up. 

“Beomgyu!” You cry at the sudden spike in pleasure, your pussy clenching around him when you get no escape from it, his hips incessantly thrusting against yours and barreling you towards what you know will be a blinding orgasm. “It’s too much.” 

He shakes his head, fingers going faster. “Not enough. Never enough. Now cum for me, princess. Make a mess on my cock.” 

As if you could have stopped it even if you wanted to. Your orgasm causes your whole body to seize up–your thighs crash around his thin waist, your pussy spasming on his twitching cock, your nails digging down into the flesh of his back as you throw your head back and cry out loudly, the irony of you asking for decency not lost on your grinning lover. 

“That’s it. Good girl. Now take it. Take all of me.” He grunts, spending himself inside you, the first of the many times he promised you he would. The first of your lifetime together. “I love you. I love you so much.” 

In the heat of it all, it takes you a second to respond, a second too long for Beomgyu’s liking, and he grabs your face and makes you lock eyes with him. “I love you.” He repeats, continuing to fuck his cum into you as he waits for your response. 

“I-I love you too.” You gasp out, your nails digging even deeper into his skin, begging him to give you a break, the overstimulation ruthlessly gripping your own flesh. “I love you. Please.” 

He finally slows down. It takes him a minute to completely stop, and you can see that he didn’t really want to but he does iit for you. “Did you miss me?” He asks, doubt and insecurity plaguing his swollen features, silently asking you to put his troubled soul at ease. He may be a cruel and calculating being sent back to punish you for your sins, but underneath it all he’s still your lovesick boy, your prince whose soul yearns for yours, and it would be the cruelest thing of all to deny him that one thing that keeps him from perishing.  

You nod, reaching out weakly to play with his hair, your muscles cut down by fatigue then completely turned to mush by pleasure. “Yes, I did. I missed you even when I didn’t know who I was missing.” 

He smiles gently at that, letting out a small breath of relief that conveys all his vulnerability before bending down to give you a sweet peck on the lips. “I’m right here. I promise to keep reminding you..” 

You don’t know if he’s promising this to himself or to you, but it leads your mind to troubling questions. 

“Are they going to let us stay together?” You frown, suddenly apprehensive at the thought of those cruel gods he’d spoken of. Now that you have him–now that you know exactly what you’ve been missing, it petrifies you to have him ripped away from you again so soon. If you must be damned to be with him, then let you be with him, damn it!

“For this lifetime, maybe.” He answers hoarsely, uncertainly. “Every time you choose me, we're doomed further. They're just letting us rack up the debt.” 

“Choose? Do I ever have a choice?” Your question is innocent, your mind too scrambled to come up with an intentional attack, yet Beomgyu still perceives it as such. 

“Of course you do. You always do. If you reject me enough times, you condemn me to a hell like no other, to being cut away from you forever.” He answers defensively, needing you to know that you’re not blameless in any of this, and you know you’re not because your heart spasms painfully at the thought of being forever severed from him the same way an artery spasms around itself to keep from bleeding out. “If I force you then it's the same. You have to choose me yourself. That's the only way we can be together.”

A sick feeling of realization hits you. You suddenly get it–why he let himself get beat up by Taehyun. He had to wait for you to choose him. If he had just killed Taehyun and took you away, it would’ve tallied up against him. He had to let you doom yourself. Even if all you’ve done to earn damnation is to hesitate when Taehyun asked you to run away. Even if you did it to save Taehyun, it didn’t matter. You choosing him will always be your sin.

He's right. These gods really are wicked and unjust.  

“Do I choose you every time?” You ask in a small, shaky voice and he frowns, your question prompting what must be disturbing memories to spring to his mind. “Not always but most of the time.”

“What happens when I don't? Do you let me?” You hold your breath, anticipating his response. Does he let you be? Does he force you? Does he hurt you? Is every time you choose him similar to this time and your first life? Could you be pardoned by pleading that you’ve been forced into it or is the sheer amount of times you chose him enough to prove your wickedness beyond a shadow of doubt?

“Why are you asking about that now? You chose me in this lifetime. The rest doesn’t matter.” He brushes you off, goosebumps prickling your skin at his diversion. In his nonanswer lies the truth. No, he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t accept defeat. He never did and never will. 

“Doesn’t that bother you, what they’re doing to us? Forcing us into this cycle over and over again?” You push tentatively. “Don't you want to be free?” 

If you stop choosing each other, will you break this infernal cycle? 

“From you? Never.” He tells you with all the certainty and conviction a man can hold, forehead pressed against yours, your breaths intermingling as if your souls are greeting each other. “Darling, if they give me the choice between heaven and you, I would choose you every time. My existence is meaningless without you, salvation is nothing to me if I can't be with you. I would go through this hell again and again just to spend these precious few moments with you. Let me suffer alone for lifetimes if it means I get even one day like this to feel your love once more.”

Your heart swells, different emotions warring inside of it–eternal love for him, happiness that he is so devoted to you that even death can’t keep you apart, anger that he won’t grant you salvation, hate for everything he’s put you through, horror that you will never escape, soul deep fatigue at the weight of it all–but you can’t even begin to untangle them from each other because he doesn’t let you. This is your reunion and he won’t let it be ruined by your doubts. 

Instead, he flips you over, pushing you onto your tummy and pulling your ass up, the sound of him jerking his drenched cock to hardness the only thing you can hear over the ringing in your ears before you feel it breaching your pussy to fill you up again. He lays himself over you, his hips immediately go to work fucking you, making use of every moment he has stolen with you. 

“Gyu…” You whine, mind too fried to care much about the way you’re drooling over the expensive sheets. “Too fast.” 

“I’m sorry, princess. Just wanna make up for all the lost time. I promise I’ll be gentler later, will take care of you so well.” He babbles, the strain of the pleasure he’s getting from your tight walls evident in his voice. “Promise. Just be good for me tonight. Okay?”

You get it–his desperation, his insatiability. This is one of the only few times in his long, lonely existence when he gets to be with you and have you fully in this way–his princess brought back from the unfathomable and untraversable void of death and lost memories for him. And you can’t find it in you to deprive him of you right now. You’ll think about it later. You’ll worry about what this means for your soul’s eternal damnation tomorrow, but for tonight, you’ll let him have you. You’ll let your rotten souls rejoice in the company of their other half. 

“Okay.” You mumble dumbly, letting him take you like a bitch as tears of overstimulation line your lashes and your fingers clutch tightly onto the sheets. You can’t even pretend that it doesn’t feel good, every thrust of his hips, every touch of his hands, every filthy word he says, every load he release inside you–it all shifts and molds you into the wretched lover he’s been searching for, the walls you’ve built up to contain her getting torn down with every position he takes you in until you lay limp with no fight left in you and it’s revealed that there is no one behind those walls. There never was. She was always you. 

When he’s finally has his fill, and you’re more dirty and ruined than you ever were before the bath, he lays down next to you and takes you in his arms–his tight embrace suffocating and hot after what he just put your body through but he doesn’t care. You don’t care. You’re with each other, and that’s how your story always ends and begins. You've been here many times before and you'll be here for many more to come. 

You are at the edge of sleep, almost falling over, when you hear a small sniffle and feel him shake ever so slightly under you. You look up to see his teary eyes and you lift your hand to his face to brush those very costly droplets away. “Why are you crying, baby?”

“I'm just so happy. I missed you so much.” He whimpers, his hold on your getting even tighter. “I love you.”

You know. You couldn’t have understood it so fully before but now that you know a fraction of what he went through to get here, you know that his love is not a mere mortal love. It has defied fate itself and it will live on for eons to come. As long as you're on this earth, he'll stay here to find you, and when you leave, he'll follow you wherever you go, be it heaven or hell or the unfathomable unknown. As long as you're together, his wretched and weary soul can find its peace. 

“I missed you too. And I love you.” 

And I'm sorry it has come to this. I'm sorry I let our once precious love grow so gruesome and hideous that this twisted ending is our only version of happiness. 

_______________________________

A/N: aaaand that's the end of this portion of the story. let me know what you think of this ending. less death than usual lol.

would you rather get tyun's ending (mostly tyun focused) or continue the story from where this chapter leaves off (mostly gyu focused)? Or would you rather a new unrelated story entirely?

Here are some teasers for the two ideas

Tyun's ending:

“Where do we go from here?” You ask defeatedly and he narrows his eyes at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re clearly angry at me. You don't trust me.” 

“Yeah, and?”

You frown too. How can he not see where the problem lies? “How are we going to stay together like this?”

“Are you thinking of leaving again?” Now he starts getting angry, vindictive, the wrath of the warlord in him cutting through the centuries. 

“No–”

“Because I won't let you. All your bullshit excuses are gone. there is no war. You can't pretend you're going back for the greater good.” His voice is mocking on the last part, and you feel your face heat up.

“It was not an excuse!" You sputter. You can't believe he's saying this to you. "It was real!” 

“You’re my wife. That's what's real and you should've stayed loyal.” He tells you unkindly, not interested in your explanations.

“So you want me to stay just out of principle even if you're just going to hate every second of being together?” It would be funny to see the way he has completely not changed even in this new life if it wasn't so painful.

“Maybe. But I certainly won't be made a fool of again and maybe it's high time you experience some consequences for your actions.”

Gyu's ending continuation:

“How could you do this? How could you be so stupid?” Beomgyu's response to you slipping out for the day seems like a wild overreaction. You know he insists on controlling every aspect of your life so you won't leave him again but going out to walk through the surrounding small village for a few hours could hardly have many consequences. Not when he apparently controls the whole village. 

“You’re overreacting.” You roll your eyes at him but that just makes him freak out more. 

“You don't know what you're risking. He could have found you! He could have taken you away from me!” 

“What are you talking about?” You push him off you. “How would he do that when you know exactly where he is at all times?”

You scoff at him but the scared look on his face makes you falter. “You've lost him, didn't you?”

He doesn't answer you, and you watch his face grow paler. “What is he going to do? You’re immortal.” 

“But I am not all powerful, and there are beings out there more wicked than me.” He tells you fearfully, reaching out to hold you once more. 

Unrelated fic idea:

“Fuck, this feels amazing.” He groans and turns to you, “Can I use him every day?” He asks you cheekily and you grin as you hump against Beomgyu harder. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Look at him, he’s soaking my hand with precum.” 

You hear Beomgyu garbled moans around Soobin’s cock and you question him. “What’s wrong, baby? Is Binnie using his big cock right this time?” 

Beomgyu whines again and you laugh at him, but Soobin doesn’t find it so funny, not with his cock getting the full brunt of all of Beomgyu’s vocalizations. “Oh god, I’m close. Can I cum on his face?” 

You grin widely. “Of course, Binnie. I’m sure Gyu wants to help out his hyung any way he can. He’s so needy he’ll let you cover his pretty in cum because he knows that will earn him a reward. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Also you can send and ask for any of the characters and I’ll answer as the character

[chaotic-mystery]

Code Red | Chapter Eleven: I Only See Daylight

Pairing: No outbreak AU dbf!Joel Miller x f!OC (told in 2nd POV)

Summary: You're back in Texas after going on vacation with Joel and needless to say, shit hits the fan.

Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI. Enemies to lovers, dads best friend Joel, age gap (readers in her twenties and Joel is in his forties), slow burn, written in 2nd POV, no use of y/n, broken father/daughter relationship, daddy issues, dd/lg relationship dynamic, serious conversations about kid(s), allusions to sex & taking photos during sex, swearing, mentions of drinking, reader smokes & sometimes Joel, A new song introduced to the universe!, hidden relationship, Joel wanting to fight your dad, the start of everything falling apart. Texts shared between reader & Joel.

Authors Note: Here we are. I know I haven't touched this story since May 14th and I'm not done with them quite yet. I plan to write ahead moving forward so I don't leave anyone on a cliffhanger. This is 100000% not beta'd (I didn't want to burden anybody) so the mistakes are all moi. There's little eggs hidden of when this was written and I hope you giggle when you catch them. Thank you if you're still reading their story, I don't plan on leaving again <3

|| wc: 4.8K || divider by @/anitalenia || previous chapter || series masterlist || main masterlist ||

It had been a few days since that night Sharon came by and woke you up at two in the morning, sticking her nose in your business about Joel. 

She was only worried about your dad finding out and how he would react, she said she didn’t tell your mom and nothing seemed different when you went over to her house to drive into town to shop, but it was eating away at you if she was actually putting on a show just like you had been. 

Sharon warned you to be safe and reminded you she was there if you needed anything but the way she was going about this worried you. She failed to mention how you should break it to  Sarah and you hadn’t even begun to think about how to have that conversation with her. Do you just…show up on the porch one day and tell her you’ve been seeing her dad for almost the past year?

 Scratch that, that’s a terrible idea. It was a conversation to be had with Joel and the last thing you wanted was to feel like you were replacing her as the number one woman in his life. All you ever dealt with as a kid was your dads girlfriends making it feel like a competition for who he loved the most and unfortunately you were never a first place winner. 

“Honey? Do you like this?” Your mom’s voice becomes clearer as you’re once again yanked from the seat inside your thoughts to the present time. 

The bright green hoodie she was holding up was so bright you damn near needed sunglasses just to lay eyes on it. Every muscle in your face fights to make a disgusted look but knowing your mom would be upset, you keep a straight face and quickly scan the metal racks surrounding you for a different option to counter it. Like a magnet, the pink hoodie with chunky writing on the back nearly jumps off the hanger and into your arms. 

“I think this one is a little more me, you think?” 

She nods her head and takes it from you, throwing it over her bent arm in front of her body. She told you to pick out something from the souvenir shop and she’d pay for it, also meaning to find something for Joel. What could he possibly want from here? He wasn’t really a hoodie kind of guy, especially not down in Texas when he was outside practically all the time. He had more than enough trucker hats to last him the rest of his life. 

“So tell me more about Joel, sweetheart, what’s his normal life like?” 

“Well, he’s my boss but that happened after we started dating. Umm, I mean he’s my neighbor which was also before we started dating, promise I didn’t move closer to him just because we’re together.”

Your mom nods with a small smile, her face relaxing as you soothe her mind in knowing she taught you well not to move so fast with someone you hardly know.

“He um, he’s got a kid..” you scratch your head and spin around to look at the clothes behind you, her eyes burning into the back of your skull. “..it’s really not that big of a deal, I don’t think. I haven’t really met her yet. I don’t want her to feel like I’m trying to replace her mom or take her dad from her.” The quiver in your voice surprises you both and your mom spins you back around, rubbing your arm caringly. 

You were terrified, truthfully. Telling Sarah about your relationship scared the shit out of you. Even thinking about Joel asking you to be responsible with Sarah scared the life from you. 

“Mommy, I’m so scared. What if she doesn’t like me and he breaks up with me? I mean, I wouldn’t want him to stay with me if she’s unhappy about it. I just…I love him.” Your voice was just above a whisper and the words felt as if they were slicing your throat on the way out. 

She says nothing as her lips pursed together into a frown and pulls you into her arms, hugging you tightly. Once more you felt like a little girl needing the comfort of your mother when things got tough. 

“You’ll be okay, I know it. Listen to me-” her hands grip your face to keep eye contact with you before she continues. “-you know better than anyone what that feels like and you’d do anything to protect that little girl, even if that means not seeing him anymore. You don’t have it in you to be that cruel. Just be yourself and she’ll see how happy you make him.”

Hearing testaments about your character always made you feel weird inside. It was never easy hearing how other people see you, especially when it’s positive. You look at her and she smiles assuringly before kissing the top of your forehead.

“Come on, let’s find something for Sarah.”

_

Holding onto the little beaded keychain in your hand, your mom pulls up to the quaint cabin you unfortunately had to say goodbye to tomorrow and she rubs your arm softly. 

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart. Just be honest with him about your feelings with this. It’s all valid.” 

You breathe in deeply and release the air out of your mouth, nodding at her. 

“I’ll be fine, I just need to go see him. I love you, I’ll stop by on the way to the airport.” 

You hated goodbyes. So it wasn’t saying goodbye to her, it was just telling her you’d see her later. You kiss her cheek and grab your bag of goodies from between your legs on the floor before getting out, standing out of the way so she could pull off. Jiggling the plastic bag in your hand nervously, you dig around in your purse until you feel the smooth carton of cigarettes and lighter clanking around inside.

The gray flint rubs against the pad of your thumb as you ignite the cigarette held between your lips, walking up to the small wooden porch to sit in the white rocking chair under the window. Too many thoughts about Sarah and all the ways she could react flood your thoughts again as you take a big drag to erase it all. Joel pushes the screen door open just enough to slip through and he nudges your knee gently. 

“Hungry? Made BLT sandwiches if you want one.” Joel presses a kiss to your cheek before taking the cigarette from between your fingers and taking a drag. 

“Tempting, maybe. I got you something from town, though!” You try to make it seem like you weren’t bothered by anything but he could read you like a goddamn book.

You were his favorite one.

His eyes fell to the bright blue shirt you were pulling out of the plastic bag, chuckling to himself before he even got to see the design. You finally get it out and flip it towards him so Joel could see what you picked out for him. 

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. This is awesome.” 

Joel’s fingers trace over the goofy design of the state drawn as an old fashioned cartoon with feet holding it up and bright yellow letters across the top. He stares at the piece of clothing for longer than normal, continuously rubbing over the painted letters. The thought of you buying it for him, spending the time to find something he would wear, it meant a lot to him and it was written all over his face. 

“Thank you, baby. I love it.”

Joel sets it in the chair next to you and places both hands on either side of your chair, leaning down until he’s eye level with you. 

“My pretty girl, what’re you thinkin’ about in here?” As he finishes saying his sentence he bumps his forehead into yours, resting them together comfortably. 

Joel turns his face to the side for a moment to take another drag of the shared cigarette and he blows the smoke quickly to return back in position. Your eyes close as you relax against his touch, the slight breeze rustling against the trees and drowning out the sound of your mind screaming at you. The dooming thoughts of Sarah knowing about this could wait, you were here with the man of your dreams, having the time of your life and it was the last night before you had to unfortunately return to Texas and go back to hiding something you were so proud of. 

“I just wish we could run away somewhere where we don't have to hide our relationship. Where I can walk into the grocery store with you and not worry about still holding your hand, wondering if someone who knows my dad is gonna turn the corner and see it. I just- I want to love you loudly like you deserve. You aren’t meant to be a secret.”

Joel’s right hand rests on your crossed leg, rubbing your calf to ease you. 

“I’ll give you everything you could ever want and more, I swear it. How much time do I have to give it to you, though?” 

“I’ve got enough time for you, Miller. Not too long though, I’m not a patient person, ya know.” 

The thought of waiting an eternity for Joel Miller didn’t sound so bad, at least not to you. 

Every now and then you would get this feeling in your stomach thinking about Joel and how much you really did care for him and love him. It wasn’t a feeling you could quite pinpoint. The depth of sadness would overcome you just at the idea of losing him, knowing one day his footsteps wouldn’t grace this earth anymore. It was always sitting in the back of your mind, poking at you to love whatever time you got with him, because one day there wasn’t going to be this. 

“I love you, you know that?” Joel asks and kisses your lips before you can answer. 

The kiss quickly turns passionate and he backs up with your lips still glued to his, your body carrying you with every step he takes into the house. Joel leads you to the bedroom and tosses you on the bed lovingly, admiring the way your beautiful eyes glowed in the golden ray of sunlight seeping through the flowy curtains. 

“Let’s enjoy our last night here, yeah?” 

You grab your camera from the pocket of your sundress and grin at Joel, the gears turning inside his mind as he catches on. 

“To our last night.” 

_

Running on a few hours of sleep and the coffee not doing its job in your body, you yawn again as your Uber pulls up to your moms house. This was the part you were dreading the most, seeing your mom torn up that you’re leaving again. 

“Cmon, Mom, I gotta get going!” The fake happy tone was so apparent but it was easier to keep her up in good spirits if you pretended to be okay. 

Your mom comes around the corner from the kitchen, her hand towel tossed over her shoulder as she always did when she was doing dishes. She wipes her hands dry and hugs you so tight it feels like your eyes are going to pop out. 

“I love you so much, mommy. I’ll call you when I get back to Texas and I’m home safe, I swear it.” Fuck, and just like that, the quiver in your voice makes you start to break and before you can collect yourself, tears slipping from your eyes.

“I love you more, my baby. Have a safe flight, okay? Who knows, maybe I’ll come see you for the holidays in a few months.” She laughs to keep herself from crying but it only goes so far before you can feel her body jolt with every sob. 

The tight grip of her arms around your neck makes you giggle between your tears and she squeezes you once more before letting you go, standing up straight to get a good look at you before letting you leave her again and go spread your wings back to your home. 

“Come on, you’ve got a plane to catch!” 

You take her hand in yours and walk to your Uber, Joel getting out immediately to give her a hug goodbye. As you circle around the back of the car to get inside, you can’t help but notice Joel and your mom having some sort of quiet conversation you weren’t privy to. Swallowing dryly and wanting so bad to know what they were talking about, you climbed into the backseat of the car to give them privacy. Though it bothered you enough to dig your fingernail into the side of your thumb, you knew deep down it wasn’t anything bad they were sharing back and forth. 

Joel opens the door before finishing his goodbye to your mom. 

“Bye, we’ll see you soon!” He grins and gets inside the car, buckling up before waving to her as your driver starts to pull off. There was no shot in hell you could look at her as you drove away, not if you wanted to get to the airport with minimal tears.

Joel intertwined his fingers in yours and kisses the top of your hand to console you, take your mind off the fact you just left your mom again. 

It felt different this time, leaving her house. When you first left almost a year ago, you were beside yourself and so confused about what to do with your life, thinking you’d be making the right choice to chase your dad for one last shot at something with him, anything.

But, here you were now, hand in hand with the asshole you didn’t mean to fall for, crying over the two weeks you spent with him and your mom, watching him get to know her and love her the way you do. 

“Here, take this.” Joel holds out his wired headphone and you place it in your right ear, waiting to hear the music start.

All of the anxiety, love, fearfulness, joy, everything starts to mix together as the lyrics come over the stringed instrument.

Woah, my love, my darling

I've hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Your tears well in your eyes until you can feel them about to fall, causing you to turn your head to look out the window, not wanting Joel to know you were crying. 

You had to give it to him though, playing the Righteous Brothers was such a Joel move and yet, you never saw it coming. 

Your heartbeat speeds up and it’s like you could feel the blood coursing your veins, the impending doom of not knowing how anything was going to be once you returned to Texas was going to send your body into overdrive. 

-

It was close to seven by the time you and Joel got back home, the streetlights glowing that familiar orange light at the beginning of your block as the sun started to go down behind the trees ahead of you. His hand rests comfortably on your thigh, rubbing slow circles into the fabric of your sweatpants as you two softly sing along to the radio playing a song from Queen, another fitting song for the moment. 

Under Pressure. 

As Joel’s pulling in front of your houses, the sheer panic of seeing your dads vehicle in Joel’s driveway sends your anxiety through the roof, your legs instantly unfolding from the passenger seat to sit straight up, trying to make it not look like what it was. 

“Did you know he was going to be here? What the fuck is he doing here?” 

“Uhhh, I don’t know why he’s here, baby. Just stay calm, okay? I got this.” Joel winks at you and turns the truck off, getting out to see what your dad wants. You sit there for a moment and contemplate sitting still until he leaves but who knows how long that would be. Swallowing harshly, you get out and stretch before you make your way to where your dad and Joel were standing at the end of the driveway. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Where’ve you been?” 

“Michigan, I went to go see mom” you say bluntly as you take your suitcases out of Joel’s truck in a bit of a rush, trying not to let Joel’s bags be seen. Your dad takes a puff of his cigarette and you can hear the snicker from him as a response to your business in Michigan. 

“And Joel came to get you? What did you bribe him with?” The dig at the both of you causes your brows to knit together in confusion at what he was trying to get at. 

“She didn’t bribe me with anything, asshat. She’s a good girl, she just couldn’t get a reliable friend to come get her, that’s all.” 

What your dad couldn’t see was Joel’s fist behind his back, opening and closing slowly to to calm himself down and not stick your dad right in his mouth for speaking about you that way. One day he would make him see you as a person and not some doormat he can walk all over, but it wasn’t going to happen today. Joel was too exhausted and worn out to be arrested.  

Your dad’s face changes when Joel sticks up for you and he clears his throat before flicking his cigarette butt into the street and tucking his beefy hands in his front pockets. 

“I know, I’m just messin’.”

“Well, um…thanks for coming to get me Joel. I appreciate it.” You hold out your hand for a handshake just to see if he takes the bait. The corner of his mouth turns up just enough for you to notice and falls back into place as he holds out his hand, shaking yours firmly. 

He takes one last glance at you before you take your bags and walk to your house, your face warm to the touch with the mixture of embarrassment and the need to walk right back up to him and kiss him the exact way you had been in public for the last two weeks. 

But you couldn’t. 

He wasn’t yours until he wanted to go public. 

Once you get inside and drop the bags off your shoulders to the floor, you tug your phone out of the pocket on your purse. 

8:11 PM [you]: I Miss you :( Come over when he’s gone?

8:24 PM [Joel]: I miss you too sweetheart. He just needs some tools, guess he’s setting up for a pool party tomorrow? Leave your bedroom lamp on if you want me to come by when he’s done. 

8:30 PM [you]: Oh? Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get an invite from him ;)

8:31 PM [you]: Aye aye, sir. 

You set your phone down on the counter before you drag the luggage bags upstairs to the dimly lit bedroom you’ve missed so dearly. The piles of clothes you left on the floor pad your footsteps as you try to find the lightswitch on the wall, lighting up the room to see just how disastrous you left it. 

It needed a good clean and it was on your agenda for tomorrow, for now you’re too tired to do anything besides rot on your couch and get caught up on Love Island, seeing how you missed the first couple of episodes while you were away. 

Rubbing the back of your neck while you scan the room, the sadness starts to settle in that you miss Joel. 

You were independent, sure, but being so close the past two weeks without having to hide with stolen glances and tender brushes of your hands behind the backs of everyone was really starting to get to you. 

Why did he have to be your dad’s best friend?

-

The TV drowned out your thoughts long enough to cause you to fall asleep on the living room sofa, attempting to wait for Joel to return. You reach down and grab your phone off the floor that had fallen a little while ago, opening it up to the text thread between you and Joel. 

8:30 PM [you]: Oh? Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get an invite ;)

9:02 PM [you]: Are you almost done? I wanna cuddle.

9:44 PM [you]: You’re missing a really good episode of Love Island. Remind me to get you a pair of overalls. 

The last message you sent was a half hour ago and still response. You get up and walk into your kitchen, peeking out the window that faced Joel’s house. The lights downstairs were on, that was the most you could see. No shadows, nothing. Wondering where they were, you put on your shoes and walk out to your car, clutching the throw blanket draped over your shoulders as if it were a cape.

You just came outside to grab something from your car, at least that was the story you were sticking with if you got busted by anyone. Opening the driver's side door and looking around, you see Joel’s garage door open and the two of them sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of the room, a few beer cans at Joel’s feet. So this is where he’s been the last two hours? 

You grab a tube of lip balm from the cup holder and close the door firmly, going back inside the house before you were spotted. With your back against the front door, you slide off your shoes and contemplate leaving the door unlocked for him. He didn’t have a key and you wanted him to spend the night, but he’d be more upset if you left it unlocked and fell asleep. 

Grabbing the deadbolt latch and locking the door, you sigh and walk back to the living room to pick up the mess you made. You fold the blanket back up and lay it across the back of the couch, grab your phone, and start making your way upstairs again. 

Sleep. You wanted to sleep. 

The glow from your lamp in the corner by the window illuminated just enough to let you see a clear path to your bed. Stopping to dig out your camera from your bag, you grab it and walk over to your bed. The wind blows in your window and causes the lace curtain to touch your leg, making you turn around to look outside once more before turning off the lamp and crawling into your bed. 

You turn on your camera and look through the last two weeks of your life and the creeping melancholia comes over you. Photos of Joel in the ice cream parlor, the two of you playing cards with your mom, little moments you’ll have forever. He hated being in photos when you first met him, now he couldn’t resist smiling as big as he could when your camera was out. 

It was a little past ten when you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand behind you. Too tired to answer it or to even move, you settle down into your bed further until you fall asleep.

10:21 PM [Joel]: I’m sorry sweetheart. Didn’t know he’d be over that long. Sweet dreams. Proud you locked the front door. Love you. 

The message was the second thing you woke up to this morning. The first thing was Joel on your front porch with a bag from the grocery store with breakfast ingredients inside. He kissed your cheek after making his way to the kitchen. Hours after he made you two breakfast, you got dressed for the day. 

“Forgot to tell you, I did get invited to your dads pool party. He said he’d text you about it.” 

Joel wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you against him gently while you adjust your necklace. His chin rests in the crook of your neck and looks at you through the mirror in front of you. 

“He won’t. I could just show up and crash the party though.” 

“It would make it so much better, I’ll tell you that right now, baby. We should probably go separately though. Best we lay low for a while.”

Lay low for a while. Right. 

Joel turns you around and cups your face. “Don’t give me that look, that’s not fair.” 

You stop pouting and groan loudly before putting your forehead on his chest. Joel kisses your head and stands you straight up, kissing your cheeks until you smile. You kiss his lips passionately and stand still as he starts to make his exit. 

“No pouting today. It’s a pout free day. Let’s get rollin’ baby. I love you, I’ll see you there okay?” 

Joel taps the door frame as you nod and he grins, walking downstairs and you don’t move until you hear the front door close. 

-

The music booms out of the speakers in your dads backyard and it overpowers your car radio as you pull into the driveway, parked right next to Joel’s truck. 

You walk in the front door and head to the kitchen where you hear voices echoing off the walls. A few of your dad’s colleagues stand there chatting away with small plates of finger food in their hands, colorful solo cups scattered along the countertop with various types of drinks. 

The kitchen looked amazing. You hadn’t seen it completed since Joel finished working on it. He was damn good at his job and you felt so proud of him, even if I was unfortunately at your dads house. 

“Look what the cat dragged in!” The hair on your arms raises at the annoying tone of Janet. 

“Kitchen looks nice, sure hope you paid him well” you snark back, a little cattier than you anticipated. 

She smiles sarcastically and walks towards the room behind you. Joel strolls in with your dad in tow, tugging on Joel’s white t-shirt as they laugh and you can barely make out what they’re talking about. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” Joel asks as he leans his hip against the counter and pours a drink for himself. 

You try to avoid looking him in the eyes as best as you can but you only last a few seconds. Right on cue Joel has that grin on his face, the one you only see when he’s with you. The one that holds back so many things he wishes to say. 

Janet walks back to the side of your dad like the good pet she prides herself to be, Joel standing next to you, not nearly as close as you’d like. 

“So, your dad tells me you went to Michigan? How’d you get so much time off already when you just started working?” Janet smirks and hides it with her cup, narrowing her eyes onto you. 

You ready up a loaded answer when Joel starts speaking before you. 

“I gave her the time off, no questions asked. I knew she missed her mom and felt she’d be more energized at work if she got some time from here. She does good work for me.” Dad and Janet couldn’t register his tone like you could. They were far too out of touch to see he was talking to them as if they were children. A subtle tone change was enough for you to notice his feelings on the question Janet had no business asking. 

“I stopped by your office the other day to give you the final check and Tommy said you were out of town?” 

Joel doesn’t shift his body once.

“Yeah, went to go get some wood out northeast.” His fake smile was enough to shut her up for now. It’s dancing too close for comfort and only she seems to notice the damning timelines. Your dad wasn’t putting the pieces fast enough like Janet was. 

“Can someone show me where the coolers are? I need a drink” you ask awkwardly, trying to remove yourself from this clusterfuck. 

Joel steps backwards and motions for you to go ahead in front of him. You set your bag down in the barstool right by the counter and walk outside trying to shake every bit of that conversation off of you. 

The lights were getting brighter as the sun continued to set, people mingling with you and Joel, talking about whatever. It was nice to hear other people’s life stories and how shitty their day-to-day life was. 

Janet comes out and makes a b-line towards you, your pink camera in her grubby hand. 

“You wanna explain this?” She asks in that smartass tone she always uses when she knows something you don’t. As she tosses the device to you, it lands screen faced up and on a photo of you and Joel on the beach your mom took. 

So much for laying low.

[prettynice8]

Kinkmas Day 10: Spanking

Jung Wooyoung x male reader

This guy

Stuff: Spanking DUH, possessive Wooyoung, bratty reader, brat taming? you two are friends, reader is an Ateez member, I think that's it.

TW: The reader is described as having a pretty fat ass, if you're insecure about your flat butt like I am, then maybe this story isn't for you. Some content maybe be difficult for bubble butt sensitive viewers.

Word Count: 1,064

You and Wooyoung are really good friends, closer than most other members in the group, and he secretly had a bit of a crush on you. You had a big one on him too, secretly teasing him by bending over or touching him a little too long. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you loved every moment of his flushed or sometimes even frustrated expression whenever you teased him.

Currently, you two are in dance practice with the rest of the members, practicing for the upcoming concert tour. As the lineup goes for this dance, you are practically right in front of Wooyoung for the song the whole time, so you had quite the idea. A terrible, horrible, very bad, brilliant idea.

Your shorts are always incredibly short, the target of many complaints from Wooyoung since it messes up his dancing, almost always giving him a hard on. So, with this particular number, you decided to turn the slut notch up to 11, bending over, sticking your ass out, and arching your back as much as you possibly can.

Wooyoung grows more and more sexually frustrated as the practice session goes on, the bulge in his pants becoming harder and harder to hide from his fellow members, and it's all your fault.

It's so fucking hard for him to see your plump ass and not just squeeze it, run his face through it, fuck it, dear god anything. He wants to grope it so bad but that would make the friendship a little awkward, just a little bit.

But FUCK, seeing that wonderful bubble butt jiggle in front of him during every practice and not being able to do anything with it is complete torture, and he knows damn well that you're doing this shit intentionally, you fucking bitch.

Once practice FINALLY ends, you walk over to Hongjoong, who gives you a light spank on the ass.

"Good job today Y/n, though your dancing was a little too..." He pauses, trying to find the right way to put it. "Too sexy."

"Thank you!" You expressed graciously, not exactly taking his backhanded advice like he wanted.

"Don't you think it's a bit... much." He said kindly, trying to phrase it in the best way he can. Suddenly, Wooyoung walks over to interrupt the conversation.

"Far too much, it's really difficult to dance with his ass in my face." He confessed angrily to Hongjoong, raising his voice a little due to the sexual frustration you're giving him.

Then, Mingi walks over and gives you a light spank on the ass, making it slightly jiggle.

"Good job today." He told you with a gentle smile, but that light spank was Wooyoung's thirteenth reason, so he's about to do something about your slutty attitude.

Without another word, Wooyoung grips your arm and takes you away from everyone else, dragging you to who knows where, gripping tightly enough to leave a bruise. He walks quickly as you stumble behind him, trying to hold back the massive smirk your face desperately wants to make. He soon reaches his intended destination, the recording studio, where no one can hear how loud you scream. In a sex way not a murder way.

He quickly sits down and throws you on to his lap, taking your shorts and underwear off and throwing them to the other side of the room, you won't need them for a while. He does all of this within a blink of an eye, both disorienting and turning you on.

"You're fucking leaking, I bet you just loved showing me this perfect ass! Flaunting it in my face, fucking tease!" He nearly yelled at you, gripping your cheeks tightly, almost hard enough to bruise, finally being able to get his hands on the one thing he's wanted for months now. His tight grip makes you both whimper in pain but also shriek in ecstasy, the duality of men. His grip on your plump cheeks only tightens, making your shrieks only louder.

"No one's going to help you, fucking slut! I have you all to myself." He started loudly. Wooyoung finally spanks your bubble butt, watching as the plump flesh jiggles from his hard slap. "Fucking finally, that's so fucking hot."

But one slap isn't near enough for him, not after all you've put him through, so he goes to mother fucking town. He slaps your ass HARD, over and over again until both of your poor cheeks are a bright shade of red. He spanks one, then the other, waiting to watch them jiggle and once that stops, he does it all over again.

"Sorry okay! That really hurts!" You whined, but secretly you adored how mad you've made him with your constant teasing, loving the way his hand felt as it smacked your now hot burning flesh.

"You like this don't you? You like how I'm punishing you for weeks of being a total slut!" He yelled angrily, delivering a particularly harsh slap, making you screech in pain and pleasure.

You respond to him with a simple yet effective cheeky shrug, this REALLY pisses Wooyoung off, which you can tell from how he gives your cheek the harshest slap yet, causing the loudest pitch you've reached in your entire life; Hongjoong would be proud of such a note. At this point, neither of you can tell what's louder, his spanks or your moans.

Wooyoung then goes back to continuously spanking you, slapping your cheeks over and over at an excruciating pace, projecting weeks of sexual frustration into your poor ass, making it terribly sore. It hurts like a fucking bitch, but you kind of love it. Your shrieks of pain turn into pitchy moans of pleasure at the sensation of his hand slapping your ass with such force and ferocity.

Once Wooyoung has let out all his sexual frustrations on your perfect ass, he gently rubs the tender and sensitive flesh, gently kissing your cheeks, a complete contrast to his previous aggressive behavior.

"Now you know what will happen if you pull that shit again." He warned, giving you ass one more hard slap, making you shriek in the recording room.

"Good to know, now I know what to do if I ever want to get spanked or..." You let on, giving him a wink, which earns you a final harsh slap on your ass.

THE END

[vettelsvee]

YOU WROTE A SONG ABOUT ME? | Oscar Piastri

f1 one shots masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

oscar piastri x singer!reader

requested by anon: x singer!reader, maybe Oscar and his family going to her show and she sings a song about him

word count: 2402

warnings: none of them! use of y/n and y/l/n

posible part 2 if you like it and ask for it!

you can send your one shots requests here!

Oscar was nervous. Very, in fact.

It wasn't the first time he attended a concert of Y/N, his girlfriend, but every time he did he ended up getting more nervous than he should.

Perhaps the fact that today was his twenty-third birthday and he hadn't received any kind of congratulations from her had a lot to do with it.

The Australian took a deep breath and continued on, trying to catch up with his sisters and parents as quickly as possible, who had barely noticed that the boy had fallen behind, immersed in his thoughts.

Nicole quickly turned around, going to where her son was as calmly as she could, and above all making sure not to do or say anything she would regret, especially not something that would ruin the surprise her daughter-in-law had been keeping so well.

"What's wrong, honey?"

Oscar slightly startled as he felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, even letting out a small scream that startled the woman.

"Yes, of course!" the boy hurried to say, trying to calm down. "Just... I'm a little nervous, but that's all, really."

Despite the Australian's efforts to sound as calm as possible, it was in vain. Nicole could see his anxiety in his gaze and, above all, in his gestures. His hands were barely still, and every time she tried to walk beside him, he ended up putting a little more distance between them.

"I'm your mother, Oscar, you know I can catch any lie like I've done so many times before. Why are you so nervous?"

He sighed. He didn't want to share his concern, especially when they were heading to see the main reason of it.

"Well..." he tried to find the right words, finding it quite difficult. "It's just that I haven't received any message from Y/N today. Today, of all days, you know? On my birthday."

"Oh, what a shame..." the woman replied, feigning surprise. "She must have forgotten or had some problem. Have you talked to her?"

Was she really asking him that? He just told her he hadn't received any message from the brunette...

"Yes, but she hasn't replied."

"Don't worry! I'm sure there's a reason for it," assured the Piastri matriarch. "Don't let this ruin your day. If that girl doesn't call you as soon as it strikes twelve, I promise she'll have to deal with me."

"Mom..."

"No mom, Oscar," she scolded him in an ironic tone, making him laugh. "Now try to enjoy her concert and have a good time with us, okay?"

The brown-haired young man nodded, grateful for his mother's support, and continued on his way to the Rod Laver Arena, now a bit happier than before.

After passing through security checks and receiving the VIP accreditations reserved for the Piastri family, and the occasional stops for the pilot to take some photos and sign autographs with fans who recognized him, which were quite a few, they made their way to their reserved spot, located in the lower side stands just a few meters from the main stage.

"Wow, I didn't know you were so famous to have so many people following you," joked his father, making his sisters laugh.

"You should take a break!" shouted his mother, hugging him and making his cheeks turn red. "You're at your girlfriend's concert, not at one of your stupid races."

"They're the ones who make me who I am, Mom. Besides, I'm a public figure," added the brown-eyed one. "I can't ignore them and act like nothing, you know? It's not that easy."

Oscar said that, but he still felt uneasy. As he looked at his family, already occupying their seats as there was still about half an hour before the concert started, the need to see his girlfriend or at least hear some news about her was taking over him more and more.

"Mom, I'm going to see if I can find out anything about Y/N," he said impulsively, interrupting himself with his own words. "I'll be right back."

Nicole looked at him with surprise, telling him no, to wait there, and they would see what to do after the concert. But the young man had already gained some momentum and was navigating through everyone in his way around the stands, seats, stairs, and multiple corridors until he reached the place where, supposedly, his girl was.

Once he reached the supposed dressing room, a perfectly uniformed black security guard, with a completely serious expression and crossed arms, stood in front of the door.

"Um... I'm Oscar," he greeted with a wave, trying to curve his lips without trembling. "I'm Y/N’s boyfriend," he timidly pointed to the door behind him with his hand. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Piastri, but Y/N has agreed that there are no visitors before the concert today," the man responded firmly, still looking at Oscar seriously and shaking his head.

"It's just a moment. I want to wish her good luck before she goes on stage," he insisted, hoping the guard might make an exception.

"I'm sorry, sir. Rules are rules, and if the young lady said no, then it's no. I can't make any exceptions, even for you."

The Australian thanked the unfriendly man with a slight nod and, feeling defeated, made his way back to where his family was. As soon as he arrived, he had his sisters pestering him:

"Did you see Y/N? Did she say anything to you? Did she leave you wanting something, and that's why you look so depressed now?"

The eldest sister's insistence was making him feel even worse than he already did; having the other two join in the sudden conversation with curious faces and even more unsettling questions made him want to leave the place.

The young man simply remained silent. He sat in his seat and kept his gaze fixed on the stage, waiting for the lights to go out and the concert to begin.

It was a matter of the singer stepping onto the stage for the crowd to rise to their feet, applauding and chanting her name, shouting compliments and praises of all kinds.

"Good evening, Melbourne!" exclaimed Y/N, who was on a platform that had risen from the bottom of the stage. "I hope you all have a great time with me tonight because I assure you that today will be full of surprises!"

Nicole Piastri got up from her seat, as did the rest of the family, and told Oscar to do the same. He refused, remaining seated with his arms crossed, but unable to stop a smile from appearing on his lips.

He might be upset with his girlfriend's behavior for who knows what reason, but it was impossible for him not to look away from her while she danced, sang, and interacted with the audience.

It was too difficult for him not to feel proud of her and everything she had achieved.

The show continued as Oscar knew it would, having memorized it from the numerous times he had not only attended various concerts of his girlfriend's tour around the world but also from the countless rehearsals he had accompanied her to.

However, Piastri did not expect that suddenly the lights would go out and an orange glow would begin to emerge everywhere, especially illuminating the stage.

Y/N appeared again, now wearing an orange bodysuit with perfectly placed blue tones that accentuated her figure.

"Do you know what day’s today?" asked the brunette, looking with wide eyes at the audience.

"April 6th!"

She nodded, a playful smile forming on her lips more and more as she was about to reveal, and trying not to turn her head towards where her boyfriend was, whom she had deliberately avoided all day and who, possibly, would tell her to screw off after all the ghosting she had done to him on his birthday.

"And, by any chance... do you know what happens today?"

There were a variety of responses. A large part of them answered that it was Oscar's birthday, her partner's. Others were somewhat wild, as if she was about to reveal that the couple was expecting a baby, or that the young woman was going to announce her retirement from the stage after her very short musical career.

"No, it's none of that," the Australian ended up saying. "I am pleased to announce that today, here, right now, I am going to debut my new single, 'Throttle Hearts'!"

The stadium erupted in cheers and applause once again. No one, not even Oscar, expected this revelation from the girl, so it was completely normal for people to ask her to sing the song already.

Y/N, however, asked them for a moment with her hand.

Quickly, she ran to her cell phone and, secluded in a small corner of the stage, tried to make sure that the camera recording to broadcast her image on the large screens captured nothing.

At that very moment, Oscar's phone vibrated in his pocket with a notification from the same girl who was on stage:

"Happy birthday, my love! I'm so sorry for ghosting you all day, but I hope it was worth it. If you understand any references in the song, it's normal bc it's based on our story. I hope this is the best gift you can receive, at least for now, in your life. I can't wait to get off stage and give you the biggest hug in the world <3"

And there was Y/N, making eye contact with him, having a minimal interaction with her boyfriend for the first time all day. The girl had her arm raised, waving enthusiastically and making heart gestures with both hands that ended sooner than expected as she went to the piano to play the first chords of the song.

Oscar found himself trying to hide some tears, which were forming in his eyes not only as Y/N’s voice adjusted to the melody but throughout the rest of the concert.

The only thing the boy could reply to that message was whether she had really written a song about him, receiving as a response during a break between songs a large number of heart shaped emojis.

When the show came to an end and the singer disappeared beneath the stage, the Piastri family quickly grabbed their belongings to leave the venue and go to where the boy's girlfriend was. The same security guard who had previously denied him access to see the singer to the Formula 1 driver was now standing next to them, telling them to follow him.

Obviously, they didn't hesitate to say yes and followed his steps to the young woman's dressing room, who allowed her boyfriend's family to enter, welcoming them with a radiant smile and hugs that had been delayed all day.

The only thing the young couple did as words were exchanged was to look at each other, shy to show their love in front of others, as it had always been with them.

"I think we should leave the lovebirds alone for a while," Nicole began as she headed towards the exit of the room. "Don't take too long, the reservation for dinner at Oscar's favorite restaurant is at ten fifteen, and you know we take quite a while to get there."

Both of them thanked her shyly, unsure of what to do or say beyond being unable to stop smiling.

When they were alone, facing each other, they didn't know what they should say to each other. Oscar Piastri didn't know if he should reproach his girlfriend for not speaking to him all day despite preparing a surprise for him. Y/N Y/L/N was aware that perhaps she should apologize for not having done things quite right and for keeping the brown-haired boy on edge by maintaining some sort of no-contact for the past 24 hours.

Finally, it was the McLaren driver who broke the not-so-uncomfortable silence:

"Y/N, that song..." He was at a loss for words. He didn't know what else to say other than that he had loved it.

The girl smiled shyly, grateful not only that he had liked the composition she had kept to herself for the past seven months, but also for seeming to have understood.

"I've been wanting to sing it to you for a long time, but I didn't know if you’d like it," the young woman admitted. "It has had a couple of important modifications since the first draft, and since the record label wasn't cooperating much when I wanted to release it initially, I thought it would be a good birthday gift for you," she explained. "Hey, and I'm sorry if this whole game of ignoring you all day has offended you. I feel really bad, and the last thing I want is..."

"Shut up, silly!" Oscar interrupted her, approaching her to wrap her in his arm and give her a tender kiss on the forehead. "At first, I thought you wanted to break up with me, but then seeing how my mom was acting, that gorilla you have as a bodyguard denying me access, and above all you ignoring me all day..."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and I'm absolutely in love with you, Oscar Piastri," Y/N declared, mock-offended. "Do you really think I would ignore you all day?"

"Not a chance. I know there's a good intention behind everything you do," agreed the Australian, earning himself a hug and a kiss on the lips from his girlfriend. "Did you know that I'm also good at keeping secrets?"

"Oh, really? And are you absolutely in love with me like I am with you, Piastri?"

Oscar grinned mischievously, an idea starting to appear in his mind like a flash that was making more and more sense.

Obviously, the driver was a tad resentful, and the girl wasn't going to get away with it no matter how good the intention was behind Throttle Hearts and its surprise presentation.

Now, Oscar had to prepare a surprise for the girl's twenty-second birthday that would match, or even surpass, the one she had prepared for him.

"I don't know," he shrugged, laughing more and more emphatically and perhaps frustrating his girlfriend, "I guess now you'll have to wait for your birthday to find out."

[mrsmikaelsxn]

Safeword

masterlist

pairing: harry potter x female reader

warnings: smut, use of safeword, dom harry, rough sex, a sprinkle of jealousy, maybe possessiveness idk

summary: harry gets a little too rough and you have to use the safeword, harry feels super worried and guilty and gives you sweet aftercare - requested by @pklmngvb

a/n: IMPORTANT - i don't think i have mentioned this in my other oneshots but in all the oneshots with smut, the characters are aged up! the reader and character are above eighteen! anyway, thanks for the request, i hope you enjoy :)

song: you get me so high - the neighbourhood

You were straddled on Harry's lap as he kisses you roughly. He grips your waist and pulls you closer to him, if that was even possible. His tongue explores your mouth for what feels like the millionth time. Your hands play with his hair since you know he enjoys that.

Harry was angry today since no one believed him when he said the ministry was hiding things from everyone. He even saw a newspaper Ron showed him where he is called 'The Boy Who Lies'.

You two got to where you are now when he saw some guy trying to hit on you, although you were completely oblivious to this and just thought he was being nice. That was when he snapped.

Harry breaks the kiss and flips you both over, your clothes are already thrown on the floor and so are his. He brings his mouth back to yours before pulling back so his lips were brushing against yours. "Mm, who do you belong to, love?"

He trails his hand down your stomach and as you go to speak, he presses his thumb onto your clit. You let out a moan and he raises an eyebrow. "Hm, I couldn't quite understand that. Who do you belong to?"

"Y-you," you say breathlessly as he rubs his thumb in slow circles.

"Good girl," he kisses you. His teeth softly bite your bottom lip and pull on it. You continue to let out moans against his mouth as increases the pressure of his finger on you

His mouth leaves yours and goes down your jaw to your neck. He sucks and licks at the skin. Your hands tug a bit harder on his hair at the pleasure. Your back arches up a bit but he puts his hand on your stomach and pushes it down. "Keep your back down," he ordered. He grins against your neck and his teeth graze your skin, causing you to shiver.

His lips leave your neck and he kneels down. He licks his lips seeing how wet you are. "Is this all for me, sweetheart?"

"Mhm, all- for you," your head presses back against the pillow as he glides his hand up your thigh.

He slides a finger through your folds and then sucks on it. His eyes roll a bit at the taste. He looks up at you with lust filled eyes and his gets back up. He flips you over so you are on your stomach.

He bent an arm to snake under your stomach, and pushed up. You are now on the bed on your knees with him behind you. His hands then went down to the inside of your thighs.

He places his hands on your knees and spreads them apart. You blush, feeling very exposed to him. You feel yourself growing wetter as his fingers go back to your slit. "Harry," you whimper.

"What is it, darling?"

"Please, I need you," you say.

Instead of replying he takes away his finger and places a hand on your hip. You jolt a bit when you feel the hot head of his cock against your entrance.

Without any warning, he slammed into you roughly. You let out a loud moan and drop your head. He tightly grips your hip and his head falls back as he groans.

He picks of his pace and you start to feel uncomfortable. You shake your head and try to suck up the bit of pain. He reaches down to you and grabs your hair with one hand, pushing your face onto the pillow, not too hard.

Harry somehow goes harder than before and you feel your eyes water at the growing pain in your stomach. You bite your lip hard and all you can do at the second is whimper, which isn't heard by Harry because of the moans emitting from him. “Merlin” he groans, clenching his eyes shut.

“H-harry," you say. "St-stop," you grip the sheets.

He is too deep in pleasure to hear you quiet pleas. You start to cry against the pillow and you remember the safe word Harry came up with.

"Q-quidditch!"

Harry's movements halt and he looks down at you. He sees tears coming from your eyes and he quickly pulls out of you, gently flipping you over so you are on your back.

"Love? Love, are you alright?" Harry starts to panic as he watches you cry. His heart breaks watching your pained expression.

"M-my stomach, it hurts," you hold your stomach with your arms trying to stop the pain that is now slowly going away.

"I-I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't mean to. I-I was just-" Harry rambles on.

You shake your head and he frowns. "It's okay Harry," you whisper.

"It's not okay, sweetheart. I hurt you, and I'm sorry." He brings his face towards yours and starts to pepper your face with the gentlest kisses, as if you were going to break under his lips. "I" kiss "love" kiss "you" kiss "so" kiss "much," he leaves one last gently kiss on your lips.

"I love you, too," you look at him and brush some hairs from his forehead.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Somewhat," you smile weakly at him. He goes and gets off the bed, heading towards the bathroom.

"I'll be right back, love. I'm just going to get you a warm bath ready," he tells you.

About two minutes later, he comes back and gently carries you to the bathtub. He softly places you into the tub and goes in, sitting behind you.

He starts to wash your body and hair as he whispers the sweetest words to you and continues to apologize while leaving light kisses on your shoulder.

After the bath is done, he carries you to the bed again and dries the both of you with a spell. He grabs a new pair of underwear that was in your drawer in his room, and grabs one of his shirts.

He helps you change into the clothes and he throws on some boxers and a shirt. Harry climbs into the bed where you were laying under the blanket. He goes under it too and wraps his arm around you to pull you into his chest.

He rubs a hand up and down your arm as your eyes flutter shut. "Goodnight, angel, I love you," he whispers against your hair and kisses your head.

"Night, Harry, I love you, too," you whisper back.

[queenoftheimps]

Artistic Expression as a Form of Love: aka Some Meta About Interview with the Vampire

hey guess who spent all of today putting off a really boring work task

So I'm just suddenly just having a lot of feelings about how love is tied to creation in Interview with the Vampire.

Specifically, each character's artistic impulses and what they say about their relationships, and how they use their creative output as a sort of love language.

From the very first episode, we see hints of this. Miss Lilly asks about Lestat's music box, which plays a song he wrote for Nicholas once upon a time, evidence of his love for someone who's been dead for over a century.

He later writes his own song for Louis, 'Come to Me', and Claudia makes the connection explicit while deliberately poking at him -- he wrote a song for each of his true loves, but does one signal love more strongly than the other?

She's being facetious to prod at him, but the show seems to genuinely make the point that we can track each characters' relationships through the art we see them create.

After all, we see it with Claudia herself later -- even before there's any discussion of becoming companions, we can feel Madeleine's compatibility with Claudia in the way she makes dresses for her.

Madeleine dresses Claudia as the grown woman she wants to be seen as, as she really is, even before she fully understands the circumstances of Claudia's age. It's telling that in Madeleine's dying vision, the one that convinces Louis of her love for Claudia, that Claudia is wearing a dress that Madeleine made for her.

By contrast, we see how Claudia is incompatible with the coven in the role that they have quite literally written for her. If Madeleine shows her love by treating Claudia as an adult, the coven shows their lack of caring by creating artwork where Claudia is forced into playing a part that diminishes her.

In turn, we can see Claudia's enthusiasm for the coven tied into her willingness to perform -- she starts off trying to smile her way through the situation, before quickly growing tired of the performance (and, relatedly, the coven itself).

But then again, how does the coven show its real loyalties? Well, with a painting.

We don't know who painted Lestat (Armand, possibly?), but having artwork of him in a place of prominence is pretty telling. But then again, the theater's creation is itself a reflection of art as a signifier of love & bonding -- Lestat suggests a theater to a lonely Armand as a way to regain a family/coven structure, after the last one fell apart.

Which makes particular sense for Armand, the character who most explicitly equates artistic expression with love and understanding. We see him underline it in his own telling of his backstory -- "No one has painted me in over 400 years." He associates painting with being seen and cared for by his maker --

-- and yet we, the audience, can plainly see what a warped, toxic relationship it was from the painting itself : a whitewashed version of Armand's face that doesn't truly look like him.

Hell, we even see Armand's betrayal of Louis in the form of creative expression -- to quote Daniel, "He directed the play!"

His treason isn't just that he sold Louis & Claudia out, it's that he participated in a creation that would condemn them. Artistic expression shows us love and loyalty in this world, yes, but it can also be used as a tool of abuse or betrayal.

Which brings us to Louis, he who has the eye for art but maybe not the skill for it, who never said 'I love you' to Lestat and wouldn't call Armand his companion, who ultimately gives up on creation in favor of becoming a collector.

It's especially interesting that his abandonment of photography is also explicitly tied to the end of his visions of Dreamstat. Even the one photo he takes that garners praise is one he tries taking of Armand & Dreamstat at the same time -- as if the closest he can get to expressing love through creation is something that blurs the lines between both men he has complicated feelings for. (Note that the scene where he develops the photo is directly after the "Show me the only way you know how to love" sequence of Louis bashing some guy's head into a wall.)

Hell, if we want to take it even further, we can even see some of this pretense in the inclusion of the Fred Stein photos (assuming Armand actually did sneak them in). On one level, we can see it as Armand trying to build up Louis' happiness, but on the other, it's him trying to build up the image of their romance.

After all, if artistic creation is a sign of love -- especially to Armand! -- what does it mean if Louis is openly disparaging his own abilities to make anything at all?

Taking it further, what does it say that he and Armand have a collection of photos of various boys over the years and expensive artwork hanging on every wall, but Louis doesn't seem to have taken any pictures of Armand in almost eighty years?

And hey, speaking of fascinating boys: what does it mean when Louis hasn't made anything creative of Armand since the 1940s, but he has no problem writing a book for ten hours with some guy he picked up at the bar?

Hell, writing a book where Louis spends ten hours talking about his life and hasn't even gotten up to the part with Armand yet? The supposed love of his life doesn't even garner a mention, to the point where Daniel didn't even know he existed when he arrives fifty years later.

And what does it mean when that book you never wrote is a giant hanging thread in your life, enough to create a connection strong enough that you remember that guy fifty years later and go back to that writing it? Even over the objections of the love of your life?

Especially when find out that Daniel's entire writing career is sparked in part by inspirational words given to him by Louis -- a sign of their bond withstanding the test of time, enough to make them friends after a fifty year absence.

That said, if we're working with the idea of artistic expression as proof of connection -- especially when it comes to Armand -- then it also makes perfect sense why Armand would insert himself into the interview once he's been revealed.

Then it's no longer about Louis & Daniel, or Louis & Lestat, it's about Louis & Armand and artistic proof of their connection! They're both now creating a story, a book that will include their entire romance! It's the first time that Armand has had the possibility of being an artistic subject in decades, so no wonder he's quick to latch onto it.

Even then, though: I think it's interesting that when Armand is talking to Daniel alone, the first story he thinks to tell him about is his relationship with Lestat. Make of that what you will.

(Also, I've said this before, but I am very curious what Armand's feelings towards Daniel will be after having an entire book written in which he plays a starring role.)

I think that this is all very rich with subtext and possible further progression, especially since we are about to enter a season where a new book is being written by Daniel and there's going to be an entire tour's worth of music being performed, all of it ripe with potential for further relationship nuance.

And while I don't want to wander too far into book spoiler territory, I think this might even neatly factor into a potential Season 4 -- especially since book fans will know that a specific musical performance is the catalyst for a lot of what happens in The Queen of the Damned.