#planning and measuring every detail

[m4ggotm0ld]

me when palaces of silver and gold cannot be designed over night

[dostoyevsky-official]

The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books

Nicholas Dames has taught Literature Humanities, Columbia University’s required great-books course, since 1998. He loves the job, but it has changed. Over the past decade, students have become overwhelmed by the reading. College kids have never read everything they’re assigned, of course, but this feels different. Dames’s students now seem bewildered by the thought of finishing multiple books a semester. His colleagues have noticed the same problem. Many students no longer arrive at college—even at highly selective, elite colleges—prepared to read books.

This development puzzled Dames until one day during the fall 2022 semester, when a first-year student came to his office hours to share how challenging she had found the early assignments. Lit Hum often requires students to read a book, sometimes a very long and dense one, in just a week or two. But the student told Dames that, at her public high school, she had never been required to read an entire book. She had been assigned excerpts, poetry, and news articles, but not a single book cover to cover.

[...] Twenty years ago, Dames’s classes had no problem engaging in sophisticated discussions of Pride and Prejudice one week and Crime and Punishment the next. Now his students tell him up front that the reading load feels impossible. It’s not just the frenetic pace; they struggle to attend to small details while keeping track of the overall plot.

No comprehensive data exist on this trend, but the majority of the 33 professors I spoke with relayed similar experiences. Many had discussed the change at faculty meetings and in conversations with fellow instructors. [...] Daniel Shore, the chair of Georgetown’s English department, told me that his students have trouble staying focused on even a sonnet.

Failing to complete a 14-line poem without succumbing to distraction suggests one familiar explanation for the decline in reading aptitude: smartphones. Teenagers are constantly tempted by their devices, which inhibits their preparation for the rigors of college coursework—then they get to college, and the distractions keep flowing. “It’s changed expectations about what’s worthy of attention,” Daniel Willingham, a psychologist at UVA, told me. “Being bored has become unnatural.” Reading books, even for pleasure, can’t compete with TikTok, Instagram, YouTube. In 1976, about 40 percent of high-school seniors said they had read at least six books for fun in the previous year, compared with 11.5 percent who hadn’t read any. By 2022, those percentages had flipped.

[...] Mike Szkolka, a teacher and an administrator who has spent almost two decades in Boston and New York schools, told me that excerpts have replaced books across grade levels. “There’s no testing skill that can be related to … Can you sit down and read Tolstoy? ” he said. And if a skill is not easily measured, instructors and district leaders have little incentive to teach it. [...] The pandemic, which scrambled syllabi and moved coursework online, accelerated the shift away from teaching complete works.

[...] But it’s not clear that instructors can foster a love of reading by thinning out the syllabus. Some experts I spoke with attributed the decline of book reading to a shift in values rather than in skill sets. Students can still read books, they argue—they’re just choosing not to. Students today are far more concerned about their job prospects than they were in the past. Every year, they tell Howley that, despite enjoying what they learned in Lit Hum, they plan to instead get a degree in something more useful for their career.

[...] For years, Dames has asked his first-years about their favorite book. In the past, they cited books such as Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. Now, he says, almost half of them cite young-adult books. Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series seems to be a particular favorite.

[reasonsforhope]

"A team of researchers at Washington University in St. Louis has developed a real-time air monitor that can detect any of the SARS-CoV-2 virus variants that are present in a room in about 5 minutes.

The proof-of-concept device was created by researchers from the McKelvey School of Engineering and the School of Medicine at Washington University...

The results are contained in a July 10 publication in Nature Communications that provides details about how the technology works.

The device holds promise as a breakthrough that - when commercially available - could be used in hospitals and health care facilities, schools, congregate living quarters, and other public places to help detect not only the SARS-CoV-2 virus, but other respiratory virus aerosol such as influenza and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) as well.

“There is nothing at the moment that tells us how safe a room is,” Cirrito said, in the university’s news release. “If you are in a room with 100 people, you don’t want to find out five days later whether you could be sick or not. The idea with this device is that you can know essentially in real time, or every 5 minutes, if there is a live virus in the air.”

How It Works

The team combined expertise in biosensing with knowhow in designing instruments that measure the toxicity of air. The resulting device is an air sampler that operates based on what’s called “wet cyclone technology.” Air is sucked into the sampler at very high speeds and is then mixed centrifugally with a fluid containing a nanobody that recognizes the spike protein from the SARS-CoV-2 virus. That fluid, which lines the walls of the sampler, creates a surface vortex that traps the virus aerosols. The wet cyclone sampler has a pump that collects the fluid and sends it to the biosensor for detection of the virus using electrochemistry.

The success of the instrument is linked to the extremely high velocity it generates - the monitor has a flow rate of about 1,000 liters per minute - allowing it to sample a much larger volume of air over a 5-minute collection period than what is possible with currently available commercial samplers. It’s also compact - about one foot wide and 10 inches tall - and lights up when a virus is detected, alerting users to increase airflow or circulation in the room.

Testing the Monitor

To test the monitor, the team placed it in the apartments of two Covid-positive patients. The real-time air samples from the bedrooms were then compared with air samples collected from a virus-free control room. The device detected the RNA of the virus in the air samples from the bedrooms but did not detect any in the control air samples.

In laboratory experiments that aerosolized SARS-CoV-2 into a room-sized chamber, the wet cyclone and biosensor were able to detect varying levels of airborne virus concentrations after only a few minutes of sampling, according to the study.

“We are starting with SARS-CoV-2, but there are plans to also measure influenza, RSV, rhinovirus and other top pathogens that routinely infect people,” Cirrito said. “In a hospital setting, the monitor could be used to measure for staph or strep, which cause all kinds of complications for patients. This could really have a major impact on people’s health.”

The Washington University team is now working to commercialize the air quality monitor."

-via Forbes, July 11, 2023

-

Holy shit. I know it's still early in the technology and more testing will inevitably be needed but holy shit.

Literally, if it bears out, this could revolutionize medicine. And maybe let immunocompromised people fucking go places again

Also, for those who don't know, Nature Communications is a very prestigious scientific journal that focuses on Pretty Big Deal research. Their review process is incredibly rigorous. This is an absolutely HUGE credibility boost to this research and prototype

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　DRESS TO IMPRESS IN REAL LIFE

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N, Matt's secret girlfriend, participates in the 'Dress to Impress in real life' video.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I added and changed some dialogs that didn't happen on the video, so the fic ended being more complete.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The triplets were buzzing with energy, their house a hive of activity as they set up for their newest video; Dress to Impress, real-life edition. Each round had its own theme, and the first one was Summer Vacation. Y/N had been roped into joining as a surprise guest, and secretly, Matt couldn't have been more thrilled.

The boys had already pulled out all the stops with their outfits. Chris sported a chaotic ensemble: a bucket hat with panels of clashing colors, lime green slides, and denim cargo shorts.

Matt was rocking a relaxed, dad-on-vacation vibe, complete with an oversized straw hat, patterned swim trunks, and a shirt that screamed, 'I don’t care, I’m on island time'.

Nick had gone full beach prep with a striped tank top, sunglasses that were almost too tiny for his face, and a retro cooler box tucked under his arm like an accessory.

As the camera rolled, Y/N was still getting ready in Matt’s bathroom, leaving the boy's to discuss who went better between the three of them.

"Alright." Chris said, pointing a finger at Nick’s cooler. "I’m just saying, if you don’t actually have anything in there, that’s a waste of a prop."

"It’s called committing to the bit, Chris." Nick shot back, adjusting the towel draped over his shoulder. "The cooler is the vibe."

Matt, who was adjusting his sunglasses, glanced toward the bathroom door, his face lighting up as if he could sense Y/N’s presence through the walls.

"Y/N better bring it. I know she’s got something amazing up her sleeve."

Nick rolled his eyes, looking at Matt with a boring expression.

"Why do I feel like you’re already planning to give her every win, no matter what she’s wearing?"

"Because I am." Matt replied bluntly, grinning like the lovesick puppy he was.

The door finally creaked open, and all three boys turned as Y/N emerged. She had nailed the summer vacation aesthetic, wearing a flowy, tropical-patterned sundress, bikini top below it, oversized black Prada sunglasses perched on her nose, and sandals that matched her outfit perfectly. She’d even added a straw beach bag for good measure.

"Okay, Y/N, I see you!" Chris exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

Y/N laughed, grinning widely before twirling to show off her look.

"Alright, that’s tough competition. You actually look like you're ready to spend the day at your beach house." Nick gave a low whistle, his blue eyes traveling from her face to her feet and back again. "But I'd say you're in fourth place. You're ready for the beach, not for any summer vacation."

"Fair." Y/N shrugged, take a quick peak at her outfit again before looking at Matt. "What do you think?"

Matt's eyes seemed to be shining like the whole cadence of stars, wandering through every detail of her choice of clothes.

"Are you kidding? That’s... that’s so good. You look like you stepped out of a summer vacation catalog or something." His voice sounded slightly high-pitched with excitement. "Nick's just jealous."

"What? No, I'm not!"

Chris rolled his eyes, already sensing where this was going.

"Oh, here we go."

"Like, if I saw you on the beach." Matt continued, ignoring his brothers entirely. "I’d probably just pass out. That’s how good you look."

"Okay, Matt." Nick said, holding up a hand. "We get it. Obsessive fucker."

The room filled with laughter, Y/N shaking her head but unable to hide the grin spreading across her face, her cheeks heating up.

"Right, first round? I'm second." Matt declared, gesturing toward himself. "Obviously, Y/N was first because, you know, she's Y/N." He gave her a little smile. "Then Nick was third, and Chris was fourth. That’s the average."

"Yeah, unfortunately." Nick muttered, throwing his hands up.

"Well." Chris turned dramatically to the camera and pointed. "They can vote."

Nick, not missing a beat, leaned closer to the camera, his voice dripping with mock confidence.

"Oh, I already know they’re gonna vote for me. Mine’s obviously the best. Unless..." He paused for dramatic effect, raising an eyebrow. "These girls wanna sleep with Matt and vote for him."

"What?!" Matt’s eyes widened in pure shock as he whipped his head toward the camera, looking utterly scandalized.

Y/N’s eyes flicked between Nick and Matt, her lips tightening slightly trying to suppress a laugh. It was impossible not to be amused by Nick’s antics.

She knew Nick wasn’t wrong, Matt’s popularity with their audience also had to do with his charm and, let’s face it, how good he looked on camera. There probably were plenty of girls who’d vote for Matt purely because of his looks, even if one of the other boys dressed better.

Nick continued without missing a beat.

"It’s the straight man advantage! You guys..." He gestured wildly at the camera. "Are gonna discriminate against me because I’m gay, and I don't like 'yall back."

At that, Y/N couldn’t help but burst into laughter, shaking her head.

Matt, still recovering from Nick’s bold accusation, raised a hand defensively.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second." He looked straight into the camera with that intense, sincere gaze that Y/N loved. "Just for the record, I’m completely off-limits. Completely."

The way he said it, firm and definitive, sent a wave of confidence through Y/N. Her lips twitched into a small smile as she crossed her arms, clearing her throat to contain her reactions, trying to play it cool.

Nick, however, wasn’t done.

"Oh, yeah? You really think they care about that?" He teased, smirking as Matt shook his head in disbelief.

Chris rolled his eyes, still laughing.

"Nick, stop trying to guilt-trip them into voting for you."

"I'm not doing anything." Nick replied with a wink, sending the group into another fit of laughter.

"Now, bring the runway on, boys!"

The camera cut to Chris, who had appointed himself the first to strut down their makeshift runway that started from the stairs.

He walked in quick steps before stopping in the center of their camera lens, dramatically fanning himself with an imaginary hand fan.

"Where did you even get the idea of the imaginary fan?" Y/N teased, laughing with the others.

"Shh, it’s part of the vibe." Chris replied, flipping his bucket hat backward with flair. He strolled toward the camera with exaggerated confidence, striking a series of ridiculous poses. "Yeah, you’re welcome." He said as he walked off-camera, leaving the other three in stitches.

Nick went next, cooler in hand.

"Get ready to witness greatness." He said, lifting the retro cooler above his head like it was the Holy Grail, showing it off.

"You go, queen!" Y/N cheered, nodding her head while watching him.

Nick smiled brightly, placing it down carefully and reached for the towel draped over his shoulder, unfolding it with slow, deliberate movements. Too slow.

"This is taking forever." Matt groaned, crossing his arms.

"Nick, it’s been 30 seconds. Just lay the towel down!" Chris yelled.

Nick ignored them, carefully smoothing out the towel on the floor, his face the picture of focus. Once he was satisfied, he walked down the "runway", throwing some expressions to the camera before almost gluing his face to the lens, taking his glasses off.

"Iconic." Y/N said between laughs.

"Thank you, thank you." Nick replied, bowing before dramatically kicking the towel aside as if to signal the end of his performance, his right hand fanning himself as the last act.

Matt was up next.

"Alright, let me show you how it’s done." He said confidently. Grabbing his sunscreen, he opened the cap and squeezed a dollop onto his fingers, dabbing it on his cheeks like football player stripes.

"Well, you gotta stay protected, I guess." Y/N muttered, smiling with how Chris was rooting like crazy.

Laughter escaped her lips as Matt sauntered toward the camera, showing off the sunscreen like it was a designer handbag. He struck a confident pose, holding the product up, before walking back off the camera with an over-the-top smile.

Finally, it was Y/N’s turn.

"Your move, Y/N." Nick said, gesturing grandly toward the imaginary runway.

"Alright, alright, give me a second." She said, thinking fast.

She reached into her straw bag, pulling out the pair of oversized sunglasses that she had thrown there at some point, dramatically placing it on her face. Then, grabbing a small beach towel she had tucked inside the bag, she draped it over one arm like a sash.

"What’s happening here?" Matt asked, intrigued.

Y/N strolled onto the "runway" with slow, exaggerated movements like a madame arriving at a five-star resort. Halfway down, she pretended to feel the heat, pulling an actual bottle of water from her bag and taking a sip before fanning herself with her hand.

"It has to have the fan move!" Nick applauded, grinning to the scene before being interrupted by Chris’s comment.

"Of course, I created it."

At the end of the runway, Y/N stopped, tossed her sunglasses off dramatically at the ground, and struck a ridiculous pose with one hand on her hip and the other shielding her eyes as if she was shielding her face from the sun.

"That was solid!" Chris exclaimed, clapping.

Matt, meanwhile, was in awe, hands on his head.

"Are you kidding? That was really good. A thousand points. Game over. Y/N wins. Everyone go home."

Nick scoffed.

"Matt, stop simping for two seconds so we can keep this contest going."

"I’m not simping." Matt argued, clearly lying. "I'm just stating facts."

"Shut up, Matt."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

For the Mix-Matched Madness theme, the camera panned to the boys standing in a line, proudly displaying their chaotic ensembles.

Chris was clad in a bright red varsity jacket over a striped shirt, camo pink shorts, and mismatched knee-high socks with chunky boots.

Matt decided for plaid shorts layered over one plaid pant leg, a pastel blue and yellow sweater vest, and a floppy dog-ear cap.

Nick went to a plaid jacket layered over a striped shirt with a perfectly coordinated tie, and matching sweatpants and sneakers.

"Guys, I’m clearly superior." Nick started, raising his eyebrows as he adjusted his glasses. "My outfit is actually intentional, look at this synergy! It screams fashion-forward."

Matt groaned, rolling his eyes and looking at Chris with a 'is he serious?' expression.

"Nick, you’re wearing matchy-matchy plaid in a mix-matched challenge. You’ve missed the assignment!"

"It’s ironic." Nick shot back, crossing his arms. "I’m doing intentional matching. If I were in a real runway right now, people would actually like my outfit."

Chris scratched his head, looking between them.

"Isn’t that kind of cheating, though?"

Before the debate could escalate further, Y/N stepped into the frame, causing all three boys to give her their attention.

Her outfit was next level: a bright purple sequined crop top paired with one lime green legging on her right leg and a fluffy, neon orange sock on the other. She wore a skirt made of layered, clashing floral patterns that didn’t quite match the fuzzy checkered cardigan she threw on top. To finish it off, her accessories included a leopard-print beanie - the one she stole from Matt's closet -, oversized sunglasses, and two entirely different shoes, a silver stiletto on one foot and a Croc on the other.

The boys gawked.

"Okay, now that’s mix-matched madness." Chris said, pointing at her.

"Girl, you look like you fell into a thrift store... and it worked." Nick added, looking both impressed and slightly annoyed.

"How can you still look so good while wearing... that?" Matt asked, pointing at her outfit with his hand while shaking his head in disbelief.

Y/N twirled dramatically, holding out her skirt as she grinned at the camera.

"Thank you, boys. I like to call this 'chaos with confidence'." She invented the random name, throwing a quick kiss to the lens.

Chris threw his hands up.

"Alright, I’m officially placing second now."

Nick groaned, shaking his head dramatically.

"No way. She’s great, but I’m still winning. Look at this tie!"

Matt laughed.

"Nick, your tie doesn’t save you from breaking the theme. You’re disqualified."

The scene cut to the "runway", where each of them showcased their chaotic outfits with an equally chaotic performance.

First up was Nick. He confidently strutted forward, reaching for the end of his tie. With exaggerated flair, he lifted it as if someone were pulling him forward, his face a picture of mock shock and drama, stumbling forward.

"Ey, keep going!" Chris hollered, nodding enthusiastically.

The moment he reached the end of the runway, he grinned mischievously, running his hand dramatically through his hair and tossing a sultry look at the camera before taking off his pink glasses.

"Work it, Nick!" Y/N chimed in, her laughter mixing with the chaos.

Nick turned on his heel with a laugh, sauntering back to the start and throwing a praying gesture, ignoring how Matt laughed, mockingly imitating his act.

Next, Matt stepped up, adjusting his floppy dog-ear cap before suddenly spinning it backward.

"Showtime." He muttered under his breath, earning immediate chuckles from the others. He walked to the camera with a cocky stride, crossing his arms and bending slightly to the side.

For the final move, he pivoted and moonwalked his way back to the start, nearly slipping on his mismatched shoes but recovering with a grin.

"Did you see that? Effortless." Matt declared, earning boos and laughs from the rest.

"You almost ate it, Matt." Y/N teased, shaking her head.

Chris stepped up next. And, of course, he brought drama.

"Hold my jacket." He said, then immediately shook his head. "Actually, no. The floor will."

With exaggerated aggression, he ripped off one of his red lobster gloves, throwing it to the ground with flair. The glove was followed by his belt, which he unbuckled and tossed with equal energy.

"Oh my God." Y/N looked at the camera with wide eyes.

"What is happening?" Nick cackled, practically doubling over, slapping Y/N's arm.

Chris wasn’t done. He walked up to the camera with an intense expression, holding his hands out and touching the screen, acting as if zooming in.

"Enhance." He said, squinting into the lens. Then, as if the camera wasn’t worthy, he spun dramatically on his heel, walked back, and threw off his varsity jacket mid-stride before striking one final pose.

"Now that’s how you do it." Y/N joked, looking at the camera. "Like and subscribe if you want Chris to make a strip tea-"

"Y/N!"

For Y/N's turn, she adjusted her oversized leopard beanie with a dramatic flair and tilted her sunglasses low on her nose, revealing a dead-serious expression underneath. She strutted forward slowly, dragging her stiletto along the ground for added effect. When she reached the camera, she whipped her head to the side, making her orange fluffy sock the star of the moment.

But it didn’t end there. Y/N suddenly crouched down into a deep squat, raising one hand in the air and striking a pose like she was ready to pounce. The boys immediately broke into cheers and laughter.

"Yes, queen!" Nick shouted, jumping in the place and clapping, laughing loudly.

"She nailed it." Matt said with a proud grin, nodding his head.

Y/N slowly stood, turning to the side as if the camera had disappeared, and walked off like nothing had happened.

"Thank you." She said nonchalantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder as the others applauded.

"Alright, I officially retire." Nick said, throwing his arms to the air in a surrender gesture.

"Same." Chris picked up his lobster glove from the floor, grinning.

Matt sighed, smiling at Y/N's figure.

"She’s unbeatable. Let’s not do these challenges anymore if she’s in them."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The scene cut to the next category: Rock Concert. The boys had gathered in front of the camera, each flaunting their edgy outfits.

Chris leaned casually against the wall, dressed in all black with his bandana tied around his head. His sunglasses were perfectly placed, and a Bluetooth speaker hung over his shoulder like a statement piece.

"Clearly, I’m the embodiment of rock concert aesthetic." He said confidently, adjusting his speaker strap.

Nick crossed his arms, giving Chris a side-eye. He was sporting his long-sleeved shirt adorned with skulls and intricate spiderweb patterns paired with black cargo pants and chunky boots.

"Please." Nick retorted. "I’ve got literal death on my shirt. That’s as metal as it gets."

Matt, standing in the middle, smirked. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, complete with a silver skull belt buckle and leather pants that practically screamed rockstar.

"Yeah, but have you seen my belt?" He argued, lifting his white shirt slightly to show it off. "This is peak rock concert material. I even coordinated it with my jacket."

"Okay, but who do you think the crowd would look at first?" Chris challenged. "The guy with the bandana, all black, and sunglasses? Obviously me. The speaker only makes it better."

Nick rolled his eyes.

"You look like you’re trying to be a cool dad sneaking into a concert." He teased.

"Alright, alright." Y/N interrupted from off-screen, stepping into the camera frame and effectively stealing the show.

Y/N’s outfit was on another level. She wore a black 'Bon Jovi' cropped top with silver detailing that matched the chains on her leather mini skirt. Fishnet tights peeked out from under the skirt, leading down to a pair of knee-high combat boots that added an extra edge to the look. To top it off, she wore a cropped leather jacket with studs on the shoulders and accessorized with chunky silver jewelry and a black choker.

The boys fell silent for a second, staring.

Y/N smiled brightly at them before turning to the camera, raising her right arm and making the 'rock and roll' gesture by raising her pinky and index fingers and lowering the others.

"'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars and live in hilltop houses driving 15 cars..."

"Girl, what the fuck?" Nick widened his eyes, looking from Y/N to the camera with a look that screamed 'are you guys seeing this?'

Matt laughed loudly, recognizing the song from one of the TikTok trends that Y/N had been obsessing over the past few weeks, being quick in imitating her position, and starting singing with her.

"... the girls come easy and the drugs come cheap, we'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat-"

"Okay, that's enough of that." Chris interrupted the pair, gesturing to them while shaking his head in disbelief. "So, Y/N wins."

Nick groaned dramatically.

"Let's take her out right now. I don't wanna play with her anymore."

Matt couldn’t stop smiling.

"Can we just talk about how she’s nailing this? Like, can we get her to join the band we don’t have?"

Y/N laughed, giving a mock bow.

"Thank you, thank you. Now, let's just be clear, I already won." Y/N said with a sly grin, stepping forward. "You'll all lose time if you keep discussing who's the best between you three."

"How can you be so sure?" Chris crossed his arms, carrying a superior instance.

"Because I actually listen to rock." She said, shrugging like it was obvious. "AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Kansas, Asia... should I keep going?"

Nick groaned.

"Okay, that’s true, but it doesn’t count!"

"Doesn’t count?" Y/N repeated, feigning offense. "I think you’ll find that the fact I actually know rock makes me the winner by default." She turned to Chris. "Tell me. Have 'yall even listened to ‘Highway to Hell’ all the way through?"

Chris hesitated, playing with his earphones.

"Uh... I mean." He looked at Nick. "Probably?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head.

"Thought so." She crossed her arms. "So, I don’t need a skull belt, all-black everything, or death on my chest. I’ve got the actual music taste. Rock is in my veins, boys."

Nick groaned dramatically, throwing his head back.

"She wins. I hate it, but she wins."

"Alright, fine." Chris muttered. "But we still look better."

"Not a chance." Y/N teased, spinning in place again and winking at the camera. "This outfit screams rock goddess."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The boys were now proudly sporting their "Zoom Meeting" outfits. Chris held up his MacBook, Matt adjusted his glasses with a goofy smile, and Nick tugged at his black tie, looking down at his bright heart-shaped boxer shorts with fake professionalism.

"Alright." Chris started, addressing the imaginary Zoom meeting in front of him. "Gentlemen, let’s get to business. As you can see, we’re all clearly dressed to impress."

"Except for Nick." Matt teased, nodding toward his brother's boxer shorts. "The hearts? A little too much, don’t you think?"

Nick scoffed, feigning offense.

"Excuse me, at least I have this tie that says I’m both professional and emotionally available. A winning combo."

Matt rolled his eyes and gestured to his own look.

"Meanwhile, I’ve got balance. Business on top, relaxation on the bottom."

"That’s literally the whole theme." Chris pointed out with a smirk. "You’re not special, Matt."

Y/N watched from her spot leaning against Matt's bathroom door, her legs crossed as she sipped from her mug of coffee that she made while waiting for them to get ready. She was dressed comfortably yet stylishly, rocking an oversized beige knit sweater that draped perfectly off one shoulder, paired with black leggings and fluffy white socks. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, with a few strands framing her face. Despite the boys' chaotic energy, she was nailing the whole "effortlessly cool" vibe.

"Y/N, you’re way too cozy for a Zoom meeting." Chris said, pointing at her as he adjusted his loose white shirt.

"Well." Y/N said with a playful grin. "Unlike you guys, I know how to mix comfy with class. You all just look ridiculous."

Nick gasped, dramatically clutching the box in his hands.

"Ridiculous? Ridiculous?! Look at this tie! I’m the epitome of professionalism!"

Chris leaned toward Y/N, pointing at Matt.

"What about him? He’s literally in boxer shorts."

Y/N rolled her eyes, sipping from her mug to hide her smile.

"You're all wearing it, dumbass." Her eyes lingered on Matt's red boxer shorts for a moment too long. "It’s really interesting that someone would think boxer shorts are appropriate for a Zoom meeting, actually."

Matt smirked, striking a random pose.

"Are you jealous?"

"No?" She said quickly, shaking her head. "I mean, it’s not like anyone else on the Zoom would see them, right?"

The other two brothers caught on instantly, grinning like Cheshire cats.

"Y/N." Nick teased. "Are you saying you wouldn’t let your Zoom co-workers see your boxers?"

"Nick!" She exclaimed, throwing an exasperated look at him. "That’s not the point!"

Chris chimed in, laughing.

"Yeah, Matt. She’s definitely jealous. She wishes she could wear boxers to a meeting."

"I do not!" Y/N huffed, crossing her arms, though a smile tugged at her lips. "I just... don’t understand why he’d even bother wearing the shirt if he’s just going to go full casual anyway."

"It’s called commitment to the aesthetic." Matt said, walking over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, discretely squeezing the exposed skin. "Something you clearly wouldn’t understand."

"Oh, I understand commitment." Y/N shot back with a smirk, meeting his eyes momentarily. "But let’s be honest, none of you are winning any awards for those outfits."

"Excuse me?" Nick said, pretending to be outraged. "I’m clearly the winner here."

"Winner?" Chris scoffed. "You’re wearing socks pulled up to your knees, bro. That’s not even close to a win."

Y/N chuckled as she watched them descend into a full argument over who had the best Zoom look, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering back to Matt’s outfit. Something about the casual confidence he exuded - boxers and glasses - had her feeling just a little possessive and turned on.

"Alright." She announced, clapping her hands to get their attention. "If you’re all done arguing, let’s see who can really sell their look with a runway walk."

The boys' faces lit up, and they quickly got into character.

Nick was up first, confidently sliding across the wooden floor in his socks, arms spread wide like a figure skater. As he came to a stop, he reached for his boxer shorts and dramatically lowered them until they hit the ground, shouting a little "Oh!".

Matt immediately yelped.

"Nick!" He yelled before lunging forward to cover Y/N's eyes with both hands.

"Matt! What are you doing?!" Y/N laughed, trying to swat his hands away while Chris doubled over in hysterics.

"Protecting your innocence!" Matt declared, keeping his hands firmly over her face.

Nick, unfazed, quickly pulled his boxers back up and began walking toward the camera with exaggerated confidence, tugging at his tie and making ridiculous faces as though he were a real model.

"You’re unbelievable!" Chris murmured through his laughter, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Well, we've got 2 strippers now-"

"Y/N!"

Nick turned dramatically to face her and winked.

"You’re welcome for the show."

Next, it was Matt’s turn. He walked to the middle of the floor, cracking his knuckles with a sly grin before suddenly dropping to his hands and knees.

"Uh, Matt?" Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What...?" Nick added, genuinely confused.

Then, without warning, Matt lifted his left leg to the side like a dog at a fire hydrant.

The realization hit everyone at once, recognizing the movement from one of the rounds of DTI that Matt and Chris played, and the room erupted into cheers and laughter.

"That was perfect!" Chris shouted, clapping his hands.

Matt stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off his shirt with a smirk, and walked toward the camera with crossed arms, striking a serious pose like a model in a high-fashion commercial.

"Okay, that was actually cool." Y/N admitted, giggling as he walked back to join them.

When it was Chris’s turn, he shook his head with a grin.

"I’m sitting this one out." He said.

"What? Why?" Nick asked, incredulous.

Chris shrugged.

"I’m already the main event. I’ll let Y/N steal the spotlight this time."

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, so now I have to go?"

"You got this!" Matt encouraged, nudging her toward the runway.

"Fine." She said, standing up and straightening her oversized sweater dramatically.

Y/N walked off the camera and took the book she'd been reading the past few days from the coffee table, walking back to the frame before delicately putting it on her head like a balancing act. She strutted confidently toward the camera, balancing it all the way, then stopped to pull out her mug, striking a victorious pose before taking a slow, exaggerated sip. The boys erupted in applause.

"You can call me Barbie now." She started, turning to the boys while opening a wide smile before pretending that her hand was a microphone. "On top of the world where I can see everything before me reaching up to touch the sky-"

"Okay, singer girl, pipe down a bit." Nick raised his right hand, exchanging perplexed looks with Chris, who was laughing.

"Okay, she wins." The youngest admitted, shrugging in defeat.

"Unreal." Matt said, looking at her with obvious pride. "You’re way too good at this, Y/N."

"Okay, okay, she wins. No one can top that." Nick nodded at Y/N. "But I think Chris gets second place in this one."

"No, I give you number one." Chris insisted, pointing to Nick while Matt just observed.

"I can't accept that. I'm just happy Matt's wearing his blue light glasses again." Nick's voice turned dramatically high-pitched, clearly imitating the fandom.

Before anyone could react to him, Matt ripped his glasses off of his face, bending it backward until it snapped, small pieces flying everywhere.

"Matt, why would you do that?" Y/N yelled, looking at him with wide eyes and open mouth - just like the other two - before pouting, looking miserably at the shattered pieces. "I liked that one."

"I don't like those stupid jokes." Matt simply replied, looking unfazed at his brothers and Y/N.

Nick and Chris kept looking from Matt to the camera and back, their expressions full of shock.

"You're going to buy another one just like that one, I don't even care." Y/N ordered, crossing her arms and looking directly at Matt, raising her eyebrows as if to say 'dare disobey me.

"Fine." He sighed. "Sorry."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Extra - comments:

"okay but can we talk about matt literally saying ‘I’m off limits’? someone tell me what’s going on here 🤡"

"nick casually calling out matt girls for voting on matt only bc they want to sleep with him had me SCREAMING 😭"

"why was Y/N blushing when matt said he was off limits? I SEE YOU, GIRL!!!!"

"the dynamic between Y/N and matt is giving major dating vibes"

"wait, why does matt always seem to hype Y/N up just a little more than chris and nick? like, we get it, dude. she’s awesome. but tone it down, or we’ll all start connecting dots 🤨"

"as a fellow rock fan, I have to say Y/N listening to AC/DC and bon jovi automatically makes her my fave"

"not Y/N convincing matt with zero effort to do the rockstar trend with her 🤧"

"I’m not saying I ship Y/N and matt... but I also kind of ship Y/N and matt. the way he looked at her with that dress??? man, I know that look"

"matt breaking his glasses and then Y/N ordering him to buy another one and him ACCEPTING IT???? and saying sorry???? omg that's just girl boss right there 🙏🏻"

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤobsession bound

pairings. m!yandere x gn! reader

warnings. yandere, mature explicit 18+ content, MDNI, suggestive content, toxic obsession, stealing clothes, stalking, the whole yandere package.

a/n. i don't condone this irl guys!! please do not fantasize about this

wc. 2.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤi love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers

he knows everything about you. not just your favourite foods, hobbies, or the songs you play on repeat, but the details you wouldn’t even think to share. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought, the pattern of your breathing when you sleep, the subtle twitch in your hand when you’re anxious. he’s studied you as though you were a divine text, each quirk and habit catalogued and committed to memory.

your presence is his religion, and you, his deity. he doesn’t just love you—he worships you. to him, you’re the very essence of perfection, the axis on which his world spins. every smile you offer, every word you speak, is a blessing he clings to with an almost fanatical devotion. if he could, he’d bottle the sound of your laughter and keep it close, playing it on loop in the quiet hours when he can’t be near you.

his obsession began innocently enough—a fleeting glance in passing, a shared space for mere seconds. but those seconds were enough to ignite something dangerous within him. from that moment on, you consumed him.

your image invaded his thoughts, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. it wasn’t enough to see you from afar. he needed to know you, to possess you, to make sure you could never leave.

he follows you everywhere, his footsteps as silent as a predator stalking its prey. he’s always there, just out of sight, ensuring you’re safe—or so he tells himself.

when you stumble, he fights the urge to rush forward and catch you. when someone dares to get too close, his fists clench, his jaw tightens, and dark thoughts swirl in his mind. no one has the right to invade your space like that. no one but him.

every trace of your existence is precious to him. he’s collected everything—strands of your hair caught in your brush, the lip balm you left on your desk, even the receipt you crumpled and threw away. he keeps them in a secret box, hidden away like a dragon hoarding treasure.

he’ll run his fingers over them, murmuring your name like a mantra, his mind spinning fantasies of the life you’ll share once you finally see the truth.

he keeps a journal where he writes about you obsessively. page after page filled with your name, detailed accounts of your daily activities, and his dreams of your future together. he’s planned it all—your wedding, the house you’ll live in, the names of your children. he knows it’s premature, but in his mind, you’re already his. the only thing left is for you to realise it.

his jealousy is a violent, uncontrollable thing. anyone who gets too close to you is a threat that must be eliminated. he doesn’t care who they are—friends, coworkers, even family. they don’t deserve to share your attention.

they don’t love you like he does. he’s not above sabotage, spreading rumours, or even more drastic measures to ensure they stay away. it’s for your own good. can’t you see how much safer you are without them?

his methods of surveillance are disturbingly meticulous. cameras hidden in your home, trackers on your phone and keys, even your favourite coffee shop isn’t spared. he needs to know where you are, what you’re doing, and who you’re with at all times. if he sees something he doesn’t like, he’ll act without hesitation. a threatening text to someone he perceives as competition, a “chance” encounter to remind you he’s always there—it’s all part of his carefully crafted plan.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are the most sacred to him. he’ll sit in your chair, run his fingers over your belongings, and breathe in the faint scent of you lingering in the air.

when he’s feeling especially bold, he’ll lie in your bed, his heart pounding as he imagines you beside him. the boundary between fantasy and reality blurs, and for those moments, he allows himself to believe you’re already his.

despite his madness, there’s a tenderness in his obsession that makes it all the more unnerving. he’ll leave gifts on your doorstep, thoughtful things he knows you’ll love, but always unsigned. he’ll take care of things you don’t even realise—paying overdue bills, fixing a broken lock, replacing the lightbulb you forgot about. in his mind, these are acts of love, proof of his devotion. he’s your saviour, your guardian. why can’t you see that?

his darker thoughts are carefully hidden beneath a façade of adoration. but they’re there, lurking just below the surface. he’s imagined what it would be like to keep you locked away, safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.

a place where it’s just the two of you, where no one can hurt you or take you away. he’s convinced himself it would be for the best. you’d be scared at first, but eventually, you’d understand. you’d love him like he loves you.

he’s a master of manipulation, always a step ahead. when you start to suspect something, he’ll play the perfect confidant, the shoulder to lean on. he’ll comfort you, reassure you, and subtly guide you into his arms. every move he makes is calculated to draw you closer, to ensure you never look anywhere else but at him.

his love is suffocating, overwhelming, all-consuming. it’s not just a feeling—it’s a need, a compulsion, a fire that burns so fiercely it threatens to destroy everything in its path. he doesn’t see the danger in it. to him, it’s pure, untainted, the way love is meant to be. and if you ever tried to leave, he’d see it as a betrayal so profound it would shatter him. he’d do anything to keep you. anything.

he’s utterly captivated by every little thing about you—your smile, your voice, the way your clothes hug your figure just right. his eyes linger longer than they should, memorizing every curve, every subtle movement. he tells himself it’s just admiration, but the way his thoughts wander late at night says otherwise. the image of you is burned into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t escape it.

his fantasies are vivid, detailed, and deeply personal. he doesn’t just imagine holding you close or brushing his lips against yours; his mind ventures further, into moments that would make your cheeks burn if you knew. he’s thought about how your skin might feel against his fingertips, the warmth of your body pressed to his. he knows it’s wrong, but the idea of being the one to make you blush, to see the shy tilt of your gaze, is intoxicating.

he’s fascinated by the small, intimate details of your life—the scent of your shampoo, the way you unconsciously adjust your clothes when you’re nervous, the way your lips part when you’re lost in thought. it’s not enough to simply watch; he wants to know what it feels like, what it tastes like. the thought alone sends a shiver down his spine, a mix of guilt and desire twisting in his chest.

your photos are his most cherished possessions, though he’d never admit it aloud. he’s saved everyone he’s found, both those you’ve posted and those he’s taken without you noticing. they’re his solace on nights when his need for you becomes too overwhelming. his fingers will trace over the screen, wishing he could reach through and pull you to him, to claim you as his own in ways only he dreams of.

his touches are deliberate and lingering, though he always makes them seem innocent. a hand brushing against yours when you pass him something, a too-long hug where his hands press just a little lower than they should. he tells himself it’s harmless, that he’s just expressing his affection, but the heat that pools in his chest whenever he’s near you betrays his true intentions.

he’s memorized the way your clothes fit, the way they shift when you move, and he often imagines what lies beneath. it’s an intrusive, maddening thought that he tries to push away but can’t. he tells himself it’s only natural to wonder about someone you love this much, but the intensity of his fixation borders on obsessive.

his jealousy takes on a darker edge when he sees someone else earning your smiles or making you laugh. he imagines pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to your ear, and whispering that you’re his, only his. the idea of someone else touching you the way he wants to sends a wave of anger through him, but it also stokes the fire of his need to claim you in every way possible.

he’ll leave little hints of his affection, gifts that seem innocent at first glance—a necklace that sits just right against your collarbone, a dress that hugs your body in a way that makes his heart race. he wants to see you wear them, to know that he had a hand in how you look, to feel like you’re his in some small way, even if you don’t realise it yet.

the nights he spends in your home without your knowledge are where his darker fantasies come to life. he’ll stand in your bedroom, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, his mind wandering to places he knows it shouldn’t. he wants to reach out, to touch, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm, but he stops himself. not yet. it’s not time yet.

he’s thought about what it would be like to have you entirely to himself, away from prying eyes and other distractions. a place where you wouldn’t need anyone else but him, where he could show you just how deeply he feels for you. his fantasies are tinged with possessiveness, imagining you looking at him with flushed cheeks and soft whispers of his name, the way only he would ever deserve.

he knows your body as well as he knows your habits, even if he’s never touched you the way he dreams of. the way you stretch when you’re tired, the curve of your lips when you smile, the smooth expanse of your neck—he notices it all, cataloguing every detail to revisit later in the privacy of his own mind. you’re a living masterpiece, and he’s the only one who truly appreciates every stroke of your beauty.

his obsession isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. he craves the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin, the way you might gasp if he were to press his lips to yours. it’s a hunger that grows stronger with every passing day, consuming him until he’s left trembling with the sheer intensity of his desire. he tells himself he’s patient, that he can wait for you to come to him, but his restraint is wearing thin.

he imagines the way your voice would sound, breathless and needy, calling his name. the thought alone makes his heart pound, his breaths shallow. it’s a dangerous game he plays, teetering on the edge of madness, but he can’t help himself. you’ve become his addiction, his obsession, and he knows there’s no turning back.

he loves jerking off to photos of you taken by him. he flips through the steamy photos on his phone, a wicked glint in his eye begins undoing his pants, freeing his rock-hard erection. a low groan escaping his lips as he wraps a hand around the thick shaft and starts stroking it slowly.

steals your clothes. he's practically grinning maniacally as he rummages through your dresser, his fingers trailing over the fabric of each garment with a possessive touch. he snatches up your most intimate items - panties, bras, and even that cute little skirt from last night - holding them to his face and inhaling deeply before tucking the stolen clothes into his bag like precious treasures.

—

the sound of footsteps trailing behind you wasn’t unusual. you had grown accustomed to the presence of people bustling through the streets or even just the echo of your own shoes against the pavement.

tonight, though, something felt...off. the streetlights flickered overhead, casting long, thin shadows that seemed to stretch and waver unnaturally. you clutched your bag tighter as a cold breeze cut through the air, the faint rustle of leaves amplifying the eerie silence.

unbeknownst to you, a figure lingered a safe distance behind, his breathing steady, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism. he had followed you every night for weeks now, taking meticulous care to remain unseen.

you never noticed the subtle changes in your routine—the slight chill in your room despite closed windows, the faint smell of cologne that wasn’t yours, or the way your things never quite seemed to be where you left them. he made sure of that.

when you finally reached the safety of your apartment, fumbling with your keys, a wave of relief washed over you. the feeling of being watched dissipated the moment the door clicked shut behind you. you didn’t know he was already inside.

hidden in the shadows of your closet, he crouched silently, listening to your every move. your obliviousness only deepened his obsession.

he had memorized your schedule down to the minute. he knew the way you stirred your coffee in the mornings, the playlists you hummed along to while cleaning, and the books you kept on your bedside table. each detail was etched into his mind as sacred knowledge, proof that you were meant to belong to him and only him.

his fingers itched to touch the belongings he had stolen—your hairbrush, the shirt you thought you lost, even the empty chapstick tube you tossed away without a second thought. they were treasures to him, pieces of you he could keep close when he couldn’t have you entirely. not yet.

you were so kind, so trusting. it amazed him how naive you could be. When he brushed past you in a crowd, intentionally grazing your shoulder, you had offered an apologetic smile as though it were your fault. when he sent anonymous gifts to your doorstep, you accepted them with gratitude, never questioning their origin.

you had no idea who he was, but he knew you. he knew everything. He watched as you unknowingly consumed his devotion and smiled sweetly, blissfully ignorant of the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his calculated calm.

the days passed in a blur. you noticed small things—a lingering glance from a stranger at the café, a text from an unknown number asking if you’d gotten home safely.

you chalked it up to coincidence, even as unease began to settle in your chest. little did you know, he had orchestrated it all. the stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. The text wasn’t random. everything was deliberate. everything was for you.

one night, you woke to the sound of something clattering in the kitchen. heart racing, you crept out of bed, clutching your phone tightly. the light from the hallway illuminated the edge of a shadow—a tall figure, unnervingly still. your breath hitched.

before you could scream, a hand clamped over your mouth, and you were pulled into an unrelenting grip. his voice, low and desperate, whispered your name like a prayer.

"shh, it’s me," he said, as though that explanation should bring you comfort. "i couldn’t stay away anymore."

you thrashed against him, but his hold was iron. His tone turned sharp, frantic. "stop. please don’t fight me. i've done everything for you. don’t you see that?"

your heart pounded in your chest as his words spilled out in a torrent of obsession. he spoke of how he had protected you, how he had eliminated those who dared to insult you, how he had waited so patiently for this moment.

it didn’t make sense—none of it did—but the sincerity in his voice was chilling. He believed every word.

when he finally loosened his grip, you stumbled away, trying to catch your breath. his golden eyes shimmered with something between adoration and madness. he took a step closer, and you backed away instinctively. "don’t look at me like that," he pleaded. "i’m not a monster. i love you. i've always loved you."

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. fear constricted your throat, making it impossible to form words. he noticed your hesitation, and his expression darkened.

"you don’t understand now," he said softly, almost to himself. "but you will. i'll make you see. you don’t have to be afraid of me—i’d never hurt you. i'd only hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

your legs trembled as you pressed yourself against the wall, desperate to find an escape. he tilted his head, watching you with an unnerving calm. "you’re so beautiful when you’re scared," he mused. "but i don’t want you to be scared of me. i want you to love me back."

the realization of how deeply unhinged he was hit you like a wave. this wasn’t just a stranger breaking into your home. this was someone who had been in your life—lurking in the periphery, shaping your reality without your consent.

you had no idea how much he had already taken from you, how much he was willing to take to keep you his.

and he wouldn’t stop. no matter how much you begged or how far you tried to run, he would always find you. because in his eyes, you were already his.

you are his world, his everything. and in his mind, that’s not obsession—it’s love.

note: if you would like to be added to the yandere oc taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

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[jupiter-letters]

I can't stop thinking about Dad Jayce

(Modern-AU sort of)Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader TW: Pregnancy-mention

A/N: I've held this in for 4 days now I need to get it out. He'd be such a fantastic dad omfg, I'm giving him at least 10. This is gonna be kinda quick and not really proofread sorry y'all.) Divider Link

Jayce is already a pretty touchy guy while you're dating but imagine what a monster he turns into when you guys get married. He acts so sickly sweet with you every moment you're together. He likes to jokingly treat you like royalty, doing a slight bow when you enter a room.

The theatrics get worse when he finds out you're expecting, he won't you do anything till you tell him off. You get up in the morning? He's bringing you breakfast. You just wanna walk around the house, he'll carry you around instead. You're not moving around without him he just acts like a lunatic about it. This is your pregnancy it's OUR pregnancy. If you have nausea, it's OUR nausea. If you're feet hurt, OUR feet hurt, he stops what he's doing to rub your feet and ankles.

Now when the delivery date comes you're relatively calm about it but Jayce is actively losing his mind. Along the course of your pregnancy he has created a very detailed plan on how everything will go. In that moment thought he's floundering, he forgets all the steps and counter measures. He eventually abandons the plan and calls his mom to coach him through everything.

Once the hard part is over it's relatively smooth sailing from there. Jayce ends up completely whipped, regardless of the child's sex he's locked in. Whatever they want he'll get it for them. It makes him so emotional seeing them get older and they start looking more like you. Even though they are a new person he still loves them because they're a piece of you.

Jayce prefers the baby be in your shared bedroom just to keep a closer eye on them, 9/10 he's the one to put them back to sleep when they get fussy at night. During the day he'll always have them in his arms, talking to them about his job or some article he read the other day. He loves just talking to the baby, he likes the baby talk but seeing him have a full on conversation with the baby is hilarious.

He loves showing off the baby to his friends and literally anybody who gives him the time of day. He's got a bunch of pics of you and the baby in his wallet. Sometimes he'll just do it completely unprompted, "Viktor check out this new onesie I got for my son/daughter." He'll post pics in the groupchat with Caitlyn and Vi, he'll send them at least 5 every day.

The child does end up becoming a tiny bit spoiled, Jayce can be firm but the sight of one tear will make him fold. Over the years he gets better at it but when they hit him with the "I hate you daddy!" He gets so depressed he'll sit in his room like this:

Fortunately being the good parents you are, they don't get super bratty very often and are pretty chill. They inherited that go getter attitude from Jayce and it's interesting for him seeing that reflected back at him.

[jaystardust]

‎˙✧˖°📁 ⋆｡˚‧ OFFICE HOURS

Pairing: lee heeseung x female reader

Genre: Manager Heeseung, Workplace, Suggestive, inspired by No Doubt MV

Warnings: Suggestive

Summary: When your boss, Heeseung, demands you to come to the office during a heatwave while everyone else works from home, you’re frustrated by his arrogant, demanding ways. But as the heat intensifies, so does the tension between both of you, turning annoyance into undeniable attraction.

Words count: 3.3K

The heat was unbearable, even by summer standards. You felt every inch of the sticky air clinging to your skin as you entered the building. Your clothes were pressed uncomfortably to you, and the usually spacious lobby felt stifling, a symptom of the broken air conditioning that had sent all employees home. Well, almost all employees.

You took a deep breath, fingers gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you made your way up to the office, the whole building unnaturally quiet, almost deserted. The annoyance simmered beneath the surface, each step a reminder of the early-morning email that dragged you in.

“YN, I require you in the office today. It’s an urgent matter, so please be here by nine.”

The message had Heeseung’s name signed at the bottom, as if he were doing you some great favor by deigning to summon you into the heat-ridden office while he remained cool, collected, and oblivious to your discomfort.

Your phone chimed as you approached your floor, and you saw another message from Heeseung:

“Are you here yet?”

With a huff, you pocketed your phone and headed toward his office, finally pushing open the glass door to see him sitting there, looking effortlessly… handsome, if you were honest with yourself. He was fanning himself with a file, his sleeves rolled up, collar slightly open, and that usual smug look on his face that made your frustration bubble over.

“Heeseung,” you greeted coolly, folding your arms over your chest. “You dragged me in here because…?”

His gaze flickered up, sharp and assessing, a small smirk curving on his lips as he looked you over. “Nice of you to show up on time. And I thought punctuality wasn’t your strong suit.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for giving me an option,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm

He ignored your tone, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly relaxed look. “I need you here to go over the quarterly report in person. There are a few key points I want to discuss, and remote work just wasn’t cutting it.”

You felt the sweat trickle down your neck, a reminder of the oppressive heat lingering in the room. “You know the AC is out, right? Or was that part of your plan?”

A chuckle escaped him, low and quiet. “Maybe I just wanted to test your commitment to the job.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the room and taking a seat across from him. “So, what’s this urgent matter that required me to show up in person?”

Heeseung glanced at you, his eyes drifting to your bare arms, where you’d rolled up your sleeves in an attempt to cool off. “There are some details in the report that need immediate attention,” he replied, his voice calm and measured. But you noticed the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his lips pressed together slightly, as if he was holding back more than just words.

The silence stretched between you, and you shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling the weight of it as the heat pressed down. Heeseung seemed to notice, too, loosening another button on his collar, the sight of his neck and collarbone more distracting than you cared to admit. You looked away, heat pooling in your cheeks, an unwelcome but undeniable reaction to his presence.

“You don’t have to stay all day,” he added after a pause, his tone dropping an octave, softer, almost teasing. “Just until we’re… satisfied.”

You felt a strange pulse in your chest at his choice of words, his voice heavy with implication. He was too close, his presence too intense, and the heat only amplified the tension already thick in the air. You could feel your pulse quickening, each glance, each slight movement building the pressure between you.

The file in your hand felt heavy, but you held onto it tightly, refusing to let yourself get swept up in the charged atmosphere. “Let’s get this over with,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart was racing.

Heeseung’s smirk widened slightly as he reached for his own copy of the report, leaning forward, his arm brushing yours, sending a jolt through you that you couldn’t ignore. You looked down, the movement forcing you to notice the subtle, intoxicating scent of his cologne, a mix of something clean and woody, and the heat only seemed to make it stronger.

Heeseung’s hand came to rest just beside yours on the table, and his fingers brushed yours ever so slightly, sparking a shiver that shot up your arm.

“You’re tense,” he observed, his voice a whisper, eyes meeting yours. “You don’t need to be.” His tone was soft, but there was a glint in his gaze, an invitation wrapped in those simple words.

You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to keep it together, but your voice betrayed you. “If you keep looking at me like that, Heeseung, I will walk out of here.”

“Looking at you?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as his fingers traced a light line over the back of your hand, lingering there. “I thought you weren’t the type to run from a challenge.”

“Maybe I’m just not interested in this kind of challenge,” you whispered, though the flutter in your stomach told a different story.

Heeseung leaned closer, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “I don’t think that’s true.”

The space between you seemed to disappear as he reached up, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, lingering at your jaw. His touch was soft, tentative, but filled with intention, and you felt yourself leaning into it despite yourself.

The warmth of Heeseung’s fingers lingered on your skin, a subtle touch that felt anything but casual. His gaze softened, and for a moment, the cocky facade he wore so easily faded, replaced by something deeper, something… vulnerable.

You swallowed, feeling the air between you thicken. He hadn’t moved, his hand still at your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek, setting off an unsteady rhythm in your chest. Your mind screamed at you to snap out of it, to brush him off, to act unaffected, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from him.

And then he moved, slowly, his lips just a breath away from yours, giving you one last chance to pull away. But instead, you felt yourself leaning in, closing the distance as if you were both magnetized, unable to resist the pull.

When your lips finally met, it was electric, a collision of every lingering stare, every hidden tension that had built up between you since day one. His lips were soft but insistent, coaxing you, drawing you in deeper, and before you knew it, you were kissing him back just as fervently, hands tangling in his hair as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss intensified, a heady mix of heat and desire, as if all the frustration and annoyance you’d felt for him was being transformed into something else entirely. You didn’t care anymore about the temperature in the room, or the fact that this was your manager, or the flood of feelings he stirred in you that you barely understood. All you could focus on was the way his mouth moved against yours, each kiss deeper and more urgent than the last.

You let out a quiet gasp as he pushed you back slightly, guiding you against the edge of the desk. He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded, filled with a desire that left you breathless.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured, his voice rough, sending a thrill down your spine. His hands found your waist, fingers tracing the fabric of your top, slipping just beneath it to rest on your bare skin.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, but your hands were already moving to the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against his neck as you loosened another button, craving more of him.

He laughed, low and quiet, his lips grazing your jaw, down to your neck. “I think we’re both a little guilty of pretending we don’t care,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “But I’ve wanted this… wanted you… from the start.”

His words sent your heart racing, and any lingering hesitation evaporated as his mouth moved along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, making you arch into him, every nerve alight with anticipation. You pulled him closer, feeling the firmness of his chest pressed against you, the sensation intoxicating.

Heeseung’s hands slid to your hips, lifting you onto the edge of the desk as he stood between your legs, his fingers tracing patterns on your thighs, sending tingling sensations all through you. Your hands drifted to his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, exposing his arms and the toned muscles you’d only ever caught glimpses of.

You kissed him again, your movements urgent, almost desperate, the heat between you consuming. His hands traced up your sides, slipping beneath your top, pushing it higher until it was discarded somewhere on the floor. His gaze swept over you, appreciation and hunger mingling in his eyes, and you felt a rush of confidence, of satisfaction, knowing you had this effect on him.

He pulled you closer, his hands firm against your back as he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if trying to memorize every part of you. Your fingers traced the bare skin of his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he leaned into you, his mouth exploring every inch of skin he could reach. His name slipped from your lips, barely a whisper, but enough to make him pause, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Say that again,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your cheek, his gaze focused, almost reverent.

“Heeseung…” you breathed, the sound sending a shiver through him.

At that, he pulled you closer, his kisses trailing down your collarbone, down to your shoulder, his hands roaming over your body, every touch leaving you craving more. You let yourself get lost in him, in the weight of his touch, in the way his lips traced down your skin with a tenderness that contradicted the earlier arrogance he so often showed.

“Why did you wait so long?” you whispered, tilting his face up to meet yours, unable to shake the question as he looked at you, a mixture of warmth and desire in his eyes.

He hesitated, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he answered. “Because… every time I thought about you, I knew I’d lose control.”

“Maybe I wanted you to lose control,” you replied, your voice barely more than a murmur, your hand moving to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm, strong and steady, mirroring your own.

His mouth met yours again, harder this time, as if those words had unlocked something in him. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and any remaining distance between you disappeared as he lifted you slightly, his lips never leaving yours. The room seemed to fade around you as he deepened the kiss, his hands tracing down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was dangerous, that you were crossing a line, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Not when his hands were on you, his mouth against yours, his body pressed against yours in a way that felt both grounding and electric.

You tugged him closer, fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders, his chest, marveling at how someone who could be so infuriating could also make you feel like this, like you were the only person in the world. His lips moved back up to your neck, trailing soft kisses up to your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Are you sure you want this?”

Your response was immediate, a soft “Yes,” that felt like a promise, and with that, any hesitation he had seemed to vanish. He lifted you in his arms, guiding you further onto the desk, his hands holding you securely as he kissed you, each touch, each movement, a slow, intoxicating unraveling of all the walls you’d built between you.

Heeseung's hands traced along your sides, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin, his touch both tender and possessive. You lost track of time, of where you were, letting yourself get swept away in the heat, in the desire that seemed to consume you both, until nothing else mattered but this moment.

For once, you didn’t care about tomorrow or what this would mean for your work, for the strange push-and-pull between you and Heeseung that had driven you crazy for so long. All you knew was that here, now, in his arms, every unspoken word, every hidden look finally made sense.

As Heeseung’s lips traveled along your jawline, his warm breath fanning over your skin, every nerve in your body felt alive, every touch leaving you wanting more. The heat in the room no longer mattered; it was dwarfed by the fire between you two, something undeniable and electric that had been simmering for too long. Your heart raced as he took his time, his lips and hands exploring every inch of your exposed skin, leaving a trail of warmth and goosebumps in his wake.

His hands moved from your waist, up your back, pressing you closer to him, fingers tracing circles that left you shivering despite the warmth. You couldn’t help but respond, your own hands finding their way over his shoulders and down his back, fingertips brushing the muscles that tensed beneath your touch. Each movement between you felt like a silent confession, a revelation of how long you’d both resisted this, yet how deeply you both needed it.

Heeseung paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his breathing heavy, and the raw intensity in his gaze sent a thrill down your spine. There was something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before—something softer, almost reverent, as if he was seeing you for the first time and finally allowing himself to admit what he’d felt all along. The room was silent except for your breaths, mingling in the small space between you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could speak, he leaned in, capturing your lips again in a kiss that was softer this time, yet just as passionate. It was slow and deliberate, a contrast to the urgency that had ignited between you just moments ago. The tenderness in his kiss surprised you, melting any remaining defenses you had. Your hands found their way to his face, cupping his jaw, feeling the slight roughness there, anchoring yourself in the moment.

Heeseung’s hands slid up, resting on either side of your face as he deepened the kiss, his thumbs brushing gently along your cheekbones. There was an unspoken understanding, a mutual need to make up for every moment you’d denied yourselves this, and the kisses grew more intense, more consuming with each passing second.

You could feel him smile slightly against your lips, a mischievous spark in his gaze as he broke away, resting his forehead against yours. “You know, if I’d known dragging you into this office would lead to this…” He let the sentence trail off, his grin widening as he searched your face, clearly pleased with the way you were looking at him.

“Oh, I’m sure you knew exactly what you were doing,” you retorted, trying to keep your tone light despite the fact that your heart was still racing.

“Maybe I did.” He leaned in again, his voice dropping to a whisper as his fingers trailed along your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I didn’t expect you to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, feeling a rush of warmth in your cheeks.

“Like you’ve wanted this as much as I have,” he replied, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just letting the words hang in the air. You felt your heart pounding, the weight of everything that had led to this moment, the months of stolen glances, of unspoken tension, coming to a head. It was strange, feeling this way about someone who had driven you crazy with his arrogance, his endless demands, yet now, standing here, you couldn’t deny that there was more to him than you’d let yourself see before.

Your hand moved to his face, tracing the line of his jaw as you looked into his eyes, letting yourself truly see him. “Maybe I have,” you admitted softly, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

Heeseung’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the arrogant, bossy exterior he usually wore was completely stripped away, leaving only the man in front of you, vulnerable and just as affected by this as you were. He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he closed his eyes, his hands gently holding your waist, as if grounding himself.

When he finally looked up, his expression had changed. There was a new determination in his gaze, something deeper, as though he was making a silent promise to himself—and to you.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he said, his voice steady, leaving no room for doubt. “I want… more than just this.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the unexpected sincerity catching you off guard. You hadn’t thought about what would happen after today, after finally giving in to the feelings you’d both been ignoring for so long. But looking at him now, seeing the honesty in his eyes, you realized that maybe… you wanted more, too.

Before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to intertwine with yours. It was a small, almost hesitant gesture, but it spoke volumes, a sign of the unspoken connection between you, a promise of something beyond the walls of this office.

“So,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with a playful smirk. “Are you still mad at me for making you come in today?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looked at him, unable to keep the smile off your face. “I suppose I can let it slide this time… as long as you don’t make it a habit.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hands gently. “Deal. But don’t think I’ll stop asking you to work late if it means we get more moments like this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he replied, his smirk softening into a genuine smile.

As you stood there together, the heatwave outside forgotten, the hum of the empty office surrounding you, you knew that this was the start of something unexpected, something that would change everything.

A/N : kind of did it in a rush, hope you liked it tho !!!

[pseudophan]

PHANNIE COOKBOOK SIGN-UPS!!

Do you have a really good recipe you think Dan and Phil would enjoy? Consider submitting it to this collaborative phannie cookbook that will be given to DnP at a meet & greet! It will also be available to everyone to download as a PDF.

Family recipes or your favourite dish from your country/culture is a bonus, but it doesn’t have to be that personal. All I ask is that you don’t go rip something random off the Internet right now just to be in the book, I want food you genuinely enjoy!

I’ve decided the most efficient way of doing this is to let you submit up to 3 different options, that way if there are any repeats (and I’m certain there will be) I won’t have to message everyone it concerns to ask if you have any alternatives. Besides, that way I can choose which version gets in based on your other options rather than which one “sounds better” to me, cause I think that would be a little unfair. I also have no idea how many people will actually participate in this yet, which is currently the biggest hurdle in terms of planning. If only a few sign up there is a chance we’ll end up using multiple recipes by some, and if somehow we get too many I’ll have to pick and choose. I do really want to include as many people as possible, but until I actually see the recipes it’s hard to tell what will end up happening.

The main focus of this will be actual food, but we obviously need to include a few desserts, so feel free to submit those as well just be aware the chances of those getting picked might be lower. The same goes for soups, I assume a lot of people have soup recipes and we might include a couple, but for obvious reasons it's a low priority.

Some key things to keep in mind:

Phil is a bit picky and has some dietary restrictions! He shouldn’t have dairy or chocolate and he doesn’t like cheese or mushrooms, among other things. That doesn’t mean you have to avoid these things entirely, but maybe your grandma’s mac and cheese recipe isn’t the best choice

While neither of them is vegan they do eat a lot of vegan food, so we definitely need some vegan dishes. I also think it would be really great if you suggested vegetarian and/or vegan substitutions you know work well with your recipe! That isn’t a must for every dish, but it’s a nice addition where possible

Tragically, Dan and Phil are British, meaning they won’t necessarily have access to all the same ingredients as you. Luckily they are also rich and live in a major city with a lot of options so they aren’t limited to what they can find at their local Tesco, but since the aim of this book is to encourage them to cook we probably shouldn’t be sending them on a scavenger hunt either. I don’t think this will be a huge issue, but if your recipe calls for something you think might be very niche or local to you it might be worth googling it or asking around

The final book will be using UK measurements, but if your recipe doesn’t then don’t even worry about it for now. We’ll get to that later. You also don’t have to worry about typing out the whole step-by-step in detail in the sign-up form, I just need a list of the ingredients and roughly how to prepare it to gauge whether it’s a good fit.

I promise I’m almost done yapping but lastly, about some of the questions on the form - you don’t need to know exactly how long the dish takes to prepare, that will depend on the person or people making it anyway, but we do need a rough estimate. The difficulty level is obviously quite subjective, but I just want to hear how you personally would rank it, and if there is a specific part of the process you think someone who doesn’t cook a lot might struggle with. As for the last question about photos, I’m asking both if you have the time and opportunity to make the food and if you are able to take a good photo of it. Obviously it doesn’t have to be anything professional, a phone camera is fine, it just needs to be well lit and decent quality.

Okay, I think that’s everything-

Here's the sign-up form

The deadline is in a week, at midnight Thursday to Friday CET :)

(I also made a blog for this @phookbook for information and updates! A lot of it will probably still be on this blog, but I'll try to post/reblog the most important things on there for those who want to keep up with everything but who may not want to deal with all the chaos of pseudophan)

[cindol]

thinks about the thought of fiancé!nanami and fem reader

౨ৎ .ᐟ .ᐣ — blurb hcs(kind of ), fluff, suggestive,

a / n — trying out a new style of gradient so let’s just pretend this post is a test run lol

fiancé!nanami wants everything perfect for his future wife. He doesn’t care how crazy or illogical, this is your wedding he’s planning and a special day for both you and him.

fiancé!nanami doesn’t mind who gets invited to his wedding. Usually he would groan at gojo satoru being invited to things organized by him but when you give him a sympathetic look fluttering your lashes.

“I’m sure satoru’s adult enough now to get invited to a wedding baby, I sent an invitation to suguru and shoko so they’ll keep him in check.”

he sighs then looks at you and the empty letter you were gonna write to satoru. With anybody else he would say no, but you’re his woman, his childhood sweetheart.

“only for you, but I feel like just a e-mail would do instead of us doing a thousand letters to our friends baby.”

“I like the effect kento! Makes me feel old school.”

fiancé!nanami knows what his wife likes and has the florist pick only the best orchid’s and peony’s for the venue.

fiancé!nanami has a hard not peaking at your dress fitting so he stays home but always wants updates.

“kento baby, I can’t get you every detail on my dress fitting now! The tailor’s still trying to get measurements.”

“I know I know darling I just want to check up.” that’s such an excuse but it slips off his tongue naturally.

you hum into the phone tapping your nail till you answer.“tell ya what, I’ll give you a detailed description on what my groom will be expecting to see on the big day.”

“wow me.”

“satin dress, goes all the way down to my legs but hugs my curves just right.”

that description was enough for him to pause in the middle of his own sentence.

fiancé!nanami once he sees the dress at the wedding when you’re coming down the aisle with his grandfather leading you down his stotic strong straight face nearly cracks seeing you all glammed up in that long mermaid wedding dress makes him sweat. Not from nervousness but from the fact he may be getting hot seeing your body stick out the way it did in that satin white dress.

once you both kiss and say the vows you’ve promised to one another immediately wants to rush to the honeymoon and skip reception. Seeing even your backside while you’re talking shoko’s ear off while waving you hand to show her the ring on your finger got him flustered. Immediately he was grabbing your hand before you got the chance to excuse yourself from shoko.

Near a lonely wall he was giving you neck kisses making you giggle and stop him for a moment to talk.“I see somebody wanted more kisses but don’t you wanna wait baby? loads of food and I know haibara is gonna wanna talk your ear off.”

nanami didn’t wanna be rude. This was the day you waited but all he could think on is wanting to rip that dress off of you in a hotel room. Scratching the back of his head and rubbing his neck he tsked, would he wait all the time for the reception to be over or skip to the night with his beloved?

he’d rather skip.

“I mean this so much respect sweetheart, but seeing you this beautiful in your gown makes me just wanna jump ship and go to the honeymoon already.” his eyes scoped you from down to up looking at your bust to how the dress flowered down to your legs.

that already got you biting your lip. Seeing nanami in this flustered state while touching at his hair made you wanna immediately follow after him.

“You think the others will mind or care seeing me disappear off?”

“If you tell satoru he won’t give a damn, just make a slick cocky comment and make some excuse to the others.” Nanami wasnt fond on gojo but he knew how he thinks. is

fiancé!nanami is gentle with you on the honeymoon night. As thirsty as he was to just get to that hotel room with you that he specifically got the hotel to set up with champagne and rose petals he couldn’t care less about them.

Taking each arrival of clothing off of you was what he took great care of. Slowly he lifted your bridal veil showing your pretty face, eyelashes batting at him and lips all pouty. His thumb swiped near you lip making you pout.

“You’ll mess up my lipstick kento!”

“It won’t be here for long darling, I can promise that.”

fiancé!nanami treats your body like a work of art to be appreciated on this honeymoon night.He first started by neck kisses just to get you hot and bothered with more kisses in the middle of your cleavage also till you just explode.

“Just do me already kento!” saying it in a immature way but he knew exactly what you meant.

fiancé!nanami that night nanami kento made you happy a bride.

[breelandwalker]

How to Write Your Own Spells

There are lots of ways to create spells, from planning everything to the minutest detail ahead of time to absolutely flying by the seat of your pants in the moment. If you'd like to write your own spells, either for use in your craft or as a creative exercise, here are some suggested steps that I use in my own practice:

1) Determine the intent or goal of your spell. Decide, first and foremost, what you want the spell to do. Refine your goal if necessary and try not to be too nebulous. Your intent tells the spell what it's meant to do. A more focused goal may increase the chances of success.

2) Determine how you want the spell to manifest. Decide how the spell should work and what the result should look like. This is a good time to build in a sign of success, especially for spells that may not work in an obvious or visible way.

3) Determine what or whom the spell will affect. If the spell is to have a target, be it a person or a place or an animal or an object, decide what that should be and how they or it will be represented in the casting.

4) Determine how long the spell is meant to work. If your spell is timebound or has a deadline, decide what that will be. If the spell is meant to work long-term, you may want to check in and refresh it from time to time. (Not every spell will be timebound. Many spells will simply expire when they have fulfilled their purpose or if they are blocked or circumstances are not favorable.)

5) Determine the timing of the spell, if applicable. Not everyone uses celestial or astrological timing for their spells, but if you do, look into the prevailing conditions and decide on an advantageous time for your casting. (Please note that magical timing can only enhance your spell and casting something on the "wrong" day will not necessarily cause it to fail.)

6) Determine what methods and materials you want to use to cast the spell. Decide how you're going to go about performing the casting, whether you're doing a ritual or making a charm or just using energy. If you're going to need a ritual space or physical components, plan that out and make sure it fits with what you want to do.

7) Determine the words, if any, which will empower the spell. If you want to include a prayer or a petition or a song or an incantation with your spell, decide what that should be. This is not strictly necessary and the words need not be spoken aloud. (Rhyming incantations are not required, but if you prefer them that way, you can certainly do so.)

8) Prepare the materials for casting the spell. Get all your necessaries together ahead of time. Make sure you have everything you need, that tools and components are in good and useable condition, prepare your workspace, and make sure everything is within easy reach so you don't have to stop and search for things in the middle of your casting. (And for goodness sake, if you're working with open flame, observe fire safety and tie your hair and sleeves back.)

9) Finalize details and perform the casting. When you're ready to begin, try to eliminate as many possibilities for distraction or interruption as possible. Go over your spell and components one more time, then proceed with casting the spell.

10) Record the particulars for future reference and to determine how well the spell worked. Make a record of the spell, including your goal, how it should manifest, the words and components used, the date of the casting, the casting method and procedure, and how the casting went. If there are any additional details or observations that seem important, include those as well. This will serve as a useful learning tool in the future and will allow you to check your work if the results make themselves known.

It's useful to write spells from time to time if the inspiration strikes you, in order to better understand how they fit together and how they work. Plus it's a fun and creative journaling exercise and recording the spells you cast a great way to measure your progress later on.

For additional tips on writing your own spells and helpful tricks for using timing and available materials to your advantage, check out my podcast, Hex Positive, Eps. 006-007, "Come In For A Spell, pt 1 & 2."

More Witchcraft Exercises Here

(And if you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

Happy Witching! 🔮✨

[saintzweig]

nsfw patrick zweig x camgirl!reader

–based on this blurb PART TWO HERE

– wrote this with 5 hours of sleep, not proofread because i'm lazy so i apologize in advance for the mistakes or if its shitty :3 wasn't actually going to write this but i couldn't stop thinking about it sooo

it was 3pm on a thursday, you were sat in your history class bored out of your mind. it was your last class of the week and it had only half an hour left but with the way your professor was droning on and on about god knows what, you couldn't wait to get out of here fast enough. 

you had a live scheduled in two hours, as well. you needed enough time to rest and freshen up before you turn your camera on. you did live cams anonymously on some sketchy website just to get by, a cam girl if you will. you grew up in a strict religious household so you've never thought you'd end up doing this but desperate times call for desperate measures, it was an easy way out of your financial problems. plus, if you were careful enough no one would have to find out. its not like you were going to do this forever, only until you graduate and find a job with a decent pay. by then, your account will be deleted and forgotten about, as if it never existed in the first place. 

your mindless scribbling was interrupted when your professor called your name. "l/n, zweig"

your head snapped up to the front and then to patrick zweig who sat two rows infront of you. 

"your presentation will be a week from now, your topic will be on the reconstruction. i expect you'll do a thorough research." 

you quickly wrote down the details as your professor dismissed the class, students rushing to get out of the room while you stayed behind to gather your things. before you knew it, patrick stood infront of you. his backpack slinging over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets. 

you didn't know patrick zweig, you knew of him. a great, cocky tennis player who was supposed to go pro after juniors but his friends, art and tashi, convinced him to accept his standford offer. so he'll have something to fall back on if things don't go to plan. 

you've heard people talk about him, how he's reckless in his plays yet he keeps winning. how he doesn't do anything in class yet he keeps passing. you had to stop yourself from sighing in front of him, is he going to make you do everything? 

"y/n, right?" you've never heard him talk before, atleast not anywhere near you so you were surprised that his voice sounded ... attractive. you took this time to actually look at him, he wore a plain white shirt and denim jeans, which isn't much but he made it look so good. his face was slightly scruffy, his nose statuesque and his pink lips was pulled into a slight smirk. you had no idea why his appearance made your heart beat faster than normal. 

the two of you discussed when to meet, deciding to do the work in your dorm every other day during his free time. so now, on friday evening, you were sat on your desk working on the outline for your project as you wait for him to arrive. 

not long after, there was a knock on your door and patrick entered in his tennis attire, carrying his equipment. "a single room?" he asked with his eyebrow raised, taking in the sight of your room. the white walls adorned with tapestry and posters, your bed covered in a pink bedding and your desk was cluttered with your study materials. 

"i got lucky" you sat on your chair as he settled on your bed, laying on his back in exhaustion. there was something familiar about your room, he just couldn't put his finger on it. has he been here before? did the two of you hook up and he had just forgotten about it? or maybe it's because most dorms look the same, it's probably just similar to tashi's. he put the thought on the back of his mind as you started to discuss your project with him. 

it went surprisingly well the first day, although patrick was stubborn, he knew he couldn't just skip on this project because he'll end up having to do it alone so he decided doing it with you now was the better option. the next day, he got too comfortable that he's so easily distracted. you started bribing him with his own pack of cigarettes, taking it from his hands and putting it under your thigh as the two of you sat across from each other on your bed. 

it was a little difficult to work with him, considering he's not so good at studying but it was fun, you had fun with him. he made jokes that you tried to keep a straight face on but end up laughing so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. he keeps trying to flirt with you too, which just ends up with you scowling at him and slapping his arm. 

and as soon as he left, you turned your camera on and positioned yourself on your bed. normally, you would only strip and massage your body, never going as far as playing with yourself in front of your viewers. but this time, you couldn't stop thinking about patrick. how big his hands were compared to you, you imagined it wrapped around your wrist, or holding your waist, or choking you. the thought making you squeeze your thighs together. you made soft noises as your massaged your breasts, imagining what it would feel like to feel his hands cupping you. you felt yourself get wet as you pressed your fingers against the fabric of your panties.

tonight's live felt a bit more sensual, it was almost difficult to stop yourself from getting carried away but you needed to be careful. so after an hour, you turned the camera off and placed your laptop under your bed. as soon as you lay back, your hand found its way inside your white, lacy panties. you shiver as the pad of your pointer finger brushed against your sensitive clit, feeling the slick against your skin as your press against your cunt. 

you spent the next hour touching yourself to the thought of patrick using your body, feeling his lips against your skin, lapping up the juices leaking out of you. the sounds you were making were too pornographic that you had to place your hand over your mouth. your fingers covered in your juices as you desperately fucked yourself. it felt like a pretty sight to see that you almost regretted turning your camera off. 

you wanted someone to see you, you wanted him to see what he was doing to you. 

the next time he came over, he had just come straight from tennis practice. his skin was slightly moist with sweat and he wore shorts that rode up his legs when he sat on your bed. you couldn't focus on anything but his thighs. 

“you feeling alright? you're looking kinda red, zoning out too” you blushed, feeling like he just caught you red handed. 

you nod, “yeah, it's just a little hot” 

he smirked, telling you to take your shirt off if it's that hot, he wouldn't mind it at all. you rolled your eyes at his suggestion, turning your attention back to your laptop. you were tempted to do it, it took you everything in your body not to. even with your choice of work, you still had a little bit of self respect and discipline left. 

that night, you ended up touching yourself on camera for the first time. making yourself cum infront of your viewers while they had no idea you were thinking of patrick, again. having your lips on his skin, straddling his lap and feeling his bulge press against your clothed cunt, his hands on your breasts as you bounce on his cock. you made the highest amount of money you've ever made since you've started. but you made sure to tell them it was a one time thing. 

the next evening, was the day before your presentation. patrick was on his way over so the two of you can practice and prepare yourself for tomorrow. 

you bumped into him on your way to the communal bathroom, telling him to go right ahead. 

patrick entered your room, dropping his equipment by the door as usual. instead of laying in your bed like he always does, he sat on your chair. leaning back with his arms crossed as he observed the trinkets on your desk and the photos pinned on the corkboard. 

a few minutes later, you walked in and sat on your bed, facing him. he turned around in your chair to ask you something about the photos but the sight of you on your bed left him dumbfounded. the realization of why your room looks familiar finally came to him, the only reason it took him so long was because the only way he's ever seen it was through the camera, facing the exact direction he's looking at right now. 

you were the anonymous cam girl he had been jerking off to after your sessions, you were the girl he had just sent a hundred dollars to the night before. 

[cepheustarot]

What do people like about you?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

✧ Masterlist ✧ Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: The first thing to note is: you are associated with the word "stability". People appreciate you, see what a good, devoted friend and faithful partner you are, you can also have strong ties with your family and relatives. In addition to being loyal to people, you are true to yourself, you do not betray your principles and interests, moreover, you rely on them when making important decisions. You are the kind of person who will definitely not betray himself — people like this trait in you, they admire it. By the way, they also like what a caring, kind and moderately generous person you are, the brightest moments of life and memories are created with you, people always have a good mood when you are next to them. They really like that you can brighten up their day with your presence, they like spending time with you. They also believe that you are the soul of the company because you are the one who creates the mood around others, besides you are quite a friendly and sociable person. As I said before, people like the fact that you don't betray yourself, you defend your interests. At the same time, they admire the fact that you can defend your opinion, do not change yourself and do not adapt to others. You are probably the one who speaks your opinion directly to your face, does not hide the truth. People also notice that you are a person who tries to keep a balance in everything, in all areas of your life and you also work hard at it but at the same time you know the measure and very rarely bring yourself to burnout, severe fatigue. People also like the way you treat them: you always try to be attentive, remember details from their stories, some little things. To some extent, you are an open person, you are not afraid to express your opinion and people appreciate it very much. They also appreciate that they can find support in your words, it's really important to them.

Pile 2: People like about you what an active, mobile person you are, who does not like to sit around and is always busy with something. In addition, you can speak quite fast, you can move quickly, use a lot of gestures, you have expressive facial expressions and people are charged by your vibe, they immediately catch your mood. People admire the fact that you are a very purposeful person and are able to achieve your goals, implement plans in a short time. At the same time, they also note that you work quite hard  work, you are constantly improving, developing, learning something new or trying yourself in a new field of activity, they like that you do not limit yourself to one thing and try yourself in many ways. They think you're a pretty versatile person, they like the way you share your impressions, tell life stories and they admire your lifestyle. At the same time, they like that you are easy-going, you agree to any adventure, you are ready to keep any person company. They also like that you are an intelligent and rational person, maybe in the eyes of some you can act impulsively but in fact you often think over your steps, make a plan of action. And people like that you think ahead first, rather than acting spontaneously, they admire your responsibility. They also like that you are a person of reason, you rarely succumb to emotions, you like to act thoughtfully, considering every step and every word. People can also see you as a wise leader, able to lead people and pass on their knowledge to them, you can also be seen as an experienced mentor or a specialist who knows his business.

Pile 3: People like your aura in general, the way you look and behave: they are attracted to your beauty, external and internal, they like how you present yourself among people, how you interact with them, they consider you very confident, very charismatic, they like your style, your image, your aesthetics in general. People also believe that you are a very conscious, wise, spiritually developed person, they admire the fact that you know a lot, understand a lot in this world and, by and large, calmly treat everything that happens. They like that they always feel calm and safe next to you. You calmly react to any changes or crisis situations because you know that all this is temporary and everything can be handled. By the way, you are ready for any changes, you quickly adapt to them, you can easily part with the past and with some people, you don't worry about it for a long time. People also like the fact that you are not afraid of new beginnings, you can easily drop something and start from the beginning or even move on to another business that interests you. Often people can turn to you for advice because your support and help really helps them a lot and affects them for the better, they can see in you a kind of mentor who opens eyes to many things in life. They also admire the fact that you are not afraid to make mistakes, you treat them calmly because this is part of life and part of the way, you are well aware of this and accept it.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | pregnancy special

you and Yoongi try to get pregnant, but it doesn’t go as planned, as the road isn’t easy. But he’s your rock, and he’ll stand with you through thick and thin 💜

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi, married!au, pregnancy!au → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 7.5k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mentions of blood because of SPOILER a miscarriage (there’s blood but know more detail than that), angst, anxiety/fear for the future and for a miscarriage again, pregnancy, raging hormones, drinking sorrows away, getting angry without course, yelling without course, OC is being rather destructive in this one but Yoongi is very sweet, understanding and supportive 👏 → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (is this really a surprise? But please don’t be stupid irl, though they aren’t stupid here ‘cuz they’re actively trying for a baby); oral (female and male receiving), doggystyle over a table 😝, spanks, creampie, cockwarming, kisses (yes that is a warning because it’s sugary sweet 😘), multiple orgasms → Author’s note: hiya all you lovely people! I’m back at it again with another extra for friendcation and let me tell you, even though this is very angsty, I loved writing it a lot. I drew from my own experience (miscarriages), but I didn’t want to go into too much detail, so it’s very light. But it does affect OC and her mood, like she almost gets depressed over it 😢 But Yoongi is there to pick her up and support her, so don’t worry! It’s a sweet one, and of course it has a happy ending, because you know what’s gonna happen in the winter special that I wrote a long time ago! I hope you love it as much as I did! This one was honestly so fast for me to write, like a few hours! It’s so much easier for me when I write from my own personal experience. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage, I want to give you a hug, and please know that you’re not alone, okay? 🫂 (author’s note2: I wrote this story in the beginning of August 2024) → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“There are two lines!” you cry out, bursting into the living room with a pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hand. You twirl it in the air like a magic wand, watching the realization spread across your husband’s face, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of joy and wonder. He moves toward you, a smile breaking across his lips, and in one swift motion, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you close as he plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Are you really pregnant?” he murmurs, his voice soft yet trembling with excitement and a touch of fear. You hear the uncertainty beneath his joy, the way hope and anxiety dance together in his words. You’ve both dreamed of this moment, talked about it late into the night, imagining the tiny life you would create together. Ever since your honeymoon, where every whispered wish was laced with the hope of creating a new life, this has been your shared dream. And now, it’s real. The weight of it hits you all at once, and tears well up in your eyes, spilling over as the emotions of the moment overwhelm you.

He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. “I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin.

Neither can you. The joy is too immense to contain, so you schedule a doctor’s appointment, needing to hear it confirmed, to know for certain that your dream is taking root inside you. Yoongi is right there beside you, holding your hand as the doctor measures your HCG levels via a blood test and tells you the news you’ve been waiting for—you’re pregnant, and not just newly so. Eight weeks have already passed, and suddenly, the idea of this tiny life feels even more real.

Giddy with excitement, the two of you start to dream out loud, envisioning a life that needs more space to grow. The apartment where you built your love, small and cozy as it is, now feels too cramped for the family you want to become. You’ve always talked about raising your children just outside the city, where the air is cleaner, and the pace of life slower, where a bigger house awaits with room enough for your growing dreams. Yoongi smiles at the thought of a garage, where he can create and tinker, a space of his own.

You start house hunting in the suburbs surrounding Seoul, imagining nurseries painted in soft pastels, browsing baby clothes with tiny sleeves, and laughing over the choices. Each step feels like a dream in the making, a life slowly unfolding before you, full of promise and possibility.

But today has been long, and your body is weary. The excitement has worn you down, and as you return home, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the ache in your swollen feet. You glance around, hoping to hear the familiar sounds of your husband’s return, but the apartment is quiet. You open the fridge and pull out a cold bottle of water, hoping it will soothe your frayed nerves. The stress of your marketing job clings to you like a shadow, and all you want is a moment to unwind, to let go of the day’s tension.

As you set the bottle down on the counter, a sudden, sharp pain radiates through your stomach. Your hand instinctively flies to your belly, and you double over, gasping as the pain intensifies. It’s not normal, you think, panic rising in your chest. Something is wrong.

When you look down at the floor, a wave of horror crashes over you. 

Blood. 

Dark, vivid, and far too much of it. It’s pooling beneath you, seeping through your clothes, and it’s only then that you fully realize how soaked you are. 

Terror grips you, squeezing your chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears well up in your eyes, your breath comes in ragged gasps as panic begins to set in. This can’t be happening—this much blood, it’s not normal, not now, not when you’re carrying life inside you. A flood of thoughts races through your mind: is the baby inside you still safe? Or is this the cruel end to a dream that had only just begun? 

You need Yoongi—his steady presence, his strong arms, his comforting words—but he’s not here.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, digging it out of your skirt pocket, and desperately pull up your husband’s contact. The phone barely rings before the door to your apartment creaks open, and there he is, stepping inside. Relief mixes with fear as he rushes to you, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in the scene—the blood, your trembling form, the tears streaming down your face.

Without a word, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. His fingers, rough from years of work, trace gentle, soothing circles on your back, trying to calm the storm inside you.

“What happened?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but you can hear the tremor beneath his words, the fear that he’s trying so hard to mask. His breath comes quicker, and though he tries to be strong for you, you can see the terror in his eyes, mirroring your own.

“Out of nowhere, the pain started,” you sob, clutching at your stomach, “and then the bleeding... so much blood.” Your voice breaks as the pain flares again, sharp and unforgiving.

Yoongi pulls you to your feet, his grip firm but tender, “We need to get you to the doctor’s. Now.” His words are clipped, urgent, but his touch is all comfort as he guides you out of the apartment, into the elevator, and finally into the car. The drive is shrouded in a thick, suffocating silence, broken only by your muffled sobs. The fear that’s lodged in your throat is too heavy to put into words, and deep down, you’re terrified of what you might say if you tried.

At the doctor’s office, the cold gel on your stomach is a jarring contrast to the heat of your fear. The ultrasound screen flickers to life, and there it is—a heartbeat, strong and steady. Relief washes over you like a cool breeze, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. You dare not hope too much, not yet.

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence, steady but laced with anxiety, “Why is she bleeding so much?” His eyes search the doctor’s face for reassurance, for something solid to hold onto.

The doctor hesitates, their gaze softening as they meet your wide, tear-streaked eyes. “It’s not uncommon to bleed in the early stages of pregnancy,” they explain gently. “Everything could be okay, but…” they pause, and the weight of that single word hangs heavy in the air, “it might be a miscarriage in progress. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.” The apology in their voice is almost unbearable, as if they’re sorry for delivering such uncertain news.

And so you wait, the days stretching out like an endless horizon. The bleeding continues, each drop a reminder of the life that hangs in the balance. Yoongi never leaves your side, holding you close through the long, silent nights. You curl into a ball on the bed, grief pulling you into its dark embrace, and you weep for what you fear you’ve lost, though no one has told you for certain. You cry yourself to sleep most nights, haunted by the thought that the heartbeat you saw was the last flicker of hope, slowly fading away.

You feel like a hollow shell, a prisoner within your own skin, drifting through the motions of life, performing tasks you know you should care about but no longer do. The days blur together in a monotony of routines—going to work, waking up, all the things that once held meaning now feel like burdens. The joy that once colored your world has faded to gray. Yet, Yoongi remains by your side, unwavering in his support, whispering words of comfort, promising that everything will be okay. But when the doctor confirms your worst fears, telling you that the life you carried is no longer, you don’t even cry.

It’s as if your tears have run dry, drained by days of sorrow, leaving you numb and empty. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, trying to shield you from the storm that rages inside. You feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

Back home, you slip off your shoes and head straight for the alcohol cabinet. The house is quiet, the air heavy with the weight of your grief. You reach for a bottle of red wine, the one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. With a shaky hand, you uncork it and pour the crimson liquid into a glass, filling it almost to the brim. You glance at your husband, managing a weak smile. “Do you want one?”

“It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. But you just shrug, raising the glass to your lips as if it could wash away the pain. “But I don’t mind drinking with you,” he adds, grabbing a glass for himself and pouring some wine. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

He settles beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you, and you lean into him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. The past few days have been a blur of tears and aching silence, and as you take a sip of the wine, the familiar burn in your throat offers a momentary escape. You know it’s not a solution, but today, you allow yourself this indulgence. Tomorrow will be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow is a new day.

Yoongi doesn’t say much; he simply kisses the top of your head, holding you close as you both drink in the quiet of the day. There’s a solace in his presence, in the way his arms encircle you, making you feel safe even as the world crumbles around you. The wine, the warmth of his body, the soft hum of his voice as he sings you a lullaby—it’s all a balm to your wounded soul.

Before long, sleep overtakes you, and you drift off with your head resting on his lap, his fingers gently combing through your hair. When you wake, your head throbs with a dull ache, and your eyes feel dry and gritty. You rub them, groaning softly as you stretch. Yoongi isn’t beside you, but on the table, you find a glass of water and a couple of painkillers waiting for you. The small gesture makes your heart swell with love.

As you swallow the pills, Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His voice, still thick with sleep, wraps around you like a warm blanket. “How are you feeling, babe?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I have a slight headache, but I’m okay,” you reply, pouting playfully as you try to tame your unruly hair. “Thank you for indulging me,” you add, feeling a surge of gratitude for the way he understands you, even in your darkest moments.

He crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. “I’ll always be by your side, babe, you know that,” he says, his voice soft but filled with unwavering conviction.

You nod, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurts. Because you do know. And you love him all the more for it.

He disappears into the bedroom to get dressed, and when he returns, he sits beside you again, his hand finding yours, his touch grounding you. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with your fingers, feeling the weight of the words that hover on your lips. But you know that talking might help, that sharing the burden might make it easier to bear. So you take a deep breath and let the words spill out.

“I want to try to get pregnant again,” you confess, the hurt still fresh, but beneath it, a flicker of hope. Despite the pain, despite everything, you still want that baby. You still believe in the dream that once filled you with so much joy.

Yoongi looks at you, his eyes soft with understanding. He nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a little. “Okay,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s try again then.”

And in that moment, you know that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

And so you try, again and again, in every possible way, in so many positions that it borders on the absurd. The weeks blur into months, yet each time you face the stark emptiness of a negative pregnancy test, hope crumbles a little more. You feel bombed, discouraged, like a balloon slowly deflating, the air of optimism leaking out with each failed attempt. You never imagined it would be this hard to conceive, and the disappointment weighs heavy on your heart.

Doubt creeps in like a shadow, wrapping its cold fingers around your thoughts. You begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with your body, some hidden flaw that’s keeping you from the one thing you want most. Why isn’t it happening? And yet, beneath the yearning, there’s a trembling fear—fear of what will happen when you finally see those two lines again. Fear of reliving the pain of another loss.

“Maybe we should see a doctor,” Yoongi suggests one quiet afternoon as you both pick at your food, the silence between you thick with unspoken worries. “Maybe I should get my sperm checked,” he muses, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and determination.

You nod, though deep down you doubt that he’s the problem. It feels like the fault lies with you, that your body is betraying you. Isn’t there something about a woman’s fertility dipping after thirty? You vaguely recall reading that somewhere, and it haunts you now. But Yoongi’s right—there’s no harm in getting checked. Perhaps it will give you some answers, or at least a direction.

A few days later, you walk into your doctor’s office with leaden feet and little hope, convinced that age has already set its limits on your dreams. The tests are done, the waiting begins, and you brace yourself for the worst. But when the results come back, they reveal that everything is fine—your fertility is normal, Yoongi’s sperm is in excellent shape. So why isn’t it happening? The question echoes in your mind, relentless and cruel.

Frustration gnaws at you, its claws sinking deeper with each passing day. You find yourself snapping at your colleagues, the tension spilling over in ways you can’t control. Apologies tumble from your lips almost as often as the sharp words that precede them. At home, you manage to hold your temper, but you fear it’s only a matter of time before even Yoongi becomes a target, despite his unwavering support.

Making love, once a source of joy and connection, now feels hollow, reduced to a mechanical routine. The passion that once ignited between you has dimmed, replaced by a clinical determination to conceive. You know Yoongi feels it too; he’s always been attuned to your moods.

“I’m not fucking you when you’re not in the mood,” he says one night, his voice low but firm.

You scoff, anger flaring as you rise from the bed. “Just fuck me so I can get pregnant.”

“No,” he replies, his tone unyielding. “Not when your heart’s not in it.”

With that, he stands up, naked and resolute, pulling his clothes back on as you lie there, seething and tearful, frustration coursing through you like a fever. The anger isn’t just at him; it’s at yourself, at your body, at the unfairness of it all. You hear him in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes a stark contrast to the silence that fills the bedroom. You pull yourself together, dressing slowly, avoiding the mirror because you know you won’t like what you see—a woman who feels trapped in a body that won’t cooperate, stuck between desire and despair.

But Yoongi isn’t wrong. Pushing yourself when your heart isn’t in it won’t help, you know that. You just can’t help the desperation that drives you to this point. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bedroom and find him in the kitchen. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice thick with regret. “I’ll do better.”

He hugs you back, strong and warm, and in that embrace, you find a flicker of comfort. You kiss, a promise unspoken between you, and you feel a surge of gratitude for the man who stands beside you through all the heartbreak and frustration. Whatever comes next, you know you’re in this together.

You immerse yourself in research, scouring every corner of the internet for vitamins, supplements, and rituals that might tip the odds in your favor. Each new discovery feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the relentless tide of hope and disappointment. But one day, after yet another fruitless search, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you—a weariness that reaches deep into your bones. You close your laptop with a heavy sigh and turn to Yoongi, the words slipping from your lips before you can second-guess them. 

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore,” you say, your voice eerily calm, as if stating a simple fact. But inside, you feel as cold and distant as the words sound. Yoongi’s head snaps toward you so quickly that you can almost hear the air shift. His eyes search your face, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in your resolve.

“We can just keep trying,” he replies, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of desperation, as though he’s pleading with you—because he is. You know how deeply he longs for babies, for a family built on the love you share.

But the weight of it all crushes you, and the tears you’ve held back for so long finally threaten to spill over. “I don’t think I can,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a sob catches in your throat. The exhaustion, the fear, the endless cycle of hope and heartbreak—it’s too much.

Yoongi pulls you into his arms, his embrace warm and reassuring. He pats your back, murmuring that it’s okay, that everything will be fine, even as he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to shield you from the pain. He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you see the sincerity in them—the way he’s willing to let go of his own dreams for your sake. 

“We don’t have to have kids if you don’t want to anymore,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, making sure you know he means it. It’s not just a comfort; it’s a promise.

You swallow hard, the enormity of the decision weighing on you. Could you keep trying? Maybe. But fear coils around your heart, tightening with each passing thought. The future feels uncertain, and that terrifies you.

“Maybe,” you begin, searching for the right words, “we could still try, but not focus on it so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to be this obsessed.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as relief softens his features. “Maybe we should rekindle our love,” he suggests gently. “Sex shouldn’t feel like a chore, and I hate that it does for you,” he adds, a pout forming on his lips as he looks at you with concern. “How can I make it better for you?”

You take a moment to ponder his question, reflecting on the love you share, the bond that has always been strong, even in the face of adversity. You realize that it’s not about what’s missing, but about what’s been neglected—the time, the attention, the simple joys of being together. Your hectic schedules have stolen moments that should have been yours, and now you feel the distance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” you ask, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

His chuckle is like music, sweet and comforting, warming you from the inside out. “Always,” he replies, intertwining his fingers with yours, his touch a silent vow of affection.

In the weeks that follow, you carve out more time for each other, stepping back from the rush of work to simply be together. You surprise him at his garage, sharing takeout in his cluttered office, laughing over greasy fries and soda. You catch late-night movies, stroll through the mall hand-in-hand, visit little cafes tucked away in the corners of the city. You do all the things you’ve missed, the simple, everyday joys that once made your love effortless, and already you feel lighter, happier.

Amidst this rekindling of your love, you stumble upon the perfect house just outside of Seoul. It’s spacious, with a large living room that echoes with the laughter of future children you haven’t given up on just yet. The garden sprawls wide, with enough space for dreams to grow, and the garage—oh, the garage is exactly what Yoongi has always wanted, a place to tinker and create. When you step inside for the first time, you feel it in your bones—this is home. It speaks to you, calls to something deep within you, and you see the same recognition in Yoongi’s eyes. 

The decision to buy the house is easy, almost instinctual, as if you’ve always known this was where you were meant to be. You celebrate with friends, toasting to the new chapter that’s about to begin, and their joy mirrors your own. The move won’t happen until summer, giving you a few precious months to pack up your life and prepare for the future. And for the first time in a long while, that future doesn’t feel so daunting—it feels full of possibilities.

It’s March, and winter still clings to the world with frosty fingers, the cold seeping through the cracks of the early morning. Yoongi holds you extra close as you stroll along the river, the chill in the air making you grateful for the wool scarf he wrapped around your neck with such tender care. Your hand finds refuge in the deep pocket of his coat, where your fingers intertwine, sharing warmth with each squeeze and caress. 

As you walk, you take in the quiet beauty of the morning. Couples sit huddled on benches, whispering secrets, some stealing kisses as if the cold gives them courage. Children chase each other across the dewy grass, their laughter like wind chimes in the crisp air. You savor these moments, these tranquil walks before the world wakes up fully and the weather softens into spring.

Yoongi tugs you toward a small coffee shop nestled by the river, and soon you’re cradling steaming cups of hot cocoa. The rich scent of chocolate wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you settle into a cozy corner. Across the table, Yoongi’s fingers dance playfully over yours, each brush sending electric jolts through your body. His touch warms you from the inside out, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, though you try to hide it.

Suddenly, he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve got something on your face,” he teases, pointing at your mouth.

You fumble to wipe it away, but before you can, Yoongi leans over the table, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping out to clean the smudge of cocoa from your mouth. The simple act is intimate, thrilling, and utterly unexpected.

“Yoongi, we’re in public,” you stammer, your voice a mix of scolding and breathless surprise. The audacity of his gesture stirs a warmth between your legs, a desire that flickers to life like a spark catching flame.

“When has that ever bothered me?” he retorts with a mischievous grin, his boldness both shocking and endearing.

You stare at him, baffled by his audacity, but also deeply drawn to it. With a playful smile, you grab his hand, pulling him up from his chair. “Let’s get home before you get us kicked out.”

Laughter bubbles between you as you walk hand in hand, the cold forgotten in the heat of the moment. By the time you step into the elevator, the tension has built to a fever pitch, and you find yourself unable to wait any longer. You pounce on him, surprising Yoongi with the fiery need in your kiss, your lips capturing his in a fierce embrace.

“I want you, Yoon,” you whisper breathlessly, your lips brushing against his ear as you tighten your arms around his neck. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

His giggle is low and throaty, the sound reverberating through you as his back meets the steel of the elevator wall. “Hmmm, you’d like that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant, your breath hot against his skin. You lick your lips, eyes dark with desire. “You can decide how you want it. My birthday present to you.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly, tenderly, as he murmurs, “But you already gave me a scotch, a new toolbox, and a house,” a kiss for each gift, each one lingering longer than the last. “You don’t need to give me more.”

“And sex shouldn’t really be a gift,” he adds, his lips quirking into a smile, but you nod, already knowing this. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I want you inside me,” you counter with a wink, giving your own ass a playful slap. 

A low grunt escapes him, arousal thickening his voice as he grabs you, pinning you against the wall, his lips tracing a searing path down your neck. You moan softly, your body arching toward him, your pussy throbbing with need.

When the elevator doors slide open, he pulls you out, his grip firm as he leads you to your apartment door. He fumbles briefly with the key, urgency in every motion, and the moment the door clicks shut behind you, the world outside ceases to exist.

Shoes are discarded in a hurry, and in the blink of an eye, Yoongi has you in the kitchen, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. He spreads your legs, his eyes dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Already, you’re so wet, aching for him, and you can see the primal desire mirrored in his gaze. 

He kneels before you, lifting the hem of your dress with a mischievous glint in his eye. “There’s a wet patch on your panties, babe,” he murmurs, a chuckle rumbling from his chest as his gaze darkens with desire.

“Well, I want you badly,” you breathe, your legs parting in invitation, your body aching for his touch.

Without hesitation, he hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties and slides them down your legs, letting them pool on the floor. His lips find your slick pussy, his tongue a sinful instrument of pleasure as it dances over your folds. He laps at you with fervor, his nose grazing your sensitive clit as his tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you. You moan, the sound almost foreign to your own ears, lost as you are in the ecstasy he’s drawing from you. It doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, your release shuddering through you as you come apart on his tongue.

He pulls back, his lips glistening with your essence, and he licks them slowly, savoring the taste of you. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with need.

You hum in response, wanting to tell him how irresistible he is, but before you can, he’s grabbing your hips, pulling you down from the counter and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he growls against your mouth, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. “I want to fill you up, to lose myself in your pussy.”

When you pull away, his eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. “I want to take care of you first,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“You don’t have to. I just need to be inside you,” he argues, his hands already unzipping his pants, freeing his hard, aching cock.

“No,” you insist, your voice soft but firm. “It’s your birthday, and I want to give you everything you desire.” You help him discard his pants and boxers, and as soon as he’s free of the fabric, you wrap your hand around his dick, feeling him twitch in your grasp. He groans, a needy sound that makes your own desire flare even hotter.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you say, your voice sultry and full of intent. You drop to your knees before him, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “Please.”

He hesitates, but only for a moment. You always have this power over him, making him bend to your will with just a word, a look. So when you take him into your warm, wet mouth, he sees stars. You hold his gaze, your eyes locked on his as you slowly, sensually, begin to pleasure him. He thinks you look like a vixen, so full of confidence and allure, and sometimes he can’t quite believe that you’re his, that you belong to him in every way.

For a while, he lets you lead, your lips and tongue working him over with skillful precision. But soon, his need for control takes over, his hands tangling in your hair as he starts to guide your movements, thrusting gently at first, then deeper, harder. He knows you can take it, even when your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches. He knows you love it as much as he does. The sounds you make, the soft, wet noises of your mouth on him, fill the kitchen, and he moans your name, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

He can feel himself getting close, that familiar tightening in his core, and it takes everything in him to pull back, to stop before he loses himself entirely. When he does, a string of saliva still connects you, a testament to the raw, unfiltered passion between you.

“Was it too much?” he asks, his voice rough with desire, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek.

You shake your head, wiping the drool from your lips. “No,” you assure him, your voice breathless but steady. “If it was, I would have said something.”

“Good,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. “Because now I need to fuck you. On the table.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, a playful glint in your gaze. “The dining table?”

He grins, wicked and full of promise. “Yes, the dining table.”

He nods, and you do as he says, feeling his presence close behind you, a silent promise of what’s to come. The air thickens with anticipation as you remain in your dress, a symbol of your desire lingering between the layers of fabric. When he turns you around to face the table and gently presses you down onto its cool surface, you know exactly what he wants, and the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. God, you love it when he takes you from behind.

He hikes up your dress, exposing you to the cool air, and his hands find your ass, groping and squeezing with a possessive reverence. “So pretty,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with need.

You feel the heat of his cock teasing against your entrance, the anticipation almost unbearable. His hands spread your cheeks, and then you feel the head of his cock pressing into your slick pussy. Slowly, he pushes in, the stretch more intense in this position, but you welcome it, your body humming with pleasure as he fills you completely.

He grunts, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “Yoongi—please, move,” you pant, your hands gripping the edge of the table, seeking leverage as he begins to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, your voice breaking as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that feels both punishing and divine.

His hands roam over your backside, caressing, gripping, pulling you closer with every thrust. “Ah, fuck. You always feel so fucking good around me,” he groans, his voice dripping with raw desire as he speaks your name.

“I love having your cock in me. Fuck me faster, please,” you plead, your voice breathless, every nerve in your body alight with want.

The table shifts beneath you, scraping against the floor with each thrust, but the sound is lost in the symphony of your pleasure. Soon, this place won’t be yours to worry about, but right now, it’s all that grounds you as he drives into you, hitting that perfect spot inside that makes your vision blur with bliss.

“Fuck! Right there!” you scream, your mind emptying of everything but him, your husband, the man you love so fiercely.

“So fucking tight,” he moans, his fingers digging into your hips with a grip that promises to leave marks, tangible reminders of this moment.

“Yoon—, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, your breath ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as the heat between you builds to a crescendo.

He rams into you harder, just like you wanted, and you shatter around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your vision goes white, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body sags against the table, barely able to support itself.

“Fuck,” he curses, and then his hand comes down on your ass, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. You clench around him reflexively, another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck,” he curses again, another slap, another burst of sensation, and you cry out, your body quivering under his relentless assault.

“Yoongi!” you scream, teetering on the edge of another climax, “I think—”

But the words are stolen from you as he continues to pound into you, the force of his thrusts driving the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, lost in a sea of sensation.

“Fucking shit. I’m so close,” he pants, his hand soothing over your ass before delivering another stinging slap, and your second orgasm melds into a third, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You cry out in pleasure, your voice raw as your world narrows to the feel of him inside you, the only anchor in the storm of your release.

His thrusts grow erratic, less controlled, until finally, he stills, his cock buried deep as he spills into you, the warmth of his release filling you up. A sigh escapes your lips, your body utterly spent, your mind adrift in the aftermath.

He collapses over you, his weight a comforting pressure as he keeps himself inside you, his hands caressing your body with gentle affection. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. “I love you so much.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of your love for him blooming in your chest. “You aren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, feeling his softened cock slide out of you as you turn to face him. “And I love you so much too.”

He smiles, tender and full of adoration, before capturing your lips in a kiss that speaks of gratitude and deep, unwavering love. “Thank you for this lovely birthday,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

You smile back, letting him take your hand and lead you to the bathroom, where he gently cleans you up, his touch as tender as his heart. Later, you fall asleep nestled in his arms, the world outside forgotten, lost in the cocoon of your shared warmth.

You stare at the test in your trembling hands, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness. Three minutes—those eternal, cursed minutes—dragging you back to that moment in the forest when the thought of pregnancy filled you with dread. But now, everything is different. Now you want it, crave it with every fiber of your being, yet fear still lingers like a shadow in your heart, whispering what-ifs.

Your phone vibrates, breaking the silence, signaling that the time is up. You take a deep breath, steel yourself, and then you look. 

Two lines. 

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink, hardly believing it. 

Two lines.

You rush to show Yoongi, his eyes lighting up with pure joy as he sees the result. He’s elated, grinning like a child, and his happiness is contagious. You’re happy too, truly, but beneath the surface, that familiar fear curls, a silent specter reminding you of the past, of the heartbreak you’ve been through before. What if it happens again?

But the weeks pass, and you pack your life into boxes, preparing for the move as summer blooms. Now, four months pregnant, you find yourself with Yoongi wrapped around your little finger. He’s doting, tender, doing everything for you as if you were made of glass—cooking your meals, helping you dress, even braiding your hair with surprising care. He indulges your every craving, runs to the store for cake and candy at odd hours, holds your hair when the nausea takes over. His protectiveness borders on overbearing, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. It’s endearing, really, and you feel a warmth in your chest that’s as sweet as the candy he brings you.

On moving day, Yoongi insists you don’t lift a finger, so you supervise, directing your friends on where to place each box in your new home. It still feels surreal—this beautiful house is yours, truly yours. You rest your hand on your growing belly, not yet feeling the strong kicks you’re longing for, though you’ve sensed some faint fluttering. Perhaps it’s just gas, but still, the anticipation is almost unbearable.

After a day of grocery shopping, stocking the fridge and freezer with essentials, you find yourself craving ice cream late at night—the one with Oreo bits swirled through it. The craving grips you suddenly, fiercely, and you know there’s no ignoring it. You need that ice cream.

“Yoongi?” you call out, drawing his name in that sweet, almost sing-song voice he knows all too well.

He chuckles, already predicting your request from the way you’ve drawn out his name. Your cravings have become a nightly ritual, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he loves it—loves you more than words can express.

“Yeah?” he answers, laughter in his voice, as you hesitate, almost shy to ask for something else after all the shopping you did today.

“I’m craving ice cream…” you murmur, unsure how he’ll react, knowing full well you’d already stocked the freezer just hours ago.

He sighs, but it’s a soft, amused sound. “The one with Oreo bits, right?”

Your eyes fill with love and gratitude, tears pricking at the corners. “Thank you!” you whisper, your heart swelling as he’s already up, grabbing his keys without a second thought.

You watch him go, overwhelmed with love for this man who would move mountains just to see you smile. When he returns, ice cream in hand, you greet him with a kiss, diving into the tub with abandon. Fifteen minutes later, the tub is empty, and you glance at him with a sheepish smile, wondering if he’ll have to make another trip. That’s when he decides to always buy extra, stashing it away in the freezer, ready for your next craving.

He’s your snack patrol, your guardian of midnight desires, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy, to keep that radiant smile on your face. After all, you’re carrying his tiny miracle inside you, and for him, indulging your every whim is the least he can do.

One evening, you stumble through the door after a long, grueling day at work, exhaustion clinging to you like a heavy shroud. All you want is to collapse into the soft embrace of your bed, to let the day melt away into dreams. But hunger gnaws at you, demanding attention, so you drag yourself to the kitchen, hoping to find Yoongi bustling around, preparing dinner as usual. Yet, the air is absent of the familiar, comforting aromas that typically greet you, and instead, you find Yoongi lounging on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“Didn’t you make dinner?” you snap, frustration bubbling up before you can contain it, the weariness in your bones making your temper short.

He glances up, confused, his lips parting to speak, but you cut him off, the anger spilling over. 

“You dick! You know I expect you to make dinner when I get home late,” you huff, the irritation morphing into something sharper, more biting. But before the anger can fully take root, it unravels into sobs, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, as if your exhaustion has found a new outlet. You’re crying so hard that you scare yourself, and Yoongi, too, who tosses his book aside and rushes to your side, wrapping you in his arms, his touch gentle and soothing.

“There’s leftovers, remember?” he whispers softly, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back, his voice steady and calm, grounding you in the moment. 

And just like that, clarity washes over you. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. The realization of your misplaced anger makes you feel foolish, small. Lately, you’ve been snapping at him over the smallest things, calling him names in moments of frustration, but he always meets your outbursts with a patient smile, never holding your forgetfulness or emotional swings against you. He’s a gem, a steady rock in the midst of your storm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he returns it with such tenderness that you know, deep down, everything is going to be okay.

The months in your new home pass like pages turning in a cherished book, each one filled with milestones and memories. You’ve hosted a housewarming, celebrated your baby shower, and now, winter has settled in once more, December’s chill creeping through the air. Maternity leave is just around the corner, and you can’t wait to have the time to focus entirely on Yoongi and the tiny miracle growing inside you.

“I’m so fucking tired, Yoon,” you sigh, sinking into a chair, every breath feeling like an effort, exhaustion etched into every part of you.

“It’s okay, take a break. I’ll finish up the painting. Why don’t you go change clothes?” he suggests with a reassuring smile, but the frustration within you bubbles up again, spilling over before you can stop it.

“I look so ugly,” you cry, tears welling up as you take in your reflection, emotions surging in a wave. “I’m so fat, and my stomach feels like it’s dragging me down. I’m swollen everywhere, and I just look so ugly.” Your voice breaks, the tears falling freely, and Yoongi drops his paintbrush immediately, rushing to comfort you.

“You’re not ugly, babe,” he says softly, wiping away your tears with his paint-stained fingers, his eyes full of love and sincerity. “Those extra pounds just make you even sexier,” he adds with a playful smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Please don’t speak ill of your body. I love you, and I love everything about your body.”

You sniffle, his words washing over you like a balm, soothing the insecurities that have taken root in your mind. You know he’s right, and you decide to believe him, because why else would he stick around through all your emotional ups and downs? “Thank you, Yoon. I love everything about you too.”

The nursery is ready, painted in a soft shade of lilac, filled with carefully chosen furniture. You’ve both decided that your baby girl will sleep in your room at first, so the nursery remains more symbolic than functional for now. But it’s been a labor of love, preparing for this new chapter in your lives.

As you gaze out the window, watching the snow pile up on the street, a sense of quiet anticipation fills you. Soon, so very soon, you’ll meet your miracle baby, and the thought sends a warmth spreading through you, cutting through the cold of the winter night.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @constancelayon @wobblewobble822 @ktownshizzle @moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow

*if this fucking taglist doesn't work... I don't know what to do with myself. Hopefully you'll find it even though tumblr will probably be a bitch and not let it work...

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I hope it wasn’t too angsty 🥹 This was largely inspired by the song ‘Pregnant’ by Phlake. You should really give it a listen, it’s very explicit and cute, lol 😝 Please let me know what you think in a reblog, comment or ask. And if you’ve ever had a miscarriage— here’s an extra hug for you 🫂

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 28 || The Effect You Have

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——IT ALL BEGAN SO SIMPLE. Once Gojo got you home, he opened the trunk of his car to reveal the fifteen dresses he'd purchased for you, all of which he forgot to tell you had also been tailored for you as well.

He left that part out because the two of you had gone to get a dress tailored once just a few days ago. The dress you wore to Sukuna's party was specifically tweaked to fit you perfectly and after that, Gojo took the extra step of having the tailor keep your measurements for future dresses.

It was a detail he decided to leave out because he'd been planning for this for a while now and he didn't want you to think he was weird in any way-- even though the gesture was rather nice of him. Gojo was also sure to leave out how expensive each dress actually was, never wanting to reveal the fact that he'd spent his entire bank account on you if he could.

You went upstairs first, carrying only one dress with you as you did so. When you got into your apartment, you quickly noticed that Shoko had left some time ago, giving you the space for a while. Since it's a Friday, you recall that she has one class and then usually likes to go out and do something right after.

Within minutes after you walk into your apartment, Gojo is entering with the remaining dresses piled up in his hands. You would've helped him carry more but he insisted otherwise.

He takes all the dresses into your room and places them on your bed, just as you instruct him to. Once he's done, the man goes ahead and seats himself onto your mattress with an expectant look in his eyes.

You blink, one dress still in your hands as you wonder why Gojo's looking at you in such a patient way, "What? Why are you still sitting there...?" You ask simply.

Gojo shrugs, "I mean I didn't buy all those dresses for no reason..."

You scoff out a laugh, "Ohh, you want me to try on the dresses for you?"

He flashes you this innocent little smile, "Mhm..."

You narrow your eyes at him, "You'd see the dress whenever I wear it though..."

"That's not true, I'm not gonna be at this nightclub every time you go, I'm just taking you tonight since it's your first time there," Gojo explains.

You stare for a second, then nod, "Uhuh... Fine then, I guess I'll try on the dresses for you..."

He smiles, "Let me know if you need help putting them on-"

"You're not slick, Satoru," You cut off as you turn and dip into your bathroom.

The sound of him chuckling is heard as you move around and begin to change yourself into the first dress. Like all the others, the dress is beautiful and so obviously expensive, despite whatever Gojo tells you about it not being pricey.

You're careful to put the item on, quickly noticing how it fits like a glove and how pretty it looks on you. This first dress is silk and dark blue, almost royal blue, backless, and rather enticing. Just looking at yourself in it makes you feel odd.

The dress you wore to Sukuna's party was one thing, after all, you've been to plenty of parties before so it was your typical dark red party dress. But this dress... Well, you know Gojo said the club was pretty fancy but based on this first dress and the glimpse you caught of the other ones, it seems like classy is what you're gonna have to go for.

When you consider yourself to be done, you open the bathroom door with your eyes down on the dress as your free hand moves to smooth it out. Gojo's eyes are all over you instantly and when you look up, you're not too surprised to see him moving to get off the bed.

"Why are you getting up?" You chuckle, watching him casually approach you.

Gojo's soon standing in front of you, towering over you like always, "I needed a closer look."

"You might need glasses because I'm pretty sure anyone could've seen everything perfectly fine from my bed," You say in response.

He smiles and tilts his head at you, "Gimme a spin."

You fold your arms under your chest, "Say please."

"Please?" Gojo utters as if it were second nature to do so.

With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turn yourself around and give him a full three-sixty of the dress. Gojo's got this big stupidly happy smile on his face as you do so as if he couldn't be more at peace watching you perform such a simple act.

When you're done and come to a stop facing him once more, he's still smiling at you. "Well?" You ask.

"Y'know I'm gonna say you look beautiful in everything, right?" He sighs, the look in his eyes just dripping with affection.

You swallow, "Then what's the point of me trying all these on...?"

"I'm gonna help you figure out which one you should wear tonight!" He says cheerfully, "Gotta' make sure you make a good first impression on Nanami."

A brow is raised in question, "You do know he's seen me before, right?"

Gojo does this gesture with his hand as if to wave off what you just said, "That doesn't count."

"Right, sure it doesn't." You say, shaking your head at him.

"Oh, I also bought you shoes," Gojo suddenly tells you, turning away and heading back over to your bed.

You watch with wide eyes as he flops down onto your mattress, "What? Why?"

"Uh, to go with the dresses, sweetheart." He hums.

"Well, where are they?"

"Check your closet," Gojo says, laying down on his back and staring up at your ceiling, "Shoko said they came earlier this morning."

You blink, not sure how exactly to react just yet. It's so unusual for you to get spoiled like this. It's one thing for him to buy you a dress every now and then, and another thing for him to pay you for your sinful acts but to go out of his way and purchase this much for you is just...

New.

Your feet move to your closet and the second you open it, you're met with a shitload of new shoeboxes. "Wh-What the hell..." You say softly.

Gojo sits up slightly, holding his body up with his elbow and looking in your direction, "Hm?"

"Satoru..." You whisper, your eyes darting all over the fifteen different boxes of shoes in front of you. "You didn't really..."

"I did," He hums, "I swear they aren't as expensive as you think they are-"

"Shut up," You cut off. He closes his mouth quickly and you crouch down to the first box that catches your eye. "Satoru, these are Christian Louboutins...."

"Oh, I forgot I got those..." He replies.

You move the box around in your hand to inspect the item, "They're like a thousand dollars for each pair on average..."

"Okay...?"

Your eyes go to the other boxes nearby, "I'm seeing seven different pairs..."

"Seven different colors," Gojo explains with a casual shrug.

You take a second to reply, wondering what the hell is wrong with this man and trying to figure out why he'd go out of his way like this. "That's roughly seven thousand dollars on just shoes." You point out after some quick estimates made.

"Okay.....?" He chuckles, "They're shoes for you."

Your heart throbs in your chest in reaction to his emphasis on the shoes being for you-- as if he were implying that the price will never matter if it's something for you. Carefully, you place the box back down, too scared to even open it and look just yet.

"I..." You release a sigh, "I don't understand you..."

For a moment, Gojo goes quiet. You can't see his face so you don't catch how his expression grows worried. He feels like you may even be upset with him for a moment, which is the exact opposite of what he'd hoped to achieve with this.

After a moment of thought, "Is it too much...?" He asks softly.

"Yes, yes it is." Your response is quick and you go on to ramble immediately, "Why the hell would you buy all this for me just for me to go to one little nightclub? There are thousands of other heels you could've bought for me that aren't nearly as expensive. I'm gonna feel like I'm literally walking on eggshells the entire night because of how expensive these are. What if I break them? What if they get dirty-"

"So..." Gojo cuts you off, raising a brow, "I should've bought you a backup pair for each shoe?"

He sounds so genuinely confused that it's almost funny. "No Satoru, you shouldn't have bought me anything this expensive to begin with." You say calmly.

He blinks, "Why not?"

"I..." You sigh again, "It's weird."

"Weird how?" Gojo questions, not understand your reaction at all. He thought you'd be happy about this kinda thing, he's seen the way your eyes light up whenever he pays you so what's the difference here? "I'm buying things for the woman I love, what's so weird about that?" He questions.

"Stop saying that."

His brows pinch together, "What? That I love you? Or, that you're the woman I love?"

"It's all the same, just stop." You tell him.

"Why?"

"Because..." Your words fall off your tongue as you lose the reasoning behind why you want to hear him stop uttering such a phrase.

Every time he says those things it's like you can hear the truth behind his words. Almost as if in no universe could you deny the fact that you wholeheartedly believe he's in love with you. And for some reason, that belief of yours confuses you.

Gojo grins a little, "Because what sweetheart?"

"I don't know how to feel when you say things like that." You finally explain.

"There's no right or wrong way to feel, y'know..."

You shrug, "Well, it makes me feel... weird."

A sneaky little smile spreads across his face, "Is it because you love me t-"

"No." You deny it instantly.

"Alright then," Gojo sighs, "What is it?"

"Sympathetic." You correct him, somewhat figuring out what it is you feel as he utters those three words to you.

"Huh?"

"Every time you say that you love me or do things that make me feel like you love me... I begin to feel sympathy for you." Your explanation makes his heart race for some unknown reason.

Gojo swallows, "W-Why?"

"Cause' it's like... the things you do are making up for the bullshit you make me do. A-And it's all so fucked up because the last thing I want to feel is sympathy for my blackmailer." You stammer, steadily getting worked up over this small conversation.

Gojo lets out a sigh of relief and then smiles softly, even though you're not looking at him yet, "Listen, I'm not spoiling you like this because I want you to forgive me for what I've done. I... I don't ever expect to make up for it. But, if getting you new expensive things can put a smile on your face, even if only for a second, I'd sell a limb to be able to provide that for you."

Your head whips around to the man, "What?"

"Anything," Gojo says, meeting your gaze. He's so serious that it's almost dark the way he looks at you, "I'd do anything for you."

There's this sharp feeling in your chest. It's like you could feel the gravity of his words weighing your heart down. Almost as though, you knew he was serious.

Nearly overwhelmed by his seriousness, you quickly turn your head away, "I appreciate that..." You murmur, unsure of a better way to respond.

"Great-"

"But," You interrupt, "I don't understand why."

"Those three words." Gojo explains, "That's why."

"Because you love me?" You ask.

"Mhm." He hums in response.

"Well," You slowly begin to stand up and move out of your closet. "I don't understand that either."

Gojo watches as you grab another dress to try on and take it into the bathroom. He gets how you find his feelings for you confusing and has no intentions of explaining them just yet so instead, he results in saying something rather simple.

"Love isn't meant to be understood, sweets," Gojo tells you just before you shut the bathroom door.

You merely hum in response to that and the rest of you trying on dresses goes pretty smoothly.

With each dress, he'd comment on either how the material looks good on you or how the color makes a certain feature of yours stand out, all of his comments well thought out and making you feel all warm inside. You eventually even start trying on the heels with these dresses and each outfit is something you never thought you'd find yourself wearing.

Not that they didn't fit your usual style or anything but the prices that followed the items you wore were just something you'd never given yourself the leisure of even looking at. So to have such pretty and expensive items on your body and in your closet felt really nice.

Eventually, you land on the last dress. The color alone made you not want to wear it because simply looking at it reminded you of that morning you spent with Gojo. It was baby blue and rather small on you. There were these thin spaghetti straps that went over your shoulders, a decent amount of cleavage was revealed, and once you got down to how it just barely stopped at your thighs, there was this small slit in it.

It was cute and when you turned around, you noticed it hugged your ass nicely. Even so, you didn't want to reveal yourself in it to Gojo because you had a feeling you knew what his reaction would be.

"It's been fifteen minutes, love. Need some help?" Gojo calls out from the other side of your bathroom door.

You looked to the bottom of the door and noticed his shadow was there, smiling to yourself at how he so clearly knew you were purposefully taking a while. "No, I don't need help..."

"Thennnn what's taking you so long?" He hums.

"Nothing." You say before moving to open the door.

You're quickly met with Gojo standing there, leaning against your doorframe like always with a little smile on his face. His eyes are on your face, not yet dropping down to the dress.

Slowly, he allows himself to get a look at you and you watch the way he smiles. "You are so..."

"Beautiful?" You finish, having heard him say the same thing for the past hour or so, "Yeah, I know-"

"Perfect," Gojo corrects, "You're absolutely perfect."

You roll your eyes at his compliment for the millionth time, "Whatever."

He moves a hand to your waist and suddenly pulls your body close to his. Your chest presses up against him and your eyes frantically search his in question of why he's suddenly touching you.

Then, you catch that look in his gaze that you haven't seen in a while. It's the look that makes your knees go weak, that begging and pleading look of his that so clearly tells you he wants his lips on yours. You hate the way you recognize it so quickly now.

Gojo leans down to you, his arm slithering all the way around your waist, "This is the one." He whispers to you.

You blink, "The one what?"

"The dress you should wear tonight," He clarifies.

"Why? Does Nanami like blue or something?" You ask curiously.

Gojo shrugs, "I think so."

"Oh.." You murmur, watching as Gojo's face nears yours.

He stops himself just an inch away from your lips, his head tilted and his eyes low on yours. He doesn't say anything just yet, simply looking at your lips with the strong desire to place his own over them.

"Can I..." He trails off a little, almost as if he's nervous to ask his question.

You don't know why but you just nod, permitting him to kiss you.

What was it about this man that made you miss the feeling of his lips over yours? You don't know. You have no idea why every time Gojo's lips press into yours and you kiss him, your knees go weak, your brain stops working, and you feel so drowned in love.

You don't feel the same for him but damnit you can't deny how much you enjoy the way he kisses you. Sometimes, like right now, it's gentle and slow, his lips carefully and strategically moving over your own until his tongue is in your mouth, affectionately making out with you as his hand travels up and down your back.

Other times it's hot and heavy, both of you chasing the feeling of each other's lips as if time will one day stop you from feeling that connection.

Currently, you find yourself lost in his kisses, panting softly by the time he pulls away and both of you moving in for more just as quickly as you pulled away. So lost in it, you don't even think as he eases you into your bathroom and lifts you onto the counter, his lips desperate against your own.

Gojo's not kissing you like he wants to have sex with you or anything, he's kissing you like he just enjoys the feeling just as much as you. It's like he melts into your mouth, releasing small hums and even smaller whines into your parted lips as he sinks into the moment.

His hands go to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hand and kissing you like his life depends on it, and as if he's worried you'll slip away from his grasp at any given moment. After which, Gojo's hands would be on your thighs, sliding up your legs and just barely going up and under the dress, eager to just feel your skin.

As he does so, you think you get dizzy when he pulls away just to whisper, "I love you," In the lowest voice you've heard from him.

And it's not just one time he does that, it's constant that he breaks the kiss just to whisper those three words into your lips as if he wants you to never forget it as if he needs to chant the phrase in order to pass the needed level of understanding behind it.

"So much," Gojo utters, "I love you so fucking much." His lips are back on yours within the next second, needy tongue shoving into your mouth that you so gratefully accept.

You're unsure of what you've done to make this man be so deeply in love with you like this. Maybe the day you find out, you may reciprocate the feeling but as of now, the the only thing you can do in response to his repeated claims is kiss him back.

You could never utter those three words back to him. I love you. It's a phrase you've reserved for someone else. A sentence in which you direct toward an entirely different man. Even now as you make out with Gojo, you still think of who's stolen your heart.

Somewhere deep down inside, you tell yourself that it should be him instead. It should be Choso telling you that right now. It should be him holding you so lovingly, kissing you so tenderly, and longing for you the way Gojo does.

That's who you should be with at this very moment and yet, there you were, against Gojo's lips hearing how in love with you he claims to be.

As of now, you could only await the day in which you'd be where you're supposed to be.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

After about forty straight minutes of locked lips with Gojo Satoru, the two of you eventually pry yourself off of each other. You hadn't even realized you kissed him so long and you didn't even notice the way your lips made it to his neck at one point.

It was almost subconscious the way you left hickeys on his neck, marks that he had no intention of stopping you from making. Gojo actually held your head at his neck at one point, thriving in the feeling of you against him.

When the two of you were done, you watched him admire the work you'd left on his neck as he gazed in the mirror. His fingers traced over each one and the man wishes he could keep them there forever. To have evidence of you on his skin was something he'd wish to keep forever.

Even so, the two of you eventually left the bathroom and it was decided that the final dress you tried on was what you were going to wear that night.

Gojo left later that afternoon and told you he'd be back to pick you up when it was time to go. You still didn't quite understand why it was so important for him to take you there but you didn't argue with him about it.

Shoko eventually stopped home later that afternoon and she teased you about going out for the second night in a row. This time, even though she wasn't going with you, she went ahead and got ready with you-- the two of you helping one another with makeup and accessories.

She even made a comment on the dress you were wearing, saying that it was really pretty on you and that she loved the color. She also not-so-sneakily made a comment on how she recalls Gojo having a tie from high school that matches it but you brushed her words off.

And of course, to your surprise, the tie in question ends up being around the neck of Gojo Satoru when he comes to pick you up. Why would he match his tie with your dress? You don't know and you didn't care enough to ask. It's not like you and him would be side by side throughout the night anyway, you were supposed to be meeting Nanami.

The nightclub in which you were set to be was located all the way across town and the drive took forever. The ride was filled with low music and Gojo telling you things he thinks Nanami would look for in a woman.

He tells you that you have to be careful not to be too bold with him because Nanami may misinterpret what you've approached him for, going on to tell you how the guy apparently gets hit on a lot and turns a lot of people down. So basically, you'll have to be careful with your flirting.

You take a mental note of everything he's saying and by the time you get there, you think you're ready for the whole thing. You've only seen Nanami twice, once in a photo and another in person but you could spot the man in a crowded room since he has rather distinguishing features.

Plus, Gojo told you he'd be at the bar and probably the furthest away from the dancefloor so you'd most likely find him there.

Even so, Gojo wanted to at least be in the building with you so he walked you to the door and entered the building with you. The man even gave the bouncer at the entrance a death glare for ogling you. After that, the two of you entered and you quickly noted how fancy the place really was.

It wasn't your typical club with people partying and drinking all over the place or loud music blaring throughout the building. Instead, there were people dressed very classy and almost elegant in certain areas. The dancefloor was filled with a few couples, all of whom danced to some slow jam.

You actually liked the scene in front of you. The only thing you felt nervous about was looking out of place. Luckily, by Gojo's side, you fit right in since he was wearing a suit and pulled himself together rather nicely. But, you wouldn't be around him the entire night.

And that was what worried you.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hello 👋 can I get a little body switcheru with twist dorm liders and Yuu? Even better if we'd have F!Yuu in this one ❤️!

I don't think I'll be doing all the dorm leaders right now but just a few 🖤🖤🖤

Body Switch | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

What a gift! To see precisely what your obsession sees, to touch with their perfect hand, to hear their lovely voice whenever they opened their mouth. Oh, the possibilities are endless! No matter the circumstance this is the stuff of dreams nightmares:

Vil Schoenheit

“OH SEVENS!”

Is at first horrified at the feeling of not being in his perfectly preened body

In his clean and not dingy home

But it diminishes when he realizes the one screaming in the dirty mirror is you

His precious love

“Ergh these black heads are insane. My potato has been neglecting their routine. That’ll be good to make a note of.”

He immediately gets to work

He has to make the next 24 hours in his dearest’s body count 

and he’s got so much to do and such little time

Immediately he inspects your home and makes a note of everything that’s lacking in Ramshackle

Perfect ammunition for his proposal to move to Pomefiore

Next he reads your diary or journal if you have one

And he dives into your photos and makes a mental note to send more headshots to you

Next he goes to Rook

“We have less than 12 hours before I return, get your camera.”

Already planned and prepared the photos are perfection

Next he takes your measurements 

Both for clothes and for ropes and fluffy cuffs

He debates deleting your friends from your contacts

But he’s not petty he is he’ll just send a text or two with passive aggressive undertones

And when he’s got close to an hour 

He takes the time to…examine your every inch …careful to not leave a mess behind

“So…soft and round…they will look glorious in couture.”

Idia Shroud

“Eeek! It worked!”

Spends nearly an hour squealing and jumping around

But then he goes to the mirror and starts his fantasy 

Using your lips to confess an undying love to Idia Shroud 

He records it and everything 

Next he goes to his room, already set up to allow a very specific code

He goes to his dorm

Everything is going perfectly to plan

Next he plans to dress you in the cosplay he already has your measurements for

“Yes! Now I just have to take this o-o-off! Ack! T-their s-skin! No! I can’t e-e-even if I’ve s-seen it through the camra it is so different!”

He genuinely can’t make it past your shirt

Too embarrassed and caught up in simply seeing all your skin

So instead he’ll move onto the next objective

Going to the pick up spot he’d already designated

Riding calmly as your taken to some unknown artificial island 

“Hehehe well at least one objective was completed…let’s just say that other one isn’t one of my skill levels just yet. Hehehe I’ll have more than enough time to level up though!”

Malleus Draconia

Someone or you must have said that little expression

“Try walking in my shoes! Its really inconvenient when you scare everyone away from me!”

“In your shoes?”

So he tries it 

Having your body become his own, allowing a day without his, in your words: overpowered bod

Oh is he warm

So warm he feels like your constantly hugging him 

Its immaculate

Than he spends a good while just admiring you in the mirror 

More than happy to study every pore of your skin in great detail

“Oh I did not realize their birth mark was this adorable.”

But he’ll soon find your legs ache so easily

Why can’t he stand straight for seven hours without your knees getting wobbly

Or how defenseless you are 

With nothing but his tiny wisps if his own magic to sense 

Its kind of horrifying 

But as agreed he tries to go throughout the day as you 

Enjoying the attention of all your friends

Granted they send weird looks when he says something odd

But you’ve already employed Grim as ‘his wingman’

Who frantically tries to get him through the day

He learns so much ‘by being in your shoes’ 

“I do not appreciate everyone having such careless interactions with you, especially when the amount of muscle let alone magic is…concerning.”

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏─

Syno: Word of claim, a tradition where a man fires his weapon outside a woman's home and speaks her name, and in that moment, she becomes his wife. Though deemed unlawful, a taboo… who cares? Outlaws never follow laws, do they? Warnings/MDNI: none. ✰ 8.8K tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura

─concept m.list

Dutch and Hosea cackled as they stepped out of the saloon, the warm glow of lamplight catching the edges of their grins.

“That was so easy,” Dutch said, his voice carrying the smooth satisfaction of a man who always believed he was one step ahead.

Hosea nodded, slapping Dutch on the back. “Didn’t I tell you? Weekend nights are a gold mine.” He jingled the coins in his hand, counting quickly before slipping the money securely into his pocket. The night was brisk, the sounds of drunken chatter and distant music blending into the background as the two made their way to the horses.

But Dutch’s steps slowed, his attention snagging on something, or someone, further down the street.

“Hosea... you see that?”

Hosea followed Dutch’s gaze, his amusement dimming. A young girl, no older than nine or ten, stood motionless on the wooden sidewalk. Her wide eyes darted around, her expression a mix of terror and confusion. She was dressed too neatly for the dusty town, her clothes crisp and well-tailored, the kind of outfit only a wealthy family could afford.

“Hmm,” Hosea muttered, a note of unease creeping into his tone. “Poor kid looks lost.”

“Lost,” Dutch repeated, a contemplative edge in his voice. His sharp eyes studied her, taking in every detail, the way her hands nervously twisted the fabric of her clothes, the tear tracks streaked across her flushed cheeks, the way she shrank against the lamppost as if the world were too big and too dangerous.

“Dutch,” Hosea said quietly, sensing where this might be heading.

But Dutch had already started forward, his expression shifting into something softer, something almost kind. “Well, hello there, darlin’,” he called out, his voice warm and honeyed, the tone he used when reeling someone into his plans.

The girl flinched, her small hands clutching her skirt tighter. She didn’t respond, her eyes locked on Dutch as if trying to decide whether he was a threat or a savior.

Hosea sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dutch, maybe we oughta-”

“She’s scared, Hosea,” Dutch interrupted, his gaze never leaving the girl. He crouched slightly, his tone coaxing. “Ain’t no need to be frightened, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

"I am not te-lling."

"Okay, no problem. Ain' prying. Where are you parents? We can take you to them , help you find em'"

“I--they’re gone... on a trip,” you mumbled, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes.

“A trip?. Where to?”

“I--I don’t know!. I just wanna go home!” you cried, your small body trembling with the effort to hold back sobs.

Dutch’s expression flickered, something unspoken passing between him and Hosea. With a heavy sigh, Hosea stepped forward, his tone calm and measured. “Alright now, missy, let’s sit down for a bit. You tell us what you can, and we’ll see if we can figure this out, eh?”

It took some coaxing and the promise of something to eat, but soon you found yourself sitting on a park bench between the two men. Hosea handed you a crumpled handkerchief to wipe your tears while Dutch leaned forward, listening intently as your words spilled out in fits and starts.

Your parents, you explained, had left for a business trip to France. You had been left in the care of your uncle and aunt. But things had taken a dark turn. They had kicked you out of your own home, their jealousy of your parents’ wealth and status boiling over into spiteful revenge.

Dutch leaned back, his brow furrowing as he processed your story. This is some next-level low, even for him. Kicking out a little kid, from her own house? Over some family feud? But his brain conjured some good out of this too...

"So, she knows when her parents are gonna be back," Dutch began, a sly smile creeping across his face. "And I know they’re rich as hell, Hosea. So let’s help her, wait for their grand return, even better when they hang those posters and when we bring their little girl back..."

“We get rewarded?” Hosea deadpanned as he shot a glance at you, sitting a few feet away on the bench, quietly sniffing into the handkerchief. Mhm, not completely a bad idea...

Dutch’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

“I'm in.”

As they turned back toward you, Dutch crouched again, his voice soft but firm. “Alright, darlin’, here’s the deal. You come with us, and we’ll take care of you till your folks get back. Safe and sound. How’s that sound?”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering between the two men. “I don’t know... I don’t want to.”

Dutch’s expression hardened, the softness giving way to a sharper edge. “Well, let me tell you somethin’. Ain’t nobody else out here gonna take pity on you. You’re a kid alone on these streets. If someone don’t snatch you up to sell or worse, they’ll leave you to starve. That what you want?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. You shook your head slowly, clutching the handkerchief tighter.

“Then come on,” Dutch urged, standing and offering his hand. “You don’t have to trust us, but right now, we’re all you’ve got. And I promise, we’ll get you home.”

With no other choice, you let yourself believe him, just enough. You reached out hesitantly, placing your small hand in his larger one. Somehow, it felt like a lifeline.

❀˖°

That's how you ended up living with a gang, although you never imagined it would be for a whole two months. You understood the concept of outlaws...that they were terrible people. But these folks? They weren’t so bad… Well, most of them.

"HEY! IT'S MINE!"

"Not anymore." With that, John devoured your entire chocolate bar in one bite.

"AUNTY SUSAN GAVE IT TO ME!"

"Well, too bad. It’s gone. Now what? You gonna cry, little princess?-OW! OW! HEY-"

"Why can’t you leave her alone, huh?!" Arthur’s voice boomed as he stepped in, giving John a few solid smacks before pushing him away. "Idiot..."

You watched as Arthur turned to you, his expression softening. You immediately sat down in silence, instinctively becoming still. He could be kind of scary when he wanted to be, even at 15.

"Um... sorry for him," Arthur muttered, looking at you with an awkward smile. "Here, you can have mine." He pulled out another chocolate bar, but you shook your head, rejecting it.

"Please...take it."

You nodded and took it muttering a small thank you, still feeling too embarrassed to have accepted the gesture.

He gave you a small, understanding nod. "Just call me...if he bothers again. Alright?" Then, with a half-smile, he wandered off.

That's how you and Arthur began interacting. He was genuinely interested in learning about your life, curious about how others lived. At first, you were intimidated by him, but slowly, you began to share bits of your life when he asked, and over time, the two of you became friends.

He taught you things you didn’t know, how to clean a gun, the different parts, even use it, and how to properly care for a horse. You were fascinated by his patience, as he showed you step by step, making it seem so simple and easy. It was a peaceful and surprisingly enjoyable activity for both of you.

Arthur found a sense of home in the camp, a rare calm amidst the chaos. And for you, it became a momentary escape from the pain of missing your parents and the anger you felt toward your relatives.

He never had a female friend close to his age in this life, and it was refreshing for him to find someone who wasn’t afraid to speak their mind or laugh at the little things.

But then the time came, the time for your parents' arrival. Dutch decided it was appropriate enough to take you back, and so he, Hosea, and Arthur went along, though the boy wasn't entirely sure why he did. Maybe he just wanted to see where you came from, see your house.

When your parents saw you return, safe and happy, it was like they’d been revived. They were grateful to Dutch and the gang for taking care of you. You told them how these people had saved you, and, true to their word, they paid Dutch a generous amount for the trouble. All in all, it was a weary, yet friendly encounter. Dutch didn’t rob them, and your parents never suspected the gang's true intentions.

Your aunt and uncle had long been thrown out, so that was one relief. Of course, your father wouldn’t ever let go of the anger, but for now, everything seemed calm.

Arthur, however, was feeling something else. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d grown used to your presence in the camp. A new, refreshing friend in a world that had so little of that to offer. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad as you said your goodbyes to the three of them. He threw one last glance at your form, watching as you walked inside, safe and sound, where you truly belonged

But one day, Arthur decided to stop being afraid of something as simple as a friendship. He figured he'd visit you, and see how you were doing, but when he arrived, he found out you were gone. You had moved somewhere else, and no one seemed to know where.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and returned to camp. Perhaps it was for the better. What had he been thinking? What would the others have thought, your parents, especially? What was he even expecting? He couldn’t quite put it into words.

A nagging thought lingered in his mind. But he shook it off. Maybe it was just a momentary lapse that didn’t need to be dwelled on. After all, what did it matter?

❀˖°

The years passed by, and both of you were busy with your own lives. More than most, Arthur immersed himself in the gang’s work, the constant pull of jobs, and the weight of other matters. Matters like heartbreaks. Like Mary...

The twenty-six-year-old sighed as he shut his journal, his mind drifting back to simpler days. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the silence to settle around him, but just a few minutes later, Ms. Grimshaw’s voice cut through the quiet.

"Mr. Morgan, got a minute?" she called from the doorway. Arthur groaned internally, but he sat up, rubbing his face.

"What is it, Ms. Grimshaw?"

"Got to head to the town for supplies. You up for it? Shouldn’t take long."

Arthur thought for a moment. He could use a few things himself, some ammunition, maybe a new hat.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's go."

The dusty road to the town was a familiar one, the wooden buildings of Sable Creek rising ahead as they crested a hill. The town had a certain charm to it, despite the ever-present stench of horse manure and the occasional storms that rolled through. It was a regular stop for the gang. Supplies, people to talk to, and if you were lucky, a drink at the saloon.

Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw made their way into town, picking up what they needed without much fuss. She was quick and efficient, always knowing exactly where to find the best goods for the gang’s needs.

After they'd gathered what they came for, Arthur’s eyes fell on a poster pinned to a wall, the ink stark against the old wood. The name on it stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was your father's name, (F/N) (L/N). The same name that had once meant nothing more to him than a fleeting memory. But now, there it was, emblazoned across the poster, paired with an unfamiliar slogan about (L/N)'s Manor and Mercantile Services. Arthur’s heart skipped. He stared at it, his pulse quickening.

He approached the poster and ran his fingers across the faded paper. "What the hell...?" he muttered to himself.

Your father, he couldn’t believe it. That name, your name… it had come back to him in an unexpected way

He was about to walk away when he noticed a man leaning against the nearby post, whittling a stick. A typical town local, rugged and weathered, the kind who might know something about the area. Arthur walked over, his steps fueled with curiosity, the urge to know more, tipping his hat to the man.

"Hey. You know anything 'bout (L/N)’s...residence?

The man glanced up at him, eyeing Arthur with a mix of suspicion and indifference. "(L/N)'s? Sure, I know 'em. Big uh estate...just a few miles north of here. Fancy place. Always got something going on, business deals, functions, you name it. Real high-falutin'. You lookin’ to pay 'em a visit?"

"Just curious. Never been out there. Figured... I might check it out."

The man gave a short laugh, scratching his chin. "Not many folks 'round here who want to go there. But if you do, take the road north by the old mill. You can’t miss it."

Arthur nodded, thanks on the tip of his tongue. Before he could say more, Ms. Grimshaw called from a distance, waving her hand impatiently.

"Arthur, let's go! We're burnin' daylight!"

He turned to the man once more. "Appreciate it."

As he walked away, his mind was a swirl of thoughts. He hadn’t expected to find out anything like this today. He glanced back at the poster one more time before putting it in his pocket, his thoughts drifting to you and what had happened since he last saw you.

For now, he’d finish the supply run.

❀˖°

"Kay' wait here and I'll go ask."

Arthur stood still, watching as the guard disappeared inside the large, grand estate, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The estate was even bigger than he'd imagined, its iron gates tall and imposing, with carefully manicured gardens on either side. He couldn’t help but feel out of place, a simple outlaw in a world of opulence.

Minutes passed before the guard emerged again, walking toward him. Arthur’s gaze flicked over the scene, but something about the figure approaching him made his heart skip. He blinked in confusion, unsure of what he was seeing. And then, from the distance, he saw you.

You were walking toward him, your pace steady and sure, your eyes narrowing as you took in his figure. Arthur’s mind raced, this couldn’t be real, could it? It had been so long since that day he left you, since the gang had dropped you off at your parent's estate. And now, here you were, standing before him, looking different, yet somehow still the same.

"(Y/N)?" Arthur asked, his voice coming out almost as a whisper, unsure whether this was just a trick of the light or something else entirely.

You stopped in front of him, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yeah... it’s me. Arthur?"

He took off his hat, his hands feeling awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You remember me?"

You stifled a laugh, your gaze sharp and assessing. "Of course, oh my God! I remember every one of you. How could I forget that time?" You paused for a beat, eyes softening just a fraction as if the memory made you nostalgic, or maybe something more. "How did you even find me!?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze for a moment. "Saw a poster in town. Your father’s name. Thought it was a coincidence, but..." He shrugged, unsure how to explain. "Guess it wasn’t."

"A poster, huh? Guess that’s one way of tracking someone down." Your tone was playful, yet there was an edge to it, like you weren’t sure whether to welcome him or not.

Arthur took a moment to really look at you, your appearance had changed and matured...beautifully. You carried yourself differently, more poised, more... put together than he remembered. He looked away embarrassed praying you didn't notice him observing you.

“I didn’t...expect to see you here,” Arthur finally said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made his heart stutter. "And I didn’t expect you to be looking for me." there was a faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

“I… I didn’t know what to expect. Thought I’d just see how you’re doing. Been a long time. So...how’s everything? Your folks?”

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing a little. “My folks are fine. Busy with their business. Nothing really changes, you know? And you? What’s the real story? You look… different, Arthur."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I’ve had a lot of time to change, I guess. Been around, and seen some things. I didn’t mean to disrupt anything. Just… curious. Wanted to know if you were alright.”

With a small sigh, you uncrossed your arms and nodded. “Well, I’m fine. I’m… alright. But what about you? How’s life for a man like you now?”

Arthur’s smile faltered, the weight of his own life pressing down on him. "It ain't easy," he admitted, scratching his jaw. "But it's life, you know? Just trying to keep my head above water."

You looked at him again, the faintest flicker of something in your eyes, pity, maybe, or understanding. It was hard to tell. "Anyway, come on in."

Arthur blinked, still processing the invitation. “I--inside? I mean... you do know who I am, right?” His words faltered, and he glanced nervously at the manor around him, feeling out of place. “And I’m sure your parents-”

You cut him off with a dismissive wave. “No, no, they won’t mind. My parents aren’t that strict, you know?” You gave him a quick, mock assessing look, one eyebrow quirking up. “And you sure aren't here to rob us, are you?”

Arthur let out a short laugh. “Of course not! I just-” He stopped, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t expect this. But... uh, okay. I’ll come in.”

You grinned and waved him inside. “Then come on, I can’t stand out here in the heat any longer. We don't send guests away just like that.. Especially old friends!”

With a slight chuckle of his own, Arthur followed you toward the door. He handed the reins of his horse to a nearby stable hand, still bewildered by the whole situation.

As you led him inside, Arthur couldn’t help but glance around, eyes wide as he took in the lavish surroundings. The grand staircase, the polished floors, and the meticulously arranged furniture. It was a far cry from the dusty campsites and rundown cabins he was used to.

"Do you know I have a little brother now? (B/N). He's 10, but he's taking a nap right now. My father is actually gone for a few days, but mum is home - MAMA! Look who's here! Let's hope she remembers you." Before Arthur could protest, your mother's voice startled him, and he, despite being clearly visible, stood behind you, making you snort at the way he reacted. "Relax, she not gonna eat you."

"Who is this, (Y/N)?" your mother asked, her voice a mix of polite curiosity and a hint of panic. She stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over Arthur, who had awkwardly remained behind you, practically peeking from over your shoulder.

"Um--Hi...Mrs. (L/N)..."

You quickly stepped forward, giving her a reassuring smile. "Mama, it's Arthur, Arthur Morgan. From back then, you know, from the camp. He was one of the ones who... helped me when I was lost."

Your mother's expression softened immediately as the recognition clicked. She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning Arthur once more as if confirming it for herself. “Ahh, yes... I remember now. I thought you looked familiar.” She gave him a small, polite smile, her shoulders relaxing. “I hope you’re well, son.”

Arthur nodded, his usual stoic demeanor now softened by the fact that your mother seemed to remember him. Your mother's warm reaction put him at ease, and he began to feel less like an intruder and more like... someone who had once been part of your life.

"I hope you are well too...Mrs. (L/N)."

"Well, make yourself at home, Arthur," your mother said with a slight bow of her head before disappearing back into the other room, leaving you and Arthur alone to continue your impromptu tour.

You immediately began ushering Arthur through the house. "Alright, let me show you around!" Your voice was light and almost giddy, as you led him from one room to another, more like dragging.

"This is the study!"

"This is the sunroom!"

"This is the snooker room! Nice right?."

You quickly moved on. “And this is my favorite piece.” You pointed at an ornate, vintage mirror on the wall, its frame carved in intricate patterns. “It was a gift from my aunt. She said it’s been in the family for years.”

Finally, you stopped in front of a door, and your grin widened. “And this is my room!” you said, throwing the door open with a flourish.

Arthur stepped inside your room cautiously, his hat gripped tightly in his hands, his gaze darting around the space as though he were intruding on something sacred. The room was spacious yet inviting, with soft, muted colors that seemed to reflect your personality. Plush furniture filled the space with warmth, while delicate paintings adorned the walls, their subjects peaceful and idyllic. A large window bathed the room in sunlight, framing a picturesque view of the garden outside. The books on the shelves and the papers piled neatly on your desk hinted at a thoughtful and busy life.

Arthur shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor as he lingered near the door. He had never so casually entered a woman’s room before, and the intimacy of it caught him off guard. His world was one of dirt and danger, rough edges and fleeting comforts. Here, in this quiet, cozy room, he felt like an intruder in a place far too refined for someone like him.

“It’s... uh, real nice,” he mumbled, his voice low as his fingers toyed nervously with the brim of his hat. His eyes flitted to the soft throw draped over the chair, the pastel tones of the walls, the delicate lace curtains framing the window. He couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. It was a glimpse into a life he could only dream of, a life so far removed from the rugged chaos he was used to.

You laughed softly, your voice breaking the quiet spell. "It’s just a room, Arthur. You can come in properly, y’know. I don't have a pet snake here or something that's gonna jump on you. Well, I do have a cat, Suki, I'll introduce you to her too."

He glanced at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck."Didn’t mean to...well, just never been in a...in a lady’s room before. Feels kinda...uh, different."

You grinned, leaning casually against the desk. "Awkward? Mhm. I can understand." you teased, watching his unease grow in the way he avoided looking directly at you.

Arthur chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe a little…but it’s nice. Real nice. It’s refreshing. Seein’ how you live, all the pretty colors and…just feels peaceful.

There was something almost boyish about the way he avoided meeting your eyes for too long, his shyness making him look as though he were caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. His eyes wandered again, lingering on the colors, the soft curtains swaying in the breeze, and the little personal touches, things he wouldn’t have noticed in passing but now couldn’t seem to look away from. It wasn’t just a room; it was a glimpse into your world, one he found himself inexplicably drawn to.

“Real beautiful though” he added, his voice a little gruffer, as if trying to mask the sincerity behind his words.

Just like you.

As you gave him your usual fast-paced rundown, commenting on the things you loved most, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You hadn’t changed much since he last saw you, just as animated as he remembered.

He stood by the window, watching the light play across the room. “You’ve got a nice place,” he remarked quietly, turning to look at you as you animatedly continued your tour.

You gave him a cheeky grin. “Well, someone has to live the high life, right?”

Arthur smiled softly, the gap between your worlds feeling just a little smaller, a little less daunting. He was beginning to realize that maybe you hadn't changed as much as he'd thought. The girl he remembered from the camp, the one who'd walked into his life and captured his attention, was still there, but now surrounded by all of this...comfort, privilege, and light. A world that felt so far from his own. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of it, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he could fit into your life again.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn’t even offer you any refreshments! Let’s go eat lunch in the garden. And while we’re at it, you have to tell me stories of what you've been doing all these years, alright?"

"Alright, alright. You are too kind."

He shared stories of the gang, of the jobs (he chose to tell about the less gory ones in fear of your reaction and didn’t want you to listen to his darker deeds), and of the things he had seen. You listened intently, your laughter filling the air when he mimicked some of the gang members' eccentricities. The sound of your familiar voice made his heart feel light, even if it was brief. Suki purred softly in his lap, his fingers instinctively stroking her fur as he listened to you speak. The knowledge you shared astounded him, whether it was answering business queries with sharp wit or the rise and fall of empires. you seemed to hold a wealth of understanding that captivated him.

But as the lunch came to an end and the moment of departure loomed closer, a quiet thought began to settle in his chest, heavier than any of the words exchanged between you both. When your mother came by to check on the two of you, everything seemed... easy. She was warm, welcoming even, in a way that made Arthur feel comfortable, almost at home. He expected some resistance, or at least for her to be a little wary of him, an outlaw, being here with her unmarried daughter nonetheless...maybe she's just good at hiding it.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the quiet moment as she stepped outside, her tone light but loaded with something Arthur couldn’t place. "Thank you, Arthur. It’s been good to see you again."

Arthur nodded, about to say something polite when your mother’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, it’s nice that (Y/N) has someone like you as a friend. She talked about you all so fondly and missed you guys. I always hoped she’d have someone like a brother in her life."

Arthur’s heart sank, the words cutting through the air like a sudden chill. He tried to mask the shift in his expression, tried to keep the smile on his face, but the cold truth settled heavily in his chest.

You , she, saw him as just a friend, someone like a brother, just another part of the past. And when you agreed with your mother’s sentiment, confirming it with your usual lighthearted chuckle and nod, something inside him broke.

He had convinced himself, for a moment, that maybe there was more to this reunion than just memories. Maybe there was something between the two of you, something that had never quite been given a chance before, something he could explore now, in this new life. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. You were still the girl from the camp, the one who had felt lost and scared, but now you were a woman with your own life, your own world, and Arthur was just a piece of that world, a passing memory that would never be more than that.

The realization stung. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Take care, Arthur," you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched him. "It was really good to see you again. And you can send a letter anytime you want. I would love to chat and hear your stories."

Arthur paused, his hand on the reins, a lump forming in his throat at your words. It wasn’t the farewell he had imagined, nor the one he’d hoped for.

Send a letter anytime you want.

The kindness in your voice, the way you spoke so naturally, as if this was just a casual goodbye between old friends, felt like both a balm and a wound.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his composure. A letter. It should have been enough, he told himself. It should have been. But it wasn't.

He turned back toward you, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly wide. He wanted to say something---anything---to ease the weight of the moment, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he tipped his hat to you, giving you a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I- I will. Take care, (Y/N)."

Just like with Mary...

The thought lingered, gnawing at him as the miles stretched out between him and your home. He had convinced himself that it would be different. That you were different. But he had been wrong.

The way your family had treated him, with that polite kindness, it had all felt so genuine, so warm. But now, with the weight of your casual farewell still heavy on his heart, Arthur realized it wasn’t warmth for him. It was warmth for the person they saw him as.

He had imagined so many different scenarios in his head, each one more foolish than the last, each one filled with hope he should have known better than to entertain. He wasn’t fool enough to believe there could be more between you two, not now, not ever.

With a bitter chuckle, Arthur let his horse trot faster, trying to outrun the feeling settling in his chest.

Just like with Mary.

The damn haunting comparison. But this one felt worse. Mary had been a distant dream, someone whose absence was long understood, a love that was never truly his, to begin with. But you... you were real. You were there, so close, yet just....out of reach. Your kindness, your warmth, your family’s welcoming nature, it had made him believe for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the same old Arthur Morgan to you. He felt accepted...but he had been wrong. Maybe your parents were just nice to him out of fear and gratitude...and harbored the same resentment behind closed doors. Perhaps...you too? No...no you are not fake, he can tell that for sure. Right? You trust him...he sees it in your gentle eyes. Those beautiful eyes...

❀˖°

The evening was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. You were curled up in the armchair by the window, a book open in your lap, the golden lamplight casting a cozy glow over the room. The story had drawn you in, its words painting vivid pictures in your mind, though the sound of your mother’s sewing needle punctuated the quiet like a gentle metronome.

“Darling,” your mother said, her voice cutting softly through the silence. She didn’t look up from her work, but you felt her gaze flicker in your direction.

“Hm?”

“About earlier, Arthur’s visit.”

The mention of his name drew you out of the book. You glanced up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm? What about it, Mama?”

She set her sewing aside and folded her hands neatly in her lap, a gesture that told you she was about to say something serious. “It’s not… proper, you know. A man visiting when your father isn’t home. Especially someone like him. You shouldn't have dragged him inside like that...and given him a tour. Use your senses dear.

You frowned, closing your book but keeping your finger tucked inside to save your place. “He wasn’t here long, and it wasn’t like that. He’s just… Arthur. He won't do something heinous like that. He's like a brother. You said so yourself."

“Arthur or not,” she continued, her voice calm but firm, “a young woman inviting...a man, much less an outlaw into her home, without her father here, will have people talking. And not kindly. I swear you are too naive at times. And the reason I said it , well, it was to make things clear. You understand?"

You looked down at the book, the words blurring on the page. "How can you even suggest me and him--God, look --I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, Mama. He’s kind of my friend, and I didn’t think it’d be right to send him away.”

“I’m not questioning his or your kindness, sweetheart. I’m questioning the situation. You’re a young lady now. People notice things, and they talk. Even if we live in a bit secluded area, there are still eyes. Our own servants for God's sake, dear. And having a man like him visiting when your father’s away… it just doesn’t look right. Also letters? I don't like the sound of that all. You better not respond."

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat and decided to ignore the comment about the letters, at least for now.

“Arthur didn’t mean anything by it. He just wanted to check in, that’s all. And I didn’t mean to drag him in, I just… didn’t think it was wrong. I mean I told you how they live...I just thought him being here would give him temporary comfort...y'know."

Her gaze softened slightly at your sincerity, but her concern didn’t waver. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But next time, think twice. The world isn’t as forgiving as you might hope. And with a man like Arthur… well, his profession might bring more trouble than you realize. Be careful alright?"

You folded your hands in your lap, unsure how to respond. “I’ll be careful, Mama,” you murmured finally.

She nodded, though the worry in her eyes remained. “I just want what’s best for you, darling. That’s all. Also some reports just arrived from the office so why don't you go and check them. I had them put in your study."

“Right,” you replied, rising to your feet and stretching. “I’ll have some tea and snacks sent for.”

"Right away, darling."

❀˖°

Despite the sting of reality, Arthur couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t entirely silence the part of him that longed for more, more of you, more of the conversations, the stories, the friendship that had begun to feel like something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.

He started writing letters, even though he told himself he wouldn’t. At first, it was simple. A few words to pass the time. His handwriting was rough, not elegant like the letters of men who had been raised with the luxury of formal education. But somehow, it didn’t matter. He wrote about the mundane things that filled his days, the gang’s latest escapades, the horses he had worked with, and even the weather. He wrote about how much the work had been piling up, how his days felt long and endless. He wrote because, in some twisted way, it felt like he could still stay close to you, even if only in ink and paper.

He never expected a response, but he received one all the same.

A week later, came a simple reply, neatly written, not too long but full of warmth. You told him about your life, your family's health, and the weather at your home. You mentioned the garden, the books you’d been reading, and the gentle rhythm of your everyday life. Even sent gifts, not just for him but for others too, which he felt a bit spineless to accept but did so to not make you sad. He did love the coat. There were no big confessions, no declarations of longing.

Then, every Sunday became your day, a ritual of sorts. You would meet in a little café if both of you were free, which he tried his best to be, tucked away on the edge of town. A neutral place, quiet enough for conversation, warm enough to forget the world outside for just a few hours. Just eating and walking around the town really did more than he imagined. The peace...the comforting silence...your presence and most importantly the acceptance he felt.

The first meeting had been hesitant, a little awkward even. Arthur wasn’t used to sitting down with someone in such a relaxed setting, too used to the harshness of life in the gang, too used to avoiding anything that could resemble softness. But when you greeted him with that smile, with your gentle words, something inside him shifted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He began to crave the day. It felt like the beginning of something. Something fragile, something fleeting, but something nonetheless. If this damned friendship is all he gonna get, he might just live in the moment for now...

Arthur sat across from you, nursing his tea, while you picked at the slice of cake he’d ordered for you.

“Go on, eat it,” Arthur said, his tone gruff but amused as he watched you push the fork around the plate. “It’s not going to bite you.”

You shot him a glare, not at all deterred. “Yeah...I just...I’m just not that hungry y'know, I think I had a heavy breakfast,” you muttered, not looking up from your cake, still taking small nibbles rather than finishing the whole thing.

Arthur let out a huff, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been at it for ten minutes now. The cake’s gonna go stale if you keep that up. You better eat it."

“It’s my cake, I’ll eat it when I feel like it.”

His lips quirked up slightly, though his gaze remained firm. “You’re actin’ like a child. It’s cake, not poison. Trust me, you’ll feel better once you’ve had it.”

“Pft. Right, right. You act as if you know everything.”

“It’s called common sense. Something you might want to try now and then.”

"Yeah well, I can perhaps get a bad stomach too, dumbass."

You made a face but finally picked up the fork and took a bigger bite, much to his satisfaction. "Mhm. Yum." Then your eyes lit up mischievously as a thought crossed your mind.

"Arthurrrrr, so you’re… what? In your late twenties, now? And still no girl in your life? That can’t be right." Your grin widened as you teased him. "Surely you’ve found someone by now. Or is there a special someone I don’t know about?"

Arthur froze for a moment, his hand hovering over his mug, and you caught the flicker of unease that passed over his face. He quickly recovered, though, leaning back in his chair with a slight scowl. "You think I’m just waitin’ around for some...woman to fall into my lap?"

You snickered, tapping the fork against your plate thoughtfully. "Well, I don’t know. You’ve never really said anything about anyone," you said, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. "You must’ve had a few crushes over the years, huh? Someone in the gang’s kept you company while you’re off doin’ your thing."

"Maybe.." he muttered, taking a slow sip of his tea. "But I don’t need you makin’ jokes about it."

Your grin only grew wider, leaning forward just a little. "Oh, come on, Arthur. If I won't then who will? Stop being lame. You can’t tell me that no one in your life has caught your eye. You're too... well, you know," you gestured vaguely with your fork, unable to find the right words but clearly referring to his ruggedness and that quiet charm he sometimes tried to hide.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not exactly the type most women want to be around. Not with all the trouble I got goin’ on in my life."

"Well. Mhm, true. But. I’ve seen the way you care for your horses. That’s more than enough of a ‘gentleman’ for some girls, some even I know. All you need is a little push. I’ll give you the perfect match, just wait. Want me to...kickstart your romantic journey, mhmmm?"

He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I want you playing matchmaker. Couldn’t trust your judgment.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen? At least I’d be picking someone who’d treat you right. Also, I'd have some fun doing it! I did it for a cousin of mine, when I was like 18 and he's still grateful to me for finding him the perfect match. They are both so happy. HAHA! So take that."

Arthur chuckled, the moment's warmth easing the tension in his chest, even as something else, a strange ache, settled there. Why can't it be you then? He wanted to say but.... He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the quiet joy of your company. Whatever it was, it was worth savoring for now.

Arthur finally broke the silence with a half-smile, leaning back in his chair once more. "Yeah, well, maybe. But for now, I’ll take my cake. And you’re too gonna finish that."

He hesitated for a moment before asking, his voice quieter. “What about you? You… got someone?” His grip tightened around the saucer in his lap, betraying his casual tone.

“Me?” You scoffed, almost offended by the mere thought. “Nah. I’m perfectly content with life, helping my parents with the business, going out with friends… and, of course, Suki." You petted the cat perched on the seat beside yours, causing the golden fluffball to purr."Don’t need anything or anyone else. My parents might have other ideas, though. Y'know, the usual talk about ‘finding a companion to grow old with’, all that sentimental crap. But you know what game I play with them?

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite pushing the pang of jealousy aside. “Yeah? What? First off, finish laughing before you talk.”

His lips twitched as he watched your laughter bubble over, infectious as always. God, he loved the sound of it.

“Well...sometimes I let them think I’m ready. You know, like I’m open to meeting someone. So they get all excited and invite someone over for one of those discussions…”

Arthur tilted his head, already bracing for the punchline.

“And then I reject them. Every. Single. Time.”

Arthur couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That’s downright cruel, you know.”

“Cruel?” you repeated with mock offense, leaning forward. “They’ll survive. It's a fun way to pass time you know. Besides, it keeps my parents off my back though. But I don't know for how long....”

How long....

How long....

Forget it Arthur, just get the thought of it out of your head.

Though he knew, it was easier said than done...

❀˖°

And just like that, a quiet, peaceful year passed, marked by letters and rare, cherished meetings. Arthur had moved farther from where you lived, making those moments together even more fleeting but no less meaningful.

But when the day of your usual meeting came again, you didn’t show. Arthur sat by the window in the café, watching the street for any sign of you. As the minutes stretched into hours, he tried to stay calm, telling himself you were likely sick or busy. He just hoped you were alright.

When you finally met again a few weeks later, Arthur couldn’t hold back. “You okay?” he asked, his tone casual but his blue eyes serious. “I mean, you missed our last meetin’, and your letters… They’ve been fewer.”

You smiled, but it was different now, thinner, softer. “Oh, I’ve just been busy with work and family,” you said lightly, waving a hand as though to brush his concern aside. “Nothing to worry about.”

Something was off.

What are you hiding from me?

He wouldn’t let this go. Not when it came to you.

Arthur nodded, but the unease stayed with him. Something about you was different, something he couldn’t quite name. You spoke less, and though your smile lingered, it didn’t carry the same warmth. And your laugh, he’d always loved your laugh, was quieter, restrained, to not draw attention.

Then there was the chaperone. Arthur noticed the older woman sitting nearby, her sharp gaze darting to the two of you now and then. You’d always come alone before, laughing off the need for an escort, but now she was here, a quiet, rigid presence that spoke volumes.

And it wasn’t just her. Arthur’s sharp eyes caught other subtle changes. Your gloves were gone, your hands bare even in the crisp autumn chill. He’d heard somewhere that unmarried women in polite society were expected to wear gloves when out in public. Then there was how you wore your shawl, which you always adjusted modestly as if to conform to someone else’s propriety.

But what struck him most was the absence of your laughter. The way your spirit seemed subdued. As if someone, or something, was pulling you further away.

“You sure it’s just work keepin’ you busy?”

“Of course. Just a lot going on, that’s all.”

Every small, unspoken detail gnawed at him. The chaperone. The clothes. The gloves. You hadn’t said anything, but your silence screamed louder than words. You talked less than usual, your words measured and cautious, lacking the easy rhythm he’d come to know.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but something was wrong. You weren’t just hiding something....you were slipping away.

So, instead, he did what he was best at, watching, waiting, and gathering the truth without words. He’d heard whispers about a function at your estate, a gathering.

The shadows were his allies as he lingered at the edges of the grand manor. The soft glow of lanterns and the gentle hum of conversation drifted through the night, and there you were, standing in the center of it all, radiant in a way that both drew him closer and crushed him inside.

Then he saw him.

The man by your side. The one who stood too close dared to touch your arm and waist s if it was his right. Arthur’s eyes locked onto the ring, glinting on your finger, catching the light like a cruel, deliberate taunt.

His chest tightened, his breath hitched. The air felt heavier, colder. His worst fear had materialized before him, and yet he couldn’t look away.

The man smiled at you, and you smiled back, polite and radiant enough to send a wave of heat through his veins, a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

The gardener, a man with a weathered face and rough hands, had just stubbed out his cigarette, the glow of the ember fading into the night. He turned to head inside the gates, but before he could take another step, a firm hand shot out from the shadows. The gardener’s back slammed against the stone wall with a grunt, his breath knocked out of him.

Arthur’s face was inches from his now, his cold blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“You know about the marriage,” Arthur growled, his voice low but dripping with menace. “When? Hm?”

The gardener blinked rapidly, panic flickering across his face as he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “I-I... I didn’t mean- I--don’t--don’t know anythin’ about no marriage…you can't do this-"

He shoved the gardener harder against the wall, his voice growing more dangerous with every syllable. That's when the man felt a cold metal touch the side of his stomach and when he saw it, he nearly had a heart attack. “Tell. Me. The. Fucking. Date. When is it? When is she marrying him?”

The gardener's face turned pale as he struggled to find his voice, his eyes darting nervously around as if looking for an escape. His breath ragged as he stammered, “It--it’s... next month. The fifth. H-here...at the estate.. that's all I k-know-"

Arthur released the gardener with one final shove, sending him stumbling back a few steps. His gaze remained icy, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“You better keep your mouth shut,” he warned, his voice deadly calm now. The gardener nodded frantically, swallowing hard as Arthur turned away, his mind racing.

Fifth.

Arthur sat in the dim light of his tent, the revolver spinning slowly between his fingers as his thoughts churned in relentless, punishing circles. Outside, the camp buzzed with life, the crackle of the fire, the faint strains of a harmonica, the murmur of laughter. It all grated on him, every sound digging deeper into the raw wound festering inside his chest.

He knew this would happen. He’d always known. You weren’t his to lose, not really. People like you didn’t end up with men like him, men who carried blood on their hands, who belonged to a world of running and killing and stealing just to survive. He should’ve been prepared. He thought he’d been prepared. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

It felt like a betrayal. Like some unspoken promise had been broken. But no, there was no promise. That was the sick part of it. You’d smiled at him, written him letters, laughed with him, and somewhere along the way, he’d let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could keep you. That you could be something different. Someone who wouldn’t leave. But now…

Now, you were slipping away, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

His grip on the revolver tightened as memories of Mary surged up, unbidden and cruel. Her soft voice echoed in his head, her face painted in regret. "It’s not you, Arthur. It’s just… my life. It’s not the life you lead."

He’d tried to believe her back then, to take her words at face value. But deep down, they’d festered like an open wound. What if it was him? What if it was always him, his life, his choices, his very existence, that made people leave?

The laughter outside grew louder, Dutch’s booming voice cutting through the night. Arthur’s gaze flicked to the tent flap, to the flickering shadows of the others moving in the firelight. Dutch, carefree as ever, with Molly by his side. Dutch always had someone. Dutch always had a plan. And Arthur? Arthur had nothing. He was nothing.

Why is he mad?

Fucking why?

This was what he expected, wasn’t it? The inevitable. The part where you, the one thing he couldn’t let go of, moved on and married another man. He knew you’d do it, he’d always known. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from showing up every damn time, shaved and clean, trying to look better than he felt, holding onto some pathetic sliver of hope. As if you’d suddenly look at him and say, "Let’s run away" or, "Y’know what, Arthur? I think I want to live with the gang. With you..." The idea was ridiculous, but it had kept him going.

But now that it had happened… why did it feel so fucking wrong? Why was his chest tightening with rage that felt almost like betrayal?

Because it happened a second time, that’s why. His own mind was a whirlwind of confusion, torn between the brutal truth of his life, running, looting, killing, and the desperate, hollow yearning inside him. Was this all he was? Was this what he deserved? The endless violence, the life without peace? He couldn’t even stomach the thought of it anymore.

And because he thought, no, he hoped, you might’ve been different. That you’d be the exception to the pain. Almost like compensation for what he’d endured with Mary. A balm to soothe the wounds she’d left behind. Almost as if fate owed him this one kindness, this gift...

"Is something wrong with...me?" The question tore through his mind, louder than the laughter, louder than the harmonica, louder than the blood pounding in his ears. It clawed at him, relentless and merciless. Why couldn’t he hold on to anything? Why couldn’t he have even a sliver of peace? A family? A future?

The world outside continued without him, Dutch and Molly spinning around in their reckless dance, but Arthur felt a chasm of isolation opening between him and everyone else. His heart thundered in his chest, the silence suffocating.

He replayed the vision of you and your man. A respectable man that wasn't him. His chest burned. It wasn’t just jealousy, not entirely. It was something darker, something heavier. Something that made him slam the revolver on the table.

Take it then.

Take her then.

Arthur froze, shocked at his own brain for voicing that out. He knew what it meant. He’d heard it before, and discussed it with you, in the past.

The Word.

He had dismissed it then, condemned it as if it were beneath him. You had both laughed about it, saying it was barbaric, unfair and a criminal practice. But now? Now, the idea didn’t sound so foreign.

Do the word.

Do it.

People still do it.

Why do you always gotta suffer? Get played like a fiddle?

Man up.

The voice inside him urged, persistent and dark, pulling at something primal in his gut. Why did it feel so right, so necessary, now? Why did the thought of it no longer seem like madness but like the only thing that made sense in this Godforsaken world?

Why didn’t it sound so bad now?

Arthur’s grip on the revolver tightened, his thoughts swirling into dangerous territory. The thought of you slipping away from him, and marrying another man, of losing you forever, made his blood run cold. But if he.....could make you his by this brutal, tradition, would he finally have peace? Would that give him the warmth he so desperately needed?

★ Next

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