#it knows who it is and what it wants. it's grown into itself a lot at this point.

[pineconepie]

This is all so amazing but I have to have some more of Vincent talking care of us especially what happens with his mob and stuff like if he’s out how much defense does he know on you and if so how many of them are around our finger by our 2 meeting?

This isn't exactly what was requested, but I still like the way it turned out :3

TW: Mentions of violence, parental/platonic yandere, infantilization

...

You hold Vincent's hand as he steps out the limousine, gently tugging you along with him.

When he mentioned bringing you to his office and workplace, you had no clue what to expect. So far, most of what you've seen matches the theme of Cryo and their various properties and establishments - mostly sleek black and white, with hints of blues and grays thrown in here and there.

You look up at the building nervously, but he doesn't seem too worried about it at all.

In fact, he looks rather excited for this visit. "You'll love it! We have lots of nice stuff here," he reassures you. "I'll hire a babysitter for you soon, but for now I want you to stay with Dad some more before we separate too much."

Babysitter, huh? Well, it makes sense given how protective and controlling Vincent acts around you. Not that you'd complain too much, you're well fed and generally content, besides the occasional panic session.

He smiles widely, putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you into the lobby area.

The walls are painted a light cream color, the floors tiled grey.

There aren't any windows on this floor, just doors leading elsewhere inside.

There are several men and women walking around wearing suits and carrying briefcases or files. A few glance at you curiously as they pass by, but otherwise they keep focused on their tasks.

They all move aside quickly upon noticing Vincent approaching with you, however. None of them want to get in your way or risk upsetting the boss by holding up traffic.

That must mean these people really respect him, or fear him.

Probably a little bit of both.

Either way, it gives you chills thinking about what kind of person could command so much authority without even raising their voice once.

Then again... You suppose that's part of being in charge of a massive organization like Cryo. Anyone who steps out of line gets dealt with accordingly. No questions asked.

A woman approaches him briskly. "Good morning, Mr. Brewer," she greets politely, bowing her head slightly as she does. Her gaze flickers to you briefly before returning back to him. "How may I assist you today?"

"Just making sure my kiddo settles in nicely here." Vincent pats your head affectionately. "Come on, munchkin." He guides you down the hall.

Everyone stares at you openly now, curious about the newcomer. You try not to pay attention, focusing instead on Vincent and where he leads you. Eventually, you arrive in front of an office door marked 'Mr. Vincent Brewer.'

Inside is an enormous space filled with expensive furnishings and decorations.

Huge bookshelves line one wall; another contains a large fireplace surrounded by comfy armchairs. The ceiling itself seems to stretch upwards forever, ending somewhere far above your head.

On the opposite side of the room sits a desk piled high with papers and other items that look like they belong to important meetings. A huge map covers most of the surface. Behind it stands a window overlooking the city below.

"I made sure the mini fridge is stocked full of juice boxes and snacks," he tells you, gesturing to the corner of the room. "Only the best for my baby."

You blush and rub your arm. "I-I'm not a baby..."

He smiles at you sweetly, booping your nose. "Aw, yes you are, sweetie. But its okay! You don't have to worry about anything anymore." He then scoops you up in his arms and rocks you back and forth, making you giggle. "See? You try to act all tough and grown-up sometimes, but deep down you just wanna be babied, right?"

"...shut up," you mutter into the fabric of his shirt.

He hums softly and continues to sway you back and forth for a few moments longer before finally setting you down again. Then he takes your hand and leads you towards the couch near the fireplace.

"Here's some blocks and crayons and stuff." He sets a box of toys on top of the coffee table, along with a coloring book. "I have lots of important paperwork to do, so play quietly and let Dad focus on work, okay?"

You nod obediently, already reaching for the box.

Your fingers brush against plastic bricks and cardboard books before pulling away again, grabbing hold of some colored pencils instead. You start drawing random lines and shapes onto blank sheets of paper, enjoying yourself more than you'd like to admit.

Meanwhile, Vincent sits down behind his desk and begins sorting through various documents, scribbling things down whenever he needs to jot something down.

Every now and then he glances over at you, smiling warmly each time.

When you finish scribbling aimlessly across the page, you glance up to see what else you could do. The idea of sitting still for hours while listening to Vincent shuffle through papers is boring beyond belief.

You wonder how much you could annoy him if you truly acted the child he's so keen to treat you like.

You crawl into his lap, giggling when he jolts in surprise, looking down at you.

"What are you doing, cutie pie?" Vincent asks. He wraps one arm around you protectively. His grip tightens slightly as he leans forward to get a better view of your drawings. "Drawing pretty pictures for Dad, hm?"

"Yep!" you chirp, smiling brightly up at him. "Wanna see?"

His expression softens further as he nods. "Yeah, sure! Come on, up ya go." He lifts you higher onto his chest so he can see everything clearly. Then he examines your artwork closely for several seconds. Afterward, he gives you an approving nod. "My baby is so talented! That's beautiful. Didn't know I was in the same room as an artistic prodigy!"

Your face heats up at the compliment, feeling embarrassed yet oddly pleased at the same time. "T-thank you..."

He ruffles your hair affectionately and sets you back down again. "Why don't you draw some more? Maybe make Dad a picture too?"

You were hoping he'd be annoyed with you, but he looks more happy than anything, even with how busy he must be right now.

Oh well.

Maybe next time.

You continue to doodle idly for a while longer. You find yourself wanting to push the envelope with Vincent's patience, see how much he'll allow before it becomes too much.

But then he stands, adjusting his tie. "I got a quick meeting to attend," he says, offering you a sad smile. "Wait here. I'll come check on you and bring you lunch after."

Disappointed, you nod, frowning as he pats your head and walks towards the exit.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click. Only then do you slump against the cushions of the chair you sat upon earlier. Now what will you do?

You return to your doodles, deciding that this is probably the best way to pass time while waiting for him to return.

Once you get bored with those, you wander around the office. You poke around his desk drawers, finding nothing interesting there besides the usual stuff like pens and pencils.

You sift through folders of documents, but its hard to understand any of it, since there's loads of big words you don't know and lots of numbers involved. You end up staring blankly at pages full of graphs showing lines going upwards and downwards, wondering how anyone could ever read such boring stuff without falling asleep halfway through.

When that gets boring, you go to the door, turning the knob, expecting him to have locked it behind him.

However, much to your surprise, it opens easily.

So either he trusts you won't run off while unsupervised, or he simply forgot to lock it due to distraction.

Whatever the case may be, it means you have access to explore the building freely...

With excitement bubbling in your stomach, you quickly step out of the room and shut the door carefully so it doesn't make a noise.

Oddly enough, you don't want to try escaping, even if the chances were in your favor.

You take the elevator up a few floors and look out the window.

The view up here... It really is breathtaking. From where you stand, you can see miles and miles away, watching the sky shift colors as clouds drift overhead.

"Oh, poor thing. Are you lost?" a gentle voice coos.

You turn to see a man who looks slightly younger than Vincent, with long dark hair and grey eyes. He wears a suit, but he has several bandages wrapped around his hands.

"N-no! I'm just..." You pause, unsure what excuse to use. "...I was exploring."

He frowns. "Is that so? I'm Trenton. What's your name, little one?" He kneels down, even though he isn't much taller than yourself.

Why is everyone so insistent on treating you as a child?! But you can't deny, it does make you feel smaller. "...(Y/n)."

Trenton blinks for a moment. "Ohh, you're Vincent's child! Oh, wow. I can tell why he dotes on you, you're adorable. What on earth are you doing here? It's dangerous and I know for a fact Vinnie wouldn't allow it."

Another group of people come over, before you get the chance to even reply.

"Woah! Why's a kid here?" a man with short messy hair asks.

"That's Boss's kid," a woman in a pinstripe suit remarks. "We shouldn't mess with them. He won't take kindly to us interactin' with them."

Suddenly, you feel tiny amongst these tall adults surrounding you.

Trenton notices your anxious expression. "That's just Quinn, don't mind her. Oh, and this is Phoenix."

"Heya, squirt," Phoenix greets. He ruffles your hair. "We should probably get them back to Mama Bear's office before he notices. I'd rather not have all my limbs broken today."

"Mama Bear?" you ask in confusion, tilting your head.

"The Boss," Quinn replies shortly. "Our new little code name for him."

"Because of youuu," Phoenix croons, pinching your cheeks. "Boss treats you like his baby cub. I think it's cute, personally."

"Okay, leave (Y/n) alone," Trenton scolds. "Come on, I'll lead you back downstairs." He holds out his uninjured hand for yours, which you accept. Not like you have much of a choice.

"I can come with you guys!" Phoenix exclaims. "And so can Quinn, right?"

The woman sighs. "Well, it beats working."

As the four of you begin descending the stairs, you look at Trenton's bandaged hands. "What happened?" You don't even realize its rude until you say it out loud. "I'm sorry if that was personal..."

He chuckles. "Aw, it's okay. It's fine." He stretches them out, examining the wounds beneath his cloth wrappings. "Just some... accidents in the workplace." He smiles faintly.

Phoenix elbows him roughly in the ribs. "You didn't tell em the best part! About the fork!"

"I don't want to traumatize the poor thing!" Trenton exclaims. "You know Vincent would kill me."

Quinn smirks. "The story behind it was pretty funny. Some bastard thought he could break in and steal some documents, but good ol' Trent here managed to take him out with a single fork. Very gory, very bloody. I sat and watched the entire thing. The best part? It was a Hello Kitty-themed fork."

Trenton glares. "It was actually Keroppi. Get your Sanrio characters straight next time."

She rolls her eyes dramatically.

You frown. "T-that's awful... is the intruder okay?"

Phoenix laughs loudly. "Pft— Hell nah! Boss had us kill the dude. None of us really like killing, but it comes with the job."

"I like it," Quinn shrugs, earning another glare from Trenton. "What?! Don't get a job here if you're squeamish about killing."

Trenton sighs, then notices your terrified expression. "I know that's probably scary... but we only kill the people who deserve it." He offers a small smile. "Don't worry, sweetie. We won't hurt you." He narrows his eyes at both Phoenix and Quinn. "Now please, they've already been traumatized enough. Let's talk about happier things, shall we?"

They hear yelling as they get closer to the hall you remember Vincent's office being.

"Someone had to see them! Are you all stupid?! They're so small, there's no way they got far! Fuck! Check the cameras!" Vincent bellows. "If they aren't found in the next ten fucking minutes, you're all dead!"

"Ohhh, someone messed up big time," Phoenix says under his breath, glancing over at you. "Lemme guess - you left while he went somewhere?"

You swallow nervously and nod.

"(Y/n)! Baby, where are you?! Please don't do this to me!" Vincent cries from afar. His tone went from livid to desperate in the span of just a few seconds. "Please, angel, if you can hear me, come back! Where are you?!"

Trenton grimaces. "This is the most upset I've seen him since... ever." He glances at Quinn and Phoenix. "I think you guys should leave if you don't want to face his wrath."

"Good plan. Seeya, squirt." Phoenix gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Bye, Trenton. Good luck."

When you finally reach Vincent, he's panting and pacing back and forth, gun in hand and eyes crazed. He looks genuinely terrifying right now.

"(Y/n)?!" He sprints over immediately, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, oh thank god. Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt anywhere?" He starts patting you down, searching every inch of skin for injury. "Where have you been? Do I need to kill someone?" He kisses your face all over, squeezing you impossibly tight in his embrace. "God, don't scare me like that!"

You glance at Trenton, silently pleading for help.

Trenton clears his throat. "Boss... I found them wandering around, they got lost. They were looking for you. Everything is okay."

Vincent stares at him, still clutching your trembling body tightly. "Is that so?" Then he returns his attention to you again. "Baby? Is that true?"

You hesitate, because that's far from true, but lying would probably spare you from his anger. "I got worried. You were gone forever." You bury your face in his shoulder, hoping he'll feel pity for you. "Please don't be mad at me... or Trenton."

Vincent sighs heavily. "Oh, pumpkin... It's alright." He kisses the top of your head lovingly. "Sorry I left for so long. I'll call my driver to pick us up early, then we can put this all past us." He leads you back into his office, passing Trenton a grateful smile. "Thanks, Trent. I'll buy you a new set of Keroppi silverware."

"...that would be appreciated."

...

"Boss's ride is here, where is he?" Phoenix tilts his head.

"In his office. I'll make sure he's okay," Trenton says.

Quinn and Phoenix follow. Trenton knocks gently and cracks open the door to check in on Vincent and his kiddo.

On the couch, you're sleeping soundly on his lap, a blanket draped across you and Vincent cradling you like you're the most precious thing in existence. Probably because to him, you are.

"Aww," Phoenix coos, leaning on the doorway. "Mama Bear and his cub!"

Vincent shoots them the middle finger, but they can all see the amusement barely hidden on his face. "Don't you three have somewhere to be? Get out before you all get demoted."

Trenton stifles a laugh. "Your ride is here, Boss."

"Hmm." He carefully scoops you up, rubbing your back soothingly when you stir awake. "Shhh, shhh, its okay, munchkin. Just me and Trent. And Phoenix. And Quinn, for some reason. Go back to sleep." You fall unconscious again, instinctively nuzzling closer to Vincent.

You hate to admit it, but you feel safe.

[pukaparade]

My Experience Working as an Artist at Santae

Just want to start off by saying that this is simply my personal experience and that anything following the cut is simply my own opinion based off of that personal experience. Readers are encouraged to please employ their own critical thinking and taking many grains of salt when reading another person's experience, mine included. Anyway, my feelings and experiences following the cut.

To start off when I applied to Santae I was really excited to be a part of the project. It's a project that has a lot of promise and it seemed to set itself apart from other petsites I've played in the past. I was really eager to try and be a part of it and participate in the growth of the site and community.

When I joined the server I received the typical greeting - CJ pings everyone to welcome new staff not unlike a welcoming party. It was a bit overwhelming but seemed well-meaning.

There were a lot of little red flags that sprouted up after my joining that I ignored or tamped down writing them off as caused by stress or seeing them as things that could be grown from. (Badmouthing past management, poor communication, etc..)

I can't and won't go into massive detail about everything that put me off and drove me to finally split ways because it would be splitting hairs after a certain point and I also just don't have the time, energy, or care to go through things with such a meticulousness. This post is mostly to warn others who may be thinking of applying what to expect and to cast a little transparency on the work environment. There are a lot of allegations going around and understandably a lot of people are afraid to speak up. I've already quit so that can no longer be held over my head (but we'll come back to this) and the worst that will happen is I'll become a social pariah on the site, or my account will be banned. (Kind of expecting this, so if Kasper #2468 gets iced just know it wasn't by my own hand lmfao. If my KS backing and SC earned by commission get nuked in retaliation ig it's a consequence I'm willing to accept.)

To the friends I've made on the team and the folks that reached out after I quit and removed from the server - I'm glad we met. And thank you to the former coworker who offered to post my goodbye for me after reaching out to me in DM (I declined because I didn't want anyone being ~ tainted~ by association lol) I was in the middle of typing a goodbye when I was unceremoniously removed from the server. When I joined staff got to say goodbye and some even hung around for weeks after parting ways, but since Sky was removed without being able to say goodbye it seems like being instantly deleted might just be the new standard. Not to mention the other artist who was just removed overnight without even a comment. To everyone else, I kind of assumed our camaraderie was as fickle and transient as my time on the team and wasn't surprised to be proven right. I'm sure it doesn't help that (in my experience) CJ has a habit of hopping into VC to badmouth anyone who doesn't align with his vision.

Anyway this is super disjointed already. Let's get onto some specifics.

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"You didn't even need reply ^_^"

I mentioned that the pings were stressful because we had already received multiple about this 'game' and it was getting stressful. When I mentioned that, I got a passive aggressive dm and followup about it afterwards. I will also note that a coworker added an agreeing 'react' to my post about the pings which cj then. removed. lol. I did not reply to the message bc by now I was tired of the manipulation games.

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Commission Discomfort

I held off confronting about this for a long time because I feel that CJ does not take confrontation well and didn't want to make things worse for myself of others but by the end I was nearing my limit and needed to enforce a firm boundary.

I did some graphics work under the expectation that I'd be getting a divine figurine for it and had to follow up multiple times as usual, at which point CJ tried to pin it on a fellow artist coworker 'making him uncomfortable'. This is a common trend with poor communication on the team.

"management" would prefer that staff not commission site artists. This just always rubbed me wrong, especially after the, in my opinion, territorial behavior over me doing commissions. I also dmed some coworkers about it since he said he'd 'tell all the other artists' but no one else had gotten any similar messages from him.

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Streaming in Server

When I started it was pretty casual for art staff to stream site work or personal work in the vc. I stopped streaming personal things after the first uncomfortable dm I got when working on an offsite comm and stuck to santae only work from then on. I don't have a screenshot of my own that I can use for this unfortunately but cj sent a message saying

"Hey @ artist @ lead artist @ lead clothing artist I would like to stop streaming art in the staff voice chat channel as technically the behind the scenes is for BMaC so it's just a gray area, however I would love if you all still wanted to stream but would like you all to stream via our Twitch platform or TikTok

Login credentials will be provided as well.

This is a perfect time to stream with the referral contest live it would be very beneficial I believe.

If you would like to stream please reach out to me, There will be SC pay for streaming, 5sc per hour with a max of 4 hours per day and max of 10 hours per week per artist :dravalove: your normal pay rates also apply this is just additional :heart:"

When the most recent artist to stream asked about back-pay for the stream done for the site the response was a gif of an empty wallet and a crying shimmerint emoji. These messages were later deleted.

further commentary as follows -

The only reason anyone noticed he deleted his messages was because in voicechat when other staff were asking why we don't steam anymore he said 'oh I deleted that' and then said that we can stream again in vc. This was followed the day after that vc by the following

CJ not only shared images to the BMaC in my time, but also would take the images directly from the art approvals channel and drop them into the staff vc anyway to show them off to whoever was around. Frankly this felt like shit every single time and felt like he just wanted the dopamine hit of people complimenting the art. Rarely were we credited during the fawning, too.

A fellow staff reached out to ask why I wasn't around as much, this staff member was in the same vc where he said it was ok again. CJ in my opinion likes to say things one way publicly but then if there's an issue he'll take it to dms or involve as few people as possible. To me his public and private faces are very different.

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Final Straw

The screenshots from above reposted below

As you can see, they're clearly the same, lol. I will also mention that these plush items take twice as long to do and require more revisions than other items. On top of that I have concept art that I can't share due to NDA of the heartstruck concept - full roughs of the pets that I was not compensated for in any way. None of this was discussed prior to me starting the work which is my own fault and not a mistake I'll make again. I spent days, long consecutive hours working on the concepts before I could even start on the plush themselves. This time and the work I put in will remain unpaid.

Something I noticed while I was putting this together is that CJ has deleted at least one message from our dms, which is funny because the message I noticed got deleted is one that I had originally read as being sent with the intention to manipulate -

I have also been reached out to by a former coworker with a 'message from cj' which I declined. Respectfully, I've got you blocked for a reason man. If I had to guess he probably feels like there's something he needs to smooth over to cover his ass but I'm just not interested.

Overall my experience on art staff was quite stressful and the environment definitely felt like there was an in- and out- crowd that was decided by how present you are in vc and how willing you are to participate in the toxic positivity and bobble-head nodding. Also, getting frequently misgendered to your face and behind your back is a special kind of torture.

Anyway, I could probably ramble on more about the time he burst into voice call while I was in there with a coworker and ranted about another coworker for like 20 minutes totally ignoring me before just leaving, or how he's always talking shit about people behind their backs (hi new admins) but not to their faces but I don't have receipts for any of that. Nor energy. And besides there are other places where folks air their grievances and allegations if that's what you're looking for. So I guess I'll leave it here, take care y'all.

[vonbabbitt]

Okay Von hi feel free to just ignore this if it's not a topic you want brought up and I'm not saying this was bad writing on your part since it was definitely unintentional but GOD DAMN it hurts that Watari died and was specifically burned during black history month. The cold motive being during December was a coincidence so this definitely is too but holy fuck it just hurts. A lot.

Praying it's a suicide honestly because one of these students I've grown to love burning a black woman alive on purpose during February (ik they don't know it's February but on principle it still hurts) would fuck me up so bad.

You're an awesome writer so don't take this the wrong way, it isn't a critique at all and definitely just seems like an awful coincidence to me but still. It's an awful coincidence.

(if it wasn't obvious btw I am black just so this doesn't read as some weird yt person lmao)

Thanks for making tetro anyway, hope you're in better health soon

hey anon, i wanted to address this because its a totally valid thing to bring up and your message was really really polite about it

it genuinely is just an awful coincidence unfortunately. when i first wrote all of tetro a few years ago i had zero idea of when it would be releasing or what the release schedule would look like, and things just happened to line up in a really unfortunate way.

obviously i cant speak on any matters of the case or the trial or the culprit right now, so i think a much better use of this platform and time would be to discuss ACTUAL issues of anti-black racism in japan with the focus people are now giving watari. hopefully thats a use of this platform that people will be able to take something away from

japan, historically, has had relatively limited interaction with african countries and people of african descent. the first time a black person was actually recorded historically in japan was a 16th century samurai named yasuke who was brought over by portuguese traders and eventually then served as a samurai under a 16th century daimyō named oda nobunaga. yasuke was very much a spectacle in 16th century japan, with records at the time saying that people in kyoto were fascinated by his height and dark skin. japan's interaction with black people remained extremely sparse throughout a lot of this time.

in the late 19th century, during japans early globalization, american minstrel shows (blackface performances) toured in japan, which introduced derogatory caricatures of black people to japanese audiences. it was a sort of imported imagery in that sense, carrying imported western racism with it into japan and laying foundations for japan's anti-black stereotyping in future japanese media.

during ww2, japan portrayed itself as a champion of non-white peoples against western imperialism and proposed a racial equality clause at the 1919 league of nations, which western powers rejected. while they were advertising this anti-racism approach, propaganda and attitudes within japan were actually a lot different. for example, after the war, many japanese people initially blamed black soldiers for the bombings, insisting that their skin had been "blackened" by the bomb. the american occupation of japan from 1945 to 1952 then brought a significant black presence to japan, with about 15000 black troops stationed in tokyo alone by 1946. these soldiers' interactions with japanese civilians (including romantic relationships) served as many japanese people's first prolonged contact with black people. the occupation era brought a new wave of mixed-race children that then went on to face strong social stigma in japan and the US alike, dredging up entrenched ideas about racial purity. generally, japan's historical context regarding black people is one of limited contact and imported stereotypes, setting the stage for modern perceptions.

in contemporary japan, which is still about 98% ethnically japanese, black people are an incredibly small minority, thought to make up only 0.02% of the population. because of this homogeneity, many attitudes towards black people are shaped by media images and lack of personal interaction. on one hand, theres still a curiosity and admiration for aspects of black culture in japan - mainly african-american pop culture, particularly hip-hop, sports and fashion. younger japanese people emulate black musicians and athletes, as well as certain subcultures (notably the late 1990s "B-style" trend) and at times even darken their skin to imitate black celebrities. on the other hand, deep-seated stereotypes persist. black people are often stereotyped as exceptionally athletic, musical or "cool", but also dangerous and foreign. as an example, black residents in japan will commonly report that strangers perceive them with a mix of fascination and fear. baye mcneil (who is a black author living in japan that i absolutely recommend reading the works of) notes that japanese reactions to blackness are frequently rooted in ignorance rather than malice. he notes that many japanese people fear blackness, and that their fear comes from a place of ignorance. this manifests in ways that may seem subtle at first glance - avoiding sitting next to a black passenger on the train or holding their belongings a little tighter in the presence of a black person. microaggressions against black people in japan are still extremely prevalent.

that same prejudice can also take the form of insensitive comments or questions, usually stemming from the assumption that all black people are from africa or america and fit certain tropes. for instance, a black friend of mine who visited japan recently noted that she was asked on more than one occasion if her skin colour would "rub off", reflecting a massively prevalent lack of exposure. japanese anti-black racism is strongly rooted in ignorance as opposed to the overt hatred displayed in western countries; physical attacks motivated by race are unusual. instead, social exclusion and othering are the more common issues. black people, like other visible minorities, often face the "perpetual foreigner" mindset japan still holds - no matter how long they've lived in japan or how well they speak japanese, they may be treated as outsiders. even japanese-born residents of mixed african descent can be viewed by some as not "fully japanese", as seen in public reactions to famous mixed-race individuals of such descent. to recap, modern attitudes are a complicated mix: a general polite public demeanour masking unspoken biases, a fascination with black culture coexisting with lingering stereotypes, and a lack of awareness that results in black residents frequently feeling hyper-visible yet entirely misunderstood and misinterpreted.

id also like to talk about the role of japanese media in anti-black racism in japan. japanese media and pop culture have a bit of a mixed record in their portrayal of black people. historically, representations were often steeped in caricature. in anime and manga, black or dark-skinned characters are often drawn with exaggerated features reminiscent of racist minstrel imagery, such as the very frequent use of exaggerated lips seen in many popular anime. two fairly infamous examples are mr. popo from the dragon ball series and jynx from pokemon. mr. popo is a genie-like character depicted with jet-black skin, large red lips and a turban, features clearly echoing the blackface iconography japan became familiar with in the 19th century. these designs sparked criticism internationally as well. western releases of these shows later altered the characters, such as mr. popo's skin being recoloured to bright blue in one edited instance, to downplay the resemblance to racist caricatures. the portrayal of black people in japanese media has thus been subject to intense criticism for insensitivity. many japanese viewers initially did not recognize these depictions as offensive, due to the different historical context, but awareness around anti-black racism has since been growing.

live-action media and advertising have also featured plenty of tone-deaf portrayals. blackface in comedy shows persisted in japan long after it had faded from other parts of the world. as recently as new years eve 2017, a popular comedian (masatoshi hamada) donned full blackface to impersonate eddie murphy on national TV, igniting outrage among international viewers and anti-racism activists. domestic reaction within japan was mixed, with some defending it as harmless cosplay and others (both japanese and otherwise) pointed out that, intentional or not, such images are hurtful and stem from ignorance. baye mcneil (shoutout again) led campaigns to educate the public on why blackface is offensive, especially with the 2020 tokyo olympics on the horizon and japan under greater global scrutiny. in 2020, japans public broadcaster NHK aired an animated segment about the black lives matter protests that depicted caricatured black figures (a muscular black man speaking broken japanese, with others shown looting) without any mention of police brutality - a portrayal widely condemned as racist. NHK retracted and apologized after facing backlack, showing that japanese media institutions are finally (but slowly) being called to account for promoting racist imagery and stereotyping.

there have been positive developments. the rise of internationally successful mixed-race japanese athletes and celebrities - such as tennis star naomi osaka, who is haitian-japanese, or signer crystal kay, who is korean-african-japanese - has prompted more nuanced conversations about identity. advertisers have featured more diversity in commercials, though not without missteps. as an example, one 2019 nissin noodles ad drew criticism for depicting a cartoonized naomi osaka with much lighter skin and eurocentric features. on variety TV, black personalities often appear, but sometimes in tokenized roles. notably, foreign talents like bob sapp and bobby ologun became famous in japan in the 2000s. while they gained popularity, they were somtimes boxes into caricatured personas (the "big scary black man" or the comic relief.) a quote from a japanese viewer at the time noted that "bobby ologon speaks weird japanese, bob sapp eats raw meat...it's like watching a circus show. people look down on them and it is obviously discrimination." this underscores how japanese media often plays up stereotypes (the non-fluent funny foreigner, the brute strength athlete, etc.) for laughs. however. more recent years have seen more candid discussions in media about racism. for example, japanese news programs covered the 2020 BLM marches in japan seriously, and films or other literature by afro-japanese creators, such as the memoirs of black residents, are slowly gaining more attention. overall, japanese pop culture is gradually, if slowly, moving from caricature to more authentic representation, pushed by both international pressure and a new generation that is more globally aware.

for black people living in or visiting japan, everyday life is generally safe but can be clouded by subtle discrimination and challenges. japan has no law explicitly prohibiting racial discrimination, so incidents of bias can go unchecked. a government survey in 2017 revealed that nearly one third of foreign residents had encountered derogatory remarks, and about 40% reported facing housing discrimination. black individuals often find themselves included in these statistics and often experience much greater suspicion than white foreigners. for instance, many black residents have stories of being repeatedly stopped by police for "random" ID checks or questioning, a practice linked to racial profiling. michael sharpe (a professor with the university of oxford) notes hearing of south asian and african immigrants being "stopped and harassed by police, denied housing, relegated to certain types of employment, and exploited" in japan. such profiling feeds a sense among black communities that they are being watched with particular scrutiny. a black american in tokyo reported that in his first week of living in a neighbourhood, he was stopped by police for riding a new bicycle, with the implication that a black person on a new bicycle may have stolen it.

housing and employment present other hurdles. its common for landlords and real estate agents in japan to flat-out reject foreign renters, with excuses such as language barriers or different lifestyles. black applicants, especially those from african or non-western countries, report this rejection at higher rates, sometimes hearing that neighbours or owners are "uncomfortable" renting to them. in the workplace, blatant racism is uncommon, but black professionals often face a ceiling or bias. many employers prefer hiring white westerners, perceiving them as more "suitable" english instructors or corporate representatives due to pervasive western-centric images, which can sideline black candidates. those who do work in japan might also endure ignorant comments from colleagues - for example, joking about skin colour or being compared to random black celebrities. a lack of diversity training means coworkers may not realize their "innocent" jokes are hurtful or disparaging.

social interactions can range from warmly welcoming to awkward. many japanese are genuinely curious and might ask personal questions with a racial charge behind them that the japanese fail to recognize. in more negative cases, black people may be avoided in public - a phenomenon illustrated by baye mcneil's anecdote of a man literally turning away and guarding his pockets when mcneil stood behind him in a train line. children often point or call out black people because they so rarely see black individuals, with such moments highlighting the feeling of otherness that black residents frequently experience. there have also been many incidents out outright rudeness: strangers touching black hair without permission, or making vulgar comments about the hygiene of black residents based on stereotyping.

its important to note that in the modern day, many black visitors travel in japan without incident, and many black expatriates build meaningful lives and friendships in japan. the discrimination tends to be subtle or indirect rather than open hostility. japans strong cultural emphasis on politeness often restrains open hate. however, this can be a double-edged sword. problems of racism may be denied or swept under the rug entirely. a common culture among the japanese is that "racism is an american problem, not a japanese one," which was a reaction seen when BLM rallies were held in tokyo. black residents in japan know differently - they live with daily reminders that their appearance sets them apart, for better or worse. in summary, daily life for black people in japan is usually from from violence or blatant abuse, but not free from the strain of being viewed as "alien" and having to navigate systemic biases in housing and policing that other groups might not face to the same degree.

several high-profile incidents in recent years have brought anti-black racism in japan into the spotlight and stirred public debate. one example is the case of ariana miyamoto in miss universe japan 2015. when miyamoto, born to a japanese mother and black father, won the miss universe japan title, it sparked nationwide conversation about what it means to be japanese. while many were proud of her win, a vocal sector on social media questioned whether a mixed-race contestant should represent japan. miyamoto, who was raised in japan, revealed she had faced bullying growing up - classmates threw trash at her and called her racial slurs due to her darker skin. the controversy around her victory - with comments such as "she doesnt look japanese" being prevalent - highlighted the exclusionary view some hold. her grace under fire and the support she received from others also became a teaching moment about multicultural japan.

another example is the case of tennis champion naomi osaka, who - as mentioned earlier - is hatian-japanese. while she is widely celebrated in japan, her rise came with many instances of racism. in 2019, japanese comedy duo a masso joked that osaka was "too sunburned" and that she "needed some bleach", implying her skin was too dark. they apologized after receiving harsh backlash. earlier that year, as mentioned earlier, nissin noodles released a cartoon ad where osaka's character was depicted with much lighter skin and hair than in reality. following criticism, nissin withdrew the ad and admitted they had not consulted osaka on her portrayal. osaka herself has handled these instances of racism with maturity, even joking in response to the bleach comment, and continues to proudly represent her mixed heritage.

anti-black racism in japan is a multifaceted issue, shaped by history, media representation, and japans self-image as a homogenous society. only in recent years has japanese society progressed towards a stance of anti-racism. i think whats genuinely fascinating about japans position is that we're seeing the disassembly of societal racism in real time in japan. massive civil rights strides that happened a hundred years ago in america are happening now in japan for the first time. we're seeing a new generation of japan that wants to directly oppose racism, and a generation of black japanese residents that are showing their strength and exceptionality. i really vividly remember the backlash against naomi osaka - and backlash on that massive of a scale can be terrifying. its inspiring on such a genuine level to see her demonstrating that level of strength and determination in the face of racism.

its genuinely unfortunate how the uploads happened to fall in regards to watari and black history month. however, if nothing else, im glad to have been given the opportunity to talk about black history in japan, and im glad to have been given the opportunity to witness the fight for the safety, acceptance, and love of black people in japan in real time. i know this was a bit of a long read but i had a lot i wanted to go over lmao.

as a final note, please dont be complacent. its really easy for people to reblog posts about black history and civil rights without really doing much of anything else. please always be the type of person who fights against anti-black racism. please use your voice correctly. you dont have to be anywhere near japan to have a say in how japanese racism is received by the greater world. the benefit of a global culture is that you can use your voice to affect things in other countries. when there are japanese comedians making horrible jokes about black people, and when there are japanese companies putting out ads that mock and erase black people, you have the ability to loudly raise your voice about it. so please always do so

idk how to end this but if you made it this far thank you for reading lmao. and thank you anon for giving me an opportunity to talk about this in more depth. i hope everyone has been able to have a reflective, meaningful, happy and genuinely loving black history month

[ch3rrybbie]

Hi lovely, I want to request Ivar from Vikings! I hope that's okay, if not, that'll be totally fine! 🤗

I wanna request Ivar x saxon reader who came to Kattegat as a slave and who was sold to Lagertha. In her hometown she was forced to wear a blindfold made of black lace so no one could see her eyes because they were deemed as demonic from the church. Like her eyes are really crystalline and were unsettling for Christians, and she continues to wear it even in Kattegat. Perhaps the young Rangarsson finds himself to wonder about her and one day a jealous woman rips it from her face during a festive in the main hall when she was serving ivar...?

I know it's a lot but I've been thinking about this all week. 😭✨ Thank you so much!

Angel eyes

summary: Ivar thinks your eyes must be Gods-sent.

warnings: Margrethe being Margrethe, vikings scaring reader, Ivar being Ivar.

ch3rrybbie says: love the request bby, I changed it a lil hope you don’t mind🩷 sorry it took so long lol

———

It’s been three whole moons away from England. Away from the cruelty you knew, but that cruelty was yours. It was home.

Kattegat wasn’t too dissimilar to England but it wasn’t England.

You trudged through the thick mud of the central market. People didn’t stare at you and you reveled in the anonymity. The thin cotton you always wore around your eyes shielding your oddities was nothing to the people of Kattegat and you had grown to love it if the few days you’d spent here.

Lagethera had brought you along wanting to show you the ways of her culture. After being sold to her she declared you free yet you refused,you would not settle to a life here. You wished to serve her in hopes you could make enough money to flee home.

Slave to handmaiden.

Handmaiden to home.

You refused to learn to fight, to speak her tongue comfortably, to like the viking life. The foolish hope of home held strong within you. And yet you knew you’d never return to England you’d seen what they’d done to the village of those who’d ostracised and belittled you. Luckily your family was away selling the spoils of their labour at market.

They would’ve come back to an empty village stinking of death. The thought makes your heart clench and your steps falter.

Lagertha had playfully commanded you go out and see Kattegat, to see her ex-husbands lands. And to bring her seawater,to its purpose you were clueless but you obeyed.

The heathens were strange people after all.

You had learned to squint through your blindfold to see shapes and sounds.

To live life veiled.

———

Lagertha was repulsed by the idea. The Christian rigidity that had left you believing in the need to hide your eyes.

She watched you from afar, leant against the entrance of the great hall. You were a sweet girl yet you could be so much more and she would see to it.

Ragnar follows her gaze, “what is so special about this slave anyways?”

Lagertha’s head whips towards him, “she is no slave Ragnar, she is blessed by the Gods”

Ragnar’s laugh almost shakes the great hall itself, he walks off chuckling.

———

Later as the moon begins its race to the crest of the sky you braid Lagertha’s hair. The bucket of seawater stuck out in the corner.

“Why did you ask for the seawater?” You break the gentle silence and she turns smiling at you softly.

“Bring it here” she gestures towards it a sly smirk emerging upon her face.

Standing in front of her seawater at hand she starts to command you.

“Smell it”

“Taste it”

“Feel it”

You end up giggling at the foolish tasks until she asks.

“What is the difference between this seawater and England’s?”

The smile drops from your face and you set the bucket down and return to your tasks bring her dress to ready her for the great feast.

“My sweet girl this is your fate do not run from it, you will come to love Kattegat as much as England as there isn’t much difference”.

“To you, there isn’t much difference to you, my lady” the words bite bitterly at her.

She sighs and you step back from her outstretched arms. You didn’t understand her fondness of you.

“We must go to the hall” you turn on your heel and march into the frosty air, she follows carefully.

———

You pause outside, the noise reminding you of the nights spent around a fire at home.

Perfumed with smoke and stories of old.

You shake the thought away and wait for Lagertha. She come to you a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.

“You ready?”, you nod and clench you fists at your sides as she pushes the door open.

Truth is you’d never be ready for a feasting hall full of vikings.

“Mother!” A thundering voice cuts through the rowdy masses.

Bjorn comes thumping over sweeping Lagertha into a crushing hug. Once their greeting are finished he turns to you inquisitively

“And who is this little birdy mother” you manage to grasp from your basic understanding of their tounge.

He reaches to peek under your eye covering and instinctively you slap his hand away. Your breath catches as you wait to be struck to the ground.

Instead a sharp laugh cuts at your action you turn to see someone with eyes almost as striking as yours. He regards you a cruel smile and glaringly sharp beauty confronts you. You hold back a gasp and turn from his gaze. Bjorn is also bellowing out a laugh.

“I am sorry bird, ignore Ivar” he plants a kiss on his mother’s cheek and is gone into the crowd of hedonism.

It was going to be a long night.

———

Refusing to sit by Lagertha’s side you stood ignoring the curious looks from Aslaug.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Ivar. It was so strange, he didn’t seem to mock you.

“Hello birdy” a gruff tease voice floats out behind you.

You whip round to see a man that looks exactly like an older Bjorn, Ragnar you conclude.

“Why do you stand here all alone, hmm? Lagertha tells me you are a free woman, here free woman can do as they please you should try it!” He chuckles and it takes you aback, he doesn’t know you yet he treats you like he has for years.

You don’t speak and turn to watch the crowds further, eyes searching for Ivar.

He’s looking right back at you, with a gasp you turn away.

“You know, I had a friend like you once” Ragnar whispers, voice taught with emotion.

At that you turn and take him in. Towering next to you he looks deep in grief. Eyes watery and gone to distant memories, you recognise it all too well.

“I’m sorry for your loss” you murmur, their language is crude and harsh on your tounge.

Your voice pulls him back, he grabs your shoulder and thanks you with a smile.

And once again you’re alone amongst heathens.

———

“Girl! Come serve me wine” a voice throws its self against you cutting through the bustle of the hall.

Ivar.

“Ivar do not command her like that!” Lagertha bites at him.

You frown at her remark and make your way over.

Aslaug is watching you as though you are a mirage, you ignore her stares and focus on the task at hand.

“She is no servant, please sit down” Lagertha implores you and you ignore her, Ragnar watches on curiously.

Fingers clasping over the mead jug you come closer towards Ivar ignoring the way he drinks you in.

“Surely she’s just a servant” a pretty blonde remarks from a group of boys, the rest of Ragnar’s sons you presume.

“You will watch your tongue upon my mother’s friend Margrethe” Bjorn booms at her, seemingly tired of her presence.

Lagertha frown and you lean to pour Ivar more mead.

“Thank you” he grins up at you, ignoring him you turn to be met by Margrethe.

“Why do you wear that silly cloth on your face?” She giggles and takes you in.

Everyone watches with bated breath.

Someone cuts out her name as another warning.

Attempting to step past her you don’t make it far.

“Here let me help you slave”

Her nails scrape against your skin, harsh in its endeavour.

The room brightens and grows in life as you see it more clearly.

An outraged roar emerges as Margrethe is chastised greatly. Everyone turns to look and the same whispers you’ve heard your whole life break out.

“Blessed Freya” sounded in a wave of murmurs.

The seer shuffles over parting the crowd and you retreat slowly. His interest peaked at such an odd display.

“My child you are kissed by the Gods, you shall see to their vision” his words curl through the fog of fear.

Embarrassed you flee the hall into the icy night and collapse in a heap by the fjord.

Finally you have peace.

They hadn’t cast curses or spat at your feet. They were almost reverent in their discovery of you. Perhaps they truly believe you were someone sent or blessed by their heathen Gods.

A repetitive click and shuffle sounds behind you and you whip around to see Ivar approaching. Embarrassed you turn back to look at the still waters, struggling to think upon his intentions. He groans as he lowers himself aside you.

“You know you didn’t have to run off so quick birdy” he chuckles cruelly

“You would do well not to mock me” you bite back and he simply laughs in your face.

“Maybe you really are sent by the Gods, no other woman in the whole of Kattegat would speak to me this way” he seems to grow serious and take you in.

Fixated on your eyes he stares into them, “They really are beautiful you should not cover them anymore, I command it so”.

“You command it so!” You can’t help exclaim incredulous. Dragged from home and commanded by the bratty son of a king.

“Yes I command it so!” He giggles and watches your perplexed face. You resort back to silence and the pair of you just sit there until he coaxes you to talk of England.

So you do.

You tell him of its fields and wildflowers. How the moon feels different and the sun is sweeter. How the grass will always be greener to you and the songs louder.

And for once he just listens and he knows you were meant for him. Every laugh and lilt makes his heart climb. Without telling you he makes a prayer to the Gods commanding you be by his side every day till death do you part. That you may tell him what you please and speak how no woman ever had to him.

And for the first time you’d found something wholly dissimilar to England and you wouldn’t compare it for all the homesickness in your heart. You could not have found Ivar in England. You would never have found the appreciation of your beauty there.

With the intermission of his laugh at your tales, you thank his Gods and yours for kissing your eyes.

———

Lagertha and Ragnar watch your silhouettes from the mouth of the great hall. They needn’t speak the thoughts they share but they know the nights they’d spent together talking till the sun kissed the fjord had seemingly come to life in front of them.

[jichanxo]

how different is your creative process between writing and drawing (and in which areas)? do you have a different approach in each artform? if you have an idea, you first think how you'd write it or draw it?

This is definitely going to be long so. Cut.

Just to preface, obviously both writing and drawing are a form of art, but I tend to use the word “art” when I mean illustration or drawing, so that’s what I’m going to do here. And of course a disclaimer that I’m only speaking to my subjective experience.

Tbh I don’t think my approach to both is that different from each other, which is odd, because I’m used to thinking of them as very different processes. Probably because the mediums themselves are so different. But like with my writing, I tend to improvise. Feel it out, see how things go, throw ideas at the wall. I would probably say that I’m more willing to experiment with/scrap my art than my writing. Probably because I’m more confident with my art than my writing, so I find it easier to make judgments like that, or because I’ve made so much that throwing stuff away when it isn’t working is very easy. I get a bit more precious about my writing. I always want to keep it or at least try to adapt it into something less bad, lmao. I’m also just not as confident in my ability to judge what writing is worth keeping or worth permanently deleting. I just haven’t polished that skill for writing as much as I have for art.

With regards to planning my art – I definitely do sometimes, because I consider art my Serious Hobby, which means I do like to have a go at more serious projects as opposed to just improvising all the time (a contrast to my writing where my only “serious project” is senseific, and I fell into that by accident). The things I plan out are the idea/s I want to convey, and what imagery would express that. (like this IW art, and the second one in this umineko post) Or sometimes the imagery gets stuck in my head and I work from that. (yagami’s hair clinging to his neck here)

I actually find that planning too much can be detrimental to my art process. That is to say, not in terms of figuring out ideas/themes, but doing too much drafting. I find it very difficult to do things like clean lineart unless I’m having a Weirdly Good Art Moment, so I just don’t. Hence a lot of my art is very sketchy. I’m just not good at capturing the same looseness with “proper” lineart than with my sketches, so I keep them. Not worth fussing over. This is what works for me.

(even in this, and the first image here, you can see a lot of breaks and incomplete looking lines. not to say necessarily that this is a bad thing of course, but you can see that even in what I consider my “polished” work, I won’t use “proper” linework, but instead a high quality/detailed sketch. I imagine some other artists would have their proper linework stage after these sketches, but i choose to stop here)

this probably reads like I’m talking myself down, but that’s not really what I’m meaning to say – my point is that I don’t figure out details even for my bigger pieces, and that with drawn art I have a better time judging where my time is best spent. I don’t think I have a strong understanding of my writing by comparison, so I can’t decide how to play to my strengths or anything like that, I just have to see how i go.

For writing, either it’s “i’m in the mood for it” or “i’m not in the mood for it”. For art, it’s “today is a good day/bad day”, “today’s a painting day”, “today feels like masking”, “today I just want to sketch”, “today I’m too loose for what I want to work on”, “today I’m too stiff”. You can see the difference in my ability to judge, yeah? So a big difference is to do with just my own (relative) inexperience with writing as opposed to drawing.

I think the other major factor is the differences in the mediums themselves. A fanfic is sequential. There’s a change in time. Illustrations are by nature a single moment in time. Big difference there. Of course, there are comics and animatics and other art that’s both drawn and sequential, but since I don’t do a lot of that, just count that as exceptions for now (and in a way, those are kind of like a combination of writing and illustration, aren’t they?) I find there are some ideas that are conveyed easier or better through writing, and others where the better option is art.

So to answer your last question, often ideas come to me pre-packaged as a “writing idea” or an “art idea”, rather than having to decide that separately. In the case that a sequence is better conveyed with a visual element, that’s when it’s comic time. The gorillashipping comic is a great example of this. The punchline is at its best when it’s not explained in words, and the expression of the final panel does all the heavy lifting. I pitched this idea initially in words (as a joke on discord), but the comic version has more punch.

Comics are also great for when you want to avoid explaining context, and for when you want to force the reader to take a specific pace. Here’s the example I’m thinking of.

The visual space dedicated to the fighting forces you to take time to process, and that time is important for the buildup to the punchline. This wouldn’t work as well if we cut this down to, say, the four panels of the last example. So yeah, timing. And then my other point – context – why are these two fighting? I don’t know. Where are they? I don’t know. It’s not necessary for the joke. The same is true of the gorillashipping joke. How did the relationship between kiryu and kaito happen to make this even remotely possible? I don’t know. But I don’t need to explain it in a joke comic. With writing I find that it feels more necessary to make context clear to the reader so they understand what’s happening, but with illustrations, it’s a lot easier to skip over that. Obviously this isn’t impossible in a written format, but that’s just my personal opinion.

Admittedly I think this second example is doable with just pure writing (replace all the panels with descriptions of the fight that take long enough to simulate the time it takes for the reader to digest the build up, then make the punchline a wham line, yknow), but it varies on a case to case basis. Also I would not want to write fighting. Lmao. I’m not… any good at that. So I guess it is also just in part about playing to strengths.

Anyway, enough comic side tangent. I’ve already started talking about it there, but was going to do a comparison between writing and art as mediums. The main thing, I find, is that they have different strengths. More than strengths/weaknesses though, the mediums themselves convey some things with ambiguity, and other things with detail.

Like I first mentioned, time: it’s easier to convey the passage of time with writing than with illustration. And like I said before with comics – conveying context – because an illustration captures a single moment in time, it’s a lot easier to avoid context entirely, while it’s harder to avoid in writing. I’ve drawn kuwagami cuddles before, and there’s no background, nothing discernable as to the lead up or any other detail. And that’s great! I don’t want to have to invent a plausible reason for them to end up hugging. I can just do it, right? But sometimes it’s the context that makes things significant, so you do want it there. A better job for writing. Writing allows you to be detailed with your context, while illustration leaves it ambiguous. Different strengths. You just pick which best fits the situation.

It’s a similar case for a lot of different factors – they're conveyed differently through both mediums, and depending on your idea, some results are more desirable than others. Rather than explaining, it’s probably better to do a direct comparison. (If it makes any difference to your curiosity, I did the drawing first then the writing. You’ve caught me on a good art day, what a nice sketch…)

I’ll try not to talk too much because I think the comparison and table say enough, but you can see how, despite depicting basically the same thing, these two things feel pretty different from each other. The mediums do different things. The mood of both is similar, but not quite the same. It’s these differences that inform the choice of mediums instinctually. (but again. points at disclaimer. as is true with all “rules” about art, none of these are absolute. you can make an illustration that conveys a strong context. you can write fic that favours describing facial expressions and leaves the intended emotion ambiguous. i’m generalising to make a point here.)

I guess the other thing is that it’s pretty easy to do writing in bed on my phone compared to my art setup, lmao. Convenience and timing also play into it probably.

[moe-broey]

LIKE..

[mephisto-reporting]

The Engineer's Gravity - Yandere! Caleb

Plot: You're a biomechanical engineer in Caleb's fleet, incharge of repairs of prosthetic parts. What happens when you become the subject of the Colonel's obsession? Based on this request. Pairing: Non MC Mechanic! Reader x Yandere! Caleb Note: This story is with slightly darker themes. I do not want people to come at me saying Caleb isn't like this. Yes, I know. This is a Yandere! version of Caleb. Please keep that in mind. If you want to be a part of my taglist, please let me know in the comments, DMs or inbox. Content warning: Yandere male, implied deaths, mutilation, mentions of blood, possessiveness, gaslighting, voilence

CALEB'S POV

The faint hum of the Farspace fleet’s engines was a constant background noise, a rhythm that Caleb had grown accustomed to. It filled the silence as he walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the engineering bay, his gloved left hand flexing instinctively while his right hand remained eerily still. It wasn’t the arm itself that unnerved him anymore. No, he’d gotten used to the weight, the cool touch of the synthetic skin against his chest when he rested his hand there. What grated on him was the maintenance—the vulnerability of needing someone else to keep it functional.

The first time he’d come to the mechanic for maintenance, he had been indifferent, as he was to most things in his life. The arm was a tool, no more. Just another part of the machine that was Caleb, the Colonel. She was just another cog in the vast machine of the fleet, a means to an end. He barely remembered their first meeting beyond her clinical efficiency and soft voice, far removed from the barked commands of his officers or the detached drone of his superiors. She’d introduced herself simply, a name he didn’t bother committing to memory at the time, and had begun her work without wasting a second.

He’d sat in silence, his arm stretched out on the diagnostic table, his gaze fixed on the wall as she meticulously checked the connections and replaced worn components. She’d asked him questions—about the arm’s performance, any discomfort he’d noticed—but he’d only answered in monosyllables. He wasn’t trying to be rude; he just didn’t see the point.

She had been… different.

No. She spoke with compassion, with a voice that held an undercurrent of something human. When she’d first touched his arm to inspect it, there was no clinical detachment in her touch—no cold professionalism. Instead, there was a softness, a care.

But she kept showing up, week after week, her presence a constant thread in his routine. She didn’t just maintain his arm; she paid attention. She noticed when he was tense and adjusted her tone accordingly. When she worked, she hummed under her breath—a tune he couldn’t place but found oddly soothing. And unlike the professor who saw him as little more than a prototype for their next experiment, she treated him like a person.

Caleb first noticed it when she spoke to the other fleet members. The soldiers and officers with Toring chips embedded in their bodies, their minds augmented for efficiency but stripped of their individuality, were often treated as tools. Most of the crew barely acknowledged them, but she… she smiled at them. Asked about their day. Made sure they were comfortable during her examinations and modifications.

It wasn’t long before Caleb began to see her differently.

Their interactions changed subtly over time. He found himself lingering in the engineering bay longer than necessary, watching her work under the sharp white lights. She was focused, hands deft as they manipulated wires and micro-tools, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re due for recalibration next week, Colonel.” she said during one session, not looking up from the neural interface she was fine-tuning.

“I’ll be here,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “You’re good at this.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I’ve had a lot of practice.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not just the work. The way you… treat people. You’re good at that, too.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might dismiss the comment. But instead, she smiled—a soft, genuine thing that made something unfamiliar stir in his chest. “Everyone deserves to be treated like they matter.” she said simply, turning back to his arm.

He didn’t respond, but those words stayed with him long after he left the bay. Caleb watched her closely, taking note of every smile, every laugh, every time she showed kindness to someone else. It made something dark curl in his chest.

The first time Caleb intervened on her behalf, it was almost instinctual.

He was passing through the mess hall when he heard the sharp edge of Lieutenant Varro’s voice. “You know, for all your compassion, you take forever with repairs. Maybe stop coddling the freaks and do your job faster.”

Caleb froze, his blood turning cold. He rounded the corner to see Varro towering over her, his expression smug. She was holding a tray of food, her shoulders tense but her expression calm as she replied, “I do my job thoroughly, Lieutenant. If you’re unhappy with my work, you can file a complaint.”

Caleb’s steps faltered, his jaw tightening. A cold, simmering rage filled him as he turned to look at the man. He wanted to snap his neck right then and there, but he couldn’t let her see this side of him. Not yet.

So he smiled instead. A cold, calculating smile that sent a chill down Varro’s spine.

“Lieutenant,” Caleb said, his tone deceptively calm. “A word.”

Later that night, Varro didn’t return to his quarters. Whispers spread through the fleet about an "incident" during a routine maintenance check. Caleb made sure it looked like an accident—a malfunction in Varro's own bionic enhancements. No one questioned it, least of all her.

She remained blissfully unaware of the lengths Caleb went to for her.

As the days turned into weeks, Caleb’s obsession deepened. He found himself lingering in her workshop longer than necessary, watching her every move. She would smile at him, her eyes warm and kind, and Caleb would feel something he hadn’t felt since he left home for the DAA. A strange, aching need to keep her close.

“You know,” she said one day, her voice light, “you don’t always have to come here for repairs. You can just... visit, if you want.”

Caleb froze, his gaze locking onto hers. Did she know? Had she figured out how much he craved her presence? But her smile was so genuine, so innocent, that he realized she didn’t suspect a thing.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady.

He told her about his family one evening, when the workshop was quiet and the rest of the fleet was asleep. He spoke of the girl he had grown up with, her fiery spirit, and the way she had  carved a place for herself in Linkon.

“She is strong…” Caleb said, his voice low. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

She listened intently, her expression soft. “You must miss her.” she said gently.

Caleb hesitated. Did he? The memory of that girl felt distant, overshadowed by the woman sitting in front of him.

“I don’t think about her much anymore.” he admitted. “There are... other things on my mind.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press.

But Caleb couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about the way her hands moved over his arm, the way her laughter echoed in the workshop, the way she seemed to light up the cold, sterile corridors of the fleet.

And when he saw other officers talking to her, laughing with her, something in him snapped. He didn’t like the way they looked at her. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting close to her.

Caleb began to manipulate things behind the scenes, ensuring that no one spent too much time with her. He assigned officers to tasks that kept them far away from her workshop. He spread subtle rumors, casting doubt on the intentions of anyone who showed too much interest in her.

She never noticed. She never questioned why the workshop seemed quieter, why fewer people came to her for help.

And Caleb made sure it stayed that way. In the privacy of his quarters, Caleb would sit in the dim light, his bionic hand flexing involuntarily as he thought about her. She was his. She didn’t know it yet, but she belonged to him.

And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. To keep her close.

Even if it meant destroying anyone who stood in his way.

YOUR POV

Lately, you’d noticed something strange.

The crew didn’t treat you the way they used to. At first, it was subtle—an officer averting his gaze when you greeted him in the corridor, a technician hurriedly ending a conversation when you approached. Then it became more blatant. People gave you a wide berth in the cafeteria, whispers died the moment you entered a room, and the occasional sidelong glances you caught were laced with something unspoken.

Fear.

It didn’t make sense. You’d always prided yourself on being approachable, on treating everyone with the respect they deserved. Sure, your work was demanding, and your position as the fleet’s biomechanical engineer meant you often had to be firm when it came to protocols, but you weren’t cruel. Far from it. You treated the crew like people, not machines.

But now? It was as though you carried some invisible aura that screamed danger.

And then there were the... incidents.

The first time, you brushed it off as coincidence. Lieutenant Gregor had been reassigned to another fleet without warning, just days after he’d mocked you during a team briefing. You’d chalked it up to bad luck or his own poor behavior catching up to him.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Officers and fleet members who dismissed your concerns, who snapped at you during high-stress missions, who made snide comments about your methods—they all disappeared. Some were reassigned to far-off posts, others were suddenly discharged for disciplinary reasons, and a few even suffered freak accidents that left them unfit for duty.

The pattern was impossible to ignore.

The only constant in all of this was the Colonel.

Or just Caleb, as he’d asked you to call him when it was just the two of you.

“Colonel” felt too formal, too distant, he’d said one evening as you adjusted the fine motor controls on his bionic hand. He’d leaned back in the chair, watching you with an intensity that made you feel both self-conscious and oddly comforted.

“Just Caleb,” he’d said, his voice softer than usual. “When we’re alone.”

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Over the past few months, he’d become a steady presence in your life, someone you found yourself looking forward to seeing.

And lately, he seemed to be around you more than ever.

It wasn’t just during maintenance sessions anymore. He’d stop by your workshop for no apparent reason, lingering by your workbench as you tinkered with your tools. He’d accompany you on supply runs, his tall frame a protective shadow at your side. When the fleet docked at Skyhaven for shore leave, he invited you to join him for coffee or walks through the market district. He’d cook for you and bring you meals to your residence in Skyhaven, unprompted.

It felt... nice.

You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed his company. Caleb had a dry sense of humor that never failed to catch you off guard, and there was a steadiness to him that you found grounding. Still, there was something about him—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The way he always seemed to know when someone had upset you. The way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long, as if he were memorizing every detail. The way his voice dropped when he said your name, like it was a secret only he was allowed to keep.

You tried to push the thoughts aside. Caleb was your superior, your colonel. He’d never given you any reason to distrust him. And yet...

One evening, as you recalibrated the sensory feedback in his arm, you decided to bring it up.

“Have you noticed how people have been acting lately?” you asked, keeping your tone light as you adjusted a tiny screw. “It’s like they think I’m some kind of... I don’t know, threat or something.”

You glanced up at Caleb, expecting him to shrug it off with one of his usual dry remarks. Instead, his body tensed, just for a moment. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might have missed it.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“It’s just a feeling.” you said, turning back to his arm. “People avoiding me, whispering when they think I can’t hear. And then there are the reassignment orders. It’s like anyone who crosses me is... gone.”

There was a long pause.

“It’s nothing.” Caleb said finally. “Tensions have been high since the last Deepspace tunnel exploration. People are on edge.”

You frowned but didn’t press the issue. Maybe he was right. The fleet had been through a lot recently, and stress had a way of making people act strangely. Still, something about his explanation didn’t sit right with you.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “That makes sense.”

But it didn’t. Not entirely.

Still, you knew better than to poke your nose where it didn’t belong. You’d learned long ago that asking too many questions could lead to trouble, and trouble was the last thing you needed.

So you stayed in your lane, focusing on your work and pretending not to notice the way Caleb’s presence seemed to permeate every aspect of your life. You told yourself it was fine, that his increased attention was nothing to worry about. After all, you trusted Caleb. He’d always been kind to you, always treated you with respect. And if his gaze lingered a little too long, if his touch was a little too gentle when he handed you a tool, if his smile held a hint of something darker—you ignored it.

Because Caleb was the only person who hadn’t changed. The only person who still treated you like... you.

The ship was silent at night, the hum of its engines a low, constant thrum beneath your feet as you walked through the dimly lit corridors. You’d been restless, the bitter taste of Lieutenant Reese’s words still fresh in your mind. The new Lieutenant had been transferred to Caleb’s fleet three weeks ago and was already causing tensions within the hierarchy of how things ran in the fleet.

“Guess even engineers need quotas filled, huh? They really let anyone take up space on this ship these days,” he had sneered during a systems check earlier. “Bet you’ve only kept this position because someone up high likes the way you look.”

His smirk had twisted into something crueler as he leaned closer. “Face it. You’re not here because you’re good—you’re here because you’re convenient.”

The humiliation burned as much now as it had then. You clenched your fists at the memory, your footsteps echoing softly against the metal floor. You’d worked too hard, poured too much of yourself into your work, to have it dismissed so callously. And yet, his words lingered like a stain, refusing to be scrubbed away.

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t hear the sound.

A muffled grunt. A crash.

And then—a sickening crunch.

You froze. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, to return to your quarters and pretend you hadn’t heard anything. But your curiosity—or perhaps some misplaced sense of duty—compelled you forward. Quietly, you padded down the corridor, following the noise until you reached a maintenance bay.

What you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

Caleb stood over Lieutenant Reese, who was slumped against the wall, blood smeared across his face. The lieutenant’s arm hung at an unnatural angle, his body trembling as he let out a pained whimper. Caleb’s hand was clamped tightly around Reese’s throat, his grip firm but not enough to choke.

Not yet.

“You thought you could get away with it?” Caleb said, his voice low and steady, each word laced with venom. “Insulting her. Undermining her. Disrespecting her.”

Reese tried to stammer out a response, but Caleb’s hand tightened, silencing him.

“You signed your life away the moment you opened your mouth.” Caleb continued, his tone almost conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as a supply requisition. “She’s worth more than you’ll ever be. Do you even understand that?”

Reese’s legs kicked weakly, his breaths ragged. Caleb tilted his head, his expression shifting from cold fury to mild disappointment.

“Pathetic!” he muttered, releasing the lieutenant’s throat. Reese crumpled to the ground, wheezing and coughing. Caleb watched him for a moment, then raised his foot and brought it down sharply on Reese’s hand. The sound of bones breaking echoed in the bay.

The lieutenant went limp, his body a lifeless heap. Caleb crouched beside him, his expression one of disdain. “Weak,” he said, his voice barely audible.

And then he turned his head, his gaze locking onto you.

The moment seemed to stretch, the air thick with tension. Caleb’s expression shifted from cold to shocked in the blink of an eye, but his eyes—the ones that had always been so warm towards you—now seemed empty, calculating.

He stood still for a moment, then took a step toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. His voice was a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“Don’t be scared,” Caleb said softly, though there was an edge to his words. “I’m just protecting you. I would never let anyone hurt you, never.”

Your mind raced, your pulse quickening. You’d seen this side of Caleb before—quiet, intense, protective—but this? This was something else. He was different.

“Protected me?” you repeated, your heart pounding. “From what?”

“From him,” Caleb replied, gesturing to Reese’s motionless form. “He disrespected you. He questioned your worth. He hurt you.”

His gaze softened, and he took another step closer. “I won’t allow that. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

“This—this isn’t right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Caleb interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “And I will. You may not see it now, but this is what’s necessary.”

You stared at him, searching for any hint of remorse, but there was none. Only conviction.

“I’ll always protect you.” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Even when you think you don’t need it. Even when you don’t understand why.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. But even as you tried to process what you’d seen and heard, a cold realization settled over you.

He closed the distance between you, his steps soft but purposeful, until he was standing right in front of you. His face was close, too close, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been through so much,” he continued, his voice soothing, almost affectionate. “You don’t need to worry about the people who don’t understand you. I’ll always protect you.” He repeats. “Even when you don’t ask for it.”

You swallowed; your throat dry. You should have been afraid, terrified even. But you weren’t. A part of you was frozen, caught in the web of his words, of his gaze. He was so sure of himself, so confident, and it was hard not to believe him when he looked at you like that.

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re mine,” Caleb whispered, his words not a command but a promise. “No one will ever take you from me. Not ever.”

You should have questioned it, should have asked him what he meant, why he was doing this. But you didn’t. Because in that moment, you realized you couldn’t escape.

Not really.

You knew who Caleb was. You knew what he was capable of. And you knew that the resources of the Farspace Fleet, the professor, and Caleb’s power meant there was no running, no hiding from him. You’d seen what happened to those who crossed you. And now, you didn’t doubt for a second that Caleb was behind it.

But what unnerved you most was the way he looked at you now. Not with malice, not with cruelty, but with something softer. Something almost tender.

“Stay.” he said, his voice coaxing. “I’ll keep you safe. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there. And yet... you nodded.

Because deep down, you knew he was right about one thing.

Caleb would never hurt you.

As long as you stayed.

He would never let anyone touch you. He would never let anyone harm you.

You were his, and he was yours.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood there, the weight of his gaze heavy on you.

And as Caleb stepped back, his eyes softening, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips, you knew one thing for certain: you were far past the point of no return.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[maruflix]

MEA CULPA #oneshot #squidgame #therecruiter #thesalesman

The Salesman knows that love is truly the most dangerous game of all, and there is penance in yearning for someone who can never be yours. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

feat. the salesman / the recruiter　　⎯⎯　wc. 2.4k

cw: female reader, recruiter!reader, cheater!reader, language, the salesman is probably ooc, unreciprocated crush, one sided love, friends with benefits, cheating, kissing, choking, face-fucking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, slight frontman x reader, no beta we die like gi-hun’s mom

I.

Busan is so hot this time around.

You plop down with a sigh. Thankfully, having met your daily quota, you can go home early tonight. There are lots of desperate people nowadays, so finding ten people to join a game with a prize of 45.6 billion won isn’t really that difficult.

The clacking of shoes snaps you from your trance.

Without having to look up, you immediately figure out who it is. The scent of expensive cologne comes first, followed by the rustling. You grumble and slam your briefcase down, using it as a wall to separate the two of you. “Hey, not-so-friendly reminder: you’re on my turf.”

The Salesman blinks at you, feigning surprise. “Oh? I was under the impression that this was a team effort.”

His innocent tone makes you want to hurl, so you choose to ignore him completely. Instead, you stare at him in annoyance and wonder how he’s able to look so perfect in that cashmere suit of his. Not a single hair out of place, his tie straight and his shoes laced.

“You’re done for the day, aren’t you?” Your colleague tilts his head to look at you, a smile adorning his features, “Let’s play a game.”

You scoff.

He ignores your obvious displeasure and inches his whole body to face you, one arm shooting forward to grip the side of your bench. “Say, should we play ddakji? I’m in a good mood today.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of smacking paper squares?” It’s hard to keep a straight face when his handsome face keeps getting closer to you, “Get your ugly face away from me.”

The Salesman doesn’t budge. “Not until you say yes.”

He has a certain charm to him, you had to admit— he is so assertive, with just the right amount of pushy but not to the point of being obtrusive.

“Fine,” you exhale, “what do I get?”

II.

When you agreed to play a game with your fellow Recruiter (specifically, the totally unhinged one you’ve grown to dub as ‘The Salesman’), you didn’t expect this to happen.

Your colleague’s body pressed on top of yours, both your suit jackets thrown away somewhere in his fancy condo—he doesn’t even bother to wait for you to finish unbuttoning your shirt before he captures your hands and pins them on top of your head.

“Fuck,” you rasp out when he pushes himself into you agonizingly slow, savoring the way you tighten around him, “s-slow down—”

He chuckles breathily. “Darling, I’m barely moving. Besides,” eyes clouded with lust, he revels in how defenseless you look under him, “you lost our game, so you’re in no position to tell me what to do.”

With that, he sloowly drags himself out before slamming his full length into you, causing you to moan loudly. Greedily, he drinks in the sight of you, sprawled on his bed, legs open, taking all of him like a good, good girl.

“Who knew you were hiding all this underneath that suit of yours?” He teases, running a hand over your breasts, “I should’ve done this sooner.”

“I can, ngh,” Pushing yourself up on one elbow, you use your other hand to grip his chin, yanking him closer to you, “say the same about you.”

His smirk widens. “Always has to get the last word.”

He grips your throat, pushing you back down to the bed as he picks up his pace, thrusting in and out of you mercilessly while you mewl in pleasure.

“F-fuck-” you struggle, clawing on the hand that lodges itself around your throat like a serpent, “ngh,”

Your panic excites him like no other. “What’s wrong, darling? Having trouble breathing?” straightening his back, he keeps his hand securely wrapped around your neck, eyeing you down as he continues drilling into you, “Do you realize how wet you are?”

You wanted to look away, but his strong hand firmly keeps you in place. It’s not like you can hide yourself away, not when the sounds of plap! plap! plap! keeps echoing around the room—a testament of how much your cunt is drooling, soaking the bedsheets. His constant pace feels so good, and the way he gazes at you makes you feel lightheaded.

“You’re- haah, so tight,” he feels how you’re spasming around him and groans, “enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he’s all out of breath now—you feel so good when you clamp down on him like that, so right, like the two of you are made for each other.

“Fuck! Yes!” You whine, your nails digging into his back, delicious jolts of electricity running along your spine when his girthy cock hits your sweet spot over and over, “Don’t stop, I’m, ugh, close-”

He doesn’t miss the way your legs wrap around his waist, preventing him from pulling away. Raising an eyebrow, he loosens his grip on your neck to bend down to your eye level, “What’s this? You want me to fill you up?”

His thrusts never decelerates and you’re too fucked out to even muster a reply, your moans nearly drowned out by the sloppy sounds of skin slapping against skin.

“You want that, huh?” Although his voice drips with arrogance, he’s also reaching his limit—the sight of you with your cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open drives him to the edge of insanity. He throws his head back, groaning, shooting his load deep into your womb.

You’re still shaking when he lets go of your neck, falling on top of you. Before you can think about the consequences of your actions, the fatigue catches up with you. Your body feels heavy, like it’s being pulled to the center of the earth—and your world goes dark.

Sensing that you’re not moving, The Salesman takes a glance at you and finds out that he’s quite literally fucked you unconscious. “Hey.” he shakes your shoulders a bit, but you’re unresponsive, your chest heaving up and down.

He huffs and rolls down to your side, studying your sleeping figure with a smirk. You look so beautiful in your afterglow, your hair framing your face like a halo. Like a man possessed, he moves to your ear, mumbling—

“I like you.”

III.

You groan loudly when the scent of your colleague’s cologne invades your nostrils again, ignoring the weird looks you got from strangers boarding the oncoming train.

The Salesman bats his eyelashes at you innocently.

“No, I don’t want to play with you again.”

“Aw,” he straightens his tie, “even though you told me that you had such a good time?”

At a loss for words, you can only stare at him.

The motherfucker has the audacity to cross his arms over his chest, gasping, “Stop ogling me!”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on,” He scoots closer to rub the back of your hand sensually, “I know you want me.”

It’s always a game with him. You just don’t know what kind of game it is right now, and why he’s so hell-bent on having you as player two.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two bags of groceries to carry home, so good bye.”

The Salesman keeps a trained smile on his face, but his heart clenches—he doesn’t know when he started to view you differently. It was fun to pick on you at first, but he’s slowly started to feel weird around you.

Like watching an oncoming crash, he can’t bring himself to stop.

“Wait! Let me help!”

IV.

Looking back, you probably should’ve stood your ground. But it’s hard to say no to his stupidly handsome face.

Your groceries are forgotten, your apartment still dark. You probably should start cooking dinner, but instead you’re on your knees, your back pressed against the wall.

“Open up,” his eyes are as cold as ever, his lips pulled up to form a victorious smirk as he guides his leaking cock to rest on your mouth.

You find yourself obeying, allowing him to fill your mouth full of his cock. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, already thrusting his hips, making you gag almost immediately.

“Just like that, baby,” he takes hold of the hands that’s trying to push him away and pins them against the wall, quickening, smirking down at you as you struggle to wrap your mouth around him, “You feel so good.”

Meanwhile, you’ve finally adjusted to his throbbing length. In an act of protest, you hollow your cheeks, deciding that it was your turn to dominate this man. You move your head to his pace and even quicker, your eyelashes wet with tears when you look up to glare at him.

He feels like he’s going to explode—your adorable defiance is so cute and your crying face—oh, don’t get him started on your crying face.

“Mmngh?!”

He jerks his hips sharply, moaning at how good it feels when the muscles of your cheeks tightens at the wide stretch of his cock. Oh, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you—

“Mmfh—?!”

Your muffled exclaim makes him halt and he looks down at your shocked face. Only now does the realization dawns on him that he’s accidentally said his thoughts out loud.

IV.

You no longer look up when you sense a presence sitting down next to you.

“This was a mistake.”

He’s silent, so you turn to look at him. The Salesman has a poker face on, but you can tell that he’s thinking. Contemplating.

“Honestly, stop it. I... I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

You sigh in frustration. “Look, I..” squirming in your seat, you finally confess, “I’m already in a relationship.”

“So?”

The genuine confusion in his tone makes you look at him in incredulousness. He doesn’t back down, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you to love me, I’m asking you to let me love you. I don’t care if you’re married—hell, I don’t care if you have kids.”

“Wha-” You flinch away from his touch, shocked, “W-well, I care!”

“Do you?” He shoots back, his gaze sardonic, you felt like you might crumble underneath it. “Is that why you begged me to cum inside you?”

“I-”

“I know you want me.” His smile is confident, “so stop acting. You suck at it.”

You tremble, but lets him guide you away.

V.

You’re whimpering, your hands shakily unbuttoning his dress shirt. In front of you, he chuckles, bringing his hands up to grip your waist and pushing them up and down.

“Wait, fuck,”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he murmurs, rocking you back and forth, “a purely physical relationship?”

The Salesman keeps his grudges, and right now he’s punishing you by rutting into you, sending you gasping and moaning, but he’s unrelenting—one of his arm circles your waist as he pulls you closer, his thumb starting to circle the nub of your clit.

“Fuck, please, please-”

“You want to cum?” He stops touching you and you whine in despair, leaning on his broad chest.

“Yes, yes, touch me-” you grab his hand and aligns it to your sopping wet hole, but he easily yanks his hand away.

“Say it.”

You’re close to crying now—your nerves are ablaze, but he refuses to let you reach your climax. “W-what?”

“Say you love me.” his hand hovers above your clit, “Say it.”

You know what you’re doing is wrong—but right now, all you wanted was release.

“I love you, fuck-” your body quivers when he instantly rewards you by a sharp thrust followed by his finger deliciously circling your sensitive nub, “I love you, I love you-”

He’s moaning with you now, shutting you up by kissing you sloppily on the lips, his free hand reaching to grab your hair, pulling it. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, tasting you fervently.

“‘m gonna-” Before you can finish, your orgasm shakes your whole body. You can feel your walls clenching and unclenching around his length, trying to milk him dry. He groans in response and buries his face on your neck, pushing his hips up and down to chase his own high. He fucks you through your orgasm, making you scream, pounding into you raw until he shoots his load. It trickles down your pussy onto his own shaft, coating it with a thin layer of cum.

He kisses the top of your head and lays you down on the bed, your body shuddering in his arms. “Now, was that so hard?”

You look away as he wraps an arm over your naked body, pulling you close to him.

The first ray of sunlight peeks through the curtains and you realize that you only have about four hours to sleep.

VI.

It’s unusual, but you were a special case: recruiters work on the outside world so there’s really no need for them to visit the game venue, but you’ve received a special invitation.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floors as you pass by the guards. The Salesman follows you closely, ignoring the stares that he got.

“Ah, you’re finally here.”

The Salesman stops in his tracks when he sees a man in a black mask standing several steps away. The masked man puts away his mask to reveal his face and his heart drops.

“Oh, you’re here too. Have you come to watch 456 play?”

The Salesman stays silent when you smile and walk away from him to the direction of his boss, thinking— ‘so you weren’t lying after all.’

The Front Man instinctively wraps his arms around your waist, his lips claiming yours. “Long time no see,” your lover smiles as you rest your head on his chest. “I’ve been busy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you mumble. You miss having him by your side—so much so that you let another man hold you in his absence.

“Come on, the games are going to start.” None the wiser to your actions, he guides you away, taking one last look at his other subordinate, “Don’t stick around too long, the VIP’s are going to arrive soon.”

The Salesman smiles and nods, watching as you disappear behind the double doors with your lover in tow. His heart feels like it’s being stabbed and ripped to shreds—deep inside, he has held out hope that you’re lying; making up excuses to ignore the obvious chemistry between the two of you.

Now, when he closes his eyes, all he can see is the image of you kissing another man—but can he blame you? You told him the truth, he was the one who chose to keep loving you like a fool; dancing to the beat of your rhythm, losing himself in the process—

You are not to blame, he is. He’s the one at fault; he’s the one to blame.

As he turns away and walks to the direction of the exit, all he can think about is this: Your lover may have you now, but when the games are over—oh, his turn will come.

Patience. Patience. Your turn will come. He repeats it like a mantra.

Patience.

note: ok this is probably the most self indulgent fic i’ve written. first time writing smut i hope i did okay 😭 anyway english is not my first language so please be gentle with me 😭

[voidhope]

The Other Woman

(Part 2 FINALE)

—

Synopsis: Miguel had left Y/N for another version of his old wife in hopes of getting his old life back. To only realize the mistakes he’s made.

Link to Part 1

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!reader

Warnings: very heavy mental health, ANGST LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, ALL OF THIS IS ANGST, mentions of death/almost dying, long term establish relationship, cheating, swearing, therapy, physical fight, blood, feral protective miguel?

—

A/N: hello again! this one is more heartbreaking and longer than the first part oof… Very low dialog up until closer towards the end! wanted to just get through telling the story itself and the emotions. It’s just a very heavy storyline!! I want to say thank you so so much for showing so much support for part 1 i had no idea it would receive that much attention :O !! i wrote this out kinda fast as i didn’t want to loose the momentum of the idea. so apologies for any mistakes! all feedback is greatly appreciated ~

—————————————————

You used to make Miguel coffee everyday, with one cream two sugars, and he would nag about how he hated the taste. It was to your liking, not his. As you would sneakily take sips out of his mug while working next to him. Why didn’t you just get your own coffee? You claimed you could never finish it and just wanted a taste out of his. Miguel would roll his eyes at you every time he caught you but he adored it. He had secretly grown to love the way you made it and had become his only way of making coffee after meeting you.

Now as this version of his older wife made it the way he is suppose to like coffee, bland and straight, he found himself bothered by it. Going as far to correct her even though this was what he had been claiming to have missed so much. He was now seeing himself teaching someone else how to love him like you did…

He was only a shell of the man he was when he had Gabriella. Even though the copy of his old wife has her same personality, the relationship couldn’t be exactly how it was before because he had changed so much. You had helped him become whole again. His tastes and likings had all switched to everything about you. The charm he found in his old wife doesn’t hold a light to you now and he was getting frustrated. He had wanted this so badly. He felt like those babies who whine and cry wanting to eat a lemon and once they get their way they realize the sour truth.

Miguel never truly realized what it was like to loose you until three weeks after he told you the truth. Over the years the idea of losing you terrified him but he only ever thought of it being in death. He never considered separation when everything was perfect for both of you then. There were times he believed that you were made just for him and he treated you like his queen. Which you truly were to him in his spider society. Why would he ever throw that away? Look at what he did.

He gave himself every excuse in the book before you knew he was cheating on you. ‘This is only for research.’ he would think every time he found himself back in that universe. As everyone knew he was so serious about his work, obviously this is just him getting to know more about certain universes and canons. Lyla was the only one seeing straight through him knowing where he was actually going. Things kept tumbling and the more he found out about the place and spent time with her the more his grief and yearning returned. It was all just there, so reachable.

There was a time his mind tried to snap him back out of it while cheating on you and made him realize the guilt. The first time he kissed this woman you were there in his mind. He came home right after and held you without saying a word. You never questioned him, just showed him comfort as much as you could. Lightly stroking his back, you never over stepped or pushed him when he was vulnerable with you. He only closed his eyes and held onto you tighter processing how you were always too good for him. He was converting to living two different lives; his old self during the day and then coming home to you. He didn’t want to let go of either at the time.

Once he found out he could safely have Gabriella again was when he became distant with you. The shame of using you for research made him become stoic. He didn’t want to admit how wrong he was treating you. All while you were always being so loyal and trusting towards him. Things were slowly slipping through the cracks and he knew he couldn’t up keep it. He wished he could have had that conversation with you so much differently but it was over. Now he had his old life back, a dream he had his mind set on.

He ignored the shakiness in his hands when he returned to her after letting you go. ‘It’s all for the best.’ is what he would repeat in his mind as a mantra. His new girlfriend truly had no idea who he really was or what his background was. Miguel continued to feed her lies to the point where he even started believing them himself getting too lost in avoiding what he’s done. He believed he was happy as he spent time with her.

When she got too close to finding the truth after finding his wedding ring in one of his pockets, he set her off course from it by revealing his spider identity and taking her to HQ. This was the day that everything felt like it was crashing around him. Being reminded of his marriage, having to face his friends with his new lover, sharing his personal spider life, his work with someone who wasn’t you. He excused himself rushing to an unused office room while his chest was tightening. Pupils dilating as he realized it was his first time having a panic attack.

Nevertheless he continued to push it all aside and act completely normal with his girlfriend. He was feeling your absence the most while working. You had became an extension of him. He had trained you from scratch and you helped him build this society he has now. You knew the ins and outs of everything and fought perfectly alongside him. Now that he was on his own he let his girlfriend be there for him when he got stressed, but there always was a knot in his stomach he never could get rid of.

The more his mental health ate at him late at night the more he considered searching out for you. There was no closure between both of you and he never got to listen to how you feel. What was your opinion on all that happened? Do you hate him?

He wanted to speak with someone so badly but he dug himself in a hole too deep. You were gone, he was lying through his teeth to this poor woman he’s kept for some fantasy, he felt too ashamed to say anything to his friends, he would rather die if all his workers found out how big of a piece of shit he is. Anytime Lyla tried peeping a word that wasn’t work related he would snap. He had pushed everyone away and now he just felt alone.

Regardless he would wake up in the morning and swallow all his dark feelings. He would remember his grief of when he lost his family and it would put him back in the moment. He has another chance. He was happy with the direction he was going in now.

Right?

—

The day he found out you were at HQ he felt his heart stop. He was mid mission trying to call for Lyla but she wouldn’t answer. Frustrated he tried looking into what was happening only to see her busy having a conversation with you. It felt like something took over him when he opened a portal in less than a second. Without thinking nor wasting a heartbeat he rushed back. Just a glimpse of you, maybe just to hear a word out of your mouth. The feeling of having you back in HQ was making him ignore all his insecurities. How he would coward at the thought of trying to reach out to you before. You were in his home, your home, and the thought drove him wild.

You were already long gone though. Lyla stared at him not saying a word. The quietness in the room making his ears ring but his thoughts were screaming in his head. He stood there frozen still trying to recollect himself. He was the one that left you, what is wrong with him?

Again he went back and forth in his own head trying to convince himself ‘You wanted this.’ but if he did why is he feeling like someone just killed a puppy in front of him? Why is he here fighting with his self if this is really his dream? Why did he try chasing after you? The wounds of his past grief were too deep. He never took the time to properly heal and now look at what he’s become.

“Miguel, what’s this?” He was startled turning around seeing his girlfriend holidng your watch and skimming through the divorce paperwork addressed to him.

There was no more hiding, no more lying. He swallowed hard even though his throat was dry. He let everything he had kept away rise to surface. It hurt him to see the beautiful face his old wife shared contort into such anger and pain while finding the truth.

She didn’t stay, but for some reason he wasn’t upset. Though he longed for his daughter, he knew it would have never been the same now. He finally closed the door on his past. His heart had made the choice this time but it’s too late. Now grasping onto the divorce papers left by you, emptiness spread through his soul.

—

You on the other hand did not find yourself crying by yourself on a rooftop for long. The shift in the air from your arrival alerted the local spider-man immediately.

“It didn’t work out, did it?” He crouched down next to you as he noticed your watch gone and your missing wedding band.

Peter Parker knew both you and Miguel. Your husband had come to do many rounds of research in this universe when he took you. Eventually offering this Peter a spot in the society, which he politely declined due to just being busy enough here. You both never spoke much but always had an appreciation for each other.

“Do you need a place to crash at?” He continued while trying to get you to look at him. Reaching his hand towards you.

You had absolutely no one and you had been gone so long you couldn’t even go back to the little you had. When you met Miguel you didn’t hesitate to never look back and now it filled you with regret. How naive were you to put all your trust and reliance on him.

You took Peter’s hand. You were ready to start your own life and be your own person now.

—

Peter Parker was nice enough to let you stay with him as long as you needed it. You both had became ‘besties!’ as he would love to poke at you. The first month with him you were a disaster really but he showed you how he liked to cope using his spider abilities.

The first thing he helped you with was getting a new suit. Your old one resembled too much to Miguel’s and you felt suffocated every time you put it on. Peter had taught you to use your current emotional pain on whichever sad little villain was making trouble out in Brooklyn that night.

“Come on, we got multiverse spider-woman helping me keep these streets clean now!” He would taunt at the men while watching you easily take them out a little bit too aggressively. His feet kicking up and down while he sat on the side of a building watching you. The crime rate did go down a bit once word got around how strong your punch was. Peter’s just happy he can now spend some nights to himself.

You got yourself a job at the mart on the corner to help cover bills for Peter and save up. You were grateful enough the owners never batted an eye when you would disappear during a shift to either suddenly go cry uncontrollably or beat the shit out of someone at a nearby robbery. Next thing you were enrolling yourself back in university, wanting to finish that degree you never did.

It wasn’t too long that some of your older spider friends would stop by to check in on you. Seeing them was difficult sometimes, you were internally itching to ask about Miguel. Things were going okay for you on a very slow path of breathing step by step. You never wanted to feel that hurt again and so you very well pretend like Miguel didn’t exist if you could.

You couldn’t ignore the hurt resurfacing when you passed couples on the street. Or when you found yourself going to fidget with your wedding ring just to remember it’s gone. You can’t just move on from a relationship that was so deeply apart of you and lasted so long. You gave everything to him and it will take you much time to get yourself to build trust again.

After two semesters, you finally had your graduation. All the things you learned while in Earth-928 paid off as you barley had to study. Passing top of the class, you immediately got an offer for an internship opportunity with Alchemax and was able to get an introduction tour of the building beforehand.

What you hadn’t realized was that Alchemax had been looking for that girl who snuck into their offices a couple years ago. Who made another dimension’s spider appear and then went missing herself soon after. They had kept as close tabs on you as they could and how foolish you were to think your little break in wouldn’t come back to bite you. The moment you stepped foot back in their building, it was over for you.

—

Miguel had spent a whole year in much deserving therapy. Nothing could stop the embarrassment he felt when Peter B signed him up with HQ’s best spider-therapist after 3 months of constant out bursts. No one could come near the man when he felt like he had lost everything. Those first initial months were difficult for everyone around him.

Therapy did help, he hates to admit it, but it was a very rough ride. He finally was able to understand his deep inner term oil and heal his issues but moving on from you? No, he could never.

You were the only one who had sincerely stood by his side, always rooting for him. He never fell out of love with you despite of everything that he did. He just pushed everything down too deep and was blinded by obsession. Till now he could never deny that he still loves you. Maybe if he just would have went to therapy years ago instead of acting out on unsolved grief none of this would have happened. The guilt always making him toss and turn at night.

He would have big temper tantrums when he would find his coworkers going to visit you time to time and not sharing any details. He needed to know if you’re okay. Did you already move on? He longed to find you and speak with you but he knew he wasn’t ready yet. He was so self destructive and this was what he deserved.

Everyone avoided him completely when he overheard someone saying you were living with Peter Parker. Fighting crime with him and having a cute little home life. Peter followed you around now like a puppy. Miguel did not take the news well at all. Let’s just say, the large bill replacement for his monitor screens was what snapped him out of that rage.

He also wanted to strangle Hobie Brown every time he saw a glint in his eye when your name was mentioned around. Yet Miguel couldn’t hate the kid either, as Hobie was one of the people to try help repair the damage he did to you. How badly he just wanted to hold you and shield you in his arms from any other people taking you from him as if he wasn’t the idiot to let you go in the first place.

Everyone’s big, powerful, scary boss was really just a grumpy, wallowing-in-self-pity, sensitive, lonely man now. Mention your name too much to him and watch him start crying or take it out on whatever he could find nearest to him. He would some nights scroll through your wedding photos while listening to your last tracked log with Lyla. Your words cutting through him deep like long sharp knives. How he urged to go tell you it was all wrong and how guilty he was for making you feel like this.

Despite it all, he still believed in being the best of the best. He used his work to distract himself from his sorrows, to become numb. Even though his divorce paperwork were set next to him on his desk to remind him the pain. He never signed it.

—

“We can’t tell him!” Jessica gritted through her teeth. Small group of spider-people were hovered around Lyla taking in the new found information.

“Her canon events have always been uncertain, we can’t just stop and fix this one?” Gwen Stacy suggested in hopes.

“We have never prevented a canon event of hers or the people involved in it. It could be even more dangerous than a regular canon.” Peter B spoke grimly.

“When ‘as danger ever stopped us?” Hobie spoke up.

“Everyone get your gear.” Lyla added to the stress of the situation.

—

You couldn’t open your eyes properly with a strong blinding light being held above you. Arms and legs secured on top of a metal surgical table. You could feel the warmth of blood scattered on certain parts of your body, slowly starting to dry. It was a mix of yours and the people you had tried fighting through to get out of here when you realize the trap you were reeled into. Different people in lab coats poked and pried all around you while you were tied. Your mask was thrown on another table and your suit had large gashes across it.

Soon you also could feel the presence of Peter Parker being brought to the room, thrown slumped in the corner breathing heavily. They had gotten you too good. They knew everything and had planned this so detailed.

“Now you’re going to help me open the multiverse.” Kingpin loomed around you. All you could feel was searing pain as a laser aimed right at your chest.

—

Miguel was already staring out the window to the glowing night lights of Nueva York when he saw a big hole appear in sight of the skyline. His eyebrows furrowed while he was trying to process what he was looking at. It wasn’t a second later when all alarms started going off in his office.

“Qué carajos?” He exclaimed seeing the alerts of a possible universe collapse. “Lyla! Why wasn’t this being taken care of already?”

“I already sent people.”

“Then what are they doing?” He yelled. His confusion and anger only furthered when he saw a red alarm for a canon event.

“Canon event?” He whispered to himself. He always knew when these were happening, there were none scheduled for today. There was no way he would let one passed him, it’s not like this could magically appear? His jaw dropped in realization… a new canon event.

“Lyla, tell me the truth. Why wasn’t this reported to me?” He made the atmosphere turn cold. She knew he already figured it out.

“A new canon event was received this morning being given to Peter Parker. Of Y/N L/N’s death.” The words from Lyla made Miguel’s body go still. His eyes raced side to side while he processed it.

“No!” He roared, a fist slamming into the nearby desk. His massive strength breaking it in half.

“Boss, you can’t go on this mission only using your emotions.” Lyla warned. However Miguel was already half way stepping through a portal to find you.

He appeared, watching his team struggle to shut down the machine causing the collapse. Outnumbered by the amount of Alchemax puppets. A different kind of rage filled him as he saw you, for the first time in a year, suffering. Miguel was never one to act reckless while on missions but he had no plan here and just ran off the pure adrenaline the fight or flight had hit him with.

His claws tore into the backs of his enemies as he jumped beast-like across the room. Not hesitating spilling blood across the wall while he took everyone down as fast as he could. His team could only watch wide eye with an unsettling fear as they saw Miguel lose himself to his spider sense. While he fought they took the opportunity to take apart the machine.

Miguel was panting heavily, pupils blown wide glowing red, and fangs dripping with venom as the room slowly silenced. Kingpin laid on the floor slowly trying to drag himself after being beaten to a pulp. It was over. Peter B stopped him from doing anything further. Knowing Miguel would kill the man, Peter B let the team finish up to give Kingpin to authorities. Miguel turned frantically to look at you seeing the other spiders step away. Peter Parker was hunched over you in tears. Miguel fought the urge to snap at Peter and grab his hands off of you.

Your vision was too blurry and everything felt like it was burning. A shape that seemed too familiar came into your peripheral vision and you tried to push yourself up.

“Miguel?” Was the last thing you croaked before slumping back passing out. Miguel catching you in his arms before you could hurt yourself further.

“It’s her time.” Jessica spoke behind him. Yet he was refusing to let go. He had never defied the way the timeline worked since he created his society. He would never break the rules and you both had promised each other before not to. If there was a situation like this you both agreed to save the universe first. How stupid was he to think he would listen to that now facing it in-front of him.

He never got to tell you what happened. He never got to apologize. He never got to tell you one more time that he loved you. Even if you in result just spat in his face, at least he was able to talk to you one more time. You were never a placeholder or someone to fill a hole in his heart. His whole heart belonged to you and he couldn’t let you go thinking you didn’t mean anything to him. No matter the consequences, he needed to tell you.

“Call all the teams to control the damage of a possible universe collapse.” He turned to Jess with Y/N tightly in his arms. The spider-people watched speechless as he opened a portal and disappeared.

—

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Two weeks you laid motionless in the HQ’s medbay.

The clean up after breaking the canon was a little intense. They were able to get it under control as the event started to fade from your timeline once you were returned and starting to heal in Earth-928.

The spider society would remain silent near the medbay. The lights always being dimmed and hushed whispers between staff to not bother the distressed O’Hara. He refused to leave.

Your Peter Parker had now joined the team, much to Miguel’s dismay. Everyday your friends would come in and check to see how you were. Some telling stories about their day or any gossip updates you missed, in hopes that it would get you to wake up. They would ignore the gloomy Miguel who was basically glued to the seat next to you not saying a word to anyone.

At night Miguel would play with your fingers and softly stroke your hair all while pleading “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. Por favor mi alma.” He knew it wasn’t his place to beg this after what he did, but he didn’t mind the words falling on deaf ears.

Miguel hadn’t eaten in days, he felt too nauseous from anxiety to even try anything. Pavitr had done the favor to bring you and Miguel’s favorite empanadas from a small street vendor downtown. Hoping to get Miguel to at least try the food before he ended up in a hospital bed next to you due to starvation.

You started to blink open your eyes, spots surrounding your vision. You could hear a soft breathing to your right side and you slowly felt your sense come back one by one. It felt like you just had a really rough nap.

“Oh my god that smells so good.” You moaned, sitting yourself up to try to look at where the smell of food was coming from.

You were met with a wide eyed Miguel holding a box of empanadas. His jaw slacked open acting as if he’s seen a ghost looking at you. Confusion hit you first for a second and then you start to panic.

Why was he here? Why was your ex-husband sitting right here? You started to push away from him and Miguel caught on to your panic.

“No, no, no mi amor stop.” He tried calming you. “You’re hurt, you’re going to open your stitches.”

You suddenly remembered everything that happened right before you blacked out. At that moment you forgot the hurt you had towards your ex-lover. Gathering yourself you just stared at him. “I’m suppose to be dead.”

Tears rimmed your eyes. Why did it feel like life just hated you so much?

Miguel engulfed you in his arms as you started to cry. You didn’t care right now. You had ached for this feeling again, so alone, with the comfort Miguel used to bring you. Just for a moment you could pretend like how it was before.

“We can’t do this Miguel.”

He knew what you were thinking. He didn’t want to let you leave his arms yet, as he let his self hold harder and push your head closer into his the crook of his shoulder. The tickle of your breath on his neck, he just wanted this forever.

“She left. Almost a year ago.” He let out to you. A big weight coming off of his chest. You pulled back from him and looked up into his eyes while you watched him avoid your gaze. You felt bad to say you could feel a bit of satisfaction bubbling in you.

“Good, she deserved better.”

“So did you.” Miguel sighed playing with his hands. Your eyes widened when you saw the ring still on his finger. He let you stare. “I-I could never. I couldn’t.” The emotions struggle to come out of his mouth. You understood him though. You always did. Placing your hand on top of his you just nodded.

“Please stay here.” He whispered.

Miguel had broken you in so many ways. Yet he almost ruined another universe just to keep you alive. You both needed time to talk and coming out a coma right now isn’t good timing.

“I finally became my own person when I went back in my universe. I enjoyed my independence.” The words pelleted at him. He could only hold his breath as he waited for you to continue. “I’ll stay… but not for you.”

It wounded him deeply; but he deserved it. This place will always be a home for you even if he wasn’t apart of it. Before he can tear his gaze and turn away, you reached out to hold his face close to yours. Your fingers gently rubbing on his cheeks as you slowly look at him properly after so long. You let your thumb smooth over his frown lines and he leaned into your touch closing his eyes.

“Let’s give us time.” Was the words you blessed that opened every door of hope he could find. He would take it, he would absolutely take it. He has to fight for you, he has to prove to you. He would do anything but for now he’ll be on his best patiently waiting for you.

Both of you sat comfortably without speaking, only the faint background beeps of the hospital monitor making up for the silence, while passing small glances. For once both of you felt a missing warmth you didn’t realize you needed. Sharing empanadas with each other, just maybe it will be alright…

—————————————————

The end!!! Thank you so so much for your time in reading my story. i really really was so happy with all the comments and feedback on pt 1 it really meant a lot!!!

i hope this was ok ~ i apologize for how long it was i was thinking of doing another part but just wanted to finish this up. I was in such a conflict how to end this. i hope it wasn’t too cliche or anything i’m just a sucker for very wanty needy dramatic stories. It’s a hopeful ending tho~ i couldn’t pick with just happy or sad.

So many of you had tons of amazing suggestions which I appreciated so much. I was such a mess trying to figure it all out. Many of you wanted to see Y/N move on with another person but I ended up going this route. I used Peter Parker as an obv character in y/n’s universe but it’s not tied to any specific one and you guy can think of him more to your liking if you want to!

If any of you would like a small drabble or imagine of another route of this story or just anything angsty/possessive and rarwrarwbarkbark miguel. I’d be glad to help lol!! My request box is wide open~ i had so much fun writing this!

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[galene-gothic]

2025 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES TIP JAR

CHRISTMAS & NEW YEAR SALE AND OFFERS

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

(Note: I started your pile towards the end of the year so terms such as ‘this year’ likely means 2024 when it comes to the summary. Thank you for stopping to read and I hope that you enjoy your reading thoroughly.)

꒰ A summary of 2024 for you ꒱

You started this year with a grand mindset. You wanted to expand yourself, your life and make the most out of it by creating abundance by yourself. You basically wanted to turn your life around. I’m getting that your mindset was fairly good because you seem to have already turned something around for yourself by that point which is why you felt so confident in your vision. You were very driven to succeed and were not going to accept anything lesser than what you wanted. You were also curious, taking ideas from where you can get them, gaining knowledge from where you can so that you could make something out of your vision and you had broken free from many limitations, your mindset was not limited, negative beliefs were not present and you were dreaming big, you were also acting according to your vision like taking inspired action to the best of your capabilities. You were very empowered and driven at that time, you also had the understanding that life is a cycle but now that the year has come to an end, you’re someone who lacks work life balance and is not satisfied with how much you did causing you to feel ungrounded. Due to how much potential and time you had, and how you wasted it, you’re feeling stuck in life. You might have been looking into your past earnings and spendings (like this year’s spendings), and feeling disappointed, and a lack in terms of finances as well. You seem to be adjusting your priorities around this time. You are feeling some financial or career pressure, mostly because you didn’t do as much as you could or wanted to do. You had great potential to create stable foundations for yourself in terms of money, goals and career specifically, you could have truly grown but it’s just disappointing how your investments were either not done well by you, like you seem to have lacked follow through or consistency or things are just going slowly, you haven’t given up, you’re still trying but you’re feeling insecure about disappointing yourself because you know how much potential you had. You probably feel like you spent a lot of money as well.

You’re interested in connections at this moment, you’re hoping that next year things will be different and you’ll have close heartfelt one on one connection(s). You failed consistency and hard work, and you feel shitty about it. Your love life was pretty much non existent or very unpeaceful. If your love life was non existent or even if it was not, you dealt with difficulty with falling asleep at some point within this year, many of you could in fact be dealing with this these days itself. You could have felt embarrassed of the people you dated in the past or looking back at the way things were, you feel ashamed and depressed because you didn’t deserve that. I’m getting many of you being up in your heads in regard to love. There were also worries and anxiety regarding love at some point regardless of whether you were involved with someone or not. When it comes to your family, you seem to have been as responsible as you can be but you realised that you weren’t doing as much as you could and may have recently fixed it or are trying to do so. There’s this thing about you growing your family life in some way but being more focused on money, career, work, etc. than family because that’s the way you seem to care about them? In terms of friendships, you seem to be pretty decisive. It could have been the year when you cut friends or a friend off with a sense of decisiveness that you didn’t possess in the previous years. You are disappointed career wise, it’s not like you didn’t try but you feel like you prioritised comfort and leisure over proper investments and work. You feel like if you had been decisive to what you wanted to follow through in the beginning of the year, you’d not be left right where you started. It seems to pain you pretty deeply to not be able to make as much progress as you wanted to but despite, the disappointment you feel, you’re trying to have an even judgement going forward and not be too hard on yourself. You’re rethinking your mindsets, priorities, etc. and have had an awakening of some sort. You do not want to stray off your path next year and want to do better so that you do not feel disappointed in yourself, and your life again.

꒰ How will 2025 go for you? ꒱

The main theme of the year 2025 for you is going to be to recognise your values, actions and intentions when it comes to romance, beauty, and one on one connections in general. You’re also going to have to acknowledge where you tend to go wrong in terms of connections. If you had a love life in 2024 and are going into 2025 with that person, you’ll break free from them because the situation seems toxic i.e. one that makes you anxious, makes you feel negatively about yourself or life, makes your mind race or/and cause you sleepless nights. However, the rest of you are going to be alone or at least internally focused, causing you to attain a lot of wisdom and also grow to love your own company more. There are going to be hard truths that you’re going to learn about romance, connections and the opposite gender in the coming year. You’re also going to learn how to not put all your eggs into one basket, not out of lack of loyalty but out of self respect, by the end of the year, you’re going to grow into someone who is not going to commit to uncommitted situations. You’re going to be pretty unwilling to commit as well because you’re not going to find what you’re looking for. Your focus in the year 2025 should be on your commitment, attachment and abandonment issues. Protect yourself and keep in mind what people are capable of doing, how they may hurt or abandon you and make peace with it, knowing that that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them. I also suggest that you hold back on sharing your feelings, money, energy and presence during the year. You’re being told to save money. Also, hold yourself as your most prized possession. Not from a place from insecurity or narcissism but from an empowered place where you understand that you’re so valuable that anyone who leaves you behind is clearly dumb because someone else would break their back and bank in order to have something even half as precious. “Some people won’t be able to afford me” is the kind of mindset you should have. When I say ‘afford’, I do not mean that you’re a commodity but that you’re very valuable and some people simply won’t have the resources required to match up to the vibration where they could get and coexist with you. Please just have more faith in yourself and don’t give yourself away to people who do not live up to your standards action-wise because as the old saying goes “actions speak louder than words.” You’re going to get opportunities that are going to keep you very busy but there are going to be opportunities for distractions and long term uncommitted connections as well. You could get an opportunity that allows you to grow from within your comfort zone itself or will push you out of it, tiring you out. You’re going to have incredibly strong intuition and an access to information, and wisdom from a higher source out of nowhere or through a medium (youtube, audios, people, etc.) but will have a hard time trusting all of this. It is important for you to push for the truth by being a clear thinker who observes situations well, and spends time putting two and two together. You’re being told that your intuition will often be supported by the physical reality, it’s just that words might fool you so you need to be very vigilant and observant because actions can’t be faked. You’re being told that people can have bad intentions but they usually do have good ones, but even so, their actions are often bad so it should not be that difficult to connect the dots. There might be trouble in terms of education, skill building, team work, etc. You’re going to get in touch with a very unconscious side of yourself and your psyche that you didn’t even know existed, it’s going to be scary, confusing and you might not like many things that you might see but you’ll grow your depth, and will develop a stronger understanding of yourself going forward.

You’re going to see your own darker qualities and will also realise where you’ve faced deceit from yourself or others. I’m getting a lot of truth coming out but also a very glazed energy, like you won’t be sure what’s real and what’s not, it’s going to be difficult to differentiate between truth and illusion, and you’re going to hurt a lot. You could also face major endings this year. It doesn’t even have to be external or something that you’re aware of but you’re going to grow to be more humble, stability and career driven, and will be ethical, and consistent. You’re going to learn a lot about productivity and work ethic during the year. I’m getting that the ending is going to be more a spiritual thing by the way. In terms of romance, you’re either going to have a very light hearted and reckless approach or a very serious one but you’re going to break free definitely. You’ll understand that you’re very powerful and that oftentimes, romance has caused you to think of yourself with a sense of inferiority but that you being fooled back then doesn’t mean you can’t just reclaim your power. If you aren’t involved with people and won’t be at that time, you will try to stop thinking about situations and people because you’ll have realised that the only power anyone or anything can have is the attention that you give it. In terms of family, if you have had a bad past with them, you’re going to be pretty apathetic honestly. Especially when it comes to past complaints or negative memories that you may have of them, you’re going to accept and heal those instead of thinking about them every time something occurs within the household. You’re going to have a lot of empathy for your family but will also have the emotional intelligence to know that you didn’t deserve certain things that you may have had to go through because of them. You’re still going to forgive and love them though, and if you have a good relationship with them with a good past, you’re going to be contemplative and will find that certain members within it truly help you heal, like it will just be something that you’ll be grateful for even if it’s something that you’re so used to that you’ve started taking for granted but there’s going to be a lot of understanding and love that you’ll be extending from your side. Your career and finances are going to expand, and will likely bring in a lot of abundance, and understanding of your own path. You will likely think back to days when things weren’t as good and will be grateful. You should focus on management of money and time, and make sure you don’t spend, work or play excessively. If you’re consistent and manage your time, and resources well, 2025 will bring in so much money and career growth for you. Your own hopeful and well influenced qualities will be affecting 2025 but you’ll not even notice it. You might notice it now that I’ve pointed it out to you but it is going to heavily affect your year despite how unnoticed it will be. You’re going to do most things out of love and the love, and hope that you’ve received at any point in the past is going to help you do your best during this year. You’re also going to be more loved and influential that you might consider yourself to be, you’ll likely not be aware of the extent. My advice for you for next year is to communicate or at least think through emotionally unstable, uncomfortable or unsatisfying moment properly. Try not to react impulsively to negative thoughts and emotions. The outcome is going to be self contentment, you being able to stand up for yourself and possibly experiencing losses. Due to how much ‘breaking free’ energy I’ve received for you, it could be that you’ll start fighting back instead of silently taking it causing people to get upset but even if it’s something different, you will be more regretful about engaging with such people or situations than losing them because it’ll be their loss, not yours. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

꒰ A summary of 2024 for you ꒱

You started the year with a passionate energy but it could have been overconfident in nature. I’m getting that your mindset was scattered in some way. You were thinking about many things and hence, were feeling a lot as well. You had had enough reality checks by then but these reality checks were the very thing that were causing you to feel overwhelmed. I’m getting a lot of passion, frustration, anger, impatience from you, like your mind was all over but it was still very passionate. Your hard work was paying off in some way. It could simply be that you had grown enough to grow out of certain situations and were persevering to build a better future for yourself. Despite the places your mind was at, you were maintaining patience. You could have wanted to grow something in the previous year, like at the beginning of it but were tired and were trying not to overdo it but you had already worked long, and hard to build yourself to that point as well. You were very committed and perseverant towards your goals. Even situations that caused you frustrations, anger and overthinking were situations that you managed to gain from. It was disheartening for you that what you had previously invested in, thinking that it had grown or wanting it to had disappointed and failed you. You were working on growth and your goals, and giving up was not an option for you. I’m honestly getting a lot of disappointments, anger and passion, like even though these feelings are different, passion being positive and the other two being negative, they were all very strong. The reality checks that you had were something you didn’t want to have, you really wanted situations to work and it broke your heart that you were starting to see the reality of things, and accept it. You also felt frustrated at yourself for not seeing and accepting the truth of situations early on. The illusions that you had previously attached yourself to emotionally were something that you were breaking out of and it felt overwhelming, it also felt good and like you were making progress but it was also heartbreaking. You could have been trying to balance these overwhelming emotions by grounding yourself in reality and having something to do in real life because you had cracked the code by then that the best way to deal with emotions, illusions, excessive daydreaming and just things that feel real but also feel illusive is by immersing yourself in real life, in your daily routines and simply just having a life grounded in reality itself. You had already overcome a lot of instability and feelings of being left out in the cold, isolated, insecure, etc. You were still in the process of healing more of these. There could have been a point when reality was so bad that you were unconsciously or subconsciously trying to hold onto whatever illusions you could find comfort in but they led to nothing but wasted time, pain, hurt and disappointments in the long term of things. At that time, you were getting rid of all of that and had already managed to significantly do so. I’m also picking up on these situations being partially real or at least very real emotionally. For example, if a kid got bullied for being ugly and worthless during their middle school days, even if it never extends beyond harsh words, snickers and humiliation, it will definitely terribly humble them and even destroy their self esteem. It could have not seemed that serious because “people will say things, you can’t take everything to heart and it’s not bullying because it never got physical” but to that kid, it feels real, it felt real, it will feel real even after they’ve grown up and it is just so deeply ingrained in their psyche, and emotionality. They will still feel as though they’re unwelcome, others are trying to ridicule and humiliate them, others think that they’re worthless, others will treat them unfairly, leave them out, etc.

I’m literally crying because these situations that emotionally affected you but didn’t seem to be ‘that big of a deal’ in the physical world seem to have happened a lot, as well as other negative things that were very real but you weren’t aware of the extent of them in the past. At the beginning of 2024, your soul had overcome a lot and was still in the process of doing so. You know how people say that they just randomly got over something? That was sort of what happened but again, the reality is that you didn’t just get over it. Like, you took half a decade to mourn but randomly stopped mourning as much on a random day is the vibe that I’m getting. You also spent so much time by yourself, feeling hurt, lonely and isolated that you got used to it, and not only that but also developed a sense of solace within yourself, and life itself. You might have not realised when this happened but it had already happened by the beginning of the previous year. You were forgiving situations, people and even yourself. There were two paths that you could have followed during the previous year, one was the path of stability but also more isolation and less self expression but you would have accomplished a lot of your goals or one where you were spending more money, not saving, doing your best in terms of work because you lacked consistency and were just burnt out, and tired all the time and not being able to maintain a routine, etc. but were able to develop more of a style and sense of self expression. No matter what path you took, you did it well and I’ve gotta applaud you for that. By the end of the year, you had a major shift in mindset, you had become much more empowered and just felt more in power, and control than you did in the past years. “You’re burning up, I’m cooling down. You’re up, I’m down. You’re blind, I see but I’m free.” When you were younger, you struggled with feelings of inferiority and powerlessness. Especially in the previous years, there was a sense of power, mental, emotional, spiritual and possibly physical poverty. Everything you experienced broke you down little by little and possibly even crushed you completely at some point. Your mindset had become one of obsession, negativity and powerlessness but by the end of the previous year, you had grown into someone who had more control and power over their own mind, and you also had this realisation that your power is yours, and it’s impossible to truly strip you off it. In the past, people and situations managed to make you feel disempowered, helpless and honestly pathetic but by the end of 2024, you had grown out of it. You seem to have learned the lesson of at least trying to keep your mind as clean as possible. “The only power anything has over you is your attention.” You have understood just how powerful and worthy you are, and it did break your heart that you didn’t realise it sooner but by the end of the year, you were feeling confident, warm and authentic. You were happy to have gotten back to yourself and your power even if it took a lot of time for you to get there. You also really value this mindset, sense of power and confidence within yourself because you know what it is like to not have it. You seem to be content being your authentic self again and having an empowered mindset but what I need to address is the way you act. You were not being very honest towards the end of the year and might still be this way. Like, you could have lied about little things here and there, or maybe you didn’t even lie but you just don’t expose what you do, what your life is like, what your emotionality is like, etc. to other people. You seem to be very private and in fact, very secretive. You are willing to take risks and are very strategic. You could be highly interested in keeping up a certain image and might feel like you’re unable to do so. It could be something you’re dealing with right now or die when you were in the end of the previous year.

I’m getting the desire to have a refined ‘persona’ but one thing that I need to tell you and it’s something that you already know is that all you need to do is be yourself. You’re naturally quite secretive. Don’t fake yourself entirely in order to become a persona. You can take good qualities of yourself and exaggerate them but you still do not have to be perfect. You had grown to be very comfortable with yourself by the end of the year but you may be hard on yourself in regards to actions, words and image, you care a lot about how you come across to others by the way you present yourself. You’re being told to be yourself but still keep your inner world away from other’s reach, let little parts of yourself and your life trickle through but make sure it’s out of reach for people until they’ve earned it. You’re naturally good at this though, just reflect on the past, you’ve always been good at this but you’re also good at reaching into other people’s inner world and exposing a vulnerable part of it to them. You had grown to be content and abundant by the end of the year, in terms of emotions especially. You’ve made significant progress when it comes to authenticity this year. You’re being told to refine yourself further and also your persona because you seem to truly want to do it but not to remove authenticity from it. It’s not even like you need to be deliberately crafting a persona, as long as you’re yourself because you’ve already learned how to be very secretive. You’re also resourceful and have found a way to get what you want even if you’re not entirely honest about certain things. Like, for example, I’m currently volunteering at a campaign for underprivileged children even though it’s only for college students but Sir Warrick has fit me in by lying that I’m a university student xD. Is it a big lie? Not really. Did I get what I want? Yes. Your soul has already gained contentment and abundance. I’m getting an almost happy go lucky energy from your soul. 2024 could have been a busy and fast year for you, one where you were constantly on the go. This could have been in two ways, either that you were busy working and had a lot on your plate work wise or were going out a lot, developing personal style, expression, etc. but still had personal and work responsibilities to deal with so the year just passed by in the blink of an eye for you. You learned a lot about the mind, keeping it in the right place, gained clarity about things and have gotten in touch with your reasonable and powerful side during the previous year, and also learned more about the importance of being active. You seem to know by now that having something to keep you engaged is the best way to retain your power because you’ll be grounded in reality and within yourself, and won’t have much time to overthink. You have a desire to retain your power by being reasonable, intelligent, sharp and knowing how to create, and set firm boundaries. You also want to be more active, accomplishing your goals and being someone who leads by action rather than word. This is why you seem to be really critical of yourself when it comes to your image and persona but trust me, as long as you’ve got a firm and strong character within yourself, and are leading with kindness, compassion and well worked out actions, you’re doing fine but yes, you do seem to have people who like to disrespect and ridicule you without you having done anything, make sure that you stand up for yourself but do so as calmly as possible, and just try to avoid such individuals. It’s better to not waste your breath, energy and words on such people, and situations. Prevention is better than cure as they say, if people seem to disrespect you for no reason, just avoid them entirely because these kinds of people only disrespect you the more they get to know you.

꒰ How will 2025 go for you? ꒱

2025 for you is going to be a year of a lot of overthinking, illusions, etc. but also being so over it that your year will be about clarity, awareness of your depth, lessons from deep within your psyche, etc. You’re going to move on from a lot of your ways that you’re deeply stuck in. “You can’t deny, how hard I’ve tried. I changed who I was to put you both first but now I give up.” In the past, you were under the illusion that maybe you should be more sacrificing for harmonious connections but as you grew older, you realised that the more you bent over backwards for others, the more they stepped all over you, you realised that it was not harmonious but in fact, unfair and harmful to you. It led to a deep dive into your own psyche and hence, shame like were you doing all that out of desperation? If all of this has not yet happened, it is going to happen this year in very extreme ways. There was also this thought of maybe you just weren’t enough because stripping yourself off of who you were and your own needs was not enough for others. By the end of the previous year itself, you had become very aware of your own power and had grown to be less ashamed, and more accepting of yourself - the good and the bad so I would say that you’re going to grow on that, and move on from a lot. You’re still going to be carrying baggage of the past but you’re going to be unwilling to return to places, situations and emotions that had you feeling so helpless. This year, you’re getting the opportunity to free yourself from other people’s over domination over you. You seem to have a dormant sense of dominance and aggression to you that you do not tap into or express but some others can pick up on it, leading to them feeling aggressive too and feeling the need to over exercise control over you, and those who don’t underestimate you, and try to walk all over you. In the past, people succeeded to trap you and control you, pretty much making you work according to them like a marionette, their doll that they’re using threads to control. There seems to be a theme in friendships, particularly opposite sex ones where you find out that they viewed you as an option or someone to rely on, flirt with, share an emotional connection with as a replacement for a romantic one, etc. rather than a genuine friendship and it has left you feeling used, and in romance, there seems to be a lack of commitment that you’ve experienced from others and there was likely a point, when you stuck in such situations, and you’re going to look back at it and go “gosh, I was so stupid”, you’re going to low-key (high key honestly) bully yourself because why weren’t you enough and mostly why did you think that you weren’t enough? Why did you act like you weren’t enough by sticking in such situations? You’ve had a history of being an underachiever because situations in the past caused you to have a crushed esteem and you were not able to have practical routines when younger. You used to lack follow through, resources and were honestly lazy to a certain extent in the past, making it easy for others to underestimate you because you were underachieving and stuck in situations that anyone with a healthy esteem would not even think about entertaining but you’re going to manage to grow out of it this year. This is making me heavily emotional. You could also meet people - acquaintances and friends who help you move on from the past that haunts you in some way but it’s going to be a journey that you’re going to have to take on on your own, you’re going to have to get over it in the comfort of your own home, bed, space and mind. Your inner world is going to bring about a lot of shame, fears and lack of empowerment, you’re going to blame yourself for being so stupid in the past but you’re going to move on from it at some point, finally being able to see light at the end of the tunnel. The laziness and lack of discipline that you previously had deeply ingrained within you is going to be something you break in order to protect your ego.

You’re going to break free from the people, systems and situations that previously abused their power over you. You’re also going to get rid of your own overthinking and powerlessness, and need for control significantly. You’re going to start by feeling angry at yourself for everything that you had to experience but will direct that rage onto those who hurt you and honestly, used you in some way but you’ll use these experiences in order to shape better routines, habits, discipline, common sense, groundedness into yourself and your life. Some of you could have quite literally gotten bullied by your friends, family, lovers, acquaintances, classmates, etc. in the past or a group of all of them causing you to have a lot of trauma. You’re going to struggle with seeing your power and influence, and how amazingly great you are despite your dualities during this year. You’re going to be bullying yourself very heavily. There could be moments when you’re more play than work but there are also going to be moments when you’re very serious, lacking play. You’re likely to struggle with materialising your potential into reality due to your over playfulness or over seriousness. Like, the energy that I’m getting is that when you’ll work, you’ll work so seriously and in extremes, burning yourself out completely. You’re going to have to learn how to manage your time and energy properly, and figure out what works for you during this year but it’s going to be difficult for you because you’re going to have a lot of disempowering thoughts in your mind triggered by the past or of the past itself that will feel very real to you. Your focus should be on your pure heart, try to keep your heart as light as possible because your mind is going to be very heavy and hence, unload onto your heart. I’m getting the siren lore coming through (both the fish and bird ones). You’re being told to beautify yourself and try to present yourself properly without being too hard on yourself. You’re being told that you need to ‘feel it’ in order to become it. Correct yourself to feel the way you want as many times as you need to. You are being told to have faith in yourself and courage, and determination in your path. You’re being told to focus on how pure hearted you are and understanding that it was their loss, and that the more you think about past situations, the more power you’re giving them. You’re being told to pursue your goals and are being told that in regards to love connections, you like pure hearted, childlike, fun and innocent ones, so you should not settle for anything lesser than that. Don’t ever fall for desperation. This year, you’re going to learn how to be more biased and less committal because you’ll know what it is like to be in one sidedly committed situations. Also, you’re going to realise the unfairness of your previous investments, be it in connections or something else. You’re going to understand where you were the one struggling to properly invest time, energy and resources to certain activities, causing you to not reap the ideal results. Basically, you’re going to find out where you’re lacking action wise or are not allotting time and energy properly. You’re going to find a sense of belonging within yourself and are going to close cycles, moving forward steadily. Work wise, you’re going to lack consistency but you’re still not going to lack perseverance. For example, you want to keep a routine throughout the month, you might be unable to do so but you’ll still make sure you complete your work. Everything that will be weighing on your mind and heart will make it difficult for you to work consistently. You’re going to waste a lot of energy thinking about the past and worrying about the future, when you could use it to build your career instead. Still you’re going to go very far from where you previously were or currently are. You’re not really going to be in a bad place, in fact, you’re going to be reaping a lot of what you’ve grown and will be looking forward to more by the end of the year.

What I think is going to happen is that cycles of the past that you’re unable to close, sudden negative changes that have or will happen will affect you without your knowledge. Now that I’ve told you, it’s going to be something you have more awareness of but it’s still going to be quite unconscious to you. You’re going to be morally guided, these morals were likely passed down to you by a teacher or someone you met in an institution like a school, if not it could simply be the institution itself held those values but you’re going to be trying to go about things very ethically and are going to let go of more insecurities than you did the previous year, major healing is on the way. My advice to you is that this year has high potential for letting go of the past without regrets. Forgive and forget because that way things won’t have a power on you anymore. There’s no point of holding onto anger, regrets, disappointment, shame and aggression. Yes, you were wronged but you being wronged is what has caused extreme changes in your life, while they might not feel good and probably make you, and made you feel unstable, it’s only a signal to you to ground yourself further and build yourself more, and more. You do not have to forgive people externally, forgive them within yourself in order to heal your own heart. You’re a romantic person but any sort of romance you’ve experienced, even the slightest trace of it has caused the rug to be pulled from underneath your feet without any warning but embracing these changes is the only way to go otherwise, you’re going to experience lack for a longer time than you have to, you’re going to feel unstable and lack abundance for longer. The main theme of your relationships are forgiveness, grudges, extreme pain and healing. The outcome is going to be - you being unwilling to compromise and work with others, and choosing your personal goals over emotions. You’re going to love people but your sense of responsibility for yourself, your passions and competitions is going to be higher. You’re going to be unwilling to let anyone walk all over you, causing you to have aggressive fights or at least some tension in your connections. In your familial connections, you’re going to hold love for them but it’s going to be stifled in some way. There’s going to be a lack of love, passion, trust, belonging and support in all your connections or at least that’s how you’re going to feel. You’re going to be more defensive and authentic in who you are by the end of this year. You’re not going to be willing to bend down to anyone. You’re also going to be lonely but are not going to be feeling that way. Well, you will feel that way but you’ll prioritise character, actions and the inner world a lot so you are going to have your priorities in the right place, knowing that money is important but still not enough to bring about true happiness. You’re going to be a bit arrogant but will have a lot of silent power because you’re going to prioritise your own character and actions too. You’re going to be unwilling to make excuses and will be hard on yourself when you do something that you’re not proud of but you’ll remind yourself that others walked all over you so much in the past, it’s just the frustrations pouring out and that while it is still not an excuse to be so aggressive at times and have anger tantrums at the wrong time, on the wrong people, and situations, you’re going to choose to do better because you’ll feel a lot of shame but will still be trying to not ruminate over something you cannot change. You’re going to have a strong desire to be yourself at all costs and will be very aggressive, be it internally or externally when someone tries to change or question that. You’re going to set strong boundaries and will mind being an aggressive bitch to others but will understand that you were pushed to such a limit and won’t be too hard on yourself for too long. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

꒰ A summary of 2024 for you ꒱

The overall theme of 2024 for you was aggression and competitiveness driven towards or by past events, and people. It doesn’t seem to be a bad thing honestly. The past seems to have been on your mind quite heavily but even so, you managed to build yourself a lot. In the past, you could have dealt with competitive friends who used to humble you in subtle ways, in fact you dealt with acquaintances who used to try to humble you in subtle or well, straightforward ways and you used these events of the past to go after your goals, and push forward with passion, and determination because you wanted to be taken seriously and most importantly, you wanted to take yourself seriously. There was also some anger towards a past person who you shared a deep, triggering but oddly comforting bond with even though you knew them for a short time or possibly a long time because they didn’t keep in touch with you or something like that. What I find really funny here is that you probably still have mixed feelings towards this person, like such a soft spot but such a weak one, so much love and affection but equal amount of resentments, anger and complaints. You started the previous year with a contemplative energy, you were thinking a lot about self love and your own sensitive nature, and also how much love and empathy you provided others with, with hopes of receiving basic respect and treatment. You were thinking about desperation, self love and all of that. Action wise, you were breaking free from a lot of limitations, hurt, pain, fears, sorrow, devastation, suffering and powerlessness. That’s how you were building foundations for your new life, little by little, step by step. I just heard ‘baby steps’, so well maybe you were falling a lot before you started walking in a more balanced manner. Emotionally and relationship wise, you were overwhelmed, you just felt like you lacked fulfilment and abundance in this part of your life, and you were closed off to love because you really value the deep aspects of love, and intimacy, and also value emotions, and love beyond just the earthly way in which people seem to love. You don’t want something superficial, you want something deep, all consuming yet still allows you to be yourself. You also value the character of the other person, you want them to offer more than just material value to you and you found it difficult to find people who truly appeal to you. You felt independent and lonely, and unloved but you were extending that love to yourself and trying to nourish yourself, and build yourself character wise as well because to you, your character is of utmost importance. Like, if you do something that you’re not proud of or realise that you’ve drifted away from your true character, it weighs pretty heavily on you. You wanted to become someone who you could be proud of in terms of character. You were honestly sorta sad but you were trying to see the light, find hope and optimism, even if you overdid it sometimes. You wanted to grow stability, groundedness, character, career and money. In terms of life, you could have decided to follow where the grass seemed greener. You just kind of left situations suddenly, not wanting to take negativity into your new year. You were looking forward to your future and were looking inwards for wisdom, and guidance. I’m not getting a lot of human interaction from you at that time or it was just not interaction that affected you in any way. By the end of the year, you had grown to have control over your mind and knew how powerful you truly are. You wanted to grow this power more but for the right reasons. You wanted to become more reliable as a person and felt the need to be responsible, reasonable and have a strong character that you maintain steadily. You had also become very graceful and well influenced by the end of the year. Wanting to be gentle and having a lot of hope despite any chaos that you may have experienced in the previous years.

You’ve become friendly but you had already and were still overcoming obstacles with grace, making you have faith in yourself and life itself. Emotionally, you had developed a deep understanding of yourself already and were in the process of getting an even deeper understanding of yourself, and your own psyche. You were committed to fairness, wanting to be fair to others and yourself i.e. if someone made a choice of any sort, if they did or said anything, they’d have to deal with the consequences of what comes out of it. “You make your bed, you sleep in it” is the vibe that I’m getting here. You had become someone who was slightly hard on yourself because you wanted to remain in control of yourself and have a great character, one that is reliable, responsible and built so strongly, it can’t be broken down. You had already accomplished a lot and built a lot for yourself, and especially within yourself but you wanted to do more, you wanted to be more. “When you’re not growing, you’re regressing” and you didn’t want to regress so you were hard on yourself so you’d not get complacent and instead could continue growing. You were also tired of constantly working on yourself and your life but you were also slightly proud of yourself. You were persevering in life, not letting yourself break or give up. You had developed a lot of courage because your life forced you into situations where you had no choice but to develop and channel such a side. You’ve learned the importance of not yelling at people and having temper tantrums in the previous year. You’ve also learned the importance of equality and healthy power dynamics in relationships. You also learned the importance of giving without expecting returns though, maybe you just learned that you felt good when you gave to others wholeheartedly without any expectations. You learned that power is silent and that you do not need to be externally well reputed or popular in order to have power. You could have quite literally learned the power of silence. “Communication is key but it is better not to communicate with those who are not willing or capable enough to understand you.” You learned the importance of self love and not over empathising, also that being too hard on yourself is something you need to stop doing. You learned that the emotional intelligence and empathy that you give others should be something you extend to yourself as well. You learned how to learn and be more humble, you also learned how to hold silent power by letting others underestimate or try to humble you but not being able to because you have developed a healthy esteem and life for yourself where you’re content and don’t think or feel like you’re superior or inferior to anyone but are grateful to have all that you have.

꒰ How will 2025 go for you? ꒱

2025 is going to be the year of growing to become more mature and wise. The main theme of the year is domesticity of some sort. Your year could revolve around community of some sort, home, stability, family, etc. This year is going to allow you to hide yourself by straying you far from yourself, you’re going to feel like you’re unable to be your authentic self and are either going to be forced to hide by circumstances or are going to do so yourself. Also, despite moments of pessimism, you’re going to have that sense of ‘not giving up’ within you. You’re going to be trying to find hope, some light desperately and will find it but there is going to be a sense of not being your authentic self at some point during the year. Also, being unseen and hiding yourself. Like I said earlier, it could be deliberate or something that life brings to you. You’re going to struggle with emotional attachments and detachments, you’ll probably not want to let go of certain people, situations or ways despite them not fulfilling you. I’m picking up on a sense of emotional overwhelm but also detachment pushing you far from your normal self, making you realise how unauthentic you’ve become, how far you’ve strayed from yourself and hence, helping you grow by making you unseen for a while so that you can learn how to improve yourself instead of prove yourself. You should focus on keeping your zest for life alive and remaining confident with a healthy self esteem during this year. You’re going to grow in big ways, becoming more secure within yourself, valuing stability, refining virtues present within you and instilling new ones, etc. For those of you who earn, you might save up or might have an increase in income. You’re going to be more grounded within yourself outside of external validation because it’s going to be your year of spending more time at home, re-evaluating what domestic bliss means to you and remaining unseen in some way. This is going to be the year when you’re either going to give more than you’re receiving out of responsibility or will realise the unfairness in your connections in the past. If not, you might have already realised it and you’re going to be very weary of give and take during this year. Despite this weariness, there’s a genuine desire to give without expectations of receiving anything. Romantically, you’re going to be someone with discernment. You’re going to be someone who doesn’t place unfair blame on others and yourself. “He did this so I can’t interact with him anymore but no hard feelings” is the vibe that I’m getting here. You’re going to feel like taking things personally and holding grudges doesn’t do anything except make one relive the pain. Familial connections will be healing as by the end of the year, you’re going to want to provide for them and simply just be someone of rich character so you’re going to forgive them and not get mad or at least act out of anger when it comes to them.

Platonically, you could have conversations with people through texting but I’m getting quality time and fun with people being fleeting. You’re should be more patient when it comes to finances, studies, career, skills, etc. You’re being told to put in work consistently and wait for results to show instead of fearing the unknown, and stopping to reanalyse things again and again. Time management, money management, etc. could be really tricky during this year. You could maintain a delicate balance but you have to make sure that you keep your priorities straight because there is definitely a chance that you’re going to feel disappointed at the time and resources you wasted when looking back. For those of you remaining focused, you’re simply going to be busy and maintaining things very delicately. Yes, you might make mistakes here and there but you’re going to manage to have something to show for the efforts that you put in throughout the year. Besides, even if you do not have anything to show for your efforts, your success will be found in your daily routines and I think that’s a lot xD. You’re going to have pride and a desire for recognition that you’ll be unaware of you that will be motivating your actions during the year. For example, when reevaluating your needs and desires for your domestic life. You might feel like it’s ideal to look after your family and provide for them to the best of your abilities because you’ll want to feel a sense of pride in doing so, and will want to be seen as someone who’s doing all of this. You’re being told to remain even tempered and level headed, trying to balance things out properly instead of blaming yourself or anyone for anything, or letting your anger or emotions get to you. “DO NOT LISTEN TO SAD MUSIC AND IMAGINE SITUATIONS THAT NEVER HAPPENED OR EVEN REPLAY THE SITUATIONS THAT DID SOON!” If you disappoint yourself, don’t be too hard on yourself and be as gentle as you would be with a child who made a small mistake. The outcome is going to be you stopping to seek love and nurturing in ways that could violate your self respect. Developing stronger ethics and following them, possibly starting to understand and value some old school systems. For example, sex only after marriage. I’m picking up on you feeling really weak and vulnerable by the end of the year due to lack of love, nurturing and understanding from others but learning from it by diving deep into your own psyche, patterns and actions, and also accepting other people’s actions for what they truly were, even if it hurts. You’re going to be a very ethical, respectful and slightly old school person who desires to be a recipient of ethical, respectful and old school treatment by the end of the year. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

[uranometrias]

nobody ever loved me like you do, spencer reid

just a little prompt i couldn't get out of my head. this is majority fluff, it got kind of heavy towards the end, but no smut because i'm a coward, reader is a university student, there's an age gap between reader + spencer, unspecified, but reader is over 22. based off of 'pov' by ariana grande.

this absolutely got long as shit, i don't know how to be normal. (5.6k wrds)

"what's on your mind?" you hadn't realized you'd gone quiet until you feel the dip of the couch. it takes a moment to snap out of the little moment you've dug yourself into, but when you do you're pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriend on the couch next to you. he grabs hold of the book you'd haphazardly discarded, and flips it over. you imagine internally he's tsking at you, he was always reminding you to be careful of the spine of the books you read, but you're happy he doesn't make a move to scold you about it now. instead, he closes it, and places it in his lap, letting his eyes trace all over your pretty face.

"is everything okay?" he prods, and in truth, you were fine. you didn't really know why you'd gotten so lost in your head, it just happened sometimes. domesticity was still fairly new, and despite the fact that your relationship with spencer had gotten to the point where you both were comfortable staying at each other's places for long periods of time, you still kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. spencer was the first guy you'd been with that was older, already established, had a 'big boy job' as you so eloquently labeled it. he had security.

not that you were some lazy, unprepared individual letting your life slip by, but you were still figuring things out. you were in university, and you had big dreams and hopes for your future, it just felt like it was taking forever to get there. to your future. everyone was always telling you not to wish away your youth, but by law you were no longer a child, you hadn't been for a while. your twenties were meant to be for 'figuring things out', finding yourself all over again, or that's what you were always hearing. over time it felt easier said than done.

the point was when you were still uncertain about what you wanted to spend the rest of your life doing, it was hard to feel grown up. especially when you had a boyfriend like spencer who was always doing something to raise the bar for humanity. he was a genius, he worked for one of the most prestigious units in the fbi, he was in the fbi... that in itself was an accomplishment. he had phds, bachelor degrees, and an extensive knowledge of literature in numerous languages and texts. to top it all off, he really was a great boyfriend.

you supposed it was just you feeling a bit insecure. you didn't believe that he expected too much of you, but that didn't stop you from putting unnecessary pressure on yourself. "everything's fine." you promise, and you tack on a warm smile to really sell it. the action triggers an involuntary smile from spencer, and you feel a bit faint, just because he's so pretty. "i was just watching you read." you admit, and it was true, you had gotten a bit lost in how quickly spencer was speeding through his own book. it didn't trigger insecurity, it just left you in awe at how absurdly lucky you were to have bagged spencer.

"yeah?" and he's got this edge to his voice that he usually gets when he's tired, sleepy, content. it was comforting, knowing that he was comfortable being here, like this with you. "are you sure that you're alright?" and he's leaning forward, hand cupping your cheek as he rubs his thumb over your jaw, and you lean into him. "you know you can talk to me about anything." he adds, and he's perceptive. you're certain that part of this has to do with his job, and the other part has a lot to do with the fact that he knows you so well.

"i know." you answer instantly, and you bring your hand up to hold over top his. "trust me, i know. that's why i like you so much." you beam brightly, and you lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips. it's a peck, and it sounds like one with the way that your lips smack together. you note his disappointment when you pull away just as he moved to kiss you a bit more fiercely. you find yourself giggling a bit as he pouts at you, and you lean in to offer him another kiss.

"like?" he asks, and you know he's fishing, but for what you're not sure. his eyes never look as bright as they do when he's sitting across from you. it offers you a bit of an ego boost to know that someone as handsome as your spencer consistently looks so enamored and enraptured with you. "i thought that we were a little past like..." he says, and your nose scrunches up at his big doe-eyed stare. "am i wrong about that?" and he holds his breath.

"no, you're right." you promise, and he relaxes. "we're past that." spencer looks relieved, and you wonder sometimes what's going on in his mind. he doesn't say anything for a while, he just looks at you, his thumb continues to draw soothing circles on your face, and you think you might be convinced to fall asleep if he keeps it up. "i'm sorry." you offer, and spencer's immediately shaking his head at you.

"don't apologize." he presses, and he's peeling his hand away from your face. now it's your turn to be disappointed. "and if you don't feel like we're past the 'i like yous'... that's okay too." and he looks sad now. it's your least favorite expression on him, and you wonder if you've done something wrong. "i don't want you to feel like you're rushing yourself, okay? or like you're forcing yourself to feel anything that you don't." he says, and your eyebrows furrow inward, face contorting.

"i don't feel that way." you deny sternly. spencer's head tips to the side, curls following along, and the urge to run your hands through his hair almost chokes you out. "spencer, i don't feel that way." you reiterate, and you hate that his expression doesn't change. you hate that he looks like he doesn't believe you. "i have too many feelings for you." you admit, and you shake your head. "all of the feelings." you insist, and the problem is that you haven't managed to fully verbalize what that means. spencer's told you that he loves you, often.

you haven't managed to say it back, but not because you don't believe it. it's more so out of worry that once you tell him, things will get too real. you'll grow too comfortable, and by-proximity expose parts of yourself that spencer might not be ready for. things that'll make him run for the hills, and take his sweet i love yous with him. "that's a lot of feelings." spencer replies, and he sighs deep, chest moving with the action. you smile, mostly to ward off the tension.

he doesn't return it, and you suddenly feel anxious. "do you want-" he trails off, and he looks conflicted. "if you wanted to break up..." and your heart sinks. "you would tell me, wouldn't you?" he asks, and you immediately reach out for him, his hands curling into yours as you interlock your fingers. you want to slam your head into a wall, mostly for worrying him in this way. The last thing you'd been thinking about was a breakup, in fact, you'd finally resided yourself to the fact that you were in this relationship as long as spencer wanted you.

"do you think that's what this is about?"

"isn't it?" his quick retort makes you frown, and now you're facing one another with matching pouts. "i just want you to trust me with your feelings... all of them." he explains. "even the ones i might not enjoy the most." he treads lightly, and you find that there's nobody in the world who could matter more to you. "and i'm sorry if i haven't been doing enough to let you know that." and you huff in annoyance, but not with him. never with him. with yourself for overthinking.

"you've got it all wrong." you tell him, and you hope your words sound as definitive as they feel. "a breakup is the farthest thing from my mind." you shuffle a bit on the couch, mostly to invade the space he just took. you don't stop moving until he's back in your orbit, your knees brushing against his leg. "i've never met anyone like you before." and it feels cliche, but you suppose you've earned the right to quote the words, because they're true. "i think as far as expectations for boyfriends go, you managed to smash through them all."

spencer finds himself nervous under the onslaught of kind words. he can't look away from you though, because it's so rare when you let him into your head. despite all his profiling skills, you were still almost completely a mystery. he understood your physical cues, but the emotional ones were still hard to pinpoint. "i think sometimes i still keep waiting for you to realize how amazing you are..." and he has that annoying feeling of giddiness in his stomach. it feels childish, but he adores the rush loving you continues to give him.

"i think i'm a little aware." he says, and you laugh. your hands reach out, and now you're the one holding his face. he thinks it's a comfort thing of yours, the way you like to hold onto him when you're talking. his apprehension towards touch was no match for the way your hands on his face brought him a feeling of comfort like nothing else.

"and you still want to be with me?" you ask, and you don't sound bashful, more confused than anything else. spencer's confusion soon matches your own, his eyebrows furrowing as he recites your words over and over in his head. what sort of question was that? "i just mean that there's so many types of women out there... you work with so many." and your mind drifts to his closeness with the girls he worked with in the fbi. namely jennifer jareau.

you'd only met her a few times, you knew she was married with sons, but you couldn't shake the thought that if she wanted him she could have him. she was older, more confident, disastrously pretty. "i just don't understand why someone like you would want to be with someone like me." you express, and spencer is flabbergasted. he forces you to peel your hands from his face, instead choosing to hold your hands and squeeze them gingerly.

"someone like you?" and he wants you to get it all out, every last bit of it, mostly so that he can correct every incorrect notion about yourself that you expose.

"someone who's immature, naive, inexperienced, uncertain about almost every major decision... you know? someone like me." you divulge, and he winces. "you've got so much going for you, i just don't want you to feel like i'm holding you back." you admit. "so when i saw you reading... i don't know-" you trail off, and spencer's eyes shoot across the room to his own discarded book. "i guess i just remembered how incredible you are, and how severely inadequate i must be in comparison." and your voice gets quieter as you finish.

"you could never hold me back." he states firmly. "and even more than that... i don't think it's actually possible for someone to really hold you back." he admits, and you feel him beginning to start on a tangent, though you don't mind. they were far and few in between these days. "to me it always seemed more like an excuse people use to place blame on someone else for their shortcomings." spencer's let go of your hands, and you watch them as he gestures boisterously. "for everything i'm good at, there's so many areas where i fall short."

you don't think you've ever loved him more.

"and who says phd's and fast reading skills are what make a person better suited or fit for anything?" and he knows that you want to rebuttal, so he continues so you don't get the chance to. "my skills help me with the job that i do... we can agree that's true, right?" he asks, and you nod your head. "right. but, you don't want to have my job, do you?" he asks, and your nose curls up. you thought that what spencer did was admirable, you loved celebrating the victories with him, you knew it was important, but you don't think you had it in you.

"no, i guess not." you disagree.

"and you don't need to be called 'doctor' or hold a gun, or kick down doors, in order to be... a suitable life partner."

"you're not kicking down any doors, spencer." you crack a joke, and you like that he laughs, it's the kind that morphs into a toothy smile.

"maybe not, i just mean that out of the two of us, you're not the one who needs to worry about not being adequate... i don't think there's anything in existence that would make me not want to be with you." and you feel bashful, but know full well that you can't pull your eyes away from him. "you're a lot to lose." he exhales, and you blink. "and you don't need doctorates or much of anything for that to be the case." spencer beams a little bit, "you captivate people without even realizing it sometimes." spencer's hand moves to rest on your thigh.

"you think so?"

"sometimes i try and figure out how i got so lucky, and i hope that i keep doing whatever it takes to make you stay." he admits. "does that make sense?" he asks, and you feel your heart wanting to burst out of your chest.

"it makes a lot of sense." you agree. "and i can guarantee that as long as you want me, you'll have me." you promise.

"and if i want you forever?" he asks, and you smile despite yourself.

"then i guess you're stuck with me forever, doctor reid." and he likes the thought a lot more than he anticipated. he thinks that's why he can't ignore the urge to kiss you. he leans forward, lips overtaking yours like a magnet being pulled towards a kindred force. you almost pounce, finding yourself rooted on top of his lap, fingers finally finding solace in his hair, as his hands scope out your waist and the curve of your hips.

you hum when his lips peel away from yours, landing on your neck as he peppered the space with kisses and small bites. kissing spencer was a surefire way to get you both started down a path of insatiability. it was dangerous, but you supposed with the conversation context in mind, it made perfect sense for this to be the end result. still, it feels like there's more to say, and you suppose that it's why you tighten your hold on his hair just slightly, craning your neck to give him all the access he needs. "spence?" you gasp.

he doesn't verbally acknowledge you, instead his arms loop around you, bringing you closer as he proceeds to leave hickeys in areas that would be much too difficult to hide. "spence..." you try again.

"i'm listening." he promises before he's placing a kiss just behind your ear. it makes you squirm, suddenly feeling lightheaded as his grip on your waist tightens slightly.

"can you tell me again?" you ask, and you don't want to ruin the moment, especially after he just sweetly poured his heart out to you. "tell me how you feel about me..." you instruct a bit more impatiently. spencer's more interested in leaving more marks on your skin, but he also enjoys the vulnerability that comes with expressing himself to you. he pulls away from your neck with one last peck, before his lust-filled gaze is locked on yours. you've taken to raking your nails through his hair, gently dragging against his scalp.

"you still don't know?" he asks, and part of you thinks he's doing this on purpose. it's not until you register the slight upturn of his lips that you recognize that he's teasing you.

"is it so bad that i want to hear it again?" you press, and you're feeling a bit impatient, mostly because you're itching to finally spit the three word phrase out, but you want him to say it first.

"no." he denies, head shaking. "it's not bad at all, and i don't mind telling you, but, can you ask me the right way?" and you feel the shift, the way his fingers finally slip under your shirt. it makes you jump, the way his fingertips trace over the skin of your lower back. "what are you fishing for, pretty girl?" you don't have the courage to stare at him anymore, instead you find your head glued to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, as your arms looped around him.

"i'm not fishing." you deny, and spencer presses a swift kiss to the top of your head. despite the desire to 'get to the good part' that you know you both feel, you still enjoy this part. the clinginess, the way he showered you in attention and affection that you had never believed yourself worthy of. he loved you so openly, so easily. it never felt like a burden, it never felt like something he had to try too hard at. you liked that, you liked that he made falling in love so easy.

"no?" he doesn't sound convinced. "what are you hoping i'll say then? i know you have an idea." he says and his chin is resting on the top of your head as he adjusts you on his lap. the tension still rests in the air, but he's holding you like he's comforting you almost, arms looped around you in an almost-hug that feels warm and comfortable and familiar. it's the kind that you could get lost in, fall asleep in. maybe you will, just as soon as you get through this last little emotional hoop.

"you don't know everything."

"did i say that?" he corrects you lowly, he's not impatient with you, and you wonder how long it took him to garner enough stamina to keep up with your sass.

"no." you deny, and he hums in agreement. you've taken to running your hands up and down his back, palms closing and opening as you try and quiet your anxiety. "i want to hear you say that you love me again." you admit, and it feels like a lump is forming in your throat. "i know that you do." you add a second after. "but sometimes i like to hear it anyway..." you clear your throat. "it makes me feel-" and you trail off, because you haven't really gotten over this hurdle.

spencer's smiling, and you know that he is, because as much as he knows you, you think you know him a little bit too. "how does it make you feel?" he asks, and you shake your head, eliciting an amused sort of exhale. "you can tell me anything." he reminds you, and of course you know that. "or we could move on... if it's too much to say right now." he offers you an out like the gentleman he always has been. "do you want to go back to before?" and you definitely want to kiss him.

maybe do a bit more than kiss.

"yes." you agree, but when it seems like he's about to move, you hold him even tighter to you. "wait, no." you deny, and he's exhaling through his nose. you cringe, because you know that sometimes you can be indecisive, but you think about what he'd told you earlier. you remind yourself that he wanted you, and you calm down. "i want to kiss you again." you start, and he doesn't say anything, because he knows you're not finished. "but i want to finish our conversation first." you huff, and he's surprised, in a pleasant sort of way.

"we can do that." he promises, "what do you want to tell me?"

"i like when you tell me that you love me." you admit, and you think it's good that you're not looking at him. you also like that he's still lightly dragging his fingers along your waist, it makes you shy, but you welcome it. "it's not something that you just tell everyone, so i like that you tell me, even though i haven't said it back." you feel like you're losing your breath as you rush to get it out. "and i like how what you said earlier makes me feel."

"how's that?" and spencer is spencer. he likes to drag things like this out, he likes for you to elaborate, to explain yourself. you suppose he likes to hear you just as much as you like to hear him.

"i don't know how to express it really, but it feels nice. 'cause you always sound like you mean it when you say it." you freeze when his fingers stop their slow journey, but you don't have time to focus on that right now. "not like butterflies, but it's like stabilizing." you shrug your shoulders. "and it's not the sort of thing that feels like it comes with some sort of price. like i don't hear it, and think 'oh he's only saying this because he wants to sleep with me', it doesn't-" you inhale. "it doesn't make me anxious or anything."

spencer's disappointed that his memory mostly works for things he's seen rather than heard, because he wants to relive this conversation for the rest of his life. it's a bit unheard of, especially in his lifetime. he's seen people in love, he's witnessed incredible relationships, but nothing he's seen has ever compared to the way that you manage to make him feel. he's had girlfriends, one-night-stands, experimentations, and things in between that felt like they could be the real thing, eventually. being with you though feels easy.

even when things go wrong, when you're too stubborn to communicate, and he's too tired to fight for you to, it still feels easy. like the struggles that come with your relationship are struggles he's willing to deal with. you're someone he's willing to deal with.

"it makes me want to stay." you offer, and it's scary, mostly because you've got the world's worst habit of running away when things get too real. you packed your bags at the first inconvenience, it was who you were, who you had been before spencer. you didn't stick around to fight for your relationships, you didn't let anyone fight for you either. "like... like even if things go horribly wrong, it'll still be okay as long as you still sound like you mean it when you say i love you."

you don't think you'll cry, but you do think once you're all finished, you'll want to stay wrapped up in him like this.

"i've just never met anyone that makes life make so much sense." and your leg is slightly shaking, and you're burrowing even deeper into his chest, holding him just a bit tighter. "so please... can you tell me again?" you ask, and your hands have taken fistfuls of his shirt, curling just slightly as you try and will your heartbeat to slow.

"you all done?" he asks, and you nod your head, all done with talking for now. "i'm so proud of you." and your confusion is back, as well as your ability to talk.

"what for?" you inquire, and he unloops his arms from around you. you don't want to move, but you know where this is going. still, you decide you'll wait until he asks you.

"can you look at me, please?" he asks quietly, and you're immediately pulling back, hands in your lap as you take in all the emotions resting on your boyfriend's face.

"oh, spence!" and you hope he's not about to cry. you've never been privy to it, but you can imagine what it'll do to you in your emotionally high state. "i know that was a lot, i'm sorry." you apologize despite the fact that you've done nothing wrong, a bad habit.

"please don't ever apologize for something like that." he corrects you gently. "i'm proud, because i can imagine how hard that likely was, but you did it anyway, so thank you for sharing how you're feeling with me." you look away just for a second, the moment feeling too heavy for you to manage. you're looking back at him just a moment after, his stare something you've always been terrible at ignoring and avoiding. "would it be a let down if i told you that i feel the same way about you?" he asks, and you wonder if this phase ever ends.

you don't want to wake up one day and find that your smile no longer reaches your eyes when you look at him, or hear his voice.

"no." you answer quietly. "i like when you agree with me, especially about your feelings for me." and it's a small joke, one you partially mean. "but, you still haven't told me that you love me, yet." you remind him a bit more sternly than you have been.

"i know." he retorts, and he looks a bit smug. you want to say that you hate when he gets like this, but you know you're lying. "i'm waiting to see how long it'll take you to crack." he admits, and your nose curls. he beams at you, and you want to glare, just for the fun of it. "why are you determined not to say it first?" he asks, and you cross your arms over your chest, busted.

"you don't know what's in my head." you instead argue, and his eyes roll, but he still seems amused. "i can say it first if i very well wish." you add, and his eyebrows raise, a challenge. unlucky for you, because you had a problem with being challenged. you would always walk right into his trap like a fool.

"so then say it." he taunts, and you realize pride is one hell of a killer.

"fine, i will." you retort, voice laced in mock-aggravation. "i love you." you deadpan, you say it like it's a bother. "happy now?"

"not with that attitude. can you try again? say it like you mean it?" he presses, and you're weaker in the knees than you initially believed. all your bravado goes right out the window, and you're suddenly anxious again, with no bite to curb your words, you're certain he'll hear every ounce of emotion you feel towards him if you say it again.

"spence." you exclaim, and he's not moved. you think you hate him just a little. "it's not fair, you're being mean." you express, looking down at your lap, and you know that you're only behaving this way because you're overwhelmed.

"i'm not." he promises, and he ducks just a little so that you're looking directly at him again. "i wouldn't be, especially not about this." he adds. "i just want you to say it again for me, can you do that? please?" he asks, and you hate how absurdly handsome he is sitting across from you. he's got this way of looking innocent even when he's baiting you, and he's always got this intensity in his stare that's enough to knock the wind out of you. it's kryptonite, and precisely why you concede.

"spencer, i love you." he groans, quietly, but you hear him all the same. he's kissing you before you can react, and it's easy getting lost in moments like these. he always kisses you like he's trying to swallow you whole, too handsy for his own good. his kisses are desperate, tongue swiping out just slightly, likely to test the waters. you match his ferocity, and let your own tongue drag over his bottom lip before you press a bit more forcibly, hurriedly, desperately.

"i love you." you don't know why you're saying it again, but it's not as hard as the first time. you kiss him again, grumbling when he's quick to lean out of reach. you shoot him a sour glance, and he's not moved.

"hey, i love you too." he echoes you in the most love sick sort of way. it feels precisely as you had described it earlier, and that makes you happier. the fact that the feelings didn't change, didn't disappear all because you'd said the three words back. you hum contentedly, and then your head is back on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "does it still sound like i mean it?" he asks, he questions you softly, like he's trying to preserve the moment.

"mhm." you answer quietly, and you strain to kiss his throat once, before your back to resting against him. "did it sound like i meant it?" you mimic his line of questioning, and you're happy when his arms are back around you. he's a lot more respectable this time around, but before long, his hands are finding their chosen place back under your shirt, exploring your waist and hips as you try not to squirm.

"yes." he replies, and you're glad to hear it. "can you say it again?" you suppose in the grand scheme, you do have lots to make up for. he'd probably want you to say it over and over again.

"i love you." it's instantaneous, as is the way spencer's hold on you grows more firm. you hadn't wanted to mention it, the way sitting here like this with him had you itching for more, but it seemed you weren't the only one in that headspace. "spence?" you question, and he's dragging his hand up and down your back, legs starting to bounce just slightly.

"yeah?"

"can we go back to before now?" you ask, and you expect him to be a tease. he could never just give you what you wanted, he always had to drag it out, and make you nervous.

"back to before?" he pries, and he's leading. you huff audibly, and you adjust yourself on his lap, trying to control the way the pit in your stomach seemed to grow warm, heating you up from the inside. "you'll have to be a bit more specific than that, love." he tsks, and you hate him.

"i just-" you frown, hating this part. "i want you." you deadpan. "and you know that, so i don't know why you're being like this." except you do, because it's amusing to spencer to watch you get all flustered and nervous. you don't know why, but it's how he is. you think that one day you'll try your hand at flustering him back, just to see what all the hype is about. "i want you to-" and you're not sure exactly what counts for too blunt with a boyfriend like spencer. "let's f-fuck, okay?" and spencer's got that stupid amused look on his face again.

god, you hate him.

"that wasn't too hard was it?" he questions, and you cut your eyes. you're certain he'll make you pay for the looks, and the smart mouth down the line, but you can't care right now.

"it was excruciating." you correct haughtily. "you should be ashamed of yourself for treating the girl that you love this way." you add, and spencer's got his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he takes you in. you gulp, shuffling just slightly as you realize precisely the predicament you've gotten yourself into.

"do you want me to make it up to you?" he asks, and he sounds breathier than before, which only serves to make you more of a hot-and-bothered mess.

"i-" you blink owlishly, unsure of his intentions.

"yes or no?" he presses, and you think either way this goes, your done for. "you've just got to say the word."

"yes." head nodding, eyes blown to hell, it's easy enough. "you should. you definitely should." you respond, and then he's kissing you again. he's much more intense this time, stealing all of the air out of your lungs as his nails scratch against your skin, you hands moving to cup his face, you hope to keep him anchored to you this way. when he breaks from the kiss again, you're ready to lay into him, only to squeak when he scoops you up, standing up from the chair.

your legs immediately lock around his hips, and you're panting already, he seemed to have that constant effect. all it took was a little kissing, and you were already a mess. "i love you." he says this like it's a reminder, and you are quick to chase his mouth with your own. you could say you were a bit obsessed with the act.

"i know." you reply, and his eyes roll at you, but he still looks as love sick as you feel.

"good. i'm going to need you to remember that, because when we get to the bed, i'm going to do a lot of things that might make you think the opposite." he says this like a definitive promise, and you gasp. "do you understand?" he asks, and you're shivering, the anticipation already managing to strike you down.

"yeah-yes!" you stutter. "i understand, it's okay." you add. spencer's already got this look of pride residing in his eyes, and you know that you're in for it, silly you for thinking love confessions would be enough to get you out of all the backtalk and clear attitude. "i'm ready!" you insist like the eager girl you are.

"we'll see." he retorts.

god, you love him.

[clarii]

Pretty Girl

Summary: After months of teasing and playful banter, Eddie Munson finally reveals his true feelings for the reader. What starts as typical teasing with his affectionate nickname, “pretty girl,” soon turns into something much deeper. Everything gets revealed on New Year’s Eve.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Author’s Note: I wanted to thank you guys for the love by publishing a story connecting with New Year’s Eve in a way. Also, the last phrase had me thinking about High School Musical (if you know, you know).

It was just another regular day at Family Video, the hum of the fluorescent lights and the smell of popcorn from the break room filling the space. You were shelving some newly returned movies when you heard the door’s familiar jingle. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Eddie Munson.

You had worked here for months, and every time Eddie came in, it was the same routine. He’d walk in with his usual dramatic flair—his leather jacket hanging loosely around his shoulders, his wild hair a little more out of place than usual—and head straight for the counter, grinning like he had a secret.

You didn’t mind, though. Eddie was a good friend, and you’d grown used to his antics. That’s why you couldn’t help but smirk when he called out to you across the store.

“Hey, pretty girl!” His voice rang through the aisles as he casually walked toward you, his eyes locking with yours.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Hey, Munson,” you called back, continuing your work. “What’s the deal? Come to rent the latest slasher flick again?”

Eddie leaned against the counter, his eyes not leaving you for a second. “Nah, I’m here for more than just the movies.” He gave a little wink. “But I’ll take something to pass the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding back a chuckle. “You’re always here for something else,” you teased, your voice light. “Got any new drama to share?”

Eddie pushed himself off the counter and walked over to one of the shelves, pretending to browse the titles, though you could tell he wasn’t really looking for anything. “Just the usual chaos. You know, the kind that makes life a lot more interesting.”

His tone was playful, but there was a hint of something else in his voice. Something softer. You caught it but brushed it off. It was Eddie, after all—always a little too loud, always joking, always teasing.

He paused in front of a horror movie box, turning to face you, a grin on his face. “By the way, you look extra cute today. What’s the occasion?”

You froze, your fingers momentarily pausing in the middle of organizing. “What, now you’re complimenting me?” you asked, your tone light but trying to cover up the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Eddie just leaned in a little, his voice quieter, his eyes softer than before. “I mean it, pretty girl. You always look good, but today… damn, you’re really shining.”

You couldn’t help the heat that rose to your cheeks, and you quickly shifted the conversation. “Just doing my job, Eddie,” you said, shuffling some DVDs around to distract yourself.

Eddie chuckled, walking away to grab a movie. “Whatever you say, pretty girl.” He shot you one last grin before heading to the counter to check out.

Steve and Robin, who were manning the counter together, exchanged a knowing glance as Eddie left. You could tell they were waiting for you to say something, but you just shrugged it off.

“Don’t even start,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Steve leaned on the counter, his smirk not even trying to hide itself. “What’s up with him calling you that? He never calls anyone ‘pretty girl.’”

Robin chimed in, her voice teasing. “Yeah, what’s going on? Is there something you two aren’t telling us?”

You could feel your cheeks burning, but you laughed it off. “It’s nothing. It’s just Eddie being Eddie. He calls everyone weird pet names. He’s harmless, trust me.”

Steve didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Robin, however, was eyeing you carefully, clearly still a little skeptical.

“Whatever you say,” she said, but there was an underlying tone of curiosity in her voice.

The next day at school, you tried to shake off the awkwardness from last night. But it didn’t help that every time you saw Eddie, your heart skipped a beat. As you walked through the halls of Hawkins High, you heard that familiar voice call your name.

“Hey, pretty girl!”

You turned around, and there he was again—Eddie, standing a few feet away, leaning against the lockers with that same devil-may-care grin on his face. Your stomach flipped.

“Can’t you just call me my name like a normal person?” you joked, trying to mask the warmth creeping up your neck.

Eddie laughed, pushing off the lockers and walking toward you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Where’s the fun in that?” His voice was light and teasing, but you noticed the slight softness in his expression as he reached you.

“You doing anything fun after school?” he asked casually, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual.

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating faster than usual. “I don’t know. Probably just hang out, catch up on homework.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in Eddie’s smile made you feel like he could see right through you.

He took a step closer, his grin widening. “Well, I was thinking of hitting up the arcade with the gang later. You should come.”

You hesitated, a part of you wanting to brush it off, but another part of you—one that you tried to ignore—wanted to say yes.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie’s grin softened, and he leaned down a little, his voice lowering. “Alright, pretty girl. Just know the invitation’s always open.”

That night, the gang—Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Erica, Steve, Robin, Eddie, and you—were all at the arcade, the familiar noise of flashing lights and game sounds filling the air. You were having fun, laughing with everyone, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Eddie was paying a little extra attention to you. He kept leaning in close, making sure his hand brushed against yours when he passed you the soda, shooting you that same playful grin.

“Hey, pretty girl, you wanna go for the high score on this one?” Eddie called over to you as he stepped up to the pinball machine, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You know I’ll beat you, right?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll see about that.”

You were starting to feel the weight of those words. The teasing, the smiles, the way he would call you “pretty girl” so casually—it wasn’t just joking anymore. You could tell he meant it, but you still weren’t sure what that meant.

Just before midnight, everyone gathered at the Wheeler’s house to get ready for the New Year. Music was playing, everyone chatting about the year gone by, but your mind kept drifting back to Eddie. He was sitting next to you, his knee brushing against yours, his usual teasing smile softened into something warmer.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie murmured quietly, his voice low and almost shy as he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “May I have a kiss?”

Your heart stopped. You froze, unsure of how to respond. This wasn’t like the usual teasing. This wasn’t just Eddie being Eddie. There was sincerity in his voice, a softness that you couldn’t ignore.

You swallowed hard, your nerves kicking into high gear. “I thought you were just messing with me,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Eddie smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m not. I’ve meant it for a while now.”

Your breath hitched as the realization sank in. All those times he had called you “pretty girl,” the teasing, the little moments of closeness—it wasn’t just a joke. Eddie had been serious, and you had missed it.

Without saying another word, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss, the world around you fading away.

The kiss had left you breathless, your heart racing as you pulled away, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in everything. Eddie’s gaze never left you, his expression soft and filled with that same warmth you hadn’t noticed before. His hand, still lingering near your cheek, brushed your hair back as though it were a natural thing to do. But the world around you felt like it had gone still, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, suspended moment.

“Pretty girl,” Eddie whispered again, his voice a little more hushed now. “I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.”

You blinked, trying to find the words to respond, but they got stuck in your throat.

You felt a gentle pressure on your hand as Eddie, sensing your hesitation, took your fingers in his, his grip firm but not forceful. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked softly, his eyes searching yours, as though he were afraid that maybe he’d made a mistake.

You nodded slowly, still processing everything. 

Before you could speak, the sound of voices from the rest of the group interrupted, pulling you both back to the present. The kids were huddled together near the TV, Steve and Robin not far off, watching the countdown to the new year.

“Well, looks like everyone’s about to make their New Year’s resolutions,” you said with a small smile, trying to shift your focus. But Eddie’s gaze didn’t leave yours.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured again, his voice filled with affection, “you’ve already got me making my resolution. Just you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth spread through you again. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Eddie grinned, leaning in just a bit closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Hopelessly in love with you, pretty girl.”

Your heart skipped at the words, but before you could respond, the countdown began, and everyone around you started to cheer. The noise around you rose as the ball dropped, the sound of “Happy New Year!” ringing in your ears.

“Three… two… one!”

And just as the clock struck midnight, you found yourself pulled into another kiss—this time, longer, more confident, and filled with something deeper than just the spark of the new year. You could feel Eddie’s heart beating against yours, his hand resting gently on your waist as you kissed him back, your nerves dissipating with every passing second.

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, both of you breathing heavily from the kiss, but smiling widely. “Happy New Year, pretty girl,” Eddie whispered, his voice low and filled with meaning.

“I love you too. Happy New Year, Eddie,” you replied softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected, a promise that maybe this was more than just a new year—it was the start of something new.

[wosohours]

commitment - leah williamson x reader

You always heard about “don’t date athletes” and “athletes are players," but of course when good advice comes your way, you ignore it.

It was a bit insane to think that you could start talking to the one girl who could not be bothered with being in a committed relationship. That gut feeling telling you “Don’t get too close”, “Don’t entertain her”, or “Don’t fall in too deep” but you once again ignored it.

Honestly, you could not help it. It was like a craving to be around Leah all the time. It almost felt like an obsession of wondering, “What is she doing?”, “Where is she?”, “Is she thinking about me?”

Constantly checking your phone to see if she messaged you. Looking at her social media every hour on the hour. You were in deep and you knew it would eventually lead to hurting yourself. Yet, being someone with the typical heart-eye delusions, the thoughts in the back of your mind kept saying, “She will change for you.”

Trying to distance yourself never worked because every time you were at a safe enough distance she kept pulling you right back in. Leah knew that she had some type of hold on you and constantly used that to her advantage.

Just last week she was barely texting and calling you back. You understood that she was not obligated to do so since you two were not officially together, but you were most definitely a little…maybe even a lot more than “just friends.” The dates, the romantic gestures, and the PDA all confirmed that but you could never understand her constant pushing and pulling.

Leah knows exactly how to make it up to you though. She texted three days ago saying how sorry she was not keeping in contact, how she misses you like crazy and how she planned a whole day for just the two of you. You were strong this time, wanting her to feel how she makes you feel by not texting back and declining her calls those three days. Yet one slip of weakness and here you are right back in her bed.

____________________

“I missed you so much you have no ideas.” Leah tells you as she feathers kisses all over your face as you both lay in bed naked.

“Oh really? I would not have guessed.” you said as you sat up from her chest and moved away from her a little. She froze looking at you with that cute frown that is usually stuck on her face and said, “Baby I told you I am truly sorry, I really mean it. I have just been a bit busier since the launch of my third book. You know this.”

Leah wraps an arm around your waist pulling you back down closer to her. “I am here now though, aren’t I?” You hesitantly relax into her and say, “I know but a simple text or any sort of reply would have been nice. I just missed you.” You can feel Leah smiling against your hairline after she lays a soft kiss there. “I missed you too babe.”

After a moment of you two just enjoying each other's company she says quietly, “How about we get up, you come shower with me, and then we can go out and get some breakfast?”

____________________

Once again the cycle repeats itself with Leah distancing herself. No longer answering calls or texts. Although it hurt, you thought it would be best to leave things the way they were to protect your peace, even pushing yourself to be petty enough to block her number. It was almost like you were putting her up to the test to see how far she would go to get your attention.

Although she did swipe up on one of your Instagram stories of you in a tight shirt with no bra saying, “I’ve seen it, now delete it,” but you ignored that as well.

____________________

Since being friends with Leah for many years you have grown closer with some of the Arsenal girls and with them loving your company, a couple of them have asked you to join them in celebrating the end of their USA tour at a local pub. People are either mingling by the bar, doing karaoke, or sitting around the reserved private table in the back.

Currently, you are at the bar getting a drink and you can feel Leah’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

“What’s going on with you two? You have been more grumpy than usual,” Katie teases Leah as she sits in the empty seat next to her. “She's ignoring me,” Leah sighs, still looking at you.

“What have you done this time?” Alessia asks from across the table. “I’ve been kind of avoiding her again. I don’t mean to but I don’t know what I’m doing.” Leah replies.

“Have you tried talking to her about how you feel? Do you actually want to have a serious relationship with her?” Katie asks.

“No, I haven't talked to her. Every time I try to talk about us my mouth goes dry and all of a sudden I can’t think, and of course, I want something serious with her I’m just nervous,” Leah shakes her head and looks down at her fidgeting fingers.

Lia, who has been listening to the conversation from her seat next to Alessia, speaks up, “Well you might need to tell her soon because the bartender is flirting with her heavily.”

This causes Leah’s head to shoot up in your direction and sees the bartender smiling at you and reaching her hand over to rest on your forearm. “Yeah, not happening.” Leah quickly stands up from her seat and pushes past people to make her way over to you.

When she gets to you she gently wraps an arm around your waist not to startle you and pulls you back into her chest. She gives her glare that she usually saves for the pitch to the bartender, making her quickly release your arm and turn her attention to another customer waiting at the other end of the bar.

Leah smiles when you relax into her and she whispers in your ear, “You’ve been avoiding me.” You slowly turn around until you are face to face with her and say. “Hurts doesn’t it?”

“I deserve that. Why don’t we go have a chat and I will explain myself?” Leah says, moving her hand to grab yours. “Really? You want to talk now and here?” you scoff.

Leah just nods and gently pulls your hand so that you follow her out to the back patio of the pub. She sits on a bench that is a little bit away from the loud building and pulls your hand down to sit next to her.

“You know you shouldn’t just flirt with anyone, she could've just been charming you into being her next one nightstand,” she says.

“Hmm, pot meets kettle huh? You would know,” you scoff pulling your hand away from hers.

“No, I wouldn’t, because we are more than that,” she firmly replies.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I know,” she sighs, focusing on her shoes, “but I can explain.”

You look at her and slightly nod your head giving her the indication to keep talking.

“I love everything about us. I love how we are with each other. How easy it is to be around you and the connection that we have. I’m just scared of the reality of us being together because it seems too good to be true,” she confesses. “Don’t get me wrong I do want to be with you and I am serious about you but there is this nagging feeling in my head that I am going to screw it all up.”

You grab her hands gently and say, “That’s completely understandable Leah, I wish you would have communicated with me about how you felt earlier. However, you can’t make future assumptions about something you or we haven’t even tried yet. Neither of us has any idea of what could happen but it doesn’t mean push away and hide from it.”

You continue, “You are looking too far into the future when you should be focusing on right now. That self-sabotaging brain of yours is going to stall you for great things one day.” you giggle pushing her head away making her laugh too.

After the giggles die down she says, “You are completely right. If you allow me to give this…us another try I am willing to put my all into it. I just ask that you give me that reassurance.”

“I can give you that, but you have to promise to communicate with me.” you nod raising your hand to move a piece of hair out of her face.

“I promise to communicate my feelings to you,” she replies leaning into your hand.

You smile and stand up from the bench pulling her up with you to give her a hug resting your head against hers. Leah pulls back a bit to give you a few quick pecks on the lips causing you to giggle and move away.

“My girl,” she whispers, pulling you back against her and laying one last kiss on the side of your head.

____________________

Since that day Leah has kept her promise of communicating more and you have kept yours by reassuring her when she needed it. She even asked you to officially be with her a couple weeks later and it had felt as though something shifted in the air.

She was constantly texting, calling, and wanting to be attached to your hip. When you too were with each other in person she would constantly cling to you but you were okay with it since that is what you were wanting from the beginning.

[swiftlymurmurs]

I've seen a lot of people voice disappointment over this Game Changer season finale and while I personally wasn't really bothered by a lot of the criticisms (I thought the Ratfish was an interesting added game mechanic and I never really care who wins or loses so his judgements not aligning with mine made no difference to me) I do think it's very interesting and I've spent some time thinking about why it doesn't work for so many. Some thoughts: Why is this Eric guy even here?

Tim & Eric were a popular tv comedy duo in the late aughts alt comedy scene. Sam and many of the writers at Dropout are sketch comedy nerds who, in 2007, were freshly at the start of their comedy careers, and probably see them and the larger [Adult Swim] environment they were a part of as a huge influence.

Why has it maybe aged poorly?

As far as I know, their popularity came in the early stages of about a decade of quite cynical, surreal comedy that also spawned the "lolrandom" era. While huge and fresh at the time, I think my generation (gen Z, the main viewerbase of Dropout) has grown pretty tired of this style and favours sketch comedy that's more clever, witty, and emotionally open or wholesome. At least, that's a movement Dropout has very much steered into with their roster of comedians and it's what the viewers expect.

The parasocial thing

It's no secret that Dropout actively promotes itself as a tight group of friendly comedians who you are invited to get to know, expect, and love when they show up. They don't abuse parasociality in the way you see, for example, younger audience oriented youtubers shoveling merch do it, but they absolutely make use of it. Most of the moments from this episode I've seen people gush over or post positively about are those where the cast recognize each other's styles, reference their relationships, and just generally make it known how well they know one another. When a total stranger enters the picture in an episode where the cast already have a barrier to their regular banter AND is given so much power over the game, they may look like an outsider or even an enemy to the happy little family people have gotten so attached to. Especially because his role is explicitly that of an antagonist, and the cast are never given a chance to see him and maybe out their love and respect for him as a comedian. In the minds of viewers, he just stays some guy who made mean jokes about their blorbo and then left.

Conclusion

I'm always glad to see this show making big swings, and while most of them have landed, some of them are bound to miss. It's a show that prides itself on trying things the viewers may not yet know they wanted and the second it stops trying, I think it'll be all the worse for it. It's a shame to end the season on such a note, but it's been hit after hit so far, and before we know it we'll be right back into it. I love this show, I love this cast, and I'm excited to see what's next!

[alexiroflife]

“a bird’s song”

satoru gojo x reader

Synopsis: you are satoru’s entire world, having redefined what it means to live. losing you is the last thing he ever wants to do

to sum it up: you’re satoru’s soulmate and a life without you is inconceivable

WC: 5,255

Warning(s): lots of angst, mentions of death/reader death, i cried writing this oops

Why are the birds still chirping?

Satoru remembers the first time he became aware of the melodious sound fluttering through the cloudless sky above, when he first lay eyes on you. Somehow, the world doused itself into vibrant color right then and there, stroking the trees, the ground, and your stunning face with the brush of a paint, revealing a reality to him that he hadn’t believed to exist before you. 

He is ten years old, peering over at you from his seat on the park bench. He isn’t allowed to wander off on his own, protected heavily by the members of his clan everywhere he goes. He withholds a sense of entitlement, harbored at such a young, ripe age, and he scowls at all the children that skip along the pavement, screeching in ignorant delight, but then there’s you. With a laugh louder than all the rest and a smile brighter than the glaring beam of the sun overhead, your round (e/c) eyes connect with his from where you sit atop the slide. You sit down, gripping the ledges in preparation to fly downward, yet you stop yourself when you see him. 

You blink curiously, then beam and wave, seeking to make a new friend with that blush that sprouts over your already flushed cheeks. 

Satoru Gojo has only seen his world through a gray lens, despite the vibrance of his eyes. Burdened by a title, defined by his birthright, pressured by the realities of a world beyond even the ordinary adult imagination before he’s even reached double digits. Everything is cold, because he is the only one of himself in this world, and yet there you are. 

The moment your hand reaches the air, color bursts from your palm and sprouts through your fingertips, seeping into the atmosphere and drenching a dull universe in childlike wonder. Satoru, numbed by any and all around him, apathetic to the inferiority of the surrounding society, finds his lips parting slightly and his periwinkle irises flickering with a glint of perplexed inquisition. 

His ears ring, and suddenly… have the birds always sung so loud? Has the breeze always tickled his nose and tousled through his locks? Has the sun always illuminated the planet with a golden haze? 

His arm is snatched by his maid moments following the interaction, and he is tugged away, back to the cold. Satoru never bothered to look anyone in the eye before, if not to enlighten them of their unshakable weakness in comparison to him, but that day, he finds himself watching over his shoulder as the vision of you shrinks and the patter of his boyish heart matches the hastiness of the steps pulling him off. 

He can hear them still… they won’t stop singing.

Three years later, Satoru happens upon you again. Somehow, he is worse than before. More arrogant, older, intent on the idea of knowing everything that can not be debauched by the authority of an adult, because in truth, he does know more. He knows all. He sees all. He sees the fear in the eyes of those who protect him, the weakness of the masses, the strength of his mind that could grow to wipe them all out one day if he truly desires so. 

He still thinks about you. Your face flickers through his mind every day, and he doesn’t understand why. Since he saw you, his world is louder, but you are nowhere in sight. 

Until one day, he’s walking by a middle school, hands tucked in his pockets as he treks out to the ice cream shop he’s grown to favor over the years thanks to his sweet tooth. He keeps his gaze down, an expression of agitation gracing his features. He’s taller now, allowing him to look further down on those nearby. 

He grows weary of his beauty when girls whisper as he walks by. He knows he is not ordinary, and at times, it makes him laugh dryly. These pathetic school girls could never possibly aim to even speak with someone like him. He’s better. He’s the best. He’s a fabrication of their childish dreams and fantasies that will never find the light of reality. 

Satoru is lost in his head when he swings the door open to the shop, eyes ghosting over the array of flavors until they accidentally snap to the back of your head. He looks away at first, then does a double take when a strange, familiar tightness grips his chest. That hair, that (s/c) skin, that posture radiating warmth and strength bursting with a rainbow of hues are things Satoru has only seen once, and with his keen six eyes, he recognizes you instantly before you turn around with a vanilla cone in your hand.

You meet his eyes in an instant, and both of you stop. Satoru thinks he can hear a songbird whistle from down the road as his grip on the door releases and the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes. He thinks you recognize him, by the way your brows raise and those unmistakable (e/c) eyes of yours sparkle with something he has never seen before. 

You look the same, only a bit older. You’ve grown taller, your eyes the slightest bit more mature, but it’s you. That girl who unveiled color to Satoru years prior. He has only seen you in his head, but now you stand before him, real, bright, and… pretty.

He doesn’t know what to say. Satoru has never taken interest in girls or boys romantically, especially those who ogle at him like he is a pet to tame and withhold, but your gaze on him is different. You’re different. The white haired boy feels his heart hammer into his chest, a foreign feeling that he has only felt once before in your presence. He’s overcome with nostalgia, and dare he say, anxiety. Who are you? What is this you make him feel?

Your lips part and you take a breath, doe eyes glassy as though having had life sparked into them. Satoru imagines he looks the same, his sapphire hues gleaming with the stun of seeing you again. 

“Hey,” you call out gently, voice wrapped in a light amiability, a familiarity that Satoru is unaccustomed with. He’s never had friends his age. He’s never had someone look at him the way you do, seeking out to communicate with him at a basic human level. “Do I know you…?”

Suddenly, Satoru’s astonishment is bombarded by irritation. No one has ever tried to speak to him at a basic human level, he recalls, so why are you? Why do you believe you’re special enough to talk to him? He doesn’t know you, not any more than by first glance. 

You have some audacity to approach him, to open your mouth to talk to him as if you could ever be at the same level as him. You’re just a girl despite the flutter in his heart you inspire and the brightness that you exude. A girl who can never be his friend.

His brows angle and his hands shove stubbornly into his pockets. Teenage arrogance is a monster, but, harbored by a thirteen year old Satoru Gojo, is perilous.

“No,” he tells you coldly, watching the hope drain from your face and the light in your eye dim. “Why would you?”

You visibly retract from the snippiness of his voice, having mistaken his appearance for that of a friendly boy. You know exactly who he is. You aren’t dumb. You’ve never seen anyone like him before, not since that day at the park. Those eyes, that hair, that presence. He’s one of a kind, but he isn’t ten anymore. He’s meaner. Less innocent, you can tell.

“Oh,” you say, dejected. Two other girls come behind you, chattering loudly, and usher you away. They sneak glances at Satoru as they giggle, and he hears them ask you who the cute boy you were looking at was.

His heart lurches when you tell them it was no one.

He regrets that day. He regrets stripping that excitement from you. He has spent his entire life reminding people of where they stand with a simple look, but the second he did it to you, it didn’t feel right. He thinks maybe he should have been kinder. He thinks maybe he wanted to speak with you, but didn’t know how. He thinks maybe you’re the one person he could have tried to get to know, to help him ease away from his loneliness.

Maybe. Maybe he could have known you, but that was only a silly dream. 

It's five in the morning… they won’t stop singing so close to his window.

Two more years later, Satoru finds you again in the last place he would have expected to see you. 

It’s his first day at Tokyo Jujutsu High, and he’s wandering the campus after having moved into his dorm when he sees you by the vending machines speaking with a black haired boy in baggy pants.

His heart drops. His ears ring. His chest tightens, and god damn, why are those birds perched on the telephone wire so loud?

Satoru is fifteen, and he is no less cocky, but he finds himself a bit more spirited, more lighthearted, seeking humor in the drab doom of the world he inhabits. He pokes fun rather than instantly berating. He sparks banter rather than immediately pushing others away. He laughs, not scowls, at the sheer difference in strength between himself and others, and he never thought he would see the day where he would find you again… and here, of all places, in his world. 

What is the universe telling him? Why are you ingrained into his life’s path when everyone else comes and goes?

His first instinct is to approach you, but what should he say? He pretended not to know you the last time your paths crossed… maybe you forgot? Maybe he could start over?

Somehow, however, he knows that is not possible. He knows you anywhere, your aura, your vibrance. He knows you despite the very brief and distanced interactions he has had with you in the past. He would recognize you anywhere, he fears, and something tells him as he walks over that you will too. 

“You guys my classmates?” he asks cheekily, a smug smile gracing his face once he is before the two of you, interrupting your conversation.

The dark haired boy looks at him first with an expression of confused contempt, and then you turn, and Satoru almost loses his breath.

You’re gorgeous, he thinks. Your lips are glossed, your eyes are coated in gentle strokes of mascara, and your facial structure has matured. The school uniform graces your body regally, your navy skirt revealing the smoothness of your legs and your knee highs reaching to cut it off. He’s never seen a girl so pretty in his life, save from the two instances in which he has seen you. 

Your face contorts immediately into shock when you see him, and he grins. “Do I know you?” he mimics your words from the past, and your shoulders tense before your eyes slim.

“You,” you gasp, a hint of suspicion laced in your voice which, in turn, has matured as well. 

Satoru smirks, heart brimming with anticipation. “Me?” he nods, hand over his hip. 

“You two know each other?” the hazel eyed stranger with odd bangs questions, looking between the two of you oddly. Only then do you realize that you have been staring at each other.

You snap your face back over to him and curl your lips. “Not really…” you say.

“What? You’re such a liar!” Satoru accuses, leading you to glare at him, flabbergasted by his forwardness. “We’ve met before.”

“Hardly. And the last time I saw you, you were pretending like you didn’t know who I was.”

“That was forever ago! Are you really gonna hold onto a grudge from when I was thirteen?” he cocks a playful brow, those sapphire eyes of his blazing with brazen jest. 

“Yes,” you nod. “You seemed like an asshole.”

“I’m sure that hasn’t changed,” the boy murmurs, and Satoru pouts, unimpressed. 

“And who are you?”

“Geto Suguru. Grade one,” he answers almost judgmentally, and Satoru scoffs a laugh.

“Grade one, huh?”

“...Yes? Why, what grade are you?”

Satoru’s grin brightens. “Special grade.”

Both you and Suguru reel at the news, and Satoru revels in the shock. “How the hell are you special grade already?” you ask.

Gojo shrugs, poking his tongue out. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he tells you vaguely, though it’s clear on his face that he is itching to shout it from the rooftops.

Satoru doesn’t muster up the courage to ask you what your name or grade is, and you read his failure to do so as a sign that he does not care. His sight allows him to detect that you are a grade three, but beyond that, your name remains a mystery until Geto addresses you by it when he’s talking. 

(L/n) (Y/n). 

The name is burned into his brain from that point on.

You grow weary of Satoru Gojo the longer you know him. He starts to cling to you and Suguru, as well as the last first year named Ieiri, like you all have known each other all your lives, but he isn’t kind to you. He’s rather mean in the sense that he is constantly trying to gauge a reaction out of you. He’s picking on you, calling you weak, poking fun, invading your privacy, intruding on your personal space, and you think he hates you but it’s just the opposite.

He feels like he has known you since the day he was born. There is something so familiar about you, so comforting about you that he can not begin to understand. He wants to think it’s because of the first time he laid eyes on you, but it feels like it goes deeper than that. Like your fates are intertwined, like you are doomed to encounter one another in this reality and the next and so on. 

He watches you grow. He watches you curl away from his presence. He watches you strengthen yourself and your bonds with the rest of them. He watches you blossom, and when he first sees you in action on the training field, his heart beams with pride.

You’re weak, but you improve. You climb the ranks in a frantic attempt to catch up to Satoru and Suguru, and though you still fall behind, you don’t falter. You don’t give up, and Satoru is so proud of you despite the short amount of time you have known each other. 

Satoru finds himself changing along with his environment. He comes out of his shell, branching out into a social horror as he grows more and more comfortable in your presence. His arrogance remains, but his words are less harsh, his eyes carry less heaviness, and his posture is broader. He feels lighter somehow, surrounded by you, surrounded by love, and he is grounded. 

Your suspicion of him shifts into the same familiarity that he feels for you, and you grow accustomed to his behavior just as much as Suguru and Shoko have, if not more. You cling to Satoru in return when he glues himself to you, teasing him and poking fun, engaging in ridiculous banter that brings Suguru’s hands over his ears as he begs some higher power for more peaceful company. 

Your heart bursts under Satoru’s gaze, your smile brightening his existence, and the two of you become inseparable. To be parted from your best friend is to be tortured, and the thought of losing you brings Satoru to the brink of insanity. 

There is no longer a you without him, nor a him without you, and everyone knows. Everyone sees the unbreakable strength of your bond. 

“Satoru,” you mumble one afternoon. He hums, looking down at your face as he cradles your head in his lap. The two of you are sixteen, now, lounging in Suguru’s dorm as the dark haired man works on an assignment. You and Satoru lay on his carpet, scrolling through your phones and doing everything but the assignment you are supposed to be completing.

He blinks down at you, bright eyes isolate you in his gaze. You smile lightly, seeing the ten year old at the park that threw his head over his shoulder to capture the sight of you as he walked away. “What’s up?”

“...Do you think we’re soulmates?”

The blue eyed boy’s heart jumps as he looks down at you with a soft smile. “What a question to ask,” he marvels. “You finally falling in love with me, sunshine?”

Sunshine.

He had begun calling you that a few months into knowing each other during your first year. You had asked him why, and he responded that everything you touched sprouted into color just like the nip of the sun’s rays. You told him that he was stupid and nudged his head away with a laugh.

“You wish,” you roll your eyes, and Satoru chuckles. Your foot dangles over your crossed legs and your lips pucker in thought. Satoru watches every movement your body takes, studying you like the piece of art he believes you to be. “I’m only asking because… I don’t know, like, we met those two times when we were kids, and now we’re here. And even before that, it felt like I was waiting for something to come around… and then there you were.”

You look into his eyes as he leans over and traces your brow with his finger. “So what I’m hearing is that you were waiting your entire life to be graced by my presence.”

“Shut uppp, you know what I mean, don’t you?”

He smiles, tilting his head. “Yeah, I actually do.”

“Like, what do you think would happen if we grew apart someday?”

“Well, that would never happen,” Satoru says. “Even if you got tired of me and tried to get away, I’d find you.”

“Creepy. That must have been what you did before high school, you stalker.”

“For the last time, I didn’t stalk you,” he rolls his eyes, poking into your cheek. “If anyone stalked anyone, it was you stalking me.”

“Nuh-uh. There’s no way I could have, especially since you’re the one with the six eyes. You’re the one with the stalking ability.”

You reach up your index finger to press into his forehead. 

“Stop trying to slander my name like this,” Satoru sighs dramatically. “I’m a perfect gentleman. If I were to stalk you, I'd at least give you a heads up.”

“Wow. How generous of you, you fucking weirdo.”

“A weirdo who’s your soulmate,” he sings. “So that would technically makes you a weirdo too.”

“Nah, you’re still weirder. Right Suguru?”

“Yes,” he calls out, though not at all sure of what the two of you could have possibly been discussing.

Satoru groans. “Don’t take her side, Suguru, what the hell?!”

“I take the side of whoever gets on my nerves less. Today, it’s (Y/n).”

You scrunch your face. “The hell do you mean today? I’m always delightful.”

“That’s not true, and you’d be more delightful if you let me do my work.”

You turn up to Satoru and make a grumpy face, moving your lips around to mimic an exaggerated impersonation of Suguru scolding you. Satoru snorts as he tries his best to hold in his laughter. 

“Whatever you’re doing, quit it,” Suguru says.

“Ugh. He’s so bossy,” Satoru shakes his head. 

“Quiet before he comes over here and beats our asses.”

“He’d never, he loves us too much.”

Just then, a pencil is tossed at Satoru’s head that is deflected by his quickness to equip infinity. He snickers and releases it once the pencil drops to the floor. 

The white haired teenager sighs heavily, gathering your cheeks in his hand as he squishes obnoxiously. You glare at him, dropping your hand to the floor. “Guess it’s just you and me, then,” he murmurs. 

“F’rthe rest ‘f’our lives, hm?” you ask, voice muffled by Satoru’s hand. He chuckles, releasing you and leaning back on his hands. He gazes at you tenderly.

“For the rest of our lives. Suguru can visit on weekends.”

Satoru knows he’s fallen in love with you very early on. He knows that it’s always been you, that you’re the only person he could ever devote his entire being to. He knows that you’re the only person he could ever love more than he selfishly loves himself, more than his life, more than the lives of others. 

You show him a world of color before he can sink further into his disdain. You show him what it means to be supported, to not be lonely, to be consumed by fondness and friendship along with Suguru and Shoko. You show him humility, you show him comfort, you show him a life that he never would have believed he could live.

The sky is a brilliant blue in your wake, the birds chipper and melodic, the grass a lively green, and the world a canvas that you guide his hand to paint along with him.

A year later, losing Suguru takes an immense toll on the both of you. His loss stays with you for ten years, bleeding into your adulthood then resurfacing during and after his attack on the high school, soaking into your lives after his forced execution at his best friend’s hand.

Suguru’s death brings the two of you impossibly closer somehow. Now that you’re older, well into your late twenties and professors at the same school you attended in your earlier years, your lives mold into one another as the same. 

Satoru protects you with his soul, horrified that you will one day slip from his fingers like Suguru did. He can’t stand the thought of losing you, his closest friend, his soulmate. He can’t stand the thought of the love of his life fading from his fingers and into distant memories that were once so close, so recent.

Satoru refuses to tell you that he is in love with you, and has for years, but he knows he doesn’t need to. Your relationship isn’t defined by your declarations, but by your innate understanding of who you are to each other.

Satoru loves you like no other. You’re the breath he takes, the water he drinks, his very existence at the palm of his hands. He knows you love him just the same, and he does not need to validate so by telling you. You’ve told each other hundreds of times, whispers in the night, feeble breaths against each other’s cheeks, laughs as you swoop one another up into your arms. 

The two of you are love incarnate.

You are to be together until the end of time. Fated to die in each other’s arms at the end of the world when all sound has gone mute and all color has already drained from the world, when it is only the two of you left and you welcome the rest that awaits you at the final touch of your lips to each other’s.

Neither of you are meant to leave the other before you both are ready.

So why… why are the birds still chirping?

Something told Satoru not to let you take this mission.

Something deep in his gut was churning, giving him the worst possible feeling imaginable. Something visceral was screaming inside him, telling him to interfere, to make you stay back, to tell Yaga to cancel the entire thing.

You’re a grade one sorcerer now. You’re strong, you’re talented, you can and always have been able to hold your own, but something wasn’t right. Satoru knew this and he tried to convince Yaga to pull you back, but he didn’t listen. He tried to tell you to reconsider, that his instincts were telling him to keep you away, but you simply turned and smiled at him, those pretty (e/c) eyes of your glimmering and your soft lips curling kindly. 

“Stop worrying, Toru,” you said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He’s staring at your body, pupils shrunken and face frozen.

It’s a sunny day. Partly cloudy. Almost two in the afternoon.

The birds are chirping and Satoru is staring at your body.

You lay against the brick wall, limbs twisted and head splattered against the building. You aren’t moving. You aren’t breathing. You’re oh so still, and Satoru can not pick up any vitals within your body signifying any life.

He can’t move. Is this real? Is he dreaming?

It’s sunny outside, like the day he met you, and the birds are chirping, and you’re lying limp before him. 

He twitches, captured by shock, blue eyes dull, lips parted, eyes glazing over. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

Satoru’s mind swarms with images of you. He sees you as a child, swarming with light as you grin amiably at him in search of a friend. He sees you in the ice cream parlor, breath caught in your throat as your friends drag you away from his rejection of you. He sees you at the vending machine, sun in your eyes as you look at him as though you hate him, and he sees that hatred wash away to make room for your incandescent, raw, unconditional love for him.

He sees your hand reaching to brush his hair into place, your arms clinging around his torso to press yourself into him, your head tossing back with laughter after he tells a stupid joke, the tears drip from your eyes endlessly when the news of Suguru’s crimes fall upon your ears, the heat dusting your cheeks when Satoru looks you in your eyes and tells you that he will always protect you, the touch of your lips to his cheek, the twitch of your brown when you sleep, the grace of your love as it touches him softly as well as the students who have taken such an immense liking to you.

He sees you, all of you, and he can’t breathe.

“(Y/n),” his name tumbles from your lips, a whisper. He expects you to answer, but you don’t, and this nightmare becomes real before him. “(Y/n)?” he calls you again, voice rising, cracking, body trembling. You don’t respond. You don’t move. You don’t do anything. Why won’t you do anything?

He rushes to his knees before you, his blank expression morphing into horror. He grips your shoulders, taking your body into his and you slump into him. Your eyes, once so full of life, are gray as they stare into nothing, past his trembling face. “(Y/n),” he croaks your name again, a shaky hand reaching to touch your face. You’re cold.

No. No. No.

This isn’t supposed to happen. You aren’t supposed to leave him, not like this. You’re supposed to stay by his side until the end of time, you are supposed to be with him forever, you are supposed to come back to his place hours later with takeout in your hands, begging him to watch that one movie he had been dreading to sit through. 

Not you. Anyone but you. Any sorcerer, any human, any life but yours. Not his love. Not his life. Not the source of all the color and joy and music in the world.

“Please, no,” he breathes. Satoru can feel himself unravel, his brain scrambling and his heart thudding into him. He’s panicking, hyperventilating, looking over every part of you as though you will lift a hand to cup over his and tell him that you’re fine, that you’re okay, that you got hurt badly, but you made it. “Fuck, no, no, fucking- (Y/n), wake up. Get up, come on, pretty, get up please! Please, please…”

His hands are soaking in your blood, and Satoru’s eyes blur over. He tries to pull your face up, to look into your eye, to plead you to gain consciousness, but there’s nothing. You give him nothing.

He sits there, staring at you in terror. Pearly tears cascade down his face before he even registers so, splattering onto your red stained cheek. His fingers dig into your body, pressing you close to him. His pants are drenched in your blood, but he doesn’t care.

How can he care about anything anymore?

A strangled cry rips the air from his chest as he clings to you, ducking his head and pressing his forehead to yours. He wraps you up into his arms, holding you over his waist as he rocks you back and forth. 

“Not my baby,” he whimpers, nose flaring. “Not my beautiful girl. Please don’t leave me alone, sunshine, please.”

He’s lost. He’s devastated, heart broken, ripped apart. 

You revealed a world to him that he had never known to be possible. A world that brought him back down to earth, that healed his trauma, that allowed him to breathe, that allowed him to know what it is like to be human. To be weak. To be loved in a way that the expecting world could never love him despite its constant demands for his sacrifice. 

And now, you’re gone. 

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how quickly you slipped away. He knows the life of a sorcerer is to accept death just as you did, but this isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to happen to you. He’s supposed to protect you. How could he have failed to protect you?

He should have been there. He should have prevented you from going. He should have locked you in a room and dealt with whatever curse did this to you himself. He shouldn’t have let you go. He should have done something. He should have fought harder, but he didn’t. And this is the price he must pay for trusting, for stepping away, for watching you assure him and turning your back to him as you walked off. 

He knew and yet he let you go.

Satoru thinks he’s going to break. He can feel his mind shifting, his irregular breaths growing ragged. He can feel the unbridled hatred brewing, the rage, the urge to find and slaughter whatever beast took you away from him. He feels nothing, yet he feels everything all at once. 

Nothing matters anymore, now that you’re gone. There is nothing holding him back, nothing keeping his demons at bay, nothing preventing him from letting loose without a care in this goddamn planet. The higher ups. They sent you. He’d kill them. He’d kill them all after finding your murderer and ripping them apart from the inside out.

Gojo is aching, for he doesn’t know what to do except hold you and cry against your pretty face, pressing shaky kisses to your forehead as he recites your name over and over.

He expects the sky to fall dark. He expects the plants surrounding to wilt. He expects life to stop as he knows it because an angel has died on earth. The source of the world’s life has been torn away.

But life continues around him. The sun beams down, the flowers sprout high…

And those birds keep chirping, though you are the only person who exposed the sound to him in the first place.

“Why…” he shivers, burying his head into your chest.

Why are the birds still chirping now that you’re gone?