#reminder February 12

[typelikeagirl]

[wonder-worker]

"[Elizabeth Woodville's] piety as queen seems to have been broadly conventional for a fifteenth-century royal, encompassing pilgrimages, membership of various fraternities, a particular devotion to her name saint, notable generosity to the Carthusians, and the foundation of a chantry at Westminster after her son was born there. ['On other occasions she supported planned religious foundations in London, […] made generous gifts to Eton College, and petitioned the pope to extend the circumstances in which indulgences could be acquired by observing the feast of the Visitation']. One possible indicator of a more personal, and more sophisticated, thread in her piety is a book of Hours of the Guardian Angel which Sutton and Visser-Fuchs have argued was commissioned for her, very possibly at her request."

-J.L. Laynesmith, "Elizabeth Woodville: The Knight's Widow", Later Plantagenet and Wars of the Roses Consorts: Power, Influence, Dynasty

[todayisafridaynight]

now that it’s valentines day here’s a reminder that mine and daigo got to share one last valentine’s (and maybe also white) day together before mine game ends himself

[kaapstadgirly]

A mother and her son, shot and killed by Israeli snipers, 11 February 2024.

When I saw this image, it reminded me of the father and his daughter, who were also shot and killed by Israeli snipers, 5 January 2024.

How fucked in the head do you have to be to still be defending Israel?

(12 Feb edit: The boy in the first picture survived, his mother did not.

4 March edit: apologies, both were martyred, may Allah swt grant them Jannatul Firdous Inshallah -> Al Jazeera Instagram)

[just-a-ghost00]

Your next significant relationship - Who? When? Where?

Group 1 - Controler

Letters : N U Z E D M L K I O S Significant words/names/signs : SKZ, nudes, suki, soul, miso, sun, zen, Leo, kids, Nike, Mike, lion, Leon, noise, sound, Link, links, Dion, Zeus, Odin, Oden, onze (french for 11), douze (french for 12), uno, dos/due, dom, Muse, likes, silk, sold, DMs, solid, kudos, doki, slime, smile, Milo, miko

WHO ? - The Empress / STRENGTH / Herkimer diamond : power wash your energy This person is not what they seem. They may look harsh on the surface but deep down they are as fragile as Quartz. People may only judge them based on their looks and not who they are at there core. They are beautiful without a doubt. Extremely sensual and feminine. Their beauty feels ethereal. They are highly sensitive and spiritual. They could be a healer. The Herkimer diamond card mentions New York's Mohawk Valley where it can be found. So maybe this person is a New Yorker or they would like to travel to New York. With the strength card being related to fire, this person could have important fire placements in their chart (Leo, Sagittarius, Aries). They are powerful and determined. They know what they want and they won't back down no matter what you put them through. Though this person is affected by what people think of them, they would rather die than show it. They could have red hair. Their hair is rather long and straight. They like to wear bracelets. They are connected to the stars. They are grounded and protected by the universe. The Empress is also assiocated with Taurus. They present themselves as a woman. They feel close to their ancestors. It might be that there were warriors in their bloodline. Especially women. Their women ancestors were fierce in battle and they like to take after them and ask for their guidance. I'm feeling a strong connection to witches and shamans.

WHERE ? - 9 of swords / UNDERWORLD / Barite : get answers to your biggest questions. Places this person could be from or have been to at some point are : USA -> Nevada, Misouri, Georgia, Texas / China / India / Morocco / Mexico / Iran / Kazakhstan / Canada / Australia / Thailand / Nigeria / Peru / UK -> Scotland The 9 of swords card shows imagery of a woman lying down in the snow, with mountains in the background. So this person could live in a cold climate country/region. I'm thinking of the Alps, Himalaya, Caucasus, Alaska range. I'm thinking about Sweden, Denmark, Netherlands, Russia, Groenland, Iceland. Any city starting with a U or a B. Furthermore the character on the card has a dress with an important amount of stars on it, which reminded me of the European Union flag. In terms of the meeting, it could be through social media. The underworld card gives me a sense of mystery, of something being hidden. So it could be the dark web for some. Or on a website that keeps things hidden from people (i.e. content available only for subscribers or a private account). Also you could meet them in your dreams before you meet in 3D. Also, the underworld could be a metaphor for rave parties, clubs and so on. They could live or you could meet near an important building or monument.

WHEN ? - XXI The World / NATURE / Labradorite : protect your magic. The labradorite card mentions Aurora Borealis and the sign of Pisces. So Winter could be relevant, as well as the period from mid February to mid March. The number 21 could be relevent. So if we think in terms of dates it could be 02.21 or 03.21. The World speaks of cycles as well as the long term. So it could represent several years in terms of timing. When it comes to zodiac signs, The World is related to fixed signs. So Taurus, Leo, Scorpio and Aquarius season could be relevant as well. Which means that you could meet them between mid April to mid May, mid July to mid August, mid October to mid November or mid January to mid February. The World could also represent a time of your life when you are traveling abroad. Again, the character depicted on the card has a lot of stars in their hair. So I'm thinking of the USA as well as the EU. As she is dressed in red, holds red roses and has horns on her head, I'm also being reminded of Spain. The nature card could talk about a time of your life when you are in the wild, connecting with nature, taking a break from the drama of big city life.

Group 2 - Phone

Letters : T E N N U L N O R I S Significant words/names/signs : tennis, Noris, Noe, Noel, runs, Euro, sun, tenor, soul, norns, nine, tunes, Sonne (Rammstein song), Uriel, notes, nuns, trio, route, routines, Riolu (pokémon name), Loire (region in France), Lorie, LOTR, rise, sonnet, soir (french word for evening), nuit (french for night), riots, Lise, lotus

WHO? - IV The Emporor / Sacred Sexuality / Sapphire : find your tranquil place. This person is very masculine and grounded. They could be a father and/or a leader, a mentor, an entrepreneur. The sign of Aries could be significant. They are incredibly determined and strong. Their sexual drive is high. They pay a lot of attention to their health and appearance. They have a lot of sex appeal. This person could be in the fashion industry or could even be that they get money from people watching their body (selling pictures of them, having access to private erotic content). They could have a bit of a bad temper. Piercings also seem significant. On the sacred sexuality card, there’s a full moon and roses. This tell me this person is a romantic and is more of a night owl. They have an important status. We’re talking about company owners, freelance artists, lawyers, head officers, doctors, headmasters of big schools, politicians and so on.

WHERE? - 6 of swords / MOVEMENT / Garnet : get into your depth. -> places they could be from or have gone to : Czekoslovakia, Kenya, Madagascar, India. The 6 of swords depicts a beautiful woman rowing a boat on a lake. Behind her is a white mountain. In her boat are two herons. So Africa seems significant, particularly Tanzania where Kilimandjaro can be found. I’m also thinking of the Mt Fuji in Japan, in Yamanashi. This person lives near an important body of water. Or you might meet them there. Another thing that is significant is movement. So you could meet them where you’re going on a trip, as you travel or relocate. You could meet them on a boat. Anyplace you want to create something (art, music, writing and so on). When looking at « get into your depth » this gives me the feeling you could meet this person in the 5D before meeting them in person, like through dreams or meditation.

WHEN? Queen of wands and VI The Lovers - DARE TO DREAM - Citrine : manifest your masterpiece. First of all I have to say, when I was shuffling the cards for the WHEN? the bells of the nearby Church started ringing. So this tells me when you're going to Church either for communion or for a wedding. Summer is significant, especially from mid June to mid July. I would even say the month of June is the most significant of the two. When you go after your dreams, you will meet this person. On the DARE TO DREAM card, you can see a diamond trapped in an eagle's claw. For some reasons it reminded me of metal and rock bands, of concerts and big events like the Superbowl. So maybe one of your dreams is to go watch your favorite band/artist live or to go to Hellfest or any big convention that is happening in Summer. If there are any French people here, I'm thinking of the Olympics happening this Summer in Paris. And also the Japan Expo convention. In terms of timing, I’d say in a few months.

Group 3 - Mirror

First of all I want to say my coffee spilled as I did your reading. So either you or this person is super clumsy and/or coffee is significant in your relationship. Letters : E L I C O O E U J I A Y

Words/names/signs : Jay, Jey, Joy, Jolie, Julia, Julie, Jule, July, Lucy, cool, jail, Luc, Loïc, Alice, ciel (French for Sky), clue, juice, école (French for school), eco , CEO, Lucie, Lucia, Cloe

WHO? - XVII The Star / Ancestors / Obsidian : protect your soul. Aquarius comes in strongly for this reading. This person is an introvert. They are often seen as a daydreamer, someone that doesn’t care about earthly life. They look like their head is in the stars. Which, in some way is true. This person connects strongly with the Ethers. Social media seems to be important. They could be an influencer or have a certain amount of followers that they help. Think of tarot readings, raising awareness about certain subjects (mental health, disabilities, menstrual cycle, sexuality and so on). This person could be famous in some type of way or they are going to be at some point in their life. Overall they have a good reputation among their peers. They are valued for their work ethic and their deep insights. They are divinely protected. Family business comes to mind. They care about family a lot, especially the deceased ones. This person would be the type to seek out advice from their ancestors or try to honor them as much as they can. Scorpio is also a sign that seems relevant. I don’t know why but I thought of a surgeon. So maybe they have undergone an important surgery. Or they are very sharp. Because I definitely don’t feel this person is a surgeon. Well it could be, but honestly I feel more the energy of influencers and public speakers, like ambassadors of NGOs and stuff like that. Soft and caring, they feel and look rather feminine. Giving more than receiving. They love animals. They draw a lot of attention just from their presence. I think their aura is pretty strong and vibrant. Connected to nature, especially trees and plants.

WHERE? - 7 of pentacles / movement / Herkimer diamond You could meet at work, as you’re changing jobs or they are. During a break at work while you’re printing/scanning papers. In sacred spaces. New York. Somewhere in a lot of greenery like a park or a farm. As for places they could come from or have been to, we have : Norway, Ukraine, Arizona, China, Afghanistan, Herkimer county. If not these places, there could be farms where this person lives. Also they live in a place where there is a lot of activity, especially work wise. So this makes me think of hot spots like La Défense in Paris where a lot of businesses and political administrations can be found. Other places like that would be : Midtown New York, La City London, Marunouchi Tokyo, The Loop Chicago, Bankenviertel Frankfurt, Zuidas Amsterdam, Gangnam Seoul and so on.

WHEN? - 4 of swords / Death / Aquamarine : Keep your cool. You could meet on the fourth of a month, in April. At a time when you’ve lost your voice or when you are going Hermit mode, when you are sick or when you are mourning a loss. During a period of depression. During Scorpio season. In several weeks. Also it could be when someone or something pushes your buttons but you can’t express your frustration somehow. That could be anything really. Like queueing for registration in a building and someone is trying to take your spot. Or shopping at the mall and a customer is being super rude but since there are children around you can’t fully tell this person what you think of their attitude. Stuff like that.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!inexperienced!American!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) Benedict receives a handjob, suggestive language, reader has a complicated relationship with her family, reader has a nightmare and has a panic attack

word count: 6k

part one part three part four part five part six part seven

Tag list: @allyjoe755 @syraxnyra @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @pumkiinpasties @werewolf-witchboy

February 12, 1817

You never thought that living in a bigger house would actually have been worse than your small one. Your mother had gotten meaner and your sister had been named the diamond of the season so she was even more confident than usual because she was the center of attention. Because that was exactly what she needed. More attention. You had attended multiple balls over the past few weeks and Kate had stuck to you like glue, helping you through everything, giving you pointers and even having you meet men to dance with.

You reminded her so much of Edwina that she felt the need to help you realize your full potential. Telling you that even though you were supposed to be seeking a husband that you didn’t have to have one of that was not what you wished. It was frowned upon, but she felt the need to support you in whatever you wanted to do since none of your family seemed to do so.

You entered the ball with your mother, father, and sister and Kate made a beeline for you, curtsying to all of you and you couldn’t help but notice the tension between her and your mother. Unbeknownst to you, they had been butting heads as far as your potential husband had been concerned. Kate had insisted that you didn’t have to marry and your mother wouldn’t have it. She needed you to be married off so she never had to speak to you again.

To keep the peace, you pulled Kate along to get some lemonade. She handed you a cup and you sipped on the drink, eyeing her, wondering what was going on in her head. But she wouldn’t tell you. She already knew that you relationship with your mother had been rocky so she decided to keep what had been said to her behind closed doors a secret to prevent the tension from getting worse.

You looked around the room and spotted Benedict by the wall, scribbling in what looked like a small notebook. You were surprised to see him since he hadn’t been at any of the other balls since the one where you had danced together. You wondered if he would have danced with you again if you had asked. Or maybe he had been avoiding you. That would have made sense. It seemed that everyone always did that.

Benedict continued his sketch, waving off everyone who had tried to speak to him. He was obviously busy. The lighting was perfect where he was standing and he was able to get the details perfect. It was a rough sketch, but once he put it on canvas, it was going to easily be his best work.

“What are you working on, brother?” Benedict shut the book quickly as Anthony approached and he shoved the book in his pocket so it was out of sight. There was no way he was letting his brother see what he had been drawing. That was between him and God.

“Nothing,” the younger brother shrugged. “Just a little something to keep my mind occupied.”

“Right,” Anthony nodded. He knew his brother was private when it came to his unfinished work, but it almost seemed like Benedict didn’t want him to see the sketch at all. Something was very strange but he wasn’t going to press. “Are you going to be a wallflower all night or are you going to dance?”

“We both know the answer to that,” Benedict gave Anthony’s shoulder a pat.

Anthony stepped closer, resting a hand on Benedict’s shoulder as he brought his lips round his ear so no one else could hear.

“You are nothing but an embarrassment to this family,” he said, his words sounding like poison in Benedict’s ear. “This whole “rake” business needs to be put to rest. You are about to be thirty and haven’t even pursued a single woman or done anything with your life besides your artwork. You promised mother you would find a wife this season only to be running around with whores, completely abandoning your duties to this family.”

Benedict gulped as his brother spoke. Fear coursing through him. He was very well aware that Anthony was not opposed to a duel and could have easily put him in a hospital just from one punch. His threats were not empty and he was afraid of getting hit, his prized possession being ruined and he could no longer mess around like he had been.

“Stop with the silliness and find a wife or I swear everyone will know just how disgusting you are and you will be left with nothing. You will die alone and I will make sure that no one will show up to your funeral. Are we understood, brother?” With that, Anthony turned on his heel and went to look for his wife, feeling a weight life off him now that he had told Benedict what he had truly thought about him.

“Lady Danbury, this is y/n l/n,” Kate introduced you to the host of the evening to which you curtseyed gracefully.

“It is lovely to meet you, Miss l/n,” Lady Danbury nodded. “Viscountess Bridgerton has told me nothing but good things. She says you’re quite the artist.”

“Well-” you tried to deny it, but Kate cut you off.

“Oh, she is, Lady Danbury,” Kate told her. “She could easily make a living off of her work.” You didn’t think that was true in the slightest, but you were going to let her brag about you anyway.

“Are any of your pieces in the gallery tomorrow?” You had wanted to, but by the time you had heard about it, submissions were closed, which was really disappointing because you knew the exact one you were going to submit.

“I’m afraid not," you pursed your lips. "By the time I arrived, it was too late to submit.”

“That is too bad," Lady Danbury replied with a shake of her head. "I must host a gallery of my own to see your work.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary, Lady Danbury," you let out a nervous laugh. "I’m afraid you’d be sorely disappointed.” You thought that to be true. you were always your harshest critic and always thought that compliments aimed towards you or your work were just people being nice, never quite believing the words no matter how true they were."

“I’m sure that’s not true. You must show me some time. I'd love to see it all." You knew you weren't going to win, so you decided to give in to appease the woman. You didn't want to upset the host, after all.

"Of course," you nodded and watched Lady Danbury's face light up as she caught sight over someone who was behind you. You turned around only to be met by a man you hadn't seen before. He had curly blonde hair and the prettiest hazel eyes that you had ever seen. What was a pretty man like him doing approaching you? He was the kind of man that Lilith would have ended up with.

"Nicholas Fitzwilliam," he introduced himself with a bow. "I saw you across the room and felt like I owed the prettiest woman in the room a dance."

"Oh-"

Your mouth went dry as his eyes looked into yours, a warm smile making its way upon his pretty, pink lips. You turned to Kate and Lady Danbury as if to ask for permission and they waved you off, encouraging you to dance with the stranger.

Nicholas offered his hand to you and you wordlessly took it, letting him lead you out onto the floor. The dance started not long after you got into your spots and you immediately recognized as the quadrille which you knew involved moving about the floor and joining hands with people who weren't your original partner.

As soon as Benedict saw you accept that dick's invitation to dance, he knew he had to find a partner and quick. He didn't know what he was doing, but what he did know was that he wasn't going to leave you out on the floor alone. He was just making sure that you were following the steps correctly, that was all.

He approached the first woman he could find and dragged her onto the dance floor as the music started. He watched you move about the room seeing that fucker making you laugh made him feel something he had never felt before when it came to other women: jealousy.

The man whispered something into your ear as the two of you spun around and seeing you throw your head back in a loud laugh was enough to make Benedict see red. He could hear his dance partner say something as the two of them spun around, but he couldn’t hear her. In fact, he didn’t give a single fuck. All of his focus was on you.

You were nervous to dance at first, but as Nicholas guided you through it, you realized just how much fun it was and he was even cracking jokes to make you feel better. If all of the men were guaranteed to be like him, maybe finding a husband wouldn’t have been so bad.

You slowly got to Benedict and the two of you joined hands as you made your spin and he wanted to know what your hands felt like without the gloves. If they were soft or rough. It didn't really matter, though. He just wanted them wrapped around his neck, choking him until he was gasping for air. He still wasn't able to shake his absolutely filthy thoughts about you. And now that you were right in front of him and that he could see the tops of your breasts, all he could think about was how much he wanted them in his mouth, licking and sucking on your nipples until your back arched in pleasure, screaming his name as your reached your orgasm.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts and he looked down at you, his signature smirk making it's way upon his pretty pink lips. You had never had a thought like it before, but you found yourself wanting to know what they felt like. If they were as soft as they looked.

"What do you mean?" Benedict knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear you tell him that you missed him.

"You haven't been at the last three balls so I was surprised to see you here." He thought it was adorable that you had noticed that he wasn't there and

"Oh, so you noticed I was missing?" He put on a cocky smirk. He had you right where he wanted you.

"It was difficult not to when Anthony was complaining about it every time." You were mumbling your words, but Benedict was still able to hear you. The smirk faded and he didn't like the way his cock twitched at the fact that you didn't seem to notice that he hadn't been around until his brother mentioned it. You didn't seem to give a single fuck about him, but by the end of the season, he was going to make you care.

With that, you separated then joined your original partners and Benedict was still watching you, feeling jealousy rise as the man whispered in your ear again, making you giggle. He didn't know why he cared. He wasn't going to court nor marry you and clearly this man was a better fit for you. And maybe Anthony was right, all Benedict was was a rake and that's all he knew how to be. He wasn't fit to be a husband and he was just going to have to accept that.

He was going to give up all of his fantasies about you just so you could end up with a man who actually cared about you. That was what you deserved. Not someone who was only interested in having his way with you only to never want to see you again. He was perfectly fine with letting you slip through his fingers if it meant you were going end up with the right person.

The dance came to a close and Nicholas led you back over to Kate and Lady Danbury, his hand still holding yours as you stood there making conversation with the three of them. He then turned to you and bowed and for whatever reason, you didn't want to see him go. You had such a nice time with him and almost wanted to ask him to dance again, but you couldn't get yourself to. You didn't have the confidence. Lilith would have, though. She would have and Nicholas certainly would have said yes. But you weren't Lilith. You weren't your sister and you never would be and you just wished that people would realized that you were your own person.

"It was an absolute pleasure, Miss l/n," he said and you smiled in response, feeling your heart swell because someone was dancing with you because they wanted to, not because of your mother forcing them.

"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Fitzwilliam," you curtsied, a small smile making its way upon your face. He took your hand and pressed lips to the fabric covering it, his eyes never leaving yours as he did so.

"No, really, the pleasure is all mine." He emphasized the last two words and your cheeks heated as he let your hand slipped out of yours before turning on his heel to cross the room.

As soon as he was gone, you turned back to Kate and Lady Danbury in a giggly mess. They both smiled at you, seeing you so lively and animated warming their hearts. In the few weeks Kate had known you and with all of the balls, she'd seen you at, she had never seen you so smitten after a dance and wondered if Nicholas could be the one. Maybe, just maybe there was an engagement in your future.

Nicholas crossed the floor and stood next to your mother, putting his hands behind his back as she leaned towards him to whisper to him. they were trying their best to be discreet, knowing that if you caught them, the whole operation would be over.

"Is it done?" Vivian asked, her eyes not leaving you as she spoke. If you weren’t going to find a husband, she was just going to have to do the job for you. She couldn’t risk you being a spinster and living with her and your father for the rest of her life.

"It is," Nicholas nodded, his eyes on you as well. He didn't feel good for lying to you, but the money was going to make it worth it. He was going to use it to buy a nice art piece that he had been eyeing for a while. It would look so lovely in his study, hanging among the other artwork he had purchased over the years. And he had you to thank for it. You were the perfect, unsuspecting target.

Benedict left as soon as Nicholas left you and had every intention of getting out his anger. Maybe not in the healthiest way, but he was going to be gone as soon as he was done with whatever woman on his list was available.

He knocked on the door and leaned himself against the doorframe, an attempt to make himself attractive, but something was off. His need suddenly went away and he was having flashbacks to the ball. Everything was swirling around his head and he felt an ache coming on.

Stop with the silliness and find a wife or I swear everyone will know just how disgusting you are and you will be left with nothing. You will die alone and I will make sure that no one will show up to your funeral.

Maybe Anthony was right. Maybe he should have stopped literally fucking around and started a family. Maybe he should have gone home. But not tonight. Tonight, he was going to be taken care of and not by his own hands.

The door opened and he was pulled inside, the woman that he couldn’t remember the name of grabbing hold of his coat. The door slammed behind him and she shoved him against it. Her lips went to his neck and she gave it a rough suck while her hands went to unbutton his breeches. She pulled them down only to be met with Benedict’s very limp cock. They both looked down at it and Benedict felt his cheeks blush in embarrassment as this was never something that had happened to him.

“Don’t worry, I can help with that.” The woman-Caroline, maybe?-spit into her hand and grabbed hold of his dick, giving it a few slow pumps. When that didn't work, she moved faster, pumping as hard as she possible could and Benedict was panicking because receiving a handjob always did the trick. And now that it wasn't working, he was worried.

"I don't know what's going on Benedict, but you need to leave now." They couldn't exactly sleep together if he couldn't get it up. And it was all thanks to his oldest brother. Benedict pulled up his breeches and let out a loud sigh before turning to the door. He gave her one last look then opened the door and slammed it shut before heading down the road. He couldn't go home. Not with his brother there. There was somewhere else he'd rather be anyway.

Benedict got to the studio, but not after having a few drinks. His night had gone to shit and if he couldn't remedy it with sex, alcohol was surely going to do the drink. Not only had his brother called him out on his bullshit, but then he watched the woman that he liked dance with someone else who was confirmed to be a terrible person, and now he couldn't even cope with it all the way he wanted to.

He stumbled into the studio where he usually spent his late nights, but no one was there. This was usually when everyone was so lively and now there wasn't a single soul. Something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. He approached the room he usually worked in to work on his piece, but when he entered it, the piece was uncovered and there was already someone in the room. He slowly opened the door all the way and the creaking of it made the stranger turn around so Benedict could see his face. No fucking way. Standing there in his studio, holding the sheet that covered his painting was Nicholas fucking Fitzwilliam.

The carriage rolled up to your house and you stepped onto the concrete, feeling lighter than ever. As your family was leaving, Nicholas had told you that he'd see you the next day and you were nothing but elated at that fact. You couldn't believe it. It had only been a few weeks and you already had a suitor. And he was nice and not to mention, very easy on the eyes. According to what he had told you at the ball, he didn't have much, but that was perfectly okay to you. He'd give you a great life and that was all you could ask for.

You went up the steps and for once, your mother's and sister's words couldn't get to you. Because they didn't matter. All your life, you had been second to Lilith and now you finally had something she hadn't and you could tell that she was furious. She stomped up the stairs behind you and you tried to fight back your smile at the sour look that had been in her face since you had told her the good news.

You went to your room and heard her stomp to her own before slamming the door. You got ready for bed with the widest smile on your face and got into your bed dreaming about nothing but rings and weddings and your possible children. The future was very bright and you had somehow beat the diamond of the season to getting a suitor. And maybe if you played your cards right, an engagement would follow soon after.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asked, making such tight fists by his side that he could feel his nails digging into his skin, but that was the least of his worries. He really needed to get rid of the pest that was taking over his room.

"Oh, are you the artist?" Nicholas asked, reaching for the canvas, but Benedict was quick to stop, him, standing in between his body and the canvas. There was no way he was letting that little worm anywhere near his artwork.

"I am. And I'm going to ask again, what are you doing here?" There was a fire burning inside him and this time, he wasn't going to put out the flames.

"Well, I was going to ask you if I could buy this lovely piece from you." He'd get the painting from Benedict's cold, dead hands. No way he’d ever sell anything to that pig.

Benedict snatched the covering from Nicholas and draped it back over the painting before crossing his arms over his chest so he wouldn't do something he'd regret.

“It’s not finished and not for sale. And even if it was, I most certainly wouldn’t sell it to you.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why not?” Nicholas had no idea what was going on. He just wanted to get what he had had his eyes on for months when he had passed that very room seeing Benedict work on it.

“Because again, it's not finished and even if it was, I still wouldn't sell it to you." Clearly there was something he was missing and he wasn't sure what it was.

"Why?" Nicholas was starting to get angry and a smug smirk was making its way upon Benedict's face. What did he know and what was he going to do about it? He didn't think he was the type to get into a fight, but he really knew nothing about him so he was to tread lightly.

"I know your secret.” Nicholas felt his blood run cold at the words. He had many secrets but he knew exactly the one to which Benedict was referring and he had half a mind to make a run for it.

“Secret?” He supposed that the best way to get out of it was to feign innocence. He wouldn’t be caught if he didn’t admit to it.

“Your little deal with Vivian. I heard you on the way out of the ball tonight." Oh, this was the big secret. Maybe running was still on the table.

"What do you want?" There was only one thing Benedict wanted and Nicholas had it.

"I want you stay away from y/n." Benedict jabbed his finger into the man’s chest.

"Or what?" Nicholas pushed his hand away but Benedict only stepped closer.

"You don't want to know what." His threat was empty, but maybe it wouldn’t have been if Nicholas tried anything.

"Are you gonna tell her?" No. He thought it would have been even more painful for Nicholas to tell you himself.

"I might if you don't." He wouldn’t, but Nicholas was looking nervous so Benedict had him right where he wanted him.

“I see,” Nicholas let out a laugh. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not.” That was not an emotion that Benedict felt. He was never jealous and especially not because of you. He just felt like you deserved to know the truth, that’s all.

“You are,” Nicholas smirked. “I saw it in your face when you mentioned he. There was a fire there. Well guess what? You can have her. I don’t want her. I was just going to marry her, use her for her body and then leave.” Benedict didn’t need to hear anymore. He was seeing more red than he ever had before.

Without another thought, he punched Nicholas square in the nose, causing him to hunch over in pain but not before he got his own punch in. Benedict threw another punch and while Nicholas was hunched over once again, Benedict pushed him to the floor, loving to see the man’s pretty face look so bloody and broken.

“If you so much as lay a finger on her, I promise that things will be much worse than this.” With that, Benedict wiped the blood from his nose and fled the room, finally heading home to get some much needed rest and maybe some help from a doctor.

February 13, 1817

You woke up the next morning with the brightest smile on your face as your lady’s maid helped you get ready for the day. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even your mother. Because someone had finally showed romantic interest in you and no one, not even your mother or Lilith could bring you down.

You descended the stairs and headed towards the dining room to have some breakfast when you heard voices coming from the study. You slowly opened the door that was cracked and saw Nicholas inside arguing with your mother. You gasped not only at the fact that he was there but also because of the dried blood coming from his nose.

What was he doing there and why was he arguing with your mother? Clearly there was something that you were missing and you didn’t like all of the possibilities that your mind was coming up with. It was always your own worst enemy.

Maybe it wasn’t what you thought it was. Maybe he was there to see you and was just waiting for you to finish breakfast first. Suitors did that all the time, right? There definitely wasn’t anything suspicious going on between him and your mother.

“What happened?” Your mother asked in a tone that you thought has only been reserved for you.

“I don’t know, Vivian,” Nicholas replied, looking like he was seconds away from pulling his hair out. He looked tired, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep and the blood around his nose made him look even worse. “All I know is that I was trying to buy a piece from him and then he punched me.”

“And that was before he threatened you?”

“Yes! He told me that if I so much as laid a finger on y/n that he’d kill me! I know I agreed to court your daughter, but no amount of money is worth this,” he referred to his nose and headed for the door where you were standing.

You pressed yourself against the opposite wall of where he was exiting and felt tears prick your eyes as your world came crashing down. So all of that the night before was all because of your mother? All for money? You supposed that it made sense as to why someone as beautiful as him would approach you.

As soon as Nicholas was out of sight, you made a beeline for the stairs, heading to your room so you could cry alone. You felt so stupid. Your own mother had betrayed you in a way that you hadn’t even thought she was capable of. And for whatever reason, you felt like your sister was also behind it.

You headed to your room and slammed the door before letting out a loud scream before throwing yourself into your bed to have a good cry. All of the years you had suppressed your emotions were all catching up to you and you began to sob into your pillows.

You really thought that your father would have come to your rescue, but just like always, he’d rather stand by your mother when she was participating in all of the wrongdoing. He seemed so distant from you lately that it was almost as if he wasn’t even there at all. And maybe it would have been better if he wasn’t. At least then, he would just be gone instead of sitting on the sidelines, doing absolutely nothing.

You cried yourself to sleep, trying to fight off your nightmare. There was a red filter over it and the audio was distorted. Your mother, father, sister, and Nicholas were all laughing at you, pointing fingers and telling you just what they thought about you, holding absolutely nothing back as they did so.

It all felt so real that you had to wake up and shake it all off. You sat up in your bed and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. Just then, your lady’s maid entered the room to get you ready for the gallery. Had you really slept all day? And no one had even thought to come and wake you up? You supposed that showed you just how little your family actually thought about you.

“Esther?” You asked the woman who had laid your dress for the night out onto your bed.

“Yes miss?” She asked, pausing her duty to give you her full attention.

“Would we be able to try something different?” You could see her eyes light up at your suggestion and she immediately pulled you to your vanity, pulling out all of your makeup to get to work.

“I know just the thing,” she smiled as she dipped into some eyeshadow and applied it to your eyes.

—

You told your mother that you weren’t feeling well enough to go to the gallery and to your surprise, she didn’t put up a fight and left the house without a word. As soon as your family was gone, you threw off the blanket to reveal your dress that was absolutely nothing like you. It was black and dark purple and you had a choker to match that had an amethyst gem in the very center of it.

Esther had done your makeup dark, but tastefully with diffused black eyeshadow and a bright pink blush on your cheeks. When you looked in the mirror, you had looked nothing like yourself just like you had wanted to. You thanked her and fled the house to the carriage that had been left behind.

You entered the gallery by yourself and as soon as eyes were laid on you, whispers were spread around just like you had wanted. You were not dressed appropriately for the occasion and for once, you couldn’t have cared less.

You fiddled with your necklace as what you were doing had set in. You had only put on the dress with the intention to anger your mother and clearly it had worked with the way she was eyeing you. But that wasn’t your focus at the moment. You were just interested in seeing all of the art pieces. Upsetting your mother was just a little bonus.

Benedict let out a gasp as he caught sight of you. You were one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen and now he was beginning to think that his fight with Nicholas was all worth it. He at least hoped that his threat has sent the man running.

After you made your grand entrance, you continued to fiddle with your necklace as the whispers got more intense. You had been so focused on upsetting your mother that you hadn’t thought about the fact that other people would probably be upset as well.

You felt yourself begin to panic as the whispers seemed to get louder and you could feel your heartbeat quickening and breathing was getting harder to you. You had had many panic attacks in your life to know that this was one and needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Just as you were about to leave, you were approached by Lady Danbury. If it has been anyone else, you would have politely declined, but she had a lot of influence and you felt like you could have used that to your advantage. So, you took a deep breath and put on your fakest smile as she got to you.

“Lady Danbury!” You greeted, smiling brightly and she smiled in return.

“Miss l/n. So lovely to see you again.” Out of all of the people there, why was she talking to you? There were so many others who were of higher status or at least had more to say than you did. And you really weren’t in the mood to be cordial at the moment. You had too much on your mind.

“And you as well, ma’am,” you curtsied. You wanted to impress the woman. She was good friends with The Queen, after all and knowing someone who had an in with her could have opened so many doors for you.

“Have you had a chance to look around the gallery?” You had too much on your mind to put your focus on something like that even though you had been so excited to

“No, not yet.”

“Perfect, you shall join me.” Join her? As in walk around the room with her?

“Lady Danbury-” You tried your best to get out of it, but she cut you off before you could make an excuse.

“That wasn’t a question. Now come along dear. I want to hear your thoughts.” She linked her arm around yours and let you lead her around the room, stopping at every individual piece, wanting to know your honest opinion. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that she just wanted to hear you talk badly about someone. To get the quiet girl out of her comfort zone.

But she wasn’t going to win this round. It turned out that every single piece so far was lovely. They were all so detailed and told the most beautiful stories. You were in awe of every single one and still wished you had the time to submit your own, wondering what people had thought about it.

You stopped once you got to the last piece and that one didn’t wow you like the others. Something was wrong, almost as if it had been incomplete. All of the colors melted together in a brown, muddy mess and you were having a hard time keeping your eyes on it.

“Well?” Lady Danbury asked and you were hesitant to tell her the truth, but you were becoming a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second. Everything with your family and Nicholas was all piling on you and you couldn’t take a single second of it.

“The colors are too muddy,” you mumbled and the woman was having a hard time hearing you.

“I’m sorry, dear, could you repeat that?” She asked and that absolutely broke you. You were about to tear into whoever the artist was and for once, you didn’t have a single care.

“I said the colors are too muddy!” You replied, maybe a little too loud, but you hardly cared. You just needed her to know what you really thought. That was the kind of person you were now. Someone who said exactly how they felt, not caring whether it hurt their feelings or not. You didn’t have it in you to please anymore. What good had it done you, anyway?

“The artist obviously didn’t wait long enough between layers for the paint to dry. Oils are still wet after many hours. Before adding more layers you have to wait for them to fully dry. It’s an amateur mistake for some ‘professional’ artist to make.”

Lady Danbury had to admit that she was enjoying seeing that side of you and hoped you’d bring it out more often. As much as she liked how reserved you were, she believed that you were allowed a moment to break free of it every once in a while. It looked tiring having to behave like that all the time.

“That’s a very interesting, Miss, l/n,” she replied then turned to who you assumed was the artist of the piece you had just ripped to shreds with your words. “Mr Bridgerton why didn’t you wait long enough for each layer?”

Bridgerton? So that meant-no. Just your fucking luck. You turned around and sure enough, there Benedict was, looking as beautiful as ever. You noticed that he has a bruise around his eye and wondered what it was from and how you could have tended to it and made him feel better. It looked like it hurt and you almost wanted to ask if it did and if you could have kissed it better.

“If I’m being honest, Lady Danbury, I was nearly late submitting my piece for the gallery, so I needed to cut some corners. But you are correct, Miss (l/n), it is a very amateur mistake of me.” With that, Benedict turned on his heel and exited the gallery, leaving you with nothing but guilt as you watched him walk away.

Benedict had stared at that painting for hours after he had finished and hadn’t even noticed the imperfections you had pointed out until you had said the words. And he hadn’t even been upset about it either. It had been an amateur mistake to make and now he was wondering why he was even accepted into the gallery in the first place.

And now he was wondering where you got all that knowledge from because clearly you knew your stuff. Were you an artist as well? You must have been since you seemed to know so much.

And that was when it all clicked. The critique, Anthony saying that you were a family friend from the past. Of course! Now he remembered. He could clearly see the two of you drawing each other in the study of the Bridgerton home and him sneaking you into one of the studios he went to one night where the two of you laughed and painted for hours which had eventually turned into a paint fight that the two of you had gotten into a lot of trouble for.

So he wasn’t an ass, he just genuinely hadn’t remembered you. But why? Was his mind trying to protect him from something painful? It must have been considering how quick you had been to forget him after not having seen him for a few weeks. He had hoped that the memory would come to him soon so it would stop bugging him. Maybe he’d ask you why his memory of you was fuzzy. Maybe he’d just talk to you because he wanted to. With Nicholas out of the way, he certainly had the opportunity. And maybe he’d actually listen to his brother and finally find a wife.

[noosayog]

004 logical

✧ wc: 2.5k

✧ warnings/content: oikawa toru x reader, no gendered pronouns used but please lmk if I missed any! sfw, angst to fluff, another breaking up making up fic, long distance relationship

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

“I don’t think this is working out.” 

When Oikawa hears those words, marred by phone static, he drops the remote from his left hand and his fork from his right. 

“Baby,” he says cautiously, disoriented. “It’s just a few more days.” 

There’s a moment of silence. Oikawa picks up the phone and presses it to his ear. 

“It’s not just that,” you say quietly. “How much longer are we going to do this – not seeing each other, missing calls, postponing flights? Even when we’re talking, we’re not fully focused on each other.” 

“That’s not true,” he immediately protests. 

“Yes, it is. Were you not just watching a game and eating right before this?” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not fully focused on you.” 

“Yes, Toru. It does.” 

He has so much to say, yet none of it seems to come out. Nothing seems appropriate. 

You sigh again. “Just… stay, Toru. Stay there. You don’t have to fly back to Japan for me. I know volleyball’s important for you.” 

When he says nothing, you go on. “But I hate the way this makes me feel. Like I’m asking you to give up what you love to fly across the globe just to see me for a few days.”

“You’re not. I want to-” 

“Toru.” 

His mouth clamps shut. 

“Last time you came back to Japan, you missed a last-minute practice match with that coach you’ve been wanting to work with. Last time I came to you, I spent 2 of the 4 days I was there alone because you had another last minute volleyball thing. Even when we invest the time to see each other, we’re not really… there.” 

Oikawa knows; he knows. 

“So let’s just… not.” 

He knows, but that doesn’t mean he wants to… not. 

“Just hold on a couple more days, okay?” he asks, trying his hardest not to beg and whimper. “Just a couple of days, and I’ll be back in Japan and we can talk, figure something out.” 

“Toru���” 

“Please, wait for me.” 

“I don’t know if I have that in me anymore.” 

The coldness of your words seize his chest. 

Hearing nothing more from him, you sign off with finality, “Good bye, Toru.”

And the line cuts off. 

–

Today is Friday, the beginning of the 3-day long exchange scrimmages with the visiting Brazilian and Chilean pro teams. Duffle bag tossed on the floor by his feet, Oikawa flops on the couch, downing the remainder of his protein shake. The bright screen of his laptop stares back at him, email confirmation of his flight change there to reprimand him, remind him. 

Your Flight AE344 to Haneda International Airport for Thursday, February 8th has been canceled. 

You’re booked for Flight AE267 to Haneda International Airport for Monday, February 12th! See you soon! 

After you had hung up, he gave you a call back. You didn’t answer. He tried again an hour later, then 2, then 12. He had listened to the line ring, for exactly 20 seconds, 8 rings, before banishing him to your unset-up voicemail. 

Shutting the laptop screen, he picks up his duffle and is out the door. After all, if he didn’t show up to the scrimmage, what would this have all been for? 

–

Friday night arrives, and despite how tired he is, physically from all the exercise and mentally from all the socialization with the visiting players, you wander through his mind. He supposes this is hardly surprising, given you’ve always been his place of rest, regardless of the physical distance, sheer kilometers between the two of you. 

Almost afraid to look, he checks his phone and immense disappointment and an increasingly familiar emptiness fill his chest when he sees nothing from you. 

He tries your phone again. It rings, rings, and rings and there’s no reward, your voice waiting at the other end.

He showers, eats a quick dinner, and meal preps for Saturday’s scrimmage. Busying himself works momentarily, but at 9PM, his phone alarm goes off, reminding him that it’s time to call you. For the past year, his routine has been talking on the phone with you every night at 9PM. No matter where he is, at a bar with teammates, at dinner with friends, or late night practice, he always takes at least 10 minutes to talk to you. 

When the two of you first established this, the agreed upon time was 10PM for him, 10AM for you. The two of you used to compete to see who could call who first. The first night, you called the exact second the clock struck 10. So the next night, Oikawa called at 9:59. Then the following night, you called at 9:58. And it went on until the two of you begrudgingly came to a truce that you’d alternate nights. 

And tonight is your night. 

Five minutes after 9, Oikawa knows the call isn’t coming. 

–

Late Friday night – or technically early Saturday morning – Oikawa lays awake in bed wondering how the hell it all went down the way it did. It hasn’t even been a full year since the two of you started to do long-distance. And he’s still confused. He’s confused because he thought the two of you were doing the best you could be. He’s confused because he’s never even thought about the possibility of not being with you. 

He twists over to lay on his side, facing his phone screen, open at your contact. His thumbs hover over your name for the nth time that night, only for him to flop back on his back, turning now to the other side, your side. It hits him then that he can’t even remember the feeling of you in that bed, the last time you kissed. If he had known that would be the last time, he would've savored it all the more. He’d burn the memory into his nerves, just so he could remember the feeling. Volleyball was all muscle memory; he never thought he’d need to commit you as well. 

Before he knows it, morning arrives. He starts to get ready. 

He brushes his teeth, packs his gym bag, and starts to eat breakfast. 

His legs shake, knees bouncing up and down in a nervous tick that hasn’t shown itself since high school. His laptop screen is up again, the flight ticket once again flashing bright. 

It’s a reminder. Now he knows that when it’s not reciprocal, the distance between the two of you is so much more than 18,000 kilometers and 12 hours. There’s no phone line, no facetime to shorten that distance, even if just by perception. 

Then, it’s a striking thought: a realization that postponing a plane ride those few days could cost him a lifetime.

He dials your number again. 

It rings, and rings, and rings. 

“... Hello?” 

“You picked up,” he hears himself say. 

“Sorry I missed yesterday, Toru.” He knows what you’re referring to without you saying it. “And I’m sorry I hung up… like that.” 

There’s a lot to say, but he can’t do it like this. So he asks, “will you wait for me to come home?” 

“Toru…” your voice breaks with the syllables of his name. He hears the reluctance in your tone. 

“If you want to break up, if you truly want to stop being with me,” it takes monumental effort for Oikawa to even speak of such an event. “Then say it to me in person. I have to know.” 

You’re silent in response. He’s glad you aren’t refusing, saying that the flight, the cost, the time isn’t worth itt. He’s glad that you agree it’s still a worthwhile conversation to have in person. He’s glad you haven’t given up. 

“Wait for me, okay? Please.” 

It takes a few simple clicks and a significant chunk of his savings to do what he does next. 

– 

For the entirety of the flight to Haneda International, Oikawa’s knees bounce, colliding uncomfortably with the seat in front of him. Even with what little affirmation you gave him by simply picking up his call, it brings him little comfort as there’s absolutely nothing he could do for the next 28 hours but sit tight. 

When the plane lands safely in Tokyo, local time of 9PM Sunday, Oikawa charms his way into getting off the plane first. He flashes a weak smile at all the people still in their seats of the plane, before rushing off with only his carry-on in tow. There’s no time to wait for a bus, so he shoves his way to the front of the taxi line, reciting your address as if it hadn’t been over 4 months since he’s been there. 

Every passing moment does little to ease his nerves, exacerbated even up until the moment he arrives at your door. The seconds pass in loud silence, the hollow sound of his knocking ringing in his ears. 

All the white noise fades, though, when the door opens and reveals you. No matter that your eyes are red and swollen, no matter that you’re wearing one of his old ratty Seijoh sweaters, no matter that the two of you are supposed to be breaking up.

“Toru,” you breathe. Oikawa forgets you’re supposed to sound like this, not the distorted, muffled imitation of your voice he hears through the phone too often. Yet another addition to his growing list of realizations. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but a single heave of a laughter bursts from his chest. “I told you I wanted to see you, didn’t I?” 

“But… your flight wasn’t supposed to arrive until Wednesday.” You’re cautious and he hates that. He wants you to be uncaring of the emotions you show around him, to jump into his arms and forgive him. He wants it back. 

“I changed my flight.” 

“But volleyball…” 

“That’s the thing,” he starts. “I think that’s probably one of the things I never made clear to you.” 

You look at him, confused. 

“Can I come in?” 

It stings when you instinctively fold your arms over your chest protectively, eyes briefly leaving him to look at the ground. 

 “Will you let me in?” he tries again. 

You look back up at him, moving to the side to let him in. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, the first thing Oikawa does is wrap you up in his embrace. His arms engulf you. He forces his hold to be gentle, on the chance that you push away. You don’t, so he holds on tighter and tighter, until you squeak from the pressure. He thinks he mumbles an apology, but he’s not really sure because all he registers is your arms coming up to grab his sweater. 

It’s not enough. 

You let him just hold you, for how long, he doesn’t know, until you finally squeak out his name. He reluctantly pulls away and starts talking, as if he wants to get the talking part over as fast as possible so he can pull you right back in again. 

“The thing I wanted to tell you,” he continues from before. “There’s no comparison – between you and volleyball, I mean.” 

“Toru, you know that’s not true.” 

Yes, it is,” he insists. “I’ve never seen volleyball as something that takes away from time that belongs to you. Every time you come to see me, or I go to see you, or when I push a flight, I’ve always seen that as just a… postponement of our time together, never that it would take away from it.” 

“Toru…” you push further away. 

“But, I think I get it now. I get that phone calls, video calls, text messages can’t be a substitute. I know because I almost forgot how your voice sounds outside of a phone and because I can’t accept us breaking up through a screen. And even more so because I can’t live off of the memory of how you feel.” 

When your gaze softens, he knows he got it right. It only took all this time for him to understand what you meant when you said things weren’t working; it was never about a postponed flight. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get it.” 

Your palm comes up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes a wet spot on his cheek. “Oh, Toru. I would never make you compare, I thought you knew that.” 

“I know,” he says. I know. And he does. 

“Sometimes, I just need to know you miss me as much as I miss you. I know you love volleyball,” 

“I love you,” he interrupts. 

“I know you love volleyball,” you continue. “And I would never want you to feel like you had to give any of it up for me. I just need to know that you feel what I feel too.” 

His hands at your waist squeeze, like he’s reassuring you that he does. 

“I know that you won’t be playing in Argentina forever. I was prepared to deal with long-distance for as long as it takes for you to be ready to come home. But-” 

He shakes his head like he doesn’t need you to say it. 

“No, let me say this. But, sometimes it felt like you were settling for how we were. Then… when you postponed the flight, I guess I was just bummed because I was so excited to see you. But you acted like it wasn’t a big deal.” 

Yeah, he did, didn’t he. 

“It felt like you would be just fine substituting me for the sport.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

There’s so much to explain and he’s afraid it would take too long. He needs to tell you that’s not how he feels and that it’s not true at all. And perhaps he’s become self-aware of his ability to grow numb to things like homesickness and he tried to apply that to you too so that he wouldn’t be crippled by the sheer magnitude of how much he truly missed – misses – you. And how appalled he was when he realized he was associating you with memories and nostalgia, as if you were a had-been and not a still-is. 

But you seem to understand because your hands are still gentle on his face and your gaze is affectionate. 

“Stop crying, you baby.” 

“I’m not crying!” he denies. 

“If you don’t stop crying, I won’t kiss you,” you tease. 

He clams up, biting on his lips to stop the hiccups. His eyes roll upwards to the ceiling, willing any tears to stop overflowing. 

You laugh lightly at the sight, voice still clearly weak from your crying marathon. 

He has a lot to apologize for, doesn’t he.

You lean upwards for a kiss. It catches him off guard to this day, how much you can express in your gentle affection. It’s another thing he can’t feel through a screen. 

With each kiss you press on his lips, he counts the things he has to apologize for, but more importantly he counts the things he needs to tell you he misses and loves about you when he inevitably puts the 18,000 kilometers between the two of you again. 

And he’ll do it. Every day. Until the day he finally comes home.

[bellawoso]

You Belong With Me

Aitana Bonmati x fem!reader

(Sorry to my non-male attracted viewers, there’s only a tiny bit of straightness at the start!)

You and Aitana had met and instantly clicked as soon as you made the move to Barcelona, even though when you moved you had no experience speaking the Spanish language at all, Aitana used her broken English which never failed at making you laugh to teach you the basics of her first language.

When you were at Arsenal, you met a man at the bar when the team was celebrating a successful victory against Chelsea which ensured that North London stayed red. After engaging in a conversation with him, you learnt that the two of you shared similar interests including football, and he later asked you out on a date which you immediately accepted.

After a few more dates, texting back and forth, and the short but sweet kisses you two shared, he soon asked if you would be his girlfriend, which you accepted happily.

In all honesty, you hadn’t been with anyone in a while, and so when you met him, you completely misunderstood your platonic connection with him as a romantic connection between you two.

When your contract ended with Arsenal, Barcelona almost instantly reached out offering you a new contract, one that you couldn’t turn away.

At the time, you and your boyfriend were hitting the 8 month mark, you had moved in together and broke the news to him over dinner. He agreed to long distance, and when he mentioned how proud he was of you at the time, you really thought he was the one.

You two did long distance for around 3 months, almost hitting your 1 year anniversary, your boyfriend had previously explained his plans to come over on the 12th, 2 days before Valentines Day. But on February 8th, you received a phone call from him, explaining he couldn’t come as he had thought over your relationship and didn’t think it was worth it to continue long distance for over a year.

You weren’t heartbroken, but you more just felt numb, you told Aitana about what happened but failed to notice the look of relief masked by her predominantly angered state at your boyfriend for hurting you only a few days before Valentines.

The night before Valentines, Aitana had come round one again to comfort you as your head rested in her lap, and once again you missed the red tint to her cheeks as she ran her fingers through your hair. As you looked up at the brunette midfielder, you saw a look of hesitation in her eyes.

“What’s wrong tana?”

“I- I was just wondering if you would like to spend Valentines with me tomorrow? To take your mind off him.”

“As friends?” You asked, but for once the idea of you spending the day as ‘friends’ with Aitana made your heart ache.

A flash of hurt appeared in Aitana’s eyes as she answered you softly, “Yes, as friends.”

You only hummed in response and buried your head into her lap, hoping to hide the disappointment on your face.

———————————————————————

When you awoke the next morning, you were hurt to see that Aitana had left, only leaving you a short message.

From: Aitana

- I pick you at 7, formal wear.

For once, Aitana’s bad English didn’t make you laugh. Instead it reminded you of the uneasy feeling in your chest about your newfound feelings towards your best friend.

You spent most of the day moping around, trying to cure your confused mind about Aitana. You had only ever been with boys in your life, why were you beginning to feel like this now, at 24?

You knew that there was nothing wrong with figuring out your sexuality later than others, but you had listened to most of your teammates’ stories about how they figured they were into girls at 12. You are now double the age they found out about themselves, and a sense of fear settled in your chest at the thought of coming out to everyone, your friends, your family, the public.

So you called one of your closest friends, Keira.

You already knew Keira from the Lionesses team, and when you moved to Barcelona, she was quick to take you under her wing with her and Lucy being the only fluent English speakers in the team.

After a few tries of ringing Keira, the English midfielder finally picked up.

“How did you know you were into girls?”

A chuckle could be heard from Keira’s end of the call, which you made out to be Lucy sat near her.

“I just realised that what I felt for them wasn’t platonic, and was romantic feelings instead, why do you ask?”

“Aitana asked me to spend Valentine’s Day with her as friends, but I’m not sure if I want it to be more than that Kei.”

For a moment, Keira’s end of the line went quiet, which you guessed was the older girl being in thought, until you heard some rustling and then Lucy’s voice through your phone.

“Hello kid, I have news for you.”

“Lucy I swear to god if your going to make fun of me then save it, I have a real problem here.”

“Calm down kid, what I was trying to say that due to me being amazing friends with Mapi, she often talks about how when Aitana third-wheels her and Ingrid, Aitana often spends the entire time gushing about you, does that sound platonic to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“God y/n! Your useless, no wonder Aitana hasn’t asked you out yet, if your this oblivious to all her flirting!”

“She does not flirt with me!” You retorted.

“She calls you amor, lets you sit on her lap, and always blushes when you kiss her cheek, the poor girl probably thinks your 100% straight and leading her on!”

“Well actually Lucy, less than a week ago I thought I was a 100% straight, so..”

“Shut up, just treat it as a date, and kiss her at the end to get your point across and you will be fine”

“Your no help Lucy, goodbye”

And with that, you hang up still trying to process Lucy’s earlier words, Aitana talks about you to others, and now you think about it, is Aitana really flirting with you, have you mistook it as general Spanish affection?

Aitana has never been one to shy away from her sexuality, always making her disgust for romantic activities with men known. You on the other hand, had never confirmed your sexuality as straight, but equally you had only ever dated men, which left people to assume. Did Aitana share your feelings, or had you and Lucy misread the situation?

What you were unaware of though, was Lucy and Keira’s shock which they masked well on the call, and Lucy’s first words when the call ended being: ‘What the actual fuck.’

The whole team knew about Aitana’s tragically unrequited love for you, they saw each time Aitana made a hint of you to reveal your sexuality by making a comment of:

“I just don’t know how you put up with men!”

And each time, they saw how the small glimmer of hope that you would agree with her shatter as instead you laughed it off, replying with “I don’t know I just do!”

———————————————————————

As promised, Aitana’s car pulls up outside your house at 7, to which you rush out of your house ready to meet the beautiful brunette, who was clad in the most gorgeous suit you had ever seen in your entire life.

You didn’t miss how her eyes raked over your figure which was hugged by a strapless back dress which accentuated all of your curves.

She opened the passenger door for you and then walked round to the drivers side, the drive there was filled with silence, little did the both of you know, you both shared the same thoughts of what exactly the other wanted this ‘friend’ date to be.

When you got to the restaurant, you were unsurprised to see that it was some fancy 5-star restaurant that Aitana had picked out.

You had both ordered starters, mains and deserts and had chatted just as you normally would over a bottle of red wine.

Aitana couldn’t help but notice the way the red wine had slightly tinted your lips, and she wished nothing more than to have a chance to taste them some day.

Of course you noticed Aitana staring at your lips, but Aitana didn’t know that at that moment, you had realised that there was no one else you would rather be with right now. That you would trade the past year of good memories spent with your boyfriend, just to remember this one perfect night with Aitana.

“I don’t want to be here as friends.” You said nervously.

A look of shock was evident in Aitana’s eyes, “What do you mean? Have I upset you?”

“No, no! Of course not tana. I meant that I- ”

You paused for a second and made the haste decision to be completely honest with Aitana.

“God, I don’t know how to say this, I’ve never actually asked anyone out before!”

There it was, the look in her eyes that you wanted to see for the rest of your life time, the glimmer of hope that even Aitana herself thought you had fully extinguished long ago.

Aitana could not help her smile which stretched ear to ear, as she helped you out.

“Could this be a date then if you are okay with that?” Aitana asked softly.

“I would love that.”

With that you and Aitana got up and walked out of the restaurant, the previous adrenaline rush Aitana was still on from coming clean about her feelings with you, urged the brunette to lace her fingers with yours as she led you back to her car.

On the drive back, you noticed how tense Aitana looked, so with a similar sense of confidence to Aitana earlier, you grabbed her hand, which rested awkwardly on her lap and moved it to your thigh. Upon doing this Aitana’s stance relaxed visibly, and she looked over at you with a dopey smile, one which you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

When it was time to get out of the car when it pulled up outside your house, Aitana quickly scrambled up and walked you over to your door.

“I would invite you in.” You said with a smile, “But I need some time to think, okay?”

“That’s fine, I understand, I will pick you up for training tomorow?”

“I look forward to it.”

But as Aitana turned to leave, you grabbed her bicep pulling her back to you where your lips met hers in a soft, sensual kiss.

You were the first to pull back, offering her a smile, “Night tana.”

“Goodnight y/n.”

———————————————————————

The next morning, Aitana pulled outside of your house at 7:45, ready for the 8am training session, when you both arrived and got out of the car, you made the decision to hold the brunette’s hand as you walked to the locker room.

“Ready?” Aitana asked.

“Always.” You responded.

With her free hand, Aitana pushed open the door, only to hear the familiar chatter and laughter stop.

As you and Aitana came into the view of the other players, you two were met with a few wolf whistles, and many of your teammates muttering:

“I can’t believe it.”

Until Mapi comes barrelling over and basically throws herself on poor Aitana’s back.

“Well done my friend! I see you finally came to your senses and asked her out!”

Aitana’s glare was enough to silence Mapi, who instead turned to you.

“And you, miss england, I thought you were straight!”

This statement recieved yet another scowl from Aitana, who instinctively wrapped her arm around your waist.

“I never confirmed my sexuality.”

“You’ve only ever been with boys, in fact you have a boyfriend of like a year?”

“They broke up, idiot.” Aitana answered for you.

“Hey don’t call me idiot! This is just…unexpected?” Mapi said, feigning a look of hurt.

Only then did Lucy and Keira walk in, to see you with Aitana’s arms still securely wrapped around your waist.

“Ha! I told you guys and none of you believed me, every single one of you except Ona owes me €10!” Lucy exclaimed.

“You betted on us?! And they don’t owe you anything, it was an unfair bet, I already told you I liked her!” You said whilst blushing.

“Lucy you cheater!” Mapi shouted.

Lucy, ignoring them sauntered over to you and whispered “So, what type of gay are you?”

“Lucy that’s possibly the weirdest thing that you’ve ever said in your life.” You said, whilst grabbing Aitana’s hand from your waist and tugging her out if the room.

“I still can’t believe this.” Patri muttered.

———————————————————————

Please loves don’t be shy to send in some requests! 🤍

[lucyrose191]

12 YEARS LATER|S.O BLACK

Author’s note; will definitely be a part 2 to this.

Pairing; Young/POA!Sirius Black x Fem!wife!reader

Summary; 12 years after having your life ripped to pieces your godson walks into your home after returning home from Hogwarts and he’s invited someone else to come as well.

Warnings; Angst? Fluff.

HP/Marauders Master List

You had tried keeping him out in the beginning, your heart would not be able to bear the pain that a playboy could cause. You had told him so, there would be no chance of you two ever happening, never thinking his womanising personality would change, especially not for someone like you.

But if Sirius Black was anything he was unrelenting, he was determined and genuine in his advances and soon you found your heart fluttering with each sparkling smile and cheeky wink he sent your way.

Each touch would send a spark of electricity shooting through your veins and each lingering stare would burn into your skin, each a reminder of him even when you were apart.

You were sixteen when the pair of you became official, a third of your way through your sixth year of Hogwarts and the pair of you were wrapped up in coats and scarfs, adorned with a heating charm to protect you both from the cool February air at the top of the Astronomy tower.

Who knew Sirius Orion Black could be a romantic?

In that moment as he held you under the night sky, holding your hand as he raised them both into the sky, directing you to where his namesake lay, how could you have said anything but yes to him.

You had spent the best years of your life with him, moving in together at seventeen, engaged at eighteen, married at nineteen, godparents at twenty and well, twenty one had left you and your godson alone.

All Hallows’ Eve of 1981 is a day you never want to remember but it’s a day that remains as a permanent scar on your brain.

Your closest friends had lost their lives, their son had lost their parents, Remus had disappeared without a trace, Peter was dead and your Sirius had been taken to Azkaban.

You didn’t have time to grieve, you had a child to raise and offer him the best life you could and you did.

You watched him adjust to walking by himself, learn how to confess his wants and needs with more than just childish babbles and each day you’d witness as he showed more and more qualities of his parents.

Not only did he share most of his features with James Potter but he also shared his father’s cheeky personality and charisma.

However, the times where you saw Lily in him shined bright; when he’d offer to share any treat with you or when he’d climb into your bed to protect you from the monsters (you knew it was for his own comfort but it still melted your heart).

Now, that little boy was a young man and whilst it was becoming common for him to give you near heart attacks, you couldn’t be more proud of how intelligent and brave he was.

You truly saw his maturity earlier in the year when you’d had to sit him down and tell him the news of Sirius Black, that his godfather had escaped the prison he was put into for the betrayal of James and Lily Potter.

He had been hurt, you had seen that but he had handled it with grace and was more concerned about how you felt than the possible danger he was in, because you were the most important person in his life.

It was now the end of June, you had allowed Harry to make his own way home from Platform nine and three quarters upon his own request, believing he was now old enough to have that extra freedom.

It left you at home to make his favourite meal for when he gets home alone with his favourite snacks, movie and blankets set up in the living room for a movie night after dinner.

It was around five in the evening when you heard the front door being thrown open followed by the dumping of his bags and trunk being dumped on the floor.

Then heavy footsteps pounded through the hallway, shortly followed by your vision being clouded by a mess of jet black hair as Harry launched himself into your arms.

"Merlin, Harry! You’re going to break one of my ribs if you keep growing," you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him, he was growing far too quickly for your liking.

"I had the best year ever, Y/N!" He told you as he pulled out of your arms. "I think I passed all of my tests except divination but that’s a load of rubbish anyways, Hogsmeade was so much fun and Professor Lupin was actually a good teacher- oh, he told me to tell you he misses you by the way and that he’s sorry for leaving."

You smiled tightly, Harry had told you in his first letter about ‘Professor Lupin’ and whilst you were glad he had a good teacher, it was hard to ignore the pain that came with his name, he had left you and Harry alone in a time where you should’ve been able to rely on each other, you weren’t ready to see him or speak to him again.

"I’m glad you had a good year, Harry," you replied sincerely, turning back to watch the food as he continued speaking.

"Oh, and I met Sirius Black! He’s innocent so don’t worry about it, he’s actually amazing!"

You whipped your head around as the colour drained from your face. "You what?"

Harry couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he nodded "you’ll never believe it, I didn’t believe it in the beginning either but Sirius wasn’t mum and dad’s secret keeper, it was Peter Pettigrew that was secretly working for Voldemort and after my parents were murdered Sirius went to confront him but Pettigrew framed him, chopped off his finger and turned into a rat; can you believe he’s an Animagus!?"

He didn’t seem to realise how you weren’t matching his enthusiasm or how pale you’d gotten.

"Did you know Sirius could turn into a dog?"

"Harry…" you ignored his question. "You’ve seen Sirius? You’ve spoken to him?"

"Yeah!" He replied enthusiastically, not paying attention to the tone of your voice. "I wanted to talk to you about that actually, can he come and stay with us? I assumed it would be okay because the two of you are married and I thought we could be a proper family then."

You couldn’t even process what he was saying, it was as though you had completely disassociated, how could you even fathom seeing Sirius again?

The man you had loved and married all of those years ago, you hadn’t seen him in twelve years, you were two completely different people right now. He had been through unfathomable hell, hell that you couldn’t even begun to imagine and you had changed beyond belief, for Harry to believe you could just start over and pretend nothing happened was ridiculous.

And if Sirius believed that too then he was completely mad if not plain stupid.

A scratching at the door drew both your’s and Harry’s attention and the way his eyes lit up made you feel sick to your stomach. "Harry," you spoke faintly, "what is that?"

Harry titled his head at you curiously, "Well I told him where we lived so he could come and visit me, he was glad you hadn’t moved and well he wanted to see you as well."

You slowly shook your head, feeling completely overwhelmed at everything that had just been shot at you in such a small amount of time. "No no no no no, he can’t be here," you muttered frantically.

"What do you mean?" Your godson asked dumbly.

"I mean that he can’t just show up here out of the blue with absolutely no warning, we can’t just pretend that the past twelve years haven’t happened, Harry. It doesn’t work like that. We’ve both changed and we aren’t going to go back to being husband and wife. I’m happy you have your godfather back, Harry, I truly am but you need to give me some warning for this."

Harry slumped in his seat at the kitchen table. "What, so I tell him to leave? We have so much to catch up on."

The disappointed look on his face made your heart break, you had always struggled saying no to him and had probably spoilt him more than you should have but knowing that the man you had loved more than anything was on the opposite side of the door filled you with a sense of dread.

But how could you take this away from him?

You couldn’t, it was as simple as that.

You’d face your husband for the first time in over a decade if that made Harry happy because that’s all you had lived for the past twelve years, making your godson happy.

"Go and open the door," you regretfully nodded your head towards the front door, joy built up in Harry’s face as he jumped up and rushed for the front door whilst you simply stood alone in the kitchen waiting for your past to come and hit you in the face.

What were you even going to say to him?

[ladcedes]

melodrama

charles leclerc x musical theatre actress!reader, social media!au

summary a melodrama is defined as a dramatic piece with exaggerated characters and plot-lines that play to the audience’s emotions. when charles leclerc dates a queen of drama, there is bound to be some that seeps into his life.

notes yes, the title was from the lorde album. warning, google translated french

the anniversary posts

yourusername

Liked by lilymhe and 582.382 others

yourusername mon amour ❤️ i never could’ve imagined that i would spend 5 years with you… and i never imagined that i could find someone so amazing, who could make me feel like the most spectacular person in the world, the most special girl, yet also remind me of how human i am and how i’m allowed to be only human. you always manage to whisk me away from the pressures of life, push everything away, and make it feel like it’s just us in this world. you, my darling, are the comfort and calm of my soul. with you forever by my side, i can face anything

view 366 replies

12 March 2023

arthur_leclerc i can't believe it's been 5 years since you two started being publicly insufferable

⤷ charles_leclerc nous t'aimons aussi, arthur 🙄🙄🙄 (we love you, too, arthur)

carmenmmundt congrats on 5 years and cheers to many more!!

⤷ yourusername thank you love! ❤️

f1wagsite the caption is too sweet im jealous

⤷ ynfans2023 literally their relationship makes me wanna go in the bathtub with my hairdryer

charles_leclerc

Liked by alex_albon and 906.438 others

charles_leclerc always the light on my darkest days, my sunshine when it rains, melting away all my worries and doubts, always bringing me up from the lowest of low points. you are my courage and strength. you shine so brightly that you light up everything around you, including myself. you bring out the best in me and love even the worst. you give warmth to the deepest corners of my soul. with you, i’m the best and most natural version of myself. these 5 years together have been the best years of my life, i wish i had met you sooner. even eternity isn’t enough to be with you, mon étoile ❤️

view 523 replies

12 March 2023

lewishamilton congratulations guys ❤️

pierregasly congrats on 5! so where's the ring mate? 😂😂

⤷ alexalbon seconding this 😂😂

⤷ hamilfans pierre?? ALEX?? do they know something we don't or are they playing??

valenciacia the caption??? ME WHENNN 😭😭😭😭😭

⤷ f1girliee RIGHTT like "even eternity isn't enough to be with you"???? i'm going crazy.

⤷ leclercwdc i'm about to go take a bath with my toaster rn

charles_leclerc posted • 8/2/2023 | yourusername posted • 2/3/2023

charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly and 867.338 others

charles_leclerc my favourite actress ❤️ unbelievably proud of you, mon cherie @yourusername.

to be blessed with the love of such a hard-working, talented actress is an honour. you performed amazingly tonight and every other night before.

11 February 2023

view 406 comments

yourusername charlie you are such a sap (i love you so much)

⤷ charles_leclerc only for you darling (i love you more)

itsnessa they make me believe in love

⤷ loveleclerc real i don't know what i would do if they broke up

⤷ wdcleclerc i think i would lose hope in love

44britcedes my fav couple 🫶🫶🫶

yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc and 724.198 others

yourusername all's well that ends well

3 May 2023

view 698 comments

myagramm is the ring on yn's finger a new addition orrrr

⤷ pierregasly i guess we found where the ring is

⤷ leclercism beating the breakup allegations with marriage allegations. only them.

⤷ myagramm PIERRE?? HELLO???

httpsainz is that ring what i think it is

solarpiastri im actually crying they rlly said fuck the break up rumours and decided to start up engagement rumours instead

a/n: might make a part 2 if i feel like it in like 5 months

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 04

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, betrayal, mentions of abuse.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Richmond, Virginia, February 12, 2015.

In dreams, life shaped itself at your will; that was the privilege of staying asleep. In them, you didn’t have to think about how you’d get by alone the next day. Problems didn’t exist when you could idealize a world where they couldn’t touch you. In your room, you were just you, and the demons were nothing more than tenants under your bed.

Demons you weren’t afraid of because you knew that the people in the real world could be worse than anything imaginary trying to haunt you.

Gradually, the river you swam in descended as if being sucked into a whirlpool, and the forest trees around you lost their leaves, which vanished into the air. The echoes of birds and the sound of the current faded when the water no longer touched your skin.

But something still weighed down on your body.

Your airway grew increasingly restricted by the pressure around your neck, and your eyes bulged in desperation as you suddenly opened them, jerking your body upright. It took exactly two seconds to process what was happening as you slept, pushing him away and curling up in your sheets, your nails clawing at the fabric in panic.

Seth, your mother’s boyfriend, erased the dreamscape the moment he forced himself upon you. In your chest, turbulence rocked your heart as you watched the man rise from the floor like a shadow.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?” he sneered, stepping toward you with deliberate slowness, his belt buckle making noise each time it clinked against itself. “If it was that bad, you would’ve woken up a little sooner.”

The air in the room was so dense you could almost touch it, and you curled up tighter in a futile attempt to form a protective cocoon. Your movements were frozen, your joints stiff with shock. At that moment, one thought echoed in your mind: What if this wasn’t the first time? How many other times had he carefully invaded your dreams without disturbing the scenery?

A scream burst from your throat as Seth dragged you by the leg to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself between your legs, and your screams became muffled until your voice dwindled to a rasp. You had never felt so powerless before, reduced to something as fragile as paper in the face of your vulnerability, tears burning your cheeks.

Between his pauses, you tried to struggle, only to realize that wasn’t the wisest choice. Seth had twice your strength, and even though the smell of alcohol lingered in his breath, he remained in control.

When a spark of lucidity seemed to ignite in your brain, it reminded you that you’d always been a damned survivor since the world spat you out and forced you to live in it. Giving up was never an option.

“Keep breathing,” you told yourself in your mind.

You allowed Seth to get distracted while he adjusted himself, slowly reaching your free hand toward the nightstand. Your eyes glared at him with fury—the same fury that propelled you to grab hold of the lamp and smash it against his head, releasing all your pent-up rage.

As Seth lay on the floor, dazed and clutching his bleeding head, you wrapped yourself in the sheet and bolted for the bedroom door. The frantic pace of your heartbeat, as fast as a Formula 1 car, froze instantly when you met your mother in the hallway.

“Mom!” you exhaled, running into her arms. Her embrace didn’t come. She remained stiff, and you felt only her cold touch as she raised her hand.

The sheet had a bloodstain, and as you looked down, you saw that the same stain came from your star-patterned shorts. Tears choking your throat, you turned your attention to her, meeting her apathetic expression.

“Mom, Seth…” you began, your voice trembling. Something about saying it out loud felt shameful, making your body overheat. “Seth hurt me, and…”

Your words were cut off by the sharp sting of a slap across your face, the impact knocking you back. As your hand touched your cheek, you felt something warm mingling with your tears—it was blood. The ring your mother wore on her middle finger had split the skin.

“Cursed be the bearer of sin,” she growled, advancing toward you as you stumbled backward. “Damned for all your life!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Get out of my house!” your mother shouted, pointing toward the stairs. “I won’t raise a filthy creature like you in this holy home!”

“Mom, you need to listen to what I’m trying to tell you!” Your throat might have torn with the force you used to plead your case, but it was useless to her. “This isn’t the first time Seth’s done this, damn it! LISTEN TO ME!”

In a sudden burst of rage, she turned and stormed into her room, ignoring Seth, who groaned in pain beside the bed. Grabbing the first bag she saw, she stuffed it with random clothes in a rush. After zipping it shut, she threw it at you, yanked you by the arm, and ignored your cries of pain as you stumbled along.

“Never again do I want to see you cross this house’s path! Disappear with your profane body from our lives!”

“Mom!”

Accompanied by the shame she always mentioned sinners carried, as she liked to put it, you stood alone in disgrace outside the place you once called home.

At the back of the house, you managed to find a way to change clothes without being seen.

Jeans, a tank top, and boots.

Your stomach was growling with hunger, and it wouldn’t take long before the consequences of speaking too much caught up with you. Perhaps, if you had stayed silent like you always did when you felt his hands linger too long during his so-called affection, or when he insisted you sit on his lap, or all those disgusting looks he threw your way, you might still have a home—a place to sleep and take shelter from the rain.

That was the song half of your brain tried to convince the other was the right choice.

But it never would be.

When you found a warm place to sleep, maybe you’d allow yourself the opportunity to cry, but for now, during the day, you wouldn’t grant yourself such a display of weakness.

At Pearl’s bar, the atmosphere was mellow so early in the day. A few guys were drinking, others chatting with some girls leaning against the counter. When you sat down, you ordered a shot.

Two. Three. Four shots.

Pearl knew you well; you had some familiarity, having lived in the same neighborhood for many years, and she didn’t seem to care that you didn’t have a way to pay for it.

“Looks like someone needs a break, huh?” she joked, pulling the glass from your hand. “You’re not one to drink like this. Would it be too bold of me to ask what happened?”

“Would it be rude of me not to want to talk about it?” you replied, and she nodded empathetically.

“Fair enough. Then I’ll keep you company; it’s slow here anyway,” she shrugged, pouring two glasses of booze. “Can you believe the guy who used to sing here every night just vanished? My dad is freaking out. Our business is already awful, and now we’ve got no live music.”

After finishing your shot, you stared at her for a few seconds. Pearl raised her thick, red eyebrows, unsure of why you had paused. If your voice was good enough was a curious question; you hadn’t sung in a while, and your mom always said your singing style attracted bad things and that it was best to keep quiet.

But you really needed the $60 they paid per night.

It was simple—you’d sing for two nights, save up enough for a ticket, disappear from this place, and never set foot there again.

“Pearl…” you began, tracing the rim of the glass with your finger. “I think I have an idea.”

Six songs. You still couldn’t believe people might actually enjoy the sound of your voice, much less clap for it. Pearl was beaming, saying twice during the breaks that business had picked up, and the bar was abuzz about the new singer.

It created a strange sensation at the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you so much!” you said, trying to hold back a silly smile as you adjusted the old, out-of-tune guitar on your lap. It was from the bar’s storage, and you couldn’t expect much from the dusty instruments they kept there.

“Do you take song requests?” a voice called out from the back of the bar, loud enough for you to hear. From afar, all you could see was a male silhouette, playing with the ends of his long hair.

“Sure,” you said hesitantly into the mic.

“I want to hear Black by Pearl Jam, but there’s one condition,” he said, lifting his head. Meeting his eyes, even from a distance, made your skin burn.

“And what’s the condition?” you asked, the challenge evident in your tone.

“You have to let me sing it with you.”

The bar went wild with the supposed challenge from the mysterious customer who, not getting a response from you, rose from his seat. Tall, with a few tattoos visible beneath his long-sleeved shirt, and a disturbingly defiant smile that grew as he stepped closer.

Once he took a spot beside you, he let you keep the guitar, took another microphone, and when the music started, he locked his eyes on you. It was impossible not to mirror him. Your fingers stayed on the guitar, your voice never strayed from the lyrics, even though you were mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of you.

He didn’t sing with force; his voice was soft and acoustic, easy on the ears. When combined with yours, it felt almost surreal, like the union of two pieces lost until that moment.

It was as if embers were dancing across your skin. A smile escaped both your lips after the chorus, and he seemed to feel it too — as though his voice had finally been completed. No deity, no matter how powerful, could explain such a peculiar twist of fate.

Applause and whistles filled the room as the final note faded. You thanked the audience with a nod and noticed from the corner of your eye that he was still there, standing in the same spot, looking awestruck like a foolish creature.

“You don’t sing half bad…” you teased, putting the guitar back in its place. Around you, the crowd returned to their drinks and conversations after the performance.

“You’re really good,” he murmured, spinning his chair to face you. “How have I never heard your voice here before?”

“Well, I wasn’t desperate for money before,” you replied with a shrug, earning a laugh and a nod from him.

Something shifted in his gaze, and the smile vanished almost instantly when he noticed the bruise on your face. Pearl had cleaned the area, but the mark left by the ring was still visible. He stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes as if to confirm what he was seeing. “Who did this to you?”

His long fingers were determined to touch your face, but in a reflex of self-preservation, you slapped his hand away. Another smile appeared on his perfectly shaped lips, his teeth aligned and gleaming white.

He understood in a snap, without you needing to say a word.

“Hey, calm down, little storm! I didn’t mean to touch you without your permission,” he said, raising his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender. “Let’s start over, okay?”

Still wary, like a cat recently threatened with a bucket of water, you nodded. Slowly, he took a step forward, keeping a safe distance. With care, he extended his hand toward you.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Noah.”

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 12: LOOKING FOR THE NEW WORLD

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He was like a child despite being a man, one much bigger and stronger than you. Infinitely powerful, yet he could reduce himself into a creature of need so intensely that he’s convinced you that your touch is the only remedy.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, dubcon, oral sex, mentions of depression, angst, character death

ੈ✩ wc: 5k

ੈ✩ a/n: who else is sick of these two. i sure am

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

January, 2011

There’s a black cat that likes to hang out around your apartment. It’s small, a bit on the thinner side, with striking amber eyes. It reminds you of someone. 

It nuzzles against your legs now as you sit on the stoop, nursing your third cigarette of the night. Tobacco for dinner and some leftover hot and sour soup from the last time Shoko forced you to get takeout with her.

“You gotta stop with those,” she had muttered when you had finished eating, excusing yourself for a cigarette despite the snow. “You’re gonna fuck up your lungs at this rate.”

“How extremely hypocritical of you.”

“The nicotine makes you more anxious than before,” she laughed. “And I want you alive in this lifetime.”

You’d smiled weakly in response. Allowed yourself one cigarette before bed and another that was shared with her before she left for Tokyo again.

Your stomach rumbles again at the thought of real dinner. The cat sniffing you meows. 

“You’re hungry, too, huh?”

As if it understands you, it mewls. 

You ash your cigarette and scoop it up in your arms as you walk to the konbini for cat food and multiple cups of ramen. Despite the odd looks you get around the store, no one bothers you or reprimands you for having a little fur ball attached to your shoulder. 

The cat takes a liking to your apartment, immediately splaying itself on your carpet. You’d have to vacuum later if you were going to house it. Get a litter box, too. It was probably all against your lease, but it had been a long time since you had taken care of anyone other than yourself, and you were still lacking in that department ever since the previous autumn.

“Sorry about this,” you mutter as you pick up the cat, lifting it to the light. “Ah. A boy.”

The cat meows, as if agreeing. You decide to call him Jiji after the black cat in Kiki’s Delivery Service. A fitting resemblance. There’s an annoying, familiar voice in your head that tells you it’s a bit cliche.

The poor thing walks with a limp you don’t remember him having. There’s a deep cut on one of his back legs, probably left over from a stray dog that bit too hard. The flesh heals quickly with the slight of your hand.

He treats the place like a personal jungle, which is saying something considering how bare it is. You make yourself some subpar ramen, attempting to turn it into stir-fry with the puny vegetables in your fridge. It was something warm, at least. It goes nicely with the Asahi you bought. You’re allowing yourself maybe half of the six-pack tonight. Any more and you’d be inviting yourself to wade in a pool of pity.

You stare at the mini calendar on your fridge. The third of February is circled, taunting you. It wasn’t like you’d ever forget, but you marked it anyway as if to punish yourself. 

You jump when the doorbell rings. It can’t be Shoko. She’d left for Tokyo days before, and there was no reason for her to be back so soon. Utahime wasn’t the type to show up unannounced. 

For fuck’s sake, it couldn’t be. 

You didn’t even tell him where your new place was. The knocks on the door turn to a rhythmic pounding you recognize immediately and it makes you want to start digging your own hole. Begrudgingly, you open the door.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters, the curl of a lip hinting at a teasing smile. There’s barely enough time for you to process a response back because of how quickly he walks in. 

“How did you know where I lived?”

Satoru grins, teeth and all. Annoyingly bright and shark-spiked, hair covered in light snow. 

“I have my ways, baby.”

“You need to leave.”

Jiji cowers curiously by the foot of the couch, blinking at the new stranger. Satoru looks at you quizzically.

“Replaced me already?”

“Yes.” 

He ignores you and plops down the paper bags he was carrying on the kitchen counter, like he’s done it a million times before. A bottle of rose, packaged daifuku. A carton of strawberries. For some reason, nearly everything in the grocery bag is pink.

“Got you your favorites.”

“Satoru, these are your favorites.”

“Ours, then,” he huffs childishly, pouting. “I was in town for a mission. Thought you would want to, uh, do something for his birthday.”

His last sentence is rushed like it’s an afterthought, but it’s the most damning one. You can’t help the rage in your veins when he says it. As if Suguru is dead or missing instead of flourishing on his own path. Rot turned to bloom.

While you glare at him, his expression is neutral, bordering on sheepish.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts, so.”

“Because I didn’t want to talk to you,” you say bluntly.

He sighs. “You can’t ignore me, forever, y’know.”

Something bitter crawls up the cavern of your chest at the same time something heats up. It wasn’t fair, the way he looked at you all pouty. It made you feel like you did when you were merely the maid’s daughter, wanting to appease him in any way you could. You feel slightly nauseous despite your stomach feeling terribly empty. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Have you talked to him?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs.

The two of you stare at each other in silence for a bit before you clear your throat. 

“Thanks for the groceries, but you can take them back to your hotel or whatever. You can’t stay here.”

“I’m not trying to crash at your apartment, anyway.”

“Then what are you trying to do, Satoru?”

“Seduce you, I suppose,” he mutters. “I’m sure the hotel mattress I have would be better for your back. You can—”

“No.”

“Fine. Have dessert with me. A glass of wine. I just want to be with you.”

You curse yourself. Satoru is always tempting just by being himself, but you did really like the brand of wine he brought. Right now, you need a drink more than anything else. 

Watching reality TV with Satoru is not how you expect to spend your night. The silence is uncomfortable, nearly suffocating. It’s not difficult to notice how much he wants to touch you, his fingers twitching on the fabric of your couch. 

“Where’d this fucker come from?” He nods his head towards Jiji, who has jumped onto your left shoulder. You can sense jealousy in his tone, funnily enough.

“Don’t call him that,” you scold, rolling your eyes. “He was a stray. Got bitten by something so I healed him up.”

“How lucky.”

“Uh huh.”

Satoru clears his throat and thumbs around the rim of his wine glass. Fidgety. He leans closer to you, petting Jiji as an excuse. 

“How’s the… independent study? Or whatever.”

“It’s good. I work at the greenhouse every other day.”

He nods slowly and pours you both another glass. It doesn’t take long for you both to finish the bottle. His cheeks are as pink as the daifuku, half-eaten and abandoned on a plate in front of him. You’ve graduated to playful quips despite your mostly guarded demeanor, feet hoisted on his lap as he rubs them absentmindedly. 

“You should probably get back to your hotel.”

“Huh?”

You look at him. Satoru’s gaze flickers in between mischief and reverence. He’s also clearly not paying attention to what you’re saying considering his eyes are fixed on your bare shoulder. 

“It’s late,” you sigh.

“Not that late,” he scoffs. “S’not even ten.”

“I have a lab early tomorrow,” you lie.

“...Alright. Wanna finish this for me, then?” He holds out the last half of the mochi and feeds it to you. He blushes slightly. You still open your mouth for him without having him to ask. 

“It’s good.”

He nods. Leans over to wipe a bit of red bean paste off the corner of your mouth with his thumb. His eyes lower onto your lips as he sighs, right before he kisses you.

You let him. 

He feels the same as he always does. It’s been almost two months since you’d touched him — the last time being inside a karaoke bar bathroom an hour after Shoko had convinced you to come out for Satoru’s birthday. 

You had done so, unwillingingly, still not over the wound of being left and still angry with Satoru. Even so, it was still easy for him to make your knees weak, leading you into a random stall in the men’s bathroom while Shoko and Utahime forced Nanami to sing an 80s ballad. 

It was your first time properly spending time with the underclassman, so it embarrassed you immensely to walk out with your lipstick smudged. You remember overhearing Nanami ask Utahime about you and Satoru, to which she simply laughed in pity.

They’re on and off?

Divorced right now, Shoko had quipped.

Gojo was married to her?!

Fuck no. He wishes.

“Sato—” you mumble into his mouth.

He shuts you up with his tongue against yours, his hand cupping your chin. You knew he would get you a little tipsy and probably make a move, and you knew full well that you would let him. He chased you easily even when he could have anyone he wanted. 

His movements are sloppy and languid. Drunk, perhaps — he was a lightweight through and through. He groans lightly at the taste of you, how sweet you are like always. His other hand moves to your nape, clutching the back of your head to rest on the couch cushion with him hovering over you. Already, he was slotting his knee in between your legs. 

Satoru could already feel his insides stir at the thought of being inside you again. It had been too fucking long. He was sure that his dick would probably melt once you let him in. 

When you feel his hand underneath your sweater, you break the kiss. He sees it as an interruption rather than an end as he chases you, face leaning in again. He was pretty when he was drunk on you, eyes half-lidded like that. It was infuriating. 

It takes you a slight push and a turning of the head for him to realize that you don’t want him. 

“Why are you—”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I– I don’t want to.”

His face falls. You can’t stand it, how he looks like a kicked puppy. You refuse to fall for it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?” he tries. “To the hotel?”

You’d slap him if you could. Your hands don’t move an inch. They only tremble.

“I said no. I’m sorry—” Why are you apologizing? “I have to get to bed.”

He blinks at you, dejected. For once, he doesn’t beg. Doesn’t give you a smartass reply. He stands and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Okay,” he sighs. He wants to reach out and touch you, but he doesn’t. “Sweet dreams, Twigs.”

June, 2010

There’s a funeral before you leave for Kyoto. It’s the first time you deal with the corpse of a classmate.

You’d watched Shoko work in the morgue meticulously, wrapping the body in plastic. You knew she was probably used to the smell of death by now. At that moment, you were both numb to it.

“You don’t have to stay here, Nanami-kun,” you told your junior softly. He’d been sitting next to you in a plastic folding chair with a warm towel over his eyes for nearly half an hour, saying nothing.

“It’s fine. Not like they’d dare to assign me another mission right away.”

You glance at Nanami now, dressed in all black, and his face looks even more tired than it was under the morgue fluorescents. Sallow and pale, his complexion matching Suguru’s. 

You were all much too young to go to so many funerals.

The smell of death still lingers at the ceremony, too. It must be psychosomatic, the way the suffocating temple air makes your gut twist into itself. Yu Haibara’s smiling portrait stares back at you. 

You’d never experienced anything like this before. You knew the cost of being a jujutsu sorcerer, the horror of nearly losing Satoru the subject of your nightmares. It was different for it to be real, to pick up the bones of a boy whose light shone so brightly with chopsticks. 

Suguru looks older than he is. You noticed lately that the circles under his eyes have gotten worse, sometimes like a bruised purple in the shadows of his room. He didn’t leave it often, never opened his blinds despite it being summer. Morose as he is, he still looks beautiful.

You sit in between him and Satoru during the service. You shed no tears. No one does—the grief is all-consuming, wrangling everyone by the throat. You’re sure your fellow classmates are feeling numbness more than anything. 

You crawl into Suguru’s bed that night. He almost doesn’t acknowledge you, save for the movement of his arm over your middle when you nestle into his chest. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower he took. He hadn’t bothered to put his clothes back on.

“You okay?” you whisper. “We missed you at dinner.”

“Migraines,” he mumbles. He’s been getting a lot of them lately. That or nausea. Another thing that was psychosomatic—Suguru could barely eat lately because of the nausea. Even when he eats enough, it’s there, as if the curses he swallows are making a cesspool of his gut. 

He blames it all on heat fatigue, but you know better. Even with his model-like cheekbones, his face is starting to look a little thinner. 

“Did you take anything for it?”

“Yeah,” he lies. He might’ve taken some gas station gummy just so he could pass out and maybe not wake up for twelve hours before you came in. 

You hum softly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. It’s too wet for him to be resting on his pillow. You want to comb it for him, dry him with the towel like a beloved pet. He breathes shallowly as he revels in the feeling of your fingers across his scalp.

“Have you been drinking enough water?”

“Christ. Yes.”

Suguru immediately regrets his sharp tone the minute he sees your eyes flicker with meekness. He sighs, cradling you closer.

“Sorry. I’m just… fucking tired.”

“Yeah, me too.” There’s an awkward silence. 

“God,” you mumble, almost to yourself. “What happened was horrible.”

“Ha. That’s reality. Could be any of us tomorrow, or the next day.”

It’s an awful thing to say, but you know he’s right. He doesn’t say it to be spiteful or insensitive, but his words sting nonetheless. It’s the air of bitterness you can sense from the lilt of his tongue. You know it isn’t directed at you, but it still feels uncomfortable when you’re trying to be affectionate with him. 

He looks at the sadness in your eyes and makes an attempt to change the subject. “Do you wanna… watch a movie or something?”

“I should probably go to bed soon. I have an early mission tomorrow.”

“Seriously? After what just happened?”

“I don’t really have a say in what gets assigned to me,” you say sheepishly. 

“We all keep throwing ourselves back into work. The very work that gets our friends killed,” Suguru scoffs. “And for what? For a bunch of weaklings? Fuck.”

You pinch your brows together. “Suguru–”

“They’re the ones making the curses, anyway,” he mutters. “It’s fucking ironic that we have to protect the weak but we’re the ones who are never protected. Always martyred, instead.”

“The weak?”

“Non-sorcerers. Us sorcerers exist to protect the weak—it’s bullshit, sometimes.”

“You sound like Satoru.”

He lets out a bitter laugh at that. “So I’ve really gone off the deep end, huh?”

“No,” you sigh, caressing his jaw. “We’re all just grieving. I’ve been feeling a little crazy, too.”

He looks at you earnestly, licks his lips. “Kyoto will be nice.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I suppose it will be nice.”

“Don’t you get sick of it all?”

“Of being a sorcerer?”

Everything, he wants to scream.

“I don’t know. It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself. I mean, for others, too—that’s the whole thing—but it means more. Like I’m… worth something.”

“You’re worth a lot more than that. You always have been.”

There’s a hint of desperation in his voice, as if he’s also telling himself the same thing. You’re not exactly sure what he means. You like being useful, you’ve learned to like having to perfect your technique. You know you will never be as strong as Satoru or Suguru. You don’t know that Suguru is metamorphosing into something beyond his control, ever since he saw a bullet go through a girl’s skull.

His words stick with you as you fall asleep in his bed.  

You’re worth more.

September, 2010

You feel like you’re about to vomit. Blood trickles down Satoru’s palm, the sharp pin of the button in his hand still in his unfurling fist. 

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Yaga-Sensei grimaces. “Suguru fled after killing everyone in the village.”

You can’t look anyone in the eye. You only stare at the blood on Satoru’s palm, thinking of his hands, of Suguru’s. Hands that were soft around your neck, rough on your waist and down the planes of your thighs. Hands that killed 112 people in a small village. 

When you couldn’t call him, you took the bullet train to Tokyo immediately. You thought he’d gone missing, ran away, anything but the reality of the situation. Suguru could be sharp-tongued, had rigid edges, but he was always kind. He believed in fairness above all—it was what you admired most about him. Even when he could be cruel, he could be kind.

You didn’t think he could be cruel enough to commit a mass murder in cold blood. You feel the hallway spinning, nausea crawling up your sternum and up to your head. Suguru had killed a village, and he’s left you and Satoru, and he didn’t even say goodbye.

You really need to lay down before you throw up. 

Yaga cancels your missions, so you have nothing to distract you. Nothing to do with your hands except curl your fingers around the cool bed sheet beneath you. For the next day, you stay like this — twisted inside yourself, knees tucked to your chest. Satoru is there, too, and for the first time in his life, he has nothing to say. This is a kind of grief that neither of you knows how to deal with.

“Satoru,” you whisper. “We should eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you haven’t eaten since this morning,” you frown.

He shrugs. He was fine with laying in bed with you, suspended in the thick tension of unspoken words. Satoru was often explosive when he was angry, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything about Suguru’s betrayal. Not unless he could find him on his own, but at this rate, Suguru could be out of the city already. 

He’s slightly watery-eyed. Something is dormant inside of him and you’re waiting for it to snap, show its teeth. You are ready to be the thing in between his canines.

He takes you eventually. Wakes you in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, prompted by nightmares of fire and bloodshed and Suguru’s glare. Satoru claws at you in his sleep until you’re holding his face and shaking him, telling him to breathe slowly. 

His breathing only gets faster. The hole that Suguru leaves inside of him needs to be filled. 

And then, your hair is in between his fists, your flesh in between his teeth. He has to take you apart so you’re like him, but you know that you had fallen apart the moment Suguru’s phone number failed when you tried to call him. 

“Satoru,” you whine. “Slow down.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, his voice rough as he gropes you in the dark. “Fuck, sorry. Need you. Missed you.”

With the way he manhandles you, you might think he’s sleepwalking. His eyes are wide open, midnight blue in the darkness. He whines when you turn away from him. 

“Please,” he chokes out. “Need it.”

You’d seen him like this before. Desperate, begging, frantic—usually because he was upset or angry. He would never tell you the details of what was in his head, only that he absolutely needed you, needed your body to satiate him. Your body was a temple for him to confess and repent in, yet it hollowed you out as if you were the one sinning.

“Shhh,” you coo, nervous. “It’s alright.”

He was like a child despite being a man, one much bigger and stronger than you. Infinitely powerful, yet he could reduce himself into a creature of need so intensely that he’s convinced you that your touch is the only remedy. 

You wrap your arms around him and he intertwines your legs together. You can feel his cock against your stomach. His face is buried in your neck, teeth nipping your collarbone. You always let him take all of you when he’s like this, never minding the feeling of being stretched thin, a taut sinew inside a predator’s mouth. You would be the balm to his chaos, always.

He lets out a heavy breath when he moves your panties to the side and his tip catches on your entrance. It’s a sound of relief, of quenched thirst. You gasp when he fits himself all the way inside you. Your body feels like a geyser ready to erupt.

He’s done this before after nightmares, after tough missions. Sometimes you would be asleep —you told him you didn’t care, and usually, you don’t. To be wanted by Satoru felt like a blessing even when it hurt like a curse.

You were sick on each other. 

His movements are hurried, kissing your neck sloppily as he ruts against you. He pushes inside and begins with quick thrusts. A full nest inside of you, your walls melting. He squeezes you tightly, his arms almost painfully clutching your waist as if he needed you tethered to him, skin sticking to skin. 

You aren’t wet enough for you to cum just yet. It was aching in you a little bit, the deepness of his cock inside you.

“S-Satoru,” you whine. “Hurts.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up — fuck — make it up to you.”

He pulls out of you and throws you against the bed, holding your legs down and parted for his mouth. He eats you like a meal, his mouth sucking on your clit brutally enough for you to become overwhelmed. He sighs as he feels you gush around his fingers. 

“Close,” you gasp. “Fuck me.”

He turns you over and humps in between your legs, slipping in and holding you down. His weight on you is almost comforting. Your head feels like it’s underwater. 

“You can take it,” he hums. He kisses your nape, bites at your shoulder. If he wasn’t so delirious about it, needing you as much as he does, he would take his time. Write his name into your skin with love bruises.

His cock had to be stirring your insides together, your cunt like whipped butter. He groans when you clench around him. He knows how close you are, despite being half-asleep, half-feral. He’s had you memorized. 

It was too hot for him to be on you like this, his body too heavy. You come at the same time, both of your voices blending together into a choked whimper. Your hair sticks to your neck with sweat.

“Y’feel so good,” Satoru mutters. “All the time.”

He gets up to piss eventually, otherwise he probably would’ve fallen asleep inside you. You hadn’t noticed the small tears at the corner of your eyes. You come back to yourself, feeling a flurry of emotions come out of your pores—sweat and tears, Satoru’s warmth spilling out of you like dripping candle wax. 

He holds you again and strokes your hair in silent apology. You fall asleep. You don’t dream.

He’d fucked you into the next afternoon, apparently, because you don’t wake up until 1 pm. The sheets are warm with his presence, but there isn’t a warm body next to you.

When he comes back, his eyes are bloodshot. 

“Satoru?”

“He… he left,” he says. 

“What do you mean he left?” 

“Shoko found him and called me. He thinks he can create a world without non-sorcerers, he’s fucking—“

“Satoru!” you snap. 

He shuts up, looks at you with big eyes, wet and dark. 

“You— you saw him?”

“Yeah, just now—”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you demand.

He blinks at you, at a loss for words. He was half-asleep when Shoko called, scrambled to put on pants before he basically warped to the middle of Shinjuku. Seeing Suguru again was whiplash. 

“I didn’t want to—you look so peaceful when you’re sleeping, y’know,” he stammers, running a hand through his haphazard white locks. Lingering bedhead. “And I didn’t want Suguru to think we were, you know, ganging up on him—”

“I wouldn’t care about being woken up if I got to see him!” you scoff. 

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset he’s my… he’s my friend, too!”

I loved him, too.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”

You must be red in the face. Your face stings with a wash of irritation, your nose twitching as if you’re about to cry. 

“What did you say to him?”

“He’s turned his back on Jujutsu society. That’s all there is to it. He thinks it’s justice.”

“You didn’t try to stop him? You just let him go?”

“I couldn’t kill him. You know that,” he says, his expression hard. 

Your throat catches on a lump, a ball of malignant rage threatening to choke you. The red string that connects you and Suguru has frayed limp. Between you and Satoru, it only tightens around your neck. 

“I could’ve talked to him,” you start babbling. “I could’ve–”

“Don’t be stupid. You know how stubborn he is. You really think that you would’ve made a difference?”

You narrow your eyes, wiping them before tears start to fall. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I just… I just know him–”

“And I don’t?” you snap. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

Satoru scoffs. “You don’t get it. He’s set on this idea of his. You wouldn’t have changed his mind, I promise you.”

You shut your eyes, feeling the dagger of his gaze twist itself into your chest. There was that feeling again—knowing that you would never be like either Satoru or Suguru. You knew that perhaps Satoru would have more power over him, and despite that, he still left. 

You weren’t there for the past two months, didn’t see the dead look in his eyes. You would never understand him. You think that maybe no one would. You hate how desperately you wanted to know him, how intensely you would claw your way for love in a way that mattered. Years of being with Satoru proved that—you still felt beneath him. Beneath both of them.

“Hey. Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t shut down. You always do that when you get upset,” Satoru grimaces.

You chew on the skin under your lip nervously. Your hands shake. You hate that Suguru has probably only shown a certain percentage of himself to you. There was no room for you to be entitled to the intricacies of his brain. 

The space between you and Satoru is a chasm. You don’t know what to do with your frustration. The only options in your head right now are to take it out on him or let it fester within yourself until you explode. Neither will do much in terms of closure. 

Satoru stares at you with jealousy stirring underneath his skin. It’s the earnestness in your hurt expression. It’s making the guilt inside him multiply like a virus.

“Are you in love with him?” Satoru asks, his voice hoarse.

You blink at him. “I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Do you love him more than you love me?”

“What? What does that have to do with–”

“Just answer.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mutter. 

Satoru winces, your words a sharp sting to his face. He hadn’t preferred either of you over the other, but he was protective of you in a way that he didn’t feel for Suguru. It ran deep enough to make him crazy—Suguru knew that. For some reason, it wasn’t anything that Satoru could admit out loud. 

He sighs heavily. “I love both of you. You know that.”

“Why are you asking this, Satoru?”

“Because… fuck. Because it doesn’t matter how much you and I loved him! It doesn’t fucking matter. He’s gone, okay?”

He’s too consumed with the thought of you beside him on that sidewalk, surrounded by a crowd. Tunnel vision set on a beautiful boy with sharp eyes, casually ready to leave the both of you in the dust. Part of him hates how much you love Suguru, how much Suguru seemed to love you back. He hates how much you’re fussing over his best friend when all he’s ever done since he met you was fuss over you. 

He hates how much he loves Suguru. So much so that out of his own selfishness, he wanted to face him alone when Shoko called. He didn’t want you beside him when he confronted Suguru, didn’t want to see the inevitable tears on your face once Suguru walked away. 

Satoru is convinced that you were made from him, and if he’s lost one soulmate, he refuses to lose another. 

And yet, you look at him coldly, like you’re going to leave, and his heart jumps out of his chest.

[snaccpopstudios]

Guest Artist of the Month: Mars_Arts!

This February, we had the absolute pleasure of introducing one of our newest projects, Guest Artist of the Month! Alongside CheesyCryptid, we were able to see her fantastic work and, best of all, the support that you guys gave us!

So it's just about time to introduce our next artist, isn't it~?

@Mars_Arts needs no introductions, she's an absolute powerhouse when it comes to art and she's been one of the artists we've been watching since they started! Last month, we had some beautiful pieces commemorating our boys, and this month, we will be doing the same but with more spicy pieces~.

During March, our $12+ Patreon subscribers will receive the following for this collab:

- 2 unique wallpapers from the Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack IP   - One of these will be NSFW, and the other one will be SFW. - Phone variations for each wallpaper! - Full sketch and lineart of each wallpaper - Artist's commentary on the piece, process, etc.

After some discussions, we've also discussed the possibility of getting a third piece done; this one will be included if it does happen, but no promises!

We are thrilled to be able to introduce these new artists to some of you, they will absolutely take your breath away! Or, alternatively, bring a spotlight to those artists you already know and love! Thank you to all of you for giving us your support, as without it we wouldn't be able to do any of this.

And just as a quick reminder, you will only be able to get these pieces on the Patreon and nowhere else!

Thanks to all of you for reading, and thank you Mars for helping us with this amazing collaboration~! <3

[doomsayersunited]

A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm.  A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping.  A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

[cursedmoon-doll13]

Blackhearted

(Sirius Black x Reader)

Cw: Noncon, Angst, Smut, Afab Reader, Dark!Sirius, PnV Sex, Somnophilia, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Crying, Forced Orgasm, Tender But Nasty™️, References to Alcohol Abuse, Reader has head + pubic hair, this got kinda bleak and depressing

READ WITH CAUTION

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: 12 Grimmauld Place is a miserable home.

But for now, it is yours. A lost and vulnerable soul, you find refuge in the owner of the house; a man as troubled as yourself. Unbeknownst to you, he’s sunken his teeth in far deeper; clutching onto you like a lifeline, and the dark, harrowing isolation of winter may drive him to commit acts unforgivable…

Ao3 || Masterlist || Dividers by @/saradika

In mid-February, it’s so cold, so desolate, it reminds him of sharp, icy fingers, clamping down on— His childhood home, decrepit with neglect and age, is the last place Sirius ever hoped to return to. It’s lost, crumbling into undignified ruins, deteriorating into filth. With his pest of a house elf still clinging to the old family values, it’s properly gone to the dogs, and he’d gladly let them pick off the carcass. 

But now you’re hiding alongside him - not by choice - you’ve taken it upon yourself to try and ‘fix it up.’ Sirius almost scoffs at the mere thought of it— At you, whose nose wrinkles distastefully at the grime and mould that gracefully adorns his kitchen. You don’t understand that the disease has progressed far beyond the point of recovery. It’s everywhere; it’s in the air you breathe, in the walls, in the carpet. It’s lurking inside the very infrastructure, festering like cancerous growth. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, haunted by its rotting opulence: the decaying decor, the cursed, priceless artefacts, the tattered, hateful portraits, courtesy of mum. 

Sirius, who has long since forgotten the luxury of owning his own clothes, wraps himself in the same mothball ridden finery his father died in. Sometimes he feels— He’s eaten alive by the fabric. By vestiges of the past. It still stinks of stale drink, and on nights like these, Orion’s son glares down at the bottom of an empty wine bottle, and thinks that he might be following in his footsteps after all.

On a night like this, the aged floorboards squeak under his heels as he prowls the dilapidated halls. Sirius’ stalking route leads to you, as it usually does, far past midnight. Your bedroom door is sealed tightly shut - probably to keep the heat in - but you never lock it. As if he isn’t dangerous. 

Gripping the weathered knob, he twists it, and lets himself in. The dim, yellowy glow of the gaslamp bolted to the corridor wall is his only light, flickering as it pours into the musty guest room he’s lent you. Sirius lingers on the precipice, his fingers still curled around the handle, sobering up rapidly. 

Blinking slowly, he looks down at you. 

You’re lying on your side, both arms grasping the pillow, dressed in that novelty pyjama set (‘to ward off the draught,’ was the unspoken function of it) Tonks had gifted you for Christmas; a sort of consolation prize. Greatest sympathies, to prepare you for the sordid husk you’ll now inhabit— With him, no less, a man you thought at first to be a killer.

And you, well… You’ve been left skittish from whatever you’re on the run from. He reckons that’s why you’ve latched onto him so powerfully, hoping this unredeemed convict will see fit to protect you from the isolation and the horrors. To help fill the long stretches of time when it’s just been the both of you to keep each other company. Sirius can’t deny his own strong attachment towards you. 

Your presence is comforting, and he’s fallen deeply. Too deeply. It’s why he so often finds himself standing here, watching over you. Sirius envies you, the peaceful sleeper. But he also covets you; if only you’d stay and lay beside him, to heal wounds never spoken of… But he doesn’t know how to ask. 

Silently, he crosses the boundary. 

Rising over your unconscious form, he lifts the quilt, a heavy, lumpy thing, and tentatively rests his knee on the mattress. You sleep peacefully on, even as the rusty old bed-springs squeak underneath him. Sirius slides his exhausted body in behind you, and the dark mass of his own scraggly black hair spills over the cushion. For a moment, he lies there, unmoving and quiet. Even at this safe, chaste distance, your body heat, radiating off you in gradual waves, is enough to soothe the permanent chill that’s seeped into his bones… Sirius can’t resist. He shifts, before placing his forefinger over your throat. 

Sirius can feel your pulse, throbbing with blood; you’re a real, flesh and blood human, warm and alive. Merlin, he’s been deprived for so long, a strong vein feels like it’s a lifeline. This is all he’s ached for, but— No... No. He’s already overstepped a line, one he shouldn’t have ever— He needs to stop, he needs to leave, now, before this all goes too far and he ruins it; ruins you, as he knows he inevitably will. 

But he doesn’t. Sirius’ breath catches in his throat as he tilts his chin ever-so-slightly, and he presses his cold mouth against your exposed nape. You twitch, but do not stir. Sirius licks his dry lips and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, as he nudges down the fleeced collar of your pyjama shirt with his thumb. The slope of your neck is covered in fine, delicate hairs, and he can’t help but smile affectionately down at you. Your defenceless state is sweetly endearing. To be so close to you like this, almost holding you, tender as lovers. 

Sirius hesitates, then, squeezing his eyes shut as he endures the lurch of churning revulsion in his gut (he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t—), he leans forward and plants a string of wet kisses over your bare flesh. So human, so vulnerable… You twitch again, shivering as the ticklish brush of his whiskers rubs lightly over your naked skin. Shame burns like acid in his stomach; but his need for you burns brighter, hotter than fire now, all-consuming… He heaves a jagged sigh, and, unable to stop himself, drags the starving flat of his tongue over your neck, lapping up hungry stripes of perspiration. Sirius tightens his grip on you and shudders with relief— He’s finally quenched his thirst, if only a little. Your intoxicating scent, your taste… 

He’s stolen things, too, before this; he’s not proud of it, but he’s done it. It’s convenient enough to blame it on Kreacher, who hoards all sorts of objects in the first place… What is the difference, really, between the Black family heirlooms and soiled knickers from the wicker basket? No, It hasn’t been so hard to convince you it was Kreacher; to lie and to fib— his old, senile house elf is simply a raging kleptomaniac… You trust him so much… And now Sirius has gone and betrayed that trust entirely. 

Merlin, he needs to stop, he needs to… This should be enough… No, it’s not enough… It’s never enough, he’s barely touched you… Sirius groans feebly into the nape of your neck, slipping the palm of his hand under your nightshirt, desperate for your sacred, lifesaving heat, just a little bit— And then he’ll stop, immediately— just a tiny bit more… You shiver once more, twitching repeatedly as the pads of his fingertips skim over your stomach, still asleep… Sirius brushes his lips over your throat again, as he locks you in wiry arms, inching up your shirt, exposing you to the dark and cold. He traces the slats of your ribs, searching further, until he comes to knead coyly at your breast, teasing your nipple. He dips, finding the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, thumping robustly… Proof of life. 

And you’re definitely real, aren’t you? Not a hallucination, not some illusion… He’s sleepless for the nightmares, but the dreams are always worse, because they remind Sirius of everything he can’t have, not ever again… But he can have you. This stray thought, forceful and insidious, leaks into the dark recesses of his brain. Yes, He can have you— It’s his house, his rules, isn’t it? 

Fuck, he’s disgusting. The realisation of what he’d just conceived of, even momentarily, assaults him with a new stab of remorse. Sirius flinches away, pulling his offending hand out of your pyjamas; but the damage has already been done. By now, he’s pressed flush against you, leeching off your comforting warmth, and his dick is straining tightly against his trousers. Merlin… He’s perverse. 

He throws his forearm over his eyes, blinding himself. Sirius intended for this to be a wholesome encounter, to be sweet and innocent. And now… Have all those years of degradation truly rotted him to the core? Is this what he’s become now? A lustful wretch? This has gone too far, too far— He should leave— 

But now, Sirius has known your touch, and it’s embedded itself parasitically into his mind. He’s swiftly hurtling into addiction; he can’t settle for mere table scraps— To retreat with his tail between his legs, only to find a cold and lonely bed, would be unbearable... Sirius rattles a breath, grasping onto that frayed rope of inherited entitlement he’d meant to cut off a decade ago— He deserves this one thing, surely, after a life of torment… Right? 

You twitch again, mumbling incoherently. Sirius grimaces. He needs to be careful… You might be a heavy sleeper, but he’s already disturbed you too much. If you wake up screaming… He wouldn’t like to think of what he might do. But he’ll stop— He’ll stop after this, he swears it to himself, licking his lips, feeling harder and hungrier than ever. 

Sirius’ forearm props up your leg for him to gain enough access, spreading your thighs open. It’s awkward, but he manages. He tugs down the waistband of your pyjama bottoms, just a bit, so he can touch you, feel you so close to him… Sirius’ hand brushes over a soft tuft of your pubic hair, and he twitches a faint smile… So endearingly vulnerable, before dipping his fingers into your pussy. 

You’re not aroused, but the heat of your core is enough to satisfy him, if only temporarily. Sirius hasn’t done anything like this for a long time; it feels unfamiliar, like all human contact does. He nudges away the curls, tracing your labia, before recalling the shape and form of it, and gently rubbing your clitoris. Fondness, mixed in with his sickening shame, rushes into him, and he presses his lips to your nape again, pleading and soothing like an apology. 

Then, Sirius bites his tongue, justifies himself with the excuse of repaying you with sweet dreams, and pushes his index finger deeper inside your pussy. He hums quietly, indulging in your little twitches, the way your walls flutter around him. It’s not particularly romantic to pleasure you without receiving consent, but lying back-to-chest in the darkness, planting scorching kisses down your neck, he can use his mind to fill in the gaps. Easing out his intruding hand, Sirius tastes the heady flavour of your slick— Merlin. He licks his fingers greedily, drenching them in spit, before plunging them back into your warm cunt, spreading wetness over your folds. 

You let out a sleepy whimper at his touch, and he pauses, going completely stiff with alarm. But— But you haven’t woken up… And now he’s uncontrollable, beyond all morality, relishing in your soft, breathless gasps as he toys with your clit, his damp fingers sliding easily in and out of your pussy. You moan faintly, and the noise vibrates straight to his cock. He’s throbbing, now... Groaning, he forces down his guilt and remorse, discarding them as trite, worthless things. You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? Though you’re still fast asleep— Yes, maybe you’ve hoped for this all along… Secretly. Secretly. Of course, you’ve just been too embarrassed to admit it, but that’s fine… Right now, you’re all his. 

But that’s still not enough. 

Sirius knows what he truly needs; to bury himself inside of you, to merge with you entirely, to steal your warmth for himself— This aching desire, it’s wrong, so revoltingly wrong, but so is he; the entire expanse of flesh covering his body feels like prison, mired in filth, and he’ll never be clean again… He only wishes you could alleviate his pain— Oh, but you can, Sirius will find solace in your heat even if he has to take it from you. He grinds his palm against his temple as he decides. He fights it, but his selfishness wins… Yes, he needs it, needs you— Fuck, he’s about to do something unforgivable, commit a genuine offence; but he’ll make it up to you, of course he will— 

Sirius carefully shuffles down your pyjama bottoms until they’re bunched up around your ankles, followed by your moist panties. He shifts, now painfully hard and weeping in his trousers, and allows your thigh to fall momentarily to unbutton them and release his erection. Rigid and leaking precum, his dick falls over your ass. He readjusts his position on the bed and strokes himself roughly, before hooking his forearm around your leg and lifting it. You jerk unceremoniously and mumble, stirring, but he ignores you— He’s too close, he’s gone too far now… Gritting his teeth, Sirius guides his cock into you, finding you elusive and slippery in the dark, but— The slick of your folds sliding along his length feels heavenly. Sirius licks his lips, smearing precum over your inner thighs, and finally enters you. 

He stifles a raspy moan into your neck. The hug of your tight, wet heat is almost overwhelming— Shuddering, he wholly eases himself inside you. Merlin, you feel so perfect around him… Sirius, gasping rapturously, begins to move, savouring every long, torturous drag against your gummy walls. You’re rousing, now, slurring confused murmurs— “What, what’s going on, hm…”

Sirius doesn’t miss the flutter of lashes, a sharp intake of breath— But he continues, regardless, thrusting in slow, tender arcs. Flinching, you let out a strangled, high-pitched noise, and that’s how Sirius knows you’re truly awake— But he’ll make it up to you, he will— he spreads your thighs wide, to penetrate further, sucking affectionate bites into your neck as he ravishes your quivering body. You tremble and shriek, and your panicked struggling fills him with guilty regret. But he needs this now, he needs you now, he’s been alone for too long— And he’s not going to stop until he’s finished taking you… Feverish, Sirius’ other forearm digs underneath the pillow you’re clutching onto, white-knuckled. He tightens his grip on you before he sinks in deeper, spearing into your intimate core

You whimper, spasming involuntarily. Sirius rumbles with approval, his lips still latched onto your throat. He grabs your thigh firmly, bracing himself against the old headboard. He growls and snaps his hips upward, hitting that delicious spot over and over, trying to elicit more of those sweet noises from you. Even if you’re being frustratingly reticent - too shy, he pretends - you’re still unable to muffle your cries, twitching and writhing in his relentless grasp.

The bed creaks noisily as he hastens his pace, showering wet kisses on your rapidly bruising flesh. His movements are heated and urgent now, growing increasingly desperate— Now he’s inside you, he must fill you utterly— He longs to feel alive with you, slipping a hand down towards where you join together and connect, feeling the way his cock effortlessly slides in and out of your pussy. He dips further to rub harshly at your clit, and you whine, arching. Sirius strokes you mercilessly, his wrist cramping from the awkward positioning— 

But it doesn’t matter, you’re spurring him on with your ecstatic moans, croaky with tears. He doesn’t let up, teasing in sloppy, frantic circles as he bucks into you, revelling in the stickiness of your skin against his; the lewd, wet sound of flesh-on-flesh is obscene. Sirius groans hoarsely, his hips jerking and stuttering as your cunt squeezes around his dick with his every forceful thrust— You are enjoying this…    

Fuck, he is too— Hot pleasure jolts up his spine like the tightening of a knot; and you, crying out with loud whimpers as your spongy insides clench and squeeze around him— Sirius can’t take it anymore. He forgoes gentleness, pounding into your cunt with beastly intensity. You choke out a sob, lurching away from him, but he overpowers and holds you down, still abusing your sensitive clit— He’s going to fuck you until you cum, whether you want it or not— And his hungry mouth returns to sink livid, red marks into your neck, teeth grazing your artery. Something in the wooden bed frame cracks ominously— 

But he ignores it, his breathing growing laboured and husky as he slams his hips into you, again and again, forcing you to whine until your voice breaks. You’re shaking violently in his grip— He can sense it, and you’re close, so close— He’s getting sloppier; rapidly approaching orgasm, and your reactions are boiling his blood, whipping up a primal frenzy in his brain— Sirius pinches your clit, and you climax. 

Your euphoric moan chokes into a loud sob. Sirius growls at the way you clench around him, and pins you down with his body weight. His hand slips and pushes your leg up high, fucking you harder still through your orgasmic tremors— He’s following right behind you, on the cusp— You’re impossibly tight—

Merlin, you’re so damn tight— Sirius barely remembers to— He pulls himself out with a heavy groan, and his seed spills messily over the inside of your thigh. Hazy static pours over him, smothering the guilt, the emptiness… As it gradually tapers out, he feels the absence of your heat, of your closeness, and it pangs like the pain of starvation. It takes a moment for him to recover, lying beside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Then, he pushes himself up onto his elbow. 

Panting, Sirius’ damp hair clings to his forehead, stinging his eyes. He wipes it, and fog clears, revealing only desecration.

As if murdered, you lie very still— Or try to, but your breathing is ragged and uneven. You’re glistening with orgasmic sweat, chest heaving as he rests your trembling leg back onto the mattress. You jolt, as if hiccuping, still wracked with sobs. Sirius’ heart aches for you— Merlin, no, what has he done?— He wants to take this moment back, but it’s too late now. The only fix he can think of is practical, like ridding a crime scene of evidence… 

Sirius pulls out his wand, flicking shakily, evaporating his cum, but the scent of your lovemaking still lingers, thick in the air. With as much dignity as he’s able to grant you, he tugs your pyjamas and knickers up your hips. He tucks himself in and buttons his trousers, swimming in post-climax numbness. For a few minutes, he resumes his vigil behind you, as if he’d never done it at all. But you’re colder and distant; farther away than he’s ever felt you. Sighing, he gently strokes your hair. You don’t flinch or shiver away from his touch, but lie still, perfectly still… Your tear-stained cheek is still stuck to the damp patch on your pillow. Sirius passes over it deliberately. You’ve been asleep this entire time, blissfully unaware… That’s a lie he’ll peddle for both of your sakes, until this all melts safely into a nightmare.

It’s agony to tear himself away from your warmth, but Sirius knows he’s ruined everything by violating you, and lingering will only hurt you more. He presses one final, adoring kiss to your neck, yearning to embrace you, then slips wordlessly out of bed.

To forbid himself, he uses magic to bolt the lock.

Morning brings clarity. 

He walks into the kitchen, and the stone tiles clack under his boots, echoing, echoing… You’re there, also, preparing a slow, tedious breakfast.

The silence is heavy. Sirius wants to break it, but the quiet feels impenetrable; a chasm of his own design. For a moment, he frowns, looming uneasily over the dining table, aggravated by the clinking of the jar as you spread jam on your toast, eyes downcast.

Then, he pulls out a rickety chair and sits down. 

You don’t smile at him today. You don’t return his probing gaze. You knife up more slimy jam— Too much, now, and the bread has gone soggy. 

If you’d only burst into tears, he’d gladly take you in his arms to hold you now. Sirius could be your solitary comfort, as you have been his… Only, your new, withdrawn, gloomy state unnerves him. His face darkens… Your bond has truly been broken.

But there’s something else, too. 

Remorse gnawed his flesh until daybreak, and was scarred over by something cruel and hard, burrowing gruesomely inside him like an infection.

He could think of it this way: returning to his old childhood home has done very, very strange things to him. Yes… That’s it. Sirius has never had anything so warm and lovely in this place... And indeed, he’s spent much of his life out of control and powerless… But he does have power over you. It occurs to him abruptly. He does have power over you.  

Sirius leans back in his chair with a squeak. His guilt, hot and shameful, broils fiercely in his gut, but it intertwines with a kind of grim satisfaction. 

It’s his house, his rules… 

So why shouldn’t he have you?

[taylorswiftstyle]

Super Bowl LVIII | Las Vegas, NV | February 11, 2024

Dion Lee 'Crochet Corset Top' - $720.00

There’s a few different callbacks on display here with this bustier alone which when paired with a ton of gold accessories, and a red jacket remind me very much of Taylor’s outfit from her third game (October 12, Broncos vs Chiefs). Taylor also of course wore a Versace corset top like this one the night she and Travis walked hand in hand in NYC following Taylor’s cameo appearance at SNL to introduce Ice Spice.

But more importantly is the diplomatic dressing on display here. This happens to be Taylor’s first time wearing Dion Lee who is an Australian fashion designer. To me, this reads as a nice callout to the fact that Taylor has Aussie fans on the brain as she’ll of course be heading there next on the Eras Tour (first Melbourne, then Sydney).

Worn with: Wear by EA jacket, Stephanie Gottlieb pendant and tennis necklace, Shay necklace and bracelet, The Last Line earring, Shahla Karimi + Shay + Retrouvai rings, Judith Leiber clutch, Area pants, and Christian Louboutin boots

Photo by Ezra Shaw via Getty Images