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hotyanderedaddies · 16 hours

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Yandere Cat Café Owner Wants You

[Yandere! Cat Dad Boyfriend x GN! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Kitty Café opened up down the block from your apartment, and ever since you'd seen the fliers promising delicious treats with tons of cats to play with, you'd made it your life's mission to visit it.

Unfortunately, your boyfriend was crazy allergic to cats, so you had to go solo. It bummed you out, sure; but the idea of getting to spend some time with tons of cats more than made up for it. You knew that you couldn't adopt one, but maybe you could do a little donation instead.

"Welcome!" a deep, warm voice sounded out as soon as you entered the small café.

Behind the desk was a large behemoth of a man. Even from across the room, you could tell that he towered over you. His body was thick and solid with muscle, and the tight polo he wore was painted across his large chest.

Around him, tiny kittens mewed and pawed at him, asking for pets.

The entire café was littered with cats (duh), but most of them seemed to be sticking close to the man.

"H-hi," you stuttered back, feeling nervous under the intense gaze of the larger man. His eyes widened when you spoke, and you could clearly see his Adam's apple quiver a little, and the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly. "I, uh, I saw the fliers and I had to come see the new cat café."

The man's smile grew on his face. "Great!" he beamed. "You're actually my first customer. I'm Dominik the owner, by the way. But you can call me Da-- *cough, Dom." He smiled nervously, a pinkish hue forming on his face. "What can I get you?"

The owner was really friendly, and he seemed to be over the moon to have a customer. You could tell by how giddy he seemed, and even some of the kittens picked up on it, their glances shifting between him and you.

You looked at the menu behind Dom, amazed by the wide array of tasty treats and delicious drinks that you could order. There were so many choices that you couldn't make up your mind.

"Um," you wondered. "Surprise me." You shrugged, figuring that the café owner wouldn't find the request too annoying... or at least you hoped not.

Luckily, Dom's smile remained, and it even grew bigger. "Sure thing, Kitten," he grinned. "Go ahead and take a seat and I'll bring it out to you."

You winced internally at his odd nickname for you, but ignored it for the moment.

You took a seat near the window, taking time to pet some of the cats that were brave enough to wander close to you. A fluffy orange kitten with little stripes on it clawed its way up your pant leg, hopping into your lap and purring loudly.

"Aww, cute little guy," you cooed as you pet the kitten, loving how it purred even louder.

"That's Pumpkin," Dom said as he approached the table. "It looks like he likes you."

Dom placed a small cup on the table in front of you and a little baked treat. It looked like a cookie in the shape of a cat, whereas the cup was a latte with a little heart made out of the foam. It was really cute.

"Thank you," you said as you took a sip of the latte, your eyes widening at how sweet it was. And it totally lacked any of the bitterness that coffee drinks typically have. In short: It was fantastic! "This is amazing!"

Dom took the seat opposite yours. "I'm glad you like it, Kitten," he genuinely smiled. He then nodded at Pumpkin. "Are you looking for a cat to take home?"

You frowned slightly. "No," you relented. "My boyfriend's allergic to cats, so I can't adopt one."

Dom's smile vanished and his square jaw clenched. "Yeah..." he huffed, something audible in his deep voice, "that's not too good." He sighed before forcing a smile back onto his face. "I guess that means that you'll just have to come visit more often."

You looked up at the larger man in awe.

Blushing, Dom hurriedly added, "I know Pumpkin will miss you."

Almost as if on cue, Pumpkin meowed.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

After your first visit to the café, you quickly became a regular.

Every so often, you would come by to play with Pumpkin and some of the other cats.

And each and every time, Dom would light up and eagerly strike up a conversation with you, looking as giddy as a kid on Christmas. He was really nice to you and he was quickly starting to grow on you.

He was becoming a really great friend to you.

One day, you rushed over to the café, eager to tell the man the wonderful news that you had. Your fists balled up excitedly, you burst into the small shop, seeing Dom sitting near the counter with a few new kittens.

He perked up when he saw you, his face instantly brightening up. "Hey, Y/N!" he cheered, then he saw how excited you looked. "What's the good news?"

You couldn't resist shoving your left out towards him, showing off the gold band on your ring finger. "My boyfriend proposed!" you ecstatically cheered. "Check out the ring too! Nice, right?"

You were all smiles, dreaming of walking down the aisle to marry your boyfriend: a.k.a. the man of your dreams.

Dom smiled too, although his grin didn't touch his eyes. In fact, his smile looked pained, forced. He sharply exhaled before perking up slightly.

"How about a drink to celebrate?" he asked. "I've been working on a new one." He moved behind the counter and began to shuffle around with some ingredients, his broad back blocking your view of what he was messing with. He peeked over his shoulder to make sure that you couldn't see him add something special to your cup.

When he was done, Dom turn back around and placed a warm mug in front of you. He made sure to take extra care to shape the foam into a cute little kitty.

"I hope you enjoy," Dom grinned, pushing the mug closer to you.

You grabbed it and took a sip. The drink was incredibly sweet, just as you liked it. "It's delicious, Dom," you beamed. "Thank you so much!"

He smiled triumphantly as you downed your drink.

As the two of you talked about your wedding plans (Dom's smile morphed into a frown the more you went on about it), you suddenly felt yourself get a little dizzy.

You placed a shaking hand up to your head to try and steady yourself, but the room felt like it was spinning.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Dom asked, a cheerful tone in his voice.

You wondered what was going on, not sure if you were catching a virus or something. "Um," you mumbled, "I think I'm getting sick. I'll just head home..."

You stood up, but your legs were wobbly and they gave out on you, sending you toppling down.

Before you hit the hard ground, Dom rushed over and wrapped both of his strong arms around you, securing you tightly in his hold. He pulled you to his torso, and you felt his chest rumble a little as he seemingly purred like a happy cat.

"Wha--?" you tried to ask, but it getting harder to speak as your vision blurred and you felt weaker by the second.

"Shh," Dom cooed as he placed a tender hand on your cheek. "Just relax, Kitten. Let Daddy take care of you."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, everything went black...

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

When you began to stir awake, you first noticed that everything felt so comfortable. Seriously, whatever bed you were lying in had the softest sheets, and there was a fluffy comforter that was so incredibly warm. And speaking of warm, a large body cuddled you from behind, keeping you nice and secured--

"What!?" you jolted awake, everything rushing to you all at once. You struggled to move, but your panic only heightened as you realized that your arms and legs were bound together by what felt like silk ties. The fabric was soft to the touch so as not to irritate your skin, but they were tied so tightly that they severely restricted your movement.

Looking around the bedroom that you found yourself in, you could see that there were tons of cat toys and décor around. A few of the kittens from the café where in the room, watching you intently. Pumpkin purred happily when he saw you, his tail flicking to and fro with glee.

You kept trying to thrash your body around to get free, but the body behind you only tightened its grip on you, effectively stopping you.

"Calm down, Kitten," Dom sleepily yawned, his hot breath wafting over your ear due to his closeness to you.

You tensed up when you felt his lips press to your cheek.

"Dom?!" you cried, unable to get free with his arms around you. He even laid one of his strong legs over yours, his entire body acting as a double lock. "What's going on?"

The larger man chuckled. "Kitten," he cooed, "isn't it obvious? You going to marry that... guy." He said the last part with such anger in his voice that it almost came out as a growl, making some of the cats in the room hiss in response. "So I had to just snatch you up and take you home with me."

You were stunned silent, unable to wrap your head around what was going on. "What do you mean?" you trembled.

Dom pressed his lips against you once more, purring as he did so. "I love you so much, Y/N. So I brought you home with me to convince you to be with me, not with your ex-boyfriend."

"You're insane..." you try to argue, earning a nip from him.

"Don't say that," he hissed. "I'm not insane, you're insane for trying to marry some guy who's not me. You belong to me, and that's why you're here: to be with me, and only me."

Dom tightened his grip on you, sealing off any hope of escape.

"You're mine."

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere daddy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #obsessive love #possessive boyfriend #Cat Cafe #Cat Dad #Daddy x You

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p0p33-k3da · 21 hours

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OKAY GUYS.

I am FURIOUS and TIRED of seeing people fight over who would be the more feminine/girlfriend of the relationship (SMG3 or SMG4) and I have just had it up all the way to the top, so I have decided to make this. Feel free to EDUCATE yourself for ONCE in your life.

Exhibit A:

Okay y'all I'm starting off STRONG here with this one. First of all he CLEARLY said before that HE IS THE GIRLFRIEND and SMG4 is THE BOYFRIEND. Connect the dots? Like... Honestly guys...

Exhibit B:

Take a good look at this photo for a hot second. There was a choice one high he could have either been the ANTAGONIST or a PRINCESS and he was chosen as the princess. (Also can we talk about how he quite literally wanted a sugar daddy?) And he said that he would be his bitch. Now what does bitch mean? Huh? Answer me. That's what I thought.

Exhibit C:

Guys. He is quite literally taking the place of the female in this little scene referencing the Titanic. Luke could have swapped the rolls if he wanted but he didn't. BECAUSE SMG3 IS THE FEMININE ONE.

Exhibit D:

SMG4 is ALWAYS the one holding him, not even mentioning how SMG3 screams like a girl, is afraid of the dark, and always clings to someone when he is scared. But genuinely y'all say SMG3 is strong but I think he wants a strong MAN.

Exhibit E:

Lots of the time he is seen just randomly touching SMG4's chest. Like... Whatcha doing that for bud? Look at the look in his eyes and tell me he's not the girlfriend. Also, he is quite literally leaning while touching him. _______________________________________________

That's all for my class today. Learn how to educate yourselves.

Also, nobody will ever EVER. be able to change my mind that 3 is in fact the more feminine figure of the relationship. Hopefully this will ease the DUMB arguing that keeps going on about these two. Honestly guys, just let them be gay.

#smg43 #smg34 #smg4 smg3 #smg4 #smg3 #smg3 x smg4 #smg3 is feminine #change my mind #stop arguing

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lettersofgold · 2 days

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-> unthinkable | chapter three | jules k.

genre: angst, fluff, smut | authors note: | loosely proofed y’all bare with me, running two blogs and writing multiple fics at once 🫣

warnings: google translations, loosely proofed

summary: jules could never get it quite right. no girl gave him the feeling that he had with you. he wasn’t even sure he knew how to love a woman until you came into his life - even when he was dating around, his loyalty and heart were with you. you couldn’t find someone who stirred the feeling of love in you the way jules did, but he was just a friend and he wasn’t done playing the field. the two of you were giving each other the love you both never felt before and after fighting it for so long, you realized you both deserved it and you were finally ready.

[ pictured fc: black!fem!reader & kaia ]

THEN.

The evening air was humid and unforgiving and your dress was beginning to accumulate sweat but you were grateful you chose the dress versus the dress pants your friend suggested over your anxious FaceTime call. You found yourself stuck outside the restaurant door, your hand on the knob but not daring to turn it. Kaia, your new colleague, texted you that the doorman would give you directions to get upstairs but you felt overwhelmed by the idea of walking through this elegant establishment and into an even more elegant engagement party, alone. You dropped your hand from the door knob and took two wobbly stiletto steps backwards and began considering acting as if you had an incident and couldn’t make it. Your mind was a revolving door of excuses but not a single one would ease the guilt of lying to your coworker who was going out of her way to be your friend. It was comical how guarded you became when you stepped into this country when the entire reason for uprooting your life was to blossom. Some things take time, you said internally, and took in a large breath before deciding that you had no choice but to go through the door regardless of your feelings. It would be horrible to bail on the one woman at your job who made sure you were okay and went out her way to help you - seeing her for every day the rest of the year after standing her up would be unforgivable in your eyes and no doubt, in hers too.

You hated to be that person but you genuinely didn’t want to walk through the restaurant alone. You stepped aside from the door to allow other guests to make their way in and out while you shot a quick text to Kaia to ask if she could send someone to help you find your way. You gnawed at the inside of your glossed lip and awaited her reply, hoping and praying that there would be other English speakers at this party. You held onto the gift bag of champagne with Kaia’s and her fiancée, Corey’s name engraved on it, italicized gold writing. It was a sweet but simple gift and the card inside said to wait to open the bottle until “what felt like the perfect time, to remember how far you have come.” and your well wishes were scribbled underneath. Your phone buzzed with a text from Kaia saying she sent someone down with no clear description of who to expect but at least it was someone.

You saw his hand before you saw the rest of him - tan, large, and covered in rings - each one silver but varying in size and shape. The color of his skin was golden underneath the full moon and the breeze created by the door opening drifted by bringing along the scent of a cologne you could not name, nor could probably even afford. The expensive smell of him matched his delicately balanced all-black outfit. Delicate brown eyes found yours as he stepped out of the door and closed it behind him. His previously straight face turned into a small smile as he looked at you and you suddenly felt as if you were staring way too hard at him. You dropped your gaze to your high heeled feet and brought your gift bag up in front of your face.

“Is this enough?” You asked awkwardly. The man replied in a smooth sentence of Spanish and you immediately were back to being nervous. Of course he spoke Spanish.

“Sorry, uh, english?”

“It’s perfect. Is there any space on the card?” He laughed, and took a peek inside of the gift bag. You were unable to place his accent but you were more focused on his gentle voice as he complimented the gift you customized for the couple.

“Space?”

“I forgot a gift.” He admitted with a boyish grin that immediately disarmed your nerves. He grabbed it out of your hands and turned to open the door and lead you through the dimly lit restaurant. “Could I put my name on yours?”

“Absolutely not!” You hissed with a laugh as you trailed him through the first floor of the restaurant.

It took all of three large steps across the room before you noticed that nearly all eyes were on the two of you - but especially on him. The air conditioning couldn’t ease the spikes of heat that traveled around your body and up your neck - you hated being the center of attention. It was the one thing you wanted to avoid and somehow Kaia sent you a person who was saying polite things to each person who stood to speak to him. You noticed the consistency between the Spanish and you were able to recognize a bit of the words: big fan, Barca, cannot believe it, el clasico, next match.

It was a familiar thing to stand patiently to the side as the man greeted each person attentively - you were transported back in time. Back to a time that you desperately clawed your way out of. So, although familiar, it was unnerving.

“Uh, ‘scuse me,” you interrupted and his eyes met yours, “what way is the party? I don’t want to interrupt.”

His gaze was intentionally focused on you, listening carefully as you asked him to point you to the festivities. If you stood here any longer, the way you did with your ex-boyfriend, you would begin to panic and that was the last thing you needed to happen.

“Oh, don’t let us take time away from your girlfriend. Go! Enjoy your night.” An older man demanded with a shooing motion and a parental smile. You didn’t have the chance to correct his mistake because the younger man simply thanked him and grabbed your own hand. You stumbled as he guided you through the room and you prayed that no one else was watching but when you turned to glance back at them, they were all staring.

“What's that all about?” You asked him inside the elevator. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged his shoulders, skirting around your question.

“Nuh uh, if you want to sign my card,” you saw a light flicker in his eyes and you knew you’d got him, “you have to explain all of that.”

“I’m Jules.” He said quietly and you noticed the way he held his breath as he extended a hand to for you to shake - the shake turned into a gentle but firm hold. You introduced yourself and he smiled again, making you feel like a schoolgirl on the playground being “tagged-you’re-it” by the boy you had a crush on.

“That doesn’t answer my question, though.” You let go of his arm and crossed yours. His eyebrows knitted together and he simply replied to your comment.

“I’m Jules Kounde.” He reiterated. You mimicked him, telling him your first and last name, still unsure of what he was getting at.

“I’m a footballer.” He said in a guarded tone. He was gaging your reaction and searching for your lightbulb moment, searching for an air of desperation to ooze off of you. Except it never did because you didn’t really know what it meant besides it made people swarm to him. The elevator dinged and he leaned off the wall, his body towered over yours and he blocked the door with his arm letting you walk out first. The ‘intimate’ party Kaia mentioned was anything but - on first glance, there had to be at least 100 people on the rooftop patio equipped with a full bar.

“Oh…” you said with a nod as he stood beside you, the both of you staring at the lively party underneath the stars and delicately placed string lights. You leaned into him and he bent his head down, “I don’t really know what that means.”

He laughed loudly and you couldn’t hold back the giggle.

“If I tell you, can I sign the card?” He asked.

You motioned with a “meh” motion of your hands.

“Maybe.”

“How can I turn it into a yes?” He whispered in your ear and suddenly the night air was cool compared to his breath on your skin. The smell of his cologne and the sheer heat of his breath was enough to make you want to cling to him all night and thankfully, you knew how you could.

“A glass of champagne and a full breakdown of who’s who during this party.”

——

NOW.

“What are you smiling at?” Kaia leaned over the coffee table attempting, and failing, to peek at your phone. Kaia knew you were smiling because of Jules. It was early and the morning sun was shining on your skin. She learned that you processed everything internally and only expressed what you felt was certain. Kaia learned that you and Jules were alike in that manner and suddenly, in many other ways too. Kaia wished she saw it sooner and Corey wished she hadn’t seen it at all: now he was hearing about Jules from Kaia, and hearing about you from Jules. It was never ending.

“It’s nothing.” You locked your phone and placed it face down. Jules texted you multiple times this morning in an attempt to escape the bet - He didn’t score a goal which meant he didn’t celebrate. So, he sent you five dollars (which bought your coffee ) and had to make you dinner. He was begging to be freed from the latter half - he couldn’t cook to save his life. Even though the notification of Jules bargaining with himself in your messages made you laugh, that wasn’t the only one that was making you smile. The first was the surprise that you and Jules planned for Kaia and Corey’s upcoming combined Bach and Bachelorette this weekend. Second, was Jules and his terrible negotiation skills. Finally, surprisingly, was Davi.

You weren’t going to divulge too much information, scared you might kill whatever was budding between you and Davi but the image of Davi’s smile flashed through your mind and you couldn’t help but let one form on your own face. You placed your elbows on the coffee table and cupped your chin, eyeing every bit of the teacher’s lounge to avoid Kaia’s amused expression. If you looked at her you knew you would spill all the tea, way too easily and way too soon. You didn’t have much to tell but Kaia wanted to know what the dating scene was like. Kaia and Corey had been together for years, so you indulged her with the good, but mostly bad, details of dating.

Kaia took a long sip of her coffee and you finally met her eyes that peered over the edge of the espresso she habitually drank. She was a polished, youthful woman. Her honey blonde hair framed her face which complemented her tanned skin and her eyes held a sparkle that was nothing short of mischievous. Her face was flush today and her cheeks were more red than usual. She looked tired but that came with planning an entire wedding while also wrangling kids as a full time job.

You laughed nervously and pulled the sleeves of your cardigan around your hands. You only had a few minutes to bring up the date but you needed validation, desperately. It wasn’t a bad idea to get to know Davi, right?

You assumed that when you became a teacher there would be an air of importance and sophistication when you sat down in the break room - talking about the kids, their work, the helicopter parents and so on. Yet the only thing that changed was your age because there you were, gripping coffee like a young high schooler about to admit that you like someone to your best friend.

“Okay, what is it?” Kaia gestured a “c’mon” motion with her hand. She sniffled a bit before taking another sip of her coffee.

“I think I’m going to a match.” You confessed and she wiggled her shoulders in excitement.

“Again?! How did Jules convince you to do that.” Kaia exclaimed loudly. The other teachers in the lounge eyed the two of you with distaste, as they usually did. The two of you were the youngest educators and were attached at the hip from the moment you met. Where there was one, there was the other. Especially with her class being across the hallway.

“He didn’t, Davi did. It’s nothing serious.” You assured her and a small part of yourself, too.

“No way. ” Kaia placed her palms on the table and slid in closely as if you had just told her the most outrageous thing. Her eyebrow curled at you and you suddenly realized you needed to clarify.

“You’re telling me that it isn’t serious but you are freely walking into a football match and planning to drink, again?” She leans forward before continuing, “Are you going to fuck him?”

“No!” You laughed. “That was not on my mind at all. I just wanna get to know him.”

“That's the lamest answer ever. Nothing serious, sure. Will it be serious enough that you tell Jules?”

“Why would I tell Jules, what do you mean?” You scrunch your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Jules plays with his cousin, see if you can find out more about him.”

“I don’t know….” You admitted, “I don’t want people in my business.”

Kaia eyed you and waited for you to be direct about who you didn’t want in your business but she wasn’t going to hold her breath for that. She knew you didn’t want Jules to know.

“Why?” She questioned

“That’s weird to ask Jules to ask his teammate about his cousin.” You said and began gathering your things to head to your class room. “Like I said, nothing serious and that’s what social media is for. You could find out everything you need to know.”

Kaia rolled her eyes but followed suit and grabbed her own bag but as she rose, she had to grab the table to steady herself. Her hand immediately went to her stomach and her entire neck turned red. She winced for a moment before standing up.

“Are you okay?” You said as you walked towards her and placed the back of your hand on her forehead.

“I’ve had this weird cold for a while. It’s probably the flu.” Kaia swatted your hand away and you poked at her side for that.

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“It’s a cold. Not a death sentence.”

“You are not allowed to be sick this weekend. If you don’t find a way to the damn doctor I’m going to drag you there.”

“And if you don’t find a way to get more information about Davi, I’ll do it myself.” She matched your snark and finished gathering her stuff. “There’s no way I’d miss my own bachelorette party.”

She looped her arm through yours and once again, you were sent backwards in time to when you were just a girl in highschool, walking with your best girlfriends and thinking of the future. The slightest thought of Kaia in her wedding dress sent a bubble of emotions through your chest and up into your throat, it was a daily occurrence but it never became easier. You loved her and Corey, dearly. You found family with them. Even though you weren’t in the wedding, which you were happy to support from the crowd, you had the liberty of working with Jules to throw their joint Bachelor and Bachelorette parties.

The process of planning, organizing, and meticulously preparing for all of the friends flying in was left to you. Despite yours, Kaia, and Corey’s protest, Jules was footing the bill. You had to lie more than once about charging his credit card. He admitted he didn’t check his accounts, because, “that’s what my adviser is for” so it was easy to get away without exposing yourself. He would scold you and actually throw a fit - a harsh criticism of the audacity of you to even begin to think of paying for anything when you were with him. After the criticism, you would be met with a dramatic sulk from Jules but it never lasted long. He never stayed mad at you, not for too long.

“I wouldn’t let you, either. Even if it’s to hold your hair back for a good ole puke and rally.”

“Ugh, god. Just the thought of alcohol makes me want to vomit.” She admitted with a little grimace. “If I get through the day, I’ll be good. Nothing a home remedy can’t fix.”

“It would be quicker if you went to the doctor, Kaia.” She unhooked her arm and stepped across the hall to her closed door. She bent down to unlock and waved you away once more. The shrill of the school bell sent a jolt of exhaustion through you - a weekend without rest was not the best experience but you couldn’t deny the fun you had. Internally, you agreed with Kaia. If you could make it through the day, it would smooth over.

“Yeah yeah.”

—

Candace slept naked and unbothered, her long limbs spilling out from underneath the covers. Candace barely stirred as he moved around the bedroom and got ready for the day. He never missed a run before going to training. It was an early morning for Jules but that was normal,

Jules thought that the sex would take his mind off of it all: the loss, the frustration, you. You and Davi, especially. That hadn't happened at all. Instead every kiss, every slight of Candace’s fingertips on his skin felt so wrong. Every whispered “I love you.” that fell from her lips while they had sex felt empty and slightly jarring. There was a visceral feeling of betrayal that he couldn’t shake. Was it a betrayal to you or a betrayal to Candace? In the midst of all the huffs and moans, Jules realized that he didn’t consider Candace’s feeling first - which was the most fucked up thing because there he was, deep inside her and not having an ounce of consideration for her feelings. Instead he was only thinking of you.

It shouldn’t have bothered Jules and he knew it enough to repeat it as a mantra but it still did. He could not pinpoint the issue with what he saw when he looked up at you, standing there in a Barca shirt and smiling at a man. Truthfully it was the same smile you gave everyone, but Jules felt it should’ve been reserved from him. Not Davi. As foolish as it was, he didn’t want to see you be happy with someone else. He didn’t want to watch from afar while your eyes crinkled as you laughed wholeheartedly or see you grab another man’s arm the way you did with his out of excitement, or to see the warm gaze you gave him with your undivided attention - your soft eyes were a window into your soul and he wanted to be the one who discovered all of you. He didn’t want to share that. When it came to you, there was no sharing. Jules realized half way through his run, that he couldn’t fight the fact he truly and madly wanted you. As he approached the steps back to his place and skimmed over a text from Candace saying she made it back home, he opened the thread and texted you - opting to tell you that you were being taken to dinner instead of having a home cooked meal.

Jules: I leave for fashion week tomorrow but I’ll be back Thursday evening. Want to do dinner tonight?

You: That works. What time?

Jules: I’ll pick you up

You: why? then you’d have to bring me home, too.

Jules: Trust me

You: when you say trust me I immediately can’t, what are we doing instead of dinner?

Jules: Going to dinner at your favorite spot

You: Jules!! You didn’t have to do that 🥺

The thought of you smiling made his heart skip a beat as he began to respond but saw those three dots appear on the screen, so he waited.

You: you still have to cook for me eventually

—

You had all of an hour to change and sit on the couch before Jules impatiently rang your doorbell and placed you in a long overdue hug. Jules inhaled a deep before stepping away with a sigh, his eyes scanning your outfit with a tut. It wasn’t a new dress but it was new to him. You felt a wave of insecurity run through you as you crossed one foot over the other and placed your hands on your hips. Jules was a fashion snob but you cared enough about looking presentable and feeling good. It was hard to tell if that fit into Jules expertise half the time and right now you didn’t want to be told that this cute dress wasn’t the right outfit.

“What?”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I am! All I need is my shoes.”

“You’re going to make us late, oh mon dieu.” Jules' accent was thick when he spoke French and it was a pleasure to hear. There were so many things about him that you admired and simply adored - but one of those things you could appreciate the most was his incredible ability to switch between multiple languages.

“Just give me a second, seriously. Don’t be so dramatic.” You turned on your heels and did a small jog across your apartment and turned the corner. Jules’ eyes trailed the length of your legs all the way up to your ass and back down again with a feverish frustration. He groaned and forced himself to think of anything other than your dress or how the bottom of it reached his favorite part of your body: the sculpted by God himself shape of your muscular, brown thighs and how it supported your natural, large, and ever so tempting to touch, ass. His mind wondered what your ass would feel like, knowing that with the size of his hands he could palm both cheeks easily. The same ease he would have lifting you up and carrying you across any distance if you locked your legs around him, all while palming and squeezing every part of your ass. If he was given the opportunity, he would savor it. Jules would leave you satisfied, but he would leave you wanting more. Words failed him more than a few times in his life but his actions never did - no woman could say he was a selfish lover in bed. He took pride in everything and every girl he did. There were no words to describe how much pride he took in you without even having a taste of you yet.

Jules was forcefully thrown back into the reality of standing on your foyer, waiting on you. There was an echo of thuds, which he knew to be shoes, and a yell from you promising to be ready soon. He rolled his eyes but the brightening screen of your cell phone caught his attention. Your YSL bag was sitting atop the small table with all of the contents strewn around it, the phone was among the mess. He collected each item carefully, placing it in your bag. It was the least Jules could do to speed up the process, he thought. It wasn’t at all because he wanted an excuse to look at your phone - he wasn’t that kind of guy, he thought to himself as he picked up the phone and read the Instagram message.

thatsdavif: Thanks for Friday, I had fun! 😘

“Ready.” You announced with a satisfying spin on the balls of your heels. Jules' head whipped up and nodded. His demeanor changed drastically in the last five minutes you saw him and he said nothing as he handed you the now packed purse. You thanked him for getting your things and thanked him for opening your door but he remained silent.

Each attempt to strike up a conversation failed and you weren’t sure how dinner was going to go considering you had to hash out a few more details for the trip this weekend. You sighed aloud, not caring that he would be aware of your annoyance. As wise as he was, Jules still was a man who could act like a little boy. You weren’t the type to force a man to open his mouth and you weren’t starting now. Instead of talking, you resorted to scrolling through your social media feed and then checked your messages. You awed at the photos that Davi sent you and liked the message of his gratitude. You recommended a few spots that were tourist friendly and a few hidden gems of the city. The photos of his adventures made you crave the upcoming trip even more.

youruser: I can’t wait for the next match. I think I finally know all the chants lol

—

Dinner was awkward but you didn’t allow you to not indulge in the delectable food. If he wasn’t going to address whatever bothered him, Jules could stay mad. When you pushed him, he immediately pulled away. So you stopped doing so. You listened carefully as the waitress told you about the soup of the day and about the wine that would be paired with your meal. It all sounded amazing and smelled it, too. Jules thanked the waitress with a small smile and then focused his attention on nothing at all while fidgeting with his hair.

“Jules.” You said, gently but with a stern undertone. “Did I do something? Was it because I was late?”

“No, no.” A lie, a lie, he thought. “Stress, that’s all.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m being so rude.”

“It’s okay, we all have those days. At least you have some time off.”

“Can I be honest? I’ve never been so ready to get away from work before. I’m just so exhausted.”

He laughed sheepishly then smiled at you and you smiled back, knowing he would have the time of his life at the resort.

“Just think about it: endless drinks, the pool, the yacht and a surprise from moi.”

“A surprise? What did you do?”

“That defeats the point of the surprise.” You reminded him with a straight face.

He began to argue but was cut off by a sudden shrill of his phone ringing - it was Candace. All of the energy you brought into him seemed deflated in an instant. He looked at you for a moment and you nodded to let him know you understood. There was a distinct pain in your chest seeing her name, being reminded of her. You couldn’t hate the girl even if you tried. But, it was hard to like someone who held onto the same man as you and with more access than you will ever have. Jules’ previous relationships were not on your mind as much as this particular one was. It was hard to place the emotion but it was still there, nonetheless.

“I’ll be back,” he said to you and he stood up and began speaking in hurried Spanish.

You fiddled with the menu aimlessly and checked the time. You examined your nails and reread each possible combination of the dish you were considering as your next course. There was an unmistakable chill in the air, making you rub at your bare arms as you checked over your shoulder to find your friend. He was pacing slowly but his hands were animated as he spoke. A sigh escaped your mouth as your gazed returned to the table when a waving hand caught you midway.

Who was that? You thought as you politely waved back. She stood, placing her napkin on the table and sauntered long strides over to you. The table of girls eyed you curiously - it was the WAGs. The wives and girlfriends of Jules' teammates, the ones from the suite during El Clasico. For a moment your heart stopped. You scanned the group of them, hoping and praying that you didn’t see Candace’s face. You didn’t, thankfully. But you were met with judgemental glares, dismissive looks, and a literal head shake. Oh my fucking god, you panicked.

“I swear you get prettier and prettier every single time I see you mija.” Inĩgos’s wife complimented. You accepted her hug and tucked your hair behind your ears before clasping your hands behind your back.

“Thank you, same to you. You look stunning.”

It was true. When you saw her last she mentioned that she had a baby only a few weeks prior. You couldn’t tell then and surely couldn’t tell now.

“I thought you were Candace for a split second, but I’d recognize you from a mile away. What are you up to?” Her smile was genuine and she was as sweet as can be but in your mind, her loyalty lies with Candace and this whole thing looked terrible. You were 75% sure Candace knew you were at dinner with Jules but no one else knew that. No one knew how innocent it was - they didn’t know your relationship with Jules.

“Just eating with our friends.”

“Oh? What friends?”

“No one that you know but he’s close with Jules and I work with his wife.”

“The blonde girl, right? Kaia?”

“Uh…yeah, her.” You bit your lip, unsure of where to take the conversation. It was painfully silent before she spoke again.

“I hope they make it in time. This kind of place is a real pain in the ass when it comes to timing. They charge an arm and a leg for cancellations.” She whispered as if you and Jules weren’t seated at a small table for two. There was no way anyone else was at your dinner party, she was allowing you to save face.

“I bet, I should probably go check and see where they are now. It was good to see you again.” You hugged her once more and nearly tripped over your own heels to get to the ladies room.

—

“Candace, please calm down.”

“Do not tell me to calm down. Are you fucking her?” She yelled once more, her voice shrill and almost deafening in Jules’ ear.

“No, Candace.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re such a liar.” She spat. Jules tilted his head back and ran a palm down his face with an exasperated sigh.

“Are you going to believe what you saw or are you going to believe what I’m telling you?” He countered. Jules knew how it looked and how it sounded but he was being honest. Jules had never slept with you.

“Do you know how embarrassing this is?”

“What are you going on about, Candace? I told you I was going to dinner with a friend.”

“You didn’t say you were going to dinner with her!”

“What’s that supposed to mean? It’s the same thing.”

“No it’s not. Not when you are so obvious about wanting to fuck her.” His heart stopped for a moment but she continued, “not only are you a liar you aren’t even a good one.”

“I have never slept with her.” He reiterated through a clenched jaw.

“Right and my names Lionel Messi and I won a World Cup. Fuck you.” She spat before hanging up. Jules went back into the restaurant with as straight of a face as he could manage - he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or embarrassed or upset. He rubbed at his jaw and was surprised to see the table empty as he pulled out his chair. He scanned the restaurant to see where you could have gone but then he saw exactly what sparked Candace’s meltdown. The group of girls at the table against the wall, tucked into a more secluded corner of the dining room who were watching him like a hawk.

You tried to fight the tears but they still came. You dotted away at your tear ducts, trying to cry silently and not mess up your makeup in the process. Luckily, there was a powder room and then the actual stalls. You settled yourself into the one furthest stalls away from the door that was not the handicapped accessible stall. You would never be able to show your face again if they saw you bawling like this. Even though it was innocent, it still looked guilty. You still felt guilty. You didn’t care what they had to say but you did care if the word got around about you. As soon as you found an ounce of comfort in the team’s graces, you were losing it. Any hope of getting to know more about Davi vanished. Had you ruined your chance before you even got one?

Your phone rang incessantly from your purse and you wiped your tears without even checking to see who was calling you.

“Hello?” You sniffled into the receiver.

“Oh my god are you crying?” Kaia yelled and you wished you hid it better. “You can’t cry right now because I’m crying right now.” She insisted.

“Why are you crying?”

“Please tell me why you’re crying or else I’m going to freak out.

“Kaia!”

“What?!”

“What the hell is going on? Are you okay, is Corey?”

“Where are you, I don’t know what to do!”

“Kaia, please take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on. I’m just having dinner, it’s nothing.”

“I took a pregnancy test.” She whispered. Your mouth flew open and you could hear her shushing you.

“Oh my god. Is it positive?”

“I can’t look at it. I’m too scared. You need to come over here right now.” You pulled the phone away from your head and looked at the time - it was late but you could still get some decent rest if you convinced Jules to leave at this instant.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there soon.” You wiped at your face, cleaned up your mascara, and washed your hands before approaching the door. You forced yourself to not think about how it could look with you storming out the bathroom the way you were but Kaia was more important than anyone’s opinion. She sounded so unsure and that was unnerving to you - your head strong and assuring friend was falling to pieces over a piece of plastic that she was too scared to flip over. Facing your reality was nothing compared to hers.

You told Jules that you needed to go to Kaia’s apartment, immediately. Majority of the time she was at Corey’s but the fact that you asked to be taken to her place was enough for Jules to know something serious was going on. He handed you the keys and told you he’d meet you after he paid for the portion of the meal you guys actually got to enjoy together.

You were halfway to Kaia’s when Jules’ hot and heavy hand landed on your bouncing leg, restricting you from the habitual bouncing you were doing. His other hand was doing all the work as he turned the wheel, the veins in his forearm flexing with each movement of his wrist. You sighed out an apology

“Everything will be okay, yeah?” He said as he slowed to stop at an intersection. Jules leaned over to get a better look at you. You made yourself nod but your heart was thumping so hard you were scared he could hear it. Jules' nails were cut low and manicured and where you used to tease him about it, you were now thankful because his grip was so strong. His grip tightened and he asked, “Say it with me.” Jules’ eyes were locked on yours and for a brief moment, you thought his eyes dropped to your lips.

“Yeah, it’s all going to be okay.”

“Good.” He patted your thigh and he took his hand away and placed it on the wheel as if it wasn’t ever on you at all. As if his hand hadn’t lit the match to an absolutely insane of validation to daydreams you suppressed. It was like taking another piece of your sanity along with it.

“I’m sorry about dinner.” You said reaching for the door handle but Jules was already out of the car and moving to open your door.

“It’s fine.” He replied.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t how you planned for your night to go.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll pay you back for driving me across town.” You mumbled and leaned over the seat to grab your purse and step out of the car. Jules closed the door once you were firmly planted on both feet in front of him, grabbing your fidgeting hands into his own.

“I just said, it’s okay.” He said with a deep resonance that made you hot all over. You couldn’t even maintain eye contact with him but he continued on, unphased by it. “Don’t make me repeat myself. It’s always fine. Especially when it comes to you.”

You squeaked out an “okay” and Jules pulled you in for a hug before shrugging off his coat and putting on your shoulders. He placed a gentle but quick kiss on your forehead before reminding you to text him to keep him updated. You were barely up the drive way before Kaia opened the door and practically fell over trying to get you inside quickly.

taglist 🔖 | @queenshikongo3 @abiigaiil1234 @hopefulromantic1 @christianpulisic10 @vile-harlot @02wrldz @milflieutenant @savecharlosfromferrari @jasmindaughteroftheworld @meanwhilesomewhereelse @leilaxaliel @4uraxo @sinflowersugar

#football fanfic #football fic #football one shot #football x reader #jules kounde #jules kounde x reader #jules kounde x y/n #jules kounde fic #jules kounde imagine

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james-p-sullivan · 7 months

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shipping real life people is creepy and weird and im not sorry to say it

#if you ship celebrities or bands or YouTubers etc #genuinely take a look at your life choices #and then stay away from me #i used to be shipped with other tumblr users and i fucjing hated it #my utter dislike of shipping irl people goes so deep i can’t even begin to accept live action ships #i feel like you’re in part shipping the likeness of the actors #that’s why i only ever go for ships from animated shows or video games #i just can’t #idc if you ship live action shows #but if you ship real people please leave #sulley speaks #i don’t like focusing on things i don’t enjoy #but this has made itself very apparent over the past few days #asjdjshshjsjdh

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coockie8 · 1 month

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without naming names to avoid procuring the wrath of dweebs who worship A Guy™, I've noticed celebrity stans tend to struggle with understanding hyperbole :/

#when someone is complaining that your fave is ''in everything lately''#I can almost 100% guarantee they don't mean *literally* in *everything*#they're using hyperbole to complain about having to see A Guy™ more often than usual that they'd rather not #and look I'm Autistic #I understand struggling to gauge tone even in real life let alone online #but I've noticed this specifically with celebrity stans #I don't know if they're genuinely struggling with hyperbole #or if the celebrity brain rot is just so bad that anything even remotely negative said about their Human God™ is taken as a personal attack #but it's definitely something I've noticed #look I'm just saying if you're willing to call someone slurs #or accuse them of truly heinous things #to defend the ''honour'' of Some Random Guy™ that you've probably never even met #then you might wanna take a step back and rethink your life choices

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ribbed-vault-heart · 14 days

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🦇 fagnsfangs Follow

i dont want to start anything but @castlecrypttt has had the same familiar for 20 years and i dont think she ever intends to turn it...

🧛‍♀️ castlecrypttt Follow

"i dont want to start anything" then why did you @ me you braindead fuck?? willie has been with my family for so long because its his choice. he doesnt even want to be a vampire he enjoys being a familiar. and we take care of him, we give him as many flies and spiders and rats as his little heart desires. all you snobbish vampires who look down on having familiars dont seem to realize that its not a one way relationship. he helps us with our vampire needs and in return we protect him and give him lives. he's going to live far longer than whatever his normal human lifespan wouldve been, 20 years is nothing. and hes part of the family. keep out of our business you clearly dont understand

🩸 bloody-bloody-marie Follow

oh my g*d i cant believe there are still vampires on this site defending keeping familiars.

🧛‍♂️ fresh-blood Follow

genuine question, whats wrong with having a familiar?

🩸 bloody-bloody-marie Follow

are you seriously asking me about the ethics of keeping an enthralled servant that you force into doing your bidding...

🦇 fagnsfangs Follow

op here, i think youre seriously misunderstanding the concept of familiars. a lot of humans would love to have the opportunity to become vampires in exchange for a few years of servitude. the issue lies in when the familiar is promised vampirism and yet never gets it. and no, vampires shouldnt be using thralls to get their familiar to do its job.

🕷 blood-is-the-life Follow

familiar here, and no. i dont really care about becoming a vampire. that was never in the deal i had with my master. but yeah, do agree thralls shouldnt be used unless the familiar is okay with it

🧛‍♂️ vampire-guy-steve Follow

if you dont want to become a vampire then whats the point of being a familiar?

🕷 blood-is-the-life Follow

well for me its a sex thing.

#unreality #vampire tumblr

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zhongrin · 5 months

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festered wounds

— when you’ve never been the first choice your whole life, it’s hard to accept the possibility that you could be loved.

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, this is more of a vent drabble, hurt with comfort, reader with massive insecurity issues, implied past trauma, slight blood & gore in the portrayal of ‘hurt’

✼ a/n ┈ this…. got really personal, haha. i wrote this in a bad headspace, so apologies if it got depressing or if it’s of a low quality. i didn't want to have this in my drafts and i certainly don't want to bring it to 2024 so i'm just posting this now.

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ) ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

“i’m sorry.”

zhongli’s heart dropped at the words escaping your lips. this was certainly the most unexpected response you could give to his confession, seeing the promising recent developments in your relationship — and so celestia forgive him, he had to pause to gather his thoughts. this made you fidget even more under his gaze, and so you succumbed to your frazzled nerves to continue in a more panicked voice.

“i’m sorry, mr. zhongli, i know you’re not the type to resort to deceit or find joy in toying with people’s feelings, but i’m just— i can’t—” you trailed off, feeling your chest tighten in pain.

“please, hold your tongue for a moment,” the refined man held out one of his hand to settle onto your shoulder comfortingly. his expression was a mixture of worry and confusion, eyebrows furrowing in a sign of distress. “are you saying that you… do not believe my words? you think i have malicious intentions?”

“….. i’m sorry, i’m just not used to- i’ve never-” you stumbled over your words and squeezed your eyes shut, “i’m sorry….”

zhongli watched you for a moment, observing the smallest ticks and the story behind your body language. you looked so vulnerable, like a scared animal instinctively cowering at some invisible threat. you looked as if someone had stripped away a bandage that had been haphazardly wrapped around a wound left unattended for so long, it had festered into an abomination, eating away at you slowly, even now.

belatedly, he realized that ‘someone’ was himself.

zhongli inhaled deeply, his palm leaving your shoulder. this time, he took his hands to tenderly grab your fingers, lifting them up to silently plead for your attention. your eyes were troubled and full of storms, the rain and lighting reflecting on your expression as a solemn flutter of your eyelashes and sorrowful downturn of your lips. the slight tremble of your body reflected the silent call for help from a blemished heart that never had the courage to forget.

“my dearest. i see the pain you have gone through. i have yet to know the tales that had marred your heart, but i want you to know that i am willing to be the pair of ears you tell your grievances to, and you can be rest assured that they will be safe with me. i know my words will not be enough to convince you otherwise at this moment… however, you must forgive my impatience, for it stems out of genuine love. i simply must humbly ask once again—”

“— please, give me a chance to heal you.”

“a-are you sure you want me?”

out of the 18 different responses he anticipated, al haitham did not expect this. however, his surprise merely manifested in the rising of both of his eyebrows and the subtle shift on his legs.

“unlike the consensus the public seemed to have one-sidedly agreed on, i am not foolish enough in the matter of romance as to confess to someone i do not hold deep affection and great care for,” he said in the same tone as the moment he asked if you would consider taking your relationship into the ‘officially dating’ phase, “is it not obvious? kaveh claimed i was ‘laying it on thick’ and cyno had noted of how i treat you better than how i treat the dendro archon.”

“oh….”

“….”

you thought you had gotten used to al haitham’s stare with how much you both had been hanging out, but right now you couldn’t seem to lift your head. the scholar crossed his arms, waiting patiently for your response. you were both gratuitous and dreading his resilience.

“i-i still think you could do better, though. i mean, look at you! you’re so fit, so wouldn’t you feel better if your partner is more of the sporty type? and you’re the top graduate of the haravatat darshan, so you would pair better with someone smarter…. a-and someone like me will just drag you down; aesthetically speaking, i… uh, leave much to be desired while you’re… you know…”

you spoke of such illogical assumptions and erroneous advices that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. you spoke of belittling yourself as if you were used to riding on the rails of insurmountably low dip of the self-esteem cliff for years. you spoke of these things as if you were repeating words someone told you at least once in your life.

and it angered him.

but he wasn’t angry at you. he was angry for you.

funny how empathy wasn’t his strong suit, and yet he jumped on the bandwagon as easily as an otter taking off into the waters the moment it came to you and your emotions.

“i care not for such shallow qualifications when it comes to seeking a partner. your presence triggers the relevant hormones that make me feel relaxed and comfortable, and my mind spontaneously seek for your attention. it’s only logical that i seek for an arrangement that would ensure these pleasant things to happen and develop further.”

“you’re the best choice for a partner, simply because i wish to spend the rest of my life with you; and i think that's enough.”

“i don’t think i’m a good choice for you…”

wriothesley looked as if you had pinpointed his weak point in a boxing match and delivered a straight jab right onto it. his lips slacked open and his body froze as he tried to process your words, the meaning behind it, the—

he inhaled deeply and punched his own fist into his palm, stretching his jaw with a growl before a darker tone took over his voice.

“alright, who’s been talking shit? let me at them. it won’t be manslaughter if they don’t die, right?”

he watched as your nervously fiddling fingers stopped twisting around each other, your eyes widened in shock and alarm at his words. briefly, he praised himself inwardly for being able to switch your mood at the snap of his fingers. now if only he could do that, but instead of surprise-and-horror, it could turn into surprise-and-joy instead…

“what?! wait- no! no one said that, i ju—”

“then is your own head telling you that?”

“it’s—” you gulped, gaze slowly breaking away.

he sensed a secret kept safe under the heaviest chains and locks. pain that had nearly torn up that warm heart of yours, shoved into the furthest part of you in a desperate attempt to save yourself; to silence the damned screams and the river of curses that would have made you self-destruct. he saw the remains of the thousands of needles that had embedded itself deep inside your worn heart a long time ago, and yet still it beat and struggled to not bleed out and drown you in its venomous blood.

he saw a heart as scarred as his skin, and he understood.

“..… alright, sweetheart, listen up, and listen close.”

the man’s hands suddenly cradled your cheeks, his icy blue eyes penetrating your clouded gaze. his whole demeanor had shifted into gentle and loving, as if he was holding his entire world in the palms of his hands. he resisted the urge to kiss you when you couldn’t help but lean onto his touch, instinctively seeking comfort.

he would do you better. he would give you the kind of love you’ve yet to experience. there were so much he wanted to say, but he chose to speak of the reassurance he thought you needed most at this moment.

“i say you’re the perfect choice for me. let me prove it to you.”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #rin writes

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theambitiouswoman · 8 months

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Emotionally healthy people are quitters ✨

Emotionally healthy people are quitters. They make choices that align with their well being. Quitting a relationship, partnership or job that makes you unhappy is a sign of self awareness. If someone stays in something bad for too long, it's not because they're strong, but because they're afraid or have low self esteem. Being emotionally healthy means having awareness, setting boundaries, and knowing when it's time to move on from situations that no longer serve you. It's about prioritizing your mental and emotional health over sticking with something that's causing you harm or making you unhappy.

Emotionally healthy people also tend to have good communication skills. They express their feelings and needs calmly, openly and honestly. They also look for guidance and enlightenment because they understand that seeking help is a sign of strength not weakness.

They make decisions out of self love rather than attachment or fear. When you prioritize loving yourself, you make choices that align with your happiness and growth, rather than staying in situations out of comfort or insecurity.

Recognizing when you have an unhealthy attachment or that your feelings may not be conducive to your well being is important. It allows you to take a step back, evaluate the situation objectively, and make choices that are in line with your best interests.

Sometimes holding on can lead to more pain and struggle than necessary. It's a sign of emotional maturity to recognize when a situation is no longer good for you and to have the strength to let it go.

Things that are genuinely right for you should not cause you harm or emotional pain. Choosing pain is a sign of a lack of self love. Recognizing the need for change, prioritizing self love, and making healthier choices is how you begin to change your life.

Reframe your mindset from “this is hurting me because I love it” to “this is hurting me because I do not love me.”

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judasrpc · 2 years

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WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What's the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word 'friend'?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What's a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What's their favorite [insert anything] that they've never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What's something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they're alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they've been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don't like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

#rp memes #rp prompts #rp meme #roleplay prompts #ask box meme #askbox meme #inbox meme #character help #character development #rpc #rph #judasrpc

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odoraful · 2 months

Text

Moment's respite

the boys react to you being really sleepy around them 💤

characters: zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn reader content: established relationship, comfort a/n: this was from an anon who requested a sleepy m/c! i'm sorry it took a bit, but to the lovely anon i hope i did your idea justice! shoutout to all my constantly sleepy folks out there as well

𝒁𝑨𝒀𝑵𝑬

It was only midday when you and Zayne boarded the train from Snowcrest back to Linkon, but your head was already lolling to the side. The homey, wintery town had an atmosphere that was too relaxing. Especially during those late afternoons after you and Zayne had gone cafe hopping, you wanted nothing more than to bask in the sun and fall asleep.

As you settled into your seat by the window, Zayne pushed his and your luggage in the above storage compartment. Seeing his partner’s head bob towards the glass window, Zayne smiled to himself.

“I've never seen a person so sleepy before.” Zayne remarked, taking his place in the seat beside you.

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled groggily, “it’s the town.”

You began to rub your eyes, attempting to bring some life back into them.

“I didn’t realise a town could have sedative properties.” He said, dryly.

“You don’t understand, it’s too cosy. I feel like all my defences are down.”

Zayne was entertained at the way you spun that into a complaint. A renowned hunter who finally takes a well-needed break feels too comforted by their holiday getaway.

He rested a hand on his chin in mock thought. “Should we have added combat training in the itinerary to have you be more alert, then?”

You laughed, knowing that if that had actually happened you would have hated it. The relaxation you experienced on this trip was a genuine good thing for the both of you. You continued to rub your eyes, trying to remove the build-up from when you last slept. Your movements were halted as Zayne gently held your wrists in place. You looked over at him, curiously.

“I may not be an ophthalmologist, but I know rubbing your eyes too hard can damage the lens.” He leaned closer to examine them. They were slightly red from all the pressure you had put on them.

“Forcing yourself awake won’t do you any favours.” He gently brushed a thumb over your eyelids. “You should sleep.”

He relaxed his shoulders, bumping them against yours in wordless invitation. You felt your protest fizzle away at the thought of resting on Zayne right this second. Some argument about how he would be bored without his number 1 conversation partner on the commute disappeared when you tilted your head and fell on his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to wake me up when we get there…” Your voice trailed off as you nuzzled in place, trying to find a good spot to sleep.

Zayne combed his fingers through your hair, tidying it up from your head wiggling. You were unresponsive to his touch. Your steady breathing signalled that you had already passed out. He stared fondly at your peaceful face. Inwardly, he admitted that the ride would be much less fun without your chatter, but he was more than content with just your presence alone.

Succumbing to temptation, he lightly poked your cheek. He mused to himself about how you were somewhat correct — your defences were down, but it was to his benefit. He could finally do things like this without your teasing.

𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹

Xavier moved his hand, ready to turn over to the next page of the book. He looked at you, expectantly.

“Have you finished this page?”

You hummed affirmatively, and he eagerly flipped to the next chapter.

You and Xavier had begun the habit of reading in bed together in the evenings. The book of choice was Xavier's pick — an old-school mystery novel. Someone is found murdered in their private quarters on a train, and the detective must find the culprit before they strike again. The plot was thrilling, and you were enthralled from the beginning. However, between being weighted under plush quilts, propped up by fluffy pillows, and the body warmth of Xavier, you felt the words of the page slipping away from you.

“Xavier, could you read aloud for me?”

His eyes turned wide like a surprised bunny. “Why the sudden request? Is everything okay?” He immediately covered your forehead with his hand, checking your temperature.

Chuckling, you swatted his hand away. “I’m alright. I just want to hear your voice, please.” You looped your arm around him and Xavier softened.

He couldn’t argue against your wishes. He cleared his throat and read the words out loud. Though Xavier didn’t have the most performative voice, he still tried to be a good storyteller — acting out the dialogue for each different character and steadying his pacing. The gentleness of his voice enveloped you. It quickly sounded less like an intense crime novel, and more like a children’s storybook.

You closed your eyes, attempting to keep an attentive ear to what Xavier was saying.

“Are you still with me?” He asked, sensing how you had relaxed against his side.

“Yes, yes, I’m still listening.” Your eyes remained shut, words slightly slurring together. “Keep going. I think the case is-” A yawn you tried to stifle came out. “About to be cracked wide open.”

Xavier continued, taking note of your growing drowsiness. He read out loud this time in a more hushed voice, “‘The detective gathered everyone in the train’s shared compartment space. Pacing across the carpet, he had finally figured out the killer’s identity.’”

There was a slight thud against the headboard.

Turning to the source of the sound, Xavier found you fast asleep.

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Even when the culprit is about to be revealed, you still decide to fall asleep.

To be honest, he was beginning to get sleepy himself, so perhaps it was perfect timing. The two of you were cutely similar in that regard. In fact, Xavier had done the exact same thing a few days ago. Chastising you about it would only backfire on himself.

He carefully removed your arm loosely looped around his own and quietly stood up to tuck you in. Laying you in a more comfortable position, he readjusted the blanket to cover your body, admiring how snuggled deeper into the sheets. He joined you in bed. The warm glow of the night light behind him on the bedside table faintly illuminated your serene expression.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, before placing a light kiss on your forehead and switching off the light.

𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑨𝒀𝑬𝑳

It was a hot day in Linkon, and Whitesand Beach was the perfect respite for the artist and his bodyguard. The sand gleamed silvery-white under the sun, with crystalline waves crashing against the shore. There were many others here who had also pitched beach canopies to provide a shield against the heat. You and Rafayel had tried your best to create a comfortable interior with your rented outdoor lounge chairs and mini portable fans. You were lying on one of the chairs, relishing in the fresh air (a definite contrast from the city) whilst you waited for Rafayel.

He soon returned holding up two drinks, both decorated with little umbrellas and even small skewers with fruit.

You took the glass from him in amused shock. “Raf, did you make a special request for more decorations?”

Rafayel took a sip of the drink before placing it down on the table. “Nope, the employee recognised me and wanted to add a bit more pizazz to the drinks.” He plopped in his seat and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I tipped them extra for their efforts.”

You sipped the cool drink and gazed out at the beach, mesmerised by the waves. It’s repetitive ebb and flow almost lulled you somehow.

The day hasn't even started! How can you even think about sleeping?! You scolded yourself. You patted both your cheeks to snap out of this tiredness.

You turned your attention to something else. A couple were playing volleyball nearby. You watched the ball be tossed back-and-forth, back-and-forth… Your eyelids began to fall on their accord.

Rafayel's voice pulled you from your drowsiness, and you realised he had been observing you this whole time. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” He cocked his head to the side in concern.

“I did, but-” You turned to your side to face him properly. “Being out here just makes me feel sleepy, that’s all.”

Too adorable. He thought to himself, seeing the small pout on your face as you rubbed your eyes.

“I can’t think of a better place to rest than next to the ocean. It’s nature’s own background noise.” He proclaimed.

Though that sounded enticing, you still hesitated. Wouldn’t it make you a bad partner if you slept for most of the time you two were outside? Sensing your reluctance, Rafayel continued.

“And how are you going to be a good bodyguard for me if you’re not well rested? Didn’t they teach you that in Bodyguard 101?”

“‘Bodyguard 101’?” You repeated in disbelief at Rafayel’s ability to dramatise. “I must have skipped that introductory course in university.”

“Well then, you can make up for the lost study with experience, starting right now.” His humorous tone waned, as he brought out his sketchpad. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on doing some drawings anyway. I won’t leave your side.” The softness of his words reassured you.

The mixture of crashing waves and light chatter from other beach goers had you sleeping almost immediately.

Rafayel had intended to do some drawings of the scenery, but he fixed his artistic eye on you, now finding a much better source of inspiration to fill his pages.

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cherryredstars · 6 months

Text

1K Prompts

Pairing: Actor!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Talks of Making a Sex Tape, Talks of Impregnation

Summary: Every movie star needs a costar.

Word Count: 910 (Not Edited)

It was different, a good different.

Miguel doesn’t remember the last time someone had no idea who he was. Sure, maybe some people didn’t know him by name, but at least they recognized him from one of his roles. Even then, he was met with a ‘you look familiar…’ before it clicked. But not you. You don’t even have that fake calmness when fans pretend to be chill about meeting celebrities. You genuinely looked like you had no idea who he was. He thinks that's the exact reason he became so attached to you.

He didn’t have to pretend with you, didn’t need to put up that celebrity persona for you. You enjoyed him, not the man who played make believe roles. You weren’t disappointed when he didn’t act like one of his movie characters. In fact, to this day, you still get the movies and characters mixed up. You liked him and he couldn’t have been more grateful.

He did feel bad when your relationship got exposed. He was stressed, scared all the gossip and constant invasion of privacy would get to you, that it would end everything between the two of you. But you were strong, resilient. You came to him with your concerns, not the press or the tabloids. It meant a lot that you trusted him instantly, pushing aside the horrible rumors because you knew who the real Miguel was. He has no idea how he got so lucky. Doesn’t know how he was able to find someone so good and pure in the mist of glitz and glam.

And he makes sure you know how grateful he is. He offers to take care of you, having the money to make your dreams come true. God forbid you make a joke about him buying you something crazy, you’ve made that mistake before. You only ask for simple things, nothing too fancy or screaming celebrity status. You’re so modest, getting upset when he buys you something so ridiculously expensive. You are constantly scolding him that there are better things to be spending money on than an overpriced pair of shoes that don’t even look like it's worth half of its retail price. That there are so many other people he could be spending his money on, like good charities or people who are actually in desperate need of it. He makes it his monthly gift to donate a couple thousand dollars to your organization of choice.

Since he can’t show his love through gifts, he does it through actions most of the time. He makes you a nice dinner even when he’s tired from a day of shooting. He offers to help you do things around the house. Drags you out of bed early in the morning for a coffee date before he has to go on set. Brings you to his latest movie set and shows you around if it's a calm day, his acting getting a hundred times better knowing his cute little girlfriend is in his chair watching him work. His favorite thing to do is to show his love by keeping you pinned to the bed as he ruts into you.

He loves watching you wither on the bed, clutching onto him for dear life. You look better than any model or actress as you stare up at him, mewling so nicely for him. He coos into your ear, telling you how pretty you look taking his cock. He’s constantly pressing into that gummy spot inside of you, causing your back to arch and to look up at him with glassy eyes. You look like a goddess, a fucking pornstar as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck, hermosa. Feels so good,” he mumbles into your ear, nipping at it as he groans. “Look so fucking good, too.”

You whimper under him, only capable of responding in sounds of pleasure. Reducing you to this state, where nothing but pleasure and lust consumes your body, is better than any award he could get. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, his release quickly approaching.

“Should make our own movie. Make you my good little actress,” He grunts as he puts the last of his energy into his thrusts. Your walls clench so damn tight around him at the idea, making him hiss out. “Yeah, you like that? Want me to record you being a good little bunny for me? Huh, amor?”

He props his hand in between the two of you, flicking your clit to elicit a response. You can only nod, babbling nonsense as your walls pulse wildly. With a few more pumps, your walls hold Miguel in a vice grip as you come. You let out gasping breaths, desperately reaching for Miguel. He’s quick to hold your hands, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he coos down at you. He bullies his cock into you as much as he can with your walls spasming around him, giving a few more sloppy snaps of his hips before he stills.

He lets out a desperate moan as he empties into you, panting into your ear. Both of your bodies are flushed and sweaty, but buzzing with love. Miguel holds you close, not having the energy to pull out. He mumbles sweet nothings into your ear, kissing any skin he can reach.

Hopefully, the next tabloid rumors will be whether or not he’s fucked a baby into you.

Part 2

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neil-gaiman · 6 months

Note

recently for a sociology unit in one of my college classes, we were assigned to read your short story "Changes." what was your inspiration for this? has the message or your opinion on it changed since you wrote it? would you choose to take the pill? what if you had to in order to save your life?

as a nonbinary person, this is such an interesting concept, one i sometimes wish were real. given the choice, i would take it recreationally, but sparingly and with great caution.

none of these questions are related to work for the course, just my genuine curiosity.

thank you for reading this, even if you never respond. your writing is so fascinating. please keep being your incredible self. i am patiently waiting for the next seasons of your shows :)

I love that this story has gained a new life. Nobody seemed to notice it or comment on it when it was originally published, then I got people being upset about it circa 2010, and then about eight years ago people rediscovered it and started using it as a thought experiment, which is what it is.

In some ways I think of it as a novel I didn't write.

My inspiration was probably mostly being around a lot of friends in the 80s who pushed gender boundaries, and looking at society and wondering what it would take to dismantle the entire concept of gender. Or it was reading Ursula Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness when I was 11.

#changes

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seattlesellie · 5 months

Note

Reader getting a little embarrassed bc Ellie's strap won't fit?

Sorry of that's too much

perfect fit. ♡

screaming crying losing my mind. what a perf excuse to use “ill make it fit”

She’d be on top of you, forehead lightly pressed onto yours. You feel her pouty, somewhat chapped lips ghosting over your own, then lightly and delicately pecking the corner of your mouth. It’s one of your favorite types of kisses, makes you melt into the mattress, heavenly sigh, tremble within her touch. The warmth of her breath caresses your skin, a gentle zephyr of intimacy, of being so close. She looks at you so fucking intently, concentrated, fixated, scarred brows knit together and god, you love that little serious line that forms in between them.

The best way to describe her gaze, the most accurate one, would be to say that she looks at you as if she’s studying, genuinely attempting to take in every little gasp that you let out, eager to decipher every subtle nuance of your existencet, every single blink of your eyelids.

Ellie lowers her hand down from your cheek to the base of her strap on, caressing it upon your soaking, gushing slit. When you moan as a result of its bulbous tip hitting the hood of your clit, then your clit itself, Ellie smirks like an asshole. "I can just keep going like that if you want me to”, she whispers, meaning she knows she could make your pussy cum from just rubbing her cock all over its folds. You shake your head no, because as much as you know that it’s true, you yearn for her inside of you, for that intimacy of getting fucked deep with something she treats as if was her own. Ellie chuckles. “What do you want then, babe?” she coos lowly, continuously hitting that sweet spot above your clit that makes you whine, and her grunt.

You attempt to grab the back of her neck and bring her closer to you, to push her in somehow, but you’re too overwhelmed by everything, your hand ends up falling on the mattress and landing with a small thud. You whine, “Ellie…”, she smirks, moistening her bottom lip and slightly pushing the tip in, so it hangs juuuust a tiny bit away from being inside of your hole. “Inside?” she murmurs, never failing to add that teasing “yeah?” of a raspy coo.

You eagerly nod, she loves it when you do that — so fucking pliant, she stops you mid nod for a kiss that leaves the two of you breathless, tongues dancing a nasty, wet, sinful rhythm within the realm of your hot mouth. She leaves your lips with a loud smack. Your lips are swollen, a pout that kills, how could she ever concentrate on something else in her life?

She’d be absolutely lying if she said she didn’t have daydreams (and nightdreams) of your tight cunt stretched out by her cock, of seeing that pretty clit poking and peaking from the top of your pussy, of watching and taking in the sight of the stretch, the way it’ll slide up and down so easily because of how wet you get.

Unfortunately, Ellie did not take the tightness of yourself in consideration. She picked and packed a nine incher, deep blue and veiny, a bold choice, a goddamn cocky one.

You grab her sleek bicep and dent her skin with your nails, she hisses. You’re actually soaking, a pretty clear pool of heavenly nectar formed on the bedsheet, inside the seam of your ass. Your tiny whimpers are shaky and breathy and ever so desperate, egging Ellie on. “please…” you beg even under no command to do so. “Want it that bad?” teases Ellie, but with how desperate she has become, it sounds more like a plea, begging to please tell her how bad.

“need it inside, ellie, n-need you inside”

"Mhm", she hums softly, eyelids descending languidly, surrendering to the ecstasy of hearing your voice. “M’gonna fuck you” — god, you love it when she tells it like it is.

Pampering your cheeks with desperate, wet little kisses like raindrops, she pushes the tip in further, but… it won’t go inside. It’s blocked, your narrow hole begins to burn, redden, eyesight going out of focus, everything fading into a hazy abstraction. “Babe, it won’t…” she murmurs and attempts to fuck herself inside again. “Fuck, t'wont go in”

Your heart quickens its rhythm, a pulsating drumbeat beneath your chest, as you instinctively shut your eyes and, with a mix of embarrassment and restraint, gently bite down on your lip. You spread your thighs even further, attempting to somehow give her more space for movement, she pushes in again, you wince. “Owh, Ellie… owh”

You don't quite know if you're more embarrassed, or more pissed off. Your hole pulsates and yearns for a taste of her dick, but it hurts, and this feeling bubbles up inside your chest — This actual fear of disappointment, of not being good enough like her previous partners, of being or feeling too fragile, too inexperienced. You can't help but scan your eyes over her face, looking for a sign that will tell you that you're right, that you have disappointed her or worse, but before you manage to find it —

“Ffffuuuhck” she exasperates breathily. She strokes your cheeks with her thumb, a worried expression on her face. Her eyes dart over your form, muscles of her jaw tightly clenched. "Don't wanna hurt you", She murmurs and her voice is so sweet, "Can jus' use my fingers, yeah?"

“No, please" you sob, "I’m— fuck, i’m too tight!” your voice is a whine, an actual tear leaking from the corner of your eye, chin wobbling. Ellie’s so fucking torn because poor you, and she knows it hurts — she doesn’t want to hurt you, ever — but hearing those words fall from your lips… it’s hard not to buck her hips inwards and make you take it, miss “too tight”

“This is so… m'sorry” you actually sob, sniffling and avoiding her loving gaze, and maybe if you’d look — instead of letting your embarrassment wash over you and be a murky presence in your mind, your tears might have faltered. “S’not gonna fit”, your chest heaves. Ellie wipes a tear away — from your cheek, from the corners of your eyes, she considers comforting you, telling you to never apologize for anything, ever again, but she's sensible and rational and knows what do to next, to actually stop your tears from falling.

“babe?”, she huskily murmurs. You hum back, holding onto another choked sob.

“I’ll make it fit”

“Know I will”

#𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 anon 🎀#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you

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schattenhonig · 10 days

Text

The A in LGBTQIA+ doesn't stand for aspec because they're not repressed!

(please read the disclaimer at the end of this post)

Ummm, excuse me? Would you mind telling me what your definition of repression is, then?

Because I feel repressed when a doctor asks me about my sex life, and if I say I have none, it gets marked down as a symptom without being asked if I suffer from it.

I feel repressed when my gyn tells me I can't get a hysterectomy yet despite losing so much blood on every period that I need to take iron supplements all the time, because I could change my mind about not wanting children (which is a whole other post, I know, but it's most likely linked to sex).

I feel repressed if I can't use dating apps or platforms because my sexuality doesn't even exist there, and the one time I tried, I got called names because I didn't want to meet for because it was clear where this date would go, despite my explicit "what I'm looking for".

I feel repressed when I think about how recently a paragraph was finally abolished in my country that considered sex a vital part of a marriage, basically entitling the spouses to having sex with their partner (both gender neutral, because entitling people to having sex with somebody else by law is wrong. It's basically a rape permission).

I feel repressed when I can't watch any film or show without it being about love and/or sex, no matter if it fits the narrative and furthers the plot.

I feel repressed when I plot my own stories and automatically put a romantic couple in there as main characters, even though I have no idea why this would be important for the plot. Not even my own stories, my own thoughts are mine.

I felt repressed when I was asked accusingly in a relationship if I wasn't missing something before I even knew asexuality as a spectrum was a thing, and having to lie about this being a side effect of my medication instead of genuinely not feeling attracted to someone in this way.

I feel repressed when I can't tell people I'm not sexually attracted to them because they will take this personally no matter how well I explain myself.

I feel repressed when everywhere I look there's advertising relying on naked skin, suggestive posing and objectification. Why are expensive cars still presented by women considered beautiful and tempting? It's not like that's necessary to convince people of spending so much money on a thing that gets you from A to B. Couches with women in smart dresses and high heels. That's not what a normal person looks like on a couch. But the worst is a truck in the town where I live: it's from a small fruit and vegetable stand, so whenever I see it, it comes from the warehouse, delivering groceries. On it is a woman clad in very little, presenting fruit. I'm sorry, but why? Does a misogynistic picture convince you of the necessity to avoid scurvy?

I feel repressed when I tell people and get the answer "you just haven't found the right person yet", because there are two possible assumptions from that point: I'm either not trying hard enough (so it's basically my own fault) or something about me is not right, appalling even (which circles back to I'm not trying hard enough or frames me as a victim of my genetics, upbringing or circumstances to be pitied).

Do not tell me how I feel. Do not try to tell me everything is fine and I shouldn't complain or ask for acknowledgement if everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how odd, how weird and how not normal I am. How much it inconveniences you to even acknowledge my existence, let alone respect any of my traits, views and choices.

And while I can only write from my own asexual point of view, I wrote this with all kinds of flavours of aspec in mind, so I'm explicitly including aromantics, aroace people and every shade of the spectrum in this. Not all my examples may apply to you, but I hope you can find something to relate to.

ETA: please feel free to add your own experiences of repression!

#asexuality #somewhat of a vent #asexual #ace pride #ace #acespec #aromantic #aroace #read disclaimer at the end of post #aspec

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kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him.

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun.

“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?”

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that.

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices.

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly.

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again.

And again… And again.

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him.

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby.

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing.

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you.

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes.

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe.

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check.

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over.

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his.

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men.

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore.

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her.

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table.

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are.

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles?

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good.

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?"

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?"

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared.

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends.

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary.

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours.

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again.

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?”

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?”

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts.

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again.

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x nun!reader #forbidden love #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you

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