#replay / symptoms / tell me what to do

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i don’t like. the irrationality created by memories

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - part 4

Summary: “Y/N and Harry both attend Sophie’s party, and it doesn’t exactly pan out how Y/N thought it would.”

Wc: 5.6k

Tropes: boxer!harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: physical violence, verbal threats, angst, mention of SA, fluff, jealousy.

A/N: tell a friend to tell a friend… SHE’S BAAACCCKKK!!!! Hi guys, thank you for being so patient. I was literally unable to write for weeks and they were the worst weeks of my life, but I’m finally doing better and my creative juices are flowing! Pray with me that it’ll last🙏

Also THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD sorry I was just too excited to get this out🤭😋

P.S. I recommend you listen to ‘Ice Cream Man’ by RAYE. Not only does it apply to the sorry (warning: SA) but RAYE is also an incredible artist!!

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N had never observed herself in the mirror for this long. She was certain that at one point she was going to start to look disfigured to herself, but she just needed to make sure that everything was right.

During her childhood, and especially her adolescent years, Y/N had always been told not to be too vain, but to always look good. There were contradictory balances that she's had to sit in the middle of for as long as she could remember, and she was good at it, until tonight.

For some reason, this burgundy dress she was wearing had to be matched perfectly with her shoes, bag and make-up, and right now she was absolutely sure that it didn't.

Instead of throwing her blow dryer at the mirror like she wanted to, Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes, hoping her mind would occupy her with a distraction good enough to give a refreshed perspective when she'd open her eyes again. Of course it was him that flashed through her mind the second her eyelids fluttered shut. She should not have been surprised, because wasn't that what this was all about?

Y/N hadn't been able to stop thinking about Harry since... well, actually she couldn't exactly remember since when because that's how long he's been floating around her head for. Seeing him multiple times a week wasn't helping much either, it gave her new material to think about whenever she had a second to spare. It was like a disease, spreading through her entire body, except she didn't mind and the symptoms made her feel more alive than ever.

Just the sole touch of fingers on her waist, or shoulders was worth replaying a million times in her head, as were all the times he'd say something that could even remotely be said in another, less appropriate context. Y/N felt like she had to visit a confessional or something, because it was getting out of hand. But she knew this wasn't bad, and the only thing she was doing by fighting this was stopping herself from getting something she—deep down—felt she didn't deserve.

Despite these pitiful revelations, Y/N still found herself nitpicking at every single aspect of her appearance as she got ready for Sophie's birthday party.

With only five minutes on the clock until her Uber driver would be outside, Y/N decided to accept the black heels she'd put on and the small shoulder bag she'd settled on. A final look in the mirror indeed gave her an epiphany: brown lip liner.

After darkening her lips with the pencil, at last it felt like everything had fallen into place— with the exception of the nerves dwarreling around her lower stomach of course. Even as she sat in the Uber with the nice woman who was talking about her kids as she drove her to the party didn't do one thing to take her mind off the excitement she was feeling.

Y/N tipped her driver before she got out of the car and made her way inside, where she was greeted by an elated—and perhaps already slightly intoxicated—Sophie. The long, dark green dress she wore complimented the blonde shade of her hair, and her make-up was out of this world. Y/N made sure to note that when she congratulated her friend.

It only took five seconds of scanning the room before she spotted him, standing by the bar as he—Y/N could only assume—waited to be served his drink. It felt much like being a magnet to a whiteboard, the way she was so drawn to him. Y/N knew she should've considered herself lucky that another couple came into greeting Sophie, because otherwise she wouldn't have been let off the hook so easily, but that gratefulness was far down on the list of things that took up her thoughts as she made her way to the man at the bar. And when he turned around, she may as well have punched herself then and there, because Harry looked breathtaking.

He always did, of course, but seeing him in a dark grey suit with a soft pink dress shirt, his hair pushed back and all clean shaven... it did something to her.

From the looks of it, Y/N took the guess that her appearance also threw Harry off in some kind of way, since the stutter in his greeting was too apparent to ignore.

"H— hi." He said, mouth slightly agape as his widened eyes took in Y/N. "You look beautiful."

She could have sworn her intestines were being swapped all around inside her because those nerves in her stomach tripled in size as she eyed the floor for a second while heat rose to her cheeks. Y/N had never been good at receiving compliments, mostly because she had been taught that not immediately accepting them was the only way to be worthy of them. Besides, it would make her conceited and rude to just agree.

And yet, all those rules on how to behave flew out the window the second those green eyes were on her, and she didn't care that she jeopardized her worthiness. She just wanted to soak in the words he deliberately told her, and feel good about them. So she didn't argue him on anything, and instead responded:

"Thank you. You clean up good yourself."

The lopsided smirk on Harry's face made Y/N want to jump up and down, for no other reason than that the sight of it just made her really happy. And for a moment she wondered if it couldn't just stay like this forever? Pure, sincere, and not strong enough to be soul crushingly destroyed by anyone, including her own self sabotaging tendencies.

"Oh, this old thing? Just threw it on." Harry shrugged, his eyes fixated on Y/N. She laughed at his ridiculous attempt to be cool. He leaned against the bar, his head tilting a bit. "What are you having?"

His head nodded towards the bar, and Y/N took it as an invitation to get closer to Harry. She stood next to him, just a little closer than necessary, as she hummed and thought about the hundreds of drinks she could possibly order, and totally didn't settle on the same one she always gets.

"I think I'm going to get a cosmopolitan." She answered, and surprised her smile as much as she could as she watched Harry flag down the waiter and order the drink for her. She quite liked this gentleman-like treatment.

"Very fitting, angel." He said lowly as the waiter put down the drink in front of her.

Y/N turned her head to him, a raised brow challenging him slightly. "And why is that?"

Harry moved to lean his entire back against the bar instead of just one side, and shrugged his shoulders as he observed the room before locking his eyes onto her again.

"Because you're just as sweet as that cocktail." The grin that his comment was accompanied by would have been enough to make Y/N's knees buckle right then and there, but the fact that she was holding onto a bar helped a great deal.

The sight of Oscar talking to some other colleagues of hers also helped with that. She could quite literally feel the color drain from her face as she took him in.

It wasn't like it was unexpected; she knew there was a big chance he'd be there. But between Harry, the amount of work she had to do, and all of her self-defense training, she hadn't had much time to think about hypothetical confrontations with Oscar.

"Are you okay?" Harry's gaze darted from the direction in which you were staring back to Y/N. Only when her eyes settled on him again, a part of the worry in his eyes slightly faded. She mustered a smile, nodding her head and hoping it would be enough to convince him. From the look on his face she knew that he wasn't convinced in even the slightest, but she was surprised to hear him switch the topic of the conversation.

"I want you to meet Greg." He said, and Y/N hummed in agreement, grabbing her glasses and following as Harry lead them to her colleague's boyfriend.

"I've already met Greg." She noted, still walking closely next to Harry, whose hand was ghosting over the small of her back.

"Yeah, but I want you to meet him as my best friend."

Y/N was sure that whatever was rattling in her stomach was doing cartwheels as she took in the determination on Harry's face. It didn't seem like he was shying away from what he was implying, and yet she wasn't certain. Because what if he didn't mean it like that at all? Y/N needed to be 100% sure that her suspicions were correct, because the weight of the humiliation that hung over the risk she could take was too great to bear. Besides, she didn't want to jeopardize the self-defense classes. It was a place of safety for her now, she couldn't lose it.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it given that she found herself in front of Greg. Quickly shoving her thoughts away, she conjured a smile and gave the man in front of her a hug.

"How have you been?" Greg asked, grinning widely as he waited on an answer. "Heard you've been taking self-defense classes."

The way he eyed his friend, and the manner in which Harry's eyes glared at Greg, caused a wave of of giddiness to flood over her. This had to mean something, right? Or was she just fishing now?

"Uh, yes, I have. It has helped me a lot." She  answered with rosy cheeks. Greg nodded his head.

"That's great, Y/N. I mean, Harold here is a great teacher, isn't he?"

She snickered, turning to Harry. "That's your full name?"

"No, Greg just likes to be an asshole from time to time." The agonizing smile on his face told her that Harry was a bit on edge, nervous almost? Y/N focused on Greg again.

"Yes, he's amazing." She said, and could feel the blood rush to her ears as she took in her own words. Instead of throwing out a bunch of excuses and rectifications on the construction of her sentence, she zipped her mouth shut, and let the compliment hang in the air. Her heart was racing, and she didn't dare look Harry in the eye, but from the small glance that Greg threw his way, she knew that he'd had some sort of reaction to the compliment.

"Well, stick around and soon you'll be strong enough to take out any man. My Sophie could knock me the fuck out of she needed to, and I'm glad she can." Greg beamed as he mentioned his girlfriend. Y/N was filled with a warm feeling in her chest as she observed Sophie's boyfriend. Her friend was a boss of a woman and to know she was getting the love she deserved was most heartwarming.

The moment was cut short, though, when another person entered the conversation. 

"Harry Styles?!" A joyous shriek—for lack of a more polite word—came from a short blonde woman to Y/N's left. The woman didn't pay any mind to Greg nor her as she headed for Harry, giving him a long, very very long hug. Y/N swallowed.

"Lindsay, I haven't seen you in ages." Harry's voice was kind, he sounded excited even. Maybe it was an old friend, or classmate, or—

"That's because the last time you saw me you broke my heart, hon." She giggled. Harry's brows raised ever so slightly.

An old girlfriend. Right, Y/N should've known that. That just made this entire situation a whole lot more awkward, and if there was one thing Y/N didn't care for it was unpleasantries like these.

So, she decided to do the one thing she was best at: escape. Downing her drink in one go, she wiggled her glass, catching Harry's attention.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom and then get another drink, see you later." Y/N's smile was sweet and full of sincerity, but her legs were heavy as she made her way to the bathroom, as if carrying an invisible ball and chain around each leg. She didn't want to be away from Harry, she wanted to snarl at that ex-girlfriend of his and tell her to back off.

But it was irrational and petty, and not to mention totally inappropriate, so she distanced herself instead. Y/N felt a headache looming, her body fighting her mind for the cowardly attitude it encouraged. She spent way longer in the bathroom than she needed to, eventually only going back after a minute long silent peptalk that she performed to herself in the mirror.

When she returned to the room she saw Harry still talking to his ex, only Greg had now left them and was dancing with Sophie and some others. Y/N thought over her options, and decided to join her friend.

She tried her hardest not to look for Harry in the crowded room, letting the music capture all of her attention. Sophie and Greg were performing all kinds of dance moves that had Y/N throw her head back in laughter, and in that moment everything felt so good.

Simple and good, that was joy. She hadn’t felt that in a long time.

After countless of songs and dance battles on the lit up floor, Y/N decided to take a break and treat herself to another drink. Sauntering over to the bar, she waited her turn order another cosmopolitan, and took a step to the side to let other people order as well.

Y/N was still looking at her fidgeting hands, lost in deep thought, when a familiar scent roamed through her nostrils and stiffened her entire body.

"A Long Island ice tea, please." Oscar's voice sounded from beside her. Y/N didn't dare to look up and stayed focused on her hands instead. She could see his hands from the corner of her eyes, they were desperately clamping onto the bar, knuckles  white.

Without even touching her, Oscar had managed to put a tightening strain on Y/N's chest that felt too uncomfortable to make her move. She was glad to see her cosmopolitan arrive, and was quick to move to the other side of the bar. In the quick second that she glanced at Oscar, she noticed his eyes were following her.

When he started moving closer to where Y/N was standing, the tenseness in her body began to develop into a full-blown panic, and when a set of hands settled on her waist, she couldn't help the hasty gasp that left her mouth before she turned around.

Harry looked surprised when she met his eyes, and she let out a sigh of relief to see that it was only him. Y/N let out a breathy chuckle as she slowly shook her head.

"Gosh, you scared me." It was noticeable in the strain of her voice that the stress hadn't left her body entirely, and Harry seemed to notice that. He raised a brow.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded eagerly, not wanting to steer the conversation this way. "'M fine. What about you?"

"Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed." Harry admitted, and Y/N frowned at the confession. Her head tilted, she asked:

"Why?"

"You told me I wasn't going to get rid of you so easily the other day." He noted, the memory of your conversation brought a smile to your face. "And yet I lost you after about ten minutes."

Y/N chuckled. "I was giving you some space. I didn't want to be rude."

"Angel... in any case, when it comes to Lindsay Holloway, please be rude." The sincerity in Harry's voice made her burst out into giggle.

"I take it you weren't planning on rekindling old flames then." Y/N said, and when Harry confirmed it with a firm nod, she grimaced. "And here I thought I was being a good sport, leaving you alone with her."

"Trust me, angel. She is not the woman I would like be alone with." He leaned forward, his face way too close to Y/N for her to function normally because of it. The overwhelming urge to just— kiss him was almost too great to resist. The way his eyes took her in was so exhilarating, and it didn't make her insecure because she didn't need wonder what he was thinking; it was written all over his face.

"Oh." Was the only sound that Y/N could utter as she processed Harry's words. His eyes flicked from hers to her mouth as he softly pushed her back against the bar, grinning at how her doe-like eyes were observing his every move.

"Aren't you going to ask me who I would like to be alone with?" Harry asked, and it was clear that he was taunting her. But it didn't occur to Y/N to mind, as she immediately obeyed him.

"Who would you like to be alone with, Harry?" She posed the question, watching his jaw clench at his name falling from her lips.

"Y/N!"

Both Y/N and Harry's head whipped to the side where Sophie was standing with a slightly distressed look on her face. Almost out of instinct, it seemed, Harry took a step back. A pang boomed through Y/N's chest.

"I need to talk to you, now." She demanded, not even a hint of a questioning tone in her voice. She meant business. Y/N nodded and slid past Harry, grabbing Sophie's hand and letting her friend lead the both of them outside.

There were some other people outside, smoking cigarettes as they chatted with each other. Every person stopped to greet Sophie with a smile or another 'congratulations' as they walked more towards the alley, where there were less people. Y/N's heart was racing from both the encounter with Harry and the nervousness that had built up thinking of the possible ways that this talk with Sophie could go.

She hadn't expected Sophie to start squealing in excitement, but it was better than anything she could've imagined.

"Oh my god! You and Harry?! For how long has this been going on?" She asked, and Y/N swiftly shook her head.

"There is nothing going on." She replied, the monotony in her voice doing little to hide the frustrations about the truth of that sentence. "I mean, there might have been a start of something going on before we went outside."

Sophie winced. "I'm sorry, I cockblocked you. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you don't seem like someone who is into casual hook-ups."

Y/N's face twisted in discomfort, and Sophie panicked at the sight of it.

"Not that Harry only does hook-ups! I didn't mean it like that. I just— I hadn't heard you mention him before and I didn't realize you were so close until last week." She instantly began to rant, and Y/N grew defense from her words.

"He offered me some extra training to build more muscle." She shrugged.

“Hmm, sure he is.” Sophie hummed playfully, wiggling her eyebrows and causing a snort to fall from Y/N’s lips. It took a few moments to control their schoolgirl-like giggles, but when they’d managed to pipe down, Sophie’s face turned a bit more serious.

“I just wanted to assure you that Harry is a good guy. You can trust him, you don’t have to hold yourself back.” Her eyes were soft as Sophie spoke, both her hands wrapped around Y/N’s right one. There was a stinging sensation in Y/N’s chest at the mention of the tendencies she thought she concealed quite well, but she was far from offended by it. On the contrary; she was relieved that Sophie could see right through her regarding this topic, because without this confirmation, Y/N would’ve doubted this situation for too long, probably causing Harry to grow bored and leave.

“Soph, we’ve been looking all over for you! We need to do the Photo Booth!” Stacy, another lawyer from the firm suddenly appeared and interrupted the conversation, shrieking in excitement as she hurried over to Sophie and grabbed her arm. She barely paid any mind to Y/N, at least not until Sophie gave her a guilty glance. Stacy conjured a confused smile of her own, her mind clearly battling about the fact that she seemed to recognize Y/N, only she had no idea where from.

“I’m going to borrow her for a little while.” She said, and it was only now that Y/N realized how nasal this Stacy sounded. Sophie had complained about it a dozen times, and now she finally understood the issue.

“Go ahead, have fun, I’ll find you later Soph.” Y/N said, smiling as she watched Stacy and Sophie walk back inside. She took the moment alone outside as an opportunity to clear her mind. To assure herself, that she had the confirmation that Harry liked her as well, and to just take the leap.

“Cigarette?”

Y/N’s head snapped towards Oscar, who was standing only standing a few feet away from her. She glanced at the other people smoking outside; at least she wasn’t alone. She turned her attention back to Oscar, and shook her head.

It stayed silent between the two, and since Y/N didn’t want anything to do with Oscar, she slowly started to walk away. But then, a sentence left Oscar’s mouth that had her frozen where she stood.

“Are you going to accuse him of assaulting you too?”

Y/N lost her breath. Did he really just say that? She pressed down the immense wave of nausea that threatened her to puke all over her pretty dress, and focused on her breathing before she turned around to face him.

“What did you just say to me?” Her tone was sharp, laced with a feeling of injustice. She tried to steady herself as much as she could, but she could feel her hands trembling from the adrenaline.

“I should probably warn him. Who knows what you’ll do to his life.” He sneered, his tone smothered in resentment. Y/N hadn’t even told anyone about what Oscar had done to her, and here he was, accusing her of ruining people’s lives.

“You need to leave me alone…” She growled, balling up her fists to channel her frustration into anything else than the wall or his face.

“Or what? You’re going to tell on me? Seriously, you don’t think that two men with a stellar reputation would make for a more believable story than a self-pitying gold digger?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What? Mad I’m right? You do only target successful men right, don’t you?” He asked. The amusement in his eyes was disgusting and it made Y/N take a step back. She was seething with rage over Oscar’s words.

“Stay the hell away from me, Oscar.” Y/N fumed, turning around to walk inside, and when she felt a hand around her wrist, she couldn’t help the instinct that caused her to plant her fist in Oscar’s face. Just the way she had been taught.

It was with way more force than she’d ever managed to do before, and she was pretty sure she heard something crack—although she couldn’t make out whether that was Oscar’s nose or his knees as he fell to the ground.

It was like she could finally breathe, seeing him lay on the floor, groaning in pain. She’d been strong enough to defend herself from danger. Pride filled her chest, although it was vague in comparison to the rage that had overtaken the rest of her body.

Y/N flinched when she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, but calmed down at the sight of Lindsay, Harry’s old girlfriend, standing beside her. She looked quite worried as Y/N let her guide her to the rest of the people who were still smoking outside. They all began to ask variations of the same questions: ‘are you okay?’ ‘Did he hurt you?’. Y/N frowned upon noticing Lindsay hurry back inside, but she didn’t pay much mind to it anymore when the guy next to her offered a cigarette. She shook her head, a bit taken aback by the timing of the action, and was just about to answer the question of the woman in front of her, when the huddled up group opened up and Harry appeared in front of her.

Crouching down, his eyes roamed over her entire body before settling on her knuckles that had already begun to turn red. His gaze met Y/N’s.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“What happened?”

It only then occurred to Y/N that Oscar was probably still laying there, and the quick glance she shot to her left was enough for Harry to know what was going on. He stood up and walked over to Oscar, who had gotten up himself and met him in the middle.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Harry asked. His voice was stone cold, everything about him was, actually. Not one hint of emotion could be traced in his tone, posture or really anything else. It would’ve been scary, had Y/N had the ability to feel scared of Harry. But she just couldn’t; he made her feel safe.

“Listen man, you need to avoid that girl. She’s fucking crazy. She already tried to ruin my life, don’t let her threaten you to ruin yours.”

All the pent up anger that had seemed to subside slightly once having socked Oscar in the face raced back all at once as the words registered in Y/N’s brain. But before she could get back up to her feet, Harry struck a punch, bringing Oscar to the ground once again.

Leaning forward, he grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up far enough so he could hear him when he said:

“If I ever hear you talking about her like that— better yet, if you come near her again I swear to god I’ll kick out every last one of your teeth… to start with.” Harry warned before letting go of Oscar’s collar with a shove that made a couple of people take a physical step back, and even made one person behind her gasp. Harry didn’t seem to care about any of that as he turned around; he just headed straight for Y/N.

Nor did he didn’t even so much as acknowledge Lindsay, who thanked him, but Y/N made sure to send a grateful smile her way as Harry wrapped his arm around her and led her inside. He didn’t say a word as they entered the room again and walked towards Sophie and Greg.

At first, Sophie was smiling at the sight of Y/N and Harry, but upon spotting her friend’s pale face, the corners of her mouth lowered into a thin line.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Her hands were on Y/N immediately, fixing her hair and brushing her fingers against her pale cheek. Y/N knew that she probably looked like she had seen a ghost.

“I’m going to take her home.” Harry announced, and relief washed over Y/N because she didn’t really know what to say right now. Faking a smile, she tried to assure Sophie that it was alright, but her friend was already nodding before Harry had finished speaking.

Throwing her arms around her, Sophie hugged Y/N so tightly that she nearly lost her breath. When she finally let go, the look on her face was determined.

“I love you, have a good night. If you need anything, call me.” She said. Y/N nodded.

“I love you, have a great night.” She turned to Greg. “Watch her.”

The weak joke still managed to make the couple chuckle—probably out of pity—and Greg nodded dutifully, wishing her a good night with that playful wink of his. When Y/N turned back to Harry, he held out her jacket. Her face settled into a confused frown; how did he manage to get their coats so quickly. Was he a wizard or something?

Harry bid the couple farewell as well and soon they were on their way back to the car. Y/N was tense about going outside again, but her shoulders relaxed upon seeing an empty street. Oscar had left, thank god.

The car ride was mostly silent, aside from a few questions about the AC, and an attempt of Harry’s to casually ask for her address again, only to have it at the top of his search list on Google Maps. Y/N had to hold back her giggle.

The rest of it consisted of listening and moving their heads along to whatever song was on. It was mainly rap songs, and Harry knew them all, which was logical considering it was his playlist. There was something attractive about Harry knowing all these songs, it made him look a bit more… intimidating.

Y/N really needed to figure out what deep rooted issue caused her to like that.

She had to admit she was slightly disappointed when he pulled up in front of her apartment complex, so she took her time to turn her head to him, the hint of a smile on her face still. Y/N couldn’t help it; he just made her comfortable. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned towards the middle of the vehicle, closer to Harry.

“Thank you, for dropping me off.” She said in a near whisper. The corners of Harry’s mouth tugged up, and he—in turn—closed the distance between even more, their faces only a few inches apart now. Y/N’s hands began to sweat.

“Anything for you, angel.” His voice was raspy, and despite the cockiness he radiated, there was still concern behind it.

But it was over— for Y/N it was over. Her self-control, an entity of its own, seemed to exit her body leaving her with nothing but him. All that adrenaline had channeled into a pressing urge to put her lips on his, to touch him, feel him all around. It was over.

Nothing held her back, not even her own stubborn mind, as she leaped forward and kissed Harry.

While she had expected him to maybe be surprised about her action, the way his mouth welcomed her—invited her, even—was enough proof that he had been ready for her.

Kissing Harry was like jumping off a cliff and diving deeper into the ocean. For once, she didn’t feel like to love was to drown. No, she submerged herself into the water and felt more at home than she had ever felt at the surface. Was it possible to feel at home in someone’s arms?

With a hand on her jaw, Harry lured Y/N forward further, challenging her by pulling back a bit. Needing his lips like it was her own source of oxygen, Y/N didn’t hesitate to lean further, and in all her desperation, climbed right onto his lap.

The short dress didn’t leave much restrictions for her heat as she automatically began to grind her hips. Only when Harry let out a pained groan that shot straight to her core, she’d realized what she was doing— what they were doing.

Pulling away in a flash, a gasp left Y/N. Her lips felt all puffy, much like Harry’s looked.

“S— sorry, I didn’t know what came over me.” Y/N shot in her defensive mode, but Harry only shook his head.

“Don’t say sorry, angel. I—” he cut himself off, and met her eyes. “I don’t think we should do this right now, because—”

Shit, no, shit, shit!

“Oh, yeah, no of course, no problem. I mean, you’re right.” Y/N began to rant, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. How could she ever do such a stupid thing. She was quick to lean over and grab her bag. “But thank you, for bringing me home, and I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Before Harry could even get a word in, she opened the door on the driver’s seat and climbed out of the car, smashing the door shut harsher than she intended to. She winced at the sound, but kept walking. This rejection was humiliating enough as it was, she didn’t need Harry to elaborate on all the reasons he didn’t want her.

She heard the car door open, but by then, Y/N had already entered her building. In the chaos of it all, she decided to sprint up the stairs, wanting to get away from the situation as fast as possible, and in that process forgetting that she lived on the sixth floor.

She was out of breath when she finally reached her apartment, but not as out of breath as she would have been a month ago. Damn Harry, those classes were really working.

Once inside, Y/N leaned against the door, dramatically letting herself slip to the ground as she buried her head in her arms and let out a frustrated groan. Why was every next step she took on the aspect of love always destined to be her most embarrassing one yet?

She huffed, massaging her temples as she soaked in the shame and slowly felt it wither away. She knew the mortification would wane, but the sudden awareness of that ache between her legs, she knew that wouldn’t just go away. With a sigh, Y/N hoisted herself up and got ready for bed before lying down and digging into her nightstand’s drawer to grab the only thing that could cure the ache down there.

Her racing mind was a reminder that getting this out of her system wasn’t going to be done very easily…

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east @mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove @kierramcduffie

[nana-au]

𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄...

 𝜗𝜚 Satoru Gojo Prince AU ♡ part four

 𝜗𝜚 Summary: satoru has an announcement to make to the royal court. you don't think you could've ever prepare yourself for what it could be. the two of you see each other after months of no contact and the result is bitter sweet. story summary based off of this drabble

𝜗𝜚 Warnings: forbidden love, unspoken feelings, heavy angst, intense emotions, suggestive flirting, heated make out, cussing, depression symptoms, misguided anger, jealousy.

 𝜗𝜚 wc: 4,323

𝜗𝜚 an: there is a surprise guest from the jjk cast being introduced.. heh. dw he is just for the story and holds no interest in reader.

┊p1┊p2┊p3┊p4┊𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠... p5┊

“How do you like kitchen duty, my dear?” the Queen asks, the royal blue wallpaper of her study behind her head seems to shift like the ocean waves; rising and falling - dancing in the reflection of your pupils as your tea is poured for you. With a wave of her hand the Queen’s servant is dismissed and it’s just the two of you alone. The silence is unsettling as much as it is intoxicating. The kitchen is noisy - pots and pans clanging together, the repeated motion of knife hitting cutting board, and the bubbling sounds of a roiling boil. But then there is your room at night; the bed you climb into is decently soft and the covers keep you warm enough but you’re missing the noise of Satoru’s words. Before everything changed you would lay awake and replay every conversation with the Prince; your heart would pound remembering every brush of his hand or intense gaze he didn’t bother to hide. Instead now even your own thoughts have quieted, leaving your night void of any stimulation. 

“It’s been pleasant,” you respond, blowing on the hot tea you’ve brought to your lips. You don’t try very hard to sound convincing but if the Queen notices she doesn’t comment on it. 

“I’ve heard you have been getting pretty close to one of the men in the kitchen,” she wiggles her eyebrows, like you’re her girl friend and she’s genuinely interested in your potential love life. You’re not entirely sure where she got such information from; but it’s been clear to you for a while now. She has eyes and ears everywhere. 

“Forgive me, I’m not quite sure who you are referring to,” the tea is hot as you sip it, burning the taste buds you’ve barely been using these days. 

“Well, Nanami, of course,” she takes a moment to sip her own tea. “He’s handsome… quite burly too for working in a kitchen,” she’s smirking describing the man like it's the most entertaining gossip in the whole world. You guess it's not the worst thing she could potentially hear about you. All though, the worst had already been said. 

“He’s knowledgeable,” you tell her, stoic and devoid of any real emotion, “I enjoy learning what I can from him,” it’s a boring answer but your life is boring now. She frowns, almost a little disappointed that you won’t bite and indulge in ‘boy talk’ with her, but she continues on anyway. 

“That’s how your parents met, you know,” another long sip of her tea, “your father used to volunteer in the kitchens just to see your mother,” she’s obnoxiously giddy again and you can’t fight the sour taste of disgust. It feels more like she’s describing a silly little romance novel and not real people’s lives. It’s almost amusing knowing that as soon as your ‘silly little romance’ got too close to her son it was no longer exciting to her. You kept silent - having nothing worth commenting aloud as you waited for her to get to her point. She didn’t invite you here to gossip, your life had hardly been entertaining since 3 months ago when you were banished from Satoru’s presence. Her lips purse for a moment before she talks, “Well that’s not why I invited you here anyways,”

No shit. 

“I wanted to say thank you. I’m sure you’ve heard of our upcoming event in which Satoru will announce who he is courting,” you could have choked on air if you were not incredibly aware of yourself around the Queen. Instead you sucked in a quick breath. You had obviously been preparing for the event seeing as it was tomorrow and everyone in the kitchens scrambled around to get everything set for it - but you missed the part where it involved Satoru and his new potential partner. “I was incredibly worried for the future of our kingdom, and I appreciate your diligent work in securing that,” her words danced around the true meaning - but you weren’t a dunce. She was thanking you for hurting Satoru - and yourself in the process. A truly noble sacrifice indeed. You had to fight the desire to strangle yourself in front of her.  

“Of course,” is all you muster, not bothering to put on a brave face. 

“Remember the blonde Princess I talked about all those years ago?” she says, observing her pristine nails, “I knew Satoru would warm up to her if he tried,” your tea was gone by the end of her sentence and you lacked the stimulation now required for this conversation; your uneasiness eating away at your insides. 

“I’ve heard she’s lovely,” your throat is dry despite downing an entire cup of tea. 

“Oh more than lovely, if you could even imagine. I’ve never seen Satoru more at peace than when he’s listening to her playing piano. She’s quite the pianist!” 

𝜗𝜚

Satoru did indeed enjoy the times she played for him. The melody left no room for chatter. It was the only moment the two of them were together that he could close his eyes and rest; shutting down after hours of struggling to be present. He didn’t need to pretend to listen to how her day went or care about her childhood. He didn’t need to make up details about his day or share stories of his own youth that he struggled to edit you out of. He could just be. And that’s how Satoru preferred it. 

You would never know about it because ‘how could you?’ - but Satoru was a new man. Gone were the days of acting out or scoffing at his lessons. Gone were the days he preferred fencing to etiquette lessons. He now spent his time indoors because that’s where his bed was closest. His new favorite activity was painting. It was quiet and kept his mind occupied. He enjoyed painting with the new Princess the most - she would play while he would paint and as her hands created beautiful melodies Satoru’s created melancholy works of art

She peers a glance at his canvas over the piano, eyebrows furrowing as she notices the brooding blues, “You do realize this song is meant to elicit joy?” she inquires playfully, and Satoru apologizes. 

“Forgive me, I don’t have much experience with music theory,” his brush dips into the blue oil paint before dabbing it onto the course fabric. 

“Blue seems to be your favorite color,” she comments, her hands walking over each other as the keys come alive from her touch. 

Satoru nods, “I do enjoy reds too. Deep reds,” he murmurs. 

The color of his bleeding heart. 

𝜗𝜚

When the King and Queen announce a new ball, Satoru already understands the reason without being told. He had to fix his blunder - the one where he abandoned his duties and prioritized the pleasure your presence gave him. He hadn’t seen you since that day - but he was sure your face would bring him anything but pleasure nowadays. He was agreeing to the expectations of this new event without listening. It didn’t matter to him anyways. His life wasn’t his - this was a fact he could no longer be gullible about. 

That’s why he stood there in the center of the ballroom, fingers interlaced with the Princess as he smiled down at her like she meant something to him. Because his life wasn’t his and there were worse women in the world to be arranged to. The Princess really wasn’t all that bad. She was intelligent, respectful, charitable and incredibly humble. She knew there was more to life than her appearance all while being a sight for sore eyes. Satoru couldn’t have expected anyone more perfect for the role of his wife. With his heart now out of the picture - there was no better option than her. He could see that clearly now.

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, hiding her blush as Satoru talked about the first day they met to an inquiring older man and that is when you finally see the two of them together. Surprisingly, you’re allowed out of your metaphorical cage - the King and Queen now fully entrusting you in the same room as Satoru after you successfully stomped out his light. You’re with the kitchen boy, Nanami, who was the Queen’s new show pony she liked to trot around; insisting he was there to describe the new hors d'oeuvre he created himself. Neither of you were entirely convinced the Queen thought that highly of the dish - rather than the idea of having such an esteemed cook now residing in her royal kitchen. Your jaw drops seeing the two of them next to each other. You had only seen paintings of the Princess, and even those did not prepare you for the intensity of her eyes and the silkiness of her hair. You were right all those years ago; next to Satoru wearing his family’s signature blue - she fit perfectly. 

And Satoru. Your Satoru. He looked so sorrowfully beautiful. His jaw was sharper and his eyes were darker but he was still Satoru and that fact alone made it impossible to look away. You had no right - but your watery eyes threatened to spill over watching the Prince hold hands with the Princess. A pitiful feeling fell over you once you realized you couldn’t read his expression. There had never been a day that you couldn’t skim his face like the pages of a book and pinpoint exactly what he was thinking - but now being in the same room with him after so long - you realized you were no longer privy to his thoughts like you used to be. Perhaps that ability was now reserved for the woman who held his hand. If it wasn’t so devastating you might have considered thanking the Queen for what she made you do. You had to have looked so silly beside him seeing the Princess in front of you now - appearing to be a piece of the same puzzle by his side. 

“Are you doing okay?” a deep voice prods your ear and you turn to see Nanami, standing by your side with a look of worry. The Queen wasn’t entirely wrong when she spoke of rumors that the two of you were close - you were in a lot of ways. Just not in the way she found most interesting. Nanami taught you a lot of skills in the kitchen. He showed you the best ways to cut vegetables and the importance of never looking away from milk boiling on a stove top. He told you stories of his travels in search of the best ingredients and his experience being raised on the country-side of a faraway nation whose people were dying of hunger. How his life as a child shaped him into who he was to this day: a seasoned cook who the highest of society paid a pretty penny to grace their kitchens. For some time you spared him the details of your life and he took it well - waiting for the moment you decided he was someone you could trust - and once you did it seemed to flow out of you and never stop. He knew all about your childhood with Satoru and how things became the way they are now. He didn’t scoff at you for daring to imagine yourself next to a Prince or gawk at the audacity it must take to delude yourself into believing your life could possibly be different than those before you. He just listened while he prepared a snack for the two of you. It was cathartic being around someone who carried as much baggage as you. The two of you were stronger than ever by each other’s side, and that is why you stood with him while he talked to the snobs he couldn’t stand and he stood with you while you watched the Prince make his love interest known to everyone. “Go take a moment for yourself, I’ll cover for you,” he offered and you shook your head.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone with these assholes,” you say, earning a chuckle from the blond man next to you. You look up at him and all though he’s laughing his eyes don’t contain humor - more concerned for you while witnessing the same display you had to. He knew it couldn’t be easy.

He leaned in once more, “Well if you change your mind, I won’t be mad,” you smile at him, grateful that you weren’t entirely alone in your new reality. 

𝜗𝜚

Just like the two of you could see the royal couple they could see you too - if they knew what to look for. You caught the Prince’s eye while he took a sip of his champagne, using it as a moment to take in the scene around him until he spotted you. He didn’t know what to expect when he first considered the possibility of running into you again; you two inhabited the same estate and though it was big you had your whole lives to bump into each other. Originally he thought his anger would get the better of him once he finally laid eyes on you. Or he considered that given enough time had passed, looking into your eyes wouldn’t elicit any kind of emotion in him - completely indifferent to your role in his life, like all other servants. What he didn’t expect was for his heart to fail him, the once slow pace now jump started with adrenaline. His heart rate was wild and his pupils dilated. The bubbly drink that usually burned on the way down had effortlessly passed his throat and entered his stomach that grew weak with just one look at you. If he wasn’t careful the Princess beside him would take note of how he completely removed himself from their conversation - but careful he could not be. He wanted to curse his cheeks for warming up at the mere thought of breathing the same air as you… how could he be present? Satoru wouldn’t have even noticed the man standing next to you if not for the way his tall form towered over you, blocking you from the Prince’s view. That’s when Satoru began to grow just a little more aware of his surroundings - or more so your surroundings. While he repeated the words you said to him that day like it was a prayer he couldn’t help but retell before bed - lest he forget - he still fought the logical side of him begging him to accept your words as fact. But he couldn’t because he couldn’t accept your own interpretation of your feelings while you shook and sniffled in the stables. He believed you wanted nothing more to do with him - but he thought the pressure of fighting for your rightful place in his life was one you could no longer stomach. That was what caused him the pain he felt each passing moment. That you lost your fight because Satoru wasn’t worth it. But how could he believe you lost your fight when you had no one in your life pressuring you to move on like he did - yet there you stood seemingly cozy next to the tall man beside you. Perhaps the thought of you giving up on Satoru hurt his heart less and that was why he settled on that thought, instead of the earth-shattering possibility that you could have actually wanted nothing to do with him.

So why would you have kissed him?

𝜗𝜚

It was a quiet afternoon when the two of you decided to stroll through the garden’s after Satoru’s tea break. You often found it beneficial to have Satoru spend time outside inbetween his lessons - he would have a new found focus when given the chance to allow his mind to wander in the cool air that the spring time offered. His fingers would busy themselves with the petals of a flower and you would walk in silence beside him, listening to him ramble or letting him bask in the tranquility nature offered. 

That day was one of those times Satoru pondered silently and you let him, enjoying the unique flowers the Gojo’s had planted from all across the globe while you walked by his side. His face was scrunched in thought and his hands were busy with the stem of a lily, using his thumbs to pry the plant open to feel around its sticky insides. You two were deep in your walk, the garden trail extending surprisingly far on the Gojo’s lawn. The estate was now hidden by the yards of thick bushes that separated the trail from other parts of their extensive property. Satoru let out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and you turned to look at him. 

He seemed anxious, the tips of his ears were deep red and his face was scrunched with worry. “Did you get a sunburn, Satoru?” you ask him, stopping him in his tracks to get a better look at his ears. They were hot to the touch as you inspected them but he was antsy rather than in pain from the grip you had on his cartilage.

“What do you think about kissing?” he asked, his cheeks turning as red as his ears. You giggle at him, not because it was random - no that was normal for Satoru - but the topic was a bit suspicious.

“Why do you ask?” you all but flirt - finding the confidence to since you had the upper hand.

“I don’t know… it just kept coming up in the book I’ve been reading,” he puts simply, trying to end the conversation he brought up. It was rare for Satoru to embarrass himself like such, and it was going to be hard for him to get you to ignore it. 

“You've been thinking a lot about kissing, haven't you?” you continue to tease, and he scratches the back of his neck. 

“No!” he scoffs, “Just.. nevermind,” the flower he was dissecting was discarded for a new one - his fingers plucking the petals before tearing into the ovule roughly. 

“I don’t know what I think about kissing, I’ve never kissed,” you answer his original question, engaging him back into the conversation. 

“Me neither,” he responded, defiling the poor flower a little less since you had his attention. ‘What do you think it’s like?” It’s your turn to blush and he definitely realizes his newfound control over the conversation - turning the tables on you as he begins to poke you about it. “It’s probably wet, right? Well if you used tongue,” you’re a blushing mess listening to your best friend describe something such as tongue-kissing and he’s smiling at you. His pearly white teeth sparkle under the sun while he continues his torture, “I’d imagine it’s warm too - and soft. Your lips look soft,” he comments and you could feel yourself struggling to hold back your bashful reaction. He knew how to work you up just like you knew how to work him up. Unfortunately he was a little bit better at it than you - or you were just more susceptible under his gaze. He comes in closer to you - you think just to tease you further and get your heart to racket against your chest and you’re not entirely wrong. It’s hard to focus when his broad shoulders contrast yours and when you feel the palm of his hand touch your sternum to feel the pounding of your heart - you can’t fathom how you’re still standing on your own. “Your heart rate is fast,” he comments, pretending he has no concept as to why that could be. 

“You flirt too much, Satoru,” you grumble at him, trying and failing to steady your heart beats with him so close. His breath smells sweet like the candies he eats and you can’t protect your nose from the pleasant musk that clings to his skin. 

“I’m not flirting. I’m just asking you a question,” he’s somehow closer and his hand won’t leave the spot between your breasts. 

“Yeah. Kissing is probably warm and wet and whatever else you said,” you mumble, desperate to crawl away from him while simultaneously scared of losing physical contact with him. 

“Maybe we should test our hypothesis,” he’s still smiling but his eyes don’t match; half lidded while he observes the twitch of your lips at his words. You gulp, unable to keep yourself from looking at his own pair of lips. You note that they look soft too, even when he bites at them upon noticing you’re doing the same as him. “It can just be a quick one,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince you now like he’s already convinced himself years ago. Unbeknownst to him you needed very little convincing. 

“Just a quick one,” you all but breathe out, and the two of you are leaning in without realizing it until your lips meet. Your lips feel plump against his, soft like the pillow he lays his head on at night and he doesn’t want it to end. His hand meets your jaw, holding you still while his lips get used to the feeling of yours against them. Your hands come up to grip his shirt, bracing yourself while he slowly deepens it, testing the waters by slowly poking his tongue inside your mouth. You pull back, yelping at the unexpected intrusion. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks, voice sultry and deep and you nod at him, going back in for more. He starts slowly again, pecking your lips softly before working his way up to prodding his tongue cautiously against your sweet lips. You let him in and he all but groans, gripping your waist with his other hands so he can feel you pressed up against him. You both have no idea what you’re doing, teeth and tongues hesitantly clashing as you explore each other’s mouths. His pulse quickens when you let out a weak moan muffled by his mouth hot against yours. His hand on your jaw slowly works its way down your neck, across your collarbone, before hesitantly stopping at the start of your breast. You’re both clouded by the haze created between the two of you, unaware of your surroundings until you hear the scurry of an animal. You both pull away - scanning the area with no luck of finding the creature that caused it. You clear your throat and try your best to pull yourself together - but it’s hard when his eyes are so dark and his lips are so red and glossy from your spit.

“Let’s get back, Satoru. Your teacher will be expecting you soon,” and off you go, with Satoru trailing behind you.

𝜗𝜚

Satoru had never felt the foreign concept of competition in regards to you. It must be the reason he felt such vitriolic jealousy seeing you next to another man. He had no time to consider himself a fool. He wanted nothing more than to see his nose smashed in and your eyes on him again. 

But Satoru had to remind himself he was different. He was no longer the old Satoru whose emotions reigned over his logic. While the new Satoru was born through pain, it would do him good to act on the new things he learned; like patience. 

And patience he needed when later that night he found himself wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water - expecting the room to be empty and overcome with shock when he saw you there. You’re not alone either. The man from earlier guided your hand as you two fileted a fish. And what an odd sight it was - seeing your back pressed up another man’s chest as he carefully guided your knife against the belly of a salmon. Nanami notices the Prince first, respectfully removing his guiding hands and you look up, mouth agape at the sight of the unimpressed Prince in front of you. “Prince Gojo,” you both say, bowing respectfully at him. “How can we be of service?” Nanami asks, still stuck in his bow to Satoru. For the first time in your life you see Satoru ponder his next words and it is almost as shocking as being in the same room as him for the second time after going no-contact all those months ago. You aren’t used to him thinking so long about what to say; you’d always known him to speak his mind unfiltered. It made you incredibly uneasy.

“Are they aware you two occupy the kitchens after they’re meant to be closed,” he asks and you’re even more confused. Satoru? Becoming a stickler for rules? Your jaw hung open just for a moment when you remembered to pick it back up. 

“We’re very sorry, your royal highness. We will be sure to clean up and head off to bed,” Nanami is nothing short of respectful but Satoru still can’t hold back a scoff, turning his head to glance your way. His eyes miss their softness you’ve always been used to and you cower under his eyes, keeping your gaze on the ground until he finally turns around and leaves. 

𝜗𝜚

That night is the first night you let yourself think about Satoru again, now having many things to think about as you lay awake in your bed. 

He looked… almost disappointed in you? You try to fight the idea of him caring what you chose to do, chalking it up to your hopeless wanting that he was as stuck on you as you were stuck on him. But you saw him tonight with the Princess; getting close to her like he only ever did with you and you know you can’t let yourself get caught up in misguided optimism - Satoru had moved on and did exactly what you needed him to do… So why did that realization have to be so unbelievable to you?

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┊p1┊p2┊p3┊p4┊𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠... p5┊

(ty for all the support! comment to be added/removed)

[ruggiezz]

— TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] them coping with breaking up with you / angst

[characters] dormleaders (except for vil)

[warnings] mentions of depression symptoms, in basically all of them. wishing to die in a phrase in malleus's part, mentions of food (kalim and idia)

[song] tu falta de querer-mon laferte (i highly recommend listening while reading)

"¿CÓMO FUE, QUE ME DEJASTE DE AMAR?"/"HOW WAS IT, THAT YOU STOPPED LOVING ME?"

Heartslabyul students are worried about RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS now that he broke up with you. You would expect him to be more irritable than usual, taking out his anger in the first years and taking every opportunity he has to collar someone, but he isn't. He looks like an empty shell of who he once was, barely acknowledging other students, only focusing on his schoolwork. He sees how you look at this new guy you surely have something with. Was he better than him? He must make you happier than he ever did, and he wonders what did he do so wrong for you to stop loving him.

He starts overworking himself; it's the only way of coping he knows. He needs to work harder. He can do better. He needs to stop thinking about you and the way you cried after this particular fight you both had before breaking up. But he can't; your choked sobs come back to haunt him every time he's alone, trying to sleep after a hard day of school. Ace and Deuce barely spend time in Heartslabyul now, only going there to sleep and spending all of their time at Ramshackle. Trey is worried about him, seeing his eyebags and the way his eyes no longer sparkle when he eats tarts. Cater tries to make jokes whenever he can to try and earn a laugh from Riddle, but he just walks away, as if no one but him was there. The only thing Riddle can't ignore, no matter how much he works and works, is the way his heart aches.

"díficil olvidarte estando aquí/hard to forget you being here."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR barely goes out of his room anymore, having Ruggie fetch things for him whenever he needs to. His missed assignments were piling up on his desk, the curtains closed, and his phone on silent. He just lays all day and night on his bed, not even bothering to go to class anymore. He becomes snappy at Jack when he tells him that Trein told him he was going to have to repeat another year if he didn't attend classes, and he becomes irritated when Ruggie tells him that Falena called, asking to speak to him. Leona doesn't want to see anyone; he just wants to be wrapped around his covers, where no one can reach him.

The bed no longer smells of you; it feels empty and wrong to lay there without you, but he continues to do it. He overheard a second year talking about you dating someone new, and if looks could kill, that student would be dead. It's now an unwritten rule not to mention you in the dorm.

Whenever Leona's not sleeping, he's alone with his thoughts. His mind replays your last words to him, telling him it was for the best for both of you, and he asks himself again and again,How did you stop loving him? He can come up with a lot of answers that make his head hurt and his eyes watery, but he decides to sleep, so he can no longer feel.

"ahora dormiré my profundamente para olvidar/now i will sleep very profoundly to forget."

Everybody in Diasomnia notices how MALLEUS DRACONIA is in a worse mood every day that passes. There are storms almost every day, with thunder striking aggressively at everything it can manage to touch. If nobody dared to approach him before, they certainly don't dare even more now, making him even more lonely. He can't stop thinking about you; he misses you so much it hurts. Malleus finds himself out of Ramshackle dorm, staring at your room's window, hoping to catch a glance of you, but he never does. He can only hear your laughter and other guy laughing with you, which sours his mood even more. That night, nobody could sleep because of how strong the thunder was.

Lilia tries to assure the others that Malleus will be alright if they just give him time. Silver doesn't dare enter his room when he hears Malleus breaking things after he comes back from Ramshackle, knowing he is probably going to make him feel worse. And Sebek is distraught, even resenting you for making his young master feel so miserable, cursing your name under his breath, something that was immediately stopped by Lilia because Malleus could hear him.

Malleus wonders if you have cried as much as he has and if you feel this unbearable pain in your chest too. He longs for you, for your presence to soothe him and tell him you never stopped loving him and that it was all a very cruel joke humans made. But that never comes.

"quisiera hasta la muerte para no pensar/i would even like to die to not think."

"YO AÚN PODÍA SOPORTAR, TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER"/"I COULD STILL ENDURE IT, YOUR SO MUCH LACK OF LOVE"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO hasn't changed on the surface. He keeps his suave, businessman persona with clients, but he's noticeably quieter when alone with the twins. He works even more than before, staying until late at night in his office filling paperwork. Jade occasionally brings him tea, telling him not to stay up late. Floyd is in a sour mood now that Azul doesn't react how he would like to his antics, even missing work doesn't bother him as much as it used to.

No matter how much chaos or disaster the twins cause, Azul just looks the other way. Eventually, they just stop and continue helping him with his next business scheme, even if he doesn't seem as excited as he should be.

When alone in his room, Azul sits on his bed with his face hidden in his hands so that no one can hear his sobs. He feels so small and useless, wanting you to hold him and calm him down. But you aren't there. He is alone. He misses the way you would tell him words so sweet they were dripping with honey. He wonders if they were empty words you just told him to make him feel better. Please come back; he could endure knowing you didn't love him on the condition you wouldn't leave him.

"me siento mutilada y tan pequeña/i feel mutilated and so small."

No one notices any change in KALIM AL-ASIM, except Jamil, who hears him crying in his room at night while everyone is asleep. His smile is still bright as he greets the Scarabia students after a long day, but it no longer feels genuine. The parties in the dorm happen less and less, until they no longer happen.

Kalim feels as if he has withered inside, his heart broken in a thousand pieces. He misses you so badly, he just wants to hug you and tell you how sorry he is for not being enough. Please come back; he could even beg on his knees for you to be with him, even if you lacked the love you once felt for him.

Jamil brings him his breakfast, silently noticing the eyebags on Kalim's face. 'He must not have slept again' he thinks to himself. Kalim notices Jamil staring at him, and he wipes his face with his pajama sleeve. Neither of them say anything, and Jamil leaves him alone with his emotions and his food. He takes a bite out of it, ignoring how tired he feels after staring all night at the last text message you sent him. He wishes to write back and ask you for a second chance, saying he will do anything for you to come back, but he can't bring himself to do it.

"aún te amo y, creo, que hasta más que ayer/i still love you, and i think, even more than yesterday."

IDIA SHROUD isolates himself even more than before, hiding in his room and Ortho has to bring him food so he doesn't starve. Food no longer tastes good; it feels bland, videogames don't feel enjoyable; and no matter how many mangas and animes he watches, the feeling of wanting to cry that's stuck in his throat doesn't go away.

He barely speaks, answering Ortho with monosyllables when asked how he feels today, what he did all day, and where you were. Eventually, Ortho catches up to what happened and tries speaking with you, but Idia stops him. Even if he wants you to tell him why did you left, to yell at him what's wrong with him, to tell him that he was unloveable, to tell him something, something that explained why you didn't love him anymore, he doesn't want to see you. You left him with no explanation of why, only saying it was for the best, and that infuriated him but depressed him at the same time.

Idia wanted you to come back, to sit on his lap while he played a new game that dropped, but you aren't here with him anymore. His room feels colder than usual, with only the light from the screen accompanying him. He cries and cries, begging you in silence to come back, saying that he would cherish you and would be a better boyfriend now. But you won't come back and neither would your love for him, and he finds himself hoping you would stay here with him even if you didn't love him anymore.

"ven y cuéntame la verdad, ten piedad/come and tell me the truth, have mercy."

[god-has-entered-my-body]

I'll take it one day at a time - M.H x Reader // pt.7

A/N: this took a while to write soz my loves TW: hard drugs especially in this one, please take care of yourself! Also very NSFW minors do not interact. I had a fun time writing it and an even better time listening to @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff (absolute cunt) tell me i'm evil❤️ Enjoy yourself my loves!!

wc: 5k

part eight

It hurts 

Everything hurts. This impossible pain that was eating you alive from the inside out. You missed him, it was like a part of you had been ripped out of you. Since the day you met you hadn't spent more than two or three days apart, and even that was by force of either his parents or yours.

You kept replaying that day in your mind. The way he had looked at you, his eyes wide and teary, begging you to let him explain. Maybe you should have stayed, made him tell you exactly what had happened. What made it all worse was that Ruby was a part of all this. She had given it to him in the first place, the thought made your stomach churn.

The past few days had been spent laying in your bed, curled up in a ball under dirty covers. He had lied to you. The lights were dim, barely illuminating the numerous piles of plates that littered the surfaces in your room. Your mother had tried multiple times to get you out of bed, but you just ignored her, not being able to find the strength. 

Hann had come over, meeting your mother in the process. She had directed him to your room, saying something about your boyfriend leaving you. Completely false, since you hadn't said anything to her. She liked to assume things, taking on whatever narrative helped her feel better.

The door creaked open, light flooding the otherwise dark room. 

His hand brushed against your arm as he sat down at the foot of your bed, his eyes filled with worry. You didn't speak at first, refusing to make eye contact. It hurt too much. 

“Darling, where is Matty?” The pet name made your heart wrench, reminding you of him. The pit in your stomach just dug itself deeper, and it felt like a thousand knives were stabbing into you always. 

You shrug your shoulders, honestly not knowing where he was. Matty had called and called, texting you hundreds of times begging you to talk to him. By the second day, you had already switched off your phone, chucking into a corner, forgotten. 

“No one knows where he is, George is having a proper meltdown.” he continues, his voice slightly shaky, the anxiety in it evident. He tells you how they had tried his house, and it turning up empty. Mattys parents were away, and nobody knew how to get ahold of them. 

“Adam.” was all you could muster, not having spoken in days. The creak of the bed is deafening as you turn around to face him, looking up. “He..” your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes. 

“...he did something. Heroin.” you manage to finish your sentence before breaking out into tears again, clutching his arm. “He promised he wouldnt do it again.” the sound of Mattys voice filled your mind, broken promises and lies.

“I believed him.” you force out, your eyes pleading with Hann to say something. 

“Jesus Christ, are you serious?” The question is rhetorical. He knows. 

The day is spent with Adam comforting you through crying fits and feelings of blame, even bringing you water and food. 

You ask for a spliff, that being the only thing you knew would calm your nerves. Not having done anything else since your fight with Matty, you were starting to feel small symptoms of withdrawal. Cold sweat, dizziness, you had even thrown up once or twice into the bin next to your desk.

Hann, like the angel he is, pulls out a baggie of weed, rolling you a spliff. You ask him to open the window to let the smoke out, not quite in the mood for a hotbox. He obliges, and the warm air that is let into the room feels nice. The light helps too, letting you see the absolute state your room was in. 

The haze of the weed calms you down, your crying down to only silent tears rolling down your face as Adam tries to speak to you. You don't listen, his voice sounds distorted and far away. At some point, he gets up to leave, telling you to switch on your phone. When you don't react, he searches for it, finding it underneath a pile of clothes. Turning it on, he sets it onto the nightstand, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead as the door closes behind him.

You were alone. 

With the spliff almost down to the filter, you chuck it into the rubbish, noticing Adam had cleared the vomit from it. It dwindles out, burning a small whole into the plastic of the fresh bin bag. Staring at the wall for what felt like an eternity, you hear your phone start to ring. 

You think it's Adam calling, making sure you were eating the sandwich he had made you, so you pick up, not bothering to look at the ID. The receiver picks up only silence for the first few seconds of the call, then heavy breaths fill your ears. Matty. 

Your heart jumps at the sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, dread filling you instantly. Something was wrong, you could feel it.

“I-'' he cuts himself off, a laboured groan leaving his lips. “I don't..” 

Something starts in you, and you jump to your feet. Eyes darting around the room to locate your keys, you tug your shoes on while holding the phone between your ear and shoulder. 

“Where are you?” you say, trying to remain calm. “Matty, where the fuck are you.” you repeat, your voice sounding more urgent. 

His answer is barely audible, but you understand. 

“I'm at Carolines..- please- I can't..” the line goes dead, the dial tone as loud as sirens in your head. 

You push past your mother, ignoring her requests to know where you're going. This wasn't the time, you had to get to him, now. 

You were never particularly athletic, always opting to cut P.E in favour of smoking a spliff behind the bushes with one George or Matty. Breathing heavily, you sprint down the street towards the old paper factory, dodging cars and people like it was an olympic sport.

Out of breath and sweaty, the last bolt up the flight of stairs leading to the terrace was difficult, your legs almost giving out on you multiple times. The door to the platform was already open when you finally made it to the top. 

Your heart stops when you see curls peeking out from the side of the sofa, falling limply over the material of the armrest. A soft groan echoes through the air, pained and tired. 

The sight of him will be burned into your mind until the day you die. Matty is half laying half sitting on the cushions, an old pillow holding him up, his skin deathly pale, even more so than usual. Tears run down his face, track marks littering the inside of his forearms. 

“I’m- i’m s-so sorry, I didn't-” his words are weak, still coming from a very bad high. You start to take care of him, just like you did in that bathroom all those weeks ago. The needle is still in his arm, dirty and used, he winces when you pull it out, chucking it off of the balcony. 

“We need to- you need help, Matty, I'm serious.” His eyes widen at your statement, his free hand reaching up to grab you. “P-please, don't call anyone.” he starts, visibly shaking. “I dont- i just want you.. no one else.” he’s scared. You've never seen him scared before, the fear visible on his face. 

“Just hold still, let me-” You have no experience in cleaning wounds of any kind, but you try your best, finding a pack of tissues in your bag, wiping down his arm. 

His hands are still shaking, and they feel cold to the touch. It breaks your heart to see him like this, scared and cold, not knowing what to do. 

“Please don't tell anyone.'' He forces the words out of his mouth, making eye contact with you. 

“I won't. But this is the last time.” you answer, stroking his upper arm comfortingly. He looks wrecked, dark circles under his eyes, hair obviously unwashed. He was wearing the same clothes he was when you last saw him

“Do you have anything else on you?” you ask, holding out your hand. You weren't letting him do this again. Never again. 

He nods, taking a kit out of his pocket. Inside, another needle, a spoon, and a small baggie. Taking it out of his hands, you walk over to the edge of the terrace, shaking the sandy coloured substance out onto the street, letting it fly into the wind to disappear. 

The needle was broken in two, also thrown over the edge of the terrace. Gone 

Matty let out soft groans as he moved to properly lay down, asking you to sit with him. You do, lowering yourself onto the ground next to the sofa, your hand reaching up to stroke his face. His tears still stream down his face, and you wipe them away, smiling at him. 

“I'm moving in with you.”

“I missed you.”

Both of you spoke at the same time, your voices overlapping. He raises his eyebrows at you, words forming in his mouth before dying. 

“Okay.” he nods, accepting your decision. 

“I’ve told Hann. We’re getting you clean, I don't care if you want to or not.” 

“Okay.” 

Silence 

“I love you.” the words slip out of your mouth, hitting him just as hard as they did you. He squeezes your hand, leaning down for a kiss. He doesn't say it back. The two of you sit there, staring into each other's eyes. Mattys breathing becomes more regular, and so do his pupils. 

“Don't do that ever again, please.” your voice is small, audibly shaking. 

“I won't.” a wave of deja vu washes over you

He won't. 

What are we?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck you are! You're not going anywhere” your mothers shrill voice pierces your ears, and you shake your head. Packing your things, you walked around grabbing the remaining clothes out of your wardrobe, stuffing them into a suitcase. 

Your mother had tried to stop you, but she couldn't. Having turned 18 a while ago, you were free to go wherever you pleased. Mattys house was already filled with a bunch of your stuff, and you had been sleeping over there more often than in your own bed. What was the difference?

“If you leave now, you're not my daughter anymore.” she said quietly, almost expectantly. 

You roll your eyes.

“Never really was, was I?” that was all you needed to say. All you've been wanting to say for years. Her eyes widen, and you turn around as the hurt spreads onto her face. 

The door shuts with a loud bang, the sound echoing through the neighbourhood. 

—-------------------------------------------------------

The days dragged by as Matty became more and more restless, making it entirely your problem. No amount of weed could calm him down, jittery and shaking. The itch was there for you as well, albeit not as strong as Mattys, who was close to crying by the looks of it. 

But he had promised you, and was intending to keep said promise even if it was extremely uncomfortable, the headache that was spread throughout his head wasn't helping either.

The two of you had spent the day in each other's arms, a blanket draped over you. The TV was quiet, the lights flickering over Mattys face softly as he pulled your lips into a firm kiss. 

‘What are we?’

You push the thought out of your head, letting yourself be kissed. His hand drew small circles onto the side of your arm, ever so often stopping to lightly pinch at the skin, making you jump. You felt his smile against your lips, the feeling only comparable to some sort of divinity. It was soft moments like these that made you forget everything else. The fighting, the drugs, the others.

You had called Hann, letting him know that you and Matty needed space. Withholding most details, like the state you had found him in, you assure him of Mattys wellbeing, stating “He’s going through it, but I've got it under control. Denise doesn't know, and don't tell her when she comes back.” His mother was set to make a return sometime in the next couple months, you overheard her tell Matty on the phone.  

The kiss deepens, with Matty attempting to slip his tongue into your mouth, and you let him. Since this started happening, it had always been you that had control of the situation, not letting him even get a taste of power before pushing him down, telling him to “Be good for me, yeah? I'll give you what you want, just…” 

His hand threads itself in your hair, and you gasp at the slight tug he gives it. The look in his eye when you finally glance up makes your breath hitch. Pupils completely blown out, he looks at you with an expression that can only be described as pure lust.

He pulls away for a split second, his eyes asking you a silent question. You nod.

Immediately, his hands are occupied with pushing your shirt up, hands palming your tits, and you feel rough calluses against your skin, making you moan. It seems like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room when he pressed a searing hot kiss onto your ribs, slowly working his way to run his tongue across your peaked nipple, making your back arch back into him. 

He lets out a low, almost animalistic groan as you grind against him, your hips rolling onto his steadily growing erection. A flicker of pride flashed through you at the thought of you being the reason he was worked up after a few kisses and a look. You smile, raking a hand through his hair as he kisses down your stomach, quickly stopping him before he could go and lower. 

“Can we switch?” you ask, batting your eyelashes, a faux innocent expression. He nods vigorously, letting you climb on top of him. 

The look he gave you when you started to grind down onto him is priceless, wide eyes and parted lips staring back at you. You kiss down his neck, leaving aggressive hickeys in your wake, marking him up. He adjusts underneath you, and you reach a hand up to his chest, raking your hand over the expanse of it. The nipple piercing catches your eye, the black metal almost shimmering in the light. 

“O-oh my go- fuckk-” his moans fill the air when you tug on it, a sharp pain reverberating through his body, and you feel him twitch against your leg. Your teeth find the piercing, biting down and pulling again, drinking in the noises he makes in response. Hands find his sides, thumbing at his ribs, trying to distract from the pain coming from his chest. 

“You want me?” you ask, smugly, seeing his expression rapidly change. He looks blissed out, and you haven't even properly touched him yet. The next words to come out of your mouth make his breath hitch and his hips buck upwards in desperation. 

“Want me to suck you off? I promise I'm good.” you mock his words, grinning at him in the same manner he did. The sight of you perched on top of him and your question almost made him cum in his pants, again. 

“P-please, i promise i won't touch- just.. please” his voice cracks as he says the last word, morphing into a drawn out moan, the sound going straight to your core. 

“But- i want you to get off first.” he never ceases to surprise you, his statement making you perk up, raising an eyebrow at him. “You can, you know..” he vaguely gestures at his thigh, eyes avoiding yours. A laugh escapes you when you realise what he meant, an extremely unsexy snort leaving your lips. 

“You want me to.. Seriously? Grind on your thigh?” he cringes at the way you say it, flexing his legs under you. “Well, yeah, you're pretty and I like to.. watch you?” he sounds unsure, like you're about to laugh at him again. The compliment takes you by surprise, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You don't speak anymore, instead sitting up straight, towering over him. Mattys breathing becomes even more irregular than it already was, his chest rising and falling up and down rapidly. “Okay, i'll do it.'' Your voice is breathless and small, but his reaction is thankful, hands finding your hips comfortingly.

Your fingers toy with the hem of Mattys shirt, which was now pulled back down. He nods, giving you permission to take it off of him, softly moaning as it brushes against his nipple, still sensitive and raw from your previous attack on his chest. 

Your lack of pants in the first place helped you settle onto his thigh comfortably, the shirt you had on covering most of you. You could feel his gaze on you, watching your every move. An experimental grind onto his jean-clad thigh made a spark of pleasure lick up your spine, a soft moan leaving your lips as you make eye contact with Matty. He urges you on, hands creeping up to cup your tits again, softer this time. 

You grind down harder, feeling a dull pleasure spread throughout your body. Matty lets out a quiet groan at the sight of you using him to get off, getting even harder than he thought possible. Speeding up, you settle into a distinct rhythm, your hips ever so slightly guided by Mattys hands resting on them. 

“You look so pretty like this.”

He sounds genuine, his eyes raking over your body with a look of adoration. You smile, letting out a moan as he tensed his thigh slightly, upping the pressure against your clit. Lowering down to catch his lips in a desperate kiss, you can feel yourself get closer to the edge, Mattys tongue licking into your mouth only spurring you on. 

“Fuck- Matty.” you look down, seeing Mattys eyes still on you makes something ignite within you, the rubber band in your core tightening even more. His hands play with your nipples, thumbing at the skin, leaving light kisses on the back of your hand. His expression is sickly sweet, almost cocky. You cup his face, kissing him roughly as you feel yourself throttling towards your orgasm. 

A hand finds his cock, firmly palming him through his jeans, making him groan into your mouth. You can feel a wet patch forming on the front of his pants, soaking them with precum. A particularly pathetic moan and skilled twist of your nipple from Matty makes you fall apart on his thigh, legs shaking as you grind your way through your climax. 

Your breathing is heavy when you finally start to come down from your high, Matty jumpy and twitchy underneath you, watching you collect yourself. There's a wet patch on the front of his jeans where you had just been, perfectly matching the one he had caused all by himself. 

“Is this all f’me?” you ask, your hand stroking him through the material of his pants, watching him clench his fists at his side. You bat your eyelashes at him again, and he lets out a short string of please’s and begging. The sight in front of you is absolutely delicious, Matty panting and squirming, his curls sticking to his forehead.

“Relax for me baby, let me take care of you.” you coo, watching his reactions closely. He throws his head back, hitting the pillows as he lets out another loud groan. Your hand moves to the zipper of his jeans, slowly unbuttoning them. The tent in his boxers is obvious, his cock straining against the thin material.

Your nails graze his thigh, digging into the skin. You knew he liked a bit of pain to his pleasure, and you were going to give him just that. 

His hand finds your hair as you pull down his boxers, letting his erection spring out. Precum dribbled down the side, coating his cock in a layer of shine. Your hand wraps around him, giving him a light squeeze. The moan he lets out is heavenly, and you stroke up and down the length of him, thumbing his slit. He shudders, his hand tightening in your hair. 

“Please- do something.” you listen to him, reaching down to drag your tongue up the underside of his cock. Sputtering and moaning, he mutters out “T-thank you, fuck, thats so good.” 

You do the same again, taking him into your mouth. He feels heavy on your tongue, precum spilling out of the tip. 

“I’m not gonna last- i’m sorry I-” you cut him off with a graze of your teeth along the inside of his thigh. His thighs tense as your hand grasps the base of his cock, stroking what your mouth can't take. You bob your head, groans of pleasure leaving his lips as he bucks up into your mouth. He tries to apologise, and you tell him you’ll stop if he does that again. 

Nodding, he watches as your hand tugs at him, your bright nails a stark contrast to the leaking head of his cock. The sight is erotic, the way your red-rimmed mouth moves up and down his length, taking him deeper each time.

“I can’t- i’m going to-” he tries to pull you off of him, but you resist, instead speeding up your movements, desperately trying to bring him to the edge. Your eyes are watering and you can feel spit dripping down the side of your chin, but that didn't matter to you. You needed to feel Matty come undone in your mouth, and you were so close.

He whined, bucking up into your mouth, biting back yet another apology. 

“F-fuck-” is your only warning before he spills into yor mouth, hot ropes of cum painting the back of your throat. His hand never left your hair, gripping onto it for dear life as you worked him through his orgasm. 

Sticking out your tongue to show off what he had done, Matty screws his eyes shut at the sight, a groan leaving his parted lips. You swallow.

“That was.. So fucking good.” you giggle at the praise, crawling up to kiss him deeply. He can taste himself on your tongue, moaning softly into the kiss. You reach down to play with the piercing on his chest. The sounds he made were too heavenly to make you stop. 

The hickeys you had sucked into the skin of his neck and chest made you gawk at him, admiring your work. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he smirks at you, cocky. You take out the camera you kept in your bag, which was conveniently sitting on the glass table adjacent to the sofa. Angling the camera so you could capture everything, the flash goes off three separate times. It blinds him the first time, making his eyes shut at the light. 

The second picture is better, with Matty looking at you instead of the camera, a provocative grin spread onto his face. He was always a sucker for attention, absolutely relishing in it. The picture perfectly caught the deep purple of the marks you had left on him, contrasting his pale skin perfectly. 

The third picture though, was your favourite. Your hand had made its way to his nipple, pulling at the piercing right before snapping the photo. His face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure, mouth slightly open with his eyes almost fully closed. He sure was a sight for sore eyes, the expression igniting a fire in you. 

Leaning down to kiss him, you chuck the camera somewhere behind you, hearing it hit cushions on the other end of the sofa. The moment was soft, tender, like a fond memory. 

One thing ruined it all. A nagging feeling at the back of your mind you just couldn't calm.

"What are we?" 

—-------------------------------------------------------

It had taken days of convincing to get Matty to go with you. Ross and Adam had invited you to dinner, and George was also going to be there. He was reluctant to go, not wanting to face any of them. After hours of pleading and a makeout session, you stood by the door and watched as he put his shoes on. 

 You both walked hand in hand down the street, taking a shortcut through an old junkyard. Hann was probably just as nervous as Matty was to see him again, and you told him as much. Matty just shrugged, eyes glued to the ground in front of him. 

The ring of the doorbell as you pressed it made him finally look up. Ross answered, eyes softening and he saw you both. He pulled you in for a hug, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Matty was twitchy and frankly, scared, to see everyone again. The way he had acted made him cringe inwardly. 

“Hey Matty.” Ross spoke as he pulled him in for one of his big man hugs. Matty hugged him back, finally smiling. It was okay, everything was going to be okay. 

The conversation had been hard at first, with Hann going on his ‘drugs are bad for you’ rant again. Matty sat and listened, and so did you, squeezing his hand under the table when Adam finally finished, getting up to put on the kettle.

George was sitting on the couch, eyeing you as you went to plop next to him. Everything seemed normal, except for Hann’s incessant rambling and checking if everything was alright, which was pretty regular now that you really thought about it. 

The night was spent laughing and watching Pulp Fiction on the telly. It felt like old times, before everything had gone to shit. You smile fondly at the memories of Matty and Ross almost killing each other over trivial games of FIFA, clawing at each other until Hann finally pulled them apart. 

You watch the others, absolutely engrossed in the movie, with soft munching coming from the direction of Ross and his bag of prawn cocktail crisps. He had an obsession with the flavour, reluctant to try anything else. George had even offered him a tenner to swap with him his cheese flavoured ones, and he flat out refused. 

The night was calm, with you leaning against Mattys chest for the majority of the movie. You felt his breathing and heartbeat in his chest, it calmed you. Everything felt alright, and you could feel your eyes droop closed. The last thing you remember was Mattys hand stroking your hip lightly as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, breathing in the scent of his cologne.   

[lorelei-system]

Although I love the sentiment of “if you’re worried about faking, you’re not faking, because faking is something you consciously choose to do”, it doesn’t really help for us.

For us, self-fakeclaiming is more along the lines of: what if I’m misinterpreting what’s happening? What if the voices I hear are just my internal monologue/ my brain replaying noise I’ve heard all day? What if I just want to have alters, so I misinterpret every little thing as being evidence of them? What if my trauma (what I remember of it) wasn’t bad enough? What if I just want friends in my head on top of all the negative stuff (like dissociation, flashbacks, identity issues/inconsistencies)?

I think it’s more of a “am I grasping at straws to explain my symptoms this way because I actually want to have alters?” It’s more of a “could I be wrong about this?”Especially because I’ve been trying to find an explanation for what’s wrong with me all my life.

I mean, I still don’t know if the way I hear voices is actually consistent with systems. I also don’t know if my lack of amnesia during “switches”, and the way that I experience switches, is actually valid.

I don’t know if any other systems or questioning systems relate to any of this. It’s scary to even say because I don’t want to have been wrong about this. But it’s always on my mind.

(Also: please don’t tell us to go see a therapist. We would if we could.)

-Poppy

[hischierswhore]

prologue (part 1) (c. pulisic)

TW: cursing // mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 669

A/N: surprise shawty ! this is a brand new series i’m working on, and i’m really excited to write this one.

next chapter

The 3 years you spent loving Christian were the best years of your life. You still remember all the things he said to you, and it makes your heart ache when you hear his voice in your head now, replaying your final conversation in your head.

“Y/n, I don’t want this to be harder than it already is” He softly spoke as you both sat on your couch.

“Chris I’ll just go with you. This doesn’t have to be the end for us” Tears began to flow down your face.

“I can’t do that to you. I can’t just drag you with me and force you to give up your dreams for me” He looked into your eyes so intensely, his heart was breaking at the sight.

“Please don’t do this, Christian”

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but I think we should end this” He stood up and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek before leaving.

The moment he left, you grabbed onto the fabric of your couch as tears streamed down your cheeks, the sudden pain in your chest piercing through your body.

You laid there crying as memories of the good times rushed over you like a wave. Every part of you hurt when he walked away, and you felt empty without him. Your head started pounding with every beat of your heart. It seemed like it took hours to calm yourself down, all while sobbing quietly into the soft material of your cushion.

You’d lost the love of your life.

—

A few weeks later, you found yourself at the doctor’s office after constantly feeling nauseous. You were initially convinced that it was a stomach bug, but for these symptoms to continue even after 2 weeks, you decided it was time to go get checked.

Normally Christian would’ve been here with you, as he was always worried about you, even if you had a slight cold. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t here because he was too selfless and put your happiness before his own.

So here you are, sat in the exam room all alone, waiting for your doctor to come back with your results.

“Ms Y/n… I have your results back, and it turns out you are 12 weeks pregnant” You felt nauseous at her words. You were pregnant? Of course you were. The universe just had to find a way to keep you linked to your now ex-boyfriend, whom you still loved so deeply.

You thanked your doctor for her time and drove to Christian’s apartment to break the news to him.

Upon your arrival, you noticed his parking spot was empty, which meant he wasn’t home, so you drove to his parents house, as that was the only other place he would be at 3pm on a Monday.

You brought yourself to the front door and braced yourself before you would have to see the man who broke your heart.

The door opened and revealed his mother.

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” She moved to the side to let you into her home, one you were all too familiar with.

“I uhm- I came to talk to Christian. He wasn’t at his apartment and I figured he would be here…” You couldn’t look her in the eye, afraid she would be able to detect that something was wrong.

“Oh honey, you didn’t know? Christian moved to Europe for football. He left last week. Your heart dropped at her words. There was no way.

“Oh… I wasn’t aware, but uhm- thank you for telling me” You said your goodbyes and left. On your way back to your apartment, you decided to call him, as you never deleted his number from your phone.

The line rang a few times before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Christian?”

“Uhm no. This is Max”

[ashwithane]

happy 5th anniversary, fire emblem three houses!

i didn’t have time to do anything super elaborate, but i’m glad i could at least make some simple drawings of how i looked when the game released vs how i look now. i tried to give them a similar vibe to the in-game portraits haha

rant below about my feelings right now because there’s a Lot to say! content warning for mental illness and childhood trauma 🫠🤙

as you can see in the drawings, i’ve come a long way in the past five years. when three houses first released, i was a deeply insecure high schooler who never dared to speak up or express themself. i struggled with self worth issues and had long since begun developing ocd symptoms as a result of the fear i had that there was something wrong with me, something i couldn’t possibly know or change but that everyone would see if i made a single wrong move.

throughout high school, and my adolescence as a whole, i had a hard time connecting with people. but when i played three houses, i connected with the story, the characters, the ability to replay it again and again and always try something new, change characters’ classes and find new paired endings and discover the little details i hadn’t noticed before. i was playing three houses the weekend after covid lockdown was announced, and i remember talking to one of my friends about this cool game i’d just started my second playthrough of. we laughed and talked about the game, figuring that lockdown would only last a few weeks, and then things would be back to normal.

lockdown was difficult for me, as it was for most people. but at the same time, not going to school in person meant i could afford to let my guard down. i could afford to unmask, and discover who i was when i didn’t spend every moment in fear of what others would think. and so when lockdown ended, i started college still timid, but somewhat more familiar with who i was inside.

and then, one day, a thought hit me out of nowhere.

“am i trans???”

and thus began the journey of self-discovery that was my first summer after college. i started using the name ashe, started using any pronouns and later switched to just they/them. i also finally got up the courage to tell my parents i wanted to get tested for autism, and came back with that diagnosis to explain almost everything i hadn’t had the words to understand before.

recently, my mental health has gotten worse. i got diagnosed with anxiety at the same time i got my autism diagnosis, but nobody told me i have ocd as well until earlier this year. things took a nosedive for me over this past school year—i stopped taking risks, barely left my college campus, barely allowed myself to put effort into social connections out of fear that i’d be forcing people to put up with me. but through therapy and medication, i’ve been working through those feelings, and the fears my brain internalized as a result of the way i grew up: feeling like something was wrong with me, but not knowing what. today, i feel pretty good! i’ve been having more and more good days, so i’m overall optimistic about what my future holds.

to bring this back on topic, fire emblem: three houses has gotten me through countless tough times, and has been immensely helpful in figuring out who i am. so in honor of the anniversary, i’d like to give a special thank you to the characters who have been the most important to me over the past five years.

ashe: i’ll start with the obvious. ashe is the character i stole my name from, so of course he will always hold a special place in my heart. in addition to that though, ashe’s earnest personality and commitment to doing the right thing is immensely inspiring to me. he proves that it’s possible to make mistakes and grow from them, that your life isn’t over after one misstep. ashe has taught me to never give up on doing the right thing, and being the best version of myself i can be.

felix: this list would not be complete without the scrunkly of all time! obviously i find felix to be a very compelling character and fun to write, but his significance to me goes beyond being a writing muse. i’ve often thought that i wish i’d had a friend like felix when i was younger, and even now—someone who would drag me into situations i found stressful and encourage me (in his own rude way) to have confidence in myself. someone who would have stood up for me against the people who treated me like i was lesser. felix inspires me to fight for what i want, his shield symbolizing the ability to make your own choices for what and who you defend. he reminds me that there’s no glory in being a martyr, and so i shouldn’t make my well being a second priority. i love you felix and i’m sorry i put you through the horrors regularly (but not sorry enough to stop).

marianne: it’s probably concerning to say i see a lot of myself in marianne. her journey is incredibly inspiring to me, especially now as i see that the past five years have taken me along a similar path to hers. marianne starts out thinking she’s too different from everyone else to deserve a life like theirs, and condemns herself to crushing loneliness all to avoid the possibility of her hurting the people she loves. and yet she learns to live for herself, realizes that her mere existence doesn’t cause any harm, and learns to embrace her right to enjoy life. i hope to have the same strength she does, so that one day i can reach that point as well.

linhardt: no joke, i realized i was neurodivergent because of linhardt. so many of his lines and support conversations made me go “ha, he’s so autistic/adhd coded!” i made these comments repeatedly, but i also kept noticing all the little ways in which i related to him. linhardt was one of many autistic people who made me go “huh, i do that too! what do you mean that’s not normal???” his character also serves as a reminder that it’s okay to take a break once and a while, and that looking after myself doesn’t mean i don’t care about others.

if there’s one thing left to say, it’s thank you. thank you to ashe, felix, marianne, linhardt, mercedes, sylvain, ignatz, hapi, yuri, hell—my oc rowan, all the characters i’ve connected with and loved so deeply over the past five years. thank you fire emblem three houses, not for being the only reason i am where i am today, but being a major part of it nonetheless. and if anyone’s still reading, thank you for making it this far, and happy timeskip! 🎉

[skye-huntress]

Quick disclaimer that I will not tolerate personal attacks or leakers. I’d prefer not to add more people to my block list, so let’s keep things friendly.

After a few playthroughs and some time to process everything, I think I’m now ready to talk more about Double Exposure.

First, some backstory. I played the original Life is Strange from Day 1. I had a feeling the game might be special and even then it blew my expectations away several times over. I found Max very relatable, so after months of replaying episodes again and again, I felt I could put myself in her shoes, and rationalise my choices the same way she did.

When the final choice came, I did hesitate, but not from indecision or uncertainty like I did so many times before (and since). I knew immediately what my choice would be, it was the why of it that took time for me to figure out. I’ve played a lot of choice based games where I made sacrifices that hurt, but being in Max’s shoes in that moment, I realised I had a limit. Was it the best choice? Objectively, no. Was it what Chloe wanted? It wasn’t. Would it lead Max to a “happily ever after”? Definitely not. Nine years later, and after playing the first parts of DE, would I still make the same choice again? Heck yes!

With that out of the way, let’s get into the DE spoilers below:

My impression of this Max is that she is constantly trying to run from her trauma but is evidently always carrying it around with her. For most of the past 10 years, she’s been on the move, never finding a place she can truly settle in, photographing places that are abandoned, ruined, and lonely. And Max starts this game very much alone through her own choices and inaction. She distanced herself from her parents, hasn’t been in touch with any of her former classmates, and her relationship with living Chloe falls apart. There isn’t much about the break up that gives a clear indicator on how exactly it happened, but it was clear there was no bad blood from either side, just regrets that they couldn’t get it to work. I wouldn’t be surprised if Chloe also follows Max on social media without actually contacting her. And naturally, Max hasn’t truly opened up with any of her new friends, colleagues or students, not even Safi. If nothing changes, I’d say her potential romantic relationship with Amanda is also doomed before it even begins.

In this story, this self-imposed isolation leaves her vulnerable in a number of ways. The person who is most secretive is the one others trust the least, which is not ideal in the middle of a murder mystery. Now Max has found evidence that incriminates her, and if it gets out, how many people would be willing to give a relative stranger a chance? Gwen is better known on campus and even she doesn’t think she can fight video evidence on someone who looks exactly like her. There is another danger to Max to consider. If we are dealing with someone with the ability to assume anyone’s identity, if they were looking to permanently adopt a new one, Max would be the perfect candidate. If an imposter disposed of Max and assumed her identity, who is left in her life who’d be able to tell the difference?

So, not only do we have to deal with two different versions of all of our persons of interest and try not to mix them up, sometimes they might not even be either version, but an imposter! Like the LW Vinh who claimed to be too hungover to remember his own passcode despite not showing any symptoms while a completely wasted DW Vinh immediately and enthusiastically recalled the name of the supposed “dead magician scientist”. Didn’t think much of it my first two playthroughs, but on the third I started to note his odd behaviour. Oh, and sometimes even our evidence and testimony might not be reliable, it could be incriminating someone who is actually innocent. Max is already victim to an incriminating photo she can’t explain, and both Lucas and Gwen have similar stories.

So, is it more important to acquire evidence, or is it more important for Max to build her relationships with the people around her? Although it didn’t matter much in the end, in True Colors, Alex could gain or lose the support of members of the local council depending on her choices and relationships with each member. She still uses her powers to get a confession either way, but I’m wondering if this time around, the outcome might change depending on who or how many people actually get to know and trust the real Max. And maybe this is an opportunity to face herself, kind of. Maybe if she can start working through some of her issues and letting people in again, she can start over for real this time.

One thing that is interesting though, and I did call this, we have a missing Max. Max disappeared from Living World around the same time as Safi’s death. The only person to notice was Amanda. Now Max is juggling her time between both worlds but even she can’t be in two places at once, so people might start to notice how she constantly disappears and reappears suddenly. Then comes the question of what happens when Max is done and she stops shifting. Which world does she stay in, and which one does she leave behind? One world is grieving Safi, the other is riddled with scandals, and Max’s relationships in both worlds are already starting to diverge. It’ll probably hurt either way, not unlike the original game’s choice, and it probably also depends on how the mystery wraps up. I’m currently leaning towards Dead World, because Max seems to be getting closer with Amanda and Moses, but then she has spent more time with them so we’ll see how things play out.

[aspenwritesstuff]

REPLAY : Stars and Raindrops

REPLAY Masterlist | w/c: 3.5k | Seungmin x Reader

warnings: angst, post-breakup sadness, longing, sex mentioned/implied (no details, sorry lovies), symptoms of anxiety (skin picking), hurt&comfort

synopsis: After a year of dating, you and Seungmin had ran into an issue many couples do - consistent bickering. After having enough, you'd made the difficult choice to break things off. When you return to his apartment to retreive the last of your things, will you still feel the same way about your relationship? Or was a reminder of all of the love you'd shared all it took to reignite the once-encompassing flame?

“When you say that everything is useless and meaningless, but only good memories come back."

Despite the apathy Kim Seungmin’s friends accused him of, he found himself incessantly dwelling on the last words he’d heard you say. 

“What’s the point, Min? What are we even fighting for anymore?”

Even now, he felt the devastation of those simple sentences wreak havoc on his heart. How could you have summarized the entirety of your relationship into two heartbreaking questions, forsaking every bit of joy the two of you had shared? How could you have forgotten every inside joke and comforting embrace? He didn’t hate you for it, though.

In fact, Seungmin wished he could abandon them, too. It would be easier that way. 

The knowledge that you were coming by his apartment today poignantly lacked the excitement it used to carry with it - knowing that this would likely be the last time you willingly spent with him souring the idea of getting to see your face again. He stood from the couch, ignoring the dent his body had left after days of rotting away alone, grabbing an empty box in which to gather your things. 

He started in the bathroom. There was a certain sadness to halving the amount of things in a room, even without the attachment of a breakup. Seungmin bit the inside of his cheek to maintain composure, fighting the urge to shed any more tears, as he lifted the glass perfume bottle he’d gifted you a few months ago from the counter. 

You’d been eyeing it for a while, not that you’d ever said anything to him about it, but he had a keen sense of awareness - especially when it came to you. He’d asked you if you’d wanted it before, earning a scoff and a wave of your hand as you assured him that it wasn’t really that important. 

But he hadn’t let it go. 

He’d grabbed it after his shift at the cafe across the street from the parfumerie, grinning from ear to ear as he carried the pale pink bag back to the apartment. You’d gotten a text from him, saying it was of the utmost importance that you came over after your plans with your mom, and had later scolded him for worrying you. 

He’d always remember the concern in your voice as you’d come in the door, “Minnie?” you’d been sliding off your shoes when you called his name, “Is everything okay?”

He was far too excited to feel bad about having worried you in the moment, nearly vibrating with glee as you rounded the corner into the dining room. When you took in the uncharacteristic grin on his face, your concern quickly morphed into confusion. It wasn’t until he’d pulled that pastel bag out from under the chair that the understanding of what he’d done for you overcame them both, replacing any worries you had with a growing endearment towards him. 

Seungmin sniffled as he remembered the way your voice sounded, muffled into his neck as you’d embraced him tightly, telling him that he was the best. 

If only he’d been able to keep you believing so.

Placing the glass bottle gingerly into the box, he gathered the rest of your toiletries and moved on to the bedroom. The scent of your shampoo wafted up from the bedding as Seungmin flopped down onto the mattress, opening the drawer of the bedside table you’d claimed as your own. A humorless scoff came from his lips as he remembered your indignation at having nowhere for your things. 

“If you want me to stay over here, I don’t want to throw my things wherever!”

Shaking his head, and the recollection of your cute pout from his mind, he pulled the drawer open. The inside was pretty bare, containing but a few knick-knacks and keepsakes. He lifted them one-by-one, heaviness growing nearly unbearable on his shoulders as he felt the lump in his throat grow. 

The first thing he packed was a slip of paper from inside of a fortune cookie. He’d tried to make you a nice dinner on your first overnight, only to end up forgetting to set the timer and burning the salmon beyond saving. He’d felt horrible, terrified that he’d made an incompetent fool of himself in front of you and that you wouldn’t want to stay - but you surprised him. 

You always surprised him. 

You’d comforted him, pecking him on the cheek before pulling the menu for China Garden off of his fridge, asking him what he wanted as you dialed the number into your phone. You ate your takeout together in front of the TV, poking fun at the overrated rom-com rather than actually paying attention. After the credits, you’d excitedly handed him a fortune cookie - giggling as you counted down from three - insisting that you open them together. 

Seungmin could no longer remember what his own had said, though yours would forever reside in the most cherished part of his memories - even without having it physically in his hands. 

“The love of your life is right in front of you.”

You’d teased that maybe it had been talking about the male lead in the movie that you’d just watched, but quickly changed your tune at the gaping of Seungmin’s mouth - laughing at your own dumb joke before launching yourself into his lap, smothering his face in kisses until his angry facade broke down into tittering laughter. 

He placed it delicately, as though it would break, into your box of things before picking up your photo-keychain. It held three photobooth-style pictures. The first was of the two of you posing politely - your smile brilliant and glowing, while Seungmin’s seemed more relaxed. In the second photo, you’d puffed out your cheeks and made a funny expression, Seungmin looking towards you with visible affection in his gaze. In the third, his hand had been on your cheek, the camera catching the tiny space between his lips and yours before he’d kissed you.

He’d kissed you deeply and desperately, as though trying to give you every bit of love through his lips. It was an amazing kiss. A kiss that the two of you swore to never forget.

A kiss that lasted until a disgruntled patron flung the curtain open, unhappy with having to wait so long for their turn. 

He breathed out a laugh, ignoring the prickle of tears in his eyes as he remembered you nearly cackling after grabbing the string of photos - head thrown back without a care in the world - as you dragged him away from the booth and the angry line that had formed during your intimate moment.

You’d nearly dragged him back to your apartment after, attacking his mouth with desperate kisses the moment the door shut behind you. Your hands had snaked under his shirt, lifting it over his head in a brief moment of silence before wrapping your hands in his hair. 

He stopped himself before he remembered the moments that followed, unsure if remembering the first time you made love would be something he could do without completely breaking down.

It was then that a knock brought his attention to the time - a quarter past three. You’d always been punctual, showing up right on time if not early. Seungmin wished that today, of all days, you’d have been late. That he’d be able to hope you’d tell him you’d changed your mind, that you’d tell him to return your things to their places, that you didn’t want to leave.

These desires brought tears to his eyes as he trudged towards the door, opening it to let you in. 

He tried not to stare, though he’d never been able to keep his eyes off of you for long. He noticed that you looked tired, dark circles prominently framing your uncharacteristically dull eyes. You were in a large hoodie and leggings, hair piled atop your head in a messier-than-fashionable bun. This a look he’d typically only seen you have on days where you didn’t feel like ‘peopling,’ as you’d put it. 

His heartstrings tugged at the sight of the red rings around your eyes - showing him, at least, that he wasn’t alone in his grief. 

You stared at him, too. The lack of color in his cheeks and the disheveled way his hair lay atop his head cracking the cold exterior you’d been determined to wear. When you caught a glimpse of empty cups and bowls around a blanket-covered indent on the couch, the crack broke you completely. 

“Hi.”

Your voice came out as more of a choke than actual speech as you stepped inside, sliding off your shoes without breaking eye contact. 

“Hey,” he responded, voice thick with obvious strain. 

You hated this, every bit of it. The awkwardness that had never existed between the two of you, the heaviness of the air in the apartment you’d once called a second home, the way the typically-confident Seungmin looked sunken in on himself. 

“Do you…do you wanna sit down?” he asked, breaking the eye contact to turn towards the couch and reclaim the spot he’d lived in for three days. 

You followed him, sitting a polite distance away despite the overwhelming urge to scoop him up into your arms. 

Neither of you spoke for several minutes, looking anywhere but at each other. The discomfort in the air was making you anxious enough to absently pick at your nails. You hadn’t quite realized you’d started to do so, not until Seungmin’s shaking hand covered both of yours. 

“You’re doing the thing,” he whispered, meeting your widened eyes with a nervousness of his own as he slowly pulled his hands back to his lap. 

“Yeah…thanks…” you returned, separating your hands from themselves so as not to fall back into the nervous habit. 

You wondered if it were possible to actually suffocate in silence, exhaling a deep sigh at the same time Seungmin had done the same. You looked into his eyes, giving a soft smile to break the tension - heart clenching in your chest as he did the same, looking away in an attempt to disallow you seeing the way his eyes welled with tears. 

He hadn’t been quick enough. 

“Seungmin…” you reached a hand out to touch his shoulder, only to be stopped short by the man sounding smaller than you’d ever heard.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, a humorless laugh leaving his lips, “Please, don’t comfort me right now. It’ll…” he took a deep, shuddering breath, “It’ll just make it harder. Please.”

“I still care about you, Min,” you sighed, placing your hand against the thin cotton of his tee despite his protests, “I’m not just gonna sit here and watch you hurt.”

“Why, then?” he whispered, shoulder immediately shaking under your careful touch. You could hear the thickness in his voice, something so foreign to you until the last month you’d spent with him that now felt too painfully familiar, “Why just…leave me? Like it’s nothing…”

It felt as if he’d reached into your chest and gripped your heart with all of his strength then, briefly knocking the wind out of you as a mixture of angry and anguished tears sprung to your eyes. 

“You think it was easy, Min?” you choked, trying and failing to keep your emotions in check, “You think it was easy for me to leave? I tried, Seungmin…I tried my best for as long as I could I just –”

“You just gave up on me,” he muttered, trying to sound annoyed though it came out sounding much more pathetic than he’d hoped, “You gave up on us, without a second thought.”

“Do you really believe I didn’t think this through?” you asked, incredulousness dulled significantly by the way your voice distorted through tears, “Do you really think I’d have left if things were fine?”

"I'm not saying they were fine," he near-whined, leading you to drop your hand from his shoulder to rest atop his own - a clenched fist against his thigh relaxing just enough to bring color back to his knuckles at the gesture, “I’m just saying…we could’ve been. We were once.”

“Min–”

“No, let me say this!” he pled, finally looking back towards you. The desperation in his voice and rivers from his eyes made it impossible for you to argue. You nodded, encouraging him to continue, “You…you asked what we were even fighting for,” he flipped his hand, lacing his fingers smoothly between yours comfortably, “You asked that like there’s nothing good here.”

“I–”

“I’m not done,” he whispered, a reminder moreso than a reprimand, “Do you really think that way? That there’s nothing here worth fighting to save?”

“I never said there wasn’t, Minnie, I just–”

“You just what? Forgot?” his words were bitter, but not meant to hurt you. He was trying to understand. Trying to figure out exactly when and where you decided that a relationship with him no longer held any value. 

“We’ve been fighting so much,” you tried to explain, squeezing his fingers between yours in an attempt to reassure him despite the weight your words held.

“Why does that have to negate everything else, love?” 

The softness of his tone combined with the affectionate petname broke you - completely, irreversibly, down to the very core of your being - as you let out a sob. 

And then another. 

And another. 

Until you were letting out each bit of pain you’d been hiding behind assurances of being fine when your friends would ask how you were feeling. Until you were shaking, tears flowing rather than falling from your tired eyes. Until Seungmin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest with the gentle strength that only he’d been able to show you. 

“Please don’t cry…” he spoke into your hair, breath tickling your ear as his fingers danced along your back in comforting circles, “Please…I didn’t mean to make you cry…” 

You couldn’t respond, fully drowned in the emotions you’d been refusing to accept for the last few days. You didn’t want to leave in the first place, having said goodbye in the midst of rage and hurt. It was only because you didn’t want to seem like a pushover, mind swayed easily by an apology, that you hadn’t ran immediately back into his arms. 

“Love, please, look at me…” he urged, trying to pull back from your trembling frame with little to no success. Your fists held tightly to the back of his shirt, pressing your face in the center of his chest as you finally allowed yourself to let go. 

Finally allowed yourself to feel. 

He simply held you then, allowing your ragged breaths to slow back to a pace less concerning on their own time, content - as messed up as it may be - to just be able to hold you. Even if it were the last time. 

The steadiness of your breath, followed by the relaxing of your hands as they slid from their hold on his back, made him realize that you had - as you often did after crying - fallen asleep. He considered waking you up, reminding you of why you’d come here. That would be the right thing to do, all things considered. But he didn’t want to do the right thing, not this time. Not if it meant letting you go. 

So, as selfishly as one could perform such an innocuous act, Seungmin planted a gentle kiss to your forehead and fell asleep. He slept holding you to his chest with an innocent possessiveness - scared to let go, the possibility of you being gone when he opened his eyes being far too real for his liking. 

The sun had long since set when you awoke, wrapped in the comfort of a pair of arms you’d be able to identify even if it weren’t for the soft glow of the lamp. You swallowed hard, wondering if you’d managed to make some kind of mistake running to Seungmin for comfort. You sat up, carefully placing his hands back down to his sides so as not to disturb his slumber. 

He looked peaceful, despite puffiness evident around his eyes. You didn’t want to hurt him, but knew that sticking around might just give him false hope - which, you realized, you may have already done sleeping in his arms.

Even if it was the best rest you’d gotten since you’d left. 

You rose from the couch, careful to avoid the parts of the floor you’d learned would creak, and made your way to the bedroom - ready to gather your things. Atop the plush comforter you’d bought him for his birthday - insisting that his thin blanket was far from enough to aid in a restful sleep - was a box.

Your name was written on the box in Seungmin’s surprisingly neat handwriting, showing you that despite feeling hurt he’d still prioritized making life easier for you.

Your chest ached.

You padded over to the bed, sitting on the edge before pulling the box into your lap. Its contents were mostly mundane - shampoo and face wash, a toothbrush and comb, a few shirts you’d left behind. Those didn’t matter so much, though. Especially not after the shine of the moon off of glass caught your eye. 

You lifted the perfume bottle slowly, turning it in your palm as you remembered the absolute joy on Seungmin’s face when he’d presented it to you. He’d never been one to outwardly show such excitement, opting instead to appear aloof in most situations, but that day? That day he was like a proud puppy who had just brought the ball back during fetch, eagerly anticipating the praise and happiness of his counterpart. 

You placed it back in the box, blinking away tears as you felt the familiar plastic of the keychain you’d gotten beneath your fingers. You didn’t need to pull it from the box to know what it was - the memories of that day burned into your brain for the rest of your life. The memory of the way he’d kissed his way into your heart that day was precious - even now, knowing it was ending. 

Seungmin had woken up whilst you were looking through the box, instantly feeling cold as he realized you were nowhere to be seen. Had you left already? Without so much as a goodbye? He rose to his feet in a panic, checking the entryway for your shoes. He felt as though a ton of bricks had been pulled from his chest as he realized your worn down sneakers were still there, unmoved. 

Knowing you were still here made it much easier for Seungmin to move slowly, peering into each room as he searched for you. He considered calling your name, but quickly decided against it, not wanting to risk waking you - just in case you’d curled up in bed.

He heard you before he saw you - a soft sniffle followed by poorly contained sobs. He quickened his pace then, sprinting towards the doorway to the bedroom, completely prepared to comfort you as long as you’d let him. 

You’d picked up the fortune from the box, holding it gingerly between two fingers whilst covering your mouth with your free hand. 

“Are you alright?” he spoke through panting breaths from the combination of the speed at which he reached you and panic at your cries. 

You looked up from the words - the love of your life is right in front of you - and felt any remaining anger from the arguments the two of you had melt away. 

“Are you okay?” his brows knit together in confusion as you remained quiet, glancing back and forth between him and the wrinkled fortune you pinched between your fingers. 

“Minnie,” you started, fighting against every bit of fear, “I…”

He sat next to you then, tilting his head to the side as he waited for what you had to say. 

“I want to stay.”

His entire face changed, then. Brows raising, eyes widening, jaw dropping all in a display of shock. He carefully put his hand on your knee, speaking barely above a whisper, “You mean..?”

“I mean I wanna stay, Min. I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna leave you, I want us to work, I want–”

You were cut off by his lips crashing into your own, needy without being forceful as his strong hands cupped both sides of your face. You both cried openly then, sharing uneven breaths between your mouths as all of the hurt - and relief - swept through you at once. You moved your lips against his with fervor, relishing in the moment you thought you’d never experience again.

When the two of you pulled back, your bloodshot eyes met in a knowing glance - he didn’t need to say anything for you to know how much he missed you. He understood just as well, pressing his forehead to yours rather than saying anything at all. 

You knew right then that everything would be okay. It had to be, after all.

The love of your life was right in front of you. 

[fairythingflies]

this was long overdue. plain text below

Hello. If you’re reading this, I am coming out to discuss a part of my life that I’ve hidden for a very long time–mostly out of fear and shame. I’m still afraid–but I will not be ashamed any longer. It’s so typical to say, “I didn’t want to make this statement,” but it’s gotten to the point where my loved ones are telling me that I have to do something. That silence will only cause further harm. 

Over the past four and a half years, I’ve endured an endless nightmare of abuse, stalking, and the resulting psychological trauma from a previous romantic partner. To many of you, this is probably a blindside–but the people close to me have witnessed the effects the whole time.

I’m not going to name the person who abused me today, because the last thing they need is harassment–no matter how vile you find their actions. I didn’t want to do this, but it’s gotten to a point where it feels necessary, for several reasons: 

The very real emotional harm of repressing my story for several years 

The harm that the stalking and harassment have caused me and others 

To, hopefully, show other survivors of sexual abuse, gaslighting, and stalking that they are not alone, they are not monsters, they are not crazy. 

This is my story. TW emotional and sexual abuse, gaslighting, stalking. 

In 2019, when I was 18 years old, I entered my first serious romantic relationship–and it was an extremely traumatic and abusive one. I’m not going to pretend I was a saint–I said and did a lot of stupid, hurtful things, on account of being a very inexperienced teenager, but I can also acknowledge now that I was abused. 

This person isolated me by trying to convince me my family was abusive and dangerous; additionally, whenever I tried to bring over my friends, they’d make me feel guilty, talking about how being around people I cared about was physically painful for them. 

And they assaulted me. Multiple times. They’d force themself on me when I was visibly distressed, and I once had to go to a doctor because of injuries they’d caused me. I don’t want to provide further details here, and I hope you don’t expect them. I have spent years replaying some of the most painful memories of my life in my head, and that already hurts enough. 

While dating this person, my mind suffered: I fell into psychosis, I had severe OCD attacks, I developed disordered eating… I was overall severely unwell. This caused me to lash out in ways I acknowledge were unfair and harmful, but this person continued to exacerbate my symptoms regardless, much of it through ableist acts that targeted these symptoms. 

As mentioned, I struggle with OCD, and this person would say things that triggered it, even after I told them they were triggers–for example, I’d be worried about bad things happening to them, such as illness, and they’d repeatedly say they’d be “lucky” to reach age 65 without dying. They’d hear about my religious obsessions (which during the abuse became full-on delusions due to mental duress), and play music they wrote about their own religious delusions. They claimed to be “worried” for me after the worst of the episode ended, so there’s no way they didn’t know what I was going through. They also scrutinized my very real fear responses, accusing me of being “happy” when strange men harassed us for being a visibly queer couple. 

In 2020, at age 19, I recognized that this relationship was doing more harm than good. I was out of town for a family event and able to talk to my family without them around, which helped me come to that revelation. I told my partner I wanted to talk about our relationship when I came home. They immediately publicly accused me of abusing them. This is where it all began: I tried to leave, and they retaliated. 

They’d gaslit me into thinking I was a terrible person for months, and this public explosion made me completely break down. I became hysterical–I replayed traumatic memories over and over, looking for any sign I misbehaved, and even when I came up with none, I remained dominated by fear–that it was somehow true, that I was abusive, that everyone would believe it, true or not. 

Worse, I believe people took screenshots of me venting to others in this incredibly vulnerable state and somehow sent them to my ex. At this time, I was in a strange city, spiralling out of control–I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping, and I was completely detached from reality. I simultaneously believed everything and knew it was wrong. Until you’ve been in this kind of situation, I feel like it’s impossible to understand. 

I’ll own that I broke down and said some terrible things, ranging from spiteful to nonsensical. I am deeply sorry for it. I have spent years bettering myself on so many fronts to ensure I never have that kind of harmful episode again, but this outburst happened because of months of gaslighting and abuse, because the second I implied to this person that I wanted to end our relationship, they retaliated by dealing a massive blow to my already fragile mental state and trying to ruin my life. 

And they haven’t stopped. 

I am 23 years old now. There is nothing I want more than to leave this trauma behind, but recovery hasn’t been easy because the person who inflicted this pain has not left me alone. Since 2020 and as recently as this year, they’ve followed me and come after my career and relationships, usually by spreading misinformation about me in the form of “warnings” that I am “dangerous”–albeit with minimal success. I can think of exactly two times they lost me gigs–though the fact it’s happened at all is part of what moved me to come forward.

This is in no small part because of the simple fact that their allegations range from exaggerations to outright lies. I’d say about 80% of it is false, 15% is technically true but out of context or a product of serious mental duress, and 5% is actually true. 

Some of the lies are comical, with how easily disproven they are. There’s one where my ex randomly declared I live in a gated community… but I don’t. My house has a gate because we used to own dogs. There’s also the implication I was stalking them–it seems more like the other way around, with the way that they hunt down people who associate with me. I also remember once hearing I’d harmed an ex-girlfriend of mine with osteoarthritis… despite never dating anyone with osteoarthritis. Still, people who don’t know me might believe these things, as ridiculous as they are. 

Some of the lies may be based on genuine misunderstandings. For example, against my wishes, a relative called the police on my behalf when someone harassed me with a burner account that referenced my legal name. I will apologize for not trying harder to de-escalate the situation–I knew police were more than capable of making the situation worse–but I was not the instigator (as well as barely coherent at that point due to the stress).

Some of the lies, though, are downright disgusting. I resent, for example, the implication that I have lied about my ethnicity. I identify as white, but my grandmother is mixed Metis and I inherited her status long before I knew what that meant–though again, I identify and move through the world as a white person. It came up a few times in our relationship because I figured my grandmother would be able to help my ex-partner with accessing their own Indigenous status, if memory serves. But I digress. 

Additionally, the idea that I ever did anything without the explicit consent of this person is reprehensible–every single time we were intimate, I received either a verbal affirmative or some nonverbal gesture of consent such as leaning in for a kiss. Every. Single. Time. 

I won’t pretend it’s impossible I hurt them, but not in the way they are claiming. I apologize for any pain caused, and I mean that, but the scenes they describe simply did not happen. They tried to convince me they did, that I did terrible things, but I’ve forced myself to relive my time with them enough that I know I’m not the person they say I am. 

And for that 20% of things that are even a little bit true, I’ve been working on accountability and educating myself on everything I can–my emotional regulation issues and the thoughtless, harmful statements they brought about, for example, and handling my OCD better so my intrusive thoughts don’t hurt others as much as they hurt me. 

And yes, I read about consent. That’s how I realized that what my ex did to me was assault. It’s another part of why I’m coming forward–it’s a special kind of pain, coming to terms with the fact you were raped while a bunch of strangers think your rapist is the victim. 

I’ve written out several versions of this statement, some almost forty pages long. They contain the paper trail of sexual abuse counsellors I’ve seen, medical records from when my ex’s actions sent me to the clinic, and even years-old journal entries and conversations with friends where I discuss being assaulted in terrible, triggering detail. I still keep these things as reminders that what I experienced was real, because my worst fear is not being believed. 

I can’t reiterate this enough: I physically cannot get rid of graphic records of my assault because I’m scared of not being believed. I have spent years retraumatizing myself because of what my rapist has put me through. 

I’ve also spoken to other people who escaped abuse and were villainized by ex-partners, and I’m harrowed by how much of my own story I see in theirs. You really begin to question your reality, and you keep going back to these dark places and painful memories–and you analyze them, and recount them over and over, always recounting and documenting, so you remember them and believe yourself. 

I know “gaslighting” has become a meaningless buzzword to many, but it’s gaslighting that caused me to obsessively document and remember my abuse. No survivor should have to endure this. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

People watched me fall apart in real time. They might not have known the details, but they knew something very, very bad happened to me. I apologize to everyone who saw me in this state–I imagine it was upsetting. I’ve spent the last few years working very hard to recover and become a positive presence in the lives of others, and I really hope I’ve accomplished that. 

Allegedly my ex is receiving therapy for what I “did” to them. That’s great. I wasn’t perfect–and even though I didn’t actually do a vast majority of what they accuse me of, I see no reason why my ex shouldn’t get help if they’re hurting. 

Again, they consented to everything we did, either verbally or by initiating physical intimacy (i.e. kissing). I can’t say it’s impossible they were hurt, though, because people can be harmed by consensual interactions. I would know–I’ve been that person who was seriously hurt even though nobody actually did anything wrong. Trauma’s complicated like that, and sometimes there’s no perpetrator in the traditional sense. 

My abuser is a person with a lot of pain–and was long before they met me. If therapy keeps them from hurting another person how they hurt me, then that’s an inherently good thing. I used to hope they’d never touch anyone again, but maybe therapy means they won’t hurt the next person they pursue.

That said–they still assaulted me, and they are still, to my knowledge, stalking me and spreading false information. 

Honestly, I’m tired of them having such a major role in my life–and the idea of taking that power from them is part of what’s given me the courage to do this. 

On the off-chance they read these words, I’m going to be succinct: I know what you put me through. Don’t waste your time objecting or trying to tell me it was my fault. This is my story, not yours, and you’re the one person whose belief I don’t need. You raped me. You are a rapist. People saw what your abuse did to me. A body of evidence like this doesn’t come out of nowhere. I didn’t spontaneously develop PTSD. You did this. 

And even now, I’m sparing you–I could say who you are, contact people you work with. I could do what you tried to do to me, but it’d actually be true: I could share my medical records, diary entries, and testimonials from those who saw what this did to me. 

But I’m not. I’m giving you the chance to just leave me alone and be left alone. 

So, where does this leave us? I suppose it leaves me out in the open as a survivor of sexual assault, stalking, gaslighting, and so on. 

That is unbelievably terrifying. I keep telling myself that it’s worth it to be open, that maybe it’ll make other survivors feel less alone, but I’m afraid. 

I’m afraid people will make assumptions, victim-blame me, or somehow side with my rapist. I’m afraid this will change how friends, family, and acquaintances see me. I’m afraid of how my abuser could retaliate. I’m afraid that my community, the art scene that was so invaluable to my recovery, might not want anything to do with me anymore. 

Also, I’ve already gotten serious backlash as a survivor. 

So-called leftist/inclusive spaces have sided with my rapist. They’ve said they can’t work with me because of what they’ve “heard,” and when I tell them about the abuse/stalking and offer to show them evidence, including that paper trail of therapists and medical documents, they respond that they “lack the resources” to look at them and shut me down. 

I tell people I’m a rape victim, and they say they don’t have the “resources” to listen. They side with the person I’m telling them is a rapist.

What happened to “believe victims?” Is that only on a first-come, first-serve basis? 

I’ve also had to end personal relationships because of the victim-blaming I’ve endured. Former friends have said I “did this to myself.” People who I’d confided in, people who’d believed me, who’d seen evidence of my assault, said this. 

So, no, I really don’t want to come out as a survivor. 

This has been an unending nightmare for, more or less, my entire adult life. I am hoping that opening up will allow me to start recovery in earnest. 

My therapists over the years all agree I have PTSD–my doctor says it might even be C-PTSD. Regardless, I’m affected by this disorder every day: the nightmares, the emotional dysregulation, the constant sense I’m being watched, the lasting intrusive thoughts from my headspace in 2019, and so much more–it hurts beyond words. I’ll never know the person I would’ve been if I hadn’t been assaulted, and I mourn that every day. This trauma has cost me so much, especially in my personal life–not because anyone involved ever believed my ex, nobody who knows me ever has, but because my trauma has given me lasting trust issues, paranoia, and all these other symptoms that hinder relationships. 

I quite literally owe my life to those who have stayed with me and loved me throughout the years, and the treatment I have received. Especially those who have endured harassment from my abuser, because yes, that’s happened. 

I hope that by publicly addressing this, I can be supported by all of you, too. It’s been physically painful sharing this story–it literally took me months to write this–so I really hope it wasn’t for nothing. I hope the community I’ve found solace in can have my back when it really matters.

I don’t like asking for much from people, but I can’t make myself feel safe and believed alone. If you could share this story, that’d truly mean the world–and if you see my ex’s so-called “warning,” please report it. If you hear people sharing my abuser’s allegations, chime in with the truth. Quash rumours. I don’t know how many people my abuser’s reached, or how loud they’ve been shouting these past few years, but I hope we can be louder. 

If you have questions, I can try to answer them–whether you have concerns that I can debunk, or have experienced something similar and want to hear from someone who understands. 

It’s frightening to share this now, but I hope that in the future, this can be a story of a survivor being supported by their community, and escaping the spectres of their abuse. 

I hope I can make and share my art without being afraid again. I hope I can be known as a survivor. I hope I can be believed. 

All I ever wanted was to be believed. Thank you.   

[midnightfire830]

Question stufffsss, does cuphead from the angel blood au ever get derealization whenever he has a vision and if he does how does he cope with it, what if someone jump scares him, what happened when he shot mugman in the angel blood au?? (If he even did😭) how was the labyrinth like for mugman? In the angel blood au??, how bad of a dystopian place is the cyberpunk au, did cuphead in the angel blood au ever see mugman getting shot in a vision and if he did, did he ever do anything to prevent it?, lots of questions sorry lol😭🙏🏾

Your question dumps always bring me so much cussing joy.

Literally.

Ok let’s get these answered!

I had never heard of derealization before and had to look it up. And honestly you’re a cussing genius. I think Cup would absolutely have those moments of derealization going into a vision and coming out. Some visions hit him out of nowhere with no warning, and some he can feel slowly building up on him over time. He notices he starts to feel kinda off with those kinds of visions (usually it takes him a while to realize it) he would absolutely have some of those symptoms. His attention goes everywhere. He starts zoning out, losing focus, and can’t keep track of time that well. Everything seems almost too slow and too fast for him. He can barely keep up with what’s around him. Cup would describe it himself that things start to go hazy.

It’s kinda ironic that Cup would have moments derealization when he’s a cartoon character. In a world that is being observed by readers in an alternate dimension. There will be moments for Cup especially going in an out of a vision that he starts to feel like everything isn’t real. That it’s all a performance, a show, for the readers. He thinks it’s just his mind playing tricks on him but it’s actually true. (Bc reading Inky Mystery the Warners make a show with playing with the 4th wall and interacting with the authors and readers) It’s kinda funny that in Cup’s moments it’s almost as if he’s starting to become zany.

The Warners are absolutely NO HELP to him when they find out about that.

Coming out of a vision for him would be kind of like a stimulation overload. He’s all of a sudden brought back to the real world and it takes his brain a full minute to reboot and catch back up. But for him its a lot easier of an experience coming out of a vision than it is going into one. Usually then he’ll just try to sleep it off.

I don’t know enough about derealization to think of coping mechanisms or anything like that. But I think that if Cup notices that he’s gonna have a vision soon he’ll excuse himself from the room and go to a quiet, safe place and try his best to wait it out. Tho usually it’s Mugman who notices that Cup is kind of, absent. He tries his best to help Cup get to a safe place and make sure he stays grounded going in and out of the vision.

Nothing really special would happen if he were somehow jumpscared. It’s a bit harder to jump scare him too. Sometimes he’ll get a vision about it and avoid it. Sometimes he’ll see the vision but not be able to figure out when it happens and ends up getting scared either way. It depends.

Cuphead got a vision about a week before the event. He couldn’t see much; little flashes of him running, shooting at someone, and then seeing Mugs covered in blood. It really shook him. Usually his visions were about small things. Usually about him. He was debating between telling Mugs or keeping it to himself. Mugs noticed Cup’s stress and asked about it and Cup let it spill that he saw Mugs get killed. They’d be super super careful from then on, trying to avoid it the best they could. Cup would spend HOURS replaying the vision in his head trying to find any kinds of details that could clue what, when, or how it happened. Hell, Cup would try his damnest to trigger more visions so he could see it again.

Later that week however, while Cup was chasing Bendy and Boris he was getting little inklings of déjà vu but ignored it in favor of doing his job. The two of them completely forgot about Cup’s vision until Mugs was shot.

Cuphead didn’t go into a rampage/blackout because he doesn’t have any demon blood. So Cup was in absolute HYSTERICS during that time. He would still go out to hunt for Bendy and Boris for revenge. His distress and sorrow for his brother caused him to constantly flicker between visions. That would be a moment when his derealization symptoms got BAD. His first reaction when he shot Mugs was definitely denial. He thought that he was imagining things. Or that this was a vision of the same event but in better detail. He couldn’t accept the fact that his brother was probably dead and he killed him.

The labyrinth was absolutely AWFUL for both Cup and Mugs. Cup kept having powerful visions that would hit him out of nowhere over and over. Because time is weird and messy in the labyrinth he’d be receiving visions of the past, present, and future without order. Some about him, some about the questers, some visions of memories about people that were in the labyrinth at some point, people who had long since passed. Probably some of the instrument’s memories too. All while also running around through his own trails and memories in the labyrinth. Cup couldn’t catch a break

For Mugman I’d imagine running through the labyrinth he’d feel the remanants and undertones of emotions and feelings tied to the memories and locations found inside the labyrinth. Echos of forgotten pasts. And I believe he’d be able to faintly feel the questers emotions at varying times. Mugman’s ability to feel emotions, I’ve decided, is range based. And because the labyrinth has no order in terms of direction and location (i.e. a door in the hotel will transport you to a bedroom on the other side of town) he’d be constantly feeling the questers in varying degrees. It was an absolute mess for him and so so confusing and disorienting.

Mugs maybe went 2-4 hours inside the labyrinth before he started getting sick. TwT

And for the cyberpunk AU every location from Hell, to the surface both in city and out, to the Upper is a corrupt dystopia in some way or another.

Hell and the Surface being obvious. In the city their violent society full of crime and destruction is pretty strongly controlled by rich, fat cats, and overpowered CEOs.

The Upper is kind of a doozy. It’s less of a straight up dystopia and more of a dystopia disguised as the perfect utopia.

The angel’s advancements in technology, the medical field, and use of plant life in their day to day is almost like a facade. The shared ideas of racism and bigotry against the demons running deep through their society and government making their world a bit darker than you’d think. But its about pretty close to canon.

I hope this answers your questions! Thank you so much!!!!

[paganwitchisis]

Writer Interview Game

I wasn't tagged but I'll tag others :) No pressure and for fun of course! I tag @bardic-inspo @nyx-knox @astarionancuntnin

When did you start writing?

12. I began writing fanfiction at 12 and it evolved since then. I started on Fanfiction dot net and made my way to Archive of Our Own after they purged and rejected adult content. I loved writing as an escape and a great way to be creative. I've been writing 23 years now.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I usually write adult content so I can deal with my trauma. Some of it is good, some of it...well...I rather not show them the light of day. I love reading romance novels or spy series books which is different than what I write.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I WISH I was compared to someone or was popular enough to matter! I don't try to emulate anyone. I used to as a kid but now? Everyone has their own unique writing and my plan is to develop mine while telling stories.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Usually on my MSI gaming laptop on the couch as my spine condition (I'm disabled) won't let me sit or stand long periods. I try to lay but it is difficult. One day they will fix me and I can have a proper space to type.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I rewatch or replay the source material. I usually get dreams about the subject and that gives me story ideas. I never had issues with imagination but burnout is real.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I torture characters often. I don't know why I do it and should talk to my therapist about it to be honest. I do put them back together in the end but I love to hurt the characters and show a healing process. I love dark tropes.

What is your reason for writing?

I had SEVERE abuse as a child (trigger warning), I mean burning, batons, knives, taser, belt buckles, punching, biting, and so, so much more done to me as a kid. Mental and physical abuse. I needed an outlet to deal with it as around 13 I started getting PTSD symptoms (flashbacks that were real) and I was scared. I didn't know what it was. I needed something, anything to make sense of the world so I made stories.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Anything uplifting helps as I rarely get comments. I do once in a while get some from people and I have one person right now who comments often on my work and it means a lot. I love feedback (genuine) but the uplifting comments make me smile.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I'd love it if they loved my work. If they cared about the stories I weave and the narrative I produce. That's all I can ask for.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I have a good vocabulary so I can find many, many euphemisms for what I am writing about Other than that it would be my imagination. I never lack stories I can tell. I have 37 now ideas started as WIPs for Baldur's Gate 3 for instance.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I hate it to be honest. I feel I am not that good but most authors are their own worst critics.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

I do a mix of both. For example I am putting a threesome in one of my long fics but I don't personally go for that. I just found the audience loves it so I figured I'd write things they like. I also have a story on foot fetishes for BG3 and I am not into that either but I wrote it for others (mostly a friend).

[marion-ravenwood-jones]

I have come bearing canon-divergent Indy/Marion fanfiction that I wrote instead of making a PowerPoint presentation that I am supposed to have done in an hour 🙃 @oh-caro here I wrote one 😂

Addition to the Family

“Well,” Marion sighed, setting her breakfast plate on the table a bit roughly.

What did I do now? Indy wondered, glancing at the clock on the wall. What could I have done at 8:15 on a Saturday morning? “Well?” He asked without looking up from the paper he was grading, deciding to take the bait. He heard her rummaging through the contents of the fridge, likely searching for the orange juice he’d finished a few minutes before she’d entered the kitchen.

“Well,” she shut the refrigerator door with another sigh, “you’re a father, Indy.”

He chuckled and glanced at the adoption papers lying on the table that stated that Wan Li, or as Indy and Marion called him, Short Round was now legally their son. “Yeah, I’ve been a father for three days. I think he’s in the living room listening to The Burns and Allen Show,” he said casually, grinning and turning his attention back to the second of many papers he needed to grade before Monday.

After hearing nothing else for a few seconds, not even Marion’s footsteps, he stopped reading and furrowed his brow. That was it? No complaints or accusations? Is there something I missed? Indy replayed the interaction in his head a couple of times as he turned around to look at his wife.

She had her back against the refrigerator, her eyes closed and the base of her thumb pressing the arch of her eyebrow upwards, something she did when she was trying to clear her head. “You’re a father, Indy.” What is she—

A lightbulb switched on in his head as she opened her eyes and her tearful, blue eyes met his incredulous, hazel ones. She didn’t mean— He nearly knocked over his chair in bolting up from the table and gripping her arms. “Marion!” He yelled in surprise, evoking a small crooked smile from her. That was the reaction she’d been waiting for. “You’re pregnant?!” He asked just a little quieter, beginning to shake.

She nodded and softly replied, “I- I think so,” searching his eyes for the security that she was currently lacking. They hadn’t discussed having a baby, and she was entirely confident that neither of them had envisioned, or, if she were completely honest, wanted another addition to the family so soon after Short Round’s adoption had been made official.

Indy took both of her hands in his, gently rubbing the backs of hers with his thumbs. “Did the doctor tell you? How do you know?”

“I- said I think, Indy, it’s not- not for sure,” she stammered, only relaxing slightly under his touch.

He paused. “Marion,” his volume was significantly lower than before. “honey, what symptoms have you had?”

“I threw up this morning,” she told him simply, offering no further explanation or reasoning.

“Yeah, go on,” he prompted, now stroking her face with one hand and continuing to hold one of her hands in his other.

“Go on?”

“Well, there’s more, isn’t there?”

Marion furrowed her brow and stared at him.

Indy stopped his caresses. “You think you’re pregnant because you threw up once?!” He was growing irritated that she had nearly given him a heart attack over a claim she had practically no basis for. Sure, it was a possibility, but it had been for over a year now, and she hadn’t blamed anything like a headache or an upset stomach on that possibility before.

Marion ripped her hand out of his and shoved him away from her. “It’s more than that, I just know, Indy! You’re making me sound ridiculous!” She shouted, then whirled around and opened the refrigerator to find something to drink.

“Come on, maybe you just had too much to drink last night,” he offered, having had no intentions to belittle her. Marion crossed her arms and glared at him, and he realized how stupid of a comment that was since she could drink nearly anyone under the table. “Well, maybe not that,” he laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. He was still irritated, but he didn’t want Short Round’s first Saturday as their son to be riddled with tension and frustration.

She closed the refrigerator with a prolonged, exasperated sigh and said nothing more. Indy eyed her as she retrieved her favorite whiskey from a cabinet, and she proceeded to remove the top with the intention of drinking directly from the bottle. “You know,” Indy said gently, bracing himself for the explosion that would most certainly follow his next statement, “if you’re so sure about this, why don’t you hold off on the drinking for some time?”

Glass shattered. “NO MORE DRINKS?!?!”

[coffeeheartaddict2]

Sweet Relief

Book: Open Heart (book 1)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Casey Valentine

Warnings: sexual content (masturbation)

Rating: Mature

Category: Angsty smut

Word count: 1046

Summary: Ethan’s secret has been discovered and he invites Casey to his apartment to fill her in on the details. This is all from Ethan’s perspective.

Disclaimer: Characters, any dialogue (actual and paraphrased) belong to Pixelberry.

Authors note: I have done the edges of this scene in other works but thanks @jamespotterthefirst and your replay of book one that planted the seed for this fic. In my headcanon Ethan knows he is physically attracted to her at this point and he has certainly handled things whilst thinking about Casey but this chapter he really learns he can trust her and starts a reprieve in the thoughts of “I can not and I will not”, well at least until after Miami anyway.

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

“If you want me to keep this secret, you need to tell me what this is?”

“Not here, can you come to my unit after your shift today and I will fill you in.”

“Of course Ethan”

The conversation had been swirling in his head since Casey had stumbled upon him and Naveen in the under construction wing of the hospital. A part of him suspected that she would have found him out, a few weeks prior she had seen him near the construction zone and if he was being honest surprised it took him this long but now someone knew the secret he had been keeping and it was disconcerting. Casey was not just any intern though, she was someone who he was developing some type of feeling for. As much as he told himself it was a Neurochemical response to stress because she was an Intern but she was not. She had compassion, a willingness to learn not just generally but from any errors and he could tell that she really wants the spot.

He spent most of the afternoon questioning his decision to meet at his apartment. He had his own office but there was no guarantee they would not be interrupted, even if he did stay back after his shift. There would also be too many prying eyes at Derry’s. So his home was the only choice. He arrived home and had a quick bite. For some reason he was nervous. Sure he had pleasured himself to many thoughts of how he would pleasure her if given the opportunity but he knew he could not give in. Another thing that had him concerned was whether he could trust her. A part of him felt he could. There had been no hoards of interns demanding coffee from his private machine and no one had hounded him this afternoon about secretly treating Naveen but still this was next level. He had trusted people for sure, Naveen, Harper but those trusts were hard earned and developed over time but this was different. This is someone he had barely met and was only just beginning to know.

He looks at his watch and notes that it is nearly time for Casey to arrive. He got the wine ready whilst chastising himself for creating a social atmosphere. After a few minutes there is a buzz on his intercom. He lets Casey in.

“This is a good view”

In that moment all I can think about is what I want to do with her against the window. The thoughts of impropriety were still there but he recovered enough to say “I am rarely here to enjoy it.”

We sit down, she asks about Naveen. I tell her how he had been unwell, initially putting it down to seasonal illness but it got worse. I started tracking the symptoms and things started to be contradictory and worsening. I confronted Naveen and he agreed to let me treat him in secret. When some of the symptoms became too difficult to hide he quit. He wanted to go on a beach somewhere and enjoy what time he had left but persuaded him to keep being treated. I have kept him in the wing you found us. She puts her hand on my knee. I want to take it further but I am also enjoying the sensation of her hand on my knee. I make no effort to remove it. We discuss Naveen, his symptoms and progression especially. I am professionally impressed. As the evening goes on I feel lighter,less burdened. The time comes for Casey to leave. As she leaves she tells me that I am no longer alone. I am taken aback, it is a relief in a way that I now have someone to share information with in relation to Naveen but I could not help but catch a secondary meaning. Had she picked up on my inner turmoil that I have had all evening in relation to her? Or was I reading into it?

I switch to scotch, thoughts again drifting to what I wish I could be doing. I head to the shower and start to think of more practical things. Breaking the news to Naveen that there was someone new helping him, keeping any work Casey does separate. He finishes his shower and heads to bed. Thoughts about how he to keep his more lustful thoughts in check if they were going to be working together more quickly turned into what he wanted to do. He had mental visions of her, straddling him, he was massaging her breast, whilst kissing the column of her neck.

He feels himself harden again and he knows it is a losing battle.

He gets himself comfortable and starts to stroke himself. Slowly at first, keeping time to how he would be doing things to Casey if she was here. He squeezes whilst stroking, imaging he was entering her. He moans her name. He imagines that he is thrusting in and out and what his imagination conjures glorious. He pumps himself harder as he gets closer, his grip getting tighter as he imagines Casey clenching around his length. He is on the precipice of his climax and with a final powerful stroke he comes. He groans as he comes. He cleans himself up and heads back to bed. He waits for the cycle of regret of the thoughts he had indulged but instead he falls into a restful sleep as he is exhausted. He wakes up the most refreshed and rested in a long time and still no sign of regret at once again masturbating to thoughts of Casey. He puts it all down that he now has someone to share with about Naveen.

A few days later he sees Casey and she looks happy. She said she found a way to help someone in need and felt good making a path, like you told me the other day. Without thinking I squeeze her arm and congratulate her on her win. The action takes me by surprise but then I remember what I feel. I still can not fathom the lack of cycle of self loathing and I put it down to trusting Casey with t the secret of Naveen.

——-

Authors note 2: gotta love some old fashioned book 1 pining. In my head canon it is here that he feels he can trust her and that feeling overrides any doubts he has about the feelings he is developing. At this point he has no intention of acting on them, until Miami and the cycle starts again.

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[guangchuans]

incomplete list of shinee songs that make me burst into tears each time

beautiful life

tell me what to do

love pain

replay

farewell my love

better off

sleepless night

runaway

area

in my room

i want you

symptoms

quasimodo

encore

kind

love