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just-a-ghost00 · 14 days ago

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Who is your future spouse?

I'll be trying to get significant details about your spouse using 3 different decks. I'm not asking any specific question about looks or personality but rather just letting spirit guide us towards any detail they deem worthy of our attention. As this is a general reading, you may not resonate with every single detail but the general picture or overall vibe may speak to you to some level. For once, I decided to do 4 groups instead of 3.

Group 1

"I see grace and possibility in all of life's challenges." "There's no such thing as mistakes. Everything happens in divine order. I am being guided to learn and grow." "I accept the gifts I've been given as a high service to the world."

White Numen tarot : Queen of cups, 5 of swords, The Fool, knight of pentacles, 6 of cups

I don't care oracle : Take care of yourself, Close your curtains close your eyes sleep, Got a drink? Cheers! , Box with the pillow

Starting with the image you picked, I'm getting a strong message of using music and art in general as a form of escapism but also a mean of harmless self expression. Your FS may be struggling with a sense of loneliness that they are fighting off through a strong interest in any form of artistic expression. The bunny makes me think of innocence and creativity. The fact that it's a plushy makes me think of childhood and frailty. This passion that they have is something that stems from childhood and that has allowed them to hold on through hard times. I can't help but to be reminded of Stray Kids Lee Know when I look at this image. So maybe your FS has a similar personality or background to Lee Know's. Your FS could be a Kpop enthusiast. They could be an artist or enjoy doing art as their hobby. They are a rather sensitive and soft individual. They have a very comforting presence. There's a sadness to them that feels a little bittersweet.

They've been through a lot, not only romantic wise but also just on a personal level. Despite everything they've been through, they still have a lot of faith in the Universe and in mankind. With time, they've chosen to see their struggles as opportunities for growth and to cherish every experience that they get to live, even though some of them are uncomfortable because they're aware that in everything lies a blessing in disguise. They are very spiritual and they have a strong mindset gained through years of pain and struggle. They're an old soul and chances are that they have a lot of interesting stories to tell about their past.

Speaking of the past, you may share several past lives with this person. If you don't believe in this concept, you just may feel like you've known this person before when you've just barely met because they are so genuine and empathetic that it feels like they know you at your very core. For some of you, they could be a childhood friend. This person could also work with children or just be very popular with babies and kids. Another thing I am picking up on is that though this person is very mature and has gone through a lot, they look very innocent and youthful. Many people underestimate this person's age because of how childlike they may appear physically. Like, their skin is very soft and supple, they have no grey hair nor do they have wrinkles, they may be quite petite compared to other people of their age.

They've struggled with their mental health quite a lot. They're constantly thinking and bickering with their own self. They may be neurodivergent or struggle with a form of mental disorder. Another thing is that they have a very striking effect on people because they're hard to grasp. Their personality and the way they show up is so unique that they can't be categorized, "put into a box". This person just takes pride in not fitting, not conforming to any standard or norm. They don't like to be trapped in outdated perceptions of life and society. They are very protective of their freedom of expression. So chances are they have a very particular sense of style, a very specific way of expressing themselves in public, a particular posture that makes them stand out from other people. Like for example, they're the only person in their family that doesn't conform to gender norms. Actually I feel like the notion of gender isn't relevent to this person. However, they appear as quite feminine in their energy.

One thing that is very striking about them is how detached about material life they are. They do not care about possessions, wealth. This person is very generous and humble. They could give away their own clothes on a whim just to help someone else, buy a random person a meal just for the sake of making a good deed. They do random acts of kindness, not just with people they know but with anyone they come across. They give to charities, they leave food on the street for the homeless or for stray animals,they share important information on their socials in case it may be useful to someone. They're just really selfless. The reason behind that is because this person comes from a rather "poor" background. They know what it's like to be lacking something and they believe that any good deed done will come back to them. They have this mentality of not doing to others what they wouldn't appreciate themselves. So they're definitely not the kind to look down on other people or to hate on others.

This generosity can also be shown in their emotions and how they express themselves. They do not shy away from telling people they love them. They are very demonstrative and openly communicate their feelings, even though it makes them vulnerable. They wear their heart on their sleeve. They're incapable of lying. In connections, this person pours their heart out and they give their all. They're incredibly loving, kind, compassionate and patient. They show a lot of empathy and understanding towards others but they tend to be extremely harsh on themselves.

They struggle with a lot of anger issues as well as overthinking. They tend to burn themselves out thinking and worrying about others, helping other people to the detriment of their own health. They're in desperate need of love and rest and they have a hard time slowing down to focus on themselves. This person is not used to receiving and giving themselves the love that they willingly and selflessly give to others.

They're a cat lover. They may or may not own a pet cat. They have a cat like personality. They're more of an introvert but they tend to put on an extrovert façade to please others, especially their family and friends.

This person can be quite easily sociable with people however there aren't many people that they feel close to. In social settings, they tend to stay aside and only interact with the crowd here and there, out of politeness. They may struggle with the feeling of not belonging. They may feel like they do not fit in because of their unique sense of self and their strong morals. Again, I get strong neurodivergent vibes from this person but I also get a theme of cultural differences. This person may have grown in an environment where only a specific demographic was represented and they were the only source of diversity. Now that could mean all kinds of things but to give you an example maybe they grew up in a city where most people had fair skin and they were the only child with a different skin color. Or like maybe when they were a kid they were the only boy/girl when all the other kids were of the opposite biological sex.

Speaking of cultural differences, at the beginning of your reading, I had the impression that they lived in a different country than yours and that feeling is further confirmed with the spread. They could possibly have a similar background to yours but the only difference is that they grew up in a different setting. Like for instance, imagine two people that are both of European descent but one of them grew up in Spain while the other spent on the other side of the globe for some reason. Another thing I was picking up on was two people being born from two different ethnicities. So I feel like you and your future spouse will have a lot in common in the sense that you may have been through similar hardships in your life though you come from completely different areas of the globe. You could bond over things like : being the "black sheep" of the family, being the "generational curse breaker", being the "weird child" or the "rebellious child", being bullied in school because of your looks/sexual preferences/culture/religion or any form of difference that made you stand out, feeling like you don't belong, wanting to be someone else or somewhere else, feeling like you're not from this planet, having a weird interest in astrology and space facts, believing in ghosts and/or UFOs.

Group 2

"I communicate with ease and grace. People are willing to embrace what I have to say." "I welcome healthy, loving relationships." "I celebrate my progress. Awareness, not perfection, is the goal."

White Numen tarot : The Magician, 8 of wands, Queen of cups, King of wands, Ace of cups

I don't care oracle : Sorry not sorry, Spread the love, Yes! , Smile smile more even more!, You are not your emotions

This person is very chatty and an excellent communicator. They have a very eloquent speech and a beautiful voice that may be envied by many. They enjoy singing and whistling. They can easily talk anyone through anything. They have a bit of a snake charmer vibe. They're a smooth talker and many times got out of trouble because of that. They have a fascination for birds and/or their nickname revolves around a bird. I'm thinking of Woody Woodpecker, Tweety, Daffy and Donald Duck, Zazu, Iago. Like either that or they are named after a bird or compared to a specific bird. Specifically, there are peacock feathers depicted on the relationships card from the Spirit Junkie oracle. So peacocks could be relevant to this connection somehow. Either they get compared to a peacock because they tend to show off around potential partners or because they have a really flamboyant nature and attidude. They also could be compared to parots or phoenix.

This person exudes a lot of masculine energy. They may be depicted by other people as a playboy/playgirl, as a macho if they're perceived as a man or if they're perceived as a woman their feminism may not be well perceived by their peers. I feel like they get a lot of backlash from others and get wrongly accused of being so many things because of how unapologetically themselves they are. This person has a lot of self confidence and they have strong values. They draw a lot of attention but also a lot of envy and jealousy. They may be in the public eye.

They are extremely harsh with themselves and have perfectionist tendencies. They're a workaholic. They're extremely prideful and take a lot of pride in their accomplishments, especially on a professional level. They are the type to never regret a choice they make, even though people do not share their opinion on the matter because once they've set their mind on something it is very hard for them to change their perspective. They are incredibly stubborn but also incredibly resilient.

They are very popular and sociable, however they just don't let anybody in their close circle. This person has strong boundaries and they do not hold their tongue. They've put themselves in trouble more times than they can count because of their blunt approach. People around them may say that they are haughty or that they have no respect for their elders, that they do not take criticism well or that they are full of themselves. But the truth is this person is just very protective of their own space and they were raised in a background that taught them to always speak their mind when something doesn't feel right. They cannot stand injustice and you can be sure that this person will always stand up for what is right, no matter their differences with the people involved.

They have climbed the ladders of society through their hard work. They "came from nothing" and "became somebody" because of how dedicated they were to their craft. This earned them a lot of respect but also a lot of advantages and money. This person is now wealthy and leaving very comfortably but this wasn't the case when they were a child. They became so succesful that they may now be their own boss. They earned enough money to be able to open their own business or work independantly. If this person is an artist for instance, they fund their own work with their own money. They may own their own label or they're just a solo artist because they've gained enough of an audience and enough resources to be able to do so. This is just one example among many. They could be working freelance on different projects or own a brand of some sort. It could be anything really. If not that, then they have a higher status within their work environment compared to when they started.

For most of you, I feel like your FS is older than you. There's a stark contrast between you not only because of your age but also because of your maturity and life experience. I feel like you would be very intimidated by this person at first but also, because of everything I mentioned before, you may start off with a bad impression of them because of how other people depict them or gossip you may have heard. You could start off as rivals or "ennemies" so to speak. Also, I get the feeling that when you first meet them, you will think that they are disinterested in you or that they don't like you.

Despite their intimidating façade, this person is actually incredibly kind and loving. They are very sweet and sensitive, but they don't show that aspect of themselves to a lot of people. They have huge trust issues and they struggle with intimacy. They are hyper independant and they tend to repress their emotions, especially their sadness, through humor. They're the type of person that will act like a clown and make jokes to distract themselves and others from the fact that they are not okay. If you talk with this person and start to get deep by bringing up intimate subjects, they are likely to swiftly change the subject or disguise the truth by joking around. They may exagerate certain traits to make themselves appear stronger or cooler and take away the vulnerable aspects of the story. Let's say this person got into a fight and was hurt in the process. Maybe the true reason why they got into this fight was because they were drunk after breaking up with their past lover and a person's attitude didn't sit right with them in that specific setting. When they tell you the story, they may omit the fact they were at their lowest and emphasize how brave they were to stand up and interfere because a person twice their size was bothering another customer. That kind of thing.

This person has a problem with expressing their feminine side and showing emotion. They do not talk about themselves much or if they do, they always make sure it isn't too personal. They tend to mask a lot of their pain, a lot of their fears. They hide behind a mask to cover up for the fact that they are in truth really sensitive and insecure about themselves. I get the message that this person struggles with their feminine side because of a masculine figure in their life. Growing up, they were taught that they shouldn't cry or let people see their "weakness". They were taught that showing affection wasn't safe. They were criticized for their soft nature and had to become tougher with time to be able to make it through. Again, I get a neurodivergent vibe from this person, which is similar to group 1. Maybe you felt drawn to that group as well.

They are very passionate and invested in whatever is going on around them. I feel like they are very active political wise and that ties down to their issues with injustice. This person either does a lot of community work or advocates for a lot of causes. They may use their influence and means of communication to raise awareness around certain subjects. I'm specifically picking up on mental health issues and struggles surrounding one's body image, speaking up against racism, bullying, sexual harassment at work. They have a lot of love to give and a sensitive side to them that they don't get to express very often but when they are in such setting that is when they can truly be themselves and wear their heart on their sleeve. You may see this person's gaze light up when they talk about subjects that interest them, things that are dear to their heart. I see this person doing a lot of random acts of kindness but on the lowkey. Things that would go unnoticed or that wouldn't seem that grand but that actually matters. Like putting flowers on someone's grave even though they didn't know them as a proof that someone cares about their passing. Leaving anonymous positive notes in books that they borrow from the library so that the next person is comforted and knows that they matter. Silently watching over children on the streets to ensure that they are safe and no one bothers them. Taking away an object that may be a source of danger for others. Giving away personal belongings by living them in random spots for other people to find them. Pretending like they're clumsy to get two people that like each other to be physically closer in the hopes that it will get things started.

I feel like this person's main love language is acts of services but sometimes they may also express their love in funny/quirky ways or unusual ways. Here are some specific things I am picking up on : making a list of all the things you like so that they know what to do when you feel down or how to surprise you on a specific event, using your go-to words or catch phrases on you to make you smile or laugh, taking interest in the things you like and trying them out to the point of being very specific about it and knowing every detail of it so you don't feel like you're alone and they can better understand you even if it makes them uncomfortable, including you in the things they do by leaving very specific tasks up to you even though they are perfectly capable of doing it on their own because they know it makes you happy, anticipating your needs in ways you wouldn't expect by keeping certain tools or products in close vicinity just in case, mimicking your stance/ your walking pace or any trait that you may be feeling insecure about so that you feel less insecure about it, making sure that you are not being left out during any social interaction and bringing the focus back to you in case you were interupted, countering your every self criticism with a reason why that exact thing is actually a good thing, expressing their opinion of you and how they feel for you in indirect ways by talking about things you remind them of (characters in movies, songs, things that are meaningful to them like a loved one for instance).

Looking at the picture you picked, I get the message that this person values beauty and the aesthetic of things and people. They give a lot of importance to appearances. They could be into home decor and interior design. They could also be into fashion. They may collect a lot of objects because of their aspect. Especially statues, paintings, traditional objects from different countries, floral ornaments. They like scented candles and incense. There is a specific flower that this person likes or they could have been named after a flower. Or they could be born on Flower Day (May 20), Rose Day (February 7), Valentine's Day (February 14), Yellow rose day (May 14 in Korea). Or overall as most flowers bloom during Spring, this season may be their favorite or may have some significance to your connection. I'm not sure what the flower on the picture is, but its shape and color reminded me of blue Hydrangeas.

Group 3

"I release my need to be right. I am defenseless and at peace." "When I lead from a place of love people respect me." " I bring peace wherever I go." White Numen Tarot : Magician, queen of wands, Judgement, Sun, 3 of swords

I don't care oracle : Close your curtains close your eyes sleep, Stop doing so much, Infinity x Infinity , I'm not okay, I am always a child

This person loves animals. They are very popular with animals. They may want to own a pet but they may be allergic to pet fur or they just don't have the opportunity to have one because of their lifestyle. They can both embody a cat like and a puppy like energy. They are very balanced and can both embody feminine and masculine energy very well because they've done a lot of shadow work.

They grew up in an abusive household and/or have dealt with a lot of abuse in their life. This lead them to becoming "mature" too soon for their age. They had to parent themselves and now as an adult they may be described as immature by others because they didn't have the opportunity to do what other children usually do growing up. They had to deal with many responsibilities very early on in their life, either because their parents didn't show up the way they should have or because they left home pretty early on for various reasons. Because of that, they have a hard time letting go of the need to control and asking for help.

One of the ways this person copes with whatever issues they have is by being active. They have a lot of various interests and they look like they never rest. This person's schedule is packed and timed perfectly. They always got something to do, someone to talk to, something to work on. They may struggle with insomnia. One of the reasons why they keep themselves so busy is to cover up for the fact that they feel lonely and scared on their own.

This person looks for meaningful and deep connections. When they feel comfortable with people, they can rant for days about the things that they like and be very quirky but if they do not have a good impression of you they'll remain as cold as an iceberg and you'll never get to see their depth. One of the ways you will be able to tell that your FS likes you is that they will act differently depending on whether they're with you or someone else. They'll do things with you that they wouldn't do with others. Show you sides of themselves that no one has seen. This person including you in their bubble will be a huge sign of their affection and trust. Especially, you meeting their family will be a huge thing because I feel like no one has gotten that opportunity before.

They are very confident in themselves, especially when it comes to their work and studies. They can ace anything you leave up to them as long as they know they've got your trust and things are explicit. However, if they feel like you're being shady or that you doubt them, this person's productivity will be affected dramatically. They struggle with impostor syndrom. They're also very quick to judge characters and they tend to have a strong intuition. So whenever this person tells you that they have a bad feeling about something, they are likely to be right.

They do not realize it bu they hold more power than they think and they are more popular than what they expect. This person is so humble that it would never cross their mind to put themselves forward and talk about their accomplishments. This is because of their upbringing. This person was lead to believe that they were not important and that no matter their achievements or efforts, they would never be enough to be taken seriously. Honestly this person has been through so much in their life that it's a miracle they still find the drive to carry on with a smile on their face. They are incredibly strong and admirable but they would never think that of themselves. They are their own worst enemy and critic. They don't like to be the center of attention but no matter what they do they just cannot escape it.

I feel like right away in your connection, you will intuitively feel very drawn to this person and very early on realize that they are your FS. Their will be something about their eyes that will immediately spark your interest. And everytime you will look into this person's eyes, you will not be able to hold their gaze because of the intensity of what you feel when looking at them. This may be something that they tease you about later on in your connection. I also pick up on a setting or an action that is unusual when you meet them. There will be something that will set you off about this person or maybe you will do something that they are not used to. And that will be the spark that ignites the whole thing. The reason I am saying that is because on the "I am always a child" card, the character depicted is walking barefoot on the street and one of their foot is in the mud. They are very neetly dressed and yet, without a care in the world, they are risking getting all dirty and being laughed at. It looks a bit out of place or out of the ordinary. Here are some things I am picking up on that maybe will speak to you : being the only person that didn't follow the dresscode at a party, walking up the stairs with a bunch of heavy grocery bags when you could have used the elevator, being the only person in the gym that sings to their workout playlist and gets hyped up while everyone else is just quietly sweating it out, being the only person that dares to talk back to the other or makes a comment about a specific touchy subject, being the only person to actually be educated about a specific topic that they're interested into while the others just have a surface level understanding of it, not showing them any sign of interest when other people are desperately trying to get their attention.

Looking at the picture you chose, this person could live by an important body of water. This could also be a sign that they are a very emotional individual. They may be into water sports like surfing, swimming, scuba diving. They could enjoy fishing. They may eat a lot of sea food. When travelling, they may prefer warm places such as islands over the country side or places like mountains. They may prefer Summer over other seasons.

Group 4

"My high vibe thoughts create health in my body, peace in my mind and love in my heart." "Let me be still today and listen to the truth in silence." "The more I honor my inner light the more I brighten the world. I choose to shine."

White Numen tarot : King of wands, 9 of wands, 7 of wands, knight of pentacles, 5 of pentacles

Sorry not sorry, Turn your tongue 7 times in your mouth before you speak, I've got super powers, Tomorrow is another day, Don't be fooled by my appearance my soul is resplendent

Based on your picture, the first thing I pick up on is that you may firstly interact with this person at a distance, either being penpals or through social media/dating apps. The picture also gives me a feeling of nostalgia. This may be someone that you reconnect with after a long time being a part. Daisies is the birth flower of people born in April. So it could be your or their birth month, or you could meet during this month. This person could be a childhood friend or your relationship could start of as friends and evolve into something more over time. I also can't help but to think of Disney's Daisy and Princess Daisy from the Mario lore. So your person gives off a very innocent vibe upon first glance but they turn out to be stronger and smarter than they appear. Though people may think of them as superficial, frail or shallow they are actually have a lot more depth and are very sensitive. This person may tend to be underestimated or overlooked, people may wrongly assume their character because of the way they look. Which feels a bit similar to group 2's person's energy so maybe you felt drawn to that group as well.

Your FS is a very spiritual person and they developped that spirituality through hardships and adversity. They possibly dealt with bullying as a child. This person was lead to believe that they didn't deserve affection, care, help. They spent most of their life being on their own and having to protect themselves because the adults around them where not creating a safe space for them. They have huge trust issues and are hyper independent. They do not know how to ask for help and do everything by themselves. They're the type of person that wants to be recognized solely for their skills and hard work. If someone were to help them or gift them something, they would think that they are not worthy of it because they haven't worked for it or earned it. Their notion of value is distorted because of the way they were raised as a child.

They are originally a very bright and cheerful person but life turned them into a bitter and cold person. Many times in their life, they were shown aspects of humanity that made them lose faith and hope. They were constantly lied to, disregarded, manipulated. People abused their kindness and generosity, treated them badly under the disguise of friendship or love. This person grew to believe that love wasn't meant for them. So when you meet them, they'll likely avoid you and run away from you at first. They'll have a hard time believing that your feelings for them are genuine and they may keep you at arms length for quite a while.

They fear intimacy. This will show in their distate for physical touch and public displays of affection. In their constant need for space and independance, for control within the relationship. Ironically, though they need a lot of space and free range of action, they will show a lot of possessiveness and jealousy especially if you are separated. This connection really gives me ennemies to lovers vibe. They will hate to love you and love to hate you. The beginning stages of your relationship may be quite rocky because of this person's fears and issues. However, because they will be very attached to you and protective over you they will understand the need for them to heal those aspects of their personality for you connection to be healthy and lasting. This is also because they have a strong sense of responsibility and want to be perceived in a good light by their loved ones.

This person is very charismatic and sensual. Chances are that a lot of eyes will be on them and a lot of people will want to pursue them, even while you are dating. They face a lot of envy and jealousy generally speaking but they will face even more adversity once they are with you. Which could interfere in your connection. There will be a lot of gossip about you, especially career wise. People in their work sphere specifically will not understand why your dynamic is working when you seem so different from one another. This will stem mostly from a lack mindset. Even their family could get involved in the drama. Since this person is very popular and likely succesful in their work, people may say things like you could be a threat to their reputation or question your motives for dating this person.

Even though their attraction for you will be very clear and obvious, this person will do everything in their power to ignore it and resist the pull to the point where it may look completely crazy to you and ridiculous. You may think "why is such a mature person acting in such a childish way, this is so unlike them". They'll make choices and actions that you will not understand and could attempt to sabotage the connection. But the more they will try to run away from you the closer they're gonna get because the Universe will not be having any of their BS and you won't either. Every time they will try to ignore or avoid you, they will be reminded of you or forced to face you in some type of way. This person could be trying to flirt with other people to forget about you, they may even straight up date another person thinking that you would disappear from their life. But the people they will interact with will be very similar to you or coincidentally they will be in your circle. If this person is working in a similar occupation, circumstances will have them working with you. They could choose to move out in a new location thinking they would avoid you but it turns out that you frequently go to that place because a family member lives nearby or your doctor's office is located in the same street. If you are a parent, maybe their kid goes to the same school as yours. And so on and so forth. Every time they turn on the radio, they'll hear songs that remind them of you. They'll see or hear your name quite often or will be confronted with something you like every day.

Specifically, I pick up that this person could be a coffee addict but maybe the way they like their coffee is very different to yours and this may be something you passionately debated on. They also have a thing for plants and flowers. They wear glasses or they have a bad eyesight. You could have "argued" about being too blunt and not knowing how to read the room. I don't know why I keep writing in past tense. Maybe for some of you that's a confirmation you already know this person. If that isn't your case, maybe this will be something that happens later on in your connection. I really get the feeling that something about this person will just get on your nerves when you first meet. Like the way they talk or how they dress. Maybe the setting in which you meet will give you a wrong impression of this person. Especially if a lot of people are badmouthing them and spreading false rumors about them.

This person is a loner. They spend most of their time alone, either at work or in their personal life. They are very guarded and introverted. They barely leave their home unless it's very important. They may have a fear of crowds and enclosed spaces. However, when they are able to trust someone they are very kind and giving, a total opposite of what people may depict them as. They have a very healing presence that stems from all the hardships they faced over time. This person uses their own experience to help people heal and expand. They could be a therapist, a reiki practitioner, someone that uses alternative medicine like herbology, crystal healing and such.

They have a lot on their plate. They struggle with mental health issues and it isn't something they openly talk about with anyone. However, if this person sees someone going through hardships, they will be the first one to reach out and provide help and support. This person believes in the law of attraction and also in fate. They know when to pay attention to the details which could also explain why they are so succesful in life but people may not see that side of them and just belive that your FS has it easy because of their wealth, their background, their looks. When in reality, this person is the most hardworking individual you'll ever know. And when you get to see that side of them, you will really admire and respect them.

#just-a-ghost #pick a card #pac reading #tarot reading #spiritual pac #love pac #oracle cards #future spouse series #future spouse reading

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formulawolff · 3 months ago

Text

"my hero" - m.v.

pairing: social worker!reader x max verstappen

word count: idek tbh (i’m posting this on my lunch break hehe)

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, max in bf mode, long distance couple, cursing here and there, mentions of mental health, mentions of mental health disorders, mentions of physical health, yada, yada, yada

a/n: i know i said i was working on requests but this idea would not leave my brain all day. i couldn't stop thinking about it so i had to write it. (it's def a little self-indulgent) i hope y'all enjoy!

"ah! there you are. i can see you now!""

a giggle bubbles up in your throat, your lips forming a wide smile, "hi baby, how are you?"

he shrugs, the image distorted for about a millisecond. he comes into frame once again, slightly pixelated. however, you can make out the sleepy grin plastered across his face, and the twinkle in his eye as he looks into the camera.

max verstappen, three time world driver’s champion, is on facetime with you, donned in nothing but a black cotton tee and his boxers. you can tell from the background that he’s in his motorhome, settled in his room.

his hair is a disheveled mess, sticking up haphazardly. he more than likely just got out of the shower, as the fabric of the tee clung to his toned frame. underneath his eyes were two faint circles, the skin slightly puffy.

yet, here he was, calling you at god knew what hour just to hear the sound of your voice.

"tired. very fucking tired."

"i can imagine so," you nod, typing along at your laptop, "what time is it there?"

he hums, leaning over his phone, "it's about eleven thirty?"

"max!" your eyes widen, "you need to get some sleep. it's qualifying tomorrow!"

"and?" he counters, arching a brow, "i wanted to hear how your day went. from your messages, it seemed like it was quite eventful."

"i'm just wrapping up my notes now," you exhale, your shoulders slumping slightly, "it was a long day."

"i can imagine my baby," he coos, settling underneath the covers, "tell me all about it."

"i can assure you being a case worker is not nearly as riveting as a formula one driver," you snort, shaking your head, "you go first."

"nope," he was not budging, his attention still fixated solely on you, "tell me about your day, and then i'll share about mine. it's only fair."

"well," you wrinkle your nose, glancing over the open document on your laptop screen, "my day started with one of my clients experiencing a small crisis. she was without food so she called me, asking if i could take her to the nearest pantry. while i was with her, another client of mine called asking if i could transport him to his appointment.

i probably could have, but he reached out to me only fifteen minutes before his appointment time. i received my new staffing form today. i have a couple of clients who are in need of housing so i had to make some calls to some local agencies."

"and how did that go?" you can't help but feel heat flourishing into your cheeks at the intrigue laced in his tone, "were you able to make some progress?"

"not really," you inhale sharply, "housing is really difficult to find right now. it's sort of like when your tires are giving out, but you need them to last a few more laps. you have to remain hopeful so that you can keep pushing."

“i like that analogy,” he fights a yawn, but continues regardless, “that’s a good one. i’m going to use that.”

“as long as you credit me,” you muse, clicking your mousepad as you finalize your note, “how was practice today?”

“so-so,” he chirps, “i missed you a lot today. thought about you nearly every second of the practice session. you’re flying out next week, right?”

you nod, shutting your laptop, “yes. i’ll be leaving wednesday evening and catching a late flight. hopefully when i land, there will be this insanely handsome dutch man waiting for me.”

“is that right?” max’s dimples appear, causing your heart to skip a beat, “i’m hoping that my good luck charm arrives safe and sound. i can’t wait to see her.”

“counting down the minutes are we?”

“you have no idea,” carefully, he plucks his phone from his makeshift stand, bringing you closer into the bed with him, “will you stay on till i fall asleep?”

at his request, there’s a tug at your heart. fuck, if only you were with him. then he would have been able to lay on you until he dozed off. his head would have been snuggled into uour collabone, your hands tangled in his hair, playing with it as his chest steadily rose and fell.

if only you were there. if only you were an influencer or a model. if only you could take work with you, dropping everything to fly all over the world. if only you weren’t separated by time zones, where you had to carefully coordinate facetime calls.

if only you weren’t long distance, then maybe you wouldn’t feel like this.

if only.

“hey,” max’s voice is merely a whisper, “are you okay?”

your lower lip trembles, tears welling up, threatening to spill over. there’s a choking sound, as you attempt to suppress a sob.

yet, it was too late. they were streaming down your cheeks now, your hands instinctively shielding your face.

“baby,” max murmurs, “what’s going on?”

“this shit sucks,” you shake your head, the words strained, “i hate that i’m not with you right now. i hate that we’re long distance. i hate that i have to stay here and—“

“but your clients need you,” his tone is delicate, “you’re the one person they can count on when everything else is going to shit. they need you like i need you. i can tell you had a long day baby, but i’m here. i’m here for you, no matter what.”

“i-i love you,” you manage to sputter out, wiping your cheeks, “i love you, max.”

“and i love you more than you’ll ever know,” in the frame, a pillow is held against his chest, “i’m even cuddling this pillow right now pretending that it’s you.”

“i can’t believe you fell in love with some plain girl from the states,” you sigh, resting your head against the couch cushion, “out of everyone in the world, you happened to fall in love with me.”

“you’re not just any girl from the states,” for a moment, you’re shocked at the firmness in his tone, “you’re my girl. it takes someone special to do what you do. you’re my hero baby. i aspire to be as strong as you.”

“i love you,” the corners of your lips curl into a quaint smile, “am i really your hero?”

“of course,” it doesn’t even take him a second to respond, “like i said, you’re the strongest person i know. you inspire me.”

“i can’t wait to see you,” you murmur, taking note of the way his eyes were drooping, “i’ll stay on till you sleep, my love. it seems like you need it.”

“hey,” one eye opens, barely a slit, “i know this shit sucks right now, but we’ll make it. okay? one day you’ll get to come home to me and tell me all about your day rather than calling. it’ll be worth it. i promise.”

“i hope so. i love you, maxie. sleep well, my love. i’ll be there before you know it.”

“try to have a good evening,” you could barely make out the statement, as he was beginning to doze off, “just end the call when i’m asleep. i’ll message you in the morning.”

“i’ll be here,” opening your laptop, you prop it against the screen, “goodnight, maxie.”

“night, night, baby.”

as sleep takes a hold of the dutch driver, you remain on the call, opening youtube. cautiously, you click on one of your favorite videos. it’s a montage of all of max’s wins, starting from the 2016 spanish grand prix.

the video begins to play, the volume carefully adjusted so that it doesn’t wake him.

as your gaze shifts to your phone once again, you can’t help but hear his words ringing in your ears.

one day this would all be worth it.

and one day, max verstappen would be able to be with his hero.

every single day for the rest of his life.

#max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #max verstappen x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #formula 1 fanfiction #mv33 x reader

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sickwhispers · 4 months ago

Note

helloo!! could i request a twisted astro x a very sleepy toon reader? :3 like they just have habits of falling asleep everywhere no matter what even during chases with other twisted?

of course no pressure with writing! ^_^ have a good day or night !

Don't worry it's no pressure at all! You astro fans understand me deeply. (Also dw I got your other ask as well, the standard format for x reader requests are headcanons unless someone specifically asks for something else like a one-shot)

BEDTIME ROUTINE

Pairing: (Twisted) Astro x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: he might sound a little stalker-ish, reader isn't fully comfortable with his twisted form yet

Type: headcanons + drabble

Twisted Astro no longer wears that same signature cornflower blue blanket anymore

It's not that he doesn't like it or that the ichor had ruined its quality beyond repair

It's just that he was better things to use it for now

He always kept it wrapped around your figure, practically covering every aspect of your body besides a little pocket that allowed you to breathe comfortably

he always made sure to keep you hidden

he knew how dangerous the other twisted could be, and because of that, it had become his number one priority to keep you safe and sound

although before he had gotten used to your sleepy nature, there was a lot of concern surrounding how many times he had found you passed out somewhere on the floor

at first, he had debated if you had some kind of sleeping disorder like narcolepsy

but after a while, he had found out it was just how you were

that didn't reassure his worries completely, though

part of him was thankful you were always sleeping

despite how guilty he felt about that tiny little pleasure

he knew he was scary

he's seen the fear in your eyes

it had been so long since you've smiled his way

but when you were asleep, it was almost like you trusted him again

he's no longer the same Astro you've known all those years

a voice in the back of his head keeps trying to convince him that if you just see how much he cares for you

how many times he's wrapped you up in a blanket and shielded you from the world outside your dreams

that you'd realize just how much he truly loves you

you'd finally realize that he'd rather face a brutal death than ever allow anything to harm you

maybe he's just too shy to outright say that

but part of him can't help but hope that he wouldn't have to

that everything would fall into place, and you'd come to that realization yourself

It didn't take too long before the twisted had lost their interest in you. The blaring sound of an airhorn had captured its attention quick enough to leave your resting body unharmed. And, with the sound fading into nothing, he made sure to be gentle when holding you close. You had been lucky enough to run into a twisted with a low attention span, and he had been lucky enough to get to you in time before your death could become a possibility.

Your chest rose and fell in an almost rhythmic motion, and if his mind still hadn't been panicking from the idea of losing you this floor, he would've taken the time to admire just how soft your snores were. But, there were still threats on this floor. As much as he would have loved to sit there and watch you sleep, he knew it was only a matter of time before another twisted came along and threatened your safety.

So, in the gentlest fashion, he wrapped your body up in the cornflower colored blanket he always did and wisked you off. He didn't know when you'd wake up from this little nap of yours, and despite how guilty it made it him, he wished it wouldn't be until a few hours. He found comfort in holding you close to him. A comfort he hadn't felt in a long time.

It was cute with how tired you always were, and he was thankful it gave him an opportunity to hold you do tenderly in his two upper arms. He knew if you woke up you'd be terrified. It's happened before. It hurt him having to watch the way your eyes widened, the sound of your hasty breathing had been almost deafening as you tried to bite back a scream.

But for now, he'd have to take it slow. He'd have to ease you into this new form of his. He'd have to teach you that despite how grotesque the view of ichor dripping down from his eyes was, he could be gentle. He could be the same Astro you had loved before. You just needed time, He'd tell himself over and over. You just needed time.

And, until that time came, he'd continue to stay a silent savior. One unbeknownst to you as you slept soundly against him. You could sleep as long as you wanted on these floors. As long as he was with you, he'd protect you. He'd keep you safe.

He's almost too shy to give away the possibility of you knowing how you managed to survive so many floors for this long

With how many times you had just dropped to the floor mid-chase, the others would have assumed you'd be long gone

And yet, you continue to stay alive

#the writers block hit hard these past days #FINALLY I COULD GET THIS FINISHED #now time to work on other requests #i like the idea that most twisteds #when in love #have a lot more yandere tendencies then they did when they were sane #dandys world #dandy's world #dandy's world x reader #dandys world x reader #astro dandys world #dandys world astro #twisted astro #twisted astro x reader #x reader

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mediumgayitalian · 8 months ago

Text

Plink.

“Psst, hey! Nico!”

Plink. Plink.

“Nico! You up?”

Plink.

Plink plink plink. Plink —

“What in the world,” Nico hisses, yanking open his window, “is going — oh.” He blinks. “Will?”

Will grins. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he says, voice not nearly quiet enough for someone who is at direct risk of being devoured. “Thought I’d drop by. Can I come in?”

If Nico were smart, he would say no, actually, it’s like four in the godsdamn morning, go the hell back to your cabin. What is wrong with you.

Instead, he says, “We live in the same neighbourhood, dweeb-face, this is a camp,” and opens his window all the way. Will grins at him, wide and glinting in the dark, and yanks himself in head-first, somersaulting onto the floor and staying there, sprawled on the polished marble floors.

“Hi,” he says again, grin shifting into something more crooked.

Nico breaks away, hiding a smile with rolled eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s ridiculous to want to see you?”

“Before dawn? Yes!”

“Aw.” He settles against the ground, tucking his hands behind his head and letting half lidded eyes trace over Nico’s form, over the sleepy shape of him. Nico shivers. “I was awake, you know. I dreamt of you.”

Cool the fresh hell down, Nico screams at his brain. Out loud, he says, “Shut the fuck up,” and ignores Will’s snickering. How dare he, honestly. For someone who gets clowned as often as he does he is not nearly humble enough. Apollonian genes, indeed.

“What, you don’t dream of me?”

When Will lies, his throat swells up and he breaks out in hives. Nico is at the top of the leaderboard for getting the reaction out of him, with Cecil at a close second and Kayla no slouch in third place. Will is highly manipulable. It’s a good time for everyone around (even Chiron, who is, to his own irritation, lumbering behind at spot #42).

Nico, however, has no such holdups. Nor is he inclined, at any point in time, to fluff up Will’s ego, no matter how he looks when he’s cocky. Nico has self control. Mostly. (Well, at times.)

“Of course not. My subconscious would never do that to me.”

“You’re mean to me, di Angelo.”

“You like it.”

Nico watches, fascinated, as Will’s loudmouth snaps right shut; as his face burns sacred cow right in the low light of the cabin, as he squirms.

“Oh,” he says, gleefully.

“Can it, di Angelo —”

“Oh ho ho ho —”

“I’m gonna curse your ass with haiku disorder, do you know what that is, ‘cause I’ll show you, dickhead —”

Nico crouches down and pokes Will hard in the cheek, and he doesn’t even flinch — he just goes redder. Nico guffaws.

“Dude! Have some — dignity, oh my —”

“Shut up! Shut up! You’re so horrible, gods, I am leaving —”

“Oh, come here.” Will is dragged easily from the windowsill, because he is a big fat faker. There are actual claw marks on the infirmary door from the last time Austin brought Nyssa to drag him out.

“I don’t wanna stay where I’m unwanted,” he laments, bouncing on the bed when Nico shoves him. He takes the inch Nico gives him and burrows deeply under the blankets, throwing a melodramatic hand over his eyes. Nico rolls his own eyes, hoping if he rolls then hard enough Will can tell regardless of whether or not he’s looking, and crawls in after him. He makes sure to kick him at least thrice. “I can take a hint, you know.”

“Medical arts were the wrong career path for you. It’s not too late, you know. I’m sure you could shadow Nicholas Cage or something —”

“I am going to kill you with hammers —”

Nico evades gus clumsy attacks with ease, snickering as he pins him to the bed, smirking when he gives up fighting with a huff.

“I’m glad you came when you couldn’t sleep,” Nico says, after a moment for them to catch their breath. “But the point of that agreement is for you to then shut the fuck up and sleep. Here. So.”

“I’m trying,” Will grumbles. “But you’re being mean and it’s crushing my soul. How am I supposed to sleep with a crushed soul?”

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, okay! Put the pillow away, jeez, I’m sorry. Meanie.”

Nico rolls his eyes again, settling down next to him. Will takes longer to settle, because he’s annoying, but right before Nico is ready to smack the shit out of him again, he calms down, burrowing stilling once he’s turned on his side.

“…Thank you.”

“Whatever, goober. Go to sleep.”

The smile is obvious in his voice. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“In the morning can we —”

“Goodnight, William.”

“Okay, okay. Night.” He pauses. “Love you.”

Nico shoved his grinning face into his pillow. “Love you too.”

497 notes · View notes

tusswrites · 1 month ago

Text

Sold For A Soul (i)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x idol female reader (idol AU)

genre: strangers to lovers

synopsis: “Just so you know,” he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity, “I’d do anything to keep you close like this. Just come to me , when you have bad days like this . I want to be the one who gets to hear your complaints and worries. I want to be your rock. I want to start loving you , and to show you what love feels like. It’s not the worst feeling in the world, to be vulnerable.” or

making bargains with the devil in exchange for a chance to glory. lies, deception and uncovered feelings in a world of glitz and glam.

word count: 14k+

warnings: mentions of mistreatment, profanity, cheating (not between Y/N and Wonwoo) , eating disorder, nothing in detail but brushed over implications of abuse, power play, self loathing reader, mentions of toxic family, a lot of angst before the rainbow

rating : 18+ (no actual smut but yeah, suggestive content)

a.n. : my baby is finally being posted! truly grateful for haneul @chanranghaeys for suffering through actual garbage into producing this..thanks to eunha @svtiddiess for having to unintentionally be my beta reader for several scenes, and to kat my love @hee0soo for getting roped into it. also indi for everything you said to give me the courage to actually pen this down.

behold the masterlist that lies here!

disclaimer: I am sorry it took over two months to post this after the teaser came out! This has been in my drafts for over two months and long before, existed in my head. please understand that almost every incident in this fic, although it is set in idolverse, is fictional. unless stated otherwise, everything comes from my head and articles I have read through reddit regarding the entertainment industry in general. If you notice any similarities, please realize that it's purely coincidental, i had no intention on making a fic through anything that happened in kpop this year or the year before. however, there are some heavy topics mentioned here, so please heed the warnings and proceed with caution. if you comment , send asks or reblog with thoughts, know that for every one of these i am screaming into my pillow and kicking my feet out of giddiness!

It was never meant to come down to this. You were supposed to be a lawyer, following the predictions of Doljanchi after having picked up a mallet, destined to lead a life weighed down by the same misery that burdened your father, and his father before him. If a genealogical study were to be taken, it could be proven that the gene of misery passed down through the L/N blood. Shouldering the weight of a thousand suns on your shoulders, you’ll push your way forward, trying to attain even a bit of nirvana in this lifetime.

Which brings you here, to this dingy, roach-infested dorm, beds overlapping each other-nowhere suitable for young women to sleep. You have no time to wallow in your misery at this absolute shitshow of a place; you can only rush in haste, packing your bag and running out the door and into the sleek black van that will transport you to your destination.

Music Bank MC Hong Eunchae is on a world tour overseas, as are other popular artists, which leaves space for smaller company artists to fill up the slot as guest MCs, even if it’s just for one week. It’s a bloodbath getting a position in the nation’s finest music show as an MC and interviewing other big artists. You were never interested in the first place. In fact, your bandmate and second youngest, little Sorin, had jumped at the opportunity to take this position, excited at the prospect of being near her all-time favorite band, Seventeen. You have nothing against them; you know they’re popular, but that’s just about it.

Years of singing, dancing, and rapping have desensitized your overall love for the art form of music. You take no pleasure in keeping up with trends and fads. Your company however prohibited Sorin from her dream role and instead forced you into this. You hadn’t missed Sorin’s sidelong glance; you know she is upset, but there’s only so much you can do, after all. In your head, you promised her an autograph to make up for your company’s lack of empathy.

Music Bank’s dressing room for the MCs was much grander than you could have imagined, your stylist was thrilled at the idea of more space without having to jab elbows with one another. With your makeup fixed upon your face, you rush off to don the outfit that was picked out for you, only to be dismayed as you watch the blouse—a little too bold to call it a blouse—turn out to be a tight corset, purposefully two sizes too small for you. Any mishap and you could be bursting at the seams, your boobs spilling out, and putting on a free show on live TV.

You sit down to peer over your script, pondering over the several social cues you have to follow. A laugh after Seungcheol-ssi recited his ‘scripted’ joke? Shaking your head you continue to read through, bemused at all the ill witted acting you have to do. Notwithstanding the cringe that has to come from your mannerisms ( you have to tuck your hair behind your face and bat your lashes when Mingyu-ssi makes eye contact with you?) ,you are overtaken by the sudden shaking feeling that you were being watched. Never one to escape the overthinking allegations of your brain, you simply shrug it off and keep scrolling through.

But no, there’s a certainty that has come over you. You were being watched and that thought was rattling you.

Your adrenaline on high alert, you jerk at the intrusion of someone in your personal space,and do the first thing that comes to your mind, watching in horror as you fling a six-foot boy onto the ground. The boy looks up at you in slight bewilderment, surprised by your strength to push him like a can of potatoes, while you stare amazedly at your hands. Where was all this superhuman strength when you needed it earlier?

“ I am sorry I know this looks bad I-”

Oh it did look bad. For you, the company, the fans. Because what possessed you to shove a Jeon Wonwoo onto the floor? Why had said man been peering over your shoulder in the first place?

Questions. So many questions and so little answers.

“Please don’t press charges, I can explain,” Wonwoo hurriedly says, his eyes staring worriedly at you, bottom lip drawn tight.

You say nothing, instead reaching out a hand to help him up. You get pulled down slightly due to his weight, but he manages to hold you just in time, getting steady and standing still.

“Look this is going to sound stupid but I didn’t intend to scare you you know? I was done with hair and makeup a little earlier than the boys and I had some time to kill and so I wandered. I saw you holding the booklet labelled ‘Seventeen’ and I just wanted to see our script- and-” —I know it sounds super stupid, but I—well, I—” His hands flail in all directions, trying to nail down one emotion.

“I am sorry, but I didn’t think you’d turn around this fast, I was going to tell you I swear.” his nervous rambling continued.

Awkward silence lingers.

A conversation you had with your younger bandmate minutes prior to accepting this role pops off in your head.

“Sorin, I am really, really sorry about this. I had no choice; please understand. I’ll get you an autograph if I see Wonwoo sunbaenim, though?”

“Can I have an autograph?” you finally muster

Now it’s his turn to stare at you, befuddled, as if you had grown two heads. You hadn’t spoken a word till now and he did not expect this to be your opening line. Were you a fan? Hope rises. When he had still not uttered anything, you begin- “Look, umm, that’s fine, haha.” You begin, cringing inwardly at your tone, awkward and forced, trying to diffuse the tension. The boy raises an eyebrow, clearly unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. You can feel your heart racing, and the weight of the moment presses down on you.

“I don’t mind, but can you please sign something for me? My little bandmate is a huge fan of yours and she would be ecstatic if she got one.”

He looks a little forlorn as he replies, “I am sorry, we are not allowed to give out autographs as per company orders.”

You are a little upset, but you can understand. Hybe did have strict rules about artist security.

Seeing your downcast eyes, he comes up with an idea.

“How about this? Can you do a TikTok challenge with me for 'God of Music?' I’ll get you that autograph. The company has been on my back, trying to get an idol to do this challenge with me. I think it’s fair that I give you an autograph after that? I’ll just say it's a tit for tat situation? ” He looks hopeful.

You simply nod, a little disappointed at the prospect of doing a TikTok challenge. You weren’t a huge fan of this trend that made other idols dance to your group's songs, and you sure as hell weren’t interested in doing another group's song, especially one as hard as Seventeen's. But you have no choice. This is the only way you can get Sorin to be a little less hostile with you—she could hold a grudge for days.

Wonwoo’s methods for teaching you the steps are a huge contrast to your hostile choreographer who has no patience for your inability to remember steps as quickly as your bandmates do. Wonwoo is patient and understanding of your long limbs, probably owing to his own long limbs. You quite welcome this style of teaching, as opposed to merciless taunting and jeering of your slow pace in nailing a step right. For every mistake, all Wonwoo does is giggle and although you should be offended, you can’t find it in you to be.

The Music Bank interview went better than you’d like to give yourself credit for . “So Wonwoo-ssi, " That was Dokyeom-ssi mimicking the voice of Santa and taking over the interview. You panic a little, Dokyeom ssi speaking wasn’t part of the script. The director behind the camera looks bewildered as do you. But years of media training did prepare you to prolong a poker face so you remain infixed, even with the fact that Mingyu standing next to you couldn't remain still for a single second. Seventeen were thirteen men and this was a tight fix for several men. No sooner had you entertained the thought when you felt a slight shove from your left and there you were, getting pushed again.

A hand comes from behind, to get you to remain still, for which you are grateful, you didn’t want to fall face flat on live TV. You turn around and shoot Wonwoo a thankful smile, gladly reciprocated by your new acquaintance.

You come back home ,finally crashing after five straight hours of practice for a comeback that was still not approved by the management, exhausted and hungry.

That very night, SNS went viral. Pictures of you spread across the internet, capturing the moment you were mid-fall, with Wonwoo’s hands securely holding your waist. Cropped images of his face, paired with 10x zoomed-in shots of his hands wrapped around your hips, flooded timelines everywhere.

“It’s so obvious Wonwoo has a crush on her; just look at his eyes. The eyes never lie.” —carathoshiminwon97

“Look at the way he is looking at her in worry. Me when?” -aespasnakekyeomie

Yn you lucky bitch -@svtiddies

“I want someone to look at me the way Wonwoo looks at Y/N. “ junslastlimbofinesse

I have no idea who I want to be . Am I jealous of Wonwoo or Y/N?” confusedbisxeual

“I had no idea that a HYBE idol’s dating life would become public, especially for someone like Jeon Wonwoo. Man’s secretive as hell.” —sawdeintellgraphhwahwa88

“It’s over, y’all. My heart is in a million pieces. My bias is gone.” —wonnieismyhusband

“Aww, my eyes are blessed with the double visual attack! Y/N and Wonnie for life! Fighting!!!” —multistanarmycarat

“Happy for you, but also sobbing in my room! 😩💔 Can’t believe I’ll never be your one and only! #DramaticFan”

Fanarts, tiktok and reel edits, fanfiction even? In just a matter of moments you were being circulated everywhere. You don’t miss the vile shit either. There are AI images of you and Wonwoo, morphed and pasted into the most repugnant poses. You scroll past, heart sinking and disgust never leaving. The pros and cons of being an idol you guess.

There are some nasty comments, too. You choose not to linger too long on them, though words like “slut,” “untalented,” and “nugu group” stand out. You figured as much.

“PD-nim wants to see you in his office now.”

You freeze midstep. It’s not the first time Kim Hangyuck has asked you to come visit his office privately , but after your last stunt you’d reckon he’d have some shame before calling you in this quickly. Was what you did last time not enough for him?

“Unnie, this is exciting news. Do you think he called you over to give news about a comeback?” That was Chul, the maknae of your group, excitedly jumping in glee at the hopes of a prospective comeback. Poor innocent child . The plethora of information you held back from her to protect the youth she will otherwise not have.

Giving her an easy nod, you walk with trepidation to his office, a prayer in your heart and head held high. Men like him can smell fear from far away, eagerly stamping over it.

“Come in.”

You hadn’t even knocked. Which probably meant he was spying on you all this while.You’re not in the least surprised. Sounds just like him.

Upon entering you're greeted by one of your nightmares in human form seated behind a chair, fingers tapping impatiently against the table. For what reason. You hadn’t even taken two minutes to attend to his whims and calls. Not like you could.

With a condescending nod, he signaled you to come closer. Anxiety rose high but you pushed it back down, inching closer to his table. Every moment in his proximity kickstarted your fight or flight response.

He slides a photocard across the table and you glance down to see oh-

“Jeon Wonwoo” he slurs out.

You know. You’ve been trying hard to drive his image from your head after that unfortunate meetup backstage. The photocard across the table wasn’t helping much with that affirmation. Confusedly you turn back up to look at his leering gaze right on your cleavage. With as much discomfort as you could try to hide, you stand straight, never giving him that satisfaction again.

“Han Sung-Soo from Pledis called today. He asked for your number. Looks like someone here caught the eyes of a handsome young man.”His beady eyes glint at you expectantly as if he was passing the good news except you feel nothing of that sort.

“I don't’ understand -”

‘Well, you’re in luck, gorgeous- “ you wanted to gag. Nicknames from him reflexively brought out such reactions. -Wonwoo here says he hopes that you will go on a date with him.”

You don’t want to go on a date with Wonwoo. You have nothing against him but you also have nothing for him. Why waste time on another man that was sure to break your heart in more ways than one?

“I don’t-”

“Well lucky for you, I said yes”. You don’t have it in you to lose energy. This is typical of Kim Hangyuck. Making decisions in your personal life with no thoughts whatsoever to ask you. He leans back, looking shamelessly proud of himself.

“I thought we were not supposed to be in a relationship based on our contracts.”

“Is that why I caught you with your boyfriend the other day?”

You gulp. What?

“Don’t act so surprised gorgeous, remember what I told you? I have eyes everywhere. Everywhere.” A shiver of disgust coursed through your veins, any second longer with him, you were going to throw up in his face.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go on a date with him, lure him by your beauty, entice him enough to make him your boyfriend.” You could see the smug grin on his face like he was proud of his terrible idea.

You want to refuse but the consequences of defying an order run far deeper than you could possess to think right now.

“Why?”

‘Because gorgeous, we need funds. If you girls want the next comeback out soon, we need the publicity to attract fans to Blush Girls. This way, if we leak the news of your relationship to the press, a scandal breaks out and we gain something from this. Don’t forget this is someone from Hybe Labels. He’s high profile.”

“I thought he asked for my number because he liked me . If this is a romantic relationship, isn’t this breaching the contract of trust Hybe will endow upon me?”

He shrugged, least bothered about your emotions here. Obviously your thoughts don't matter.

‘I don’t care Y/N . Seduce him, get him in your bed, make him fall in love with you and get into a relationship with him. This is the only way ‘Blush Girls’ will get a breakthrough. Follow the plan or I will scrap your project. No comebacks, instant contract termination." Venom oozed out from his warning. He was every bit the cruel man to carry out that threat. You knew it. You couldn’t let down your members like this because your morale came in the way. You owed it to them at least.

“Fine. One date. But I get to choose the restaurant and I want Yoon to accompany me .”

“Nice try, gorgeous. We have already selected the restaurant for you. It’s on us. Victor will be accompanying you. We need to keep an eye out on you at all times.”

Victor was a pervert. During your trainee days you kept a knife under your pillow, for fear of that sleazy man. Unfortunately, the company refused your demands to fire him despite the multiple protests by artists. He was also Hangyuck’s right hand. His extra pair of ears and eyes. You knew exactly why he was accompanying you.

“Alright”. You agree. You have no choice after all.

Shaking hands with Kim Hangyuck on this deal feels like signing off your soul to the Devil.

The first date comes before you have time to reflect on it or find ways to escape the plan at all.

It started off awful. You began on the wrong foot, clad in a busty outfit that left little to the imagination, especially for someone like Victor, who required none. Your protests against your outfit were silenced with a strong threat from your manager, quelling any audacity you had to question management's generosity in providing you with a ‘branded’ dress and paying for this date.

Makeup had covered his handprint well, but you had enough rage to flip a table. You arrive at the designated restaurant, surprised at the luxury of it. With the cheap budget decisions your company made over and over again, you didn’t think they had it in them to indulge in fine dining.

Wonwoo greeted you at the table with a ninety-degree bow.

Sorin had told you he was older; just like a Naver search had confirmed. As your senior artist, you were supposed to bow to him, and this was an informal meeting? Then why was he bowing?

As if to mend the awkwardness, Wonwoo extends his right hand to shake yours in a cordial gesture, leaving you even more confused. Who shakes hands before a date?

The date was extremely awkward, for lack of a better word. You were very uneasy.

Victor was set to accompany you as mandated by PD nim, but his beady eyes never left your body, making the air feel thick with discomfort. You kept trying to sit up straight every time you unconsciously bent down to look at the table, only to meet Victor's leering gaze on your cleavage.

“So, how was your day?” Wonwoo asked, hoping to break the silence between the three of you.

“Good,” you replied curtly.

“O-okay. Cool.” Dead silence followed.

He called a waiter over and placed his order. You opted for just wine. He looked a little bewildered at your choice to abstain from eating but made no comments, sending the waiter away with both your orders. And Victor’s, who hadn’t made a move except to continue undressing you with his eye and order off the whole menu.

In a true heroic moment, Wonwoo intervened, gently ushering Victor out. You watched with mild curiosity as Wonwoo slipped a few thousand-won bills from his pocket into Victor's stubby hands. Victor flashed a grin, showing his yellow teeth, and walked away from the table. Wonwoo returned, sending a charming smile your way.

Finally noticing your agitation with your dress, Wonwoo stripped off his jacket and handed it to you.

You were unsure of what to do with a new piece of fabric.

“Ahh, he’s probably uncomfortable with the jacket behind him,” you thought. Taking it from him, you place it on your lap, clutching tightly. He dropped his chopsticks mid bite, staring at you in astonishment.

“What?”

“Y-you—”

“I?”

“Nothing.”

He went back to his stew, and you returned to your wine.

“So, how’s the wine?” he asked, once again trying to strike up a conversation.

“It’s nice. Tastes like wine.”

“Ahh, okay.”

More silence followed.

Was it your turn to ask something for a change?

“How is yours?” you ventured.

“My what?” he countered.

“Your wine.”

“I didn’t order wine. I ordered soda.”

“Oh.”

Nobody utters a single word after that.

Safe to say, dinner wasn’t going too well.

But Wonwoo is a gentleman, so after dinner—however awkward it was—he offers to take you home, silencing all your formalities as you begin to look for Victor. Wonwoo tells you he has left. Your company was not going to take too kindly to sending off your bodyguard, you could only hope the greed in Victor , satisfied at the bills thrown his way, would silence his complaints.

You know you shouldn’t trust Wonwoo over another man, but you’d take any man over Victor and Hangyuck, and that was saying something. Feeding your location into his GPS, you embark on the long, awkward journey back home.

The location you recited to Wonwoo is a lie.

This was not the exact location of your dorm, but you’d be damned if you showed a HYBE artist where Delaware Labels housed their trainees. It was enough to attract a lawsuit—not the kind of publicity your company was willing to take.

Wonwoo catches on pretty quickly when he parks the car in front of a park that has no building in plain sight.

He fixes you with another look that prompts you to chant your real address this time. You cringe as he nears the poor excuse for a building where you live, shoulders drawn tight.

Sorin, in her endless gushing over her dream man and explaining Carat lore, had always claimed that Wonwoo was hot but naive as hell.

With firsthand experience, you'd confidently say she was wrong about that. He looked carefully into your eyes reading every micro-expression on your face like a book. When he stopped the car at your entrance, he turned to look at you. You glanced down at his jacket, still clutched in your hands, and, as if remembering to return it, you placed it on his lap.

“Oh,” he exclaims, taking the jacket from you. It was meant for you to cover up, but you clearly hadn’t caught onto the hint, and he was too shy to ask you to, believing it would make things more awkward.

“Y/N,” he finally croaks out from his perch on the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and his body turned wholly toward you.

You look back at him, blinking at the earnest expression in his eyes.

Was he going to do something like kiss you? God, you hoped not. He had been decent so far, and you didn’t want that to be ruined by some unwanted advance. Was that his payback for his good character? Was that why he sent Victor home? Oh, how things were clearing up.

“Y/N?” this time his head was tipped to the side, a questioning look dancing across his eyes.

In true fashion, you had assumed the worst and drifted off into several meaningless thoughts. His name calling brought you back to the present. You cock an eyebrow , waiting for a response.

“You know,- he starts -“when Seventeen started out, we had a small dorm too. There wasn’t enough room and way too many young boys. We didn’t have any active listeners or great brand deals; we just had each other. We made the best of it. It’s a gradual curve, you know? Release comeback after comeback, with no wins, working your ass off, and one day that hard work pays off. Now I’m not scared to admit it, but I love your group’s songs; I bought two of your albums, and my bias is you.

You jerk your head at that and feel a small blush creep up his face, his eyes darting around nervously , hesitant to look at your face. Cute.

The kindness bestowed on you by a total stranger was not lost on you, your eyes watering reflexively at his sudden graciousness.

Seeing your red rimmed eyes, Wonwoo panics, offering any consolation to get you to stop crying- tough luck. You kept sniffling, but no tears streamed down thankfully.

“I can’t go home like this," you state woefully. “They'll think something happened to me and I can’t afford them questioning me right now."

Wonwoo nods sympathetically.

“Can I drive you around the block?” he asks with a hopeful look on his face.

Well, the night is still young.

“Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

You settle back as Wonwoo reverses the car, your breath hitching as he casually drapes an arm around the back of your seat. His focused gaze shifts behind him, steering the car with practiced ease as it glides smoothly in reverse and into the chilly night.

“Fighting, Y/N.” he sends you off an hour later with a big grin on his face and the leftovers of the food he had ordered for you at the restaurant , despite your refusal to eat. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you walk home, a dopey grin on your face and a bag filled with food.

Tiptoeing into the dorm, you’re surprised to see none of your hooligan bandmates asleep except for Chuul. They were actively awaiting your return. A warm smile spreads across your face as you share the boxes of leftovers, watching in amusement as they all dig in, your heart full . Diets be damned.

You need to take these empty containers and throw them in the trash bins outside the building before your manager finds them in the dorm though.

To an eager crowd of four, you announce your date was ‘great’, even though that is the last you will go on a date with Wonwoo.

You had followed the company’s orders; a couple of photos were taken—they could go viral or not; you don’t care. But in an ideal world, you and Jeon Wonwoo will never date.

“So, Y/N, how’d the date go last week?” Hyanyuck asked, his tone deceptively casual as he strolled into the rehearsal room a week later. His presence always felt like a storm cloud, ominous and charged with tension.

“It went badly, I don’t see a spark. I don’t think this will work. Sorry.” You focused on massaging your sore wrists, a futile attempt to ease the cramps that Vogueing had inflicted on you.

“She’s lying. Wonwoo-ssi had texted her the next day, and she still hasn’t responded,” Sorin chimed in from across the room, her tone sharp and teasing.

Your heart dropped. How did she know? Why was she going through your phone?

Hyayuck's smirk deepened as he turned to you. “So you lied to me?”

“It’s not like that, I—”

“Silence.” He held out his palm like a judge passing a sentence. “Give me your phone.”

“I can’t do that.” You felt a mix of defiance and dread, but your phone was swiftly passed to him by Yoonha, who shot you a triumphant look. Betrayal coursed through your veins.

As Hyanyuck scrolled through Wonwoo’s messages—sweet good mornings, soft concerns— all unanswered by you, your stomach churned with anxiety. Each text felt like a thread tightening around your heart, especially as Hyanyuck began replying with cringeworthy flirtations. Your cheeks burned reading what he wrote over his shoulder as he set another date.

You’d never text like that. Who even called someone “darling”? This was wrong—leading Wonwoo on like this was unjust. You resolved to confess everything to him tomorrow, the date Hyanyuck set for your next meetup. You couldn’t betray someone like this.

From the texts, it was clear Wonwoo was a little unsure about the sudden enthusiasm.

“Is this really Y/N?”

“Yes, yes darling. It is me. 😉😘”

You cringed again

When the second date arrived, it was oddly intimate. Victor was absent, leaving you and Wonwoo alone to navigate the currents of this charade. You slipped into your favorite pink dress, a small source of comfort knowing the stylist gave you freedom to choose your own outfit this time. Her way of apologizing for your obvious disinterest and being forced to do something you didn’t want to.

Wonwoo looked stunning in his olive green shirt, rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearm veins that gave anyone a good charity view. Under any other circumstances you’d have fallen for Wonwoo, and you can’t deny a handsome man when he was placed in front of you like this.

As you sat across from him, the atmosphere felt heavy. You glanced at your untouched plate, lying as still as your resolve to maintain this facade. This time he was visibly uncomfortable being the only one who ate. Wonwoo chewed nervously, and the sound seemed amplified in the silence between you.

Taking one more sip of your wine, you cleared your throat and he looked up mid chew, eyes widened like boba balls between the mandu in his mouth. Cute.

“So, I—” you stammered, anxiety prickling at the back of your mind. You rubbed your clammy palms against your dress, the fabric doing little to quell your unease.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, inviting. You wished he was a little more inattentive and distracted like everyone else.

“Listen, Wonwoo-ssi, this is a setup. My company, uh, Delaware, is struggling to push their artists to go viral, and they used me to date you—to create a scandalous relationship that would get people talking. You know by now any publicity is good publicity.”

You expected anger or disbelief, but what met you was something far worse: a flicker of sadness in his eyes. It struck a chord deep within you, the weight of his disappointment settling in your chest like a stone. “I understand,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly, as if he were trying to hold back a tide of emotions.

The air between you thickened with unspoken words, and a part of you ached to take it all back, to rewrite this moment. You could see the hurt etched on his face, and it twisted something inside you.

Returning to the practice room later, dropped hastily by a Wonwoo that refused to look at you, you come back to see your members practicing dance to a new song.

You find maknae Chuul in the middle dancing provocatively to steps not age worthy and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness surged within you. This wasn’t right—how could anyone allow a child to perform something so suggestive? You strode forward, determination fueling your steps.

“Uh, no, Chuul cannot be doing this.”

Ampers, the choreographer, raised an eyebrow, his irritation palpable.

“And why should I listen to you?” You stood firm, the adrenaline coursing through you. “Because it’s my job to protect my members, especially the minors, I am the leader of Blush Girls.”

A silence fell over the room, heavy and electric. Ampers’ hand shot out, and the slap resonated like thunder, shocking everyone into stillness. You felt the sting, both physical and emotional. It wasn’t just the pain that hurt; it was the weight of the moment, the knowledge that you had challenged authority in a world where no one dared to.

Ampers was an eccentric man; no one dared to question his decisions—not even the CEO, and that was saying something. There were a lot of shady rumors about him being a drug lord or an underground mafia leader. Given the amount of leverage he had over Delaware Labels, you didn’t doubt it.

Eunsae and Mishal’s faces turned to rage, Yoonha’s expression shifted to one of shock, and the rest of the room held its breath, stricken. You turned to comfort Chuul and Sorin, their tears igniting a fierce protectiveness in you.

Eunsae rushes in with a pack of something cold, icing your face with tender urgency, but the sting lingers—both from the slap and the fact that Yoonha’s gaze bore into you with envy.

“You’ve stolen my best friend, too,” she murmured, the jealousy lacing her voice sharp enough to cut.

In that moment, you felt the weight of your choices, a complex tangle of emotions you couldn’t untangle. You wanted to protect them all, yet here you were, caught in a web of your own making, trying to figure out where you fit in this chaotic world.

You should have known Ampers’ pride was too high for him to go down without a fight.

Social media exploded. You watched as you, the darling of the nation for your unique beauty and obvious spotlight for a three second viral moment turned into a pariah overnight.

Multiple newspapers splashed your face across their front pages with the headline “K-Pop Star Under Fire: Workplace Harassment Reveals Idol’s True Nature.” Accused of harassment. You? What had you done to deserve this?

The article detailed how you, a visual member of a nugu group, had been accused by anonymous staff members of “bad behavior” and “rude remarks,” claiming your members lived in fear of you. It was a twisted narrative that made your stomach turn.

What stung even more was that all the fans who had once supported you now turned against you. Your relationship with Wonwoo became a target; all the dance challenges you’d done together were scrutinized and ridiculed. You were slut-shamed and deepfaked in the most grotesque ways. The sheer ferocity of the backlash was horrifying. The very people who had cheered for you now called you the vilest names online.

Your members walked on eggshells, unsure of how to act around you. All you did was feel hollow, surrounded by people yet truly alone. Then, your phone rang. It was your mother. Your heart sank.

“Eomma, hi.” your voice quavered.

“What did I tell you about keeping that tongue of yours in check? Now look at what you’ve done. If you get dropped by your agency, know that you’re not welcome here. I cannot afford to take care of a useless daughter and a useless husband.”

The “useless husband” in question was your father, who had become a quadriplegic after a heroic accident to save your mother’s life. Her gratitude had morphed into bitterness, and she had turned into the most spiteful woman you knew. Sometimes you couldn’t believe the hateful words that left her lips. There was tough love, and then there was this—whatever twisted means it took for her to show she cared. You have grown up raising yourself. Your mother was aloof, a total nightmare. Her yells echoed in your mind even now. Your older brother had gone no contact the moment he turned 18, and it hit you hard. It was up to you to help the family. Your aspirations to become a lawyer were met with disdain; she wanted easy money, not hard-earned success.

She had pushed you into pageants and modeling—things you hated, all driven by the toxic culture. Your mother had practically whored you out, contacting agencies to get you into acting or modeling owing to your obvious beauty. When that failed, she forced you into auditions at Delaware Labels, prohibiting you from attending college. The agency took one look at your face and signed you up, ignoring your protests that you couldn’t sing or dance. It was the only time you ever saw her smile at you. Wanting to see more of that smile, you signed a seven-year contract, effectively ending your dreams of law school and subjecting yourself to a regime of extreme diets and pain. The only blessing in your life had been your former friend Julie. When she left, you were left with four other young girls to protect from the industry’s evils.

“Eomma, it wasn’t my fault.” you pleaded with the woman that birthed you.

“You think I will believe your word against a well-established man in the industry? You lied to me about dropping out of law school. I had to do it for you when your manager called to tell me you were caught sneaking out for evening classes.” Her voice dripped with contempt, as if she abhorred you.

Typical of your mom.

“Y/N, I have no money. If I die today, your father—”

There she went again with her blackmailing. Her ability to drag your sick father into any argument was astonishing.

A nation was against you, your family was against you, your own band members were against you. And yet your agency stayed silent. There was no letter to warn the fans against the malicious rumors. No effort to clear your name. Nothing.

Pledis had contacted Delaware to inform them that while it was too soon to release a post clearing the mess and wipe Wonwoo’s name linked with yours, there would be no further relations between you two. Which explained the dead silence from his side.

Since you weren't the actual problem here, your company had no choice but to let you continue with practise as usual. The CEO hadn’t announced a comeback date yet but hopes were rising for one. Your publicity, albeit a negative one had given the public to raise eyes toward you, the next comeback was a sure step to bag some fans. Which meant the company was working hard to produce good music. You hoped they didn’t end up with some hard notes for you, given as you still couldn’t actually hold notes either.

After five days of radio silence from Wonwoo you had begun to move on . Hating your heart for even hoping he’d call to ask. Of course he thinks you were the one at problem here too.

However, today, your phone rings with a strange text from an unknown number. You were used to the spam texts from creeps, but this was a strange number signed ‘WW’. Which, if your Carat memory was right, was Wonwoo’s signature to end every text.

A small crack comes through and you dare to hope.

It was Wonwoo. He was outside your dorm and he wanted you to meet him downstairs.

You were stupid if you missed that chance.

Wonwoo leads you to the nearby park, well sheltered by a canopy of trees, illuminated by the small fluorescent street lights that were dimming at its ends.

And this time, he’d brought a picnic basket with him

“I made this for you," he says, shoving a messily assembled sandwich into your hands, all smiles and squinty eyes, you can’t help but crack a smile. An action that brings him to further his smile, you reciprocating thoughtlessly.

Well you can’t excuse not eating after he prepared it for you.

The last time someone cooked for you was when you were 13, before your grandmother passed away. When it was clear you had attained some cooking knowledge , your mother had made you in charge of cooking all the meals at home. Even when you went home for the holidays, it was you doing the cooking, never the other way.

You suppose you could eat just this once , if not for you at least for him. You could always expel it later.

You didn’t have to wait for later. One bite in and you were spitting it out.

Wonwoo watches with the cutest face you have ever seen on a grown man, unknown pout on his lips and furrowed eyebrows at your blatant disrespect spit out what he had lovingly taken time to make.

“Wonwoo-ssi” . “Did you umm- did you eat this’ “No, I wanted you to have the first bite.” Of course he did.

You were not going to hurt his feelings like that. You were not that cruel despite what the tabloid told. But you could make him taste and see what he’s done.

“Can you take one bite” you insist, pushing the sandwich closer to his mouth.

In a way to see what the hullabaloo was all about , he takes a tentative bite of the sandwich and you watch as his face morphs from doubt to disgust. His pout intensifies.

“ I thought I did good.”

“What did you even put in here”, your amusement never failing to make an appearance. “All the fancy stuff Gyu uses.”, he answers, shoulders tilted up with certain pride.

“Like what?” you were curious.

“This is my first time cooking ever.” He admits ashamedly and you are no longer surprised. That explains the undecipherable saltiness to this sandwich.

“So I decided to be a little fancy and reached into Mingyu’s seasoning cupboard. There’s every kind of powder including the pink season. I added that to give some color and make the sandwich pretty to look at. “ He finishes triumphantly with an innocent grin.

You are touched . Truly. But-

“Pink stuff?” “Wonwoo-ssi just how much of the pink stuff did you put there?”

“A lot’ he was staring at you with a cocked brow , offended you would question his cooking skills like this.

“Wonwoo-ssi-’

“Please, just call me Wonwoo”

“Alright Wonwoo, that pink stuff- you air quote is actually salt. Himalayan salt.”

You wait for one beat. Two beats.

“Ohhhh— “ he draws out at the realization of a look of mortification coming at him.

His eyes scrunched up cutely, you catch his adorable cheeks bunch up and you want to comfort him like you would baby Chuul when she was this upset. Except he was no baby.

So you resort to laughing.

You are in awe of this man who you try so hard not to like is slowly working his way up to being a friend. A good friend even.

After a good five minutes of shared laughter that trickles to small squeaks , a small air of awkwardness hung in the air.

But this time he is prepared to counter that.

“Can I ask you about what went down the other day?”

“When?”

“I have seen the tabloids Y/N. What went wrong with your choreographer?”

Oh. You did figure he would eventually ask, you didn’t expect it this suddenly though.

“Do you want my version or the truth?”

‘But isn’t your version the truth?” You freeze, your eyes misting up immediately.

Seeing your face he tentatively reaches out, and seeing no resistance from your side, rests a palm on your knee. Your knee was beginning to heat up.

“ I- I did nothing wrong you know?” “Trust me Y/N I know that.”

You are touched at a strangers' choice to believe you over your own mother.

As a child you were the quiet one while your brother relentlessly bullied you. Of course your mother sided with him. This is the first time someone wants to listen to your side of the argument.

Before you ask him to explain , he beats you to it, “I know you hate dance challenges, your body language screamed as much but you did that to give your bandmate my autograph didn’t you? S-sorin right? Your eyes widened. “Oh my you know her name? She is going to be so ecstatic about this I have to tell her right now.”

“See? Even now you are thinking of ways to make someone else happy. So tell me what really went down?” You recount the whole situation to him, opting to leave out Chuul’s name and her dancing being the whole reason, you don’t have to give up her identity like that.

“And I know that’s what bring the fans but - I-” “You know if you are uncomfortable about something, you have the right to state your reasons not to do it. “ He states gently," The company cannot just force you .”

You snort out a laugh . Oh this fool. If only it were that simple

You say no more opting to end this conversation there. No need to get things all mushy now.

Not wanting to delve more into the awkward air, Wonwoo cleared his voice and you knew he was going to bring up another topic

He talks about his upcoming tour and you listen in awe as he describes their travel around the world.

One perk you had hoped to get as an idol was to do world tours, in hopes of traveling around and seeing new places.

Unfortunately, Blush Girls was too nugu to make it past the small company curse. Delaware was also very low on funds, often shamelessly resorting to request you to get your way through some potential investors. You were numb at this point,a bin used by men, to get bills thrown at your face only to be dipped away by Delaware as part of the compromise you’d made with them.

‘So, what does flying feel like?”

‘Well I can’t help you there, I don’t have wings Y/N.” he chuckles softly.

“No, I was walking about an aircraft, how does it feel to fly in the clouds?”

You see the small look of shock before he instantly wipes it away “Yo-you’ve never been on a plane before?”

You shrug dismissively. There were small concerts and festivals in Japan you could have gone to. Establishing yourself in the Japanese market would have given you a leg up for sure to come out of nugudom. You worked overtime to provide the funds for Delaware, you were sure of that, your body and throat ached to fill the void. But greed triumphs over integrity you suppose. You could only watch in sadness as men dipped into the hard work you invested in and left you even more void, shallow soul and mind.

Sorin watched from the window as her celebrity crush, the man that filled her childhood bedrooms, sat there on the park bench with the dopiest grin she’s ever seen staring at her unnie.

It’s not fair. You didn’t even know him like she did. She was the one who gushed to you about how much she was sure she was going to marry Jeon Wonwoo one day. And now there sat the man of her dreams, a palm pressed against his cheek, staring at you.

You who had lied and said there was ‘absolutely nothing’ happening between the both of you. Of course you’d get the man too. Just like everything in Sorin’s life she wished to have.

After a night of easy conversation and shared laughs, you sneak back into your dorm , waving goodbye to the boy slowly worming himself into your heart.

You hoped everyone was asleep, rehearsals started early tomorrow and Ampers had quite the mood these days. You didn’t want to poke the bear with overtired girls at the dance practices.

But you were wrong.

The door is forcefully opened by a livid Sorin who scornfully looks at you as you do your walk of shame back to your bed.

‘Slut” you overhear her mumbling. Your heart sank. Who taught this child that word?

Ever since she was denied the Music Bank position her behavior had spiraled, and you understood teenage angst but when met with open disdain, you hoped for a chance at grace.

Nothing much changes after that. Wonwoo and you exchange texts on your phone although you space out your replies from a day to a week.

You cannot lead him on but the temptation of texting him is so strong that you cannot ignore it either.

The hate online from netizens die down a little bit. Soon you are no longer the poster child for bullying owing to the actual controversy of plagiarism from “Chorstify’. Good days were coming.

Or so you thought.

The Mama Awards rolled out , and for the first time in two years since debut, Blush Girls had received an invitation. First time for a Delaware Labels group, and no thanks to the immense publicity this year has bestowed upon you.

Wonwoo texts you a ‘see you there’ even before the announcement and you are even more confused. How did he know? Was he perhaps involved in Blush Girls getting an invitation to an award show destined to be swept off by big labels?

You sigh. For an ‘acquaintance’ he sure did a lot more than you would have expected someone to. You should pay him back, you think. No one does favors for free. But how do you pay a rich million dollar earning idol? And how do you pay at all when the company refused to pay your group, heaping a bigger trainee debt? You only know one way of payback that you had learned from your mother- giving up your body.

“Men only want one thing” your mother had warned you.

Hair and makeup went quickly for you giving you more time to loiter around and hopefully catch a glance of ‘Big Cobra’, your childhood celebrity crush. The only dream artist you actually hoped to collaborate with. When Delaware did accept you,you had hoped you’d be given a rapper position but one look at your visuals and your soft voice, they had laughed at your request, calling you unfit for such a position.

You had been eavesdropping your manager’s conversation with your idol, giddy with the prospect of him dancing to one of your earlier songs. What an honor! Except-

“Who’s Yoonha?” Cobra ssi bellows out through the other door. Yoonha also had big admiration for him. You wouldn’t actually mind if she was the one who got to do this dance challenge with him.

There’s a slight crumpling of papers rustling and you can only imagine Yoonha’s face card being shown to Cobra. What follows next, changes the trajectory of your vision for the idol of your dreams.

“Nope, she’s too ugly.”

“But she is such a huge fan of yours, this would lift her spirits.” Your manager protested on her behalf.

“Everyone is a huge fan of me Dongyun-ssi . Give me a pretty woman. Don’t you have a Y/N in your group? Give me someone that looks beautiful. Or get me a younger one. I need to establish myself in today’s generation before they forget me.”

You feel no elation at hearing your name spoken in such praise. Only pure disgust.

“How about Sorin? Here, this is her ”

“No she’s too ugly too. I want the pretty one. She looks youthful enough. What is her name?”

She’s Y/N but she has been punished by the agency for her recent remarks, she is not allowed to film challenges till one month is up.” “Fine, I’ll do it with the other two chicks here but remember, you owe me a big one. I happen to gain nothing from this since I cannot dance with the visual.”

Over your dead body. No way were you going to allow a grown man who’d openly demanded for a child 20 years his junior , to collaborate with the other members he had insulted. No way in hell.

So you resort to snitching on him and telling Yoonha and Sorin to avoid the dance challenge.

To your utter amazement, Yoonha and Sorin defied your orders to not dance with Big Cobra ,instead calling you out on jealousy. What jealousy? If only they understood.

As Seventeen takes the stage, your mind struggles to focus. Whatever happened a few moments prior backstage has soured your mood. You knew you’d get in trouble with your company later for all the bad reactions you were showcasing to several cameras but you didn’t fucking care. The disgust you feel was too intense to mask.

A hand crept up into your peripheral vision and you catch a glimpse of Eunsae watching you with concern etched on her face.

“You know unnie, I know you are the leader and it's part of your role to take care of us. But sometimes, I wish you’d tell us too. I am not a child anymore. I know everyone around us are monsters. I just don't get why you have to bear this all alone. Something happened backstage and that’s clearly made you upset. Please tell me what happened. I thought you were happy BigCobra ssi would agree to do a dance challenge with us. Your face shows otherwise ”

Sometimes you don’t understand why you kept a lot of things from your members. At least the older ones. You had lived your entire life being an adult in the situation and wanting to shelter your members from all of it, but these ladies were all growing up. They were not children anymore. At least not Eunsae.

So you spill.

By the time you are done recounting the story to Eunsae, you see her face has darkened, disgust apparent in her face too.

“He did what now?” she interjected.

You say nothing, your silence speaking far more, conforming your thoughts.

Eunsae had biblical anger displayed on her face. Her jaw clenched tight with anger, her fists tightly holding on your wrist. You felt the same way.

“And you still let them go ahead unnie?” she pressed.

“I mean they didn’t really give me an option . Yoonha was convinced I was jealous of forbidding her.”

Eunsa rolled her eyes at that.

“Typical Yoonha” she muttered.

The next day Twitter went viral with a picture of Eunsae’s rolled eyes and you whispering in her ear amidst Seventeen’s special stage

Typical media and fan behavior, making noise out of nothing.

But this time the hate wasn’t just directed at you, your bandmate was included. Very quickly a warning was issued by your company threatening strong actions against malicious rumors against your labelmate and you. The last scandal you want to be involved with is fighting a large fandom of a popular boy group.

Only if Eunsae knew you had to sacrifice a part of you to get that post up and running up on the world wide web.

Chuseok holidays rolled out and while everyone went home, you found yourself alone. Your mother had claimed she was taking your father to a hospital, there is no way she can house you.

“Your meal plans cost extra," she said, chucking you as just another burden.

With the girls gone, Victor was in charge of keeping you company and you wanted no opportunity to share the same air as him.

Maybe you could surprise your mother, perhaps with a surprise meal you'd cook. She wouldn’t turn her own daughter away would she?

You wished you hadn’t taken your own advice because on opening the room to your childhood home, you are greeted by the sight that will forever be imprinted in your memories.

Your mother wrapped around Hyangyuck, your PD. While your sick father was in the other room, blissfully unaware.

“Y/N wait- it’s not like that.” your mother’s face paled as she stammered out an apology.

You were done. Honestly this explains why you got selected despite your lack of talents anyway. Your mother had probably gotten her way around Hyangyuck with her connections to secure your spot. The realization burned.

You didn’t know who your own married mother was..

Not knowing what to do , where to go, you stand at the crossroads . The dorm was empty, Victor was insufferable, and home—home was a twisted illusion. A sudden beep pulled you from your thoughts. A text from Wonwoo. It was the sixth message he’d sent in a week. Peering down at the screen, you read his invitation: “Want to go hang out? If you’re in the mood.”

You scoffed, not in the mood for anything. But the thought of spending time at his apartment—away from this mess—was tempting.

Lucky for you, Wonwoo was accepting of that too.

You had been looking for a chance to repay him back for all his kindness anyway

Wonwoo’s apartment was just as you’d imagined it. Cute and demure. Very minimalistic with the exception of the kitchen- stacked with all the fancy kitchen equipment you could ever dream of. ‘Mingyu’s sanctuary’ he’d called it. You chuckled to yourself, remembering Wonwoo’s disastrous sandwich-making fiasco. He was definitely not the chef in this partnership.

Wonwoo offers you some clothes- probably an ex’s. A shorter someone because they fall ankle length. Wonwoo takes a good look at you and pursues his lips.

“Stop laughing!” you called out, feigning annoyance.

“I didn’t laugh,” he protested, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed him.

“Your face says otherwise!”

As if that grants him the excuse, peals of laughter ring out , his palms doing nothing to stifle the obvious joy in his voice.

After the laughter drowns out you take a good look at him. Wonwoo is sitting by the fireplace, palm pressed to his cheek, elbow resting on the arm rest, softly glancing at you in a look of pure adoration. A look you can’t decipher . You couldn’t help but wonder why someone would look at you that way.

A confident strut to your otherwise beating heart you walk over to where he sat. Leaning down to meet his gaze, you turned on the sultry charm you didn’t know you possessed, and his uncertainty morphs into something akin to eagerness. Although you have never given him the inkling that you do like him, he was sure he did. Anyone with eyes could see that. But this forward action from your side for once? Very welcome in his sight.

Leaning closer to him, a hairbreadth away, you press your lips against his.

For one second nothing happens and you tense. But Wonwoo bridges the gap before you back away, an arm around your waist pulling you impossibly closer to him, cradling your waist. Instinctively, you jerk again, tickled at the sensation. But he’s quicker, placing the other arm around your left hip, now in a lock against your hip , drawing you closer and onto his lap. You don’t fight it, immediately settling onto his knees and gliding over to his thighs, brought forward by Wonwoo’ quick hands. Hands that had moved to your ear, his finger fondling with the star earring dangling from your right ear. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own too, hands edging dangerously close to his chest. A beat later you place it against him, reveling in the hitch in his voice, fueled to take it further and pressing even harder against him.

Wonwoo shyly asks for entrance and you grant it to him. A dangerous thing to do because the next second you are at his mercy. He dominates the kiss and you have to ground yourself against his shirt, tugging on it impossibly hard. Any whimper you have is swallowed by Wonwoo’s strong tongue game.

A kiss he very much enjoys till his lost thoughts come back to him a minute or two later, and realization dawns.

He pulls back first leaving you suspended in a swirl of emotions—sadness mixed with a tinge of regret. His eyes searched yours, studying your expression for any sign of interest, but he found only confusion.

“I am sorry-”

“Why did you kiss me, Y/N?” His voice was quiet, almost vulnerable.

“ I wanted to pay you back?” your voice ringing on hollowness.

He tips his head.

“Pay me back? How? Why” His brow furrowed in confusion.

The silence stretched, wrapping around you both like an uncomfortable shroud. You felt the weight of your own words, the lingering truth of how you’d tried to manipulate the kindness he had shown you.

“So that kiss-”

“Look, it’s late in the evening Y/N, you were already upset when you came in and It’s my fault I shouldn't’” “No it’s not yours it’s mine” “Why don’ we sleep on it, hmm? Maybe after a good nights rest we can talk it out. How about that?” There is a small smile on his face but you’re not blind, it’s forced.

He leads you to his bedroom and ushers you around it.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the next room.”

“Where are you going?”

“”I’ll be right next door Y/n. In Mingyu’s room. He’s not home anyway.”

“I am sorry I took advantage of your kindness. I know you don’t like me like that and I-”

“Wait, do you think I don’t like you?” he asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “Y/n, I like you. Too much. But I’m scared you don’t.”

The admission hung in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. The silence turned awkward, and he finally backed away, breaking the spell. “I’ll take Mingyu’s room. You can have my room.”

And he leaves you, with an empty heart. Truly the daughter of your mother as much you both would like to deny it. Whoring yourself out for a place to spend the night, seeking validation in the most twisted ways. You spend the whole night tossing and turning, your brain won’t shut up, your mind is not at ease.

You didn’t sleep a wink last night, fabric bunched up under your uncouth sleeping habits. Alert at the sounds of pots and pans clucking you spring up and make it to the kitchen, where you get to behold Wonwoo in all his morning glory, bleached hair sticking up in every odd direction, face marred with several lines creased by the pillows.

"Good Morning” he calls out cheerfully, and you jump a little, you didn't think he was a morning person to be honest.

You call back and exchange pleasantries, still over the edge of what happened last night.

“Coffee?”

You shake your head. He shrugs and follows you to the breakfast table.

“I ordered some breakf-”

“Oh, I am not hungry .”

He looks a little annoyed, like he wants to say something but he thinks the best of it and for that you are grateful.

You watch again, as he eats his pancake, a part of your stomach grumbling at you for denying it food. Meanwhile you sip mindlessly on the coffee, disgusted at its bitterness. After breakfast, a blanket of thorn air shrouds around you both and you sit basking in it, watching Wonwoo clear the table, noiselessly wiping down the countertop.

He watches you fiddle with your thumbs and sighs, coming closer to stand next to you.

You can’t keep quiet any longer. You jump right onto it. “Did I do something wrong? Did you not want it? Oh no, you didn’t want it, did you? I just—you had that look and I—”

“Y/N, stop.” Wonwoo clicked his palm against yours, his grip firm but gentle, preventing you from delving further into panic. “You are spiraling .”

“I did like it, alright? Too much. But this isn’t how I wanted it to happen. We should both feel it.”

“Oh, that’s alright. You can take as much as you want from me. What I say doesn’t matter at all.” you softly speak out.

The shock on his face revealed the depth of your words. His eyes look around your face, waiting for a punked moment. Nothing comes out except your earnesty.

“Okay, we need to talk.”

Still not letting go of your wrist, he carefully led you through his apartment, eventually guiding you onto his bed.

“Sit.” His command was gentle yet firm, and you plopped down on the edge of the bed.

He sat across from you, eyes intense, leveling you with a look that felt like it could pierce through your defenses.

“What you just did—you can’t just do that, Y/N. That’s not how this works. I want you, and I know you know that. But this—it can’t happen unless you feel it too.”

You remained mute, lost in a sea of conflicting emotions.

“When we like someone, it’s a two way street. Unless both parties enjoy it, you shouldn’t do it. Every time I see you, my heart races- he reaches out, placing your palm against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers. “I get butterflies. You make me want to work hard to earn your love. You’re smart, kind, and beautiful. Sure, you can be a little aloof, but I find that really cute about you. I can’t do anything with you unless you feel it too. It should never be about me alone. You matter too, Y/N.”

He insists, earnest eyes boring into yours, to drive the point inside.

Words you had never heard before, words that felt foreign. When did you ever matter? Who had you ever mattered to?

You were suddenly transported back to that sunny day when your brother left. All four feet of you clinging to his leg, pleading for him not to go. At fifteen, you had endured enough emotional abuse from your mother, desperate for him to take you along.

Kicking his foot ,he had sent you tumbling to the ground, and you watched him walk away, backpack slung over his shoulder, leaving you alone. That was never the action of someone who did something to someone who ‘mattered’.

“Which is why I want to ask, Y/N—do you feel anything for me at all?”

He inched closer, his gaze locked onto yours, a mix of urgency and vulnerability shimmering in his dark eyes. “I need to know,” he whispered. “Because every time I’m around you, it’s like I can’t breathe, and I don’t want to ignore what this could be. It’s eating me alive.”

His hands fidgeted nervously, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain some composure. “I don’t want to pressure you, but... if you feel even a fraction of what I do, please just say something. It’s been driving me crazy, and I just can’t hold it in anymore.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and he leaned in slightly, searching your eyes for any hint of an answer. “Just be honest with me. Please.”

You-

Your instincts screamed to run away. This level of vulnerability was foreign to you. But your heart demanded you stay.

“When you’re near me, my heart—” you softly whisper, like the words feel foreign to you, staring into his dark, shiny orbs. “It races too. I feel something. I can’t explain it, but there’s something.”

Initially, you had dismissed it as mere attraction. But the more you saw him, the more you realized you felt it? You felt this pull, a gentle tug in your heart that he was here. That he genuinely liked you for you, and that was honestly so confusing. Why would he ever? But also, you liked it. You liked being seen for who you really were, flaws and all, without the masks you usually wore. It was a strange comfort, this connection you were building.

“Please be patient with me. I know I want it, but I don’t exactly know what I want. I had nobody to look up to and learn what love feels like.”

“Honestly, Y/N, if it’s with you, I can always wait, baby. You are worth the wait.”

You froze.

“Oh no, did I say something triggering? I am sorr—”

“What did you just call me?” Your voice quivered, the weight of his words hitting you hard.

“Baby?”

One tear fell, then another, until a torrent of tears cascaded down your cheeks.

“Eomma please, just one hug. All my friends have mom's who hug them. Why can’t you hug me atleast once?” Your eight year old self had come out of the quiz as the only one who had all the answers and had received three gold stars. Holding all three gold stars in huge triumph you held out your report card in hopes that she would put it up near the refrigerator and give you a hug, that being your only demand.Except your mother had thrown the kitchen towel angrily across the table, slammed a fist on the table and-

“Not now Y/N, I don’t have time for your kiddy games.”

“Earth to Y/N.”

“No one’s ever called me that before.” you finally state.

“What? Baby?” he recounts.

Yes.

“That’s impossible. What about your parent”- you shook your head fiercely causing him to change his tactics.

“Was that why you were crying love?”

You shakily nod. Is this what catharsis felt like? Crying but empowering?

“Aww love” he cooed. “No one has to endure that alone you know.”

“How about we have some breakfast and then we cuddle and sleep? Your eyes tell you haven’t slept a wink last night”

“I’m not hungry.”

“All right then. I have a plan.

“ I am listening.”

“Let’s cuddle.”

“What is that supposed to do?”

“It is stress relieving. Trust me on this.”

“Are you a cuddler Wonu?”

He looked a bit embarrassed to admit but the answer was there in his actions- crossed out arms and pinkening cheeks. He takes a defensive stance in his next words, A cocky eyebrow perked up. “Maybe? Mingyu gives the best hugs”. He looks off in the distance as he says it, like reminiscing a past memory.

Lazy grin in, you expect him to unfold. After a squirming session of three seconds total, he comes clean. “Well yesterday I was a little upset and Mingyu was there. And he- well- you know how he is. He gives the best hugs alright! Don’t judge me. If you had to be smothered in his arms you’d know how safe it is! All I am saying is, we could do the same thing. You’ll get to enjoy what a real cuddle session looks like ”

Never would you have imagined a tall, big man absolutely folding himself at the prospect of recounting a great cuddle session with his ‘homie’. Can’t say you are not enamored though.

You watch fondly as he fixes the pillows and settles down.

“Come here, he croons out, arm extended and invitingly calling you over. You crawl over the sheets, ready to settle down and hug him, like you’d hug Chuul when she came to your bed at night after a nightmare or when the homesickness hits too hard.

“What are you doing?”

“Uuhh hugging you?” Were you doing that wrong too?

“No I don’t mean you hug me , I want to be the big spoon.”

“What’s a spoon got to do with hugs?”

His mouth opens wide as he stares at you in shock. Seriously, what is happening?

Wonwoo manhandles you to mold you into the position he wants you to be in, on your side while he engulfs you from the back. The heat radiation at his proximity from your back and the warmth omitting from your heart was cocooning you from both sides.

Wonwoo’s body is solid and comforting, the best combination right now. You softly breath in his familiar scent, the musk of a strong cologne.

“Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face. “It feels nice.”

He chuckled softly, and the sound reverberated through you. His fingers found their way to your waist, gently tracing circles on your skin. The simple gesture sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned back into him, craving more of that warmth.

“See? This isn’t so bad,” he teased, his breath tickling your ear.

“No, it’s really nice,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day melting away as you enjoyed the intimacy of the moment. Wonwoo’s arms felt like a protective cocoon around you, and you found yourself relaxing more with every passing second.

“Just so you know,” he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity, “I’d do anything to keep you close like this. Just come to me , when you have bad days like this . I want to be the one who gets to hear your complaints and worries. I want to be your rock. I want to start loving you , and to show you what love feels like. It’s not the worst feeling in the world, to be vulnerable.”

His words sent your heart racing, and you turned slightly to catch his gaze. The look in his eyes was a mixture of warmth and determination, and you felt your heart swell. In that moment, everything else faded away—your worries, your past—and all that mattered was the warmth of his embrace and the connection building between you.

“Thank you for everything Wonwoo,” you whispered, feeling grateful and vulnerable all at once.

“Always,” he replied, tightening his hold around you, making you feel cherished and safe in his arms.

You both wake up around midday. Wonwoo pecks your nose and leaves to fend off to do some errands leaving you back on the bed, lethargic at the lack of food catching up to you.

( TW: Eating Disorder mentioned, unhealthy diet habits mentioned . Reader has an EXTREMELY fucked up mindset against food. Be warned)

He comes back carrying take out in his hand. Great, in your haste you had forgotten to ask him if he had eaten at all. How pretty selfish of you. ‘Typical Y/N’ your mom’s snarky voice entered your head. ‘Always thinking about no one else but herself’.

You watch him unpack the food, setting aside a grand feast of chunky beef ghalbi, a crimson shade of kimchi and white rice sprinkled with furikake. The smell of succulent meat permeates the air and a deep part of you craves for it. It’s been over a year since you last allowed your body to have the luxury to indulge in expensive meat. You watch as he neatly arranges the containers and draws out two plates from the kitchen, along with two wine glasses. You hope to God he doesn’t ask you to eat with him, you have no active lies to cook up, it’s clear he’s caught onto the pattern. He pops open the wine bottle, fizzing out the soda and you watch as he carefully pours two glasses of wine onto the awaiting cups.

He beckons you over to the table as he slowly lowers himself , expectantly awaiting your arrival any minute. Not wanting to disrupt his anticipation, you saunter over to him. Maybe you could drink a glass of wine with him and call it a day.

You should know by now Wonwoo was always a step ahead. He pulls out a chair for you , tilting his head expecting your rear to make yourself comfortable and dive into the feast ahead.

“I already a-” "Sit down, Y/N." His voice is assertive — a rare tone coming from someone as soft-spoken as Wonwoo.

You gulp a bit hoping to save some time and he knocks against your knee pit effectively sending you toppling backwards and into his strong arms. They wind around you and he places a small nip on the lobe of your right ear, nuzzling his nose on your chin.

You watch as his right hand takes out a pair of chopsticks dipping into a plump slice of beef, immersing it in a thick paste of soy red sauce and bringing the meat closer to your mouth. That was held shut.

Tight.

You shake your head avoiding the tantalizing piece of meat set in front of you to tempt you into succumbing and eating something.

“Y/N please eat” You shake your head again. You can’t. Why doesn’t he understand?

“I am not hungry” “I call bullshit love, you haven’t eaten anything and your gurgling stomach is testimony to that, no- c-covering it won’t hide those noises , love.” He teeters between a dominant tone and fits of chuckles at your hurried attempts to muffle the mighty roars your stomach makes at the sight of your favorite food.

“Remember you are nothing more than your face, you are just a caricature of a persona I drew up for you, without this body to assist , you are worthless. So avoid eating at all costs. Your body pays for all the bills here so work hard to remain thin. You got me pig?”When assigning different roles, you were the only one who was given a visual role, the company calling everyone else ugly just because they had failed their weekly check ups.

During trainee days you were all subjected to the most humiliating ways to check weights . At the end of each week, the CEO would arrive with his side goons for weekly reviews and gift the winner with the lowest weight. In a truly fucked up mindset, all of you competed for that gift. It was only after your closest friend Julie was taken out of the program by her mother who scorned the system, you realized how young teenagers were suffering from unhealthy eating habits. At the price of your body, you were able to find a leeway in the contract putting a stop to these weight surveys on kids. They still had strict diets but their weight was not monitored as strictly like you had feared. You watched with glee as baby Chuul and Sorin start gaining some color in their cheeks .

The price to pay was Yoonha abhorring you when the roles were given out and she was considered over the weight limit to for the standard rate for a visual (still underweight on a doctor’s scales). That was the day her hate for you grew, she believed you played this to take this opportunity from her. If only she knew the sacrifice you made for her to live out what you wanted to.

There’s a voice in your head repeatedly warning you to not fall for your cravings and a voice outside it beseeching you to just eat it.

“Y/N just open your mouth okay? I will feed you, come on now just say ahh. “ You shake your head violently, trying to trickle down from his strong grip. He’s taking none of your nonsense tonight.

“It’s just one bite love. One bite. That’s all. If you don’t like it you don’t have to eat and I won’t force you. “ Yeah it’s just one bite.

Except-

“One bite is all it takes for you to lose the image the group is built on”

The voices in your head were winning this round .

“Y/N “ He worriedly calls out.

“I can’t. They said I can’t” You finally state.

“Who said you can’t eat baby?”

You melt at the nickname and he smirks against your shoulder.

“Baby, listen to me“ You turn around to look at his eyes, rounded and worry etched at the edges of his soft glance.

“Why can’t you eat baby?” You continue to stare back at him.

‘Are you allergic to meat?” You shake your head.

“Do you not like this?” You shake again. You can’t lie about that.

“When was the last time you ate and be honest with me please”.He implores softly. You can’t help but shed a tear at his soft heartedness. All this harsh exterior but you have yet to meet another man who’s shown this much affection to you.

You refuse to give an answer. It’s probably for the best you think.

Sighing at your silence he shifts you to be a little more comfortable.

“Listen to me. This body you have, all it asks is for a little respect. Just do the bare minimum: feed it something to keep you nourished and moving forward. How are you supposed to make progress if all you do is starve? One bite never harmed anyone, but going several lacks will definitely take a toll.”

You see no lie in his statement despite the several voices of protests in your head.

It’s been four days since you had eaten a bite after the cake you ate last for Mishal’s birthday live. You had offered to throw it out before the staff did, except you and Mishal snuck into a bathroom stall and scarfed the whole thing down, greedily feasting on red velvet gooey deliciousness.

‘Here just look at the food. Don’t you want to smell it?”

Your eyes watered again at the senses flooding your mouth and eyes, there was an aroma wafting in the air, the glisten of the red beef against the twilight hue percolating through his high rise widows. Placed before you, the dish glistens with saucy goodness, white sesame seeds scattered artfully across the surface, while green scallions are peppered around the edges. You can’t help but yearn for it, your hunger intensifying with every glance. Ignoring the blaring alarms wailing in your head, you finally dive forward and take a nibble of the beef.

Succulent meat falls right off the bone and gets swallowed by your mouth wholly, the caramelized glaze dribbling down your chin. Wonwoo delicately wipes it away and you moan involuntarily as the taste hits the roof of your mouth.

Wonwoo lets out a throaty chuckle, opting to peck your cheek when a warm blush overtakes your face . You hadn’t meant to do that.

“That good eh?”

You simply nod, opening your mouth like a baby bird for one more bite pouting at him when he takes too long in your opinion.

‘Coming pretty baby”

With his tender loving care the hunger in your stomach slowly ebbs away but streams of tears flow down heartily.

No one has ever fed you as far as you can remember. Your bitchy mother certainly didn’t. Your father was prevented from it. You had always craved an affection so fickle as being fed that when the first person to feed you was a boy who you had sworn to close your heart to, you couldn't help the small cracks that formed.

Your bites had turned into full on gobbles , hunger overtaking your senses . Seemingly , Wonwoo didn’t seem to mind continuing to feed you despite multiple attempts of objection from your end.

“I am eating too pretty girl , don’t mind me feeding you. Look at your round cheeks filled with food , I can’t help but admire your -“

Ignoring the temptation he comes forward and places a long smooch on your cheek drawing out the long ‘mwah ‘ sound , hoping that with this you can understand just how much he’s in love with you and cares for you .

Your eyes close at the tender gesture, the tears still ebbing. You cannot be bothered to care and wipe them away , the catharsis of just letting go and enjoying something you had denied for so long brings euphoria into your life .

Maybe if you analysed it, anyone could guess that a part of you was regressing at the affection of being fed by someone else , your mouth still conditioned to opening up every time he brought a bite close to you ,despite the knowledge that you are way over your limits

When all is said and done , he slouches on the chair taking you with him , causing you to slump on him like a dead weight . You try to take this opportunity to save yourself and heave out the food before the effects of your gluttony shows on your face but he’s quicker than you , bringing his legs around yours, wrapping them around your shin and preventing any methods of escape you had in mind to empty the content of food.

“Just stay here for a little while more love “

You don’t argue this time after debating with the voices. . It’s the least you could do for your precious body - to feed and nourish overworked organs . The only fodder they had these days was the stress you caused.

You stick around for a little more time in Wonwoo’s apartment, still not having left the secluded space of his arms. Nobody could ever prepare you for how much of a yapper Wonwoo really was. There you sat, on his lap, filled to the brim with food you loved, watching endearingly as the man you were slowly and quickly catching feelings for, filled every second with his deep rumbly voice talking about his childhood. “And we took Bohyuck to the hospital and that's when he knew shit was up. He confessed right before they injected him, serves him right for lying to us and making Eomma cry. I was worried too-”

Before he could continue with his brother's antics, the door opens and you see someone emerge from one of the rooms. Not really comfortable around others, much less a man such as thee Kim Mingyu, you jump up and quickly bow, your manners never forgotten.

Wonwoo rushes to follow suit, standing up as Mingu rounds the corner of the countertop making his way to get a glass of water. You are a little miffed. Mingyu has not acknowledged your presence in the slightest, choosing to ignore your bow or small ‘hi’.

Instead he takes one look at the night suit you were wearing, furthers his head to look at Wonwoo and ask, “Woozi really?” and turns around to leave pronto.

Wonwoo, as though sensing your uncomfort, rubs his chin on your head and tells you to ‘ignore him, he’s just cranky’.

The dark feeling settles down in you, that you’ve done something wrong. You can’t place what exactly but if Wonwoo tells you to ignore it, what better to than just shrug it off and move forward?

The next week passes off as some of the best moments in your life. Wonwoo, you were beginning to realize was an absolute sweetheart of a person.

Maybe if you sat down for a single second and pondered, you’d reflect that you were moving too fast too quick, one minute you had started as fake dates, the next minute your heart knew no endless joy like the euphoric high you were riding now in the attention of a boy who has stolen every waking second of your thought.

Wonwoo pampered you like no other, in a way you didn’t think was possible for someone to take care of you. Diets be damned, rules be fucked, under the canopy of his house you both camped in a safe haven basking in each others presence. Night times were your favorite part of the day, you loved being spooned and coddled. Wonwoo, had big muscular hands that wrapped around you, always pulling you close to his chest, the best cacophony of sounds that could push you to blissful sleep .

If not for the demons that rang out in the sanctuary of your mind, riddling you unable to sleep, paralyzing your thoughts and stripping you off peace.

A.N: my lap crashed y'all! but I wanted to post this fic as my birthday gift and i made it somehow wohoo.. ignore the typos lol, i'll come back and edit. i was racing against time.

if you like the fic please comment, reblog or send an ask! comment below to be added to the taglist

taglist- @skzbangchanniee @everythingboutkpop @fxckingshame @ariananotgrandeee @veryveryveryberry

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literaryvein-reblogs · 10 days ago

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Writing Notes: Types of Dreams

There are a variety of different dreams we are capable of experiencing:

Daydreams: Daydreaming refers to a series of thoughts that distract you from the outside world, making you less aware of your surroundings. Daydreams occur while we are awake and are produced by the brain’s default mode network in the brain in response to a lack of stimulation. Types of daydreaming include dysphoric, escapism, fantasy, rumination, and visualization.

False-awakening dreams: These dreams are when the sleeper believes they have woken up from a sleep session but are still in the middle of a dream. False-awakening dreams are a hybrid state that overlaps with wakefulness and sleep, commonly linked to sleep paralysis or lucid dreams.

Healing dreams: Healing dreams are dreams where the dreamer can heal others, or has a supernatural power like telekinesis or telepathy. Healing dreams can bring feelings of balance and reconciliation. They can help you facilitate a sense of peace or purpose through your unconscious mind.

Lucid dreams: Lucid dreaming is a dream where the sleeper becomes aware that they are dreaming and can retain some control of their body and thoughts within the dream.

Nightmares: Nightmares are fear-inducing dreams. This dream state is the brain’s way of processing life’s daily stressors. Some common causes of nightmares are poor eating habits, previous traumatic events, illness, sleep deprivation, sleep disorders, or medication.

Prophetic dreams: In prophetic dreams, people see future events occur before they happen in real life. Some believe these dreams mean a person has predicted the future, while others believe prophetic dreams are the subconscious preparing you for a likely outcome.

Recurring dreams: Recurring dreams refer to dreams that we repeatedly experience over a sleep session or multiple sleep sessions. Recurring dreams contain the same or similar imagery and sensations in prior occurrences and can also occur in the form of recurring nightmares. Multiple theories suggest that recurring dreams result from risk avoidance, internalized fears, or other unresolved issues.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#dream #writing notes #writeblr #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #light academia #vittore carpaccio #writing resources

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sarawritestories · 9 months ago

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Take A Break

High Lord Eris Vanserra X High Lady Fem Reader

Summary: Eris comes home from business at the Spring Court. Only to hear reports from the staff that his High Lady has been working herself to the ground and not taking care of herself.

Dedicated to @milswrites and @eve175 who are constantly making sure I am taking care of me and getting proper rest. I adore you both!

Content Warning: I did not proofread this. This fluff, but Reader hasn't slept and has had some disordered eating habits (she has been working so hard

Peep the Critical Role Reference for any Critters reading this 😉

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

Eris Vanserra was glad to be home. Sure, working with Tamlin to rebuild the Court was mutually beneficial. Tamlin gets his court back, and Eris rebuilds a strong alliance with the spring. It was work worth fighting for to repair what Beron destroyed. However, he was itching to get home to his mate.

You were the apple of his eye, the moment the bond snapped on Calanami, his first as High Lord. Eris held no hesitation when it came to making you his High Lady. He watched how hard you worked at your bookshop. He knew you could handle it.

Reaching the stables, The Autumn High Lord handed his esteemed steed to the young fae male working. "Take care of sweet, Vex'ahlia, will you?" Eris gave the lad a warm smile and received an eager head nod. "Thank you."

Entering the palace, he was greeted by your two ladies-in-waiting. "My lord." The older woman bowed the younger one fidgeting, Eris picked up on the nervous behavior. "How was your trip?"

Eris bowed his head in return, "Very well, Maxine, but I am ready to see my wife. Though I suspect with the look on both of your faces, something is wrong." He tugged on the bond and found a quick tug back in return, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief that slipped past his lips.

Maxine sighed, "Sir, she has been sleeping in the study."

"If she sleeps at all." The younger one, Nadine muttered.

Maxine ignored her and continued, "We have barely gotten her to eat. She has buried herself so deep into work that she simply forgets that warm food is right there. I'm not trying to speak out of turn."

Eris gripped the older woman's shoulder, "You are not. I appreciate you telling me. Is she still in the study."

"Yes, High Lord."

Eris laughed, "Maxine, you can call me Eris. After all, you did change my diapers."

Maxine smiled, "I'll you whatever you like if you go take care of that wife of yours."

Eris kissed her cheek, "Yes ma'am," With that, he went to go find his High Lady.

****************************************************

You ran your fingers through your hair as you scribbled notes on some parchment. These last few days, you buried yourself in paperwork. Just when you thought you were done. More stacks would form. Not wanting to fall behind and with Eris being gone, you had decided to dedicate the time to working. Only to find you were getting overwhelmed, feeling like you could never walk away, missing meals, not sleeping, you were burning out.

You turned to grab more blank parchment when a voice came from the doorway, "Now what do we have here." You turned to find Eris there, his red curls laying atop of his head and the russet colors of his eyes gleaming in the fae light."

You dropped the materials in your hands. "When did you get back?" You bounced off your seat and ran to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I just got here." He held you close, taking in your scent. "I heard something interesting, though."

You blinked, "Oh?"

He kissed your head, "My Little Dove has not been taking care of herself." You opened your mouth to protest, but he pressed his lips to yours. "There is no fighting me on this."

You sighed, "Okay."

He winnowed you to the kitchen. It being so late the kitchen staff was gone. Eris put on an Apron and you quirked a brow. "You cook?"

Eris smiled, "I do." He tossed an apron at you. "And I am going to show you how to make my favorite me." Your cheeks warmed, remembering how you gave him a small plate of cheese to accept the bond.

You walked over to him, "Ready to Learn."

****************************************************

Cooking with Eris was fun, and you learned that the high lord had a playful side. He'd sneak up behind you to try the sauce you were making. Dipping his finger to dab it on your nose, causing you to giggle. Once everything was cooking he pulled you into his arms and you began to dance.

He pulled you into a waltz with no music. And you watched as his smile grew, his freckles popping out by the fire and the fae lights. He wasn't worried about work, or his brothers, or his responsibilities. He was beautiful.His main focus was you. He pulled you closer, his hands sliding close to the curve of your ass. He kissed you.

He tried to deepen the kiss, but the kettle screamed that the water was boiling. Pulling away, you smiled and grabbed the kettle. Once the meal was prepped, Eris made your place and insisted he feed you.

"I am fully capable of feeding myself. I am High Lady." You pouted and Eris quirked a brow instantly causing you to fix your attitude.

"Yes, you are my High Lady. You're also zeroed in on your work so much this week you barely ate. So I am taking care of you." He patted his lap, "Sit, Dove." You obeyed, and the smell of the food made your mouth water. He scooped up some of the food with the utensil and leveled it to your mouth. "Open." You opened your mouth on command, and he placed the food in your mouth, and you moaned in pleasure. The flavor exploded in your mouth.

He fed you until the meal was gone. "Why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

You met his Russet eyes and sighed, "I didn't do it on purpose. It simply felt like everyone needed me. I just lost track of time."

He sighed and kissed your bare shoulder peaking out of your sweater. "You need breaks. They are important. You'll burn yourself out or wither away into nothing if you don't." His eyes grew serious, "I don't want to see my mate suffering."

"I'm sorry." You leaned your head against his.

"Don't apologize to me. You need to apologize to yourself. You deserve to love yourself and see yourself as worthy of breaks." He held you close. "Okay."

"Okay... I may need gentle reminders." You whispered, a full belly causing the exhaustion to take hold.

"I will give you those gentle reminders." He kissed your forehead as your eyes fluttered close. Allowing the smell of autumn leaves and cinnamon from your mate to bring you comfort.

When you fell asleep, Eris carried you in his arms. Hands wrapped around your knees and shoulders and walked you to your shared bedroom. Placing you on your side of the bed, he pulled the covers over you. "Sweet Dreams, Little Dove." He kissed your head, causing you to stir and just turn over. The High Lord left your room and headed to your study where he would finish the paperwork that was stacked on your desk.

Fin

@secret-third-thing for your Eris reading pleasure

#eris imagine #eris vanserra #acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra imagine #eris vandaddy #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #high lord eris vanserra #high lord eris

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theambitiouswoman · 21 days ago

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A REGULATED NERVOUS SYSTEM = SUCCESS

This is list of some of the diseases and conditions a women can get due to chronic stress. I have said it before, messing with someone’s nervous system is a form of abuse because it not only deliberately disrupts your mental and emotional stability, it can cause long term harm to your health!!!!

Cardiovascular disease

Hypertension

Stroke

Diabetes

Obesity

Depression

Anxiety disorders

Gastrointestinal disorders (IBS, ulcers)

Autoimmune diseases (lupus, rheumatoid arthritis)

Thyroid disorders (hyperthyroidism, hypothyroidism)

Infertility

Menstrual irregularities

Osteoporosis

Chronic fatigue syndrome

Sleep disorders (insomnia)

Migraine and tension headaches

Fibromyalgia

Alzheimer’s disease and cognitive decline

Eating disorders

Chronic pain disorders

Endometriosis

Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS)

Heart arrhythmias

Metabolic syndrome

Adrenal fatigue

Hair loss (telogen effluvium, alopecia)

Chronic inflammation

Eczema and psoriasis

Acne and other skin disorders

Urinary incontinence

Osteoarthritis

Temporomandibular joint disorder (TMJ)

Chronic pelvic pain

Sexual dysfunction

Nonalcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD)

Weakened immune system (leading to frequent infections)

Vision problems (stress related blurred vision)

Hearing loss or tinnitus

Substance use disorders

Increased risk of cancer (breast, ovarian)

Hormone imbalances

Gallbladder disease

Hyperprolactinemia

Chronic kidney disease

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twistyfish · 5 months ago

Note

Oh I don’t know if that’s what you usually write for request but what about MC dying (once again) and just before dying she remembered everything from their past lives and the lads men’s reaction thinking they failed MC again

hi! i tried my best with this one because i’m not caught up on all the lore, so please bear with me. i took it in a slightly different direction

prompt~ mc dying.

content warning for death and violence

Zayne

Zayne groggily rolled over in bed, his outstretched arm bumping into the bedside table. He winced in pain, rubbing his wrist. He picked up his glasses and put them on, sitting up slowly so as not to wake you from what was very clearly a deep sleep, seeing as you weren’t awake yet

He cringed when the mattress squeaked, and his eyes immediately flashed to your still form. You didn’t budge. Good. He gently swept off the covers and stepped into his slippers, brushing his teeth and getting ready for the day.

After a cup of coffee and a banana, Zayne returned to the bedroom to kiss you on the forehead before driving to work.

***

Zayne came back from the hospital and set his things down. He washed his hands and headed to the bedroom, eager to change out of his scrubs. He opened the door and was surprised to see you still in bed.

You hadn’t been showing any signs of feeling down lately, so this was a surprise. Maybe you were taking a nap? He wondered if he should let you sleep.

It was very silent. All he could hear was the distant hum of the air conditioner. He didn’t even hear your usual light snoring.

He walked in front of you and bent down, hesitating before patting your shoulder. He patted it again before shaking you.

Oh, so you were being difficult. He picked up the blanket and threw it off you, revealing the lower half of your face. It was still and pale.

He leaned in closer and realized something very, very critical.

You weren’t breathing.

His heart rate spiked and he immediately pressed his ear against your chest, because maybe he was mistaken. Maybe you were breathing and he just couldn’t hear it very well. Or maybe you had some undiagnosed sleep disorder where you temporarily stopped breathing. Maybe you would wake up gasping for air in a few seconds.

But he didn’t hear or feel any movement at all, so he stabbed his fingers against his phone to dial the ambulance, and told the operator what was happening with a foggy brain. His voice was hardly audible by the end of it. He knew exactly what information they needed, but he couldn’t seem to remember it. Your address, your age, your full name.

Who cared about all of that? That was all useless information. All that he cared about right now was that you were dead. His partner was dead. And he hadn’t been there for her.

Sylus

Gunshots rang out, the noise of bones cracking permeating the air while bulletproof glass broke into a thousand shards. Sylus sprinted through the room and into your destroyed cell.

He hadn’t opted to send Luke and Kieran to bring you home. He had to do it himself. He knew the fuckers wanted him to show up, but he paid no mind. He had to see for himself that you were okay.

But what he saw made his stomach drop into his shoes. You were sitting in the corner of the room, chained to the wall. Your head was lolled onto your shoulder, your eyes gored out and your arms covered in burns. No. No. No no no no nonono-

He fell to his knees with a painful thump. The only thing he could bring himself to do was hold his stomach and vomit up bile. Seeing his lover like that ruined him. It destroyed him, made him want to cry and scream until the Earth was flooded and everyone’s eardrums had burst.

So when one of the men on the floor laughed weakly at Sylus’s grief, he shot without a second thought.

Nobody’s life mattered anymore. The person whose life he cared about wasn’t here anymore.

Rafayel

The air was hot and dry, and you looked beautiful with pearls of sweat dripping from your chin and collecting on your collarbone. You were wearing a flowy green dress and little teardrop earrings.

Rafayel’s eyes were fixed on you, even while you crossed the streets. The smooth curve of your back, your soft, bare arms. You were so undeniably beautiful.

He loved going on walks with you, and he was thrilled that you both had been able to take a week off for holiday. He rarely got to see you in such a light, beachy setting.

It had been around thirty minutes of walking, and you seemed to be getting a little out of breath. This surprised him, because your job consisted of a lot of movement and high energy combat.

“You’re not getting out of shape, are you Ms. Bodyguard?” He teased. “How are you gonna protect me if walking around gets you breathless?”

Your shallow breaths continued, which was a little concerning.

He stopped walking. “Hey. Is everything okay?” He asked, concerned now.

You shook your head. “I don’t feel good.” Your breaths were getting quicker and shallower, and you doubled over. Your hands were on your knees, and you gagged. Rafayel bent down next to you, and before he knew it you were swaying and then you had fallen. He barely caught your head as you went down, his knuckles scraping the pavement.

“__? Hey! Hey, hey, wake up!” He was rapidly tapping your cheek, praying to whatever deities were out there that you would get up and walk it off.

“We need help! Please, my girlfriend is sick! We need help!” He shouted. A few locals rushed over and called for help, but he was inconsolable.

After emergency surgery and two days in the hospital, he was informed that you were braindead. He didn’t say anything. He booked a flight home and sold all his paintings.

He never painted anything again.

Xavier

No. Not this. Anything but this. His shaking hand brushed bloody, matted hair out of your face.

“Stay calm. Backup is here. I’m going to take you to get medical attention,” he said in a voice that was calmer than he felt.

“Xavier.”

“Don’t talk, you’re expending unnecessary energy.”

“Xavier, I’m not going to make it.”

“Don’t fucking say that.” His facade was cracking.

“I love you. I should have said it before, but I love you so much.”

“__, please-,”

“I’m so grateful that you’re my partner. You’ve been there for me through everything and I don’t want this to be it for you.”

“No.” His voice was small, like he was pleading.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was already breathy and shrinking in volume. But the intensity was the same. The character was constant. You would die a fighter.

“No, please, I’m not ready. I can’t do this without you,” he choked, pressure building up in his nose. His eyes started leaking, and he felt nauseous.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And that was the last thing you heard. Xavier pressed his forehead into your chest, and it killed him when he felt no rising or falling. It was just him and the night.

He looked up at the stars, and he swore he saw your face.

#love and deepspace x reader #lads #love and deepspace #lads x you #lads x reader #rafayel x mc #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #reqs open #xavier x mc #lads zayne #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #hurt no comfort #cw death #lads scenarios

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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months ago

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O Fatale Imperium, O Fortuna!

Part I of III - Power and Control.

Yan Sunday x F Reader.

Synopsis: At the heart of what used to be a town, your fellow villagers wait on their knees to be blessed by a kind stranger.

Warnings: Yandere themes, non-consensual body transformation, religious themes because it’s Sunday, unhealthy relationships, major spoilers for the main Penacony quest in Honkai Star Rail, manipulation, descriptions of poverty, descriptions of physical illnesses, minor character deaths, and drugging.

Word Count: 3k.

shoutout to my friend @harmonysanreads for proofreading some of it! i really appreciate her and all the stuff she writes so please check her out! <3

*~*~*~*

"Requiem aeternam dona ets, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ets. Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem. Exaudi orationem meam, ad te omnis caro veniet. Requiem aeternam dona ets, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ets."

- Introitus, Mozart's Requiem.

*~*~*~*

Jenovath, the planet of three truths – the closest neighbor of Penacony, the planet of dreams. Two moons rotate in a clockwise motion while the other two move in the opposite direction. The youngests, Jenova Nativitas and Jenova Vita, have almost always been a fated pair – one gifts humanity with vegetation while the other gifts them with life in other forms. Both have always been honored within your village – the most famous example being a large statue of the goddess Jenova at its center holding them in her gentle hands – unlike the other two planetoids.

Jenova Mortem and Jenova Copulatio; both unwelcome gifts from Jenova’s son a millennium ago.

In your childhood, you remember the sun’s warmth atop your skin as you explored the forests around your village. Now Jenova Morteum and Jenova Copulatio have combined into one, and now this planet’s source of light is gone.

The plants died first. The herbivores next. The carnivores around the same time. There are no more blessings from Jenova Nativitas or Jenova Vita, only curses in the form of disease and disorder. Black coils inhabit the bodies of the older generations, the same ones who were cursed by their goddess’ envious only child.

The younger generation is left fighting for the scraps of a world forgotten by the rest of the universe. You may be older than some of them – you have no clue how people still have kids in times like this – but in reality, you’re just as lost. You’re just as clueless when it comes to begging whatever few travelers are left for necessities, and you’ll probably die soon just like everyone else who has come before you.

“Such unnecessary pain.” The stranger murmurs, kneeling to you. You don’t look anywhere aside from the makeshift knife in your hands. Your palms bleed since the handle is non-existent. After all, it is just a piece of glass you managed to take off of another abandoned lodge cabin meant for visitors.

The robe on his head does little to hide his real appearance. Golden eyes, a face as pale as sand, and what looks to be two halovian wings blending in with his gray hair.

Your body isn’t as damaged as the other people nestled in this part of the town – while you only have small black markings on the back of your neck going down to your midriff, most of the others have large excesses of skin on their faces, hands, and feet. Their ability to talk, walk, and touch things have been severely limited due to Hirona’s inflicted evil – meanwhile, you're only limited in the ways you can cover your markings because most of the clothing you once had has been sold.

*~*~*~*

Instead of sleeping on stone tiles – or a cardboard box if you had gotten lucky with your findings in garbage disposals – you lay awake, nestled between freshly ironed sheets and a mattress you feel is softer than a cloud. On the bedside table, there are a few gifts from the staff. Nothing too fancy with the crisis at hand, but the kind gesture is more than enough in comparison to what you have been given on the streets recently. A basket of cut bruised fruits, two red roses in a glass vase partially shattered on its top, and a little card with the manager’s signature on the back thanking the stranger – Sunday he told you was his name – for his patronage and blessings. Just an hour prior, he had presented you to the receptionist. She started to cry when she looked upon your skin, and soon some of the other staff members came to see what the commotion was about.

In just moments you two were presented with a freshly clean room – so clean you had nearly slipped on the wet flooring. You would have fallen if Sunday were not right behind you. It would be a terrible thing to have your curse undone and then proceed to break a few bones.

Sunday calls to you from the other side of the room, standing beside his own bed to read the note in his hands. “Miss [First], would you like some of my favors? I noticed yours are of… lesser quality.”

He’s observant from what you have seen thus far. After your healing, he had walked with you to the nearest clothing store – it was quite far, as evidenced by his offering for you to stay closer to the area he found you at while he went to secure the goods. He somehow knew your size and noticed how even your socks didn’t fit you as nicely anymore.

“I don’t mean any offense by the way; I’m also just not quite hungry at the moment.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, freeing yourself from the comforter. “I don’t mean to take more than I can give back. You have done so much already for me, for the people on Jenovath.”

“I argue that my efforts are just beginning.”

You turn your head a bit to the side, your grip on the warm pallet fading as you urge yourself to get up. “Are they?”

Sunday nods, putting a hand on his chest as he closes his eyes. The note falls with his other hand to his side. “After all, I have only cured about twelve people total thus far – including you. There is still much work to be done, so you can take as much as I throw.”

Your gluttony gets the better of you – you don’t ask for his permission again.

*~*~*~*

“How did it feel, kid?”

The man in front of you has given you no warning before he speaks. Instead of ever using his voice, the bottles and shakers and cups do the talking for him most of the time – and the strength in his body that almost anyone can notice right away. You would have to be a fool to start a riot in Cooper Caprum’s bar. The Great Bubble is no place for transgressors.

“What are you talking about, Mister Caprum?”

“That boy – ‘Sunday’ I heard his name was.”

The two glass cups mix liquids without a mere ounce of Cooper’s strength. Everything he holds in his hands belongs to Jenovath’s much more successful neighbor; or more specifically one of its most popular companies. SoulGlad Soothing Soda. SoulGlad Redsunset Sauce. When the concoction turns a deep violet, you’re tempted to revoke the offer you made to him.

“Ah, so you know Mister Caprum already?” You nearly jump at the sound of Sunday’s voice coming from right behind you. “That’s lovely to know.”

He points to the stool beside you; it’s much less stable than the one you sat on.

“May I join you two?”

“Of course,” You reply, switching your seating before he can fall. “Take mine-”

Since you took his place, it’s only natural you’re the one to hit the floor. The new grip on your wrist is tight, almost like an embrace. Once you are back to being upright, Sunday goes to brush the dust off of his sitting.

You’re certain there is nothing, but Sunday somehow still sees dirt – and you decide to make nothing of it.

You sigh, pulling out your wallet in case this bet doesn’t work out in your favor. “One thousand, right?”

Cooper nods his head like an eager child whose parents agreed to get him a puppy in exchange for good grades. “Mmhmm… and one secret.”

“A secret?” Sunday inquires, raising one of his wings in confusion.

“Alright,” You shake your head, placing the agreed-upon amount of credits on the table.

Cooper copies your gesture. “Which cup would you like to start with, Missy?”

“Small. Then… I’ll hopefully make my way up.”

…

You had lost the bet early on; you weren’t able to even finish the original small glass you had selected.

Cooper managed to drink the whole thing on his own – all with a chuckle and wink every few gulps he took. But he has been a bartender for twenty-four years, so you hardly find it surprising. He must have had countless odd combinations thrown back at him the moment the client didn’t approve of it, either made by him when experimenting or being told to do so by the client. From the few pictures left on the hotel’s walls, you assume that this is where he has gotten his strength; kicking people in the nose the instant they don’t want to pay their tab.

He didn’t have as much body hair and not a single noticeable muscle, no tattoos but plenty of uncovered scars.

“Two thousand now – do you want to keep going?”

“I think she’s had enough,” Sunday interrupts, putting his arm around your back to hoist you up with him. “We’ll go back to the room now, thank you.”

Cooper looks down expectantly at the space in front of you, only the original thousand credits placed upon it.

When Sunday notices, he seems to resist grumbling and takes out the same credit amount from his pocket. “Here.”

“Thanks for your patronage, Mister Sunday.” Cooper chuckles, the cigarette in his mouth starting to lose its flame. “Come back again soon, kid.”

*~*~*~*

From his gaze alone, you can tell Sunday disapproves of your lost wager – it’s fair, you think, for him to feel only condemnation.

However, Sunday now disapproves of most activities you try to do now. He’s behind you whenever you enter the bar, reminding you of how much of a lightweight you are and how easy it is for Cooper to persuade you into things you normally would not do sober. He dislikes the preferential treatment he is given over you by most of the staff, demanding for you to be treated with equal respect.

“Miss [First] Alloy is the first person I have healed from Hiroth… please don’t treat her like she is nothing but lowly trash.”

Sunday does not sleep much anymore either, preferring to go into nearby houses to bless the cursed.

You can hardly remember what he looks like without such heavy eyebags, almost as dark as the smoke that comes out from Cooper’s cigars.

One day, he came back with a strange cut on his cheek – a cut too shallow for a knife but too deep for a fingernail.

Your savior tells you not to worry about him – to focus on taking care of yourself because ‘there is no other care within this universe similar to it’ – but you can’t help frowning as you wipe the golden blood away.

*~*~*~*

“I can’t,” Sunday repeats, his arms still crossed as he looks at the three faces before him. A boy no older than six, a girl no older than five, and a woman who has her daughter’s blue eyes. “I have other matters to attend to. I apologize, Mrs. Caprum. Your husband gave you false hope.” When Mrs. Caprum tries to beg again, he unravels one of his arms, putting a hand up and shaking his head.

As Sunday has said over and over for the past hour, Cooper’s wife and children are beyond saving.

The boy has purple skin – clotted and puffy like balloons – covering his vision.

The girl is afflicted with a similar swollen spot on the top of her lips, preventing her from speaking.

Their mother’s entire skin was a sickening plum color with only a few areas smaller than a freckle remaining untouched.

“I’m sorry.”

The words that come out of you are true, heartfelt, just like how Sunday has talked to you before. You look down before he does, not wanting to take in such a scene any longer.

Sunday has told you he is not all-powerful. He has told many people that countless times, not that they listened to him.

“Bullshit,” Cooper snaps – in an instant, Sunday’s scarf is grabbed and he is raised just an inch or two above the ground. “You can heal them – stop lying to me, you bragged all fucking night a week ago about your powers.”

“I do not brag, Mister Caprum.”

After the two stare – one with disappointment, the other with hate – you catch Sunday before he falls.

*~*~*~*

The next time you see Cooper, it is him sitting down at the bar. The Great Bubble has had a closed sign next to its front door for about twelve days now.

Cooper took the time off, not paid of course, after Sunday’s denials. Sunday kept working to heal other people… but not the Caprum family.

“They’re dead.” The bartender murmurs when you’re just close enough. “My Sarah, my little Julia and Victor. They’re dead because of him.”

You don’t know how to reply; instead sitting on a wobbly stool that looks just as damaged as Cooper’s does.

You hold onto the table’s edge to keep a steady balance while Cooper rests his elbows atop it. Your mind – so silent now that Sunday has gone out on business yet again – wanders to find another purpose.

Perhaps you can help someone instead of relying on luck to do it for you.

“It’s probably not going to help… But,” You begin, looking at the stone’s large cracks instead of how skinny Cooper has gotten. “I can tell you the secret I promised you. Both of them.”

You try to follow a path similar to your savior’s – a path full of rejoicement and triumph.

“I-”

I was a part of House Sterling.

The rag covering your mouth prevents you from speaking.

I was the eldest daughter but was unwanted by my father.

The sweet smell prevents you from screaming but also prevents you from speaking your truth.

As soon as my mother died, I was on the streets.

Your eyelids droop like you haven’t slept in a long time – so similar to when you were fending for yourself, for your sanity, for your hope-

*~*~*~*

“Ah,” Sunday looks down at you from the chair beside your bed – he closes the familiar book you see him carry everywhere. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak with all your might, but something is stuck within your throat – the passage of airflow and saliva is kept open, but words cannot seem to come out.

You taste something floral and sweet sticking to the roof of your mouth. Earthy not like a mushroom… but like tea that has been steeping for much too long. It takes a few more moments for you to learn how to breathe strictly through your nose as something tickles you every time you inhale the air.

“Mister Caprum has been put under arrest.” He leans in, his hair nearly covering the entirety of his eyes and forehead from sight. The smell of cleanliness does little to deflect your senses from the inside of your mouth.

There is a hint of blood coming out from the lump in your throat.

Or is it from the supposed pacifist?

“You need not fear anymore.”

Maybe it is from both of you.

“I shall take care of all your burdens and woes.”

Maybe it is from neither of you.

“You don’t need to lift a finger anymore, Miss Alloy.”

You try not to force yourself to even whisper to him – even though you have so much to say, so many questions to ask him. You remain silent as Sunday takes the wrist closest to him, holding the palm against the right side of his chest.

“I was horrified.” He admits, forcing a gentle smile as he now stares down at himself. “I had thought I was… going to lose you. I thought maybe Mister Caprum wouldn’t treat you differently because of what had happened. I thought wrong, it seems.”

That explains only half of the story. Why can’t you talk? Why does your larynx feel like it is being squeezed until it eventually pops? Why is there a minty aroma being mixed in with the scent of blood?

It doesn’t hit you yet – Sunday attempts to tell you the answers you wish for as nice as he can.

“I regret letting you know someone so… advantageous.” You feel his heartbeat. It’s slightly above yours, moving up and down in a way akin to a rainstorm’s rhythm. Bum bum. Bum bum. Bum bum. “He takes your money, uses your trust, attempts to take your secrets, and he almost took you.”

The pulse quickens faster than you can process his words. Dun dun dun. Dun dun dun. Dun dun dun.

“I’ll miss your voice. I’ll miss a lot of things from you,” Your vision somehow gets more blurry, more hazy. Ah. It’s simply your tears – one of the few things Sunday doesn’t plan to take from you. After all, everyone cries. “But it’s for the best. I’m sorry it had to go this way.”

He is genuinely sorry. So very sorry. You know he is. However, it doesn’t make the thorns digging into your throat any less painful.

“Please don’t hate me.” He sounds near tears himself. Maybe that is why he doesn’t see your sadness as something to alleviate – he cannot even stop himself, much less stop you or anyone else. “Hyssop flowers are beautiful.”

*~*~*~*

“Kyrie eleison.

Christe eleison.

Kyrie eleison.”

- Kyrie, Mozart's Requiem.

*~*~*~*

a/n - ahhhhhhh chapter one’s done! if anyone wants to leave any suggestions or theories, i would be happy to hear them!! aya out… only for now of course!

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madaqueue · 9 months ago

Text

Lost Cherry

pairing: yuta okkotsu x f!reader

themes/content: dark content. yandere/stalking. non-curse modern college au. language, smut. scent kink (?), alcohol consumption, drugging (no nsfw during), oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: "i love this guy and whatever undiagnosed anxiety disorder he has" is my fav yuta quote i've ever heard and honestly...me too (and yeah this is based off the tom ford perfume what about it)

Yuta noticed everything about you. How could he not, when the essence of perfection, an angel reincarnate, was here before him?

He truly saw you, his dark eyes boring into your soul as he soaked in your every move, every reaction, every thought.

When you met him your freshman year of college you thought he was sweet, albeit a little strange, his intense gaze putting you slightly on edge for a reason you couldn’t quite pin down. But nevertheless he was always the perfect gentleman, holding every door for you, driving you to class when it rained, bringing you your favorite foods when you were sick. He did it without question, as though caring about you came second nature to him, like it was his one true state of being.

The two of you continued growing closer over the years, sleeping on each other’s couches when study nights ran long, going to concerts of a band you loved together, cooking your favorite foods. It was almost uncanny how similar you two were, sharing the same taste in everything, Yuta’s smile never faltering as you gawked at him in disbelief when he recognized the obscure reference you made or when he happened to guess your coffee order. “I guess it’s just fate,” he’d grin as you laughed in awe.

But it’s not fate, he thinks. Fate would never be so careless as to risk letting you slip from his grasp; no, it was him. Time and time again he outsmarted the universe, foiling its plans to separate you. He knows you because he sees you, understands you, in a way no one else ever will (he’ll make sure of that). It wasn’t hard, really - he was always naturally observant, calculated, patient. All he needed to get close to you was a few chance meetings, accidental run-ins, where he could show you just how much he cares about you. And you, being as sweet and kind as you are, fell right into his open arms.

He loves you because he sees you.

He sees the way your lips curl into a smile as you sip your drink from across a crowded bar, a slight frown forming across your features as some pathetic excuse for a man tries to speak to you, making an idiotic joke you politely laugh at; he sees how you fidget with your hands, pulling at the chipping nail polish during class, a tell-tale sign you weren’t understanding the material (and an opportunity for him to explain it to you later while you studied); he sees the way you move when you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching, when you finally let your guard down and ease into the truest form of yourself.

It’s almost like you wanted him to see you, presenting yourself to him like a book with the pages peeled open and the cover ripped off, making it impossible for him to look away. It was only natural for his eyes to wander the words of your soul, mastering the lines and sentences of what makes you you.

So it’s no surprise when he gifts you a perfume that perfectly encapsulates your energy, your essence. After months of searching he finally found one that met his standards, living up to his mental representation of who you are. He knows you’ll love it, and you do - you begin wearing it everyday, the sweet scent of your skin filling his senses whenever you step into a room. The warm, amber notes become equivalent to you, a signal of your presence, a smile gracing his lips every time it wafts by him.

The one thing he doesn’t tell you is that he bought a second bottle, just for him, his best kept secret, the cherished liquid that evokes vivid memories of your laugh, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your everything when he smells it.

It’s harmless, really, when he sprays it on his pillow to help him fall asleep, calmness immediately washing over him as he pictures you there, holding him. He could practically feel the warmth of your body in his empty room, imagining how your soft hands would trace his body.

And when he wakes up, the scent of you still lingering, a smile graces his face as he nuzzles into the cool pillow.

It’s not his fault when he grows dependent on it, spraying the liquid into the air as he screws his eyes shut, picturing you. The way you’d kiss him, how smooth your skin would be, how soft your lips are, how your hands would feel wrapped around his cock, how warm and tight your cunt would feel around him. As he slides his fist around his length, he can’t help but moan your name, the idea of you filling his mind.

You.

One word, all-consuming. You occupy his thoughts, cloud his mind in bliss, every waking second. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

So when he sees you at a house party, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go in for a hug, why the fuck do you smell different?

“New perfume?” he asks, trying to hide how visibly taken aback he is as he pulls away from you.

Nodding, you take a sip of the drink in your hand. “Mhm,” you hum over the music. “Friend got it f’me. Y’like it?” you slur slightly, swaying in his grasp.

“I-it’s nice,” he stutters, his fingers beginning to dig into your arms.

How could you?

Glancing down, he notices the nearly empty cup you cling to, mind racing as he formulates a plan. “Want me to get you another drink?” he asks, steadying his thoughts and tilting his head innocently, hiding the rage he feels behind his dark irises.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, lip gloss glowing under the LEDs, as your eyes lazily make their way up to his. Reaching out a hand you ruffle his hair, placing a sticky kiss to his cheek. “You’re s’sweet Yuta,” you murmur against his skin, holding your glass out for him to take.

This would be sweet, if it wasn’t for the vile, traitorous perfume that suddenly overwhelms his senses. It’s too floral, too dry, too not you.

“Be right back,” he purrs, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away, afraid that if he stayed any longer he would do something he regrets.

Besides, he can’t pass up this opportunity: he gets to show you he can take care of you, how much he adores you, and get rid of the chance that anyone thinks they know you like he does.

When he returns, you don’t even notice the weird taste in your drink; why would you? You trust him, like you should. When your body starts to feel too heavy, legs struggling to keep you up, you lean on him, like you should. When your head begins pounding and you just want to lay down, you let him take you home, like you should.

In the comfort of your apartment, one all too familiar to him, he helps you change into pajamas before bundling you up under the blankets of your bed. You look so sweet, so innocent, as your head rests against the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as you ease into sleep.

Your mind is cloudy as you rest, body still pulsing with each beat of your heart, suddenly sensing his weight shifting from where he sits at the end of your bed. “Yuta?” you whisper weakly.

He could melt just hearing you call his name, your voice like honey. “Yes?” he responds, turning his head over his shoulder to face you.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching a hand out to him.

God, he could die happy right here. He could afford a few hours of sleeping next to you, right? It’s not like there’s any urgency now, he’s already lined everything up, now he just has to knock it down.

“Okay,” he breathes, getting under the covers next to you.

The warmth of your body envelops him as you lazily wrap your arms around his torso, uncoordinated motions to keep him, your one source of stability, close to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you fade into Yuta’s softness, letting him overtake your mind. Shifting his weight he leans into you, head resting on yours as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you against him, the scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair, a familiar one, a kind one.

He waits until your breathing slows, soft snores leaving your throat as you rest peacefully against him. Gingerly untangling his body from yours he rises, making his way to your bathroom. Sitting atop your counter is the target of his task: the sacrilegious bottle of perfume. It takes so little for him to knock it off the ledge, glass shattering as it hits the tile, the strong smell suddenly overwhelming the confined space, making his stomach turn as he pictures you in it. Never again.

He softly pads back to your bed, careful not to wake you as he rejoins your shared warmth under the comforter. Overwhelmingly pleased, his heart races as a contented grin spreads across his face.

When you question him about it the next morning, it’s easy to brush off.

“Yuta?” you question sleepily after you return from the bathroom, “Do you know what happened to my perfume?”

Normally the frown across your face would haunt him, tugging at his heartstrings to see you unhappy, but now it takes everything in him to not show his excitement. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe you knocked it over last night?”

“Mmm, probably,” you hum, settling back in next to him as your head rests on his chest, hoping you don’t notice how his heart races at the contact, your mind still too foggy to realize you never even told him that the bottle broke. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I got so drunk, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassures, his arms reaching around you, “I like taking care of you.”

“Thanks, Yu,” you murmur, nuzzling your head further into the softness of his t-shirt.

It’s so easy, he thinks. Everything with you is just that, easy: it’s easy to make you trust him, easy to look after you, easy to love you.

So when he sees you a few days later, eating lunch outside between classes, it’s easy for him to go over and sit next to you, the grass tickling his shins as he crosses his legs.

“Hi, Yuta,” you smile, your cheeks slightly rosy in the sun as you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Before he can respond, a familiar scent hits his nose, the one that is so, undeniably, you. “You smell good,” he blurts out, unable to contain his excitement.

A giggle escapes your lips at the sudden compliment, the sound soft and sweet. “Thanks,” you laugh, “it’s the perfume you got me, so I’m glad you still like it.”

“O-of course I do,” he stammers, “I picked it because it’s perfect for you.”

Looking up at him, you don’t miss the slight redness covering his face as his adoration for you begins to slip through the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is continue giggling, the most angelic sound in the world echoing in his mind, as he melts before you. “You’re too sweet, y’know that?” you ask.

Popping one of the cherries you brought for lunch into your mouth, a comfortable silence falls between you as Yuta continues staring at you in awe - how could you be so perfect? He has to stop himself from nearly drooling as he watches your tongue work the pit from the flesh of the fruit, the way your lips move absolutely tantalizing. He has to have you.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to face him. “Want one?” you ask politely, holding the bag out to him.

As you shift the richness of your perfume again wafts towards him in the breeze, tearing down any remaining walls of shame or embarrassment left encasing his feelings for you. Suddenly he leans forward, one hand going to the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, needy, as his tongue slides into your mouth. His body presses against yours, desperate for more of you, as you fall into the grass. His hands are everywhere, finally able to feel the one thing he’s been thinking about for years, as they roam your body.

Pulling away slightly, you breathlessly try to get his attention with a call of his name, but he doesn’t stop, only shifting his weight to kiss down your neck. Everything about you overwhelms his senses as he sucks against your skin, leaving a trail of bruises behind. His.

Your back arches off the ground as he moves lower, lips trailing kisses down your abdomen over your clothes as his palms grasp at your tits, your stomach, your ass, any part of you he can find, his touch hot. When he begins undoing the button to your shorts, a wave of panic overtakes you as you process what he wants.

“Y-Yuta,” you stutter, your hand reaching down to tilt his chin up, forcing him to face you. As he does, your face flushes at just how feral he looks, his pupils blown wide and lips parted as he pants expectantly.

“Please,” he whispers, “need to taste you,” his eyes moving back between your legs as he continues removing your shorts.

“B-but-” you begin, worried about the chance of being seen if someone were to walk past the small field you sat in, your gaze moving across the open space.

“There’s no one here,” he explains without looking up, sensing your nervousness. “I’ll make you feel s’good, I promise.”

Glancing around, you confirm the absence of any other students or professors, biting your lower lip nervously as you acquiesce.

Frankly, Yuta didn’t care if there was anyone around - once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He tugs your pants off, pausing only momentarily to admire the wet spot in your panties before pulling the flimsy material out of the way, his mouth attaching to your cunt. He moans as his tongue meets your folds, so much better than he could’ve imagined. The sound vibrating against your skin elicits a sharp gasp from you, your hands instinctively reaching down to his hair.

“Yuta,” you whine as his tongue glides up you.

God, he loves the way you say his name; he needs to hear it again.

His palms trace down your body to hold onto your thighs tightly, nearly leaving more bruises against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Swirling around your clit he whines as your hips move up, desperate for more friction, his heart swelling at the idea that you need him just as badly as he needs you.

After years of loving you he knows just what to do, exactly how to move to make you feel good, his compendium of your body finally paying off. Slipping his tongue into you, another whimper escapes his throat as you moan his name. Bringing one hand down he roughly circles your clit with his thumb, using the exact pattern he’s seen you do more times than he could count, one he knows is guaranteed to bring you closer and closer and closer.

As your grip on his hair tightens, he knows it’s working.

His mind is flooded with you, your smell, your taste, your sounds, your everything. He loves it, he wants to crawl inside you and live in your heart forever, just like you’ve done with his. He wants to make a home in the corner of your mind, getting to see the most private and intimate thoughts you have that not even he could be privy to.

The only thing tethering him to reality is your soft voice calling his name, the most soothing rhythm in the world as your body begins to shake, heat building as you approach your release.

“Yuta,” you whimper, “m’close.”

Warmth spreads across his body, knowing he’s the one making you feel good, taking care of you, loving you, like nobody else ever could. His motions pick up, messily grinding his tongue against your cunt as you pull him into you. Everywhere he presses feels like flames, heat pricking over every inch of your body.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you come undone on his tongue, a series of whines reverberating against you from Yuta as he continues messily lapping you up, desperate for anything more you’re willing to give him.

When he finally pulls his face away from between your legs he’s immediately back on top of you, his lips pressing into yours with the same feral desire. His breath is hot against yours as you taste yourself on him, the entire thing overwhelming your mind as your body comes down from its high.

Pausing for only a moment, his eyes flutter open as he looks down at you, a gentle sheen of sweat across your features, grass surrounding your hair, cheeks a soft pink. Everything about you so, absolutely, undeniably perfect.

“Mine,” he whispers to himself, so quietly you nearly don’t catch it, before his lips are on yours again.

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the-entitie · 11 months ago

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Why didn't you say anything?

Poly TF 141 x sex-demon reader (male intended but has depictions of fem):

A|n: Based on this writer's amazing work and this artist's au. And now this is very long.... I can't just write porn can I? Of well.

Prt:2 is done <3 》》》》》

Be warned I use more Catholic or deamon depiction of our succubus(male) reader, so please expect some body horror esk depictions. Also, the 141 are all in a polycule in this story.

CW: NSFW halfway through after the line break, sex addiction or dependence depicted for reader, threats to health, kind of eating disorder esk, talk of threats/acts of noncon and dubcon to reader (not focused on), polyamory, some talk of religion, why is this so long? And angst??? Ok....

Thinking about being a demon who became the 141's spy. The blood of the damned that ran through you, making you that much more dangerous and that much better at your job.

You fell under the deadly sin of lust, but it's been so many decades that you can't quite remember how you came to be. Maybe reincarnation, maybe you were summoned. It doesn't matter anymore, but it still hindered your intake into the military. You were practically a veteran by the time Price picks you up and drags you into his team.

None of the 141 had ever worked with anyone demonic for an extended amount of time. There had been the call ins and times when they picked up failed missions, but none of them ever really worked with a demon.

Ghost, as a wraith, was the closest any of them had gotten to working with anyone similar to you.

You started out as someone they called to scope out information before a particularly threatening mission. You were just the help, the one they called when they needed a spy. Until they leaned about how every other task force would drop you within a month of calling you thiers.

Price had worried that it was something to do with you or your attitude towards teamwork when he had taken you in, made you one of his men.

That was before he noticed this kind of cycle you would go through. Just when a mission would start, you would pull back. You would separate from everyone, not cold turkey, yet you just wouldn't be present. The training room was one person short, or their would be one less person here on the quieter afternoons he didn't even know this team had.

It was after the missions that you would be more than present again.

You were there again when Soap wanted to run his lycanthopic body to exhaustion just so he could feel just a little more human with the pains it brought. When he was hyper, feeling like he needed to move, you were there to shove him. Drag him into a game of tag or chase or anything to help him move. Soap has never been good at sitting still.

When Gaz needed to be called from the purch he picked to preen his damp or irritated feathers on that was away from the busy noise of the base. Or when his Avian blood told him to take to the sky, you were happy to be taken for a flight or watch him loop around, watch him stretch his wings, across the star splattered skies.

And there you were outside with the nocturnal Ghost, saying you didn't need the sleep most nights and got bored. Even when his form would flicker, tendrils of shadows lashing around his open skin, something that made most run. You stayed with him, hummed a tune you can't remember the origin of, in a language probably only those as old as you would remember.

When Price was struck with phantom pain, when he would feel this pang on his wing only to realize it was from the one that didn't exist anymore. You were there with him. Happy to share a cigar with the smoke that smoldered was neither from his drag nor you. There to sit and fill in paperwork long into the night shift, to just exist around Price when the team was still settling in, or licking wounds.

In the more common areas where Soap would annoy Gaz into another game of cards. You were there to keep the peace.

It had taken Price longer than he was willing to admit to know what was going on. It wasn't some manipulative, carrot and stick, trick no. And it almost seemed like you hadn't consciously been doing it. Before it clicked.

You were a demon, a succubus, to be specific. You fed off of the emotion or the intent of sex.

And you only got that when you needed to get someone to talk. You only lean into it when it's needed for a mission.

He honestly felt stupid, like a leader that failed, but he was quick to right that failure. It wasn't like this team didn't run off and blow off steam together or that they left soap to struggle through his heat alone, nor did they leave Gaz to sit and brood alone. None of that.

And if you were a part of his team, this team, then you can't be starved. Can't be left to weaken, to crave, no. Price wouldn't stand it.

So he talked to the team. Told them his theory, his plan to fix it, and when the team had gotten over the hurt of leaving you alone and weak. They jumped at the opportunity.

Starting small.

Being more openly affectionate around you, never quiet reaching out but still letting the emotions linger.

Those play fights that Ghost would tap out of suddenly just kept going, and those thick visceral emotions none could quiet place the origin of; would hang so heavy in the air you could practically catch it between your teeth.

Those days Gaz would pull back, preen his wings alone; became fewer and far between. Now, the nearest team mate had a lap full of fluffled up wings and pleading eyes. And could Gaz use those honey coated eyes of his to glance up through his lashes and beg.

The quiet chuckles and this ever so pleased emotion would wind around Price's incisors, a satisfied thrill of the dragon flooding a palpable semblance of the satisfied job.

Price started talking about to the team, and they started trying to be more connected, more present, with you so you could have that nourishment. And if that meant that private room doors were left ever so lightly ajar during late nights spent with each other. No one mentioned it.

Soap was the first to notice the actual change.

Your eyes would flicker, puplis vibrating softly before it was shut down, and you would disappear. Or you would actually pull back. He was also the first to tell Price. And thier leader waisted no time.

"You good there, lutenent?" His voice calls softly into your quarters.

"All good Cap."

"Not so sure about that one soldier." Price presses on, taking a step further in to push the door more closed, "You don't play well with this team?"

"No, I have no qualms with any of you. Sorry if it seemed so."

"Ya do always talk so proper like you know?"

"Apologies, old habits."

Price steps closer, easily taking the space offered my your open thighs. Letting that simmering feeling flush his skin.

"Maybe we should start making new ones. What do you say, Sugar?"

His hand hovered just over your throat, careful to keep you feel safe. Price of all people knows what a demon can do when cornered, and it wasn't like he wanted you to feel put off.

He sees what Soap saw, just as his palm cups the edge of your jaw, your pupils flicker. Body dropping almost leaning agaisnt him.

"Why didn't you say something, Suguar?"

"Not of my use in this team."

"You don't need to be useful to eat." He sounded almost angry, calming all the more when you do lean into him, "you never need to earn a meal. Just ask. We all want to help."

That night, he let you ride him.

Laid back against your bed, held your weight by your thighs, and let you set the pace. Even if he was so hard it hurt, or if your dark lion-esk tail would flick across the sensitive inside of his thigh. Or when he's come twice and is practically drooling before he notice just how much more like your kin you look.

He doesn't stop you from flicking a forked tongue over the overwhelmed tears, he only noticed the change at the hitch of your breath when Price tangles his scared hands in your hair. Accidently tracing the curving rams horns that has twisted around your more pointed ears.

Singing your praise, even as you tried and failed to explain that you don't matter in this, just his pleasure.

He shut that down real quick.

#cod x male reader #x male reader #call of duty #cod #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #john price x you #tw ed implied #wip.txt #succubus reader #deamon reader #x reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au

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chillian-murphy · 3 months ago

Text

Experimental Treatment

SUMMARY: after numerous failed attempts to treat your anxiety, you enroll in an experimental drug trial run by Dr. Jonathan Crane (OR: how you became Dr. Crane's bimbo fuckslave)

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, dub con, drugging, mention of anxiety disorders, bimboification, brainwashing kinda??, breast/nipple play, oral sex (m receiving), piv, Jonathan is manipulative and possibly a nevernude

beta'd by @pawnsong

You shifted nervously as you sat in Dr. Crane’s office for the first time. You’d tried numerous treatments for your trauma-related anxiety, but nothing seemed to work. It had been about a year since you had been beaten, tied up, and left for dead in a supply closet by one of Gotham’s many aspiring criminals, and you haven’t been able to eat, sleep, or generally care for yourself since. When you heard about an experimental treatment study happening at the local university, you enrolled as quickly as you could, moving faster than you’d ever moved in your life. You knew there was no one therapy or pill that could fix everything, but at this point, you were desperate for any sort of relief that could be offered.

The man that entered was much younger than you expected; you always pictured the doctor running a drug trial to be much older, maybe even a bit weathered from the stress of working in such a nightmarish city. Instead, he was small, slender, and had an almost angelic baby face.

“Tell me about what brings you here today.” He sat down without looking up from his chart.

“It should all be there, but to summarize: about a year ago I was assaulted and have been experiencing extreme anxiety, depression, and nightmares since. I can’t eat more than a few bites of food at a time without vomiting, and can’t remember the last time I’ve had a few night’s sleep. I’ve tried talk therapy and a slew of medications, including SSRIs, SNRIs, and benzodiazepines, but nothing seems to work.”

By this point, you’ve gone over your symptoms and previous treatments so many times that you had a well rehearsed script you relied on when recounting them. You worried that listing everything off in such a matter-of-fact way would lead people to think you’re just seeking drugs for recreational reasons, but fuck, what didn’t you worry about these days?

“As I’m sure you were told when you were applying for the trial, my background is in pharmacology and I’ll be putting you on an experimental drug of my own creation. I won’t bore you with the specifics of how it works, but you’ll receive a fast-acting injection once a week, and it should calm your nerves and improve your sleep. The exact effects aren’t well documented as of yet, which is why you’re here. All of the proper consent forms should be in order, so if you like, I can start you on the injections here and now.”

“Yes, please, whatever gets me my life back the soonest.” As nervous as you were to be injected with something you knew almost nothing about, part of you was almost giddy to be given something that might finally work.

“The drug can have some sedative effects, so no driving, at least for the first 24 hours. Do you have someone to pick you up? Family, a roommate? A boyfriend, perhaps?” Dr. Crane continued to inform as he prepared a syringe.

“I took public transport. Not a lot of people in my life.” you chuckled nervously.

“All alone. What a shame.”

Before you could mentally register his comment as odd, you were startled by the coldness of an alcohol wipe rubbing against your arm and the sharpness of a needle being inserted.

“You should start feeling the effects in about 5-10 minutes. I’m sending you home with a packet detailing what you should expect, as well as my phone number if anything unusual happens. It might be difficult, but I want you to take detailed notes on everything you experience, and we’ll review them when you come in for your next dosage.”

It proved a bit difficult to make your way home as the medication’s effects set in. Your body felt heavy and sleepy, and you had trouble concentrating; even reading the familiar train schedule felt impossible. Thankfully, some sort of muscle memory kicked in and you made it home safely, letting your brain turn off and follow your usual routine out of habit alone. The mindlessness felt weirdly comforting, you barely realized that you had moved from your spot on the subway until you were at your front door, fishing around for your keys in your bag.

The rest of the night went by pretty uneventfully, following your usual routine, with the addition of writing down your response to the medications in the journal included with Dr. Crane had provided you with. For the first night in as long as you could remember, you settled into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted the full night.

*********************************************************

A week had passed since your initial meeting, and you were in Dr. Crane’s office again to go over how the medication had affected you and to receive your next dosage. You brought the journal you had taken notes in, although you were unsure how helpful it would be since you had mostly jotted down bullet points instead of writing down your experiences in-depth. It was the most you could do, since you were having trouble concentrating after you were dosed. Shit, that was another thing you should’ve written down.

The doctor entered quietly and greeted you with a tense smile, the kind of polite grimace you’d make upon accidentally making eye contact with a stranger in public. He motioned for you to hand over your journal of notes as he sat, and you passed it to him while trying to avoid looking at him as much as possible. He had never done anything to make you uncomfortable aside from being a bit terse, but he still gave you an uneasy feeling.

“Let’s look at what you’ve written down. Your notes are brief, but at least they’re organized.”

Once again, terse. It was tempting to want to interrupt and explain how hard it was to focus on writing every little thing down when you kept forgetting where you were or what you were doing, often wandering into a room only to realize you couldn’t remember why you went there, but speaking up felt like too much trouble all of a sudden. After all, wasn’t Dr. Crane being soooo nice, offering to help you with your anxiety?

You had no idea where that thought came from. Weird.

“Grogginess, that’s to be expected, the drug was designed with sedative qualities. Forgetfulness, once again, not uncommon. Sleeping through the night? Good. Breast growth? I’d like you to elaborate.”

“I started getting my appetite back and gaining weight—“

“Weight gain is typical if you’re eating more regularly than you were before,” he interjected before you could finish. God, did he think you were fucking stupid?

“But I only seemed to gain weight around my breasts and hips.”

“Are you saying you’d rather have a double chin and beer belly?”

“Well, no…”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“I can’t fit into any of my old bras. Bras are expensive.” It really felt like talking to a brick wall.

“Understood.” He scribbled a few quick notes before looking back up at you. “Is there anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.” Relief sank in when you realized this meant that your meeting was wrapping up.

“Then I’ll give you your next dose and let you go. Please continue to take notes, even if they are brief. Any information you can give me is immeasurably helpful.” He gave you what must’ve been his version of a reassuring smile, tight and forced, before motioning for you to roll up your sleeve and receive your next shot. A cold jab in the arm was administered, and you were on your way.

*********************************************************

The next week passed largely without note, the intense brain fog from the first dosage had lessened into a sort of ditzy forgetfulness, which was still inconvenient but easier to live with. You misplaced things, forgot what you were doing, and lost track of time regularly, but somehow it all seemed easier to just laugh off. Had it not been for a reminder on your phone, you probably would’ve forgotten all about your weekly meeting with Dr. Crane.

The usual unease you felt around him was gone; you were almost looking forward to talking to him. He was the only one you could really talk to about everything that had happened since starting the trial, and how good you’ve been feeling, how your racing thoughts have slowed, and how sometimes you didn’t seem to think at all. It was a relief you never knew existed.

You were so caught up in thinking about not thinking that you hadn’t noticed Dr. Crane entering, sitting down, or speaking to you until he cleared his throat impatiently.

“I said, do you have your notes from this week?”

“Oh, right, here.” You casually tossed over your journal, even though your notes were even more scant than the first week. You had written just three things:

boobs keep growing

really sensitive

really horny!!

thoughts not happening

“This is the second time you’ve mentioned your breasts.” It didn’t take long for Dr. Crane to skim your brief notes. “Would you mind showing them to me?”

Despite his relaxed posture, his stare felt about a thousand times more intense as you squirmed in your seat.

“That feels inappropriate.”

“I’m a medical professional. I assure you, I’m only trying to verify what you’ve reported.”

Cautiously, you pulled the front of your top down, exposing yourself to him. To your surprise, doing this didn’t make you feel nervous or vulnerable, despite always feeling rather timid about being seen naked in the past. Showing off for the doctor felt weirdly <i>right</i>, like the best thing you could do in any situation would be to do what he says.

He scooted forward on his wheeled office chair, leaning in to examine you closer, never losing the icily neutral look on his face. It’s not that you wanted him to leer, but something, anything other than stony professionalism would’ve gone a long way, especially as he reached out to touch you.

“You’ve gone up… two, maybe three cup sizes? Have you taken any measurements?” He cupped your round, heavy breast lightly, as if to evaluate it. His hand was surprisingly warm, you always assumed that his cold personality would extend to his touch, and that being handled by him would be like being prodded by a metal instrument.

“I dunno… enough that men have started being nicer to me.” Measuring hadn’t even occurred to you. A lot of things stopped occurring to you. It was so much easier just letting yourself not think.

“And you said they’re sensitive.” Gentle cupping had turned into squeezing, firm enough to make you aware of just how strong his hands are. You wanted to moan and lean into his touch, but you didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already were.

“Yes” you squeaked out. “Really sensitive.”

“You also wrote down that you were, in your own words, really horny. Now, I’m going to need some elaboration, is that an increase in sex drive, or more like constant arousal? I need you to be as descriptive as possible.” He rolled your nipple between his fingers before turning his attention to your other breast, giving it the same treatment.

“It’s both. I’m just… always horny, and I come so much harder now. Sometimes I sneak off during work to rub myself in the bathroom. I can’t help it, it just feels so good, so much better than it did before.” You knew it was for the study, but telling him this much, especially while he touched you like this, felt… weird, like it shouldn’t be happening. But you didn’t want it to stop.

“Are you aroused right now?” If your brain wasn’t clouded by how much you were turned on, you would notice the subtle smirk on his face. Instead, you just nodded eagerly.

“Now, I’ll have to stop touching you so I can write all this down. You’ve given me some crucial information, and as a thank you, you’re welcome to grind against my shoe and get yourself off while I record everything you just told me.” He casually extended his leg as an invitation.

You dropped to your knees promptly, bare breasts bouncing with every movement, and stared up at him dumbly as you straddled his foot. He barely glanced at you while he jotted notes down, even as you rubbed yourself against the shiny black leather of his shoe. It didn’t take long at all for you to climax, and when your orgasm hit you, it hit you so hard that it was honest-to-god disorienting. It took you a moment to remember where you were as you shuddered and fell backwards to the floor.

This was enough to finally get Dr. Crane’s attention. You stared back up at him with big, doe eyes as you finally realized how bizarre and even <i>wrong</i> it was for a doctor to grope you and encourage you to masturbate in front of him.

“Good girl. Cover yourself and let me give you your next dose.”

The faint bit of praise sent shocks down your spine as you pulled your top back over your breasts and climbed back into your seat, and the way Dr. Crane touched you as he administered the injection felt gentler than usual, almost tender. As soon as the drug entered your bloodstream, any apprehension you had about what just happened quickly disappeared.

*********************************************************

“These… aren’t notes in any way, shape or form.” Dr. Crane rubbed his temples in frustration as he looked at the page of doodles you handed him, mostly hearts, stars, and smiley faces.

“I couldn’t think of anything to write. I thought I would make it pretty instead.” you shrugged as you sat with your legs folded in a criss-cross on the couch in his office, not noticing or caring that the position hiked up your already short skirt in a way that revealed your lacy panties. It was true, you couldn’t remember a single thought, new effect, or even what you did from day to day over the past week.

“If you can’t record and report how the drugs are affecting you, you won’t be of any use to the trial and we’ll have to take you off the drug.” he chided, as if explaining himself to a small child. “Because right now, you’re just wasting my time.”

“But I like the drug! I feel better!” you whined, rocking back and forth and pouting for emphasis. “I’ll be good. I promise. Just tell me what to do.”

“Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?” His tone was becoming more condescending, to the point where it got through to even your druggy little brain. He stared at you, daring you to say something, but all you could do was stare back at him dumbly. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll have the nurses prepare the outtake forms. I wish you could have been more useful to me.” He spoke curtly as he stood and gathered his belongings, not even dignifying you with eye contact. You were nothing but a broken tool to be discarded.

“But I need this!” You desperately attempted to stand and follow him as he left, but were unable to unfold your legs and spilled on the floor, catching the leg of his pants and staring back up at him with big, pleading eyes.

You were desperate, you were pathetic, you were suddenly useful again.

“I’m surprised you’re this determined to stay in the trial. I suppose we do have one last option: since you’re unable to record your own data, I will have to watch you and take notes myself. I have a spare room in my apartment that you can move into, which should be more comfortable than being committed to the hospital and allow me more access to observe you. Is that something you would consent to?”

You nodded eagerly, although you’d agree to anything as long as it meant not going back to the anxious, overthinking mess of a person that you were before. It was so much simpler being simple.

“I’m taking a big risk on you. I need you to do something for me, to show you’re serious about wanting to continue with the trial.” He gestured towards the growing bulge in his pants, which was mere inches from your face. You stared silently, not sure he was inferring, but your mouth instinctively watered and dropped open when he nudged your head towards his clothed dick.

You pawed at his tented trousers until he got impatient and undid the zipper himself and freed his erection from his boxer briefs, and you quickly got to work bobbing your head over his length, lavishing the head with your tongue. Your eyes watered as you pushed as much of his cock down your throat as you could, making yourself gag lightly but never enough to deter you. You didn’t care that drool was dribbling down your chin, Dr. Crane’s cock was all that mattered.

He grasped a fistful of your hair, reinforcing the rhythm of your movements, and shoving you further down on his cock. No matter how visibly uncomfortable you were, you never pushed back or struggled, you just accepted your place as a living fucktoy. Mascara was running down your cheeks and your skin was flushed and glassy with sweat, almost looking like the plasticky sheen of a blow-up doll.

Dr. Crane grunted as he came in spurts down your throat, still tender from the rough treatment. You didn’t waste a single drop of what he gave you, and ran your tongue over his slit to collect any remaining seed. Once you swallowed everything, you wiped the saliva from your face and smiled up at him sweetly.

“Can we go home now?”

*********************************************************

You had lost count of how many days it had been since Dr. Crane brought you home, in fact, most of your life outside of the past few weeks had been something of a blur. It didn’t matter, though, as being his pretty little pet didn’t require you to think much. You spent most of your days lounging about, watching porn, staring out the window, or oohing and aahing over the pretty clothes he brought home for you. It took him a while to settle on a style when he replaced your wardrobe, dressing you in everything from latex minidresses to 1950s housewife apparel, but eventually found that he favored soft, feminine babydolls in light colors like pink and white.

You were admiring the ruffled hem of the slip you were wearing when you heard him unlocking the door to his apartment, and you immediately rushed over to greet him. Seeing him was the best part of your day, and you couldn’t wait to sit in his lap and talk to him about your busy day of watching yourself edge in front of the mirror.

It had become something of a routine, he would settle into his favorite recliner after coming home from work, and you’d straddle him with your breasts in his face while he felt you up and vented about whatever was bothering him. His job at the university was soooo stressful, apparently conducting experiments on unwitting students is “frowned upon,” whatever that meant. You were always happy to make him feel better.

“…and the dean can’t even appreciate the validity of my work. Opening up the skull of a live subject is the most reliable way to observe changes in the brain, regardless of whether or not the ethics board likes it.” You had no idea what he was even talking about, but you did your best to seem sympathetic, hugging his neck and pulling his head into your chest.

“My day was hard, too. My vibrator stopped working and I had to rub myself by hand.”

“Did you try changing the batteries?”

You thought about what he said for a few seconds and fell into a fit of giggles.

“Duh! Batteries go in the vibrator! You’re so smart, you always think of the best things.”

“That’s why I do all the thinking in the relationship. You just look pretty and keep your holes ready.” He frowned at you in faux concern, as if you were capable of having thoughts of your own.

“I do keep my holes ready!” You bounced excitedly in his lap. You were so, so good at having holes and keeping them ready. Dr. Crane even told you so.

“Wanna show me how nice and ready they are?" his hands skimmed over your body, from the top of your waist down to your thighs and then around back to your ass, which he squeezed firmly, making you gasp softly. You raised the hem of your slip and pulled your panties to the side, revealing your pussy, which was wet from edging all day. You were never allowed to let yourself come while he was gone, that was a special privilege that only he was allowed to give you.

“Beautiful. And your ass?”

You rose from his lap, turned around, and bent over to show him the plug you’ve had in for the past hour.

“I started with the small one and put the bigger one in when you texted me, just like you asked." The plugs always felt weird and you didn't like the bigger ones, but if Dr. Crane wanted you to wear them, then obviously there was a good reason. He’s so handsome and smart, you’d do anything he said.

“Good girl." His praise made your heart sing as he fucked the toy in and out of you. He knew anal play frustrated you, and it was so cute to watch as you tried not to squirm as the bulbous plug disappeared in your ass. Maybe he’d lock your pussy away in a chastity belt and make you masturbate anally all day instead of your usual edging.

Dr. Crane could hardly believe how much his little experiment had changed you. When he started the trial, it was mainly to indulge his curiosity about how the antidote to his fear toxin would affect people with no fear toxin exposure, and most of the other participants reacted to it the same way they would to any other common anxiolytic, save for one particularly unfortunate person who had their fear response reduced so drastically that they walked into oncoming traffic without realizing it was dangerous. But you? You turned into the perfect fuckdoll: always aroused, eager to please, and too oblivious to notice the strange hours he kept as both a professor and as Scarecrow.

Of course, there were some down sides: he had hoped to mold you into something of a stepford wife, not only taking care of his needs in the bedroom but other domestic duties as well. Yet after your third time nearly setting the kitchen on fire while trying to cook a simple meal, he had to accept that you had simply become too airheaded to trust with anything but sex.

“Can we fuck now? My pussy needs you." You whined, interrupting the train of thought that had pulled Dr. Crane’s focus away from you.

“Good girls don't whine like that, sweetheart. I could fuck you, but for that I think I’ll make you wait until after dinner.” He chided. You were so much fun to toy with when you got desperate.

"But I am a good girl! Let me show you.” You pouted and begged.

“If you’re an extra good girl, you’ll be quiet while I’m cooking dinner and then we can fuck.” His tone was equal parts syrupy and condescending, “if not, you can spend the rest of the night gagged and locked in your cage. The choice is yours.”

Not wanting to spend the night locked in a dog crate, you crossed your arms and sulked, but nevertheless obeyed as you sunk into the couch. Your needy little pussy was aching, but you had to be a good girl for Dr. Crane. Even if it was mean and bad and unfair and… Oh? There’s a plate being placed in front of you, dinner must be ready already.

As soon as Dr. Crane sat down beside you, you snuggled into his side. Physical affection wasn’t something he was used to before bringing you home, and it took him some time to come around to it, but now he was actually starting to enjoy the amount of cuddles and kisses you desired from him. Spooning on the couch while trying to eat wasn’t the most practical thing in the world, although you were determined to find a way to bury your face in his chest while also stuffing it with mashed potatoes.

“Someone’s needy tonight,” he teased as he stroked your hair.

You just hummed contentedly and nuzzled your face into his neck. He was warm and smelled nice, like everything in the apartment. The one time you tried opening the window, it smelled like rot and gasoline, and made you sad and scared as it filled your head with vague memories of your old life.

Dinner passed comfortably and quietly, even as you squirmed to find a position that let you eat and snuggle at the same time. Dr. Crane’s attention was largely on the nightly news playing on the television, nodding along with the crime report. The news was mostly boring to you, except for that one weird time that a woman who looked like you and had your name was reported missing. Dr. Crane told you not to worry about it, though, so you didn’t.

“I’d say you’ve been a very good girl this evening,” Dr. Crane shifted to face you. “Would you like to join me in the bedroom?”

“What’s in the bedroom?” You stared blankly.

“Sex, sweetheart. I’m asking you if you would like to have sex.” Dr. Crane rubbed his temples. Perhaps drugging your brains out but leaving you just smart enough to talk was a mistake.

Sex! Sex was exactly what you wanted! Sex was what you dreamed about all day, edging your pussy and thinking of Dr. Crane. Your face lit up, which he took as a sign to lead you to the bedroom.

As you approached the bed, he toyed with the strap of your chemise, gliding it off your shoulder so it hung suggestively.

“I want this off.” His voice was soft, but his unblinking gazes held all the authority in the world over you.

“Yes, sir.” You made quick work of the garment, pulling it over your head and flinging it to the floor.

“Panties, too.”

Those silently slid off next, leaving you completely nude while he remained fully clothed.

Dr. Crane’s breath stilled for a moment as he took in the sight in front of him. It only took a few weeks of being dosed for your body to reshape into a bouncy hourglass, with full breasts, a slim, defined waist, and a round ass with thighs to match. A soft, trimmed patch of hair adorned your pussy, just above the lips, with everything else kept bare. Occasionally you’d have your pubic hair waxed into a heart, which he found ridiculous, but was easy enough to overlook if it kept you happy.

Once he was done drinking in the sight of your body, he gently shoved you onto the bed and guided your legs open, settling in between. His hand made its way to your eager little pussy, spreading the lips and pressing inside, making you shudder in pleasure.

“Have you been this wet for me all day, baby?” His voice now a low rasp, thick with desire.

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed in affirmation, too lost in the sensation to form words.

“God, you’re good for me.” He growled as he dived on top of you, kissing your neck and fondling your breasts. You couldn’t help but moan when he rolled your nipple between his fingers, tugging lightly. You were always responsive, but especially when he played with your tits.

He trailed soft bites down from your neck to your nipples, gently nipping at any skin he could grasp between his teeth. Once he got to your chest, he got more aggressive, sinking his teeth into you until you whimpered in pain. Your breasts were his favorite. He had never given much thought to the “tits or ass?” question before, but now that he could come home to a soft, inviting pair to play with and suck, he knew where his preference lied.

Feeling satisfied that your nipples were now swollen and pink from both arousal and abuse, Dr. Crane removed himself from on top of you to once again admire your needy body and tease your cunt. Even when he was just fucking you with his fingers, you moaned and rolled your hips as if it was the best thing you’ve ever felt. Some nights it could drag on for hours, he would stimulate you with just his hands or a toy only to withdraw before you could climax, giving pleasure and taking it away over and over to see just how desperate he could make you. It was no secret that Dr. Crane was a sadist, and watching you squirm, cry, and beg was almost as good to him as coming inside of you.

Tonight was different, though, he wanted to fuck. He pulled his fingers out of you and freed himself from his trousers and underwear, making a show of rubbing his cock with the wet essence covering his fingers as he lined himself up with your tight, eager hole. He pushed himself in slowly, savoring how hot and slick you felt around him.

Your life revolved around his cock. If you weren’t sucking on it or being filled by it, you were fantasizing about the next time you would have it inside of you. And now that you were being given exactly what you were craving, you couldn't get enough, grinding back against Dr. Crane every time his hips met yours.

No longer satisfied with the languid pace he had set earlier, Dr. Crane pulled back slightly, helping to lift your hips and push your legs towards your chest, essentially folding you in half so he could penetrate you deeper and harder. His new rhythm was merciless as his fingers dug into your thighs, pistoning his hips and fucking you like his life depended on it. Whatever frustration he felt with his job, his colleagues, and his extracurricular activities, he was now taking out on your pussy and all you could do was grip the sheets and take it.

Between the powerless feeling reinforced by his rough treatment and the way his cock was hitting your g-spot, you couldn't help but let your eyes roll back in ecstasy. You were fulfilling your ultimate purpose as Dr. Crane’s pet: a pretty toy to play with and look at, and an inviting set of holes to fuck. You could come from the thought alone if you were allowed to orgasm without permission. You met each of his thrusts with short, staccato moans as you arched your back beneath him, sticking out your chest as your breasts bounced with every hammering movement.

Dr. Crane’s breath grew ragged as he approached his own climax, and his motions changed from a fluid rhythm to jerky, rough thrusts.

“Play with your clit. Come for me."

Finally given the permission you’ve been needing all evening, you began rubbing yourself vigorously as he continued ramming his cock into you. It didn't take much to push you over the edge, and as your orgasm hit, you moaned so loud and luridly that it would make most seasoned pornographers blush.

Dr. Crane wasn't nearly as noisy as he joined you in orgasmic bliss, panting heavily as he filled you with his seed. Once he found himself thoroughly drained, he collapsed next to you and silently attempted to catch his breath as you rolled over and snuggled up to his chest.

“Let's go again!" you excitedly chirped while reaching for his softened cock.

“Later, sweetheart, I need to rest.” He had no idea how you recovered so quickly. "Why don't you play with yourself while you're full of my come? I know you like that.”

"It's not the same,” you begged. "I need your cock.”

"How about this,” Dr. Crane's clinical doctor voice was back. "You can warm my cock in your mouth while I grade papers, and once I'm good and ready, I’ll fuck your throat while you ride one of your dildos.”

You made a happy little squeal as you smiled and hugged him tightly. He took such good care of you, keeping you so well-fucked. You had everything you could ever want: you were safe, you were loved, you were happy. And all you had to do was let your brain be turned into cotton candy.

#cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut

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sophieinwonderland · 4 months ago

Text

The Plurality of... Bill Cipher (The Book of Bill)

Spoiler Warning for Gravity Falls, The Book of Bill, and the nature of reality as you know it

Hello dear reader.

I recently found in my possession a strange book with no explanation as to how it got there. A bizarre tome known only as The Book of Bill.

I recognized the name and imagery from someone else's memories. Bill Cipher, a character from Alex Hirsch's hit series Gravity Falls.

It honestly seemed too perfect. I've been doing this "Plurality of..." series where I look at plurality in media. And an important part of Bill's shtick was possession.

It seemed simple enough. I can read the book, learn a bit about Bill and his possession, and then write an article about his plurality. But the reality was anything by simple, with far more than I bargained for.

And by the end of this post, this book will have driven me to break a fundamental rule I've held sacred through my "Plurality Of..." series.

What is Plurality?

Before we begin, I should explain what plurality is for anyone new here. Plurality is a term for being multiple in one body in some way.

We call the body's occupants "headmates". These can be anything from alters in dissociative disorders to spirit guides bound to a mortal, to... yes... even literal demonic possession.

Yeah, even being possessed by a demonic triangle from a 2-dimensional universe is a type of plurality. If there are multiple self-conscious agents of some kind there, it's plural!

Time To Get Weird!

(Art by magentasnail)

Let's catch you up on the basics real quick. Again, there will be huge Gravity Falls spoilers.

In Gravity Falls, Bill Cipher is a yellow a 2-dimensional triangle demon bent on causing chaos.

Through the series, Bill makes deals with multiple characters to possess their bodies. This includes both gaining full control over the body of protagonist Dipper Pines for an episode, and more interestingly, sharing control over the body of Stanford Pines for an extended period of time.

Bill's possession of Dipper left Dipper outside his body like a ghost. But his deal with Stanford is much more plural in nature, where they shared control, with Bill only controlling the body in his sleep.

Obviously real plural systems don't have headmates controlling their body while they sleep like this, but the experience can be seen as analogous to dissociative identity disorder, where it's common to experience blackouts and "wake up" in situations unsure how you got there.

That's all you really need to know about Bill for the time being.

With that out of the way, it's time get weird and dive straight into the Book of Bill!

The Book of Bills

As I begin reading the Book of Bill, I'm given a warning from Stanford Pines that the book will rewrite itself based on the mind of the reader. This seems silly, and I of course dismiss the idea out of hand. Surely there's no way a book could change itself based on who's reading it.

As I venture further into this tome, I find the occasional point of interest. References to Bill living in people's brain, him being an idea, etc.

I stop briefly to ponder that. Why does Bill refer to himself as an idea? Isn't he canonically a being from a physical 2-dimensional world? Him being described as an idea is peculiar, but something I tuck away for the future.

The first thing I find that really piques my interest in regards to plurality is the multiple times that it's just referenced that there are multiple Bills in Bill's head. Such as when Bill refers to "the voices in his head" teaming up.

In the plural community, there's a concept known as median system.

A median system is typically a system which has separate parts that are less distinct from each other. There's a pretty solid case that Bill, having a bunch of Bills in his head, could be considered a median system on his own.

In fact, the book itself actually depicts communication between multiple Bills, in the form of an interview.

And throughout the interview, there are times where the Prime Bill seemingly gets annoyed at the interviewer's questions. As if they are actually different people. While this could be Bill simply duplicating himself and pretending for comedic effect, it could just as easily be that both Bills are headmates in Bill's system.

Bill being a median system is a pretty interesting direction.

As I read on though, the book dragged me down yet another rabbit hole, and raised an important question.

Does Bill Have A Dissociative Disorder???

Let's talk about dissociative identity disorder. There are two main criteria for DID. Criterion A is the presence of two or more distinct personality states. You know, like those Bills in Bill's head.

The second is memory loss.

Recurrent gaps in the recall of everyday events, important personal information, and/or traumatic events.

This is what was on my mind when Bill was describing how he was uniquely gifted with the ability to see into the third dimension, and wanted to teach others this same skill.

But when he tries to recount it... this happened...

To me, this sounds exactly what was described in criterion B. This is also called dissociative amnesia.

And it's not just this one-off example. Bill actually references later that he dissociates (his words) and "wakes up" later after a conquest.

With everything we know, it seems incredibly likely that Bill has DID, or at least a related disorder.

Bill is what he eats

Okay... wait...

So Bill can ALSO imprison the souls of those he eats inside himself, and they can apparently take over Bill's body too???

What actually is going on here? Is this one of Bill's powers? He can just eat entire universes and then whatever he consumes becomes a part of him? Or maybe it's something else...

Maybe if we looked at this less literally and consider the previous hints of Bill having a dissociative disorder then perhaps what is going on is that Bill is introjecting these people.

Maybe whenever he enters somebody's mind, some piece of them remains...

I would love to speculate more on this... But this is the only mention of it in the entire book!

At this point, I begin to reflect on the words at the beginning. Maybe it was true that the book was changing itself to give me what I wanted. Little hints of plurality to keep me reading, to ensnare me in its vicious trap and ultimately drive me to madness.

And the worst part was, I was falling into it anyway. Because I had to know, even if this was a trap, I was in it to the very end. My thirst for knowledge and understanding unquenchable.

Even if I knew I should stop here, there was no going back.

Stanford Pines, Bill's Perfect Host

At last, beyond all of the misdirects that were put in my way, I arrived at the reason that I started on this journey.

Stanford Pines.

I need to say that when I started this journey, planning to delve into what the plurality of Bill and Ford might be like, I never imagined that it would be handled so... Beautifully.

I mean that genuinely!

I love the relationship of these two characters in the book!

They are both very out of place in their own ways. Both are aware of things in their world that are denied by others, leaving them ridiculed and ostracized for it. They manage to form a genuine friendship. Even if Bill was using Stanford the whole time to achieve his Weirdmageddon.

The two compliment each other surprisingly well. Bill provides Stanford with a friend who can get him out of his comfort zone, which is something that I think Stanford really needed.

There's a really fun part of the book where Bill just gets Stanford mind-drunk, which is apparently something he can do.

Bill fills a role in Stanford's life that nobody had since he lost contact with his brother. While Stanford had friend in with Fiddleford, his lab partner, and we do get to see parts of that friendship in the book, they are more like work acquaintances.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. Because in the end, Bill is still an evil demon who was bent on bringing about the Weirdmageddon and was manipulating Ford the whole time.

And when Stanford found out, he tried to shut Bill out. This led to Bill trying to communicate through sticky notes to get Ford to stop ignoring him. He would front in the body at night while Ford slept, and they carried on a conversation through these sticky notes.

Wait... Sticky notes?

This is such an interesting choice for the character! Especially after so many hints of Bill Cipher having some sort of dissociative disorder.

Why?

Because sticky notes are an actual method that real DID systems use to communicate with their alters, as seen in this post from the NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) website.

It's fascinating how, if you were to try to depict how headmates with strong dissociative barriers might communicate, this is one of the ways you would want to do that!

Is this coincidental? Maybe. But the talk of dissociation earlier suggests the author also has at least some basic knowledge of dissociation and how it works. And, perhaps, plurality as well?

Overall, this whole section with Bill and Ford was fantastic, and it was well-worth the read for that on its own.

The End?

I suppose this is the end. I found what I wanted. I got the content I was after. A cool plural story of a guy and his headmate from another dimension who wants to take over the world.

Through all the strange distractions and hints of Bill himself having headmates that seemingly went nowhere, I got more plurality in the book than I expected.

And yet, as I turn the final page of the book, I feel unsatisfied. Unsettled.

"Is that it?" I think to myself.

This is Gravity Falls, a show built on mysteries, and looking deeper than the surface. Surely there has to be more. Right?

What if... all the plurality in this book, is obscuring something deeper? Or maybe hinting at something deeper...

And then... I see it!

After the final page, I come to the About the Author section.

Which means it's time to talk about...

The Plurality of... Bill Cipher Alex Hirsch

Yes, I am going there!

In the beginning, I promised that this post will require me to break a rule I've held sacred through these posts.

That rule... is to never speculate on the plurality of the author.

But, Alex Hirsch, at least in a fictional sense, hasn't exactly shied away from the idea of being "possessed" by Bill. This dates back at least a decade, with him making Tweets like this one.

"Bill Cipher" even did an AMA on Reddit through Alex, playing it off as Bill possessing Hirsch while he slept.

It's a pretty open secret in the Gravity Falls community that Alex Hirsch is "possessed" by Bill. At least in some meta-fiction way that may not be canon to Gravity Falls but isn't quite real either.

And were my analysis to stop here, I wouldn't really be saying anything new or valuable. A lot of this was covered by MatPat on Film Theory.

But there's something I want to go back to that confuses me in this book.

That Bill Cipher... is an idea?

Let's bring this full circle, back to the beginning of the book where Bill mentions that he's imaginary and describes himself as an idea.

These are such weird lines because Bill didn't seem to have originated from people's minds within the narrative of Gravity Falls.

His story is of being a being from a literal flat world. So why then, does he describe himself as an idea? Why does he describe himself as imaginary???

Bill Cipher as Alex Hirsch's Tulpa

While Bill being an idea doesn't make sense if he's speaking as a being from a 2-dimensional world that's real to him, it does make sense if we consider that the Bill talking to us, who wrote the Book of Bill, is a tulpa sharing the body of its creator.

Before going on though, we need to answer an important question. What is a tulpa? The r/tulpas subreddit gives its own answer to this in its FAQ.

The simplest way to describe a tulpa is simply another person who was created intentionally/unintentionally through repeated interaction and shares a body and mind with their creator. A more complicated definition can go as follows: A tulpa is believed to be an autonomous consciousness coinhabiting a brain with their creator, often with a form of their creator's initial choice and design. A tulpa is entirely sentient and in control of their opinions, feelings, form and movement. They are willingly created via a number of techniques to act as companions, muses, and advisers. Tulpa forms can either be visualized in the mind's eye, or, with practice, seen as a hallucinatory figure using a technique called imposition.

And let's stop there on the line about being created as muses, because this is something that's found repeated throughout both The Book of Bill and Journal 3, with Stanford referring to Bill as his "muse."

It's a curious term that doesn't appear in the show, but was added to the lore in these two supplemental books.

The FAQ goes on to explain that while tulpas are often considered to be intentionally created, there are also accidental tulpas that can arise through imaginary friends or from writing characters.

Is it possible to accidentally make a tulpa? Yes - many people join the community after realizing they have had tulpas all their lives, but without knowing what they were called. These "accidental" tulpas often arise from imaginary friends and writing/roleplay characters.

On the point of roleplay characters, something I also haven't mentioned yet is that Alex Hirsch didn't just write the character of Bill Cipher. He WAS Bill Cipher. In the show, Bill is one of the characters Hirsch voices along with Grunkle Stan and Soos.

Writing tulpas and how they come about are discussed a bit more below:

Is this a new phenomena? No, it's a practice that goes back in recorded history at least as far as the Greek philosophers. The present name of the phenomenon is derived from the word used by Tibetan monks in the early 20th century. There's also evidence to suggest dedicated prayer can lead to the development of 'religious tulpas' in the minds of the particularly devout, and on the secular end, writing techniques similar to tulpa development techniques can and have resulted in writers creating accidental tulpas from their characters. Having a tulpa is nothing new, although it's gone by many names throughout the course of history and does so even today. However, we believe we are one of the first groups to address this practice as a psychological phenomena rather than a magical, occult or divine experience.

Tulpamancy and Attention

There was another passage from the book that I found noteworthy.

At the end, Stanford describes what truly sustains Bill isn't power, but attention, which Stanford describes as Bill's "lifeblood."

It's even underlined for emphasis.

Why is this important? Well first, this line goes back to the weird lines earlier suggesting Bill is an idea.

But more importantly, feeding on attention is something which is actually a pretty popular philosophy in tulpamancy. That tulpas feed on and are sustained by the attention of their hosts.

How do I give my tulpa energy? Tulpas are sustained by attention, and energy is a convenient metaphor for this. So, you can give your tulpa energy by interacting with them. It is also possible, through no shortage of work and time on the part of host and tulpa alike, for a tulpa to grow beyond this need and to learn how to sustain themselves.

How much attention/energy/interaction does my tulpa need? During the creation process you should aim to interact with your tulpa daily, anywhere from a few minutes up to a few hours, and narrating to them as and when you can. After they're fully vocal and active, the bare minimum is just acknowledging their existence, but spending time talking to them and interacting with them is very much the point of bringing them into existence. Just don't ignore them, and you'll both be fine.

On Parallels in Writing

Adding another layer, it's likely that Stanford Pines is at least partially based on Alex Hirsch himself.

One point of trivia is that Alex Hirsch has a twin sister, and Gravity Falls was inspired by vacations they would take as children. Dipper and Mabel being based on Alex and his sister is pretty well-known. But towards the end of season 2, it's revealed that their Grunkle Stan is a twin himself, with his brother being Stanford Pines, the author of the journals.

During this part of the story, it starts creating a parallel between the relationships of the younger and older twins, with Dipper (who is based on Alex) bonding with Stanford over how much they have in common. Both are nerds who are into writing and science and uncovering the mysteries of the world. Both are a bit socially awkward as well.

And while not much attention is drawn to this particular connection, both had experiences of making deals with Bill that let Bill takeover their bodies at different points.

Based on the parallels between Dipper and Stanford, one might speculate that Alex based Dipper on his younger self, while Stanford was loosely based on himself as an adult.

The personalities of these two characters are also the most likely to create a tulpa based on the psychological profiles of most tulpamancers.

In 2016, Dr. Samuel Veissiere, a psychiatry professor at McGill University, found the following in his study of tulpamancers:

From coding of qualitative interviews collected in large surveys, the most common tulpamancer profile to emerge is one of a highly cerebral, imaginative, highly articulate, upper-middle class, formally educated person with many consistently pursued interests, talents, and hobbies, but limited channels of physical social interaction. Typical tulpamancers are confident about their talents, but are quite modest and socially shy. They possess – or have cultivated – a high propensity for concentration, absorption, hypnotisability, and non-psychotic sensory hallucinations.

The psychological profile of tulpamancers fits both Dipper and Stanford to a t. And many of these same traits could just as easily be true for Alex Hirsch if these characters were meant to be stand-ins for himself.

Is Alex Hirsch trying to tell us that he's plural?

In the end, this is just a theory. And it's one that I feel nervous making because plurality is so deep and personal. That's why I've avoided speculating on the plurality authors in the past. Even when the writing feels so true to the plural experience that it's hard to imagine that someone who isn't plural wrote it.

So why am I making an exception with this one?

Well, in this particular case, I think that the breadcrumbs are being left intentionally, and if he is plural, then he expects somebody to follow them. I'm not worried that I would be outing somebody who didn't want others to find out.

With Alex Hirsch's love of codes and clues and mysteries, if he were plural, I have to imagine that the hints weren't accidental and he would be wondering if anybody would follow them.

And if I am completely off base and he's not plural, I think that he would still appreciate the theorizing anyway. 🤷‍♀️

But if these are intentional clues that were left behind to hint at a real life plurality, one might ask why.

Why would he want people to know about it, and hint at it in this way?

Well, I think the Book of Bill might have an answer to that too.

Shame is a powerful emotion. But it grows in the dark. The more I've tried to hide my past with Bill, the more hold it's had over me.

Perhaps this line is meant to reflect Alex Hirsch's own feelings. Because many plural systems have felt this same way about their plurality, having hide their relationships to their headmates.

The actual end now

Finally, we come to the real ending of this.

This is, again, just a theory. I don't want anyone taking it as fact. I admit that I could be completely wrong about everything that I've said here.

But if nothing else, it's at least fun to imagine that Alex Hirsch does have a Bill Cipher tulpa in his head that has been acting as his muse this whole time. And it would give a new meaning to the gag of the Weirdmageddon intro saying Gravity Falls was "created by Bill Cipher" all those years ago.

Thanks for reading, and if you have your own muse that you think might be more than a simple muse, be sure to read my guide on how to know if your imaginary friend is sentient.

And if you like this post and want to see more like it, you may want to check out The Plurality of… Avatar: The Last Airbender or The Plurality of… IF

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